finney

Finney is setting the phone back on the hook when he hears yelling. 

“Finney!” 

Finney turns around, finding Gwen running towards him, Ernesto and Mustang following after her. 

“It’s Mondo,” Gwen says when she stands in front of Finney, hands on his upper arms. 

Usually he doesn’t like people touching him. He can’t tell if it’s from the years of being bullied, the abuse from his dad, or The Grabber. Usually he would let Gwen touch him. And Robin. But ever since the basement he can’t help feeling dirty. No matter how raw he scrubs his skin in the shower he can’t get that out. It’s like it’s seeped into his bones.

He ignores the itching feeling in his skin, demanding he pull away because Gwen looks genuinely freaked out. 

The three of them run to the frozen over lake, finding a bag of supplies, a haphazardly tossed still on flashlight, and a cut open circle of ice; opening up to dark and deep freezing waters. 

Gwen and Finney crouch beside the open area—Mustang having gone to get Kenneth and Barbara from their cabin to help—and manage to see Mondo a bit under the surface, almost like he’s being pulled down by something that isn’t there. Or that they just can’t see. 

The Grabber. He pushed him in.

The Grabber must be dragging him under too. Which he wouldn’t do without a reason—at least Finney hopes so—so Finney suspects that Mondo found something. 

Similar to how The Grabber killed Max when the latter had found Finney in the basement. He killed him because he couldn’t get found out. Not now. Even though he got found out anyway because of Finney. 

Finney reaches into the freezing water, hands immediately starting to sting. He grabs onto the leather of Mondo’s jacket with both hands, trying to pull him up.

“I got him. Help me,” Finney grunts. 

Gwen dips her hands in too, helping Finney pull Mondo out of the water. 

When they finally get him out, he’s trembling hard, water dripping from his clothes and hair and down his face. 

“I found. . . I found him,” Mondo whispers, voice shaky, “Felix. I found Felix.” 

Mondo gets a cable hooked to a rusted and broken barrel below the water, standing and tugging to pull it out. Finney scrambles to help and exhales sharply at feeling how heavy it is. The idea of what’s inside sitting heavily in his chest. 

The barrel hits the ice with a loud crack, and a decayed and wet hand falls out of one of the holes in the metal. Finney can’t pull his eyes away and he hears Gwen gag. 

When he eventually pulls his eyes away he sees that Gwen is gone. His eyebrows pull into confusion at her disappearance. 

He heads off of the lake and after a few minutes of walking he finds Gwen near the front of the camp, pacing and pulling on one of her necklaces.

“Gwen! There you are. You okay?” Finney asks, stopping beside her. 

Gwen stops pacing, turning to face Finney. She opens her mouth to speak but the sound of wheels crunching snow and a car horn honking interrupts her. 

A familiar laugh in the air fills Finney with surprise. 

“Dad?” 

Of all things happening, Finney hadn’t expected their dad to show up. He figures it’s probably something to do with the storm and them being stuck at the camp. 

Terrence shoves open the truck's door, stepping out into the cold air to approach Gwen and Finney. He has a smile on his lips that both worries Finney and makes him a bit hopeful. If he’s here then maybe he and Gwen can finally get out of this damn camp and away from The Grabber who is still after Finney even beyond the grave. 

“Hey, kids.”

“What are you doing here?” Finney calls.

“Heard you were snowed in, so I called in a favor.” Terrence gestures to the truck converted snow plow behind him.

“Thank god, now we can get the hell out of this camp,” Finney says, sighing in relief.

“We have to stay,” Gwen says. 

Finney turns to her. “What?” He and Terrence both speak at the same time. 

“We haven’t found the other two kids,” Gwen points out, crossing her arms, “our work isn’t done.” 

Finney jumps in, eager to get out of this camp and get Gwen away from The Grabber and to safety. “He’s after her, dad.” 

“He. . .who-who’s he?” 

Finney really doesn’t want to elaborate, doesn’t want to say his name out loud. “Him,” Finney enunciates.

Terrence sighs, muttering under his breath for a second. “I don’t know. . . Gwen. . . um, is this more dream stuff?” He inquires, sending a tired look her way.

“Dad, don’t,” Finney intervenes, the memories of a crying Gwen and a belt in their dads hand flashing through Finney’s head. He’s never been able to forget that day. The day that Terrence seemingly tried to convince Gwen that if she actively believes in her dreams she could end up like their mom; hanging from the ceiling, blood dripping from her wrists.

Terrence exhales slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. “Okay. We’re getting out of here, come on, get your stuff and let’s go.”

“I’ll get my stuff.” Finney turns to walk back towards the cabins.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Gwen’s voice is sharp and pointed, like she’s already made up her mind and nobody can change it no matter what. Finney has heard her like that a few times, one of which being when she decided to come to this camp in the first place.

“Gwen,“ Finney starts, turning back around. His lungs tighten and he feels like he can’t get enough air, sort of similar to how it felt whenever he would watch Gwen get beat and not do anything to stop it. “He is going to kill you. I can’t stop him, okay. But we have a chance, we can leave. This is a chance to protect you. To keep you safe,” Finney pleads.

“You’re gonna take care of me, Finn?” Gwen’s voice takes on an accusatory tone, trembling slightly. “You can’t even take care of yourself. You’re just like fucking dad, numbing yourself into oblivion,” Gwen bites.

Terrence lets out a shocked laugh. “Woah, where did that come from?”

Finney doesn’t say anything, but his hands tremble. He feels a sort of helplessness hearing Gwen mention that. He refuses to believe that she’s right. He’s nothing like their asshole father. He doesn’t drink all the time and abuse his family. He only occasionally smokes, how is that bad?

“You’ve seen what he’s been doing,” Gwen continues, words aimed at their dad now, “you’re just ignoring it, pretending you don’t smell it on him, in his room, the backyard.” 

“Narc,” Finney snarls at Gwen. What right does she have to talk about him or what he’s been doing?

“You can’t narc what everyone already knows, dingus. You’re just smoking your fucking life away to pretend none of this happened.” 

“Shut up.” Finney feels something cold pool in his stomach at Gwen bringing up the basement. She has no idea. 

“Well it fucking happened, Finn.”

“Shut up,” Finney growls again. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to accept that she’s right. He does want to forget it. Forgetting it is easier than accepting it. Accepting what happened to him, to the other boys. To Robin. 

“And it happened to those kids,” Gwen adds on. 

“Shut up!”

“And it’s happening now. And you two just want to run and hide like always.”

Finney holds back telling Gwen that that’s ridiculous. Finney isn’t hiding, he’s keeping her safe. He’s protecting her the only way he can, by taking her away from the danger. He can’t protect her in her dreams. He can’t protect her somewhere he can’t go. This is the only way he can. 

“Bottle, joint. Same fucking Friday night.” Gwen isn’t stopping, still keen on bringing light to the similarities of someone they’d both promised each other they would never become.

Finney tenses, fists clenching. 

“It’s Friday, so,”

“I know. I’ll take care of dad.”

Fridays were always something Finney dreaded. Nights home alone with their dad. Gwen always slept over at Suzie’s or Amy’s on Fridays. Always left Finney to pick up beer cans or whiskey bottles, stilling if he heard Terrence stir even slightly. Finney knows it isn’t fair to blame Gwen for that. He should be blaming Terrence for becoming a drunk in the first place. Finney knows Gwen had it worse, got beat worse, and an awful part of him wants to say it’s Gwen’s fault for mouthing off. He knows Gwen was more affected by it, but he was scared too. He was a kid. They both were. Still are, really. Kids who went through something nobody ever should and grew up too fast. 

“Shut up.” Repeating the words seems like all Finney can do. It’s that, or let Gwen’s words get to him. 

“Anything to feel for a few hours like what happened to you in that basement wasn’t real.”

That’s what gets Finney. What makes the burning in his eyes so bad he can barely see. What causes him to finally snap after all those years of not talking about it. Whether he couldn’t, or just didn’t want to. 

“Shut up! All right, you think I don’t know it was real?” Finney’s voice comes out quiet and shaky. “You think I don’t fucking know it was real?” He demands. “It’s all I ever think about. All right, you don’t. . .” he pauses, swallowing, “you don’t know what it was like down there, okay? Nobody fucking knows. I—“ his voice cracks, “I was so fucking scared. I knew what he did to the other kids. To Robin. I knew he killed them. I knew I was next. I can’t—“ Finney begins sobbing, dragging his hands down his face. 

He’s quiet for a moment, taking trembling breaths and trying to calm his heart pounding behind his ribs.

Gwen isn’t angry anymore, she just stands there, silently, watching Finney with wide guilty eyes. Her expression is so concerned and Finney feels bad for upsetting her, but he’s upset too. So upset. 

“Robin couldn’t even take him. How could I?” Finney speaks again, recounting what he’d told Robin during their call in the basement. “God, I don’t want to be angry anymore,” Finney relents, dropping his hands. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.” The last part is quiet. An admission. He’s so tired of living in fear of his memories. He’s tired of the basement being all he can think about. He feels like he isn’t allowed to be happy because that happened to him. He feels like he isn’t allowed to think about anything else. Possibly that’s The Grabber getting in his head, but he can’t stop it. 

“Finn,” Gwen whispers. She takes quick steps towards him, arms out like she’s going in for a hug but she hesitates at the last second. She knows how Finney is about being touched. 

Finney usually hates it. Any touch at all. Well, anything past a handshake or a pat on the shoulder, really. It feels suffocating and without him consenting it especially feels like the times The Grabber would pet his hair, or caress his cheek. It always made Finney’s stomach twist. 

But now? It’s Gwen and he misses her and how close they used to be. Finney can’t even blame the basement for how he’s been acting, not really anyway. He can only blame himself. 

Finney initiates the hug first, knowing Gwen might not if he doesn’t. He buries his face against her shoulder, holding her tightly, like if he lets go she’ll be angry with him again or run to Terrence instead—which Finney doesn’t really believe that she would do but the idea sticks anyway. 

“Hey, you’re the bravest person I know, okay, Finney? Robin would think so too,” Gwen promises. 

Finney doesn’t respond, just breathes in shakily and nods. He doesn’t know what Robin would think, but he hopes Gwen is right. Finney really hopes that last call wasn’t really the last one. He still wants to give a proper goodbye to Robin, even if he never really wants to say goodbye at all. Not permanently. 

Terrence interrupts the silence. “Okay, Gwen, look at me. Listen. I know you want to stay, I do, but if you really are in danger here we need to go.” 

Finney feels Gwen’s grip around him tighten, she fixes her gaze on Terrence, expression now cold in the face of their dad. 

“No,” Gwen states.

Terrence sighs. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but I’m not asking.”

Gwen lets go of Finney, shoving past him to stand face to face with Terrence, anger flashing in her eyes. “What are you gonna do, dad? Huh? You gonna beat me?” She asks, tilting her head. “Take off your belt and whip me into the truck?” 

Terrence’s eyes widen, and he lifts his hands in surrender. “Don’t, Gwen. Don’t.”

“Go ahead and try. See if it works.”

Something about seeing Gwen stand up to Terrence and talk back to him makes Finney’s heart race and his mouth go dry. It’s Gwen taunting him in the kitchen with a bottle of vodka all over again. With Finney only watching as she continues to purposely provoke him.

“There, right there! There’s your goddamn mother. Always so stubborn right to the end, even in the face of reality.”

“Reality?” Gwen asks, an edge in her voice. “Reality, dad? The only reality here is that those boys deserve to be found because they didn’t deserve what happened to them and neither did Finney or the boys taken before him!”

“I didn’t say any of them deserved it.”

“Then why won’t you let me help them?!” Gwen demands.

Finney wants to say that it’s because her life is more important, but he also understands. What Finney went through in the basement was awful and these boys went through worse. The most they can do is put their bodies to rest and beat The Grabber again. Somehow. 

“Gwen is right. We have to stay,” Finney admits. 

Terrence’s eyes find Finney and there’s that familiar spark of anger in his dads eyes, similar to when Gwen would start disagreeing with him. A familiar grip of fear squeezes Finney but he holds his ground. 

Gwen is going to stay or she’s going to fight trying. Terrence was right about Gwen being stubborn, but Finney means it in a good way. She doesn’t let people change her mind, she does what she thinks is right. 

Back on the frozen lake Mondo and Mustang are crouched by the opening in the ice, Kenneth and Barbara standing wrapped in thick winter coats nearby but not close enough to help in any real way. 

“Hand me the cable,” Mondo says, holding a hand out. Gwen hands it to him and Mondo reaches deep into the water, trying to get it to hook on something. Hopefully the two other boys’ that were also sunk to the bottom of the lake years ago.

When he pulls it out easily again, the end empty, he sighs and tries again. Finney stands, peering over the edge to try and see anything. When he can’t, he relents and stuffs his hands into his coat pockets, stalking off the ice. He finds himself approaching the phone booth, pulling open the door. 

He waits for it to ring for ten minutes before scoffing and pulling the phone off the hook. He presses it to his ear.

“Come on, Robin. Anyone? We need help finding the other kids.” Finney says. When the line stays dead and closes his eyes momentarily, opening them again only to place the phone down. 

Deciding to wait another few minutes he leans back against the glass of the booth, crossing his arms. 

Faint yelling pulls Finney’s eyes up and he shoves out of the door, running back across the snowy yard to the lake. 

“Need some help!” Mustang yells from her place in front of Gwen on the carriage. 

Finney runs across the ice at the sound of Mustang’s voice. He pulls himself onto the carriage, Ernesto following, and crouches in front of a closed eyed Gwen.

“Gwen? Gwen, wake up,” Finney shakes her to try and rouse her.

“Sh-she accidentally fell asleep,” Ernesto stutters from where he’s standing on Gwen’s other side.

“Accidentally my ass,” Finney mutters.

Kenneth starts yelling, startling the three of them. They all turn to see him being dragged across the ice, blood streaking beneath him, his shirt sleeve ripped and stained red. He trips Barabra, who falls forward, her face hitting the ice with a sick crunch that makes Finney’s stomach turn. When she sits up blood is rushing from her nose and down her lips.

“He’s here,” Finney breathes. For a moment he feels like he’s bad in the basement, seeing blood slide from Griffin’s split throat. 

Barbara’s eyes widen as she looks at Kenneth. She opens her mouth, presumably to scream, before a jagged cut is sliced across both of their foreheads, blood immediately seeping from the wounds.

“Ken! Barbara!” Mustang shouts, voice full of shock and an underlying fear that Finney picks up on from years of hiding his own. Showing fear of something means it can be used against you. Finney refuses to let his fear be used against him again. 

“He’s still here. Keep looking!” Finney says, eyes scanning the ice for anything. When he sees slashes showing up in the ice he furrows his brows. The lines are similar to those that come from the slice of ice skates. 

“Where did he go? Where is he?” Mondo asks, looking around frantically.

“The ice is breaking!” Ernesto calls out.

“The cable!” Mondo yells.

Finney’s gaze falls to where the ice has cracked, sinking into the water and bringing the cable with it. Finney feels like something in his chest sinks with it. The Grabber must have known what they were doing. Must have known that they were looking for the kids. Clearly he knows that they found them. 

Terrence–who had been sitting in his pulled up truck–is across the ice and beside the water hole in seconds. Finney watches as he strips his jacket, prepared to jump. Finney isn’t sure what to feel when he sees his eyes cut to him, alarmed.

“Finn!” he yells, his voice sounding more like a warning than anything.

Finney perks up, chest tightening with fear and adrenaline. When he sees the fear in his dads eyes it’s already too late. Finney doesn’t have time to react before something closes around his throat and he can’t breathe. His fingers latch around something not visible but definitely there. He chokes, coughing and trying to pull whatever it is away from his throat.

He’s flipped off of the carriage and lands hard on his back, knocking the breath he can already barely get out of him. He quickly locates Ernesto, standing on the ice in front of him, watching with concerned eyes.

“Ernesto, get her out of here.” Finney’s voice is no more than a breathless growl as he struggles to get the words out.

Ernesto immediately complies, climbing back onto the carriage and leading it to the other side of the lake.

Finney imagines that The Grabber is having a good laugh at this; at planning to take Finney out the same way Finney did him all those years ago. This feels like a sick kind of irony. 

Black spots bleed into Finney’s vision and his lungs ache. His throat burns every time he tries to take a breath. He doesn’t want to die. Can’t. Especially not like this. Finney figures that maybe he was supposed to die all along, he just drew out his miserable time on earth by a few years when he killed The Grabber in the basement. Even if Finney dies now, he figures it’s better than if he had died in that basement. 

No. Finney can’t die. He can’t leave Gwen. Not like this.

He remembers what Robin told him during their call in the basement.

“We’ll be together again soon,” Finney’s dejected voice sounds into the phone’s receiver. He’a already given up. There’s no way out.

“Fuck that. You ain’t gonna go like I did.” 

Robin’s sure voice in his head was probably the only reason Finney had the courage to get out. To continue trying.

Now pulled out of his thoughts, Finney throws a hand out, feeling for the source of the heavy weight on his chest, crushing his ribs. He pushes back, pulling up his legs and kicking until his shoes connect with something solid. He shoves, hard, relief filling him as he coughs, panting and clawing at his throat like he can still feel the pressure around it. He’s sure in a few days a nasty bruise will appear, he’s sure that his voice will be fucked for a few days.

Once he gets his breathing back under control, Finney stands, newfound anger filling him. The Grabber wants to play dirty? Fine. Finney can do the same.

He approaches one of the rusted barrels, a corpse halfway out of it with his hand out like he’s holding something. Finney places a hand down onto what he guesses is The Grabber’s ankle grasped in it. He feels up until he gets to where The Grabber’s head must be. He pulls him up, leaning down and growling out, “Hell isn’t flames, Bill. It’s ice,” into his ear before shoving him down into the ice, over and over, feeling a sick satisfaction in the cracks forming in it. Finney doesn’t have to be able to see The Grabber to know what he would look like now.

His face gory and falling apart, blood coating everything and dripping onto the ground. Eyes full of deeply hidden fear. Fear that Finney hadn’t felt good about seeing the first time around. He hadn’t really felt anything then. Now, Finney revels in it. Like how he smiles at seeing blood covering his knuckles or a kid groaning on the ground in front of him.

Dropping him, Finney stalks forward and grabs his shoulders again, attempting to drag him across the lake. When he finally manages to pull him, he drops him into the open freezing water, watching with satisfaction as the ripples cease.

Finney heads back to the carriage with Terrence.

“You did good, dad,” he admits, recounting how he had jumped into the water to pull one of the boys out. Even if Finney still doesn’t fully trust or like their dad, he can at least appreciate that he helped him and Gwen and everyone else.

They stop in front of Ernesto and a now woken up Gwen.

“It’s over. He’s gone,” Gwen states.

“Where’d he go?” Finney asks.

“The boys took him back to where he belongs.”

Finney is too tired to further question what that means. He’s just hoping that this time, The Grabber is really gone and won’t be coming back.

Everyone is too exhausted to do much else. Mustang and Mondo help with Kenneth and Barbara’s injuries in the mess hall. Ernesto and Gwen end up there too, not wanting to be alone. 

Finney tells them he’ll catch up with them soon, instead opting to head back outside.

He stands in front of the glass phone booth, a feeling he can’t name lodging itself beneath his ribs. It still hasn’t rung, and Finney is more than disappointed. He was hoping he would get to talk with Robin one last time before they go.

He pulls open the creaky door, taking place on the cold muddy ground, leaning back against the wall. He watches the phone until he can no longer keep his eyes open.

A warm feeling fills his chest and he remembers his last thought being about Robin and his smile that always made Finney’s heart race.