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Robin doesn't believe it, when he first hears. Finn doesn't get detention, even when there's a fight, and that's because he never fights back. Outside of that, he's a model student. In another life, Robin might've resented him for it. If Finn were annoying and smarmy about it, instead of painfully self-conscious about the fact that he gets good grades without trying. He's a nerd, but that's fine. Ernesto is a nerd too, and Robin tolerates him.
(He'll punch anyone else who calls Ernie a nerd. He's smarter than Robin could ever hope to be, and it's already painfully obvious. Sometimes it makes Robin feel so small and so lost.)
So the fact that Finn has detention breaks his brain. The fact that he got into a fight is even more mind-boggling. It makes no sense. Finn is allergic to standing up for himself. He can take a punch like no one else Robin has met, but he never ever throws one. It's frustrating, baffling. He clearly gets mad at the things people say about him, and Robin sees it in his eyes. The fire burning behind the carefully blank mask he keeps up. He's angry, and Robin sees it. He wonders if the bullies see it too, and that's why they target Finn. If they get a kick out of pissing him off, knowing he won't retaliate.
Robin doesn't hear it from Finn. He's looking for him, they couldn't walk to school together because he had to go to the dentist. He doesn't actually hate the dentist all that much, he just hates not being at school to back Finn up. That's his job, just like it's his job to make sure no one messes with Ernesto. He may not do too great in the actual classes, but he hates not going because it always means trouble.
Finn, with a black eye or a hand shaped bruise ringing his wrist from someone grabbing his arm. Robin keeps a tally of each one, Finn's body acting as a scorecard of all his failures.
Maybe he should be thrilled Finn is finally standing up for himself; he is, partially, but he also feels a sick thudding pulse of failure. Finn wouldn't have had to if Robin was there.
Finn hates fighting. He walks away whenever Robin is whaling on someone, when everyone else forms a ring. Finn is the one person who seems unimpressed by the way Robin performs. It makes Robin want to find some way to crack him, figure out what makes him tick. He remembers the ways Finn had started at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks when Robin stepped between him and a bully for the first time. The awe, and Robin still sees it, the relief that flashes across Finn's face when Robin steps into a room and gets the heat off of him.
But he doesn't like that Robin fights. He doesn't seem thrilled by the sight of blood on his knuckles in the way every other kid is. His brow will always furrow, lips turning down into a frown that makes something in Robin shrink.
He finds Finn in the library. He knows he's in there before he catches sight of his dirty blond hair between the stacks, because Finn always hides there when he's not hiding in the bathroom. The bullies won't suffer being seen here, but Robin can back up his reputation if anyone decides to comment. He likes the library, truthfully. He likes reading, but he keeps that locked down tight. The only person who knows about the stack of books on his nightstand is Finn.
He weaves through the shelves, sneakers thudding dully against the carpet as he seeks out Finn. Plopping down next to him on the floor like it's the only place he really belongs, because sometimes that's exactly how it feels. Finn doesn't flinch. He knows it's Robin without having to look up, because he memorizes the sound of a person's footsteps like it's necessary to his survival.
"Hey," Finn says, voice quiet. He doesn't look Robin in the eyes, but he never does that really. It's just how he is. "Thought you were sick or something."
Robin's eyes crinkle when he smiles at Finn. He can't help it. He wiggles to get more comfortable. "Had a dentist appointment. I was gonna tell you but I forgot about it until this morning."
He watches Finn's shoulders relax a bit. The confirmation that Robin didn't abandon him on purpose sinking into his bones. Finn is so nervous about a lot of things, things that don't ever phase Robin. Loud noises and raised voices make him freeze like a rabbit, doe eyes scanning for threats that Robin can't see.
"Heard you got detention for punching Jerry Dunley's teeth in," Robin says. No preamble, he doesn't do bullshit.
That makes Finn go still. He taps a rhythm out with his fingers, a repetitive motion that is familiar because of how often he does it. There are bruises blooming across the pale skin of his knuckles, and Robin frowns. He's holding his hand funny, like it hurts, and Robin can see a few cuts, like Jerry's braces cut his knuckles open.
"I didn't punch his teeth in," Finn says. "I just-"
"But you did punch him," Robin interjects. "In the mouth."
Finn's shoulders hike up. "Yeah," he says, voice small and breathy. He picks at a loose thread on his sweater. His face is twisted with something miserable and sick.
"He must've said some really bad shit for you to punch him," Robin theorizes. Bumping their shoulders together, then staying in the contact. Their arms pressed together shoulder to elbow to wrist. It doesn't feel like enough, somehow. "What did he do?"
"Doesn't matter," Finn says quickly. Too quickly to be honest. He's usually a better liar than that.
"It does, or you wouldn't have punched him. Dude, you never punch anyone. I miss two classes and you decide you gotta take my place! What happened?" Robin's voice raises a bit, without him meaning to, and he flaps a hand wildly in the air.
The librarian shushes sharply, and both he and Finn stare at each other wide-eyed. Then Robin snickers, making a face, and he's rewarded with a small smile from Finn. He tucks it away deep in his chest, pleased. Cheeks warming for no good reason.
"I couldn't ever take your place," Finn says, nestled into his side. Robin feels unbearably smug whenever Finn leans into him like this. Like the time a stray cat wound itself between his legs and started purring like an old engine.
"You didn't answer my question," Robin points out. Poking Finn. "C'mon buddy, what'd he do? Did he say something about Gwen?"
That's the only possible reason he can think of for Finn to throw a punch. He's protective of his sister, in that quiet way of his.
"No," Finn says. His mouth returning to the displeased line, a harsh slash of pale lips pressed together thinly. He's not lying, Robin is sure of it. Or he's lying to Robin, which… he decides he must be telling the truth.
Robin is stumped. "Okay, then what? Seriously, you gotta tell me. I'm not gonna stop asking, you know I won't."
Finn sucks on his teeth. Biting his lower lip, and Robin's attention is drawn to the action for some reason. He isn't sure why. "It's no big deal," he mumbles. "Forget it."
"You know I won't."
Finn mumbles something.
"What?" Robin pokes him again.
"You," Finn says, only a little bit louder. "He called you stupid."
Robin blinks. "Is that it?" He is stupid. The teachers know it, and so do the other kids. He doesn't care about being stupid. Folks won't beat you up for being stupid. "I don't care if someone calls me stupid. They all think it."
Finn's face twists, cheeks reddening. "You're not!" he hisses. "You're not stupid!"
Something in Robin's chest snarls, an angry animal rearing. "I kind of am, Finn. I can't do math right without you treating me like a baby over it. I can't sit still without doodling or I lose my mind."
"I like your doodles," Finn insists.
"The teachers don't," he says darkly. "I get points off 'cause of them."
"The teachers are the stupid ones," Finn says firmly. "You're smart." He says it like he believes it. Like it's a certain, true thing. "You're reading Lord of the Rings. Those books are impossible."
"Miss Collins thought I was lying about that."
"Well, I think Miss Collins is a-" Finn's voice wobbles and lowers reflexively, but he makes eye contact "-bitch." His face reddens.
Robin stares at him, feeling something burning inside him. No one except his mama ever told him he was smart, and she has to tell him that because she's family. He blinks rapidly, breaking the rare fragile stare. His knuckles bump against Finn's, and Finn hisses, recoiling. Robin's head jerks up, and he feels like an idiot.
"Lemme see," he says. "Your hand. Gimme it."
Reluctantly, Finn sticks his hand out. Feeling clumsy, Robin takes it, inspecting his injuries. Trying to think of what his mama does when he gets a black eye.
"You need ice for this," he deduces.
"Do you have ice?"
Robin flushes. "No. But when you get home, put ice on it. Do you have any bandaids in your backpack?"
Finn is the only sixth grader Robin has ever known to keep first aid supplies in his backpack. Like he expects at any moment to need them. He supposes it's a habit from getting the shit kicked out of him regularly.
"Yeah," Finn says. "But the cuts are fine. They're already clotted."
"What about bacteria?" Robin winces, aware that he sounds like a nerd.
"I'd rather save them for when I really need them," Finn insists. He doesn't pull his hand out of Robin's.
Robin doesn't let go. Finn's hand is warm, and soft in his. These are hands that build rockets and carefully wrap Robin's knuckles whenever they bleed. Robin had idly wondered, more than once, what holding hands with Finn would feel like.
It's nice, he decides.