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It started as an innocent curiosity, really. One wherein Finney just wanted to know what was so fun about that pinball game at the Grab N' Go. Vance Hopper was always on it, focused on getting the ball to bounce back, setting a new high score, all of that jazz. It didn't look that complicated, but in order to get so good at it, Vance had clearly been using a lot of brainpower and quick-witted strategy. Especially with how high his scores had gotten.
Finney had to admit to himself, though — it was fun. He understood, at least partly, why Vance liked it so much.
And so Finney had found himself playing with it more and more, whenever Vance wasn't around. (He didn't want to take the guy's favorite game from him. Vance always looked like he was genuinely having fun on it.)
Finney didn't mean, however, to get to this point.
"Gwen", he spoke from under his covers. His sister was on his desk, rummaging about or whatever the hell she was doing, Finney didn't bother to ask.
"What?" She spat back.
"I don't think I can go to school today."
Finney's voice was muffled by layers and layers of blanket and fear.
Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Did you catch a cold? Because if so, gross, and get away from me, that's disgusting. Your snot is the worst thing ever in existence."
"That's not it." Finney practically whined.
"What is it, then?" Gwen pulled out some of Finney's old markers out of his drawer.
"I'm going to die."
She shoved them into her pockets, continuing to go through her brother's belongings.
"That's a bit dramatic, isn't it?" She snorted. "Did you get tuberculosis or some shit? You know, you always were just a sickly Victorian child at heart."
"You think? You really think I'd be throwing a tantrum for no reason?"
"Hey, your words, not mine."
"That's besides the point. I really, really, really think I messed up this time."
Gwen shut the closet with a loud snap.
"You need to be meaner to your bullies, Finn."
Finney sat up, discarding his blankets haphazardly on his bed. It was fine; they were still on his bed.
"Gwen. You don't understand."
"I don't. I really don't." Gwen voiced out, exasperated.
"I. Beat. Vance's. Pinball score."
Gwen whipped around so fast, Finney could almost hear how her braids snapped through the air.
"You what ?"
"I know! It's awful."
"Awful, yes. But even more so, impressive."
"My life is on the line here, Gwendolyn."
"Well, Finn", she rolled her eyes. Her voice switched up to something sweeter, less suiting of the situation. "It's what you deserve."
Finney collapsed back onto his bed with a groan, worming himself back into that blanket haven he'd created for himself.
He peeked out of it slightly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
Gwen gestured vaguely with her hands. "I heard you could make dried out markers work again if you put in enough alcohol."
Finney paused. He thought about it for a while.
"Rubbing alcohol or drinking alcohol?"
"I don't think it matters, but since rubbing alcohol is cheaper with higher alcohol concentration, and smells better, anyway, I'm gonna be using that."
"Alright." Finney nodded.
What Finney didn't expect, was an onslaught of his other schoolmates talking about how him and Vance were going to duke it out eventually.
He should've seen it coming, really, but he was only very slightly hopeful that it shouldn't have had to come to such. He'd arrived late on that particular day, and when he got to his first period, his desk looked like a memorial for him was being held. Even the teacher was shocked to see he was still, and very much so, alive. She dismissed his lateness for that day just because of it, thankfully.
That still didn't make it easier for Finney, navigating the hallways as much as possible without bumping into Vance. Especially not because he'd somehow become a celebrity dead-man overnight. People congratulated him over what, they didn't even know. They were just there for the knowledge that Vance was probably out for his blood. It was entertaining to them.
Even Matt, Matty, and Buzz didn't bother to land their usual hits on him. Which, thank God, and also, Jesus fuck.
The day went by painstakingly slowly, with Finney jumping every so often at the sight of anyone with vaguely blonde hair or wearing a tank top or anything that looked sleeveless at first glance. He wasn't even in the same grade as Vance; he shouldn't have been as worried as he was. Vance was notorious for skipping class, too, so he probably wasn't even in school. Probably at the Grab N' Go. Which was an even more terrifying thought. He'd seen the score, definitely. The one bumped up higher by the hundreds, higher than Finney thought he was capable of. His hands were on autopilot when he played the game. He really didn't know it'd gotten so high.
Now, Finney was more of a non-practicing religious, (Gwen had always done more praying than him) but he'd spent so much time in that day alone praying, that he thinks that would've been enough to make up for the years he hadn't done so.
"So", a hand made its way onto Finney's shoulder. It's embarrassing how high he'd jumped at that. "Any last words?"
Finney groaned as he recognized the voice. His heart felt like it was gonna jump out of his chest any moment then, and for nothing.
"Really, Robin?"
"What? It's funny!" His friend reached out to wrap an arm around his shoulders instead.
"It's not that funny if Vance is really out to kill you." Finney frowned.
"Fair point, but", Robin shrugged. "What are you gonna do with all those flowers?"
Finney thought back to the unfortunate bouquet he had all the way back from his first period.
"No idea. Worst case scenario, I'll actually use them for my funeral. You know, if it actually happens."
"Hey, you said if instead of when. That's progress enough."
Finney sighed.
"Relax, Finney." Robin tried to reassure him. "Why don't you come with me later to the Grab N' Go as some form of exposure therapy?"
Finney made a face at him. "That's a terrible idea, Robin."
"All the more you should go."
Cut to Robin and Finney at the one place Finney was explicitly trying to avoid.
"I still think it's a terrible idea." Finney looked around, trying to see any sign of that blonde hair peeking out from anywhere, just in case. Logically, Vance didn't live in the damn place, so despite the chances being low over him not being in the place, they definitely weren't zero.
"Oh, c'mon man, you've come so far!" Robin picked out a couple of drinks for the both of them from the fridge. "You managed to come all the way here with no complaints as you walked. You can't back down now."
"That was different", Finney reasoned. "Like, I'm pretty sure my body just went on autopilot for that, and for the entirety of the walk here I just wasn't sentient at all."
"Don't make it sound like you're a walking corpse before Vance even gets to lay an eye on you, man."
"Shhh—" Finney threw his hands over Robin's mouth, looking frantically around. "Don't say his name! What if he hears you?"
Robin raised a brow. He spoke, muffled through Finney's hand. "What, you think he's Bloody Mary or something? Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse? We're not summoning a fucking demon, Finney!" Robin pushed Finney off of him, perhaps a little bit too hard.
Finney stepped backward at that, bumping into someone surprisingly sturdy behind him.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry about that." He turned around, and immediately turned pale.
Oh, fuck.
Vance.
Vance just stared at him, a bored look in his eye.
It felt like time had stopped, or at least, went painfully slow. This was it for Finney. This was the day that he was going to die. Goodbye to everyone who's ever known him, with extra emphasis on Gwen and Robin. When he gets cremated, he'd like for both of them to split his ashes, please, and thank you.
Underwhelmingly, Vance just pushes him aside.
"Move."
He reached into the fridge, still held open by Robin. Hey, Vance was a Pepsi guy. He took out a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge, then, as Robin would say, simply fucked right off. He walked away from them, presumably heading to the counter to pay for his drink.
It helped Finney's palpitating heartbeat, yes, but only mildly. (Better than nothing, at least.)
That's not the end of it, however.
Vance stopped. He fucking stopped right there, in the middle of the aisle, back still turned to Finney and Robin, probably processing something in his brain. Sure enough, he turned back around and glared at Finney.
Was it a glare? Maybe, maybe not. It was hard to tell, considering Vance just looked that way all the time. Still terrifying, though. Finney held his piss in for dear life.
"Hey, aren't you—"
Finney's face paled.
"No." He answered before Vance could finish the question. "No, I am not."
Vance narrowed his eyes at him. "I know what Finney fucking Blake looks like, dude. You can't fool me."
"Oh, shit." Robin mumbled out from beside them, eyes darting between the two.
"You know what who looks like, now?" Finney's voice pitched slightly higher.
"Finney." Vance called out.
"Yes." Finney replied. "Wait, no."
"You're Finney fucking Blake."
"I actually don't have a middle na—"
"Come with me."
"Oh."
Finney threw a panicked glance at Robin, who wordlessly returned it, both in concern and confusion.
The two followed Vance into the section of the store where the pinball machine was. At that point, Finney wasn't completely sure what to expect, but his expectations were heavily leaning into the more negative options on that spectrum.
Vance pointed at the machine, motioning for Finney to stand in front of it. So he did. Vance was much more intimidating up close than Finney imagined he'd be.
"Play it." Vance crossed his arms.
He said it with utmost confidence, as if he was planning on that moment for a while now.
"What?" Finney furrowed his brows.
"Play until you lose." Vance ordered. "And don't even think about pulling your punches. Beat my high score."
Finney looked up at the scoreboard before piping in to correct Vance about the high score. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the number wasn't the same.
Last time Finney played on it, the display showed 97,600. Now it's 98,000 flat.
He looked back at Vance. Then back at the machine.
"Well?" Vance waved his hand impatiently in front of Finney. "Are you gonna make me say it a third time?"
"Ah, right." Finney faltered for a moment but recovered quickly, taking out a quarter from his pocket and pushing it carefully into the slot.
The familiar sight of the pinball making its way up and into the plunger activated something so specific, saved up for that moment, right inside Finney's brain. He pulled the spring back to give the ball as much force as he needed it to, right where he knew it'd hit the bumpers multiple times. On its first bounce, it did as Finney expected it to — not exactly, but close enough; from prior calculations taken from the time he'd spent playing the game before then.
Right flipper. The ball launched back up in an instant, making its rounds once more throughout the entire playfield.
The ball zoomed across it, hitting the bumpers again, then the slingshots and kickers in the mid section of the playfield. It hit some targets a few times, the score only going higher and higher. The sound effects from the machine rang ruthlessly in Finney's ears. He couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off of the game, even as Vance's gaze burnt holes into his skull.
Left flipper. Right flipper. This was a new kind of torture, Finney swore.
Robin was still behind him, standing just a distance away from Vance. Finney couldn't see him, not exactly, but Robin wasn't the type of person to just leave a friend behind. (Even in the most confusing goddamn situations. What the hell even was this?) That reassured him, considering Vance was still right there, and never ever pulled his punches whenever he got into fights.
Going back into that cremation thing — that was just what Finney thought was ideal for his dead body. It was likely that Vance wouldn't be merciful to him, so an open casket is the farthest thing he'd want for his funeral.
In the case that he doesn't get cremated, actually, he'd want his grave to have some astronomy-related design. It'd be sick. Maybe have some writing on his tombstone that talked about how Finney was up in the stars now that he was gone. The more he thought about it, the better death sounded, quite frankly.
Left flipper. And again. The ball continued to bounce back as it hit anything and everything within that machine.
Actually, if Finney died, then no one would be there to teach Robin math anymore. That was a sad thought. This was probably the time he was going to start praying again just so he'd have a chance at survival in a one-sided fight against Pinball Vance Hopper. His hands were occupied, though. He couldn't make the sign of the cross. Maybe God would forgive him for that? Yeah, He'd probably understand. And so, Finney prayed, all throughout that pinball game.
Time went by both painstakingly slowly and too quickly for comfort, really. Finney didn't even have to think anymore as he let his hands just move however they saw fit to maintain his score, to keep the ball going.
Vance didn't say anything throughout the entirety of it. He only stood there, menacingly still, as Finney could tell from the corner of his eye.
Right flipper.
Finney wanted the game to end already, just so he wouldn't have to wait anymore for the inevitable to happen. If it was going to happen anyway, then he wanted it quickly, and he wanted it over with already.
And so, boom.
As God finally listened to his prayers, the ball eventually fell into the hole, unable to be held up and bouncing by the rest of the elements of the game.
Finney froze in place. He didn't want to look at his score.
He didn't want to look at Vance.
He did, anyway, slowly turning his head to the man beside him. And, oh fuck, there was a crowd around them?
Vance's face was blank. He wasn't even looking at Finney. He was staring right at the scoreboard, where Finney's score displayed. Robin was right behind him, wide-eyed and staring at Finney, taking glances also at the scoreboard. The scene was not at all quiet, but with the lack of ringing in Finney's ears, it might as well have been. He really didn't want to look. Because holy fucking shit.
The scoreboard displayed 98,200.
Finney shouldn't have looked. Finney didn't want to look. He was impressed with himself, yes, but that was probably just the adrenaline playing along throughout his body, taking control of him through those God-awful left and right flippers in the pinball machine.
This whole thing felt like a fever dream, so Finney pinched himself just to make sure. A pit of dread formed in his stomach at the realization that it hurt.
(He blamed Robin for this. Wholly and severely, for dragging him along with him to the Grab N' Go on that forsaken day. If he didn't come out of this alive, then he hoped it would change the trajectory of Robin's life forever as the thought of Finney remained in the recesses of his mind. It's what he deserved.)
Vance turned to look at him. He looked mad. No, he always looked mad. Was he mad? Most likely.
Finney flinched as Vance reached out to him with a hand, really not knowing what to expect. He was met with a hair ruffle, instead of whatever he expected. It was surprisingly gentle. Surprisingly cute.
"Good job, kid." Vance smiled at him.
So, Finney smiled back, proud at how fondly Vance's tone sounded to him.
Robin looked confused.
Wait, pause.
Finney's eyes darted to Vance again.
Holy shit, Vance was smiling.
Vance was smiling.
And he looked adorable while doing it. Shit, wait. No. Who said that.
"You know, I've never had a fuckin' competitor when it came to pinball. So it's nice to see I could finally have someone to beat, now that you're here."
"Oh." Finney blinked. "Thanks?"
It sounded weird coming from his mouth for once, but he genuinely had no idea what to say to that.
Finney could feel his face heating up, though, which was a really weird thing to experience in the situation he was in.
Y'know, it'd be kind of hilarious then if that was the moment he'd developed a crush on Vance Hopper. No. No. No. Who the fuck said that.
It was horrible, how Finney's stomach felt like it had butterflies in it, the same way it used to act around Donna, but this time in front of Vance. It was fucked up. Really fucked up. If that was how Stockholm Syndrome felt, then he wanted out of it.
"I think I've taken quite the liking to you, Finney Blake." Vance admitted.
Finney couldn't help but think, "Me too", but he'd rather die than admit that out loud. Goodbye to plans of splitting his ashes and astronomy quotes on his tombstone, he guessed.
All he knew then was that he was fucked. Outright and utterly fucked. Maybe death was a better option after all. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. It was way, way better than the situation he was in right now. Because he'd be damned if he kept interacting with Vance like that.