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Normally Oliver would have yelped at the sudden shout, the voice loud enough to violate his personal space and make him jump, even with a door standing between the two of them. Especially after the recent events. Not being able to tell what was real and what was imaginary had a way of putting someone on edge, and the little trainee had a tendency of veering towards that very edge even without the added prodding.

He should have been teetering dangerously when Finn shouted, but for the first time, Oliver felt detached from the world. His startle reflex was muted by the heavy mood pulling him down.

In amongst all the dreams and imaginary events, he had learned something about himself. The situation might have been imaginary but his actions were true, and painfully revealing. When bad things happened, he was not strong. The kid was not the sort who would go down fighting. He was the one running away, the one other people had to protect and get hurt for. He was worse than helpless, he was a liability to the people around him. So his life... well, he could only hope when he was killed he would have the strength to face it, and not get anyone else involved.

He had barely left his room since the day before, and when Finn came to visit he hadn't even realized how late it had gotten. There were no chores for him that day, no reason to go out and be useful, and definitely no reason to let anyone come calling, and see his red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. So he stayed silent, shifting on his bed to face away from the door.

The mattress let out a loud creak, an inadvertent indication that he was indeed inside his room, and if Finn tried the door, he would find it unlocked.

The second he heard the sound of the door knob turning, Oliver quickly scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, and turned it away from the door. He should have locked it the moment he got into his room. He flinched as Finn spoke, and as the door banged shut with more force than necessary. Oliver couldn't look up. It was the worst feeling, being seen in such a state, where it was impossible to fool anyone into believing he was really okay.

The kid had to try anyway, it was his habit. He was okay, he had to be okay.

"I'm f-fine," he said quietly, the sentence broken up by a teary hiccup rather than his usual terrified stammering. He kept his head down, his face mostly obscured by the long, dark bangs that desperately needed trimming. "B-been busy."

Okay, so it was the worst excuse to put forward. He had not been busy at all, unless you counted a full day of sitting in self-pity and despair an activity that would keep one busy. But he wouldn't admit the truth even when his very posture, sitting away from the door with his knees pulled up to his chest, spoke volumes against him. At this point his lines were automatic.

Oliver glanced sideways, but only briefly, and it became clear cookies were not going to be his instant fix like Finn hoped. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes again as he turned back to face the corner.

"N-not hungry," came his reply. This was probably the closest he had ever gotten to saying 'no' to someone as intimidating as Finn, but at that point it would have been easier to accept a thorough beating than kindness and cookies. Maybe if he kept up the refusal Finn would throw the tupperware at him and leave. Even better if the older hunter would forget about him entirely.

Oliver's lower lip quivered. He looked very much like he was trying to hold back tears, and for a second he did. And then a little noise left his throat, and his resistance began to dissolve. The little noise was followed by a choked sob, and then the kid was crying, his face buried in the already damp fabric of his coat sleeve. Half an hour ago he thought he was finally all cried out, and that there was no more salt or water left in him.

He had been so wrong. The kid's shoulders shook with every silent sob, he didn't deserve to enjoy things like cookies. Perhaps he should have died alongside his mother six years ago, for all the good he couldn't do here.

The halfhearted joke fell on deaf ears, Oliver could not stop the sobs now that they had begun. All the pain and self-doubt that had plagued him for the past couple days, the past two weeks, the past six years of his life, it felt like he could just drown in that despair.

Finn's attempt at aggressive, cookie-related comfort was met with stubborn refusal, rather than let the older hunter see his tear-stained face, Oliver violently jerked his head away and turned it towards the wall in shame. It was bad enough that Finn had to be there, let alone try and look at him! He expected teasing, maybe some swearing and name calling if Finn saw how awful he really was.

But what he didn't expect was a cookie colliding into the back of his head.

The teen hiccuped in surprise, and looked at Finn, the tears and quivering lip still present, but the sobs entirely forgotten in his surprise. Did he just get... assaulted with baked goods? With a most perplexed and pathetic expression he reached back to brush crumbs out of his hair.

Oliver wiped his eyes again, which did almost more harm than good considering how tear-soaked his sleeve was. It was a wonder he wasn't wiping salt crystals off his cheeks. But Finn had gotten the last of the cookie crumbs out of his hair, and that was a start.

His eyes turned to the container of cookies, still half obscured by his long bangs and dark eyelashes. He didn't want to be a pain in the a**, or ungrateful. And at some level he understood Finn was trying to cheer him up, simply because it was too kindly to be considered bullying. All that rough attitude and aggressive threats were aimed towards his wellbeing...

Oliver took a cookie, sniffing loudly. He held it in both hands as though in deep thought, and finally took a bite.

It was success, and yet complete utter failure. The kid sniffed again while chewing, whimpered, and the tears returned in a quieter, more pitiful form. Not even a cookie was enough to cheer Oliver up, all he knew was that he didn't deserve to be brought cookies. He didn't deserve to have friends who would go out of their way to throw him in the ocean. More tears came, and he struggled to swallow the sweet treat.

Still, he rubbed at his eyes and took another bite, trying to at least not be a pain in the a** while he cried.

The act of putting his thoughts into words took a few preparatory minutes. Oliver swallowed what was left in his mouth, and wiped his face again with his wet sleeve. It was not doing him any good, and his other sleeve was only marginally better. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and it almost looked like he was all cried out.

"I-I'm n-not going to l-last long," he said, staring at the half cookie in his hands. His lower lip quivered, but the tears were held back. "I-I can only h-hope I die quietly, a-and n-not get anyone e-else hurt..."

He hiccuped loudly, but instead of retreating back to tears he looked up at Finn with a despondent gaze. "W-why are you s-so nice to me?"