Growing Pains

Chapter Three: False Smiles

There was nothing like acquiring a new job. The idea of working hard and building his muscles to the point of exhaustion had always been one of his favorite things. While most people loathed the idea of hard manual labor, Finn knew he was literally built to be a hard worker.

The boy surveyed the damaged barn with distaste before stepping inside, stepping over a board and staring at a gaping hole in the ceiling. Something felt off about this barn in particular, but he couldn't recall what it could be... until he heard the splintering of wood coming from the boards above him.

Finn stood entranced as cracks formed and the foundations of the building shook. He couldn't move no matter how hard he tried; his feet were glued to the ground. The barn's foundations trembled and heaved before finally, the roof caved in. He closed his eyes, waiting for the impact.

"FINN!" A pair of hands shoved him from behind and he pitched forward into the snow. He landed hard on his belly and came up gasping. The boy whipped around and froze, staring in horror at the pile of rubble burying his best friend.

"No." Finn scrambled forward and began shoving planks off of the pile. "No, no, no... Benen! BENEN!" Silence beneath the rubble. "No, no, please! Somebody, help! Benen's trapped! HELP!" Nobody came. The teenager shoved and hauled, screamed and kicked for what seemed like hours until he finally managed to pull his elderly friend's body out of the rubble.

"Benen!" Finn cried, tears forming in his eyes. Blood poured from the stomach wound where Benen had been impaled, the dark red liquid seeping into Finn's pants and staining the snow beneath them. "Benen... Please Benen, don't leave me!"

The old man was barely breathing, staring up at Finn with calm blue eyes. Slowly he lifted a finger and pointed to Finn's chest. "Fortis."

Fearless Finn awoke with a wild gasp, nearly ramming his forehead into his bedside table. He sat up quickly, throwing aside his blankets and shakily checking his hands and searching for anything out of the ordinary. His eyes only met his clean bedroom, a pile of laundry on the floor across the room, and a quick check at his neck to find his necklace-

Finn froze, checking his neck a second time. His necklace, the last gift he'd ever gotten from Benen, was gone.

Panic. Terror. Chaos. What was once a clean bedroom quickly turned into a replica of the Arena on a really bad day. Finn tore his bed and sheets apart, coming up shorthanded. He was near ready to start truly panicking when he shoved his bed away from the wall and nearly cried with relief: the necklace was lying on the floor just beneath where his head rested on his bed.

With trembling hands, Finn reattached his necklace and held it tightly in his fist. He sat against the wall and willed himself to calm down. As if having a nightmare... the nightmare... wasn't bad enough, some spawn of Loki's minions had to allow for his precious necklace to be lost in the same night. Figures; the gods really must hate him.

Finn wiped off his clammy forehead and shivered. He hadn't had that nightmare in a long time. He didn't know what the trigger was, but every few months it would happen—the same nightmare every time, but different variations. At first, the nightmare was exactly how it had happened. But as time wore on, he could almost forget what the real version was. His imagination had run wild over the last year and a half. The one time he'd woken up thinking he had blood on his hands was the last straw.

Keeping these things to himself, he'd go to work day in and day out like a real man should. Some mornings he'd get to work before Gobber; other days before the sun itself. One time he'd actually run into his father out on patrol before dawn. That had been awkward.