Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What would a normal person think when they see the first flake of winter?

Of course, it would be nearly impossible to determine if this was to be, but to Simon, it felt as if time had stopped. The world stood still, as if it were just him and that single ice-cold creation existing in the universe; he wasn’t sure when he’d put his palm forth to catch it, but by the time he settled back into reality, the snowflake had become nothing but a melted corpse of its former self.
He’d never been a big fan of the cold even before he’d succumbed to the crown, ironic given that he’d been born and raised in the brunt of Moscow. But with ‘her,’ they were bearable. Even the chills of fall that he found soothing became more memorable with ‘her’ by his side, hands held together as the temperature of their hands stabilized to match with one another. He would unconsciously shift his hand sometimes, and ‘she’ would always tease him in the name of good fun. It always left Simon’s heart racing when Betty did that.

Ah, it came out.

The winters had always reminded him of her. The madness that was his former ‘self’ that committed acts too chaotic for him to even process a good portion of the time; even with Dr. Minerva, he still struggled to talk about how he felt in those moments. Not every memory was clear to him–if he was being honest with himself, most of them were as foggy as a blurred lens cap. The emotions, however, were all too real. And even so, he could barely let himself express any of it. He hated the cold, yet emotionally, in all sorts of ways, he was eternally covered in snow, frozen in time. Minerva always assured him that healing took time, that things would get easier in the long run. 

But there was a part of him, a desperately selfish and rash one, that wished he could forget everything. Just because he had a good support system didn’t mean that those thoughts completely disappeared into a ruin. No, they taunted him, strung him around like their own personal marionette. Thankfully he hadn’t had any major episodes since the whole multiverse fiasco–plus, he admittedly found joy in talking to Fionna every day. She’d become something of a daughter to him, just as Marcy was. Sometimes he’d even find himself up later than expected just talking to Fionna and Cake altogether–he didn’t mind the fatigue, although they assured him he needed the rest whether he obeyed that advice or not. 

By the time he’d stepped into his cottage, the one Finn had helped him find outside of the Human City, the sun was setting, looking as if it were melting like that snowflake he’d held in his palm. 

He wondered if those worries of his could melt away just as easily.

Chapter Text

Jupiter….you did this?

…

H-How could you? I thought you were on our side–that you really wanted to take down the demon king together!

Fionna chomped on her sandwich, her finger pressing the controller button without even glancing at whether bread flakes were being sprinkled on the bed or not. 

“Fionna? Girl? Earth to Fionna!” Cake said, waving her hand into Fionna’s field of vision. Fionna puffed her cheeks, handing Cake the other half of her sandwich, to which Cake obliged. Fionna’s taste in food wasn’t exactly diverse, but damn, these sandwiches Hunter made were pretty freakin’ good.

“Weren’t we-” Cake chewed, “-gonna hang out with Marshall and Gary today?”

Fionna sighed. “Yeah, we are. But I kinda don’t wanna.” Cake choked at her statement.

“We’ve had this planned for a whole week! A little late to scratch at it now, girl.” Cake replied. “You’re not sick and dying, I’m not sick or dying either, and it’s Friday.”

“I hate that you’re right,” Fionna said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “It’s just–a mushy day I guess.”

“You know they won’t be mad if you just say you aren’t up for things today, right?” Cake said. “They’ve known you for ages. Sometimes you just wanna stay in bed and be a flop, y’know, instead of just ghosting folks last minute.”

“I knoooow.” Fionna said. She turned off the switch to her portable console, letting out a sigh. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Cake puffed her cheeks. She’s been in Fiona’s care for what, four years now? She’s known Fionna since she was a boring ass kitten who could only meow and drink milk. Seeing Fionna so lacking in energy and motivation made Cake all the more frustrated. She extended her body to move to the other side of her bed, cuddling next to Fionna as she gave Cake a toothy smile. 

“Y’know,” Cake realized. “You could always text ‘em to come hang here.”

Fionna exhaled. “Good call.”

Chapter Text

Today’s shower would be lukewarm.

He repeated it in his head as he gathered the change of clothes he’d prepared the night before. Marceline and Bonnie had invited him out; Finn was going to be there too, and the three of them were good company to him. He’d gained a far stronger appreciation of them after returning to Ooo. Therapy did wonders too, although he couldn’t help but be reluctant at times.

He knew support systems didn’t need to be big or anything–he wasn’t the type of person who could easily make connections like that, and to be honest, having a large circle would probably overwhelm him a good bit. But there was a part of him that hated how close they were to one another, not because he hated them, but because of just how much they cared for him. He hated how they always noticed whenever his expression held a sprinkle of melancholy, the bags under his eyes from nights where sleep became far out of reach, or when his eyes slid towards the damaged skin that resided on his hands–something he wasn’t willing to talk about yet. Marcy would probably give him a good chewing out if she’d found out he slithered back to an old habit.

To him, the shower was a safe place. The warmth of water coating his body felt like a security blanket—on occasion, he would have cared less if the faulty smoke alarm blared in his old home in that exhibit. He didn’t have to think about the cold breeze of the outside world, the chill he felt whenever someone mentioned Ice King in a positive or negative connotation; he wouldn’t mind drowning himself in that feeling even if it killed him. Just as his mind was frozen, so was this body. His body, a form that felt so alive yet chilled like a corpse in a funeral casket. 

He shook his head, grinding his teeth as he turned on the knob, the sound of water beginning to splash on the floor of the bathtub. He leaned on the sink, waiting for a drop of steam to tickle the hair on his forearms. The air needed to feel humid, coating the mirror so he wouldn’t have to see the unfamiliar person reflecting off of it. 

Simon grimaced. This was a happy place, not somewhere for his own ill-ridden mind to drown. His glasses were already coated with fog, yet the room felt like a walk-in freezer. What the hell was he even sweating for? He could feel the goosebumps on his skin, his eyes burning and blurring and he wasn’t sure what to even make of it anymore. This place was consuming him, dirtying him and reminding him that no matter how much warmth enveloped his body, at his core, he would always be Simon Petrikov, a cold-blooded, abhorrent human who couldn’t even have the capacity to be grateful for what he had. He whipped the shower knob left, and it made a staggered sound, refusing to turn any further.

He winced on its impact, the blizzard in his brain thawed out by the flaming hot waters that purified his soul. The icy feeling lessened, and Simon crouched down as liquid stakes pierced his back, a pained laugh protruding from his chest as he winced. His hands ran through his hair, trying to spread the sensation to every part that he could. He couldn’t even bother to take his glasses off—he refused to see the person on the other side of that lens. He was thankful he didn’t have to see that pitiful expression on his face, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching his teeth. His skin was flush from the sheer increase in temperature, and as he saw the scars on his hands, he inhaled, choking on a sob he’d refused to bring to the surface.

The storm within him could only fester for so long.