Chapter Text
Albert Shaw wasn’t gone. Finney had killed him in the basement and he’d dumped his ghost into a frozen lake back at Camp Alpine Lake, but he wasn’t gone. Like a roach, the man kept crawling his way back from death. A roach Finney had had the opportunity to stomp on and smear into the ground, but hadn’t.
Finney knew he should’ve, but something he couldn’t name had forced him to inaction. He and Gwen had just thrown the Grabber into the lake, behind him Finney had been able to hear people shouting Gwen's name and running to her side as she woke up. He should’ve been among them, running to her side and wrapping his little sister in his arms. She was finally safe, the Grabber was gone for good this time and neither she nor Finney would have to worry about him ever again. But Finney was stuck- frozen in place as he stared down into the dark waters. He was cold all over, his feet and hands nearly numb. He felt a dull throb of pain in his body, but it was as though the feeling was covered in a thick layer of anesthesia that prevented him from fully experiencing it. He should’ve at least felt soar around his throat where Al had choked him with his belt- that fucking belt- but it was as though his skin was too frozen over to feel it. All he felt was burning cold.
He should’ve done something when he saw the water below him begin to move. When he saw the water begin to ripple, the pattern of its typical current breaking until something came out. Something, someone, Finney couldn’t see. But he didn’t need to see him to know him.
Al had grabbed onto Finney’s ankle, clutching it so tight it was a wonder Finney hadn’t been pulled into the water with him. But that hadn’t been what the ghost had wanted, instead using Finney’s foot like an anchor to hoist himself out of the lake. He pulled himself onto the ice, Finney knowing only by the water that began to pool where the man laid. For a few moments the two of them had remained still, the teenager staring at where he thought Al was but couldn’t be sure. He wondered if Al was staring back at him.
Finney had let him get away that night, crawl his freezing dead form away into the dark and snowy woods. He should’ve stopped him, should’ve kicked him back under the water or screamed for help. But he hadn’t and he had to live with that.
He always felt cold now. The world was slowly approaching the time for spring’s warmth to eclipse the winter's cold, and it was leaving Finney behind in its cold shadow. He wore layers, his flannel over his shirt and his jacket over that, he was still cold. He turned the heat up as high as his father would let him and then some, would cocoon himself beneath blankets, but nothing would banish the ice from burning beneath his skin. It was almost as though the very blood in his veins had frozen solid, first at the tips of his fingers until the frost spread all the way to his heart- freezing his very core.
His sister and father were both worried about him, he knew that. As far as they knew everything should be great now- they’d defeated the Grabber back at the camp, avenging their mother and freeing 3 more little ghost boys. After they’d gotten home Gwen’s sleep walking had stopped, apparently the ghosts that had been trying to reach her through her dreams were either gone with the others or had ultimately decided to leave her alone. Even Terrance was doing better, handing Finney his 3-years-sober coin from his A.A. group with a smile on his face and almost teary eyes. It was as though Finney was the only one still struggling the same as before, and he hated that the other two could tell.
Finney felt bad that it was so obvious now. The teenager didn’t want Gwen or Terrance to worry about him. Before he’d been haunted by a miasma of fear and anger, but at least the smoke he’d tried to cover it with worked at least a little. He’d light up a blunt at the first glimpse of the devil-horned shadow in the corner, and Al would fade into numbness along with the rest of his pain. Most of the time, anyways, and at least when he didn’t Finney would be high enough that Gwen and Terrance couldn’t tell that he was haunted and hurting.
Then again, the weed clearly hadn’t done as good of a job hiding Finney as he’d thought it had. Gwen had made that pretty clear. If he’d taken the time to think about it longer when he’d taken his first breath of smoke, he should’ve been able to guess there would only be so much he could do to hide the earthy-sweet smell. Not to mention the obvious conclusion anyone would come to about his motives for getting high.
Finney groaned, rolling onto his back and throwing his blanket off him. He couldn’t sleep, whether it was the cold or the lack of smoke fogging his brain, he couldn’t tell. The teenager could feel the urge for the drug throbbing dull and weak in the back of his skull, a pain that had stuck to him like a leech since they’d gotten home. He hadn’t smoked since Armando had confiscated his weed, imposing an involuntary cold-turkey withdrawal from the drug altogether. A part of him wanted to laugh that the camp's caretaker had successfully forced him away from drugs, pushing him around half an inch closer to being the good Christain that Camp Alpine Lake wanted their counselors to be. Another part of him wanted to curse the kind caretaker for indirectly giving him this headache- but the majority of him just wanted to get some sleep.
He raised a hand and rubbed it over his eyes, letting out a quiet groan from the back of his throat. A chill brushed over his face, making the teenager go still. He raised the hand from his eyes, the ice in his veins pushing pins and needles through his skin as they focused. In the corner of his eye in his peripheral vision, he could see it, see him, just barely. Standing tall in a dark corner of Finney’s room, his silhouette unmistakable thanks to his stupid devil horns.
Finney swallowed and closed his eyes, screwing them shut until muted colors bloomed behind his eyelids. “It’s not real…” He whispered to himself, quiet as he could be without his words being just incoherent noises. “He’s gone, it’s not real. It’s not. Fucking. Real.” He bit his lip again, chewing at the skin until he tore a piece off and tasted blood in his mouth. The teenager bit into the tiny wound, using the pain to try and force his mind to ground itself back in reality, a reality where he wasn’t haunted.
After a few moments he opened his eyes again and looked into the corner. There was no one there, and he let his lip out from between his teeth.
Finney was alone tonight, his dad working late and Gwen staying the night at Susie’s house. He wondered what other teenagers would do if they were home alone for a night. Would they invite friends over? Watch movies and play their records real loud all night? Sneak a beer or three?
He didn’t know, but he knew they probably wouldn’t be facing and leaning on their kitchen wall with all the lights off, sipping on a half-empty grape soda and staring at nothing. Finney pressed his forehead against the wall as though he could force it to take his headache for him, glaring daggers at it for refusing. The kitchen wasn’t completely dark, he’d left the fridge open for the bit of light it provided. Bright enough to see but not bright enough to irritate his headache. He knew his dad would probably ask why the kitchen was so cold whenever he got back, but for the time Finney couldn’t feel any difference and thus couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He raised the glass to his lips to take another drink, ending his staring contest with the wall to look down at the bottle when nothing met his tongue. He hadn’t realized he’d finished it off, a little surprised he’d done so so quickly. But it hadn’t exactly been full when he’d grabbed it from the refrigerator, so he just blinked with uninterested acceptance and dragged his feet to the trash can. It hit the bottom with a loud thud, Finney letting out a sigh through his nose as he stared at it.
Ring, ring, riiiiiiiiing~
Finney’s head snapped towards the phone, staring at it as he let it ring a little longer. Anxiety burned in his gut immediately, a basement-born pavlovian instinct he’d adopted for the past 3 years. He remembered the counselor he’d seen for a few months had called it shell shock and had assured him it would go away with time, giving him a smile that was sweet like cyanide laced honey and dripping with infuriating pity. Finney’s ‘shell shock’ never did fade. He wondered what the counselor would say now, what sort of look she’d give him knowing she’d been wrong.
The phone kept ringing and Finney swallowed, feeling a chill run up his spine and send a cold shiver through his body. ‘It could be Gwen or dad.’ He told himself. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for either of them to be calling the house, they knew he was there and there could be a million reasons either of them would call. Maybe Terrance was just letting him know he’d be home later than he’d thought, maybe Gwen needed to come home early and was calling to ask him to come get her. There was no reason to feel anxious over answering a phone call from his dad or little sister.
But for some reason, Finney couldn’t convince himself tonight. He reflexively wanted to kick and demean himself, reprimand himself for being dumb enough to think something supernatural would be on the other end. Make the burning anxiety go away by telling it it was stupid, and that he was stupid for experiencing it. Finney had been trying that for 3 years, though, and he’d failed to make himself believe the lie or even make his anxiety burn a little bit less. He pinched his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight.
Maybe he’d just say his favorite line and call it a night, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.’
Finney's hand fell from his face and he let out a sigh, furrowing his brows together when he swore he could see his breath in the air. Was it actually that cold? He couldn’t tell, he always assumed it was just him, but maybe he actually had left the refrigerator door open too long. He made his way to the phone, shutting the fridge door with a shove against it. It closed with a loud thud and jostled its contents, making Finney cringe.
The closer he got to the phone the louder the ringing seemed to be, making his face screw up as his headache pounded harder and harder at the back of his skull. When his hand wrapped around the phone the ringing went silent, Finney taking a moment to enjoy the brief peace in the now completely dark in the kitchen.
He put the speaker up to his ear and took a breath. “I’m sorry, I can’t-”
“Hello, Finney.”
His voice caught in his throat, his eyes staring at nothing. He opened his mouth to try and say something, but his tongue felt suddenly numb. He rolled it around in his mouth, licking his bloody lip and willing feeling back into the organ.
Eventually, after a moment that dragged on for eternity, he said, “Why?”
“Why what?”
Finney grit his teeth, a scowl forming on his face. The fucker, he knew exactly what he was asking. But he knew he shouldn’t be surprised, The Grabber had always loved playing games after all. It was his whole memo, his entire schtick- the little routine he performed before he wrapped his hands around someone's throat.
“Why are you here?” Finney growled, narrowing his eyes at the darkness as he turned around. “Why did you come back?” He looked around the room as he pressed his back against the wall, half expecting to see the same shadowy figure from his room. Why couldn’t Al have just stayed at the lake? Hadn’t he gotten the hint? Wasn’t it obvious that his little game of killing Gwen had back fired spectacularly?
“Why did I come back?” A chuckle came from across the line, accompanied by a little fizz of static that made Finney wince. “What can I say? You let me go, Finn. Maybe I took that as an invite.”
“Shut up.” Finney snapped back. He bit his lip again, hard enough to reopen the little wound all over again because the Grabber was right; Finney had let him go. But not to invite him back- why would he do that? What sort of big brother would he be if he just let the Grabber come back home with them? If he handed Albert a little envelope-wrapped letter with their names and addressed in pretty cursive writing and-
Fuck, he’d practically done that, hadn’t he? Had he?
Finney shook his head, running a rough hand through his hair and letting his nails drag painfully on his scalp. For a moment he was 13 again and sitting on that dirty mattress in that dark basement, reading his name over and over in the newspaper. No, he couldn't let this happen. He couldn’t let Albert, let The Grabber, get into his head. Finney shook his head again, forcing the memory away, but the thoughts kept coming.
Honestly, he should’ve expected Al to follow him home. Why wouldn’t he? He’d already done it once, what did Finney think would happen? That Al would be content with being resigned back to whatever icy hell he’d clawed his way out of? Of course not, of course he’d come back.
Through heavy breaths, he said, “If you try and go after Gwen again, I swear I’ll-”
“You’ll what, Finney?” The man cooed, amusement lacing his voice. “Hm? What’s your little grande plan to fight me this time?”
Finney huffed, baring his teeth in frustration.
“You look cute like that, you know.”
“Shut up!” Finney snapped again, shouting into the phone this time as a blush spread over his cheeks. He heard laughter and he wished he could see the Grabber so he could punch the sound out of his mouth.
The laughter continued for a few moments, gradually dying down until the older man sighed into the phone. “You’re too easy to tease these days, Finn. Those teenage hormones have you all riled up, hm~?” Finney huffed angrily again, embarrassment flaring in his belly. “But you don’t need to worry about her. I’m not here for Gwen, Finney. I’m here for you.”
Finney swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. He wanted to feel angry or disgusted, but instead he felt…. Calm. He wished it was just because he didn’t have to worry about Gwen getting hurt, but he knew it was more than that. His fingers twitched, lifting his hand up to look at it.
“Are you cold, Finney-baby?” Al asked with a heavy breath into the phone, Finney lacking any air of his own to respond with. “It was so, so cold where I was. It was all I could think about, the burning ice too overwhelming to think about anything else. And then, after a while,” Finney felt a puff of air on his shoulder, cold and familiar and he wanted to vomit. “I was able to think of you.”
Finney’s hands didn’t feel so cold anymore. For so long they’d been dancing on the edge of going numb, but now it felt as though they were finally thawing out. Cold, but not burning at his nerve endings anymore. Cold, but his blood was slowly beginning to flow through him again. He bit his lip again, grinding his front teeth into it because the puff of air on his shoulder should’ve made him shiver. But instead it spread a fleeting bit of warmth over him, fizzling out before it could spread to the rest of his body.
“I thought of you, your pretty little face. I kept picturing it in my mind, how the sight of your whiskey eyes stretched all wide was enough to make me feel drunk.” More breathing against his shoulder, more warmth in his body that shouldn’t be there. More words that should’ve made him feel sick that instead made him blush harder.
“Sh-shut up.” Finney said into the phone, his words faltering as he stared at his palm. How could the older man say these things to him as if he weren’t delighting in angering Finney just moments ago? It was almost enough to make the teenagers' head spin.
“The more I thought of you, the more I wanted you. I wanted to see you, to touch you, to feel you. I don’t know how long I was there, frozen with my thoughts of you. But, eventually, I started to claw my way out.” The Grabber chuckled into the phone again, and Finney’s blush deepened. He was blushing over the words of Albert Shaw, The Grabber, a child serial killer. It was his words that were making his cold skin feel warm.
“I came back for you, Finney. I clawed my way out of my own frozen hell to see you.”
“You tried to kill my sister.” Finney responded, speaking the words aloud for his own benefit as much as they were to argue with Al. He tried to remind himself what the man had done, how he’d hurt him, hurt Gwen and all the people he cared about. The teenager could feel himself growing angry again, grateful for the spark of spite that still burned in him. He fought to keep it alive and stronger than the thawing ice. “You said you wanted to hurt me. That you wanted to kill her just to hurt me.”
The Grabber hummed into the phone, and Finney nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt something against his shoulder. He spun around, turning his head wildly to try and see what it was, but there was nothing there. He was still alone in the dark.
“I did.” Al admitted, and something laid on his shoulder once again. He stayed still this time, breathing through his mouth into the receiver as he felt heat course through the tense muscles. They relaxed a bit, as did his neck as the warmth spread to it. “Poor little Gwenny. I don’t like killing girls, you know. But you made me, just like you made me kill me brother.”
Finney scowled, staring straight ahead as though looking right at the man. “You know as well as I do that’s a lie.”
Albert hummed into the phone again, a few seconds passing of silence between them. “I came back for you.”
“You already said that.”
“You let me go.”
Finney’s brows furrowed, his eyes falling to the floor as a look of shame spread over his face. “...I know.”
“Why?”
Finney swallowed, not knowing what to say. Why did he let the Grabber crawl out of the lake and away into the dark? He’d felt unable to move at the time, but maybe that was a lie he was telling himself. To shirk responsibility from himself, just like the man on the other end of the phone.
“You could’ve kicked me back into the water.”
“I know…”
“You could’ve smashed my face into the ice again.”
“I know.” Finney growled, feeling his anger rising again.
“I wouldn’t be here if you had.”
“I know!”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know!” Finney shouted, wincing again and letting out an irritated groan as his own voice made his headache cry. “I don’t know. I should’ve shoved you back under the water and let you go back to whatever hell you came out of. But I didn’t. I didn’t.” He muttered the last part under his breath, hating how weak he sounded. He balled his hand into a fist, sighing through his nose at the blossoms of pain as he dug his nails into his palm.
Albert was quiet on the other end for a while, the only noise Finney could hear was the hum from the refrigerator. Just as he thought maybe Al had walked away he felt heat on the back of his skull, right where the itch of his headache was, and he moaned. It was like the hot packs Terrance had given him but so, so much better. It coursed through his brain and kissed at his face, soothing the torturous ache that had been haunting him for weeks now. The relief he felt was almost enough for him not to notice his head was being pulled forward, until it hit something. Something, or someone, that was invisible but undeniably there, standing in front of him.
“I thought I’d want to kill you when I finally got out of the ice.” Al finally said, Finney panting and closing his eyes as the relief continued to wash through him. “I thought I’d want to find my axe and slash into you. That I’d warm myself with your blood. You know I bought that axe that same day? Just for you, Finney. I bought it just for you.”
Finney grimaced a bit, wanting to tell the Grabber to shut up again but all that came out was an annoyed grunt. The euphoria of the relief from his headache was still too heavy in his system, gradually waning, but still too dense for his mouth to form any words.
Albert let out a single breathy laugh before continuing. “I thought the ice was to blame for the nausea I felt as I clawed my way to freedom. But it was still there when I made my way to you, when I thought of your blood on my hands. The thought of killing you made me nauseous. Just like how you felt when you killed me.”
“I was 13,” Finney argued weakly, not bothering to try and call the Grabbers bluff. He was right, after all. The snap of Al’s neck had sent a wave of nausea over him, worsening when he let his body drop into the pit he’d dug. “Of course killing you messed with me.”
“Hm, you really think so, Finney-baby?”
Finney wanted to tell Albert to stop calling him that, but the words died on his lips as he felt warm fingers rub gentle little circles into his scalp. He was able to suppress his moan this time, but not the pleased little noise that vibrated against his throat.
“You couldn’t kick me into the lake and banish me out of your life because you didn’t want to. Just like I can’t kill you because I don’t want to.”
“So what do you want?” Finney asked, his anger starting to sizzle out as fatigue began to replace it. Did the world feel the same, when the snow and ice thawed away? Did it feel tired too as warmth graced it again?
“I already told you. I want you, Finney.”
The teenager shook his head, lifting his hand to his face and rubbing at his eyes. It didn’t make sense. He’d always known since he was first taken into that basement that the Grabber held a certain ‘want’ for him, but this felt different. It didn’t feel like the same lascivious, needy look Albert had given him every time he looked at Finney down there. It made him feel warm instead, made his heart drum back to life and pump blood through his veins again.
“What the hell?” He murmured, his voice low with the mess of exhaustion and confusion weighing it down. Albert chuckled again.
“Oh, Finney. You’re so young.” The man sighed dreamily, making Finney feel embarrassed. Embarrassed, of all things.
“Fuck off, you’re a fucking creep.” The teenager growled, using what anger he had left to load his tone with venom. But Albert just chuckled some more, making Finney’s blush darken to a red and spread down his neck.
“I want you Finney. I want to touch you,” Whatever had been on Finney’s shoulder, a hand he thought, moved down to his back. It rubbed up and down his spine, blooming warmth over the cold and stiff vertebrae. Finney had to squeeze his mouth shut to prevent himself from moaning again, a choked little whimper coming out instead. “To feel you. I want to make you feel warm, I want to make you feel good, Finney-baby.”
Finney finally moved at that, the hunger in Albert's voice shooting panic through his core. “Don’t.” He said hastily, pulling away from whatever hands were trying to hold him.
“I won’t,” Albert quickly reassured him, making noises that Finney realized with shock were meant to sooth him. To calm him down, to reassure him. “Shh, hey, it’s ok. I’m not going to do anything you won’t like.”
Finney should’ve slammed the phone back to the wall at those words, the same ones that taunted him in his dreams at night. Words had made him wake up scrambling and falling out of bed, leaving him so panicked his dad had run to his room to check on him after hearing all the noise. Smaller, younger hands slapping his dad away as he tried to hold Finney, crying out that he’d scratch his face even as Terrance said the same reassuring words to Finney that Albert was now. But for some twisted reason they felt better coming from his dead kidnapper than his own father.
And Albert's promise felt real this time.
Finney let the hands guide him back to where he was before, this time gently nudging him to step forward until his entire front body was pressed against the ghost instead of just his head. Finney felt warm, as though he were wrapped in a blanket and laying by a fire. It felt so nice, after so long of only feeling cold, cold, cold- he wanted to cry.
“You’re not ready for any of that yet, Finney. I know. I won’t.” Albert promised, rubbing his hand slowly up and down the teenager's spine. The ghostly palm pressed against each notch of his spine, making Finney let out a hitched breath each time. It was all he could do to stop the tears from flowing.
Finney didn’t know why he wasn’t fighting back. He didn’t want the Grabber, didn’t want Albert. At least, he was pretty sure he didn’t. If someone had asked him before he would’ve said no and been completely confident in his response, he’d also probably punch the person for even asking in the first place. But now? He wasn’t so sure. He didn’t ‘want’ Al, he knew that for certain. But why wasn’t he pushing away? Why hadn’t he hung up yet? Did he want Albert to stay?
The only thing Finney knew for certain was that he didn’t want to be cold anymore.
As though reading his mind, the Grabber moved his hand away from Finney’s head and onto his back, hugging him tight and close. Finney couldn’t stop himself from letting out another moan this time, heat coursing through every part of his body. He thought his legs might give out, as though they really were thawing. Without thinking he dropped the phone, letting it hang down from the cord as he reached out. His hands clasped and swat at nothing for a few moments before they found their grip, wrapping around the ghost clumsily.
“Is that nice? Do you feel warm?”
Finney nodded wordlessly.
“I’ve been so cold, Finney. Each step I made as I followed you back here from Camp Alpine Lake, it felt as though I were just a little closer to a nice warm fire.” The phone wasn’t in Finney’s hands anymore, but he could still hear Albert's voice just as clearly. A part of him wanted to laugh as he pictured Albert’s ghost walking all the way back to his house, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. But the last part just made him blush.
“It feels like I’m frozen,” Finney confessed, the logical part of his brain asking what the hell he was doing being vulnerable with the Grabber disappearing as he let the words fall out of his mouth. “All the time. Even when the heat is on, or I’m under a blanket, or next to a fire. I’m always just so fucking cold.” He grit his teeth with frustration, feeling his eyes get wet as he spoke.
“Nothing helps. Nothing. It’s like even my insides are just blocks of ice, like my blood froze over under my skin.” He panted against Al’s body, a few little tears spilling over. He hadn’t told anyone any of this. The teenager had stubbornly tried to hide it, just like he had before, only he didn’t have any weed to cover it up with this time. There was no one he could tell, no one he could confide in. Not even Gwen, not after she’d gone and told Ernesto about his phone calls. Certainly not his dad. He’d been utterly alone with nothing to keep him company but his own personal blizzard. Until now, apparently.
“And now?” Albert prompted, his voice a happy little whisper directly in his ear.
Finney swallowed. He didn’t have to say anything, he could just stay silent. He doubted Albert would leave if he did.
“I feel warm,” Finney said, hugging Al tighter.
