#gr4bber

The first few seconds before opening up his eyes were hellish — the cold, crisp and unmerciful air of the frozen lake and snowy night flowing in through his nostrils, throat still feeling constricted and tight from having just “woken up”, and the weight of that fucking creep lingering over his body, like the ghost of something that’s not even there anymore. Except —

“Wakey wakey, Finney.”

That goddamn voice — the one that had started all this in the first place — causes Finney to scramble, opening blurry eyes and immediately forcing himself to sit up. His hands slide and scratch against the ice as he tries to gather himself, completely disoriented and trying to process his surroundings. He didn’t even have time to get to a phone. Hell, he didn’t have time to do anything. He’d already been reminded of his identity. Of who he was. Or, well, used to be.

“Would’ve gotten rid of you after I dealt with your sister,” Al stands next to the boy, belt in one hand, the other shoving the axe back in the holster, his pose far too sassy and prideful, “guess this still works out. I’ll have even more power.” Finney couldn’t exactly tell what was going on — and Jesus Christ, did that remind him of when that disgusting pervert had first drugged him. He could tell that the man was crouching down, though. And that alone made panic settle deep within his bones.

“You really are special, Finn.”

Silence.

Then, Finney wanted to cry — he wanted to scream, wanted to return the harm that was caused, wanted to do something — he felt cold. Ironically enough, felt frozen to the spot. His eyes were only now beginning to unblur, and he was met with a sight no one would ever expect to be met with. A sight no one should even be met with at all, to begin with.

Screams echoed from a distance, he could vaguely guess who was trying to get him to answer, to shout back.

Finney could only stare at his own lifeless, cold and distressed-looking body. Half of his face seemed almost empty; a void covering something that used to be innocent. That’s when some of the screams registered.

“What have you done? What have you done to my fucking brother?!”

Echoes of a broken voice bounced from one corner of the lake to the other. Gwen had woken up from her nightmare since Albert had gotten what he wanted… kind of, and was met with her brother just lying on the ice, unmoving. She’d spent at least two minutes screaming at him to “stop pulling pranks like these during such a serious time”. She didn’t feel like believing that he was gone. Besides, it was hard to tell if he was breathing or not. Gwen hoped it was a joke. She really did. It was only after about five more minutes of screaming and panicking that the others let go of her, rooted to their spot and looking like absolute dumbfounded-idiots, before they started running after her.

Gwen was obviously the first one to reach Finney, falling to her knees so hard that her nerves all immediately start wanting to give up. She ignores the physical pain, the grief of losing her brother consuming her more than any emotion ever could. It almost felt like an extremely heavy blanket of sadness, anger and guilt had fallen over her as soon as she wrapped her arms around her brother. Finney’s body was colder than hers, and she had just woken up from being inside a freezing lake. He was gone — more proof would be impossible.

“Finn please, d-don’t — don’t you do this to me, please, w-we’re so close to finding the other two boys, please wake up!”

Meanwhile Finney? He could only watch in something that feigned horror. His own body felt colder by the minute. He couldn’t tell if what was going on was real, he also didn’t want to believe it, but deep down, he knew it was real. It had already happened. What’s done is done. His hand shakily moved up, brushing against his own neck in a pathetic attempt to make the feeling stop. The only comforting thought he had at the moment was that he still looked relatively “okay” for someone who’s an undead spirit.

Not that he knows what ghost he is or isn’t — he’d only find out what kind of ghost he was later, he was just comparing himself to… Albert’s. Situation. To how the man looked through his blurry eyes. A decaying, rotting corpse, really — fucking deserved.

One of his other thoughts were to reach out and wrap himself around Gwen in yet another pathetic attempt to comfort both himself and his sister, though he knew it’d be useless. Ghosts can’t interact with humans, unless it’s for that goddamn stupid phone he’d always hated. Well, at least now he’d find out how those calls worked from the other side.

After what felt like an eternity of painfully watching his sister break down, he decided to look at the others. Mustang looked horrified, tears welling up in her eyes due to confusion and shock, probably like she’d expected Finney to make it out fine. Barbara and Kenneth looked mortified, sure, but there were almost no tears on their faces, or in their eyes. They were probably more concerned about their own wounds, and their reputation as camp counselors or whatever the fuck. Finney couldn’t be bothered to care about them that much.

Then, came Mando. Oh, Mando.

Finney could swear Armando looked more upset than his father when he’d first gone missing. Years ago. Very obvious tears rolling down his cheeks, brows furrowed, hands tightly clamping down around his hat. He’d taken it off out of respect. His memories were mixed, twisted and had missing chunks, but he could tell the man was probably thinking about some conversation they’d had before he passed. That memory was probably only going to come back a while later.

The thoughts about his second father figure made him realize — where the hell even was his actual father? Finney knows the other man’s supposed to be on the ice as well, he can recall his father joining them with a truck of sorts, most likely to help find the other boys. But where was he now? Did he just —

Finney’s head snapped towards the sound of the most blood-curdling scream he’d heard so far, his vision taking a few annoying seconds to focus. His father had been standing in the distance, probably not being able to tell what was going on until Gwen sat her brother’s body up, hugging him and sobbing her eyes and heart out, in yet another desperate attempt to get comfort from someone who could no longer even provide warmth.

First his wife, and now, his son.

It’s almost as if Terrence’s brain couldn’t fully grasp the gravity of the situation. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything else, didn’t shout. Sure, he’d screamed as soon as he saw Finney, but his brain immediately locked away any rational thoughts he had. What was he even supposed to do now? Aside from when his father used to drink, Finney could swear he’d never seen his father this distressed. This mortified. For once after years of them being awkward with each other, he did feel like his father truly cared. Yet, this time, it was too late.

Finney used to believe his father didn’t take his trauma of the basement — and Grabber — seriously. Well, he at least didn’t bother asking if Finney wanted to talk about it. Maybe that’s on him — he became defensive and distant. Nobody could really get through his mind and the crazy maze of twisted thoughts he had. Again, it was too late anyway. Nothing could be done about his death.

For now, the boy decided to continue looking at the others. His father wouldn’t even approach his body — if keeping distance was his way of coping, so be it. He’d already noticed Barbara’s and Kenneth’s almost nonexistent tears, Armando’s own sorrowful expression, Mustang’s confused and upset look, and obviously… his sister’s grief and guilt. By the time his gaze had settled on Gwen again, Ernesto had swooped in to comfort her, one arm around her shoulders, and the other hand surprisingly resting on her brother’s back, helping her keep him upright.

Ernesto most likely just knew Gwen needed this last embrace, even if one-sided. Armando shoved his hat back on, didn’t even bother wiping away his tears, and turned around. He knew he had to call someone. The storm had died down; Finney would have to be taken by a professional of sorts — for the whole autopsy and makeover stuff — Armando shook the thoughts out of his head. All he had to do was make a call. He didn’t have to think of the details.

“You —” he pointed at Terrence while walking past him, then at the cabins in the distance, “let’s do your son a favor and get someone to take his body outta here. Bill will be dealt with after we pay the boy our respects. Just let her mourn while she still can.”

Armando wasn’t one to talk. He’s also grieving, also extremely upset and feeling guilty for what happened to the boy, but he knows nobody else will handle the situation properly. Barbara would go on and on about how they’re all the devil in disguise, Kenneth would probably side with her, Mustang… well, she’s just around most of the time, and the other kids… oh, poor kids.

Finney could only helplessly watch everything unfold. He was helpless when he was alive, he knew he was helpless when he was fighting back, and now that he’s dead, helplessness is one of the only feelings he’ll ever have. Aside from the anger, the guilt, and the sorrow. If he knew that he was going down, he would’ve done it his own way. Who knows what kind of monster his soul would’ve turned into if he had taken his own life? At least… that’s what he thinks of himself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares?”

Gwen shot up in bed, oddly sweaty for someone who was spending the night near a frozen lake. She’d been sleeping next to Ernesto out of comfort — it wasn’t on purpose, maybe she fell asleep without noticing. Ernesto isn’t that much of a heavy sleeper, so he stirred the moment he felt her sit up. At first, the both of them were silent. Then,

“Do you hear that?”

Ernesto blinked, then slowly sat up behind her, making sure not to hit his head as he felt around the mattress to look for his glasses. He was still quite tired, confusion settling comfortably inside his mind.

“Hear what? Are you okay, Gwen?” His voice was gruff, making him sound almost annoyed. Which, in return, made Gwen tense. Him being there, awake, and actually talking to her, made her realize this was not a dream.

“The phone’s ringing.”

It’s almost as if the mere mention of the word “phone” made the air inside the cabin feel heavy. Ernesto didn’t answer at first. He didn’t want to. Because… what was he supposed to say? He’d only managed to help Gwen with her dreams so far, not the phone that’s currently ringing. Not with… reality.

“Why would it be ringing to you? Didn’t it only ring when you were —”

“Talking to my mom and Bill? Yeah, I wish I knew why it’s ringing now.”

Gwen looked like she was stuck between walking out in the snow to pick up the phone, and trying to ignore it. From the things he’d been told, Ernesto knew she probably wouldn’t be able to just… ignore it. Was it even worth it to go out now, though? Couldn’t that… disgusting creep be just lurking, waiting, and wanting to get her as well? Well, he had to push those thoughts aside. Before Gwen goes crazy with the ringing, and he goes crazy not knowing what to do.

“C’mon Gwen, I’ll go with you.” That was one of the first times he’d ever sounded… stern? More serious? Gwen couldn’t exactly tell what his tone was. She just knew he didn’t sound like he was messing around. Still, she moved out of the way and got up from the bed, grabbing her coat and not bothering to put on any extra clothes, just making a run for the door. Ernesto had to force himself out of bed with the little energy he had to make sure he was close to her at all times.

The door swung open, the crispy, cold air — as well as a bunch of snow — immediately flowing into the cabin. The warm air of the heater clashed with the painfully freezing one from the outside, making Gwen cower for a second, before running out and making her way straight to the phone booth. Meanwhile, Ernesto was still pulling on his hoodie, and trying to shove his shoes on, without falling face-first on the wooden floor. Before he even knew it, he was also running outside.

It was still pretty dark, and they both had to rely on the scattered light sources around the camp, as well as the booth’s single lightbulb. Gwen hated it. She felt like a moth, being drawn in to that god forsaken light, except it was just because of the stupid phone that wouldn’t stop ringing. For a second, she almost felt helpless. Almost.

As soon as she stepped inside the booth and reached out, the phone stopped ringing. Her sour, angry expression softened, hand hovering in the air. What?

Hearing footsteps in the snow, her head instinctively snapped back, shooting a confused glance towards Ernesto. Her mouth opened so that she could explain what happened, only to be met with ringing. Again. In a stupid, sudden idea she had, she pretended not to care, then yanked the phone out of the holder and brought it up to her ear.

“What did you hang up for? Thought I’d be scared? What do you want from me?”

The other line was pure silence for roughly 10 seconds, static noise aside.

“Gwenny —”

Gwen immediately hung up, breaths erratic and eyes wide. She stumbled back, stepping out of the booth and only hoping Ernesto would be behind her or something. He was — his hands immediately reached out, grabbing her arms and making sure she wouldn’t fall.

“Gwen? Gwen? What’s wrong? Who just called you?” His voice went in through one ear, and out the other; Gwen was unfocused, disoriented, even. He could tell that whoever was on the other end of the line, was probably someone she’d preferred not to hear. Either way, him trying to comfort her was pointless. After about two minutes had passed, and she was finally coming to, the phone started ringing for the third time that night.

“It’s ringing again,” is all that she could muster out in response to Ernesto’s questions, still seemingly stuck in a trance-like state, “I… I think it’s Finn, Ernie. I heard his voice — I think it’s him — I don’t… I don’t want to pick it up. I-I don’t.” Gwen’s voice trailed off, soft and panicked. All Ernesto could do was hold her, and wait until she felt calmer. He could tell the ringing was starting to become unbearable, Gwen’s brows were furrowed and she looked even more distressed.

“Gwen, if it really is him, and he’s calling again, I think you should pick it up. What if he had hung up first because he knew you would’ve reacted this way? Maybe he’s —”

“No, no, Ernie, you don’t understand, I-I — ghosts forget who they are when they die, they forget almost everything, he told me that — i-it can’t be him, he can’t know it’s me —”

“Finney knew things about these out-of-order phones that nobody else did, you think he told you everything when he was alive, but what if he didn’t? Gwen, he himself probably didn’t even know everything. What if specific people can remember more memories from when they were alive? What if he knows exactly what you have to do? You won’t know.”

“Not unless you pick up that call.”

She hates how Ernesto is right. She shouldn’t have to pick up the phone, but she’ll never know — she’ll never understand anything if she just keeps on hiding from reality. Her brother’s gone, possibly calling her through the phone he used to hate, and there’s nothing she can do to change any of it.

She knows what she has to do.

“So be it.”

One hesitant step; an uncertain one, then, a defeated stride. Stepping inside the booth felt like making everything real. Like she was leaving behind everything important in her life, turning into something completely different, the gravity of every single situation weighing on her. Gwen sucks in a breath, grabbing the phone so it stops ringing, but not quite lifting it up to her ear just yet. Whoever’s on the other end probably understands what she’s doing, because they also don’t speak. Then, slowly, her forehead rests against the disk, eyes closed, hand bringing the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Gwen… hey there.” just by hearing the familiar voice, Gwen had to bite down on her lip, tears threatening to fall.

“Finn?” Her voice is soft, and she forces it not to crack just by saying his name.

“Hey — it’s me, yeah. I… didn’t mean to hang up on you the first time. Are you… are you okay?”

“What do you think, dipshit?”

“… sorry.”

“Are you — i-is mom…”

“With me? No, I… I’m [----]. She’s not here.”

“You’re — you’re what? You keep cutting off. Still, but if you…” Gwen trailed off, lifting her head up and staring off into the distance with an even more upset expression on her face, tears finally rolling down her cheeks, before almost turning into damn waterfalls on her face. If he wasn’t with their mother, where was she? Where even was Finney?

“So… are you with the other ghost boys? Where even are you?”

Finney didn’t want to answer any of her questions. Not after he’d already answered the question about their mother. The line went silent again for a few agonizing seconds, before a sigh was heard.

“I’ve only seen one person here… I’d [----] not get into that. But… I [----] see you, Gwenny.”

The boy’s voice was cutting off awfully bad. Maybe it had to do with how Finney had just passed or something? She’d rather not think about it. Not now. And Finney? Well… he was simply standing on the lake — not far, but also just not… close. Him saying that he could see her, however, made her chest hurt even more.

“Ernesto looks so stupid just standing there,” his voice cut through her silent sobs as he realized she couldn’t speak up, an idiotic attempt to cheer her up, “that’s the guy you have [----] on, [----] the way. Look at him.” the faint, defeated chuckle she heard from him made her curious enough to glance back. Sure enough, Ernesto was just standing behind her, outside the booth, like a confused puppy. It got a small chuckle out of her, too.

“Yeah… y-yeah, you’re right.” The sobbing had died down a bit, but she still felt upset. Just because they’re talking, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss him anymore. That’s when a thought hits her.

“Why are you still talking to me? They… t-took you. Away. You’re resting, right?”

This time, the silence that took over the call felt deadly to her. Finney didn’t even have to answer — he knew she’d already probably figured it all out the moment he went silent, but still, he felt bad not saying anything.

“Gwenny, I’m… [----] still here.”

“Why? Why are you still here? They did take you —”

“It doesn’t [----] if my body’s been properly taken care of [----] not, Gwenny, there’s still [----] we’ve gotta do.”

With every word that came from the other end of that stupid line, with everything that she got from that call, her heart sank more and more. Fucking Ernesto over there was right. She didn’t know everything about Finney, nor about his calls.

“You… you’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?” Gwen’s voice turned into something sour, annoyance and disbelief taking over despite her doing her best efforts to not just lash out on her brother. Why was she even annoyed in the first place? Whatever, maybe she was just frustrated because he was still stuck… wherever the hell he was stuck.

“Finney, you —”

“Can we not [----] this? Yeah, [----] fucking stuck here, there’s nothing we can [----] about it. Are you gonna lash out at me again? Tell me it isn’t real?”

“… no. I-I’m sorry.”

“Just… go back to bed, Gwen.”

“Finn wait, no, I really a-am sorry —”

Click.

As the line actually went quiet — no voice, no static — Gwen let out a shaky breath. She’d screwed up. Again. Yet, this time, she couldn’t find a way to fix things between them right away. Finney was even more unpredictable now that he was… gone, and the one making the calls instead of just picking up the phone. Slowly, she raised the phone to put it back in place, stopping short of touching the metallic piece. Once she puts it back in place, the light will go off. She doesn’t want that.

Because of her feeling like a moth drawn to a flame earlier — when walking into the booth — turning off the light now, and leaving the booth, felt like leaving her brother. Like she was abandoning him once again. She had to do it anyway, and with a hesitant move, the phone was back in place, the light immediately turning off. It’s almost as if the icy air outside only now started to bother her, because she had to face reality by herself.

I… I do have Ernesto, but... it’s just not the same. It can’t be the same, and it won’t ever be. I’m sorry, Ernie.

Even as she told herself over and over again that nothing — and nobody — would replace her brother, she made sure to put on an awkward, very-obviously-fake smile, turning to face Ernesto and shoving her hands into her coat’s pockets.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow I think,” she pushed past the boy, already making her way back to the cabin, “c’mon Ernie, we need to rest.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------