It had been some time since Tristan had awoken in the real world, and today was the day he was finally allowed to move around without that stupid-ass IV following him everywhere. The first thing he'd asked to do was call with his gang, because he'd had so many check-ins and tests that he hadn't had a good chunk of time to do that just yet. He'd been allowed a private conference room- a rather empty one, because it seemed that nobody at the Future Foundation underestimated his unpredictable energy and inability to express himself in any form that wasn't physical- and was given access to the large screen mounted on the wall. It had taken a few minutes to get in contact, but Tristan knew it was because his gang had seen the notification and was scrambling to make sure they were all there for this important moment.

And then it had connected. Tristan had been waiting for this moment and had understood that he hadn't wanted anything more than this ever since he woke up, but he underestimated how much it meant to him. Seeing all of the familiar faces of the people he called family on the screen... it rendered him completely speechless for a few seconds, and when he tried to say anything, it just came out in strangled sobs.

"You good, Turner?" Marcus, his second-in-command and fill-in leader, asked, furrowing his brow.

Tristan wiped at his eyes, the smile never leaving his face. "Fuck off, Marcus, gimme a sec."

His comment received a few laughs before he added, "I missed ya lil' shits so fuckin' much, y'hear me? I'm dead serious ri' now."

"We hear ya, boss," Rich said. "We was worried sick when we heard 'bout the whole world-endin' thing."

"Yeah, it ain't a pretty story, but I ain't got any o' the details 'cause I don't remember shit." Tristan rubbed the back of his head. "Were you guys aight up there in Brooklyn?"

Marcus nodded. "Yeah, we got some trouble, but nothin' we couldn't handle. Heard some otha parts o' the country weren't as lucky."

"You was on the news, boss!" Coby chimed in. "You was covered in blood, too."

"Aye, I don't think he wants to hear 'bout that," Marcus said to him, and he went quiet.

"Nah, it's fine," Tristan sighed. "I've heard some o' the details. I know I'm a killer. But that changes nothin' between us, y'hear me?"

"It better not, boss," Marcus responded. "'Cause some o' the otha gangs? They ain't afraid o' us now that you ain't around. I mean, we need our head Ram back."

The other members of the Blazing Rams chimed in with their own forms of agreement. Tristan knew that they did, in fact, need The Ram back up there if they wanted to keep their territory.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm tryin'. They need me here until they can get the government to drop my charges from bein' a Remnant of Despair or whatever. Think ya can all hold on 'till then?"

"We'll try, boss," Marcus promised.

They all talked for a long time after that, about Brooklyn and Tristan's experience in the virtual world, and how he was the only one awake. He tried to avoid the fact that he'd been the first to die, but it eventually came up.

"Well, if you was alive in the game, then why was it so hard for them to get ya out?" Rich prodded.

Tristan shot him a dirty look. "Ya want the truth, genius? I died in that place, and I died first."

"Really? Our leader died first? Ain't no way- you better not go tellin' us now that some kid stabbed ya," Marcus said.

"Nah, but some lil' shit named Rori put poisonous berry juice in my coffee," Tristan grumbled.

When he heard his gang trying to stifle their snickers on the other end of the call, he snapped, "Any of ya that laugh at that can go do suicides over at that park with the big hill."

That shut them up fast.

"Good to have ya back, Turner," Marcus said, unable to mask his smile. "You've no idea how god damn scared we were for ya."

Eventually, conversation became harder to hold, and so Tristan had to log off. Watching the smiling faces of all fourteen members of his gang on the screen as they disappeared made his stomach twist in to knots, but he took a deep breath and promised himself he'd get back to them soon.

The second thing he got to do that day was finally work out. The Future Foundation had its own massive training room for recruits to learn defense and all that jazz, so of course he was going to have the best workout of his life. Some things were certainly harder than he'd remembered, but he was surprised when some things felt easier, and he wondered several times what he'd done as a Remnant to gain strength in some areas. Still though, it felt great, a refreshing change from being forced to sit in a hospital room and recover for days.

After what felt like hours of lifting, running, climbing- whatever Tristan could discover in that training room- he stopped, sweat dripping down his face and chest as he caught his breath. It was the greatest workout he'd had in years. He grabbed his shirt from the bench and made his way to the locker room to shower. Growing up in Brooklyn, there were no nice public locker rooms or bathrooms. But the Future Foundation's? It was the fanciest shit he'd ever seen. He wasn't used to this. Damn it if it wasn't the best shower he'd ever had. Well, that and the one he'd had after wiping the floor with his biggest rival's face at a fight between the two gangs.

Once feeling refreshed and in better shape, Tristan got onto the elevator and selected the button for the housing level, where he'd been living after he no longer needed to stay in the hospital wing. As the elevator ascended, a few worried-looking people entered from one of the working levels, whispering nervously to each other. Tristan was curious, but for once didn't try to demand they tell him what was happening. He found out seconds later anyways, when they left the elevator once it arrived on the hospital level, which was alive with frantic buzz. Now growing worried, Tristan followed them out, looking around for anything that could tell him what was happening.

"MOVE, THE PATIENT IS UNSTABLE!" was one of the things he managed to hear over all the chatter.

Tristan pushed his way through the crowd of people, unease clawing at him.

"Tristan, what are you doing here?" One of the people he'd pushed was Miguel, who was now holding his arm.

"The hell's goin' on?" he demanded.

Miguel's eyes widened. "You... you don't know?"

"I've been busy all mornin'," Tristan reminded him.

"Right." Miguel looked nervous as he said, "Something went very wrong in the virtual world during one of Ambys's executions. A student got deleted from the server. Do you know Finch Thraw?"

"Finch?" Tristan furrowed his brow. "I don't know no Finch."

"Oh. Well-"

Miguel was cut off as Tristan heard the doctors hurriedly wheeling a hospital bed down the hallway, a few nurses jogging alongside and pushing IVs with it. Laying in the hospital bed, unconscious but thrashing in clear agony, was a familiar face that threw Tristan off guard.

"Flauros?" he muttered.

Miguel sighed. "You know how we said that the process of pulling you out of the program is strictly to be used for emergencies now?"

"Yeah..."

"We had no choice if we wanted Finch to have any chance of living. He was having some sort of seizure, and so we pulled him out. It's much harder with him than it was with you. He's fifteen years old, with a much weaker body, only about a hundred pounds or so-"

"Fifteen years old?" Tristan repeated. "The hell was he doin' with us, then?!"

"How old did you think he was?" Miguel asked.

Tristan thought for a minute. "...eighteen."

"Exactly. He's smart and mature, so Hope's Peak figured it would be fine." Miguel adjusted his glasses nervously. "I advise you go back to your room and watch the footage from the virtual world."

"Wait, but what about him?" Tristan called after Miguel as the programmer turned to hurry away.

Miguel glanced over his shoulder. "Let the doctors do their thing, Tristan. There's nothing you can do right now."

Tristan stared after him as he left. His head was spinning, but he still knew better than to get in the way of the doctors. So he dragged himself back to the elevator and rode back up to his room. From there, he turned on his tablet and navigated the controls to show him the morning's footage. He watched the whole thing, from Sophie's murder all the way up to the execution. Such a brutal execution, and for a fifteen-year old? Who in the right mind did that?

He worried about Flauros- or Finch, or whatever his name was- for the rest of the day, and even lost some sleep over it. Would he be okay? Miguel had said it was risky enough bringing back Tristan, so bringing back a younger kid nowhere near as strong... would he die for real? What were his chances of survival?

"Why do you care so much?" he asked himself as he lay on top of his bed, staring up at his dark ceiling.

He then quietly cursed himself for trying to act tough. This was someone he'd grown to know, even if it was just briefly. Someone who was thrown into an unfair situation and could die from it. God, he could die. The word held new meaning now after he'd left the virtual world. Knowing death wasn't real there had made him feel better, but back in reality? Death was permanent.

Tristan didn't sleep much that night. He found himself taking the elevator down to the hospital wing first thing the next morning. He grabbed a doctor and asked, "Where's the kid?"

"Finch?" the doctor asked. "He's not awake yet, and they're still doing-"

"I don't care," Tristan interrupted. "Where the hell is he?"

The doctor paused before pointing towards a room. "In there. Just please don't get in the way."

Tristan didn't respond, just pressed forward and ducked into the room, sucking in a breath. Inside, there were a few nurses checking vitals, the Ultimate Medium himself unconscious in the hospital bed with a breathing mask over his mouth.

"...is he stable?" he asked quietly, not sure whether or not he was asking himself or the nurses.

One of the nurses did hear him, though, because she glanced over her shoulder at him and said, "We almost lost him, and he's still going in and out. He stopped breathing for an entire minute overnight. He's fighting, though."

Tristan approached the bed, staring down at the small child.  He looked so much younger in this state, his makeup having been wiped off and his hair pulled back in a loose ponytail so keep it out of his face.  He was also paler than usual, and he'd always looked like he avoided the sun at all costs.  Unsure what to do, Tristan reached out, his large hand carefully wrapping around the kid's smaller hand, the back covered in IVs and pulse monitors on multiple fingers.

"You're gonna be fine, kid," he said quietly. "I ain't gonna leave your side, okay?  I ain't gonna do that.  You need a buddy right now, and so do I, so you better go heal up now, ya hear me?"

Of course, he didnt get a response.  He wasn't expecting one, anyways.  But he really hoped that soon enough, he would, and Finch, Flauros, or whoever this kid was would just wake up.

***

(2011 words)

Finch in a coma, what will he do?

Nothing. Because he's in a coma.