#google told me how to fix a dislocated shoulder but im lazy so pretend this is more detailed and right

[reblrths]

finch knows they know more -- but they don't interrogate them. they've always been aware that, in the grand scheme of things, there were more pressing matters to be dealt with, to focus their rage on, a bigger picture. they should be focusing on how to best help their team in the arena, strategies to go over, things like that -- not rampaging around backstage demanding to know who popped their tribute's arm out of its socket. but focusing on things they can control -- like finding whoever it was that did this -- rather than what they cannot -- like who lives or dies and what to expect in the arena -- feels better than sitting around and just taking it. if they had to be labeled as impulsive or vengeful for it, so be it.

they slap amp's hand away from their shoulder halfheartedly. finch clears off one of the desks for them to lay down on and silently move into the right stance to pop it back into place. they aren't a professional (and they hate that they actually wish she was here now to fix this), but they know what needs to be done -- it's not as if this is the first time. they reach for amp's wrist, a firm grip as they slowly move their arm to a 90-degree angle from where they lay. "shouldn't have been holding you in the first place," finch grumbles. "if he was doing his job, this wouldn't have happened. but we all know how good they are at that, don't we?" there's a bitter twinge to their voice and a cynical little smile as they finally pull the arm into its rightful place with a satisfying noise. "you're gonna need the brace." they mumble, moving to sit by amp once they're up, too. they glance at amp briefly before adding dryly, "and a makeup wipe."

they'd been taller than finch since they were fourteen years old, but these moments never failed to make them feel about two feet tall. it's the shame, if they had to guess. the shame of being seen like this. the shame of someone knowing how bad it was. even if that person never, ever held judgement or disapproval to them for their circumstances, never blamed them for any of it, gave them no reason to feel this shame, it burned all the same. and as finch pulls them to a chair to sit, the pain becomes more intense now, the adrenaline dying down and letting everything actually hit them. sitting down jostles their arm no matter how careful they try to be and they inhale sharply, voice slightly strained as they try to answer. "i don't...i don't know." a half truth. "he..." they debate for a moment. "i didn't see his face." a half truth again. they're not lying to finch right now. the peacekeepers all looked the same in their stupid get up, which was kind of the point. there was no way to know for certain who it had been without amp hearing him speak, and the idea of being marched around until they heard the right one made them almost as nauseous as the pain in their arm.

when finch asks if it's dislocated --again, dislocated again, this is far from the first time it's happened since they came back-- the half shrug they give is white hot pain, and they swear sharply under their breath. "i, i didn't notice, i was-- was just trying to get away from him. i, uh-- fuck." it's sharper this time as their opposite hand goes over their shoulder as they try to move their arm, the motion feeling as wrong under their good hand as it does down their bad arm. and there's the answer. "yeah. yeah, he-- i fucked it up. i pulled away. wouldn't have happened if i hadn't pulled away. he would have let me go." it almost sounds like they're trying to get themself to believe that, which...yeah. and now this adds another step to this entire stupid process, because they'll need that stupid fucking shoulder brace once it's back in place and this is going to fuck up the few days they have left, actually. they're only vaguely aware that the pain made their eyes water again, brushing it away when it itched and their hand coming away black and blue and silver. they know they look like absolute shit now.