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Chapter Text

Simon felt his very being ripple , and Shermy’s little body shivered with it when the epiphany finally hit him. It sent cascading waves of emotion through his very soul. Then, GOLBetty was ripping him from this strange body, sending him back to his own human one. 

What a strange experience, having a supreme being of chaos send him to another universe just to teach him a lesson. And fuck, what an important lesson it had been. Now returned to his own body, Simon lowered the crown from its aloft position. 

“Oh, Betty. ” He spoke. “Is that what it was like? I stood by and allowed you to sacrifice yourself for me… Even though part of me should have known better.”

She stared down at him, her blue eyes whispering judgements upon his whole existence. She seemed to acknowledge his words in her own strange way. Simon felt terrified, his hands shook and his head brimmed with emotion. He had no idea how much of Betty was in control, and how much of GOLB was in control. At any moment, Simon could be folded into another strange Tetris shape, receiving the same fated death as the Lich. But…

Something told him that she wasn’t going to do that. Instead, When he blinked again he found himself back at the bus stop, looking Betty in her human eyes. Her warm smile spoke volumes of understanding, of forgiveness, of love. Oh, how he wished he could relive this moment forever.

“... But wait. This… isn’t how it happened.”

“No. We made our choices. We could’ve made better ones, but… I don’t have any regrets.” 

His breath caught in his chest. She squeezed his hand, that wonderful and intoxicating warmth infused every nerve. 

“You were a wonderful experience,” Betty said, taking her suitcase. 

Simon’s mind flitted through a thousand responses. Don’t leave me, I love you, I’m sorry, please don’t go, let me come with you, I can fix things, I-- “You were… everything. ” Simon replied. It was the only thing he could force himself to say. 

Then, she was gone. GOLBetty sat in front of him, all knowing eyes picking apart every atom of his body. You are worthy of life, She seemed to say, though her mouth did not move. 

“I think… I only offered to become Ice King because I felt my life didn’t matter. But… I’m really no less worthy of life than Fionna or Cake!” Simon exclaimed, staring down at his own hand. The very same hand that he could have sworn that Betty had held just moments before. A glance up at GOLBetty revealed her eyes twinkling brightly. Before he could continue, a vibration in his suit jacket briefly startled him. With the click of a button, he and Fionna  were miraculously connected once more through the power of technology.

“Simon!” Fionna exclaimed, voice sounding relieved yet out of breath.

“Fionna!” Simon smiled. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” Simon explained. “I accidentally got the ritual to work.” Coming through on his side of the line, he could hear chaos in the background. People screaming, rock crumbling, fire raging. Something was horribly wrong. Nevertheless, he needed to fill her in. “I’m with GOLBetty.”

“Hey, that’s great! Did you talk?” A blast of energy incinerated a hole in the ground next to Fionna’s foot, and she stumbled. 

“Mostly I talked.” Simon chuckled nervously. 

“Listen, the Scarab is here” She replied, sensing that the distraction from this conversation was putting her in more danger.

There was no time to waste, no hesitation to be had. Fionna and Cake were in danger. He whipped up the crown, holding it tight in his sweaty palms. “Oh no! Hang on, I’ll put on the crown. Maybe you can fight better with magic!” Simon declared. Fionna-world was going to end without Simon’s help.

“Don’t!” Fionna shouted back.

It was too late. The crown slipped from between his fingers and came to rest atop his head. GOLBetty’s eyes widened.

 Putting on the crown felt like stepping out into frigid, subzero temperatures after spending all day in a sauna. It stole all of the breath from his lungs; felt like the crown had just stolen both lungs entirely. All of the frantic, buzzing emotions in his head ceased and his vision briefly clouded. Whispers from undetermined origins began to zip past his ears, and no matter how he tried to listen to them, he couldn’t figure out what was being said. 

“Don’t change anything! This is-” The phone slipped from its resting spot between his shoulder and his ear. The earth beneath Fionna’s feet shifted, rumbling ominously. She heard the clatter of the cellphone as it hit something hard, but the call miraculously wasn’t cut off. 

“Simon?” She called to him, desperately attempting to listen to his side of the line. 

“Fionna let’s go!” She heard Marshall Lee call out. 

Simon!” She called again as she ran. Her whole world was falling apart at the seams, a white web of nothingness washing over the place she called home. 

There was stark, horrifying static on the other side of the line punctuated only by short and heavy breaths. What was going on? Had GOLBetty experienced a change of heart? Had… had Simon put on the crown?

The ground shook again and pavement cracked beneath her feet. Fuck, this was the end, wasn’t it? Her foot caught on something, sending her sprawling on the ground. Cake was launched off of her shoulder, and the two of them slid across the concrete. 

With a groan, she picked herself up and hissed quietly as blood began to trickle from the numerous scrapes across her skin. Cake muttered profanities from where she lay. Gary’s cellphone was nowhere to be seen. But… The more she looked around, the more Fionna realized that something strange was happening. The rubble of a building next to her was starting to glitch and change. Pavement beneath her rippled, flashing with strange color. 

Then, with a frightening and strange noise, one of the still-standing buildings near her blipped, transforming into… Candy.

Simon put on the crown. Simon put on the crown. Simon put on the crown.  

“Ugh… What-” Cake gritted out as she lifted her head. “Damn! What happened to that building?” She cried out as her eyes finally caught onto the same thing that Fionna was gawking at. Around them, more things began to shift, ripple, blip, and change. Magic was coming back to their world, the magical spark reintroduced to the gas. The crown’s power was back, refueling their world with power. 

“No… Simon… ” Fionna mumbled. If only she could find that phone and see if she could somehow still stop this. Part of her knew that it was too late.

Simon could hardly breathe. The crown sat atop his head, the gems so innocently glittering in the darkness of GOLBetty’s dimension. He fought against its current, but found himself quickly being pulled away from the sanity he had come to know. The cold… The ice… The snow… He knew their secrets again, wanted so desperately to allow the crown’s power to consume him.

 The embodiment of chaos herself was seething with emotion, and every particle rippled with her. What could she do? The love of her life, the one that she had given her mind, body, and sanity to, was now trapped back in the throes of insanity. 

That fucking crown was back on his head, even after everything. She wrapped a mighty, clawed hand around his fragile human body.

Squeeze. Put him out of his misery, GOLB urged her. But the part of Betty that still lived within pushed back violently. She couldn’t. She still loved him, and still devoted herself to protecting him. She had given him everything, and he had only just come to realize his worthiness. Now, that crown - that fucking crown - had just taken everything away. 

Chapter Text

“I- I finally… finally have a purpose now,” GOLBetty heard, all four eyes watching Simon’s lips breathlessly mumble the words. He allowed himself to be held by her massive hand, body still yet strangely lax. His smaller, trembling hands were still wrapped loosely around the crown; precious metal just barely gracing his head. Simon’s eyes were lifeless, staring blankly at GOLBetty as she stared right back. It looked as though his brain was desperately reeling to adjust to the crown’s incredible power.

… That look in his eyes was familiar. Something similar had occurred when Simon had first placed the crown on his head, over a thousand years ago. He’d done it as a joke, placed the thing atop his mop of long brown hair with a smirk.

“Betty, look! Now I…” He’d started to say. The crown’s effects were instantaneous, chomping away at Dr. Petrikov’s sanity without hesitation. It stood tall atop the old man’s head. They were both stuck in a waiting game, and it was only a matter of time before the physical effects of the crown’s power would begin to show.

“Simon! Simon!!” That infernal little cellular device called out from the platform below. A woman’s distressing voice echoed around in the vastness of space. From her own dimension, Fionna had found Gary’s phone, and was now desperately trying to reach her friend.

The portal at the back of Simon's head flickered.

Her entire city was complete mayhem, reality shifting around them in strange and terrifying ways. Buildings glitched out and disappeared, mountains erupted from the ground while people ran for their lives. Cake was latched tightly against Fionna’s side as they tried in vain to find somewhere safe. The Scarab had momentarily ceased his destruction in favor of protecting himself, perching high on a tree while he watched the unauthorized universe decay into turmoil. Serves them right, abomination scum. The Scarab thought to himself.

It had all gone horribly wrong so quickly.

Fire raged around them as gas lines burst, electrical lines snapped and broke, and houses were torn apart. After a few more minutes of frantic searching, Fionna was able to locate Gary and Marshall. Their hands were clenched together tightly.

“Let’s get to higher ground, if we can. That seems to be the safest option” Gary proposed, his tone meaning business. Fionna nodded wordlessly, her own brain too rattled to make her own decisions. Gary’s cellphone was still wound in her shaking grip, her phone call with Simon still miraculously connected.

She had tried everything to get to him, but there was so little that she could do. He wasn’t responding to her voice, desperate cries falling on deaf ears. At least she knew that he was alive, if barely. She had no idea if GOLBetty had it in her to kill him, but she had her suspicions.

Together, they made their way up a hill. Cake allowed herself to be dragged along by Fionna, still too weak from her scuffle with their unwelcome foe. Screams and crashes emanated from below them as the landscape continued to change. Candy morphed and shifted certain structures while mountains of ice and snow glitched in to replace whole sections of city.

“Fionna? Are you doing okay?” She heard her name being called, and looked over to find Gary and Marshall peering over at her.

“I’m…” She blinked, and a tear dribbled down her cheek. A quick swipe of her hand revealed that other tears had escaped without her even realizing it. “I-I…” She tried to start, before she interrupted herself with a sob. This was so much worse than any nightmare.

Upon seeing her descent into near-hysterics, her friends rushed over to wrap her in a hug.

“You’re okay, Fi. We’ll get through this.” Marshall consoled. His voice was almost overshadowed by the chaos happening around them. His deep voice was so welcoming and reassuring.

Then, she felt both Gary and Marshall Lee flinch, skin rippling and appearances beginning to shift. It was a quick transformation, but jarring nonetheless. The two of them stiffened as their anatomy began to change. Gary’s color shifted from a pastel pink-ish to a bright, bubblegum hue. Marshall paled slightly, and his mouth hung open to reveal two long fangs. The birthmark on his neck seemed to invert, and another blemish appeared beside it. A bite mark now marred his neck.

Though shocking, their individual transformations seemed to be relatively painless. That was, until Marshall’s skin began to blister from the weak sunlight streaming through clouds of smoke and ash. He hissed, face grimacing as he tried to shield the newly-sensitive skin.

Quickly, Cake formed a make-shift umbrella for him while Fionna shrugged her jacket off.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for today,” Marshall remarked with monotone disgruntlement.

“You could say that again,” Gary replied as he discovered that his skin was now sticky.

“Definitely in my top ten freakiest things to ever happen to me.” Marshall rolled his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Fionna blurted out, fresh tears forming anew.

“We know, baby.” Cake reassured her “We’ll figure this out. If we can survive going through a bunch of apocalypses and meeting Jerry, we can survive this.”

“You’re right, Cake. Simon said that we’d be better fighters with magic on our side… Let’s see what we can do now that we’re back to how things are supposed to be!” Fionna declared, standing tall. If it had to be a fight for their world, they were going to win it, or die trying.

Meanwhile, Simon was waging a fight of his own. GOLBetty held him in place with her hand, but he was starting to get squirmy. The crown was powerful, its intoxicating lull pulling him down a familiar path towards madness.

It whispered to him, an intimate conversation that he could not ignore: You’ve been fighting for so long, haven’t you? It asked him. He heard his own voice reply, though he could not remember commanding his lips to move.

“Fighting for so long…” was all he could say. “Gotta… keep fighting. Can’t lose it…”

What’s so wrong with losing every once in a while? Just relax, let it in. It replied back. Aren’t you tired of being in control all the time?

He was exhausted. Twelve years without Betty, without the crown, without anybody who really understood him, inside and out. He’d never managed to be honest with Marceline or Bubblegum about how he’d been feeling out of fear that he’d worry the two of them… Out of fear that they'd think him still insane.

Twelve years of loneliness, of desperation. He’d tried everything and nothing had worked. So, why not give up? Give in? Relinquish yourself to this familiar madness. It suits you so well.

GOLBetty gawked at him, silent breaths escaping between her massive sharp teeth. Simon was mumbling to himself, completely unaware of the fact that his body was trapped in the clutch of a being of chaos.

Something had to be done. Was it too late to take off the crown? Too late to drag him back onto the edge of sanity? With every second, Simon’s hands tightened around the crown, pushing it down more against his head.

She was losing him again.

No, this could not be. Betty sacrificed herself to GOLB in order to protect Simon. This was her ultimatum, no going back from it. She had all of this creature’s power, and as long as she could maintain control long enough to halt the damage being done to Simon’s mind, she could still save him. She had to save him.

“Let… go of me, you freaky creature lady!” Simon’s voice cried out. GOLBetty’s massive palm was suddenly blasted with ice as Simon attempted to take flight. His body had not yet undergone the physical changes that the crown typically induced, she could tell that those changes were on the horizon.

GOLBetty released him as he wriggled out of her grasp, and he spiraled gracelessly over to another Tetris piece before crash landing. Clearly, it had been awhile since he’d practiced flying.

Simon stood immediately, but stumbled as he rose.

“N-no, I need to fight-” He whimpered, eyes briefly narrowing as he regained pieces of his composure. The crown’s influence was a tidal wave that brought frustrated and terrified tears to his eyes. His hands shakily came back to his head, readying to grasp the base of the crown and tear it off.

Think of the centuries that we’ll spend together. Eons of ice and snow. Wouldn’t you like to swathe the whole universe in the frigid cold? It tempted him. Images flashed before his eyes: Entire galaxies frozen and unmoving, Whole solar systems under the crown’s control. Under his control.

Simon had forgotten just how convincing the crown was. How it manipulated him, warped his sense of time and space to make everything so… appealing.

“Maybe… maybe everyone would like being part of the ice. We could all be frozen, together.” Simon reasoned aloud. His hands lowered again, shaking hard. His body felt so foreign, limbs uncoordinated and unfamiliar. He felt physically ill every time he attempted to resist the crown.

That’s right. It is so wonderful that you understand. The crown sang.

“I don’t want to be lonely. I want all of my friends to freeze together with me. We could all know the secrets of ice and snow. Wouldn’t you like that, B-Betty?” He stammered, vision briefly unclouding to reveal GOLBetty in front of him. “M-My princess…”

A sly, sharp toothed smile found its way to his face. Everyone could be together, in the ice and snow. Simon quite liked that. No more lonely nights, no more suffering or depression, no more… anything. It could all be over.

Why had he ever thought that the crown had been a bad thing? In just a few moments, it had banished his negative thoughts and sense of worthlessness. Those lifelong regrets, that unending feeling of worthlessness lingering over his head like a miserable cloud… All cleared away in an instant. He couldn’t even remember what he’d ever been so upset about. Now he just wanted to find a princess and start freezing up all of Ooo. Then, he’d be happy forever.

That sounded nice.

Chapter Text

It had been hours since Fionna’s reality had begun shifting back into a state of magic, and changes were still happening. The people were beginning to revert, the land continued to shift. Every time emergency services were able to extinguish one major catastrophe, another filled in the space. 

Prismo, trapped far away in his Time Room, listened to the madness from the screen on his television. He was still stuffed in that damned tiny jail cube, courtesy of the Scarab. It sat with him trapped inside at the bottom of his hot tub. What a way to get fired. On top of being imprisoned, Prismo was also feeling incredibly distressed over the sounds emanating from his TV. If only he had his remote… If only he could reach the tendrils of pink plasma that the Scarab had so gracelessly ripped from the wall. If only he could see what was happening in Ooo. Then, maybe he’d be able to get a grasp on the situation. Had Simon put on the crown? It sure sounded like it, based on what he could hear. 

Things were getting desperate. If Prismo didn’t act soon, Fionna’s world would experience a massive loss of life. He shuddered to think about the souls that were already suffering.

… Suffering because of his careless choice to create an unauthorized universe. Shoot, had the Scarab been… right?!

No. Prismo wouldn’t admit that a jerk like him could ever be correct. Beings like the Scarab sucked the fun out of every damn part of being alive. That’s why he’d never invited that guy to any of his Time Room parties. Nobody liked him, and Prismo would be damned before he ever let the Scarab win.

It was time to pull out the big guns. 

Getting out of that stupid prison-cube was the first step. A few haphazard swings at the walls definitely did no favors for his knuckles, but soon enough he’d made a crack.

“C’mon, piece of shit…” Prismo murmured. The great TV on his wall was still making distressing noises. Fionna-world was falling apart, and everyone inside was going to die in a cataclysmic disaster if he didn’t do something. One more deep breath to steel himself. “...  I can do this. I have to, for Fionna and Cake!”

Crack! Pieces of his imprisonment crumbled away. The Wishmaster’s knuckles throbbed something awful, but at least he’d made a hole big enough to squeeze out of. Scarab would pay for messing with his job.

Finally, Prismo was able to see what was happening. 

Their reality was a complete shitshow. Fionna and Cake were in the process of forming a rag-tag team of survivors, but they were losing the fight. All of Prismo’s beloved characters were battered and beaten. It was clear that their world could not handle the shift back into a magical reality, not without the consequence of severe casualties. 

But wait… If their world was reacting to the sudden reintroduction of magic, it meant… Simon had put the crown back on. That meant that he wasn’t locked out anymore! He could access his universe and save everyone!

With a flick of his wrist, Prismo’s laptop beamed down onto the floor. As he opened it up, he noticed that the file was filled with text that he had not written. Having been locked out, he’d been unable to access his text. When Fionna and Cake gained their autonomy, the story must have automatically started to write itself. With a miserable sigh, Prismo resigned himself to a stressful evening and began to furiously type away. 

GOLBetty watched her lover continue to violently fight for control with himself. Each period of lucidity was shorter. Simon seemed to alternate between wanting to pick a fight with her and wanting to pick a fight with himself. He mumbled half baked apologies, shouted obscenities at the surrounding space, and would spend several minutes staring blankly at her before repeating the cycle anew.

Internally, his brain was at war with itself. He kept forgetting where he was, kept trying so desperately to keep control over his body. Simon didn’t want to hurt Betty, but Ice King didn’t care. Why would he? The name Betty didn’t ring a bell.

The Ice King wanted what the crown wanted, and the crown wanted ice and snow. Forever.

GOLB is standing in your way, the crown breezily whispered. Don’t you want a princess to call your own?

An onslaught of ice magic burst free from his fingers, much colder and more vicious than the Ice King’s usual style. Deep blue glaciers soon obscured GOLB’s vision. The small part of Betty that lived inside the Embodiment of Chaos was fighting desperately against the defensive rage that ravaged GOLB’s consciousness. Off to the side, The Ice King crash landed on another tetris piece and was thrashing around; clearly at war with himself for attacking something that Simon was so fond of. There was one simple truth to this debacle: Simon was losing. 

This fact was to nobody’s benefit except Prismo’s, but the Wishmaster had to hurry. If Simon somehow won the fight against the crown and was able to resist its pull, Prismo would lose access to the universe again, and Fionna’s world would revert back to being non-magic. Nobody in that reality would be able to survive such a shift. The biggest challenge was going to be convincing a half-deranged Simon to hold still long enough for the upload of Prismo’s newest chapter. 

With shaking hands, Prismo began to type.  

Back in Fionna’s world, the situation was becoming exponentially more dire by the second. The crown’s magic was an unstoppable force, ravaging every inch of soil, tearing into every molecule. The citizens of Ooo were suffering for it. There was no fighting against the tidal wave of change. Fionna felt a deep and terrible shame for ever wanting any of this. Her friend was now trapped inside of his own head just as they were trapped in this crumbling world. All of her other friends were now suffering because of her selfish desire to attain a less “boring” life. Fuck, what a way for her life to end.

…What a way to end all of their lives. Fionna wished she could just wake up and forget all of this; open her eyes to discover that this whole ordeal was just another shitty dream. Then, she’d call Simon and beg him to never, ever put on the crown, to simply chuck it into the abyss and never think of it again. 

They were running out of places to hide, nowhere safe or stable to stop to breathe. 

Meanwhile, GOLBetty was playing a violent game of cat and mouse with her former lover, who had completely lost his head. He flew around her, laughing maniacally as he jabbered on about nonsense. Betty had always loathed the Ice King. Currently, his form was the most insulting part of this whole ordeal. It was as though a court jester had stolen Simon’s skin and was parading around inside of it, making a mockery of the great antiquarian that she’d sacrificed her whole life for. Despite GOLB’s loaned omnipotence, she could not figure out why the crown had not transformed Simon’s physical form.

Maybe Simon was still in there somewhere deep, fighting tooth and nail against the crown’s influence. Perhaps she could infiltrate his mind, rip him from the depths of his madness. If only she could catch him first.

Augmenting Fionna’s whole reality was not something that could be rushed. Unfortunately, Prismo had no choice but to do exactly that. Worse yet, it was looking as though the solution to this infernal conundrum was looking… unappetizing. Sacrifices were going to have to be made.

In other words, Prismo was going to have to rewind time in his little un-authorized universe. There was no other way to ensure that there were no casualties. Unfortunately, this would mean that his beloved characters would have to forget Simon, forget the crown, forget their fabulous multi-dimensional travels. The Wishmaster only had to delete the self-written text and substitute a few carefully written lines of his own making to cover up for any hiccups. This could work. It had to.

If Prismo got especially lucky, he’d be able to rid himself of his Scarab problem too. He was so close, it was nearly time for the upload.

Attempting to subdue Simon’s attacks while also blocking  GOLB’s violent outbursts was becoming especially difficult. Too much more of this, and Dr. Petrikov would end up as another Tetris piece in GOLB’s unholy halo.

After a few more swipes of her massive clawed hands, she finally managed to wrap four large meaty fingers around his fragile human body. He thrashed in earnest, throwing garbled and petty insults through sharp teeth. The crown was frying his mind, it was obvious to see.

She could feel his small heart beating rapidly through his chest. It would take no strength at all to push a long, golden fingernail straight through his ribcage. We would enjoy it, GOLB tempted. Space and time rippled, vibrating as Betty fought against the urge. This creature that she was eternally bound to would kill her lover if something wasn’t done now.

Using the pad of her massive thumb, she gently caressed his cheek. Simon hissed at her in return. She growled back at him, spittle vibrating on her gums. 

“Done!” Prismo cried out, back at his cube. It was a short chapter, a little shitty in its composition, but enough to narrowly avoid the destruction of all of Ooo. It was at the expense of the memories of every citizen, but… this would have to do.

Now… to find Simon.

Prismo flipped through channel after channel. He knew that Simon and the girls had gone searching for the crown, but every dimension seemed to be empty of the correct Petrikov. That was until…

“Ah, he better not be with- ” Prismo exclaimed. Quickly, he manipulated the pastel plasma until he located GOLB’s dimensional pocket. There was Simon, clad in a crown and half mad already, gripped tightly in GOLBetty’s hand. Prismo gasped in surprise.

This was his chance, so long as GOLBetty didn’t squeeze any tighter. Focusing his laser into Simon’s tense eye, Prismo held his breath.

“Hold for upload,” He squeaked out. Then, he slammed his fist down on the enter key. 

GOLBetty watched the laser shimmer, uploading precious, lifesaving data into Simon’s dome. If Prismo was going to attempt to save Fionna and Cake, Betty was going to use GOLB’s powers to save Simon’s life.

Rather than puncture Simon’s ribcage with her fingernail, GOLBetty gently placed the tip of it right against the center of his chest, and willed her godly powers forward. Simon stiffened, limbs falling out of motion. She felt his heart jackrabbiting in his chest, saw the terrified look in his eyes. 

“B-Betty” Simon pleaded, words barely making it beyond his lips before he went entirely limp as GOLBetty’s eyes twinkled blindingly. 

Chapter Text

Aspen trees shivered in the wind overhead as Simon and Betty tramped forward through a flush, wooded area. Sunlight danced off of the leaves, reflecting in scattered patches on the ground. It was early fall; the air had just begun to gain a crispy chill. This was Simon’s favorite time of year. 

The weather wasn’t so agonizingly hot at this point in the season, which made faraway expeditions to look for lost magical items much more bearable. Sure, the days were shorter, resulting in less hours of sunlight, but the fiery colors of the trees reminded Simon of Betty’s long red hair. 

Everything reminded him of Betty, which was why he was so grateful that she was by his side now, enjoying the autumn views. They were both thousands of miles from home, on a research expedition. A few months ago, Simon had recently come across another researcher’s book about a mythical ring, one that would grant the wearer immunity from most common colds and diseases. 

Dr. Petrikov was on a roll after his discovery of The Enchiridion, and a find like this would surely send modern science rocketing forth into the future. Especially if the magic of the ring could be replicated. With Betty Grof on his team, Simon knew that they would be unstoppable. Besides, even if this expedition was a complete flop, it was still wonderful to spend a whole month with his lover.

 Slightly behind him, Simon could hear Betty humming along to her Walkman. She was a little out of key, but he didn’t care. Their surroundings were beautiful, they were both getting to do what they loved, and their futures were looking bright. A little music to accompany such a gorgeous view was perfectly warranted.

A warm breeze smelling of sweet mountain air snaked along the ground, rustling golden leaves up from their resting place on the soft ground. Simon turned around to look at his partner and found her standing still, looking up at the treetops in awe. Her soft strawberry hair emulated the murmur of the wind, shifting and shivering in the most hypnotic way. Simon’s heart swelled with a strange kind of love. No… it was longing. He turned around, the sound of his feet crunching on dried leaves drawing Betty’s attention. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the biggest aspen leaf that either of them had ever seen smacked her right in the face.

“Gah!” She exclaimed, throwing a palm over the intrusion to paw it away. After a moment of clumsy struggling, she finally cleared her vision to reveal her research partner doubled over in laughter. She felt her cheeks heat up, but her own unabashed giggles joined his. It took several minutes for the two of them to regain their composure, the moment having been so wondrously unexpected that it had completely shattered their serious stupor.  Simon’s hand found Betty’s, the forlorn leaf still clenched in her calloused palm. With his other hand, he gently smoothed his thumb across her cheek. 

“I’m grateful that you’re always here to remind me that life is meant to be full of fun, laughable moments. Even if you don’t mean to.” He remarked with a smile.

She laughed at that, her own thumb gracing across his knuckles. They stood there together, sharing a moment of incredible closeness. Simon’s brain shuffled through a million things to say, to break the silence. But… there were no words that could describe how he was feeling. ‘Love’ didn’t cut it. ‘Love’ was not the word he could use to describe this… feeling. This tidal wave of powerful emotions that sent the heart locked away behind his ribs into a colorful stutter surely did not have a word to correlate. Maybe he’d have to make a new word up, just so he could tell her just what she meant to him. 

Or maybe… Maybe she already understood. Maybe she felt the same way. Betty leaned in close, the incredible warmth of her presence making him feel weak. Their lips met, the taste of her minty ChapStick mingling on his tongue. 

Their embrace was brief but so incredible. Simon wished for it to last forever but was equally glad it hadn’t, only because he’d be able to spend the rest of his day thinking about that one special moment.

Betty chuckled again upon seeing his flabbergasted face. “C’mon, you goof. We’ve got a ring to search for and we’re losing daylight!”

Simon blinked. “O-oh, yeah. That’s right!” It was his turn to blush. Ah, what would he do without her? As Betty turned to carry on down the path, Simon tucked the aspen leaf away in one of the books stored safely in his backpack. He silently wondered what kind of ring would look best on Betty’s finger.

GOLBetty stared down at Simon’s lax form. His eyes were moving wildly under the lids, and occasionally he mumbled something under his breath, but his body remained perfectly still as he lay wrapped in her loose but protective grip. 

She had sent him careening deep into the recesses of his own mind. It was the only thing that she could think to do to protect Simon from himself. Though… Now she had no idea what would happen if she pulled him back out. GOLB’s power was incredible, and she struggled constantly to control it. If he came back out of his trance, would he recognize himself as Simon? Or would the crown’s madness still dominate the forefront of his sanity?

Every second that Simon consciously spent as the Ice King was another second he risked losing himself entirely.

Speaking of the crown… It lay innocently on a wayward Tetris piece far below them. Without Simon conscious to ensure its stable perch on his head, it had tumbled off in their scuffle. Good. GOLBetty had half a mind to crush it with her fist. But…  the small and sane part of Betty that constantly struggled for any semblance of control was terrified that doing so would release the crown’s madness. Perhaps the crown was a vessel for the insanity, imprisoning and keeping it contained, only releasing it onto the fools who were dumb enough to place the polished frame onto their heads.

…Fools like Simon. He was a genius, but so incredibly self sacrificing. Betty had understood that from the moment he’d first heard rumor’s of the crown’s existence. Perhaps it was the right decision for now, to keep him contained within his own memories. Simon was currently smiling a bit, the crow’s feet wrinkles deepening as Simon participated in a lackadaisical one-sided conversation. Betty had made sure to use GOLB’s extraordinary magic to send him careening through the best of their memories together. Successful expeditions, tender moments, times long before the beginning of the mushroom war and resulting apocalypse. At least at rest, he could not suffer.

He was safe, right here. She could keep him safe, lavishing in his fond memories alongside her for as long as she pleased. There was nobody around to interrupt them. It was a perfect plan… or so she thought.

Chapter Text

“Fionna!”

“ Fionna! ” Cake shouted, stretching her legs so that she was at eye-level with her human. 

Fionna jumped back, casting a protective arm in front of herself. “Ugh, jeez, you scared the crap outta me, Cake!” 

“Whatever, girl. You were completely spaced out just now. Were you listening to anything I’ve been saying?!” 

“I started tuning you out after your fifth consecutive minute of blabbing about how hot you think Lord Monochromicorn is.” 

Cake rolled her eyes. “I can’t help it! I like what I like. And he’s just-”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Now, if only I could find somebody to oogle at. that’d be great. ”

They were walking to the Candy Kingdom to see Prince Gumball. Earlier this morning, the two of them had received a summons. The message was brief but straight to the point. PG had wanted to share some exciting news, and they should stop by ASAP.

The man was known to be engrossed in his work. Fionna admired him for it, especially knowing that she would never understand even half of the stuff that Gumball liked to study. 

Upon entering the castle, Fionna and Cake were hit with a wave of warm air and the smell of sugar beginning to melt. It wasn’t exactly freezing outside, so for Gumball to have the heat on so high was a strange occurrence. Candy people tended to get a little sticky in high heat. 

“Yo, PG! We’re here!” She announced, sauntering in casually as she allowed the massive door to the castle to swing shut with a slam.  

“I’ll be down in just a moment! The Prince called down from one of the upper rooms.

A few seconds passed. Cake started licking a paw. Then, footsteps could be heard thumping from above, quickly descending down to the main foyer. 

“Fionna!” Gumball beamed as he reached the last step. He looked… interesting, to say the least. His hair was disheveled, his lab coat covered in grease and crumbs. Prince Gumball looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. 

“Hey dude! What’s, uh, what’s up?” Fionna greeted in return, cringing at her fake tone.

“Taken a shower in the last decade?” Cake grumbled underneath her breath. 

“Cake, manners! ” 

It was Gumball’s turn to cringe as he gazed down at himself. “Apologies, I’ve just been on the cusp of a new discovery, one that will change our entire perception of time and space! I think I’ve finally got it stabilized, and I wanted to invite you and Cake over to see the grand reveal.”

“Oh, exciting!” Both girls exclaimed. 

Back up the stairs they climbed, the incredible heat intensifying with every step. “Hey PG, d’ya think you can turn down the heat a little bit? It's, like, sweltering in here.”

“Sorry about the temperature, but it’s not something I can avoid right now. I’ll show you why,” Gumball began to explain. They reached the top of the stairs, and Gumball pulled out a heavy set of keys from his coat. “This…” He began, unlocking and throwing open the door, “... Is my supercomputer!”

The thing was absolutely massive; machinery filling much of the room with flashing lights, whirring gears, and fans blasting. Fionna and Cake stood awestruck in the doorway, staring at the spectacle with open mouths.

“It takes a lot of power. Because of all of the things I’m attempting to get it to do, it’s off gassing a ton of heat. Thermal energy, y’know?” Gumball said, by way of explanation.

“What in Glob’s name are you trying to get it to do? This thing is massive! ” Fionna shouted, throwing up her hands to gesture to Gumball’s creation.

“Well, I’m hoping to prove my theory of the multiverse with it. It’s been a labor of love, but I think I finally have a computer that’s powerful enough to peer beyond our dimension! How exciting is that?!”

“This is so cool,” Cake gawked, extending a paw pad forward to poke at the exposed circuitry.

“Ah! No touchy. My computer has been years in the making, so I’m going to be a little protective of it, I’m sure you can understand. But you guys are my friends, so I wanted you to be able to witness Ooo’s first look into a wider multiverse!”

Fionna fidgeted with the ear on her hat. “That’s gonna be amazing to see! But… What’s up with this sudden fascination with the multiverse, dude? You’ve never talked about it before.”

“I originally built this computer to monitor for potential threats coming from beyond our planet. A few weeks ago, the alarm went off. When I went to check it, the whole computer started bugging out on me. Its processors weren’t strong enough to properly identify exactly what it was detecting. So, I’ve spent the last few weeks tuning it up, upgrading the system so that it can truly tell us what’s out there! “

Fionna and Cake could only nod as they watched PG race around the room, flipping switches and adjusting wires. He looked exhausted and completely beat, but his body vibrated with a near-tangible excitement. The man was certainly in his element. It took a few more minutes of set-up, but the scientist was soon ready to perform his first official test.

“Ready to peer into the multiverse?” He smiled wickedly, cradling a dusty keyboard in one hand. Cords sprouted out of every one of its ports. His other hand hovered over the enter key, shaking with anticipation and perhaps a bit too much caffeine. 

“Let’s do it!” Cake shouted, stretching a clenched fist into the air. Fionna cheered alongside her.

Prince Gumball smashed the button, and then stepped back to gaze intently at the giant monitor at the center of the space. Around them, gears whirred, electricity surged, and the lights flickered. A small printer attached to the side of the monitor stirred to life, spitting out data onto a long strip of paper. Each of the dozens of fans installed deep in the hardware spun with twice their previous ferocity. Gumball’s smile widened further, and Fionna nervously glanced at the manic glimmer in his eyes.

The huge screen flashed, a multitude of colors wildly cast onto every surface. An incredible sort of whine began to emanate deep within the circuitry, no doubt the computer voicing its complaints for being asked to do something so strenuous. 

A few seconds later and the noise was unbearably loud. Cake used her paws to fold her pointy ears into her head, and Fionna covered her own ears with her palms. Prince Gumball seemed unphased by the screeching sound, and was much more concerned with the smoke that was now coming out of the hardware. 

“ Shit, it’s too much for my computer to handle!” He cried, now shielding his eyes from the strobing lights dancing out of the screen. Fionna nodded, teeth clenched. 

“We need to shut it down!” She cried out, beginning to cough from the smoke.

Prince Gumball looked heartbroken. Weeks of work, just for a failure. He looked reluctant to move. Fionna and Cake knew that if they didn’t hit the kill switch, the whole thing would catch fire and PG would have to start all the way over. They had to turn it off while the project was still salvageable. 

“Dude! You gotta shut this thing down now, or it’s gonna burn your whole lab down!!” Cake yelled over the noise. Gumball clenched his teeth, rubbing a sweaty pink hand over one side of his face. It took another moment for him to steel himself, but eventually he managed to push past his resistance. With renewed determination, he quickly typed in a kill code, and hit the enter key once more.

The room around them ground to a quick halt; computer screen going blank as electricity ceased its flow through carefully soldered wires. After another second, the room was bathed in darkness. Fionna and Cake panted out heavy breaths, trying to mentally right themselves after such an experience.

“I’m sorry your experiment didn’t work out.” Fionna eventually spoke, patting Gumball’s lax arm. 

The Prince blinked blankly as he looked around the room. There was certainly some damage that had been done, more tests would be needed. But…

“I’m bummed about it, but I’m sure I got some great data!” 

His guests watched as he flounced over to the ribbon-esque pile of paper that had been spat out from the side of the thick monitor. Fionna had nearly forgotten that the computer had been printing out information all this time. Gumball had always been a genius like that, building fail safes and collecting data so that he could still learn from every experience. The mark of a true scientist. 

“Oh! What’s it say, what’s it say?!” Cake beamed, excitedly wagging her tail almost like a dog. 

Gumball thumbed through the numbers, squinting at the text. He was silent for several moments.

“Hmm… This is… very strange. There’s a lot of stuff to decipher here, but I keep seeing the same repeating numbers.” 

Fionna peered over his shoulder to get her own opinion. Mostly, it looked like a lot of gibberish code. But… PG was right.

“19, 9, 13, 15, 14.” She read aloud, sounding out each number. “Yeah, weird. What’s it mean?”

“I have no idea. But, I’m sure it’ll take me no time at all to figure out.” Gumball encouraged with a smile. Then, he abruptly stood and began to gather the folds of paper in his arms. “Right, well, it’s been a pleasure seeing you both, but I’ve got a supercomputer to fix. I’ll be sure to invite you to my next trial. Toodles!”

Then, he was herding his guests out of the lab. Before either could protest, the door was closed and the two of them were without their prince.

“We gotta get that guy a date.” Cake frowned. Fionna giggled.

That night, as Fionna sat in bed drifting off to sleep, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about those numbers. She’d never been much of a math girl, but she knew that Prince Gumball was smart enough to figure it out. As she drifted off, she tumbled through dreams of ice and snow.

Chapter Text

Marceline was doing well. 

Her relationship with Bonnie was carrying on peacefully, she’d been able to see her friends more than ever, and the new song that she was writing was turning out quite nicely. Everyday was crazy and busy in new and wonderful ways. 

There was only one little thing that was nagging her. Marceline had been so busy that she hadn’t had time to swing by Simon’s place in almost a month now. She felt bad. Really, she did. But it wasn’t exactly her fault. The phone did work both ways, after all. Maybe a text wouldn’t go amiss. The Vampire Queen began tapping out a greeting, only to quickly delete the words and start again. She never knew what to say. Every time she was around him, or even thinking about him, strange feelings roughhoused around in her chest.

It was a mixture of anger, sadness, guilt, and… fear. Simon had been trapped in the maze-like misery of the crown for a thousand years. She had to watch him suffer for that entire time. That fact made her angry that he’d be selfish enough to give himself up for the crown. But then her brain would remember that he put the crown on to protect her, and the sadness would drown her anger. His sacrifice brought her guilt because part of her believed that his prolonged insanity was her fault.

And then… the fear would come last. That inescapable feeling would cloud over her in the most unpredictable of times. She would be in the shower, busily scrubbing her hair, when she’d get terribly paranoid that he’d somehow decided to seek a way to reclaim the glory of the crown from Gunther’s ownership. Maybe as a way to get Betty back, or maybe based in pure scientific curiosity.

She could never understand why he would ever theoretically seek out the crown, but a thousand years of watching her father figure suffer was cause enough to worry.

Marceline tried not to spend her days worrying, which was why she’d attempted to make herself so busy. Days spent alongside Princess Bubblegum, Finn, and her other friends made less space for her anxiety. Besides, Simon could handle himself.

Hey Simon! Srry I hvn’t txted 4 for awhile, been crazy busy. Hope ur doing ok. Let’s get lunch!!!!

Not her finest work, but that would have to do for now. She clicked send, and tossed her phone aside. Simon was a quick texter usually. A knock at her door brought a smile to her face. Bonnie was finally back! Marceline’s girlfriend had gone to the woods near the house to collect sap from the candy trees back in the kingdom. Said something about wanting to collect samples to measure for radiation, or something.

It seemed like she was trying to keep herself busy for her own purposes. Marceline could empathize. The vampire threw open the door with a wide smile, and was instantly greeted with Bubblegum throwing her arms around her girlfriend’s neck. 

“Hey, you!” Bubblegum greeted with laughter. Their lips gently met for a brief peck, and then Marceline beamed back at her, teeth on full display. 

“Did you get your samples?”

Bonnie nodded excitedly, her hair bobbing with her movements. She flashed a vial, twiddling it between her fingers.

“This should be more than enough for me to measure the radiation levels in the trees. I’m trying to see how much of the sludge in the ground gets absorbed and cleaned by the trees.” 

Marceline nodded understandingly. Bonnie’s research was important to her as well as the betterment of the Candy Kingdom. The two had all but moved in together. Much of PB’s scientific instruments had gotten somehow tracked into the house little by little. It had started when Bubblegum began sleeping over frequently, opting to fill her visits to Marceline's with continued scientific study. She didn’t idle well, and Marceline had eventually come to a gracious understanding with that fact.

So, Marceline would write songs, and PB would lavish in the background music as she gazed into the fascinating world of bacteria and molecules. Some days, she’d invite Simon over to join them, and he seemed equally content to slouch on the couch with a good book. On many occasions, she’d listen to the Princess and her father figure talk about scientific theories of all varieties for hours. Mostly, Marceline would just tune them out. But she never missed the way that Simon smiled when he dove into conversation about another article or scientific journal he’d just read. 

Simon! Marceline floated over to her phone, still abandoned on the couch. A few button clicks… and she was distraught to discover that there were no new messages.

Whatever. It had only been a few minutes since her text, the old man was probably busy heating his afternoon cup of coffee. Besides, PB was beckoning her over anyways, inviting her to look at the slides she’d carefully positioned under her microscope. 

Far, far away in an entirely different realm, GOLBetty stared down at the human in her clutches. She had yet to take her four massive eyes off of him, despite the fact that several days had surely passed since his unexpected arrival. Time passed strangely, ever since she fused with GOLB. In one fiercely red palm lay a man with a strip of white hair; the man she had given up her entire life for. In the other, lay the crown. The very thing that had destroyed his life and ripped him away from her. 

It glinted, standing proudly to mock her. GOLB longed to destroy it, curious to see how its madness would infect the entire multiverse, seeping through the cracks of every atom. Betty protested, intent on studying it instead. Every time she shifted the cursed object closer to Simon, his body would twitch, if only slightly. His constant stream of quiet mumbling would briefly turn nonsensical. That damned curse had already seeped so far into the folds of his brilliant mind, quickly making desolation of Simon’s personality. 

Using one dangerously sharp claw, she pulled him into a sitting position by his bowtie. He slumped forward to rest against her powerful finger. Through thousands of delicately interwoven nerves in GOLB’s finger, she could feel his faint breath, see the quiet rise and fall of his chest. 

Alive. Simon was alive. Halfway to becoming mad and trapped in the pits of his own memories, but alive. Not a day had gone by in the last 12 years of her fusion with the red beast that she hadn’t thought of Simon, dreaming to be reunited with him.

She had accepted that it would never happen. As Betty had said, she’d made her choice. She could’ve made better ones, but…

No regrets. No regrets, except for her misfortunate reaction timing. Now, she could only keep him safe here, watch over his body as he relived the happiest parts of his life within a pseudo-reality of her creation. Wrapped safely in a life before the crown, back when he was free to roam the earth with her in search of magic. 

Her eyes glowed briefly, focusing incredible magic through the digit that Simon leaned against. 

Do you remember the day we took an early-morning swim in the ocean? It was on the morning we were supposed to fly home from our expedition.

Simon hummed contentedly, as if in reply. 

“Ocean’s… surprisingly warm, Betty,” he quietly said, no doubt reliving the experience first hand. She envied him in a strange way, and yet… There were tears, dripping down from the bottom set of GOLB’s eyes. She mourned for him, mourned for the life that they had once lived; Now stripped away by the crown. Before GOLB could attempt once more to crush it into dust. She allowed it to fall through her fingers.

Fate would not have it that the crown would be allowed to fall deep into the abyss. Instead, a wayward Tetris piece ceased it's tumble and slowly carried it away. 

Oh, how his loved ones would be heartbroken to find him trapped once more by the clutches of the crown’s curse. They would never understand why she decided to do what she had done to protect Simon. Her wish had been to keep Simon safe. The crown had given her the ability to use GOLB’s power to do exactly that. It may have been at her expense, but for a brief, fleeting moment, he had realized that.

And then… He’d undone everything he’d just learned with one simple motion. The crown had just slipped onto his head, almost as though a simple accident. 

There had to be a way to fix Simon. Her wish had been to keep Simon safe, but… how long would he be able to survive in a state like this? Would she watch him rot away, forgotten, trapped within himself? Or… would someone remember him and come to fetch him? 

She had no idea. For now, she would watch over him, ensuring that the crown stayed far away. 

It had been several hours of chatting about anything and everything before Marceline realized that she had never checked her phone again to see Simon’s text. Propping her bass against the wall, she floated over to the couch and flipped her phone screen on.

No new messages.

Now, Marcy was frowning. He always texted back. Usually she was the shitty texter, forgetting to reply until many days had passed. He was always patient and understanding, greeting her with love and admiration all the same. Now, when faced with providing the same patience, she found her own abilities lacking.

Simon was fine, he probably just nodded off or something, He was… getting older, anyways. Her mind flitted through a million different disaster scenarios. Marceline shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. 

Tomorrow, I’ll swing by his place and make sure he didn’t slip and fall down the stairs or something.

Marceline was doing well. As well as one could be, given her situation.

Chapter Text

There was always something strange happening around the Ice Kingdom. The Ice Queen was constantly up to her own misdoings. Fionna and Cake had presently taken to supervising her from a distance; Stocked up on snacks, binoculars, and Fionna’s sword. 

In years past, the girls had been ruthless when confronting their nemesis. But lately… Cake had noticed a change in behavior from her human. She had gained what appeared to be a genuine interest in the woman. In fact, Fionna was… strangely more empathetic towards the Ice Queen. Maybe she even had started to pull her punches a little bit. What better time to speak up about that, then right now as they sat quietly on a stake-out?

“Hey, Fionna, question,” Cake bit the bullet.

“Mmm?” Fionna hummed, midway through a bite of a sandwich. 

“Lately you've been nicer to the Ice Queen. You pull your punches with her, even though she’s a creep. Why?”

Fionna chewed contemplatively. “Mmm.” She hummed again, shrugging her shoulders. Cake rolled her eyes. “I dunno. I guess lately… I’ve started seeing her differently. Whenever we’re on these stakeouts, I’ve started noticing how messed up her life looks. A lot of stuff about her just doesn’t make sense. I’m startin’ to wonder if she’s unwell, somehow.”

It was Cake’s turn to hum in contemplation now. “Course she’s unwell, she’s the Ice Queen. Her only goal is to find a prince and trap him forever. Think about how many times we’ve saved PG’s sorry ass from her frigid little hands!”

“Yeah, you’re right. But I’m starting to wonder if violence is really the answer here. I mean, we flip her bricks, save the prince, go home, and all is well. Then, in the next month she’s back at it, new prince and new manifesto. It’s like she never learns her lesson. Do we really wanna spend our whole lives repeating the same rescue mission?” Fionna finished, then took another chomp from her sandwich.

“Well, what would you rather us do instead? Send her to talk therapy?” Cake giggled. Fionna chuckled halfheartedly beside her. “Hey, seriously though." Cake looked at her human with a genuine smile. "If you wanna try things differently this time, we totes can. You lead the way, and I’ll follow.”

“Thanks, Cake.” Fionna replied with a smile. 

Their time to act came not five minutes later, when Cake spotted the Ice Queen flying back to her frigid lair with a new victim in tow. It was Hot Dog Prince this time around. Fionna got up from her spot with a shout. She shoved the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, and Cake scooped her up to gallop off towards the Ice Kingdom. 

Fionna clenched the sword in her hand briefly, before her grip softened. There’s a person underneath it all, intelligent and vulnerable, she thought. There would be a fight, she was sure, but maybe this time would be different. Ice Queen couldn’t just live her entire life locked away in the Candy Kingdom’s cells. Besides, she’d escaped every time they tried to do that anyway.

“Ice Queen!” Cake roared upon approaching the familiar mountain. Her tail was fluffed to maximum volume, body thrumming with ferocity. Fionna patted her side.

“Easy, remember? I’m leading this one.” She reminded her faithful feline steed. 

“Yeah, yeah. But if she gets out of hand and ends up freezing us to death, I’m not hanging out with you in the afterlife.” Cake grumbled. There was no real bite behind those words, and Cake smiled mischievously.

They burst through the side of the mountain with a spectacular flying kick, adrenaline thrumming. The Ice Queen whipped around, angrily baring her needle-sharp teeth. 

“Awe, can’t you just use the dang door? Do you have to bust through my wall every time?!”

Fionna and Cake skidded on the ice, immediately throwing their bodies into a fighting stance. Despite their surprise entrance, the Ice Queen was quick to respond to her uninvited guests with violent gusto. She hurled magic at them, shouting petty insults as they dodged around the attacks. 

Fionna chose to take on a defensive role, devoting much of her attention to simply observing the Ice Queen. Watching her expression twist. She watched the witch cycle through a range of emotions, from frustration, to rage, to… fear. It was almost unnoticeable at first, but the more that the human observed, the more she noticed that the Ice Queen was afraid.

“Just leave me alone to be with my prince! I just want to marry my prince!” The Ice Queen shouted. Cake looked at her human with concern written all over her face. Things were beginning to escalate. Fionna and Cake felt the temperature of the room drop, panting breaths fogging the air. Fionna growled. She ran the risk of hurting the Ice Queen by subduing her, but it was a necessary step. With a shout, she threw her sword just beyond her nemesis’s shoulder in an attempted distraction. In the same motion, she leapt up and kicked Ice Queen directly in the chest.

“Cake, get her arms!” She shouted midair.

“On it!”

Ice Queen’s back came crashing to the cold ice floor, head colliding against the ground with a  dull but painful thunk. The tiara that she wore was sent skittering across the floor, metal scraping and clinking. Ice Queen was desperate now, thrashing her body as Cake stretched her own arms to bind icy blue wrists. 

“We got her!” Cake cheered, using her own weight to keep their foe flat on the ground. Fionna took a moment to right herself, breath still puffing visibly in the air. Their opposer had been disarmed. Careful not to slip, Fionna stepped off of Ice Queen’s chest and walked over to the tiara.

It sat innocently, red jewels glinting in the light. Ice Queen was behind her, clearly upset and shouting obscenities. Her victim, the Hot Dog Prince, was struggling earnestly in his icy bonds. Fionna bent down to pick it up, fingers just barely grazing the metal surface.

As soon as her flesh made contact with it, a splitting pain shot through her skull. Flashes accosted her vision. A crown, a real crown, not a tiara. A red bowtie, a streak of white hair. Glittering blue light stemming from a portal. Fionna’s head shot up and she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the icy cerulean walls. She watched herself, hair mussed and eyes wide, and blinked. When her vision refocused, she realized that her form was reflected in every inch of ice, on every wall. One million versions of her, all terrified and confused.

Each reflection was a little different. Some old, some young, some… distinctly male. She glanced at Ice Queen in a panic, and noticed her nemesis’s reflection in the ceiling. Except, the person reflected in the ice wasn’t the Ice Queen.

Fionna stepped back, breathing quickening to near hyperventilation.

“S-Simon?” The name came so easily to her brain, though she knew not of whom she referred to. Another step back, poorly calculated. Her foot slipped and she went down. If Cake wasn’t so concerned for her human, she would’ve laughed at how comical the fall was. 

Fionna slipped backwards in what felt like slow-motion. One million mirrors reflected her motions, every version of her, no matter how different, fell alongside her. Before she could begin to process what the fuck was happening, the back of her head smacked the frozen ground, and sent her spiraling.

It only took a few minutes for her to wake up again, and when she did, she almost accidentally rolled off of Cake’s back.

“Woah!” Cake stuttered, slowing her pace to accommodate the sudden motion. Fionna groaned, pulling her hat over her eyes to block out the sunlight. “Hey, how ya feeling?”

“ Awful… ” Fionna gritted out. It was impossible to think over the pounding headache.

Cake grimaced. “You’ve probably got a concussion, but that’s the least of my worries right now.”

“Did we get ‘er?” Fionna eventually replied when her headache lessened slightly.

“Sorta. I managed to grab Hot Dog Prince and send him running back to his own kingdom while I was trying to get you out. What happened back there, Fi? You were flipping out!”

Fionna clenched her eyes shut and moaned. “I don’t know. One minute I was kicking butt, and in the next I was freaking out! It’s like Ice King’s whole mountain had turned into a funhouse mirror!!”

“Don’t you mean Ice Queen? ” Cake corrected. “Jeez, you definitely have a concussion. You were mumbling about some Simon guy and everything. I knew this was a bad idea.”

Fionna opted not to reply for a few minutes, mind still scrambling over everything she’d seen. A million versions of herself, all staring directly at her in judgment. What did it mean?!

Cake put her to bed as soon as they got back, keeping her tone soft and motherly. Fionna hated the feeling of being pitied, but also knew better than to protest. They’d sort all of this out when she was feeling better.

Thousands of miles away, Prismo sat alone in his trashed Time Cube. He had not seen, nor heard from the Scarab since his grand escape. Time had passed, but his knuckles still ached. For several weeks now, he’d been playing it completely safe. Granting wishes, putting on his best smile, staying far away from Fionna-world. Too many close calls.

Things were getting boring again. Prismo spent much of his free time daydreaming of new adventures that he could write for Fionna and Cake, now that he had regained access to his beloved universe. He just didn’t have any desire to be caught writing their stories again.

He could call up Cosmic Owl and they could throw another party, but… that would be the 6th time this week he’d done that. Too much partying was also probably its own fireable offense. Prismo tapped his fingers, lounged uncomfortably in his hot tub, built pyramids out of old, discarded beer cans. Nothing helped to pass the time.

Fuck it. He had new adventures to write, and his computer was right here . Simon had sacrificed his sanity for this. Might as well make that sacrifice worthwhile. In a smooth instant his laptop was beamed down onto the floor, and he was desperately tapping at the trackpad to start loading up his files. It took a strangely long time, but soon enough the document was pulled up, all of Fionna and Cake’s adventures staring back at him.

Relief briefly quelled the anxiety percolating in his chest, but it was short lived. He scrolled to the bottom of the document and realized that there was new text being written right before his eyes. It was typing itself out, the words flowing without pause. Shit.

Chapter Text

How could this be? Why was this happening? Prismo was panicking. Fionna and Cake were his creations. They’d only started to write their own story once they’d been portaled out of Simon’s head. They shouldn’t be able to write their own stories, and yet the text on the page kept scrawling. Word after word, line after line. He didn’t even have to use his TV to watch them. The words on his laptop told all.

It seemed as though Fionna was… remembering? Impossible. How could that be, when Prismo had deleted all the parts of their story that had written themselves? There were no remnants of Simon, and yet his name was there, on the page. So… there had to be loose ends that hadn’t gotten tied up. 

Prismo ground his teeth, bouncing a fist against his forehead. A snap of his fingers left the cube closed off from visitors. This whole mess started the same way with the Scarab, but for now… that jerk was nowhere to be seen. Prismo had priorities. 

Several hours were spent poring over his stories, looking over every word, studying every plot point. How were Fionna and Cake able to continue to write their own stories? How did they remember the name Simon?

“ We go where we want! ” Prismo remembered them cheering as they leapt from his cube. The memory brought a chuckle from somewhere deep in his throat. 

… They wouldn’t be able to remember that, now. However, neither of them would be able to remember anything at all if Prismo wasn’t careful. Their whole universe and everybody inside of it would be blown away if he didn’t think of something fast. The Wishmaster’s brain flashed through every possible solution, and yet none of them seemed formidable… Except one.

With shaking fingers, Prismo used his cursor to highlight all of the text on the page. He could delete all of their stories, wipe everything away except for the very cores of their being. Then, they’d start anew. No memories of anything, not even the other beings in their own universe. A fresh slate to print on. It was better than having the whole thing completely wiped away, ending with no slate at all. 

Or… was it? They were Fionna and Cake! Two halves of a whole, a whole universe built upon their adventures! Who would they be if they did not know one another? Who would they be if they did not know… themselves? … What would Prismo be left with?

Prismo’s finger shook, resting gently upon the delete key. At least it would be easy to beam this update into Simon’s head, seeing how the man had been incapacitated for weeks now. 

Wait… Simon! Surely, this had to have something to do with him. Prismo removed his finger from the key, and instead began to frantically type on the keyboard in a new tab. 

Simon Petrikov

Searching… said the computer. Prismo bit at his nails in anticipation. This had to be Simon’s doing somehow. If he could fix whatever was going on with him, Prismo could save Fionna-world.

Finally, his slow computer located Simon, pulling the image up onto Prismo’s still-mutilated TV screen. He was resting quietly on GOLBetty’s shoulder, leaning against one of the many protruding spikes. The crown sat beside him, appearing innocent. Simon was speaking quietly to himself, eyes dashing around beneath their lids. He looked worse for wear; pale and boney. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow, frigid breaths. 

This whole situation was amiss, but not for any of the reasons that Prismo was looking for. Surely, even in his catatonic state, the man had to be doing something to affect Fionna-world. The Wishmaster continued to poke around, changing his viewpoint multiple times before something finally caught his eye.

It was subtle, that faint light stemming from the back of Simon’s head.

“Fionna-world portal?” Prismo squinted, watching little sparkles fade off into the surrounding space. It had to be. Simon had opened the portal just before he’d put on the crown, and because he was so close to GOLB, he had what appeared to be an infinite magic battery powering the gateway. In other words, the portal had still been open this entire time.

“I don’t have to delete my stories!” Prismo shouted, cheering to himself. Something about the connection between Simon’s spell and Fionna’s world was providing what appeared to be a temporary bond to the other canonical universes. That link was allowing their world autonomy, a limited opportunity to break free from Prismo’s protective grasp. All he had to do to get things back under control was figure out a way to close that portal before Orbo, The Scarab, or his boss figured out what was going on. If he could locate the other side of the portal in Fionna-world, perhaps he could persuade his beloved characters to find a way to close it. 

… Easier said than done. 

You have (1) new message!

“Fionna, Cake! It’s PG. Get over here! I think I fixed my Supercomputer. It’s coming up with all kinds of crazy stuff now, tons of alerts! I wanna try and see if we can repeat my experiment and prove that the Multiverse is real. Get over here quick!!!”

Fionna and Cake intently listened to the message, brimming with excitement. Two weeks had passed since Fionna’s incident with the Ice Queen, and she was feeling slightly more like herself. Although, there were days where Cake would catch her staring suspiciously at various reflective surfaces, as if waiting for something to happen. Cake would roll her eyes, say something sassy and humorous, and Fionna would blink out of her daze. It was probably just the concussion.

Now, Cake raced across the grassy fields surrounding the treehouse, her human in tow. Fionna was chattering excitedly about all the theories she had about the multiverse.

“And what if there’s a universe that has you and me in it, except it’s crazy different! What do you think that would look like?”

Cake pondered. “Hmm… I think it’d be cool if there was a universe where everything was opposite, like if I was a dog and you were a guy. You’d be pretty hot!”

Fionna laughed wholeheartedly. “Cake! That’s…” Then, she fell silent.

“... Fi?” Cake slowed her pace, stretching her head to look at her rider. 

“I- Sorry.” Fionna apologized, waving her hand sheepishly. “I just got this crazy sense of Deja-Vu! 

“Girl, you sure you’re ready to be out and adventuring again? Or is your head still all scrambled?”

“I’m fine, I swear. Concussions always have lingering symptoms, but I’m over it already. C’mon, let’s get to the castle!”

Gumball was waiting for them when they arrived, still dressed in the same grubby lab coat, wringing his hands together with anxious energy.

“Fionna, hey! Good to see you and Cake” He smiled. The man had clearly done a poor job of taking care of himself, dead set on seeing his project through to succession. Fionna opened her mouth to express her concern, but quickly clicked her teeth back together. PG got like this sometimes, obsessive with his work. He always came around eventually, even if it meant getting one of the Banana guards to chuck him into the shower. 

Together, they were hastily stuffed through the castle doors, met with the same stifling warmth as before. This time, however, Cake and Fionna could hear Gumball’s Supercomputer running, even from a floor away. 

“Holy shit, PG. What’re you building up there, a rocket?!” Fionna explained as he continued to herd his guests upstairs. 

The prince shrugged. “Could be put into a rocket, maybe. That’s not a bad idea actually.”

“N-no, I was just-” Fionna started, but she cut herself off as the doors to Gumball’s lab opened to reveal the monstrosity inside.

There were wires covering every inch of the floor, excluding a small path that had been cleared that led to the monitor and keyboard. 

“This thing’s been going off nonstop, detecting some wacky energy coming from… Well, I don’t even know where. That’s what I’m hoping to figure out with today’s test.” 

Immediately upon approaching the keyboard, Gumball began typing furiously at it, long lines of code appearing on the screen. Then, the man stopped, freezing as he looked around at his creation.

“If this doesn’t work… I don’t even know what I’m gonna do.” He mumbled with gritted teeth.

“Hey man, if this doesn’t work we’ll find ourselves the nearest bar and get you the stiffest drink on the menu. Sound good?” Fionna encouraged, patting her hand against his shoulder. Gumball returned her smile with one of his own, though it was shaky and half-hearted. Before he could allow his brain to protest any more, his finger was hitting the enter key.

The whole room whirred to life, clicking and purring and computing at top speed. Prince Gumball stared intently at the screen, frozen with bated breath . Data began to spew onto paper, sprouting out of the side of the large monitor. The prince raced over to it, hand delicately guiding the paper as words were seared onto it. Cake was getting nervous watching everything begin to ramp up, opting to hide behind Fionna’s leg while cautiously peeking around. Fionna appeared equally tense, body wired and ready for a fire to break out.  Instead, the screen flickered, sending staticky light cascading into every corner. 

“Gumball, look, it’s working! Something’s coming up!” Fionna cried, pointing. Numbers were flashing on the screen, that same sequence that they had all seen before. 

19, 9, 13, 15, 14. 19, 9, 13, 15, 14. 19, 9, 13, 15, 14. 19, 9, 13, 15, 14. 19, 9, 13, 15, 14. 

Over and over again in a dizzying array. It left Fionna feeling winded and dizzy, limbs boneless and weak. She stumbled backwards, shoes catching on wires. Cake precariously wrapped her arms around her human’s biceps to provide support. 

“S-Simon…” Fionna blurted out, eyes blank. Gumball seemed too wrapped up in the data to notice his guest’s sudden state.

Back at the Time Room, Prismo was intently transfixed on his own screen. Moments prior, Simon had started acting strange. Stranger than usual, that was. The man had started to twitch; the typical endless stream of mumbling coming to a stutter. Then, the portal at the back of his head began to glow ever brighter, launching light into the deep recesses of space. 

GOLBetty seemed to notice her partner’s distress, feeling him writhe against her. Quickly, she scooped him off her shoulder, holding him in her hand. He was sitting up of his own volition for the first time in weeks, every muscle impossibly tense. Simon’s eyes were wide open. The portal was beginning to consume the back of his scalp, yawning bigger with every moment. The thing was damn near sawing his brain in half. Desperate hands clawed at his hair, the intrusion of magic was obviously incredibly painful.

“S-stop, make it stop, ” He pleaded with no one in particular. GOLBetty understood that he was still not able to perceive anything directly in front of him, but she did not understand how to help him. “Be-Betty,” He whined, tears winding down his sunken cheeks. 

GOLB writhed, struggling with the discomfort of Betty’s human emotions. She felt so strongly for Simon, feelings that a being of chaos was not made to comprehend. I wish for the power to keep Simon safe. That had been her demand, the only statement she could think of that the crown would willingly honor. She had the power to protect him, but did not know how to use it without accidentally tearing Simon apart.

Back in Fionna’s world, the screen had stopped flickering with numbers, and reverted back to static. Gumball, Fionna, and Cake started intently; breath held tight in their chests. Then, the static distorted slowly, beginning to form an image.

It was an agonizingly slow reveal, and at first it didn’t make any sense. A human traversing the wilderness, his wild blonde hair peeking out from under a white hat. A large tattoo of a dog spanned across his chest. 

“Huh.” Gumball sighed. “This is just Ooo. Why’d it pull up this guy? Ugh, this was such a failure, again. ”

“No, wait. Cake spoke, cutting him off. That kinda looks like…”

“Like me! But like… guy version of me!” Fionna burst out, stumbling out of Cake’s hold. She staggered close to the screen, squinting at it. “That tattoo… Is that… is that a dog version of Cake?!” 

Cake gasped alongside Gumball, the both of them equally transfixed. The printer was going bonkers now, spewing out text at a rate faster than any of them could track. It was real, all real. Another universe, a mirrored reflection of their own reality. Fionna felt terribly nauseous.

The computer was starting to fizzle; air in the room becoming unbearably smokey and sweltering. Prince Gumball squeaked as he saw smoke begin to billow in thick, angry clouds. He scrambled to type in the command to end the task, and bopped the enter key once more. 

Everything ground to a halt as the computer quickly processed the command, and the screen fading into darkness. 

“...Everyone okay?” The prince eventually asked, voice meek. 

“Barely,” Came Cake’s reply. “You good, Fi?” 

Fionna sat atop a nest of wires, hand clamped over her mouth. Her friends stared expectantly at her, their expressions wary.

“Gonna go throw up,” She announced, before stumbling out of the room. Her brain just couldn’t deal. There’s a whole other reality out there, a whole other Fionna, Cake, Gumball.. Another Ooo. 

As she hung halfway out of a window spitting bile onto the ground far below, Fionna felt a paw rub her back.

“I knew you weren’t ready to get back out again.” Cake chastised, but there was love in her tone. 

“‘S not that…” Fionna grumbled between gags. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

Cake shrugged in reply. “You feel really warm, maybe you’re coming down with somethin’?”

The human chose to leave that question unanswered, unsure of what the problem could be. “How is it possible that we were able to predict the existence of that reality, Cake? We were just talking about it on the way over, and then we saw it just now! How did we know, Cake?!” Fionna was desperate. 

“Calm down, Fionna!”

“I-” Fionna started, before Gumball cut her off as he yelled, mid-sprint, down the hall.

“Fionna!! Quick, look!” He shouted, a mile of paper flapping behind him. He shoved the sheet in her face. It was covered with numbers, and accompanying the neat manuscript of type was Gumball’s frantic scribbles.

“19, 9, 13, 15, 14. S-I-M-O-N. Simon!” He pointed, eyes looking half crazed. “ You said that name while my experiment was running. How did you know? Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?!” 

Fionna stared at the paper, shallow breaths leaving her throat dry. “I- um, uh.” She gibbered. It was as though there was something blocking that part of her brain, disallowing her from remembering. 

“Woah,” PG eventually said, finally looking at her face. “Are you okay?”

Fionna was pale, eyes staring unfocused. “I dunno.” Was all she could say.

“She got a concussion two weeks ago. I thought she was all healed, but it looks like we got in over our heads. Excuse us.” Cake said curtly, taking Fionna by her pallid arm and dragging her down the stairs. 

After several long, agonizing minutes, the portal attached to Simon’s skull began to shrink back down. However, the damage had been done. The man knelt silently in GOLBetty’s palm, blood dripping freakishly from his nose like some kind of fountain. Betty knew that he wouldn’t be able to survive another extreme fluctuation like that, not with his already weakening body. 

The Crown, she realized. It had kept him alive for a thousand years, it’s magic lending deceptive life-giving benefit to the user. Immortal life in exchange for the wearer’s memories and sanity. Her large, clawed fingernails hovered over where the crown sat, and she gently picked it up. Just a few minutes… a little dose of the crown’s power to give him a necessary boost. 

It slid so easily onto his head. Simon’s reaction was instantaneous; eyes flying open and hands jerking up to desperately grasp at the new addition. She watched him struggle violently with himself; watched as Simon began to lose the battle with Ice King once more. 

“My princess… W-where’s my princess, ” He griped, struggling to stand. Just a few more moments. GOLBetty told herself. As soon as he attempted to rise off the ground in flight, she  plucked the flashy gold from his head. 

Back to dreamland, she thought as she forced him back into the recesses of his memories. Though his color was a little better and his nose had stopped bleeding, he still looked a mess. She knew that there was only so much more of this he could take before his mind shattered forever. She had no idea whether or not it had already done so. Simon needed help.

She sat in contemplation for a long moment, before the revelation came to her. The cell phone.

Back at the Treehouse, Fionna and Cake had raced home in a flash. Cake rushed towards their deep freezer, intent on fishing out something cold to put on Fionna’s burning forehead. 

“Y’can’t keep risking your health like this, kiddo.” Cake spoke eventually, after setting up Fionna with warm tea and a freezer-burned bag of peas. 

“You’re not my mom.” Fionna replied petulantly.

“I know… But you’re freaking me out! All this strange talk about some Simon guy, and also that freaky prediction that we both had about that other universe! Somethin’ weird’s going on.”

Fionna sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Cake. This seems… different from just a regular old concussion.”

“Maybe after PG deciphers more of that data, he’ll be able to explain some of this.” Cake said, attempting to reassure her human. 

Only time could tell.

Chapter Text

Marceline was freaking out. This was the third time today that she’d called Simon’s landline, and subsequently the third time that the damn thing had sent her to the answering machine. She paced around her house, Bonnie watching her wear a hole through her carpet. 

“Do you think I’m being paranoid?” Marcy asked, dialing Simon’s number again. PB shrugged.

“I think it’s valid that you’re worrying, but I’m honestly wondering if it would just be better to go over there. We could invite Finn, make it a thing.”

Marceline groaned in reply. It wasn’t the answer that she was looking for, but then again, she wouldn’t have been happy with any answer regardless. 

Hello, you’ve reached Simon Petrikov’s landline. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks! 

There it was, the same message for the fourth time in a row. She’d texted his phone a thousand times, called him again and again, and was now getting absolutely sick of hearing the same bland message. Part of her wanted to cry. Another part of her was much more tempted to fly over there and break his windows if he continued to refuse to answer the fucking phone.

Bubblegum wrapped a soft hand around her own, briefly bringing her out of her pit of rage. 

“C’mon. No use in wallowing in our misery. Let’s stop by Finn’s to pick him up, and then we’ll go to Simon’s. I’m sure he’s fine.” 

Marceline was eternally grateful for her girlfriend’s calm, stable demeanor. Every vampire needed a candy monarch to provide balance. They put on their shoes, Marceline donning an umbrella to protect herself from the searing sun, and off they went. 

Finn was surprisingly easy to locate. He’d been chopping wood for a fire on the outskirts of some woods, mechanical hand fitted with an axe attachment. 

“Yo, Finn! You heard anything from Simon recently? He hasn’t been answering his phone.” The vampire called as they approached.

Finn wiped sweat from his brow and turned to face his friends as they arrived. “Nope. He and I went on a little camping trip because it seemed like he was in a slump. Then, I sent him back off towards the human city and that was the last I’ve seen of him. He seemed to be doing well after I fixed him up, though!”

“What do you mean, ‘fixed him up’?” Bonnie questioned. 

“Eh, he was just a little down at the dumps when I found him at the bar. Said he was upset about the fact that people wouldn’t stop mentioning Fionna and Cake around him. I dunno why he hates those books so much, Jake and I really came around to em!”

Bubblegum carded a hand through thick locks of hair. “Finn… I know you meant well, but I’m not sure if-”

Finn cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Nah, nah. It’s all good, I swear. I bet if we swing by his place right now he’ll be watching reruns of Cheers, or reading one of his old history books or something.”

Marceline was grinding her teeth listening to this conversation. Simon could be in serious trouble, doing Glob-knows-what, and here they were, yammering on about shit that didn’t matter. She started drifting back up towards the sky, tuning out the other two.

“Marcy, wait up!” PB called from down below. 

“Yeah, I’m coming too! Finn called. Marceline rolled her eyes. 

It took an anxiety-filled twenty minutes to finally get to the human city. It would’ve been way faster if Marceline was simply flying up there on her own, but… she was secretly grateful for the company. Bubblegum and Finn were cheerfully chatting about anything and everything; the background noise helping to shoo the storm clouds swirling in her own head. Simon was fine. He was fine…

“Yo, Simon!” Marceline called, pounding on the door. The house was dark, doors locked tight and shades drawn closed. For a brief, crazed moment she genuinely considered asking Finn to hack down the door with his axe arm. The sane part of her realized that there were other people around, and they wouldn’t quite realize that she had the house’s owner’s best intentions in mind. 

Luckily, the Princess read her mind, and stooped down to pick at the lock. Finn moved, using his broad body to block the view of any suspicious bystanders. She made quick work of it, frowning as the door slid open.

“We really gotta get him a security system, I got through this door in like three seconds!” PB exclaimed, mostly to herself. Marceline floated past her, eyes immediately scanning the dark living room for signs of trouble. She was on high alert, so of course she would jump when Finn made a sound of disgust.

“Ugh!” He said, one boot sinking into the carpet. “This floor is soaked!”

Now that she was listening for it, Simon’s shower was running. The revelation both relieved her and sent her brain spiraling into paranoid concern. 

“Hey Simon! You slip and fall in the shower or something?!” She said, pounding at the door. There was no answer, save for the sound of water dribbling out from under the door. It had soaked into everything, leaving a thin puddle of water coating every inch of floor. 

Fuck it, there was nobody in this room that would judge her for busting down the door. Using all of her strength, Marceline slammed her shoulder into the wood, feeling it splinter beneath the force. A few more tries, and the door crumbled. Whatever, it was shitty plywood anyways. She would buy Simon another one as soon after she finished ripping him a new one. 

Except.. The bathroom was empty, shower running on full blast. The water streaming from the tap was ice cold, Simon’s shitty water heater clearly unable to keep up with the demand. His tub had filled up, clogged. Water continued to slosh from the sides of the tub. Now Marceline was feeling scared.

“Did you find him?” Bubblegum called. Wet, squishy footsteps could be heard padding up to the doorframe.

“No… I- I don’t know what’s going on,” Marcy replied, allowing deep distress to seep into her tone. “He’s not in here, but I swear the bathroom door was locked. Why would he leave the shower on and lock the door? How would he get out?”

“We’ll figure this out, Marcy.” PB said. That soft touch of her hand was back, grounding the vampire… if only a little. 

“Maybe it’d help if we turned on a light,” Finn announced as he marched over to the light switch. As he threw it into the upright position, several things were revealed. An empty birdcage sat tipped over on the floor, wires and metal clamps strewn around carelessly. The apartment itself was a mess, items thrown carelessly on the floor Everything was sinking into the cheap linoleum. 

Worst of all was the shrine. A statue of GOLB, obviously handmade, sat staring innocently at the uninvited occupants. Marceline’s breath caught in her throat as she walked out of the flooded bathroom. She clapped her own hand over her mouth, backing slowly away from the sight. 

A picture of Betty sat swimming in the water, half melted. It was not a pretty sight. In fact, it was damning.

GOLBetty sat in her own dimension, body neatly tucked into a meditative position. Simon was back on her shoulder, his ceaseless murmuring filling the space with sound. It was reassuring in many ways. All the same, she knew that he would die here, wasting away, if she did not find help for him. The madness of the crown had latched itself tightly onto his brain, incapacitating him from assisting himself. 

That cellphone that Simon had dragged along was his only hope. But GOLBetty was incapable of using it. Her claws would crush it, the mere size of her hand rendering her unable to use such a tiny, human-sized item.

There was one being that could carry out her business for her, however. Using a passive hand, she swiped a Tetris piece from out of her halo. There was no care taken in her handling of it. Fixing it to be suspended in the space in front of her body, her pupils shook with power.

The hard exterior of the piece melted and began to reform itself back into bones. As the outside of it melted away, a skull was revealed. The Lich. His eyes glowed fiercely, but his fleshless mouth hung open as though trapped in an eternal trance.

He woke as his vertebrae began to click back together. GOLBetty was not kind enough to grant him the use of his entire body, simply loaning what was strictly necessary for the task.

The Lich breathed heavily, ribcage expanding and contracting desperately despite the absence of lungs.

“E-Entity of Chaos, my ruler, why have you brought me back to-” He began. GOLBetty snapped his mouth shut with enough force to crack each of his molars. She maneuvered his body up to her shoulder where her lover sat. Wordlessly, she glared at him as he gazed at Simon. Then, she dragged what remained of his body over to a different Tetris piece, one that was listlessly floating in space. It was cracked, two deep divots left behind by The Lich’s own fists. Laying innocently in one of the divots was none other than Fionna’s cellphone. 

GOLBetty did not believe The Lich to be a particularly intelligent creature. However, he was smart enough to understand what she wanted him to do. She piloted him forward until he could swipe the phone off of the ground.

“Who shall I contact using this device so infernal, so uselessly human ?” He questioned her, spitting. GOLBetty’s pupils vibrated again as she transmitted her request into his skull. The Lich screeched in agony as a cacophony of a thousand voices assaulted his every sense. Despite this, he appeared to understand.

With a single quaking, skeletal hand, he located the list of recent callers and selected the top result. Gary Prince.

Chapter Text

Simon walked endlessly through memories that were each over a thousand years old. Every memory took him through swirling, dizzying blips of time. Most were deeply meaningful, the others were harmlessly happy. Despite Ice King’s reputation for having an extraordinarily shitty memory, Simon had a fantastic memory. 

He wanted to remember every instance that he shared with Betty, every time their hands brushed, or each moment she smiled at him. Before they’d moved in together, he would spend many nights staring at the ceiling, trying to recall the tiny details on her face; the way that every word sounded when it came out of her mouth. It was obsession, sure. But it was also love, the kind of love that Simon simply could not live without. Equally, Betty could not live without him. That’s why she had spent so long trying to fix him. It was desperate, but not entirely in vain.

Well… it initially hadn’t been in vain. GOLBetty willed herself to think of other things, dragging Simon’s train of thought away from that too. Instead, she helped him recall the first time they’d danced together.

They were at a celebration for a colleague. Simon had recently been recognized for his discovery of The Enchiridion, and the crown was only a mere silhouette in the future. Betty was dressed in her nicest gown, one that Simon had helped her purchase. Her hair had been painstakingly curled just hours prior with her mom’s ancient hair curler. She looked beautiful.

Simon had picked a suit and a slightly nicer bowtie. He opted for slightly more formal dress on a daily basis anyways, and he saw no reason to spend more money when he already owned appropriate attire. He’d rather devote his extra cash to her.

They’d arrived together in the same car, but had quickly been separated upon entrance to the massive ballroom. Simon had been pulled aside by colleagues and fellow graduate students, while Betty had opted to fetch the two of them drinks. 

Little did she know that she’d be stuck holding two flutes of champagne for the next hour and a half before Simon managed to somehow wrestle himself through a thick crowd to find her again. She felt no malice towards him for leaving, understanding that his work made him a popular hot spot at this gathering.

As soon as Simon opened his mouth to greet her and give thanks for the drink, the tapping of a microphone could be heard overhead. Betty laughed quietly as she saw Simon clamp his mouth shut and roll his eyes. 

The speaker was gracious with a warm and welcoming voice, but the speech went on far too long. Too much gloating about his recent successes, and about how grateful he was to all of his colleagues. Despite this, the crowd watched patiently and listened intently.

It took forty-five minutes for the speech to finish, and when it finally did, the host clapped his hands as music commenced. Betty looked to Simon, who returned her gaze. Slowly, and a little unsure of herself, she extended a hand forward to meet his own.

“Simon! We’ve been looking for you all night. If you’ve got a moment, I have a proposal for you that could rock your world,” A voice interrupted, tone commanding confidence. Betty quickly snaked her hand back to her lap.

Then, Simon got up from the table, cast an apologetic glance at his plus-one, and was absorbed back into the crowd once more. Betty watched him disappear, smile falling.

For the whole night, people around her danced and laughed and enjoyed one another’s company. Betty began to feel out of place. She chatted casually with several different people. Many of them were mostly interested in talking about themselves or their own great discoveries. Betty couldn’t blame them. That’s just how humans were; how they’d always be.

Ten o’clock rolled around, and the place was starting to clear out. Betty had waited all night in her expensive dress, counting the seconds she had until Simon would return to her side. She’d passed much of the time thinking of ways to invite him to dance. A small part of her wondered if he’d accidentally left without her.

A calloused, warm hand gently caressed her shoulder. The olive-toned limb belonged to none other than the person she’d been waiting for. She smiled at him, but something in her eyes must have hinted at her disgruntlement. 

“Betty,” He smiled. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you for so long. Those guys that wanted to talk to me had their heads so far up their own asses they couldn’t listen to anything I was trying to say. I just couldn’t get them to take ‘no’ for an answer!” He chuckled.

She huffed a laugh. “C’mon, I wanna get home and take off these heels. They’re starting to kill my feet.”

Simon nodded, and they were off. The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. The radio crooned old love songs, sappy and overly sweet. The night was warm, and on a whim Simon decided to roll the windows down. 

Wind flowed through every corner of the car, mingling with the music and ruffling both occupants’ hair. Simon briefly turned his head to look at his date, and found her with her head resting on the door of the car, head halfway sticking out the window. Her eyes were closed and she allowed the breeze to roll over her. In the scrawling streetlights, she looked beautiful.

They got back to Simon’s just a few minutes later. Betty pulled her heels off, and began to walk barefoot into the house. 

“I could carry you, y’know. I don’t want you to slice your foot on anything” Simon offered. Betty rolled her eyes.

“Please. You, carrying me, with those noodle arms?” She poked fun, a smile filling up her face. “We both know that I could easily sweep you off your feet. Maybe I should. You’re so clumsy, you might just slip and crack your head on the front step!”

Simon laughed, a full and hearty sound. They both opted to walk, hand in hand, over the threshold.

“I don’t know about you, but those hors d'oeuvres were not filling at all. I’m starving. ” 

“I was thinking the same thing. How’s about I whip up something for us?” Simon offered. 

Betty slumped on Simon’s dusty old couch while Simon loosened his bowtie. Then, he put a pot on the stove to boil water. As he cooked, he bopped a button on the old radio that had made a comfortable home on the counter. Music filled the space, and the house’s occupants hummed along to it. 

Simon was not a good singer. He was as tone deaf as one could be, but it didn’t matter. The act of singing with the music, no matter how imperfect he sounded alongside it, was what Betty found to be the most endearing. 

 The radio crooned. Simon stirred salt into the water. Can’t Take My Eyes Off You began to quietly play. Betty pulled a sweater over her dress, and then pulled herself off the couch to see what Simon’s plans were for their late night snack.

“You’d be light heaven to touch,” Simon sang along under his breath. His eyes briefly met his guest’s. Betty blushed a bit as she watched him work. He was quick and calculated with his motions, unusual when compared to his typical fumbling.

Betty slid a hand beneath the undershirt of Simon’s suit, and the man stuttered.

“I wanted to dance with you all night, but you got swept away in the crowd.” She murmured into his shoulder. His hand found hers as the music from the radio began to swell. 

“We can change that now, if you’d like,” He offered, blush creeping up his face. Then, he turned around and wrapped his arms firmly around her torso, and she copied his movements. Their heads rested on one another’s shoulders as they swayed to the chorus. It was late, and their dim little kitchen light was the only one that was on through the whole neighborhood. The street was quiet, as was the music. But to them, it was enough. Betty smelled of sweet, flowery perfume. Simon smelled like ink and paper, coupled with a pine-scented cologne.

The two allowed the melody to take them, synchronizing their bodies as they slow-danced in the kitchen. It was less than perfect; floorboards creaking under their feet and water simmering quietly in the background. Betty had imagined this moment to be much different, but now that she was in it she wouldn't ever want to change a single part of it. The low, warm overhead light combined with the staticky, quiet song created an irreplaceable instance that was more than enough, at least to them. It was perfect, that first dance. Simon's touch was strong and reassuring. Betty leaned deeply into him, and she felt him reciprocate. He reveled in her warmth, memorized every detail, every feeling, every emotion. The future was uncertain, and neither of them had any idea of what it held. For now, it didn't matter. They would deal with tomorrow and the coming weeks. The present mattered more than anything. Simon mattered more than anything. Betty never wanted the moment to end, wished they could sway clumsily in the kitchen all night. It felt so authentic, so real. 

GOLBetty could hear Simon humming that same song now, fully convinced that the dreamworld pulled in front of his eyes was as real as it had been the first time. Betty longed so desperately to dance with Simon again, just like that. In front of them, The Lich held the phone to his ear. 

Chapter Text

Every single landline in the candy kingdom’s castle was ringing, and Prince Gumball’s Supercomputer was going completely bonkers. Anomalies out the wazoo, bells and whistles chiming.

The Prince himself was aflutter, racing around the castle commanding everyone not to answer the phone. This anomaly was especially strange, enough so that it had put the prince on high alert. Initially, PG had assumed that the call was a particularly well-organized prank, and that eventually the person on the other side of the line would give up. Then, the candy kingdom’s ruler could trace the call and send his guards to ream the teenager until they apologized profusely. But his computer contradicted this theory, making a ruckus as the screen flashed and speakers wailed.

Now the phones had been ringing for three hours nonstop. Even weirder, the incessant calling never ceased. No, the line would just ring, and ring, and fucking ring. PG had zero luck deciphering any of the data that came spewing out of the side of his technology. 

He was running out of options.

“What’s the big deal, dude? Just pick it up.” Fionna rolled her eyes, dragging Cake along by the arm. 

“Ugh, you’re not getting it, Fionna! This isn’t some regular call, this is weird. I don’t recognize the number, my computer’s freaking out, and it just won’t stop. ” Gumball was dragging his hands through his hair, thick clumps getting caught in-between his shaking fingers.

Cake grumbled, equally as frustrated as her human. “Whatever, man. I’m goin’ for it!”

“N-No!” Gumball shouted, but the cat had made up her mind. She flounced over to it with a few stretchy motions, grabbing the phone off the wall. Immediately, Cake’s audience watched as everything started going wrong. She  put the phone up her ear, and immediately her pupils constricted into pinpricks. Her mouth went slack, lower jaw falling slack. The breath that came out of her open maw was icy, cold enough to create steam in the air. Cake’s whole body was rigid as unseen forces puppeteered her. 

“In the ice and snow rots the innards of a man familiar to you, known once to your companions Fionna and Cake. Locate him.” The voice commanded, deep and groveling. Prince Gumball and Fionna shared horrified glances.

Cake repeated the message once more with a horrible, haunting blank stare. As the line went dead, the phone slipped from her loose grip, and she fell forward to meet the ground head-on. 

“Cake!” Fionna cried, running forwards.

“I think I need to change my pants,” Gumball mumbled. 

Fionna gathered her cat in her arms. She found that Cake’s eyes were still wide open and staring, pupils just a sliver in her eyes. She poked and prodded the animal, gently shaking her and calling her name. It took a few minutes, but eventually Fionna saw her finally blink. Then, Cake shook her head and took a moment to groom a paw, sitting up on her own.

“Woah, hey! Why we all starin’? Did I do something cool?” 

Fionna and PG opened and closed their mouths a few times, exchanging nervous glances.

“Cake, you like, freaked out! You had some kind of freaky ass voice coming out of your throat, telling us about somebody’s guts in the Ice Queen’s crib. It’s like you got possessed!” Fionna yelled, by way of a panicked explanation.

Cake sat and listened as Fionna repeated the message once more, a passive stare on her face. When her human finished talking, Cake only chose to shrug her shoulders and stick her tongue out. Behind them, the prince was pacing back and forth, thinking aloud. 

“Ice and snow... Fionna and Cake, Do you two think this has anything to do with all of those weird alerts I’ve been getting on my computer? I’ve still yet to figure out what most of the data means.”

The two adventurers pondered carefully, reviewing the events of the last few weeks. 

“Maybe we should just check out the Ice Queen’s castle, see if she’s hidin’ anything in there. That woman’s a psycho creep, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was hiding somebody’s guts.”

“Cake, that’s nasty!” Fionna scolded. “But… that’s honestly not a bad idea. It’s probably quicker than trying to decode that gibberish from PG’s computer.” 

“It’s not gibberish. If you two want to swing by the IQ’s place to make sure everything’s sound, that’s fine by me. Come back in about two hours, cool?”

With a nod, both adventurers set off towards the ice and cold. The journey was oddly tense, filled with strange energy. Fionna’s thoughts percolated around in her head as she mulled over the message. Maybe this had to do with that Simon guy, or whoever he was. She sure hoped that she wasn’t riding towards a gore-filled bloodbath. Cake secretly hoped the same.

“Wanna bust through the wall again? It’s kinda our thing.” Cake tempted.

“No, wait. Not this time. What if… What if we tried to sneak in this time? We might get caught, but I’d honestly like to avoid pissing off the Ice Queen, especially after what happened.

“Right,” Cake rolled her eyes. “I guess that makes sense. I’m gonna shrink down and hide in your hat so I have the element of surprise, just in case. “

Fionna nodded, drawing her sword. They managed to scramble inside through a crack in the icy mountain, slipping into one of Ice Queen’s empty rooms. The castle was almost a labyrinth; with twists, turns, long hallways, and dead ends. Throughout their time battling against the IQ they’d started to learn the layout, but there was a long way to go. Fionna figured the best way to go about it was to take it room by room, exploring one level before heading down to the next. Her hands were quickly going numb, and she rubbed them together in an attempt to get the blood to return to her fingers.

Cake was getting impatient “This is taking forever!” 

“Yeah, well you’re not the one freezing your buns off in this stupid maze! How does the Ice Queen even find her way around here?” Fionna whispered. Cake started to reply, but Fionna’s ears perked up as she heard noise from below. 

It sounded like… music, maybe? Soft and inviting, beckoning her to the depths of the mountain. Fionna kept her steps light, hand clenched tightly around her sword as she rounded every corner. The deeper they went, the more vibrantly blue the ice surrounding them became. It supported the floors above in massive, reflective columns. Fionna could see herself clearly in each one they passed. Though she moved quickly, she studied her reflection as she passed.

It was eerily normal… until it wasn’t. The changes were subtle, but Fionna grew more paranoid with each turn. As they rounded another corner, she spotted a bright light glowing deep from within the permafrost. 

By now, Fionna’s reflection looked absolutely nothing like her, instead looking much taller, so much broader. the mirror version had a beard now, and her hat no longer resembled that of bunny ears. Long blonde hair spilled down her back. Most interesting was the reflection’s prosthetic arm. 

Her breath was coming in quick, foggy bursts. Each footstep was becoming more rushed, more frantic. There was something about this place that was terribly foreboding. They weren’t supposed to be here. Though she wanted to turn back, something inexplicable kept pushing her forward. 

The light was getting exponentially brighter, almost to the point that it was blinding. Cake had poked her head out of Fionna’s hat, transfixed by the aura. The girl herself was still absorbed by her ever-changing reflection, watching as it morphed continuously.

That was, until she spotted The Scarab, encased deep in the icy walls. His glowing red eyes screamed silent bloody murder at them, and Fionna nearly jumped out of her own skin.

“Fuckin’ shit!” She yelled, forgetting her obligation to silence.

“Language!” Cake waggled a finger. Both girls stood in awe of the man, his vibrant red suit, his shiny exoskeleton, the bloodlust in his eyes. They waited for him to make his move to attack, but he stayed frozen.

“I don’t… I think he’s too frozen to hurt us,” The human observed, tentatively approaching the wall to touch it with a pale hand. The Scarab flinched minutely, desperately squirming as much as one could when completely frozen. Fionna withdrew her hand.

Cake was feeling conflicted. “Should we… help him? He kinda looks like he wants to sucker-punch you, Fi.”

“Yeah, I don’t know who this dude is, but I don’t like his vibe.” 

The two nodded in agreement. Besides, the light was so close; beckoning the two forward. Eventually they reached it. A portal sat in wait, swirling and vibrating at the tips of Fionna’s shoes. 

“So… What now?” Cake asked as she climbed down from her safe haven in Fionna’s hat. Fionna’s expression twisted as she argued with herself.

“We should probably go tell Gumball, but… Something’s telling me that we should…”

“Jump in?” Cake finished. “Yeah, I almost kinda want to see where this leads. Who knows, maybe it’ll be quick. The more answers we can get, the better. Right?”

“We gotta do it together. Hold on to me tight, okay?” 

Cake nodded, determination in her smile. They clasped hands and squeezed their eyes shut. Together, they bent their knees, and jumped high into the air. The portal sucked them in with ease, welcoming them readily to a different dimension.

Chapter Text

Prismo had been in deep thought for days now, carefully considering every option as to how he could convince his beloved characters to close the portal. This had to be done carefully, and with consideration for every angle. Bringing them out could create a crossover event, and if he didn’t tackle the issue immediately and evacuate the two to his Time Room, then the boss would be on his ass.

Maybe they could close it from the inside…? No. Simon was powering the portal with the help of GOLB. It had to be done from outside of Simon's head. There had to be a crossover. Prismo’s eyes continued to scan the text as it appeared on the screen. Strange things were being written, and Prismo was starting to get concerned.

He needed to watch this happening, view his characters act out whatever the fuck was going on. Using the makeshift remote he’d hastily put together a few weeks ago, he flipped the channels until Fionna and Cake popped up on screen. He watched them working together with Prince Gumball, witnessing their struggles with the supercomputer; watching as they tumbled ever-closer to discovering the secrets of their isolated universe.

Huh… He supposed that they were taking care of the problem themselves. They’d figure out a way to fix Simon, jump back in the portal, and then hopefully it would close behind them. As soon as they reached Simon’s universe, Prismo would jump into action and escort them swiftly to the Time Room.

Fionna and Cake spiraled through a cacophony of light, spinning in a nosedive. They held tight to each other as their hearts raced in unison. Fionna squinted, attempting to look ahead to see where they were being flung. The void of space awaited them, opening its arms readily to welcome the two adventurers. 

The portal in Simon’s head flickered before brightening drastically. Blue light spilled out between strands of brown. Simon breathed heavily, facial expression communicating clear pain. GOLBetty noticed his discomfort, felt as his normally listless body began to writhe. She scooped him up by hooking a nail around the neckline of his jacket. Lifting him to dangle right in front of her eyes, she scrutinized every inch of him.

He’d lost weight; body surviving on what internal resources it had. His sedentary state had eased the strain that homeostasis usually imparted, energy diverted to keeping him breathing and his heart beating. Just as she laid him onto his hand, the portal yawned and spat two very confused beings right onto her hand.

They slumped immediately, brains clearly unable to handle such a shift. It only took a few minutes for the two to stir. Fionna moved first, limbs sluggishly attempting to push the body into a sitting position. Next to her, Cake groaned.

Their vision spun, headaches pulsing something fierce. “... Cake? Are you okay?” Fionna called, rubbing her eyes.

“Next time you try to convince me to… ugh… jump through a mysterious glowing hole I’m gonna put a rodent’s head on your pillow.” Cake stated with a gruff voice. She looked around blearily, and her eyes settled on Simon’s form.

“Hey, who’s the geezer?” She questioned, crawling on all fours to get to him.

“Huh?” Fionna replied, opting to turn around. Her eyes settled on the 59 year old lying quietly on his side. Then, she blinked again. Her surroundings clarified, and her eyes immediately met GOLBetty’s four massive ones. 

“Holy SHI-” She exclaimed, jumping back and effectively tumbling out of the Entity of Chaos’s open palm. 

Prismo hurriedly clicked the button on the remote, and both guests were immediately sucked up into space, physical forms dissolving into abstraction.

“Better get Simon here, too. I need a closer look…” He clicked another button on his remote but Simon’s form did not budge. He tapped it again impatiently, rolling his eyes. Right as he was about to examine the damn thing, his guests arrived.

The cube was still a mess, so they just happened to spawn in on a pile of half-empty chip bags. Cake hissed as she hit the crunchy plastic, trying to wrap her arms around her human in an attempt to cushion the impact. Prismo supposed he could have tried to make their entrance a little more graceful, but now wasn’t the time for that.

Instead, he was transfixed on the remote still, waiting for it to beep and alarm him of a cross-over. It sat there innocently, silent as ever. 

“Dude! Look at this crazy guy!” Fionna shouted, pointing a finger at Prismo. 

“Woah! Big boy!” Cake shouted.

“Funny,” Prismo said. “You said that the first time, too. Except last time you looked like a four-legged normal cat, ‘till I fixed you.” Prismo was overjoyed at the fact that he could see his creations again and meet Jake’s cat-version copy for another time. He missed Jake.

“What do you mean by that?” Fionna inquired, looking up at her maker in awe. 

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot that you guys don’t really remember meeting me, huh.”

A little squirmy voice in Prismo’s head, the cautious word of reason, warned him to be careful of what he was telling his guests. But then again, what was the harm? He’d get them to close the portal with the promise that it would keep their world safe and far from deletion, and then life could move on. 

Cake sauntered out of the trash pile. “Hah! I think I would’ve remembered meeting a funky guy like you before!” She shook crumbs out of her fur. 

“Oh jeez, how do I explain this to you guys without sounding completely crazy?” Prismo questioned, mostly to himself. “I guess I’ll just start with who I am…” and then he began his spiel. 

He walked them through the main events. It was strange and exhausting having to go through it all again, but he appreciated how they mostly listened with patience. As they watched images flicker on the screen, he waited for any sort of recognition, any understanding of the journey they’d once gone through.

And yet… There was nothing. No excitement, no joy shown as they watched themselves live through the highlights of their greatest adventures. 

“Who’s that old guy with us?” Cake said, pointing.

“Ah, that’s right! I need to get Simon in here with us. He’s not gonna talk much since his monster girlfriend put him in a coma, but at least I can see if there’s a way to close the portal.” Prismo tapped his remote again and waited, listening for the typical glitch noise that came along with the transportation.

But once again, Simon stayed stubbornly laying in GOLB’s outstretched hand. He squinted at the screen, scrutinizing every pixel. GOLB’s pupils were shaking, as though they were… casting a spell. GOLB was using magic to keep Simon locked in the same place. There was absolutely no way that his remote would be strong enough to win against that fight.

Fucking fantastic.

“Ugh. That’s Simon. You guys used to live in his head until you found the other half of the portal. Then, you popped outta his head just now, and now you’re in the Time Room.” Now we’re all caught up on events. So, can you help me close the portal in his head? It’s kinda messing up your whole entire universe, and I’d really like to… not have that happen.” 

Fionna and Cake gawked at him. “Dude, what are you even talking about? Why would we risk our butts going back to that freaky space with a scary space lady when we could just… not? What’s in it for us?” Cake griped.

“Well, the fate of your whole world is at stake, since, y’know, it lives inside of that guy’s head.”

“Okay?” Said Fionna. “Who cares if the portal’s open? Prince Gumball’s been working hard to see into other dimensions, and now that we know where the portal is, we can go wherever we want! He’s gonna be thrilled! ” 

Cake grinned alongside her, tail flicking excitedly. “Think of all the places we’re gonna see!”

“Yeah, not happening until we fix this. Every minute that the portal is open is another minute that I risk being found out for making a rogue universe! You guys already had that asshole God-auditor guy gunning on your tails. It’s a shame you don’t remember that part, because if he ever gets out of the bind that he’s in, he’ll completely wreck everything. Not to mention that my boss could totally wipe everything in an instant. Don’t you see? The longer we have this problem, the more you risk getting destroyed!”

Fionna looked distressed. Destroyed? They had just confirmed that other dimensions existed, and now they were gonna get destroyed over it? This was bullshit.

Cake read her mind. “This is bullshit. There’s gotta be another way to figure this out. We just found the multiverse, and I don’t wanna lose it!” 

Fionna nodded in agreement. Prismo sighed and dragged a hand over his eye. This was going to be way, way harder than he thought. 

“We can figure this out, I think. I just need some time. We need to move carefully, I don’t want you to get caught because of a crossover alert. You’re safe in here for now, but every minute that we waste is another minute that the portal stays open.”

Both arrivals nodded, seeming to finally begin to grasp the situation.

“Hey, you’re a Wishmaster right? You said you could grant wishes?” Fionna questioned. “What if I… hypothetically wished to somehow protect our universe? Do you think that could work?” Fionna pondered.

Prismo scratched the five o'clock shadow dominating the lower half of his face. “... That could work, but you gotta be really careful with how you phrase your wish. If you do it wrong, your whole universe gets junked up. 

“So, could I just wish to make our universe canon? Just how it is?” Cake jumped at the opportunity. Prismo considered, weighing out his options.

“... That sounds pretty promising, actually. If your universe is canon, then nobody can destroy it!” 

Fionna and Cake absolutely beamed.

The cat stepped forward, clasping her paws together. “I wish… that our universe was canon, and that it no longer existed inside of Simon’s head. We want to be connected to the Multiverse!” 

“Granted,” Prismo smiled back. With the crown's restoration of magic, and Prismo’s access to his universe, this was a wish that he could now fulfill. With a snap of his fingers, Simon shifted again, sitting up as though he was commanded to through invisible strings. 

“That’s not hurting him, is it?” Cake cringed, watching him through the screen

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s probably not great for him either. The figure began to cough, entire body heaving over the extreme strain. GOLBetty brushed a large knuckle over his cheek, willing him calm. This was not what she had wanted. The Lich’s phone call had served to get Simon help, not to cause more agony. She ought to remind them of just who they were dealing with. At least, that’s what GOLB wanted.

Betty remained fearful, but patient and faintly optimistic. Fionna and Cake were Simon’s friends. He’d said so himself. They would come for him; Take him back too Ooo where he needed to be.

It took several more agonizing moments of weak, dry coughing. Eventually, Simon managed to regurgitate their universe. Saliva dribbled down his chin and he slumped again. Time was running out for him. 

That little cube that he had fought so hard to get out was now floating innocently as it thrummed with energy. 

“Let’s end this,” Prismo said. With a flick of his fingers, the whole thing burst into dazzling light, spreading waves rippling across time and space. 

“Great! Now, send us home!” Cake cheered as she watched the energy blast fade. She watched Prismo’s face, noticed him cringing as she suggested the idea.

“Well…”

“Ugh, what is it now?!” Fionna was feeling frustrated. “We closed your stupid portal and our universe is safe now. You won’t get in trouble with your boss, so send us back!”

“I need a favor from you two. Simon still needs your help. I feel like I’d be doing some kind of cosmic injustice to have him just… rot in that place forever.” 

Both girls scowled at that.

“C’mon, I’ll even grant you whatever wish you want, Fionna. You still have yours to spend!” Prismo encouraged, with a cheesy smile.

Fionna considered carefully, rifling through all of the things she could ever possibly want. “I think… Maybe I want to save mine for now, y’know? Just in case anything goes tits up.”

“Your call. But you still gotta help Simon. Plus… You might get the chance to see some other super cool dimensions if you help!”

“Deal.” 

With that, they were tumbling back through space, returning to GOLBetty’s dwelling.

Chapter Text

One thing about GOLBetty’s little pocket of space was that it was so eerily quiet all the time. When Simon had gotten spat out of his accidental portal, that quietness receded... if only a little. His faint breathing, the quiet string of words coming from his throat, the movements of his body… had all done so much to shove away at the encroaching silence. 

Now, it was awfully loud as Fionna and Cake made their grand reappearance. Prismo had dropped them onto a Tetris piece, and yet Fionna still managed to almost stumble off the side of it. Cake stuck out an arm, catching her as she wobbled.

“Jeez! Thanks, Cake. Now, we gotta rescue that guy over there. Prismo said that GOLB might let us take him if we prove that we’re trying to save him.”

“Yeah, sounds easy to me.” Cake rolled her eyes.

“Really?” 

“No, you dumbass. How are we supposed to get this dude out of that thing’s hand? It’s huge! ” 

Fionna shrugged at that, putting a hand on her hip as she looked around. “Hmm. This platform that we’re on is moving. Maybe if we wait for it to orbit around to where Simon’s at, you can stretch to grab him and Prismo can teleport us away.”

“I can’t come up with anything better, so I guess we’ll just go with that.”

The journey took forever. As they rounded around the front of GOLBetty’s body, she watched them with incredible intensity. Hot breath whistled in between sharp, crooked teeth. Both adventurers were sweating bullets.  

“Get ready…” Fionna warned.

Cake got into a stabilizing stance. “Hold onto me so that I don’t fall.” 

As soon as the human’s arms were firmly wrapped around her beloved pet, Cake began to stretch. It was still quite the distance, but it was the best that either of them could do. GOLBetty followed every motion, massive blue eyes scrutinizing them both. Cake made contact with Simon, and allowed herself a celebratory smirk. Tightly and carefully, she wrapped her arms around Simon’s torso, immediately noting how frigid and cold he felt even through his many layers.

Whatever, that was a problem for later. She lifted him across, emphasizing her motions with speed and precision. Fionna returned GOLBetty’s gaze with equal intensity, utilizing her peripheral vision to keep tabs on the status of their heist. 

Oddly, GOLB allowed them to take him, retracting her outstretched hand as Simon was lifted out away. This sketchy little operation was going… suspiciously well. They had Simon, and now it was time to jump ship.

“Prismo! We got him!” Fionna called upwards. “C’mon Cake, hold him tight and let’s GTFO.” She reached for her cat’s shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the transfer. They waited. And... Waited.

… Nothing happened. Fionna called out again as she nervously glanced at GOLBetty. Her pupils were glowing bright, the tang of ancient and powerful magic overcoming the space. GOLBetty was blocking them from leaving, just as she had blocked Simon from being teleported back to Prismo’s. 

“Shit,” Fionna murmured.

“What’s the-” Uh oh-” Cake began before following Fionna’s gaze. With Simon still wrapped safely in her arms, Cake and her human backed all the way up to the furthest end of their small island of solid ground. Before them, the abyss yawned.

Fear gripped their hearts, sending tremors to their legs. GOLBetty could kill them so easily. Squash them with a mighty hand as though they were insignificant bugs. Their only upper hand was the fact that she risked injuring Simon if she attempted to attack. Cake gripped him tightly.

GOLBetty shifted again, and with it her entire dimension rumbled with her motions. She scooped up the entire Tetris piece with all three occupants still standing upon it as though it weighed nothing. Fionna let out a terrified whine from somewhere in the back of her throat. Cake’s tail was puffed up as much as it possibly could be. 

Soon, their ride from hell came to a sudden halt, sending both bipeds stumbling. GOLBetty looked down on them as though she was imagining tearing them apart, sin by sin, tendon by tendon. 

Yet… “I’m not really sure if she means to hurt us, Cake. She could’ve killed us as soon as we went for Simon, but she hasn’t, not yet.” GOLBetty’s eyes twinkled briefly. 

“Whatever she’s doing is freakin’ terrifying, Fi. We gotta figure out a way to escape!” Cake whispered to her companion. 

“Just… Just wait. I know it’s crazy, but I feel like we should hear her out or whatever.” Then, summoning all of her bravery, Fionna stepped closer to the monster.

“GOLB, I… I know we’ve never met, but I promise that you can trust us. We’re trying to help Simon. He can’t stay here forever, he’ll die!” There were tears welling in her eyes, though she did not know why. Simon was special to the both of them, she just wished she could understand where that feeling was coming from!

GOLBetty reached out with her free hand, still using her other to cradle their platform. Fionna and Cake both stepped back, faces filled with worry and fear for their safety. Far, far away, Prismo was glued to the screen of his TV as he watched the events play out. 

Her golden claws were extended, looking ready to slaughter. The girls squeezed their eyes shut as they raised their arms up in a last-ditch effort to protect themselves. Fionna felt GOLBetty’s claw just barely grace her forehead. That was the last physical sensation she could remember before she was catapulted through a dizzying array of memories.

Numerous visions flooded in front of Fionna’s vision. The Entity of Chaos’s power flooded her entire body, quickly flowing into Cake’s mind as well. There were thousands of memories, all forcing themselves in-between every crevice of their minds. 

Their adventures with Simon, every world they’d visited, every conversation they’d had, every single story from Betty and Simon’s love story, all accosting their consciousness. It was over in an instant, but it left Ooo’s heroes reeling. Quickly taking advantage of their disorientated state, GOLBetty chose that opportunity to shove the Crown into Fionna’s open hands. Tears began to flow freely from Fionna’s eyes. Oh, how she’d missed Simon, missed understanding how important he was. The weight of his sacrifice hadn’t even begun to sink in yet when she heard GOLBetty inhaling.

Then, she released her breath, launching them far into the abyss of space, back towards Simon’s universe. Prismo watched, shocked. After getting over himself a little, he slumped back and buckled in for the show. When GOLB made a decision, everyone else simply had to come along for the ride. That included the Wishmaster.

Of course they would land in a creek, muddy water instantly soaking every inch of clothing, skin, and fur. Cake hissed as the cold reached her skin and she immediately began to scramble out of the water, dragging Simon in tow. 

“Ugh… Where are we?” Fionna called out as she pushed herself standing. She looked around, squinting at the Candy Kingdom off in the distance. “This looks just like Aaa… Why would GOLBetty send us back to Aaa?”

Cake sniffed the air, twisting her torso around as she inhaled her environment. “Hmm… This does look like our world, but something’s different. I think we should start heading to the Candy Kingdom, see if Gumball can help us figure out what to do.” 

Off they went, tugging Simon and the crown along with them. More than once, Fionna was tempted to put it on her own head. In Jerry’s world, she’d hastily stuffed the crown into her pack. Now, it sat heavy in her hands. 

Fionna closed her eyes as she walked, brain digesting all of the memories it had just re-inherited. Despite everything, Simon had sacrificed his sanity once more to the crown, giving away his life to grant Fionna and Cake’s world magic. Just as she’d decided that she wanted to fight for a non-magical world, Simon had slipped it on. The transformation of their reality had nearly killed them. Everything had fallen apart.

It was a real blessing that The Scarab was now frozen in thick ice beneath the Ice Queen’s kingdom. Simon had sacrificed himself to madness to protect their world. And now…

Simon hadn’t stirred or woken up at all during any of the jostling. His skin was ashy and there were deep circles under his eyes. Worst of all, his breathing sounded awful. His ribs dug deep into Cake’s back. The dude was on his last leg.

“Hang on, Simon. We’re gonna get you some help.”

Marceline, Bubblegum, Finn, and half of the Candy Kingdom had formed a search team throughout the last few weeks, combing every inch of Ooo in search of their beloved antiquarian. However, efforts were beginning to dwindle as there was absolutely no luck, sightings, or signs of the man. He’d all but vanished.

Marceline had perfectly good reason to believe that Simon wasn’t even on Ooo’s soil any more, based on what she’d seen in that shitty little closet altar he’d set up. Simon had been trying to summon GOLB. At least, based on the shrine as well as her’s and PB’s research, they’d begun to assume that Simon had succeeded in his quest. 

Nevertheless, they continued to look everywhere, eyes peeled for any signs of Marceline’s father figure. So, it had to be some sort of divine coincidence that Fionna and Cake were able to walk all the way up to Bubblegum’s lab without being questioned about the man secured to Cake’s back. Somehow, none of the Candy Kingdom’s citizens had seen them stroll in. 

“Gumball! Get your ass out here right now, we have some crazy stuff to tell you!” Fionna yelled, slamming a fist against the candy door of the lab. Voices could be heard inside, shuffling and papers spilling were muffled behind the door.

“If this is some kind of weird prank,” Bonnie announced as she fumbled the door open, “I’m gonna totally- Oh shit, what? ” Her eyes finally caught on the new arrivals.

They returned her dumbstruck gaze with their own. Just as both of them stammered in an attempt to explain, Simon began to shift, eyes fluttering open.

Chapter Text

Marceline felt almost completely inconsolable. They’d been looking for weeks now, with absolutely no real leads. With the help of PB and Finn, they’d torn his little property apart to look for answers, and the ones that they’d found were damning. It was clear that he had been working to summon GOLB again, a task that risked the destruction of all of Ooo as a consequence. Marceline couldn’t even fathom why he would do such a thing.

But then again… maybe she could understand, at least a little. Simon’s actions were always based in love, always willing to sacrifice himself for the good of others. He was probably trying to sacrifice himself to bring Betty back, just as he had sacrificed himself to the crown. That was what her fear told her.

She sat in Bonnibel’s lab with her head in her hands, tears staining the thighs of her pants. Bonnie was pulling out every stop, searching every crevice. She was even attempting to create a tracker that could locate Simon’s energy signal. Everything they tried was never enough. Too slow, too glitchy, too risky, too… too much.  

She was ripped out of her whirlpool of negative thoughts by the hard rapping of a fist against PB’s door. Female voices called from the other side, voices she did not recognize. Bonnie cast Marcy an angry yet apologetic look as she threw herself off of her stool to see what the trouble was. Marceline stayed behind but leaned over to look. Internally, she was busy squashing down the sapling of hope that began to grow in her chest. This was going to be another dead end, another candy citizen claiming that they’d found something only for it to be a waste of time. This had happened a thousand times already, and yet still something stirred within.

Bonnie opened the door with a roll of her eyes. “If this is some kind of weird prank, I’m gonna totally- Oh shit, what? ”

This piqued Marceline’s interest. Bonnie never fumbled, and certainly never swore. The vampire was up and floating over to her girlfriend’s side in an instant. 

There he was, carried in a stranger’s arms. In the human’s arms was something equally shocking. Ice King’s crown. The fucking crown. Marceline felt faint, and she drifted backwards.

“S-Simon…” He returned her shocked stare with one of his own. Except, it seemed as though he was looking through her, rather than at her. He began to struggle out of the cat’s protective hold. She let him out, mostly out of surprise from the fact that he was actually awake.  

“Princess,” He said, squinting blearily, stumbling as he worked to support his own weight. Where had she gone? Simon could have sworn that he’d just been with her, wrapped his arms around her warm body. Now, she was gone, and he was upset. These losers were standing in his way.

“Woah, hey Simon, slow down.” Fionna consoled, stepping closer. It was then that Simon saw it, the precious treasure loosely wrapped in the human’s hold. His crown. Easy pickings. 

Grabbing the crown took only an instant, but when he popped it onto his head his sense of time began to grow a little abstract. Every vein in his body constricted and he felt briefly weak as the crown re-granted him access to the secrets he’d once known so intimately. Just in front of him, Marceline watched in horror, expression falling as new tears immediately sprung to her eyes. 

He tried to fight with it briefly, trying not to get swept away in the flood of power. Marceline was crying, and he had to help her. But he was weak as the crown dug its roots into his brain, blending reality with make-believe. He needed to find his princess, escape from this strange hell and return back to his roots. Needed to find Gunther, too.

People were rushing around him now, and he needed to get his body to move. There were so many hands reaching for the crown, so desperately trying to strip him of such incredible power. 

“It’s… mine! ” He yelled, jumping backwards and away from their reach. Every muscle was wired, his jaw tight as he grit his teeth.

“Fight it, Simon! You don’t need to do this!” The girl with blonde hair yelled. Was that… was that his princess? Why was she so familiar? There were many women around him, and his eyes dashed around. He had to fight, force the madness from his head, protect the people he held dear. 

It was reality-altering, mind-warping. He teetered between mentally crawling towards sanity as it was ripped from him, and sinking further into the call of the crown. What was he trying to do here, again?

… What did his princess look like, again? The approaching woman with pink hair reminded him of someone he once found fondness in. But didn’t she have glasses? This woman didn’t. Simon growled in frustration as he continued to step away from them. It was so hard to remember. He needed to find… someone. Gunther, right? It had to be. 

He tried to take flight, and found limbs dragging him down. From inside Simon’s head, the crown cooed. Let it in. The gold whispered. You could take out entire armies with this power if you allowed it to consume you. You’ll feel so much better.

Simon wanted to feel better, wanted so desperately to rid himself of the rotting feelings in his chest; freeze them up and let them suffocate under the ice. People were shouting at him, people that he did not know. The crown would help him, he knew it. Simon’s eyelids slipped closed, and he began to open the final mental blockades that protected his brain from the secrets of ice and snow. His hair began to grow out in great white heaps as his teeth sharpened. Oh, it felt so good. 

So much struggling and fighting, for… what? This was his purpose. The crown could help him finally quell the terrible feelings of loneliness and failure. He’d save everyone, find his princess, and run away with her to live happily buried in ice forever. 

Except before he could do any of that, Princess Bubblegum had gripped him by the collar and effectively sucker-punched him in the temple. The crown slipped off his head and he fell to the floor. The strain was too much, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Bubblegum stood there, panting heavily. Marceline was still inside of her lab, watching everything take place from a short distance. Simon was here. Her Simon. Except… he’d gotten the crown again, returned to Ooo with two strangers, and promptly lost his fucking mind. 

There were no words to properly describe how any of them were feeling. Fionna and Cake had just watched a stranger who looked eerily similar to someone of their own world just completely level their friend with barely any hesitation. Cake and Fionna watched as the female version of Gumball straightened herself out, adjusting her own crown and brushing herself off. 

“What gives, lady?!” Cake, ever the brave one, finally decided to speak up. She stretched over to Simon’s form and started looking him over. He’d reverted back to his human form, any physical changes quickly receding backwards. Despite this, his state was the worst that any of them had ever seen even when comparing how he looked after a thousand years of crown-control. 

Princess Bubblegum huffed, rolling her eyes. “Simon was going completely bananas. Do you two have any idea how bad it was for him to put on that crown?!”

“He was only doing it to help us out! It was his choice, he said so himself!” Fionna defended, trying to cast blame away from herself. It was true. Simon had made his own decision to put the crown on despite knowing full well what it could do. 

… Despite knowing how many people it would hurt.

Marceline drifted forward, body on autopilot. She looked as though she was in shock. The vampire came to kneel at Simon’s side, her mere presence causing Cake to take a hesitant step back. Marcy gathered Simon in her arms, hands gently ghosting over his frigid form. Despite the lack of physical transformation, he was still concerningly cold. 

“Bonnie…” She mumbled. Bubblegum immediately focused her attention on her significant other. “We need to help him, please. ” Marcy begged. She was rarely so cordial, so meek. Marceline was all about being a big presence in the room, letting everyone know who was top dog. 

Bubblegum snapped out of her own angry haze and went to attend to Simon, fingers gently feeling around his neck for a pulse. “We will have a discussion about your actions later. For now, you need to tell us what happened so we can figure out how to fix him.” 

Fionna and Cake nodded solemnly. There would be time to debate on where the blame would be placed later.

They carried him to the lab and laid him gently on a table. Fionna found a spare lab coat and folded it to gently cushion the back of Simon’s head. Bubblegum was busy hooking up a whole litany of wires to Simon’s form, sticking patches and suction cups on every inch of available skin. Marceline wordlessly helped her, handing her equipment as it was requested. 

Screens flickered on as they began to receive input, a pulse oximeter filling the room with sluggish beeping. Fionna only turned away when the Princess began to set needles into the veins of Simon’s wrists. She wasn’t a squeamish person, but she was also certainly not going to force herself to look. 

“His breathing is awful. Marcy, can you drag that oxygen tank over? We really should transport him to the hospital wing but I want to take a look at him here first.”

Marceline quietly wheeled the tank over, and Bubblegum adjusted the flow of gas from it, eventually moving to strap a mask over Simon’s face. 

Simon felt none of it, completely unaware of his surroundings. Instead, his mind had sent him back to that safe little bubble, reliving every moment with his princess. Betty. She was real, here in the deep parts of his brain. It soothed him, brought him peace to be in her presence. All he’d ever wanted was to be with her. 

Meanwhile, Marceline, PB, Fionna, and Cake were begrudgingly working to piece together the picture. Finn was on his way over, receiving a brief and curt phone call as soon as Bubblegum had gotten a free moment to step away from her patient. 

“Princess Bubblegum, I swear that we didn’t force him to put on the crown. He chose to do it himself!” Fionna defended.

“Yeah, and it’s not our fault some bored Wishmaster guy decided to use Simon like a hard drive!” Cake added.

Marceline was fuming as she listened to them bicker. Most of her attention had immediately been devoted to Simon, but now she felt stuck. There was nothing more they could do except wait for him to wake up, hopefully with regained sanity, and explain for himself. There was also absolutely no way that she would believe Fionna and Cake’s stories.

Frankly, both her and Bonnie were still reeling from the fact that Fionna and Cake were actually real, and not just a manifestation of the crown’s madness. 

“If it makes any of it better, I tried to stop him from putting on the crown!” Fionna exclaimed, arms raised and body bulked out as though she was trying to appear bigger. Both guests were starting to get super defensive, and the conversation was quickly divulging into another fight.

What a perfect time for Finn to arrive. He walked in, presence immediately interrupting the tense energy. “Hey guys! Oh- damn, Simon really is back…”

“Yeah Finn, we can see that.” Marceline griped. PB shot her a look that she returned venomously. Finn wasn’t responsible for this situation, but Marceline was having a bit of a hard time controlling herself. She watched with emotionless eyes as he pulled up a rolling chair to sit next to her, his own eyes ghosting over Simon.

“So… What’s the plan here? Also, what gives with the strangers?”

“We’re gathering some information on him before we transfer him to the hospital. I’m trying to figure some stuff out. The strangers are Fionna and Cake. They say that they’re from Ooo, but a different dimension.”

Finn got up from his chair, clearly a little anxious. He approached the girls with a raised eyebrow, scrutinizing Fionna’s face. “Huh.” Was all he had to say.

“That’s all you’re gonna say, big boy?” Cake growled in a non-threatening way. She stretched her legs until she was the same height as Finn, looking him over and sniffing him to get a handle on his scent. 

“Woah, cool! I knew a guy who could do that once. He was my brother!” Finn exclaimed, looking at Cake with awe as he pointed to the tattoo emblazoned on his chest. Cake blushed.

“I like this guy!” She said to Fionna, who in turn rolled her eyes. 

“He’s totally copying my style.”

“Hey, here’s an idea… What if you guys are like, the same person, just different dimensions! Just like what we saw on Gumball’s screen!”

Finally, it clicked in Fionna’s head. “Shoot, you’re totally right! Cake, this guy is my alternate version! His dog-brother must’ve been your counterpart!” 

Fionna and Cake’s eyes sparkled with fascination. “Ohh, do you have a BMO in this world? I haven’t seen that little robot since Jerry’s place.” Cake jumped up and down with excitement as Fionna cringed, remembering the fate of the poor guy.

“Yeah, of course! Maybe once we’ve got things figured out here, I can take you both on a tour of Ooo. What do you think, PB?”

Bubblegum hummed as she stooped over Simon, prying open one of his blank eyes to peer deep. “Not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“Awe, C’mon Peebs. I’ll make sure that they don’t get into trouble.” 

“If it makes it any better,” Fionna started, “We’ve been here for a brief moment before. Simon opened a portal and pulled us out of his head and then we got loose for a little bit before Prismo pulled us into his Time Room.”

“You guys have seen Prismo? How’s he been?” Finn butt in.

“Finn, you guys can chat about that later. Fionna, you’re telling me that Simon opened a portal and let you guys through? Why didn’t you say that in the first place!”

Both girls shrugged sheepishly. “I dunno, didn’t think it was that important, I guess.” Cake said. “I came through first, and then Fionna went afterwards a bit later and we found each other.”

Princess Bubblegum dragged a hand down the front of her face before popping a thermometer into Simon’s mouth. Marceline rose from her seat and gripped the front of Fionna’s shirt, lifting her off the ground. Cake hissed at her, ears flat with fear.

“You have the next thirty seconds to start from the beginning, and tell me everything that happened, and what you did with Simon.”

“Marcy, please-” Bubblegum started, but Fionna stopped her.

“No, she’s right. Things are messed up right now, and if we want to figure out how to fix Simon, we gotta talk about everything.” 

It took much longer than thirty seconds to get through it all. Finn, ever the gentleman, had fetched them glasses of water and a few more chairs so that they could sit and have a real conversation. Bubblegum listened intently from behind them as she continued to work on Simon. 

“So… let me get this straight. You went through a ton of different dimensions to get a new crown for Simon, even though you knew what it would do to him? And even when you decided that you liked your non-magic world better, you still had Simon put it on?!” Marceline pried after they finally finished.

“Hey, that’s not how it went! I told you, I tried to convince him to not put it on over the phone, but he didn’t listen…” Fionna finished, a little shamefully. It was kind of her and Cake’s fault that Simon had put it on, but he shared the blame too. “It was his choice.”

Marcy moved to get up out of her chair and get up in Fionna’s face, but Bonnie’s gentle hand on her shoulder disrupted her thoughts, grounding her if only slightly. 

“Fionna’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. These two did contribute to Simon’s decision to do it, but ultimately it was Simon’s choice. He was trying to do the right thing.”

He was trying to do the right thing when he put it on to protect me, Marceline reminded herself. Simon was selfless, in the most damning and reckless way. He was convinced, hellbent even, on sacrificing himself to protect others. 

… Look where that had left him. Marceline let out a breath that she didn’t even know she was holding. 

“So… How is he?” 

“His data is weird. It’s like he’s in a coma, but also not really. His temperature is also dangerously low for a human’s, but very close to what it was like when he was stuck as the IK. It’s like he’s in a strange limbo state.”

“Do you think we can fix him?” Finn chipped in.

“I sure hope so.”

Chapter Text

Simon found himself awake again as they were transporting him to the hospital wing.  It took a few minutes for his brain to get a grip on itself and figure out what was happening. He wondered where Betty was. She had just been here, they’d been doing the dishes together. 

“Simon!” Some blonde lady with a hat exclaimed, taking his hand in her own. His brain felt scrambled like an egg. The more that he settled back into his body, the more awful he felt. There were needles and tubes sprouting out of his skin and a mask strapped onto his face. Breathing felt like a major chore.

Had something happened? One minute he’d been with his princess, and they’d been enjoying a lazy Saturday. Betty had been microwaving popcorn. Now, he was here. He looked around to see if she was part of the entourage, and instead found that he was met with more strangers. Familiar strangers, but strangers nonetheless. Simon was feeling frustrated. 

“How are you feeling?” There was some tall guy with a similar white hat standing by his head. Simon felt threatened by his presence, ghostly memories of bruises leaving goose-bumps rippling over his skin. It was too warm in here. He wanted to be cold, wanted to climb into the nearest fridge and get his head screwed on right. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but the tissue at the back of his throat was impossibly dry. Instead of words, a whole jumbled coughing fit came out. People with torturously warm hands pushed him into a sitting position, and he tried in vain to pull away from their touch. This whole situation was agonizing; suffocating. 

His own frigid, shaking hand found its way to his head, patting around for the crown. Of course it wasn’t there, just his luck. 

“My crown… Where’s my crown, ” He said, growling with a scratchy voice. There were people he needed to save with the power of ice and snow, and these… incompetent strangers were standing in his way. He had a princess to save, didn’t they get it?! She was just out of his reach, whoever she was. Her name was Betty, right? Who had he just been dreaming about again? 

Gunter. His penguin. Yeah...

“Simon, you cannot use the crown. It’s destroying you.” Pink lady with her own crown chastised. He glowered at her. Perhaps if there weren’t so many hands pushing him to lay down again, if he didn’t feel so miserably awful and confused… He’d teach them all a lesson. Remind them of the wonders of the cold. He’d make everyone understand.

Putting on the crown had felt like returning home after a long time of being away. Wearing it gave him the feeling that he knew all the answers; that everything was going to work out for him. It was soothing, pushing away those nasty clouds in his mind to reveal his real goals. It didn’t matter what that nerd loser antiquarian guy wanted, the Ice King knew what his real priorities were. 

Every time he blinked, he could see her; his princess. And yet, he barely remembered her face; couldn’t recall her name. This place was messing with him, these people calling him the wrong name. He had no idea who this Simon guy was, but he sure was getting in the way along with everyone else. 

“There’s something really wrong with him, Peebs.” Another female voice said. Some lady with long black hair. Her presence was… different from everyone else’s, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. 

“I know. I’m gonna give him something through his drip to get him to chill out a little once we get there, and then maybe we can get some answers. His brain’s gone all bonkers from the crown. You should really look at the activity that came back from my scans.” Pink Lady said. 

There was some fumbling with the wires in his arm, and more narrating from the Princess. Not his princess, but maybe if he pretended, she could be. 

“It’s a miracle that I was even able to get these in, he was so dehydrated that his veins were super shrunken.” 

The other lady with the long black hair took his hand, calling him that stranger’s name again. Simon. He wasn’t Simon, fucking damnit. Frustration crept further into his expression, and his longing for the crown doubled, tripled. He could lay waste to these people. They were keeping him from everything; his princess, his happiness, his kingdom. 

Finally, they arrived at his hospital room. That strange cat character, the one that had been making occasional commentary about literally everything began to poke around before being quickly shooed off by the blonde human. 

There was even more technology in this room. Ice King’s thoughts began to sway into dark places. They’d rip his power from him, use it against the people he wanted so desperately to protect. He’d never feel the crown’s welcoming grasp again, would never see the love of his life again.

… That simply wouldn’t do. As the Pink Lady began to prepare to transfer him from the gurney to the bed, he bolted for it. The oxygen mask was ripped off as his shoes hit the floor and he scrambled towards the open doorway. An IV pole and a few machines tumbled behind him.

“Shit, Simon! ” Someone called after him. He didn't bother to look behind him to see who it was. He could feel the crown somewhere in this weirdo candy kingdom; the pulse of its power beating in time with his frantic heart. His lungs felt strained immediately, abused body entirely unaccustomed to the sudden physical strain he was attempting to lay upon it.

White and yellow-ish paws stretched after him, nimbly wrapping themselves around his legs. He went down embarrassingly easily, sprawling across the floor as he threw out his hands to catch himself. The impact still jarred his fragile self, rattling his brain. Those same paws dragged him  back towards the door, and tears pricked at his eyes. This must be some horrible nightmare. Nobody understood. He was missing his princess, the great love of his life, and she needed to be saved. He could rescue her with the power of the crown and protect everyone. 

The Ice King tried to say these things by way of explanation as he was dragged gracelessly across the slick tile. Simultaneously, he was also trying to use his ice powers. They chose to stubbornly fizzle out without a source of power. Four people shoved him into the bed, holding him down as he used every ounce of strength to break free. It wasn’t enough. Nothing he ever did was ever enough. He was purposeless without the crown.

Pink Lady brandished a syringe of something and he drew away from her with a throaty hiss. Surely, to the other occupants of this room he looked insane, but that was the least of his worries. She eyed him as she toyed with the bag of fluid flowing into his wrist.

“Sorry, Simon.” She said, not sounding one bit sympathetic. “I know that you’re still in there, somewhere. I hope you’ll understand.” The princess finished as she poked the needle into the plastic tubing.

For a few more minutes he continued to writhe as four surprisingly strong people held each of his limbs down. Yelling at them did nothing, nor did begging. Eventually he resorted to pleading; Desperate to get his message through their annoyingly thick skulls. A short while later, however, Bubblegum’s medicine began to kick in.

Simon sunk breathlessly into the mattress, chest heaving and eyes still looking dazedly for an exit. He felt the grips of his captors lessen. In the places where they’d held him for so long, there were bruises blossoming. 

Ugh, why did Pink Lady decide to drug him? Rather rude, she could have asked first. His limbs felt like expired jello. Actually, his whole body felt like expired jello that had been rolled over by a car. He felt so out of touch with it all, so distant from everything. Keeping his eyes open and focused was a real chore.

Vampire Lady took his hand again, and his half-lidded pipils followed the source of the contact until he found her face. It was stained with tears. The sight of it made his miserable old man's heart wrinkle, folding inwards. He blinked, willing his hazy vision to clear. What was he thinking about, again? Vampire lady was important to him, surely. If he didn’t mean something to her then she wouldn’t be crying. 

Long ago, he could swear that he’d been somebody important to her. He felt a deep longing to protect her, but felt equally helpless all the same. Now, here she was, in clear anguish over something that was his fault.

…If only he could remember what he’d done wrong.

Chapter Text

Things were starting to get seriously abstract. It was… as though everything had been flip-flopped around; almost in some kind of shitty prank. People kept calling him Simon. Simon, Simon, Simon. That jerk was Ice King’s number one nemesis, and he didn’t even know who the dude was! 

But the people around him kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing. Ice King was getting real tired of all of the repetitiveness and being trapped in this weird sugary hospital with all these people. They’d even forced him to wear weird nerd glasses. Sure, they helped him see. He was positive that if he saw himself in the mirror, he’d look ridiculous. It was like he was being forced to play some kind of act.

Slowly, a plan began to formulate in his mind. Maybe if he pretended to be Simon, faked his recovery… they’d let him out and leave him alone. He’d get the crown perched on his head and blast the whole kingdom in snow. Just like he’d always wanted.

… That was what he wanted, right? 

Sometimes, he really wasn’t sure. In the nighttime, his supposed “friends” would bid him goodnight, and then he would be left to the mercy of the nurses. His stupid body would hardly allow him the opportunity to escape, Pink Lady said he was severely “malnourished”, among a whole laundry list of other things.

Ice King would prefer to call it “having the perfect summer bod”, but he’d nearly gotten his head ripped off by the vampire lady the one time he’d tried to correct the princess. 

… Anyways, back to what he was saying about nighttime. In the dark, things would get weird. He could certainly feel the lull of the crown much more intensely as it called through the darkness. But… he’d be alone with his thoughts in the dark, too. 

And then, he’d finally allow himself to indulge his wonderings. What if Pink Lady and her weird friendship troop were… right? What if he was Simon? Then his thoughts would shift to the woman that he kept having dreams about. Ice King could never really remember the details of the dreams, but he’d always remember her eyes.

More specifically, her glasses. Those specific frames, shaped like the forewing of a butterfly. He’d take that detail and mull it around in his brain, try to build off of it to create a mental image of the rest of her face. He’d get to her soft red hair, and then the image would flicker out and he’d have to start again.

He couldn’t consciously remember her face, but unconsciously it was so easy. She was always there, waiting for him in his dreams. He’d wrap her so tightly in his arms, longing to never have to let go. He’d have to anyways, and they’d go on their way deep into luxurious dreams of warmth and laughter and light. 

His face would always be wet with tears whenever he’d have to mournfully peel himself awake. Then, he’d spend the rest of the day trying to imagine her face while he listened to the constant pull of the crown. 

Today would be the third day of this crap, and he felt no better than he did when he first arrived here. Ice King had never been the greatest actor, but it wasn’t like Gunther had been the greatest co-star, either. He’d do his best, grit his teeth and give them his most polite smile.

“Good morning, Simon.” Pink Lady greeted, entering his room holding a clipboard. The same old entourage of people crowded in after her. Vampire lady - Marceline, was it? Whatever. She wasn’t looking so good. Her hair was messy and her eyes had deep bags under them. The others looked tired, too. 

“Good morning, Princess,” He replied, in his most normal voice. Hand tucked neatly in his lap, posture straight and presentable. This was totally how that nerd guy would act, Ice King was pretty sure. Pink Lady seemed pleased, writing down something on her paper. 

“How ya feelin’ today, dude?” Fionna piped up from behind… Finn. Yeah, Finn. 

“I feel fine today, Fionna.” He smiled. The crown was trying to whisper something to him, but he mentally shooed it away. Soon, sweet thing. Every day started off like this, and Ice King knew their routine by now. This had been the first day that he hadn't immediately started off by insulting them or trying to fight them. This plan was definitely going to work.

Marceline floated wordlessly over to his bedside, her miserable and sad eyes meeting his. For just in instant, right as her hand found his, a spark of pain shot right up his brainstem. A flash across his vision, then… A little girl, just eight years old, lost in an apocalyptic wasteland, clinging desperately to her only hope of survival: Simon.

He blinked, hand flinching away from her’s. Her expression briefly fluctuated before being quickly forced back into one of deep, numbed out pain. That feeling of deep sadness that she’d briefly allowed him to see… it seemed to linger within him.

The princess asked him a few more questions and he gave his most normal, boring sounding answers. No, he didn’t want to be called Ice King. No, he didn’t want to freeze everyone up in ice. Yes, he promised that he was starting to remember his past.

… That last answer wasn’t entirely a lie. However, he wasn’t given the opportunity to really mull over his answer because the Princess clapped her hands together with a beaming smile. 

“Fantastic! I think he’s ready for a little test.” She announced.

“Peebs, I dunno. I think we should wait.” Marceline protested, taking the Princess’s hand. 

Bubblegum shrugged. “Hey, I get your concern. But I think this’ll help. At the very least, hopefully I can confirm some of my theories with the data we’ll get from this.”

Finn vouched too. “I think the Princess is right. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt too bad to try, right?” Beside him, Fionna and her stretchy cat nodded. Ice King had still yet to figure out anything about her, except for the fact that she kinda reminded him of someone else. 

With everyone persuaded into agreement, they began to help him out of the bed. That was a whole ordeal in and of itself. He placed two shoeless feet onto the floor, and wondered briefly when they’d taken his shoes away.

It didn’t matter, because the moment he lifted himself standing, all of the blood rushed to his head and he tipped forward. Keeping track of himself became a strange and difficult thing as strong arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep him upright.

“Simon, you really should eat more iron.” Betty said, dabbing a cold wet rag on a bruising welt covering the corner of his forehead. 

He laughed at that, then winced slightly. He’d always been a little accident prone, she knew that. “Anything to make you happy, darling.” Simon answered.

Then he opened his eyes, and he was back in the stupid candy hospital. The memory of his princess quickly receded far from his reach. 

“Woah, dude! Your pulse-machine thingy just went crazy when you got up. You good?” Cat-creature was saying. Cake. She was waving a paw in front of his face.

… How had he remembered her name just now? Shit, people were staring at him.

“Just fine!” He replied with a cheeky laugh. “I guess this, uh, body of mine isn’t used to all this movement.” Yeah, that sounded like something he’d probably say if he was a loser. The reply was met with a few raised eyebrows, but they pushed forwards anyways. He wouldn’t have this problem if he was able to wear the crown, damnit.

The short walk winded him, but the exhausted feelings were pushed aside when he realized that he could feel the intoxicating call of the crown getting closer and closer. Ice King did his best to quell his excitement. He could really feel the power thrumming through him when he turned a corner. Another turn, a quick walk down the hall, and it was there, right in front of him.

Well, sorta. It was his crown, but it was locked behind a thick glass wall, submerged in liquid, and absolutely smothered in wires. He felt angry, looking at the state of it, but he was strong enough to not allow his feelings to peek through.

Fionna, Cake, Finn, and Marceline eyed him carefully as PB led the way. He’d managed to stay on his own footing, no matter how shaky he was. Fuck, what had happened to him that had made his body so embarrassingly weak?

Whatever. The crown was right there, and it would fix him. He’d feel all better with the crown. No more weird people making him act like some book-lover, no more strange dreams about the lady with the specs. He could get back to finding himself a princess. 

They sat him on the other side of the room, away from the crown by quite a few feet. This was gonna be a challenge, for sure. As Bubblegum stuck wires onto him and readied her technology, he began to scheme. He’d go for the crown first… It would be a mad dash, but he could do it. Then, he’d grab something hard, swing it into the thick glass shielding him from his prize, and shatter it with one motion. Everything after that was easy-peasy. 

“This shouldn’t take too long, Simon.” That name again. “I’m just running a few quick scans to compare the data that your brain gives me to the data that the crown’s given. Sound good?” The Princess explained.

“Sounds great. ” Ice King replied back.

“Good. Don’t move,” She answered, flipping a few switches. This was his chance.

As soon as her machines hummed to life, he bolted for it. Tape and wires peeled away from his skin as his hands used the chair’s arms as a push-off point. Ice King’s heart exploded nearly out of his chest, and blood flowed through every corner of his body. Throwing his whole body towards the crown was a difficult feat, but its reassuring presence gave him the motivation to get all the way up to its glass enclosure.

His eyes centered on it, watching it swim in the pinkish fluid. Then, those same eyes just happened to focus on the reflection right in front of the crown. A man with brown hair looked back at him: A white streak of hair decorating his fringe, crow’s feet having made a home next to his eyes. Glasses hung off of a sallow but oddly kind-looking face. 

This was Simon, a man who had sacrificed himself to a thousand years of tormented eternity just for a little girl he’d saved from the apocalypse. This was a man who had watched his lover sacrifice herself to fuse with a being of chaos just so that he could completely waste the second chance he was given. This was Simon, a man who just wanted some fucking purpose in his life.

“Simon?” He said to himself, stopping dead in his tracks. 

Bodies launched at him, moving quickly to stop his escape attempt. There was yelling, shouting, and even someone’s horrified scream intermingled in there somewhere. 

Actually, that was Simon that had started screaming. People wrapped hands and arms around every limb, with one attacker even being so generous to put him in a headlock. None of it mattered because reality was melting anyway.

There was no air in Simon’s chest, no way for him to breathe. Actually, nevermind. There was too much air, trapped deep in his lungs. He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, and found that once again he couldn’t get enough. Tears blurred his eyes, cascading down his cheeks in thick splotches. They came to rest against the lenses of his askew glasses. 

A man stared back at him, and he realized that it was him, his reflection. No beard, no long white hair, no muumuu, no crown. Just Simon. Purposeless, useless, batty, insane Simon. 

“In olden days, I would have rewarded your insolence with death a thousandfold.” A deep voice reverberated from somewhere inside of his head. Dying a thousand times felt better than whatever this was. Maybe he was dying.  It felt like he was being ripped miserable limb from miserable limb. 

He gawked at the reflection again, watched as it was restrained and subdued. He wanted to tell the people restraining him to be kinder, wanted to remind them that he was just trying to do what he thought was right. But most of all, he just wanted to tell them that he was sorry.

Behind him, Princess Bubblegum was frantically shutting down machines as they alarmed. He wished that she could just unplug him, take him out of this confusing life. Maybe then he’d finally get a break from living this fucked up existence.

Simon’s head had never felt more clear, yet equally, it had never felt foggier. He was being dragged somewhere, and he couldn’t find himself to be bothered enough to put up any kind of fight. In actuality, he was hyperventilating, the sensation making his face feel numb. He clawed at somebody’s arm as they half carried him. As he passed a window and he saw his reflection, recognized the face of an antiquarian. 

None of this was real, it was just a shitty nightmare amidst a sea of nice dreams of his princess. Of… Betty. She always made things right. The numbness in his face had overtaken the tips of his limbs all the way to his fingers and toes, just as black splotches took bites out of his vision. 

“Simon!”

“Yes, my love?”

“Take a look at this cool artifact I just started reading about! It’s some kind of a magic crown. The book is saying that it was last seen in Scandinavia. Cool, right?”

“Really cool, I wonder what kind of magic it is!” 

No, not that day. Please, anything but that day.

But he was sucked into that memory, welcomed back to his dreams with warm arms. Betty’s arms.

Chapter Text

Things only got worse after that day. His days consisted mostly of cataclysmic mental abstraction, with moments of brief clarity sparsely interspersed in a sea of insanity. The crown was constantly calling to him, and he could always hear it. Covering his ears didn’t help, but he did it anyway. Screaming himself hoarse to drown out the noise also didn’t help, but he did that too. 

Mostly, it felt like somebody was trying to force his mind through a woodchipper. Or… maybe it felt like someone was trying to fry his whole brain on a skillet. No, that didn’t feel right either. There were no words to describe this agony, because it didn’t even feel like it was happening to his brain. Simon felt like a stranger in his own body, a soul accidentally misplaced into a stranger’s vessel. 

Time was a liquid thing, too. Sometimes it was as thick as pitch and twice as dark. Other times, it flowed through his fingers, evaporating into the air before he could even think to cup his hands to gather it. Not that he could really think at all. 

It was like being sick with every illness at once while also lacking the physical symptoms. Days passed like this, he was sure. Or perhaps it was only moments. His brain wasn’t exactly in the business of keeping track, too focused on making sure that the planet wasn’t trying to heave him off. 

The people coming to visit him never had the face that he was looking to see. He was looking for Weird Lady; kept hoping that she’d show up. She always did when he drifted off, and then she’d immediately leave as soon as he would wake up. Instead. He’d be met with a group of other people, one of which was insistent upon poking and prodding at him. 

Her long pink hair still reminded him of someone near and dear to him; his inability to remember her name or her face brought him anguish. Pink Lady experimented on him, claiming that she was trying to help him. He wanted to believe her. The pills she gave him made him tired but did little to calm the writhing turmoil inside.

“It’s like he’s going through some kind of wacky withdrawal,” She explained to the other people in the room. He tried to listen to her explanation but he was dazed, strung out on whatever nonsense his mind tried to feed him. 

“He has these brief moments of lucidity, where he even recognizes himself. He knows our names, knows where he is, and kinda understands what’s happened to him.” Pink Lady said. Or… Bubblegum, was it? He couldn’t recall. 

“So why does he keep switching back to being bonkers?”

“I know you’re frustrated, Marcy. But we just need to be patient. I’ve been timing his periods of lucidity. They appear to be getting slightly longer and more frequent!”

“Not nearly long enough.” 

A hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched in the opposite direction. The movement knocked him out of the daze he’d been so readily enjoying; the vibrating energy of the crown seeped back through every crevice of his mind. He covered his ears again, shoving his own head in between his knees with a miserable moan. 

The crown. It could fix him, take all of these nasty thoughts and misplaced memories and shove them away or maybe even throw them out. It’s curse had taken such wonderful care of him for a thousand years. Why he had ever taken it off, surrendered it’s power… he could not know. Briefly, he considered making a move to escape. An agonizing lurch of pain nearly split his head in half instead, and he folded deeper onto himself. 

His mouth was moving, he was saying something, but the mind could not identify what the mouth spoke of. Somehow, through the haze, he managed to recognize that he was also hyperventilating. His face and his limbs always went numb during panic attacks. Somebody familiar wrapped her arms around his weeping form. An unending barrage of tears escaped his eyes, and a terrible sense of foreboding snaked its way through every nerve. 

“I’m sorry,” He found himself saying. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve messed everything up, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Marceline squeezed him tighter, telling him that he would be alright as she pressed gentle kisses into his messy hair. He didn’t accept her affirmations, whether by his own volition or through his fractured mind’s stubbornness, he was not sure. 

Time got slippery again after that. He had absolutely no idea how long he’d spent hyperventilating, but ultimately he decided it didn’t matter. Marcy stayed for the entire time, even as Bubblegum herded the others away. 

What eventually pulled him out of his hellish loop was the fact that he realized that he could remember their names. Marceline, Bonnibel, Finn, Fionna, Cake. 

… Betty. 

Sluggishly, Simon moved his arms until they wrapped around Marceline. A migraine pulsed behind his eyes, and he pressed his whole face into the crook of her shoulder to block out the light.

Memories, real ones this time, flitted across his frazzled brain. Shielding Marceline from the oozers of the apocalypse, feeding her, darning her socks. Protecting her. Caring for her. Simon felt pathetic now as she shielded him from the invisible forces of his own mind. How pitiful it was, to force his own adopted daughter to take the role of caretaker. New tears swam from his eyes, and he shook from the sobs breaking free from his chest. 

Fionna, Cake, Bubblegum, and Finn sat in the Princess’s lab with their heads in their hands. Fionna had been crying on and off consistently for the last few days, and her counterparts had not been faring well either.

She blamed herself. Cake did, too. They’d wanted this, so badly, and look where that had gotten them. Fionna’s own words echoed around in her head. I knew my life was supposed to be magical. Not like this, it wasn’t. Her and Cake hadn’t even gotten to go back to their version of Ooo to see how things were going. Gary, or rather… the prince was probably freaking out over their absence. 

Bubblegum had been very kind about hosting their presence, as had Finn. But she could tell that they were all experiencing their own internal conflict. PB offered just once to start figuring out a way to send them home. Fionna had immediately shot the idea down. This was her and Cake’s doing, and they were going to stick around and figure this thing out. 

“Fi, baby, can I talk to you in private?” Cake stretched up to be right in her face, putting her front paws on Fionna’s shoulders. The human sighed and ground her teeth together.

“Yeah. Hey guys, we’ll be right back.” She said, tone dry. Fionna allowed Cake to drag her into the hallway. Cake leaned against the wall and all but deflated into it. She looked just as haggard as Fionna felt. The human settled into a spot next to her companion. 

For a moment, both of them opted to sit in silence, their breathing the only sound filling the hall. Then, Fionna stifled a sniffle. 

“Everything’s so fucked up…” She moaned as her shoulders slid down the wall. Leaning on Cake and feeling her soft fur on her cheek and arm comforted her, if only a little. Cake was her only rock in this strange world, a singular familiarity in a tidal wave of foreignness.

“I know…” Cake said back after a long pause. 

Fionna allowed a few tears to run down her cheeks. “We were just trying to make things right. I just… wanted to fix things in our world.”

“I know… ”

“What’re we supposed to do?”

Another gap filled with silence. “... I don’t know. ”

Finn came out a few minutes later and found the two wrapped in a crushing hug. Wordlessly, he plopped next to them and rested his hands on his knees. Finn was polite. Despite his size and muscular stature, he was incredibly gentle. A real hero, that was for sure. 

Not like Fionna. She had cast a man to the depths of paranoid insanity for her own selfish wants. Her brain reminded her of that during every free moment that she had. Cake’s thoughts were equally nasty. 

“It’s not your fault, you know.” Finn started. A million replies flitted through Fionna’s head, none of them kind or receptive. She chose to stay silent. 

“You’re an alternate version of me, right? That makes you a hero and a good person. I’ve made a ton of mistakes in my life, and it was because I was just trying to do what I thought was right. Sure, it didn’t always work out. But things fixed themselves eventually. I know that we can pull Simon out of this.”

“W-What if we can’t fix him?” Cake asked with a quaking voice, muffled slightly as she pressed into Fionna’s torso.

“PB’s smart. She’ll figure something out, I know it.”

Fionna and Cake desperately wanted to believe him. Really, they did. But it was hard, with all of their swirling thoughts. 

Eventually, Princess Bubblegum deemed it time for them to take the short trek back to Simon’s hospital room and see if Marceline had gotten anywhere with him. The walk over was awkward. Both Fionna and Cake had tear stains on their cheeks, and Fionna’s face was blotchy and red. They dreaded rounding the corner and entering Simon’s room, fearful of what awful delusion they’d find Simon stuck in the middle of. 

Instead, they found him asleep. Marcy sat on the floor leaning against his bed, flipping lazily through a magazine. She looked… better. 

“What’s the haps, Marcy?” Bubblegum inquired. 

“Bonnie!” Marceline jumped up. “I think he recognized me. Like, really actually recognized me!” She was smiling with all her teeth, sharp fangs on full display.

Bonnie gasped, rushing forward to hug her girlfriend. “Really? That’s great! How could you tell?”

“He said my name! And he mentioned Betty, too. Said that he was looking for her. That part didn’t really make sense, but he actually remembered her!” 

The Princess beamed, excitedly chattering back to her partner. Fionna and Cake stood in the doorway, allowing a fluttering hope to flit around in their chests.

Chapter Text

“Withdrawal. That’s the theory that I’m sticking with.” PB stated as she stared up at her whiteboard. It was absolutely filled with notes, numbers, and data. 

Cake wasn’t buying it. “Withdrawal? Like the crown’s some kinda drug? This ain’t no DARE commercial.” 

“I know, I know. Sounds crazy but I swear that it’s the truth. His symptoms are eerily similar to the ones I’ve seen. Delirium, irritability, headache, decrease in appetite, erratic behavior… Those are all symptoms of withdrawal!” 

“Can’t you… die from withdrawal?” Fionna dared to ask.

“Yeah, sometimes. But I’m gonna make sure that doesn’t happen. The unfortunate part about withdrawal is that you just need to wait it out. His mind needs to purge itself of the crown’s curse. He’s been fighting it for this whole time, and he’s slowly gaining an edge. If he keeps fighting it, he can beat it.”

Bubblegum’s fascinated visitors nodded, allowing her words to give them a sliver of hope. 

Simon had asked for a notebook a few days ago, stating that he needed something to help get his memories straight. The request had been made during another brief and sudden lapse in clarity, and was quickly obliged.

He’d spend much of the day greatly entertained by it, having always loved writing. Unfortunately, the Ice King was also equally fascinated. Simon would blink, and hours would have passed. Ice King’s humiliating and reckless scribbling would cover Simon's neat cursive. These lapses of time lost to Ice King’s delusions left him glowering permanently.

Marceline stuck to his side almost constantly. At first, her presence was a steady island in his sea of turmoil. But every time he lapsed back into brief sanity, he felt more and more afraid that he’d hurt her somehow when his mind didn’t belong to him. He was… dangerous like this. A fact that his unhelpful brain would not let him forget even when he forgot everything else occasionally. 

The longer he went without the crown, the closer to sanity he came. It was still a desperate crawl to regain control of himself, but slowly he did it. The sluggish process was agonizing for him and everyone else involved. Shame filled his waking moments, joining along with anger and deep sadness.

Simon had wasted Betty’s second chance, he knew that for certain. Even when he’d shown her that he was despicable enough to don the crown again, she still chose to protect him with her power in the aftermath. She should be the one enjoying her life in Ooo instead of squandering it away in a hospital like he was now. 

And yet still, she continued to visit him in every dream. She’d take his hand and lead him deep into happy memories. Those dreams felt so, so incredibly real. Every time he’d wake up, he’d sit up and expect to find her next to him in bed. That was only when he actually woke up as Simon. The blurry memories he’d have when he woke up as Ice King were consistently filled with confused and desperate yelling. 

Marceline stuck by his side through it all. He knew that she felt responsible for him, which was another thing he felt immense guilt for. His conscious moments were filled with miserable feelings and self pitying thought loops. 

He was currently in the middle of a particularly gnarly session of self-deprecation when the aroma of fragrant coffee hit his nose. Coffee. Simon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a warm mug of it. 

Fionna stuck her head through the doorway, waving the ceramic around with a smile. “Got a treat for you!” she announced. Simon sat up, gently placing his notebook on a side table. 

“Oh, Fionna. This is wonderful!” He reached out his hands to accept the drink, frowning quietly at how his hands shook. 

The hot amber beverage was delicious. Cake explained that PB had used her own personal set-up to brew it. The woman was a chemist, on top of being a scientist. Of course she’d be a master of brewing coffee. He drank it hastily at first before forcing himself to savor the flavor. He let himself get lost in it, so much so that Ice King slipped through the cracks again and into the forefront. 

By the time he got back to himself, the coffee was long gone. There was no way for him to enjoy anything, it seemed. He could tell that the others were starting to get frustrated, too. With every hour, the call of the crown got more and more desperate; pleas turning nasty and vicious. 

Finally, after a few more days of agonizingly slow recovery, Simon requested to leave the hospital. Bubblegum had been up in arms about it at first, immediately shutting him down and threatening to cuff him to the bed if he ever even thought about just waking out. He assured her that he had made no plans to leave. Even looking through Ice King’s muddled memories yielded no concrete plans to escape. 

He just couldn’t take it anymore. Simon was a traveler, both by trade and by heart. He’d spent much of his younger years hopping onto every expedition that he could. Even with Betty, his time was spent outside digging in the dirt looking for magic.

During the apocalypse, he’d basically whipped himself into an expert outdoorsman for Marcy’s sake. Integrating back into the real world was starting to make him believe that it could fix him, help him remember who Simon was. This hospital wasn’t the answer, and he could tell that a few of his friends were starting to think the same.

Eventually, Marceline offered up her own place. She argued that she could watch over him as he continued to get better. Simon had been doing surprisingly well for the past few days, had even spent over half of that time in control of himself. 

Eventually, when Finn, Fionna, and Cake started advocating for Marceline to take him, PB gave in.

“Fine,” She’d relented. “But if he goes completely crazy and I’m not there to fix him, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.” 

So, Simon moved in with Marceline. It was a risky operation, but Simon found it to be very worthy. Immediately, as he got further away from the crown, his brain seemed to clarify. The difference was marginal, but any progress was progress. Marceline seemed happy, too. 

With him, Fionna and Cake decided to move out of their little guest room in the castle and over to Finn’s cabin. He’d built it with Jake while he was still alive, and had called it home ever since. It would be nice for him to have a roommate or two again, too.

As Simon lay on Marcy’s couch staring blankly up at the ceiling, his brain wandered. Marceline was doing him a huge favor. He’d have to be on his very best behavior while he lived here. Simon had already inconvenienced her, not to mention scaring her half to death with the stunt he’d pulled. He could tell that she harbored a knot of deep, complicated feelings in her chest. But… He could never think of a good time to bring it up with her. That fact made him feel like twice the asshole he already felt he was. 

His anxious energy to help around the house wherever he could began to grate at Marceline. She was trying to help Simon, take care of him just as he’d cared for her. But he wouldn’t allow it. He was constantly jumping at any opportunity to cook, clean, sweep, scrub, whatever. She hated him for it. But actually… She didn’t. Marceline knew Simon, understood that this was in his wheelhouse of behaviors. Simon was a helper, a self sacrificing stubborn helper to the bitter end. 

That was what had gotten him, Fionna, and Cake into this situation to begin with. 

The more time that passed without any contact with the crown, the more Simon rediscovered himself. Its curse slowly leached out of his system, leaving a massive,empty, purposeless chasm within him.

Chapter Text

Something was… missing. Well, obviously Fionna and Cake had been gone for over a week now, but it was more than that. Prince Gumball was sure of it. His brain nagged him constantly, and he chalked it up to a severe lack of his friends’ presence. 

On the day that he’d sent them to search through Ice Queen’s castle and they hadn’t returned during the requested time window, he’d sent banana guards to storm her mountain. Arrested immediately, they’d thrown her in a holding cell in the Candy Kingdom.

For over a week now, the Prince had been scrambling around to figure out a solution to the multiple conundrums that kept trying to blow up in his face. Namely, the Ice Queen kept trying to escape. Even when she was stripped of her magic tiara, she still somehow managed to get crafty enough to gnaw through the peppermint bars of her cell with her sharp teeth alone. 

How she’d managed to do that while bound to the wall with chains, he had absolutely no idea. 

The banana guards had searched her place a million times over at this point, with no sign of Fionna or Cake. What they had discovered, however, was the frozen form of some beetle-looking guy. Gumball would never admit it to anybody, but he’d opted to leave the dude down there and keep looking for his friends. Excavating him could wait… He’d obviously been down there for a while, what was the harm in waiting just a bit more?

Ugh. Things were getting weird. And something was still missing. PG just couldn’t put a finger on it. 

That was… until Marshall Lee started coming around. He’d been quietly watching everything happen from a distance; peeking out from trees and bushes, getting the scoop on the drama in his own sneaky ways. The Prince had yet to notice, which made Marshall want to up the ante. 

He was busy poking around in PG’s lab when the prince himself threw open the door with a dramatic huff. Marshall floated upwards, and pressed himself against a graham cracker ceiling tile with a huge smirk. 

Gumball muttered to himself as he fished through paperwork. His entire lab was a mess. The supercomputer was half-disassembled, stray pieces of paper were layered over wires. He’d been trying to fix the damn computer for what felt like forever at this point. For every step forward that he took in its repairs and improvements, it seemed like he took three steps back immediately after. 

On top of that, he’d made zero progress on the data he’d received from his experiments. Some of it made sense, most of it didn’t. 

“... Can’t even bounce ideas off of Fionna and Cake, cuz they’re both MIA,” Gumball muttered to himself.

A sly smile split Marshall’s face “You can bounce ideas off of me, if you want…” 

Gumball’s reaction was instantaneous. The wheelie chair he was sitting in flew backwards, its wheels quickly ensnaring a rainbow tangle of wires. “Fuck!” He shouted, and then covered his mouth as his face turned a deep shade of red. “Marshall?! Not cool, dude!”

Marshall smirked back at him, giggles bubbling up from his chest. He floated lazily over to Gumball’s desk, prodding a few hastily scribbled-on papers with a lone finger. 

“I’m serious, man. Two brains are always better than one.” 

“Come on, Prince Gumwad. I know that you think I’m awesome. Plus, I can help you out! I’m really good with… whatever you’ve got going on here.” 

Gumball rolled his eyes. “I’ve been trying to figure this stuff out for weeks and I’ve got no leads. What makes you think you could help?” 

Marshall shrugged. “Maybe you just gotta look at it from a different angle. I mean… when was the last time you took a break and like, went outside?”

“Are you telling me I need to touch grass?” 

“If the boot fits. C’mon, let’s do something. Fionna and Cake can wait. They’ve already been gone for this long, a few more hours isn’t going to hurt” Marshall took Gumball’s hand and hoisted him into the air. PG yelped, but his guest paid him no mind as he carried the prince bridal-style. 

“Where are we going? ”

“I dunno, I’ll figure it out on the way. Here, hold this above me, will ya?” Marshall said, plopping an umbrella in the Prince’s lap. He grumbled, begrudgingly fumbling it open. The cool shade kept the vampire’s skin from bubbling in the early dusk’s sun. Below them, the Candy Kingdom was slowing down for the evening. 

Warm air ghosted against their skin, and Gumball’s ears perked as he heard Marshall humming something quietly. Internally his brain was trying to tell him to squirm out of the vampire’s hold and crawl back to the lab to continue his work. But… another part of him reveled in this physical contact. Being the prince of a whole kingdom could get lonely, at times. He felt like he hadn’t been doing too great at his job, lately. 

“I, erm, hope I’m not inconveniencing you…” PG spoke after a few moments of silence.

“Not at all, man. I had nothin’ better to do, figured I’d go bother my favorite pompous asshole for a bit.”

“Ah- hey! Rude.”

“Kidding! I’m just kidding. I just figured you could use a friend.”

“I thought you hated me.” Gumball fidgeted with his hands.

“Nuh-uh. You and I don’t always see eye to eye, sure. But I admire your selflessness and hard work.”

PG blushed, hiding his face. He felt the deep rumble of Marshall’s laughter. Despite his embarrassment from the praise, he was beginning to relax a little bit. Eventually, they found themselves landing in front of a bar on the boundary of the Candy Kingdom. It was a humble little place, but clearly well-frequented.

“... I didn’t know this was here,” Gumball remarked. 

“Course you didn’t. You never get out of the castle unless you’re swinging by Fionna and Cake’s place.”

Gumball stood in front of the door, anxiously wringing his hands. 

“... So, we could just spend our whole night staring at the door, or we could open it and go inside. Besides, I wanna put my umbrella away.” Marshall prompted. He sauntered over to the door and pulled it open, beckoning inside. The place was full of people laughing, dancing, and drinking. 

Last chance to turn back, his brain reminded him. Instead, he straightened his collar and marched inside. Marshall followed him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. They took the last two seats at the bar top, the Prince wincing at the vague sticky residue on the table. 

The bartender came over and asked for their order. Gumball froze up, and Marshall jumped into action. Two sugary shots were soon slid in their direction, and the vampire picked both up, offering one to his companion. The liquid went down smoothly, but the burn that followed left the Prince clearing his throat in an attempt not to cough. It had been… a while since he’d drank. 

Marshall smacked him on the back, laughing. “There ya go! You just needed somethin’ to loosen you up. I’d love to get to know the real Prince Gumball, not the guy who festers in his lab all day.” He stuck up two fingers, and two more drinks were passed their way. PG opted to nurse this one.

“Well, has anyone ever told you what my first name is?”

Marshall raised his eyebrows. “Do tell,”

“Probably kind of a boring name, but it’s Gary.”

“Mmm. Prince Gary, ” Marshall teased with a little bow in his seat. “I like it. It suits you. A cute little name for a cute little prince.” 

Gary choked on his drink, attempting to hide his sputtering by swallowing the rest of it down. “Awe, c’mon. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not! Really, I swear. Tell me more about you.”

PG huffed, placing his empty glass on the bar. For the next hour, they chatted casually. The bar was warm and loud, people talking loudly as they danced to the music. Marshall’s presence was steadying, his deep and quiet voice a reassurance. 

Gumball was three drinks in, as was Marshall, when the vampire jumped up. A new song had just started playing, and it was one of his favorites. “Hey, wanna dance?”

“Oh, I don’t really-” But Marshall had already taken Gary’s hand and dragged him into the crowd of people. Normally, Gumball would be horrified to dance in front of others, especially his citizens, but tonight was different. Maybe it was the mild buzz he’d built from the drinks, or maybe it was something else.

Marshall’s hands were wrapped securely around Gary’s as they bounced to the beat. In the low light, Gary admired the details of his companion’s face. His mind had finally shut up about getting back to the lab, accepting fate as it was. 

Marshall smiled, fangs poking out. He’s kinda hot, Gary’s brain whispered. In response, he ripped his eyes off of Marshall’s face and stared pointedly at the floor. 

“Hey, can I ask you something kinda weird?” He heard the vampire ask. Oh boy. PG nodded, gaze returning back to what was in front of him. 

“These last few days I’ve been feeling like there’s been something missing… and I just couldn’t figure out what it was. But ever since I dragged you out of your lair, I haven’t really noticed that feeling. Do you… feel the same?”

Gary closed his eyes and searched deeply inside of himself. That feeling that had built a nest deep in his chest seemed to almost completely have abandoned its post. “Huh… Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, I’ve kinda been feeling the same way.”

“... And do you still have that feeling?”

“No, I guess. Not so much.” 

Marshall beamed at him. Around them, the music shifted to a different song, a slower one. Ah, how convenient. All around them, couples joined together harmoniously. Gary blushed for what was probably the millionth time that night as an idea wandered into his head. 

“I… I think I know what was missing,” He murmured into Marshall Lee’s ear. This is a bad idea!!! His brain screamed, but he shoved the voice away. 

“Yeah?”

“You.” Gary whispered. Their lips met. Gary inhaled deeply though his nose as an overwhelming dizziness came over him. Marshall wrapped his arms around his partner in a tight embrace. That feeling fizzled out, and for the first time in what felt like forever, they both felt whole again.

Chapter Text

Bubblegum had been skeptical at first about Simon moving. She had made that very clear. But Simon was getting better.

At least, that’s what he wanted everyone else to think. He put up a convincing act, warping the state of his progress so that it looked… better. He was making progress, that part wasn’t a lie. But it was slow, and every day looked a little different. Mostly, he’d just gotten a whole lot spacier. 

Marceline was adamant about making him take it easy, and in turn, it was easy to hide his blank stare. Entire afternoons were spent on the couch, watching movies and reading books, and he wouldn’t remember any of it. It was like he was on autopilot, if one could even call it that. Maybe it was like if someone was on autopilot but it was a really particularly shitty autopilot. 

Simon was a writer, and yet he couldn’t find the words to describe how he felt. That was because he didn’t really feel much at all, save for a terrible chasm of grief that had opened at the forefront of his mind. He preferred not to think about it.

… Which was why he’d begun spacing out so much. It wasn’t on purpose, he swore. Just a terrible way to cope. In all honesty, it freaked him out. Simon was surprised that Marceline hadn’t noticed. Frankly, she was just happy that he’d stopped acting like Ice King. She’d told him as much. He wanted to tell her that he still felt like Ice King half the time, especially with how his whole reality had a constant, fuzzy sheen to it. 

Instead, he smiled and nodded. He’d worried her enough. She’d seen enough of his insanity, over a thousand years worth of it. She deserved a break. With every hour that ticked by, he felt more and more loathing for how he burdened her with his presence. Yet still, she was kind to him. Cooking food for him that he barely managed to pick at, draping a blanket over him when he nodded off on the couch, holding his hand during the times that his mind still slipped. 

He could still hear the crown, even from afar. Bubblegum had told him during a visit that he’d gotten lucky. She explained it by saying that since he’d only had it on for short periods, he’d been given a gateway to escape its madness. 

Simon didn’t quite understand. His brain scans were showing a decrease of magical presence, and yet he still felt… off. Spacey. The feeling was akin to falling asleep, or even sleep-walking. Half of the time it felt like his brain was cooking inside of the skull. 

Sometimes, during his little space-outs, he would dream. Well, ‘dream’ wasn’t the right word. He’d experience memories as though they were happening in real time, except… they weren’t real. A lot of them consisted of his time as Ice King, or his time in the hospital. Kidnapping princesses, engaging in magic fights with blurry-faced foes, sitting in the hospital as his mind tried to snap clean in half. 

Those memories would last for hours too, and he’d blink back to find himself sitting stiffly on the couch next to Marcy and sometimes PB. How they hadn’t noticed his strange behavior, he could not say. 

He blinked back to himself as the smell of smoke filled his nose. Dinner stared up at him, seared directly to the inside of the pan. It was blackened and sizzling pathetically. Ah, shit. He stirred frantically, trying to disperse the heat. Quickly, he realized just how much of a lost cause it was. He looked at the timer on Marceline’s stove, and realized that there was still an hour before she was due to return home. This was the first time she’d felt comfortable to leave him by himself, and Simon wanted to surprise her with dinner. He was going to prove to her that he wasn’t a complete invalid. He could still do this.

… How long had he spaced out for? He couldn’t even remember starting to cook dinner, his body had just started the process. Heaving a disappointed sigh, Simon carried the pan over to the trash and dumped out bits of still-smoking meat. Then, he took the cookware over to the sink and began filling it with water.

PB had told him that the crown’s magic was being slowly purged from his mind, right? He hadn’t just made that up, right?! What if she was wrong? What if he was stuck like this forever, the crown’s magic lending him immortality even when it wasn’t resting on his head? What if he had to live like this forever, stuck in a daze of blurry, gap-filled memories? 

Simon knew his luck, and he knew just how much of it he had. Sure, he’d gotten lucky with some parts of this terrible situation, but surely there had to be something that they were missing; some catalyst that would end up destroying his life. If anything, that catalyst is me, Simon thought. It had been his choice to put on the crown, and now it would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

The more he thought about it, the more that he began to successfully convince himself that he’d be stuck like this forever, the mental version of living with eternal diaper butt. 

… Was this… just as bad as being Ice King? At least that guy had some kind of purpose, even if it was convoluted with madness and delusion. What if he was better off as Ice King, better off if he let the madness of the crown swallow him? I’m gonna be the Ice King till the sun blows up, he realized with dread.

“Yo Simon, we’re home!” Marceline announced from the doorway. Princess Bubblegum smiled softly at him from beside her. 

Fuck.

Her voice startled him back to the present. Water burbled over from the top of the pan, draining into the sink. His rippling reflection stared dumbly back at its host.

“Ah, ahaha, Marcy! And Princess Bubblegum! Um, welcome back.” He said stupidly. Of course they were home early. The smell of burnt food stung acridly in his nose. A glance at the clock nearly sent him staggering.

They… weren’t home early. Simon had just spent an hour spacing out in front of the sink, wasting Marceline’s water and burning her food. 

“Awe, did you cook something for yourself already? I brought us all some takeout from this new place that PB suggested.” Marcy said, rustling the bag clutched in her pale hand. Simon moved a shaking hand to shut the tap off, ending an hour-long flood of wasted water.

An hour. I blinked out for a whole hour, and didn’t even realize it. Simon tried to grapple with this truth as he stared blankly at the bag full of food that was being held out for him to accept. Marceline smiled at him. He felt nauseous. 

“Th-thanks. I’m gonna, uh, go to the bathroom really quickly. I’ll come eat with you guys in a few.” 

Both girls shrugged. “Don’t drown!” Marcy called jokingly after him as he made his hasty march towards the bathroom. Simon slammed the door harder than he’d intended to, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t even bothered to turn on the light, not wanting to have to face himself in the mirror to gawk at his own foreign-looking self. 

Deep in his chest, his lungs were working overtime, and the nerves in his face were starting to tingle again. Simon knew he was hyperventilating, but was helpless to stop it. Shaky legs robotically found their way over to the edge of Marceline’s bathtub, and he plunked down to lean against it. 

There was a ringing in his ears and it was all-consuming. It distorted all of the sounds around him, made it impossible to discern the noises coming out of his mouth from the noises of his surroundings. Just outside, Bubblegum giggled at one of Marceline’s jokes. It was getting hard to tell what was real. 

Was Marceline real? Was this room real? Was he real? It certainly didn’t feel like it. Perhaps this was all another one of GOLBetty’s delusions, some strange augmented memory that she’d conjured up to protect him from the influence of the crown. She’d done that, hadn’t she? Those weeks he’d spent with her before waking up in the Candy Kingdom weren’t real… This was real. This wasn’t real. He couldn’t tell.

His chest burned, and he coughed as quietly as he could to try and expel the feeling. Of course, that action sent him into a coughing fit. Oxygen was a fickle, hard-to-catch thing. Simon simply couldn’t get enough of it. The dark bathroom swam around in his vision. His own shaky hand found its way into his graying hair and pulled hard. The pain did little to distract him; merely stacking onto the pile of festering agony that made up his body.

His body… Was this his body? Had it been his body when the Ice King was in charge? So many questions, so little answers. Every time he asked a question, another question about that question popped into his swirling mind. 

More than anything, he wished that the tinnitus in his ears would just shut up. He wished that his endless thoughts would cease, wished that he could get his fucking brain together enough to spend more than just an hour with some halfway decent coherency. 

Marceline is going to notice that I’m having a pity party in the bathroom. I’m already burdening her, I can’t make it any worse. He told himself off, yet made no move to scrape himself off the floor. Tears made tracks down his cheeks and his eyes stubbornly refused to focus. More coughs tried to force their way out of his throat, and he held his breath until splotches of black overcame his vision just to avoid making any noise. 

This isn’t real. None of this is real. I need to get myself together. There’s no use in throwing a pity party in a dream. He whispered internally. Shaking arms hoisted him off the floor, and he stumbled to the sink. Simon’s breathing resumed far too quickly, and all of the blood in his body was instantly displaced as he launched himself upwards. Dizziness overcame his vision, but he fought against it. Stumbling over to the sink, he threw the water on and waited impatiently for it to get as hot as it would go. 

Marceline had recently cranked the water heater up to the highest setting to make sure that everyone got enough hot water for their shower. With one hand gripping porcelain, he stuck the other into the near-boiling stream. 

Breath stuttered in his throat as he felt the sear. The pain followed shortly after, and he honed in on that feeling. New tears joined the ones drying on his cheeks, but slowly his heart began to settle. His vision clarified, yet still retained that same fuzzy filter. The hand boiling under the water quickly turned red, but he opted to keep it there for another minute. Eventually, the pain became unbearable and he pulled it out.

A small, logical piece inside of him urged him to run the hand under cool water to stop any damage, but he shoved that piece away. He needed this, deserved it even. 

…He’d just wasted so much water. 

It didn’t matter anyways, because none of it felt real. Even after everything, he still felt incredibly spacey. Briefly, Simon considered sticking his other hand under the boiling water, but he remembered that Marceline and Bubblegum were still on the other side of the bathroom door, probably waiting to eat dinner with him. 

He wiped his face, straightened his bowtie, ran his fingers through his hair. Simon had failed to do something as simple as cooking dinner. The least he could do to make up for it was to show up and look presentable.

Chapter Text

“Hey, do you think the Ice Queen from our universe has the same curse as Simon’s crown?” Fionna had been thinking about that question for several days now, and she’d decided that dinner time at Finn’s place was the perfect time to ask. 

Cake shrugged, chewing a huge bite of meat. “I dunno. I guess so, since she’s got her magic tiara. That might be good to look into when we get back.”

“Woah, you guys have an Ice Queen in your world? What’s her deal?”

“She’s crazy, just like Ice King was.” Fionna jumped at the opportunity to explain. Cake stayed quiet. Eventually, after a few minutes of describing her, Fionna looked over to see her companion looking glum. “You okay, Cake?”

“Well, now that we both remember what Simon had to go through with his crown, I’m havin’ a real existential crisis…” Cake said, pushing food around on her plate with a paw. 

“Do you… feel bad for how we treated the Ice Queen?” Fionna prompted.

“Yeah. Of course I do. Ugh, this whole time we’ve been here I’ve been feeling so weird.”

Finn hummed. “How so?”

“Like… our whole world is jacked up. Ice Queen’s a real person underneath that fluffy dress and tiara of her’s. And… nobody remembers who they were when our world didn’t have magic. Gary and Marshall don’t even remember who they are. We fought so long for something that wasn’t even the right thing to be fighting for.” Cake sunk back in her chair. Across the table, Fionna sighed.

“I know how you feel.”

“I spent so long bein’ a housecat, I’m still so new to these complex feelings and junk.”

Finn chuckled a little. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’m still no good with feelings either. Sometimes, ya just gotta stumble through life and forgive yourself for the mistakes you make, y’know?” 

Cake sighed, mouth stubbornly tilted into a frown. “But what if those mistakes end up ruining the lives of the people you care about?” She mumbled.

“Cake…” Fionna started. She stood and walked over to Cake’s chair. After gently scooping her cat into her arms, Fionna plunked back down in Cake’s seat. They relished in each other’s company. “You haven’t ruined people’s lives. We messed up but we thought we were doing the right thing. When we get back, we’ll help everyone get right again, okay? At least we have each other, and our memories.”

“You also said that nobody got hurt when Prismo switched your world over, right? Everyone’s alive, they just don’t have their memories. You guys can totally fix this!” Finn encouraged, raising a fork skywards with a bright smile.

For the first time all evening, Cake smiled back.

Simon, however, had no idea how to fix any part of his life. Marcy treated him like he was made of glass, and Bubblegum was intent upon scanning every layer of his brain; studying him like some kind of lab rat. He might as well be a lab rat. At least that would give him some fucking purpose. 

Life had been reduced to a vicious cycle of three things: Sleeping, spacing out, and having hyperventilation episodes in the bathroom. He wondered if other people felt like this, too. Surely other people had it way worse than him. His trauma was self-inflicted, and he thought it frankly ridiculous that he was reacting like this. 

It was his choice to put on the crown, and his responsibility to deal with the aftermath. Instead, he’d somehow gotten it twisted so that Marceline, Bubblegum, Finn, Fionna, and Cake were all trying to deal with it for him. Why couldn’t they understand that this was Simon’s burden to bear? 

Ah. He blinked back to himself at the sound of Marceline’s voice. He was standing in the bathroom again. Shaking hands gripped cold porcelain as blank eyes stared at an unfamiliar face in the mirror. My face, he tried to reason. It didn’t look like his face. Those hands didn’t look like they belonged to his body. 

“Simon, did you hear me? PB and I are going out again, but we’ll be back in an hour. Text if you need anything, okay?” 

“Thanks Marcy, have fun!” He called back. His voice didn’t sound like his. 

He had a doctorate degree and enough outdoorsman skills to survive an apocalypse, and still he did not have the faintest idea of how to fix the way he was feeling. Marceline’s front door closing dragged him out of his thoughts again. 

Simon hadn’t seen sunlight in a few days now. That was a good thing, given that it could damage or even kill Marceline. She preferred to come and go at the late and early hours of the day, right when there was enough light to see but not enough to cause blisters.

A bit of dusk sun would be good for him, he decided. Dressed in his usual attire, he tucked his wallet in his pocket and used Marcy’s hidden spare to lock the door to her house. Before he stepped out, he taped a note to the fridge explaining that he wanted some fresh air and that he’d have his cell on him just in case.

It probably would have been better to text her, but Simon was a 20th century man, after all. She’d see the note and understand. Probably.

Wind gently brushed past him as he made his way towards the candy kingdom. Without meaning to, Simon let his mind wander to various places. He thought of how his beloved Marcy had grown. Finn had certainly grown, too. The entirety of Ooo had experienced a major spurt in the last thousand years. It was certainly a much different place than the one that he’d grown up in. There were nearly no remnants of the time he’d spent living with Betty.

Betty. He closed his eyes as he continued to walk, thinking of her. Four eyes pierced his mind’s own eye, and his heart stuttered. Simon had tried just about everything to fix her, to save her. Still, he’d failed. Instead, she had to save him again because of his own reckless abandon. 

Part of him wished that she’d just let him be consumed by madness. Immediately upon having that revelation, he was appalled. Betty had sacrificed herself for him, and here he was, selfish enough to consider succumbing to the crown’s insanity.

“Sir, are you gonna buy something, or are you just gonna gawk at the merchandise?” 

What the fuck? He scrubbed his eyes with his hands and looked around to find himself in… a convenience store? When had he gotten here? Simon’s heart rate sped up considerably. Shit. Candy people were looking at him and he felt dizzy under their ministrations. 

How in Glob’s name had he wound up here? The last memory he had was climbing down from Marcy’s cave. His eyes dashed around the store and he started wringing his hands uncomfortably. 

People were looking, judging. Think, Simon! Don’t be an idiot! He chastised himself.

“Cigarettes. Just the, uh, green pack behind you. Please.” Fuck. Now here he was, wasting money on a product that he didn’t even like. The cashier rolled her eyes, reached behind her, grabbed the pack, and rang him up. He passed her a bill without even looking at what kind it was. She took it, and started counting out his change. Before it could be dumped in his hand, he’d already scurried out the door.

Being out of the grating fluorescent lights brought him immediate relief. The sun had nearly set, and he clutched the pack in his hand like a lifeline. He hadn’t smoked since college, a brief habit that he’d quickly forgotten after meeting Betty.

Betty. No. Not again. It was so easy to get pulled away in a thought-loop about her. Simon wanted nothing more than to get sucked up in a daze of memories, but he was in public, damnit. He forced his legs to march his body over to a bench, and plunked down on it. He pulled the plastic skin off of the pack, and winced as the smell of tobacco hit his nose. 

Delicately and with surprisingly stable hands, he pulled a cigarette out of the pack and slotted it neatly into his mouth. Then, he froze. Idiot. No lighter, the realization dawned. 

Swallowing his pride, he walked back into the convenience store and back up to the cashier. Plucking the first lighter from the pile of them near the register, he smiled shakily at the woman. She rolled her eyes.

“Just take it. The bill you gave me earlier was way more than enough to pay for it.” 

His smile fell, replaced by an ever-deepening blush as he marched out of the store once more. Mentally, he made a note to never go back. 

Soon enough, he found himself sitting on the same bench again, watching the sun cast its final dying rays on the land around him. Simon drew the same cigarette out of the pack, and popped it back into his mouth. The flashing fire seared black spots into his vision as he watched it burn the white tip.

He inhaled deeply, the menthol tainting every tastebud. Then, he spent the next five minutes coughing, eyes watering and mouth tasting of ash. The rush of nicotine made him dizzy and a little nauseous, but after he righted himself he took another drag. This time it was smaller, and he mostly kept it in his mouth rather than sending it straight to the deepest corners of his lungs. 

It had been over a thousand years since he’d had nicotine, and had long since forgotten how it made him feel. His nervous feelings wavered upwards and his appetite went completely out the window, but… so did his swirling thoughts as well.

His mind slowed, thoughts being forced to pace themselves a little more. Simon tried to relax into the hard wooden bench a bit. Hopefully the stench of the tobacco wouldn’t linger on his clothes and teeth. 

Then again, what would happen if it did? Marceline was not his warden, and was certainly not there to police him like a strict parent. She would probably be a little upset, though. He didn’t want that. Simon took another shallow drag and marveled at the way that the smoke danced around in the deep orange light. Stars were beginning to peek out behind fluffy purple clouds. 

He tried to reach deep inside of himself to remember what it was like to feel real; to feel like his body belonged to him, and not some madman. Instead, all he found was a craving for the crown. It was here, in this kingdom. Perhaps it was even in the same room of Bubblegum’s castle, still submerged in sickly liquid and covered in suction cups and wires. He could grab it, place it on his head, and send all of his shitty memories straight to the dump. He wanted it, needed it.

Instead, he took another drag of smoke. This one was longer, deliberately so. He let it burn, felt the heat of the cigarette burn the back of his throat. It felt good… Concerningly so. Whatever. It was better than allowing himself to ruminate over the crown. 

Eventually, the phone in his pocket began to buzz, and he answered the call without even looking at the name on the screen.

“Simon! Are you okay? I saw your note, and I-”

Simon chuckled. He’d never known Marcy to be such a worrier. But then again, she had worried for him often during their time in the apocalypse. “I’m fine, Marcy. I think that I just needed to get some sunlight and fresh air is all.”

The sigh of relief that he heard from the other side of the phone was palpable. He felt shame for once again making her worried. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No,” he answered. “I’m not far. I’ll be home soon.” They said their goodbyes and Simon sighed as he eased the phone back into his pocket. Now he had a choice to make. 

The cigarette pack sat in one hand, and the lighter rested in the other. He could throw them out. The trash can was right there, next to him. Or, he could put both on the bench and walk away. Either choice would be good.

Instead, both items found a welcoming home in his pocket.

Chapter Text

Simon always dreamt of Betty. Every night, she was there in his dreams. They did everything together, no matter how mundane. Trips to the grocery store, late nights studying in the library, watching TV together. In his dreams, life was just about as normal as it could get. 

Fuck, how he missed the mundane. By itself, not every moment of his life during that time had been remarkably memorable. But her presence was what had made it special. There was nothing special about life now. Simon would never admit it, but a small part of him missed being locked in a false dreamworld while he was stuck in GOLB’s dimension.

He’d never admit that to a single soul. He was supposed to be grateful for Fionna, Cake, and Prismo’s risky endeavors. And he was… to a degree. The guilt he harbored as a result of his feelings was eating him alive. That guilt was overshadowed, however, by many other emotions.

For one, there was the grief. A deep grief that he had felt for over twelve years now, a burning grief that he had felt ever since she’d first disappeared when he’d placed the crown on his head a thousand years ago. Then, there was the unstoppable numbness. He was grateful that it was so able to overshadow most of his other emotions, but a very tiny part of him missed being able to experience the broad spectrum of emotions.

His journey with Fionna and Cake certainly had reminded him that there was more to life than just rotting away in his shitty museum exhibit, but it had also been a stern reminder that he was meaningless without some kind of purpose.

The crown had given him that purpose. His annoying, nagging brain still had not stopped trying to scheme ways to steal it back. That had only added to the dogpile of misery that stewed just beneath the surface. 

Marceline, Bubblegum, Finn, Fionna, and Cake didn’t suspect a thing. Or at least, he desperately hoped that they hadn’t noticed his strange behaviors. They hadn’t said anything. 

Finn had invited them over for a picnic, always the first to advocate for spending time in the great outdoors. Simon wanted to enjoy the beautiful weather and the company of the people dear to him, and yet when he searched inwardly for any inkling of happiness, he smashed head-first into a dark wall of nothingness. It mingled with a deep longing for the crown. 

Simon hated himself for that fact. Disgust over his own desires pooled in his gut; The meager bites of food being mushed between his teeth turned straight to sour ash. He put his sandwich down and turned his gaze upwards. They all sat together beneath the tree that Finn had planted using Fern’s seed. It was healthy; plump branches wavering slightly in the breeze.

The others were chatting away. Princess Bubblegum was fascinated with Fionna and Cake’s stories of their own world. She’d even whipped out a notebook from her pockets and was furiously taking notes as the two blabbed on about… whatever. He wasn’t listening, instead opting to allow his eyes to unfocus as his mind drifted back to Marceline’s house in her cave. That pack of cigarettes that he’d unwillingly purchased sat untouched in one of her junk drawers in the kitchen. How he longed for one now. Instead, he chose to lean back against one of the gnarled roots sprouting from the base of the tree. Exhaustion dogged him at every second of every day, and he let his eyes slide closed. Bubblegum had informed him that the tiredness was just a symptom of his withdrawal, and would fade with time. He hoped that she was right; All the same, he was convinced that he’d feel like this forever.

Spaced out, confused, a little nauseous, and constantly at the edge of one of his hyperventilation spells. Simon had also convinced himself that he was the only person in all of Ooo who experienced them, an experience uniquely correlated to his own life. 

He wished to have just one normal day, just a single day where he didn’t feel so ridiculously pitiful. Every waking moment felt wasted, as though he was just living out his life as he waited impatiently for the gentle release of death.

“What do you think happens when we die?” Betty asked one evening as they lay together in bed. It was late at night, and Simon had all but drifted into a relaxed doze against the soft sheets. 

“Mmh? Why do you ask?” 

“Dunno. I felt a lump in my boob the other day and I convinced myself it was cancer before I realized that it was just a lobe.”

SImon chuckled, rolling over so that he could wrap an arm around her waist. He cracked one eye open and looked at her with a smile. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it much. Our lives are just kicking into gear, and we’re both much too busy living. ” 

She hummed contentedly, her hand finding his. “I think… after we die, maybe we reincarnate. That would be pretty cool.”

“Yeah? If you could be anything, what would you reincarnate into?” 

“Something awesome, obviously. Like a dragon, probably.” 

Simon giggled, his mind producing an image of a fiery red dragon with pointy blue eyes. “That would be pretty crazy.”

“Yeah, but it would be fun, too. What would you be?”

Simon breathed deeply, thinking for a moment as he reveled in the scent of his lover. “Maybe like… a butterfly or somethin’. It would be nice, getting to drift along in the wind, migrating around the world in search of the best pollen.”

Betty smirked. “You would be a butterfly, wouldn’t you? Mr. Soft guy, fluttering around in some big ole’ forest. As a dragon, I’d eat you right up.” 

Simon rolled his eyes with a snort, opting to allow that to be his reply. He closed his eyes again. Betty shifted, leaning over to plop her book onto her nightstand and turn her lamp off. 

Simon woke with his cheek pressed against Finn’s backside. The residual emotions from his dream faded quickly; any love and closeness that he felt for his partner spiraled down a metaphorical drain. He was left with the same familiar emptiness.

Briefly, he thought about going back to sleep. Certainly, he was still tired enough to do so. But his fragile sense of self-esteem kicked in, and embarrassment heated up both cheeks when he realized that Finn was carrying him. He squirmed, and Finn looked behind him to check out the commotion.

“Oh hey! Good afternoon, Simon.” Finn greeted as he stooped over to allow Simon access to his own two feet. Simon huffed as he straightened himself out.

“Good nap?” Fionna asked.

Play it cool, Simon. Don’t tell them that you were dreaming about your dead partner, his brain taunted. “Not nearly as good as the one in Baby World,” He replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ha! I miss that place.” Fionna smiled back. Beside her, Cake agreed. They continued their casual stroll back to their respective residences, chatting idly about whatever came to mind. 

Beside them, Marcy stayed silent. Simon knew that look on her face. She was stewing. There was obviously something on her mind, but he knew better than to bring it up right now. His brain kicked into gear, flipping through a million possibilities. 

She could be upset about anything. His shitty attitude, his weird spaced-out moments, his crappy eating habits, the fact that he’d burnt dinner a week ago when she’d come home with take-out. That or maybe she’d found his cigarettes, or maybe she’d started catching onto the fact that he kept hiding in the bathroom to hyperventilate, or…

“Hey Simon, d’you mind passing me the salt?” 

“Huh?” How had he wound up in her kitchen? Hadn’t he just been on a brunch picnic with his friends?

“The salt, dude. You’re kinda standing right in front of it.” 

At this point, he was quickly getting used to experiencing weird time-jumps. However, he’d just lost half a day’s worth of time. Clearly, he’d been able to pass off his behavior enough that nobody had gotten suspicious. Or maybe they had. He had no idea, given that he had absolutely no memory of the past seven or so hours. 

He handed her the salt shaker as his memory flitted back to what he could recall of their walk back home. She had been upset, very subtly so. “Marcy, can I ask you something?

“Sure Simon, what’s up?” Her tone was mellow, but a little curt.

“Earlier today you seemed upset when we were walking home. Are you okay?”

He huffed, a little smile coming to her face. “I can never hide anything from you, can I?”

“I guess not. Spill the beans, kiddo.”

She put the salt down, threading fingers through her hair. “I’ve been… worried…”

“Worried?” Oh boy.

“Yeah. Worried about you, I guess. I’m glad to have you back, and I see you getting better every day, but… I dunno. I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid for caring about me, Marcy.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she turned to face him. Her face was sad, worn. She was a thousand years old, just like him. Yet, he could still see the same scared little girl caught up in the apocalypse if he peered into her eyes. 

“Be honest with me,” She spoke, scooping up both of his hands in her own. “Are you doing okay? You’ve been so… quiet lately.”

And now, he was faced with a choice. He could be honest with her, and send her spiraling deeper into concern for his sanity. Or, he could lie to her and force himself to live with the fact that he’d been dishonest with the being he cared most for. Fuck.

“I’m…” What’ll it be? “I’m okay. I’ve got a lot on my mind that I’ve been processing lately, but every day I get a little better, right? I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying you.” Simon grimaced.

“No, no. Don’t apologize, Simon. It’s my choice to worry about you, remember?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I know that. I’m doing okay.” 

“Promise?” She said, lifting up one pale hand and offering her pinky to him.

Man, he’d never be able to forgive himself for this. She’d never be able to forgive him, either. He was sure of it. “... Pinky promise.”

His pinky wrapped around her’s, and all the breath leaked out of his chest. For the rest of the night, his thoughts were swirling around in a panic, and he hardly ate dinner. As he lay under the blankets that Marceline had so generously loaned him to use, he could only focus on one conclusion:

He had to move out, and find his own place to live. For her sake. 

Chapter Text

The longer that they were away from their reality, the more concerned that both Fionna and Cake grew. Simon’s recovery had been their highest priority. But… they were both starting to miss home, no matter how different it would be when they returned. Princess Bubblegum was also strangely antsy to send them on their way, citing that having two being displaced from their dimension had the potential to cause “catastrophic events', or something like that.

Which… had led them to their current predicament, which was trying to come up with a way to get them home. Bubblegum’s suggestion of opening a portal seemed the most probable, considering that Fionna and Cake had been launched through a portal in Simon’s head to begin with. 

“When I first found the portal that I went though, it was at the bottom of an ice cream cart. In our non-magic world, Ice Queen owned that cart.” Cake explained.

Fionna hummed, reminiscing. “I miss her strawberry ice cream. My portal popped up in Gary’s freezer.”

PB scratched her chin, mouth turned downwards in thought. “So… we should just open up a portal in the Ice Kingdom. You guys said that the last portal you went through was in the Ice Queen’s place, right?”

“Yeah, but would it make sense to do that when the portal doesn’t even exist inside of Simon’s head anymore?” Fionna pointed out.

“I think so. Simon no longer has his connection to your world, but I think it still makes sense to send you back that way because we know for certain that Ice Queen’s castle is stable enough to support such incredible power. We just need to do the ritual.”

… Those were the words that Simon was dreading to hear. He’d come to that conclusion a day prior, when Bubblegum had brought up brainstorming a way for Fionna and Cake to get back. He knew that it would have to happen at some point; that Bubblegum, with all of her extraordinary scientific knowledge, would naturally come upon the conclusion that they’d have to do the ritual again.

It frankly felt like another slap in the face that they were wanting to do it in the Ice Kingdom.

“We’ll need a battery,” Finn jumped in to add. Bubblegum nodded. “What about Ice Thing? He’s got wish magic up the wazoo, I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige.”

Marceline’s eye caught Simon’s, and he quickly diverted his gaze to stare a hole into the ground. She read him like a book anyways, picking up on the way his posture slumped and his shoulders hunched inward. She floated over to him, her comforting hand finding its way over to his shoulder. 

Today had been rough so far, and this was the shit cherry on top of the shittier cake. Thoughts of moving out plagued him, and he just couldn’t figure out a good time to bring it up. Marceline would be deeply saddened, and that fact alone made him reconsider. But he couldn’t lie to her like he currency was, not for much longer because that was also eating him alive too. 

The fact that they were inside of PB’s lab having this conversation didn’t help either. This was the closest he’d been to the crown in quite some time. Silent singing permeated the inner walls of his ears; the crown’s call a dog whistle that only he was aware of. Bonnie had been honest in her intentions to test him around its presence, and having to tune out the song when he was so damn close to it was… agonizing, to say the least. 

But he could be good. Grit his teeth, shut it out, act normal. Normal, normal, normal. Get through this, and maybe you’ll prove that you’re ready to move out of Marcy’s place, his brain so helpfully reminded. Now… they were going to perform this ritual in the Ice Kingdom, all while he’d have to stare at a poorly constructed caricature of himself. 

“Simon, you’re the most familiar with the ritual, right? Could you help us perform it?” Bubblegum piped up, swiveling to face him.

“Bonnie, I don’t know if-”

“Yeah.” He cut her off. “Of course I can. I brought them here, it’s only fair that I help send them back.” The hand on his shoulder tensed. He felt the crown’s song fluctuate, warbling. 

“Simon, really. You don’t have to do that if it brings up bad memories or anything.” Cake reminded him. There were too many eyes all staring at him and he shifted uncomfortably and adjusted the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Isn’t the ritual hard on the body? Simon, you should still be taking it easy. We can figure out another solution.” Marceline continued to protest.

Frankly, Simon didn’t care if the ritual boiled his brain and melted it out his ears. Fionna and Cake needed to go home and check up on their universe, maybe even figure out a way to get things back to normal with people’s memories. “I’ll be just fine, Marcy. I’ve got lots of experience with this stuff, so I’m sure it’ll go over smoothly.”

Marceline frowned, but Bubblegum had gotten her answer. 

The ritual took two days to coordinate. Bubblegum, ever the scientist, was deeply involved in ensuring that conditions were ideal and everything was set up exactly as expected. Marceline had spent that time glowering at nearly everything in her path. The ritual had started this whole shitshow, and now Simon was getting dragged back into doing it once more just to send two complete strangers to an alternate Ooo. 

Glob, her life was weird. Throughout all of this, Simon seemed to be on his best behavior. He and Bubblegum had been trading information about the procedure like some kind of two-way mental super highway. Simon knew… so much about this damn ritual. Marcy knew that he was a researcher, understood that the task of gathering information was half of an antiquarian’s whole purpose.  

And yet… he’d planned to do this, devoted what was probably years of his life trying to replicate Betty’s magic. It broke her, but she did not allow it to show. She desperately wanted to grab him by the shoulders and tell him that she loved him, that she cared for him, that she was sorry she’d allowed him to slip so far that he felt the need to do this. 

Simon spent those two days avoiding Marceline’s gaze. He knew exactly how she felt, knew that they were long overdue for a talk, knew that their talk would have to be delayed even more. He was too much of a wimp to bring it up, too pigheaded and idiotic.

He knew that he had hurt her. He knew that he would continue to hurt her. There was no way out of this shitty situation except to go through with it. How he wished that he could just grab her by the shoulders and beg for her forgiveness, tell her exactly how sorry he was for putting her through everything.

… He didn’t expect her to forgive him. Which is why he wanted to move out. Working towards a common goal had allowed him to temporarily shove his worry and sickness to the side. Though, it did pain him to have to prepare his goodbyes for Fionna and Cake. At first, in the very beginning, their presence made him miserable. There was nothing more humiliating than being dragged around by two people that were so closely related to Ice King’s lasting craziness. But the more he got to know them], the more he began to like them. 

There was a fondness that he held for the two now, something deep inside that wanted desperately to protect both Fionna and Cake. It had been that same protective instinct that had driven him to put the crown. 

His actions were not their responsibility, and he also desperately hoped that they understood that. Now, as they sat in the Ice Kingdom, he wondered if he’d ever see them again after this. Ice Thing had been more than happy to comply with their polite requests. Now, he sat adjacent to Simon, his smile leering in a stark, mocking memory of the utter clown Simon used to be. 

The gems set inside of Ice Thing’s eyes taunted him, yet another reminder of what he could be. Ice King was a freak, ostracized from Candy society because of his continued dream-adjacent insanity. 

Ice King wasn’t depressed, just clearly unable to comprehend his own fucked up existence; A man who was physically incapable of remembering anything important . That was why he’d decided to start filming tapes. Every second under the crown’s curse was blurry, his brain a slick surface for memories to slide right off of. The tapes were supposed to help him remember his thoughts, but they often divulged into nonsensical bullshit. The castle was still filled with boxes and boxes of them.

Ice King was nonsensical bullshit. Simon longed to feel like that again. Red jewels gloated at him as he hooked clips onto himself. Fionna had sacrificed her beloved hat as an emotional supercharge; the final necessary ingredient required to perform interdimensional travel. 

Simon plopped down on the floor, skin rippling uncomfortably from the cold. He hated the cold, but a small and incredibly annoying part of his brain desperately soaked it in… The curse, of course. Doing the ritual always gave him a headache and drained him of all of his energy. Whatever, it was a small price to pay to send his friends back home safe and sound. He’d feel drained for the rest of the day, and feel better after a long night of sleep. Besides, he knew that he’d see Betty in his dreams, as unconsciousness always lured him back to a world much better than his reality.

“Ready, Simon?” Bubblegum called. He nodded. Bubblegum turned to face Fionna and Cake, her expression kind. “I have a gift for you two.” She said, watching their eyes light up. Simon perked up too, twisting his back to look at them. Princess Bubblegum dug around in her pocket for a moment before revealing two cell-phones.

“I’ve been wanting to test something like this out for a while, and now is the perfect time. These cell-phones already have my contact information in them. I’d love to keep in touch and learn more about your universe.”

Simon smiled, relieved that they could still be connected through Bonnie’s invention. She swiveled to face him again. “Let’s hit it.” 

He breathed deeply, stealing one last glance at Ice Thing’s jewels, frowning at the fact that he was physically connected to it through clips and wires. Then, he let his eyes fall closed. 

“Reveal the path, and grant me passage.” He muttered. Current began to flow through the wires. It traveled through Simon, flowing through Ice Thing and Fionna’s hat before finally zipping through the lines carved delicately into the icy floor. The ritual smelled like melting copper and burnt hair, a pungent scent filling the whole room. Fionna and Cake readied themselves, hand and paw lacing together. They looked prepared.

Simon increased the intensity of his chanting, vaguely feeling the sweat trickle down his face. Despite the frigid environment, it felt like Simon’s brain was cooking inside of it’s skull. The ground in front of him began to ripple, and he distantly heard PB shout a readying call. 

Something warm dripped off his face, stemming from his nose. The sensation was far away. Only the ritual mattered, Fionna and Cake needed to get home safe.

Chanting was getting difficult as his brain started to get fuzzy. Copper filled his nostrils and sweat dripped down his face. It was one thing to open a portal to another world that resided inside of his head, and a completely different thing to open a big portal on the floor. 

Electricity zipped through the air, energy crackling as a bright light began to tear open the ice. Fuck, Simon did not feel good. 

“Go, now!” Bubblegum cried, and two sets of feet hit the floor running.

“Re-reveal the path…” Simon sputtered, body swaying. As they passed through the portal, Simon felt something rip inside of him. He inhaled sharply, or tried to. His sense of gravity completely splintered, and he felt himself tip sideways. Simon’s eyes rolled up into his head just as Cake’s tail disappeared into the light. 

Somebody was pressing something up his nose, and he feebly tried to bat them off. Somebody else was finicking with his arm, removing something. A pathetic little noise gurgled out of his throat, and for a moment he feared that he would throw up. There was blood in his mouth and pain in his joints. 

“Ah, the blood’s draining into his throat. Sit him up please, Finn.” 

Strong hands pushed him upwards, and with the movement came a tremendous wave of motion sickness. He lurched forward clumsily and threw up the blood that had just dribbled down his throat. Everything around him lurched in response. Someone was kind enough to pull his hair out of his face and help him sit back when he was done spilling his innards. He figured he should open his eyes and check, but the incredible brightness of his surroundings had him clamping his eyes shut and smacking a hand over his mouth. 

Somebody was rubbing his back. Marceline, he realized, only because her voice finally reached his ears. She was encouraging him to breathe slower.

… Slower? He could hardly breathe at all. If anything, he needed to be breathing quicker. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air, and he coughed dryly as he tried in vain to get his vision to stop doubling. Every bodily system felt like it was halfway to shutting down

“We gotta get him outta here.” 

No, he wanted to say. Let me drown in the cold. Let me rip the red gems out of Ice Thing’s worthless fucking face. I’ll use them better.

Instead, he started sobbing.

Chapter Text

Terrible noises emanated from the man’s chest; pathetic little groans interspersed between quiet, high pitched whines. His fingers clawed harshly at his hair, desperate to find something of purchase in this world of sleek ice. Blood dribbled lazily onto the floor in thick droplets, the little plip noises adding rhythm to his racing, ugly thoughts. 

His eyes were torn open, empty gaze nearly melting a puddle onto the floor. Simon had folded himself in half as he knelt on the floor. Tears formed a puddle on the floor as his spine strained against the tension of his back muscles. Internally, Simon desperately fought against himself for control.

I’m humiliating myself, need to get control, need to, ah, can’t fucking breathe enough, gotta get up, gotta- keeping a steady thought process was impossible, brain keen on jumping from one gut-wrenching conclusion to the next. Simon’s chest ached something awful, and one shaking hand traveling downwards to grip the sweaty shirt hanging off of his skinny body. He choked on more blood. There was so much of it, so much of it, so much, he was dying, having a heart attack, body shutting down and dragging his mind straight down to the Nightosphere with it.

A loud droning filled his ears, blocking out all other sounds. It was as though somebody had shoved a speaker directly into his ear canals and set it to hum loudly. He felt like he’d been forcefully disconnected, somebody had ripped him from his power source. Similar to a computer’s plug being ripped crudely from the wall without any warning. Coughs ripped their way out his chest, and his breathing intensified to keep up. His dry throat bobbed in a shitty attempt to swallow.

Fuck, this was awful. He felt awful; worthless brain failing to spit out a solution to this predicament. When was this going to end? Everything hurt. He just wanted it to stop. Half-baked apologies tumbled from his lips without him even realizing; coupled with nonsense and other pitiful noises. His skin prickled as everything intensified suddenly, the whole world around him a cacophony of bright, agonizing colors and excruciatingly loud buzzing. 

His brain felt like it was going to explode, like he could die at any second. Images began to flash in front of his vision, a spinning funhouse of hellish memories. Putting on the crown and feeling it’s cold claws pierce right through him like soft cheese. Seeing Marceline’s terrified face as she watched him lose himself to the crown over a thousand years ago. It was like he was watching it from a different person’s perspective. In fact, he could nearly see himself hunched over on the floor gripping his hair and clothing. 

There was no way he was going to survive this, he was sure. He’d die here in the cold and ice while surrounded by the people he’d failed to protect. Maybe that would be a good thing. Death would be doing him a favor, to reap his soul and remove him from this terrible agony. 

Simon could do it, stop the pain and halt his own suffering, if he just… could get his limbs to move. The castle’s open maw was so close, an easy exit for him to throw himself through. He could do it, he should do it, he wanted to do it.

Flashes overtook his blurry vision again. Fighting with GOLBetty as she attempted to subdue him with his hands, feeling her massive hand wrapped so tightly around him to keep him in place, the pressure nearly suffocating. 

The skin around his body felt too tight, the clothing on his back itching like fiberglass. He wanted to scream. Then, he realized that there already was screaming coming from somewhere. Screaming, and sobbing, and crying, and that loud hum overlaid over everything. He wished that whoever was making the noise would just shut up so he could fucking think.

Quickly, that thought was washed away as a million others took their place. Flashes of other events in his timeline played on loop, the taste of blood in his mouth sending him gagging. Oxygen, he needed to breathe, wanted so desperately to be dead so that he could stop feeling this pain. 

A pink hand forced his head upwards, and something small was shoved in his mouth. Fingers pinched his nose and a palm covered his mouth, and he floundered at the sudden loss of air. He needed it so desperately, didn’t they understand? Eventually, he swallowed and the smooth little oval slid down his throat. The obtrusions to his face were removed, and he gasped loudly before interrupting himself with another desperate sob. How pathetic, they think I’m pathetic.

The shame and embarrassment added to the hurricane inside of his mind. He’d never forgive himself for exposing Marcy to this rotten side of himself. She’d seen enough, and yet he only ever added to her suffering. 

Simon was a fuck-up, a failure, and a worthless father figure. He could live for an eternity and those would always be the words he’d use to describe himself. 

An undetermined amount of time later, his racing pulse began to slow. Pathetic little gasps came spilling out from between his teeth, but his breathing began to slow. His mind was still working overtime as his body wound down. 

Simon felt weak, raw. Focusing both eyes was an impossible task; everything looking blank and washed-out. Mostly, he just felt distanced from the whole situation. That same spaced-out feeling from earlier still persisted, and if he closed his eyes he could see himself from a foreign point of view. He was still hunched over with a face red and covered in tears. His thoughts were sluggish now. Trying to think made him feel as though he was wading through deep and heavy mud.

That same pink hand from earlier was back, tilting his head up and shining a pen-light in his half-lidded eyeball. He watched her do it from his own point of view, while simultaneously also watching her do it from three feet away. How he could see outside his own body as he was being inspected by the princess, there was no telling. He wanted to tell her to knock it off, but his tongue felt sticky and worthless. 

Today had been awful, he knew that for a fact. But what was strange was the fact that he could not explain why. Something had happened, he was pretty sure. Maybe something had gone wrong with the ritual, probably. They’d sent Fionna and Cake home, right? Were they okay? Had they gotten back safely? …How could he see himself from the third person?

People on either side of him lifted his arms and hoisted him standing. An unsure little noise vibrated out of his chest…. His chest? Had he made that noise? There was no telling. It bounced around in his brain before being interrupted by the feeling of his feet sliding out from underneath him.

…His feet? Were those black shoes attached to his body? Was any of this real? He watched from afar as two people supported his weight, watched as he sagged between them. There was blood crusted all around his nostrils and his mouth, cracking apart at the chin. 

Everything was fuzzy, like there was some strange filter passed in front of his eyes. That buzzing noise was still there, so loud that it was impossible to hear anything. 

Too loud, he wanted to tell his supports. It’s too loud, turn it off, turn it off. New tears bubbled from unblinking eyes. He was so miserably tired, so wrung out and confused and he just wished he could think clearly for once in his fucking life.

This one singular moment seemed to have gone on for an eternity, and he just wanted it all to end. Bright sunlight succeeded in further obscuring his vision, and he wondered where his friends were dragging his body. Hopefully somewhere where they can bury me and forget me, maybe then I’ll finally be absolved of living such a long life of misery. I’m dead to them, I know it.

No such luck, it seemed. He was halfway sure that they were trying to ask him questions. There was absolutely no way for him to understand them over the uncanny hum ringing in his ears. Eventually, they let him slide down onto something soft.

A couch, his fried brain so helpfully provided. Without any command over his muscles, he fell sideways until his head met the couch cushions. 

Sit up, you pathetic slob. Your face is covered in blood and it also got on your nice shirt. Get a grip. 

Someone, Marceline, his dear sweet Marceline, stepped into his field of vision. He watched it happen from a distance. She bent down with a wet cloth and gently dabbed at his face. Though he could not feel it, being so far from his body, he imagined it felt warm. He fantasized that her motions would be gentle, sweet, caring touches. She cleaned the blood away from his skin, telling him that she was so incredibly sorry for what had happened, that she was going to make it right. She took his hand in hers.

He wanted so badly to say that it wasn’t her responsibility to fix his tremendous fuck-ups, but all that he could muster was a pathetic “Hnnnghh”. A few more wayward tears dripped into the couch cushions.

The buzzing in his ears blocked out anything else she said. He watched his own eyes slip closed, too out of it to try to hold them open. The humming filled each sense, consuming every inch of mental bandwidth. The noise reminded him of cicadas, and how he and Betty could always hear the little insects singing just outside of their window at night.

Betty was intent upon opening the window to hear their song at night, closing her own eyes as a breeze filled their room; the wind carrying a great humming with it. Simon would lay next to her in bed, their limbs tangled indecipherably. Her warm, slow breathing welcomed him home, and he laced his fingers with hers. 

He wanted to be with her always, wanted to listen to the cicadas with her every night. 

Chapter Text

Three days passed by in a strange haze. He slept through most of the time. The waking moments played out in front of his eyes like some kind of fever dream. His life droned on like a poorly written play. Simon was too out of it to remember any part of it. Every time he blinked, something new was happening. 

He was at Marceline’s house, on her couch. Then, he’d be in her kitchen, sitting at her dining table. After, he’d be waking up from a nap he’d never even intended to take. Simon was a passive bystander in his own life, having forgotten how to join the present. Marcy talked to him all the time. He was excellent at not interrupting, seeing as he’d seemingly lost the ability to speak. Of course, it didn’t matter because he’d forget the conversation ever happened just a few minutes later.

Mostly, he appeared to be very keen on staring into space, eyes half lidded. His brain had gotten so frazzled and fried that it refused to process anything for three days after the incident with the ritual. It felt like being Ice King again, living in a nightmare fugue state. That was the only feeling that had successfully managed to penetrate the thick fog that surrounded his mind. 

Marceline took wonderful care of him, as did Bubblegum. Both were always present in some capacity. Bonnie preferred to take this time to run more tests to figure out what was happening in his brain. She covered him wires and shined lights in his eyes and tested his reflex. His physical body reacted perfectly normally: a slow but steady heartbeat, pupils contracting in response to light, knee jerking just slightly when bumped by a reflex hammer. Simon was capable of eating, able to change his clothes, mobile enough to follow Marceline around like some kind of poltergeist. He also just… wasn’t aware of himself mentally. A passenger in life’s car.

PB’s scans showed a variety of different results, including an increase of the curse’s presence, and some other strange brain activity. Even stranger still, Bubblegum discovered that the crown’s activity drastically decreased whenever Simon slept. 

Marceline chose to care for him in a very different way from Bubblegum’s scientific method. She talked to him about anything and everything; recalling memories from thousands of years ago, having a one-sided conversation about whatever came to mind. He nodded off a lot, an experience that was frightening at first. She would turn around to find him slumped against the arm of the couch or splayed lazily over the kitchen table. During scans, Bonnie’s equipment discovered that his brain waves simply indicated deep sleep, rather than anything nefarious. 

He looked exhausted, no matter how much he slept. Every time he took an impromptu nap, it always ended up dragging on for several hours. Simon was a frighteningly still sleeper. He’d always wake up still utterly exhausted with a blanket draped over him. Simon would probably feel warm if he could feel anything at all. Sometimes, he’d wake up on the couch with his head in somebody’s lap with his glasses placed safely on the end-table. Above, a soft voice could be heard murmuring about something. He couldn’t be bothered to force his ears to tune in. 

Three days, spent entirely in a dizzying array of flashes. The worst part of it all was the fact that he wasn’t even aware of the time passing. It just peeled by in a blip. 

It was 5:37pm on a Thursday afternoon when he blearily separated his eyelids. Every single joint in his body felt stiff, and he felt rather shitty. Ah, when had he fallen asleep? Briefly, the option to drift back off sounded tantalizing. He’d just been fully absorbed in another dream with Betty in it. If only he could remember what it was. Nausea and an intense craving for water pushed back the drowsiness that was trying to pull him under.

When was the last time he’d drank water? Sorting through blurry memories did nothing to help him remember, so he figured that it was time to force his body to cooperate and get up. More sensations continued to roll in slowly as he prepared himself. Soft, heavy fabric draped carefully over his body. Fingers carding through his hair, teasing out knots with an incredible tenderness. The monotone drone of what sounded like a nature documentary hummed in the background. 

Simon pushed himself up, listening to bones crack as he felt his stiff muscles complain. The blanket slid from its position, bunching up around his waist. He waited patiently as the blood in his body rushed to his head, briefly clouding his vision.

“What’cha need, Simon?” Marceline asked. She’d taken to talking to him as though he’d reply. Except, she wasn’t prepared for when he actually did talk back.

“Just, uh, going to the bathroom. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” He said, easing himself upwards. Marceline froze, eyes immediately looking to her girlfriend, searching for confirmation that what she’d heard was actually real. Before either of them could gather their respective jaws off the floor, Simon had already hobbled to the bathroom and clicked the door shut. 

A look in the mirror had him frowning. There was stubble peppering his jawline, and deep bags under his eyes. Not to mention the fact that his hair looked ruffled and his glasses sat crooked on his face. His brain was slow to process these observations, and he stared blankly at the reflection for several minutes before remembering his intentions. 

Throwing the water on, he cupped his hands and allowed the chilled liquid to gather. After several long sips, he dried his hands off and opened the door. Marceline floated over to him, and he blinked unknowingly at her.

“I’m gonna put a pot of coffee on, if you don’t mind. Would you like some? He asked, by way of greeting. There it was. For the first time in three fucking days, her father figure finally speaks. And fucking of course, he’s acting like nothing’s happened. He didn’t even wait for her reply, instead turning to trod lightly over to the kitchen. 

Her mind fluctuated through a million emotions in under half a second. shock, hurt, rage, desperation, …confusion. Fuck, she would pay endless money just to figure out what was going through his head. 

She’d witnessed his internal collapse, watched him get sucked back into the sinkhole of madness that opened up in his own head. She watched him hyperventilate and curl inwards on himself, stared in horror as he divulged into desperate screams and sobs as his lungs struggled to keep up. Witnessing his flashbacks had been the worst part, watching helplessly as he relived the horrors of time. She was terrified that he was having some kind of stroke, or an aneurysm. 

Bubblegum, ever the fighter, had immediately jumped into action to try to fix things. She’d made the quick decision to call up Peppermint Butler and ask him to deliver something that would stop Simon’s episode. He’d come through in the form of some kind of beta-blocker. One of PB’s many experimental concoctions, pilled for convenience. 

Though it had worked to slow Simon’s racing thoughts, it did nothing for the dissociative state that followed. Bubblegum theorized that the antiquarian had experienced some kind of flashback episode, triggered by his surroundings and the proximity of Ice Thing’s gems. They’d done good to remove him quickly from the surroundings and get him somewhere safer. Warmer. 

Now, he was in Marcy’s kitchen. Clinking sounds of glass, ceramic, and silverware floated into the living room on the smell of dark coffee. Marceline floated into the other room to find Simon quietly washing dishes. Bubblegum followed closely behind her. She walked briskly to the sink, and reached around Simon to turn off the tap.

“Ah, I wasn’t-”

“Turn around. I’m doing a scan on you.” She declared, spinning him around. Bonnie took one hand as Marceline grabbed the other. Simon grumbled about dishes and coffee, words lost on uninterested ears. Quickly, wires were taped onto his face and a metal headband was fastened around his head. Machines buzzed to life, busily reading brainwaves. Simon knew better than to try to intervene in her science. 

Once Marceline opened her mouth to start talking, she just couldn’t stop. So many questions spilled from her mouth, all spoken in rapid-fire without any pauses for an answer. She was desperate to know if he was okay, and even more desperate to know what the fuck was wrong with him. Then, after she’d run out of questions, she started telling him how she felt, how fucking terrified she was and how she wasn’t sure if he’d ever be okay.

He listened intently with the patience of a saint. Not once did he interrupt or try to cut in. When the end of her rant finally came, there were hot tears leaking down her cheeks and Bonnibel was rubbing her back. 

“I’m sorry, Marcy. I don’t really quite know what happened, but it’s clear I’ve made you upset. Did I do something that hurt you?” Now, distress was creeping into his tone. 

“Simon, are you positive that you don’t remember?” The Princess inquired. Simon paused, thinking. The last few days flitted through his mind. They were… preparing for the ritual, planning the best and safest practices to get Fionna and Cake back home. Had they… had they done the ritual? Was it successful? Were Fionna and Cake okay?

“Yeah... I don’t remember. I’m really sorry.”

Behind them, the coffee machine beeped. Simon was in desperate need of a cup, yet he did not dare to move out of fear that he’d make it seem like he wasn’t taking this tense situation seriously. They deserved his full attention.

Bubblegum shined a light into his eyes, and he flinched away from the overstimulating intrusion. She sighed, clicking the light off.

“Think really hard. What’s the last thing you do remember?” Marceline grabbed him by the shoulders. Her hair bristled.

He looked inwards, searching. Mostly, he felt the deep desire to chug coffee and go back to sleep. It wasn’t even 6pm and he just wanted to crash back on the couch. Man, maybe he was getting old. “I, uh… There was the ritual, I guess. Are Fionna and Cake okay? Did something happen?”

“Fionna and Cake are fine,” Bonnie answered. “I’ve been in semi-consistent communication with them. Reception’s a little spotty. That’s not what matters right now. Do you remember doing the ritual?”

Simon huffed. “Of course I-” No. He didn’t “...Did we do the ritual?”

“Yeah, and you totally flipped your bricks Simon! You really don’t have any memory of the last three days?!” Marcy shouted, tears brimming in her eyes. Simon squeezed her hands; a deep sense of self loathing and disappointment settled in his chest. 

“What do you mean… three days?” 

Marceline growled, and Bubblegum patted her on the shoulder.

“Deep breaths, yeah?” She told her girlfriend. “Simon, you haven’t even looked at us in the last three days, let alone spoken.”

He froze, tensing. Ah. He’d had a really bad space-out, then. Simon poorly concealed the shame that filled his mind. He’d made everyone worry about him, not to mention the fact that he’d made a complete ass of himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Was all he could say. He felt like an immature child.

Marceline deflated. “...No. I guess you didn’t do it on purpose.” One pale hand found a few wayward strands of hair, and tucked the clump behind his ear. He met her eyes with such disappointment in his own eyes. “We’re not mad at you dude, I promise.”

“We’re worried about you, Simon.” Bubblegum piped in. “You had crazy brain activity, and the surviving remnants of the crown’s curse went mega-freaky these past few days. Plus, you started having an episode at the Ice Kingdom.”

An episode? What was that supposed to mean? “An episode? Really, Bubblegum. It’s no big-”

“Yes, it is a big deal. Simon, you’re showing some major signs of PTSD here. Do you understand that you had a panic attack and flashbacks three days ago during the ritual?”

Fuck, he couldn’t believe it had been three days. Wait. Had she said… “Panic attack? Princess, I’ve never had a panic attack.” Panic attacks looked different. Felt different. What Simon experienced was just... a glitch in his brain. Probably.

“There’s no way that what you experienced wasn’t a panic attack. We couldn’t get you to stop hyperventilating, and you weren’t able to answer any of my questions. I had to give you a beta-blocker just to get you mobile enough to get you away from the Ice Kingdom.”

Oh. “Oh. Is that what those breathing spells were?”

“What do you mean, ‘ breathing spells’ ? Have you had those before?” Marceline leered right in front of him, scrutinizing him. 

Simon bit the inside of his cheeks. Shit, he was really in the doghouse now. “N-Never mind.”

Bubblegum huffed. “No. You’ve definitely had panic attacks before. How many have you had? Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“Just a few… like, uh, one or two. It’s not much.” He lied. He was worrying Marcy again, had already worried her half to death. When was this going to end? When could he fuckin’ move out?

“Simon…” Marcy moaned. Her tears were back, albeit at a slower pace.

“This is super serious, man. I really think you have post traumatic stress disorder.”

There it was. She’d said it not once, but twice now. “PTSD? Why?”

“Normal people don’t have flashbacks or panic attacks, especially ones that lead to three days of unresponsiveness.” The princess stated, tone stern and factual. 

Simon almost wanted to ask her if she was absolutely certain of this, but he knew better. Princess Bubblegum was incredibly intelligent, one of the smartest women he’d ever met. She’d never be wrong about something like this.

“PTSD, huh?” That dazed cloudy haze was starting to settle back over his mind as he tried to sort all of the information he was receiving at once. 

“You need help, Simon. Real help. I think you need to go to therapy.”

Finally, the word he’d been dreading to hear most of all. Therapy.

Chapter Text

Tumbling through a portal at maximum velocity was an excellent way to induce nausea. Fionna smacked a hand over her mouth as she used the other to hold onto Cake’s paw like a lifeline. Cake squeezed back, teeth bared in a grimace. All of a sudden, they were spat out of the ground. Fionna pulled her cat inwards to protect her, and her butt smacked the ground hard as they landed.

It was less than graceful, but… they’d survived. Fionna hissed in pain. Cake sat and caught her breath for just a moment, before jumping up to inspect Fionna for damages. 

“You good, Fi?”

Fionna groaned dramatically. “I just bruised the shit outta my tailbone, but… I’m alive.”

Cake smirked, a laugh bubbling out of her chest. She hugged her human. “We made it! Simon did it!”

Fionna laughed back, squeezing her fluffy companion. “Do you think he’s okay?” 

Cake shrugged. “I sure hope so. Hey, we can always check in on those phones that Bubblegum gave us!”

“Oh yeah!” Fionna swung her backpack around to dig inside of it, but Cake batted at her shoulder.

“Wait, keep those away for now. We’re still in the Ice Queen’s crib. We should get outta here before she flips us inside out.”

Fionna’s eyes widened as they dashed around, scanning for danger. “You’re right. Let’s go!”

Not three steps later and they were skittering to a halt, feet sliding desperately on the ice. Directly to their right was The Scarab, still just as frozen as when they’d last seen him.

“Shit! I forgot about that guy!” Cake exclaimed, wrapping her arms around Fionna in thick layers. 

The gears in Fionna’s brain turned. “Wait… can he still hurt us, now that our universe is official?” 

Cake loosened her hold. “I dunno, but I’m not really all that interested in finding out. Besides, PG’s waitin’ for us, and we have loads to tell him!”

Together, they made leaps and bounds back up to the entrance to the Ice Queen’s castle. Fionna still couldn’t help but to feel sorrow for the IQ, especially now that she understood the nature of the crown’s curse. 

“It’s so quiet. You think she’s even here?” Cake piped up, not really bothering to keep her voice down.

Fionna shrugged. “Maybe she’s out getting into trouble again or something.”

Cake bit her bottom lip, sharp fangs sinking into the skin. “ I feel bad about all the times we mashed her to bits. It’s not her fault she’s a messed up weirdo, it’s that damn tiara.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. I wonder if there’s a way to help her out.”

“Didn’t Simon’s fiancé try for like, years, to fix him? What could we do?”

“Maybe Gary’ll know.” Fionna concluded. “... man, we have so much to tell that guy. He’s gonna get all weirded out when we call him Gary, guess we’ll have to be careful with that.”

They were nearly at the top of the castle now, with still no sign of the monarch. As they reached the doorway, Cake wrapped an arm around Fionna’s waist and launched them out the front. Fionna yelled in surprise, limbs flapping as they fell. Cake, using her incredible abilities, stretched the remainder of her limbs down to the ground. Their freefall came to a controlled end. Cake plopped her human onto her back, who was now laughing as she ran her hands through soft white fur. It was good to be home. 

Cake made quick work of their journey, taking massive strides towards their Prince’s kingdom. 

As soon as they got there, they were greeted by a myriad of candy citizens. They were surprised and concerned, approaching both arrivals with awe. Fionna greeted them in stride, assuring them that she was alright and that she had to meet with Gumball. Cake swished her tail with pride. 

Gumball was happy to receive them. Standing next to the door was none other than Marshall Lee, smirking as he held Gary’s hand in his own. Fionna’s jaw dropped. They’d found each other, even without their memories. She was so happy she nearly started crying.

“Fionna, Cake! You’re okay!” Gary shouted as they approached, waving. Fionna vaulted off of Cake’s back, and ran to sweep her prince up in a tight, secure hug. PG chuckled in surprise, wheezing a little because of Fionna’s strength.

“Where’ve you guys been? You’ve been gone for like… forever, basically.” Marshall stated matter-of-factly. 

Cake quickly into the castle, jumping with excitement. “Oh man, you’re gonna want to sit down after we tell you everything!”

Gumball invited them deeper inside of the castle with the promise of a warm meal. They chattered all the way up, explaining in great detail their fantastic adventures. Both girls took their friends through everything: Prismo’s time cube, Simon’s rescue from GOLBetty’s dimension, the fact that the crown had refueled their world with magic and changed everything.  

Cake was right. Gumball was grateful that he was sitting for this conversation, because he simply couldn’t wrap his head around what he was hearing. A whole other dimension with a whole other cast of characters who were ironically living completely different lives, despite their similarities. Similarly, Marshall had brainstormed about a million questions to ask as the whole plot was laid out. 

“So, wait.” The vampire said. “You’re telling me that Gary over here fell in love with me in a different timeline and we were dating before everything got erased by a magic pink wish guy?”

“Yup.” Fionna confirmed.

“And… There’s a whole other dimension of our world that also has versions of us that are dating, and the only difference is that they’re girls?”

“That’s right!” Cake praised.

“That’s fuckin’ math, dude.” Marshall finished. Gary nodded. 

“But… What about that Simon guy? He put on the crown even though it made him crazy in the past. Is he okay now?” 

… That was the question, wasn’t it?

Simon sat outside of Marceline’s cave, a cigarette parked between his pointer and middle finger. He took a drag of it, savoring in the buzz of nicotine. Marcy and PB had both been treating him like he was made of cracked glass all day. This had been the first moment that he’d successfully convinced them to give him a sliver of alone time.

Here he was, burning that time away by burning the health of his lungs. It was just one cigarette, what did it matter? He just hoped that the two lovebirds would respect his request for personal space. Simon wasn’t in the mood to have a conversation about how he’d attained smokes and a lighter. A shudder snaked up his body as he recalled the events. 

The day had passed by in another blurry haze. It had been hard to hide his space-outs, but for the most part he’d evaded suspicion. At least, he hoped so. By a slim miracle, both girls had chosen not to mention going to therapy. He was sure that another conversation was coming. Or maybe Bubblegum would just contact someone for him and get it over with. 

He hoped that whoever they were, they’d be understanding. Then again, what was there to be understanding about? Did he want his therapist to pity him, whine and gripe with him about just how worthless and pathetic his life was? 

Fuck, he didn’t want to go to therapy. There was no way that he was worthy of someone else’s help and time, not like that. Simon believed himself to be a massive drain on Marceline’s kindness and resources, as well as PB’s scientific prowess.

Bubblegum should be devoting her knowledge to her own scientific purposes, not wasting the time scanning Simon’s brain and diagnosing him with PTSD. 

… He didn’t have PTSD. People with PTSD went through real trauma, not his self-inflicted bullshit. Simon had made the choice to put on the crown. Simon had made the choice to protect people at the expense of his own sanity. Those decisions shouldn’t warrant therapy, nor a diagnosis. PTSD was for people with real trauma, not whatever self-inflicted bullshit his brain was trying to pull.

He took a huge drag of smoke, savoring how he knew it would make him cough and hack in just a moment. Of course, it did send him careening into a teary-eyed hacking fit, and he believed himself to be worthy of this suffering. This was also self-inflicted. It was good. This was good. He extinguished the butt of his cigarette in a nearby puddle, and then tucked the wet trash into his pocket. He may be a shitty father figure and an utterly worthless pawn in life’s game, but he was no litterbug. 

After loitering outside a bit more to allow his clothes to lose that ashy smell, he headed indoors with a sigh. Marceline greeted him from the couch when he came in. PB waved at him from the kitchen where she was busily cooking dinner. He plopped down next to Marcy. Simon was exhausted, and he halfway considered closing his eyes and nodding off before Bonnie announced that dinner was well on its way to completion.

Dinner. Food. The last thing he wanted right now was to put anything in his mouth. Instead, Simon wanted to ask Marceline if they could swing by his place in the morning to make sure that everything was in working order. He assumed that she’d probably stopped by during his extended absence, and presumed him missing. Marcy felt him shift uncomfortably.

“You okay?” 

He stiffened, pulled out of his thoughts once more. “Ah, yeah. Hey, can I make a request?”

She nodded with a patient hum. Oh boy. He swallowed thickly, still tasting ash on his tongue. 

“I’d uh, I’ve been, um, I’ve been thinking that I’d like to visit my place up in the human city. J-just to check on things, y’know? Make sure that the old girl is in good health.” Yeah. Smooth, Simon. His plan was to start by suggesting a visit, rather than just going all in and announcing that he was moving out. Both women would probably receive that a little better, right?

Marceline frowned. Shit. He started to backpedal a little bit, sweating nervously as she scrutinized him.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask about that…” She bit out, cutting him off. Fuck.

“I, uh, w-why? It’s not like I- I mean, just-” Why was he so nervous?

“Simon, your place is like mega donked up right now. The shower was left on, and it flooded the whole floor. I’ve been sending Banana Guards and Peppermint Butler over there to do damage control, but it’s pretty bad.” PB interrupted. “We can go see it if you’d like, but just be aware that there’s some pretty significant damage.”

Simon clamped his mouth shut. The shower… Prismo had beamed him out while he was in the shower. Of course, his shitty pipes had clogged and the whole house had suffered as a result. Just his luck.

“W-why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“We just didn’t wanna worry you, dude. You’ve been through a lot lately. Peebs and I figured that you already had enough on your plate.”

Enough on my plate?! He wanted to say. This whole situation is my fault, you shouldn’t be dealing with any of my terrible life choices! These are my consequences, let me deal with them. Instead, he close to pick absentmindedly at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Thank you. You don’t have to deal with that, but I appreciate you taking care of me.” … Because I’m clearly too uselessly pathetic to be capable of doing it myself.

He left that last part out. PB plopped a plate in his lap with a smile. Simon couldn’t force himself to smile back. They ate dinner and it was tense the whole time. Marcy still hadn’t answered his question about visiting his place. Simon was an adult, damnit. He needed to get over himself and just head over there on his own.

Marcy could sense him stewing, kept stealing glances at him from across the couch to find his eyebrows clenched together and his eyes unfocused. The food on his plate grew cold as he shoved it around with a fork. She huffed a silent sigh.

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow, if you’d like to swing by. I get that you’re worried, I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard again.”

Afraid I’ll have another episode and flip out? He wanted to bite out at her. Fuck, why did he want to be so rude to her right now? She’d been kind enough to take him into her home, care for him despite all the trouble he put her through, and now she was even offering to come with him to check out the damages that he caused. If he hadn’t done the ritual in an attempt to get to Betty, he never would have freed Fionna and Cake; never would have gotten beamed up by Prismo and dragged through a dozen separate dimensions.

“I appreciate that, Marcy. You don’t have to come if you’re busy.” 

“I just told you I’m free, silly.” She said with a smile, leaning over to gently punch his arm. He huffed a chuckle, and his own hand reached up to rub at the appendage. 

Simon woke up covered in blankets, and couldn’t remember when he’d nodded off. Dreams, visions, and memories of Betty quickly receded back into the back of his mind where they’d stay until he slept again. Simon missed her terribly. After popping his back to get some of the residual stiffness to go away, he peeled himself up off the couch and meandered over to the kitchen to wash his hands.

PB had been nice enough to cook him a meal that he’d barely picked at, and he figured it was only fair to cook breakfast to say thank-you. He felt… strangely normal. He knew that the curse still resided in his mind, had carved out a hole in his brain to nest comfortably. Yet, as he sprinkled pepper on the fried eggs that were happily bubbling on the stove-top, he could only distantly feel the crown’s beckoning. 

Simon shoved the feeling away and instead focused on measuring out coffee grounds. Puttering could be heard from within Marceline’s bedroom, and after a few minutes the house’s other two occupants emerged looking groggy.

“Mornin, Simon.” Marcy said sluggishly. Bubblegum stood behind her, running a comb through her girlfriend’s thick black locks. He greeted both of them with coffee and a smile. Simon was going to be on his best behavior today. He had to prove that he was capable of proving that he could move out and sustain himself. That was the next step in his plan. 

Moving out would prevent him from causing more harm to the people he loved, would allow him to isolate and deal with his own shit on his own. He could deal with it, without therapy and without Bubblegum’s wacky science stuff to tell him he was still mildly cursed. Every day was a battle against the madness, and he could win on his own without dragging the people he loved into his messes. Today was his chance to prove that.

They ate slowly. Simon could almost swear that Marceline was doing it on purpose, trying to delay the inevitable. As Simon was washing the dishes, a knock at the door threw him out of his concentrative daze. Before he could trod the short distance over to see who it was, the door threw itself open and Finn stepped inside.

“Simon! Hey dude, how ya doin’?”  Finn declared loudly as he wrapped Simon in a bone-crunching hug. Simon yelped, squirming. Finn put him down after a moment, patting his graying hair with his prosthetic. 

From their spots at the table, Marcy and PB greeted him excitedly. “We’re almost ready to head over to Simon’s.” PB declared. “Hope you don’t mind that we invited Finn, Simon.” Simon nodded, approving. He still had a few things to grab, which were taken care of after completing the remainder of the dishes.

Haphazardly, he stuffed a few things into a bag, including his bathroom supplies, his spare clothes, as well as the pack of cigarettes. The short journey over was casual and slow. Simon itched in anticipation. What would his friends say upon seeing his place again? What had they thought when they’d seen it the first time they’d come over to check? Had they seen the altar, the ritual, Choose Goose’s cage? Shame roiled around in his gut. He’d forced them all to worry about him.

The human city was just the same as it always had been: Bustling with people of all shapes and sizes, just as busy as the day he’d left. As they approached Simon’s house, he could see that a new collection of graffiti had been added to the outside garage doors. He winced as he watched his friends’ faces frown.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous!” PB exclaimed. “Doesn’t Minerva have security for this kind of stuff?”

Simon shrugged. “Guess they can’t catch everyone. Besides, at least they didn’t break in, right?” Not that it mattered anyways. The inside was still messy and slightly damp, yet still looked leagues better than it had when Finn, PB, and her girlfriend had first broken in during their impromptu wellness check. 

Pieces of his ritual were strewn around. The half-melted picture of Betty had been carefully placed on the table, silently mocking him for all of his terrible decisions. He trudged inside, dumping his bag of stuff on the floor. Simon scooped the photo up, staring at her distorted face.

The others chose to give him this moment of privacy, instead opting to poke around to see how wet everything still was.

“The banana guards did a great job of drying this place out!” Finn mentioned.

PB nodded, mindlessly adjusting Simon’s couch cushions. “Yeah, they told me that it took forever to get it to where it is now.” 

They spent an hour or two cleaning. Bubblegum and Marcy both assigned themselves to checking for mold. Graciously, and by some insane miracle, they found none. Simon found great relief in that fact. 

Finn had started cleaning out Simon’s fridge. The meager amount of food in there had obviously gone completely rotten. By the end of it, only Simon’s cheap beer  and a few wayward condiments remained. 

The house’s regular occupant opted to clean up the altar. GOLB’s statue leered at him from where it sat abandoned on the floor, and he quickly swiped it up. It didn’t matter, seeing as all three of his guests had already laid eyes on it long ago. 

He kept waiting for Marceline to flip out at him and tear him apart for being so reckless. Bubblegum, too. He expected both of them to have freaked out as soon as they’d seen him attempting to summon GOLB, and yet… they said nothing. For weeks now, despite the fact that he knew what they’d seen.

Why? Why hadn’t they yelled at him, screamed at him for being so selfish? Even now, as he met Marcy’s gaze for just an instant, she opted to stay silent as she watched him gently tuck GOLB’s statue into a random drawer. Simon should throw it out, get rid of it. He knew that, and yet the statue stayed in the house.

Later. Simon would do it later, after he’d gotten over himself. There was so much to do for now, too much to tackle. In her initial rampage, Cake had knocked over and broken many of his items, and the pieces were still strewn about. Simon sighed quietly, bending over to pick up the shattered remains of a glass picture frame. His back twinged, still sore from spending so much time sleeping on a couch. 

Another twinge of pain from his finger got his attention immediately. A thin, white slit in the skin stared innocently back at him. The pain intensified slightly as a minute amount of blood began to well to the surface. 

Huh. He thought, watching a few bright red beads gather. The injury, so small and insignificant, reminded him that he was alive. Blood, a gallon and a half of it, coursed readily through every vein and capillary. There was a heart somewhere within him that worked diligently at all hours of the day just to keep all of his other systems working. 

Simon pressed a fingernail into the cut, feeling the pain buzz and sting. Copper seeped under the nail. The pain itself was nearly pleasurable in a strange and very concerning way. It did strange things to his mind, warping his reality. Every time he pressed against the flesh, the pressure warped everything around him. Distorted, swirling air around him, strangely chilly despite the stagnant air. He leaned into it, let it consume him, grounding him in a luscious new world of red. 

“Hey Simon, you good over there?”

Finn, his brain so helpfully recognized the voice. Ah, had he been spacing out again? “Y-yeah, just cleaning up some glass over here.” Forcing his body to move was a difficult task, but he carried it out. The cut stung as he used the finger, and he honed in on that feeling.

After about two hours of continuous work from all parties, the place was looking better. There was clear evidence of water damage all around, but at least it wasn’t nearly as trashed. PB put her hands on her hips with a determined smile, surveying the room.

“It looks way better in here, guys!” Finn and Marcy agreed. 

Finn scooped up several bulging trash bags. “I’m gonna go walk this trash over to the dumpster outside.”

“I think we’re probably at a pretty good stopping point, actually. What do you think, Simon? You wanna call it quits for today? Head home?”

Oh jeez. “Well, uh… I think I’m gonna stay here for now.” Simon said, trying to keep his tone confident and firm. Marcy’s shoulders stiffened, and he knew he was in for it.

“What do you mean? Like… half of your wardrobe as at my house, as well as your bathroom stuff.”

“That’s what was in the bag I brought with me today, actually.” He said.

“Wait, you’re not planning on moving back into this place, right?” Her eyes spoke volumes of sadness and concern. It was clear that she had intended for him to live with her for the foreseeable future. He carded a sweaty hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry, Marcy. I can’t stay at your place forever. I gotta get back to doing my own thing at some point, right?” 

She was fuming. Bubblegum looked passive, staying out of this to allow Marceline the space to argue. 

“But…” She started. You’re not ready. I’m scared to let you out of my sight. I don’t trust you. I don’t want to lose you again. Her brain was backfiring.

“I’m sorry,” Simon repeated. “I promise that I’ll call often. You’re welcome to visit whenever, of course!” 

The vampire wasn’t buying it. “What if you flip out again? What are you gonna do if I’m not around?”

“Marcy, I’m fine. Do you think that I’m just one moment away from ‘flipping out’, as you say, all the time? Jeez, Marceline, I’m not an invalid!” He finished, feeling a little frustrated. Immediately he watched her face crumple for just a moment before it morphed into anger. Uh oh.

“ Yes, Simon! A thousand years of watching you wander around in a permanent fugue state usually tends to make people worry about you! Glob forbid I care about you!” She was yelling now, hands raised and feet levitating off the ground. Her fangs were bared. Simon shrunk back.

“I’m sorry,” Was all he could say. Marceline growled in response. 

“If you… If you fuckin’- ugh. Whatever. Call me, or don’t.” She gritted, before throwing open Simon’s front door. Finn was waiting outside, expression tense but curious. Simon began to go after her. Before he did that, his eyes found Bubblegum, who was writing something down on one of his spare notepads. 

She approached him, expression neutral and tone kind. “Give her some space. Let me know if you need anything.” She said.

“Uh, bye I guess,” Finn called from outside. Marceline waited next to him, facing away from Simon’s doorway with her arms crossed. 

The door swung shut, clicking closed with a definitive sound. Simon felt far away from himself. The cut on his finger still stung as it was absentmindedly picked at. Eyes slowly drifted around the living room, eventually finding the note sitting innocently on the kitchen counter.

Minerva Campbell - Call for therapy please .

(248) 434-5508

Right… He’d almost forgotten about that. Almost. Briefly, he considered picking up any one of his novelty phones and dialing. Then, his eyes trailed over to the bag still laying innocently on the floor. Stiffly, he maneuvered his legs to carry him over to it, and he robotically dug around until he found what he was looking for. Now armed with a cigarette and a lighter, he wandered over to the fridge and opened it up. The stale smell of fridge air filled his nose, and he paid it no mind. Half-empty condiments stared back at him, alongside a few wayward cans of cheap beer. He swiped the closest one out and allowed the door to fall shut as he padded quietly over to his own front door.

After slipping outside with his supplies in hand, he slid down the front wall of his house, feeling the cool metal against his back. For the next hour he sat outside, sipping shitty luke-warm beer and watching the world move on without him.

Chapter Text

Minerva’s number was clenched in one hand, paper crumbled and a little sweat stained. In the other hand, a half-finished cigarette rested comfortably between two fingers. A cell phone sat next to him on the couch, beeping incessantly. Low battery, it proclaimed obnoxiously. Simon himself was slumped deep into the cheap cushions, hair mussed and bow-tie undone. It was dark in his house. Smudged glasses slid halfway down his face. He wasn’t using them anyways, too busy staring blankly ahead. He took a drag of his cigarette, watching the noxious smoke drift lazily into the ceiling. 

The temperature in his humble little apartment was stifling; air stale and unmoving. He’d turned off the air conditioning despite the fact that it was efficiently drying out his still-squishy floorboards. The cold disgusted him, revolted him. There was no place for it in his life. The farther he pushed it away, the better off he’d be. After a heart-stopping panic attack the previous night, he’d come to that conclusion.

No ice. No cold. A gentle shift of his fingers crinkled the crushed paper that was mashed beneath them. Minerva. He had to call Minerva. She was all around the city, her bots spread about the metropolis. She was there to help, she wanted to help him, surely. All he had to do was call. He just had to pick up the phone, and call.

It was so simple, so easy. He could do it: lift his cell phone, dismiss its incessant beeping, and click the according keys to dial her number. Bubblegum had even written it down for him, so he didn’t even have to dig around to find her. Minerva would be kind, understanding despite his terrible sins. She would help him, her life would be better as soon as he just fucking called her.  

Another deep, long drag of his cigarette. The cherry glowed red in the dim living room, an ember glow that contrasted the blue light emitting from his cell. He coughed weakly, savoring the way that nicotine swirled around in his veins. 

“Do you know why plants produce nicotine?” Betty said one day as they lazily wandered the isles at a supermarket near Simon’s place. She was frowning at the long line of various cigarette brands that were lined up behind a register. 

“Uh, to attract pollinators?” Simon guessed.

“The opposite, actually. Nicotine’s a pesticide. Tobacco plants produce it to keep bugs away.”

“Ah,” he’d hummed. “Gross.” 

Simon blinked back to the present as his phone announced once more that it was low on battery.

The smell stuck to everything, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. If he couldn’t even lift his hand to dial a number, why would he care if he was coating the inside of his lungs with a pesticide? It felt good. He wished he could go to sleep so he could see Betty again, spend his sleeping moments beside her in a fabulous dreamworld. 

Maybe he was selfish for that. Simon didn’t care about that either.

“Call the number, Simon.” He told himself aloud. His voice was scratchy and dry. “Get over yourself, and call the number. It’s so easy… I wouldn’t even have to get up. It’s right there. Right in my hand. Call it.” He spat. Instead, he dug another cigarette out of his pocket and lit it in the blink of an eye.

“ Fuck.” he said, passing smoke through his vocal chords. He was disgusting. Marcy would find deep shame in him if she saw him for what he really was. No wonder she wanted to coddle him, let him live with her like some kind of jobless couch-surfing 20 year old. 

Speaking of Marceline, she’d texted him earlier. It was a dry message, short and straight to the point. Hope ur doing ok. It read. That was it. Despite his shitty decisions and shittier behavior, she still cared about him so much. Why? Why did she bother? He’d abandoned her multiple times, left her to fend for herself in the middle of a damn apocalypse because of his inability to control the crown’s madness. Because he was weak. Simon knew that he needed to stay away from her, keep his madness to himself in order to protect her. 

Simon couldn’t even call the fucking phone number in his hand. Fuck, he needed a drink. Unfortunately for him, he’d blown through the last three cans of shitty IPA. Now, he was running out of cigarettes. A to-do list generated in his mind.

• Call Minerva
• Go to the store
• Clean the house
• Eat

Easy. The bare minimum of expectations, all vital in sustaining his presence. Anybody could do it, even someone like that one annoying little incessant girl that wouldn’t stop nagging him about Ice King’s fanfiction.

… Astrid, wasn’t it? He felt like shit for the way that he talked to her, writhed a little as a deep embarrassment trickled down his spine. Why did he have to be such an asshole to her? She was just a kid, it was perfectly normal for her to act like that. Why did he have to be such an asshole in general? 

Beep beep. The fucking phone. That damp paper clenched in his hand. 

“Start by just getting up, Simon.” He told himself sternly, voice low. “Move your legs. Get up. It’s easy.” It was easy. Why couldn’t he do it? He was so tired. It was so hot in his dark living room. The heavy perfume of tobacco began to morph into something sweeter and much more pleasant.  The scent reminded him of Betty. His eyes started to flutter.

No. It wasn’t time to sleep. He’d done enough of that. Simon’s back ached from how long he’d spent slumped in the same position on his couch. There was no reason for him to be tired. He’d been lazing around in the dark and the heat all day, wasting cigarettes and crumpling Bubblegum’s note. He shouldn’t go to sleep now, not when there were important things to do. The time was only 3pm. 

Ah, whatever.

He woke up four hours later, covered in sweat. There were salty tear tracks stiffening the wrinkles around his eyes. His back yowled, and everything felt stiff. The pain was a unique motivator, pushing him up and forcing him to stand. In the darkness, his eyes wandered around the floor until he found the wrinkled note. Minerva’s name stared back at him. 

Now or never. Before his body could remember that it could deny the order, Simon swiped the note up, and whipped open his cell phone. It’s dark screen stared back at him, clearly having finally run out of battery during his slumber. He was up. There was no turning back now. He marched over to his wall of antique novelty phones, picked up the plastic receiver, and tucked it forcefully between his cheek and shoulder.

Just as his brain started to protest and backpedal, he’d completed punching the number in, and listened briefly to the dial tone. 

“Hello, you’ve reached Minerva Campbell. I am here to support you. How may I help you today?” 

Uh oh. He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say. “Ah, uh, hello.” Good start, moron.  

“Hello sir. What can I help you with?”

Here he was, admitting defeat. Calling to schedule a therapy appointment. How taboo. 

“I-” Tears threatened to well at his eyes as Simon’s voice wavered. Minerva was patient. He was grateful that her bots were all kind and understanding. Nevertheless, he felt like he was going to throw up. “I need to, uh, schedule a therapy appointment.”

“I see. There are several times tomorrow that we are available to come by your residence to conduct a session. Do you have a preference?”

Tomorrow? Seriously? He’d been imagining that it would take at least a week. Molars ground together as his brain fizzled out. He was so close. Scheduling this would at least prove that he was capable of doing something.

“Tomorrow would work great, I guess.” He gritted out, absolutely no enthusiasm in his tone. It would be fine. He blabbed out his address.

Minerva made it easy. She picked a time and he went along with it. Noon. She would stop by his place. He had to do nothing except let her in and maybe turn on a light so that she could see. 

As he hung the phone back on its perch, he was shaking. Maybe it was the low blood sugar, maybe it was the nicotine craving, maybe it was the dehydration. Or maybe he was just pathetic enough that a single phone call dismantled his fragile self confidence from the inside-out. 

Chapter Text

Simon woke up strangely motivated the next morning. That same to-do list from the previous day sat at the forefront of his mind, and he felt surprisingly enthusiastic to take it on. His therapy appointment was at noon, and he’d woken up at 7:30am.

Showering and shaving his face was a breeze, whereas occasionally he’d get stuck on the ‘shower’ step. Most times, Simon would de-robe and step inside of Marcy’s mildew-covered shower, only to find himself spacing out for an hour as the water ran down his back. The luke-warm, rapidly cooling water would send him careening into deep paranoia. But today… that didn’t happen. He undressed, washed his hair and his body, and stepped out. All in ten minutes. 

Simon didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Stranger still, he felt perfectly… happy. Normal…ish. The most normal he had felt since before those grand adventures with Fionna and Cake. Sure, he hadn’t been the happiest during that time , but it didn’t matter. Today was good. He wanted to focus on that. There were things to do, and this was a rare opportunity to actually get them done. 

So, next came laundry and a trip to the grocery store. Easy. Simon dressed, put on a lavishly red bowtie, and slipped on his shoes as he hummed an old song. Slipping out of the house allowed for the sun to beam on his face, and he allowed it in. Today was a beautiful day. Birds flew overhead, human city dwellers passed by with smiles on their faces, and the colors all around him were bright and charming. 

The crown’s presence was hardly a blip in his mind’s eye. Perhaps he was finally getting over himself; finding his footing and getting his groove back. People greeted him as he passed them on the street. The walk to the store was pleasant, with a warm breeze at his back to urge him forward. There was a spring in his step that he did not recognize, but was glad to indulge. 

By the end of his journey to the market, he was carrying several hefty bags of groceries. As a treat, he’d bought himself a case of beer. If today kept going well, he’d reward himself with a can. While wandering the isles, Simon had very briefly considered purchasing another pack of cigarettes before deciding against it. Frankly, he was surprised that Minerva even allowed such a thing to be sold in her city. Whatever. Today felt good. There was no point in messing up the flow with something bad for him like cigarettes.

No. This day was his for the taking. Not Ice King’s. One of Minerva’s many robots would stop by at 12, they’d chat for an hour and Simon would spill his woes to her, and then she’d be sent on her way. Done and dusted. Then, with the remainder of his motivation, he could do whatever. Maybe he’d put on an audiobook while he cleaned. If there was time in the evening after dinner, Simon could even write a little; start a new book and fall down a rabbit-hole of research. 

Noon came quickly, and his positive outlook had not yet faded. Exactly as his oven clock’s glowing numbers changed, there was a knock at the door. Minerva was eerily on time, not that he was complaining. 

“Hello,” He greeted as he opened the heavy metal door. 

“Hello, Simon Petrikov.” She said, voice soft and kind, yet strangely formal. 

“Haha, that’s me.”

“My system indicates that you contacted our hotline yesterday and inquired about receiving therapy. Is this correct?”

He nodded, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to dissipate any nervous energy. 

“Excellent. How would you like to proceed?”

“Why don’t you, uh, come inside. We can sit on my couch, I guess.” This felt a little weird. Minerva walked inside, the bot toeing her shoes off neatly by the door. She was polite and careful with her body and movements, each motion calculated and precise. She was a robot, after all.

Simon sat on the couch, keeping his body stiff and polite. Minerva mirrored him, sitting a few feet away. She rested her hands on her lap, and smiled kindly. 

“How has your day been, Simon?”

“It’s been… good, actually. I woke up early, showered, went to the store, cooked food, and now I’m meeting with you.” He summarized. Simon opened his mouth again to inquire about how she was doing, before he stopped himself. She waited in silence, ensuring that he was completely finished talking. This was going to be… an adjustment. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“That’s very reassuring to hear, Simon.”

“Y-yeah.” Why did he call her? He was doing fine. Clearly, he could take care of himself. This was weird. 

“So, Simon, what are your reasons for requesting therapy?”

He thought, brain churning over itself. “Uh… Sometimes I guess I-” How honest was he willing to be with her?  Should he tell her about Bubblegum’s PTSD diagnosis? He hadn’t had a flashback in a bit. “Sometimes I guess I space out?” 

She hummed understandingly. “I understand. That is a common problem that many people face. Grounding techniques such as deep breathing and focusing on the senses can be used to assist in refocusing.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to do. 

“Are you experiencing any other issues that you would like me to know about?” 

Simon wrung his hands together, bouncing his leg up and down. “Well… I suppose I can occasionally feel a little down on myself.”

Minerva nodded. “Yes. That is another highly common human experience. It is also normal to feel emotions such as sadness, anger, and disappointment. Oftentimes, we are tempted to direct these emotions inwards. My recommendation is to practice seeking gratitude, and doing things that make you happy.”

Okay. That was enough. Clearly, this was overkill, and he was not the right person for this kind of stuff. He smiled weakly at her, feigning acceptance of her advice. It wasn’t exactly bad guidance, he just… didn’t need it. Today was a good day, and he’d gotten his shit together. If he was lucky enough, he could even get the rest of his life back on track and move on from this whole debacle.

“Thank you for your advice, Minerva. I think I’m, uh, feeling better now.”

“That is excellent to hear, Simon. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No, thank you.” She smiled once more, standing. “Here, I’ll get the door for you.” He announced, jumping up.

“Before I leave, would you be interested in scheduling another session?” She said, standing in the doorway.

Simon thought. How would Marcy feel? Was he healed enough? Probably, he decided. “No, thank you. If I need you again, I’ll be sure to call.” After he let her out, he sunk back down onto the couch, carding a hand through his hair.

Marceline and Bonnie had been wrong about this whole therapy stuff. It didn’t feel so good to think that, but today was clear evidence that they’d misdiagnosed him. People with PTSD didn’t have good days, nor functional days. Simon had just experienced his own… dramatic phase. Yeah. That was it. He picked absentmindedly at the fragile scab protectively covering the cut on his finger.

No use in dwelling on it. There was cleaning and laundry to do. 

Those two tasks, alongside dinner and dishes, took up the rest of his day. A layer of dust had accumulated over everything that hadn’t gotten bathed in an inch of water, and he spent much of his time tediously cleaning it off. In a few days, he would open his home again and have it return to its function as an exhibit. It needed to be ready for that. Visitors wouldn’t take kindly to a messy home. Dust was gross to touch. 

He shoved all remaining remnants of the ritual into the small closet where he’d built his shrine. The statue of GOLB stayed firmly put in the kitchen drawer, but everything else was hidden. It was time to put these things aside, Simon decided. That thought brought a twinge to his heart as he thought of Betty. 

That picture of her was the last thing to put away. All he had to do was place it in the closet with the rest of the altar supplies, and then he would have mostly washed his hands of the whole phase. 

Simon stared at her face, half melted and a little warped. Her smile had gone all squiggly under the melting plastic. Her glasses looked wavy, their iconic shape distorted. Yet, despite it all, she was still Betty.  

“Just gotta put this away.” He reminded himself aloud. “Put it with the rest of the altar stuff, close the door, fold my laundry, and go to bed.” Simple enough. He could totally do that.

Her face smiled back at him, and something strange began to percolate inside of his mind. He missed her terribly. “Just… put it away…” Simon commanded. With locked knees and wired muscles, he maneuvered his body over to the entrance of the closet. The picture was squeezed tightly between his two fingers. He hadn’t yet taken his eyes off of it. Off of her.

An absent-minded blink, and his body was moving without his permission. Quickly, the doors were slammed and he was staggering away from that part of his house. As a last ditch panic effort, Simon grabbed a magnet off of his refrigerator and haphazardly pinned the burnt photo on the center of the fridge door.

A funny, disjointed expression was plastered onto his face. His brain started overthinking the whole thing, but before he could tumble into a long space-out session, the dryer beeped. Perfect timing. It was good to be busy.

He gathered the bunch of clothing in his arms and waddled over to his bedroom. Simon’s closet was a tiny thing, and there wasn’t a ton of room for storage. When he had moved his stuff out of the Ice Kingdom, he’d been forced to consolidate many of his items until all he was left with was a small box that sat in the top corner of his closet. It was labeled “Ice King Stuff” in sloppy black sharpie. Finn’s handwriting. 

Now, with warm clothes bundled in his arms, he stared at the box. The thing was dusty, a shitty remnant of a shittier past. He was over it, done with that horror. But something deep inside called to him, encouraged him to drop the clothing and drag the box down. 

Maybe it would… be good to sort through the stuff, see if there was anything in there that was still worth keeping after a dozen years of being mostly Ice King free. He could probably throw a few things away to make some more space.

So, the box was dragged off of its dusty perch, and plopped clumsily onto the floor. Still-warm laundry stared at Simon from its rumpled pile on the floor. This would only take a moment or two, he swore. 

Opening the box immediately exposed a tuft of deep blue fabric, alongside a small sea of random junk. Old tapes, a three pound dumbbell, old Fionna and Cake draft books. Diaries, random keepsakes, a ratty pair of penguin slippers, and a toothbrush for some reason. Stuffed between the cracks of it all was a blue muumuu. Ice King’s favorite one. 

Gently, he unearthed it, wincing as objects wrapped within it tumbled out and clanked against other random junk.

He used to dress up like Ice King. Finn knew as much. That action had been a desperate cope, one that he was particularly not proud of. Somehow, it had brought him a sense of familiarity, of safety. Simon gazed into the soft, worn material as though it would give him answers. The laundry lay next to him, forgotten and abandoned.

Still clothed in his usual daytime attire, Simon slipped the fabric over his head. Like clockwork, his hands found their ways through the arm holes and his head poked out the top. The thing fit comfortably.

“... This is weird. I should take this off.” Simon told himself. He should take it off. There was no remaining attachment to this thing, no reason as to why he should be wearing it.

Simon stood slowly, catching a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror. That tuft of white hair, so comfortable at the forefront of his head… was a wicked combination with the deep blue muumuu. Deep beneath the rib cage, his heart hammered. 

“I’m not Ice King. This isn’t mine to wear. I need to take it off.” He warned himself. That was the correct choice. His reflection gaped at him, looking confused and scared. This wasn’t him. He didn’t want to see himself like this. Stumbling over to the lights was no easy feat, but he did it anyway. Quickly, the room was plunged into darkness. The sun had long since gone down, leaving him in total blackness. 

No longer being able to see himself in Ice King’s garb soothed his panicking mind just a little, yet the fabric remained wrapped securely around his body as he made zero effort to remove it. Simon palmed around, trying to convince two stubborn hands to pull the thing back over his head. 

That whole box could be thrown in the trash, and he could be rid of Ice King’s possessions. Instead, he staggered over to his bed and crawled deep under the covers. His heart still raced. The muumuu remained safely adhered to his body as he drifted off.

Chapter Text

Simon needed to be doing more things to keep him distracted. The more free time he had, the more he realized that it was important to keep himself busy. Mundane hours spent spaced-out were wasted, and that simply wouldn’t do. There was lots to take care of.

Namely, he wanted to be able to open his garage doors and get back to being a part of the museum. Simon was an educator, the job providing him with an essential sense of purpose. Researching the ritual and trying to perfect his set-up was off the ballot unfortunately, so there would have to be energy devoted to trying to find a new hobby. 

 He’d woken up in the morning with the muumuu twisted around his torso, and it had put his brain in a flurry. There was still laundry on the floor, far wrinkled and certainly cold now. Simon tore the muumuu off of himself, forcing his head through the hole in the top. Underneath was his suit from the previous day, now equally as rumpled as the rest of his laundry. Despite ridding himself of the accursed garments, Simon’s heart refused to cease its incessant rabbit-quick beating. A stubborn thing, his body was. 

A glance at his cellphone revealed one new message. Marceline.

Did u call Minerva?

Oh boy. How was he to explain their session to her? Less than ten minutes of idle chatting before he’d sent Minerva on her way. Simon had been fine yesterday, he knew that. There was no reason for Minerva to have come over. He didn’t need her help. He was an adult, damnit. 59 years old and getting treated like a teenager. 

Ah, but he wanted to make her happy. A shitty or sassy text back wasn’t warranted. Marceline, and Bubblegum for that matter, were both worried for him. They didn’t deserve any attitude, just as much as they didn’t deserve to be forced to feel bad for him. Some reassurance would do well, even if he had to… bend the truth a little bit.

Yes. Called Minerva and had our first session.

Great! U Schedule more?

Fuck, there it was. In front of him, two choices were laid out in front of him. He could tell the truth and attempt to convince her of what he already knew to be fact: Simon didn’t need therapy. Or… He could just.. well, lie. 

‘Lying’ was an ugly word. Simon wasn’t a liar. He was just trying to protect Marceline, just like always. She wouldn’t understand, sure. But he’d taken that risk before. Simon knew the price.

Yes

…Was all he said, knowing that she wouldn’t pry. Marceline had her nervous behaviors, but she also knew when not to push it. He deeply appreciated that about her. He hoped that she would text back again; anything to hear from her and know that she could have it in her to forgive him. 

But his phone was silent through the morning after that. Around 11am, he made the decision to open his doors to the public. Keeping busy was imperative. Less time to think meant less room in his head for the crown to call for him. 

Simon had gotten good at resisting its call, yet was frustrated at the fact that it never got any quieter. Its noise was a constant nagging, annoying, tantalizing thing. He made coffee, and right after he poured a mug of it, he commanded his doors to open. Here we go. As he sat patiently on his couch, waiting for visitors, Simon found himself daydreaming. He could see it: the crown was in his hands once more, cool metal touching impossibly warm flesh. Red jewels glinting at him like eyes, staring up at him as he practically drooled on the metal.

Oh, how wonderful it would feel to hoist its shining luster towards the sky, and allow the refined ore to grace his head. Just for a moment, he longed to feel that rush of power, intoxicating and noxious. It would wash over him in a dousing, cleansing bath. Frigid and icy, power coursing into him as though somebody cranked the tap on high. 

Simon would let it in, relishing in that wonderful feeling. Nobody understood just how hard it was to fight such a powerful call. Surely there had to be a way to convince them to understand the crown’s vast beauty. Maybe if they got to try it on, feel that power too, they’d get it. That would work.

No. Simon wanted that power all to himself. Why share, when he could just keep it locked in his grasp? That would be nice. The crown would take care of him, erase all his woes and push away all his troubles. As Ice King, Simon had been too messed up to understand the weight of his fate. Too out of it.

Being so clueless was nice. Simon was incredibly intelligent, which only led to his turmoil. Ice King was moronic, brain turned to jelly because of the very thing on top of his head. While that behavior disgusted Simon, at least he couldn’t remember how incredibly miserable he was. 

Sunlight filtered into his consciousness, and Simon blinked. Shit, he’d opened his door. Time to play it casual. Simon glanced around, looking for his coffee cup. It stared dumbly at him from its comfy resting spot on his side table. He rolled his eyes, tutting at himself. 

As his hands reached for the cup, he found the fingers to be trembling. More worryingly, he discovered that the coffee inside was perfectly room temperature. Simon clicked his tongue, tutting. When did that happen?

He was strangely hungry too, despite the fact that he’d eaten an hour earlier at 10am. Except… Now it was 3pm and the sun was part-way through its arc towards the horizon. Simon wracked his brain, trying to remember the last few hours. Had any visitors come by? Had he gotten off the couch at all? Memory served insufficient as the only memorable thoughts were of the crown.

Simon forced himself off the couch and wandered to the boundary of his linoleum floor. Peering around the edges of his humble abode led to a startling discovery. The place was nearly empty. There were hardly any people, and a significant lack of kids around. The museum was a popular hotspot for children, a perfect place to set a child free to run around.

But today there was no one. Sure, there were slow days, but this felt different. Simon ended up making himself a sandwich and only eating a quarter of it. His plans involving filling the time with education were starting to fray at the ends, but he remained optimistic. 

This optimism would fizzle out over the next three days, leaving Simon in a ditch of… stark emptiness. After only speaking to a total of two visitors over 72 hours, a desperation began to crawl at his skin. He shuffled through his options: He could invite Marcy and Bubblegum over. Alas, that wouldn’t be a good idea, he was trying to give them space. Marcy was still sensitive, each text of hers too short and emotionless. She needed time, and the least he could do was respect that.

Inviting Finn over was option #2. Though, what would they even do? The probability of Finn forcing him out on another wacky blindfolded adventure was very high. Truly, the last thing Simon wanted was to battle another ancient forest bear and get sliced by a claw. He still bore the long scar on his arm. 

So… what could he do? His doors would automatically shut at 5pm, and he still had another two hours to burn. Speaking of burning… he wished he’d bought cigarettes during his expedition to the store. While he felt shame for experiencing such a desire, he also found himself largely unable to care. Life was lonely, a little isolating, and the little things always softened the impact.

How had that one good day passed him by so quickly? his visit with Minerva was a thing of the past, a figment now. He really viewed himself as a fake. What other reason did he have for the way he was acting? Everything that all humans ever did was for attention, and Simon clearly considered himself no exception. Even living in a house in a museum was for attention. Simon loved to have voyeurs ogling him as he tore himself apart, didn't he? Ugh, Glob he needed a drink. Desperately.

In the past, drinking had been an excellent way for him to block out his negative thoughts, a form of temporary escapism that granted him fleeting reprieve from himself.  

Two more hours. Focus, Simon, for two more hours. Smile at the onlookers, be a good part of your exhibit. Show people just how happy 20th century man was.

There were no onlookers. Nobody to smile at, not a single interested soul was there to learn about his plastic novelty telephones or his pants-burning ritual. Nobody.

Two hours crawled sluggishly by, and Simon had dug himself into a pit of misery during that time. Finally, as the doors fell and the outside world disappeared from view, Simon deflated. Fuck, that was hard. Exhausting, despite the fact that he had done nothing during that time. How pathetic he was, getting tired over just sitting on the couch. 

A reward was in order. Thoughts of cooking dinner flitted through his mind, despite the fact his sandwich still sat on a decorative plate, mostly untouched. Food could wait. He’d have one drink, just one, and then he’d throw an instant-meal in the microwave. The shitty beer he’d bought was luke-warm, and he relished in the bitter taste of it. Luke-warm was good. Simon wasn’t terribly picky when it came to alcohol, just as long as there wasn't any ice in the glass. 

That first drink went down easily, and soon there was another in his grasp. Dinner would get cooked after this one. He swore. 

Oh, but a third had found its way to his clutches, two empty cans staring judgmentally at him. Simon got halfway through it before freezing as he came to a realization. There was a peculiar silence in his mind, the usual background fluff pushed out by the subtle yet steady feeling of the alcohol. It was a gentle feeling, not overwhelming in the slightest. He huffed a laugh, really actually allowing the sound out of his throat.

The silence… how he’d missed the silence. Drinking deeply from the can allowed more of it in, pushing everything else out. Glob, it felt good. It felt great, even. He was tired and comfortably warm in this place. Sure, it might act as his prison, might make him feel more like a circus monkey rather than a human being, but for now that didn’t matter at all. Anxieties and worries swirled around in a metaphorical drain. Incessant thoughts surrounding the crown finally took a few steps back from the forefront of his mind, giving him space to breathe.

Ah, what a nice distraction; it was great to not feel the need to think so fucking much all the time. 

Chapter Text

For both Gumball and Marshall Lee, that missing feeling had returned. They’d been by each other’s sides for a little while, relishing in shared company. It was a wonderful feeling, but now that void had returned to haunt them both. Even Fionna and Cake seemed to have been affected by it, looking down and deflated as they all sat at dinner.

They were back at that bar that Marshall had introduced Gary to, and now it had become a regular destination. Gary was a sucker for nostalgia. Nobody really spoke, their whole table engulfed in a stormy cloud. 

Fionna just couldn’t wrap her head around it. She had everything that her and Cake could ever want: A fantastical world of magic and wonder that she could share with her friends. Every day was a new adventure. The word “mundane” didn’t exist in her world. So… why wasn’t she happy? Why weren’t any of her friends happy? 

Cake felt the same. Every day was a different adventure, a different boss to battle, new magic to discover. Strangely enough, that was part of why she felt so stressed. This world was so overwhelming sometimes. So much magic to discover and so many foes to defeat, how could she do it all? Cake had spent much of her life as Fionna’s non-magic housecat. Getting thrown headfirst into a dizzying world of complex chaos really stuck a wrench in her brain. Sometimes she loved it. Sometimes it left her shaky and nauseous.

Gumball had found absolutely no success with any of his science experiments. Each day was spent feeling frustrated and down on himself. There was no time for baking when he had a kingdom to care for. 

Marshall Lee missed the sun. Getting to spend every day with Gary was its own unique light in his life, but even his soulmate could never replace the warm sun on his skin. Now, without the protection of his umbrella or a hoodie, fragile skin quickly blistered under the rays. 

Both girls missed Simon an incredible amount. Bubblegum had informed them of his decision to move out, and felt worried for him. They knew how Simon tended to block off his feelings and hide his emotions in favor of not worrying those around him. The man was known for his ability to suffer in silence. Bubblegum and Marceline knew that now, right? They saw his misery and took action as soon as they’d found out. He wasn’t alone anymore. He was getting better… right?

Simon was doing better. There was a cigarette in one hand and a wrinkled, torn paper crown in the other. He leaned against the door to his refrigerator. Several empty cans of alcohol sat surrounding him.

This was his throne. Every king deserves a throne, he thought dizzily, watching his hands tremble violently. The cigarette wavered between twitching fingers, staccato lines of smoke drifting lazily upwards to the ceiling. The blue muumuu draped over his body was busily sliding down one exposed shoulder. 

To an outsider, it would not appear that Simon was better. However, he reasoned that he was at least doing better than he had been an hour ago. He’d apparently had a space-out session, and woken up wearing his shitty Ice King garb, body stuffed halfway into his fridge. 

As soon as he’d realized, blinking back to himself with a hearty jolt and a sharp gasp, he’d started having one of his hyperventilation spells. Or… panic attacks, as Bubblegum had called them. Simon refused to believe that he could experience panic attacks. Let alone the fact that he’d apparently just had one.

Or… was he still having it? It was hard to tell, nearly impossible to wade through a hearty haze of alcohol and nicotine. Whatever. He slid further onto the floor, noting as his foot dragged through puddles of half melted ice cubes. Cold sensations did something incredibly weird to his brain, but another drag of a cigarette drowned the feeling in a cloud of smoke.

He could never imagine finding himself in such a state around Betty. Sure, they’d drink together, but never like this. What would she say if she saw him now? Eh, he couldn’t find himself caring less about who saw him. Well, maybe he’d mind if Marceline or Bubblegum walked through the door. Maybe Finn, too. And actually, there were quite a few people who he wouldn’t want to witness this. Simon was actually quite grateful that Betty wasn’t around to see his final downfall, either.

Fuck, this was shameful. It really was. Blanking out, waking up with one penguin slipper sitting innocently on the tile while the other crookedly hung off of his foot. One knee resting delicately on the cold shelves of his fridge, feeble contents pushed to the sides. Discovering himself dressed in Ice King’s garb, paper crown included. There was a vibration in the pocket of the muumuu, and he shooed the feeling to the back of his mind.

Simon used to do this all the time, then he’d stopped. Why now, had he started coping like this again? Moving out of Marceline and PB’s place had been the right decision. For them to see him like this would cause embarrassment that might just trigger a heart attack. Marceline wouldn’t understand, and that wouldn’t be fair for her to have to endure such a stress.

The thought of her worrying over him brought an anxious stir in his stomach. His breathing picked up, lungs starting to work a little harder. A shaking hand found a can of something luke-warm and he dumped half of the contents down his throat. A few minutes passed. A few more minutes passed. The anxiety trickled away as the alcohol entered his system. All better. He’s great.

A cigarette in his hand left a trail of ash cascading down clammy fingers. When had he gotten the cigarettes? Had that also happened during his space-out? There’s incredibly quiet radio music playing somewhere too, he noticed. Who turned that on? He goes to inhale more smoke and finds that only the filter is left. Slowly scanning his kitchen reveals that the pack of cigarettes is up on the counter, next to his stupid lighter. Muscles in his face tilt down into a frown. Luckily, there’s another full, unopened can of something delightful sitting right next to him, the last of a six pack. He’s pretty sure that the six pack had been full an hour or two earlier. 

As Simon leans to grab the beverage, more vibrating happens from somewhere in his pocket. Ugh, whatever it was could wait. In the back of his mind, Simon noted the fact that the alcohol had essentially halted his panic attack. Though this was not new information, it certainly was a great reminder of how… useful it could be. That had been his entire reason for having a drink or two on this particular evening. Alcohol mellowed his tumultuous thoughts, distanced his brain from the crown’s lullaby. 

It brought him back to the present, allowing him a loose yet vital grasp on his own memory. Briefly, he wondered the reason behind putting on the crown again, before he remembered Fionna and Cake.

Their world was going to die by the hands of the Scarab if he had not done something. He had saved their existence. That alone had granted him incredible purpose. A reason to live. Simon had accomplished that task, and now… this was the aftermath.

Gaps in his memories, a broken relationship with the girl he cared for most, and of course, a deified fiancé. Ooo was an incredibly strange place. At the end of it, he’d fulfilled his purpose, and was now stuck living despite lacking direction.

“There’s no necessity to my life anymore, Betty.” He mumbled, despite the fact that she could not hear him. More warm alcohol poured down his throat. The buzzing in his muumuu was ever-persistent. He should probably check on that, figure out what infernal source was creating that sensation. 

Shit, both of his hands were full. Metal can in one, paper crown crumpled in the other. A brief flashback into his most recent fugue state revealed that he’d found the thing crumpled up in that same box, the one that typically lived at the top of his closet. 

… The exact box that the muumuu and slippers were in. Such a terrible knock-off replica crown could never replicate the same magnificence as the real deal, the one that sat in PB’s lab. Attainable, tantalizing, all powerful. A cure-all, the solution to every problem, an answer to every question. Surely, if he put it on and allowed it to sweep his mind blank, Marceline, Bonnie, Finn, and GOLBetty would all come to understand eventually. Didn’t they understand that it took away his terrible thoughts? Forced them into a box of smoke and mirrors, freeing him from a circular hurricane of never-ending negative thoughts.

Blank eyes fluttered open at the sound of his answering machine finishing off the tail end of its pre-programmed message. “-ease leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks! “ 

A long beep, Then: “Simon I swear to Glob. If you don’t answer this fucking phone now, I’m gonna come over there and tear every single page in every single one of your books right out of the spine!” 

A second sustained beep followed the sound of the phone being slammed back onto the receiver. 

Simon’s brain is incredibly slow to process Marcy’s words, but he stiffens quickly when the message finally squeezes into his brain. “Ah!” He shouted. The vibrating in his pocket had been his cell phone. Oops. 

Another minute was spent trying to paw it out between the layers of cloth of his muumuu. Simon couldn’t remember putting the infernal device into his pocket, but somehow it had wound up in there anyways.

Three missed calls stared back at him, unfocused eyes barely reading the words in the darkness of his kitchen. Thumbs fumbled against the buttons, navigating the cell phone’s call menu by muscle memory. 

Calling Marceline’s cell phone…   

“Simon, I swear to fucking glob, if you’re doing something stupid and self sacrificing, I’m gonna-”

“Marcy,” He breathed out, sounding relieved. Hearing her voice, alive and fiery, settled some small pit in his stomach. She was okay. When had he gotten so convinced that she wasn’t okay?

“S-Simon.” She cut herself off, sounding sad yet relieved. His mind, half soaked in shitty beer, welcomed the sound of her voice into the space. Simon loved her, would do anything to protect her. She was his kiddo. As much as he’d failed as her parental figure, he still loved her more than ever. 

“Are you okay?” Her meek voice knocked him out of his thoughts. Shit, no spacing out right now. 

“Uh, Yeah. Yeah. ‘M just fine. What’s up? Sorry I missed your calls.” He forced the slur out of his voice, words struggling to get above the alcohol-laden weight of his tongue. 

She thought for a moment, sighing. “Nothing, I guess. I think I just needed to hear your voice… It’s been quiet here without you. Are you doing okay? Going to therapy?” 

He hummed, willing his eyes to stay open. They’d closed again without his permission. “Therapy’s great, Marcy. Minerva is really helping.” A dry answer, one he hoped that she would not pick apart. Thankfully, she left it as it was. 

“Hey, listen. I’m sorry I’ve been so mean and pushy these past few days. I know I can be a little bit much sometimes. It’s just cuz I care about you.”

Millions of replies cycled through Simon’s head. I love you too, Marcy. Don’t worry about me. I’m not mad at you. I care about you. You’ve already done enough for me. I’ll be fine. “You’re okay, Marcy. I love you.” He mumbled out instead. Slick tiles under his smooth muumuu had him slumping ever-more to the floor. His body was nearly bent in half. Had there not been a healthy amount of alcohol in his veins, Simon was certain that his spine would be complaining loudly. Just another benefit of having a few drinks. No pain when he also couldn’t feel his fingertips. Life was good. 

Marceline told him about her day, talking for nearly an hour as he tried his damndest to be an avid listener, toying with the yellow paper crown in his hands between occasional sips of beer. She was contented to talk, and he was contented to attempt his best shot at following along. 

“Hey, seriously though, are you doing okay?” The question made him peel his eyes back open and half-heartedly push himself back sitting a little. The motion was sloppy and uncoordinated. A clock across the room blurrily read 11:34pm. Way past his bedtime. 

“Doin’ great, Marcy.”

He heard shuffling on the other side of the line, uncomfortable and awkward.

“...Promise?”

He finished off the final can, discarding it off to the side. “Promise.” Simon repeated, feeling another metaphorical nail sink deep into the wood of his coffin. Marcy hummed happily, sounding much less anxious and angry compared to how they’d started the phone call.

“Okay. I’ll let you go for now, you sound pretty tired. Goodnight, Simon. I love you.”

An uneasy smile came to his face. “I love you too.” A bit of shuffling was heard on the other side of the line for just a moment, and then the call ended. Several minutes were spent afterwards with the cell phone still pointlessly pressed to his ear. 

Half lidded eyes stared blankly ahead. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost imagine Betty was sitting next to him, thumb gently dancing across his knuckles. He wished to see her, wanted it so bad that his heart came close to exploding. She was always waiting for him in his dreams, and he felt ready to join her.

Forcing his body up from the cold, hard tile was incredibly difficult. Getting his sense of balance back took even longer, and it never even fully kicked in. It didn’t matter, Somehow, he managed to stumble over to the couch and flop down on it.

As his eyes closed, Betty was there. She waited for him in a large field of flowers, bathed in golden sunlight. They were inseparable every time his eyes closed. His only reprieve from this mundane, daily hell was the sweet bliss of dreams. 

Chapter Text

Waking up hungover and violently nauseous was exactly what he had expected to happen. Yet the moment he reached wakefulness, he found a myriad of other feelings present, including a deep disappointment in himself. A blurry glance at his kitchen clock revealed it to be 6:03am. Glob forbid he sleep in and allow himself the pleasure of dreaming. 

What did it matter, anyways? Everyday felt like a waking nightmare; as though reality was always an arms length away. Nothing felt real, and hadn’t since he’d donned the crown. Fuck, how he wished to commit to that feeling, really divulge in it by permanently slipping on the crown forever. Back to Ice King, a glorious return to blurry agony.  He missed being too out of it to realize how fucked up his life was. 

… That probably made him a bad person. Though he could have allowed himself to carry on with this particular thought process for hours, his nauseous feelings suddenly spiked. Simon lurched upwards, stumbling towards the toilet. He forced himself to walk, not run, towards the bathroom. He was no drunken college student reaping the consequences of a crazy night out, he was an adult, damnit. Adults acted prideful; graceful even in their mistakes. 

He knelt gingerly, swooping his hair back into a sloppy ponytail. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to spill half-digested beer from the depths of his stomach. It was the only thing that came up, seeing as alcohol was the only thing he’d consumed the day before. Shameful. Shame on him, living so insultingly. Diaphragm muscles spasming painfully as throat muscles worked overtime. It was all he could focus on, that terrible pain. 

… Was it terrible? Truly, was that the correct word to use? This present moment was one of his own making, a domino effect all the way from he first put on the crown. He flushed the toilet, watching alcohol swirl down the drain. Disgusting, he thought. A glance in the mirror revealed disheveled hair, a rumpled muumuu and a white-speckled 5 o'clock shadow. Revolting.

Ice King obsessed over appearances, constantly concerned with how much weight he was gaining, and what his muscles looked like. That ego had torn the wizard apart. Dream-like memories briefly resurfaced of sitting atop of his cheetah-printed duvet, alone in the Ice Kingdom, sobbing over his own self hatred.

And here was Simon, vigorously scrubbing his face in an attempt to get the dark circles out from under his eyes. They stayed. The beer stained muumuu was next to go. As he threw it on the floor, it clunked heavily. 

…Huh? Bending down to whip it off the floor caused his cell-phone to tumble out. Man, he’d really gotten comfortable in the damn thing last night, hadn’t he? 

After shaving and drying his face, he opened his phone to check for messages. Surprisingly, there was actually one waiting to be acknowledged. 

Marceline, 3:13am: Hey, wanna lunch this afternoon? Followed by a semi-blurry selfie of her and PB sitting on the couch cradling glasses of wine. She looked happy. The glow of the TV behind the camera washed the whole image in colorful light. A blanket was draped over the both of them, and their bodies leaned against one another. 

He could see just how much they loved each other. Betty and he would do the same sometimes, sharing a bottle of wine and a bowl of popcorn as they watched Cheers until the early hours. No amount of begging, pleading, or bribing could ever bring those moments back. Marceline’s photo left him with a sizzling pit of jealousy. After a moment, he looked up from the photo, and back at himself in the mirror.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Jealous of Marceline and Bubblegum’s happiness? Did he yearn for their misery? Glob, he was despicable. The girls deserved joy, especially after all he’d put them through with his bullshit as Ice King. Just because he missed Betty, that did not warrant such thoughts.

Simon needed to get it together, prove that he could handle his emotions. 

Yes! Stop by at noon? He texted back. Damnit, he had something to prove to them. To himself. 

Walking out of his bathroom and into the kitchen left him feeling… less confident. Numerous beer cans were arranged in a wobbly circle; several cigarette butts were strewn around. 

… One of them had burned a small circle into his floor. The whole place smelled like old water and cigarettes. It was embarrassing that he was only just now noticing. Ugh, Marceline and PB were only a few hours away and the place was a dump. 

He started by opening all of his windows in the hopes that the smell would leech out. Then, he got to scrubbing. While everything from the flood had dried out, there were still hard water stains on so much of the floor. Simon prayed that mold had not taken root in his floorboards. 

The process was arduous and his knees ached by the end of it, but it was a worthy cause. Lunch was happily bubbling away on the stove by 11:30, and the place smelled like flowery cleaning chemicals instead of cigarettes. Simon put a rug over the cigarette burn in front of his fridge. The bland fabric looked a little misplaced, sure, but it would work. 

He was a little proud of himself for being so productive. 

They were going to eat spaghetti. Marceline would enjoy the red pasta sauce, while he and Bubblegum ate the food itself. His crackling little radio was playing soft piano. Despite the rough morning, today was turning into a good day.  Marcy and her girlfriend arrived promptly at 12:02, and they greeted him with a tight hug. 

He melted into it, and was left saddened as soon as it ended. After ushering them inside, hot plates of food were placed on the table in front of them. Simon smiled as he watched them smile at his presentation. 

They ate, and life was good. Simon mostly just pushed his food around. Bubblegum’s presence was pushing some small, grating button in his brain, and he could barely convince himself to think of anything other than inquiring about the crown. She had it, he knew. Could he ask her about it without raising alarms? 

“Simon, these meatballs are delicious! ” Marceline declared as she stuck a fang into the corner to suck out the red. He smiled at her, taking a tentative bite of his own food.

Betty had such a special way to cook meatballs until they were tender and delicious, capillaries of mozzarella running through perfectly seasoned meat. She was a phenomenal cook, whereas Simon paled in comparison. She’d serve them in a separate cast iron pan and ladle spoonfuls of sauce onto two plates. 

Every night, his and Betty’s home used to be filled with the smell of cooking. Now, only the remnants of his cooking filled the air.

What he would fucking give to eat her cooking again. The things he would do to be able to wrap his hands around her waist as she chopped veggies, help her out by fetching the necessary spices or buying the right ingredients. All of her food was delicious, especially the miracle-meals she made on their expeditions. Simon’s own cooking could never taste the same, or even half as good. 

“This place looks way better than it did the last time we were here, Simon” Bubblegum spoke up during his lapse in speaking. 

“Oh yeah! I scrubbed the whole place.” He affirmed, smiling pridefully. They were noticing the fruits of his labor. 

“I’m glad things are looking better for you, Simon. By the way, Fionna and Cake say hello! I’m working on building another phone for you so that you can also chat with them.”

Simon brightened up at that. He missed them, hoped that they were enjoying the magic of their world. “That would be wonderful!”

They chatted more, idle words and occasional laughs. Eventually, after three hours of chill-time, both girls bid him goodbye, and Marceline donned her hat as she scooped her girlfriend gracefully into the sky. He waved them off with a smile. 

As the door clicked shut behind him, feelings of dread began to trickle inwards. Had he convinced them? Showed them that he was fixed, competent, and sane? Simon paced around, brow furrowed and hands buried in his hair. 

Having visitors had given him such a wonderful, distracting, temporary purpose. Now, that was gone again.

Simon needed direction, simply couldn’t sit by and watch the world go on without him. Or… could he?

Life had changed so much since her time, since their time. He used to live for her, stay alive for their adventures and discoveries and expeditions. Simon would wake up feeling excited for the day because he’d get to experience it with Betty. 

Now… What was he living for? The rest of his day was free and open, ripe for the taking. A fact that brought him no joy. What would he do, anyways? Marceline and Bubblegum were gone, he wasn’t in the mood to think about dinner plans, and he was all alone.

Simon padded quietly over to the couch and plunked down onto it. Thoughts and realizations stewed around in his head as he pondered a great many things. Fuck, the days were so long, with the nights drawing on even longer. He was 59 years old. Technically, 1059 if he counted his thousand year fugue-state. It was too late for him to start a career, and at this point he was far too old to be a field antiquarian. It wouldn’t be the same without Betty, anyways. What was the point of it all? What was his purpose supposed to be?

Did he really truly need purpose? Was… waiting to die… a purpose? Maybe that was all that life really was, just waiting to die. He could bide his time, make little choices that would surely shear  a few years off. Marceline, Bubblegum, and his other friends would be devastated, he knew. But they were immortals. Marcy would be fine without him, Simon was certain. She seemed to have forgiven him for wanting to move out.

He knew that she would let go eventually. 

The average male lifespan was approximately 73 years of age. So… he had 14 years to burn. 14 years to wait for death to reap him kindly. Life without Betty was long, winding, and meaningless. Completely purposeless. 

Perhaps he could just… rot here. Sit in this human museum for 14 years, living the same day over and over again. 

For over two weeks, he tried just that. He’d wake up to a dark, empty house. Every day he would open his doors to visitors, only to find the few pedestrians outside to be completely disinterested. He tried not to let it chip away at his ego, and yet it did anyway. 

Simon poorly attempted to limit his cigarette intake, and was failing miserably. Those little tobacco sticks paired so well with the bottle of whiskey he’d splurged on a few days ago. By the fourteenth day, Simon really was losing it. 

He woke up on the couch again, half empty glass of booze sitting innocently on the floor. Ice King’s muumuu was tangled around his torso, loosely hanging off his shoulder. Shit, if this was what he was reduced to after fourteen days of waiting, how on Ooo was he supposed to slough through fourteen years? His head was killing him. 

Getting up was a real struggle, but somehow he managed. As he reached the bathroom on unsteady legs, he bore holes in the mirror’s reflection. He hated this world, hated everyone in it, hated this house, hated… no…

No, he didn’t hate any of those things. None of his surroundings were at fault for who he was, or how he felt. It was Simon’s fault. More than anything in the world, Simon loathed himself. It was his fault for putting on the crown, his responsibility for causing so much turmoil towards the people he loved. 

After relieving himself, Simon padded out into the kitchen. Blank, empty eyes wandered around the room, eventually settling on the freezer door. It was slightly ajar. On the floor, a shitty homemade paper crown floated in a small puddle of water. Today was just getting worse.

Ugh. Walking over to it seemed a perfectly doable task, and it was, up until his bare foot found another wet patch, and he went careening  head-first towards the ground. He barely felt the back of his head hit the floorboards before he was out. 

…

Betty had been the first to suggest seeking out the crown. They were in Scandinavia, searching for an amulet. It was going a little slow, a little fruitless. During an impromptu stop at a restaurant near the ocean, she had noticed a dock worker waving something shiny around, shouting at people that he was selling it. 

“Hey, Simon. Check out that guy over there!” She pointed. Simon followed her eyes, chewing bites of his meal. After finding what she was pointing to, he readjusted his glasses and squinted at what was in the man’s hand. 

“Looks like he’s holding… a crown?”

Betty gasped, jumping up from her seat. Her excited motion knocked their water glasses over, but she didn’t care. “A crown! Simon, I think I know that crown! I read about it in a book a few months ago. It was last seen here, in Scandinavia!” 

Simon jumped up too. “Are you completely certain?”

“I dunno,” she said, digging in her pocket for a bill to pay for their meal. “But there’s only one way to be sure!”

And then they were both running out of the restaurant, backpacks and coats in tow. Simon grinned gleefully. This was his favorite part of expeditions: New discoveries with his favorite person in the world. Her excitement was contagious and nearly tangible. He relished in it as they ran over to the man.

He was elderly, with a long beard and a relentless tremor. Strangely, he appeared almost desperate to get rid of the crown, selling it to them at what almost seemed to be a loss. At the time, neither of them thought much of it, simply excited to verify the existence of more magic in their world. 

Ironically, after Betty had tucked the damn thing in her suitcase, they’d gotten swept up with the rest of their trip and nearly forgotten about purchasing it. 

It was only after they’d gotten home and unpacked that Simon had placed it on their table that Betty regained interest in it. They'd been a little disappointed that they hadn’t found the amulet, but perhaps the trip wasn’t a total loss. 

Betty was fascinated by it, peering deep into its gems with her magnifying glass.

“Any information on it?” She asked him as he flipped through a whole library of books regarding mystical crowns and gems. 

“Who knew that there were so many sacred crowns out there? I can’t seem to find anything on our crown though. None of the drawings and descriptions match what we have…”

Betty hummed, a little disappointed. “I might’ve wasted our money, then.”

Simon huffed a laugh. “Hey, I don’t think so. I’d rather risk it and end up with nothing rather than miss an opportunity to have brought an ancient relic back into the light.” He whipped the crown up, tossing it up and down in his hands. “Even if it’s fake, it’s still beautiful. A crown to befit a princess, like yourself.”

Betty smiled, looking at him with adoration. “Haha, you’re silly. Besides, I think it looks much more like a king’s crown.”

“I guess I’ll just have to put it on to see, won’t we…” Simon raised it above his head, plopping it on his hair so casually. “... My princess…”

There was nothing either of them could have done to prepare Simon for the onslaught of visions that the crown funneled directly into his brain. Reality around him bent and swirled, cascading into a funhouse of ice and snow. 

Simon tried to fight against it, desperately swimming against the sudden onslaught of madness, but it was useless. The undertow immediately pulled him into the current, sweeping him beneath the surface. He stumbled, shouting as he covered his ears. The crown’s lull was too powerful. Its powers of persuasion were too much for Simon’s feeble brain.

You are in danger, it whispered. You can save everyone. Use the powers of Ice and snow. Forget your sorrows, and I will tell you all the secrets of frost. Magic writhed just beneath the surface of his skin, desperate to escape through his fingertips. Betty’s terrified face briefly swirled around in his vision, gawking at him with fearful contempt. 

Somehow, he ended up outside in the street. Cars honked as magic ripped through his hands, freezing up the surrounding city. Ah, this much power felt absolutely phenomenal. Simon just wanted to sink into this lavish, icy bath, and let the slush drown him. Snow began to gather around him.

… Snow? It was the middle of summer, wasn’t it? Suddenly, a sense of wrongness filled him. What was going on? Where was Betty?

Loudly, he shouted out for his princess between bursts of powerful ice magic. Where had she gone? Was she safe? He could keep her safe with the power of the crown. Flashes of her terrified face swam in front of his eyes, and he jolted backwards.

No, no no. This was wrong. Betty had looked scared, and now he couldn’t find her. Despite every fiber of his being fighting against it, he managed to knock the crown off of his head. It cluttered to the floor, lavish metal scraping against asphalt. Simon was left panting and dizzy.

“Where’s my princess… Where’s my Be- Where’s Betty?” 

Thinking felt as easy as wading through viscous black sludge. Simon felt ill, incredibly so. 

His surroundings warped again, and he blinked awake on his kitchen floor. Back to the present, an unwelcome return to this unending monotony. He groaned, hand traveling to the back of his scalp. Blood smeared onto his fingertips, a deep coppery color. 

Head wounds were known to bleed a lot, so he pushed his worries aside. Funny, the cut in his skin rested in the exact same spot as where the portal always opened up. It hurt, and he let himself get lost in the pain momentarily. 

Eventually, he noticed that something was clutched in his other hand, and he peeled himself off of the floor and into a kneeling position. That same paper crown was clutched between his fingers, crumpled yet unripped. 

He’d have to make a new one if he ever wanted to wear it again. He was so pathetic, making a shitty craft replica of the very item that had ruined his fucking life. ‘

No... no, He reminded himself. Simon ruined his life. This was his responsibility. That flashback had just been a stark reminder that Simon had put on the crown. He was at fault for everything. 

The shame of it all was too unbearable. Tears welled at his eyes as his spine bent inwards until he was knelt in a tight ball on the floor. 

“M-Make it stop, it has to stop, I can’t take it, p-please…” He begged to nobody in particular. His head throbbed and his vision swam. The crown’s curse, so deeply nestled in the back of his mind, seemed to pulsate with each punctuated sob. Simon hated it. Simon needed it. 

Such magic had the ability to strip him of his worries, erase all anxiety and fear, and replace his misery with omnipotent knowledge of frost. Simon needed it back. Not to save Fionna-world, not to protect Marceline from the oozers, not to amuse Betty.  Simon had to have that crown for him, to satisfy his own incredible selfishness. 

The crown was a route to an end of his suffering. 

… Would it really be so bad to endure another thousand years of dreamlike confusion? At least he wouldn’t be able to remember it; wouldn’t be able to remember the abject horror on his friends’ faces.

Shaking hands poured a glass of liquor as plans began to spring forth. No matter who tried to stop him, Simon would get another crown. Then, all of this could be put into the past.

Chapter Text

There seemed to be a lingering air of anger in the Candy Kingdom. No… it had permeated throughout the entirety of Fionna’s world. The people were unhappy, no matter what kingdom they belonged in. Something was wrong.  

Both Fionna and Cake couldn’t wrap their heads around it. Neither could PG or Marshall Lee. They were all too caught up in that same tidal wave of longing. A whole magical world around them, and still none of them were happy. Lately, the only thing that Fionna and Cake found happiness in was talking to Princess Bubblegum back in Ooo.

They enjoyed hearing stories of Finn’s heroic endeavors, retold through PB’s lens. Equally, Bubblegum was just as fascinated with their world. Cake acted as their messenger, as her constant fixation with technology overcame Fionna’s occasional and unintended forgetfulness. 

The updates that they received about Simon were hopeful. They’d been informed of Bonnie and Marcy’s visit; How Simon seemed motivated to repair his place and get back to work. That gave them hope, even when it seemed like their own adventures were a little fruitless.

Currently, Cake and her owner were sitting together in their treehouse one night, silently shoving food around their plates. The cat was a wonderful cook, truly just as talented as it sounded like Jake was. After a grating few minutes of silence, Cake piped up.

“I just don’t get it.”

“What?”

Fionna’s companion stood, beginning to pace. “Why are we so… unhappy? We have everything that we’ve been fighting for, but I feel like I just hate it.”

Expression saddening, the blonde sunk down in her seat. “Yeah… I know how you feel.”

“But why, Fi? Did we do something wrong? This is exactly what I wanted. You and I knew our lives were supposed to be magical. Why does it feel so wrong now?”

“Great question… I don’t get it either. We were happy like this for years before we ever met Simon or Prismo. What changed?”

“I dunno.” Cake said. “I wish I could tell ya.”

“Maybe we just gotta wait it out. We’re still adjusting, y’know? Just because we have memories of  our non-magic world, that doesn’t mean we have to let it get in the way of what we have now.” Fionna got up, padded over to her cat, and picked her up in a big hug.

“We have each other, and a whole universe to explore. Surely, we’ll find reasons to be happy right here.” Cake encouraged.

From afar, nestled deep in space, Prismo the Wishmaster watched with rapt attention. The cube was still a mess, unkempt and filled with random garbage. It would be so easy to wave a hand and zap all of it away. But Prismo kind-of liked things this way. The outer turmoil reflected his inner turmoil, or something like that.

It wasn’t that deep, he told himself. Mostly, Prismo just missed Fionna and Cake. Their stories gave him motivation, passed the time, and gave him comfort in those moments where he missed Jake. Now he could freely watch their events play out on their own. But… Things weren’t the same. They didn’t feel right, and it wasn’t just the fact that the Scarab was still trapped in the permafrost. Frankly, Prismo was just surprised that Orbo or The Boss hadn’t gone looking for him yet. 

With a chuckle, he realized that it showed just how much either of them liked having Scarab around. The Scarab didn’t matter anyways, not with the building trainwreck that was Simon Petrikov. 

Prismo had tuned the channel to Simon’s house on a whim one afternoon, and had discovered a fascinating sight. The antiquarian’s home looked eerily similar to the mess of the cube. Alcohol bottles, clothes and random trash strewn around, scientific notes scattered on every surface, and… wait, that was different. Prismo was a wishmaster, not a scientist. There was no need for notes in his realm.

What was Simon doing? Books cluttered the floor and countertops, random scribbling filled the walls. 

“Shit, he’s been busy…” Prismo said, clicking around in an attempt to find the place’s owner. It took an embarrassing amount of time to realize that one of the heaps of dirty clothes spread around actually was Simon. 

He was curled up against the linoleum, wine bottle clutched in hand. His hair was uncombed and mussed, dangling in front of his face to obscure Prismo’s secretive view. He looked to be asleep. Interestingly, he wore a muumuu, alongside a poorly crafted paper crown. It looked like a drunk toddler had crafted it.

… Oh.

Prismo dragged a hand over his one visible eye, cringing. Near the end of his life, Jake had really taken a shine to the guy, marveled in his remarkably complex web of knowledge. 

For just a moment, Prismo considered switching the channel and turning a blind eye. However his sense of morality froze his finger mid-reach. 

Prismo had decided to store Fionna and Cake’s universe in Simon’s head. Prismo had decided to burden a cursed man with his own wreckless selfishness. Now… it wasn’t Prismo dealing with the repercussions. 

His 2D chest rose and fell, huffing a dramatic sigh. It probably would be good to at least check on the guy, beam him in and make sure he was pacing his drinks. Glob knew that Prismo certainly didn’t, not these days.

First, he had to check to see if Simon was awake. Carefully his laser was aimed on the floor, Prismo’s echo-y voice reverberating around the room.

“Ice Ki- Simon, anybody home in there?” Oops, no more Ice King anymore. Surprisingly, Simon actually did stir. Bloodshot and watery eyes peeled open. A thoughtless hand dragged the bottle across the floor, glass clinking briefly before Simon sat up and immediately brought the alcohol to his lips. He was clearly too out of it to notice Prismo’s godly presence. 

Ugh. Prismo was hoping he wouldn’t have to do it, but there appeared to be no choice. A button clicked, and Simon’s form dissolved into the sky. All at once, he landed on two feet. Clearly, his sense of balance lagged because he immediately tipped over and crashed head-first into the ground. Miraculously, the wine survived unshattered. Prismo winced, waiting patiently for the other man to find himself.

Blurry eyes found their way up to Prismo’s form as Simon struggled to lift his head. 

“Don’t you usually wear glasses? Here, let me-” A quick gesture, and a new pair of glasses found their way onto Simon’s face. He blinked, sluggish brain lagging behind. 

“What d’ you want?” He eventually spat, voice slurring heavily. “I have nothin’ to do with Fionna ‘n Cake.” 

Prismo rifled through things to say. Eventually, he landed on “It’s uh, not about Fionna and Cake.”

“What, then? Unless you havva way ‘t get Betty back, I don’ care. Leave me alone.”

The Wishmaster was half tempted to. “Hey man, I just wanted to check in. That’s all.”

“‘M doing great. Do I needa make a wish so I can go?”

Simon wasn’t exactly lying. He felt alright, even laying stomach-down on the floor of the time room. There was enough alcohol in his blood to pickle his liver, but that wasn’t high on his list of priorities. In fact, in the antiquarian’s book, that was a good thing. Alcohol kept him passive, shoved away at the flashbacks that constantly ebbed at his vision. He couldn’t give less of a shit if Prismo understood that or not. This wasn’t about him.

“I don’t really know if I can believe that, bud.” 

Simon grumbled, attempting to peel himself up. At least now he could see again. His glasses had gotten broken a few days ago during a particularly vicious flashback. Glass met his lips, and he chugged the last fourth of his wine. 

“Don’t care. I wish for a, uh, a pack of cigarettes. Gimmie, and then send me home.” 

Jeez, this guy. “I’m not letting you waste your wish on that, Simon. Seriously, I’m a little worried. Do you even know what day it is on Ooo?”

“...Thursday?”

“Monday.”

“Whatever. Send me back. ‘Ve got shit to do.”

“Like what?” Prismo pried. 

“None’ve your bis-business. Worry ‘bout yourself.” 

The Wishmaster scoffed. Sure, the cube was a mess and he missed the freedom of writing stories, but he was fine. They were both fine.

… Prismo couldn’t lie to himself like that. “I’ll tell you what. Hang with me for half an hour, just to sober up a little. If you wanna leave then, I’m happy to hold the door for ya.” 

Simon groveled for a bit, before eventually scooching up next to Prismo to lean against the wall. Light trickled down from the ceiling, forming into a glass of water. Simon glared, refusing to touch it. Next to it, a bowl of chips touched down.

Several minutes passed, and eventually the man stuck a chip in-between his teeth. Prismo smiled. Drunk cravings always yearned for salty potatoes. 

Half an hour passed, both of the room's occupants watching Prismo’s screen with vague fascination as channels scrolled lazily by. Simon eventually got to a place where he actually managed to sit up, instead of slumping bonelessly against the wall. After chugging the water glass, he spoke.

“... Can’t remember the last time I had water.”

Prismo smiled. “Yeah, sometimes I get like that too. What’s on your mind, man?”

Simon contemplated what to say for a while, mulling through everything despite the persistent fog that had settled in his brain. “Guess I’m… Just having a moment.”

“That’s uh, one way to phrase it.”

“I think we’re both having a moment.”

The Wishmaster smiled, laughing a little. “I know I am. Hey, we’ll get through it. I have times like this. You don’t have to tell me the details, but I hope you know that it gets better.”

Simon wanted to believe him, wanted so desperately to accept those words at face value. But every time things got better, they always got worse again. Life was a constant cycle of getting better, and then getting so much worse. But Prismo wouldn’t accept that, he understood. So, instead he nodded. “It’s getting better already.”

“Attaboy! Every day’s a new one, right?”

Every day was a new one. Maybe Prismo was right. Things would get better. He told Prismo as much, just to get the guy off his back. They sat in a slightly more comfortable silence for just a little longer, and then Prismo whisked him home.

Things would get better as soon as he had the crown. And now that he had seen a myriad of other universes on Prismo’s TV that contained magic ice crowns, Simon finally had his starting place.

Chapter Text

Simon knew all too well that there were multiple vital components to create a portal. Of course, there had to be a magic battery. In the past, he had used Choose Goose, as well as the Enchiridion. Betty had used Maja, herself, and Ice King’s crown. There had to be a battery, a source of magic to power the portal.

Then, of course, there was the catalyst. Something to guide the portal to its correct destination. Hambo had served well to guide the portal that Betty had initially jumped through, back on the day that he finally figured out where she’d disappeared to after a thousand years of looking. 

“Mystic Rituals and Their Space-Time Applications”, by Simon Petrikov and Betty Grof. Their first co-written book. A treasured item, one that Simon kept safe and tucked away usually. There were so many books in that house that were proudly displayed on his shelves for museum visitors to poke and prod at. It mattered not if they got their sticky fingerprints all over those books. Just not this one. 

Yeah. This one was special. Even Ice King had understood that, having hid a vast library of knowledge beneath his mountain. In that library, for a long and cold eternity, was their book. Protected from mold and decomposition, preserved perfectly in a dry chill. Now it laid on Simon’s floor, hooked up to a multitude of clips and wires. 

Unfortunately, Betty’s picture could only work for so long. Their book had to be Simon’s chosen catalyst. He only had so many polaroids of her. Besides, the book was more powerful, an item that was lovingly tended to throughout the ages, just as Hambo had been. He was making a portal, after all. An extremely powerful feat of magic, a performance with a limited run of showtimes. 

As for the battery… The Enchiridion wouldn’t do by itself. There had to be more than that. This ritual had to work. Simon spent several days deliberating over various solutions before finally realizing the ultimate route. The crown’s everlasting curse was still burrowed deep inside of him, infusing him with dark magic. Sure, that magic wasn’t as potent as it could be, but it would work. 

Though… Simon started having some slight second thoughts as he sat in his little altar space with a knife pointed towards his wrist. A little blood; he just needed a little bit of it. It would serve to guide his portal towards a universe that had a crown. Prismo had shown him a wide variety of crown-containing universes, so he knew what he was looking for. A little bit of a bodily sacrifice was well worth the pain. Was using a kitchen knife to bloodlet himself the best course of action? … Who could say. Simon wasn’t here to focus on that.

Candles all around him flickered, making the light in his space waver ominously. It was late at night, most of the residents of the human city had gone to bed. A chill crept into his space, tiptoeing across the floor. Goosebumps washed up and down his back, bringing him briefly closer to reality. 

Alcohol heavily clouded his senses, cigarette smoke filled his lungs. Liquor and nicotine were temporary solutions to numb his mind, pacify the brain until the crown could fill that void. Ah, what an absolute abyss it was to fill. 

For a singular fleeting moment, Simon briefly wondered if this was the right choice. What would Betty say if she saw him like this? Drunk, covered in clips and wires, pointing a knife at a vein in his wrist, sitting in a room full of dark arcane ritualistic materials… What a scene. 

Ugh, he didn’t want to think of the disappointment and fear that would fill her face, the way it all would send tears to her eyes. She would think him abhorrent, wouldn’t she? For just a moment, he set the blade down and reached for the bottle of… whatever. Simon had stopped keeping track of what he was drinking. He took a deep pull of the bottle, tongue too numb to appreciate the taste. Smoke from a cone of incense curled into the air, perfuming the small space with sweet fragrance. 

Marceline, Bubblegum, Finn, Fionna, Cake, and everyone else would be so disappointed in him. He could see the shame in their eyes exuding a tangible disappointment. He didn’t care. There was no point to his life, no purpose for living. Maybe they’d never understand his reasons for doing what he was about to do, but it mattered not to him. They didn’t have to understand. Mostly, he just prayed that if GOLBetty was watching, she would understand. 

Glob, he was pathetically selfish. On top of that, he was exhausted from having these repetitive thoughts. Being stuck in a vortex of self hatred all day was not how he was trying to live. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well be magic and miserable. At least Marceline wouldn’t have to watch him die a mortal death if he had the crown.

The knife was redirected towards his wrist again, and it wavered in his grip. Waiting on the floor was a bowl, standing by to be filled. A stolen glance around the space ensured that everything was in order: The Enchiridion , “Mystic Rituals and Their Space-Time Applications”, the empty bowl, and Simon himself were all hooked up with wires. To his left, Betty’s half-melted photo stared innocently at him.

“Forgive me, my darling.” He whispered to her, praying that she couldn’t really see him. Blood welled up from around the sharp, cool metal. Pain zinged up and down his arm, and nausea bubbled quietly from within his gut. Simon could do this, damnit. He’d chosen to use the arm that had been maimed during his and Finn’s impromptu quest, the area quite scarred already. At least, if this failed, there wouldn’t be a new mark there. Not that he really cared, but other people might notice. 

Maybe I should’ve picked a smaller bowl, he thought momentarily as red liquid dribbled slowly into it. Dizziness began to stir at his vision, and he blinked it away with a frown. It only had to be filled until the point in which it could make contact with the wires. Then, he could finally get on with this whole ordeal. In the back of his mind, Simon said his goodbyes. He had no idea if he would be able to get back to Ooo after this, if Ice King could retain coherence enough to make another portal, let alone one that would take him back home. A note probably would’ve been good to write, but in his drunken haze, forethought was a faraway concept. 

Clammy hands pressed the blade further in, and he watched in fascinated horror as more blood lazily leaked out. Humans really were so fragile. 

That same dizziness from just a few moments ago was annoyingly persistent. Simon forced his vision to focus, eyes drifting over to his and Betty’s book. Hours spent poring over every line of text, ensuring both scientific accuracy and grammatical perfection. A laborious task, one that the two of them had so carefully completed together.

“Al-almost there…” He gritted out, finally removing the knife from his pale skin. Fuck, when had he started shaking so badly?

As the pool reached an appropriate volume, Simon finally withdrew his wrist from where it hovered. Wires were in place, artifacts and catalysts and batteries all hooked up. Simon looked behind him, leering at his dark apartment. He hated this place, hated how it acted as his prison. Now, he would be free. The crown would release him from this hell. Simon crossed his legs and got into position. No more stalling.

“Reveal the path, and grant me passage…” Blood lazily ran down his arm, unimpeded by skin. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage…” Alcohol muddled his brain. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage…” Simon’s body felt weak and flimsy, too many days spent without proper nutrients or hydration. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage…” A burning scent reached his nose, one that smelled much different from the incense or the candles. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage…” Electricity began to tingle in the air, sapping Simon’s strength and leaving him stuttering.

He had to keep going, no matter what. This had to work. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage…” Staying awake and aware was getting strangely difficult. Maybe he shouldn’t have had those last few sips of booze. “R-reveal the path… and grant me…passage…” The ritual was drawing too much for him, draining from his life source instead of from his artifacts. “Re-reveal the… the path, ugh, and…” He had to stop, open his eyes and pull the wires off. But as he tried to do so, he found that his arms wouldn’t move. They fell to his sides, pliant and limp. 

His vision was blurry even though he could swear that his glasses were on. Gravity was a fickle thing, flopping around and changing directions every second. Weak muscles in his stomach and back released their tension suddenly, and Simon found himself tipping backwards.

No, he begged, pleading. This had to work, it was his one escape. But his mouth wouldn’t chant, his arms wouldn’t move, his core strength burnt and diminished. Vertebrae met linoleum as his back collided with the floor. Ceramic clinked, and he distantly felt something warm, viscous, and wet soaking into his shirt. Electricity sizzled out as a small gasp of air leaked from his lungs. Around him, his fuzzy view of the ceiling faded steadily into black.

“How late have you been up working on this thing?” Betty asked, gentle hand combing through the back of his scalp. Simon smacked his lips, staring blankly at the computer screen. It was half past 3am.

“Just uh, like an hour.”

“Simon, it's the middle of the night. Our research can wait until morning.” 

Our … He relished in that word. Our research. His and Betty’s. For so much of his academic career, he had been a solo researcher, struggling to find his way into a world of iconic scholars. Betty’s unending support had been the thing to finally push him into the limelight, a fact that he would never forget. She was the one to help him flourish, and he wanted nothing more than to help her relish in those same feelings. 

When this book was published for all the world to see, it would have both of their names on it. “Mystic Rituals and Their Space-Time Applications” by Simon Petrikov and Betty Grof. Their names were going to be on the front, together. Forever. 

“I know, I’m just excited. I finally get to write a book with the person I love most.” Simon said back, smiling at her.

She returned the expression, bending down to kiss him with a hum. He wondered if there was an artifact out there that could stop time. He’d use it to relish in this moment forever, just to feel her incredible love for an entire eternity. 

She coaxed him up and dragged him to the bathroom to prepare for bed with the promise of editing his writing in the morning to include her own thoughts. 

Of course, she always came through with her promises. Every word that she wrote was a stroke of brilliance. She suggested theories and questions that he had never even thought to consider, exploring realms entirely unknown to him. She was a genius, and deserved recognition for her work. He would ensure that she received that honor from now until the end of time. 

That book was their pride and joy, a sacred text with its own special love language sewn between every line of text. 

Now, back in the present, it sat next to a puddle of congealed blood. The edges were charred and the pages were beginning to curl inwards.

Chapter Text

Copper hung heavily in the air; weak stripes of sunlight peeked through haphazardly closed curtains. Sparse, short breaths were the only sound throughout the entire house. Eventually, however, more noise began to percolate through the place. Pained groans, shuffling, ceramic clinking against linoleum. 

Frankly, Simon was a little surprised to find himself alive. For a brief moment, he wondered if the ritual had killed him. Squirming around in his throat was the heavy disappointment that his body had somehow endured. His eyeglasses, which were already askew on his face, fell into his lap as he sat up. Immediately, the massive headrush that hit him left him gasping and slumping inwards. Fucking shit, everything hurt. A headache pulsed through every fold of his brain. Whether it was the blood loss, the strain of the ritual, or the potential alcohol withdrawal, Simon was unsure. There were likely many sources.

Finally, as his eyes cracked back open, the remains of his failure glared back at him. A decent sized puddle of coagulated blood lay staining the floor, spreading up his shirt and wrist. The Enchiridion looked ever-more worn. Worst of all was his and Betty’s book, looking pathetically charred. In truth, the damage could have been much more substantial than it was. But the damage sent tears welling up in his eyes.

… What had he done?

Shame and pride completely abandoned, he allowed several fat, salty tears to drip down his cheeks. Ugly sobs escaped between clenched teeth. The crying only exacerbated the headache, quickly causing it to careen into migraine territory. Alone in a human zoo was a man stewing in the wreckage of a self-made catastrophe.

Failure after failure after endless fucking failure. What was he good for, if he couldn’t even do a fucking ritual correctly? His one and only goal to acquire a crown was an unreachable impossibility. 

Slowly, he began to get to his feet. Bearing any weight on his maimed wrist caused drastic spikes of pain to race up and down the nerves bundled deep in the limb. Though, the feelings were immediately forgotten as he turned around and found a figure sitting on his couch. 

Betty.

There she was, watching him silently. She wore Magic Man’s hat; had donned her cape. Her thumbs twiddled idly in her lap. Simon fell backwards, scrambling. Instantly, his throat was dry and his mind scrambling for any kind of purchase as logic escaped him. Nausea roiled violently as last night’s drinks attempted to resurface. His heart pounded so fast and hard in his chest that he was half convinced that he was having a heart attack.

Fuck, this was it. He’d really, really lost it. A whole new level of super-insanity, one that he would never be able to come back from. She waited patiently as he hyperventilated on the floor, pulling at chunks of his hair. 

After all this time, how was she here? How was this possible? Betty had fused with GOLB, sacrificed her life for Ooo, mixed her soul with that of Chaos incarnate. 

Eventually, he forced himself out of his frozen state of panic. When he could finally see clearly again without a barrage of tears blurring his vision, she was gone. Simon spent the entire day drinking heavily.

Far away, fights kept breaking out in Gumball’s kingdom. Actually, there was a record number of violent reports flowing in from every kingdom. Each prince was finding trouble keeping themselves and their citizens in check. People all over were… discontent. Angry. Wanting. Fionna and Cake worked for days to quell the disruptions. Every time they broke apart one fight, another would start just down the street. 

Both girls were feeling the strain of it all, a phantom burning sensation in their lungs that left them both just as miserably angry as everyone else. The whole damn place felt wrong; between the stifling air, the obnoxiously bright colors, and the magical danger that lurked around every corner, Fionna and Cake were fed up.

Prismo watched it all happen, spending every second of his endless eternity glued to his TV screen. There was an imbalance to the whole of their universe, a phenomenon that he had never seen before. Truly, it was fascinating in the worst kind of way. Prismo just didn’t understand. Their universe was canon, Cake had made the wish. As Wishmaster, Prismo had granted that wish. But… maybe there had been some kind of monkey’s paw twist? Had the Wishmaster accidentally cursed his own universe? 

This, he was unsure of. It was hard to tell, but something needed to change. Things just weren’t right. 

Gumball and Marshall Lee had known almost immediately. In truth, Marshall’s undying devotion and love was the only thing keeping the Prince afloat. During the monarch’s few moments of free time, he spent it with the vampire. Marshall sat and played guitar, listening intently as Gary detailed his far-off dreams of opening his own bakery. Equally, Gumball would relish in the smooth chords, listening to his lover sing about basking in the sun. While Marshall Lee tended to relish in the darkness, experiencing a forced nocturnal life was not his cup of red. 

Meanwhile, Marceline was trying her best to give Simon space. It was an endeavor that was going… poorly. She worried for him constantly, as did Bubblegum. In fact, it was Bubblegum’s obsession with monitoring and surveillance that left her texting Simon every day, just to check in on him. Though his messages were short and included the occasional typo, he seemed to be doing… okay. She’d suggested trying to meet up several times for various different activities, but he always managed to slip out of their plans at the last minute. Sometimes he was busy with the museum, other times he was supposedly repairing water damages.

She handled it graciously, not allowing the rejection to really get to her. He was a fully grown adult, one who had managed to survive over a thousand years despite being plagued by a curse. Simon was strong. And, now that he was receiving therapy, she felt that he could handle himself. Besides, he was texting her back, right? That proved that he was okay, and that he wasn’t stepping out of line. 

They’d meet up for coffee or something soon…

All day, despite the heavy drink, Simon couldn’t shake the nasty feelings in his head. Betty had been there, hanging out on his couch. He scrutinized the memory a thousand times even before the clock hit noon. She had been sitting on his fucking couch, staring at him. It had to be real. She had to be fucking real.

Why hadn’t she said anything? Where had she gone? Simon just couldn’t make the math work. Had she gotten in with magic? His memories as Ice King yielded no answers. He knew that with magic she could fly, and could… maybe conjure illusions? He remembered laughing at birds or something at one point. 

Desperation, deep and flailing, ate away his mind. More than anything, Simon longed for the ritual to have succeeded. If he’d just tried a little harder, just did a little more, just gave a little more blood, was just a little better, he could have done it. Instead, here he was, weak and useless. Human. Out of place. Out of time. 

For over half of his day, Simon slept fitfully on the couch. Sticky blood, still crusted on his arm, sent uncomfortable shockwaves through his body each time he woke. Evermore, he pushed all of his feelings away in favor of sweet dreams. Betty was there, too, as she always was. Only this time, he knew how to navigate her presence as he lived through old memories. 

It was 5:33pm when Simon came to a sudden realization. He popped awake with a sharp inhale, body jolting. While he was currently mostly sure that Betty’s appearance had been in his head, he realized that his brain was trying to give him a sign. These dreams, her ghostly appearance on his couch, his inability to create the portal… all of them posed a problem that could be fixed by one solution.

Every day, for so long now, had been spent longing to be with Betty. No matter how he tried to reunite with her, he always fell short. Even when he tried to escape his memories by attaining another crown, Simon had yet again fallen short. Every day ended with failure, every morning began with acknowledging every single one of his inabilities. 

Throughout twelve years, he had spent every moment desperately trying to get back to her so that they could be reunited. This problem… so slippery and tricky, yielded but one simple solution: One final ritual to get back to hers. He would find GOLB and fuse himself with it, or die trying. No matter what it took, no matter how it tore his sanity to pieces.

Either way, he realized coldly, embracing death was the final step. This would be his last stop, no matter how it needed to happen. There needed to be a release. Simon’s body had served its purpose; a thousand years of torment and abuse on behalf of his own damn mind. 

It all had to stop. He couldn’t take it anymore. Betty’s death had destroyed him, frayed his brain apart like cheap yarn. But just like yarn, surely there had to be an end to the string. A finishing line to this long and tortured existence; a place to find release from the agony coursing through his very heart of hearts. 

If Simon didn’t put himself out of his misery, this feeling would last forever. He understood that. It was time to act, once and for all.

Chapter Text

Simon sat on his unmade bed, hands shaking in his lap. Betty stood next to him, peering wordlessly over his shoulder. She looked indifferent. In the last few hours, Simon had seen her appear several more times. The sun was going down, those last few rays of light danced across his floors. Occasionally, he’d steal glances at her to find the light passing through her figure. Not only that, but she had no shadow. He really had lost it. 

In front of him sat a camera, ready to record his goodbyes as soon as he could convince his body to allow him to stand. 

The damn flesh-bag was falling apart. Shitty eating habits left him underweight and dizzy. A constant barrage of heavy liquor made his body permanently dehydrated. A passionate headache pulsed behind his pale skin. The wound from that kitchen knife was swollen and achy; would most likely get infected if he was alive long enough to let it. 

This was his end, the final few hours. Simon had one simple goal in mind, one last purpose: To get to GOLBetty or die trying. He’d beg her to consume him, digest him, and set him free once and for all. Perhaps he’d get lucky enough to fuse with her. Either way, it didn’t matter. Ultimately, he just wanted an end to this eternal misery. A thousand years as Ice King coupled with a dozen more years of agonizing loneliness had rotted his brain to the core.

It was his time. No more waiting, no more late nights spent in drunken hazes, no more drastic attempts to crawl out of a pit of despair. End of the line. Finito. Lamb to the slaughter. 

Simon shifted forward to click the camera’s record button, and sat back on the bed. From behind the camera, his hallucination of Betty leered at him. 

“Marceline,” He started. Tears welled at his eyes. There were no words to say that could ever take back the hurt that he was about to cause. She would be devastated, and it broke his heart ever-more, fracturing a million shards into a billion tiny snowflakes. “I’m… leaving this tape for you. I hope it gives you some closure, my darling.”

Pathetic, salty tears dripped down his cheeks and he choked back sobs. He begged her to know his pain, told her that if she never forgave him for what he was about to do, that he would understand.

“I know that I am unforgivable. I have caused you and everyone else a thousand years of hurt. What I am about to do… will leave behind a legacy of pain. If you never speak of me again, if you burn all of my belongings and leave my house abandoned, I want you to know that I get it. Your hatred towards me is justified.” 

How could she not hate him? Simon had betrayed her constantly, all the way back to when he selfishly put on the crown and left her alone in the snow; Abandoned the little seven year old that he viewed as a daughter. In many ways, he believed that the release of death was almost too kind for what he deserved. Part of him was tempted to stay alive for just a bit longer, if only to grant himself the punishment of prolonged suffering. He certainly believed himself deserving.

But… the thought of death brought him peace, banished the shaking that constantly plagued his hands. 

“I know that you will hate me for what I will do. I am only acting by what I believe to be right. Just know that I love you. Goodbye.” Simon finished, Stumbling forward to hit the stop button took so much energy. 

Doing the ritual again would certainly kill him; Sap the energy from his body, leaving it a soulless husk. He could only hope to stay conscious long enough to see GOLBetty one last time. 

Getting everything set up left him cold, sweaty, and panting. As he worked, he listened to the curse vibrate around in his brain. The Crown had granted him immortality, and even its song seemed fearful as preparations for his death came together.

… Being rid of the curse again would be nice. Silence without constant longing seemed ever so appetizing. It took several hours to get everything in order, and Simon marveled at his work by the end of it. 

He’d packed up much of his belongings into boxes, if only to ease the inconvenience of having others clear his belongings out of his house so that the place could be sold.

The altar in his closet had also been rearranged to fit his needs. He’d added clips to his final remaining photo of Betty, hoping that it could provide that last oomph of power necessary. Also included were several other relics of his lifetime: Notes, tapes, souvenirs, sheet music, nearly anything of sentimentality. Each item was something that contained deep memories and deeper love. That love would help to guide the ritual, sending him to his final resting place. Simon stood in front of the intricate contraption of wires and objects, heart thundering in his chest. 

“One last drink,” He told himself. Internally, he knew he was stalling. But who was he to deny himself one last human pleasure? As he made his final drink, he flipped his radio on and tuned it to a random station. Classical music crackled quietly out of the speakers. Simon flopped on the couch with an overfilled pour of liquor, watching the liquid swirl around as music permeated his brain. 

He drank slowly, savoring the taste. “... The human experience has been so cruel without you, Betty.” He knew that if he turned around to look, she would probably be there. “Every day I’ve spent trying to get back to you. Every day spent… thinking about what I’d say if I ever saw you, the real you, again.”

A deep pull from the glass. “But there’s nothing left to say… other than sorry. I know that you’d despise me if you really knew what I was doing right now.” A stifled sob came from somewhere deep in his chest. “If I don’t end it now, I’m going to feel this way forever. I just… I- I can’t keep going on like this. The sadness, the loneliness, the insanity constantly at the forefront of my mind. Betty, I can’t. I’m not strong enough… I’m sorry. Really, I’m so, so sorry.” 

He sat in a shell-shocked, spacey silence for a while longer, nursing his final drink. Bittersweet music crooned quietly. Eventually, just like all things in his life, the moment came to an end. The drink drained down his throat, mingling with his blood as the alcohol made everything numb and fuzzy. All that remained in the cup was a final sip, warm and stagnant; amber liquid reflecting his form in the darkness. 

For just a brief, glinting moment, he was tempted to let his eyes to slide shut, allowing him to sleep another night and see Betty in his dreams like always. But Simon knew that he would wake up miserable and in pain. This cycle had to end tonight. 

“A toast to you, both Betty and Death. I hope that my exit from this world is swift, and that whatever comes afterwards is kinder than life.” He said, hoisting his arm up. “Cheers.”

And then his drink was gone.

Simon stood, stumbling slightly from the persistent vertigo. As his vision cleared, he looked around to see if Betty was still around anywhere. His heart faltered when he couldn’t find her. Of course, his cruel brain wouldn’t even grant him the privilege of seeing his love just once more.

He staggered over to his closet, plopping down clumsily. Shaking hands clipped connections to his sleeves and pants, and he rolled one sleeve up to reveal his scarred arm. Simon was acting as his own magic battery once more, and he hoped that providing an easy access to the curse laden blood coursing through his body would create a successful portal. It had to.

… Or maybe it didn’t, because he’d be dying tonight either way.

Piano, so soft and graceful, filled the air as Maurice Ravel’s Miroirs: III. Une barque sur l’océan began to play. The music soothed him as he picked up the knife and aimed it towards his wrist. One final adventure. One last journey to the great beyond. Simon was sure of his choice. His hands no longer shook. They suddenly became steady as the blade neared his wrist. Splitting the skin apart was almost too easy, as the previous wound was just barely held shut. He pushed hard, enjoying the zing of pain. Simon would be free of this endless turmoil soon. Free to dream of Betty for all eternity. They would be together again soon.

Thick ribbons of blood dribbled messily onto his lap, hasty droplets sliding down into the bowl. Simon was impatient, pushing harder as the metal sunk deeper into flesh. Reality around him flickered, becoming intrusively sharp and then indescribably blurry at a moment’s notice.

This was it. He was finally doing it. An eerie peace began to flood his brain, pacifying him momentarily before he snapped out of it. No. He couldn’t black out yet. The ritual needed to be done.

There was blood everywhere, both in the bowl and all over his hands. It coated the clips and wires, lazily coagulating on various surfaces as it flowed quickly from his wrist. Fuck, he’d gone deep this time. Good. No take-backs. 

An electrical current began to pulse through each connection, and Simon knew that it was time. This was the end.

“Reveal the path, and grant me passage.” His heart thudded loudly in his chest, overtaking his hearing. He strained to hear the sweet music, just one last time. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage.” Betty’s smiling photograph filled him with sweet sadness. He would be with her soon. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage.” Droplets of blood traveled up and down his arm, flicking onto surfaces and staining his clothing. It didn’t matter. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage.” A spot on his floor began to sizzle. The ritual was working.

“Reveal the path, and grant me passage!” He yelled louder, desperate to stay awake. Soon, this would all be over. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage!” Paper began to catch fire and burn, sending ash to swirl around in the air. “Reveal the path, and grant me passage!” A portal tore the floor apart, yawning wider with every second. He was so close. His body felt so far away, so distant. Simon was almost able to let go.

“Reveal the path,” He said, chest short of breath as the portal threatened to swallow him. “And grant… me… passage.” Black energy welcomed him as he tumbled forward into GOLB’s dimension.

An undetermined amount of time passed in a strange limbo. It felt like trying to wake up from anesthesia. Sensations came and passed. A warm wetness on his arm. A strong, stable, oddly uneven surface underneath him. A voice, familiar and light, calling his name. He chased that voice, and it brought him finally back to wakefulness. 

GOLBetty stared down at him, four eyes passing judgment upon him. His arm poured blood everywhere, and he knew that he didn’t have long. Deep red pooled onto her hands, the same ones that were cradling him gently. 

Simon pushed himself up, swaying at the incredible dizziness. This body was dying, its vital life source gurgling out of him and onto his fiancé’s palms. She looked terrified and unsure. He smiled at her.

“‘S okay, Betty.” He said, tears welling in his eyes. “Y’don’t have to understand. ‘N if you never forgive me, I get it.” His eyes trailed down to his injured arm, and he watched momentarily in stark fascination. So much life inside of him. Trillions of cells working so hard in a fruitless attempt to stem the leak. He tried to stand, and found that he couldn’t. As soon as he got halfway up, he lost his footing and careened downwards. GOLBetty moved to catch him, and he slumped over one of her large fingers. There was blood everywhere, smearing all over her claws. 

His vision was getting rather fuzzy, eyes threatening to drift shut and never open again. Simon forced his stubborn sight to clarify, to stare at the abstract art he was making on her hands with his own blood. 

“‘Ve lost a… lost a lotta blood.” Talking was hard, but he forced his mouth to move anyway. “I’m, uh, gonna die soon. Finally… Took me long enough.” He laughed, feeling distantly euphoric. Despite the permanent chill in the air, GOLBetty was so warm. He leaned into that heat, sagged pathetically against her. Oh, he felt so unwell… So far removed from his body. He was dying. Death was at his doorstep. More blood smeared all over as he tried to move. Weak muscles refused to obey his commands.

Simon felt her tilt his head up with one dangerously sharp nail. He was grateful, as it was getting incredibly hard to convince his neck muscles to behave. All he wanted to do was look at her. Memorize every detail in her face, just as he had done a thousand years ago. Breathing was getting difficult, but he soldiered on anyway, using every last bit of strength. She had to know. He had to tell her.

“I… I know I’m selfish for this… I know that- that this is the last thing you ever wanna see, but…”

She gazed down at him, tears trickling from all four eyes. He felt shame for making her cry, but he pushed forward.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Betty. Sorry that I failed you, s-sorry that it has’ta end like this… I jus’ wanna be happy. I love you s-so much.” Death was inching ever-closer. He remembered that day that she had thrown herself through a Hambo-shaped portal to rescue him. A choking noise came out of his throat. Simon was surprised that he had survived this long, and had even maintained his consciousness for even longer. But it was fading. He was fading.

“We can… can be happy together… forever. Eat me, l-let me fuse with you, n’ we can be together.” A final request, his last selfish ask. His knees gave all the way out, and he flopped back into her palm. Distantly, he felt it quaking underneath him. 

As his eyes drifted shut, he felt her fingernail push the white clump of hair out of his face. He hummed, too tired to speak. Her large form blurred out as his eyelids shut. At first he saw blackness, the darkness provided by his own eyelids. He heard his own breathing, listened to the thrum of the universe around him as it threatened to swallow him whole. Simon's senses receded further inwards, narrowing his existence until it was only the warmth beneath him and the beat of his own heart. He relished in that silence, bathed himself in it as it coated his consciousness in deep blackness. He only wished he was strong enough to open his eyes one last time to see Betty, but he knew that she was waiting for him just on the other side. The blackness inched ever closer as his brain started to shut down.

There was silence. Blissful, all-encompassing silence.

...

But then, an explosion of light flooded every sense, catapulting him through a psychedelic litany of memories.

Betty was there in all of them. They traveled to the ends of Ooo, spending every living moment with one another. Their song filled his ears, sending shockwaves reverberating through his entire universe.

He relished in their memories, leaned deeply into the sweet relief. But slowly, surely, the scenes began to change. Simon saw himself, gray hair and wrinkles in his face, living joyously amongst his friends. Going on grand adventures with Marceline, making new discoveries with Princess Bubblegum, helping to introduce beneficial magic to all of Ooo with Finn. 

In these visions, Simon wasn’t just surviving, he was living. Purposeful, fulfilled living. Life itself pulsed through his mind, manifesting in a euphoric joy. It mirrored that same joy that he had felt when he had Betty by his side. 

But… How could this be? How was it possible to be happy without the great love of his life?

His questions were answered immediately. That Simon, the one in his visions, had created his own purpose. He had pushed himself upwards from the depths of despair to enjoy life. He had chosen to be happy, opting to do the work to get better rather than allowing misery to swallow him whole. In this dream, Simon had made the choice to live, despite his hardships.

Simon had not considered that there was life after grief. He had not known that there was more to existence beyond the agony of depression. And now, it was too late.

Except… Betty would not allow him rest. She channeled everything that she had into his unmoving body, He tensed, writhing openmouthed. The blood flowing from his wrist was slowing down now, only because his body was running out of it. She was nearly out of time to save him.

Help me protect my Simon, She internally begged to the entity that she was fused with, trembling hands siphoning life into her love. By some unknown miracle, GOLB obliged.

Her entire body began to pulsate, glowing brightly. Her entire dimension was bathed in glorious, life-giving light. Simon rose upwards, placid body righting itself. Blood sluggishly dripped from his wound still, and Betty knew that he was almost out of time.

“My love for you is eternal,” Her voice, loud and strong, emanated through space. “No matter where you are, I will always be with you.”

Then, GOLB’s body began to dissolve, breaking apart into a million pieces. No… Not pieces. Each part was alive, brandishing beautiful blue wings and taking flight. Butterflies. They engulfed his form, small legs picking him up by the fabric of his clothing as they carried him far. With each beat of their wings, they breathed energy into his body, willing him back towards the realm of the living. 

His lifeforce still slipped, but GOLB’s power kept his soul firmly contained in his body. The butterflies acted in coordination, wrapping his body as they pushed him back to his own dimension. They were sending him home.

As Ooo’s warm breeze softly graced his cheeks, he opened his eyes. Cars honking jolted him back to awareness. A phenomenal and all-consuming pain threatened to engulf every sense, but a single sensation dragged him out of his agony: A gentle tickling on one of his fingers. Slowly, his vision focused, and he found something blue trying to latch onto his knuckle. A… Butterfly? What?

He gasped, suddenly looking up. Those car honks were directed at him, and his wrist was currently bleeding out all over the fucking road. The necessity for help was dire. He stumbled out of the middle of the road like a drunkard, looking desperately to find aid. Time was of the essence. That same butterfly was attempting to drag him forward, seemingly understanding how to fix his problem. 

Simon allowed it to take him, finding safety and peace in its beautiful blue fluttering wings. Darkness was threatening to overtake his vision when he finally spotted Minerva in a nearby park. She was calmly answering a child’s question when he stumbled up to her, feet barely finding stability in the perfectly manicured grass. Blood dripped copiously into the lush green blades.

Just as he spotted Minerva, that same butterfly relinquished its hold on his hand. It flapped its wings gracefully for just a moment before landing on his chest. He put his bleeding arm protectively in front of it as he hurriedly approached Minerva.

“Hello citizen. What can I assist you with today?”

“I- I need help,” Simon stated. Then, he keeled forward, falling face-first into the grass.

Chapter Text

His cell phone had been ringing for the last twenty minutes straight. Nonstop, unending, ceaseless buzzing. Marcy, the name on the screen read. She’d taken to texting him every day, just to check in. It soothed her anxieties. Even if he replied back a few minutes late, he always replied eventually.

Except today. Today was different. It had been an hour with no reply. She’d texted at a reasonable hour, during the late morning. Marceline never made the mistake of tossing her phone aside again and forgetting about it. The damn thing had bore a hole into every pocket of every pair of pants she owned. She felt soothed that way. Simon was only ever a text away that way.

Except, now he apparently wasn’t, seeing as there had been no reply. She was about to sound the siren. Bubblegum did little to assure her. In fact, her girlfriend mostly only added to cloud of panic. 

She waited, antsy and fidgety for over half an hour longer before slamming the internal emergency button.

“I’m going over to Simon’s.” Marcy declared, not waiting around for PB’s answer as she flew around, searching for her hat.

“Right now?”

“Yeah. I’ll text if I need anything. Love you!” She called, donning her sun-hat and launching out of the cave. The flight over was short but tense.

He was fine. He had to be fine. She couldn’t handle another scare, not now. She’d just gotten him back just over a decade ago. There was absolutely no way in hell she was going to lose him again… let alone again again.

But of course, his dark and hunkered-down house extinguished any hope she had. He always opened his door, passionate about educating other humans about the 20th century. 

Fucking shit, he’d done it again. She didn’t even bother to knock or try the door handle. A quick and easy transformation had her pale hands rippling into dark wolf fur, sharp claws to boot. Metal screeched and tore as she wormed her way in, and she cared not for how she damaged the place.

Sunlight poured into his dank, humid apartment. The place was surprisingly clean, and… boxed up? Various boxes of all sizes were conveniently piled in one corner of the living room. Her eyes tracked around the room, eventually settling on the complete crime scene in front of a shitty, handmade altar.

GOLB’s statue stared dumbly back at her as she quickly ran up to it, coming to kneel on the stained linoleum. There was blood fucking everywhere, coating surfaces and half-dried in a rather large bowl. A knife, clearly the weapon of choice, was carelessly laid to one side. 

Marcy’s brain backfired as panic seized her. 

“S-Simon… No, ” She mumbled. Tears overtook her vision, and she crumpled inwards. Hands desperately clenched at her clothes, trying to find purchase as her grip on reality completely dissolved. What had he done?

A terrible sadness, the agonizing kind that had her sobbing herself half blind gripped her heart and squeezed. For several moments, she laid like that. Slumped over in her own father figure’s dried blood, trying desperately to grasp the reality that she was in. 

Eventually, her cell phone rang. Frankly, the noise and vibrating feeling scared the shit out of her, jolting her slightly out of her panic. It took an embarrassingly long time for her to dig her phone out of her pocket to see who in the fuck could be calling right-

Holy shit, it was Simon. Clear as day, the caller ID read his name. Her device proudly boasted his cell number. The ring tone was the one she’d set for him. Immediately, she fumbled some more before finally hitting answer.

“Simon!” She nearly yelled, shoving the phone between her ear and shoulder as she floated upwards. “Where are you?”

“Hello?” A woman’s voice said on the other side of the line. Marcy’s brain short-circuited again as she ripped the phone out from its perch to stare at the caller-ID one more time.

It said Simon. Unless the Vampire Queen had completely forgotten to read, she was right.

“You’re not Simon,” She said, heartbeat picking up impossibly faster.

“No, I’m not. My name is Minerva Campbell. This number was saved in Simon Petrikov’s phone as an emergency contact. Am I speaking with Marceline?”

Marcy sunk back to the ground, a whirlwind of emotions leaving her flabbergasted. “... Speaking.”

“Ah, perfect. I am calling to inform you that Simon is in the Human City’s hospital. He is alive, but in critical condition. Do you have any interest in being a part of his care?”

Her throat bobbed uselessly as she attempted to speak. Time moved like frozen molasses, cold and suffocating. She felt as though all every happy feeling and every happy memory had been ripped directly out of her brain. 

“Hello?”

“I’ll be there,” She spoke, lips hardly moving.

Then, she was launching high in the sky, phone gripped tightly in her hand. Simon’s garage door remained torn and open to the public, but that was the least of her worries currently.

Her eyes scanned the ground, looking for the hospital. It was easy to find, a sterile beacon amongst a sea of cityscape.  Faster than a bullet, she careened towards it, crushing concrete under her boots as she landed at the front door.

Humans around her flinched, murmuring to themselves as they stared at the sudden, obtrusive spectacle. Marceline did not notice their stares as she thrust herself through the automatic doors.

“Welcome to the hospital,” The woman at the front, Minerva, greeted. Her kind face and subtle wrinkles did nothing to soothe Marceline.

“Simon Petrikov,” She spat rudely. There was no time for pleasantries.

Minerva politely gave her his room number, and she was off once more. Quelling the rage roiling around throughout her entire body was a distant impossibility as she stalked the halls. She knew that she was acting completely inappropriately for a hospital setting, but she didn’t care. As soon as she saw her old man, she was going to rip his heart out of his chest, crush his windpipe, snap every bone, smack him straight across the face until-

She stopped in her tracks as she stumbled into his room. He looked fucking awful. A small team of Minerva-bots was working on him. One of them was bandaging his arm up, while another recorded his vitals. A third was fiddling with his IV’s, while the fourth one adjusted the oxygen mask on his face.

Simon looked positively deflated. Terrifyingly pale, so sickly and small as his personal nest of blankets nearly consumed his fragile figure. Warm, salty tears dripped down her face as she watched his frail chest rise and fall.

He looked… dead.

The machines surrounding him that worked tirelessly to keep him alive had more life in them than the man in the bed. 

Large tears rolled in numerous quantities down her face as though somebody had turned a faucet on again. She approached him, scooping his upper body into a bone crushing hug. His team of doctors said nothing, allowing her this sacred moment.

He slumped bonelessly against her, so cold and soulless. Marceline cradled his freshly bandaged arm, gawking at just how his arm was seemingly consumed in thick, white wraps. For several minutes, she waited for any signs of consciousness as she listened intently to his breathing. In the background, the sound of his heartbeat soothed her only minutely. 

Simon did not move, made no effort to open his eyes or respond. A million words shuffled through Marcy’s head as she tried to figure out what to say.

She should ask Minerva what happened. She should figure out what kind of care they were providing for him. She should ask her about the recovery timeline, and figure out when visitor’s hours were. Marceline said none of those things. 

Instead, she forewent all of her questions. “... It’s not funny. This isn’t funny, Simon!” She shouted, volume immediately elevating. She shook him by the shoulders, hissing in his face. His head fell back, neck unwilling to tolerate the pull of gravity. His heartbeat remained slow and unbothered, and his breathing remained shallow and slow. 

Minerva, however, was not willing to see her already medically fragile patient being shaken around. The bot that had finished dressing the wound rounded the bed, placing a gentle hand on her visitor’s shoulder.

“I am happy to provide counseling services for you if you are in need of a healthy way of expressing your emotions. However, this is not a desired way to express yourself. You’re putting my patient at risk.”

Marceline was half tempted to turn around and hiss at this stupid lady, before her brain so helpfully reminded her that she was responsible for sustaining her father figure’s life.

Another Minerva-bot helped her maneuver him to lay comfortably on a sea of white pillows. She stared blankly at him, mind running a million miles an hour. His unbandaged hand, though limp, was wrapped tightly in her’s before she even realized it. Desperately, she longed for him to reciprocate the gesture and squeeze back.

Glob damnit, what kind of shitshow had Simon gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

He dreamt of nothing, save for the occasional sounds that managed to penetrate deep into his subconscious. Voices of all tones and volumes, coupled with some kind of strange incessant beeping. Sometimes, it was quiet.

… Other times, there was music. Soft, comforting, familiar. Singing, accompanied with a strange variety of instruments. Mostly percussion. Simon didn’t mind it. The sound, so harmonious and powerful, sometimes brought him closer to the surface. He had mixed feelings about this. Getting closer to waking up meant that he felt more of the pain in his body; persistent aches and a nagging coldness. 

Simon wasn’t ready for it, unprepared for what opening his eyes to the light could bring. So, for a long while, he opted to shove it away. Turning his brain off and relenting to the vast nothingness was an irreplaceable comfort. Everything else could wait.

Except, Marceline could hardly stand it. She was losing her mind every damn day, waiting for him to show some kind of signs that he was alive. Something… Anything to prove that he was still in there, still had the same soul residing in the same body. She knew that he needed time, especially after what Minerva had told her.

A suicide attempt. Simon had attempted suicide. There was no way that it could be anything else, not with the angle of the cut. Minerva told her and Bonnie that it was some kind of miracle that he’d been able to get so far away from his residence to ask for help. They were still trying to figure that one out.

Bubblegum spent much of her time stewing, contemplating what should be done to best handle the situation. The scientist in her wanted to drag him back to her lab so that she could poke and prod at him.

… But the person in her, the loving ruler that wanted to protect her citizens and do what was best for them knew better. Relocating Simon would only serve to cause unnecessary stress and strain on his already faltering body. She knew that he was in rough shape by just one glance at him, and flipping through his lengthy charts only proved what she already expected. 

Severe blood loss, severe dehydration, severe anemia. His liver and kidneys were floundering, as were several other bodily systems. Neither Bonnie nor Marcy had any idea how he hadn’t been in terrible discomfort in the days leading up to the attempt.

Or… he probably had been in terrible discomfort, given the fact that once again, he’d tried to kill himself. 

This reality was such a heavy weight to bear. It sent Marceline into a daze. Bubblegum was a wonderful support system, as was Finn when he was able to be around. A whole barrage of people came to visit him: From a whole line of various princesses, all the way to Dirt Beer Guy. Marceline wasn’t entirely sure that he’d appreciate the crowd in his room, but it wasn’t like he was awake to see it. 

They played music together, singing in glorious synchronization. Oddly, Simon seemed to relax into the pillows at the harmonious noise.

For several days, life revolved around the old man’s care. Changing bandages, checking vitals, trying to reverse his medical woes. It was a tough uphill battle, but the worst of it all was simply waiting for him to open his eyes. 

Neither PB or her girlfriend had any idea what they’d say or how they would react when he eventually did.

Surely, it had to happen soon, right?

On the other half of the multiverse, Fionna-world was a shitshow. Prismo watched from afar, heart fluttering in his chest as things continued to spiral downwards. There was nothing he could do, except act as a witness. Intervening into a wish-altered reality, especially his own messed-up fanfiction reality, was probably the easiest way to alert the boss’s attention. The only way for them to see any change was to fight for it, or ask for Prismo’s help.

He could only lay in wait. Hope. Pray. Fill his time with luke-warm beer and texting Cosmic Owl. It wasn’t working so well. Checking in on Simon did little to alleviate Prismo’s anxieties. 

He was looking… a little worse for wear. In fact, more than just a little. Though… something about him seemed different. It wasn’t the various tubes snaking all around his body, busily keeping him nourished and alive. It also wasn’t all of the stuff strapped to his face, or the bandages swathing his wrist.

… It wasn’t even the thin, baby blue nightgown that he’d been carefully dressed in. No, this went deeper. Prismo dove in to investigate, rewinding with his remote. Simon’s figure on the screen went quickly in reverse. Several Minerva-bots removed him from the bed, marched his unconscious body down the hall backwards, and eventually out of the hospital until eventually Simon wound up face-down in the grass, bleeding to death. 

Uh oh, that was new. He clicked pause, scrutinizing the moment just before he toppled over. He had his bloody arm clutched to his chest. Except… there was something underneath his hand, something he was protecting. 

Prismo kept rewinding, all the way until Simon was back in GOLB’s dimension. There was Simon, leaning drunkenly against a large finger, sloppily smearing red all over. Fuck, he’d really tried to end his own life, huh? Prismo really hadn’t expected that. He had a sneaking suspicion that nobody had expected him to opt for a self-assisted death.

He watched as GOLB, with Betty’s influence, made extraordinary efforts just to save the human’s life. Prismo scrutinized the screen as the entity’s skin rippled, flowing and dancing as light overtook every inch. Then, an eruption of butterflies briefly clouded the screen’s view. Blue blurs shifted and moved in unison, mimicking the murmuration patterns of birds. They moved as one, the swarm, and began to engulf Simon. The antiquarian himself seemed blissfully unaware, quite possibly too busy shaking Death’s hand to really know what his fiancé had just done.

Finally, Simon ended up back in Ooo, where Prismo watched two ultimate sacrifices take place. The first: Simon asked for help, forfeiting his dignity in favor of choosing life. But then… there was still that butterfly shielded desperately in his hand… Prismo watched it press itself delicately into his chest, spreading fragile pastel wings to be on full display. Simon guarded it protectively, unaware of what it was about to do.

The last of GOLBetty’s essence, her sacrifice for him, was what gave him the final push that he needed to survive the journey to the hospital as well as the resulting medical procedures that needed to take place to stabilize him. The butterfly’s form fused with his, sinking into his chest.

She had given him that strength at the expense of her own power. Betty had convinced GOLB to stave off death for just a little longer so that he could remain in the world of the living.

… And though it would be a long road to recovery, Betty’s ultimate sacrifice kept Simon alive at the cost of her own existence. Simon was going to be absolutely inconsolable if he ever found out. 

Although, wasn’t this what he had wanted? To be with his love forever, to fuse with her and join their souls? Ugh, the temptation of not intervening into his life to analyze him close-up was going to be difficult to resist. Hopefully, the mystery would resolve itself. As much as he wanted to watch the whole thing play out, Prismo did have other tasks to take care of. The work never ended.

The antiquarian himself was making steady progress, body slowly worming its way towards the waking world. The sensation of touch returned slowly, and with it there was pain. Not a lot of it, seemingly dulled by something foreign, but there was pain nonetheless. 

Other things trickled in too: Someone holding his hand, having conversations about random mush, something cold going into his arm. He didn’t like that feeling, quickly becoming set on politely asking whoever was messing with him to please stop. He was trying to rest, damnit.

Peeling his eyes was a mistake, as waking up sent his brain into an overload. Soreness encompassed each muscle. Cold fluid flowed through needles carefully set into his arm. Beeping noises bounced around the room, reverberating around in his head. Even the low light and the quiet surroundings caused a headache to bubble just behind his eyes. 

Where in Ooo was he? What was this? He’d just been elsewhere a moment ago, though he could not remember where. Betty had been there, Simon was halfway positive.

Sore, exhausted limbs began to shift as he attempted to push himself sitting. 

“Relax, Simon. You’re okay,” A voice, Marceline’s, said passively. She stared down at a notepad in front of her, writing lyrics with one hand as she held his bandaged hand in the other. Simon opted to brush her inattentive concern off in favor of continuing to squirm.

She looked up then, and paled considerably as she noticed his eyes were open. “H-holy shit, Simon? Are you really awake?”

Simon swallowed, throat feeling suddenly scratchy. It felt like there was something stuck back there. He forced the bad physical symptoms down in favor of addressing his one burning question.

“Marcy,” His voice was scratchy and quiet. “Do you know where Betty is?”

Chapter Text

They stared blankly at him, and the attention made discomfort snake up his spine. This was all wrong, everything was all wrong. He’d just been with Betty, had just finally found her again and was ready to join her in eternity. 

They were going to be lovers together, reunited after a millennium of suffering, of madness, of… terrible, soul-clenching loneliness. He and Betty had found each other again, and now, she was not here with him. 

Simon began to get out of bed, noting how his limbs shook. Wires tugged uncomfortably at his skin, and it felt like all of the blood in his body was in the wrong place. Breathing came in short, small huffs. Betty was around here somewhere, he could feel her. The people around him were talking, and he was trying his best to push their presence aside so he could hone in on hers. 

Where was she, Glob damnit? He’d sacrificed so much to get to her, thrown away everything for one final move across life’s game board, and now…

Now he wasn’t even sure if it had all been real. Simon had to get out of here, get his head on straight, and figure out what went wrong. 

“Betty… I’ve gotta go find Betty” He said by way of explanation, as their protests flooded the room. He did not listen. Instead, ivory sheets slid off of his legs and he swung both pale, clammy limbs over the side of the mattress. Movement was difficult, and this much of it made Simon aware of just how weak and awful he felt. Minerva, several Minervas actually, calmly entered the room and began attempting to verbally dissuade him. 

These words continued to fall on unwilling ears. It was a little hard to hear over the rush in his ears, but none of that mattered. Betty, damnit. Only Betty mattered. He was going to be with Betty, even if it killed him. 

Reality fragmented apart at the very seams as he pushed himself off the bed. Several searing hands came into contact with his own, and he weakly batted them off. 

“Simon, stop. You’re confused and on your way to hurting yourself even worse. Please, sit.” Bubblegum’s voice drifted by like a wayward leaf riding on the breeze. Instead of heeding her advice, he pushed ever-harder against his living restraints, uncaring of how it damaged his body. Tears came to push at his eyes, hot and salty, but he was too weak to actually allow himself the privilege of crying. 

Taking a step felt harder than anything he’d ever accomplished in his life, and instead he found himself careening forward, down towards the ever-present pull of gravity. Something stopped his path, a familiar and supportive body wrapping itself around his withered torso. 

The stabilization of someone so strong and persistent gave him brief peace, but was not able to entice him away from his goal. If he had to crawl back to Betty, then he would. So be it. 

Resisting did nothing as multiple people easily overpowered him, forcing him easily back into the open bed.

“Simon, if you keep resisting we’re going to have to sedate you.” Minerva warned, apparently already ready with the medication in hand. 

“Just relax,” Another, different Minerva said. Fuck, this was getting confusing. He knew that there were multiple different versions of the same woman in the room, but with his vision occasionally doubling it was difficult to see just how many people he was up against. 

For a split second, Simon weighed his options. Risk sedation to find his Betty? Or… give up?

Simon was no quitter, not when it came to Betty. 

“I’m going to find her,” He announced, point blank. Minerva, or maybe two or three of them all shrugged in unison. One of them pushed something into his IV and his whole body went numb after a minute. 

Shit. He should’ve ripped out the needle. 

“I didn’t give him enough to send him back under, mostly out of caution. The amount of blood he lost was rather extreme, especially given his health, weight, and hydration levels. I don’t want to overdose him.” Footsteps shuffling, and then Minerva’s same voice wormed his way into his ears.

“Finn, would you mind getting him back into bed? He looks just about ready to fall over.” 

Large hands scooped Simon up under the arms, and he moaned as his body was settled back into the bed. It was still warm, still had an indent from his weight. He hadn’t even realized just how cold he was until the blankets were piled on him again. 

Thoughts that once came at a million miles a second began to slow, and his vision blurred as his eyelids tried to drift closed. He held them open stubbornly, still hellbent on achieving his desire. 

This moment was so familiar, so similar to when he’d first woken up in PB’s lab, just after putting on Jerry-world’s crown. Princess Bubblegum had found it necessary to sedate him then, too. Was he still at that hospital, still struck with tremendous and overwhelming madness, still laying in that bed? What was real, and what was a memory?

A quiet, miserable noise leaked out from somewhere deep in his chest. Marceline’s hand met his, and he wondered if that was real, too. Half-lidded eyes wandered down to the point of contact, noting how her thumb gently graced across white bandages.

“You’ll be okay, Simon. I’m here.”

He relished in those words; sluggish brain chewing each syllable slowly. Her tone was tired and worn, as was her face.

It took an embarrassingly long time for his arms to receive the signals his mind was sending them, but eventually they got the gist. Shaking, thin fingers slowly snaked their way around Marceline’s wrist, pulling her closer.

She leaned in willingly, coming to rest on the side of the bed. 

“Guys, I think Simon probably needs less people in here. He looks overwhelmed.” Marceline declared, polite but firm. The others, including Minerva, Bubblegum, and Finn, all nodded understandingly as they made their way out.

Simon watched them go, grateful as the air got a little lighter. Though his lungs still struggled to process oxygen efficiently, at least there weren’t so many extra bodies to keep track of. Presently, it was only Marcy. A deep fear that suggested she was going to leave too began coiling around and his stomach clenched.

“D-don’t leave, please.” How pathetic he felt, begging her to stay with him. She was all he had left, since Betty was nowhere in sight. His tongue was dry and numb in his mouth, and he still felt so out of breath from the whole ordeal of moving. He pushed these sensations aside, but they bounced right back. He looked to Marceline for comfort.

“I won’t leave, Simon. I love you.” She said, squeezing his hand once more. Pain rattled around inside his body from all kinds of undetermined locations. Though… it was distant, muffled out by the sensation of Minerva’s medication. He was going to give her a real talking-to as soon as he could remember where his toes were on his body. 

He fought the temptation to sleep, too afraid that when he woke Marceline would be gone. He wouldn’t blame her for leaving especially after every single shitty thing he put her through. But Simon needed her, needed to hear that she wasn’t going to disappear like Betty. 

Marceline watched him fight with himself, watched his worn face sink into concern.

“You should sleep some more, dude. No offense, but you look awful.” 

“You-you’ll leave… if I sleep. I don’t want you to leave. I can’t lose you too, not like Betty.” 

The Vampire Queen’s undead heart stuttered, ventricles squeezing tightly as she processed his words. After a long moment of deliberation, she laid back on the bed with him, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

Though she was cool to the touch, he still relished in her familiar company. 

“Daughters don’t leave their dads, Simon. I’m not going anywhere, yeah?” 

He hummed, still sounding miserably distrustful. Marcy wanted nothing more than to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he understood that She. Wasn’t. Leaving. 

“I’m here,” She reassured again, unnerved by his silence. Thin wet tears dribbled down Simon’s face, and soon Marceline’s own flowed down her cheeks. 

An eternity passed before his breathing finally slowed, calming down to a rate that resembled something controlled and normal. Then, it was another eternity before he allowed himself to give into the open arms of the sedative. Though Marcy was terrified that he’d go to sleep and never wake up again, she forced herself to come to terms with the fact that he desperately needed more rest.

There was only so much work that multiple blood transfusions could do. Besides, there were so many other damages that needed to be internally addressed. The Vampire queen didn’t believe she’d ever be able to stop staring at the scar he was bound to have on his arm. 

Her mind flashed back to that scene in his house, finding it bloody, eerily quiet, and full of boxes. Simon had planned this, put heavy thoughts into the orchestration of his own suicide. She ought to find some time to scrub the blood off of the linoleum so that he didn’t have to go home to see that. 

Clearly, he had lied about so much: Lied about attending therapy, lied about taking care of himself, lied about being fine. She hated that word, hated the way that she let herself believe him. She would never forgive herself for letting him slip so far. Not just once had he slipped, but twice.  

She had let it happen. This was her fault. Her brain berated her, drowning every other sensation out.

Good daughters took care of their parents when they got old. Marcy only had half the job, only had one parent to look after, and she hadn’t even done that. Too busy avoiding responsibilities and taking his word for it every time.

Of course he was lying. Why would he tell the truth, with his hellbent ways of always understating everything? Weeks were spent alone, suffering in silence. Glob only knew what that was like. 

“I’m so sorry, Simon. There aren’t any words to say how terrible I feel about letting you down again…” She spoke in a voice that was barely loud enough to be a whisper. Talking any louder would risk allowing her voice to shake.

He slept peacefully, chest barely rising and falling. She craned her head to lay on his chest, desperate to hear his heartbeat.

Each weak thump was a punctuating reminder. It was so loud as it reverberated around in her ears. Alive, alive, alive, his heart whispered back. I am alive.

Eventually, she drifted off to the sound.

Chapter Text

Three days had passed since that day, and Marceline had spent nearly every minute by Simon’s side. She watched him dutifully recover. He behaved himself: taking supplements, vitamins and pills, doing physical therapy, subjecting himself to Mienrva’s various tests and measurements. 

Simon was severely anemic, despite the multiple blood transfusions. He looked pale and sickly, and was prone to being much clumsier than usual. It was as though his body was trying to acclimate to being alive again. On the outside, Simon was a good sport about it all. He took every ache, pain, dizzy spell and general hindrance with stride and patience. Marceline scrutinized his behaviors, scanning for anything of suspicion bubbling just beneath the surface. She was unconvinced, and her sense of trust had been thoroughly damaged.

But she knew that at least while he was in the hospital, he was safe from himself. There was help available, and it seemed as though Simon was willing to accept it.

After the fourth day of constantly being by his side, Bubblegum expressed her concern for Marceline’s well being as they sat in the hospital’s cafeteria.

“As your significant other, I think it’s safe for me to say that you desperately need a shower.”

“Speak for yourself, Ms ‘ I don’t need sleep, I’m a scientist’ . I’ve seen you go three weeks without taking your lab coat off.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “You got me there. But seriously, take a break for a few hours. I know you’re worried about him, but I can make sure he’s safe while you take care of yourself.”

Marceline knew that she was right. But there was another part of her that was loud and paranoid, and it wouldn’t stop setting off every alarm bell in her head. PB watched her girlfriend fight an internal war with herself, and slid a careful hand across the table until it met Marcy’s. 

“You’re a tough lady, Marcy. I know you want to be strong for him, but I think it would even help Simon if you didn’t look like you were about to keel over. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for him. He’ll feel better knowing that you feel okay, too.”

The vampire deflated into the uncomfortable metal chair and attempted to card a hand through her knotted hair. She hissed as her fingers immediately came upon thick, gnarled knots. PB’s eyes met hers in a knowing gaze. 

“... Fine. But you’re texting me every fifteen minutes with updates.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, but they’re gonna be the most boring updates on the planet.” 

Marcy floated up and out of her chair, a small smirk on her face. She leaned over the table and kissed her girlfriend. “You’re the best. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

Bubblegum waved at her vampire as she exited the hospital, promising once more that she would send updates. Sunlight streamed down between wispy clouds. Marceline cautiously held the rim of her hat as a strong breeze blew past her. With the human city so high in the sky, it was almost always a little windy. 

At first, she drifted dazedly in the direction of her house, nestled safely in her cave. But… something else grabbed her attention. A flash of something blue fluttering captured the gaze of her eyes, and she looked around for whatever she’d just seen. 

When her search was unsuccessful, she continued to float down the same direction. A moment later it was there again, and Marceline whipped her head in the direction that she’d seen it.

This time she saw it: A butterfly, innocent and unassuming. Why had it caught her attention? The little thing danced playfully overtop a small patch of yellow dandelions, feeding dutifully on the pollen. She stared blankly before scrutinizing it as she tried to work out how it made her feel.

… Familiar. The little bug was familiar in the strangest way. Marceline watched it dance for another minute or two, before her eyes eventually wandered up to look behind the patch of flowers.

The entrance to the human museum glared back, the bright and obtrusive sign obnoxiously blinking at her despite the fact that it was broad daylight.

Marcy hated the place, hated how it trapped Simon inside and forced him to be an animal inside an enclosure. Simon’s house was just beyond the entrance, merely a block or so away. The vampire weighed her options. She could fly all the way home to shower and comb her hair.

Or… she could check on Simon’s place. She had ripped a hole in his door, after all. He probably wouldn’t mind if she used his shower instead, and perhaps borrowed his washing machine for her clothing. It was a much shorter commute, and she would be able to return to him sooner. 

One last glance back to the dandelion patch revealed the butterfly had fluttered elsewhere, no longer in sight. Marcy shrugged it off, and flew into the museum.

Another slow day had left the place mostly empty, though she could still hear the laughter of children and the vague chatter of life around her. If she hadn’t already created her own mental bias against the place, she wondered if it would have been fun to take Bonnie on a date here one day.

The torn metal on Simon’s garage had been boarded up, no doubt Minerva’s work. Marcy would have to commend Finn for having such a nice mom. 

Later, though. For now, she was really starting to feel just how greasy her hair was. After getting inside, she looked around and grimaced. The place was worse than she remembered. 

… A bit of cleaning wouldn’t go amiss. First, a shower. She trodded slowly into his room, squinting in the dark as she looked for a spare towel in his closet. A few minutes of poking around in there yielded no success, so she decided that it was time for his sock drawer to get rifled through.

As she turned around, her eyes settled on something metal and shiny on his messy bed. At first she ignored it, brain still set on its task. She drifted lazily by it, using the power of flight to avoid the random dirty garments strewn across the floor. Her eyes caught it again a moment later, and she realized that it was a camcorder.

… Why was it sitting right there, of all places?

She bent over to pick it up, and realized that a piece of tape had been stuck over the power button. Marceline, the sticky strip read. 

Now she was really curious, and a little dreadful. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. Simon wouldn’t leave a note… would he?

Any thoughts of a shower were quickly abandoned in favor of her terrible curiosity. Surely this stupid little device just had some cute baby photos or some memories of their recent adventures. Or maybe there was some silly video of ice king on there that he wanted to remember to show her.

She peeled the tape off, flicked the screen open, and pressed the power button in one fluid motion. Her hands shook and her breath was short. Without even realizing it, she drifted down to sit at the edge of Simon’s bed

Only one thing was stored on the thing’s memory card. A video, seven minutes in length. She could turn back… Shove the thing in the kettle, throw it off the side of the human city, launch it into space, ask PB to use one of her many death rays to completely obliterate it… Anything to spare her from what she knew she was about to watch

She clicked play.

“Marceline,” Simon said from the tiny screen. “I’m… leaving this tape for you. I hope it gives you some closure, my darling.” His own tears triggered hers. Simon looked so ragged, so exhausted, so… old. Her old man looked his age for the first time in his long, long life. 

“I know that I am unforgivable. I have caused you and everyone else a thousand years of hurt. What I am about to do… will leave behind a legacy of pain. If you never speak of me again, if you burn all of my belongings and leave my house abandoned, I want you to know that I understand. Your hatred towards me is justified.” 

And for several minutes, he detailed what he was about to do… what he had done that had sent him to the hospital in such a state. He talked in great detail about how much he hated this mundane life, how he thought himself such a failure to her and Betty and everyone because of all of the mistakes he’d ever made. The moments where he broke down and sobbed were the same moments that she allowed herself the same. Eventually, an agonizingly long seven minutes later, the video ended. 

“I know that you will hate me for what I will do. I am only acting by what I believe to be right. Just know that I love you. Goodbye.” 

He lurched towards the camera, body clearly deteriorated after such extended misuse, The last frame showed half of his face, blurred pixels doing little to hide the sheer despair held within his expression.

For the next hour, Marceline did not move from her spot on the bed, apart laying down to sob into his sheets while she clutched the camcorder. 

She had finally bore witness to Simon’s truth, the one he had been hiding for so long now. That camcorder held his deepest and most vulnerable moments of self-hatred. For years now, his guilt over being Ice King had been eating him alive, and it had almost succeeded in killing him. 

… And she had absolutely no idea that any of it was happening. She knew he was struggling, understood that he grappled with a great many guilts, but… it had been to a life threatening degree. 

He’d never told her any of those things because he believed that she would loathe him; make her view him as pathetic and a shitty caretaker. Simon saw himself unworthy of love, unworthy of life, unworthy of happiness. He went about everyday life believing that if he sacrificed enough of himself for what he believed to be the ‘greater good’, he would somehow be good enough. 

When that didn’t work, when his methods only caused hurt and trauma, and when it ended up in Betty’s own sacrifice, he fell apart. He couldn’t live without her, couldn’t bear existing in a world without her. But he’d gritted his teeth and endured it for the last twelve years for her. For Marceline. 

The vampire sobbed deeply, curling further into herself as she lost complete control of her fragile composure. The last few days had been excruciating as she watched her old man slowly begin to recover. Now that she knew his true emotions, she finally understood the depth of his suffering and sacrifices. 

Marcy’s cell phone buzzed occasionally with messages from Bubblegum, keeping up with her promise to update her girlfriend on Simon’s ongoings. It took twenty minutes for her to be able to convince her arms to reach for the device, and another ten to get her fingers to stop shaking enough so that she could message back.

Need U , the message wrote. She sent it between desperate hiccups, breathing completely out of control.

At Simons , She eventually added, remembering her decision to take a shortcut. So much for saving time.

Her phone buzzed several more times, but she ignored it as it sat screen-down on the bed. Not three minutes later did Bonnie show up, calling for Marceline from the kitchen. She let her unfiltered cries be a beacon to the bedroom. 

“Oh Marcy, what happened?” PB asked, voice soft and buttery sweet. Marceline uncurled just a bit to reveal the camcorder, wordlessly allowing her girlfriend to take it. After a moment, Simon’s suicide note began to play. The vampire covered her ears to block it out, tears and snot dribbling down her face. She waited with her ears plugged and her eyes squeezed shut as the video repeated. As soon as it ended, Bubblegum turned off the camcorder and placed it on the covers.

Gentle fingers rubbing up and down her arm soothed her minutely. Marcy cracked her eyes open but refused to look at anything except the wall. 

“I’m sorry, Marcy. I had no idea he saw himself to be so despicable.”

The other girl did not answer for several long moments. When she finally spoke, her voice was worn and wobbly.

“He loved her… he wanted to protect her so much that when she sacrificed herself, it almost killed him.”

“I…” PB was at a loss for words. What could she say that could ease the hurt? There were no phrases in any language that could soothe Marceline. So instead, she changed her angle. Bonnie laid down next to her significant other, using her hand to push thick locks of black hair out of the way. She brushed a hand across her cheek, smearing wet tears around as their heads tilted together. Eventually, their foreheads met.

For quite a long while afterwards they cried together; grieving what had almost been lost. They grieved Simon, finally understanding the unbearable suffering he’d been experiencing for such a long time.

After another hour, Marcy finally mustered up the strength to speak again. “So… what do we do now?” 

“We… tell him. He needs to know that we understand now, and that we are both here to support him.”

Marcy nodded, a tiny little motion. “He needs to know that I forgive him. I can’t… I can’t believe he thought that I would hate him for feeling like this.”

“We’ll tell him, I promise. I’ll be here for all of it.”

Together, they slowly sat up. Marceline’s fingers laced between her girlfriends, and she took many deep breaths to stabilize herself.

“Thank you, Bonnie. I don’t think I’d still be sane without you.”

“Any time, Marcy. Now, let’s get you in the shower. You deserve a break.”

Chapter Text

They ended up returning to the hospital the next morning. Marceline felt abysmal about leaving Simon for so long, but sobbing openly in a public hospital tended to cause some… stares. She slept fitfully, and woke with a headache. Bonnie was there to support her, acting as a strong and stable pillar. 

As they took the slow march through the hospital halls, Marcy’s brain felt overloaded and foggy. They were going to confront him about the whole thing. It was finally time for this conversation, the one she’d been holding off on for years now. 

Minerva was in the room treating Simon’s arm when both girls arrived. Marceline plunked heavily into one of the plastic chairs next to Simon’s bed. She watched as Simon’s arm was slowly unraveled, white and slightly red bandages peeling away to reveal…

The wound. It was long and wicked, halfway scabbed and weeping. She quickly turned her eyes away from it but her body still revolted. Tears bubbled up in her eyes and she quickly willed them away, clenching Bonnie’s sweaty hand in her own.

Simon stared at a spot on his bed, picking anxiously at a loose thread on the covers with his free hand. 

Minerva tutted at the gash, closely scrutinizing it with her robotic eyes. The surrounding skin was red, as were the stitches. 

“I have concerns that infection has set in, Simon. I’m going to take a sample of the fluid and test it, just as a safe measure.” She whipped a test tube and sterile swab out of her lab coat, and dabbed around the area. Even the slight pressure hurt, as did the cooler surrounding air. In short, the gash stung. Simon did his best not to let the pain show, putting on a passive face for Bonnie and Marcy.

Marceline watched him do it, watched him suppress his discomfort. She squeezed her girlfriend’s hand tighter and willed her feelings to stay in check. 

A few minutes later, Minerva made her exit and the room was bathed in tense silence.

“Hey gang, good to see you.” Simon spoke, realizing that he hadn’t yet greeted his beloved guests.

“Hi Simon,” PB took the lead, approaching the bedside. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Better, I think. Though, I guess we’ll see when Minerva’s test results come back. I guess this old body still has some healing to do, huh?”

Bubblegum nodded in reply, eyes traveling over to where her girlfriend stood just behind her.

“Marcy, how are you?” Simon’s tone changed just slightly, laced with slightly more tension. He could tell that something was off. 

“I’m…” So upset I could scream, so angry and confused and hurt that I can hardly keep it together. “... I’m concerned, Simon.”

Simon smiled, outwardly kind and understanding. “Awe, you don't have to be concerned about your old man. I’ll heal up and feel all better really soon, I promise.”

“ Do you promise? Is that the truth, Simon?” Marceline dug, finally stepping away from the wall and out from behind Bubblegum. “Because I…” She cut herself off with a choked sigh. The tears were back, stubbornly sliding down her face before she could stop them.

“We went to your house last night, Simon.”

That confession sent his heart stuttering. So they’d seen the bloodbath he’d left behind, including the ritual set-up, hadn’t they? And they’d seen GOLB’s statue, the one that was supposed to have been thrown out.

“I see… I’m sorry you, uh, had to see the mess I left behind. I swear that when I get out, I’ll clean it up and throw all of that junk away.” It was probably all burnt to shit anyways.

Marceline uselessly scrubbed her face. “It’s not just that, Simon. I found… f-found your camcorder. I watched your note.”

Oh shit. He’d nearly forgotten about the video, especially with everything else he was dealing with. “Marceline, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“But you did, Simon! You meant it, meant every word because you left it for me. It had my name taped on it, and you started the video off with my name. How could you hide your pain from me like that? How could you just pretend everything was fine, for years! ” She threw her hands in the air, chest puffed out and muscles clenched. Then, Marcy shrunk in on herself as she caught Simon’s sorrowful gaze. “How could you?”

The human leaned back against the pillows, brows pushed together. He was trying so hard to maintain his composure. It was a losing battle. Simon was just so tired.

“... I never wanted to have this conversation. I’ve lived in fear that it would happen for years now, and it looks like you finally know. I’m sorry. To both of you, I really am sorry. I knew you would hate me for what I did, and I understand that this is probably the last time you both will ever speak to me. I deserve whatever punishment you see fit for me.”

Bonnie took his hand and sat on the corner of his bed. “We’re not here to punish you, Simon. Nor are we here to tell you that we’re cutting you out of our lives. Marceline and I want to support you. Marcy loves you like a father, thorns and all.”

“We want to help you, Simon. But you… you just won’t let us in. I just unknowingly watched you degrade for years, and I feel so angry because of it.

Simon’s shoulders fell. “You have every right to be angry at me. What I did was despicable and unforgivable.”

“No, you idiot, you’re still not getting it! I’m not angry at you, I’m terrified for you! I’m angry at myself for letting you hurt for so long, especially after all of the stuff you went through as Ice King just because you had to wear the crown to protect me. 

Simon’s brain briefly buffered as he processed her words. “You’re… not angry at me? But why? You should be furious! I’ve been a terrible father figure, and all I’ve ever done is made you wor-”

“Ughhhh Simon, it’s my choice to worry about you, and my decision to care about you. I want to help you get better. Both Bonnie and I do, glob damnit. You just need to let us in. Talk to us. I want to know when you’re not okay.”

Silence permeated the room as each of the occupants tried to process everything. 

“I just… For years, I thought you were furious with me. I thought you’d never forgive me for the things I did as Ice King. I’d labeled myself as unforgivable, as… a burden. 

Simon took a deep breath and wiped his own stray tears away. “...And I’d lost Betty, too. I thought that becoming Ice King again was the best way to escape this… mundane prison I’ve stuffed myself into. There was no purpose in my life. No little Marcy to care for, no research to tend to, no… no Betty. Her sacrifice took everything out of me.”

“It almost killed you…” Bonnie pointed out. 

“When I moved back into my own place, I tried to be happy. I really really tried to go on living, but I was miserable. I started drinking every night and half the time I’d wake up dressed in that stupid blue muumuu. I was so worried that I was burdening everyone with my struggles, so I hid them away because I thought it would help. Fat lot of good that ended up doing…” Simon’s eyes settled on the swollen wound splitting his forearm. “I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for the things I’ve put everyone through.”

Marceline sat next to him on the bed, and leaned over until her head rested on his shoulder. He was bony and thin, not to mention a little cold to the touch. She thought for a long while, carefully mulling over what she wanted to say.

“... You need help, Simon. Serious, real, hardcore help. Bonnie and I can give you support, but it’s you that has to decide that you wanna get better. Nobody else can make that decision for you.”

Simon allowed his eyes to briefly close as he remembered that fateful day. He’d run up to Minerva, covered in blood and halfway unconscious. Simon had asked for help then. Nobody had forced him to do it. His crazed mind forced his body to, desperately choosing life even as it had nearly been too late.

“... It’s funny you say that, actually. Well, not really funny, but you get the point. When I opened up that portal to GOLBetty’s world, the blood loss almost killed me. She used her power to send me back one last time. Ironically, I wound up getting plopped right in the middle of traffic. I could’ve just given up, but I didn’t. I asked for help. I don’t think I’ve done that in a long, long time.”

“I’m so grateful that you got yourself help, Simon.” PB encouraged.

Simon continued to think back to that moment when he was laying in GOLBetty’s hand, wrist dripping blood like a waterfall. He thought of how close he’d been to death, and how the afterlife… scared him. Simon had lived in fear for so long, fearful of death, fearful of the crown, fearful of losing the ones he loved so dearly. So much of his life had been spent in fear.

But all of that had changed when he’d visited GOLBetty for what he knew would be the last time. She had shown him the wonderful life he could have, if he worked for it. A life of adventure, of fun, of fantastic exploration and vibrant sunsets. He could have it all if he just allowed himself to be vulnerable. Asking Minerva for help had been the most vulnerable thing he’d ever done.

“The moment I almost died was the same moment I decided that I wanted to live.”

Something inside of Simon broke, then, as he said those words. “Glob, I’m so sorry. I almost killed myself and left you behind…” Warm tears tracked down his face and he hunched inwards, pressing his hands over his eyes. There would be fingerprints on his glasses, but he didn’t care. Sobs wracked his sickly form. Vulnerability hurt. In fact, it was agonizing.  The feeling tore him open until he was raw inside. As he cried, another feeling slowly encroached. Soon, an overwhelming relief flooded his senses. Though he was embarrassed, he also felt so much lighter, so much more free.

Marceline cried with him, hugging him tightly. They sat together for several minutes, wordlessly sharing their deep sadness and fear of losing one another. Bubblegum was kind enough to fetch them water and tissues, allowing them to have a close familial moment. 

“P-Promise me you won’t leave, not until it’s your time. I need you, Simon. Human lives are too short to waste on things like hating yourself. I want you to live. I need you to find a way to love your life. I won’t watch you wait for death. So help me glob, I won’t let you.”

“I promise, Marcy. I’m going to get help. I want to start living my life. For you and for Betty and for everyone else.”

Bonnie handed him a paper water cup with a nod. “Do it for you, too. Live for yourself just as much as you live for everyone else.” 

“I will,” Simon said. And he meant it.

Chapter Text

Things had reached a head in Gumball’s kingdom. Days earlier, the flame kingdom had declared war on the surrounding kingdoms. In response. Prince Gumball had locked himself deep in his castle, far away from the outside world. Marshall Lee had chosen to accompany him on this journey of isolation. 

They were both terrified and entirely unprepared for the violence around them. Worse yet, neither of them could figure out why every single one of Aaa’s occupants were so miserably unhappy. 

Fionna and Cake felt the same way, but had taken a completely different course of action. They searched for solutions, wandering around the land on the lookout for any kind of cause. A week and a half ago they’d cornered the Ice Queen in her cell deep in the candy kingdom’s prison. She had no answers for them, and could only swear up and down that she had no ill-intentions despite her spotty track record.

So, both girls looked high and low for the catalyst. Any kind of magical artifact, any curse or spell, or even any secret plans being hatched by a mysterious mastermind villain. Something was wrong, and there had to be something to blame. Or… someone.

Fionna wrote letters to Gumball to inform him of her efforts, and she never got replies. She texted him, called him, and even sent Cake in to try to bust down his door so she could shake him silly. None of it worked.

He’d sunk into a state of despair, just as his kingdom had. It was too much. He couldn’t control it all. So, instead he baked. He mixed up new recipes to the wonderful and soothing sounds of Marshall’s bass, growing to love the man evermore as his music permeated the walls. 

Marshall Lee was equally miserable. He still missed the sun, missed the daylight and the way that it snaked gracefully through the leaves of the trees. He missed sitting in the light and playing songs for people passing by. Going outside with hats, umbrellas, and heavy clothing did nothing but make him feel constrained. Trapped. 

He had a feeling that everybody in Aaa felt that way. Trapped in foreign bodies, trapped in a foreign land.

Simon was starting to feel a little trapped in the hospital, too. Sitting in bed doing therapy and resting made him itchy. The mattress, though plush and soft, still made his back hurt. Or… maybe he was just getting old. Whatever the cause, it didn’t matter. He still felt bad for requiring so much care. Recovery was slow, all the way down to the wound on his wrist. It was still red and puffy, still needed stitches and bandages to protect it from the non-sterile air.

 Minerva was honest with him, admitting that she was being incredibly cautious with his release because she was fearful of a relapse. They were putting a system in place that would allow him to receive help from his loved ones as well as therapy.

As things looked right now, he was to begin an outpatient therapy program following his release. On top of that, Marceline was going to temporarily move in with him for a few months, just to ensure that he was making steady… improvements.

Simon wondered how Fionna and Cake were doing. PB had been so kind as to update him, having given the two communication devices upon their departure from Ooo. Their texts were always a little… cryptic. Fionna tended to skirt around the questions regarding her wellbeing, whereas Cake was just short and to the point. Simon couldn’t tell if they were happy or not.

If anything, he couldn't tell if he was happy or not. In some ways, he was glad to have survived the terrifying ordeal of almost reaching his end. In other ways… he still struggled heavily with his insecurities. All of these thoughts were diligently reported to Minerva, doing his part to keep his word to Marceline.

He’d hurt her enough, and made himself suffer more than enough in the process. It was time for a change. 

After their deep conversation, Marceline seemed to be doing… a little better. She seemed emotionally lighter, greeting Simon with warm enthusiasm as she floated into his room with PB in tow. Minerva had just left, and dinner would be soon. Concerns had been expressed for his lack of appetite, and now that was also being taken care of. 

Marcy swept him into a deep hug, nearly lifting him off the bed. She frowned as his bones pressed slightly into her arms.

“We really do need to get you to eat more, Simon. PB’s labskaus is killer. ”

Bubblegum blushed, smiling a bit. “I’ll make it for you as soon as we can drag you outta this hospital.”

He laughed, happy to see them both. Intensive therapy of both the physical and psychological kind had taken a lot out of him in the past few days. Minerva kept getting him up and out of bed to take walks around the hospital grounds. Apparently the sunlight and movement was good for his mental health. Movement left him dizzy and tired, but seeing the people he loved pushed the exhaustion away just enough.

Marceline was excited to see him, talking excitedly about the ongoings of Ooo. As Bubblegum’s girlfriend, she now had access to all kinds of royal insider information. Bonnie, however, seemed a bit quiet. She leaned in the doorway, toying with something in her hand.

“How are you doing today, Princess Bubblegum?” Simon inquired.

“I’ve been… busy. Hey, not to stress you out, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Simon’s heart sank. He’d already had far too many emotional chats in the last few days, and he dreaded learning about what new secret of his that she’d discovered. It was probably the cigarettes. Marceline’s eyes danced back and forth between her two loved ones, debating on whether or not she should interrupt or not. Bonnie didn’t allow her the chance, plowing forward.

“I got a message from Fionna and Cake yesterday. Things are super donked up in their universe. Alternate universe Bubblegum, or… Gary as he’s apparently named, has just completely abandoned his post as prince. The whole continent is in like… all out war with itself.”

Sweat gathered on Simon’s palms. Fionna and Cake were in… danger? But why? Hadn’t they gotten everything they’d asked for? “Did they say anything about why this is happening?”

“That’s the thing. They’ve been searching for anything that could be causing this, any kind of magical source that could cast a curse. I’m wondering if this is something similar to what happened with Patience St. Pim. You remember that, right? Ooo went absolutely coo coo bananas. Anyways, you studied magical artifacts, do you know of anything that could be causing this?”

Simon thought hard for several moments, rifling through the vast knowledge stored inside of his head. A few ideas came to mind, but nothing stuck. “That sounds like some incredibly powerful stuff. Nothing’s coming to mind, but obviously something’s wrong.”

He continued to stew for a minute or two longer, as did his companions. “Hey, would you mind if I chatted with them?”

Bubblegum shrugged, revealing the object in her hand. “I don’t see why not. I’m sure they’d be overjoyed to hear your voice.”

“Wait, you can call them?”

Marceline chuckled. “Simon, it’s a cell phone. Of course we can call them. PB’s just a big texter.”

And then the cell phone was emitting a dial tone in Simon’s hand. He tucked it between his shoulder and his cheek as he fiddled with his hands. It had been awhile since they’d spoken. He had been so busy with… things, that he’d sort of pushed them off to the side. Minerva had told him that isolation was a typical symptom of mental illness, so he supposed that his brain had tried to push the girls and everyone else away because of that. Simon supposed that yet another apology was in order.

After the fifth ring, Fionna finally picked up. “Hey PB, what’s up?”

“Fionna!” Simon exclaimed, thrilled to hear her voice.

“Simon! Cake, get over here, Simon’s on the phone!”

Glass shattered and objects cluttered in the background, followed by overjoyed shouting. Simon cringed at the noises.

“Yo, Simon! We missed you so much! How are you?” Cake asked as she finally got over to the phone.

“I’m… uh, okay! Sorry we haven’t spoken in so long… Are you two alright? I just heard a ton of ruckus over on your side of the line.”

“Awe, Cake was just cooking. She was opening a jar and got a little excited when she heard who was on the line.” Fionna explained. Her words were almost overshadowed by Cake’s rich laughter.

Simon smiled back, equally rich and joyous. “I’ve missed you two a lot! Not to spoil the mood, but I’ve, uh, heard things aren’t so good over there.” As he spoke, he moved to click the speaker phone button so that PB and Marcy could hear. 

Both girls audibly cringed at the shift in tone. Fionna glanced at Cake, who nodded. “Yeah… Something’s super messed up, and we still haven’t found the source of it. Everyone’s just super angry all the time and we can’t figure out why.”

“Actually,” Cake cut in. “We were hoping that you would have some insight about that. You’re an antiquarian, right?”

“Yeah. Princess Bubblegum informed me of your situation and asked me if I knew of anything powerful enough to cause this. Ooo went through something similar, but it seems like our situations are too different to be caused by the same thing.”

A sigh could be heard on the other side of the line. Then, a sniffle or two followed shortly after. Simon shrunk down a little bit into the pillows. “I’m very sorry. I know you both were looking forward to having a magical world. I wish it treated you both better.”

“We wanted this more than anything, ” Cake groveled darkly. Fionna hummed in agreement. 

“And look where it got us. A whole world of magic and everybody hates it here.”

The gears in Bubblegum’s brain were turning, and she decided that it was time to join the conversation.  “So… how exactly did you get your world to be magic again?”

“Prismo,” Both girls replied. “I wonder how he’s doing, by the way.” Fionna finished.

Bonnie tapped her chin with her finger, rifling through ideas.

“And before you made your wish, your world had lost its magic, right?”

Cake had started cleaning up the broken glass , but she called from across the treehouse to answer. “Yeah. Everything was boring as hell before we fixed it. But now everything’s messed up again anyways.”

“Cake and I almost decided that we wanted a non-magical world, but Simon put on the crown before we could say that.”

Simon’s eyes found the floor as he frowned. Marceline noticed his shift, and rubbed his shoulder in comfort. For a long pause, the call was silent.

“Wait,” Simon perked up. “What if you guys weren’t meant to have a magical world? Prismo’s wishes are like a monkey’s paw, even when he doesn’t mean it. What if everyone’s unhappy because they were happier living non-magic lives? I mean, you even said it yourself. Just as I put on the crown, one of the last things I remember is you saying that you didn’t want me to.”

They could hear breathing pick up on the other side of the line. “Oh my glob,” Fionna eventually spoke. “People are so miserable here because this isn’t how they’re supposed to be living. ” Her words were so punctuated, so filled with shock, so horrified.

“We can fix this, Fionna. There’s gotta be a way.” Simon reassured, feeling unconfident.

“I used my one wish to make our world the way it is,” Cake admitted, now close to the phone once more. 

“But…” Fionna started thinking. “I haven’t used my wish.”

“Yes!” Simon jumped up out of bed. He stumbled a little as the vertigo hit him, but he pushed past it. Marceline cautiously held out her arms for support, and Simon graciously accepted her hand. “Fionna, do you have an Enchiridion in your world?”

“We’ve gotta, I’m sure.”

“You need to find it.”

Both girls made a sound of confusion, but Bubblegum rushed in to save the day. “Fionna and Cake, Finn once used The Enchiridion to open a portal to Prismo’s dimension. If you gather each and every one of the crown gems in your world and insert them into the book, you can get to Prismo’s”

Fionna’s eyes were wide and her body was full of electric energy. “I can use my wish to fix this! We can still go back!”

There was cheering on both sides of the phone. Then, the human and her cat quickly excused herself to go on their mission. The line went dead, but Simon didn’t care. His friends were going to be okay. 

He plopped back onto the bed, exhausted and a little breathless. His back still hurt, no doubt jostled from all of the action. Simon was looking forward to feeling better.

Dinner arrived just an hour after their phone call, and Simon pushed it around on his plate. 

“Not feelin’ the hospital food?” Marceline perked up. 

“I guess not. I haven’t really been hungry lately.” 

“You should eat something. The anemia has really made your skin kind of yellow.” Bubblegum supplied helpfully. Simon tried to eat, and found it difficult. 

PB got impatient very quickly. “How about I go grab you something from the vending machine?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Simon agreed. The Princess left the room, and Simon smiled quietly at Marcy. She opened her mouth to say something to him, and was quickly interrupted by a bright light right in front of Simon’s bed. It started small, a singular bead of electricity that warped reality. Quickly, it grew much later, forming a hole in the fabric of space. Marceline quickly swooped in front of her father figure, protecting him. A cat’s paw stretched through the portal and wrapped around the two of them, dragging them away from the bed.

Simon’s untouched meal spilled sideways, but was easily forgotten as the portal ate them alive. For a brief moment, reality abstracted, twisting and warping nauseatingly. Marcy held tight to Simon, who was busy clamping a hand over his mouth.

Eventually they were spat out onto a grassy lawn in front of a familiar treehouse. Though… the air felt different, as though everything had been shifted slightly to the left. Simon lost his balance as they landed, and both of them tumbled down into the grass. The vampire tumbled down beside him.

“Simon!” two female voices called, standing over their new arrivals with stark, thrilled fascination. Marcy sat up instantly, though it took her counterpart a moment to regain his composure. 

“Hey! What the fuck?” Marcy growled, shifting her form into something that was infinitely more threatening. Fionna and Cake jumped back, hands raised to show that they were unarmed. Except, clutched in the cat’s hand was a book. The Enchiridion.

“F-Fionna? Cake? Simon called, finally sitting up. A stampede of two knocked him into the grass again, leaving him winded and a little disoriented. Tight, protective, caring arms wrapped tightly around his torso, and a cacophony of voices filled the night sky.

“We missed you so much. Look, we got The Enchiridion! ” Right in front of his face, there it was. Simon gawked, amazed that they’d been able to move so quickly to gather all of the missing pieces. 

“Did you use it to get us here?” Marceline asked, lowering her defenses as soon as she realized that they were not under threat.

“Yes! And now, we’re gonna use it to go see Prismo and spend Fionna’s wish! Since we had the power, we figured it would be good to bring you both along.” Cake explained, waving the book around. Each of the necessary gems sat comfortably nestled in the correct spots. Power thrummed from the pages, ready and raring to split time and space again. 

They sat it down in the grass, marveling at the way that various holograms projected from the pages. Marceline introduced herself to Fionna and Cake while Simon traced his fingers along the words on the page, briefly reminiscing. 

“Ready?” Fionna asked. Simon’s nod sent her into action. “Okay book, we wanna go see Prismo!” Her hand smacked the front cover, spurring the magic into action. 

Wild wind rushed around them, incredible power pulsing across the grass. The portal ripped apart the universe. On the other side of the gateway, a yellow dot sat innocently in the distance. It took a moment for things to clarify, but eventually the pathway was revealed. Prismo’s cube awaited, doors open and inviting. 

Marceline grabbed Simon’s hand and squeezed tight. Simon squeezed back.

“Here we go!” Fionna yelled. Cake wrapped her arms around everyone to seatbelt them in, and then they launched forth into the waiting abyss.

Cold space welcomed them quickly, their environment going from chaotic to completely quiet. Cake nimbly climbed along the platforms that created a convenient path to the cube, careful not to drop any of her passengers. Simon shivered as he looked around. This place reminded him of GOLBetty’s dimension. His brain had not supplied him with any more recent dreams of Betty, and he still missed her greatly. Simon hoped she was well.

Prismo’s cube was surprisingly easy to access, and it welcomed them inside. The Wishmaster was lounging in his hot tube, spaced out as he sipped a beer. He startled in surprise as four people welcomed themselves inside. Then, he jumped again as they realized who they were.

“Fionna! Cake! Hey, how did you get here?”

“Hey! We used The Enchiridion, ” Fionna answered easily. Cake set her passengers down, and Prismo snapped his fingers. Each of the entrances to the cube fell shut. Marceline raised an eyebrow, still slightly suspicious of this whole operation. 

“Just a precaution,” Prismo explained. “Anyways, what can I do for you? How are things?”

Fionna stepped forward. “Listen Prismo, sorry to skip the pleasantries but we need your help. Our world is all junked up, and we think it’s because we forced it to be magical even though everyone was happier in a non-magic world. I need to use my wish to fix it.”

Prismo shifted the channels until eventually settling on Fionna-world. Their view of the Candy Kingdom made everyone cringe. “Jeez yeah, I can see where you’re coming from. This is rough.”

“Yeah, we know. When I used my wish, I think things got accidentally twisted up. People don’t wanna live in a magical world, they liked the way it was!” Cake gestured exasperatedly. “I’m honestly embarrassed that it took us this long to figure it out.”

From behind them, the antiquarian and the vampire nodded understandingly. Secretly, Simon longed to sit down. Nausea was a quiet but noticeable feeling, and he really wished that he’d eaten more of dinner. Damn anemia. This was all too much of an adventure for an old man who had just experienced a godly miracle not a week earlier. Marcy was simply concerned at how bad her girlfriend would be freaking out. 

Prismo ran through the events in his head again as he watched chaos continue to unfold on screen. “Yeah, that checks out. My wishes always have a wacky monkey’s paw type deal to them, even when I don’t mean it. Sorry your world got all donked up in the process.”

“Can we fix it with my wish?” Fionna inquired, feeling a little desperate.

Prismo nodded. “Yes. We just need to be careful.” 

Fionna thought long and hard about what she wanted to say. Her and Cake huddled together while Simon and Marceline distractedly stared at the screen, fascinated by the alternate reality. 

“Alright. No tricks this time.” Fionna stated, looking a little nervous. Cake climbed into her arms, purring to soothe her human.

“I’ll do my very best.” Prismo affirmed.

“I wish… that our reality did not have magic. I want everyone to keep their memories, and I also want Cake to stay just as she is right now. No tricks, no suffering, just good ole’ regular Fionna-world.”

Prismo beamed, so proud of his creations. “I can work with that,” He exclaimed. 

Fionna and Cake quickly realized that their time in this dimension had run out. They turned to meet the gazes of their friends with a smile.

“I’m not sure if we’ll see each other anytime soon…” Fionna said.

“Maybe not, but we have your number.” Simon reassured with a sweet smile.

Fionna and Cake beamed back, launching themselves into a bone crushing hug with Simon. 

“Goodbye, Simon!” Both girls cheered. Prismo’s magic whisked them away, back to their own universe. Finally, Fionna-world could find some peace.

Simon was left breathless as his friends disappeared. His body felt wrongly stretched. Before he could leave he had one little request.

“Hey Prismo, could I ask a favor?”

“I guess so. I mean, you still haven’t spent your wish, so what’s up?” Prismo raised an eyebrow. Upon seeing Simon and Marceline’s deadpan faces, he giggled. “I’m just messin’ with ya. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if, uh, you could pull up GOLB’s dimension. I just want to…” Simon trailed off. Luckily, their Wishmaster counterpart understood the assignment.

“You got it.” Several channels flashed between random bursts of static. Eventually, GOLB’s dimension came into view. Tetris pieces floated aimlessly in space. A black abyss yawned endlessly on the screen. And yet, there was no GOLB. 

His eyes dashed around, looking for her. Every second he searched, the sicker he felt. Too far, his body was trying to say. Too much. Simon soldiered on. He just had to see her, just to confirm that she was okay.

But her space sat empty. There was no GOLBetty. Blood rushed through his ears. Thick, sticky, and feverish blood pumped through his heart. “I don’t… I don’t get it.” He said aloud to nobody in particular.

“Weird,” Prismo’s voice wandered in from behind. “Where’d GOLB go?”

A stabilizing hand found his arm, and Simon realized that he was swaying a bit. Shoot. Too far. His body angrily protested.

“Simon, are you alright?” Marcy asked. He glanced back at her, eyes sunken and yellow. 

“No,” he replied. “Not this time.” Down he went, spiraling into a whole different kind of abyss.