warnings: none??? i think
a/n: i tried to my best attempt to write this off the movie the best i could, some stuff like the cabin names are made up and sorry if my uses of the dashes are wrong im trying to use them in my writing more!!!
࣪❀˳₊˚.༄ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ✧˖*°࿐
The library smells like old books and polished wood, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above. I’m sitting across from Ernesto at a table, flipping through some papers for a project, when Gwen slips in like a whirlwind.
“Sorry to interrupt, I just need to talk to you guys,” she says, sliding into the seat across from me and beside Ernesto.
“It’s alright, Gwenny. What’s troubling you?” I ask softly, concerned at the urgency in her eyes.
“I had a dream again… about this camp. We have to go,” she says, her voice tight with something between fear and determination.
Ernesto finally looks up from his paper, brow furrowed. “What did you see in the dream?”
“These three little boys… they can’t rest in peace until they’re found. We have to find their bodies,” Gwen whispers. Her hands tremble slightly as she rests them on the table.
I grab her hand without thinking. “Where do we sign up? When do we go?” My pulse quickens. The thought of helping, of doing something meaningful, ignites a spark of determination in me.
Gwen smiles faintly, bringing out papers with instructions and camp details. “We leave tomorrow morning,” she says.
The next day, Ernesto and I drive up to the Blake house, the sky low and gray with snow heavy in the air. On the porch, Finney stands with his father, overseeing Gwen and me as we load her duffel into the car. His posture is careful, almost distant, and I sense the tension that’s grown between us since Robin’s passing.
“Wait!” he calls suddenly, running back inside. My eyes follow him curiously. He returns with his bag packed and a blanket. “Sit in the front, Gwenny,” I say softly, climbing into the backseat.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I nod, untangling my headphones, and Finney climbs in beside me. He shoots me a small smile, and I return it with one of my own, careful, respectful, letting a flicker of connection pass between us.
Ernesto and Gwen talk lightly in the front, their voices blending with the soft hum of the car engine. I close my eyes and let the music fill my ears, trying to lose myself in the familiar notes.
A tap on my shoulder jerks me awake. “Uh… what are you listening to?” Finney asks.
“Don’t You Want Me by The Human League,” I reply, pulling one headphone out.
I grin softly, letting the warmth of that memory seep into me. For a few moments, the tension between us is gone, replaced by something gentle and familiar.
The snow falls harder as we drive, a thick, white curtain against the windows. I drift off again, leaning against the glass, only to wake when Finney nudges me gently. “Sorry… didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, shifting slightly so he has room beside me. His shoulder brushes mine again, and I feel a small spark in the quiet of the car.
The blizzard hits harder the farther we drive. Snow smears across the windshield in thick white streaks, the wipers barely keeping up. Ernesto leans forward over the wheel, squinting. The headlights bounce off nothing but swirling white.
“Stop the car,” Finney says suddenly, leaning forward between the seats. His voice isn’t panicked—just tense, steady, like he knows something the rest of us don’t. Snow whips across the windshield so thick that the world looks like static on a television screen.
Finney is already shoving the door open. “I’m going to run in front of the car, just follow me!”
Cold air blasts inside and Gwen gasps. “Fin! What are you—”
But he’s gone, boots slamming into the snow as he takes off into the whiteout.
Ernesto mutters something in Spanish and puts the car in park. “This guy’s gonna get himself hit.”
The wind shoves at him, whipping his jacket around, but he lowers his head and keeps running.
The visibility is so bad I can barely see Finney—just the dark shape of his coat, the faint movement of his arms. He keeps glancing back, making sure we’re following, then waving Ernesto to go left or right. He’s guiding us like he’s done this all his life, steady and instinctive.
The fear crawls up my spine anyway.
One wrong step, and we lose him.
Finney slows down, waving us to a stop. I think he’s going to get back in the car, but instead he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts:
He veers sharply into the woods.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ernesto mutters, but he follows. The tires crunch through thick snow as we ease off the road and onto a path I never would’ve seen on my own. Branches scrape along the sides of the car, snow falling in sheets from the overloaded pines.
Finney keeps running, breath puffing visibly in the cold, the back of his jacket dusted white.
A horse materializes out of the storm.
A tall, dark mare with snow clinging to her mane. On her back sits a young woman with a flashlight strapped to her glove, her braid whipping violently behind her.
She reins the horse to a stop in front of Finney.
“You kids heading to camp?!” she calls over the wind.
Finney nods quickly. “Yes! The freeway’s blocked—we can’t see anything!”
She grins—confident, wild, unfazed by the blizzard. “Figures. I’ve been out looking for anyone who might’ve gotten stuck. Follow me!”
She turns the horse sharply and begins guiding us, but still Finney stays in front of the car.
Finney keeps the car from losing her.
It’s like watching a chain of survival form right in front of me.
After a few minutes, another figure emerges from the storm—tall, bundled in a puffy jacket, waving his hands. As we get closer, I see him clearly: messy black hair, scarf pulled up to his nose, snow-covered boots.
He jogs right up to the hood of the car.
“I’m Armando! But just call me Mando!” he shouts, loudly enough we hear him through the glass. He points deeper into the woods. “Parking’s over there—just, uh, anywhere! We weren’t expecting anybody to show up!”
We step out of the car and I sink halfway down my shins into snow. Mando pushes his hair out of his eyes and looks at us like we’re miracles.
“Camp’s canceled!” he yells again. “Road crews can’t reach us till this blizzard passes! You guys might be stuck here for a bit!”
“Camp’s canceled?” Gwen repeats, stunned. “But the sign-ups—”
“Yeah, I know!” Mando says with a huge shrug. “Weather’s gone nuts. Support staff’s been here a week already but you’re the only campers that made it through before the roads shut down!”
Finney is breathing hard, doubled slightly as he rests his hands on his knees. Snow clings to his eyelashes. He looks exhausted but alive.
I walk up to him, placing a hand on his arm.
“You could’ve slipped,” I say softly.
He lifts his head, a tired smile pulling at his lips.
The wind softens just enough for me to hear the creaking of the trees overhead. Snow keeps falling, relentless.
Mando gestures toward a row of long wooden cabins with smoke rising from the chimneys. “Girls cabin is down there! Boys cabin is the one with the broken porch light!”
Mustang trots up beside us, hopping off her horse with athletic ease. She pats its neck affectionately. “I’ll take the girls. You take the dudes, Mando.”
Mustang leads Gwen and me through the snow. Her boots crunch steadily, leaving clear prints for us to follow.
“State law says minors have to sleep separately,” she explains. “So you girls will be in Cabin Daisy. Boys get Cabin Oak.”
Cabin Daisy is warm when we step inside, heat from the old radiator humming, the air smelling faintly of pine and old blankets.
Gwen drops her bag on the bunk nearest the window. “We’re really sleeping here alone?”
“’Fraid so,” Mustang says, brushing snow off her sleeves. “If you need anything, just holler. My cabin’s right across the way.” She gives us a soft smile. “I’m Mustang, by the way.”
“Y/N,” I say with a matching smile.
Mustang nods approvingly and heads out, shutting the door behind her.
I turn to Gwen, “I got you if anything happens, Gwenny.” “Thank you, Y/N,” She replies softly, squeezing my hand.
The silence that follows is heavy—thick, almost eerie—but safe. Safe enough for Gwen to fall asleep within half an hour, safe enough for me to sit on my bunk listening to my walkman. Safe enough, until Gwen’s scream rips me out of sleep.
She sits bolt upright in her bed, eyes wide but unfocused, her entire body shaking like she’s freezing from the inside out. I’m already scrambling toward her.
“Gwenny?” I whisper as I grab her shoulders, trying to steady her.
She staggers out of bed and stumbles toward the cabin window, fingers trembling as she claws at the glass. Her scream gets louder, breaking, wild.
“Gwenny! Wake up!” I shake her harder, panic clawing through my chest.
Footsteps slam against the wooden porch and Finney bursts inside, hair a mess, breathing hard. “What’s going on?!”
“Gwen,” he says, voice softer now, stepping toward us, “wake up.”
She blinks, gasping like she’s drowning, finally snapping back into herself and then she starts crying.
“What’s happening to me?!” she sobs. “Oh God! I feel crazy.”
“No, you’re dreaming,” Finney says, steady and gentle in a way that twists something in my chest.
“You’re okay, Gwenny,” I whisper, resting my hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her.
Gwen’s tears keep coming, her breath shaking.
Finney sighs, glancing between us.
“Let’s go. You guys will sleep with us.”
Gwen nods. She’s too shaken to argue.
We all walk across the snow-dusted path into the boys’ cabin. It’s warmer inside—dim, cozy, the old heater humming like a lullaby. Ernesto is already half-asleep under his blanket, barely lifting his head when we enter.
Finney goes straight to his bed, slipping his headphones on as if trying to make space for us without making a big deal out of it.
I slide into the bed across from his, turning my back toward Ernesto and Gwen as they settle onto his mattress.
The cabin goes quiet except for the wind outside.
After a few minutes, I hear Gwen whisper softly, “I had a bad dream.”
Ernesto murmurs something reassuring, his voice too low for me to hear. I’m drifting again when a sudden, whispered confession breaks the silence:
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“What about me do you think I’m beautiful?” Finney asks, teasing them.
“Fin, you rotting shit stain! Have you been listening this whole time?!”
Finney sighs loudly and pulls his headphones off. “Well, I’m still right here,” he grumbles. “So it’s not like I had any choice.”
I stifle a laugh behind my hand.
Watching them banter almost feels normal, familiar. Like back before everything happened.
Gwen huffs and lays back down. Within minutes, she and Ernesto fall asleep, breaths evening out.
I lie on my back, staring at the bunk above me, feeling the weight of the long day press down on my chest. The storm. The dream. Finney running through the blizzard like he had something to prove. Like losing us wasn’t an option.
My thoughts start drifting. Too many of them are about the boy across the room.
The whisper snaps me straight out of my head.
I sit up slightly and turn.
Finney is facing me, eyes soft in the dim yellow cabin light.
He quietly lifts his blanket.
Just a small opening but an invitation all the same.
I swallow, then slowly slide out of my bed, the floor cold beneath my feet as I pad across the room. I slip beneath his blanket, the warmth of his body immediately surrounding me. We settle shoulder to shoulder, close enough I can feel his breath against my hair.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then, in a low, careful voice, he says:
He stares at the ceiling, jaw tight. “For disappearing. For pushing you away. For acting like I didn’t want you around when I did.”
He swallows. “When Robin died, I… I didn’t know how to be around anyone. But losing you too felt worse. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”
“I needed someone,” he says. “But I pushed away the one person I—”
He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
I shift a little closer, brushing my shoulder against his.
“You didn’t lose me. You just scared me,” I admit softly. “I missed you. A lot.”
He turns his head toward me, face inches from mine in the dim light. His voice is barely a whisper.
The tension hums between us—warm, quiet, certain.
His nose grazes mine accidentally, or maybe not. His eyes flick to my lips then back to my eyes like he’s fighting himself.
I smile softly. “Scoot over, Fin. You’re hogging the pillow.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, the first I’ve heard from him in what feels like years, and shifts so I can settle beside him fully.
His hand hesitates in the air before resting gently at my waist, careful, like he’s asking permission. I lean back into him in answer.
He exhales, slow and warm against the back of my neck.
Within minutes, the cabin fades; Gwen snoring softly, Ernesto mumbling in his sleep, the storm raging outside.
Finney presses his forehead to the back of my shoulder, voice barely audible:
We fall asleep like that.
Entangled, steady, holding on.
With the quiet promise of something new warming the small space between us.
And for the first time in a long time…
Finney Blake isn’t running away.