when she needed things DONE correctly, she knew just which willing participant would be helping her that day and today happened to be CARSON. you could get anyone to do ANYTHING even with a LIE like so many IDIOTICALLY believed.
‘ there you are ! just the NERD i was looking for. listen, i need you to do an assignment for me --- do it, you’ll get a hundred bucks in cash and i’ll sweeten the POT by blowing you ten whole minutes, deal? ’
“ — is this some kind of joke?” unsurprisingly, finn is the first to speak, glancing down at the blade in his hand before looking to the boy, to carson, across the room from him. he’s got maybe a couple inches on finn, but the guy is probably capital f FLABBY under that t-shirt and cardigan combo ( probably skipped a few too many arm days, huh? ). without meaning to, finn is sizing him up, and for a moment, he almost feels guilty about it. he’s been in a fair amount of fights before, but this is something entirely different.
“i don’t think they’re trying to be funny.” when the taller boy speaks, his gaze is focused on the matching knife in his hands, dragging a spidery finger down the blade. it’s a long moment before he decides to dredge his gaze up to match finn’s, the ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
by this time, a couple of alarm bells are going off in finn’s head. this carson guy is giving off a serious norman bates vibe. maybe this whole fight to the death thing won’t be as hard as i thought, he finds himself thinking, trying his hardest to shake the thought from his mind. finn’s grip on the hilt tightens a bit as he heaves a long sigh, taking a few lazy strides to the center of the room.
he isn’t expecting carson to follow his lead, but the boy does take a few haltering steps towards him as well, the slight smile fading with every step. for a moment, finn kinda feels like they’re being filmed and broadcasted on the animal planet ( two predators, circling one another, waiting for one to go in for the kill ). maybe they were being filmed, in true hunger games style and everything.
“so, what?” finn will ask, feigning indifference as he dares to saunter closer to carson. his gaze is almost bored as it flits from his own knife to carson’s. “they want us to kill each other? we don’t even get a motive? that’s a little uncreative, don’t you think?”
they’re rhetorical questions, but carson doesn’t seem to know that, and for the split second that the taller boy considers an answer, finn makes his move, ducking low as he sprints through the last few feet between him and carson, tackling the other around the waist. as he’d expected, carson isn’t exactly a MUSCLE TRUCK, and the guy goes down pretty easily. he might look pretty threatening with a knife in his hands, but at the moment he isn’t putting up much of a fight.
with the element of surprise on his side, finn pins the boy to the floor, hands above his head, his hips perhaps a bit too snug down on carson’s. in less than a moment, the boy is immobile, and though he still clutches desperately at his knife, it’s all but useless if his hands aren’t free. for a moment, finn will give a predatory glare down to his trapped prey, free hand brandishing his own knife, inching it closer to carson’s exposed neck. the blade hovers over unprotected skin, and for a moment, finn actually considers going in for the kill ( it’d be so easy, he’s right there, it’d get you out of here, just do it ).
and just as quickly as the urge is there, it’s gone. his hand is decisive as it retracts the blade from carson’s throat, and with a flick of his wrist, the knife is clattering across the room. a playful smile breaks over the boy’s face as he leans back, settling comfortably onto carson’s hips, hands coming to rest at his sides. for a moment, the boy beneath him doesn’t even try to breathe, frozen as he stares up at finn, wondering what new game he might be playing now.
but for once, finn is sincere ( or as sincere as you can be after almost slitting someone’s throat while straddling them ). his grin is bright and it reaches his eyes, but carson has never been one to trust blindly, and he doesn’t think he’s going to start now. at the taller boy’s hesitation, finn will give a laugh, bright and bubbly and out of place with all the tension the room has bred.
“you didn’t think i was actually gonna kill you, right??” another rhetorical question? carson isn’t sure, but he isn’t all that keen on answering either way. though his hands have been freed for a while now, he has yet to move them from their prone position above his head, his own knife still loosely in his grip.
it’s easy enough for finn to note the other’s hesitation, to relish in it for a moment, but with his knife gone, all the boy wants now is to reassure carson: he’s not here to hurt him, not anymore at least. his smile melts from too-bright to something more intimate, more private. a beat passes and finn is leaning back in over carson once more, perhaps not-so-subtley grinding down on his hips.
“y’know,” he starts, voice low, too-soft. it’s time for alarm bells to start going off in carson’s head, now. “there are more interesting things we could do whilst locked in a room besides killing each other.” and even carson can’t help it as he blanches at that. sure, he gets a hard on in near-death situations just like any other guy, but this is taking it a little far, right? unsurprisingly, finn didn’t seem to think so. even as carson gapes up at him, the boy leans in closer, his smile predatory once more, though in a way carson never expected.
with every passing second that finn gets closer, carson can feel his own panic rising in his chest as he fights to keep a mostly straight face ( the look of surprise has been almost permanently etched there since finn had gotten rid of his knife ). with almost startling clarity, carson realizes he’s never really been this close to someone, not like this, not at all, and even more clearly, he realizes he doesn’t want to be this close. doesn’t want finn’s warm breath playing across his face, doesn’t want the dull ache that had started to reverberate through his body the moment finn had straddled him, doesn’t want to know what else finn had in mind for them in there. ( BUT HE DOES, HE DOES, HE DOES ).
finn is only inches away when carson’s breath catches in his throat, and his hand moves of its own accord. it’s as if he’d blacked out for a few seconds, because one moment finn is there, too close, too ready, too tempting, and the next he’s sitting upright, a wet gasp escaping his lips, eyes wide. he looks like he’s seen a ghost, or like he’s about to become one. and with an incredulous moment of lucidity, carson realizes what he’s done, realizes his kinfe has disappeared from his hand, realizes he’s buried it hilt deep in finn’s back.
and surprisingly, the boy in question is doing fairly well, having just been stabbed. his breaths seem to be coming heavier, yes, and maybe there’s a bit of wet wheezing accompanying them, but he’s able to pull himself off from carson, movements slow and placid as he finds his own spot on the floor. yes, he seems to be doing okay. even as the colour drains from his face. even as a trickle of blood crawls its way from the corner of his mouth. even as the light starts to disappear from his eyes. yes, he’s doing okay.
“wow.” see! he’s even talking! finn will attempt something of a chuckle, but it comes out far too garbled to be humourous. carson sits up, face a mask of disinterest even as his eyes betray his true fascination. he’s never been this close to someone as they’d died. he’s never been the cause.
“if you didn’t wanna make out, you could’ve just told me, man.” he’ll glance up to carson, to gauge his reaction, wincing as he moves, trying and failing not to disturb the knife in his back. scooting closer, finn will angle himself backwards to carson, hissing in pain as he does so. “do me a favour,” he tells him. “take this out, will you?”
“you’re just gonna bleed out.” it’s a measured response, devoid of responsibility, devoid of emotion. he’s studied the limits of the human body long enough to know finn doesn’t have a chance. had the knife been a little higher, perhaps in his shoulder, his muscle mass might’ve protected him a bit, but carson’s 90% sure he punctured a lung. removing the knife now would allow the cavity to fill with blood. depending on where exactly he’d hit him, finn has a good chance of drowning in his own blood before bleeding out.
“yeah, i know, dude.” another wheeze, another gasp of pain. an involuntary shudder runs through him and finn can’t even help the whimper that escapes him. “it’s not like keeping it in there is gonna do me any good, either. the people that locked us in here aren’t gonna rush to give me medical attention and patch up my wounds. this is what they wanted. so just give it to them.”
and for once, carson doesn’t hesitate. a beat passes before he leans in closer, hand wrapping firmly around the hilt. as he jostles the knife, blood dribbles from the wound, staining finn’s shirt. now or never, bateman. he braces himself against finn, a hand on his shoulder, before yanking the knife from his back.
as expected, blood almost immediately begins to gush from the wound, faster and thicker than carson could’ve ever expected. he watches as finn gives a wet cough and a sigh of relief, the boy bracing himself on the floor before struggling to lay down on it, turning now so he can face carson. already blood begins to pool beneath him and cling to his chin and his lips, but it doesn’t seem as if finn could care less. with the knife out of his back, he’ll take a deep, wheezing breath, a stark calmness seems to pass over finn’s face. it’s been a long time since the clifton boy had felt peace, but perhaps now he’d get as close to it as he possibly could.
looking up to carson, finn will offer another smile ( he seems to be full of them today ). this one is too empty to be believable, but then again, finn doesn’t know who he’s trying to fool, himself or the boy above him. “this was fun, right?” another wet cough. another spatter of blood across his chin.
“maybe next time you guys can reenact catching fire.” a final breath, shallow and wet as he fights against the liquid in his lungs. carson only allows an unimpressed frown as he regards the dying boy before him, light finally fading from his eyes, leaving them as vacant as the smile on his face. “i always thought i’d make a pretty good finnick…”
you’re talking to the guy that works part-time at a MORTUARY.
of course he’d be better at helping you plot your death. “is that
an actual request or – ?”
