Chapter Text
The year is 1983.
Finney, or, rather, Finnegan, has lived with Gwen and his aunt, Joy, for five years.
It all started when his life ended; when he was taken by the grabber. Finnegan’s sure he’s never going to forget what it was like down there. All alone, forgotten and left for dead, like a singular coin at the bottom of a well—except, no wish he could make was one that would become reality.
After he escaped, him and his sister were taken from their father. He wasn’t too sad about that. Gwen had told him that, after he went missing, Terrence didn’t seem to care. The only reason the police began to search for him was because Gwen had confided in her teacher about his disappearance. It made Finnegan feel sick, thinking about the fact that his own father didn’t notice his disappearance.
It wasn’t too surprising, though; Terrence didn’t care about either of them, not really. Not in the multitude of ways a parent should.
Growing up, Finnegan was always left to his own defences. Weak, scrawny, Finnegan Blake fighting for his life against a world that seemed so clearly to be a behemoth in comparison to his minuscule sense of self.
That was, until, he was shipped off to a ranch in Texas. He had never spoken to Joy before, and he was extremely nervous. All he knew was that she was his mother’s sister. He hoped that she would share the same qualities.
And she did.
He found it strange that Joy called him Finnegan. She did it once, and he never corrected her.
He supposes that it’s because, after all of the spiteful names his father had slurred, having one that felt genuine was a breath of fresh air.
After he moved to the ranch, Finnegan’s life finally got better. He stopped staying in his room all day, stopped staring out the window at night and praying on a shooting star to either grant him a happy life or crash into him right then and there. Joy never really used technology, and, so, he never had to worry about the shrill ring of a telephone. She didn’t know the full details of his kidnapping, but she never dared to ask more than was let on.
The ranch had horses. Frankly, Gwen was much more excited about that than he was. Most of them appeared to be big and threatening, all sharing the same intimidating stance.
That was, until, he found Pluto. Pluto was a small, frail foal who seemed to be unable to stand up on her own. Joy asked Finnegan if he wanted to see her, and, for whatever reason, he agreed. When he saw that gaunt filly, instead of feeling scared, he felt recognition. Like he wasn’t the only one lost in a labyrinth-like world. Immediately, he knew he wanted to name her Pluto. She wasn’t small enough to be considered a meteor, wasn’t big enough to be a real planet. Finnegan liked that.
Five years later, and Pluto has easily become his best friend.
Today, Finnegan and Pluto are hacking along one of the fences of the ranch. The Texas heat is flooding his senses; making him pull his hat down to shield his eyes, making him take his jacket off in a desperate attempt to stop sweating so damn much.
Pluto nickers quietly beneath him, and the sun spills out on the viridescent terrain around him, pouring over his now slightly-tanned skin.
Maybe it’s stupid, the way he dresses—like a real cowboy. He didn’t question it when Joy had given him some of her husband’s old clothes, because he felt bad asking for new ones. New ones costed money, and spending money on Finnegan made him feel like a burden.
So, now, dressed in leather boots and a western hat, and with his trusty mare beneath him, Finnegan feels like the real deal.
In all honesty, his live is quite a dismal one. He doesn’t go to school, because any time he’d walk along in the daytime he’d be too overwhelmed by the fear of a black van appearing to take him again to even remember the way to get there. He doesn’t talk to many people, only Joy, Gwen, and a fourteen-year-old boy called Griffin.
Griffin’s like a younger brother to Finnegan. Sometimes, he sees himself in him—a young boy in a never-ending rodeo, with parents who never bothered to show him the ropes. He doesn’t talk to Griffin a lot, but the kid comes to the ranch pretty often. Joy had explained to him that, years ago, she’d spotted him watching a few of the cattle from the other side of the fence and invited him in to pet them. Surprisingly, he seemed scared of them. From that day onward, he’d visit the ranch and draw any animals that crossed his path.
Pluto pauses, grazing quietly. He relaxes on her back, sighing slightly. He’s happy with his life, Finnegan tells himself. He’s happy.
“Finnegan!” A young boy, Griffin, shouts from elsewhere on the ranch.
Pluto looks up, slightly startled, and Finnegan looks around. Griffin, who was about thirty feet away, is sprinting towards him with an athletic foot.
“Griff, hey.”
“Hi!” Pluto sniffs the boy’s hair, making him laugh.
“You, uh… need something?” He doesn’t mean to be rude. Finnegan just lacks a filter.
“Yeah, actually!” Griffin pauses, gesturing to his shirt—a baseball uniform. Finnegan’s smile falters for a moment. “I joined the baseball team!”
Something in Finnegan kicks at him. Griffin seems so happy. So excited. So… innocent. Just like he was.
“Wow, buddy. That’s real cool.”
“I know, right?”
Finnegan dismounts Pluto, ruffling Griffin’s hair.
“Ugh—stop!” They both can’t help but laugh.
“Anyway, I’ve got a game tomorrow!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. But… my parents won’t come.” Griffin looks at the ground, clearly disappointed. Finnegan sees himself for a moment.
“I’ll come.”
“Wha—really?”
“Really. What time is it?”
“It’s at five PM!” Griffin beams, his face adorning a childish smile that Finnegan doesn’t want him to lose. “Thanks, Finnegan!”
“No problem, kid.”
“Oh, also!” He pauses, reaching into his pocket. “Miss Joy asked me to give this to you! She said it was from your friend back in Denver?”
Finnegan’s heart skips a beat. Robin.
“Um… yeah. Thanks, Griffin.” He pauses, turning over the letter and seeing Robin’s address. He looks at Pluto, who’s still eating grass happily. “I’ve… gotta put Pluto back in the stables. See you tomorrow.”
He and Robin had always stayed in contact, because they’d promised to. Still, any time Finnegan received a letter from him, it was like his world had collapsed and rebuilt within seconds. Each letter he sent back was one filled with words half written, the ink from a pen half emptied out on words he’d never send.
A few hours later, Finnegan’s sitting in his bedroom. It’s dusk, and, outside, the sun stoops below the horizon, swallowing the sky and spitting out soothing shades of amber and roseate. The light gnaws at his blinds like a wolf biting its cage, and seeps in quietly.
He unfolds the letter.
‘Hey, Finn!
Man, I need a job. Mamá won’t get off my dick about it. ‘You’re seventeen! You’ll move out soon!’, Or whatever else she has to say. She never says anything to Ernie, obviously. Too busy babying him!
I heard that Moose and Donna broke up. Do you remember them?
Also! Do you remember that Vance guy? The one that was way stronger than me? He actually stopped in town last week. I spoke to him, and he said he lives in Texas, too! Maybe you’ve seen him around?
He’s changed a lot, so maybe you won’t recognise him. He’s got a black streak in his hair, and all this metal in his face. I say he looks like mesh wire.
I bet you’ve changed a lot, too. You said you’ve got a job at a convenience store? That means you had to have changed. The Finney I remember would be WAY too scared to go into a store and ask for a job.
I haven’t changed. Mamá says I look the exact same as I did when i was a kid.
How are you?
-ROBIN’
He always wrote his letters following the same routine. Stupid facts, complaints about his family, a little information about what’s going on with him, and then, in a loving tone that Finnegan had only ever imagined to be Robin’s intent in his head, ‘How are you?’.
As his room transforms into a warm padparadscha, he’s taken back to the night before he left, remembering it like it was yesterday.
They were sitting in the woods, and it was sunset. The dusk sky gradually surrounded them, rays of sun swirling and spiralling through tree branches and reaching toward the two boys like desperate arms.
The forest around them was quiet, sleepily stationed at their every angle.
“So… that’s it? You’re just goin’?”
Finney couldn’t help but clench his jaw at that. Robin was asking it like he didn’t deserve to go. Like he didn’t need to go.
Like whatever he had left in Denver was worth staying for.
“I can’t stay here.” He kept his tone quiet and clipped, staring at the ground and tugging at blades of grass.
“Yeah… I know.” Robin’s voice resigned, looking at Finney apologetically.
“We… we can stay in touch, though. Right?”
“What?” Finney was almost shocked. He didn’t really expect Robin to want to stay in touch with him. The tawny underbrush circling the boys hushed and shifted to a barely-there tranquility. “I… Yeah. We can stay in touch.”
Robin chuckled softly, but it was empty. He was never happy about this.
Finney looked at him, savouring how the dusk’s saffron glow galvanised his skin, tinting his face a warm ginger.
There was so much he wanted to say.
“Man… How are ya, Finn?”
He remembers the way he said it so, so vividly. He didn’t word it like a question. It was just… so solemn. It felt final, probably because it was. He said it like he knew something Finnegan didn’t.
Every time he’d read one of Robin’s letters, he’d imagine it in that exact tone.