The thing is, you don't become a part of someone without them becoming a little bit of you too.

It's a natural progression, going for the leader of a bunch of shitheads to the one holding them together, taking charge, making his fingers move with deliberation. Thumb to pinkie, thumb to ring, thumb to middle thumb to pointer. Repeat. It was an old trick he learned to keep himself focused, hours spent outside courtroom halls sliding into boredom even as some assholes decided where his next life was going to be. Now he used it on his free hand, stalking on the edge of the firelight, whatever invisible force binding him to his fan club keeping him from getting too close to the assembled survivors.

I'm sorry. That can't have been easy. Everything outside of your control.

Frank's mouth twisted into a half-grin, the deflection as well practiced as the square of his shoulders.

"Awe Jules, you're too sweet. Nice to know someone cares."

…That wasn't me? Yeah I said that.

The flicker of surprise escaped involuntarily, too late before the rest of consciousness sensed it. Even if he had managed to stop it (Frank was usually good about keeping his mental barriers thicker than the others) he betrayed himself by faltering mid-stride. He played it off with a snort, like he'd told a joke the others just didn't get, and re-directed their attention further into the firelight. Glasses was picking out a flashlight. Wasn't that interesting everyone? Better start planning for that.

But, as much as he could trick them into moving on, the misstep kicked over another stone to reveal the ugly reality underneath. The ability to keep their thoughts separate was eroding, no way to deny it. There were things that they couldn't hide from each other sure, they all knew Susie's rebellions, Frank's disdain. But it used to be everyone had a distinct voice, a pattern to follow—now Frank couldn't remember if it was Joe who had played clarinet it middle school or if it was Julie, if the things he remembered about woodland survival were for researched on the internet or experienced first hand.

He couldn't remember if he was the one who was afraid of the dark.

It stopped mattering what was, because as everyone blended together into one disgusting mental slurry, memories became reality, and reality became Frank. He was supposed to be their goddamn leader, but Julie's ambition became so potent in the back of his mind that it didn't matter the origin, he simply acted on it. The way her and Joe loved him melded into a quasi-self love, and Susie…

Well let's just say he had regrets that didn't belong to him.

But good or bad, there was no stopping the force that architected the nightmare they were in. Whether Frank wanted to hold together this group or not, he didn't have a choice in the matter.

The knife twitched in one hand, his other back to tapping. Pinkie, ring, middle, pointer. One, two, three, four. All leading to one.