Work Text:
The room was unbearably quiet.
No mask, no theatrics—just the Grabber tied to a wooden chair, breathing hard, eyes red and wet, stripped of the power he once wore like a second skin.
Finney walked in slowly.
Shut the door softly.
No anger. No rush.
In one hand, a notebook.
In the other… the gag.
The Grabber flinched.
—“What… what are you doing?”
Finney didn’t answer.
Not yet.
He stepped behind him and placed the gag gently, almost carefully. Tight enough to silence, not to hurt.
Tears burned down the Grabber’s face—hot with rage, cold with shame.
Finney sat down in front of him, opened his notebook, and spoke:
—“I talked to you when you refused to listen to me. Now it’s your turn to listen.”
The Grabber shook, but made no sound.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
Finney wrote.
Watched him.
Wrote again.
—“This isn’t revenge,” he said quietly. “It’s the truth. And you don’t get to silence it.”
The Grabber lowered his head.
•
After a long silence, Finney put the notebook down. His voice was softer now.
—“You took my voice. My breath. My sleep… but you didn’t take who I am. And I won’t become you.”
He moved behind the Grabber and slowly removed the gag.
The Grabber didn’t speak. He just trembled.
—“You can talk,” Finney said. “But only if it’s real.”
More silence.
Then, a whisper—broken, rasping:
—“Nothing I say can fix what I’ve done.”
Finney nodded.
—“Then listen. And live with it.”
He untied the ropes.
Not as a gift.
Not as forgiveness.
But as a weight he would have to carry himself.
The Grabber looked at him, eyes lost, whispering:
—“Why don’t you hate me?”
Finney held his gaze.
—“Because someone has to stop this. Hate saved me… but it won’t define me.”
The Grabber dropped his head.
The tears that fell now were different.
Not rage.
Surrender.
—“I’ll accept it… all of it,” he whispered.
Finney picked up his notebook.
Opened the door.
This time, he didn’t close it in fear.
Behind him, in that quiet room…
For the first time in his life—
The Grabber truly listened.