#whump!verse

17: Kisses accompanied by sad tears, 19: "I may be dying, but please, don't cry over me"

A/N: You did it to yourself, babe. This is what would happen in the Whump!Verse if I didn't believe in happy endings.

Tw: mentions of blood, character death (as prompted)

________

All his life, Finn had felt a vague sense of direction. A pull here, a hidden path there, a voice in his head, always a feeling. Never had he been truly lost, never before had he felt blind and like there was no ground beneath his feet. Never. 

That is, until he saw Poe's lifeless body lying where Kylo Ren had pushed him with the Force. There had been no time to see if Poe got up, there had been no way of making sure he was okay, but this had been the plan! Poe would distract him, use his hubris against him and use the element of surprise and pave the way for Finn and Rey to defeat Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order. 

It had been the plan. Everything had gone according to plan. They won, Kylo Ren was dead, lying at Rey's feet. 

And Poe was not moving. Finn dropped his lightsaber and ran to him, heart racing, panic where seconds before there had only been adrenaline.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Finn,” Poe whispered, sounding as broken as he felt. “I don’t know, and I’m scared. I don’t want to hurt you or Rey or Leia or anyone. Not again.” 

Finn didn’t say anything because there was nothing he could say that would make it better, that would make Poe feel like less of a broken failure of a Resistance fighter who couldn’t even trust his own brain anymore. 

“There’s this… this feeling. A voice, a pull. Inside me, and I guess it might be…” Poe hesitated, faltered. A deep breath, two, and a quiet sob before he continued. “I guess it might be the- the Force. And it’s inside me. And it feels like it doesn’t want to be there, it feels like it’s ripping me apart, Finn. And I might just let it.” There were tears streaming down his face, he was sure. He didn’t feel them but he was sure they were there. 

All he could do was stare at Finn’s feet, the brave, beautiful man keeping his distance from Poe. Rightly so. Poe would only raise a blaster against him again, he would only shoot someone if they touched him, if they talked to him, if they were near him.

He was desperate for touch, desperate to be held, desperate for someone to tell him it was going to be okay, that they would find a way and make Poe whole again. He was desperate to believe that. 

But Finn wouldn’t touch him because Poe told him not to. Because Poe didn’t want to hurt him or kill him. All he wanted to do was hold and be held by the other man and believe that he was not being turned into a weapon for the First Order. 

And then Finn opened the door to the cell Poe had been placed in for his own safety, not because he was a prisoner. He opened the door and approached Poe with slow but sure steps. Maybe Finn was going to kill him now, then this whole ordeal would be over and everyone could go about their days again. Finn should just do it. And maybe he would touch him, then Poe could at least die happily. 

Finn had reached him now, and he was indeed touching him. Poe shook his head, still only staring into space, his eyes unfocused. He was shaking his head because Finn shouldn’t touch him, shouldn’t risk his life around the weapon that was Poe Dameron. But he did, and it shouldn’t feel so good to feel that strong, warm hand on his shoulder. Poe flinched, shied away from the touch because it was dangerous, but pressed into Finn because it was all he needed. 

And then there was more than a hand on his shoulder as Finn sank to his knees before Poe and wrapped his arms around him, holding him in his strong arms and shielding him from the rest of the galaxy. 

It was too easy, had always been too easy to lose control in these strong arms, and maybe it was nothing more than muscle memory, but Poe fell forward into Finn with a sob. He let loose, he could feel the tears now, his shaking limbs and his screaming thoughts. His head was still moving, still shaking, but maybe that was only from the imperative to keep Finn safe. 

"I don't want to forget you again," Poe sobbed into Finn's chest.

“Poe. Shhh, Poe, it’s okay. I’m gonna make this okay. I’m so sorry, baby, I’m gonna make this okay. I love you so much, Poe.” 

Those were his words and although Poe was still shaking his head, still trying to protect Finn from himself, he clung to him and wanted desperately to believe him. 

Soo, @imtheoutgoingsidekick-baby had an idea for my Whump!Fic, and I just had to write it!

The prompt: Ok so all I could think about is a period of time where everything has returned to some semblance of normal, but they're about to charge full force back into fighting or something. And poe knows that it’s possible he'll get Activated™ or whatever, so the night before they head out he's laying in bed w/ Finn and they softly forehead touch and he says something like "whatever happens, remember I love you always" And then he tucks Finn's head under his chin (so Finn won’t see him cry) and holds him tight and says "and if the moment comes... If you need to, for your safety, I need you to take the shot, okay?"

The scene:

He could feel him. He could feel Finn in his mind where there had only been pain before. Pain and pressure and soaring emptiness. Now there was only Finn. Only light. Only love. And fear. 

From what he had been told, Finn wasn’t really inside his mind, he was only shielding him. Like Poe was a moon reflecting the light of his sun. That thought made him smile, because how else could Finn ever be described? He was a sun, burning, deadly if you came too close, but also spending light and warmth and life. All for Poe. Finn gave him his light and didn’t ask for anything in return. Finn made him his moon, and there was nothing Poe would rather be. 

He was terrified of losing it. Of becoming a ghost planet again, wandering around the galaxy without the light of a sun but blinded by the light of thousands of stars. He just… he didn’t want to lose Finn. Not again.

He hadn’t meant to land there, he’d meant to land on Pharios; a moon right next door. Instead he’d landed on Scant, in the Undiscovered Marshlands. Despite having been discovered two hundred years prior, but why change a good name? Much of Scant was largely unpopulated, since so much of it was a death trap. Most of the population were scientists of some form or another. Living in sciency towns with sciency children. 

He’d waded through the purplish water, dodging the muddier areas and the scaly creatures flitting around his feet. He’d needed to find something to pull the Tardis out. The ship wouldn’t budge from it’s spot and something had been preventing her from leaving by other means. The timelord had finally found large branches to prop her up and eventually out of the marshlands, when he’d heard the tell tale sign of trouble afoot. A scream. 

So of course he’d set off in search of it. And found... something. A monstrous creature leaning over someone; large claw-like hands on either side of her head. He’d pointed the sonic and the creature had roared so loud it had been deafening. More than that, everything had gone black. Which was how he’d gotten into his current predicament.

In a once inhabited cave, filled with old equipment and the bones of presumably former victims. There was a makeshift door in front of him but it wouldn’t budge, even when he kicked it and sprained his ankle. The room itself had very little, a small portable loo, a table covered in paper and cutlery. Three thin mattresses and a torch. But the walls, the walls were covered in words. 

I CAN’T SEE, I CAN’T - HELP - GET OUT, FOR GODDESS’ SAKE GET OUT. And much more. The papers were the same. The eyes go first I think, logically the ears would probably go next - He comes for all of us, he took Benson first; his eyes... - It think’s its kind, it kills slowly but the pain....- Benson prayed for death, why didn’t he take my sight? There’s nothing left but this. I don’t know if this is even paper. This is my last will and testa- The timelord stopped reading, throwing the paper to the floor. The eyes go first, what did that mean? Did it take their eyes? It was a problem for later, he decided, attempting to open the door again. 

Hours later he was lying on the floor, having stacked the mattresses on top of each other and using his coat as a blanket. But he couldn’t sleep. He’d found an empty notebook and a pen and had been jotting down his own ideas. From the sounds outside he wasn’t the only one on the menu, but why go to all this trouble. A bed, a  table, cutlery. These things weren’t needed, unless someone was to be kept alive for a period of time. Perhaps the creature could be reasoned with.

But when the door opened and the beast lumbered in, the Doctor’s words died in his throat. It’s face was wolf like, but it’s many eyes were as dark as night. He attempted the stand but with a body as large as that, there was very little room to move. It raised it’s large arms and stretched them out. The timelord started to ramble off a list of reasons why it shouldn’t harm him but it fell of deaf ears. The creature’s hands reached for his head, backing the doctor into the wall. 

It was an understatement to say he felt terrible when he woke up that morning. He felt worse than terrible, as close to dying as one can get without actually dying. Every part of him ached and throbbed at the same time and his fingers were numb with cold. His hair was plastered to his forehead but he felt cool rather than hot, which was usually the reason for having ones hair styled like one of the beatles during a monsoon.

He pulled himself up, never even trying to stop the groan that issued from his lips, he rubbed a hand across his eyes and stared at the floor that was dancing in front of him. He told it to stop that nonsense and reached for a fluffy purple dressing gown with matching grand-pa slippers in something resembling fur. 

The timelord wearily made it past the objects littering his room in the style of tardis chaotic chic and pressed the door button, stumbling into the empty corridor. Water, he needed water. Boiling hot water. So tea, he needed tea. Now the kitchen was somewhere.....that way. He hoped it was anyway, he was bound to stumble on something eventually. 

The kitchen itself was huge and more of a hodge podge of types of kitchens rather than just one giant singular kitchen. One area was devoted to eating and dining, containing various tables, chairs and couches. It was an all inclusive kitchen for all species, ages and preferences. Only one kitchen light was on when he finally found the correct door. A standard earth kitchen from the 23rd century. Someone had been eating cereal if the packet was anything to go buy. 

Rubbing at his eyes, he fumbled through the tea chest for a selection he knew was good for the sinuses and placed the bag in his monogramed mug. (A gift from River so he would stop using hers) The kettle keened in that irritating way only kettles can and lit up in lights. Shivering, the timelord poured the boiling hot liquid into the mug and spooned in one teaspoon of sugar before throwing the bag into the bin behind him.

He could have sighed with pleasure at the sweet aroma, but it hadn’t succeeded so far in warming him up. He’d downed it almost in an instant, and nothing? Not even a burnt tongue? He stuck out his tongue, pulling at it in order to get a look. Not very helpful. He leaned down in front of the kettle and managed to see a shock of pale blue before toppling to the floor.