Finn could feel the sting of tears welling up in his own eyes, hastily wiping them away with the heel of his palm. He could smell the cinnamon clinging to his fingertips.

He wanted Jake’s words to be true so badly it almost hurt. They had a ring of truth to them…one part warm and comforting and one part remote and harsh. They couldn’t be true without also confirming a reality of the world that Finn rather would not. One that was sometimes arbitrary, unyielding, and cruel even to people who didn’t deserve it. Maybe it was better to think that there had been fault. That someone had made a mistake or bore responsibility.

The alternative was so…cold.

Finn wraps his arms tightly around his brother, hugging him fiercely, breathing in the familiar scent of his fur as he pressed his face against the top of his head, sniffling a little. Covertly. But every feeling and comfort was tinged with a new sadness; a reminder of a person who shared those memories.

What would it be like, to have all these memories? Mom, and and Dad, the treehouse and BMO. Everyone he had ever met or knew. Jake. Most of all, Jake. All the memories and none of the comfort. Everything right there and so, so far away.

He thought he’d understood…but had he? Did he?

“He was just like me, Jake.” His voice pulled and he had to force the words out, swallowing. “He was me.”