finney

── .✦ fandoms + characters i write for (as of right now) - bolded fandoms are my current interests.

⋆˙⟡ south park (stan, kyle, craig, tweek, cartman)

⋆˙⟡ all of us are dead (cheongsan, gwinam, onjo, joonyeong)

⋆˙⟡ saw (adam, lawrence, lindsey, peter, mark)

⋆˙⟡ sweet tooth (gus, bear, jepp)

⋆˙⟡ the outsiders (johnny, ponyboy, soda)

⋆˙⟡ the black phone (robin, finney, gwen, billy/paperboy)

⋆˙⟡ young sheldon (missy, georgie, sheldon, mary)

(platonic, romantic or x reader (i am most comfortable writing male reader but i can make exceptions)!! no explicit sexual content.)

currently writing: (blank)

requests: [ open / closed ]

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.

The next morning is spent eating breakfast in an empty mess hall while talking to Armando and Mustang about the storm and Finney and Gwen's breaking of the gender separation rules.

Well, more like Gwen talks to them; Finney just keeps his head down and finishes eating.

They guess the snow should stop in a day or two, then it should be safe for them all to drive back home.

Finney is both happy and upset at the news. Leaving means getting out of this camp. But leaving also means leaving Robin. Finney isn’t really sure if Robin will even call again—he only got one call from him last time—but considering Billy called twice he assumes that Robin probably can too. Or at least he hopes so.

Gwen and Ernesto spend most of the day in the camp's library, trying to find out more about the boys and the history of the camp.

Finney finds himself in the phone booth again. He sits on the ground, phone pressed against the side of his face. The other end is silent, but Finney sits there waiting anyway as if, if he waits long enough, a voice might come through. It doesn’t. Finney isn’t sure how he feels about that.

The phone ringing yesterday ultimately brought him back to the basement; where the other kids called him with help on how to possibly escape. The last call had been the worst for Finney. It had been from Robin, and it had been the last time they spoke for years. Finney thought he would never hear Robin's voice again; never really thought he would get those calls again either.

Finney tilts his head back against the glass, closing his eyes. He drops the hand holding the phone into his lap, staring out into the snowy morning.

A tapping gets Finney's attention, like someone knocking on glass. He looks over to the door of the phone booth but sees nothing. Confused and a bit annoyed, he looks down again. The tapping doesn’t stop and it takes Finney a few seconds to realize it’s coming from behind him. Finney stands up, placing the phone back on its hook and turning around.

Finney’s chest tightens and he can’t breathe. His eyes are locked on the figure standing outside the phone booth wearing a small smile and a brown sleeveless top.

It shouldn’t be possible, and for a second Finney is sure he’s just lost it and is having hallucinations; like seeing Griffin's body in the basement—because what else would explain that?—but he isn’t.

Robin is standing outside in the snow, arms around his center like he’s blocking out the cold or trying to protect himself from a hit that will never come. He was always good at that. Protecting people. But Finney couldn’t protect Robin, couldn’t even protect himself. Robin is missing his usual bandana, it’s weird for Finney to see him without it. He has cuts across his upper arm and shoulder, dried blood coating his tanned skin. Crimson stains the back of Robin's neck and spots on his shirt.

The sight of it reminds Finney of the basement. The fact that Robin had been down there too and been hurt by The Grabber much worse than Finney had—Finney didn’t really get physically hurt, did he? Past the escape attempt and the knife to his throat—makes Finney so upset he starts shaking.

Or maybe that’s because his dead best friend is standing in front of him.

“Finney!”

Finney's eyes snap open, seeing a distraught looking Gwen in front of him, hands on his shoulders.

“What?” Finney asks, only now realizing how hard his heart is pounding.

“Finney, were you—“ Gwen stops, shaking her head and looking down like she can’t believe something. “You were dreaming.”

“Yeah, Gwen,” Finney pushes Gwen’s hands off of him, “that typically happens when someone is sleeping.”

He knows what she means but doesn’t want to accept it. How could he have dreams like Gwen? It doesn’t make sense.

“No, dipshit,” Gwen snaps, though there isn’t much heat in her voice. “A dream like mine.”

Finney furrows his brows, confused. “No, Gwen, I just fell asleep sitting on the hard ass ground.”

“Yeah. But I watched you get up, we both did.”

Finney is confused on the “we” until he glances behind Gwen to see a worried Ernesto. That confuses Finney more. Why is Ernesto worried about him?

“So, what? Sleepwalking is normal,” Finney retorts.

“Finney.”

“Gwen.”

“What did you see?” Gwen asks.

Finney hesitates. He doesn’t exactly want to bring Robin up when Ernesto is right there. More for selfish reasons than anything else. He meets Gwen’s eyes, trying to say that he can’t really answer that without actually saying that he can’t.

Gwen shoots a glance back at Ernesto, then her eyes find Finney again. She raises an eyebrow, Finney only gives a slight nod in response.

“Was it what you mentioned last night?” Gwen supplies, letting him answer without actually saying it.

Finney swallows harshly, fists clenching. He nods again.

Gwen ends up dragging Finney into a secluded part of the library while Ernesto tries to find out all he can about the camp's history. She forces Finney to tell her everything he saw and everything that happened. He doesn’t really want to, because nothing happened. He saw Robin but got woken up before he could even properly process the fact that Robin was really there.

“I still don’t understand how I had a dream like that. That was your thing,” Finney points out, crossing his arms and leaning back against a bookshelf.

“Actually. . . “ Gwen starts, pulling at one of the necklaces adorning her neck. “I didn’t tell you, but the dream I had of Mom? She called me. And before that, when you woke me in the living room? I heard a phone ringing.”

Finney opens his mouth, ready to respond, only to realize he isn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t known that they both were getting parts of each others. . . stuff. The first word to come to Finney’s mind was powers, but they aren’t that, are they?

“Oh.” Is all he can manage.

Gwen gets kicked back to her cabin that night. Well, not really kicked but told she has to sleep in the girls cabin because Mustang and her uncle could get in trouble for breaking the rule that they’re supposed to be separated.

Finney lays on his side facing out, unable to look away from the bunk Gwen had planned to sleep on the night previous. He feels a twist in his stomach when he remembers that she’d slept beside him instead.

“She’ll be okay, Finney.”

Finney’s eyes shift to Ernesto, who’s sitting up on his bed with his blanket pulled around his shoulders. It reminds Finney of when he was sitting in the back of the ambulance after the basement, a blanket around both him and Gwen while their dad pleaded for forgiveness.

“How do you know?” Finney snarls.

“Because I know her,” Ernesto replies simply.

That makes something in Finney’s chest tighten. Does Ernesto think Finney doesn’t know his own sister? Does he think he knows Gwen better than Finney does? It hurts even more because Finney knows it’s at least partially true. Gwen had mentioned that a lot of the time Finney was missing she stayed at the Arellano’s. Her and Ernesto have been hanging out a lot over the years since then too.

“I know my own sister,” Finney answers coldly.

Ernesto’s face falls a bit, and he seems to realize he’d worded his response terribly. “I know. I—sorry.”

Finney looks away when Ernesto gives him an apologetic look. Because the look Ernesto gives him reminds him too much of the look Robin would give him when pleading for homework help. He didn’t come here to bond with Ernesto or even speak to him. He came here because Gwen wanted him too and he doesn’t want Ernesto alone with her.

Finney doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’s slightly out of it when a phone ringing pulls him from it. It’s the best sleep Finney’s gotten in a while, he figures it’s probably because he isn’t at home.

Finney lifts his head, listening as if to make sure the sound is real. When it doesn’t stop Finney scoffs, dropping his head again. The idea that it could be Robin on the other end is the only reason Finney gets up.

He pulls his jacket tight around his shoulders, crossing to the phone booth once again. He closes the door behind him, picking up the phone. He waits a moment, pulse starting to pick up.

“Hello, Finney.”

Finney freezes, hands beginning to tremble. The voice on the other end is not Robin; but the person who is the reason Finney lost his Robin.

“What do you want?” Finney says, voice low.

“It took me a long time, but now I remember,” The Grabber drawls.

“You’re dead,” Finney bites. Though he can’t tell if he’s reminding The Grabber or himself.

“Oh, Finney. You of all people know that “dead” is just a word,” The Grabber responds, a smile in his voice.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” The Grabber says in a teasing tone.

“‘Cause you knew we’d be trapped,” Finney responds after a moment, voice slightly quiter.

“Did you think that our story was over, Finney? Did you really believe you could do what you did to me and that would be the end of it?”

Finney holds back from responding with “I kind of hoped so”.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Finney decides on.

“And why should you be? You killed me. You won.”

For some reason Finney doesn’t believe that. It sounds more like The Grabber is making a joke.

“Tell me what you want,” Finney says, breath quickening.

“What I have always wanted with you.”

Finney ignores the implications of that, trying to think of anything but those nights in the basement with eyes on him while he slept.

“What? You want to scare me?” Finney demands.

“You know as well as I do that fear is just the warmup.”

There’s a long pause that irritates Finney. He wants his answers, even though he knows The Grabber is anything but compliant.

“Have you guessed what it is yet? What it is that I want from you? "Want" isn't even the right word. It's more of an insatiable need,” The Grabber says, voice more of a growl now. “So, have you got it yet? No? Fine. I'll just tell you, Finney. What I want is this,” The Grabber takes a pause, voice filling with a sick glee. “I want to hurt you in ways that you can't even imagine. You will pay for what you did to me. You made me kill my brother, the person on earth that I loved the most! And then you killed me! So now I am going to destroy you, Finney... …by destroying the thing you love most. Vengeance is mine.” The Grabber goes quiet and Finney can hear Gwen screaming on the other end.

“Gwen? Gwen!” Finney shouts, bracing his free hand on the glass beside the phone's cradle. He can’t let Gwen get hurt. Anyone but her.

Finney puts the phone back on its holder, shoving the door open and running across the snowy ground to the camp's mess hall. He rushes into the kitchen, seeing everyone else already there.

“Hey, hey, Gwen. Gwen,” Finney has his hands on Gwen’s shoulders, shaking her. “Wake up, Gwen.”

He waits a few seconds, watching her carefully to see if she responds. When she doesn’t he tries again.

“Gwen, are you awake?” He speaks louder this time. “Gwen. Hey, are you awake?” Finney exhales in relief when Gwen slowly opens her eyes.

“Hey,” he says, voice softer. “You awake?”

Gwen nods, pushing herself to sit up.

Seeing Gwen being held up and choked by what looked like air to everyone else scared Finney badly. His hands still shake slightly where they rest on Gwen’s arms. Ernesto seems just as worried as Finney; and for once, seeing Ernesto concerned for Gwen doesn’t fill Finney with jealousy.

Once Gwen is up and everyone else is calmed down they all head to the camp's chapel, where they ask Gwen what happened. Finney already knows. It was The Grabber. There’s no other explanation and Robin had told Finney that he was coming after Gwen next.

“Have you heard of The Grabber?” Finney asks, sitting back against the pew he sits in beside Gwen.

“Yeah. Who hasn’t? Killed a bunch of kids then got killed when one escaped. Yeah, his name . . . Finney something,” he pauses, eyes wide like he’s just made a realization. “Finney Blake. Finn Blake?”

“Holy shit,” Mustang breathes, pushing her hands into her pockets.

Mando continues interrogating Gwen about her dreams. She explains that she got a call from her and Finney’s mom, then explaining that that—The Grabber—was who was attacking her moments earlier.

Mando brings out an old photo from the year their mom was a counselor. He explains that he’s been looking for the missing boys—Felix, Spike, and Calvin, Finney learns—since the camp shut down a few years ago. He also explains that The Grabber used to work at the camp, he worked maintenance. Was called Wild Bill due to his hair and a leather tool belt he used to wear.

“Wild Bill Hickok. WBH,” Gwen says, piecing together the relevance of the letters the boys had etched into ice in her dreams. “This is where he started. These boys were his first kills.”

“And Wild Bill became The Grabber,” Finney adds.

“Mando, when did weird things start happening around here?” Gwen inquires.

“1978?” Mando guesses, scratching the back of his neck.

“That’s the year I killed him,” Finney notes, eyes dropping to his lap where he wrings his hands.

After the whole conversation Finney sits outside the chapel, leaning against the wall and holding a lit cigarette between his fingers, ignoring a comment made by Mando about it not being allowed, he takes another drag, looking right into Mando’s eyes.

Talking to Mando about hiding his fear behind anger is not what he expected. Sure, it’s true. Deep down Finney is just scared to really face what happened to him in that basement. So instead he pushes it down, maybe if he ignores it he can forget about it. But he knows that won’t happen.

And yeah, Mando is also right about Finney being scared to not be able to protect Gwen. He hasn’t been very good about protecting her at camp so far. He couldn’t protect her from their dad, either. He feels hopeless.

“You were strong enough to kill The Grabber, and you are strong enough to let what happened with him go,” Mando says, giving Finney a small but genuine smile.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Finney admits, voice quieter than he would’ve liked.

“You got to. . . face your feelings. You can’t just hold them in and numb it all out. You got to face it, and then you can let it go.”

Finney swallows. He’s a bit irritated at how easily Mando read him. How does he know Finney does that? Well, it’s probably obvious.

“He wants to kill Gwen, to hurt me,” Finney counters.

“We’re not gonna let that happen,” Mando states. “And,” he grabs Finney’s cigarette from him, “I’m taking this with me.” He begins walking away from Finney.

“Hey, man, I need that,” Finney complains, sighing.

After a few minutes Finneg decides to head back to his cabin where they’ve decided to let Gwen stay so Finney and Ernesto can keep an eye on her while she sleeps.

Finney really hopes that they won’t need to wake her up; hopes that she’ll be fine. But deep down he knows the chances of that are low.

When Gwen mentions that in the chance they can’t wake her from a nightmare that The Grabber will be too strong for her to fight. Finney insists that there has to be something she can try; maybe from those books she’s been reading about dreams.

“He’s too strong,” Gwen relents.

“I thought that once too,” Finney counters, remembering the nights in the basement that he had been frozen in fear when he would see the lights turn on and the door lock click.

After a while Gwen falls asleep. Finney stays sitting up on his bunk, watching her carefully.

“Hey, Finney. Can I-can I ask you a question?” Ernesto says hesitantly. “Did you really talk to my brother down in that basement?”

Finney glances over at Ernesto, who’s giving him a hopeful look. Finney doesn’t really like thinking about that phone call. Doesn’t like remembering how much it hurt to say goodbye. He sighs. “Yeah. I did.”

“What-what did he say?” Ernesto asks carefully.

Finney exhales slowly, looking down at his lap. “He said that your dad didn’t come back from Vietnam because he couldn’t leave his buddies behind. And that he wasn’t gonna leave me behind,” Finney recites, leaving out the parts that Finney wants to keep for himself.

“Yeah? Yeah, that. . . that was Robin, all right,” Ernesto agrees. “Do you think he’s still here?”

Finney both assumes so and hopes so. Since the phone call he’s figured that Robin has been at camp with them. Even if they can’t see him.

“I don’t really know what’s on the other side, but there’s something,” Finney says. “I hope it’s good. And I hope he’s there. But if he isn’t there, then it’s not me he’s looking after.” Finney doesn’t really want to believe it—he selfishly wants to think Robin is only here for him—but he knows it’s true. At least partially. “Wake me in four hours.”

When Finney gets woken up for his turn to watch Gwen, he sits on the ground beside her bed, hoping it will bring some kind of comfort to her. Gwen had slipped once that when Finney was taken, she slept in his bed the first night. Finney felt bad hearing that. That she had missed him that much.

Obviously she would miss him, they’re siblings and they’ve always been close. Even more so after their mom died and their dad turned to alcohol and belts.

When Gwen sits up Finney jumps a bit. He sees that she’s still asleep and when she stands he quickly does too. “Nope. No, no. You’re staying in bed tonight.” He gently pushes her back down so she’s sitting. He stays sitting beside her, an arm around her shoulders so she doesn’t try to get up again.

“Hey,” Finney calls suddenly, eyes locked on Ernesto’s sleeping form. “Hey!” He rolls his eyes when Ernesto only stirs. “Ernesto!”

“What? What?” Ernesto quickly sits up, pushing his glasses onto his face and rubbing his eyes.

“Watch her,” Finney says, gesturing with his free hand to Gwen beside him.

“Why? What’s happening?” Ernesto asks but starts getting up anyway. He sits on the other side of Gwen, holding her carefully.

Finney stands up, heading to the cabin's exit. “The phone,” he says simply, leaving through the door.

Finney follows the ringing of the phone outside, finding himself in the booth for the fourth time since they arrived at camp. He hesitates a few seconds before picking up the phone.

“They’re in the lake, Finn.” Robin’s voice comes through the line.

Finney exhales, visibly slouching and leaning his forehead against the phone.

“I know,” Finney says.

“Armando is too.”

“I know, Robin,” Finney says without thinking. He knows that after learning that lake Maru was used to dump the bodies, Mondo had gone to cut through the ice of the frozen over lake to look for the boys' bodies.

Finney hesitates. Too?

“What do you mean, too?” Finney asks slowly.

“The Grabber. He pushed him in,” Robin answers.

“How do you know?”

“I can see you, Finn. Which means I can see other people too. I saw it happen,” Robin replies.

“You can see The Grabber?” Finney questions. He chooses to ignore the fact that Robin can see him; is probably watching him right now.

“Yes. I’m in the dream realm too,” Robin answers, a slight pleading tone in his voice.

“Okay,” Finney agrees.

He waits to see if Robin will say anything else but the line goes dead.

The morning sun flickers brightly through the cracks in the walls of the old church, illuminating Johnny’s face.

Ponyboy sits on the dusty floor, shuffling a deck of cards over and over, eyes stuck on Johnny’s peaceful sleeping expression. Pony decides he likes him more like this. Soft and calm and not afraid or constantly watching his back.

Johnny had once told Pony that he’s glad he’s at least safe in his dreams. Ponyboy was happy to hear that Johnny doesn’t get nightmares like he does, at least not nearly as often.

When Johnny begins stirring Ponyboy quickly averts his eyes. He doesn’t want to be caught staring, especially with the thoughts filling his head. Not any thoughts he should be having about his best friend, let alone his best friend who’s a boy.

“Pony?” Johnny asks, voice thick with sleep. He sits up, leaning heavily against the pew he’s laying on. He rubs his eyes, turning slightly to face Ponyboy.

“Mornin’, Johnny,” Pony greets, a small smile tugging at his lips. He reaches beside him and digs through one of the paper bags, pulling out a box of Marlboro cigarettes and tossing it to Johnny.

“Thanks.” Johnny smiles back at Pony, lips quirked up and brown eyes shining. The look causes Ponyboy’s heart to race and his cheeks to heat up.

Johnny doesn’t seem to notice and reaches to grab the box, opening it and placing a cigarette between his lips. He flicks open the lighter and cups his hand around the end of the cigarette to light it. Ponyboy finds himself watching the movement, how the flame reflects in Johnny’s eyes.

Pony hurriedly looks away, shoving the playing cards into their box and picking at the slightly ripped cardboard.

They’ve been in the church for two days now. Pony misses his brothers and the gang but he won’t leave Johnny here alone.

“Hey, Pony?” Johnny asks, nudging Pony’s leg with his foot.

Pony looks up. “What?”

“Will you read to me?” Johnny doesn’t meet Pony’s eye, instead looking at his lap.

“Yeah.”

Ponyboy settles back against the front of the pew Johnny is laying on. Gone With The Wind is propped open in his lap, one hand holding it open and the other flipping the pages.

This has become a common occurrence between the two. Just sitting together with Ponyboy reading. Johnny had told him that he’s always wanted to read Gone With The Wind but never really found time. Ponyboy likes reading to Johnny, likes watching him as he reads out the scenes.

Once Pony finishes two chapters and begins the next one he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Pony?” Johnny’s voice is quiet.

Pony marks the page with the shopping receipt, placing the book beside him on the ground and turning to face Johnny.

“Hm?” Ponyboy hums. His eyes find Johnny’s warm brown ones and he watches while waiting for an answer.

In the silence Ponyboy realizes how close they are. Johnny is lying on his side, face inches away from Pony’s; close enough that Ponyboy can feel Johnny’s breath fanning over his skin, can see the gold flecks in his eyes.

The proximity makes Ponyboy’s heart race and his cheeks burn. He knows he should scoot back, except he really doesn’t want to. Instead he finds himself leaning closer.

It isn’t until he feels the soft press of Johnny’s lips against his that he understands what’s happening.

He’s kissing his best friend. He’s kissing a boy.

He’s kissing Johnny.

Oh fuck, he’s kissing Johnny.

Ponyboy immediately pulls back, eyes wide, stuttering a hundred apologies and saying he should have asked and shouldn’t have assumed anything. He feels terrible. Who kisses someone like that without asking?

Ponyboy at first doesn’t notice Johnny sitting up, or just doesn’t think anything about it. He’s still afraid that he’s ruined everything. Johnny has been his best friend since they were kids. They’ve always been attached at the hip. But now Pony’s done something stupid because he couldn’t ignore the feelings he’s been having for months. Darry was right, Pony really doesn’t use his head and look where it’s gotten him.

When Johnny kisses him again Pony is pulled straight out of his thoughts. He stills, heart pounding in his ears. His hands tremble where they’re resting at his sides, clenching and unclenching like he can’t tell what he’s supposed to do with them.

Slowly, Ponyboy raises his hands to rest on Johnny’s neck, his fingers tangling in his dark hair. He exhales into Johnny’s mouth, melting into the kiss.

Pony drags his hands down to Johnny’s chest, grabbing the collar of his jean jacket and pulling him closer. Deep down Pony knows they shouldn’t be doing this, but he’s wanted it forever and can’t bring himself to stop.

Johnny inhales sharply at the tug on his clothes, lips parting. That gives Ponyboy enough confidence to continue, dragging his tongue across Johnny’s bottom lip taking in the shaky exhale from Johnny that follows.

The taste of smoke coats Pony’s tongue but he can’t find it in him to care.

Johnny’s hands thread into Ponyboy’s newly blond hair, tugging Ponyboy into him.

Ponyboy holds his breath until his lungs ache so he doesn’t have to let go but after a few minutes he does anyway.

He keeps his hands where they were, and he’s sure Johnny notices them shaking. Ponyboy watches Johnny carefully, trying to read the expression in his clouded eyes. Both boys are panting, breath heavy and labored.

“Johnny?” Ponyboy starts, swallowing hard.

“Yeah?” Johnny’s voice is quiet.

”I like you. Like a whole lot,” Ponyboy admits.

A small smile starts on Johnny’s lips, a hint of relief filling his eyes. “You do?”

”Yeah.”

”Gee, guess I shoulda listened to Dally,” Johnny remarks, his smile turning sheepish. “I like you too, Ponyboy.”

The first thing Ponyboy feels is a rush of happiness; warmth at the fact that the boy he’s liked for so long likes him too. Then a feeling of confusion hits him and he raises an eyebrow, frowning.

”What’s Dally got to do with this?” Ponyboy inquires.

Johnny flushes, cheeks reddening even more. “Nothin’.”

”Johnny.”

”Alright, alright. I told him I like you and that I wasn’t sure if you do too. He just laughed and said that the only way you coul’d be more obvious was by kissin’ me.”

it’s Ponyboy’s turn to blush and he sputters his response. “Really? Dally said that?” When it sinks in Ponyboy gets defensive. “I ain’t obvious.”

Johnny shrugs. “I certainly couldn’t tell.”

Ponyboy isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. yeah, he knows now, but what would it have been like if Johnny caught on before now? Even so, what will happen ater this?

“Reckon we should tell Dally?” Johnny asks.

Ponyboy huffs. “He’ll probably already know somehow. Come in and say, ‘damn, finally!’.”

Johnny snickers, moving forward to rest his forehead against Ponyboy’s.

A small smile graces Ponyboy’s lips, a mirrored one on Johnny’s face.

The cabin's dusty hardwood floors creak under Finney’s converse as he walks to a bunk and drops his bag on the floor heavily. He makes a point to choose a bed far away from Ernesto when they arrive in the boys cabin, though he tries not to choose a bed too far away, since he doesn’t want to make it obvious that he dislikes Ernesto (though he figures it probably is obvious).

Well, he doesn’t truly dislike Ernesto, but he would never admit that. Ernesto just reminds him too much of Robin and he’s dating Gwen. Finney knows Gwen is older now and can make her own decisions, but it hurts that she can have her Arellano brother but Finney can’t. He immediately feels awful for that and pushes the thought away. It isn’t Gwen's fault for what happened to Robin. It’s nobody's fault but His.

Thinking about Robin and the basement and Him makes something in Finney’s gut turn sour. He turns his thoughts to something else. He hasn’t thought about that stuff in months. At least, that’s what he pretends. Really, the thoughts and images never leave his head. He still wakes up from nightmares where he walks up those basement stairs to Robin’s bloody and broken body. . .

Finney bites the inside of his cheek until blood coats his tongue to get himself to stop thinking about it. If he ignores it, it will go away. If he pretends it never happened, then maybe he can really convince himself it didn’t. It’s almost like it happened to someone else. Finney is so different now. No more model rockets on baseball fields, no more staying up late to look at constellations through his bedroom window, no more sketching rocket designs in his notebooks during history lessons, no more baseball. Now Finney just drags through life. He turns his assignments in as expected, but no longer pays full attention in class. He spends his break periods beating the shit out of any kids daring to even look at him wrong—not wrong, but Finney can’t tell the difference now—then goes home and either watches tv or sleeps. He doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t want to. Gwen has tried, but recently has seemed to give up after Finney said no so many times. Terrence has tried too, and Finney almost misses when Terrence would ignore him.

Finney pulls his bedding out of his bag, throwing his pillow on the left end of the mattress and messily splaying his blanket across the surface. He lays on his back, eyes locked on the wooden boards holding the upper bunk’s mattress.

He isn’t very excited at the idea of spending who knows how long at a camp he didn’t really want to go to in the first place. And because of a blizzard that decided to start when they were already most of the way there. They just happened to be the only ones to not get the message about camp being canceled. Finney only agreed to go because it’s Gwen, and, let’s be honest, because he doesn’t trust Ernesto around his sister. Not for any good reason. Finney just has a bitter taste in his mouth any time his name is even mentioned.

Finney pulls on his headphones, pressing play on his Walkman in a desperate attempt to drown out the thoughts in his head.

Even though he thinks sleep will be impossible to come by, he eventually manages it, though not for long before the shrill ring of a payphone causes him to shoot up in bed, eyes locked on the cabin door. He faces Ernesto, as if trying to see if he hears it too. He doesn’t obviously, as he stays asleep, and Finney pushes his blanket off of his lap, throwing his legs over his bed to pull his shoes on. He crosses the cabin, pulling open the door and stepping out into the freezing air. It’s snowing hard, the white blanket of it coating the ground and crunching under Finney’s shoes. The wind blows up powdered snow, making it hard to see.

He finds it pretty quickly, despite the darkness of the night and snow blowing into his face and stinging his eyes. A black payphone sitting in a glass booth covered in old peeling stickers, snow and streaks of mud. A phone that should definitely not work but is ringing anyway, like it doesn’t care that it’s years old and banged up.

Finney yanks the door open, his jaw is clenched tight. He practically rips the phone off from the receiver and presses it to his ear, the words he plans to harshly spit out already sitting ready on his tongue. He can’t help. He won’t. Stop. Calling.

Finney waits for the familiar young boy's voice to cut through the static so he can tell him so. This kid can’t change his mind.

But the voice he does hear, can.

“Finn?”

Something in Finney’s stomach twists and he glances around outside the phone booth, like he’s sure someone is playing a joke on him. But they aren’t. This shitty phone shouldn’t work at all—doesn’t to normal people, but since when has Finney Blake been normal?—so how would that make any sense?

It shouldn’t be possible. Robin is gone. He died in that horrible basement with the rest of the boys. He can’t be calling Finney. He had said last time that that was his last call.

“Finn,” Robin repeats, this time more of a statement than a question, like he knows Finney is there but just isn’t speaking.

Finney feels dazed, and for a second he considers ignoring this. Hanging up the phone and trudging back through the wet snow to his cabin and going back to bed; playing this off as some sort of trauma response to losing Robin. Him simply imagining Robin contacting him so he doesn’t have to accept what he’s been avoiding.

Ignorance is easier than confrontation.

He can keep Robin in the past where he’s been since Finney got out of the basement. Act like none of it ever happened. The Finney now doesn’t deserve Robin. Doesn’t deserve to think about him or miss him. Finney is different now. He’s quieter, he fights people all the time, he doesn’t set off model rockets anymore and he quit baseball the same week he got out. This isn’t the Finney Robin knows. Finney isn’t sure he wants Robin to know this one. This Finney smokes and has a bad temper and snaps at Gwen and smiles while taping his split knuckles. He should hang up so Robin doesn’t have to see this version of him.

But Finney can’t bring himself to move. He holds the phone against his ear with a trembling hand, mouthpiece inches from his lips, which are parted like his brain has decided that he wants to speak, but can’t decide on the words.

He wanted to leave Robin. Wanted to forget him and what happened and move on. Because forgetting is easier than accepting. But Robin Arellano is not one easily forgotten, and Finney’s stomach hurts even thinking about the fact that he wanted to forget Robin. Listening to his voice now he realizes how much he missed it; missed Robin. Fuck, he misses him so much.

“Robin?” Finney's voice finally seems to catch up with his mind, because he suddenly remembers how to speak. His voice cracks as he pushes the words past the lump in his throat. His eyes begin to burn; he blames it on the cold.

“Hey, buddy,” Robin says, slight relief pouring into his tone, like he really almost thought Finney wouldn’t respond. That idea causes Finney’s stomach to turn, along with the words Robin spoke. They’re too familiar. Bringing on memories of concrete dust and Finney crying on a cold basement floor.

“Robin, I—“ Finney can’t find the words he’s looking for. Or maybe they don’t exist. There are too many things he wants to say to Robin, and not enough time for any of it. The words all jumble in his throat and Finney can’t think of a way to form them into thoughts that actually make sense.

“You said that was the last call.” There’s a slight tremble to Finney’s voice and he hates it. Hates that he cares so much. Part of him wishes he didn’t.

“The last one then,” Robin clarifies. “Not now.”

“What’s different now?” Finney isn’t sure he wants to know. He’s also sure it might have to do with Gwen’s dream of her and Finney’s mom.

“The boys,” Robin replies simply, like those two words answer everything. “The ones Gwen is dreaming about.”

Finney furrows his eyebrows. “What boys?”

“She isn’t safe, Finn.” Robin ignores his question. “He’s back. He isn’t happy that you killed him. You have to find those boys. He’s coming for Gwen.”

Finney doesn’t need Robin to elaborate on who He is. But he stills, head shooting up, at the mention of Gwen. “What?” he asks, voice low.

“You need to get her, Finn. Wake her up.” Robin sounds worried now, his words coming out a little quicker than before.

“How can he get to her? He’s dead,” Finney says harshly. He waits for an answer, speaking again when he doesn’t get one. “Robin.” His tone comes out desperate. Finney hates that but is too worried about Gwen to care.

“Her dreams,” Robin says, voice more stable now but quieter.

Finney opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted.

“You know better than anyone that her dreams aren’t just dreams, Finn.”

For a second, Finney is taken back to before he was kidnapped. His house. A bottle of beer on the counter, a belt in his dads hand. Gwen crying and Finney doing nothing to stop it. Gwen being forced to repeat over and over that her dreams are just dreams and that they don’t mean anything.

Finney shakes his head, dismissing the thought.

He wants to argue with Robin. Yeah, Gwen's dreams are sometimes right. Like when she told Finney after the basement that she dreamed of Vance Hopper showing her where the house with the bodies were. And yeah, she had been right, but how could The Grabber get her in her dreams?

Finney answers his own question. She’s been sleepwalking a lot lately. Finney keeps finding her out of bed during the night, sleeping but somehow awake. He convinced himself it was nothing.

Finney still has so many questions though. Can Gwen be physically hurt in her dreams? Is that even possible? How is it possible that The Grabber is back, even if it's only in the dream world. Is he only back in the dream world? Sure, Finney had entertained the thought that The Grabber would punish Finney from beyond the grave before, but he figured that was just his trauma talking.

Finney opens his mouth to speak before hearing a click. The line goes dead.

Finney feels something in his chest ache at the realization. Robin is gone, again.

Finney sets the phone back down in the cradle, dragging his hands down his face.

A scream suddenly cuts through the air, causing him to jump. His heart starts racing when he recognizes the voice. Gwen.

He’s out of the phone booth and running through the snow before he can think twice. He throws open the girls cabin door; not caring about the wet footprints he’s leaving on the floor or about Mustangs rule about boys and girls having to be separated.

He finds Gwen at the back of the cabin; her eyes are closed but she’s still facing one of the windows, face pulled into something full of fear.

A faint tapping noise distracts Finney for a second; taking him back to the basement.

Seeing Griffin’s cut up and bloody body suspended in the air and bent awkwardly, like someone tried to snap him in half. A gaping slash across Griffin's neck, blood sliding down his arm and dripping from his crimson stained fingers and onto the hard ground. Finney remembers the fear and nausea that filled him at the sight. The faint bit of guilt. Nobody should ever be subjected to something like that, especially not a kid. No kid should have to worry about going through that.

Finney remembers the many times when he would feel like giving up, slumping against the cold basement walls; beaten and exhausted. He would lift his fingers to his neck, almost like he could feel split skin and warm blood that wasn’t there. That was his motivation.

He also remembers the day he escaped. The bloodied phone packed with dirt, the cord wrapped around The Grabbers neck. The sickening crunch of a bone snapping. He should have been scared; and he was, at first. When The Grabber first swung at him he was terrified, but he repeated to himself what Robin had told him. He saw the image of Griffin's body in his head, and he knew he had to do it for them. Had to make sure The Grabber never got his hands on any boy ever again.

He’s brought out of his mind when Gwen starts screaming again. Finney shakes his head, realizing the tapping was coming from blood on Gwen's fingers, hitting the wooden floors. Her forearm is scratched up, blood seeping out of the wounds.

Finney rushes forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Gwen.” He shakes her, hard. “Gwen! Come on, wake up!” His frantic eyes search her face, trying to find any indication that she can hear him.

“You’re dreaming, Gwen. It’s okay, please wake up,” Finney pleads.

Gwen inhales sharply and when her eyes open they’re wide and full of terror. She flinches away from Finney at first, not realizing who it is. Finney hesitates a second before she realizes, then pulls her against him tightly.

“It’s okay,” Finney says, resting a hand on the back of Gwen’s head.

“God, I feel crazy!” Gwen cries, gripping the back of Finney’s jacket in her clenched fists.

After helping Gwen bandage her arm he tells her she’s gonna sleep in the boys cabin with him and Ernesto. Finney doesn’t trust that something else won’t happen, and as long as he’s there he can mostly wake her up quickly. He helps her grab her bedding and they both head back into the cold to the boys cabin.

When they get back inside Finney sees that Ernesto is awake and nervously pacing across the floor. He turns when he hears the door open. His eyes find Gwen and Finney and he rushes over to them, resting his hands on Gwen’s upper arms.

“Are you okay?” He asks, waiting until Gwen gives a slight nod before turning to Finney. “What happened?”

“She just had a nightmare,” Finney says, not bothering to keep the slight annoyance from his voice. He doesn’t get why Ernesto is so worried about Gwen; aside from his tragically massive crush on her. Gwen can handle herself. Ernesto should know that by how many times he’s probably seen her cuss someone out. The annoyance also stems from the physical similarities in Ernesto and Robin. After that call Finney can’t help but see Robins face in Ernesto's and he finds himself staring until he feels sick and Ernesto gives him a weird look.

Gwen elbows Finney in the side and he glares at her before he can stop himself. She gives him a look that says “what the fuck was that?”. He simply shakes his head, walking past Ernesto and heading back to his bunk.

Once they all settle down and Gwen is sure Ernesto is asleep—based on his even breathing because she can’t see his face due to him facing the wall—she climbs out of bed and pads over to Finney’s bunk.

Finney lays on his back, looking up at the boards supporting the mattress above him. He has his headphones pulled on again, his Walkman playing the same tape as before. He has one arm propped behind his head, the other across his stomach.

He glances over when he feels a weight on the bed; seeing Gwen sitting on the edge of it and looking at him with concern. Finney hates that look. He got so many of those looks when he got out of the hospital after the basement. It made him want to never show his face again. Or move somewhere where nobody knew him and start his life over. That thought was tempting even without the worried looks.

“What?” Finney asks, pausing his music and pulling his headphones down to rest around his neck.

“What happened?” Gwen counters.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Finney really doesn’t want to talk about the call with Robin. About his conflicted and deep feelings on hearing Robins voice for the first time in years. About how Robin said that The Grabber was now targeting Gwen to hurt Finney. About how Finney can’t stop seeing Robin in Ernesto.

“Finney,” Gwen says sharply.

“I got another call, okay?” Finney snaps, sitting up.

Gwen doesn’t respond for a moment, watching him carefully. “What did they say?” She knows from Finney telling her before that he only gets calls from dead Grabber victims. Almost always to tell him what happened to them or something to help him.

Finney swallows hard, eyes flicking to his lap where his scarred shaky hands sit, fidgeting. “It—“ he can’t seem to get the words out. Part of him wants to keep this—Robin—to himself. A sick mix of jealousy and guilt swirl in Finney's chest. If Ernesto's brother is talking to Finney, Ernesto would probably want to know. He probably deserves to. But Finney does not want to tell him.

“It was Robin,” Finney finally gets out. He keeps his eyes averted.

He sees Gwen visibly still, her eyes flick across his face, as if trying to find an answer in his expression. “What?” her voice is quieter now.

“It was Robin. He said The Grabbers back and coming after you,” Finney spills. “That we need to find some boys to stop him.”

Gwen takes a minute to process that information, still clearly stuck on the fact that it was Robin who called Finney.

“That’s who I dreamed about,” Gwen admits, running her fingers over the bandage on her arm. “The boys. I think they were the first of his kills.”

“What boys?” Finney asks, already knowing who the He was that she mentioned.

“I don’t know. They were campers here. Targeted by him for some reason I’m not sure of yet.” Gwen shrugs. “But seriously, Robin?” It’s like Gwen can’t think of something to ask. Like she still can’t believe it. To be fair, Finney can’t either. Not really.

He never truly accepted that Robin was gone, just got used to not seeing him around at school or going to Robin's house to help him with homework or watch movies. To him it was just like Robin moved away.

Robin wasn’t that body buried in the basement across the street from where Finney was kept. He was at school fighting someone for talking too much shit. Or in the school bathroom taping his split knuckles. Or at the Grab’N’Go getting grape and cherry soda and snacks for his and Finney's homework session.

“Finney?” Gwen asks softly, placing a hand on top of Finney’s.

Finney flinches without meaning to, pulling his hand away. He doesn’t think to apologize. “It was him,” Finney states.

“How?” Gwen asks.

Finney had told Gwen briefly about the phone calls from the basement; he knew she would get it since she had her psychic dreams. But he neglected to tell the police about it when they asked him a few questions in the hospital. Technically, he had broken down before they could properly ask how he escaped, so he got out of answering. But even if that hadn’t been the case he wouldn’t have brought it up. What kind of police would believe a captive child killed his kidnapper with the help of calls through a broken phone from the kids the kidnapper had killed previously? None. None would. And Finney knew that.

“I don’t know.”

“How come it’s not one of the victims from camp calling you? Wasn’t it the victims who called you in the basement? Why was it Robin?” Gwen questions.

Finney’s fists clenched at the mention of the basement, but his face stayed blank. “I don’t know, Gwen.”

Gwen seems to notice his slightly agitated mood and just nods.

Finney exhales slowly, hesitantly, before scooting over slightly to make room for Gwen. Gwen just stares at him for a moment before laying on her side by Finney.

“Go to sleep, Gwen,” Finney says, the “I’m right here” sitting heavy and unsaid on his tongue. They don’t have that kind of relationship anymore. Not that it’s Gwen's fault. After the basement Finney just—couldn’t. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t go outside, couldn’t go to school. He would spend all day shut in his room, overthinking every possible thing his brain could come up with. Anytime Gwen would ask if he was okay or come in he would tell her to go away. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. He isn’t sure he is now; or ever even will be. He knew if he tried talking about it he would have a breakdown or a panic attack and he just couldn’t.

Gwen falls asleep pretty quickly, a few seconds after her eyes close her breathing evens and she leans heavier into Finney’s side.

Finney tenses at the contact but doesn’t move, instead closing his own eyes and trying to think about anything but Robin and that phone call in the snow.

Ponyboy had just managed to fall asleep when the bedroom door opening causes him to stir.

He figures it’s Soda, since he and Darry always stay up later than Pony does. Soda usually doesn’t come to bed until a few hours after Ponyboy, climbing in beside him and almost immediately seeking out the younger boys warmth.

Ponyboy doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just settles deeper into the mattress, cheek pressed against the cool material of his pillowcase. Usually if he’s still awake he and Soda will talk some, but right now he just wants to sleep.

He hears the sound of clothes rustling then a cold rush of air hits his back when the blankets are pulled up. He burrows his face against his pillow, making a quiet grumbling noise at the temperature change.

“Hurry up, Soda. It’s cold,” he complains. If he weren’t so tired he would do something about it, but he can barely keep his eyes open.

Pony hears a quiet snicker as something warm presses against his back, an arm sliding around his waist. “I ain’t Soda,” Johnny says softly.

Ponyboy stills, cheeks warming, a small smile growing on his lips. He slowly opens his eyes, turning slightly to look at Johnny over his shoulder; which is probably a bad idea. His eyes are half-lidded with sleep and his hair is messy. Ponyboy finds himself wanting to run his fingers through it.

“Why’re you here? I thought you went home,” Ponyboy asks.

“Was gonna. But I like it better here with you,” Johnny responds, his eyes meeting Ponyboys.

Ponyboy doesn’t know what to say to that, so he lays back down. Johnny closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the back of Ponyboy’s neck, his chest against Pony’s back.

Pony can feel Johnny’s warm breath against his skin, and he resists shivering at the sensation.

If Pony was tired then, he’s exhausted now. Johnny’s weight against him makes him more comfortable than he wants to admit and he feels his eyes sliding closed again.

“Hey, Pony?” Johnny asks quietly.

“Hm?” Ponyboy mumbles in response.

“This okay?”

Ponyboy is too tired to even fully understand what he’s asking. Possibly the cuddling is what he means.

“Yeah,” Ponyboy answers without thinking too hard. “You’re warm.”

Johnny smiles, pulling Ponyboy closer. He goes to rest his arm under Pony’s head, waiting a few seconds until the latter sits up a bit before doing so. Johnny’s fingers tangle in Pony’s hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands.

Ponyboy shifts slightly, leaning back into Johnny before allowing himself to fully fall asleep in the comfort of Johnny’s arms.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

“Ain’t that cute.”

“Shut up, Soda,” Ponyboy murmurs, burrowing his face back against Johnny’s chest.

“Hey, I was bein’ nice,” Soda answers with a laugh.

“And I’m sleeping.” But really he isn’t. Not anymore. He’s still tired but figures he won’t be getting back to sleep soon so instead he sits up, rubbing his eyes.

His gaze finds Soda, who’s leaning against the doorway in his work uniform with his arms crossed. He has a smile on his lips and a teasing look on his face.

“What’s that look for?” Ponyboy inquires, eyeing Soda.

When Soda gestures to Ponyboy’s lap the latter looks down. A still sleeping Johnny lays rested against Ponyboy, arm draped across his lap and face nuzzling Pony’s side.

Ponyboy’s face heats up and he looks back at Soda, to find he has already left the room—most likely to head to work with Steve.

Once Ponyboy remembers that it’s Saturday he allows himself to lay back down, leaning into Johnny. A small smile graces Johnny’s lips as he pulls Pony harder against him.

Ponyboy doesn’t question it at first, closing his eyes and just focusing on the sound of Johnny’s breathing until he realizes.

“You ain’t asleep,” Ponyboy accuses, leaning back to look at Johnny’s face. Johnny’s hair is mussed from sleep and his brown eyes are shining with amusement.

“Never said I was,” Johnny retorts.

“Why aren’t you?”

When Johnny doesn’t respond for a moment Pony raises an eyebrow.

“Johnny.”

“What?” Johnny asks.

“You’re staring,” Ponyboy points out.

“Oh. Was I?” Johnny asks sheepishly, cheeks reddening.

Ponyboy nods. After a few seconds of silence Johnny sits up, pushing the blankets off of his lap.

“Hey, where are you going?” Ponyboy frowns.

“Need to piss,” Johnny answers, climbing out of bed.

“Can’t it wait?” Ponyboy reaches for Johnny’s hand, clasping it with his own.

“Pony.”

“Johnny.”

Johnny exhales slowly, seemingly thinking something over. His eyes stay on the cracked open bedroom door.

“Five more minutes?” Ponyboy asks, gently tugging Johnny’s hand and trying to pull him back into bed.

“Fine. Five.” Johnny climbs back into bed with Pony, pulling the younger boy against him.

Pony leans into the touch, eyes falling closed. He’s asleep before more than two minutes passes; breath evening out and his body resting more heavily against Johnny.

Johnny just rolls his eyes, moving to lay on his back and hold Pony against his chest. He closes his eyes too.

You lay in bed, eyes closed, seconds from going completely unconscious. You had been falling asleep every few seconds before eventually just succumbing to it. A thin sheet has replaced your usual blankets as it gets warmer outside, along with you now sleeping with the window open. It’s something you do every summer, to let the cooler night air in before it gets humid by mid-day.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your drowsiness, and you stir, rolling onto your back, eyes slowly opening. You wait for a moment, seeing if you’ll be the one having to open the door for the late night visitor. Lucky for you, your brother is still downstairs and instead he opens it. A small smile graces your lips as you roll back over, facing the wall. The sheet pools low over your hips, showing traces of the waistband of your boxers. Yet another thing you do over summer to sleep without sweating to death; wear only boxers to bed. You run warm enough as it is, that combined with summer heat just makes it worse.

You finally fall back into that tempting warmth between sleep and wake, teetering over the edge. You only lean more awake at the sound of footsteps in the hallway and your door creaking open. Figuring it’s your brother, you keep your eyes closed, not wanting to lose the sleep you’re so close to getting.

You hear shoes being kicked off and the rusting of clothes before the mattress behind you dips and you feel a faint warmth against your back. You still for a moment before a familiar voice speaks quietly, “Hey, doll. You awake?”

You grumble a bit at being woken up, but you can’t say you mind. Your eyes blink open and you turn your head slightly. Johnny Cade sits perched on his knees on the bed behind you, his eyes softening at your tired demeanor. “Hey, Johnny,” you say, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Was with Pony in the lot. But he went home. I figure my parents don’t care too much whether I get home or not so I came here.” Johnny shifts, sitting properly beside you and hesitantly leaning into your side. You’ve been dating a few months, but he still seems reluctant on physical touch. You don’t mind though. You understand why. “Hope you don’t mind.”

You shake your head. “You tired?” You ask, glancing over at him.

He meets your eyes with his own, a conflicted expression tightening his features. “A bit. You sure are,” he frowns, “sorry I woke you.”

“It’s no big deal,” you say, nudging his arm with your own, a small smile hinting at your lips.

“Sure?” He asks, finding himself smiling too.

You nod and lie back down, pulling the sheet up as an invitation. Johnny watches you for a moment, unsure, before scooting closer and laying beside you. You scoff, unsatisfied, before carefully putting your arms around him and pulling him against you. Johnny freezes at the contact but after a moment rests his head on your chest, content with listening to your heartbeat.

“Night, Cade,” you whisper, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head.

Johnny mutters out something that sounds like “goodnight, sweetheart” before resting more comfortably against you.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

You wake up before Johnny, squinting your eyes against the sunlight shining bright through your windows curtains. At some point in the night you’d kicked off the sheets, leaving them bunched at the end of the bed. You, apparently, had swapped positions at some point, Johhny’s clothed chest now pressing against your bare back, one arm around your waist and the other under your head. Johnny wasn’t usually for cuddling, but sometimes he initiated it, and a small smile always adorned your lips when he did.

You risk a glance at your alarm clock. 8:43 A.M. Okay. Still plenty of time to get to the Curtis’ as promised. You and Johnny are gonna hang with Pony and Two-bit while Darry and Soda are at work. You sit up, gently shaking Johnny. “Come on, Johnny. We’re going to Pony’s.” When he doesn’t wake, only stirs, you roll your eyes, leaning down to kiss him awake instead. The second your lips meet his, Johhny stirs and you pull back. “Morning, pretty boy,” you drawl.

He wrinkles his nose at you, but the small upward tilt of his lips suggests he’s not actually opposed to the petname.

“Come on. We gotta get to the Curtis’ before Darry rips me a new one, huh?” You say, sliding off of your bed to pull on a pair of jeans.

“You really agreed to go? I’m still tired,” he whines.

“I know. But you can sleep there, can’t ya?” You pull on a black tank top, blowing your bangs out of your eyes when they get messed up.

“Can’t we wait five minutes?” He asks. “Come back.”

You glance back over at the bed to see what look Johnny is giving you, which is a mistake. He’s looking at you like a kicked puppy.

“Fine. Only ‘cause it’s you,” you huff, climbing back into bed beside him. You settle against him, forehead resting against his neck, one hand trailing up into his hair and the other on his side. Johnny leans against you, arms around your back.

“Thank you,” Johnny murmurs sleepily. He buries his face in your hair, squeezing you for a few seconds.

“Mmm. You’re lucky you’re handsome. Or I would have said no,” You say, knowing damn well you would have said yes anytime just because it’s him.

“Glad I look good then, huh?” You can feel him smile against your cheek, where he leaned to give you a light kiss.

“Mhm,” you hum. After a few minutes of laying tangled together you try to get up. “Okay we really have to go now.”