Chapter Text
Prologue - "When the World Breathes Again"
Finney woke to silence.
Not just the kind you get at night. No cars. No wind. No breath.
He blinked, but nothing changed. No shapes. No colors. No light.
Black.
His fingers curled into the grass beneath him — damp, cool, familiar. A field. Somewhere close to the school, maybe. He wasn't sure.
What he did know, with the kind of certainty that didn't come from logic, was this:
They were here.
They were alive.
His chest hurt — not from fear or panic, but from something deeper. Like something sacred had been broken and barely stitched back together.
He couldn't see. But he could feel.
Something — someone — was pulling him forward.
He moved.
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The first one was Griffin.
Finney found him curled up in the old play structure behind the park. The same tunnel-slide Griffin used to hide in during games of tag.
Griffin was humming something under his breath, tapping a rhythm against the plastic.
Finney stood at the bottom of the slide, quiet.
Griffin noticed first.
He leaned forward, grinning, then paused. "Finn?"
Finney nodded.
"Dude, you okay?" Griffin tilted his head. "You look like you got hit by a truck."
Finney smiled — barely — and whispered, "I'm fine."
His voice was thin. Raw.
Griffin frowned. "You sound like you swallowed sandpaper. What happened?"
Finney just shook his head.
There were no answers to give.
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Billy was at the old corner store, legs dangling off the curb, flipping a coin between his fingers.
Finney approached quietly.
Billy looked up, caught mid-flip. "Well, shit," he laughed. "You're alive too, huh?"
Too.
That word stung more than it should have.
Finney sat beside him. Billy squinted at him.
"You look... weird," Billy muttered. "You sick or somethin'?"
Finney gave a tiny shrug.
Billy leaned in closer. "You're not even looking at me."
Finney flinched. He hadn't meant to make it that obvious.
"Wait—are you...?" Billy didn't finish. His mouth opened like a realization hit him, but he held it back.
Finney forced a smile. "I'm okay."
Billy didn't believe him.
But he didn't push.
He just stood, gently pulled Finney to his feet, and said, "C'mon. Let's find the others."
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Vance was sprawled out across the bench behind the bowling alley, arms behind his head, eyes half-shut like he'd been napping.
He cracked an eye open as they approached.
"What the hell is this? A parade?" he muttered, sitting up.
Billy laughed. "We found Finney."
"Yeah, no shit." Vance's eyes narrowed. "Why's he walking like a drunk?"
"Not drunk," Billy said. "Just... weird."
Finney turned his head toward Vance and quietly said, "Hi."
The simplicity of it made Vance's expression change. He stood, slower than usual, stepping closer. "You okay, Blake?"
Finney nodded.
Vance looked unconvinced. "You sure? You're squintin' at air."
Finney hesitated. "...Can't really see."
Everything went still.
Vance's shoulders tensed. His jaw clenched. "What do you mean 'can't really see'?"
"Like," Finney mumbled, "not at all."
Vance didn't curse. Didn't shout.
Instead, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, "Shit," under his breath.
"C'mon," he said after a pause. "Let's get Bruce."
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Bruce was sitting on the school steps, arms resting over his knees, watching the early morning light creep in.
He smiled when he saw them — then did a double-take at Finney.
"Dude... are you okay?"
"No," Griffin muttered.
"Definitely not," Vance added.
Bruce stood immediately. "What happened?"
Finney didn't answer. His face was tight, lips pale. His breath shaky.
"He can't see," Billy said simply.
Bruce's smile vanished.
He stepped closer, reached a hand out like he wanted to help — then froze, unsure.
Finney whispered, "Where's Robin?"
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They didn't want to let him climb the ladder.
Especially not blind.
"He'll fall and die," Griffin hissed.
"He already looks half-dead," Vance snapped.
But Finney didn't listen.
Something in him knew.
Knew Robin would be there.
So he climbed.
Slowly. Carefully. Every rung a prayer. The others stayed below, watching, hearts in their throats.
When he reached the rooftop, he paused — breath trembling — and then called softly, "Robin?"
There was silence.
Then, footsteps.
"Finney?" Robin's voice broke the quiet.
And then —
A sharp intake of breath.
"What the hell—"
Finney turned toward him. "Hi."
Robin stepped forward, grabbing his arm. "You're freezing."
Finney didn't answer.
Robin looked at him harder. "What happened? You're—"
He stopped.
"...You can't see me, can you."
Finney shook his head, slow and tired.
Robin pulled him into a hug.
"Jesus, Finn..."
Down below, the boys had started climbing up one by one.
And when they were all there — when all five stood together, alive and real and breathing — Finney reached out blindly...
...and ran his fingers through Robin's hair.
Everyone went quiet.
Robin stilled.
Billy's breath caught.
It was a gesture they all recognized.
It was what Finney did when the weight got too much to carry.
When he couldn't say anything, but needed them to know.
His hand trembled.
And then he started crying.
Not loud. Not gasping. Just tears — falling, quietly, like something inside him had shattered and spilled out.
The boys froze.
"...Why's he crying like that?" Griffin whispered.
Billy's voice was quiet. "Like he lost us."
Robin said nothing.
He just wrapped his arms tighter around Finney and whispered, "You didn't."
And Finney—
—broke.
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Later, when things felt calmer, when they sat on the rooftop in silence with the rising sun, Finney stood and tried to walk...
...and smacked right into a bench.
The sharp thunk echoed across the roof.
"Jesus!" Vance yelped.
Griffin laughed, but it was nervous. "Okay, no offense, but we're taking you to a doctor."
"I second that," Bruce said.
"Third," Billy mumbled.
Robin just gently took Finney's hand and said, "Let's go."
Finney didn't argue.
He just nodded — silently — and held on.
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The clinic was quiet.
Too quiet.
Finney sat on the paper-covered exam table, hands clenched in his lap. The room smelled like antiseptic and cold metal.
The boys were crammed on the other side of the room — awkward, worried, whispering to each other while the doctor finished scribbling something onto a clipboard.
"You can speak?" the doctor asked, glancing at Finney.
Finney nodded. "...A little. It... hurts."
"Mm." The man stepped closer. "Eyes?"
"Still black."
He waved a small light across Finney's face. Finney didn't even flinch.
The doctor sighed. "No response. You really can't see anything?"
"Nothing."
"And this started... today?"
Finney hesitated.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
"I—I woke up like this," he said finally.
The doctor paused, gaze narrowing slightly. "Any trauma recently? Accidents? Head injuries?"
Finney's knuckles turned white. "No."
"You sure?"
Finney nodded too quickly.
The doctor frowned, then reached for Finney's arm. "May I?"
Finney flinched — but nodded.
The man gently rolled up Finney's sleeve.
The moment the marks on his forearm were exposed, the room shifted.
Bruce sucked in a breath. "What the hell is that?"
Robin stood. "Wait—those weren't there earlier, right? That's..."
The doctor leaned in. "Interesting."
The marks weren't cuts anymore.
They looked like brands. Like burned symbols curled into the skin. Ancient. Wrong.
"...What are they?" Billy asked.
The doctor didn't answer right away.
He glanced at Finney.
Then, quietly, he said: "Where did you find the ritual?"
Silence.
Finney's lungs stopped working.
The others froze.
The doctor straightened. "I'm not asking what you did. Just... where. The book?"
"...I didn't..." Finney started, but his voice cracked.
His throat burned. Not from strain — from fear.
The doctor tilted his head. "You do know what these are, don't you?"
Finney didn't respond.
"I won't report anything. You're not in trouble. But you should know... if these are what I think they are, you're lucky you woke up at all."
Vance shifted. "The hell does that mean?"
The doctor looked at them — calmly, factually. "It means only a handful of people survive this type of marking. Let alone... walk, talk, function."
Griffin's voice was barely a whisper. "What kind of marking?"
The doctor hesitated. "Ritual."
Robin frowned. "Like... witchcraft?"
"Older," the doctor said. "Deeper."
Billy stepped forward. "Are you saying someone did this to him?"
"No," the doctor said, eyes still on Finney. "I'm saying someone like him did it. To himself."
That was the moment Finney broke.
"I didn't do it for me!" he snapped, suddenly too loud. Too harsh.
Everyone froze.
Finney caught his breath, realized what he'd said.
The doctor raised an eyebrow.
The boys looked at each other.
Finney's voice dropped to a whisper. "I mean—I just... I didn't want... to be here alone."
Robin moved closer, slowly. "Finn..."
"I'm fine," Finney muttered, gripping the edge of the table. "I'm fine. Just—don't ask more. Please."
The doctor didn't press.
The doctor paused at the doorway, then stepped back — this time closer to Finney only. He lowered his voice so the others wouldn't hear.
"Whatever it was you did..." he said quietly, "...it won't come after them."
Finney looked up, just slightly.
"It'll come after you," the doctor finished. "And it won't stop until you break... or give in."
Finney's throat was dry.
"I know," he whispered.
The doctor gave a tight nod and left the room without another word.
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The sun had risen a little higher.
The six of them walked in silence down the sidewalk, boys casting side glances at each other, at Finney, at the bandages on his arms and the blank look in his eyes.
Finally, Griffin spoke, breaking the quiet. "So... anyone else more confused now than before?"
"Nope," Vance muttered. "I'm at max confusion. Can't get more lost than this."
Billy added, "What kind of doctor even says stuff like that?"
Bruce rubbed his arms. "That guy gave me chills."
Robin stayed quiet, eyes fixed on Finney.
Finney, walking slowly, arms at his sides, finally sighed and muttered under his breath:
"...That's why I didn't want to go to the doctor."
The rest stared at him.
And he just kept walking.
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The silence stretched for a few seconds longer.
Then Griffin, predictably, said what everyone was thinking.
"...What the actual hell does that mean?!"
Billy blinked. "I'm sorry, what do you mean 'that's why'? What the hell just happened back there?!"
Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. "Was that doctor even... normal? That didn't sound normal. That sounded like—we stepped into Supernatural, but no one told me to bring salt."
Robin narrowed his eyes. "Finn, seriously. You didn't even flinch when he started talking about people not surviving whatever the hell this is. That's not... normal."
Vance finally muttered, "What kind of ritual makes you go blind, puts creepy-ass runes in your skin, and gives you a sore throat?"
Griffin added quickly, "And why did you not act surprised once during that entire conversation?!"
Finney, still walking, let out a long, tired breath through his nose.
"Because I'm not," he said dryly.
They all stopped walking.
Billy stared. "You're what now?"
Finney kept walking.
Bruce frowned. "Wait—what do you mean you're not surprised?"
"Is that why you were avoiding the doctor?" Robin asked, catching up beside him. "You knew?"
Finney didn't answer at first.
Then he stopped, turned his head vaguely toward them — not that he could see — and said flatly:
"Wow. Congratulations, geniuses. You finally caught on."
Griffin made an offended little noise. "Hey—!"
Finney held up a hand. "No, no. I mean it. A+ effort. Took us a life-threatening rooftop fall, a medical horror show, and a guy whispering 'this might kill you' for you to realize that maybe—maybe—I didn't want to go to a doctor."
Robin looked like he wanted to respond but thought better of it.
Finney went on, voice calm in the most unnerving way possible.
"And for the record," he added, "this isn't 'some weird magical thing' to me. It's not shocking. It's not cool. It's just..."
He paused, and his voice got quieter.
"...desperation."
That silenced everyone.
Not because they understood.
But because for the first time since that morning...
...they realized they didn't.
They didn't understand anything at all.
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Robin finally broke the silence. "Finn..."
Finney turned his head slightly in Robin's direction.
But he didn't speak.
Vance muttered, "Okay, but real talk—how the hell are you still standing? That guy said most people die."
"I heard him," Finney said, unimpressed.
"Yeah, but like—"
"I heard him."
Robin frowned. "You really don't care?"
Finney laughed. Just once. Dry. Tired.
"I've already been through worse," he said simply.
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Griffin glanced at the others, voice uncertain.
"Should we... do something?"
Bruce shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea."
Vance grunted. "Step one: don't let him near another ladder."
"That's a given," Billy muttered.
And Finney?
He just kept walking.
Because whatever was coming next...
...he'd already made peace with the price.
[end of prologue]