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The low hum of insects and calls of night birds gave the farmhouse a peaceful, idyllic feel in the evening. Finn wasn't fooled. Things lay in wait out there beyond the laws of nature, magic things, and one was in his barn right now.
Despite the heat of the fire, a chill crept into his spine.
Magic talking cat. A bad sign.
Wood creaked softly as someone tugged at the front door. Finn snapped instantly alert. His grip tightened automatically on the poker he had been using to stir the fire. The house was safely locked up tight, barred and bolted against intruders. The heavy wooden door was protection enough against human hands.
A pause.
Then, a knock.
Finn opened the door, letting firelight spill into the cool blue twilight.
“Hello,” Simon said, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry for the trouble, but could you spare some supplies?”
It was barely night out, not late enough to need an apology for the disturbance. On the other hand, this out-of-towner certainly was pursuing a lot of trouble.
Finn studied him for a long moment. The man struck him as odd. Confusing. If the woman, Fionna, had been in pursuit of terrible magic, he could understand it — her recklessness and naïvety reminded him of himself when he was young. Only the young and the stupid believed in heroics.
Strangely, Simon didn’t appear to be either. His quiet, intelligent demeanour actually reminded Finn of sensitive little Jay, and of Jay’s mother, Thena.
That was the danger. Simon looked harmless.
He was slight in build. Not particularly tall. Seemed to be reliant on those fragile, strange-looking glasses. He had smile lines and was starting to grey. He was well-spoken, if a little hard to understand at times. Earlier, after dinner, he had watched Finn's kids play with unguarded fondness, like a father. He didn’t seem insane, or dangerous, or suicidal.
But nobody decided they wanted to freeze the world on a whim.
“No trouble,” Finn eventually said, opening the door wide enough for Simon to come in. “Think we can spare a few days’ supplies.” As much as it seemed like a waste to support this fool of a man on his fool of a mission, a Mertens would never let a guest leave hungry.
“I really appreciate it,” Simon said, trailing after. “That will come in very handy. I was, er, actually hoping for clean bandages and water.”
Of course the travelers were injured. Finn sighed. “Show me where you’re hurt.”
Gingerly, Simon stripped off his dirt-caked jacket, which looked like it had spent a decade mouldering in a corn field. The yellowing, aged button-up shirt beneath was stiff from dirt, not from drying on the line. It looked far filthier only because it had presumably once been white. He unbuttoned the loose shirt cuff and delicately rolled up his oversized sleeve, pushing it up to his shoulder. The fabric was a little damp, and stuck slightly to his skin. Finn noticed how careful Simon was to not move his right arm.
Beneath the dirty sleeve, Simon’s upper arm was entirely bandaged. The blood-crusted strips of linen were possibly the cleanest part of his outfit.
“Let me see,” Finn said gruffly, in the tone he usually used with his kids, and Simon obliged. He wasn’t quite capable of holding his arm level, but he tried.
Finn took his arm, holding it straighter. Simon's skin was cold, even to Finn's ice-scarred touch. Nothing could cure the lasting chill in Finn's remaining hand, or the numbness in his fingertips. For Simon to be this cold, he must really have bled a lot.
“Lost a lot of blood,” Finn noted.
“No, not so much,” Simon gave him a tired smile. “It really isn’t serious. I’m just not used to this kind of thing.” He gave a small, one-shouldered shrug.
Hm. The bandages must have been too tight, then. Must’ve cut off blood flow. This kind of coldness wasn’t healthy.
Laying a light hand on the dirty bandages, Finn checked the heat of the wound. Normal enough, even as the surrounding skin was cool and anemic. Simon stiffened, biting the inside of his cheek, but did not make a sound.
Finn cast an eye over Simon’s injured arm. Look at those soft, uncalloused hands, those clean nails. Not the weathered hands of a farmer. Not a fighter, either, with that scrawny, unscarred frame. Simon simply didn’t fit in the world. It was a mystery. Maybe, Finn considered, that was why he wanted the crown. How could you defend your home—?
Finn stopped before he could go down that path. It would only bring up bad memories. He began unwinding the blood-crusted bandages.
Still, it was weird. Surviving long enough to go grey with age? Without callouses or scars?
It didn’t matter. These people were trouble. Whatever distant peaceful place Simon had come from wouldn’t exist once he put on the crown.
Simon inhaled softly in pain as the soaked bandage peeled off his wound. Finn examined it. A bad cut, for sure. Not a knife. Too jagged. Something rougher, possibly a shard of glass or some other improvised weapon. Simon grit his teeth but stayed resolutely quiet as Finn prodded the inflamed edges of the cut. The wound was fresh, probably only a day old at most, and already weeping slightly. Infection might be on the horizon, what with how dirty Simon’s clothes were. Finn turned Simon’s arm, examining it. Warmth and redness around the site, but no serious poison in the blood yet.
“Not great,” Finn said after a minute. “Could be a lot worse. You almost needed it sewn up.”
Simon grimaced at the thought. “I was lucky,” he admitted. “To be honest, it should have been worse.”
“What happened?”
This didn’t look like the work of the Destiny gang. It was too random a slash. The Destiny gang liked to take trophies, and Simon still had all his fingers.
Simon deliberated for a moment before finally saying, “I'm not from here. Actually, I'm from another world.”
That... made sense, in a strange way. Finn nodded, a clear go on.
“In my homeworld, you and I are friends. We've known each other for... oh, nearly your whole life.” Simon smiled a little, fondly. Was that why this stranger was so comfortable around him and his kids? Simon probably knew the other Finn's whole family. “We were traveling together when we were attacked by a magic bear. The Finn I know killed it, but we were both injured in the fight.”
“A magic bear fight,” Finn mused, looking at the wound again. That actually sounded pretty mathematical. A larger part of him, the part that never moved on from the horrors of magic, was grateful that he hadn’t heard of anything like that in his world. Nothing to be afraid of here except garden variety human cruelty. And the Snowman, of course. Fifteen years on, everyone still feared the Snowman.
Finn went quiet. “That's why you want the crown?”
“No,” Simon admitted truthfully. “I can’t pretend I need protection. The city where I live is quite safe. I don’t need the power, or the magic, or the long life.” He seemed to deflate slightly. “This isn't... well, it isn't for me.”
Finn considered this, and then dismissed it. The crown didn’t go with selflessness. The thing was terrifyingly alive, and it didn’t care about people’s minds or wants. It wasn’t a tool to be used. Whatever Simon’s real reasons were for wanting the crown, they weren’t good enough.
"To protect your kids?" He pressed.
Simon shook his head with a smile. "Hah, no— my little girl is all grown up now."
He didn’t even try to lie. Oddly, Finn found he appreciated it.
Finn turned away, getting down a sturdy glass bottle and a small bundle of linen and dried plant matter.
“What is that? Rubbing alcohol?” Simon eyed the bottle.
“Just alcohol.” Finn uncorked the bottle. “This’ll hurt, but it’s better than losing your arm. Try and stay still.”
To better brace himself, Simon took a seat. He held out his arm as straight as he could, tensing up in anticipation. Firmly, Finn held him by the elbow to keep him from reflexively recoiling, and poured pure clear alcohol over the nasty cut.
Simon cursed under his breath. Instinctively, he tried to jerk back, but Finn steadily held his arm in place. Finn unwrapped the bundle of bandage material, ignoring the linen for the time being. Instead, he tore a crumbling chunk of brown moss off of the thick mat, pressing it into Simon’s wound. Simon stared as Finn started to bind his injury with dry moss.
“Clean the wound every day, and try not to get dirt in it. If your blood gets sick, you could lose the arm, or die.”
“...Thanks,” Simon said weakly. His voice was thin, and he was starting to look slightly ragged. “Is that moss?”
Finn nodded. “Bog moss keeps a bad cut healthy.” Thena had taught him that, long ago. Once a healthy padding of moss was pressed into Simon’s cut, Finn started wrapping his arm securely in strips of linen.
“Oh. Of course.” With some effort, Simon buried his discomfort. He watched Finn bind the wound and tie off the bandages.
There. Simon wasn’t going to die under Finn’s roof now. It was just basic hospitality. Besides, if Simon’s blood got sick, he would never leave. Finn just wanted him and his trouble gone already, before someone got hurt.
Finn brought the unused bandages back to the kitchen counter. Carefully, he broke off half a fistful of dry moss and rolled it up in a fresh strip of clean linen. He wrapped some hard cheese, dense cornbread, and salted beef in a clean square of cloth he'd been using as a dish towel. Eating fresh meat was better after losing blood, but salt beef would have to do. He filled a waterskin with good clean water Bonnie had brought up that morning from the well. That should be enough for two people for a few days. The magic cat-creature could find its own food.
Without comment, he dropped the two parcels of supplies on the table beside Simon.
“Thank you.”
The genuine gratitude in Simon’s voice felt wrong to Finn. He let out a small hm of acknowledgement, returning to sit by the fire. He was in need of the warmth again.
"Do you mind if I join you?"
Finn shrugged. "Stay if you like."
Simon pulled a chair up to the fire, favouring his uninjured arm. Finn settled back in his seat. He focused resolutely on the fire, not looking up. What with the lateness of the hour and the trying day, the last thing Finn wanted was to talk with a stranger. The heat of the fire was slow to chase away the persistent chill in his hand, in his head; something about Simon’s quiet, unobtrusive presence brought it back.
"I’m sorry about all this," Simon spoke up. "I didn't think about the bad memories I would be stirring up."
Finn focused on stirring the fire with a poker. From the corner of his eye, he could see Simon watching him with concern. The tired sympathy in Simon's eyes made Finn want to storm out, but he couldn't very well do that. It was his own damn house.
Finn jabbed the fire, provoking a small puff of sparks. Friends in another world. Even assuming that was true, if his world's Simon was as much an idiot as this one, he was long dead.
No, they were strangers, plain and simple, no matter what Simon might believe.
Simon’s eyes softened. “I know you don’t approve of what we’re doing. Finn, I wanted you to know I understand.”
Finn’s temper simmered. If Simon understood, then he wouldn’t be doing this. Finn remembered the haunting, addicting feel of ice singing in his ears and filling his veins with unnatural energy. That memory of mad, joyful freedom still tormented him. His hand balled in a fist, trembling with anger. Here Finn was, sitting by uselessly. Doing nothing as another sorry idiot chased after the magic crown.
“You don’t understand,” Finn snapped. He tore a branch off a piece of firewood, throwing it viciously into the fire. “You’re being a damn reckless fool!”
At his feet, Jake stirred drowsily, woken by the volume. Finn reached down to pet his elderly dog, reining in his temper a little. He hadn’t meant to wake Jake.
Finn shook his head tersely. “You have no idea what you're asking for.”
“I do, actually.” Simon looked into the fire. His voice was distant when he spoke again. “I put on the crown in my world, and it cost me... everything.” His voice wavered. “My fiancée did everything she could to fix me. I lost her too, in the end.”
What?
This wasn’t some weak fool lured in by promises of power. This was worse than idiocy.
Simon knew exactly what he was doing.
Finn’s attention snapped to him. Simon didn't meet his eyes, staring blankly at the fire.
“Magic won't fix things.”
Tiredness washed over Simon's face, obscuring the grief. “It will for her. For Fionna, not for…” he sighed heavily, looking at his hands, and confessed, “I don't think I can fix that.”
Finn frowned.
He braced himself. The thought of saying it out loud was deeply painful. He had barely spoken of it to his children, but they were smart little whips and figured it out. Even with Thena, he had confessed it once, late at night, when he was deep in his cups — and she’d told him that she had already suspected it. But Simon was going to make a big mistake. He was going to hurt innocent people, and Finn couldn't just sit by and let him. It didn’t matter that the crown, Finn’s crown, was destroyed. If there was enough evil and magic in the world to make one crown, Simon might be able to find another.
Who could you be honest with, if not others who shared the curse? Simon was possibly the only person who could ever understand.
“Do you understand why my family lives outside of the town?”
Simon blinked, and then looked at him. Something in Finn's tone seemed to get through to him. Slowly, Simon said, “I figured it was safer.”
“It is,” Finn agreed shortly. He squeezed his hand into a fist, trying to distract himself from his own words. “For everyone. There isn't a single family round these parts that was spared when the Snowman came through.”
Simon hesitated, carefully choosing his words. “You're not responsible for what the Snowman did, Finn.”
If Finn had had any doubts as to whether Simon ever wore the crown, the sheer gentleness with which Simon tried to absolve him proved it.
Finn's brief flicker of gratitude was quickly eclipsed by frustration. “Yes, I am!” Simon actually flinched, startled by his intensity. “I was warned, but I thought it was a gift. I thought I would protect people.” He stopped, seething with frustration. “This place doesn’t need another Snowman.”
Simon rested a hand on Finn's metal arm. “I'm not going to hurt anyone,” he promised. “And we'll leave. As soon as I get the crown, we will leave. I'll go somewhere I can't hurt anyone. Then I'll put it on.”
Finn rubbed his metal hand tiredly. “You’re asking for a terrible thing. I hope you know that.”
“Of course I know that,” Simon sighed, “but it’s… it’s complicated. In my world, people liked the Ice King, and Fionna’s world is breaking without my magic.” He met Finn’s eyes. “It’s a good solution,” Simon tried to convince him. “Everyone wins.”
What kind of reason was that? Throwing everything away just because Fionna didn’t want change? Because people didn’t like him? So what? People didn’t like Finn either, half the time, and he never considered ending his life over it.
Going crazy wouldn't solve a thing. Choosing to go crazy was even worse. It was unfair. This was just selfishness disguised as something to be proud of. Finn hated it. Giving in wasn’t noble, it was stupid.
Incredulous anger welled up inside him.
What a coward.
Finn shook his head. “You’re giving up,” he said with quiet, scathing contempt. Simon couldn’t hold his gaze; his eyes dropped after only a moment.
He didn’t even try to deny it.
“I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. And your family.” Simon’s tentative voice wavered slightly, but there was something soft in it, appealing for peace. Not an attempt to change, but remorse nonetheless.
An apology wasn’t worth the breath it came in on if you didn’t regret your actions. Finn had taught his children that many times. Empty words weren’t worth dirt.
Finn turned to stoke the fire. This was pointless.
“Be gone by morning,” he said curtly, stirring the embers. “Take the supplies. And never endanger my family again.”
Simon’s shoulders dropped. “I understand.”
Moving a little stiffly, looking his age, Simon got to his feet. In the warm, quiet loft above, Finn’s kids slept soundly. The dog whuffled softly in his sleep, dozing comfortably at Finn’s feet. Jake wasn’t much of a guard dog, and really, he never had been, but he was family. Nobody stirred when the door opened and Simon stepped out into the night.
Finn didn’t watch him leave.