Chapter Text
Time heals all wounds. That's what they say, right? Well, Finney was two years in, and he still felt like he couldn’t breathe every time he walked past his sister's bedroom.
The panic that clawed its way to his chest, almost animalistic in its manner, never ceased. Like a gasping chest wound in need of a dressing, him feeling the blood rush past his ears and spill out of his body and clinging to him like sweat; these feelingings never ceased when he thought about Gwen. Like right now.
Finney staggers out of the hallway, past his sister's room and the panic clouding his vision. It feels less debilitating, this time at least. Like he’s getting better at moving through the house without feeling paralyzed at the thought of Gwen and what happened to her, but it's still there. He feels both shame and relief. His panic episodes are getting shorter, but it feels wrong to heal. His baby sister was still dead, she would always be, and he would be here celebrating how his panicking time got shorter with each passing day. Reopening the wound might even bring him a sense of comfort, he thinks. As long as he never forgot her.
Finney quickly shakes off the thought. Gwen would’ve wanted him to be happy, she would’ve killed him if she knew how much of him had died with her that day. She would’ve also killed him if his grades dropped for being a truant, he thinks. With that thought, he walks past his father, who is passed out and slumped over the couch into the cold and crisp air of Northern Denver to get to school.
He approaches a dark blue Chevrolet Vega, parked in the driveway next to his fathers company-issued truck. The thing was a hideous snowplowing ad on wheels, and Finney sighs as he opens the Chevy door and tosses his bag into the passenger seat.
The truck is old, but it got him around. They had traded in the old Honda that used to belong to his mother, then to him and Gwen to help with funeral costs. They would’ve traded it in anyways, he thinks. He doesn’t think he or his father could look at the car that reminded them both so much of Gwen and Hope, let alone drive it around. The Vega is now exclusively his, his father had signed it over to him once he got his job at the snowplow company and got signed the company truck
Driving to school, he always turns on the radio. To music; never the news. Not after the accident. In the days After, it seemed like it was all the news wanted to cover, and he’s disliked it since.
Driving around Little Wellington is one of the only things to do in the town. He actually enjoys it. The thrumming of the road under the wheels, completely in control of the mechanical beast while listening to old songs. The freedom the truck promises him, the ability to go anywhere.
Anywhere would be nice, he thinks as he pulls into the parking lot at the school, switching off the radio. He hates this place, he thinks. It reminds him of Gwen, that day, the unsettled suspicion that can’t help surface when he thinks about sweet Ernesto Arellano murdering his baby sister-
“Finney! Hey, Finney! Open up!” Loud, persistent knocks accompany the familiar voices of his best friends, Billy Showalter and Bruce Yamada, effectively cutting off his thoughts.
He sighs. He already knows even without turning his head towards the ruckus, it's his friends. He may hate this place, but he can’t deny he loves the people.
“Alright,” he says with a small smile. “I’m coming, you guys.”
His words are muffled to his friends through the glass and metal of the door. Finney reaches for his backpack, and makes a small waving motion with his hand to shoo the boys away from the door as he opens it. He steps into the chilly Colorado air, and is instantly surrounded by his two friends.
“Man, when are you gonna start picking us up in that thing? It’s mint!” Billy exclaims excitedly.
Bruce nods his head and makes a small noise of agreement.
“Yeah! Even though it’s a thousand years old and probably a death trap since it doesn’t have any safety features from this century, it’s totally mint,” Bruce rambles with a joking lilt.
Finney and Billy give him a look, with Finney speaking before Billy gets the chance to argue with Bruce about the ‘aesthetic’ of older cars.
“Maybe when you two stop getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to deliver those stupid newspapers. It's really not safe, y’know. And who even still reads physical newspapers? Tell them to get a subscription to The Newyorker, or something” he sarcastically adds while glancing between the two, letting the ‘one thousand years old’ comment go. “And seriously, how long have you guys been here?” he adds.
Bruce had started joining Billy on his early morning paper deliveries after Billy had a run in with some creep in a van. Bruce had figured it was the perfect way to keep them safe, and make a little extra money.
His family was well-off, but it felt rewarding to work for his things.
The only downside was he and Billy got to school really early on delivery days and had to wait a long time before classes. It always made the day drag on even more, but at least they had time to do their homework before classes.
“The usual amount of time, about an hour or so.” Bruce says as he comes in between Billy and Finney, putting his arms around both their shoulders. “And it’s not that dangerous!,” he adds. “There's safety in numbers y'know, Finn."
“Yeah, there's also death in numbers,” Finney grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “It’s called a massacre. Well, I guess not in your case, seeing as it’s only you two.” He follows up.
“You could always join!” Billy interjects cheerfully.
Finney makes a sarcastic noise in the back of his throat. He loves his friends like his family, they've been his rock ever since Gwen. However, he is a firm believer it should be illegal to wake up before 4:30 AM.
“Absolutely not,” Finney says with a playful glance at each of his friends, shaking his head as he does so.
The others don’t get a chance to respond as the bell loudly rings.
Bruce and Billy groan loudly, while Finney just starts walking to class. The sooner he gets there, the sooner he can lay his head down and sleep. Their first period is an advisory class, so they always disregard anything going on in it.
The other boys follow after Finney, chattering absently between themselves. That’s what Finney loves about the group, about his friends. It’s not a secret what happened to his sister fucked him up. He’s never been as excited, or happy or chattery since. His friends have never held it against him, though.
Giving him space when he needs it even though he never verbally states it, or talking to each other when they know he’s not up for it but never excluding him. It’s like they just know. It almost makes him emotional, how much he loves them and how deeply they know him.
They arrive at class and take their usual seats at their table. Griffin Stagg and Vance Hopper are already there. Finney’s other two friends. He loves them both too, but they're more recent additions to the group who he had met just at the beginning of high school. He’s not as comfortable around them, but he doubts he could ever be more comfortable than when he’s around Billy and Bruce, who he had met in 6th grade.
“Hey, guys!” Griffin exclaims. Vance follows him up with a small nod. The three boys take their seats as the teacher, Mr. H begins class. As Finney is adjusting himself on Bruce’s arm and behind Billy’s backpack to sleep, Mr. H says something that grabs his attention.
“As you all know, to graduate you must complete an Exhibition of Learning,” he says with a smile.
He claps his hands as he continues in front of the board. “This exhibition can be on anything, but must be presented to the whole school at the end of the year. Since Fall break is in a few weeks, it will be the perfect time to start brainstorming and planning your senior projects!”
The other boys at the table and kids in class groan, but not Finney. He instead lifts his head and is gripped by a thought, one so crazy he almost laughs, but he can’t. Not about this, no matter how insane, because it’s so familiar.
What if, he thinks. What if I try to find out what really happened that night?
This was far from the time Finney had thought about doing his own investigating into his sisters and Ernesto’s death. He had the idea many times before, but he could never bring himself to do it. It was too fresh, too certain to end in pain and disaster. But he could never shake the feeling something wasn’t right. He couldn’t believe Ernesto would do something so unfathomable. He couldn’t believe he let something like that happen to his sister right under his nose. It had to be something else, or he didn’t know if he could recover. The thought the police had gotten it wrong had been something that had brought him back from the edge more times that he could count, and if he was wrong he feared the guilt might swallow him whole.
“Advisory periods will be work time for these project from now on,” Mr. H continues. “We want you to put lots of time and effort into these, and most of all we want you to enjoy it. That’s why we are letting you pick the topics freely.” he says with another smile.
Enjoy is a strong word, Finney thinks. He isn’t sure if he will enjoy investigating his baby sister’s death, but what better time than now? Next year he will be off to college somewhere else in the state, and if he finds something he’s already been given a sure opportunity to present his findings as well as guaranteed time everyday at school. It’s now or never.
Finney is no stranger to determination. Letting a task occupy him until it consumes him, and he's content to let that happen with this. And, he thinks, he’s finally ready. It’s been two years, and thinking of what happened no longer makes him want to die as well. Not usually.
He ignores the looks he gets from his friends at the table, content to block them out for now. with his mind set, he pulls out a notebook and pen and starts making a list of things to do, people to interview, places to look. He loves a good list.
And right there at the top of Finney's space-themed composition notebook in his scraggly handwriting, is find and interview Robin Arellano.