As the day had gone on, the bar had begun to fill up. Regulars had made their way in and settled into the groups they usually did. Fletcher had served them drinks and then stayed behind the bar.

Usually, he would have made more conversation, or went over to sit beside them if there was no one to serve. But, that day, Fletcher had been preoccupied. He'd had far too much to think about and worry about to intrude on the conversations of these people. He liked to own a safe place like this bar, and the last thing he wanted to do was to bring down that atmosphere.

Fletcher touched them bruise on his chest almost subconsciously. It wasn't all that sore now, but he could feel a dull throb if he pressed it. He couldn't get Kira off of his mind, not for a second.

Ever since he'd met her in the forest, he'd been worried sick. What was wrong with her? Why had she attacked him like that? What was going on?

The questions had taunted him all day long. Nothing had seemed able to shift them from his mind, regardless of what he'd tried. Even when he'd been serving drinks, it had been all he'd thought about. Small talk? He hadn't even been able to focus.

He kept seeing the coldness in her eyes, feeling the bitterness of the air. It was like a nightmare, and Fletcher wasn't even wholly sure why it bothered him quite so much. Earlier on that day, he'd even smashed a glass accidentally earlier on. That was never a good sign.

Now, caught in a whirlwind of his own emotions, Fletcher was oblivious to what was going on across the bar.

He didn't see a young, dark haired man enter the bar and head over to one of the less populated corners, and neither did he hear the words exchanged between him and Dresden - one of the group of people who'd been sitting together near the door. They'd been there for a while, nursing beers while they spoke about the mornings of life.

It was only when things became more heated that Fletcher was broken out of his trance.

"Don't you come near my girlfriend," Dresden was seething, his back straight and face filled with malice.

"Well, I really don't care. I'm not here to talk about some woman," It was background noise to Fletcher, secondary to his own thoughts, to the meeting he would at some point need to go to with Kira. He didn't pick up on the twinge of annoyance in Finn's voice. "I don't want to come near anyone, to be honest," it was said in an undertone, like Finn wasn't sure he should say it at all.

"Some woman? She's just some woman to you? Llorens, I'm gonna kick you so hard you'll end up a a whole other world," In a second, Dresden was on his feet and flying at Finn. The other man didn't have enough time to react; Dresden's fist connected hard with his jaw and he staggered backwards, hitting the other end of the bar from Fletcher.

Only then, after missing everything leading up to this, did Fletcher look up and zone back in to reality.

"You wimp! Can't handle a punch. Here comes another," Dresden snarled, aiming an uppercut to Finn's stomach with strength enough to wind him.

Finn gasped with pain, jerking forwards, "What the fuck man?!" His voice was slightly strained from the force of the punch.

"Hey!" Fletcher shouted at them, completely ignored by them both.

"I will tell you what...I will...you annoying, arrogant son of a hotdog," the anger in his voice was venomous. It was that that made Fletcher really move. He slid across the bar itself, not bothering wasting time going to the opening at the end to get out.

Finn gritted his teeth and aimed a punch at Dresden's face. Fletcher grabbed his arm midair and pulled him back, pushing him away from Dresden and then standing between them both. The bartender released Finn and glared at them both in turn. He turned to Dresden first, "You're drunk, and you're causing disorder. Go home..." he turned to Finn, his eyes mildly annoyed, but not as angry as might be expected, "You too. You're both adults. I shouldn't be having to do this," he looked between them both, and gestured to the door.

The two men glared at each other, and then walked out. Finn reached the door first, Newley hitting Dresden with it through the force with which he opened it.

Fletcher watched them leave, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For some reason, Summer's face came into his mind then, something to do with what he'd heard.

'I don't want to come near anyone, to be honest,'

Fletcher took a breath, and closed his eyes. He opened them again, and jogged outside, towards the door. He could hear the dull purr of an engine nearby. Finn's car, he presumed: since Dresden was heading down the street. He'd seen how forceful Dresden's punches had been. They must have hurt, no one could be fine after that.

It was for this reason that Fletcher chased after the Mercedes as fast as he could. It had just started up and begun to move away when he gave chase. "Wait!" Fletcher shouted after the car, hopping he could be heard above the shouting and bawling from Dresden from closer to him.

Dresden seemed to be moving towards the car now, shouting something Fletcher couldn't hear right. The bartender sped up, and for the second time that night, tried to prevent a fight. He grabbed Dresden and pulled him backwards again. The car had stopped up ahead.

"Come on man, I'll call you a cab. It's not worth it," he looked up at the Mercedes, nearly blinded by the brake lights, and mouthed 'wait' before pulling Dresden from the road and over to a phone box. Fletcher left him there with a pat on the back, and jogged back over to Finn's car. Surprisingly, it was still there.

Fletcher knocked on the driver's window, leaning down a bit so he could see inside. Slowly, the window rolled down, and from within the car Finn's face appeared, a scowl across it, "What?" He asked in a growl.

Fletcher looked at him with concern, he sighed, his breath misting in the chill night air, "I can't let you just drive away, not after that. Come on back to the bar with me, please," He didn't like the thought of letting Finn just go home. What if this was another Summer? The least he could do was make sure Dresden had done him no lasting damage. If he'd let a Finn go, it would never have sat well with Fletcher, no matter what he'd assured himself of.

Finn's eyes had widened as Fletcher had spoken. The bartender watched his hands tense and loosen up on the steering wheel. His scowl returned within seconds, and he fixed Fletcher with a skeptical stare, "Do I know you?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

Fletcher smiled slightly at him, "Maybe. I'm the bartender. You've probably seen me around a few times, I think we've spoken before, too," he replied, gesturing to the door. He could see that Finn didn't want anything to do with him, but Fletcher wasn't ready to give up trying yet.

Finn shrugged, "Fine," he rolled the window back up and began to reverse the car into the bar's driveway. Fletcher moved over to the pavement and waited for him outside the front door of the bar. He couldn't hear anything from inside, and there didn't appear to be anyone there through the windows either. He guessed they'd left after the kerfuffle not so long ago. He couldn't blame them, it was late anyway.

There was the sound of a car door shutting, and then Finn appeared from around the side of the bar. Fletcher was relieved that Finn had listened to him, rather than just driving off, "Thank you," he said when the other man joined him. He looked Finn up and down to see if he had any bleeding injuries from Dresden. "I've got ice, I'd you need it," he started to walk back towards the bar.

"No. It's fine," Finn replied curtly.

Fletcher found himself doubting that that was true, but he didn't say anything against it. He pushed the door open and held it for w second or two for Finn. "So, have you lived here all your life?"

Finn sighed in an exasperated way, like the last thing he wanted in the world was to be having this conversation. Fletcher didn't take that to heart. "Yes, mostly..." Finn hesitated as I'd he had more to say, but was debating how he wanted this conversation to go. Fletcher could almost see the cogs turning in his head. "I spent some time in New York for a record deal,"

From the way he spoke, Fletcher could tell that Finn wasn't interested in talking to him. He wasn't very sure why, but there was only really one way to find out, and that was by talking. Fletcher made his way around the bar and poured a glass of water. He wrapped a couple of ice cubes in a towel as well and placed both in front of Finn. Even if he denied it, Fletcher was certain those punches had to have stung. Hopefully, Finn would value that more over whatever it was he was trying to show here.

Fletcher leaned on the bar a foot or so away from Finn, "Are you a musician?" He watched Finn go for the ice pack, retract his hand, and then pick it up. He place it to his cheek and winced. Fletcher tried to keep his aura flowing throughout the room. It was difficult for him not to smile when Finn took the ice pack; he'd been half expecting it to be ignored altogether despite the welt he'd been able to see growing on Finn's face.

"Yeah, I am," Finn took a sip of the water with his other hand. He seemed to be thinking things over before he spoke. "My songs topped the charts for a while, but the commitment didn't suit me and..." Finn stopped abruptly, looking away like he'd said something wrong. Again, Fletcher chose not to comment on this observation.

As always, Fletcher had an easy smile on his face. He leaned his head on his hand, intrigued by what Finn had to say. "That's amazing! You must be very talented," he filled a second glass with coke and took a drink himself. "The pressure of the industry must be hard to deal with, I can understand that,"

Finn shrugged, swirling the contents of his glass, "It's hard for me to commit myself to something." He spoke slightly quieter, and Fletcher wondered for a beat or two if that was all Finn was going to say. He watched Finn take another sip of water, and then continue, "The pressure is hard to deal with, but it's manageable,"

Fletcher had never actually experienced fame of any sort, in all his time alive. He much preferred to live a quieter life with the people who meant the most to him, usually in a town like Carsden. "It's a lot of responsibility to have on your shoulders, I get that. There's no point in sticking to something you know's only going to end up making you feel bad," Finn nodded in agreement, adjusting the ice pack on his face.

Fletcher  really didn't want Finn to feel looked down upon, so he spoke his thoughts, "I was in a band back in middle school for a bit y'know: I played the guitar," it had been a lot of fun back then, he remembered. Most of his lunches had been spent in the band room, practising for the various school shows throughout the year. Fletcher was never the best, but he could play well enough to enjoy the experience.

Finn choked on his drink, shock and then realisation suddenly alight on his face. He stared at Fletcher for a few seconds, and then asked, in a voice much brighter than before, "Fletcher Hallidans?" He asked.

The bartender blinked at him, not understanding why his surname was important, "Yeah?"

Finn began to stammer, stumbling over his words in an apparent rush to get them out. He turned to face Fletcher more, "I-I think we knew each other, in middle school? My dad played tennis with yours?" He was edging Fletcher towards a point yet, but he didn't quite see it yet.

Fletcher's eyes narrowed in confusion for a few seconds while he thought back. Who had his dad played tennis with? He could see the man's face in his mind, and then he realised. His eyes widened with the understanding of it, "Llorens. You're Finn Llorens? No way!" He grinned at Finn, suddenly a lot more excited than he had been before. He remembered Finn well; they'd spoken quite a lot from what he could recall.

"Yeah," Finn smiled awkwardly. He seemed to have changed a lot, appearance and personality wise from how Fletcher remembered him. But then, everyone had, he was sure. There was a more mysterious, charismatic quality around Finn now, rather than the boisterous playful characteristics he'd had back then. "We used to have a lot of fun with our guitars, if you remember,"

Fletcher nodded eagerly, "Remember the band room? You were the best of anyone on that guitar or yours, wow. It doesn't surprise me you made it into the music industry," he laughed, remembering the various small scale competitions they'd held as practice. Fletcher had nearly always lost, and even then, he hadn't minded. It had all just been about the thrill of it, "We did have fun! No one else did the guitar,"

Finn didn't seem quite ready to agree with Fletcher's praise, "Yeah, maybe," he took a breath, averting his eyes from Fletcher. "Uh, so, how have you been, since then?" He looked back up at the bartender.

Fletcher had tried to keep up with the guitar after middle school, but at some point he'd stopped playing. He was pretty sure he still had his guitar, somewhere. "I can't remember the last time I played," he admitted, taking a drink so Finn didn't feel pressured, and to give him time to answer the next question, "I've been great. A lot's changed since back in middle school, but I can't say it's been unpleasant," Fletcher's smile hardened with this question, but it was hardly noticeable.

He wasn't sure how well mentioning that he'd spent a lot of time travelling through the wind and rediscovering his old abilities would go down, so he kept that to himself. "Apart from music, what have you been up to?"

Finn nodded amiably, his eyebrows knitting together while he thought up an answer, "I scroll through Tumblr," he offered. Fletcher didn't believe for a second that that was all, but again, he wouldn't press the matter. He was happy enough just to have come across an old friend like Finn again, after so long.

It seemed to Fletcher like he wasn't the only one with things to hide, but maybe he was only thinking this because he didn't know Finn well enough to more accurately read his emotions. It was too early to really tell what was going on, "I head Tumblr's pretty good for music, are you interested in getting back into that at all?"

Finn waved his head from side to side, "I've composed quite a few songs since then but I don't..." he paused, as if searching for the words, "...I don't want the fame anymore."

That made sense to Fletcher, even if he couldn't understand it exactly himself. He'd seen how high a standard anyone in the mainstream media was held to, "Fame means you need to act a certain way I suppose. Is it better working alone?"

Finn nodded curtly, "Yes, definitely," he seemed oddly pleased with that response. Fletcher supposed he was doing a good job here so far; Finn looked much happier now. "When I work alone, I can work at my own pace. It's a freedom, I guess," he took a deeper drink of water.

"I get that. You don't owe anyone anything when you're working by yourself, either, and there's no public to keep updated," Fletcher felt as if he was getting through to Finn, reconnecting a bit after all these years after they'd last spoke, "I never made any doings of my own. I wouldn't know where to start," he replied, tilting his glass towards him to see how much was left in it.

Finn seemed to have straightened up a bit before he answered this question, "You should. Music live in everyone, you just need to find your rhythm," it was like there was a passion suddenly alight behind Finn's eyes. Music clearly meant a lot to him, even if he'd left the industry.

Fletcher shook his head slowly, "How did you find your rhythm? Maybe I can draw inspiration from that," he remembered Finn as being very talented at school. Fletcher had always figured it ewe a natural talent, since his own skills weren't nearly as prominent. He held none of this against Finn; everyone had their own skills and talents, and there was no sense in Fletcher's mind in shoving someone down for their own gifts.

"I took some time, really," Finn pushed his hair out of his face. "I needed a way to express my thoughts, and after I started to write, I just went with the flow," he spoke almost proudly. It was nice to see him so open and happy about something, especially after how closed off Finn had been earlier.

Fletcher took mental notes. "Do you write your songs about the same things?" Fletcher imagined if he tried to, his songs would be about autumn or the seasons in some form. It was a huge part of his life, and would be easy to focus upon.

Finn's eyes glazed for a few moments; he was deep in thought. "The best songs are those that can make a person feel the emotion through each word," he said eventually, looking up at Fletcher as if he was unsure that would be understood.

Fletcher could think of a few songs that matched that description. It was interesting to him how Finn spoke about music, in comparison to he guarded he'd been to begin with. "Really? Do you base something off of memories, to get the emotion in them?" He was intrigued by this now, very interested in knowing more.

"Yeah, pretty much. The worse the memories are, the better the song is," Finn was on a roll now, enjoying this conversation more than he could possibly have expected to.

"That sounds doable. I'm sure everyone had a few bad memories that could help with this. Do the words just come to you?" This was like riding a bike again for the first time in years for Fletcher. It had been so long since he'd even thought about music and the process behind it. And, it was nice to get to see how a Finn had changed, what he was like now.

Finn snorted, "Rarely," there was a small smile playing on his face, "I spend hours sometimes, finding the right word to express what I want to convey. It's sort of like being a story writers but worse, the emotions flow just fine, but the words? Very rarely do they work how I want them to," This was the most compact answer Fletcher had received so far, and the idea that he was helping Finn open up a bit pleased him immensely, especially after what he'd heard earlier on.

Fletcher had watched plenty of interviews of music artists discussing how they did what they did, but this was different - this was real life. "That sounds like it could get kinda frustrating. How do you know what memory to use?' He finished off the last of his coke and walked around to Finn's side of the bar. He sat on a seat next to him, still about the same distance away.

"Memory?" Finn asked, drumming his fingers in the edge of the counter. He didn't give Fletcher a chance to answer, "It's not exactly about memory, it's more a sort of play with words: testing each word or phrase out to see which one fits. It's about the way it sounds, too; how much it pleases the listener, you could say,"

Fletcher propped his elbow on the bar again, listening intently. "Is it something you get better at with practice?" He didn't see himself as being very quick with coming up with the words, but he was now interested in learning g how to write a song.

Finn gulped down the contents of his glass. "Well, definitely," shifting in his seat, he turned towards Fletcher, "After a while, the words start coming to you much more easily," Finn crossed his eyebrows, "but sometimes, we tend to repeat things so that's something to watch out for, I guess,"

Fletcher watched him empty the glass, "Want another drink? On me," he offered, glancing at his own empty glass as well. He nodded in response to Finn's advice, "Alright, will do. I'll be coming for you for tips if I try writing a song. I'd bet you know the most about that kinda thing out of everyone in this town," he smiled.

"Yeah, I guess," Finn agreed. He let out a short laugh, "Sure, there's no problem with that. Anytime." Fletcher saw the flicker behind Finn's eyes when he said that, but he didn't step back in what he said. He took out his wallet, hunting for one of the business cards Liz had printed out for him years ago. It was a little crushed up but Finn doubted Fletcher would mind. "I don't know why I have this but –"

"Oh!" Fletcher had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he took the card, reading it over with a small smile on his face. "Guess I should give you my 'card' too then." Fletcher went to the back of bar, emerging a few seconds later with a napkin. He slid it to Finn along the bar counter. Fletcher's number was scribbled on it, his name written in messy cursive underneath. Finn pocketed the napkin after a quick inspection of it.

Fletcher slid Finn's number into the front pocket of his trousers and grabbed two new glasses from behind the bar. 'What're you wanting this time?" He picked up the old glasses and washed them out while waiting for Finn's reply. "Been up to anything else, post-fame?"

"Hmm, a mojito?" Finn shrugged, "Anything that sounds fancy," he cleared his throat. "Nothing much really, just trying my hand at new things," he said honestly, picking at the edge of the counter.

"Nice choice! I haven't made one of those in a while. Coming up!" Fletcher moved along the counter, gather my the ingredients needed for the drink. He moved quickly, almost like it was a dance. "Trying new things is always fun. I'd have to say the same. I gave forest magic a try once," he laughed as he spoke, wondering how that would be interpreted. It was too soon to mention that dryads had taught him a few things, Fletcher reckoned.

Finn yawned, wondering if he'd heard that went. He rubbed the back of his neck, confused, "That sounds fun," his answer was unsure. Fletcher could tell he had no idea how to take that new information. It was a nice insight to how many people would react when told such a thing.

Fletcher placed the drink in front of Finn, in a fancier glass than the last one had been. "It was. I'd only just found out that it was a thing at all, I'll admit, magic of that sort is something I've been skeptical off for a while," it was true, but given just how much magic had ended up doing for Fletcher, he'd had to adjust his views.

Finn gaped at gaped at him. Fletcher wondered if Finn thought he'd gone mad. "It does sound...a little shady," he still sounded wary, and the bartender couldn't blame him for it. We're the situations reversed, he reckoned he'd be the exact same.

Fletcher looked away upon seeing just how shocked Finn was. He didn't want to ruin this, but he'd always found magic to be a good topic of conversation, even if it wasn't that conventional. "It is, to be honest. There's a lot to be wary of when it comes to spell craft, but it's also very exciting. I haven't done anything magic related for a few years now," he admitted.

Finn swallowed, thinking privately to himself. Fletcher wondered if he'd ever seen Carsden like this; as something other than a small, normal town. He caught Finn send a skeptical look his way. Fletcher could hardly blame him. If you deny know magic, he was sure it would sound insane. "I would love to see it someday, if you ever get back into this field," Finn said, his eyes still carrying their suspicious glint.

Fletcher beamed at him. "I'd be more than happy to show you something someday! I still know a few tricks I think. It's kinda like riding a bike, you don't forget it very easily." He replied, glad Finn hadn't been turned away by this revelation. "Have you ever tried your hand at anything like that?"

Finn looked more impressed than skeptical now. Fletcher hoped he hadn't talked magic up too much, made it seem too otherworldly. "Tried my hand at magic?" Finn shook his head, "Never."

Fletcher had seen many types of magic performed by many different people. There were those who were flashy with their abilities, and performed extravagant acts that defied the laws of the world. Fletcher couldn't do things like that, nor did he want to. His abilities were smaller and focused. They were just right, in his opinion. He paused before he answered, "some people say that music is magic, because of how skilfully the words and the notes work together, so maybe you have, and you've just never realised." He offered with a slight smile, raising one eyebrow at Finn playfully.

Music and Magic. Why did Finn start to suspect that they were related a lot more when it came to him? "Maybe," He mumbled. He looked up at Fletcher and chuckled. "That's an interesting way to put it. It's quite coincidental that you brought this up. I couldn't shake this feeling that something's going off with this town. And somehow, I get this feeling of dread when I play."

Fletcher liked the sound of Finn's laugh, it sounded kinda musical to him, which if he didn't already know, would have made him think Finn was some kind of musician. He looked at Finn in surprise when he spoke again, like he hadn't expected him to know that. "I've felt that too. It's like a darkness, and it's affecting my abilities. There's like... a change in how they used to be." He didn't want to go into too much detail, but it was more than worth mentioning. Fletcher figured if he could talk to Finn about it, they could maybe work something out, but he didn't want to say too much about what he'd experienced himself.

Things were changing around Carsden, becoming more overshadowed by the day. Fletcher had become aware of it only bit by bit. He figured it was serious, or at least, it would be if it kept getting worse. "The question is, why? What's causing it?" Finn wondered out loud. He looked away from Fletcher and took a drink from the mojito glass. He held it with a practiced hand. Fletcher imagined a Finn had probably been invited to parties when he had been in the height of his fame.

Fletcher looked at Finn for a good few seconds. Something seemed to flicker behind his eyes, and they burned a faint orange. He liked Finn, and he wanted to trust him. So, like he's done many times in the past, Fletcher went with his instincts and trusted this new person that he found himself almost entranced by. "There are a few theories. Our best guess is that it's some kind of monster, and that it plans to hurt or change people here in some way. It's been there for a while now, and it doesn't seem to have changed or moved much since it arrived," he explained as best he could. Fletcher had dealt with a lot of darkness in his time, but through all of it, he had tried his very best to remain positive.

Finn twitched his head to one side at that, like he was surprised by that information."This monster," Finn knitted his eyebrows together, "you've seen it? It lives somewhere here?"

Fletcher shook his head slowly, "No, I haven't seen it, but I do know it's there. It's in the forest somewhere. It may be difficult to believe, but it is true," Fletcher told him, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He didn't seem any more guarded than usual, but Fletcher was unsure how much he should share. There was only so much he thought was good to share with Finn. It was a lot to take on, especially if he'd never been exposed to magic or anything of that sort before.

Finn took a sip of his mojito. "The forest?" He swallowed slowly, "Then I might be able to investigate someday. It's right around the corner from where I live." Finn shivered suddenly, his whole body suddenly on edge and taut with tension.

"It's very close to the town, that's partly why I'm so sure it's going to affect us in some way. I'm not sure what it'll do, but it'll probably be bad." Finn didn't seem to be going crazy over this, which made Fletcher trust him more than he already did. He didn't notice the change in Finn until he looked up at him.

There was a crash. The glass had slipped out of Finn's grip. He gaped at his hand in horror, jerking up, the bar stool falling to the floor. His hand was as clear as glass.

Fletcher stared, unsure what he was seeing. Finn's hand was gone. It was actually, completely gone. It was see-through, like a window. It shimmered. Fletcher's eyes narrowed slightly, wondering if Finn was connected to this monster in the woods, or if he was a victim of it. He didn't notice his own skin beginning to heat up, nor did he see the cracks appearing where his scars had been seconds ago across his face.

Fletcher stood up from his seat, and came over to Finn slowly, looking at his hand in curiosity. "What...what's happened to your hand?" Part of him wanted to try and touch Finn's hand, to see if he went through it or it was solid. It was an odd urge. Another part of him said that was a bad idea, so he just looked instead. For all he knew, it would transfer across to him if he went near the musician.

Finn's mouth remained open, "I would have said I'd had too much to drink, but I haven't." He flexed his fingers. From what Fletcher could see, were definitely not solid.

He looked up at Fletcher for confirmation, stumbling backwards as he noticed the bartender's face. He passed right through the bar stool, and came to a halt only once he reached a table, grasping it for support with his one normal hand.

Finn was breathing heavily, either shocked or scared, Fletcher didn't know. The bartender watched his eyes move away from himself to look back up at him, "Fl - Fletcher..." he stammered, "your face - "

It looked to Fletcher like Finn was being swallowed up by the very air around him. It was like he was being pulled into it piece by piece before his eyes. "You're...disappearing," he stepped forwards again, all of the scars across his face had now cracked, something a deep, dark orange visible inside them. "Does it hurt? Can you feel anything?" He asked, eyes locked on Finn's arm like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Fletcher was surprised at first when Finn moved backwards. He reached out to try and stop him falling, but his hand only went through Finn's glass shoulder and smacked the bar instead. It was then that he saw the marks on his own arm, and for the first time felt the pain of the heat on him.

Fletcher turned his hands over in shock, using his left to press at his right and see what was going on. His skin felt like rock, and he could see it hardening now that he was actually looking. Was this some kind of magic? A spell? What was going on?

"Finn, whats happening?" His voice sounded quiet to his ears,

Finn shook his head, taking deep breaths. "I need to calm down." He turned to Fletcher, "We need to calm down. Somehow, all the shit that's been happening around here - " He scanned the rest of the bar. It was almost empty except for a few people who were passed out. " - it's affecting us. It must be. Maybe we became superheroes overnight," He offered with a slight smile, trying to lighten up the situation. If Fletcher was scared, someone needed to hold their shit together. "I think we can control this. Just concentrate on something that calms you."

Fletcher stared at his hands for a few seconds more, watching what looked like fire pulse beneath the rock crust quickly forming across his scars. He closed his eyes for just a couple of seconds, and when he opened them again he seemed just as calm as he had before. This was jarring for Fletcher, but he had to keep calm so that he could help Finn.

The sharp pains he felt across his body kept his teeth gritted, but he managed to nod in reply. Fletcher had dealt with a lot of pressure over the course of his life, and a lot of stress and pain that had wizened him considerably to all around him. The last thing he was going to do here was be useless. "I'd love to be a superhero. Human Torch and Invisible Man, I think," he replied, an easy smile back on his face. It was time for him to take more control here, since he had the most experience with magic. "Does it hurt?" He asked Finn, looking up at him with eyes of molten rock.

Finn tried to walk towards Fletcher, but he could hardly move his legs. They felt lifeless, insubstantial. "Invisible Woman was definitely more badass." He noticed that the ends of his hands and legs looked smoky. He had started to hover in mid-air. "I don't feel anything," He answered, "Are you okay? There's fire - " There was concern in his voice, "That looks dangerous. Does it hurt you?"

Fletcher held his arms out, lava swarming across the ends of his hands, enveloping his skin as he watched. It courses out from his scars to cover them, hardening in some places into a thick dark rock. "It hurts, it's like I'm being stabbed with hot needles. It's okay though, I'm fine. This is probably some kind of weird magic, I've seen similar things before," he wanted to try and keep Finn calm, relaxed if that was possible when he was going invisible. He smiled, "invisible woman hasn't got nothing on you,"

Finn suddenly stilled. He looked around wildly, "What was that?" Fletcher looked at him with confusion. What was what? What was going on? He watched Finn spin in a circle on the spot, his breathing suddenly a mile a minute. Something was happening, something Fletcher couldn't even see.

"STOP!" Finn collapsed in a spectral heap on the floor.

Fletcher began to hear whispering too, right in his ear, from both sides at once and then swirling all around his head. He fought to ignore it, reading Finn's lips to figure out what he was saying. This was different from anything he'd heard before. It was close, it was thick with anger. He couldn't let it in. Stop? He heard the shout, and then he saw Finn fall.

The whispers in his own hear seemed to come over his eyes like a thick sludge, filling his head with words and feelings that pulled him towards whatever this thing was. "Finn..." Fletcher felt like his legs were made of lead as he stomped towards Finn. He couldn't sit down.

He had to get out of here. But, he couldn't leave Finn. The air around him was boiling him alive. Fletcher stumbled towards the pub door and smashed it outwards. He ran out into the street.