A/N: Finn has a nightmare, with an extremely dangerous ending. (AU Finchel)
i'm still here but there's a million reasons to leave
It's just loud static surrounding him; this buzzing in his ears. It's dusty, stuffy and hot as fuck and he can barely see through the thick haze. He's been doing this long enough, he knows what to do. But honestly, you could have a million years of training and you would never be fully prepared for every single fucking thing. He crouches down behind a broken wall, looking around as he tries to figure out his options.
From somewhere behind, there's an explosion, dirt billowing around him and making visibility more difficult. He curls over on his side, seeking cover from smoke and flying debris from the destroyed wall, the loud stomping of feet stampeding behind him. There's a shout and the dull thud of a body falling beside him.
He doesn't look - he's out of ammo and separated from the rest of his squad, dumb move really, since all he was supposed to do was scout ahead – he just throws his elbow behind him, satisfied when it makes contact.
He spins around and straddles the enemy soldier, a big, burly man with skin like midnight and a scowl like death, wrapping his hands around the man's neck. The man struggles and tries to toss him off, scraping his nails over his fatigues, muffled grunts and gasps emitting from him as he struggles back.
"Finn!"
He blinks the sweat from his eyes, grits his teeth and throws all his weight behind his hands, squeezing harder.
More explosions go off behind him, and he grunts as someone jumps onto his back.
"Finn! No!"
He growls and tries to shake off the other attacker. He's big, he's strong and he doesn't plan on going down without a helluva fight.
He hears his name being called again, new voices mixing with the din. He blinks dirt and sweat from his eyes and inhales – crisp, clean scent of rain on a cool summer night. Confused, he hesitates, his grip on the man's throat relaxing slightly.
Suddenly he's knocked sideways, buried beneath several bodies and he's even more confused when instead of the hot, dusty desert beneath him he feels a soft, comfortable, worn rug.
"Jesus Christ! Finn!"
It's a woman. A woman's scared, shrill voice screaming his name.
He lays there, blinking up at the ceiling as the sounds of war fade into the background. It's raining, he can hear the drips against the window, the sound of New York awake and bustling outside, smell the orchid he had given Rachel a couple weeks ago and on either side of his legs and chest he can see Santana and Mercedes pinning him to the floor.
He turns his head slightly to the left and sees Tina shielding Rachel from him.
"Rach?" he croaks out.
Santana tightens her grip on his thigh and he grunts.
His girlfriend tries to push her best friend away, but Tina narrows her eyes and pushes her back behind her.
"Tina. I'm fine."
"No you are not!"
"Rachel, there are handprints on your neck," Mercedes snarls, her eyes ablaze from her place pinning his arm to the floor.
Hot tears spring to his eyes and he feels so fucking ashamed, he wishes the ground would just swallow him whole.
"Santana, Mercedes, you can let me go now."
"Nuh uh Lurch, I already called Puck. You tried to kill my best friend?! You're lucky I didn't call the cops!" Santana spits out, her nails digging into his skin.
He winces and takes a deep breath before he speaks again, but Rachel beats him to the punch.
"Santana, let him go. You know he didn't mean it."
"Do I? Rachel -,"
"Santana – seriously, I'm so fucking sorry."
"Save it, asshole," Santana hisses.
"San -,"
"Rachel-,"
"No! Listen to me Santana!" He bellows angrily.
He sees Rachel flinch at the tone in his voice, watches her small hand grip Tina's arm in fright. He sighs deeply and lays his head on the floor, resigned to wallow in self-pity, the look on his girlfriend's face seared into his eyelids.
There's a dull thud from the hallway. Then loud banging on the front door.
"I'll go. Come on Rachel."
He hears the bed creak, and soft sobs as the two women leave the room. Slowly, Santana and Mercedes move away from him, but he doesn't move, he just lays there as hot tears fall, shame making his face burn.
"Finn. Whatever is wrong with you, you need to get help," Mercedes murmurs gently, just before his girlfriend's brother bursts into the bedroom.
"Hudson."
A chill creeps over him and he takes a deep breath, slowly sitting up to see Puck calmly glaring at him. Rachel stands a bit behind her brother, Tina beside her. The marks on her neck are faint, but he was the one who put them there and he looks down at his hands before staring back his tiny girlfriend in horror.
They'd often joke about the difference in their sizes, he could lift her easily in his arms and she often had to jump to kiss him on the cheek.
He feels dirty and horrified and wrong as he looks at his hands – he can't even imagine ever thinking of hurting her.
But he did. Even though he can't remember doing it.
"Finn."
He glances at his best friend, at the cold look in his eyes and gets to his feet as non-threateningly as he could, hands at his side.
He'd explain if he could, try to get Rachel and her friends to understand, but – he doesn't understand it himself. And he doesn't want to stay here any longer, not if she doesn't want him around. And by the look on her face, she's terrified.
He grabs his jacket and giving Rachel and her friends one last look, slumps out of the room, Puck right behind him, his girlfriend's quiet sobs following him out the door.
Puck doesn't say anything as they ride down in the elevator together, and still nothing in the car.
But as he follows behind the other man into their apartment Pucks stretches a hand out to stop him from coming in, turns to him and sighs.
"Listen, I've known you since we were four. You know I love you and if you were in trouble I'd help you in a heartbeat. But dude, this is my sister. There is no choice here. So whatever the fuck is going on with you, you need to fix it before I take you to the morgue instead of home next time. You get me?"
He nods in response and watches Puck stomp off to his room.
He walks into his bedroom, the door clicking softly behind him as he slides to the floor. He'd never put his hands on a woman before and he never, ever wanted to hurt the woman he loves. He still doesn't remember what happened, one minute he was caught in a fight back in Qatar and the next… his girlfriend was staring at him with fear in her eyes.
He never wants to see that look on her face again. Or Puck's. He remembers the look Rachel's best friends gave him and something ugly twists inside him, spreading when he remembers the imprints of his fingers around Rachel's neck.
He hates himself.
He puts his head in his hands and cries, rage and shame burning their way through him as each tear falls.
A/N2: So, I was watching Grey's, and the scene where Owen started strangling Cristina in his sleep, the look on his face, just about broke my heart. And then this thing happened.