doooooog | Grass Finn Bullshit

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."

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Jake's relationship with his body didn't leave much room between an emotional reaction and the physical one. Split second instincts were crucial when it came to most of his shape shifting, which was maybe why he found himself at Finn's side before he could fully grasp what had happened.

Grass stains, dried blood, Finn's strange dead voice... Jake needed to focus. He needed to say the right thing here.

"Heh, uh. Yeah, you reek, pal." No! Wrong! Bzzt! "C'mon, I'll take you--"

Finn raises a hand (his right hand) before just as quickly letting it fall to his side.

“No, no. I got it. I know the way.” His tone was strangely flat, lacking any sign that Jake’s quick, light hearted response had had effect. Normally it would have worked. Something big, or scary or unsettling enough to shake him would be quickly met by Jake with a joke, an offered meal, a warm bit of comfort or praise that would make Finn smile or buffer away the threat of rumination. What else were big brothers for?

But now there was….a wall. It wasn’t insurmountable, but it was sturdy. Significant. They could both feel it.

“I won’t be long.” He turns and descends the wooden ladder behind him, hand over hand, disappearing from view.

"Oh, yeah, uh, sure thing, Finn!" Jake finished strong at least, the initial weakness in his voice building toward something resembling bracing. He watches the kid go, frozen in place with a vacant expression on his face. Hell, part of him feels the urge to wave.

What the hell was wrong with him?

The mechanizations of their water barrels create a low hum throughout the treehouse, making it clear Finn's shower had begun. The sound was enough to finally jar Jake from his trance, kickstarting the gears in his head after nearly five minutes of starring at the spot Finn once stood. BMO had shifted to his side at some point, leaning against him in that sweet way he did whenever he knew Jake needed it. Jake gives him a few pats on the head in gratitude, not trusting his idiot mouth to express the thought verbally.

"I will create a new game for Finn when he is feeling better!"

The smile Jake meets those words with is warm, but tired.

"That's great, Beemo. I think he'll really like that." He holds a beat, looking down at the dark kitchen just below where they currently stood. "Do me a favor though... hold back on the cheering up tonight, alright? I think I need the night for some Big Bro-Little Bro business." Another beat, looking a little unsure. Both in whether it was right to ask that of BMO, or even his confidence in his own plan. "... Is that okay?"

"Hm..." BMO seemed to think about it for a moment, before looking up at Jake with his usual smile. "Yes! That will give me more time for my game!"

"Great!" Jake breathes out, relieved. "Thanks, BMO."

"You are welcome, Jakey!" BMO holds a moment, before pointing at the top of his 'head.' Jake bent down for a quick goodnight smooch, sending BMO to his room in a torrid of giggling. It was enough to make an old dog feel nostalgic.

There was a time when even the worst things -- sad things, scary things, things that rattled Jake -- could be cured with good spirits and maybe an especially goofy bedtime story. That went both ways, too. Their parents dying, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to Jake. Just about the only thing that made him feel remotely pulled together was making his kid brother cinnamon toast and telling him jokes until they both forget how much they missed them, at least for a little while.

Climbing down the ladder into the kitchen, Jake found himself drawn to their breadbox.

---

When Finn exits the bathroom, he'll find Jake waiting at the kitchen table. In front of him is a towering pile of thick-cut cinnamon toast, two glasses of milk, and Jake's own hopeful expression.

"Hey, bro. Feeling any better?"

“A little…” And honestly, he did. At least in that small, valuable way that a good shower could make anything feel just a little bit better. He returned scrubbed and pink and dressed in warm, clean pajamas.

He sits at the table across from Jake, eyes falling on the stack of toast between them. His stomach grumbled at the sight, and he suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten all day. It felt wrong, after everything, to just eat. He didn’t know how much normalcy he was supposed to allow himself. The scratch across his stomach still itched.

“Looks good, Jake. Thanks for making all this.”

"Hey, s'just toast, right? No biggie." He stood up a little, stretching an arm over to lay two pieces on a small plate, pushing that towards Finn. "But I made it the way you used to like, see?"

Sure enough, the sugar and cinnamon came together to form a little smile while the crust had been notched at the top. Finntoast, the lazy man's Finncake.

Finn stares down at it, slightly lopsided powdered sugar eyes staring back up at him.

Mom had loved making him stuff like this when he was litte, and Jake had picked up that mantle after her. “You are special, you are loved,” a little carefully frosted cupcake or a crudely cut and powedered piece of toast would say. Someone wants to see you smile.

“I…really messed up, Jake.”

He'd been waiting for it, but it didn't make his heart hurt any less to hear it. Jake was technically always within reaching distance of Finn, but he couldn't help scooting closer down their wraparound bench.

"Hey..." He starts, feeling the light hearted remark bubble from his gut. This time, Jake swallows it. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

Jake breaks off a bit of Finn's toast, swallowing half and offering the other piece to Finn.

Finn takes the piece of toast, still looking at it. It was just toast. But it was also a wellspring of memories, charting back across pretty much his whole life. When wasn’t Jake making him food like this?

That doesn’t matter-

He takes a bite of the toast, chewing. Not just his memories. Not just his whole life.

I love him.

“Fern just wanted…a chance to…” Finn felt like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs. His heart ached. He wanted to tear his arm off. “He wanted you to know he loves you.”

Up to now, Jake had been going largely on inference. From Finn's refusal to challenge BMO's childlike announcement, to the way he spoke of Fern now in the past tense... these clues were damning, but vague. Easy to mentally skate around in the interest of more obvious problems.

Finn was his priority. He'd always been and always would be. Fern was new to the treehouse, someone Jake was only just getting to know. That was the convenient lie his subconscious told, anyway. It wasn't as if he missed the stares; always towing the line between resentful and achingly longing. Directed at him as much, or maybe more, than they were directed at Finn.

"... I know he did, Finn." Jake says, voice raspier than before. When had that started? "And I loved him too, I really did."

The words wound around his chest like a vine, thorns digging into his heart. Jake wishes he could tell the difference between real truth and wishing something were so. His hand finds Finn's back, rubbing gently.

"I should've worked harder to show him that." And there it was, the regret, thickening up his voice and making his vision blur for a half second. Shit, he needed to keep it together. "Maybe things could've been different for both of you if I had."

The plane was going down, veer up, veer up!

"Or maybe we all would've turned purple and taken up square dancing." Jake scoots in even closer, leaning his weight against Finn fully. Covertly, a hand grew out of his side and swiftly wiped away a couple stray tears. "Whatever happened out there, maybe it wasn't anybody's fault."

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.”

Edited 2022-11-16 06:09 (UTC)

Finn's whole body seems to swell, overtaking him with the desperate need of someone who was older than he'd ever been and yet so much younger than the world expected him to be. Jake wrapped him up tight reflexively, looped arms doubling over each other. It was a snug grip, holding Finn together the best he could.

"He was, and he wasn't." Jake reminds him, willing his voice to not waver as his reassuring tone pressed into his shoulder. "I know you would never do anything to hurt him unless you had no other choice, Finn."

And as much as it made those thorns dig in deeper to his heart to admit, Jake knew the feeling didn't hold for Fern. He didn't trust him. Maybe that was a self-fulfilling prophecy in the end, but Jake couldn't deny the part of him that was grateful it was Finn that came home to him safe after their inevitable clash.

“It was an accident,” Finn’s voice comes thin and miserable. He wanted to affirm the things that Jake was saying. That he would never have hurt him if he’d had any other path. He wanted to grasp to Jake’s belief in his goodness like it was shipwrecked flotsam in the sea. “We fought but I never wanted to hurt him. I wanted to go home. Both of us. I wanted us both to come home.”

Jake tightens his grip, practically binding the kid in furry limbs. It was the kind of thing that would have Finn wriggling and laughing in another context, or maybe another time...? Humans were strange like that. Their growth was so incremental, like they were growing up in slow motion. So slow that Jake sometimes didn't realize anything had changed at all, until the proof was right in front of him.

"I know." Jake nods, rocking Finn through the tears. "I know you did, Finn. I know."

With Jake’s words, and the feeling of his warm limbs wound tightly around him, Finn feels the tears come freely. Lowering his head and sniffling wetly against one of those arms, going a little bit limp, cradled by his big brother. It didn’t feel very grown up, but he didn’t feel ashamed either. Jake was his one great buffer against the outside world; the person he could feel sad, guilty and hurt with and never worry about how it looked or what he thought.

More than anything he felt tired. Wrung out, physically and emotionally. The catharsis would come (he assumed it would come, it had to) but until then, it was like they’d both been submerged in a deep, dark pool and the surface looked so very far away.

They stayed like that for a long time.

There were more things said in the time it took Finn to finally fall asleep, nestled against his broadened chest. Tiny, nothing reassurances that may as well have been a lullaby for how often Jake found himself saying them. I love you, it's okay, I'm here, everything's going to be okay.

Even after Finn's soft sobs blurred into steady breathing, Jake felt anchored to him for what felt like another hour of meditative rocking. The quiet would've been a perfect time to contemplate tomorrow and begin thinking through his next steps, but Jake couldn't bring himself to be that practical.

Instead, he catalogues the moment. Finn's pajamas, coarse and practically threadbare in a few places after too many washes. His hair, grown out to an awkward length around his shoulders -- Jake could see where it clung, still wet, to his neck from his shower. The waxy, bruise colored skin around his eyelids. His fingernails were getting long again. Just the ones on his left hand, though.

Mind clear and Finn fast asleep, Jake finally let himself cry. And though it was over in a matter of moments, his body felt about a hundred pounds heavier on the other side of it.

"C'mon, bro." He murmurs, manipulating Finn's body carefully as he shifted positions and carried him up the treehouse ladder to their bedroom. It's now that Jake allows himself a thought towards tomorrow, if only to hope it's a little better than today.

The sun is setting over the grasslands, stretching out Jake's shadow to a towering height along the ground.

No, that wasn't it.

He had stretched up tall -- 600, maybe 800 feet in the air. The sun wasn't set at all, and the darkness cast out over the field was Jake-made. Squinting down at the distant ground, Jake could see some movement. At first, it was indistinguishable from the dance of wind through the tall meadow grasses. Then, he saw a streak of blue and white.

"Is that Finn down there?" Jermaine asks, perched on his shoulder eating a bologna on rye. Jake can't stop smelling the pickles and fights back irritation over his brother not offering to share.

"Yeah, I think so." Jake replies, trying to lean down to get a better look. Jermaine yelps, scrabbling to get a better grip on Jake's fur. He drops the sandwich.

"What the heck, bro!? You almost killed me."

"Wha?" Jake took a step, overcorrecting a bit to make sure Jermaine was safe. Even so, his response was tinged with defensiveness. "Oh c'mon, it wasn't on purpose!"

Something crunched beneath his foot. The feeling that came with it was as if someone flushed a toilet in his heart, a sudden wave of sucking emptiness overtaking his subconscious.

"Whoa there brother, watch your step."

Jake does so, feeling another crunch. Huge tears start forming in his eyes, falling to earth at high velocity. Before Jake knows what to make of it, the water is high enough to submerge him up to the knees. Below the salty ocean of his own tears, tall grass swishes like kelp.

"Been a while since we went to the beach, hasn't it?" Jermaine pipes up. "Remember how we used to go with dad? I wonder why Finn never came with us."

"He would always cry, Dad didn't think he could handle it," Jake supplied, distracted. He couldn't stop scanning the water for anything resembling their younger brother. His hat, a body, anything--

"We should go to the beach again, now that he's older."

There was that heart flushing feeling again, though this time it came with a different sensation--

---

Jake wakes up with a start, still half-dreaming as he fell out of his cupboard and stumbled toward the bathroom.

Recipe for Wasteland Omelette
by Jake The Dog

Ingredients:
Whole red cabbage, chopped into thin shreds
3 large eggs from ~~Lorraine~~ ~~Felicity~~ Sandra
Fatty bacon ends (that place in the Wildberry Kingdom has the best ones)
AP Flour
Chicken Stock from ~~Lorraine~~ Felicity
Green onions
Oil & Seasoning (specifics don't matter, just taste while you go and make sure it's not bland)

Chop bacon ends and fry over a low heat while prepping other ingredients. Combine cabbage, green onions, and (cooked) bacon into a bowl. Add in stock and sprinkle salt & pep (plus whatever else you want) to taste. Crack 2 eggs and mix until yolks are fully combined with cabbage mixture.

Add an eyeballed amount of AP flour. Should be enough to create a VERY LOOSE dough.

Turn on the griddle to a high heat and drizzle on some oil. Wait for that stuff to start sizzling before scooping out a pancake sized lump of the omelette mixture and letting it spread over the hot griddle. Reduce flame to medium and leave to cook for about 8-10 minutes on each side.

While that's frying, mix up a mayo with the last egg and some more oil. Serve piping hot with that fresh mayo mix and die a happy breakfast death.

---

The fatty smell of fried deliciousness had filled the treehouse to bursting by the time Jake put a hand against Finn's shoulder, gently rousing him.

"Yo, Finn." Jake half-whispers, hoping to keep the transition from sleep to waking peaceful. "Breakfast is ready."

Edited 2022-11-17 06:18 (UTC)

Sleep came and went like a tide, rising up and pulling Finn under only to push him back to shore, bleary and disoriented. His sleep had been deep, black and dreamless. It felt like someone was rocking him. And someone was saying something, from far, far away.

There was a long, strange moment between wake and sleep, the savory, smoky smells of freshly cooked food pulling him closer to consciousness while the warm, layered blankets and furs of his bed beckoned him further into sleep. He wanted to snuggle in deeper, the dark and the warm making it hard to remember why he’d even been so tired in the first place. His rumbling stomach, however, proved the tie breaker.

Finn rubbed at his eyes, blinking up at Jake, realizing it was him gently pushing his shoulder. A narrow strip of sunlight cast across his bed. His face felt puffy and his throat scratchy. Sitting up, his feet find the floor and he stretches a little, while everything from the night before finally comes back to him.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Whatever fleeting optimism Jake had about a good night's sleep and the light of day quickly dimmed at the sound of Finn's voice. To look at him, you'd think the kid hadn't slept in days.

The whistle of the tea kettle greeted them as they reached the kitchen. With a few quick stretches, Jake begin gathering the mugs, sugar, and cream -- they all landed on the table around the same time, stretchy limbs crisscrossing while Finn took a seat.

"I found some Lemon Zinger in the back of the drawer, I thought we were all out. Pretty lucky, huh?" Jake comments from the other end of the table, one of his hands hovering over Finn's tea with sugar spoon in hand. "How sweet d'you want it?"

The breakfast spread was elaborate, even by Jake’s standards. Thick slices of toast drenched in butter, crispy strips of bacon still popping from the fire, orange juice, and fresh grapefruit, and of course…two immaculate omelettes nearly as big as Finn’s head. Jake’s special recipe, he could tell by looking.

Finn feels himself slump into the seat, taking the steaming mug that one of Jake’s arms slides in front of him. He liked Lemon Zinger.

“No sugar, I’ll just take it like this.” He sighs, a frown on his face as he says it. They both knew Finn liked it with sugar (extra sugar, even). But right now he wasn’t feeling very sweet. Boys who kill their friends can’t have sugar in their Lemon Zinger like nothing happened.

The arms, still flitting around busily, flagged a bit at Finn's answer. They seemed to hover in the air for a moment before drawing quickly back into Jake, leaving him looking strangely small at the other end of the table.

He clears his throat, knife and fork squeaking against his plate as he begins digging in.

"So, uh." Jake takes a large bite, chewing slow. Something about talking around a mouthful of food made the next question feel less loaded. "How'd ya sleep?"

“…pretty good, actually.”

Finn takes some of the toast and bacon, piling them onto the plate with his omelette. His tone was a little flat, and there was a drawn, harrowed edge to his expression, but his appetite wasn’t suffering. He takes a big mouthful of omelette, chewing while he pours syrup onto his bacon.

“Everyfhing’s mreally good, Jake.” He swallows, taking a long drink of orange juice. It was like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

Watching the kid eat was a uniquely strange experience, emotionally. Jake wasn't the guy to shy away from new experiences, but there was something about this that almost made him want to look away. Mechanical, like fuelling up a machine.

Jake had weathered the heartsick hunger strikes and the tearful overeating with Finn before. This was uncharted territory.

"Heh, thanks, bro. I woke up kinda early and couldn't get back to sleep." Another bite. "I had a kinda wild dream. Jermaine was there and everything -- he says hey, by the way."

Finn shoves another several pieces of syrup drenched bacon in his mouth. It was gross. A minor travesty to witness. It didn’t even really seem like he was enjoying it all that much. Biting into his toast with a small shower of crumbs, another long drink of orange juice and then it was on to round two with the omelette.

It’s only the mention of their brother that gives him a momentary pause. He looks up from his fork.

“Jermaine?” Swallowing and taking a breath, Finn wipes the orange juice and butter from his mouth with the back of his hand. He loved Jermaine, but sometimes he also felt a little nervous around him. He wasn’t like Jake…they didn’t have that easy, effortless connection built from long history and endless hours upon hours of time spent together. And he didn’t have whatever crazy dream link his older brothers had with each other. It was strange territory, especially when he was feeling a little bit like a stranger to himself. “What’d you guys talk about?”

"Uh..." Jake starts, his own food going untouched as he watched Finn plow through the breakfast he'd made like a locomotive with faulty breaks. At least he was eating, but at what freakin' cost?

Remembering himself, he continues: "Well, uh, the dream was at the beach Dad used to talk us to, he was saying we should all go back there again sometime."

Grass Finn Bullshit

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