ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ finney blake and ponyboy curtis reincarnated. music lover. johnny cade’s #1 defender (ralph macchio lover with my whole soul). horror obsessed. jigsaws favorite apprentice. deer and wolf hybrid. alien zombie loser dogboy. #1 coffin and chain shipper. artist and writer.
Why do y'all baby Johnny Cade??? His best friends are Dallas aka The Tulsa Kiddie JumperTM and Ponyboy, Oklahoma's No.1 hater. He idolizes a guy with a rap sheet longer than the declaration of Independence. He sleeps on the ground on a regular basis. "Man I wish I had a weed right now" - Johnny Cade 1967, c'mon brah. He's not a shy baby, he's the fuckin quiet kid in the back of your english class with straight A's that you're worried is gonna snap someday cause he always smells like cigarettes and booze. He ain't stab the guy jumping him, he stabbed the one jumping Pony. He might be babygirl, but bro. That poor little abused shelter dog still knows how to bite. Probably more than any of 'em.
𝑖 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔. (chapter I - wind that howls like a hound)
words: 3.6k
notes: i absolutely loved writing this, please enioy, this is probably my favorite thing i’ve ever written. i tried to keep as close to canon as possible but some things might be wrong/altered.
summary: what if finney got a different call on his first night at alpine lake camp?
fic playlist / fic masterlist
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 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.
tags: @postpunkclarity @arteei @twistyquigley (let me know if you want added or removed!!)
