A/N: Thanks for all the support. To answer a question: I'm not sure if this will be a Finn/Marcy, or a Finn/PB, or a Finn/FP, or whatever. Tell me what you'd like in the comment section; I'm open to whatever.

It was three weeks after school started, three weeks after meeting Marceline and Marshall, when it happened again.

They were coming. He could feel them. Close on either side. Claustrophobic.

Where was she? They were getting closer.

Closer.

Close-

Finn jerked awake with a gasp. He laid still, heart pounding, wincing as he noticed he had sweated through his pajamas.

It had been almost five months since the last one. He had almost fooled himself into thinking they weren't coming anymore.

He had to get out of this room. It was too dark. Too crowded. He pushed himself out of bed, walking through the dark apartment, feeling his way along the walls to keep from falling.

Walking would be good. Walking would clear his head.

Walking would make the memories go away.

Standing on a dock, toes peeking over the edge as someone held him under the arms.

Walking in a park, holding someone's hand.

Snow. His hat knocked off by a snowball. Someone brushing off his hair and kissing his cheek with a laugh.

He found himself on the balcony, overlooking the forest outside the apartment. It was cold outside; the wind bit through his pajamas. It felt good to be cold. His eyes landed on a lone tree, standing proud in the middle of the field. His vision was blurry. He was crying.

Policemen at his house. Asking him questions he didn't know the answer to.

Where was his mother? How would he know? He was nine. Only nine.

Jake showing up. Taking him out for ice cream. Not caring when he didn't eat any of it.

Rubbing his back when he started to cry in the middle of the parking lot.

The dirt was painful under his feet; he should have worn slippers. He rested a hand on the bark of the tree.

How did he get out here? What time was it?

He didn't want to go back inside.

He sat down at the base of the tree. Curled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Closed his eyes.

Jake found him a few hours later, in a complete panic. Finn was freezing; his feet and hands hurt. He was woken up, and started crying like a toddler. Jake hugged him. Helped him go back to the apartment. Got him to shower, to choke down some soup, only to help him when he threw it up ten minutes later.

It was Jake who called in sick for both of them (thank God it's Friday). Jake who gave some bullshit excuse why they couldn't come to school. Jake who sat in Finn's room to get him to sleep. He never tried to talk about it, and Finn appreciated that.

Finn didn't want to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it. Not when he was a kid, and not now.

Some people had recurring nightmares about being naked in public; some about their teeth falling out. But Finn? His were always the same.

It started with him standing somewhere, all alone, waiting for his mom. He was younger; the ground was closer under him. And he knew he couldn't leave, because she wouldn't know where to find him if he did. And slowly, it would get darker and darker. And voices would start to whisper in his ear. A horrible creeping feeling would fill his belly, and just as someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, he'd wake up.

The Waiting Dream had been going for six years. It started when Finn was nine. When his mom died, and he went to live with Jake. He'd been sent to a child psychologist, who made Finn draw a whole bunch of pictures and talk to a puppet. That didn't last long.

Finn didn't know where they came from. He didn't know when he'd have one. All he knew is they were hell. And they wouldn't stop.

"Poor guy," Jake said softly after he thought Finn was asleep, looking up from his book. He had taken the same position he'd taken when his brother was a kid- parked in a chair, right in front of the door. To guard off monsters. Except Finn's monsters were in his head.

"Poor guy. Why does this have to happen to you?"

Finn had no answer.

Finn woke up late that night with his phone buzzing and blaring a song he had never heard. Next to him was B-MO, who snuffled in his sleep at the noise. Jake had left, probably to sleep.

"Come on baby, it's your lucky day/ shut your mouth, we're gonna do it my way…"

Finn fumbled for a second, clicking "talk." He couldn't even get a word out before someone started speaking a mile a minute in his ear.

"Finn? Hope this is you. You asleep?"

Finn blinked. "No."

"No, it's not you, or no, you're not asleep?"

Finn's head was spinning. "Marceline? How did you get my number?"

"I jacked your phone at lunch the other day when you got up to get an apple. Did you like the ringtone?"

"I… what was that?"

"'Date Rape.' You know, Sublime." Finn was silent, and Marceline let out a laugh of disbelief. "You've never heard of Sublime? Who are you? Hey, Marsh!" he heard her call off-line. "This kid's never heard of Sublime."

He looked at his clock. Twelve forty-five. Finn groaned. "It's one in the morning."

"Twelve forty-five, dummy. Hey, where were you today? Well, yesterday, really. Whatever. Come over. Marsh and I have a new song that we just got through without totally whiffing it. Come listen."

"Marceline. What are you doing up at twelve forty-five?"

"We like being up late. It's easier to rehearse around here when no one else is up. Are you coming or what?"

Finn pushed himself up on his elbows and yawned. "No, I'm not coming. It's one in the morning." His sleepy brain suddenly connected a few dots. "Wait- Marshall's at your house?"

"Course he is, stupid. Hold on." There was a crackle of static, and Marshall's voice came on the line.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"How have you never heard of Sublime?"

"Marshall, I am not coming over."

Across the hall, Finn heard a few muffling sounds. He went silent for a second, before speaking (more quietly) into the phone. "How about tomorrow?"

Marshall chuckled. "What, mom said no? You always do what you're told?"

Finn had no answer.

"Fine. Noon. We'll pick you up."

The line went dead. B-MO farted and rolled over.

The text came at noon on the dot: We're the red one.

Grabbing his jacket and saying goodbye to Jake (who gave him a weak smile, still looking tired and pale) Finn tried to puzzle out what that meant. The red what? Then Finn stepped outside.

Oh. Oh.

The red truck.

Marceline had her head stuck out the window of a large red pickup truck, waving at him from their parking space across the street. Music was blasting from the car, dirty rap lyrics that were making a few neighbors stick their heads out of their windows and murmur darkly. "FINN! Yo!"

As if he could miss her.

Finn jogged over to the car, throwing himself in the back seat. "What's this?" he asked, grinning for the first time in two days.

"His name is the Bombardier," Marshall said over the music, throwing the truck into gear and pealing out of the spot.

Finn raised an eyebrow. "You have your license?"

"He was held back when he was younger," Marceline said casually, turning around in the passenger seat and wrinkling her nose at the bags under Finn's eyes. "Yuck, what's wrong with you?"

Finn glared at her. "I didn't sleep well last night, remember?"

Marceline shrugged, smirking, as Marshall gave Finn a hard look in the rearview mirror. "Here are the rules," he said seriously. "You do not EAT in the Bombardier. You do not SHOUT in the Bombardier. You do not touch the RADIO in the Bombardier. And if you get any dirt, mud or dust in my baby, I will beat you to death with a napkin."

Finn blinked, trying hard to hide his smile. "You can beat someone to death with a napkin?"

Marshall shrugged. "I'll have fun trying."

"Here we are," Marceline said after a long drive filled with nothing but comfortable silence and loud, vulgar rap (Finn would have to look some of the more… colorful phrases up when he got home). The three of them pulled into a driveway in front of a large, weather beaten house painted a faded shade of blue.

The front lawn was overgrown with long grass and weeds, flanked by large trees on either side. One had a tire swing hanging from a lower bough. Children's toys littered the front stoop and a lone pink shoe was discarded on the sidewalk. Marceline practically vaulted out the window, making her way to the garage. Finn and Marshall followed a little more slowly.

"Your sister's got a lot of energy," Finn commented.

Marshall sniffed. "Marcy's not my sister."

The silence that followed was awkward and confused enough to last until the two got to the garage. After shouldering open a sticky door, the two boys found Marceline arguing with another girl.

Finn took a quick look around. In the far back of the garage sat a pair of amps and a mike stand, settled in front of a homemade sign reading: The Nightosphere. The rest of the space was taken up by a beaten-up couch and a TV.

Three little boys were sitting on the couch, watching Marceline and the girl argue with unabated interest. They looked similar- all tiny, pudgy, blonde, and pale, with short arms and legs. The only foreseeable differences were hair length, and one of the little boys had freckles. Finn gave them a cautious wave, and they smiled shyly and looked at their sneakered feet.

"You've had the garage all day!" the girl arguing with Marceline complained, and Finn noticed with surprise how surprisingly deep her voice was. ". I've been totally busy texting Brad. He asked if I like chili fries. We're getting pretty serious."

The chubby girl flipped a mass of dark curls over her shoulder, glaring up at Marceline. She stood at least a foot shorter than her foe, rotund body peeking out between layers of a purple velvet sweat suit. The seat of her pants read: PRINCESS. She noticed Finn staring at her and curled her lip at him. "What the lump do you want?"

"Leave him alone, Lucy," Marceline snapped, crossing her arms. "This isn't about him. Now, out of our studio."

"This isn't a studio. It's a garage," Lucy said waspishly, crossing her arms back. "I'm thirteen, Marceline. This the time for me to shine. The time for me to impress Brad with my rockin' hot new bod, after I lose ten pounds and straighten my hair and get plastic surgery when that stuff doesn't work. How am I supposed to do that if you don't let me watch Top Model?"

"You're not getting plastic surgery," Marceline said tiredly. "Now, OUT."

Lucy stomped her foot. "But the Cuties want to watch it with me!" She looked expectantly at the triplets on the couch. There was a long pause. One of the triplets sneezed. Lucy let out an odd groan and stomped her way out of the garage, muttering all the way. "Stupid lumping people… lame band… lame house… posers… wait 'till Melissa hears about this…"

Marceline smiled at her victory, ushering the triplets off the couch and up the stairs to the house. "Go on, guys. We're working."

One of the little boys stopped dead in front of Finn. "Are you a satin-est?"

Finn blinked. "What?"

The little boy wiped his nose. "'Cuz my friend Josh said Marcy n' Marshall are satin-ests."

"We're not Satanists, Cutie," Marceline said in a tone that suggested they'd had this talk before.

"We're musicians," Marshall piped up from the corner, tuning his guitar. The boy sniffed again, following his brothers up the stairs.

Marceline gave Finn an apologetic look. "Sorry. Lucy's a brat."

Finn sat down on the couch, trying not to cough as dust floated up. "Who were those guys?"

"Our foster siblings," Marshall said casually. Finn didn't know how to respond to that. "The Cuties are triplets," Marshall continued, still not looking up from his guitar. "One's Cole, one's Caleb, one's Connor. We'll never know which."

Finn nodded. "And Lucy?"

"Her parents are our fosters," Marceline said quietly. "She's not… good about sharing. And she's pretty vocal about that fact."

Finn looked back and forth between the two of them. "So… you two are…?"

"We're not related," Marshall said flatly. "But we've been here the longest. 'Bout six years for Marcy, five for me."

There was a small silence. Marceline cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Finn… I mean, if you're uncomfortable, or whatever, you could call your parents and go home. Or we could drop you off or whatever. No big deal."

Finn smiled at her, quailing inside. "I live with my brother. No parents."

"Lucky duck," Marshall muttered, and Marceline elbowed him. "Ow! I mean, uh… why not?" Marceline elbowed him again. "AUGH! Geez, woman! Lay off!"

Finn shrugged and looked at the floor. "No, it's fine. I never met my dad. And my mom…" he swallowed hard. "Mom died when I was nine."

There was a short silence, and Marceline grinned. "Hey- let's play that song."

Finn smiled, and as Marceline and Marshall started to argue affectionately about the instrumental, he settled comfortably into the couch. He decided that the answer to Jake's question was: "Yes."

He did have friends.