Crimson blaster fire shot through the night air with sickening ease, smothering lives in one harsh swoop at the mere twitch of a trigger finger. Not even his visor could protect his eyes from the disorienting flashes, and his temples throbbed violently.
Screams lanced through the air. The screams of women, children, elders. The screams of innocents. The deafening shrieks nearly drove him to his knees, down to the cold sand shifting beneath his feet. All he wanted was to curl up and let the landscape swallow him whole.
He wanted to yell, wanted to close his eyes cry out just to cover up the madness unfurling around him, but his voice wasn't cooperating and all he could manage were a few choked sobs that were quickly drowned out by the surrounding chaos.
Everything was happening so fast, and so much. He had to fight to keep his head up in the middle of it all. He had to fight for every gulp of stale air he sucked into his lungs from behind that damned helmet. Sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose at a maddeningly slow pace. He couldn't do this anymore.
"FN-2187!" barked a familiar voice, laced with iced venom. He turned slowly towards its source and caught a glimpse of gleaming metal.
"Captain Phasma," he managed to force out, his voice hoarse.
Phasma's reflective armor rippled and twisted from the sprays of blaster fire, making his head spin even more. He looked away, all too eager to make the pain stop, but when he saw the figure Phasma held tightly by the arm, his heart froze painfully in his chest.
Phasma threw the man to the ground. He stayed down, his fingers splayed against bloodied sand.
"This is your last chance, FN-2187", snarled Phasma, her voice grating and metallic behind that shining helmet. "You have one last shot to prove your loyalty to the First Order. Kill this insurgent, or be sent to reconditioning. It's your choice."
Finally, the man on the ground looked up. Poe's dark eyes were narrowed, filled to the brim with disgust.
"Just do it," he spat, his voice as sharp as a knife. "You've been one of them since the beginning. You can't change who you are."
"No.." Finn whispered as his grip on his rifle slacked. His eyes welled with frustrated tears, and his chest felt far too tight. He could hardly breathe.
"You've always been a coward," Poe snapped once more, the lines of his face drawn into a harsh glare. "You might as well stop denying it."
"I can't..." Finn breathed, the tip of his rifle sinking into the sand. He followed closely behind, his knees hitting the ground with a painful jolt. "Please don't make me," he begged, gazing up into Phasma's expressionless mask.
He couldn't see her face, and she couldn't see his, but Finn couldn't help but be hyperaware of his own twisted expression. His quivering lip, the tears that slid easily down his face, the irrevocable weakness that must be reflected in his dark eyes. Before Phasma, he was laid bare, and although he couldn't see her expression, he could feel the disgust and disappointment radiating from her. He lowered his head to receive whatever scathing response she had formulated for him, enraged by his own frailty.
"I'm not going to make you do anything, FN-2187," she suddenly purred.
Finn glanced up, shocked by her response.
"However," she added, making Finn freeze yet again, "I suppose I'll have to pick up the slack."
Before he had time to move, Phasma had lifted her blaster, pressed the muzzle into Poe's brown curls, and pulled the trigger with vicious nonchalance. The best pilot in the Resistance crumpled into the sand, a steady stream of blood oozing from the back of his head.
Finn didn't realize he was screaming until Phasma raised her rifle in his direction.
He didn't know he'd been dreaming until a warm hand cupped his face. The gentleness of that gesture jerked him into awareness, and a heartbeat later he was staring into Poe's dark eyes. The pilot's brows were furrowed with concern as he whispered reassurances over and over again.
Finn was still for a moment, dumbstruck by the sight of a living, breathing Poe Dameron. It was easily the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
The next minute he had launched himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around the pilot's lean frame.
"Hey, hey, hey," Poe murmured, rubbing Finn's back in smooth circles ,"It was just a dream, you're okay now. You're safe."
Finn felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he buried his face into Poe's shoulder, breathing in the scent of engine grease and ozone. The man's curly hair was soft against his forehead as Finn forced himself to take deep breaths despite the tightness in his chest.
"I'm here," Poe assured him, holding him tightly. Finn had never felt safer. "I'll be here as long as you need me."
They sat like that for what felt like hours. Finn fit perfectly against Poe's chest, and neither wanted to separate.
"You okay?" Poe whispered once Finn's breathing had slowed down to a steady pace.
Finn only hummed in response, unwilling to relive what he'd seen. Poe got the message.
"Wanna try going back to sleep?" Poe murmured again, trailing his fingertips against the nape of Finn's neck. "I can stay if you want."
Finn hesitated for a brief moment before nodding, his face still pressed into the crook of Poe's neck. Poe shifted on the bed, loosening his hold on Finn but not letting go entirely. They rearranged themselves on the cot before settling into a comfortable position, Poe's arms still wrapped securely around Finn.
The First Order left scars on everyone it touched, and it would be a long time until they would have the chance to fade, but as Finn lay there curled next to Poe Dameron's comforting warmth, he knew that he'd get there.
And through it all, he wouldn't be alone. Not for a second.