19

                                    

                                          
Finney opens up the car door, hopping out and quickly thanking Vance for the lift before racing towards his house before he can get heavily drenched by the rain. 
Today was the worst storm of the year by far. The weather kept alternating between heavy hail, harsh rain, and massive strikes of lightning. The drains were overflowing, flooding the concrete streets.
Robin had stayed at home. Baseball practice was cancelled, but yet school was still somehow open. Finney swears that stupid school would still be up and running during fucking doomsday. 
Finney didn't feel like going straight home after school, so instead, he decided to watch the infamous Vance Hopper do what he does best on the all mighty pinball machine he loves so much. But now, as the sky turns from a deep grey to pitch black, he instantly starts to regret that decision.
Upon entering his house, Finn immediately noticed two things. The first thing he had noticed was how ominously silent it was. Of course, it's normally quiet when he arrives home, but this was somehow different. He just couldn't put his finger on it. The second thing he noticed was the lights. Every single one of them was turned off, leaving the house in a state of complete darkness. He could make out a few silhouettes of various different items and pieces of furniture, but that was about it. 
Something was wrong. He could feel it festering and swirling around in his gut. Something terrible was about to unfold.
He quickly shook that idea off. He was surely just overthinking all of this. They probably just had a power cut. They probably just went to sleep early. Yeah. That's what happened. That's the truth. Finney tells himself.
He shrugs off his jacket, placing it on the coat hanger by the door and kicks his now wet shoes off.
He tries his best to tread lightly over the floorboards, attempting to reach his room without interrupting anyone elses rest.
He doesn't make it very far before...
"Finney." A sudden voice speaks at the same time as the lights flickering on, and the thunder outside rumbles loudly. "Get in here. Now!" His dad orderes, making the poor boy jump in shock. Finney does not even dare to object, cautiously making his way into the living room. His eyes immediately fixate to the many empty glasses and cans of beer carelessly chucked to the ground. Terry was drunk. He was drunk and angry, which is never a good combo. For anyone.
"Dad? Is everything ok?" He questions, talking a small step backwards, just in case he had to run. "Have I done something wrong?" His dad reaches into his pocket and slams something down onto the small coffee table.
Finney's eyes widen, and his blood runs cold at the sight of the item. Robin's old cigarettes. He had snuck in the other night and had given them to Finney to resist temptation, proof that he was trying to get better. Finney thought he had hidden them well enough. He had thought his hiding spot was perfect. Clearly not..
"What the fuck were these doing in your room?! Huh?!" Terrance pushes, demanding immediate answers. Finney does not reply. He's frozen in fear. 
"Um-its not. They're not mine." He denies as that's all he can do in this situation. It wasn't like he could tell his dad a boy had been sneeking in every night, and they belonged to him. He wouldn't be able to see Robin ever again, and that was much worse than the beating he would sure receive.
"Then whos are they then? Huh?!" He stands up, getting all up into Finney's face. "They're sure not Gwenny's." Finney stands there, his whole body shaking furiously with terror. His eyes are shut tight, and he mentally prepares himself for a hit or a punch. 
"I promise they're not mine!" Finney repeats. But it only makes it worse. Terry snaps. He shoves him to the floor and kicks his ribs hard. Hard enough to hear a crack.
"I want you to get your lying ass out of my house!" His dad screams. Finney scrounges to his feet, pushing his body off the floor. He races to his room, quickly grabbing everything in sight. He couldn't possibly stay here any longer. He shoves it all in his bag and starts to run out into the merky streets. He picks up his pace, the adrenaline pumping in his body pushing him on. He can only hear his own heart, thumping through his ears but faintly in the distance he could hear his dad yell out, "Don't ever come back or I'll fucking kill you!"
Finney knew he meant it.
He kept running and running until he couldn't feel his legs anymore. He couldn't stop because if he did he would risk the chance of getting beaten to a pulp.
He passes one block. Two blocks. Three blocks. Four blocks. He stops at the fifth block, looking up at the house.
Please be the right house. Please be the right house! Finney begs silently as he pounds on the door.
It creeks open, and a tall, tanned man appears behind the door. He looks down at Finn strangely, like he was some type of alien.
It wasn't the right house.
"Tío! Who's at the door?!" Someone calls out. Finney's eyes shoot in the direction of the voice. Robin comes up from behind a corner, the curiosity on his face dropping to concern and horror as he locks eyes with Finney. He's dripping wet from the rain. His face is pale except for his nose, which is incredibly red. Tear streaks stain his cheeks. Robin rushes over, taking Finney's face into his hands. "Finn? What's wrong? Tell me, what's wrong?"
Finney collapses into his arms, bringing the both of them crashing down to the floor. He pushes his head into Robins shoulder, sobbing his eyes out.
"My dad wants me dead." His voice cracks in sadness. "He-he found your cigarettes and thinks they're mine. He went mental. And-and-and." He failed to finish his sentence.
"It's ok. It's all going to be fine. I'm here." Robin coos, wrapping his arms tightly around Finney's body. "I'm right here." He whispers softly and reassuringly in his ear. He looks back to his uncle, unsure of what to do next.
"Hey kid. Come fully inside, will ya? You're completely drenched. I'll go get you a towel so you can dry off. We wouldn't want you to get pneumonia now, would we?" He speaks kindly, inviting him in.
A/n: I actually hate this but oh well!
Merry Christmas everyone.
This is my gift to you.