Chapter Text
“Alright class, today we have a new student.”
Fuck me
Nothing ever went well with new kids, especially not ones in Finn’s grade. If they were a girl, it was always “that’s the kid who killed the Grabber? He’s kinda cute.” Not like he minded the fact girls found him attractive. It was just… tiring. And if it was a guy, the inevitable happened. They made some stupid joke about wasting a serial killer or liking what He had done to him, and he had to beat it out of them. Not that He had done anything to Finney, but rumors are hard to control, especially when it was confirmed He’d done those things to the others.
“Why don’t you come up and introduce yourself.” A small eternity passed after Mr. Moore finished talking before the screech of a chair being pushed back sounded, and a kid made his way up to the front. He had shaggy blond hair and pale green eyes with a splattering of freckles over his nose. Pair that with the denim jacket and The Cure graphic tee and he had Finn shell shocked. It wasn’t like Finn didn't know he’s a fag, but it was like a blaring alarm every time he looked at a half-decent guy, and had turned into one of the many reasons he smoked his life away. A life you shouldn’t have.
As if I need reminding, but thank you anyways voice in the back and front of my head.
“I’m Nicholas, but just call me Nico. I came from Alabama, so the snow’s really packing a punch.” No one laughed. Nicholas resigned himself to the back seat again and class went on as usual. Finn didn’t think anything more of the new kid beyond how he was gonna hit him when the time came, and oh did the time come.
He could’ve gotten off scot free if he’d just minded his own damn business. But new kids always were the dumbest. Near the end of lunch, when Finn was finishing up his meal of marajuana behind the teachers lounge, the crunch of November leaves caught his attention. Even subdued by the weed he was always on alert, a habit he’s picked up even before the basement. Taking care of his dad had been a testament to how quiet a ten year old boy can be, and Finney had failed for the better part of a semester before he mastered the act of tiptoeing and shallow breathing, listening for any telltale grunt of groan of the leather chair. It comes in handy now, as Finn whips his head in the direction of his intruder before they round the corner.
Surprise surprise, it’s the new kid. Neil, he thinks it was. Doesn’t matter, he’s got to leave so Finn can decide if he wants to skip fifth period or not. “I heard a rumor you-“
“You can’t trust rumors”
“You can if it’s from a newspaper.” And that reminds him of Billy, who’s face ended up on the front page of the very media he delivered.
“Look, you wanna start some shit, we can start some shit. But don’t come to me talking about rumor bullshit.” That’s usually more warning than Finn ever gives new kids, but he doesn’t want to have to break this one’s nose. It’s too pretty for that, and Finn values art.
“I’m not trying to start anything, I just want to hear the story of the chosen one. So tell me, why did someone like you take down the big bad pedophile when all the others ended up dead. Why are you so deserving of life when they aren’t?”
Finn usually throws the first punch, mostly because the other kids are too afraid to. But he’s never thrown a punch that hard on a new kid. And maybe it’s because he’s being especially annoying, or maybe it’s because he sounds just like Finn in his head, wondering why he was picked by the universe to make it out of that basement. Why was he the one who had to live with this? Who was lucky enough to live with this. But it doesn’t matter. Nemo backs up enough from the first punch for them to be in view of the other high schoolers and Finn’s acutely aware of that fact when he punches the kid again. Blondie shakes his head as if waking up from a trance and hits back. He’s strong, but not nearly as much as some of the older guys Finn faced back when the mystique first wore off and bullies started dropping on him like bees.
It only takes thirty seconds before Prince Diana is on the ground with Finn straddling him, nose and lips bloodied. Only after he’s sure the point is made does he stand up, just in time for the bell. Usually he’s able to brace himself, but with the adrenaline coursing through his veins he physically jolts at the sound of the school bell. It sounds so much like a phone.
Blue can mean so many different things. It can be the shirt he was wearing, which he threw into the fireplace when he got home. Or it can be the flannel He was wearing, waiting to beat him the day he almost got out. Ice. The sky the day he finally did. Or maybe it’s Robin’s bandana, which Finn carries a carbon copy of in his left front pocket. It feels good to run his fingers over the thin cloth, knowing Robin wore it all the time. It helps him feel connected to how things used to be. Before wasp spray and balloons and dirt. So much dirt. Robin was the one who told him to kill Him, he supposes. But maybe he would be disappointed with Finn. How despite Robin telling him to end it with the phone, by beating Him like he did the others, he strangled Him. Broke His neck like a savage. Or how since then he’s just been smoking his life away, doing nothing with the lives given to save his. Not just the boys, but Max too. He only learned his name after seeing an ax get lodged in his skull. Red can also mean a lot of things. But to Finn, it only means blood.
It’s blood he thinks of as he sits in the soft cushion chair in the principal's office. It’s as familiar to Finn as his own bedroom at this point. He doesn’t always get called by Ms. Crawford, usually only when he gets into it with a teacher or in front of one. And it’s just his luck that the PE teacher Coach Graham was filling a basketball about five feet from Finn’s outburst.
“I presume you know why you’re here?” Finn tracks her words with his eyes. She has red lipstick on.
No answer. He won’t give her one, never has. Well, he tried to at first, and that got him even more problems and the last whooping his father ever gave. So now he sits, just waiting for his punishment to be dealt out like a poker hand.
“Well, I’m sure you know by now that this school has zero tolerance for bullying, so you will be in in school suspension for a week.” He must’ve beat the guy pretty good, usually it’s just one day. Looking up to match her eyes to confirm his suspicion, he sees her full makeup. And her blue eyeshadow. It means nothing. Finn knows that. But it’s like she’s read his mind. And even the thought of someone invading him like that is enough to get him to zone out for a while. When he comes back, she’s, thankfully, still talking.“…an appointment with Mr. Havingford today after school.”
Shit
Mr. Havingford is the school counselor and one of the biggest assholes Finn has ever had the displeasure of meeting. The court mandated five sessions with him right after Finn got out and they all consisted of the boy having a panic attack from being alone with a man while said man told him that crying was for women and pussies and to “act like a man, not a sissy.” It’s a wonder how he still has his job. He wouldn’t if Finn had anything to do with it.
Regardless, he walks through the heavy wooden door at precisely three thirty that day, and is somehow shocked at seeing Mr. Havingford there. Of course he knew he’d see him. It’s all he’s thought about since lunch. But somehow seeing him in person is different, more intimidating. He has overgrown salt and pepper hair, a strong jaw, blue-gray eyes, and a slightly stronger than average build. Nothing about his appearance would separate him from any other nondescript and well dressed man. But his eyes.
There’s something about his eyes. Something like Him.
“Hello Finney. Please, take a seat.” He does no such thing.
“It’s Finn.” But he already knew that. None of the teachers here had known him when he went by his birth name, but most of them still referred to him by it, no matter how much he corrected them.
“Right, of course. Well, we should get started right away. When was your last fight, not counting the one from today?”
“Three weeks ago,” Finn says tersely.
“And is there any reason for this one?”
Of course there’s a reason, I’m not just a bully. That’s what he wants to say. But doing that would only make the next hour that much worse, so he’s resigned to just a noncommittal shake of the head.
“Are you aware that the boy you hurt is Griffin Stagg’s cousin?” That knocks the wind out of him. He didn’t know Griffin, of course. He was four grades older than Finn and the cliche nerd/loner type. He’s heard his name infinitely more times after his death than before. Something no one can say for you. And that should be a good thing. He’s not dead. But why him? Why isn’t his name the one said with grief and apologies? Why isn’t he dead? He should be fucking dead by now, cut apart and buried in little pieces like the fractures of his brain.
“Finney?”
He’s breathing too hard, too fast. The red and blue of the American flag posted to his right blur and spread over his vision, morphing into a spiral. No, a phone cord. He can’t breathe. He can’t see, can’t feel anything but his windpipe constricting slowly, squeezing and shrinking.
Then the red and blue fade into black, and he chokes on the thickness of it.