He spends his days staring at his hands.
The cuffs are uncomfortable, and his wrists have blisters from being rubbed raw during his first few days in confinement, but it doesn't bother him anymore. The nerves have been numb for over a week, much like the rest of his body. He can't feel a thing now.
He has been tucked away deep in the remains of the Ark, in a maintenance room that has now been labeled as the first jail of Camp Jaha. And he is the first of them to be sentenced there. It's a twisted, mutilated mess of steel and wires that flicker occasionally, and one small hole in the ceiling no bigger than a dinner plate that lets in a solitary beam of dusty sunlight during the day, and a few scattered stars by night to serve as his only companions. They shine as bright as the ones he sat under weeks ago, with Clarke, but he has stopped wondering if any of them are the same.
In addition to the cuffs that bind his hands together, he is chained to the strongest beam still standing in the room. He can't sit - the chain is too short, and he'd kicked away the chair he'd been given as soon as he'd seen it. He can only dangle now. He knows he deserves less.
They feed him twice a day, but he has stopped eating four days ago. He ignores the plates, and the guards do not force the food on him. They don't care if he starves himself. These grown men and women hate him, and are afraid of him. Him, Finn Collins, who once was a peacemaker and is now a murderer. Everything has fallen apart.
He remembers nothing of how he got back to the Ark. The last thing he remembers is Clarke's horrified face staring back at him, and then the world went black. He learns later that Murphy hit him in the back of the head with the end of his gun, knocking him out so severely that he had to be dragged back to the camp on a stretcher. He vaguely remembers arriving, how Abby treated his concussion, laying on the table fading in and out of consciousness as Clarke sobbed in her mother's arms. And he remembers Bellamy entering the tent, looking at Abby and the four words that followed. "We need to talk."
He'd wanted to wake up then, to look at Clarke and tell her, "I did it to find you. I did it because you were lost, and I loved you, and he told me you were there. Clarke, he told me you were there."
But the next time he woke up, he was in his cell, disoriented and chained like an animal. It took him a full minute to remember what had happened, to realize what he'd done, and that was when he'd started screaming.
The guards said he was going crazy, but Finn knew that wasn't true. Not anymore. He was sane for the first time since the war with the Grounders. Seeing Clarke disappear behind the drop ship door, losing her and the rest of his people, it had done something to him. It had changed him, each blow turning him further and further down a road he'd never once imagined would become his path. But here he was, filled with shame and guilt, and haunted by the empty eyes of dead Grounders that had perished by his hands.
He saw Clarke's face every time he closed his eyes, but it was no longer joy that showed there, the relief of finding him alive and well once more as she propelled herself into his arms, her breath on his neck as she whispered, "I can't lose you again." Now, it was only her horror he saw, her fear he felt. He had both found her and lost her, all in one earth-shattering moment, and he would never see her again.
He spent his days staring at his hands, remembering what they had done, who they had killed, and what he had become in such a short amount of time.
It has been two weeks since the slaughter, and Finn is going to die. He's going to make sure of it.
He eats every crumb on his plate that night, knowing he will need his strength. The drop of food hitting his empty stomach feels like a brick, but he forces through the pain and the nausea even though he wants to throw up instead. Afterwards, he braces himself against the wall as best he can, using his knees and forehead to steady himself in an awkward half standing, half squatting position. It's not comfortable, but at least he can lower his arms somewhat and find relief as blood rushes back to them. He needs his fingers to work, needs as much strength to return as possible before the sun comes up. He'll only get one shot at this, and he intends to make it count.
He groans as a guard unlocks the chain when morning breaks, letting his arms fall flat to his sides. The second guard is behind him, and Finn notices that he's coughing violently.
"Man, go see Abby already. You know the last thing we need is some kind of virus going around." The healthy guard says. "Kid is so weak anyway, you only need one of us to make sure he doesn't try to pull anything."
Finn almost smiles. It must be a sign. This is meant to be today. One less guard means a higher chance of success - it means he is that much closer to the end of everything. All of the pain, all of his sins, all of the death.
It just needs to end with his.
The sun is just barely over the horizon as the guard pushes Finn through the camp, past tents and makeshift shelters as they near the fence. He tries not to look too closely at each opening - he doesn't want to see Clarke, or Bellamy, or Raven. He hasn't seen them for two weeks and seeing them now might tempt him to break his resolve. The guard opens the gate and pushes Finn out, and it is all he can do not to look back as they enter the trees.
They walk into the brush some forty yards deep, and the guard gruffly nods to him. "Get on with it, kid."
He's supposed to relieve himself, the same as always at the beginning and the end of each day, and every time, this guard in particular turns away to give Finn privacy. Today, it's going to be a mistake.
Finn squats in the bushes, searching frantically until his eyes find a stone half buried in the ground roughly the size of a softball. He yanks it free and grips it tightly in his bound hands. The half that was embedded in the dirt is sharp, and he tilts the stone so the blunt side is facing up. He will not kill this man, not with so much blood already on his hands.
He never sees it coming.
As soon as he drops to the ground, Finn checks for a pulse with shaking fingers, relief flooding through him when he finds it. He'll have a nasty bump on his head, but he'll live, thank God.
Finn fumbles with the keys as he unhooks them from his belt, grunting as fresh air hits the sores around his wrists when the shackles drop to the ground. When his eyes land on the gun at the guard's feet, his heart starts to pound violently. It's not the same kind of gun he used - it's smaller, and only holds a few bullets. Finn knows it will only take one.
Suddenly, his head snaps up. A long blow echoes through the trees, low and ominous and loud. The alarm. Someone has seen him.
Finn curses. He knew there was a chance he'd be seen by the morning patrol, but he had hoped to get a head start into the woods before that. So stupid…He thought to himself. Of course they would have eyes watching. His hesitation had cost him, and now he would pay for it.
Finn grabbed the gun with his right hand and took off, running for the first time in two weeks on legs that felt like rubber and no good at all. He was slow and weak, and his breath was choppy and ragged as he ran. Branches tore at his face but he ignored the sting, focusing on the sound of the horn and desperate to escape it, desperate to escape everything and everyone he had ever loved. Desperate to right his wrongs.
Eventually he reached a creek and he fell into it, running with the current for a good ten minutes before crossing onto the opposite bank and continuing deeper into the forest. It might take them precious minutes to pick up his trail again, if they managed to pick it up at all. He couldn't afford to take the time to hide his flight. He'd just have to hope most of the adults didn't know tracking the way he did.
Finally, after half an hour of non-stop running, Finn tripped over an exposed root and tumbled down a steep drop, landing on his back with the wind knocked out of him. He groaned as his aching muscles protested, and he felt a trickle of blood run down his forehead.
I have to get up. I have to keep running. Get up. Get UP.
And suddenly, Finn was not in a hurry to die. He was so tired of running. All he had done from the moment he set foot on Earth was run, and where had it gotten him? In a war with Grounders, separated from his people, crusading through Grounder camps looking for Clarke. All this running, and it had been for nothing but to become a murderer and everything he swore he'd never be. All this time, he had been running straight towards his downfall.
Finn pushed himself up, ashamed at his self-pity. He had no right at all. Not after what he'd done. He wouldn't live with this guilt eating him from the inside out, not if there was something he could do about it. And he could do something about it. He could die.
He began to walk, clutching the gun and struggling to stay upright. He would not stop again. He needed to get back to the village. He needed to see them all one last time before his body joined theirs. Then they would all see - the Grounders and the Skywalkers alike. They would see that justice had been served, and the war would be over. It was the last thing he would do as Finn Collins - he would be the sacrifice that finally brought peace.
Finn paused mid-step and tilted his head at a new sound, confused. It sounded like wind, but open wind, not the kind that whistled through trees and branches. He stumbled forward, pushing back branches in a hurry to find the answer, desperately hoping he was wrong, and cursed out loud at his misfortune.
He had reached a cliff, a valley that stretched across for miles and miles. It was a massive drop, no way to climb down, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He had gone the wrong way.
Finn paced back and forth, cursing softly and weighing his options. He could find a way around, but that would take days. He could follow the cliff until he reached a more scale-able path and continue back the way he'd came - the adults wouldn't dare try something so dangerous and reckless. But that's exactly what it was: dangerous and reckless. He needed to die, but not until he was back at the village and his debt could be paid. His only plausible option was to retrace his steps almost exactly back to the camp, figure out where he had gone wrong, and hope he wasn't found and recaptured. If he was, he'd never get another chance again.
He never heard the footsteps behind him.
"Finn…"
His heart sank. No. It couldn't be her. There was no way. She was fast, but she couldn't have caught up to him so quickly. He was hallucinating. She wasn't real.
He slowly turned around and met her eyes as she entered the clearing, out of breath and sweaty hair plastered to her face. She gasped for air, using one hand to clutch her left side, sore from running.
Finn's mouth opened and closed, words lost to him. "H-how?" He managed to ask. His skin had turned ice cold and his body was shivering at the unexpected arrival.
Clarke took a step forward. "I-I was already out-outside the fence. I was - I was looking for medicine for my mom. I saw you run." She shook her head violently, angrily. "It doesn't matter! What the hell are you doing? What -" And then she saw the gun in his hands and it was like she had forgotten how to breathe at all.
"Finn… What is that?" She whispered.
He didn't answer. He couldn't look at her, not when everything was tumbling and crashing around him. This was the absolute worst thing that could've happened. Not seeing her again - but her seeing him, and seeing what he was about to do.
"Finn," Clarke said more loudly. She took another step forward and Finn raised his hand in front of him, gesturing clearly and without question. His head moved left to right, final and unflinching.
Clarke shook her head quickly, her face breaking with realization. "No. No, no, no, no, no, Finn, you can't do this. This isn't the way. You can't - you can't bring them back like this."
"You think I don't know that?" Finn responded, his voice deadly quiet. "You think I don't know what I've done?" He tightened his grip on the gun handle, the ice-cold steel pressing into his skin. "I know what I did. I see that clearly now. I see what I've become. What I did to try and find you, and Jasper, and Monty, and all the other kids. I became a monster, Clarke." He almost wants her to deny it, but when she doesn't, he knows without a doubt his choice has been made.
"I'm going back, Clarke. Back to the village. I'm going to take this gun, and I'm going to give it to the man of the boy I killed, and he's going to have his justice. And then the fighting will stop."
"No, Finn, it won't. There's always going to be fighting. Your death won't change that. They won't stop until all of us are dead. Too much damage has been done, you have to realize that!" Her face was streaked with tears, long lines that had been traveled too often in her lifetime. He wanted to take them away.
Finn smiled sadly. "You're trying to make me rethink my decision. I know you, Clarke. You value each and every human life. But mine isn't worth saving anymore. I've done too much, hurt too many people. I'm not the person I once was."
Clarke took a step forward, despite Finn's protests. "You've made mistakes - so have all of us. None of our hands are clean. S-so should we all just go and kill ourselves?" She took another step, and this time Finn stepped backwards, closer to the edge of the cliff. "You've changed, but I know, deep down, you're still Finn. You're still you. I know you too, Finn." She gave him a pleading look, begging him with unspoken words that were making it harder and harder to convince himself she was wrong.
He shook his head. "No. No, Clarke - just, just go back. Go home. Go and let me do this, please. I need to do this. Do you understand that? If I don't, I'm not sure I'll last much longer anyway. I can't stand it." He was crying now, half screaming and half laughing with the madness that had rooted itself deep inside him. "I'm being eaten alive by guilt and there's nothing you can say, not one good reason why I should go back with you, not one reason why I should keep living when I deserve to die."
Clarke's eyes met his as two twin tears rolled down her cheeks, and she let out a shaky exhale before replying. "Because I love you, Finn."
A long moment of silence passed between them. Even the wind stopped, and the birds were all quiet. Finn almost broke then, almost dropped the gun and ran to her, almost imagined himself taking her in his arms and holding her the way he had that one night weeks, months, decades ago in the underground bunker. He almost did, but almost wasn't enough.
"You don't." His voice cracked on the last word. "You can't." He lifted the gun and fired a shot three feet from where she stood, but she didn't flinch. "Go."
"I won't." She firmly planted her feet, balling her fists at her sides.
He fired another, this one over her head, but still she didn't so much as tremble. "Please." He begged.
"No." Clarke replied. "You promised me I wouldn't lose you again."
Finn paused, and a movement out of the corner of his eye near the edge of the woods caused him to turn his head.
"He's right, Clarke." Murphy said. His gun was aimed straight at Finn's chest, but his voice was wobbly and thick. "It's the only way."
And a third shot rang out.
Everything was spinning. He realized he was on the ground, but didn't remember falling. How long ago had he fallen? It felt like hours, but it had to have been only seconds. He heard Clarke scream, felt her hands press into the hole in his chest where the bullet had hit, trying to apply pressure. She was shaking and crying and yelling all at once, telling him to hold on, that he would be ok, to keep his eyes open. But all he wanted to do was shut them and sleep. He was so tired all of a sudden. He hardly felt the pain, but he could register the touch of her fingers perfectly.
He opened his eyes part-way, seeing her clear blues inches away. He struggled to speak, but she shushed him between heaving sobs and frantic, feathery touches along his jawline, almost as if she were trying to memorize him before he was gone. He would be soon, Finn knew.
He finally managed to gurgle a few words. "Tell them… it was me… I did it… make the…. fighting stop… P-promise me…"
Clarke silenced him with her lips, crashing over his unresponsive ones as her tears fell on his face like raindrops. "Finn - Finn don't leave me. Please, don't leave me!"
He smiled then, reaching up to touch her chin one last time. It was over now. He knew she would be the strongest of them all. She would stop this war, he had no doubts about it. He only wished he could be there beside her at the end. He wished everything had turned out differently, that he had been stronger, but he was ready to accept his fate now. This was the price he had to pay, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like himself again. He would die now, with only peace in his heart, the same way he had lived.
He closed his eyes and saw her smile and roll her eyes the first day they'd met, as he'd hovered in the drop ship in zero-gravity. This felt similar somehow.
"Never." He replied. And the Spacewalker took flight once more.
A/N: Just to clarify, I'm a huge Finn fan and I hope he doesn't die in the show, but I do hope he gets his act together and realizes his mistakes and learns from them. What can I say - I just like writing angst lol Thanks for reading!