Finney x Robin oneshots

Nothing Proves I'm Dead, Nothing Proves I'm Alive

THIS IS NOT MINE THIS IS FROM TUMBLR BY
@bamboocarbon-ver-2-0

They're not supposed to mature this fast. That's what the therapist has told them both, their cases alien to all professionals. Their hurt manifests itself in different ways, in Robin, it's the increased anger at the smallest of issues, despising anybody and everybody except Finny. And for Finn? He's an outcast. Children talking about stupid things don't interest him any longer, he's too old for all that, been through far too much to be afraid of the math teacher or giggle over graffitied penises on walls. Okay, he sometimes giggles at the penises (although he's usually the perpetrator, the reason for said drawings), but he's been through hell and back and has stopped caring about things.

Nobody tries hurting Finn anymore, and even if they did, he's far too apathetic to spare them, but Robin still wanders around him, an odd protectiveness making him glare at everyone who even thinks about him with ill intent.

They thought their trauma would change them, make them feel different, resent the other, perhaps, or maybe even be unable to talk, but that's one thing that hasn't happened. It's one thing they have to be grateful for. If anything, it's made them even more compatible. They fit well together. They are old souls, as the teachers call them, always together, seen next to each other in the hallways, after school, understanding each other best, helping the other far more than any therapist ever has. They're no longer children, no longer innocent, tired of the world and plagued by nightmares, according to the psychologists.

They feel like children now, though. Slipping in wet grass, their laughter echoing in the empty grass plains as they race the other to the truck they aren't legally allowed to drive, but even their incompetent police force lets them get away with certain things. It's Robin's truck, anyway. Perhaps they'll never be children, but at least they're  happy.
Sliding on a particularly wet spot, Finn hurtles forward, knees bruising and elbows skinning slightly at the impact. Robin hunches down next to him, offering him a hand, and Finn grabs it, dragging the other boy down as well.

Very eloquent words are exchanged as Robin gets up, dusting himself and kicking Finn, who's still on the ground, lightly. He'd never hurt his Finn, not on purpose, not if he could help it. They practically collapse as they make their way towards the truck, sagging against the car seat, rain beating on the windows as they revel in the warmth, the leathery smell familiar and comforting.They are young and stupid, and they're allowed to make bad decisions and rebel, and they're allowed to be disappointments at times, and fuck up, which is what Finn tells himself as he reaches for the lighter, cigarette pack already in the other boy's hand.

"Your father would kill you if he knew," Robin is the only other person who knows about their dad. Sure, his outbursts have reduced, but haven't disappeared fully.

"If he knew," Finn shoots back, twirling the lighter absentmindedly. "He won't, I won't let him," There's only one cigarette left anyway; it won't last that long.

There's still fear, but Finn's had enough panic attacks, screamed out enough gruesome details about the Grabber to scare his father, and hold his hand back. He has power, now, people fear  him. He sees it in the old man, too, sometimes, when he raises his hand, and Finn stares back, fingers flexing and glare menacing. The hands of a murderer, he called them once, when Finn had grabbed the belt, finally able to help his sister.

He doesn't mind. If the hands of a murderer are what hold the bastard back, then so be it.

Robin plays with the cigarette first, a whole-ass acrobatics show between his fingers, before lighting the thing, and breathing in deeply.

Lung cancer be damned, it's not like he wants to live that long, anyway. Plus, it's calming.

Finn's impatient, half his fear washed down the drain, along with the rain and the pain. He reaches over and plucks the thing from Robin's mouth, inhaling the nicotine and leaning back against the seat, ignoring the look Robin shoots him. The cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth, and Robin's playing some song he's never heard before on the radio, quietly, and they feel young and free. It's moments like this, stolen between school and home, moments of solidarity, that allow them to feel truly like themselves.

Sometimes he goes days without talking, tired of himself and all around him, huddled up at home, alone and left to his own devices. Nobody tries coaxing him out, then, not even Gwen. Robin understands he needs his own time, he needs it, too. They  get  each other, a thought that offers him great solace. On those days he feels barely alive, unreal, connected to the world by strings of spun sugar, a tug and he'd dissolve. He needs reassurance of his existence, pain, sometimes pleasure, but most of the time, nicotine. The smoke is warm, soothing,  real,  the fire hot and fierce, sometimes helping him wake up from his dull, drowsy existence, sharpening him.

Robin has the same effect on him. He can feel himself slipping, feeling like a ghost again, unsure whether he's actually there or whether he, too, is one of the boys on the phone, whether Robin was the only one who made it out alive, when the other boy acts. A gentle hand on his thigh, the press of his palm against his cheek, a yank on his arm, anything to bring him back, remind him that this is real, that  they  are real, and that he is very connected to the Earth beneath his feet, no matter how he feels (sometimes he feels as though he could just float away).

"Why do you smoke?" Finn asks, out of the blue, when the cigarette is snatched from him.

"Same reason as you, calms me, keeps it at bay-" they all know what it is, "-and just helps in general,"

"I feel the same,"

"'Bout the smoke?" the other boy leans back, legs propped up on the steering wheel.

"About you,"

Robin nearly falls off his seat. "Smooth, are we?" he chuckles, although he can feel the back of his neck and his face turn hot, "You're fucking addictive, you know? I'd give up this-" he waves the cigarette around, as though highlighting his point, "-for you,"

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I need  one  of them down my throat, or at least in my mouth,"

They both laugh at that, before stubbing out the cigarette and driving away from the wet grassland, their spot, and getting home. Finn's father asks him where he's been, he says he had a heart-to-heart with Robin. Robin's parents don't bother asking. They meet at the same spot the next day.