Jonn: It's Going To Get Worse

Jonn stumbled down the stairs, holding his rib with the arm that didn’t hurt, just trying to keep the other arm still, which was fucking impossible. It jarred with every step. It was a relief just to stop walking, and he didn’t want to move either arm to knock on the door, but as soon as he kicked it and the vibrations rattled through his body, he realized that’d been a bad fucking idea too.

Maybe he was full of bad fucking ideas.

The door opened a crack, then the rest of the way.

**"**What the fuck,” Finch said.

“Are you gonna let me come in, or did you want me to just die on your doorstep?”

Finch backed off, letting him shamble in and closing the door back behind him. Locks clicked and clacked as Jonn crossed the little cellar Finch lived in and flopped face-down on his rumpled bed. He didn’t really *like* Finch. Liked Roddy better. But whining to Roddy was off the table. Crying to Hansel was …

*Jonn, fucking run.*

He sniffled.

“Are you fucking crying?”

He could tell from Finch’s voice that he’d been drinking, but that was Finch’s default state. It was annoying that he was still good at his job when he was drunk. He was annoying in a lot of ways. He was also literally the only person Jonn could think of to go to who would have any inclination to help him, and that was only because the guild had paired them up, and their boss probably wouldn’t like it if she found out one of them had just let the other die. Plus, Finch had experience with that kind of thing.

“Fuck you,” he mumbled. “Fuck off.”

Finch made the sort of nonchalant noise that accompanied a shrug, and Jonn heard the creaking as he sat back down at his desk. Then scratching on paper. He was drawing out maps from memory, or scribbling plans in code, or some shit -- he didn’t give a shit that Jonn was there. And that didn’t work for Jonn. He wanted someone to pay him some goddamn attention.

“You’re not going to ask me what happened?” He rolled so that he could see him bent over the desk, squinting by the low-burning candle that was the only light in the cellar.

“I don’t give a shit,” Finch confirmed.

“Fuck you.”

Finch shrugged without looking up. “Fuck you.”

Jonn turned his back to him, hissing at the movement. His back felt burnt from that last thing Sugar had thrown at him, even through his armor. It was impossible to get comfortable. He didn’t want to sleep anyway; he was restless, he was frustrated, he was jittery. But everything ached. He didn’t want to move. He wanted Hansel to hug him tight and do that sigh he always did when Jonn fucked up that meant *you’re an incredible fuck-up, Jonn Sterling, but I still love you.*

Hansel had told him to run. He guessed that meant the same thing. He still loved fucking Mishka and Mishka had done much worse to him. Jonn had been trying to *help* -- maybe not at first, but when he’d found out Hansel was giving Mishka the time of day again it had seemed pretty fucking serendipitous that he’d already made that deal. Mishka just kept *hurting* him. Hansel didn’t have good judgement when it came to that fucking elf.

Maybe he didn’t have good judgement when it came to Jonn, either.

“Fiiinch,” he whined, rolled over again.

His parter threw his pen down and looked back at him. “What?”

“I need help.” He needed distraction. “You’re being a shitty partner.”

“I’m letting you crash in my bed. Leave me alone.”

Jonn sighed. “I’ll tell you something about Larkin if you come over here.”

He hesitated. “All right, what?”

“You have to come over here first.”

“Fucking --.”

He scowled and shoved himself up, stumbling a little on his way over to the bed and stopping a few feet away with his arms crossed. Jonn waved him closer and closer, taunting him, until he was close enough -- then darted out a hand to grab his collar, jerking him in to kiss him roughly.

Finch shoved away from him. “For fuck’s sake, Jonn.”

Jonn snickered. That helped. Fucking with Finch always made him feel better, and it was so goddamn easy. And it was working -- he definitely knew Jonn was only doing it to mess with him but he never shoved him away immediately, and it took him longer to now than it used to. It wasn’t like Finch had any fucking friends, either. Just Jonn. He’d fucked up the only other one he’d had.

“She has a new partner,” Jonn told him.

“What?”

“This half-elf. Supposedly a cleric but he’s one of us -- you can tell by how he moves. They’re real tight now. I’ve been watching like a bird, just like you asked,” he added sweetly.

“Fuck off.”

“You want his name?”

Finch hesitated again, rubbing his lips with a thumb absently, like he didn’t realize he was doing it. “What would it cost me?”

Jonn feigned offense. “Finch, we’re partners. Why wouldn’t I help you out of the goodness of my heart?”

“You don’t have a fuckin’ heart,” he grumbled, not knowing how right he was.

Normally Jonn would blow it off. For some reason it kind of annoying him this time. He snatched at Finch’s hand, dragging it to his chest. “You sure? Wanna feel?”

“Stop it.” He yanked his hand away. Oh, he was actually upset about the Larkin thing. God, that was boring. Everyone was fucking upset.

Jonn sighed and muttered, “Whatever,” turning his back to Finch again.

“What’s his fucking name?”

Jonn shrugged with the shoulder that didn’t hurt. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Goddammit, Jonn, what do you want me to do?”

“I’m fuckin’ sad, cheer me up,” Jonn snapped.

Finch gave a long-suffering sigh. “All right, why are you sad?”

For a moment Jonn didn’t respond. It had come out reflexively, just something shitty to say that would annoy Finch and stump him. He hadn’t expected him to say that. He must really want that name. He really cared what Larkin was doing. Jonn wasn’t sure why, exactly, or what he’d been doing with the minimal information Jonn had been able to give him about her, but it was something he spent a lot of time on. A lot of them guild hours, too. Jonn hadn’t snitched on him yet because he thought it’d be more fun to see how it played out.

But it kind made him feel something, now, in his gut. Something angry and acidic. Luci had made him leave. Now Hansel had made him leave. He was stuck with fucking *Finch*, and Finch was more interested in stalking Larkin. *Was* he sad? He watched his fingers twitch and fist in the sheets, but it hurt to move much more than that.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Who gives a shit.”

Finch groaned and Jonn could hear him turn back towards his desk.

“His name’s Goro. Goro Flatflower, I think.”

Finch was silent for a beat. “Thanks.”

He went back to his desk, the wood creaking, and the scratching of his pen started up again. Jonn curled up into himself and closed his eyes. This wasn’t fun. It wasn’t fucking fun at all. He had this feeling it was going to get worse.