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Grass Finn Bullshit
"Finn!" Jake cupped a hand beside his mouth, the other six or seven busy putting away their haul from the Bargain Kingdom (a store, not a government, for once). A ninth hand sprouted to gently retrieve the vuvuzela from where BMO was absconding with it. "You hungry, buddy? They had a huge special on boar meat, I'm thinkin' sloppy joes!"
"THEY LEFT!" Neptr chimed in, sullenly, from his perch on the stair. "FATHER AND GRASS FATHER. NOT NEPTR."
"Oh yeah. Well, don't sweat it Neptr, that chicken coop is the kinda thing that changes a man. Better to skip it."
"NOT A CHICKEN COOP, A DUNGEON ADVENTURE."
Jake's coordinated dance of arms flagged for a moment, doubt curling in his gut. The prickle of concern was followed immediately by guilt. What the hell was he worried about? Two Finns were better than one. He could stand to cut Fern a break, even in his own thoughts.
"Welp, you can help me on a culinary adventure if you want." Jake's gaze dances from the meat to Neptr. "Whaddya think about Sloppy Joe Pies? Has a nice ring to it..."
---
The sun was slung low in the sky by the time Jake heard the familiar sound of Finn's return up the treehouse steps. Alongside the involuntary prick of his ears, the dog feels a smile start to spread. No matter how capable the kid (teenager) had become over the last decade, Jake was pretty sure he'd never lose the sense of relief that came over him when Finn came home safe.
Lately, lingering misgivings aside, those feelings were starting to blossom towards Fern as well.
"Hey boys!" Jake lets the smile grow to a grin, craning his neck over the arm of the couch. "Y'all have fun out there?"
Jake felt suddenly cold, as if some cosmic entity had reached its hand down and pinched out the contented flame and safety of home. His voice lost its usual buoyancy, standing up from the couch.
"Wait, what happened?"
Finn said nothing, standing there looking as if he'd been through a woodchipper. Blades of grass clung to his hair, his clothes, even stuck to the razor sharp line of blood at his exposed stomach.
"I know that look!" BMO chimed in, sounding pleased to be the one with the answer to Jake's question. Neither the boy or the dog seemed to hear him in that moment. "You just killed someone."
"THEY LEFT!" Neptr chimed in, sullenly, from his perch on the stair. "FATHER AND GRASS FATHER. NOT NEPTR."
"Oh yeah. Well, don't sweat it Neptr, that chicken coop is the kinda thing that changes a man. Better to skip it."
"NOT A CHICKEN COOP, A DUNGEON ADVENTURE."
Jake's coordinated dance of arms flagged for a moment, doubt curling in his gut. The prickle of concern was followed immediately by guilt. What the hell was he worried about? Two Finns were better than one. He could stand to cut Fern a break, even in his own thoughts.
"Welp, you can help me on a culinary adventure if you want." Jake's gaze dances from the meat to Neptr. "Whaddya think about Sloppy Joe Pies? Has a nice ring to it..."
---
The sun was slung low in the sky by the time Jake heard the familiar sound of Finn's return up the treehouse steps. Alongside the involuntary prick of his ears, the dog feels a smile start to spread. No matter how capable the kid (teenager) had become over the last decade, Jake was pretty sure he'd never lose the sense of relief that came over him when Finn came home safe.
Lately, lingering misgivings aside, those feelings were starting to blossom towards Fern as well.
"Hey boys!" Jake lets the smile grow to a grin, craning his neck over the arm of the couch. "Y'all have fun out there?"
Jake felt suddenly cold, as if some cosmic entity had reached its hand down and pinched out the contented flame and safety of home. His voice lost its usual buoyancy, standing up from the couch.
"Wait, what happened?"
Finn said nothing, standing there looking as if he'd been through a woodchipper. Blades of grass clung to his hair, his clothes, even stuck to the razor sharp line of blood at his exposed stomach.
"I know that look!" BMO chimed in, sounding pleased to be the one with the answer to Jake's question. Neither the boy or the dog seemed to hear him in that moment. "You just killed someone."
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In the time it took to gather their breakfast, Jermaine thought back to what else they'd faced today. It was strange, being nostalgic for things that had just happened, but he couldn't help it. In many ways, they felt like they'd happened years ago.
"Remember those breakfasts Mom would make?" Jermaine asks, scooting down the bench with both plates. Finn had carefully placed their statues together at the head of the table, and that seems good enough a spot for Jake's place setting. "She would wake up at the crack of dawn to make 'em. Jake used to wake up with her, it was like, their special thing."
Something that at the time, filled Jermaine with a sort of strange jealousy (as jealous as anyone could be over something he definitely didn't want to do). Now, that youthful perspective was gone. His voice was nostalgic and fond, memory calcified into a cherished one.
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“Jake loves trying new recipes, experimenting and stuff like that,” he says, sticking his fork into a thick, soft piece of french toast. He takes a big bite, sure before he even tastes it that he knew exactly what it would be. “But he always says mom’s are the ones he comes back to.”
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Jake's voice hadn't sounded for a while, but there was something about it that was different this time. A something that would be answered the moment both of them looked up to face the voice, settled at the end of the table near the now-complete music box. Three golden brothers, locked in a stiff embrace, surrounding the now repaired column of notes.
And casting a shadow over it was the tired, confused, relieved face of their big brother. Jake smiles, clearly rolling with whatever volley of punches Glob had ready for him. If this was what being dead was like, he could get used to it.
"Hey, bros." He waves, in an almost comical anticlimax, before digging into the plate in front of him. "Great spread."
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“J-Jakey? Are you actually here?”
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"Shouldn't I be asking you two that?" He looks between them, quite casual all things considered. "I'm dead, right?"
But he wasn't. A fact brought home by the slow opening of the huge Mars door, looking out on the red surface of the planet. King Man was there, looking as pleased with himself as ever.
Jake blinks at it, slowly coming to realize what exactly he was looking at. Despite the mounting glee that would come eventually, Jake's voice now is confused and more than a little suspicious.
"...Right?"
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It was finally over.
“Dead!? You’re not dead!” With no table to separate them, Finn grabs Jake, pulling him into hug. Squeezing him like he wanted to really know that he was there, and solid and real. “We came all the way to Mars to save your sorry butt, you better be alive!”
He laughs, spinning around and for a moment, forgets that there was anyone else.
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Finn doesn't let go of him for the entire time back. Whether it was holding onto him physically, holding his hand, or just having a hand to his back. He missed a step once, swooning a bit from hunger, and that only made it worse. About twenty boiled eggs later and Jake was feeling a little more himself. Finn, on the other hand, just seemed even more clingy.
Jermaine was there too -- notably not clingy. They'd hugged, quite tightly, which felt good. Jake did plenty of soul searching up there, and facing the possibility of his last conversation with his brother being a fight didn't sit well. Still, it seemed clear to both brothers that their own reunion would need to wait for a bit. Finn needed some focus now, and Jake was more than happy to provide it. He may have been feeling a little clingy for him, too.
Finn carried both of them into the Mars transporter, both of them clinging tightly to him as they begin their light speed jettison back to Earth and Ooo. Jermaine and Jake locked eyes once or twice on that journey.
Oh yeah. A talk was coming, that was for sure.