A/N: I took this down once, because it wasn't up to mark. I want to thank Thing With No Talent for the advice and opinions given for this story :)
This had to be, literally, the worst night of his life.
Ever since dinner, he'd been feeling extremely sick. Not that he'd tell anyone…Because his body, his physical, biological, organic body wasn't the problem. Everything was all in his head, and his flesh, bone and blood was only acting on his emotion.
Finn hugged the toilet seat and threw up for the fourth time in two hours. His head was throbbing. His body ached. There was almost no more food in his stomach for him to reject. Cold sweat stuck to his forehead.
Finally, he stopped vomiting long enough to raise his head. Finn couldn't support his own weight any more, and fell back against the wall, shivering. Blearily, he looked around the bathroom. He'd been living in the Condor for all of one month now, and still hadn't gotten too used to it…
A slight rumble of turbulence. That was enough to make him grab for the toilet seat again and retch some more. He wanted very much to be on level ground. Finn closed his eyes, and a vision from the morning's fight filled his mind.
It had been very hard. They were still learning the ropes of this whole hero-thing. Even Aerrow was struggling against the Dark Ace. But Finn had his own problems. Some six Talons were after him. There was a moment in the chase when the blonde finally admitted that he was scared. But then, in one defining moment, fear morphed into guilt. So much guilt.
The details he couldn't remember. But he recalled a sharp turn, and a lucky shot, and that was it. He meant for the Cyclonian skimmer to malfunction or fall, not explode. Talons had parachutes. If their skimmers failed them—and that always happened—then they'd not plummet to their, as Stork would put it, doom. But this switchblade just blew apart. Debris, large metal pieces and balls of fire sprayed onto the neighboring Talons, killing them too.
The sound of the explosion still rang in Finn's ears. And it was the disgust, the horror and the guilt that was making him throw up like he was now. The way he saw it, he was a murderer. A killer! For pity's sake. He was supposed to be the good guy.
Good people don't kill.
What happened to the fourteen year old boy, just trying to live? Where did he go? He'd never had a good sense of direction...Did he get lost along the way? War makes you grow up. It makes you do things you think you weren't capable of. Introduces you to emotions you'd never understood. Where does that line between good and evil actually lie? For all his life, Finn had believed that victims were good, and those who hurt people were bad. Now he'd killed. They were the victims, he was the bad. The border between right and wrong was so skewed...Finn ignored the tears in his eyes.
He took an enormously shaking breath and pulled away again. If he didn't stand up right now, he knew he'd probably pass out on the bathroom floor. But there was no strength left in his knees. Like a victim, he crawled to the sink, and forced himself up, using it as support.
As he splashed water on his face, and brushed his teeth again, the dizziness returned in full force. But he fought it, deciding that he was going to focus on the task at hand. Flush the toilet, he ordered himself. Flush the toilet.
He managed it.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. Finn hastily opened it, and his eyes fell on Aerrow.
The Sky Knight's green orbs were very worried. Instantly, Aerrow shot out and put an arm around Finn, saying, "I heard someone being sick." The sharpshooter remembered how Aerrow's room was adjacent to the bathroom.
Aerrow helped Finn to his room, and for once, the blonde didn't protest. He was too tired, and glad for the support. He really didn't know if he would have made it down the hallway on two feet. When Finn lay down in his bed, Aerrow asked, "Was it something you ate?"
The thought of food made Finn's stomach flip. He quickly shook his head. Not trusting himself to speak, he just lay there, pretending to be asleep. He must have drifted off eventually because his dream was horrible. He saw nothing. No images, no flashbacks, nothing. There was just claustrophobic darkness and such...such horrible feelings. Self-pity, self-loathing, fear. There was...there was greed. The greed for power, the greed for money. Bloodlust. In the dream, he was proud. A proud, evil man, who did sick things to innocents. He was thirsty for death. He wanted nothing more than to murder, to kill. It was more than a fetish. It was an obsession.
When Finn's eyes opened, it was the early hour of morning. His heart hammered, but he felt the cool air come into his lungs. That in itself was refreshing. His mouth tasted bad. Just a dream, Finn. Just a bad dream. You are a good person. You can't be anything but good. But he had felt that. So powerful were the emotions in that dream...so powerful. So believable. Like in an alternate universe, it was actually possible for Finn to be a monster.
Looking around, he saw a shadow, a silhouette, sitting on a chair. Aerrow was still in the room.
Finn felt conflicted. Somewhere between exhaustion and wakefulness, anger and gratitude. His stomach had settled, at least. He knew he should have been sleeping…but he had to clear things out. He had to hear a human voice. It would make him feel less...less like a villain.
"Hey Aerrow?"
The blonde's voice must have jerked the Sky Knight awake. "…Yeah?" he asked sleepily.
I wish I hadn't joined the Storm Hawks. I wish I hadn't killed those Talons. They have families too. Children, wives, parents, friends. They're probably poor as well. Some are even children, younger than us. Good people, bad choices. Born in the wrong place. Bad luck. I hate myself. I'm a murderer. I hate you for making me a murderer. I'm quitting the team. I'm done, Aerrow. I can't kill again. Why are you still in my room? Making sure I'm okay. Don't. I'm not. Leave me alone. Don't go. Please. I need you. You make me sick. I'll die if you're not there. Help. I'm drowning. Aerrow…Aerrow. Are we evil, Aerrow?
Finn cleared his throat. "It was that merb cabbage stuff. Really messed with my stomach."
A/N: Hmm. Okay, I'm still conflicted. I hope I could bring out the angst. The way things were going…I don't know. And I hope I managed to rectify Finn's character. In the previous version, Finn was incredibly OOC.
Anyway, thanks for reading. And once more, a special thanks to Thing With No Talent :)
Please review!