"Finn, that can't be how this works..." Jermaine trails off, realizing midway through his sentence that Finn was going to test his theory no matter what he said. Watching him grab the adventuring pack (we can touch stuff?), Jermaine sinks down into a chair and waits to see how the scene plays out.

"No!" Baby Finn announced, as confident as he was loud. Margaret methodically checked around her person, before moving down the list of usual hiding spots. Between her boys, a host of demonic artifacts, and the clutter of their home, things went missing often. But when it came to finding things in the chaos, their mom was the expert.

She walks right over to where Finn stood, clutching his clock. She was so close he could've touched her, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"Finny, are you sure you didn't move it?" Finn's past self shook his head assertively, prompting a fond (if tired) chuckle from his mother. "Well then, how do you explain this, sweetie?"

With a smooth tug, out comes the bag from its hiding place. Suitably impressed, baby Finn claps his hands by the door, utterly unaware of what he was celebrating.

"It takes a little more than that to pull the wool over these eyes, lambchop." She was walking away from Finn again, towards his younger self. She promptly leans down, giving him a kiss on the forehead with a wink. "Your mom's a seasoned detective, or didn't you know?"

"This is pointless, Finn." Jermaine chimes in, voice soft and thick with an emotion he couldn't articulate. He didn't seem to be looking at the scene. He wasn't looking at anything at all, gaze fixed on the kitchen table and it's five chairs. "It can't be solved. She's always going to find it."