Chapter Text
Finn doesn't do parties, usually. Too many people, too many bodies pressing in on him, too many people drunk or high or just plain touchy. He gets his weed behind the Grab-N-Go, and he smokes at home, rarely around other people. He doesn't like putting himself at that kind of risk. He's not fucking stupid. He knows what can happen to girls at parties. Locker room talk and bragging about shit that the other guys learned very quickly meant he would knock you teeth in for talking about within earshot of Finn Blake. No matter how normal he wants to be, he won't be that. Not ever.
But he's been… trying to not sink into himself quite so much after Alpine Lake. Mando jolted something loose in his head. A sort of firm shake that reminded him that time is still moving. He's almost an adult. Mando meant it as a warning to stay out of trouble, but Finn sees it as a hatchet hanging over his neck by a thread. A promise of what He became, because Finn heard all the talk about what turned Him into a monster, and Finn is next in line. Mando had told him he was strong enough to let it go. To keep living. Robin had wanted Finn to keep living.
Somehow, this translated to standing outside of a house of someone he vaguely remembers being in a few of his classes (ones he skips more often than he doesn't), staring up at the front porch like it might bite him. This is normal. Most people don't smoke all alone in their rooms, he reminds himself. Most people do it to have fun.
Finn doesn't know if a party will be fun. The last party he went to was Robin's thirteenth birthday, and that had been him, Robin, and Ernesto. Gwen had whined about not being invited, but Finney (because that's who he used to be, before He broke that kid into a million pieces) had for once wanted something all to himself. He had wanted Robin all to himself. And he'd had him, except for Ernesto. For a brief moment, everything had been perfect. Then, November had hit like a sledgehammer, and Finney had no one. And then he was Finn, and not Finney.
Never Finney, ever again. Finney died in that fucking hole in the ground.
Maybe Finn is alive enough to actually make it through the front door of this house party without chickening out. He's not a pussy. He clenches and unclenches his fists. He can handle a party.
He quickly realizes that parties are really fucking boring if you aren't with friends or on something. Mando's voice hammers at the back of his skull, and so does the migraine from the loud music. He's been trying, okay. He has. Smoking less, when he can manage it. When it's not a bad day. Today hadn't even been that bad, all things considered. He actually made it through the school day. He'd come home with a brochure for a local community college tucked in his backpack. He doesn't know if he plans on looking beyond that brochure. It feels like a threat, rather than a lifeline.
Finn is leaning against a wall opposite the TV. That's something to do, at least. Someone threw on a slasher flick. The kind of thing Robin would've loved, if he weren't permanently thirteen and torn to pieces. Finn jolts at the flicker of movement out of the corner of his vision. Heart rate spiking at the whisper of long hair and squared shoulders. He half-turns, but it's just a girl disappearing into the crush of bodies lingering throughout the room.
A guy that Finn vaguely recognizes sidles up next to him. Dark floppy hair just this side of too long, pitted acne stubborn on his cheeks, dark eyes lined with something smudgy, like a musician, and ears pierced in a couple places. Shirt cut off at the shoulders, all ragged edges. His shoes are untied. Laces trailing. Leaning into Finn's space, like they're buddies or something. Finn jerks away, skin buzzing from the contact. He digs his nails into his palm. Normal. He's trying to be fucking normal.
"Never seen you at one of these before," the guy says. Casual. Like everyone doesn't know exactly who he is. "Looking for a good time?"
He's still too close, and Finn has the immediate reaction of what the fuck. Head jumping to the basement and sharp edged honeyed words. He digs his nails as deep into his palms as he can, feeling the skin bruise.
"What the fuck?" he hisses. Taken aback.
He's ready to throw a punch. Ready to deflect and call this guy a fag for ever suggesting it. Even if the word tastes like ash on his tongue. Tastes like the memory of Robin shutting down that same word thrown in his direction. Are they talking about him like that again? Can they see it on his skin like a film, a layer of grease that never goes away?
"It's a party," the guy says. Not seeming offended or even very afraid. "Lighten up, seriously. I got weed. Or something else, if you're looking to really have a good time."
Finn pauses. He cocks his head, studying the guy. Eyes flicking up and down, taking in his face and body language. Heart still pounding against his rib cage. Still not able to breathe properly. Weed is tempting. Parties, as it turns out, are fucking boring. And he feels so lonely and out of place, watching all his peers interact like he's on the other side of a pane of glass. It's always been that way. The only person who ever got to the other side and sat with him was Robin. Gwen used to be able to too, but after the basement, the distance between them ballooned and crystalized into something uncrossable.
Mando told him to let it go. To stop being fucking numb, stop holding it in. Finn figures that maybe trying to talk to people and stop being such a paranoid freak is a good first step. And the weed will help make that easier. If he's smoking with… not a friend. He doesn't know this guy. But with someone else, at least, then he's not being a fucking hermit. Progress. Yeah, he can try this. Try not being such an asshole.
"Sure," he says.
The guy grins. Sly and in a way that nonetheless doesn't seem hungry. Just pleased. "Cool," he says. "Cool. I'm Andy. I think we have study hall together."
Finn wouldn't know. He skips study hall more than he shows up. He wonders why Andy remembered that. Maybe it's normal to remember who you have classes with, when your brain isn't full of shit that wants you dead.
"Finn," he offers back, because that's the normal thing to do.
"I know," Andy says, but it's light. Even so, Finn has to stop himself from bristling. That could be lightness, or Andy could be laughing at him.
Normal. He's trying to be fucking normal. It's normal to hang out with people you go to school with. He hung out with Robin all the time. He… needs to stop thinking about Robin. It just hurts. It only ever hurts.
Andy jerks his head towards the hallway. "Wanna go?"
The suspicion is back. "Where?"
"The den," Andy says. "No one else goes in there. This is my cousin's place, I know all the good spots. It was supposed to be his stepdad's mancave, but-" he shrugs "-fucker never finishes a project."
Finn weighs that. He could take Andy in a fight, if he needed to. Even high, he's taller than the guy, and he definitely has a higher tolerance than just about anyone here. "Sure," he decides. Take a leap. Take a chance. Fucking- move on.
He can do that. He can.
He follows Andy to the den. It is unfinished, like he said. The floor is the kind of thing you might see if you pull up carpet, but it's not concrete and Finn counts on that as he sits down. Pressing his fingers into the wood. It's still cold in April, but nowhere near as cold as mid-December. And the rough wood boards don't hold the chill the same way concrete does.
Andy plops down next to him. Finn watches him dig out a baggie from his pocket. There's a couple blunts, but also some brightly colored pills. Finn's shoulders draw up a little. The pills He gave him were never intact. They were crushed up into the eggs or mixed into the shitty lemon-lime soda. He doesn't know what color they were, but he's pretty sure they weren't yellow and blue and purple. It almost looks like candy.
Andy incorrectly interprets his gaze. "ten bucks for one of the pills," he offers.
Finn should ask about the blunt. He should. But then he would come home smelling like weed, and Gwen's face would fall and set like it did the first time he smoked after Alpine Lake. Andy didn't lock the door, and he's not blocking it. There's a window Finn could get through, if he really needed to.
He digs out his wallet. Flipping out a couple bills he for once didn't steal from his dad. He's been… thinking. About trying to get a job. Mando did end up paying them, even if camp was canceled. Finn doesn't get it, but he said he owed them for helping him with find the other boys. Mando said they could come back. Not that Finn really wants to go back to the place where he woke up with frostbite handprints burning into his thighs, but maybe it would be different during the summer.
He hands Andy the cash. "Expensive," he says. It's not, really, but he's trying not to be a freak. Be normal. He can do that. He can do it.
"Worth it," Andy corrects, shaking out two pills. One he hands to Finn, the other he takes himself.
At first, Finn isn't sure it is. He doesn't feel anything for long enough that he wonders if he got suckered into paying for a piece of actual candy. He says as much to Andy, who just tips his head back and laughs.
"Give it a few more minutes," Andy promises, a smile playing across his lips.
Andy is slouched and loose-limbed, fingers tapping at the floor in a skittering rhythm, and Finn watches him. Not like that. He bats the thought away, but it feels a little easier than he usually has to work for it. Like his baseline twisted anger and fear and disgust are a little quieter. He nods, a belated agreement. His thoughts feel like they're running in circles, but at the same time the tight twisting knot in his chest has loosened.
"You're feeling it," Andy guesses. Leaning a little closer. The music thumping through the rest of the house is muffled, but it makes Finn feel a little more grounded.
He and Gwen used to sing along to music sometimes. Pulling out the radio their dad kept in the garage and jumping around. He feels an itch to again. He leans a bit into Andy's space. He's warm. Finn is constantly cold. He shakes his hands out, like he can dispell the memory of that cold. Then he shakes his hands a bit more because it feels fuzzy. His whole body feels light, buzzing. Like all his limbs have fallen asleep.
It's not bad. Different from weed, but not bad. He can see the appeal. He doesn't feel sleepy or slow. Far from it. A small grin manages to make its way onto his face.
"I don't think I've ever seen you smile," Andy points out. He's leaned around, staring straight at Finn. Like he's seeing something strange and unusual. Well, he is.
Finney never smiled much. Finn smiles even less now. So maybe it is normal for Andy to be in his face staring. Finn for once doesn't mind it too much. It doesn't feel hungry. Just… curious. Robin had been curious. Andy's hair hangs in his face in the same way Robin's did when he wasn't wearing his bandanna. Finn wonders if Robin would've cut his hair if he grew up. Probably not. He was too cool to care what people said about him, and people didn't say much because Robin made sure it hurt them more than him if they did.
Wow. Thinking about Robin almost doesn't hurt when he's like this. He's just remembering the good stuff. That's nice. That's really nice.
He wonders if Andy gets shit for his hair. He must get shit for the smudgy pencil around his eyes. It makes his brown eyes, lighter than Robin's or Gwen's, look almost gold. Or maybe thats the flourescent light beating down. He's got freckles. Huh. Finn used to get freckles, when he went outside more often. Robin had brushed his fingers over the ones on Finney's arms. Curious, questing. Finn usually can't remember that without feeling sick. Right now, it just feels like a memory.
Andy's face is very close to his own. Finn's vision is a little blurry. He blinks, trying to focus. Their noses bump. Finn can feel breath on his face. It tickles part of his brain, a sour memory that's too far away to hurt him for once.
The warm breath against his mouth transitions into pressure. Finn sighs. Oh. Nice. That feels nice. He leans into it. Andy leans back. The pressure meets in the middle. It's almost soothing. It gives the buzzing energy in his limbs a focal point. A place to flock to. His face feels hot and fuzzy. He reaches out a clumsy hand. Smacking against Andy's chest. Tangling in his tank top. The fabric feels funny. Or maybe his fingers are buzzing. He feels like he's buzzing. Exhaling through his nose when Andy tilts his head. Shifting the angle of the contact so their lips slot together easier. Finn mirrors it. It feels easy. Pleasant. He likes this.
Like. There's a hand on his face. Like. Thumb brushes his cheekbone. Finn jerks back from the kiss. The kiss. Fuck. Holy shit. His stomach drops and the hand fisted in Andy's tank top shoves him back as hard as Finn can manage with the weird cottony feeling in his limbs.
"Get the fuck off me," he hisses, almost falling back as he scrambles to get to his feet. Shaking.
"Finn-" Andy says. His eyes are wide. He's still sitting down. Finn is standing over him. He feels abruptly nauseous.
"Fuck you," he snarls. "What the- stay away from me. Don't touch me. If you try to touch me, I'll scratch your face."
Andy's eyes widen. Hands raising placatingly.
Shit. Shit, they were all right. He's awful. Or maybe Andy is. Finn can feel his pulse pounding in his temples, turning into a migraine. He feels sweaty. It slips down the back of his neck, and it feels disgusting. He feels disgusting. He locks his jaw up tight. Nothing can get in if he keeps his mouth shut. He can hear laughter. He twists, making sure there's no one else in the room. He swears he sees a figure peering through the window. A familiar silhouette. Two horns. Did Andy know? The figure raises it's hand.
"Hey," Andy says. "I think you should sit down." He sounds nervous. Of course he is. He knows that he can't let Finn leave. Just like He couldn't.
Finn refuses to open his mouth. He can feel fingers pressing at the sides of his face. Skimming over his lips. His lips are buzzing. He rubs harshly at the skin. He needs to tear it off. He needs to get out. He was so stupid to think this was over. That he could have normal. Be normal.
You're special, Finney. The words sound like they're being whispered right into his ear. He can feel hot sour breath, moist and unwashed and reeking. Finn lashes out with an elbow, but meets empty air. Of course. It was never that easy.
Andy stands up, hands still raised, and he makes the mistake of moving within arm's reach. He reaches out like he might touch Finn, and Finn's arm is already pulled back to throw a punch. Sloppier than he might normally be, but he feels the crunch of cartilige under his knuckles. Andy's whole body twists with it, hand coming up to press against his nose. Eyes wide with shock when he turns back to Finn. He pivots. The door. It isn't locked. Finn bolts for it.
He moves through the house and it feels like he's not moving fast enough. Shoving past bodies that feel wrong under his hands. Too cold. Stiff and corpse-like. He can hear laughter. He needs to make it stop. He should bash his head into the wall. Break his skull open until the grey matter runs out. Except it's not the real color of brain is it? It's bloody and pink and chunky as it runs down the side of a man's face. He gags. Teeth clenched against it. He has to get out of this fucking house. He has to run. Except… would that even work?
Running didn't work when he was thirteen. It didn't work in January. Why should right now be any different? What if He goes after Gwen? Finn doesn't know what to do, so he keeps running. No matter how much he runs, He's watching from the side of the road. It's late enough that there isn't anyone else around, not that that would matter. He got snatched right off the sidewalk in the middle of the day. Blink and you miss it. The same thing happened to Robin.
Robin. Finn swears he's waving to him from right next to a payphone. A sob hiccups in his throat. He swerves and his body carries him towards Robin's phantom. Head on a swivel for Him. Robin's neck bends awkwardly, like more than flesh got torn when he was murdered. Half eaten by a fucking dog. Finn gags again. Robin is staring up at him with flat fathomless dark eyes and he can't keep the bile from crawling up his throat any longer. He doubles over, puking into the gutter. Heaving and choking until it's only stomach acid.
Robin is still there when he manages to unfold himself. Shivering so violently his teeth chatter. The knot in his chest so tight he can barely breathe; it comes out of him in wheezing puffs of air. He feels feverish, at once too hot and too cold. His hands tremble so badly he can barely get the change out of his wallet. He needs… he needs someone. Someone that isn't Robin's silent damning presence. Someone other than Gwen, who Finn is supposed to protect from all of this. She was never supposed to have the same kind of nightmares he does.
His vision blurs and his jaw is locked up tight as he punches in the number Mando gave him at Alpine Lake. The weight of the phone in his hand feels wrong. It's too light. It won't pack the right kind of punch. It's useless. Just a piece of plastic. Mando is his best bet if He's really back again. Mando might know something. Some piece of His past that they can use to put Him down again. Maybe there were more kids, before Alpine Lake. Maybe… maybe they didn't do it right.
Maybe if Finn dies, He'll finally be satisfied.
His whole body hurts, the kind of pain that comes from nowhere and everywhere. Finn sags against the booth. He can't sit down. He can't let his guard down even for a second. He twists around so he doesn't have his back to the road. Robin is still there. Still silent too. He sure isn't. All that fucking laughter.
"-ho is this? Hello?"
Mando's voice. Right. Finn's brain takes a second to kick into high gear. "He's here," he manages to croak out. One hand scrabbling helplessly at the plexiglass. "He- we were wrong, He's here."
"Finn?" Mando says, voice dropping into something more concerned and careful.
"Please, you gotta- He's here, man, He's here." His voice breaks with hysteria. Squeaking out from between gritted teeth.
Something slams into the side of the booth. Finn almost drops the phone. Oh shit, oh shit. He remembers the phone booth at Alpine Lake shaking violently. He almost loses his balance. Tears burning his eyes and panic clogging his chest.
"Finn, son, breathe," Mando says. "Slow down. You're going to hyperventillate."
Finn wheezes in some air. It doesn't feel like it does anything. "It doesn't matter," he snaps, but it sounds more like a whine. "It doesn't fucking matter, He's here and I don't know what to do."
"The Grabber," Mando says carefully. "You're seeing him."
"He's across the fucking street," Finn snarls. His sweaty palm slides and squeaks where he's holding himself up.
Mando pauses. "Alright. Can you tell me- did you smoke tonight?"
"No," Finn burbles. "No, no, He's here. He's right over there!"
"Alright," Mando says, "Alright, okay. Where are you right now? I will come and make sure he doesn't hurt you. Just tell me where you are."
Finn laughs at that, harsh and jagged. No one stops it. No one protects him. They never did. But Mando… he knows what they're up against. He can help. He did more than any adult ever had. "I- fuck, wait. I dunno. I dunno." His head is pounding. The streetlights have a fuzzy halo around them. Like one of Gwen's angels.
"Are you at home?"
"No," Finn says. "I dunno. I ran. I dunno. You gotta-" laughter rings in his ears so loud he jumps "-Jesus fuck!" The figure is still across the street, but the laughter sounds like He's right behind Finn.
"Kid, you gotta focus for me," Mando says, voice firm and run through with what Finn can't entertain as concern. "Do you see any signs? Anything that might tell me where you are?"
Wildly, he scans the area. Trembling so violently his teeth chatter. His eyes settle on a diner across the street. He stares at the neon of the sign, willing the words to shape into something recognizable as english. It blares and buzzes and his eyeballs itch. Eventually, he can make out the name of the diner.
"S'a diner," he manages. "S'called, uh, Suzie's."
"Okay," Mando says. "Yes, I know it. Finn, I want you to go into the diner. It's too cold for you to wait outside like this."
"No," he says immediately. "I can't." Finn knows, suddenly, that if he leaves the phone booth, He will get him. "I can't."
"You can," Mando says softly. "I have to hang up now. I'm going to come get you, alright? We'll figure this out. Bill isn't going to lay a hand on you or anyone else. I promise."
"Okay," he says, strained and whiny. "I- okay. Just hurry, please."
"I will be right there," Mando promises. "Just focus on breathing, okay?" There's a moment of silence, like Mando doesn't want to hang up. Then the line goes dead.
Finn grips the phone like it might still be able to save him. The dead air on the other end warps and twists into chattering that almost sounds like words. He strains for a moment to try and make it out. Then his hand falls limp. He doesn't let go of the phone. He can't, he needs it. Robin flickers outside the glass. Across the street, He waves theatrically. Finn slides down to sit with his back to the glass, head pounding. Palm sweaty and slippery around the plastic of the phone. Knees pulled up to his chest, even though that's never done shit for him before.
He waits. Phone in hand, laughter in his ears, he waits.