Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

242. Finn places his hands close together, projecting the luminescent numbers to his metal palm. Mirrored, 242. He panics for a moment on the thought of how sort of lovely the symmetry of it is. It had gone up and down again a few times over the past week, but he can't help feeling impatient from his seemingly endless plateau. Jake said this would happen. Jake… he clutches the portrait on his chest. He pictures Jake in that orb, walking alongside him, worn and ragged with age. He pushes the memory down, it was false. He escaped that train, his brother's guidance proved helpful, fighting those spawning enemies and bosses just delayed the inevitable. He just wanted an escape, for things to feel simple again. He's a hero damn it. He was supposed to take them down, but were they even evil? They attacked him and fought back but after all the train was their home, he was just a passing rogue. He cringes on how stupid it seems now. He should have known better. But violence has always been his escape. It made him feel whole and worthy. But violence in the end only made things worse. Jake flashes before his mind, whispers slipping through the cracks of his vault.

“Why can't you be here?,” passes rough through his lips.

His shoulders shudder with that familiar tingle that begs him to look over, promising this time wise old man Jake will be there, dutifully following him like in that orb. This only pains him further, Jake never wanted that future, he shouldn't beg for it now.

The cave car rumbles, jolting him to action. His metal wrist flicks open a blade crudely welded in during his unforgiving stay in the lava cabin. Staring across the stalactites freckled across the top of the car he spots a few bats jostled free. Maybe he could cook one up if he can manage to catch it. He fools himself for a second that Marceline will pop out to give him a scare. This cave looks nearly identical as if cast from his own fond memories of his friend's home. He gives a quick glare to the door mounted at least 30 feet up the cavern wall. Marcy could float him up there.

With a groan Finn stands. He's sat and ruminated long enough it's time to solve yet another “egress”. He folds the blade back in and spins the wheel around his wrist notching into the grappling hook option. He aims his arm towards a hopefully stable rock and pounds the button. Nothing happens. 

“Come on u tranch.” 

He pounds the button 3 more times until it sporadically shoots, launching him straight at the rock wall in front of him. He hits it with a thud and falls to his feet, his hook still snug in the wall above him. He hears a snap of rocks breaking loose and a crack the size of him branches out from his metal fist. His head pounds from the impact. Thankfully the crack allowed his grappling hook to dislodge and fold back into his arm. He barely catches his breath before a sound like a bolt of lightning cracks above him. A growing shadow cues him to leap scarcely missing the enormous stalactite crashing to the ground. Strewn upon the floor his eyes track the rock and where it broke free from.

“Oh shi-!”

With a layered screech akin to a banshee hundreds of bats burst from the ceiling where the rock once was. They flock towards him and he bats at them feverishly. He draws his sword and slices through the air trying to hit as many as possible with each swoop. But he realizes quickly there are simply too many. At last one clamps its jaws around his right ear and he yelps. All at once the bats quiet and drop like flies. Finn blinks in disbelief as they tumble to the ground.

Of course, this must be tailored for me, he* decides. Based on all the biz I've learned. He recalls a brief lesson Marceline taught him in between shooting hoops with the IK. On mimicking bats to do her bidding. She could command hundreds of them at once. And with a series of her screeches a bundle of them listened and obeyed raising the basketballs through the hoop like magic. He mimicked as best as he could muster, it was at least half a decade ago and he's def rusty. After a few off-key tries, with 4 high pitched staccato screeches each varying in specific pitch the flock flies towards and around him. Swirling around they envelop and boost him up. This could never happen back on Ooo, this is breaking all kinds of laws and physics, PB would freak if she saw this, he thinks. The flap of hundreds of wings is deafening but at last they make a window in which the door handle is centered. He must act swiftly, lest they drop him midair. They were already leaving, their goal accomplished, but the ding dang door must be turned a full 180. He swings it around and tumbles through with relief. He dismounts onto the rusty pathway and the door seals behind him.

“Glob, that was close!”

He looks to his number hopefully. 242. He groans and smacks it into his forehead.

After a series of music themed cars, Finn's hands are crampy. Although he enjoyed getting to play the flute again, he misses his own. He reaches for the next door and steps into the darkness. He shouldn't have stepped so confidently because the floor is a good 15 feet below him. He crashes to the stony ground. The air smells irony and damp. It splinters in his brain, tugging at some memory he's buried down deep. He rights himself and heads down the corridor. All at once his heart plummets and he feels as if it just might burst. A searing wave of adrenaline courses through his spine and down his nerves. Standing before a snowman resting atop its head reads one word he prayed he would never see again. There it stood profound and dastardly. Etched into his brain as it was into the rock, “Egress”.

Finn steps back.

“No.” And back again.

“Not n-not again not this”

He sprints away.

“Jake! Jake?!”, he cries out.

He strains his eyes open afraid if he blinks, it'll all start over and he will be a boy again layered with fabric over his eyes, skin and bone, aching for his life. He already learned this cruel lesson, he's grown, he let go of the past, he moved on and forward. His mind races uncontrollably. Of Jake prying his eyes open time and time again. The hours he screamed and cried at that door. His left hand waves before himself as he runs. He double takes as the number settles in his brain, 0 it reads. “What?”

The zeros tread one by one, spiraling up his arm and creeping towards his neck. His eyes race along them. When he looks back to his palm a 1 sits before them. He can't even fathom an amount. Much more than 1 trillion? What's even after that? They glow impossibly bright, blinding him as his knees fail. He plummets and opens his eyes screaming.

He is laying down on an oversized dandelion. A dog sized ladybug stares frightened at him. He takes in his rather enlarged but safer surroundings. It was a dream. He's ok. He's… still on this fucking train.

“Oh my, oh dear buttercup!,” exclaims the ladybug in a squeaky voice akin to Wildberry Princess. She holds an acorn bowl in her hands. The dewdrop once inside now splashed in her face from the scare. She dips the bowl back in a large rounded leaf of water and brings it to Finn.

“Oh thank y-”

She promptly splashes it on his face as well.

“What was that for!” Finn yells, flinging out his arms.

“I-Its customary to soothe passengers having nightmares with water to-to wake them up. One-one says..”

“I was already awake!”

“Pardon me, I'm only trying to help. I've seen so many passengers come through here and I offer them some rest in my flower bed. But some only seem to toss and turn and cry out in the night. The train can be so hard on some people.”

“I’m fine! I’ve been through worse! What are you trying to say?”, he stands, his face defensive.

“Eek!” She spurts out some green goo and skitters away.

“Gross.. nasty nasty. What was up with that?”

He looks to the acorn cup on the ground and guilt starts to shroud him. He picks it up and walks to the leaf bath to drink some water. Dandelions and clovers overhead provide sufficient shade.

“I'm sorry lady…bug. I didn’t mean to lash out at you just cause of my own biz.”

He stares at his rippling reflection in the green-tinted leaf water. His beard has grown out too long. He pulls his hat from his head, hoping he's in a private enough area. His hair falls to just below his shoulders. An image of his father pops into his head and he splashes the water with a growl.

“Woah! What's the big idea!” the water bubbles out.

This should come off strange, but to Finn of Ooo he's seen much weirder. A smiling face pops up in the water.

“Hello there, how splendid to meet a new passenger! I'm Randall, who might you be?”

“Huh? I'm Finn.”

A limb stretches out of the water to shake his hand and Finn takes it.

“I'm not very new though, I've been here at least a month by now. But I've never seen you before.”

“Ah yes, you may have met before Randall without noticing, but this Randall is pleased to meet you now.”

“What?”

“There's many Randalls imported throughout the cars.”

“Must be a jolly fellow then, and popular?”

“Sure am, I'm famous for my donut holer after all. You look mighty famished champ, have some tomato. The ladybug won't mind. I could even donut it for you!”

The limb of water reaches for a steel pipe behind the leaf.

“Woah, glob, no that’s ok I got it… thanks.”

 There’s a pile of cherry tomatoes sat next to the leaf, each about the size of a yoga ball. He spins the dial to pop out his knife arm and starts slicing one up into chunks. He shoves a few in his mouth and the rest he tosses onto a leaf folded up to keep it at least a little fresh and clean. This he tosses in his bag. 

“Um, is it ok to drink… you? I don't see any other water around.”

“Oh yes yes. I'll just take a quick nap in your tum no need to worry.”

“Ok… well I've gotta get going. Nice to meet you.”

He fills his canteen with Randall and sets off to leave.

He follows the path taken by the ladybug and glides his hand along the towering grass to his side. Trying to ignore the obvious is difficult with the smell permeating the air. He would fight back the urge to hurl for a solid year every time he smelled grass after the accident. But there’s no avoiding grass in this car, so he decides to revel, or more like brood, in it for once. Huntress Wizard taught him before that it can feel freeing or whatever to let your thoughts run free, no matter how scary or sad they may feel. But this doesn't come easy to Finn Mertens. It's equally hard to open the vault than to close it. Smells are sneaky however, they have a way of seeping through the sutures of your skull. PB taught him it's, “the most emotionally powerful of the senses, capable of passing countless scent combinations from 400 olfactory receptors straight to the hippocampus and amygdala.” He didn’t know what most of that meant but got the synopsis that smells trigger emotions way more than what you see or hear or feel. It's some powerful shiz that lights up your memory basket like crazy. But it's miniscule compared to poor Jake. Dogs have 300 million of those receptors, he doesn’t even want to imagine that absolutely nuclear brain blast.

His left hand dances along the row of blades and he closes his eyes to take in the feeling. As sweet scenes of Fern fishing alongside him, napping atop the tree house, and playing BMO roll in he hears a new sound. Like a slot machine he found in some human ruins once, when its cranked the numbers tumble. But he’s distracted as flashes of blinding yellow eyes, menacing teeth, and grass shreds cascading on him like snow crash down. He can’t control the onslaught, in a rage he chokes a blade and plucks it harshly from the ground. All at once the field retreats, each blade sucked back down into the Earth. His heart pounds as he hears screams from the insect citizens. He looks around in a panic and spots the door about a couple hundred feet out. Upon noticing his vice grip on the blade he swiftly drops it to the ground as if it burnt him, and it shatters on the dirt like it was made of glass. The sound echos for a few seconds. He steps back as tears well up. His reminder of the past is cut short as abruptly thousands of dagger-like grass blades zip back out of the earth, this time targeting Finn. He bolts for the door, his metal arm covering his face as best he can. Astonishingly only a few manage to scrape his skin and clothes. Begrudgingly he is forced to slice through the ones blocking his path. The sickly smell is thick and bits stick in his beard. He hears that strange sound again. But he has no time to find the source.

Insects fly overhead screaming, “Get him! You monster!”

Another accuses, “One does not take grass from the ground by force! Our mother provides as does she take. You stole without praying, without permission. Stolen exit, stolen!”

A thick stem lies slanted in front of him. He runs up it and grabs hold of the fluffy seeds at the top, his momentum pushing him off the flower and hurdling forward on a cloud of fluff. 

He finally spots red and gold and plunges through the fluff towards the ground. He reaches for the handle spinning it fast. And once again he is stumbling out of a car and onto the grated metal bridge.

“Ugh, Grod!” Finn slams his foot into the railing, slightly tilting towards the wasteland. He wipes away the chlorophyll stained tears from his face and examines his surroundings.

The outside of every car is usually boring and monotonous. Some appear older than others, plagued with rust and grime. Once in a while his tired eyes are blessed with some graffiti. Usually a squiggly red line strewn across the door, cute little hearts with initial plus initial, or depressing junk stating the obvious like “it never ends”, no duh. But the car before Finn now is different. It looks kinda torn apart, with various sizes of metal plates welded together all over it. It doesn’t take long for him to notice it’s graffiti in of itself. Some plates are welded together into spikes, projecting off the wall in a row. Two lovely metal branches reach out from either side of the door. And most enticingly there's a ladder going all the way to the top just slightly out of reach.

“Low hanging fruit huh?”

His bod hurts and he’s clearly distressed and emotionally wrought, but if he knows himself at all, he is bound to climb that latter. With a grunt he jumps and grabs on. He madly giggles even as he ascends. The sudden gust of wind nearly topples him off once he breaches the top of the car. His metal fist clangs down on top, somewhat denting the roof, but he doesn’t care. He might as well take some revenge on the abomination.

With a sigh he rolls onto his back to catch his breath and takes in the red scarred sky. Why does everything need to remind him of home? He’s brought back to gazing at the clouds with Flame princess in her kingdom. He can’t even remember how long it’s been since he spent time alone with her. No cinnamon bun, no Flambo, no weirdness. Her face only brews regret in his gut. Her face is replaced by Huntress Wizard, he blinks. Fern, he doesn’t favor lingering on that one too long after the last car. His gut only sours, shame itching at his spine. A few fuzzy faces slide across his mind. Various princes and princesses fade in and out. His mind settles on Tiffany. At least that one makes him smile. At least that one wasn’t entirely his fault. His eyelids are heavy and he is beaten to hell, so he succumbs to sleep.

A jarring metallic bang jolts him awake. He looks up to see a metal boot beside his head and a person looming over him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” they say.

He rubs his eyes. It’s dark out but the figure over him appears gray.. or silver maybe? He grabs the other's ankle with his metal fist and it clangs loud and clear to his surprise.

“Are you like a cyborg or something?”

They scoff, offended, but taken aback by the strength of his fist. Finn releases them. He stands to see a chrome person in black clothes and a buzzcut.

“Sorry to intrude,” he admits, “I’m Finn.”

He reaches to shake the others hand. They look down skeptical but frankly intrigued by the passenger with a bear hat, a robot arm, and a number on the wrong hand, I guess the only hand it could be on. They reach out and shake Finn’s hand.

“Lake.”

Chapter Text

“Wait wait what do you mean mushroom war? That never happened, and I definitely think that's something I would have a hard time forgetting.” Lake kicks over a bucket, splurting blue paint across the ground.

“I don’t know… maybe you have amnesia? I’ve hit my melon hard before and trust me there's a few gaps up here.” Finn rubs his hat.

Lake flicks their own head with a deadpan stare as the sound rings out.

“It would take like a rhino headbutt or something for me to get a concussion, doy. Plus how do you even know I lived outside the train? I don’t exactly look the part. It was a major pain having people constantly ask if I was Jesse’s robot. Ugh, if anything I’m my own robot jeez!”

“Hmm. I guess you lived on that human island. In Ooo there's tons of different intelligent species. Slime people, food peeps, water peeps, uhh. But that still doesn’t explain how you never learned basic history. Wait, how long have you even been on this train?”

Lake doesn’t look very old but then again PB doesn’t either. When Lake doesn’t respond Finn keeps rubbing his head, thinking maybe they are from an alternate timeline. But he decides maybe to not spring the whole multiverse thing on this already clearly tense person. He punts a mostly empty paint can across the room, flinging a few drops of yellow into the air.

Something about this amnesia business seems familiar. He recalls a picture he found a long time ago tucked deep into one of his mom’s magic note-protected photo albums. He dared never bring it up again after everyone made him feel nuts about it. It was a cute baby photo, baby Jermaine, baby Jake, and baby Finn, but the right corner of the page was torn and all he could make out was a purple tentacle and a hand on his shoulder. Creepy sure, but what was more creepy is that clearly this thing or person was in his house and I guess trusted enough to be this close to them as babies, but when he confronted his parents about it they claimed he drew the thing in with purple marker. His parents did hunt monsters after all but they made uber duper careful to not let any near the babies, at least not until they could run, cry for help, or fight back. He recalls an adorable photo of himself at 3 years old in a giant steel helmet and holding his dad’s demon blood sword, scarcely able to lift the thing off the ground. Margaret scolded Joshua harshly after finding that photo. Finn was a truthful kid to his parents, he swore he didn’t draw the tentacle person. But no one could remember who that was in the photo, nor did they seem to care all that much, which only infuriated him worse. He recalls the back of it reading, “Jermaine, Jake, Finn, and Gata.” It bothered him to such an extent he buried the photo in the backyard. It tormented him too much and this way he couldn’t just go stare at it and make himself crazy all the time.

Still deep in thought, Finn bumped into the back of Lake. 

“Woof, sorry man.”

They didn’t reply. They were staring at the door pretty intensely and looked frankly pissed off.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to like offend you or anything.”

“What? It’s not that, it's just the door, it’s locked.”

Finn hated the puzzle cars the most. They were fun at first, but he gets impatient fast and has a habit of running head first into danger at lightning speed before an ounce of thought. An incredibly long paint brush leans against the wall to the side of the door.

“I’m not a good artist, ugh it takes too long. I just wanna get outta here,” Lake complains as they grasp the immense brush.

They reach into their pocket and pull out a round golden item that resembles a large pocket watch or maybe a compass of some sort. The glass is cracked but he can make out vague green outlines of cars and a red dot. They scroll across the screen and groan. Finn reaches for the device without asking.

“Hey! Not yours dude, you know how hard it was to find one of these!?”

Lake pushes him away, again with a strength for their size that surprises Finn.

“Well what the ham is it?”

“Oh that there is a number counter, fella.”

The pair look around startled by the voice, they thought they were alone in this vast white car and none of the paint cans appeared sentient. Finn grits his teeth, starting to feel afraid that he may have kicked several denizens across the room.

“Right here silly billys!”

“AA!” Lake drops the brush at once.

“Ow! That hurt worse than that deer who gnawed on my bristles,” he pouts.

“Deer?!” Lake nearly shouts, “when?”

“Now, now my chickens, we are getting off track here. As you can see…” The brush side eyes the paint strewn about carelessly, “there is paint and a brush,” he winks, “I’m sure you both can put 2 and 2 together now.”

Finn hefts up the brush with a sigh.

“So what do I need to paint?”

The brush scoffs, “If I told you, it would defeat the whole point wouldn’t it.”

“Why are the walls blank?” asked Lake, “Do you just paint over everyone’s ‘masterpieces’ after they leave? Doesn’t that defeat the point?”

“Art that lasts through the ages is just as meaningful as ephemeral ones. There is an art of sand I’ve heard tale of…”

“Come on man, it could be fun,” Finn whispers over the brush’s monologue.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Lake rolls their eyes.

Finn ponders on what he should paint. Banana guard 16 took inspiration from their ruthless yet nurturing dictator. He could never come close to matching his work. Who would be PB to him? Who is he both terrified and also fond of, akin to a monarch, a god? There’s honestly too many options.

He attempts to dip the tip of the brush in a can and clumsily knocks it over. How tall is this thing anyway?

He tries holding it from a different angle, hoisting it up on one shoulder but then struggles to paint up and down.

Lake watches in amusement.

“Ack, glob it!” Finn exclaims when the wooden handle topples onto his toes.

Lake picks up the far end.

“Huh? I thought you didn’t want any part of this?”

“Beats watching you struggle, I wanna get outta here.”

“Why are you following me anyway? I mean, am I that charming?” He half-winks, putting more of a twitchy strain on his face than anything.

“Very funny. I’m just headed the same way you are. And I’m bored I guess, I don’t really like riding the train alone anymore.”

With Lake’s help Finn is able to dip into a can and dribble 2 splotchy swathes on the floor. He connects the lines up the wall and draws a circle at the top.

“What is this anyway?”

“Well we are in a room, and the easiest and coolest thing that comes to mind is this math guy.”

He stands tall and proud in front of his glorified pink stick figure.

“Just need…”

He dips his hand into a blue can and jumps to smack a print in the middle of its face.

“Good to see you again Prismo.”

He sighs and wipes his brow, and turns to inform the brush of its completion.

“How wonderful, you’ve finished your work! Let me bask in the glory of… Prismo,” the brush says gleefully.

The two are startled when the knob swings around and the door opens.

“Welp, out you go!” 

The brush falls onto its side and starts aggressively rolling towards them, chasing them out the door and quickly shutting behind them.

Lake slumps against the railing for a bit stretching out their tired arms.

“Whose the big guy?”

“Prismo? He’s only the raddest pickle maker slash master of wishes who lives in the center of the known universe, Prismo the Wishmaster!”

Lake looks stunned, not knowing whether they should take Finn’s word with a pinch or a pound of salt. This guy is strangely genuine about such fantastical things. They decide not to push it, there's only so much life-changing info they can take in one day.

Finn feels antsy, he knows he should pop a squat as well but can’t bring himself to rest. He already felt guilty for taking a nap in Lake’s spot. So he just swayed himself away and towards the railing by bending and straightening his arms, tipping himself over the axis of his feet. He wore a strained half-smile and at once stopped to draw his left hand up to his face.

“What’s up with your number? It’s supposed to be on your right hand. But I guess they didn’t have much of an option. One more metal arm and I fear they’d have treated you like me.”

“Is it? You know about this? Boy howdy I have questions for you.”

Lake wished they didn’t open that can of worms. It was clear Finn never got One-one’s little memo video.

“Can I see?”

Lake takes the cue when Finn extends his palm. It reads 240.

“No matter how many cars I go through, it’s never gotten any lower than this! And the second it goes down it goes back up again, it's driving me up a wall! I feel like a total sea lard all mixed in with the space lards , I just don’t get it! And I’m terrified that what if there’s nothing to get. And it's just a cruel joke by the Globs or the universe.”

The purple center of the comet pops into his mind's eye, along with the similarly shaped pink heads orbiting his world.

“It’s ok, I’ve seen wayyy higher than this.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

Finn wipes his brow, and worries at his lip.

Lake’s eyes lock on past him and they grab Finn’s hand and yanks.

“Huh?”

“We gotta go!”

The tone of Lake’s voice was dead serious. He learned it best to listen and ask questions later when people pulled that voice. He followed them to the next car. A bang of something big hitting the creaky metal cracked behind them. Finn dared to turn his head. A quadruped cockroach 100 times its normal size was in hot pursuit. It’s mouth resembled a foul brown circular mop.

He tries desperately to slam the door on the creature, but to his horror it shoves its way through. He flicks out his sword and slashes madly. The blade bounces off its exoskeleton.

“I’m not sure if you can actually kill Ghoms,” Lake admits, taking in their surroundings with a gulp. They don’t have time to address the stinging emotions this site bubbles up in them.

He takes a beat to reassess his enemy. It winds up to lunge but appears to be slipping a bit on the polished floor. He leaps to the side when the beast throws itself wildly at him. But he miscalculates, catapulting his skull into a nearby mirror-like globe shaped projection from the ground. The Ghom doesn’t seem to care about Lake, only focusing in on him. Lake remembers although the Ghoms are deadly, they feed on passengers, chemotaxing towards their high numbers, in which Lake has none.

“Stand back, I got this. I don't think it can hurt me.”

Finn is still seeing stars, his vision twisting and tilting. He can’t stop Lake before they bolt and force the creature into a chokehold, evoking an ear-ripping vile screech from it.

“I can take him,” Finn hears faintly, the voice striking him straight through his gut. 

He looks around frantically but he could be hallucinating for all he knows with how intense his head is pounding. But there’s no one he can discern save for him, Lake, and the squealing creature his new friend is failing to control.

“Run towards the Ghom and if you place faith in me with your last step, I’ll join in.”

He doesn’t have the time or capacity to find the disembodied dreadfully familiar voice. Putting his faith in the universe has worked out before, and man is he out of his depth here, as little as he would like to confess. He makes a mad dash towards the beast, the numbers on his hand scrolling fast.

“No!” Lake begs him to turn back, not ready to lose their new companion.

Finn stomps down his right foot following a long stride hearing, “Now Finn!”

Adrenaline shoots through him as at the moment of contact he falls through the mirror floor. Righting himself he looks down to see a silver figure below him thrust a chartreuse blade without resistance through the Ghom’s thorax. The creature flings its antenna in a spiral and promptly explodes into a pale blue dust. He can barely make out through the cloud, the silver melting off his savior’s body, revealing to his disbelief a grass covered projection of himself, unmistakable. Without feeling, his cheeks wet with uncontrollable tears falling from his eyes. He’s struck with the long locked-up guilt and grief surmounting, tearing through the shackles of his vault in the revelation of the being standing below him.

His knees giving out and landing harsh on his palms, he chokes, “Fern?”

Chapter Text

The chrome car falls silent after the Ghom was extinguished. 3 minds racing unbearably loud, but none able to outwardly express a single word. Lake and Finn’s eyes magnetize to the doppleganger, aghast and separately concerned for their own sanity. Lake obviously knows other mirror people, but they’ve never appeared anything even close to what stands before them now. The acknowledgement of having a separate identity from their prime was something they had to grapple with before. Their chrome exoskeleton both a reminder of what set them apart, but also a comfort that they weren’t the only one of their kind. This green figure shattered Lake’s worldview at once. Silver is cold and stark, durable against the train and the world. This figure seemed organic, bendable, alive, but somehow not the least bit vulnerable.

Fern retracted their sword and shook off the last bit of metal shavings. But they still glimmered, speckled with glittery bits hooked into their flesh. He gave Lake a nod, noting they are of the same origin, one of their origins at least. Their mind twisted and pulled against itself, unable to join their circumstances into a coherent sequence of events. But glob did it feel so good to shed off that hard exterior and let their grass grow freely once again. Despite this, something was still off, he looked down to find their right arm cut short, mirroring Finn’s. Fern felt a pounding at his feet and stepped back to see a tangled mess of blond hair and a large fist continually banging against the mirrored ground. A knot of resentment bubbled up in his gut, contrasting the aching warmth in their chest. Sap welled in Fern’s eyes. Parts of them held unbearable longing for this man for years and other parts were frightened, enraged even. They felt a cold plate slide into place along their back, followed by more layered underneath and under. The scales shimmered along his shoulders and collarbones. Fern’s unease faded as they slotted into place, armor against his grass skin.

“Fern, please. I don’t know if any of this is real. I need it to be real.” Finn sounded muted through the floor.

Finn drew back his hair and placed his hands to the floor. Fern felt frozen, as if his roots were tangled inside him. They willed themselves to meet Finn’s eyes. At contact a sharp crimson panic shot threw them. He ran for the door and flew it open. Lake chased after, knowing the inevitable. Fern tripped at the doorway, his right leg holding him back, a sliver of metal still glued tight to their heel binding them to the room. Lake caught their hand before he faceplanted. In a frenzy Fern shot out more arms, more legs all jointed in opposite ways. His limbs contorted and his eyes opened many and bright. They fought against the metal, ripping scales from his skin, and letting out a guttural growl. But the more he fought the denser they became until he was once again engulfed in a cracky layer of chrome. Lake retracted their hand and sat down, permitting Fern a moment to cool down. He crawled into a tight bawl, wrapping spidery legs around their body and head.

“What am I?” Fern admitted.

Lake let out a sigh, “Hey it’s alright, you’re like me. We are from the mirror dimension. You’re built to be a reflection of Finn, but that’s not who you are, you are your own person. It looks like you’re even more than I am. I’ve been where you are, but believe me you can’t run from this, it’ll only hurt worse.”

Fern unravelled a bit, letting metal curls melt off one by one. 3 eyes glowed at Lake, peering behind sappy tears.

“I know every, um, blade in your body wants to resent Finn, but you can’t hate him for who he is or who you are. He can’t hold you back, and I don’t think he wants to.”

Fern lets out a chitter, “I know him. I knew me. But now I don’t know anymore. Finn ripped me out of him, multiple times. He threw me away, he’s scared of me. He just wants sword-Finn. I thought I figured it out… what is this?”

Fern eyes the silver shining across his claws. His pupils cat-like, darting across the glitters.

“I don’t know. It’s supposed to be like a mirror shell I guess, like mine. But you’re different. Let's find out together alright? I’m Lake and I know how to get you outta here, if you let me help.”

They extend a hand to Fern who flinches.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, its ok. Physical touch is kinda a lot for me right now. I just spent the last decade in a tree realm, and a mirror realm? My name’s Fern… um, thank you.”

Finn couldn’t make out much through the mirror floor. He wanted so badly to scoop Fern up and make amends. For years he would lay awake under the stars at night, ruminating on what he could’ve done better. A single way Fern would still end up alongside him. A wish he could’ve made to Prismo. A reality without this heartache, without beating himself down for betraying the one person who ever fully understood him. He thought killing the demon would save Fern, not-.

A clang under him drew him out of his head, back to what he sincerely hoped was reality. Lake looked worn, but maybe hopeful.

Lake spoke to Finn, “Hey buddy. Can we try something?”

“Uhhh. ok.”

“Alright, stand up and listen. I know how to get you both free. Now we need to hurry before the flecks notice.”

Finn stood as directed.

“On 3 step right in front of Fern, you’ll switch back.”

Fern swiped his arm down his scales, anxious but trying his best to trust Lake. Lake wouldn’t trap him down there, right? Lake’s done this before.

“1, 2, 3.”

Finn and Fern promptly stepped and swivelled through the floor. Finn back atop, and Fern back under.

“Now how attached are you to that arm?” Lake gestures to his prosthetic.

“Physically or like… emotionally?”

“Ugh, can you take it off?” Lake rubs their face.

Finn presses down 2 buttons opposite each other and twists off the arm. He warily hands it over to Lake. Lake presses the connecting end to the floor.

“Ok Fern, it's time.”

Fern reaches down and a flood of relief shoots down their spine as he ascends into the prime world fitted with Finn’s metal arm. Once atop, he pulls it down and examines his new limb, articulating the fingers. They yelp as Finn clutches around his body and lifts him into the air in a tight sqooze. A hiss cuts through Finn’s sobs, but he can’t bring himself to let Fern go, not again.

“Fern, I'm so sorry. I didn’t know.”

In a panic Fern flicks out his sword and presses it to Finn’s throat cueing Finn to promptly drop him, confused and wrought with too many emotions.

Fern retracts his sword and huffs.

“Hi Finn.”

His eyes trace Finn’s body and catch on a bit of blood pooling on his clavicle. 

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“It’s ok really,” Finn sniffs, “I’m no wuss man.”

“Right, uh. I think… I just need some time.”

“Ok Fern. I understand. I haven’t changed much I guess,” he snickers, “still not great with personal space, my bad.” Finn holds himself and gives a self-conscious chuckle.

Fern closes a few extra eyes and squints, a smile creeping up his face.

“I miss you too dude.”

Finn’s mouth warbles with unease. With no physical output for all these tangled feelings he’s jumpy and can’t seem to keep his eyes fixed on anything or anyone. They fall on a reflection of Fern in the floor, his hair, his scales, his tall stature, his flowers, blue white and pink. How could he be so different, but still so the same.

A heavy cold hand on his shoulder startles him. It feels like his, like Fern’s now he realizes. He turns to see Lake, white fluid leaking out of their nose.

“Happy re-union?”

Finn doesn’t reply.

“Finn?”

“Oh sorry, yea something like that.”

Finn crosses a foot behind a leg, gliding it up and down in a soothing act.

“It’s a long, whewww, long story.”

“Eh, I’ve heard weirder, but maybe later. I think the grass guy needs a nap or something… does he sleep?” Lake whispers.

“Know where we can find a lawn and some sunshine?”

“I totally got you!” 

Fern breathes the warm earthy air through his roots, fresh CO2 filling up long awaiting blades. His vision is foggy through his eyelids. A greenish splotchy tie dye, illuminated by the incredibly convincing sunlight and backlit by his own sclera. He feels the breeze through every blade in the field and the pitter patter of hundreds of orange and white little paws. Drip. Drop. Water at last. Drop. The water is tinged Fern thinks. What a strange aftertaste and warm. Gross, saliva? His demon senses kick in too late and the drooly puppy bounds away. He snarls, baring his teeth. A nearby corgi snarls back, hackles raised. His instincts tell him to rip it apart, his fangs lengthen.

“Ahem!”

The little thing whimpers and shys away, bowing its head for a slightly bigger corgi adorned with a crown.

“Oh shit a princess.”

He quickly retracts his fangs and bows his head.

“Princess? I am King Atticus young grass wad. And sunbathing upon my hills is a privlege I can happily revoke.”

“I’m sorry for growling, I didn’t know.”

“You’re lucky Lake is the one who brought you here.”

Atticus prances towards Fern. He feels a bit more in his right mind now full of sunlight and nutrients. His surroundings are strange, but no stranger than half the places he’s visited in Ooo. He reaches a tentative hand towards the dog’s fur. Atticus nods gently and he pets the regal animal. They exchange a few pleasantries. Atticus appreciates Fern’s laid back attitude and respect towards talking dogs. He isn’t talked down to like with most humans on the train. Before long the old dog lays down his head into Fern’s grassy lap and dozes off.

“How’d you learn to escape the mirror realm?”

Lake jolts with surprise, a few feet behind Fern.

“Uhh, sorry I swear I wasn’t trying to creep on you.”

“Ok dingus, I could feel your footsteps through the roots.”

“Right.”

Lake meanders over and pops a squat next to Fern and Atticus.

“My prime taught me.”

“Your human you?” 

“Yea her name was Tulip.”

“Were you close?” 

“Ehh… not really. I saw her a lot through the mirror, but it was more in a trance sort of state before she got on the train. We only truly interacted like once, when she freed me. I was kinda a dick to her, but I was kinda a dick to everyone. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it really seems like your prime knew about you before all this.” 

“Yea. This mirror stuff is a newer development,” Fern picks metal flakes from his knees, “I used to be a sword, well two swords really. This guy Prismo-” 

“The big pink guy?” 

“Oh, yea! He split Finn apart and part of him got transformed into a Finn Sword, that part of his soul is in me, that’s why I look like him. Ugh, I’m getting ahead of myself. Originally I was this like grass octopus spider demon possessing a sword, a grass sword. Finn bought me from my maker and from then on I was bound to him, literally and spiritually I guess. I was attached to him, I fed on his bloodstream, I protected him.”

Fern turns his grass blade over in his hand. Fuzzy scenes of Orgalorg, Martin, Bandit princess flash by his mind. 

“Even after I got torn off, I just grew back. I couldn’t detach from him. Like some parasite.”

The memory of Susan slices through his mind. His spite fueled departure. How much Finn’s rejection of his protection hurt. How easy it was to integrate with Finn sword, a seemingly perfect synthesis. But it was never enough to satiate his demonic possessiveness. Never enough to feel whole.

 “Eventually I got my own form. I left Finn’s body and merged with that Finn sword Prismo made. But integrating made me more than myself, that piece of Finn’s soul felt so much larger, he was me, I had his memories, his emotions. Finn was so willing, so eager to continue our relationship, but I couldn’t adjust to living apart from him. Seeing him without me, but with my life, my memories. It made me angry. So most of what I did was push him away, I guess I was a dick to my ‘prime’ too.” 

A flower withered in his hair and dropped to the ground, drawing him out of his monologue. His face flushed when Lake sighed. Shit that was way too personal, he thought.

Lake spoke, “I wish I could’ve protected Tulip. It’s a shame I left her so fast. But I get it dude. It’s best to find yourself in your own time. Apart from who you’re ‘supposed to be’. That’s bullshit. I think you did the right thing, even if it hurt. Don’t beat yourself up because you needed to be your own person for a change.”

A few drops of sap fell from Fern’s wide eyes, pupils thin and nervous. For the first time in his life the unending pit of guilt for leaving Finn felt shallower.

“Thank you Lake.”

A series of pink and blue flowers sprouted along his hair.