Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ROYAL PROCLAMATION

BY ORDER OF HER HIGHNESS PRINCESS BONNIBEL BUBBLEGUM

The importation, commerce, and usage of all SILVER within the domain of the Candy Kingdom is hereby BANNED effective immediately.

This includes, but is not limited to, ore, coins, jewelry, alloys, weaponry, cutlery, dishware, plated objects, and both organic and inorganic compounds.

If you are in possession of any form of silver please see your nearest Banana Guard to arrange a meeting with Peppermint Butler, who will provide proper and adequate remittance in exchange for your cooperation. (That means he will give you nice, shiny things because you’re doing a rockin’ job in helping the kingdom out).

Her Majesty recognizes that this is kind of an inconvenience, and thinks you’re all super-awesome for doing this for her and for the good of the Kingdom.

She also thanks you for not being butts about this, because she’s had a really long day.

Chapter Text

Silver.

Always silver.

A dagger, long, curved, gnarled, twisted. Corroded, stained, tarnished, tainted from its crimes.

She was tainted from her crime.

She wanted to say she was helpless to stop it, but every night she would grasp the blade in pink talons, feel herself grin, and plunge the blade into soft, helpless flesh. She wanted to say the flesh begged for it, but she knew better. There was another way. There had to be. She knew because she was smiling, telling herself it was For The Greater Good. But then she was a fantastic liar, so could she really trust herself?

And then the flesh would crumble away and the perverse, violent glee would fall away, the weight of reality crashing over her. As her stomach soured she goes to throw the wretched weapon away, only to find it fused to her hand. After all, she was the weapon. Always had been. The dagger had just been a tool, after all. The means to enact her will.

Only here would she be judged for her crime, but it wouldn’t be her to pay the price, to take the punishment for her guilt. It was the deep garnet eyes as the light left them. Until that moment they had always said ‘I trust you’, but now they said nothing at all. And as her happiness fell to ash all pretense drops, and she sees herself for what she is.

Silver.

Piercing green eyes shot open, pink flesh drenched in a cold sweat. Instinctively her hand reached out to the other side but there was nothing there, no second occupant to share the massive bed, and Bonnibel Bubblegum sighed at the futility of it all, hand curled around open air. Once upon a time a beautiful woman with a melodic voice and devil-may-care smirk shared her - their - room. Once upon a time she would wake up to cool skin pressed into her back and strong arms holding her, affectionately, but also preventing her from leaving the embrace. And the princess would laugh, telling her to get off while doing absolutely nothing to support her claim that she really totally definitely needed to go do royal junk, and if the other monarch didn’t behave she’d send her to the dungeon to ‘cool her passions’, or something else outlandish. It didn’t deter her. It never did in hundreds of years.

Logically - and she was quite good at logic - Bonnibel had known that it was unlikely Marceline would make a complete return to Ooo immediately after the traumatic experience she had suffered. The vampire had spent the better part of a century - subjectively, at least - with her psyche shattered, parts of herself literally trying to destroy one another in an effort to be the last woman standing, the one piece of the whole to return to the real world, to leave the twisted and deranged wasteland, where malice flowed like veins of blood. It had taken everything and everyone and every drop of luck that existed in any reality to rouse the vampire as one whole being. Without Finn’s courage and Jake’s insight they never would have succeeded, and she owed them more than she could ever repay.

Bonnibel knew that it might be years before her love was truly her old self again, and that it was entirely possible that she may change in some ways without even being aware of it. The princess especially knew that she had mountains of work ahead of her in redeeming herself for her countless sins, her long history of abusive tendencies and sociopathic traits. What exactly had possessed Marceline to agree to hearing the candy golem out, to talking before taking any rash action, was beyond the younger woman. It was utterly irrational and made absolutely no sense. But then… Marcy is never rational, and I’ve never appreciated that more than in this moment.

After Marceline’s brief reintroduction to Ooo through the gift of her moon and stars she had returned to the Citadel; it was quite clear to everyone involved that she was exhausted, and there was the Sky Ball of Death to contend with sooner rather than later, a fact of life no one was looking forward to teaching her. And so Bonnibel, Finn, and Jake had escorted their friend back to her room in the Citadel, where the princess had tucked her into bed, wrapped her in every blanket she could find, slid a silence-cancelling bud into her sensitive ear, been pried away by her champions, and let her rest.

In spite of everything, Bonnibel had still hoped that the vampire would at least dip a toe out of the Nightosphere, at least poke her head out of the pocket dimension. She had been prepared for anger, indignity, disgust, any number of emotions that were totes valid responses to everything. She deserved them, but she was determined to show the other woman she had changed , for realzorz. More than anything, though, she was ready to wait, something she wasn’t always the best at when it prevented her from getting her way. But she had promised herself, and silently promised the older woman, that she would sit in Ooo patiently, ready to join Marceline in the Nightosphere the moment her queen was herself ready to confront the woman who was her mate, whether she wanted her to be or not.

What was that pre-War expression about the plans of mice and men? Because what she hadn’t been prepared for was their conversation being delayed if not outright prevented not by Marceline herself, but by her father.

Like most things in life Bubblegum had assumed that the portal would respond to her beck and call, allowing her access between the worlds when the moment finally arrived and Marceline was ready. To their collective horror Bonnibel, Finn, and Jake realized all-too late was that the three had only ever entered the Nightosphere through the incantation with Marceline’s direct or indirect assistance, and she was distraught to learn that this was simply Not How Things Work in the Nightosphere, that the sheer level of baffling bureaucracy that she had previously admired could actually work against her, preventing her from seeing the love of her endless life.

There were forms to requisition, paperwork to fill out in triplicate - only to throw into various holes and elemental bodies - sacrifices to be made - she hated that lamp anyway - and even then it took Peppermint Butler’s curious connections and a legitimate use of the phrase ‘do you know who I am?!’ before the goal was accomplished: they had an appointment with the Lord of Evil. The fact that the ‘goal’ had been a stupid appointment left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the entire process was infuriating for so many reasons. Didn’t Hunson care about his daughter’s recovery? Weren’t there exceptions to standard procedures for foreign dignitaries? She knew the man held a low opinion of her at the moment, but couldn’t she be granted some leeway, given her position as Marceline’s mate, a bond that was out of both of their control.

Her esteemed servant had been there to patiently explain that 1.) Of course Hunson cared, but objectively speaking there was nothing substantial she or either of her champions could offer his daughter to help her recover except emotional recovery, and the man was just as bad as she was at understanding the importance of emotional recovery, 2.) Time had no meaning in the Nightosphere, and was in fact an entirely foreign concept that a man whose existence predated the dawn of it, and 3.) These were the exceptions, this was the leeway. With a look of pity in his eyes he chided her for not bothering to learn, to fail to understand the way her own lover’s homeworld - the kingdom she herself had demanded she rule - functioned as an entity before thrusting her in the heart of all of this.

She added it to her ‘to-do’ list.

Bubblegum sighed and sat up, the thick pink blanket falling away from her, hand reaching up to where her neck met her shoulder, entirely unsure why she was torturing herself but knowing she deserved it. By now Marceline’s bite had long since healed, her proclamation’s parchment tattered on the castle’s wall, her citizens - her sweet, simple children - had long grown to accept the Kingdom’s strange new law, and yet the candy golem had failed to grow accustomed to her lover’s absence. Not that she wanted to. She refused to accept her absence as the New Normal, actively resisted letting herself grow used to it. She was just Temporarily Away and would be back Any Day Now.

Maybe if she told herself it enough she’d start to believe it. She Had To. And because She Had To she had made it a point not to change anything in her - their - room. The bed was just as luxurious and soft as it had always been, even if it did feel hard and cold. The walls were still smooth pink stone, garish in their bareness. The floor was still lavender stone and cold to her bare feet, the pink-spotted white floor rug unblemished. Her trio of massive golden bookshelves were stuffed to full capacity and full dry, academic things that no she could no longer concentrate on or derive pleasure in reading. Her hand-carved, large pink desk, with its flourished, lavender accents was full of the physical manifestation of her royal life, all documents for her perusing, her signatures, her seal, because even if half of her was missing life still continued on.

She just continued on autopilot. No one seemed to notice. Well, no one except-

“Your Majesty.”

Bonnibel almost groaned in annoyance, but refrained. Peppermint Butler had been nothing but supportive from the moment he watched her awaken from the VR nightmare to find his liege soaked in the blood of the woman he at the very least highly disapproved of. It was bizarre, really; he had never approved of their relationship and had always been vocal that she should pick literally anyone else as a romantic partner and have it be an unquestionable improvement, and so she had expected him to use her vampire’s condition and their tumultuous status as an example of why their relationship may not be in his princess’s best interest.

And yet just the opposite had proven true. While he would never pretend to approve of the older woman he had taken it upon himself to relieve Bubblegum’s agony as much as possible, rearranging her schedule to match those rare moments Jan would nervously emerge from the Nightosphere with news and updates, making sure the princess appeared in public only when necessary and for brief stints, fielded calls from Phoebe, and, in essence, assuring that no one who was not already aware of the situation became aware of the situation. As far as the Candy Kingdom and Kingdoms beyond were concerned everything was as it had always been.

She sighed, already knowing what he was going to say.

“I have brought you breakfast. You’ll try to send it away. It will be the third time in a row you try that. It’s not going to work anymore. Besides, you know what today is. Better eat now, because you won’t want to eat what’s there.”

Only two people in any world were allowed to take that tone with her, and he was one of them. Bonnibel groaned at the futility of it all because he was right, right about all of it. It was only in Marceline’s absence that Bubblegum had begun to realize how deeply rooted the half-demon was in her life, and her inability to care for herself would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic. But that’s what it was: pathetic. She was almost 900 years old, the matriarch of the most powerful kingdom in the world, and here she was being lectured by her own creation because she hasn’t been eating. Or sleeping, because of the nightmares. Or even being in her lab, because wow it was quiet without her lover.

The irony that in spite of everything she may need Marceline more than Marceline may need her was not lost on her.

The half-demon had once made a snide comment that she had no idea how deeply in her head Bonnibel was. The princess had never once thought to consider the converse, of how she had a nasty habit of assuming that the vampire would always be around, always there to tease her, to frustrate her, to love her-

Her festering thoughts were interrupted by the piercing light of the morning sun as Peppermint Butler pulled back the blackout curtains, possibly because he was preparing her room, possibly to prove a point. When she turned to glare at him he raised an eyebrow and knew it was Option B: Prove a Point, and it wasn’t that her pink puffy plants needed more light. “Your Highness, I must insist. You have a very trying day ahead of you. Finn and Jake will be here soon enough, and if nothing else you’ll need the energy for them. So there’s two reasons you should be eating breakfast.” She shot a pointed look at his snide tone, but relented because he was right, and even now Princess Bubblegum was all about logic. At least he refrained from looking smug once she began to reluctantly munch on her waffles, waffles that were delightfully drowned in fresh, warm syrup. He was playing dirty, and he clearly knew it. The fiend. “Your bag and wardrobe have been prepared, the former by the door, the latter folded on the tacky beanbag chair you insist on keeping.”

She ignored that. “What’s the cover story this time?”

“The citizens believe you have been kidnapped once more, and that Finn and Jake are on their way to rescue you.” Simple, but effective, as all successful lies are. Not that her children would realize that this would be the second time in a row she had been ‘kidnapped’, nor would it occur to them that it was just the latest in an odd string of disappearances. They may not even notice, probably wouldn’t even ask. Even if they did notice they would just be relieved to see her in one piece, unharmed and just as regal as she had always been. Her sweet, simple children.

But for now that was neither here nor there and she nodded, but it was absent. Her butler didn’t blame her. Never once in his long life did he ever anticipate missing the vampire queen, but he knew his mistress better than anyone - save one - and knew how obsessive she could be. How her over-analytical mind needed to have a project of some sort, something to focus on, and in the absence of acceptable stimuli it would turn on itself and self-destruct. Much like it was doing right now. He could only hope that when all was said and done the day would lead to some good news or any kind of positive development, because she may be a convincing liar, but even the princess wouldn’t be able to maintain the charade of normalcy forever.

“Alright. Thanks, Pep. I’m going to get ready. If Finn and Jake arrive before I finish find some way to distract them, please.”

She had made it halfway through the waffles and downed the sweet juice before giving up, and that was good enough for him. With a genuine smile he bowed, gracefully whisking the tray away. “Will do, Your Majesty.” Without a word - and without any ability for her to argue - he took his leave, striding to the great tan door and silently departing. The moment he was gone Bonnibel groaned once more, throwing herself back on the bed, hands covering her face, as if blocking the light from her eyes would solve all of her problems. This had been the day she was dreading, the day she was anxious for, the reason she had for patiently counting the days on her calendar, her greatest fear and joy rolled into one come true, the moment of truth. But she had made a promise to Navigator, a promise to Rechte, a promise to the Unifier that she would try this strange new life strategy of actually being honest. And as awkward and painful and judge-y as the conversation would be, she had one very specific form of honesty, one discussion she had been dreading, had spent many an hour trying to find some way to avoid, and it was time she stopped running.

She had a very clear newfound understanding of why Marceline ran when an emotional situation began to spiral.

With a resigned huff the candy golem rose from the bed, stretching until she felt the satisfying *pop* of her spine aligning itself. The relief was short lived, however; centuries in her line of work meant that Bonnibel was prone to muscle spasms, and her back was the epicenter of it. The constant stream of nightmares was certainly not helping, but the worst part wasn’t the pain itself - she had a rather high pain tolerance - it was knowing that Marceline wasn’t there to help her. She could do it herself, of course - the vampire had taught her the secret years ago to treating a stubborn spasm - but it was the little things, those tiny changes in her day-to-day existence, that ate at her. And, as Jake was fond of saying in happier times, the little things make up life.

By the time her mind returned to reality she had already retrieved her small bundle of clothing from the purple beanbag and locked the door to her bathroom. It was a large room, with a white and black marble sink and counter sitting below a massive vanity mirror. The cupboard to the right was already filled with hand and body towels, mostly pink with a few red where the sets had been broken up. She slid the bundle of clothes in the empty slot, for everything had its place and everything must return to its place.

Once inside the bathroom proper she locked the door and turned on the shower, but rather than hop in she instead decided that stalling was all the rage these days, so who was she to argue? Instead she buried her face in her hands and yelled as quietly and long as possible, praising herself for her forethought of building a soundproof bathroom. Of course, it was meant to be soundproof for an altogether different reason, one that even now made her blush, but this worked too. As long as she didn’t think about it too much, because then the nostalgia just turned painful.

Locking those memories in their own special mental compartment,Bonnibel resigned herself to the task at hand and stripped herself of her yellow and blue spotted nightgown, folding it and placing it on the sink. Now nude, she appraised herself. Or, more accurately, her right shoulder, which was supposed to sport two small puncture marks made with surgical precision, centered in a pool of grey. Logically she knew they’d be gone by now, healed through the curse of time, but like any compulsion she was unable to resist the desire to look for them, no matter how much it hurt to see them gone. And oh how it hurt, because those two tiny wounds were caused by a vampire bite, the puddle of grey the result of the vampire draining the younger woman’s color. It was something Marceline had never been able to explain - to Bonnibel or herself - but the act of biting meant the mark of possession, and in biting her mate the musician was declaring the young scientist spoken for.

The pink-haired woman knew what many thought of Marceline, what Marceline thought of herself, and even she had to admit that the idea of a vampire bite in of itself sounded macabre. It certainly did to the first time it had ever happened. The first time they had made love, had explored one another so nervously but so eagerly, and Marceline had bitten her, but it hadn’t hurt. Far from it; it was the most euphoric experience she had ever felt in her life. Feeling the small amount of her color drained - for pink was a shade of red after all, and Marceline was a staunch vegetarian - only added to the pleasure. Perhaps it was a vampire hunting tactic to prevent prey from fleeing, or maybe it was due to the raw intensity of the entire experience they were sharing. Regardless, it was bliss, turning the experience into a ritual. In their five centuries together the bite had only faded a handful of times, usually on purpose; Bonnibel never could bring herself to let it be seen publicly because there would be too many questions she couldn’t answer. But even then there was always the knowledge that Marceline would be all too happy to break that taboo for her just about anytime. Or anywhere.

Things were different now. The bite had faded, and because Marceline was still indisposed their relationship status was one giant question mark, with any sense of closure in limbo. For all the princess knew Marceline missed her just as much. But then, for all she knew the vampire never wanted to see her again. Not after… well, basically everything. How odd it was to miss a wound. But she did. And the intimacy. The security. The love. The support. The companionship.

Everything.

But she had an appointment to keep, and so she tore her eyes away from the mirror to enter the shower, pointedly ignoring the hot tub in the back that she and her mate had so often shared. In keeping with the princess’s egotistical nature she had purposefully designed the most luxurious shower imaginable, with dozens of settings and responsive temperature control. Under the jet stream Bubblegum took a few brief moments of golden blankness, forgetting everything that had led to that moment, everything that was left to do. She forced her mind to dance the line between nostalgia and torture, remembering happier times while mentally deafening herself to the whispers of what if she doesn’t come back? What if this is it, and all I have are my memories? What am I supposed to do then? What if she doesn’t recover? What if-

With great mental exertion she sliced the train of thought off before cutting the water. Sometimes being the smartest mind in all of Ooo was a real drag, because that mind sometimes liked to work in overdrive, and without her permission. But it had made its point: the shower had memories she was not ready to cope with yet. Snatching a towel from the towel warmer - one of her more ingenious if not simplistic inventions - the princess quickly dried herself, the eagerness of seeing her queen once more finally creeping up to her, merging with the nauseating knowledge that the reunion came with a prior commitment, that she needed to satisfy the gatekeeper’s demands before she could claim her prize.

In his wisdom Peppermint Butler had selected an outfit for her that deviated sharply from her normal graceful royal attire. No, this time she would dress like and be an equal, a woman come to beg her mate’s forgiveness rather than a princess come to drag her property home. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. You really thought of her that way. Like she was a possession. She was the greatest thing to ever happen to you, and you treated her like an object designed for your amusement. And then a new voice broke the preoccupation of blame and self-doubt, one that sounded decidedly like an old friend. A very specific old friend.

Then show her that you changed. Stop focusing on what happened and start getting ready for what’s next. She wants to talk to you, remember? Man, for such a brainlord you can be a huge dork, Bon.

That teasing thought elicited a small but genuine smile. Perhaps it was unhealthy, but Rechte’s guiding voice was often what broke her mental beratement these days, reminding her that she was being ridiculous in only the way Marceline could, and though she had only been the vampire’s interpretation of Reason she held profound wisdom, because despite what Young Bonnibel thought Marceline was a wise woman, even if over-emotion often crippled that gift. But Older Bonnibel had met that wisdom untainted, that wisdom personified, and it was this guidance that sometimes got her out of bed in the morning. So, unhealthy objectively speaking, but better than the alternative.

With a smile only half-forced she hung her yellow towel on the brass hook, leaning against the pink stone wall as she donned her scarlet bra and panties - purely out of habit, of course, not blind and pathetic hope - a pair of simple blue-washed jeans, soft yellow shirt and lavender hoodie, the complement to the sneakers she would slip on just outside the door. After the great effort of tying her hair back she finally exited the bathroom, technically ready for the day ahead of her. But it didn’t get real until the knock on her bedroom door and-

“They’re in the spy room. I gave them a kaleidoscope to keep them entertained.”

And then Peppermint Butler was gone, not even giving his liege the chance to respond with some order. No opportunity to stall. Probs for the best. Not wanting to give herself a chance to hinder her own progress Bonnibel picked up her rather bulging brown messenger bag, secured it tightly and, with a deep breath, exited her room as silently as possible. Not that it seemed to matter; the hallway was oddly vacant, devoid even of the sound of her childrens’ laughter. It made her smile. Thanks, Pep. At least I won’t have to explain why I’m going to a room that doesn’t exist. Because the spy room didn’t exist, at least on paper. Why would it? Its original purpose was to house her Super Secret Spy System, a mechanized monstrosity capable of spying on every Ooo citizen of note, destroyed only after Phoebe had called her out on her paranoid and vindictive ways. Now the room only served as a getaway for when she and Marceline needed some extra privacy. At least, it did. More importantly for now, though, it would serve as the gateway to the Nightosphere, just as it did when this adventure began.

Bonnibel took a deep, steadying breath, willing herself to move forward, to meet her gallant champions, to officially begin the next stage in their adventure. Yet her feet wouldn’t move, her mind kept finding little occupations that demanded her attention in a subconscious attempt to slow her down, and her mind alternated between praising her for her ability to stall and reminding her that she had been waiting a long time for this appointment, and it was time to get her butt in gear, to get going to, to try really hard not to ruin everything this time because she was already getting a second chance and you don’t get second second chances-

Chill, Bon. Since when do you do the whole self-doubt thing?

Oh, I don’t know, Rechte, quite possibly since I shattered your mind?

Eh, not like I was using it much anyway, right? Come on, Bon. You need her, and she’s gonna need you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Yes, having mental conversations with what amounted to a figment of her lover’s imagination couldn’t possibly be a healthy coping mechanism, but it was certainly effective, and before she realized as much Bonnibel had already made up her mind, following the winding path to the spy room. She’s right. Or… I’m right. If I can persuade Marcy to come home she’ll need all of us to help her readjust. If I don’t do this now I’ll just be confirming for both of us that I care more about my desires and comfort than her own. A part of our relationship has always hinged on my guiding and steadying her. I have to show her that I can protect her, just as she’s always protected me. When her hand touched the brass knob and her shoulder nudged the ‘Do Not Enter’ sign out of her path a voice not her own once more whispered,

See? You got this, Bon.

Not healthy in the slightest. But effective.

When she pushed open the door she found Finn and Jake exactly as Peppermint Butler said they would be: engrossed in a cheap plastic kaleidoscope the princess often used to entertain the youngest of her citizens when she held court. When Finn noticed her entrance - as well as her bag of what was obviously loot - he brightened, leaving the toy to his brother as he waved. “Hey PB! You all psyched to see Marce again?!” The human grinned, obviously himself ‘psyched’, being dressed in his uniform adventuring outfit and all. It was hard to ignore his enthusiasm and she let her small smile widen. After all, without her gallant champions Marceline - Whole Marceline - would have been a thing of the past, would never have won the ‘survival game’ her components found themselves in. She owed them. She owed them, and they never said a word, didn’t even see it as them being owed anything. They were heroes, they were friends, these things just happened to mix this time.

The princess was still too new to this ‘heartguts emotions’ thing to know what to make of that, but was determined to learn. “Yes, I’m quite eager, Finn. But first we have an important task ahead of us. Did you bring-”

The boy held up his bag triumphantly, as if it held all the secrets in the universe. “Yup, got it all right here. Pep-But said that Jan said that Hunson said the portal should empty right in the Citadel. Not really sure where in the Citadel, but you know. We’ll figure it out. Adventuring 102. Figurin’ stuff out.” As he nodded sagely he knelt, opening his bag to withdraw its contents. Silently, Bonnibel was a tad relieved. While the denizens of the Nightosphere were concerning she just wanted to get this over with, and was thankful not to have to engage in a long walk, as they had done last time.

While his brother prepared the summoning circle Jake looked up from his toy, oddly unphased by the idea of returning to the land of homicidal demons, and without a homicidal demon of their own. Then again, after everything that happened in the Mindscape maybe he was just desensitized to it all. “You ready, Bubblegum?,” he asked in a tone both knowing and determined. Even he knew that this was about to be a heavy conversation.

That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard on. “I’ve come prepared.” She patted her own bag, but her champion raised an eyebrow, as if silently telling her ‘that wasn’t what I meant’. Glob it. She took a steadying breath, then exhaled her concerns. “I’m ready, Jake. There will be much for us to do, but I-”

“Maloso vobiscum et cum spiritum!”

As happy as she was to see the grey wall crack a split, only to be replaced with a friendly blue portal, Bonnibel frowned at her rare moment of emotional honesty being interrupted. Thanks a lot, Finn. Still, it was hard to argue with his enthusiasm, and her annoyance faded almost immediately. I suppose he’s just excited to see Marcy as well. Alright, Finn. All is forgiven.

She could almost hear Rechte’s sarcastic snort from the back of her mind as the boy bowed, possibly sardonically, outstretching an arm to the portal. “Your portal awaits, m’lady.”

With all the grace an emotionally frazzled princess in a hoodie could muster she stepped through the portal, knowing her champions would be right behind her. There were many reasons for joining her this day - missing Marceline being the foremost - and one of them was for her own protection, because although the tale was largely a series of misunderstandings the end result was Bonnibel managing to enrage most of demon-kind, which now saw fit to attempt to end her life at every opportune moment. Traditionally, defending her was a burden/thrill that fell to Marceline, but with her lover out of commission it would temporarily fall to the mere mortals. There was no saying that even with Hunson’s invitation his subjects would let them be; after all, every demon there ever was seemed to know that his illustrious daughter was the candy golem’s mate and that never seemed to stop them. It could be entirely possible that the portal would open into a literal sea of demons, all vying for her blood, even if it really did plop them out into the middle of the Citadel.

Instead the portal found Bonnibel before one specific demon. A demon she was very familiar with, whose presence caused her candy skin to bristle, her eyes to narrow. “Jan.”

He was equally unhappy to see her, but for very different reasons, and when she stood to her full height over him he yelped, bowing low, a black stick falling to his side thoughtlessly. “Your Majesty! How… uh… nice to see you! How’s the family?”

Before she could retort that he knew exactly how her family was she was joined by her champions, who for possibly the first time in their lives stopped to observe the situation before reacting to it, taking stock of the demon that seemed so familiar they could almost-

“Oh hey! I remember you! You’re the guy Marce almost killed!”

The strange creature narrowed his eye and chanced a glare at Jake. Not that he could be in any way considered intimidating. He was smaller than a demon in his position should be, all humanoid (except the missing torso) and a flaxen yellow. He had three large eyes surrounding his round mouth; if not for the black pupils they would have blended right into his body. He had three fingers - claws, really - on each hand, and no toes. His leg seemed badly damaged, the stick tossed the side obviously being used as a crutch or cane of some sort. Almost definitely because when the group had first met him he had tried to kill Bonnibel and Marceline had broken it severely in retaliation. Honestly, Bubblegum was impressed it was still attached and at all workable. What she was more impressed with was how visibly afraid of her he was. She almost smirked, tried to resist every natural urge that threatened to overwhelm her, tried to keep to her promise of learning to be good and not a sadistic-

Nah, go ahead. It’s hot.

You’re not helping, Rechte.

I’m not trying to, Bon.

Fair enough. “Jan, stand up.”

Now he was glaring at her for her purposefully poor choice of words. With great effort he reached his stick and rose, the strain clearly one that was causing great pain and suffering. Only Finn felt a pang of pity; Bubblegum wasn’t exactly a forgiving person, and though she had made great strides she was still learning and, knowing how dark this could really go, decided that sometimes the least expected need to be saved. “So you’re here to bring us to Hunson, Jan?”

He didn’t stop his glaring, speaking through gritted teeth. “Yeah. He has a sick sense of humor like that. So let’s go, I don’t got all day. I have other stuff to do. But she,” he lifted his stick, pointing it at the candy woman with shaking hand, “stays in the back.”

Finn glanced between a befuddled - yet obviously amused - Bonnibel and a clearly not at all amused Jan, then frowned. “Dude, not cool.”

Jake crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in agreement. “Yeah, you’re the one that started it. Besides, Marce isn’t here to kick your butt. I mean, we’re expert butt-kickers, but-”

That was enough of the word ‘butt’ to Jan, who threw his hands up in exasperation. “Look, I don’t know if Marceline is here right now. She goes invisible. Besides, I’m not taking any chances. She’s been lashing out at just about everyone for no good or bad reason all the time, and I’m not gonna give her an excuse to turn me inside out.”

An alarm bell went off in Bubblegum’s mind. “What do you mean she’s lashing out? And may I remind you that if you hadn’t attacked me-”

He waved his hand dismissively. Dismissively, and yet he still avoided her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you should see what she did to the left flank of the Citadel. It’s mostly fixed now, but said wanged the whole thing apart! So yeah, I’m not taking any chances. Not all of us fall squarely in the Abadeers’ perpetual good graces. Must be nice, but, you know. The obvious.” And with that he turned on his un-mangled heel, all-but forcing the trio of surface-dwellers to follow him, his slow gait allowing them to take in the sights of the internal Citadel, a destination denied to even most Nightosphere residents.

As they maneuvered through the winding hallways Bonnibel was struck with a powerful sense of deja vu, because by now she was learning that Peppermint Butler was right, and time really did have no domain in the Nightosphere. The Citadel’s walls were still dark, smooth, and hard as stone; when Finn noticed her longing stare he took it upon himself to gingerly touch them with his flesh arm, nodding in her direction to confirm they were warm, just as they were when they last visited. The carpet was still maroon and lined with gold cloth, in perfect condition. All manner of weaponry hung on the walls, as did statues of grotesque statues Marceline had once taught her were called ‘gargoyles’ before the Mushroom War.

Unlike the Candy Kingdom Castle the Nightosphere’s doors and rooms were kept closed and, she suspected, locked, secrets shielded from the visitors. The doors themselves were brown or black and looked strangely like wood, an oddity given that there was no wood in the pocket dimension, an oddity she had given no thought to since it first manifested. Did she still wish to solve that mystery? Yes. Did she have bigger problems at the moment? Definitely. A pang in her heart reminded her that she had once hoped Marceline would give her a tour. Maybe one day she will . She imagined what it would be like, her best friend showing off her birthright and the world she was prophesied to inherit if the Cosmic Owl was to be believed. But that was a goal for a different day, a potential gift for Future Bonnibel. How she envied her.

As they meandered Bonnibel began to trail behind, hesitation warring against hope, a fact missed by Jake but not by Finn. It caused him to smile sadly. I know, Bubs. It’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. Wanting to make sure no one disturbed the sanctum of her private thoughts he glanced down at the grumbling demon, leaving his brother bridge the gap between the front of the group and the princess. Jake may not be paying attention in the moment, but he would notice immediately if she fell too far behind. After all, they were both seasoned adventurers, and that was a pretty common concern in escort quests. “Hey Jan, what do you do around here?”

The yellow demon shifted his eye up, suspicious of the comment but even more suspicious of the sincere tone. “Why?”

Finn shrugged. “I never really talk to demons that aren’t Marce, and you keep showing up.”

Jan sighed in a way Finn guessed was probably overly-dramatic, possibly even ‘woe-is-me’-ish. “I’m like Hunson’s ‘go-to’ lowly menial speck. I cook, I clean, I file paperwork, take stock of the ancient evil artifacts he’s collected over the centuries, play errand-demon, collect taxes, hire staff to replace lost or devoured staff, do dances because the boss thinks it’s funny, and apparently play tour guide to surface dwellers.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Wait, demons pay taxes?”

“Everyone pays taxes,” he muttered. “Only way out of it is to die, and if you try that Death just sends you back here with an angry letter stapled to some appendage you value, so you have to pay taxes and the delivery fee. So yeah.”

“Huh. Didn’t think demons did junk like that. What do you do with them?”

“Whatever Hunson wants. Sometimes he just throws it in the fire, or drops it down a pit. Last year he held a battle royale where the winner got all of it. Year before that he lost it in a poker game against some dream bird or something. One time he transmuted it into a statue of himself and made us write reviews on how awesome it was. You know, perfectly logical stuff.” When they finally came before a door so much like the others, and so much larger, the demon seemed relieved. “Well, this is your stop. I’m out of here before he tells me he needs me for some other humiliating task.” And with that Jan was gone. Slowly. Due to the hobbling.

At first no one moved, but slowly Finn and Jake looked over their shoulders at Bonnibel, waiting for her direction, politely not pointing out how she was very clearly hesitating. How nervous she looked. How it was obvious she wasn’t sleeping, or eating. She was paying them no mind, focused only on the black door before her, knowing that as unpleasant as this mission was, how she would finally have to start truly paying for her centuries of mistakes, responsibility demanded sacrifice, and she had a responsibility to Marceline. With set jaw and straight back she approached the door, made to push it, stopped, thought better of that, and knocked instead.

Within moments the door opened of its own accord and inside the three found Hunson Abadeer, Lord of Evil and Ruler of the Nightosphere, at his desk. It struck Finn just how different his desk was from Lady Evil’s, even if the latter had literally been a figment of his friend’s shattered mind. Unlike her flashy desk drenched in vanity Hunson’s desk was purely utilitarian, meant to serve a function and nothing more: black, made of the same pseudo-wood as the doors, with two compartments setting three drawers per side. The top featured a simple grey monitor and green keyboard a calendar in the upper left corner, and a long yellow parchment with a mount for an accompanying grey quill next to a grey phone that was obviously made before the bombs fell. The one indicator of its owner’s individuality was a simple plastic transparent picture frame, turned away from the group. In the exact spot Lady Evil’s had been. Not gonna think about that, nope. Before his desk sat three simple black chairs, the only indication thus far that he had been expecting the three.

While Finn was preoccupied with Hunson himself Jake was more interested in the office, which seemed exactly as he remembered it. Not that much time had passed since the first part of their adventure concluded, and so it made perfect sense that nothing had changed; still the portrait of himself playing golf with Death on otherwise bare walls, the window displaying the chaos and frustration of the Nightosphere denizens right behind him, allowing him to admire his handiwork in sowing confusion and chaos any and all the time. The only difference seemed to be a sizeable dent in the right wall, as if something small collided with the stone with enough force to break the stone. He tried very hard not to think about that one, and succeeded, for Jake was very good at ignoring things that were unpleasant.

“Oh, there you are!”

Despite the morbidity of the circumstances Hunson was still smiling - albeit a slightly strained smile - as he rose from his desk to greet his guests. Like the rest of the Nightosphere he himself hadn’t changed either; same suit, same haircut, same undercurrent of chaotic evil. Same old, same old. “Finn, Jake, how good to see you again! Princess, thank you for returning.” There was so much sentiment loaded in those last five words that it was amazing they didn’t combust, and her mind couldn’t help to break down as many translations as it could as fast as it could: thank you for owning up to your mistakes; thank you for not being a coward; I hope you’re here to try to fix your mess; because, really, this is your mess isn’t it?

Or maybe she was reading too much into it. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Please, call me Bonnibel.” It was the second time in her life she had uttered those words, and, like before, they also surrounded a messed up situation, a failed machination wrought with pain and suffering because she thought she knew what was best and instead caused pain and suffering. “And thank you for meeting with us.” He’s just another foreign dignitary, Bubblegum. Who… happens to be the father of your mate. Who… isn’t doing so hot. No, that isn’t helping. Focus!

But, to her great fortune, Hunson only smiled and nodded, gesturing to the chairs. “Come in, sit down. Now, how can I help you kids?”

Once more Finn and Jake turned to Bonnibel for guidance, ready and willing to act as a physical and emotional buffer between the two parties. When she strode into the room proper and lowered herself into the middle seat they exchanged a look and joined her, Finn settling at her right, Jake on her left. It was only once they were situated that Hunson returned to his own seat. “I made a promise after we returned from Marceline’s mind that once things were settled I would tell you everything that happened. I’ve come to fulfill that promise.”

Now his smile seemed to take on a morose edge, but his nod was knowing. “I’m glad I’ll know. Marceline…,” he sighed, “she hasn’t been ready to talk about… well, anything.” He shook his head, and though more alarm bells rang in the princess’s mind she was forced to silent them, because Hunson was actually speaking freely about his daughter’s condition, and that was more important. “But we can talk about that after. So tell me, Bonnibel… what happened after the three of you put on those weird helmet things?”

The pause she took to collect her thoughts was a long one, for she had many thoughts, but no one disrupted her as she formed a plan of attack, an explanation that was both matter-of-fact and a clear indicator that she was taking responsibility for her actions, that she was here not only to inform but to make amends. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a reassuring thumb’s up from Finn. It was enough.

“The devices we used belong to my virtual reality system. We used them to enter Marceline’s mind with the intention of locating and retrieving her. Marceline and I had successfully used the system before with a similar purpose, but the results this time were remarkably different.” She sighed deeply, closing her eyes in remembrance, not allowing herself to forget even a single grotesque detail. “Pep-But’s assessment that her mind wasn’t ready for the amulet proved wholly correct, and under its influence it shattered her psyche into eight core components. Essentially, it took Marceline’s mind, divided it into eight unequal reflections of different aspects of her personality, and separated them into entirely unique individuals with their own names, thoughts, motives, strengths, and weaknesses.”

“‘Unequal reflections?’” He raised an eyebrow and she allowed her own morose nod. She didn’t want to remember. She had to.

“Those aspects of her personality that were strongest were, in turn, the strongest of the eight. They each thought of themselves as individuals while recognizing they were at one point one whole being.”

That caused him to frown. “So the amulet drew out her vulnerabilities, as well as those aspects of herself that are positive and beneficial in nature, personified them, and chose to divide them to such an extreme…,” He muttered. “Did they say what they were? Did they know what they represented?”

Her grimace spoke volumes. “Yes, they were very much aware. The first one we met was named Unifier. Before meeting her we found an obelisk that warned we should be wary of her, but-”

“What’s an obelisk?”

A pin drop could be heard from somewhere across the Citadel. Exactly where was anyone’s guess. Really, it was the thought that counted.

“...You’re kidding,” Finn spoke, realizing all too late that he had been saying that a lot lately. “Marce said you’re like a million years old, but you don’t know what an obelisk is?”

The demon only shrugged, “Hey, I don’t keep up with the craziness of what happens on the surface. I don’t even get to visit unless someone summons me.”

Jake buried his face in his paws at the absurdity of it all. “It’s a stone pillar that’s typically used as a monument or landmark.”

“Hah! You crazy kids and your new lingo.”

The princess took a steadying breath, trying to ignore what distinctly sounded like Rechte snickering from the back of her mind. “As I was saying. We first met with the Unifier, who revealed to us that we could only bring Marceline home as one whole person if the others were killed and she alone absorbed their portion of her mind. Until only one Marceline remained they would be stuck in the wasteland and unable to return.”

Now Hunson’s amusement turned to concern. “Wasteland?”

Finn nodded. “It was jacked up, Hunson. Her mind was literally a wasteland. It looked like it did right after the Great Mushroom War. Like, ruined cities, polluted water, just… messed up. We found Unifier living in what looked like her Cave house in Ooo, but everything was all wrong. Like the sky was covered in dust, and it smelled like rust all the time. And there were monsters and-”

Jake put his paw on his brother’s arm. He had grown tense, his speech increasing in speed as he remembered the reality of how his ladybro(s) had survived until they found her. Jake didn’t need two people to spiral on his watch. “Chill, bro. One thing at a time.” Deciding that it was his turn to pick up the tale, “so at first Unifier doesn’t wanna help us, but we managed to convince her otherwise, ‘cause we’re awesome. Later we met Navigator, who was like Marce’s moral compass and sense of sentiment. She was actually really tough and wanted to come home. Tried to protect us. Oh, and we met Arbitrator, who was…” He stopped. Paused. Blinked. Turned to Finn. “Hey, did we ever figure out what Arbitrator actually was?”

Finn’s pained expression was answer enough. First we didn’t know how her name, now we don’t even know- “Nah, bro. Everyone just called her the one shred of goodness Marce had, but never actually said what she was.” Maybe if Marce remembers she’ll tell us. ‘Cause it’s messed up that we never-

“In addition, we also met Rechte and Linke, who were sort of like twins that reflected Marceline’s senses of reason and instinct respectively,” Bonnibel continued. “Their strength was always in negative correlation to one another. Like Arbitrator and Navigator Rechte also wanted to go home, but Linke resisted the idea. But all of their power combined paled before the three strongest.”

Hunson crossed his arms, clearly deep into what he was being described. “So they not only had names, but their names reflected their purpose. These three… what did they represent?”

At first the trio were silent, but when both Finn and Jake began their respective answers Bonnibel raised her hand, causing them to fall silent. It needs to be me. “The first was Tyrant. She was Marceline’s sense of loyalty. And…” Say it, Bubblegum. Say it. “...Her sense of self-deprecation.” Ugly to hear out loud, isn’t it? “The second was Usurper, her sense of rage and jealousy. The last was her despair personified.” Say it! “...Who named herself Lady Evil. And dressed as if she were the ruler of the Nightosphere.”

Jake shuddered. “She was the most messed up of all of ‘em.”

Finn glared at his brother. “Jake!”

But the damage was done and Hunson sighed deeply, eyes closing. “Her dominant personality traits as you saw them are loyalty, self-loathing, jealousy, anger, and despair.” It was a statement, not a question, and his gaze turned to the wound in the wall. “I knew Marceline had suffered a lot in growing up the way she did, but I didn’t imagine that those positive traits I always saw would be dwarfed by such negativity.” He paused, staring deeply into the hole in the wall. “What else happened in there?”

Bonnibel sighed, accepting when Finn placed his arm reassuringly on her shoulder. “Those three strongest aspects of herself hated one another. Not all of her hated herself, but everyone was violent, and violence was how they communicated. Even the ones allied with one another.” She shook her head at the flood of memories, of the visions of her lover dying again and again, of the feelings of anger and betrayal and how lost and scared she had been. “Because the most powerful aspects of her wanted to come back to Ooo alone and without the others we barely made it home with her intact, which is why I imagine she’s having a difficult readjustment. Most of Ooo was corrupted or tainted in some form, and she had grown to see those aspects of herself as different individuals entirely.” If she didn’t know herself before this certainly complicates matters. “Further… when we finally brought her home you indicated that we were under for an hour, if more then barely, but to us we were there for at least a week. Marceline herself indicated that she had been trapped for perhaps a hundred years before we found her, and by then several pieces of herself had become accustomed to her mindscape as her new home. They didn’t want to return to Ooo, and while her initial reintroduction was successful the world is very different than how she remembers it.”

Now she was hesitating, an inaction Hunson readily picked up on. As made evident by his turning away from the wall to fix her with a stern stare, not quite a glare, but quite expectant. Say it, Bubblegum. Admit what you did. “But… that may not be the worst part. When my VR system is in operation someone enters a mindscape with whatever is on their person at the time. Finn, for example, brought supplies to help us navigate an unknown terrain. I… brought a silver dagger. A dagger Marceline knew I had made, one I promised to destroy centuries ago. I didn’t, and within her mind I used it against the Usurper.”

The demon nodded absently, expression unreadable. So very unlike Marceline’s version of disappointment. “So she came to try using the amulet because you wanted her to, then you pulled a silver weapon on my still-half-vampire daughter. Where is it now?”

Finn jumped in immediately, hand still on her shoulder. Not that either noticed. “She destroyed it. I watched her do it. And she was willing to do anything to bring Marceline home, Hunson. She was willing to give up her kingdom. She’s a different person. Like… in a good way!” He was struck with what was possibly his most brilliant idea ever, or at least he would later claim. “Tell him about the Cosmic Owl!”

She really, really didn’t want to, almost said as much, almost didn’t, but a memory rang through her mind,

You know, the cosmic entity dad has on speed dial in his office?

It was time to see if the Navigator was being facetious or- “While we were entrenched in our task of returning Marceline home I was given a Cosmic Owl dream.” Those seemed to be the magic words, because she now had the undivided attention of the Lord of Evil himself. Not a position most individuals would voluntarily find themselves in, and yet-

“What did he show you?”

The question was curious, but there was an undercurrent of skepticism. Not that she blamed him; she herself was the recipient and she still didn’t believe it happened. “The dream indicated three important things. The first was that Marceline and I were married. Whether or not this means the events I’m here to rectify took place or not I cannot say, but the dream made that much abundantly clear. The second is that Marceline had willingly taken up the mantle as Lady Evil. She seemed to be flourishing under the title, and in accordance with our marriage it made both the Nightosphere and the Candy Kingdom allied. Finally… it was established that the Lich had returned.”

At first he said nothing, expression blank, something Jake had once called a ‘poker face’. Not a trait Marceline had inherited, and Bonnibel was glad for it. It was unsettling. “So the Cosmic Owl has prophesied that Marceline will take over the family business, enjoy it, unite the Nightosphere with a surface world kingdom, and that the Lich will escape his prison of flesh and bone.”

She nodded, successfully stemming the tide of memories that flowed from her recollection of the dream. Of how in love they still were. How she had accomplished her goal of uniting Ooo. How the half-demon had formally declared the Candy Kingdom her home. How they were a family for all of Ooo to see, with no shame, no deception, nothing to hide.

She wanted that. So much it ached.

“That’s why I’m here.” When he raised an eyebrow in what Bubblegum hoped was skepticism and not mockery she cleared her throat to regain some semblance of composure. “When we first came here, when I demanded she try to take over your position, I had a lot of misconceptions about both Marceline and myself. Throughout the course of our adventure I came to realize that the problem lay not with her, but with myself. I was cruel, demanding, and, at times, abusive. I tried to control her and I told myself I did so out of love. Perhaps in the beginning I had some semblance of good intentions, but somewhere along the way it turned into self-serving behavior. I see now that how I treated her is incompatible with any claim that I must love her, and I admit that I initially came here to use her. I was thoughtless, manipulative, and wrong. I exploited her. Now, more than anything, I want her to heal, to be healthy and happy once more. She is my priority, and however long it takes to rectify this I will do so.”

The demon fixed the young immortal with a hard stare, silently turning her declaration over in his mind. Without losing the expression he turned back to the damaged wall. “People can change, Bonnibel. The biggest catalyst of this is profound loss. Pain is a great teacher because it shows us what’s important. It gives us clarity. Mortals, immortals, comic beings… it doesn’t matter. And when they change dramatically even their souls alter to reflect the difference. If something moves, if it talks or thinks, it has a soul. And souls can be weighed and judged. Has Marceline ever tasted your soul?” At that he sounded curious, as if it had never once occurred to him before that moment that his flesh and blood may actually use that ability. As if she forgot about it.

Jake shuddered at the very question, but Bonnibel remained unphased. “Yes, once. When we were much younger.”

He nodded, turning to her. “You used my daughter for material gain, and now you’re here to make amends. I know her soul chose you as its mate, so as much as I’m not a big fan of it I won’t forbid you from trying.”

Finn blinked, stunned. This is… too simple. He’s up to something. “Soul choosing is that big a deal?”

Hunson tapped his desk in thought, and though he answered Finn he didn’t turn from Bonnibel. “Oh yes. There’s no changing a soul’s decision once it’s chosen a mate. Ideally, her soul would have chosen another demon, but we have no control over it and her’s didn’t. So it’s up to her now to decide how to handle this.”

“...Cause it would just hurt her more to interfere,” Finn mumbled. Man, poor Marce.

“If you’d like to visit her,” he turned away now from the princess, bringing the mere mortals into the conversation, “you’re welcome to.”

That at least lifted the boy’s spirits. “How is she doing anyway?”

To his dismay the demon pointed towards the damaged wall. “She’s been having a few… issues. It’s been gradually improving, but I would definitely proceed with caution.” He nodded sagely. Sagely, and with an odd, wry humor.

So this is where she inherited it from. Finn looked away from the wall, returning to the Lord of Evil. “Thanks, Hunson. Do we have your permission to visit Marceline?”

Of all things his smile was wanton. “You’re her friends. She has a rule about me not interfering in her life. You know where her room is.”

Taking that as all the permission she needed Bonnibel bowed her head respectfully, rising gracefully as she plucked her bag off of the floor. “Thank you. We’ll go see her now.” After pushing in her chair - small displays of respect were paramount when dealing with foreign dignitaries - the young scientist strode from the room, trusting her gallant champions to follow, each with their own preoccupations, their own driving forces. Finn, who was already planning ways to coax Marceline back to the surface with the promises of pranks, video games, and merriment. Jake, who was wondering what demons ate and how long before ‘home’ would truly be home once more. And Bonnibel, who knew she was about to learn how heavy her heart weighed.

As they made their way down the brief hallway neither saw the older demon’s wanton smile turn melancholy, or him lift the framed picture from the desk. Nor did they see the picture itself, an old but immaculate photograph of the Lord of Evil himself with a young female human with chestnut skin and brown hair, arms wrapped around one another, the human laughing as the demon tried to figure out how those primitive human cameras worked.

No, no one saw Hunson Abadeer reminisce about his own lost mate, remember the way it felt to hold her, how her voice sounded, how pure her soul was, because they were too occupied with strategizing how they would save his daughter. And no one asked how, if Marceline’s dominant mental traits were so toxic, was she herself at worst a neutral chaotic individual. But it was his mate’s soul - or at least it’s influence - that lived on inside of his child, that acted as a balance to his own vile nature. He would take time now to compose himself before picking up the phone and calling his old friend to confirm the candy golem’s story because one day, he knew, if the prophecy was true and his child could only heal this balance would cement, and she would become more powerful than he ever was.

But neither Finn, Jake, nor Bonnibel knew any of this because they did not ask. Instead, they made their way down the hall, Bonnibel’s stride alternating between swift and excited and slow and reluctant. When she wasn’t looking Finn and Jake exchanged a knowing look. This wasn’t the Bonnibel they were used to, and though they approved of her learning to put aside her hubris Finn especially knew that emotional development was an often painful procedure.

“Hey, why’d Hunson say that he’d prefer Marce pick another demon for smoochin’?”

A procedure Jake wasn’t helping. “Because demons only select one mate, but nothing guarantees that the one they choose will choose them back. They could find someone completes them, but they don’t complete the object of their affection.”

“So like… I don’t get it. They’re the same person?”

“As is my understanding.” Silence befell the group. Well, except for the ever-presence of Bonnibel’s inner-beratement But then there’s a lot about her demon half I don’t kn-

“It’s just… it’s weird.”

That snapped her out of it. “What’s weird, Finn?”

“I dunno,” he started. Paused. “Her demon side has never really mattered before. It’s just… you know. Why now?”

“Cosmic Owl, dude,” Jake whispered, eyes wide.

Bonnibel flushed deeply at the sudden reminder of the Cosmic Owl and the dream he had shown her. Mercifully, her gallant champions had no time to comment or even notice because they had reached their destination, and before them stood a large black door, so like the others. Well, except for the large ‘KEEP OUT’ poster tacked to it. Finn frowned. “Should we knock? I mean, it says to keep out.”

Jake groaned. “Man, we’ve been over this. It’s a sign not a cop.”

“Yeah, but like… it’s Marce.”

“So? She’s all about hasslin’ cops. If anything she’d probably be proud of us!”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“See, that’s the problem with your generation. When I was your age we listened to our elders!”

“Bro, you can’t just-”

It was the music that stopped the banter. The soft strum of a bass, a tune the princess recognized from their centuries of friendship, even if there was no singing to accompany it. She had known logically that her vampire was in there, that they were separated only by a door. But now the situation had become even more real, with the moment of reckoning at hand. It was time to shift the balance of power, for Marceline to become the one in charge for possibly the first time in their relationship. But for all of her nervousness the princess was sure she would be successful, that she would find some way to salvage their bond. Because she was nothing if not stubborn. And egotistical. And frighteningly clever. And it was time to put all of those previously toxic traits to work, to heal rather than destroy.

Eyes closed, jaw set, breath held, and now officially more than a little anxious, Bonnibel Bubblegum knocked on the door.

Chapter Text

Marceline opening the door on the first knock surprised everyone. Her slamming it shut with clearly excessive force immediately upon seeing who her visitors were surprised no one.

“Aw, come on, Marce! Open up!”

But Finn’s request was denied, his efforts instead rewarded with the sound of a bass strumming. Pausing. Strumming again. A behavior Bonnibel recognized immediately as her tuning it, something that often betrayed nervousness. Unless she really did need to tune the instrument.

Really? I’d pick now to tune it? Right now? I know you’re filled with self-doubt right now, Bon, but come on.

The princess sighed deeply, a woe-is-me, pitiful thing, but only internally. It seemed that Rechte had begun kicking out her own line of thinking in favor of something more constructive. Well, not literally Rechte, she knew that. Still, she was grateful for the change in pace; her own thoughts were indeed riddled with self-doubt, and it wasn’t a sentiment she was used to experiencing for anything longer than brief moments, and even then purely within the context of a scientific experiment. But whereas she would have been happy to treat her wayward-lover as an experiment in the past she knew better now, and was secretly glad that the part of the vampire that had solved so many mysteries and unknowns about herself for her was still with the candy golem, even if it only was a subconscious representation.

It made her feel less alone, that was for sure.

Another knock, and more strumming. When Finn turned to Jake and shrugged haplessly the dog frowned, rubbing his chin in ponderance. Then his eyes lit up and he turned to his monarch. “Bubblegum, you got anything red in there?”

“Ye-”

That word fragment was all he needed, and the elder hero turned back to the door, knocking once more. “Open up, Marce! We got snacks!” Despite his clever scheme, though, the door remained unyielding and he turned back to his friends, his shrug just as hapless as his brother’s. “I ‘unno. Worked with Unifier.”

Bonnibel frowned in ponderance. But she’s not Unifier. She’s whole now. Alright Bubblegum, break this down. Unifier’s deal was pure neutrality, and she wanted absolutely nothing to do with anything. She opened the door for us because of the novelty of red food. We won’t get Marcy to open the door unless we know what she wants-

And then it hit her, and after clearing her throat she knocked once more. “Marcy? It’s me. We’re here because we just want to check on you. ...I just want to check on you. And… if you’re ready, I’d like to discuss my-” utter betrayal ”-...utter betrayal of your trust and exploitation of your-”

The door opened, a single garnet eye poking out. This time it only narrowed at the two beaming faces in front of her, the one downtrodden. A single growl that may as well be a grunt escaped her but this time the door opened, allowing the trio of outsiders entry into Marceline’s room. Their hostess herself did nothing to make her invitation all-too welcoming; the moment the three had crossed the threshold the door slammed shut and the half-demon returned to her previous position, bass still clutched in her hand, though whether as an instrument or as a weapon was difficult to say.

The queen’s room hadn’t changed much in the brief period since her friend’s had last seen it. The floors and walls were made of the same warm, dark material as the Citadel itself. Her wall of instruments was still exactly that, still filled with musical devices both known and foreign, and still immaculate. The two windows, both of which were enormous and arched, were still composed of stained glass and featuring delicate geometric tracery. Rather than display one solid color, however, the coloration flowed in combination with the pattern, changing shades as the patterns changed form. It was difficult to see through the almost entirely closed blackout curtain, but Finn thought he spotted a spiderweb crack in the right window.

The furniture was much the same, he found with relief. The heavy armoire and a dresser, both seemingly made of the same black wood as the bedroom door, both topped with various trinkets and bric-a-brac from the surface world. There were small figurines she didn’t recognize, half a dozen picture frames, even strange curiosities like a lump of coal and an acorn. Huh. I gotta remember to ask about those. Not a lot of Ooo stuff in the Nightosphere.

Her four poster bed was black, both the posts and the canopy made of the same wood-like material as her door. The spires were angular, almost fractal-like, tapering upwards. Each was topped with a small four-eyed bat, complete with fur detail; even from her point on the floor the princess thought she could make out tiny garnet eyes and teensy little fangs. Their wings were spread, perhaps in an attempt to look scary. Bonnibel almost smiled. Still not scary, Marcy. The footboard itself were solid, though there were copious faint scratches in the wood. The headboard was partially obscured by an array of dark red cushions and pillows, which matched the soft blankets piled on the bed. In contrast to the rest of the room the bed decorations were strangely simple, with no lace, frill, tassels, or other decor to speak of. Just simple and soft looking.

In contrast to the rest of the room, however, something was terribly off about its denizen. Marceline wore a black t-shirt from a band Bonnibel didn’t immediately recognize, but seemed to feature a dragon and a pickup truck. When she sat on her bed it was easy to see that in place of her normal jeans she wore simple grey slacks that looked rather comfortable to Jake, he thought enviously. There were no shoes. Most curiously, however, was the white and red scarf she wore tightly around her neck.

But it was the staring that the trio found unsettling.

Although her eyes were neither slitted nor pinned there was something dark hidden behind them. She was tense, eyes narrowed, staring at the three with some emotion none could immediately place. ‘Loathing’ came to Jake’s mind. ‘Bitterness’ was Finn’s mental guess, or perhaps ‘antipathy’. But Bonnibel was closest, identifying it squarely as ‘destructive’, the predatory look she gave those she considered detrimental. We’re the enemy right now. That’s what that look means. Why are we the enemy? That was indeed the puzzle, but the young scientist was a woman on a mission. Now if only that mission would stop changing on an hour-by-hour basis. She gave the older woman a weak smile. “Hey Marceline.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Hello, Bonnibel.”

She successfully restrained her wince, because not only did the tone match the expression but her voice was still clearly poorly healed. It seemed to no longer hurt her to talk, but it was strained now; if you didn’t know the vampire very well you may not notice the difference, but Bonnibel had centuries of experience in listening to her laugh and sing, and it was like night and day. I did that. Such a reality gave her pause, made her hesitate, and she floundered.

It was Finn who took over. “So… ready to go back to Ooo, Marce?” He sounded so sincerely hopeful it was almost endearing. But the musician’s eyes narrowed dangerously, not dropping their dark glint.

“I’m not going back to Ooo, Finn.”

The boy paused at those words, but they didn’t dissuade him. Perhaps, before this adventure began, if Marceline had made such a statement he would have relented at the declaration. But things were different now. He had seen more of his ladybro than even she herself had. More than that, though, he knew it had to be him to issue what was ultimately a challenge, to egg her on and out of her comfort zone; Jake was insightful, but often in short bursts and was sometimes prone to laziness, and he couldn’t let his princess have that burden when she was trying so desperately to repair their bond. No, if they were going to convince Marceline to return home with them it was on him to at least get the party started.

“Sure ya are!”

A grey hand gripped her bass’s staff tighter. “If that’s why you’re here you can get out of my room, Finn.”

While Jake pondered what a wonderful idea that was Finn shook his head sadly, dropping his voice, softening it, because whatever it was that was messing with his friend he knew it had to come from a place of pain. Was the vampire often violent and emotional? Certainly. But that look, her tension, these were new. They were a problem and caused by a bigger problem. And heroes were all about solving problems. “What’s wrong, Marce?”

“Get out, Finn,” she snarled, placing her bass down to rise to her full height, a posturing move from a woman who was not made of empty threats or false promises.

An alarm bell rang in Bonnibel’s mind, the knowledge that although her maybe-lover had once vowed to never hurt her Finn had been granted no such luxury, that, objectively speaking at least, Marceline was in fact a severely dangerous creature. Before she could even take one step further she felt a pull in the back of her mind.

Hold up, Bon. Let him try.

Rechte, she could obliterate him!

Let the kid try, Bon. He’s not the same twerp he was when he first met you, you know?

She, in fact, did know, and it made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t express. It was so surreal to watch someone she cared about grow and develop into not only a hero but a man, especially when she herself was ageless. A quick glance to Jake showed that he was just as tense as she was, ready to pull them apart at a moment’s notice. He’d never be fast enough.

“I’m not leaving, Marce. We’re friends. Right now your mindmeats are all jacked up because you just went through something super messed up. But that’s why we’re here. We’re gonna take you home-”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to be telling me what the flip I’m gonna do?,” she hissed, hands shifting into grey talons.

Rechte…

Chill, Bon. He’s got this. Kid can do more than you think.

His smile was both sad and gentle. “Marce, I’m not gonna force you. But you’re my friend, and sometimes friendship is really messy. You gotta make a judgment call on whether you think your friend needs space or they need help. And I think you need he-”

And then Finn was pinned against the bedroom door, feet off the floor, a grey claw holding him by his shirt. Though he would never admit it to anyone he was infinitely glad it wasn’t by his neck. Still, the grey claw held over him, ready to rip out his throat or perhaps some other very important part of his body was more than a little unsettling.

“Nuh uh. Stop talking. I’m done with people telling me they know what’s best for me. Me? I’m gonna do what I went, when I want. I tell me what to do. No one else, ya get that, twerp? And I say I belong down here, with the rest of my kind. There’s nothing up there for something like me.”

Finn noticed two discrepancies simultaneously, and history would show that it was only because of this natural insight, of his ability to read between the lines, that he would know how to decipher the real problem. Interesting… you said that second part without looking at Peebo for a change. I wonder if… “Marce, we both know that’s a load of boogers. You’re hurt, and I get that. But you gotta get that, too. ‘Sides…” He tried, really he did, but that gentle smile turning into a knowing one. At least it didn’t become teasing. “You’re not gonna kill me. Yeah, you might maim me or rip off my other arm or whatevs, but if you wanted to kill me you woulda done it already. Probs to send a message to PB and Jake. Or just ‘cause you’re hungry.” Would she drink his blood in this situation? It was almost impossible to imagine Marceline as anything but a staunch vegetarian, but in her mind the Unifier had consumed Bonnibel’s blood - albeit unwittingly - and there was no way of knowing whether or not that one action would matter now, in the real world. She certainly looked hungry enough for it to matter, and, on some deep and primitive level, he had to look like food.

They stared at one another, daring, challenging, two sharp fangs extending in preparation, possible for a meal, possibly for a fight. And then Finn was dropped, hitting his tailbone hard on the even harder floor. She paid him no mind, only turning to retreat back to perching on the end of her bed. “Finn, go away. All of you, go away-”

“Why did you same ‘something’ like you?” It took a great effort, but by some miracle Bonnibel’s question was asked just as gently as Finn’s, its normal arrogance absent.

When Marceline glared at her it wasn’t with the same force as when they first entered her lair, and she was beginning to suspect, with glee, that they were wearing down her resistance and getting at the heart of the matter. At the very least she seemed to be relenting far easier than she would initially anticipate. Yes, something more than anger is going on here. It’s only a symptom. Maybe-

“I’m staying down here with the other demons.” Before anyone could comment further she hooked her thumb at her poster wall; only then did the trio realize that there were deep claw marks running through several of her beloved posters, dug into the solid stone-like wall. A silence befell the group, Jake feeling as though something from the Thorn Gate nagged at him, Finn worrying what was happening to his best friend, and Bonnibel concerned, but relieved she had the same posters in her room and could easily replace the ruined ones.

“But… you’re not a demon.”

Oddly enough, it was not Finn who spoke those words, but-

“Half is good enough, Jake.”

“Yeah, but… is it?” His head tilted and she turned his glare on him. After his time within her mindscape, of being subjected to the Usurper’s wrath, Marceline herself could only pale in comparison. At least, for the moment. And really, isn’t that what counted? “You’re half-demon, but that makes you half-human, right?”

“Vampire, Jake. Half demon, half vampire.”

“Yeah, a vampire that eats red and ganked like a million vampires for hunting actual humans. Man, I saw your look when Finn said you wanna eat him. You looked grossed out.”

Finn pondered that observation as a growl emerged from the back of the queen’s throat, which was slightly more intimidating than the glare, but not by enough. “What’s your point, Jake?”

“I just wanna know what’s really goin’ on. Yeah, you made claw marks in the wall for some mysterious reason you don’t seem to wanna share.” Yup, that sounds familiar. “I’ve done worse to get to breakfast.” It was true and they all knew it.

Her claws returned to hands and she sighed, leaning her back against the bedpost, one leg rested on the soft mattress, the other hanging off. She hated when any of them were right, but the energy she had just expelled had only been a burst, and it was beginning to fade, taking her desire to fight with it. “I’m just… mad. All the time. And then when I’m not mad I’m other stuff, and I don’t even know what the other stuff is. I just… can’t control any of it.” Her eyes closed and Finn felt a pang of guilt for his ‘tough love’ tactics, knowing now what caused the damage to Hunson’s office wall, how Jan may have been truthful when he said his ladybro destroyed a large part of the Citadel. She sounded drained. “Just go back to Ooo, guys. I’m not going back. I’m gonna guess you saw the part of the Citadel that’s not part of the Citadel anymore. If I destroy stuff there I could kill people. Here… well at in the Nightosphere morality is relative. It’s just better this way.”

“But Marce, we can help you get better! We’re your bros!”

She laughed at that, a bitter sound that felt like acid in her mouth. “You can’t fix me. You wanna see how I know?” That burst of anger again, but it gradually faded as she reached behind her, unravelling the scarf. It was only once it was free that the reason for its placement became clear: a large knot of silver tissue at the base of her throat, two thin lines of raised silver tissue wrapping around either side of neck. By the way she treated the flesh it seemed tender, as if it still hurt her. Marceline refused to look at them as they admired it, failed to see the tender look in Bonnibel’s eyes. It’s… exactly where Lady Evil’s amulet was fused to her. I’m so sorry, Marcy.

As her mind rotated potential things to say, and Rechte prodded her to just talk to her , Finn was already on the case. “That’s gotta hurt, huh Marce?” It was less a question and more a gentle reassurance that he was taking her feelings into consideration, that it wasn’t just blind determination. “You went through a lot in a really short period of time. I think it makes sense that you feel unstable. But that’s what you got your bros for. We’re gonna help, Marce.”

She shook her head, eyes closed. “No, Finn. Just go before I kill you.” This time it was less a threat and more of an ‘if/then/else’ statement.

Talk to her.

“Marcy… you said that we could talk about my betrayal. If you won’t come back to Ooo… could we do so now, and at least have that closure?”

The vampire opened her eye, watching the younger woman. Despite the fatigue it was still a glare, but soon enough her eye closed once more. “Fine. Let’s do it fast, before the rage comes back.”

Bonnibel chose to believe that her desire to hurry it along was less indicative of her not wanting to take the conversation seriously and more out of genuine concern she could hurt someone. The princess’s smile was gentle all the same. “Thank you, Marceline. May I sit down?”

A groan, but to everyone’s surprise the older woman removed her leg from its resting place across the mattress, a silent invitation for the princess to not only sit down, but to sit next to her. Bonnibel approached, gently dropping the bag at the base of the bed, minding the axe as she sat, delighted the entire time. The silence was awkward as the young scientist gathered her many, many thoughts, but true to form Marceline functioned by pulling the carpet out from under her. “Why did you keep the dagger, Bonnibel? You made it in case I wigged out, yeah, I get that. But you were always saying that you don’t think I’m a monster, but you kept it anyway, even after you gave me this elaborate lie about getting rid of it. So what the flip?!”

Bonnibel took a deep breath, steadying herself against the oncoming storm. She found it was easier if she didn’t look at her maybe-mate, especially her fierce glare. From the corner of her eye she tried to spot Finn and Jake, any form of moral support really, but she deserved none and received none. “The short answer, Marcy… is that I kept the dagger because I’m a terribly selfish person who took you for granted.”

“True.” The confirmation was ice cold, and the princess wondered if that was purposeful or a byproduct of her emotional instability.

She nodded, sighing in recollection of her conversation with Rechte. “When we first met… before I was a princess, our relationship was simple. Even when we were just friends we were still closer than I ever intended. I never anticipated getting so close to someone, because when you’re that close that have a certain power over you just by virtue of their existing. We existed together so easily. We just… accepted the way the other was. It was wonderful, but it was also scary. When I showed you the knife it was to admit that I once saw you as a threat, and you only asked that I destroy it. In all honesty, I had every intention to, but I didn’t rush to do so because it seemed to me like a non-issue. Silver could hurt you, yes, but we were the only ones to know it existed, and as I kept it within my possession no one could possibly find it and use it against you.”

“Except you.” The icy tone hadn’t thawed, and Bubblegum realized now that it was purposeful.

“...Yes. That’s correct. As our relationship evolved I garnered more responsibilities and burdens, whereas you were content to merely exist, taking pleasure in the simple things in life. To put it bluntly, I subconsciously resented you.”

“You did all that to yourself, Bonnibel.”

She nodded. It didn’t make her burdens any less real or important, but they were self-inflicted, and she had prioritized them every single time over the woman she claimed to love. “I did, and some part of me expected… well, it assumed that I was growing up as a result, and you weren’t.” Now came the tough part of the admission. Prior to the journey into Marceline’s psyche she would have been embarrassed, positively humiliated to admit it before her gallant champions- But if they’ve already seen the worst of Marcy it’s only fair they see my weaknesses as well. “I’ve always been the dominant one in our relationship, and we both know that you both enjoyed and relied on that.” She still blushed fiercely, still looked away from anyone. From the vampire, eyes downcast. “I focused on everything I did for you, ignoring everything you did for me. I treated you as an extension of my will and became furious when I considered you misbehaving.” Her hand clenched, hard. “We’ve never been accountable to anyone but one another, and I saw it as my duty to protect you, because some part of me saw you as childish and unreliable. Only now do I see that I wasn’t protecting you. I was trying to control you. And… controlling someone is incompatible with loving them.”

When she fell silent she expected another outburst, another snappy comment. When none came she lifted her head, bracing herself to look at the half-demon. The one fixing her with a hard stare, mentally weighing her claim. Because it was so unlike the Princess Bubblegum Marceline knew, so unheard of for her to admit weakness, to defer judgment, to let someone else decide anything. ...But it’s exactly like Bonnie, like she was before that stupid crown. The musician’s heart may be dead and shattered, but she still felt a pang of longing, a brief, ...What if she…? But then she crushed the feeling, pushing it down. Because Princess Bubblegum was a fantastic manipulator and an adept liar. And so as much as Marceline wanted to believe that the candy golem was being honest for a change she had very strict rules against blind hope, blind faith, blind belief. No, Bonnie’s gone. This… person. She’s not Bonnie. Move on, Marceline. Just kill that part of you bonded to her and get it over with. Yet some small part of her nagged in the back of her mind, and it just wouldn’t shut up. “So you just suddenly had a change of heart.” The snappy tone had become taunting, but Bonnibel failed to react with the indignity she had expected. Confusing.

“When you put on the amulet, Marcy… your mind shattered into eight, each representing a large piece of your psyche. Each an individual, but unmistakably you.” In the back of her mind she began to recite their names like a prayer, just as she did every evening before sleeping, so that she would never forget them, those pieces that made up her happiness. “Do you remember that?”

To her surprise and pleasure, Marceline chose to answer the question, rather than retort with something cruel. “No. I remember emotions and… sensing stuff. I dunno. Hard to explain.”

Interesting. No concrete memories. But Bonnibel had her own, the entire trio did, and she secretly hoped the older woman never remembered. If those memories would forever scar them she could only imagine the damage they could do to the musician. “Well… one of them represented your voice of reason. Her name-”

“No. No names.”

Quite an odd request, but I won’t do anything to hinder your recovery. Even if knowing may actually help-

And then that familiar warning tone. Bon.

...You’re right, Rechte. Thank you.

“Very well, no names. But she was detached from your more emotional and sentimental sides, and she understood me better than I understood myself. You understand me better than I understand myself.” Her free hand grasped the bedspread as she forced herself to finally meet the queen’s eyes. They were hard. Hard, but curious. It was enough. “Do you remember why we went to the Nightosphere in the first place?”

“Yeah. You wanted me to take over the amulet.” No bitterness there at all, nope, no-siree.

“Yes.” Her nod, her smile was remorseful. “You’ve always known that my long-term goal was to eventually become queen of Ooo itself. Due to Candy Kingdom law I can only become a queen if I marry royalty. That was my excuse to force you into the Nightosphere.”

“I sense a but.”

“...Yes. Deep down I always knew that, should your father decide to retire the Nightosphere is yours by default, even if you don’t want it to be. There was no reason to force you to take control of the chaos amulet before your time.” From behind both Finn and Jake’s jaws dropped; they had never been privy to that part of their monarch’s conversation. Bonnibel didn’t see this demeanor change, but even if she had she would have promptly ignored them both. “I knew you had personal issues to work out, and you were quite honest that wearing the amulet brings out the worst in someone. But you did it anyway, because you wanted me to be happy. It took traversing your shattered mind to realize that I put myself before you. I have been for a long time.” The pause hung heavy, the voice in the back of her mind whispering encouragements. “...I don’t deserve you, Marcy. I know you’re furious, and you have every right to be. I know you may never forgive me, and I won’t ask you to. But… I made a lot of promises to you, and I intend to keep them all. The first of which is to help you heal.”

Marceline almost choked on her laughter. “Pretty words, Bon. What makes you think I’ll believe you? ‘Cause it seems like if I go along with this it’ll just show you that you can do whatever you want to me.”

She took a deep breath, knowing that was coming but being unprepared nonetheless. It wasn’t the first time some part of Marceline had voiced that opinion. “I don’t think you’ll believe me. At least… right away. But I want to learn to be better. You deserve better. I’ve destroyed the dagger-”

“Yeah, Finn mentioned that.” She didn’t sound like she believed him, though.

“...I know I have a lot of work ahead of me. Not just for you, but for myself.” Because decisions were turning in her mind, ideas to act upon. She knew what she had to do, what she really wanted, deep down, always had, always will. But now was not the time to say it out loud. Mostly because-

“...I don’t believe you.” It was a whisper, the vampire turning away. Tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t give the younger woman the satisfaction of seeing them. “You’ve made lots of promises in the past, Bon. You never keep them. I’m disposable to you.” It was because she wasn’t looking that she missed the tears in the other monarch’s eyes. “I think deep down ways I knew you kept it. It’d be just what you’d do. I just… didn’t wanna believe it, that you’d have a contingency plan against me. That you’d tell me you love me, knowing you have something that can kill me tucked away for when you get bored.” She couldn’t stop a bitter laugh. “You know what Phoebe told me once? That I promised to never hurt you… but then she asked if you ever promised you’d never hurt me.” Her hand clenched.

It turned her stomach, because Bubblegum knew that even in her darkest moments she had never considered her best friend disposable. But she had considered her a burden, only in brief moments, but had done so nonetheless, and knew that it wasn’t a stretch that Marceline should think that of her. Because she had broken promises to her. Because Phoebe’s insinuation had been right.

Finn and Jake looked to one another, silently and mutually agreeing on two things: They couldn’t let this be the end of it, not when they clearly missed one another, and that Bonnibel wasn’t giving Marceline the whole story.

So they would.

“Tell her about the dream, Peebo!”

Despite his enthusiasm her eyes closed in annoyance. If I wanted to tell her about-

“What dream?” Though she still wouldn’t look at anyone the curiosity creeped back in her voice, melding with her anguish into a strange and heart-breaking combination.

If she didn’t believe me about anything, why would she about this? But Finn had forced her hand, and it was impossible to back out now. “While within your mind I experienced a Cosmic Owl dream.” That snapped the half-demon to focus on her once more, on edge now, tense. When she didn’t interrupt the princess continued. “The dream revealed many things, chiefly that the Lich would return and that I was queen of Ooo, ruling the other kingdoms as territories.” Garnet eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. “Yes… you took over the Nightosphere.” You actually looked like you were enjoying yourself. Being the smartest woman in Ooo, she didn’t say that part. “We were married, Marcy. We were happy.” Despite herself Bonnibel couldn’t stop her fond smile at the memory, because even if she hadn’t been in control of her body she could still feel what Dream Bonnibel felt, and Dream Bonnibel had been happy with her royal status, but was even happier with her mate.

“What.” A nod, the smile becoming a strange cross between nostalgic and sad, but she said nothing. “So you’re telling me that the Cosmic Owl gave you a dream while you were in my brain , and this dream just happened to show you what you want.” She paused at the absurdity of it, but there was no contesting her disbelief. “You know I can check, right?”

Bonnibel nodded, “Yes, you mentioned that when we were in your mind. Your father has the Cosmic Owl on speed dial.” If she didn’t know any better she could have sworn she saw bafflement cross Marceline’s face, but only for a moment. Then the hard stare returned.

“So you’re giving me that story, knowing I can fact-check you.” Now her tone turned thoughtful, her sneer a smirk. “You know what, that gives me an idea.” She drummed her fingers on her bass’s staff in ponderance. “I’ve heard a lot of junk from you about how sorry and whatevs you are. I’m gonna get to that. But Finn said something right before I went back to Ooo.” When she turned, though, it wasn’t to the boy. “Jake, you suck at lying, so I’m gonna ask you. Finn said that Bonnie tried to trade her kingdom or something for me coming home. True or false?”

When he shrugged as if it were a non-issue she raised an eyebrow. “Nah, that’s true. She literally tried to trade the Candy Kingdom for you.” He sniffled. “It was beautiful. Well, not the part where you were dying, but the romantic gesture was the stuff of legend.”

“...Wait, when I was dying?”

“Oh yeah, I guess we forgot that part. So yeah, short version is that in order to come home only one of you could do it, and only one of you could absorb the others. She almost got ganked, and the only one who could save her was the one who tried to gank her.”

“...One of me tried to gank the other me.”

He shrugged once more. “I mean… lots of you tried to gank the others. It was messed up. Anyway though, Lady Evil-”

He froze, paws covering his mouth. Finn froze. Bonnibel froze. Marceline froze. That one didn’t last too long.

“...What.”

The emotion in the sentiment was unreadable, but grey hands were claws once more, eyes slit against the name. Abruptly very concerned for his brother’s safety Finn took over the conversation, voice low and calm. “Yeah, Marce. I know you didn’t want names… but I think that one you should know about. One of you was named Lady Evil, and she wanted to come back on her own so she could take over the Nightosphere. The only thing stopping her was the other you, so she staked her in the back. She could totes fix her and we all knew it, but she was a wad and didn’t care that seeing any part of you suffering like that…” He trailed off, shaking his head to clear the thought. Once his rage had faded from memory he remembered every small detail; the blood, the stake so deep it stood of its own accord, the open wound that revealed her heart-

“And what’s that got to do with Bon?”

“Well, Lady Evil kinda out-PB’d PB. She was mega logical and really sneaky. Just really cold and mondo arrogant. Manipulated everyone in your mind like we were cereal box toys, had been doing it since we got there. I think even before then. But her thing was that she really liked irony and weird punishments.” Just like your dad “And Peebles figured out that like king of those would be giving the wad her kingdom.”

Marceline’s gaze shot to Bonnibel, but if she was hoping to see some indicator of deception - and, honestly, she was - she instead saw only affection. “Well… not my literal kingdom itself. She had no interest in anything but the Nightosphere. But we would marry out of political convenience, giving her the means to not only deny my coronation to queen, but to control the means of production of the Candy Kingdom. Trade agreements, diplomatic relations, law and order… she would have final say in every matter.”

“...That’s the opposite of why you made me put on the amulet in the first place.” She meant for that to sound harsher than it actually came out and inwardly cursed herself for her weakness. “I might not see you wearing a crown right now, Bon, but I’m gonna guess the Kingdom is still yours.”

Wanting to encourage this lack of snapping and aggression Finn picked up where he left off. “Well, the thing about Lady Evil is that she was mondo big on contracts and stuff, so we all made a deal. She healed that sorta-ganked part of you and they’d fight, and if she won she got to come back. If we won she let herself get absorbed so you could go home.” There was absolutely no reason to tell her about the battle with the Usurper, or any of the other finer details involving Lady Evil, including her literally being Marceline’s manifestation of Despair. Especially with the vampire’s current bouts of uncontrollable rage. Besides- “She also told Jake to give someone a message for her. Which he still won’t tell us.”

Jake ignored his brother’s squint. “Hey man, Jake the Dog is a fair dealer. You want Jake the Iguana. Guy’s a jerk.”

Finn turned back to Marceline, eyes full of hope, soon to be dashed. “You don’t remember what you told him to tell someone, do you?”

Her eyes narrowed once more, a growl escaping the back of her throat. It was becoming clear very quickly that her tenuous control over her rage was slipping through her fingers. Secretly, he was impressed she had lasted this long. “I told you, dingus, I don’t remember anything! Just emotions and stuff!”

He lifted his hands in a universal gesture of ‘no harm meant’, his tone and smile never wavering. “Just making sure.” He almost asked ‘what kind of emotions’, but quickly determined that this may not be the best time. No, he still had a job to do: get Marceline to return to Ooo. Leaving the room alive was only his secondary goal. As was common with adventurers, or so he told himself.

“Marcy?”

Her glare turned on Bonnibel, but this time the young scientist didn’t flinch. Though the circumstances may be vastly different she had centuries of experience in dealing with an overly emotional Marceline. Because what Finn and Jake could never understand, what with being mere mortals and all, was that Marceline had grown as a person, despite what Past Bonnibel had thought. And one of the biggest ways she had changed was in emotion regulation; when she was younger she had a very poor grasp on controlling her emotions, only able to channel them through her music. A very healthy outlet, true, but the Usurper hadn’t been entirely inaccurate in assessing that the vampire possessed immense destructive capabilities, that Marceline had been the apocalypse human legends prophesied.

And so Bonnibel slipped easily into a role she had always readily filled, acting as a guiding hand for her lover without being aware of it. Because while Bonnibel herself would inevitably fall apart and need to be pieced together again Marceline would destruct and need someone to contain the blast. What better way to demonstrate what she had learned than to fulfill her traditional role, liberated from those pointy words and sentiments, those back-handed barbs meant to control, not protect. Was she relying on Marceline’s promise to never hurt her? No, because she knew she deserved no such protection herself. But she had been sincere in her declaration that she had every desire to learn, to grow, to protect. Marceline had always thought herself a monster, and Bonnibel had every determination to teach her otherwise.

“I know you’re having a difficult recovery period, and I imagine some deep part of you wants to tear us apart.” From the corner of her eye she watched Jake shrink from being a couch reflexively, hiding behind his brother, who watched him warily. “I can only imagine how much self-control you possess to refrain. It’s obvious to me that you’ve been trying to heal yourself. That’s why you’ve exiled yourself to the Nightosphere, and why you’ve convinced yourself that it’s for the best. But let me ask you just one question?” Perhaps because it was a request, rather than a demand, the vampire tensed, hands claws, but did not attack nor interrupt, granting silent permission. “Centuries in my line of work has assured I consistently have at least one or two muscle knots, and that they can be painful. You’ve always been the one with the talent for getting them out. I could never figure out how, and one day, after I had hassled you for decades, you finally broke and told me the secret. Do you remember what it was?”

The musician watched her warily, the animalistic stare returning once more. It looked hungry, and Finn was briefly, but graphically, reminded of the time Marceline, red-starved, had tried to disembowel and eat Jake, and every heroic instinct in him screamed to protect the princess, just as loudly as it did in his younger days. Because he could stand the thought of he himself under attack, but he would never lose that need to shield his liege from any and all harm. Even if that harm- No, you gotta let Peebo work. She knows what she’s doing. If you get in the way now you might scare Marce off.

Though she was fully aware of the predatory gaze her best friend wore, and the knowledge that she may be operating more on instinct than higher thought, Bonnibel wasn’t deterred. Her voice was gentle, and though she herself didn’t approach the other woman her hand slowly crept closer. “I remember. I was lying in bed, just enjoying the sensation of having a particularly painful spasm soothed. I remember that this one was the worst I had experienced in over a decade. Remember the large knot? You said it was the size of your thumb. I had been trying to relieve it for days, but after only an hour of your efforts it was almost gone. That was when you taught me the secret. I had been rubbing the knot itself, trying to force it to release. But you taught me that the pain I was feeling wasn’t from the knot. You poked an area below it, a very tender spot, and you were so gentle as you rubbed it out. That, you told me, was where the spasm really was. I had been trying to treat its symptom. You treated the cause.” Marceline watched her warily, less a predator stalking prey and more a predator prepared to defend its turf from a foreign invader, and entity she couldn’t identify.

Bonnibel considered it an improvement.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? You’re trying very hard to get better, but you’re only treating the symptom. You can’t recover here, Marcy. If you keep yourself sequestered in this room those feelings won’t stop manifesting, they’ll just become harder to control. You could get hurt without realizing it.” You could also hurt someone else, but that’s less of a priority for me. “You can heal almost any injury, but you shouldn’t need to. We’re your friends.” And family. “We want to bring you home because we really think you belong there. It’s true that you’re half-demon, and I especially have done a terrible job learning what exactly that means for you, but you aren’t defined by half your bloodline. That’s not who you are. It’s important, but you being safe is more important to me. To all three of us.”

“I can protect myself.” She was still tense, eyes still slitted, but at least she was speaking again.

“You can. You’ve spent centuries protecting me and my kingdom, and I know you’ve protected Finn and Jake on more than one occasion. Now it’s time for us to repay the favor.”

There was definite hesitation, and though her eyes remained slitted her claws returned to hands. “...No. You’ve already seen me at my weake-”

“You’ve seen me at my weakest too, Marce.”

She turned to Finn, fixing him with a hard stare as she tried her hardest to recall what it was he was talking about, what that sad tone of voice was, why both Finn and Bonnibel looked confused. She could almost remember it. Reflections flickered in her mind, and she strained to make them clear. Vague fragments taunted her. The spy room, yes, that was coming through. Finn was… what? He was upset. Was that what he was referring to? Being upset? No, she reasoned, it must have been worse than that. She had seen him upset before, seen him cry, made him cry- Oh. Wait! He had a panic attack! That’s right! But the memory itself was missing, a great hole where it should be, even if the knowledge that it happened remained. Still, it was hard to call Finn out on something like that, something that was definitely not a lie, even if the finer details were gone.

While Marceline deliberated Jake was struck with an idea. A devious, marvelous plan that made him swell with self-satisfaction, his own ego complimenting itself in how much of a genius he was. As his brain and pride exchanged congratulatory high-fives Jake crossed his arms behind him back innocently, trying very hard not to look smug. “You know, Marce… I can think of a reason to come back to Ooo.”

Marceline disliked that arrogant tone and glared at him, but when that failed to even make him wince she had to admit, at least to herself, she was curious. “What,” she snapped.

“Just somethin’ you can’t get here in demon-land. Not even the night sky either! Something much more awesomers.”

“What,” she growled, hands threatening to become claws once more. It only took one word to cause her to all but freeze.

“Schwabl.”

And just like that her eyes dilated, even as she focused on the elder hero. Unseen by her, Bonnibel smiled, shooting her champion a grateful look. “...Schwabl?”

“Uh huh. He misses you,” he crooned. “He told me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Schwabl is the most awesome dog ever, present company included, but he doesn’t talk, dude.”

Jake chose to believe she had misspoke about who the greatest dog ever was. “Nah, he totally told me. He misses you. You wouldn’t get it. It’s a dog thing.”

“No such thing, dip.” A deep pause, but it didn’t last long. “...How is he?”

Jake grinned. Of course he and Finn had been taking care of him, not that a zombie poodle required much care. But it was no secret how much Marceline loved her zombie poodle, how they had been together even before she was Turned. He was One Of Her Three Favorite People, and her hesitation spoke volumes, a fang poking its way through her lip, betraying her nervousness.

“He does dislike being in the Nightosphere for extended periods of time.” Marceline turned, glaring at Bonnibel. But her heart wasn’t in it, and it was obvious to the younger immortal. Besides, she was right; the vampire had complained to her more than once that although Schwabl was willing to make the trip he disliked spending more than a couple days there. Possibly because he sensed his person’s tension, possibly because it smelled like sulfur. He never really said, and she didn’t ask. Once again, because he was a non-talking dog.

But it had the intended effect and she sighed deeply. “...Fine. But I get back here the second I want to-”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, because Finn had already crossed the room and was hugging her tightly. “Mathematical! Let’s go, Marce!”

She growled, pushing him away with a hand to the face. “Get off, Finn.”

The growl didn’t dampen his spirits. No, that honor went to Jake. “Uh… is it still day in Ooo? Time is weird here.”

His brother blinked, turning to Bonnibel. “Oh snap, I wasn’t keeping track. P-Bubs?” But her frown indicated that in a rare lapse of judgment she hadn’t been keeping track either. “Alright. Me and Jake will go scope it out, and get Hunson to change the portal to Marce’s house.” His look to the princess asked, ‘will you be alright?’ She looked nervous, but her look assured him she’d be fine. And so with a double thumb’s up Finn and Jake were gone, leaving the two immortals alone to wait for their return.

It was awkward to say the least, but they wouldn’t be alone for long, and Bonnibel intended to take advantage of that. “Look.” And then her intentions were dashed, because Marceline beat her to the punch. “I don’t know what to think. The dweebs aren’t great liars… but I’ve known you for hundreds of years, and none of that sounds like you.”

Fair enough. “I know, Marcy. If I were you I wouldn’t necessarily believe me either. I don’t expect you to. But I saw pieces of you that were hurt, pieces I exacerbated or just ignored. I was cruel to the person I claimed to love most. I was self-absorbed and treated you more like a servant than my mate. I shattered your trust in me, and I can’t even ask for a chance to repair the damage. All I want is to help you heal.”

Marceline was silent, rotating the heavy sentiment over in her mind. The rage was ebbing once more, and the Other Emotions were coming back, fighting for dominance in her mind, and it was eating at her mental defenses. “...You know, dad once told me that when people go through a crisis, or when their world just falls to figs, their souls go through changes. I tasted your soul once.” Bonnibel nodded, but didn’t interrupt. She remembered that day, very clearly. “I could do it again, you

Was it a threat? An offer? She knew the answer either way. “No, Marcy. This is the second time my hubris has almost killed you. The first time was terrifying, and I should have remembered it was terrifying. But you forgave me so readily that I just… blocked it out. I just assumed you would again if anything went wrong this time, and I did so because I didn’t have to demonstrate that I learned anything. This is my opportunity to not take the easy way out. If you taste my soul you’ll see my honesty, but then this could keep happening.” She paused, because the next admission would be difficult for both of them. “You could taste my soul, and it would show that I’m being truthful, but it wouldn’t show you whether or not it will regress to what it was. I don’t know if I’m capable of changing, Marcy, but you once told me that we only grow through pain, because it shows us what’s important to us. You’re important to me. In your mind I made a promise to you, that no matter how you heal I’m going to help you.”

Marceline fell silent once more, biting her cheek in ponderance. When she tasted the metallic dead blood she released her hold. “I don’t know if I can forgive you. But I’ll give you a chance.” The words felt filthy in her mouth, but they also felt right. You won’t last, though. You’ll leave again. It’s… what you do. The sentiment was kept to herself.

The princess was dumbstruck, too stunned to reply. But the little voice in the back of her mind wasn’t.

See, Bon? Your heartguts stuff might be stunted but they’re still there. You can still be your same old self. You know, destroy people and whatevs. Just remember, they’re weapons. Attractive weapons, but still. Use with caution, you know?

She did. Both royals fell silent, the air tense. Finally the older woman sighed and rose from her position on the footboard. “If the dweebs are gonna take forever I might as well change.” A single glance made the statement quite clear: Bonnibel was not allowed to watch. The princess nodded, indicating that she both understood and would respect her privacy. Satisfied that her demand was being heeded Marceline rested her bass against a post and took to her armoire as Bonnibel turned away, leaving the vampire to disrobe from her pajamas and redress in peace.

In was only then that the young scientist noticed the bedside table, the giant grey demon claw, spotless glass supported by three talons. Or, more specifically, the first time she noticed the single object resting on it. A picture frame forged from the fusion of dozens of spotless, albeit sharp, nails. Knowing that Marceline was occupied a pink hand reached out, carefully lifting the frame, turning it silently and just enough to confirm-

“You… kept the picture we took?”

Objectively speaking, it was a terrible photograph. The lighting was wrong, it was grainy, and overexposed. But then, that was to expected of a picture hundreds of years old. Bonnibel stroked the frame with her thumb, remembering the grass under her hands, how the two had laughed hysterically trying to hold one another as Marceline angled the picture telekinetically, but Bonnibel just wouldn’t hold still and it was really really distracting. How hard she had tried to take a picture of both monarchs - of course, only one of them was a monarch back then - with the night sky as a backdrop. Because this was a very special night. It was a younger - much younger - Marceline, laying with her back against a bright brown tree, wrapped up in a soft fluffy pink blanket, a younger - much younger - Bonnibel laying with her head on her chest, content and unconcerned. It came out poorly in the picture, but behind the pair was the faint light of a meteor shower, the same event that came to Ooo every year.

The picture she held in her hands was hundreds of years old, had been taken before there was even a Candy Kingdom. They were laughing, Bonnibel’s squirming making it almost impossible for the vampire to focus the camera, making the picture horribly off-center. Years later they would jokingly refer to this night as their first date, but of course where does the line blur between best friends and more? But it was a magical night nonetheless, because that was the night Bonnibel decided that whatever home she made for herself would never be complete without the older woman, and it was the night Marceline decided maybe immortality wasn’t a terrible idea after all. The princess didn’t think the picture survived after all of these years, but then the Nightosphere, where time essentially stopped, seemed like a good place to keep it safe. But, in all honesty, she hadn’t expected the older woman to still have the thing after what Bubblegum did to her, let alone keep it on her bedside table.

When silence was her only response she chanced a look out of the corner of her eye, blushing fiercely at what she saw: the back of her perhaps-lover, a fresh shirt clutched in her hand. She was topless, maroon bra bare. It was the first time in what Bonnibel decided was too long since she had seen any bare part of her mate. Not since Tyrant- She cut that thought off before the voice of Rechte could remind her of so many obvious facts. Despite her appreciating the view, as tame as it was, she couldn’t help but notice the freshly healed claw marks decorating the grey-skinned woman’s sides, strange cuts and punctures on her upper left arm. Something about that, about the marks’ positions specifically, bothered her, some memory trying to surface. Realizing that she was staring she whipped her head back, away from the otherwise pleasing view.

“...Yeah. It means a lot to me.”

As the rustle of fabric returned Bonnibel blinked, trying to process that tidbit. Fortunately, she had an assistant.

You heard that, right?

Yes. It means a lot to her.

Bon, she said it in the present tense. ‘It means a lot’, not ‘meant a lot.’

It took all of her centuries of experience in remaining a look of impartiality for the princess to resist beaming at that realization, because that voice that reminded her so much of Rechte was right. Perhaps it was a slip of the tongue, but something deep within her, in that new, squishy part of her that she was trying to nurture, told her it wasn’t. Does some part of her miss me? She and Marceline had always agreed that hope was a dangerous thing, but given the choice between it and despair-

Yeah, you’ve totes met Despair already, and she’s not cool, huh Bon?

-she would choose hope. Actually, she’d normally choose ‘relentless logic’, but ‘relentless logic’ was how she got into this mess in the first place, so it could take a flying-

“Alright.” Taking that as permission to turn back she found Marceline had indeed dressed, the band t-shirt replaced with a forest green long-sleeved shirt featuring a black X across both shoulders to her hips, her slacks exchanged for a pair of black jeans that seemed torn beyond what should be acceptable fashion, but then Bonnibel had to admit that even after six centuries she just didn’t understand ‘punk rock’ fashion and mentally left it at that. With a sense of searing guilt she realized that Marceline had completely covered her throat’s scar, hiding it under a soft, supple-looking royal purple collar. She almost seemed to glare at Bubblegum, a growl almost escaping her when she saw green eyes trail over it, but instead she sighed, the rage she could no longer control ebbing away. Not that it made it any easier to look at the other woman, and instead distracted herself by finding where her grey sneakers had wandered off to. By the time they could be located Finn and Jake had still not returned, causing her to frown. “Let’s go find the twerps.” Without waiting for confirmation she snatched her bass and floated to the door, almost colliding with it when it was abruptly slammed open.

“Awesome, so it’s- ...Oh, sorry Marce-”

Finn had only a moment to duck before the axe swung, almost taking his head with it. It was years of experience in being Ooo’s more rockin’ hero that he had seen the attack coming, that Jake had enough time to dive, just in case she decided to turn her strike vertically. In fact, she stopped just moments from doing so, blinking. She sighed deeply, strapping her instrument to her back. “Sorry, Finn.” It was a mutter. A sincere mutter.

The boy only smirked. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I shoulda been more careful.” He meant it, too; although he logically knew his best ladybro was badly hurt he was still getting used to the knowledge that she wasn’t herself yet, couldn’t fully control her actions or emotions yet, that she may say or do things she didn’t mean. Or did mean, but didn’t mean to say. After meeting her components it made perfect sense, and he didn’t blame her for it. He just hoped he wouldn’t die in the process of helping her. Deep down he knew his brother agreed, even if Jake was currently glaring at the vampire through squinted eyes. “But yeah, awesome news, ladybros! It’s gettin’ dark, so it’ll totes be night by the time we get home!” He emphasized ‘home’ just a tad, but the eldest member of the group didn’t seem to notice. Instead she seemed puzzled.

“...Night?” Grey fingers drummed on the bass’s staff in ponderance. “...Oh. Right. The Sky Ball of Death.”

Finn felt a pang in his heart at his friend’s deadpanned comment. He had forgotten that ‘night’ and ‘day’ hadn’t existed in her mind, and that while she had indeed seen the night sky since escaping the wasteland of her subconscious she had only seen it once, and hadn’t seen the sun in over a century, subjectively at least. It would be vital to reintroduce her to the day in a way that didn’t risk her either Truly Dying or retreating to the Nightosphere. But that was a problem for Future Finn. Present Finn had his own problems. “Yup, no Sky Ball of Death. Just the moon and stars. Hunson’s gonna drop us off right at your house. It didn’t really change a lot in your mind, so it’s probs a good place to start. Also Schwabl.”

Her puzzlement continued. “Changed?”

Jake nodded, finally returning to his previous position, now secure in the knowledge that the vampire queen wasn’t going to gank him. Deja vu man. “Oh yeah. In your mind everything was messed up. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. Like in a fun house! But… not fun. Your house got some color scheme changes, but it looked pretty normal. Finn and me - mostly me, ‘cause I have the best ideas, look it up - think it’s a good starting point.” He paused. “Also Schwabl.” Another pause. “We’ll try there, then once you’re good with that we’ll try the other areas that didn’t really change!”

Marceline snorted, but didn’t contest the assertion. It wasn’t like she had actual memories of her broken mind, and the memories she had of Ooo proper were broken, blurred, or otherwise unreliable. But it bothered her on a deep, instinctive level that the trio in her room now officially knew more about her than she knew about herself, and that they now knew all about her, even the parts she would never want anyone to know. Even still, reason won out; it made sense, even to her, that she should at least try to return to Ooo, if for no other reason to say she did so and ultimately chose to stay in her birthright homeland. At least then they’d have to leave her alone.

Right?

“Fine. Let’s get those over with.” And with that she opened the door and floated down the hall without so much as a backward glance. Finn and Jake glanced to one another, grinned at their mutual victory, and took off after her, leaving Bonnibel to grab her bag and close the door behind her, easily catching up with the others in the silent trek to Hunson’s office. Without knocking - because why would she? - Marceline opened the door and poked her head in. “The Dork Brigade is making me go back to Ooo for awhile. Be back later. Tell Jan that if he touches my stuff again I’m breaking his other leg.” She thought she heard him call back ‘have fun, little monster!’, but chose to believe she hadn’t. Once the door was roughly closed she turned to Finn.

“Alright, kid. Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

“He had one job. One. That was it.”

No one said it out loud, but they kind of sort of agreed with Marceline’s ire. The plan had been for Hunson to open a portal directly at Marceline’s porch door to limit her exposure to the rest of the world until Finn, Jake, and Bonnibel collectively agreed she was ready. Unfortunately, like the rest of their plans it seemed, this one went awry, in that the portal instead opened in the middle of the Grasslands.

“One. Job.”

Objectively speaking, all three knew the area intimately, so it wasn’t like they were hopelessly lost. Finn and Jake were residents, after all, and it wasn’t like Marceline’s cave house was far away; in any other circumstance it would be a couple hours tops, and that’s assuming someone - namely Jake - would get distracted at least once or twice by something edible, or some poor sap who need to be rescued or otherwise aided. But these weren’t ideal circumstances. They were, in fact, less than ideal circumstances, because they were travelling with someone afflicted with considerable mood swings, the potential for great destruction, and a fleeting understanding of the difference between the real Ooo and the one that lay dormant within her subconscious. The truth was as simple as it was irksome: the three would have to make their way across the landscape, in the dark, while directing Marceline without taking their eyes off of her. Though he knew better than to voice the suggestion, Jake was sorely tempted to tie a string to her ankle, lest she wander off. A fair concern; she did love wandering.

“I mean… he got us pretty close. You know, for a guy that can’t even leave the Nightosphere unless he’s summoned and has been to your house like... twice.” Finn sounded hopeful that logic would win out over Marceline’s temper, a difficult to imagine circumstance even in the best of times. Nonetheless, the three had a plan to stick to, even if it was one the vampire didn’t know the full details of; Bonnibel had been quite clear that, in many cases, the mere act of observation could change the outcome, and thus if Marceline knew all of the fine details it may change the course of her recovery. It all sounded very science-y to the brothers so they only smiled and nodded, a response that would always be respectable.

Besides, the plan made sense, even to the decidedly unscientific gallant heroes. Step one: Bring Marceline to her cave house, which had been neutral territory in her mind, where the bad guys couldn’t even get through the door, a building that hadn’t even changed all that much except for some new furniture and an altered color scheme. Step two: Convince her to eat something, because Bonnibel had quietly voiced a suspicion to the boys that her mate wasn’t eating. After all, she didn’t need to within her mind. Who’s to say she remembered she had to in the real world, especially if she briefly didn’t remember the Sky Ball of Death? Jake had hastily agreed, the memory of his ladybro almost gutting him to eat his inside-guts forever burned into his mind. Step three: See if the change in scenery jogs her memory any and, if so, help her work through it in a safe space, all the while hoping that the unearthed memory was positive for a change. Step four: Convince her to sleep before dawn, because there was no way in fuzz she was ready for ‘day’. This, of course, had a similar problem to step two, in that sleep had also been unnecessary in her mind-prison, but the princess had lulled Unifier to sleep and hoped that the same principle carried over. If she was lucky. Secretly, Bonnibel had a step five: convince her to return to the castle, but she had yet to mention it to her champions. It may just be wishful thinking, and she had a life policy against blind hope. Cold logic had always won out over such things before, and this would be no different unless the situation demonstrated otherwise.

It had been a clever plan, but now there was a new step one, and it involved traversing the Grasslands, and who knew how long that would take, because the group was still standing around, watching their friend. Their friend who was clearly on edge, surveying the area with sharp eyes aided by perfect night vision, axe tightly clutched. Finn frowned, some part of him recognizing this behavior from somewhere. But where? “What’s up, Marce?”

At first the half-demon said nothing, responding just before Finn could verbally prod her once more. “...I don’t know. Something. Something’s wrong.”

She sounded focused, as if she were concentrating intently. Listening closely, not even blinking if she could help it. Finn quickly ran down the list of differences between the Real Grasslands and the Fake Grasslands in his mind, but it was Jake who caught it. Then revealed it tactlessly, as was the style of the times. “Probably ‘cause of the monsters in your mindmeats.”

That got her attention and she blinked, turning briefly to him as a signal that she was listening before returning to her visual patrol. “Monsters? I thought it was just me in my brain.” Her tone was skeptical, sprinkled with an undertone of ‘what else aren’t you telling me?’ A fair if not silent accusation, all things considered.

Although she wasn’t looking Jake shrugged anyway, as was the style of the times. “Sorry, forgot about ‘em.” Only half a lie; he had actually mentally blocked them out for his own sanity, but if Finn and Bubblegum weren’t going to solve the mystery and start the journey… well, he did, and that was that. “But yeah, there were monsters there. Dunno how many, we only saw a couple. One of you called them ‘repressed thoughts’.”

“...Repressed thoughts.” She sounded both disbelieving and confused, and she almost looked to Bonnibel for an explanation, or at least a definition. Almost, but not quite.

“Yeah. She said that everyone has these thoughts that are so messed up and you know they’re so messed up that you just push ‘em down and try to block ‘em out.”

That was odd enough for her to look to the dog, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t think I have anything like that.”

“You definitely do.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Big time.”

“They def tried to waste us.”

“They were jerks.”

“Total jerks-”

“ENOUGH!,” she snarled at the brothers. “I get it! Geeze! What’s that got to do with anything?!”

Jake shrank into himself at the explosion and level of vitriol, memories of Finn almost being decapitated only an hour and change prior still fresh in his mind, his brother’s back-pat doing nothing for his shaken nerves. Help instead came from an unexpected source. An unexpected source who knew she was gambling, tempting fate, taking a risk in the worst sort of say. Or at least in the top 50 worst sort of ways. It was hard to tell lately.

“Marcy…” The vampire whipped her head to the candy golem, hand clutched tightly around her bass’s staff. Bonnibel had hoped to share the reality of the situation with her lover after she had healed a bit more, but watching her being on edge in a world she didn’t understand was too much. You deserve to know. “Please understand. Although the three of us spent only a week and some in your mind helping you escape you spent the better part of a century. The world you lived in was cruel and dangerous. Even the landscape could try to kill you. I suspect you’re so agitated now because some part of you remembers the hostile world you were trapped in, and it’s anticipating being attacked at any moment.” Her smile was understanding. “I can assure you that there is nothing dangerous here, in the actual Grasslands, but your reaction isn’t based on-” don’t say logic, Bon, you know what it’d imply to her “-objective reality. It’s a deep instinct, born from a hundred years of fighting to survive in a malicious plane of existence. It developed with good reason, and while you were there it saved your life. It’s not applicable here, but you don’t just unlearn such things. Survival instincts simply do not function that way. It will take time, but you’ll see. You’re safe now.”

Marceline stared at her, gaze unwavering. Then she turned away, a soft growl in the back of her throat. “I don’t believe you. I know what I sense. Something’s out there.” You’ve all just gone soft. What’s wrong with you dweebs?

Bonnibel had anticipated that reaction. What she hadn’t anticipated was for her vampire to not blow up at her, as she had at Finn and Jake. Perhaps because she was so stunned at being psycho-analyzed, or perhaps for some more favorable reason the young scientist wasn’t sure, but she certainly wasn’t going to question it now. Instead she nodded, the understanding smile not fading. “I know, Marcy. This is Ooo. Undoubtedly, something is out there somewhere , but nothing’s out there here. Right guys?” She turned to Finn and Jake. Thankfully, after everything, they were getting quite good at catching on and, being illustrious adventurers, their reassurances stood a far better chance at being effective.

“Yup! We checked before coming to get you!”

“Nothin’ out there but the trees and the breeze and the bees and-”

Jake continued to prattle, but Marceline tuned him out. There was no amount of reassurance that could appease her and Bonnibel knew it, at least deep down, where her cold logic often acted as a double-edged sword. Her queen could fixate in the best of times, and this was the least of times. If they were on better terms there were strategies she knew of to at least distract Marceline, or at least give her some other outlet for her anxiety, but they weren’t that close again yet and she struggled for some way to break her preoccupation, because if nothing else they needed to beat the sun back to the cave house. She had a plan, and Princess Bubblegum was all about plans.

Wanna hint, dork?

Yes, Rechte, very much so.

Problem’s not with what she’s doing. Problem’s with where she is.

Where she…?

And then Bonnibel understood, and would wonder for the rest of the journey how she could have been so blind. “I think I understand the problem, Marcy.” The vampire didn’t look, but there was an unmistakable ear twitch. She was listening, whether she wanted to betray that or not. “If there is something out there we’re exposed. That instinctive part of you that senses something amiss knows it could, at this point in time, strike from anywhere. That leaves us with two options. We could go searching for whatever it is you sense, or we can find cover. I know you prefer to hunt in normal circumstances, but this is a highly unusual situation. Perhaps if we head towards your cave house we can take shelter there. Then, if on the way a threat presents itself, you will have every opportunity to tear it apart.”

Her back-up came almost immediately, and she added it to the growing list of things to thank her gallant champions for. “I think she’s right, Marce. Me and Jake do that a lot. If there’s something out there it doesn’t know you know, you know? If you act like everything’s rhombus and it messes with you we already got the upper hand and can mess it up before it messes us up!” Bad guys usually aren’t the brainiest.”

Marceline remained silent, hands becoming fierce claws in her surveying, but as much as she hated it their logic was sound; if she went to hunt whatever it was wherever it was she’d be on enemy turf, especially since she didn’t fully understand this new Ooo yet. Tear it apart, huh? I like the sound of that. “...Fine. But it’s mine . You stay out of it when I beat it to-”

Finn nodded. “Yup, all yours. You ready to head to the house?”

“...Fine,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

It was enough for Jake, who grinned. “Finally! Let’s do this!” In an overwhelming sense of deja vu the dog abused his magical powers yet again, growing to twenty times his size, scooping his brother and princess up in the process. Marceline, on the other hand, ignored his non-verbal offer for a ride. It didn’t deter him and he raised an eyebrow. Uh uh. You’re stayin’ where we can watch you. “Come on Marce, hitch a ride on your best bro with my ladybro and actual bro.”

She eyed him, almost suspiciously. “...You want me to protect your brother.”

Okay, not what I was going for, but that works. “Yup! That’s exactly the reason! No ulterior motive whatsoever!”

In any other circumstance she would have seen the clear lie in that assertion, because, seriously, come on. But she wasn’t operating at a higher level of thought. After everything that happened it was abundantly obvious that this paranoia, this fixation, this aggression was rooted in something deeper, more primitive, that Bonnibel’s analysis had been spot on.  More dangerous, but also more predictable, and after one suspicious glance Marceline floated away, leaving Jake the privacy to smirk and non-physically swell with pride when he felt her land on his back. Nailed it.

Settled now on Jake’s back Marceline continued to scan the horizon, searching for an enemy her friends knew didn’t exist in reality, only in her mind. There would be no point in convincing her of that, of course; the hallmark of delusion being that you can’t disprove a delusion. Bonnibel watched her carefully, every movement, every muscle twitch, and could pinpoint the moment her rage ebbed once more, only to be replaced with The Other Stuff. She felt a pang in her heart, knowing that, deep down, she had been waiting for exactly that to broach the obvious. And yet again I wait for a moment of weakness to take advantage of you. Please understand that my intention this time is not to manipulate you for selfish reasons, but because I lov- “Do you remember this place, Marcy? The Grasslands?”

The vampire was quiet as she felt herself relax, not from feeling at ease but from feeling the fight seep out of her. She hated the mood swings, the dredging feeling of helplessness, the lack of control that came with it, The Other Stuff that ate at what little sanity she retained. This world was foreign, but she felt pressured to remember it from all angles. Logically, she knew her friends - and they were her friends - were trying to help her, and she begrudgingly had to admit that even Bonnibel was putting on a really good show of caring - so good it was almost convincing - but everything felt wrong and it made her skin crawl. She didn’t want to think about that question, but knew they would harass her until she did. If it would appease them and allow her to return to the Nightosphere she would try.

“...In a way. I think.” She swallowed hard, The Other Stuff that she didn’t understand twisting in her like a knife. “It feels like a place I used to live, but…” She pulled her legs to her, suddenly feeling terribly exposed. Marceline knew what the problem was, but she also knew that voicing it would make it all the more real, because while The Other Stuff may remove the fog of rage it replaced it with a mist of despair, and with that despair came a clarity she didn’t want, didn’t ask for, but couldn’t shed. “...The humans left just when the Vampire King finally showed himself. I held him off while they escaped. It was me he wanted anyway, I just didn’t know it. I was Turned while they…” She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. “When I finally resurrected they were gone. I knew they were, but… I still looked for them. At the firepit. Where we gathered wood. The spot by the lake I taught the kids to play Two Bread Tom’s guitar because he was a lame teacher. They were the closest thing I had to family so I looked everywhere, tried to stop thinking ‘hey, maybe’ they’re around the corner. I tried to crash there when it got light, but with them gone the entire place that I had spent a long time living in felt… I dunno. Distant and empty. Like… I wasn’t supposed to be there. Like I wasn’t welcome there anymore.” Her hand tightened around her arm, nails digging into it from the effort of keeping herself focused. In the present. “This place… it feels like that.”

Bonnibel and Finn could only listen silently, as one of the people they cared most about revealed something so personal, so heartbreaking. Bubblegum’s hand clenched tightly from the strain of not betraying any emotion, of not being allowed to hold her and protect that vulnerability, because in all of their centuries together, as friends, lovers, mates, Marceline had never told her about that. You’ve been keeping that to yourself for over six centuries? She yearned to say something, but had no idea how to even begin. Instead she looked to Finn, who had always been so insightful in matters involving trauma to the heartguts, but the boy looked unusually solemn. It took longer than she’d like to admit to realize why. Oh, yes. He’s descended from the humans Marceline saved. Her gaze turned back to Marceline, but her lover was staring at the Grasslands dejectedly. Before realizing what she was doing Bonnibel rose from her seat, approaching the queen with slow, deliberate movements. “Marcy?” No response, not even a sarcastic grunt. “I’m so sorry, Marceline. I honestly cannot imagine how you must feel being here.” It was true; she had expected the anger, the wrath, The Other Stuff. But memories, untainted from her time trapped in the wasteland? She had never considered that the tragedy that befell Marceline could actually stir memories, real memories, but then Marceline seemed to be a magnet for such things.

She sat beside her, politely disregarding her tensing, because she knew the half-demon, and somewhere along the way of her century of Unlife she had grown to assume she would only find herself alone, surrounded by a sea of graves. Now Bonnibel was beginning to understand why. “This world… I know it doesn’t look like it, or feel like it just yet, but this is your home. I don’t expect you to believe me, but we’re not leaving.” She looked up just in time to see Finn sit at her other side.

“Marce… you know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, right?,” he asked quietly. It was a rhetorical question, of course, merely an acknowledgment of a profound truth. “If you hadn’t saved those humans I wouldn’t be here. I know we both know that, we just don’t really talk about it. You know I found all those other humans on those islands. They’re there, happy and alive and they all have families because of you.”

Her laugh was forced. And weak. “Kid, stop.”

He shook his head. “Nah, Marce. I know we both know… but we don’t really talk about it, huh?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” Now her tension was for an all-too different reason, the rage beginning to flow back. But if it wasn’t going to deter Bonnibel it wouldn’t deter him.

“Marce, it does matter. Yeah, maybe before it wasn’t worth talking about, but it is now. You know why? Because you helped make sure those humans had a safe place to go, so you helped make this place our home, too!”

Her eyes closed, clearly making every effort to crush the sense of rage building. “It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

“No, Marcy. He’s right.”

She turned to glare at Bonnibel, but her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t want to remember the humans, or her Turning, or how when she was little the Grasslands weren’t the Grasslands, they were streets, roads, tar, they should be walking on tar why was there grass- She hissed, eyes closing tightly as a bolt of pain ripped through her head hand gripping on her arm hard enough for the cracking of crushed bone to be audible, not that she felt it. By the time it passed, by the time her eyes had opened, the rage had subsided and she realized that both Finn and Bonnibel were watching her, wearing matching looks of concern. She sighed, also not feeling her arm mend itself. Wait for it-

“Marce, what the duckling?!”

She closed her eyes again, exhaustion taking up residence where her anger had been. “That… happens sometimes. I think when my brain thinks the world is one way but it’s another way. Hurts a lot, then makes me tired.”

Bonnibel nodded absently, mind turning over this information a thousand ways. Cognitive dissonance symptoms manifesting with such physical intensity to make even you flinch from pain? She took comfort in knowing that every piece of information she gathered meant one more clue on how to help her vampire. Once upon a time she would have proudly voiced this epiphany to her friends. But I see now how that could be considered tactless. “It’ll be alright Marcy.” She snorted in both sarcasm and disbelief. Ah, there she is. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true.” A garnet eye watched her warily, but that was all the resistance offered.

“What do you see out there, Marce? Anything else?”

The vampire looked up, back to the wastel- No. Grasslands. Come on, Marceline. Don’t be a donkus. “...There’s grass, isn’t there? I keep thinking there’s roads, but it’s gotta be grass. ‘Cause… ‘Grasslands’.” She touched her bass, using the cool metal to ground herself, tracing the blade’s edge with her thumb. It could never cut her, nor anyone of her blood, but she knew the thing was almost impossibly sharp. On more than one occasion she’d had to separate Bonnibel - back when she was Bonnibel - from her family heirloom because the younger woman just had to know what made it so sharp when she never saw her best friend with a whetstone. Despite herself, she found the memory fond. “There’s… a lake around here, right? I think I remember that.”

Finn nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, Butterscotch Lake. It’s not far.” He twisted, pointing towards the west, though all she saw was grass. “It’s in front of P-bub’s cabin.”

She tensed at that, though she wasn’t sure why. Something about the cabin, even thinking about the cabin, caused a headache, a pain of an all-too-different sort. It made no sense. But then… very little made sense in her Unlife, and she pushed it away. Her eyes closed, her cheek resting on her knees. “Yeah… I think I remember the lake. Hurts to remember the cabin…,” she trailed off.

Hurts? Nah, you misheard, guy. She definitely said ‘hard to’. Cabin was neutral turf, nothing and no one lived there. “Yeah, I think that makes sense. We haven’t been there in awhile, huh Marce?” No answer. “Marce?” He turned back, alarmed… but not for long. “Guess she was tired, huh?”

Bonnibel smiled, but she wasn’t looking at her champion because Marceline had fallen asleep, finally landing on Jake’s back, unable to even maintain her floating with her level of fatigue. “I’m surprised that she’s managed to stay awake for this long, to be honest. Her fortitude is impressive…”

“...But you’d wish she’d stop putting up a front, huh?”

He’s got ya there, Bon. “I don’t think she can help it, but yes. For now, let’s let her sleep. I can only imagine the mental strain of needing to fight against your own mind and how taxing that must manifest physically. She has a spectacular pain tolerance, but she’ll need rest for her reintroduction to her house.”

Truer words, man. Finn turned, watching the scenery before him. Having a pretty good idea himself as to how taxing fighting with yourself could really be. “How we doing, Jake?”

A furry mouth and ear stretched back towards the group, and Bonnibel instinctively covered her half-demon’s sensitive ears from the cacophony of noise that was so often Jake. “Doin’ good! Probs gonna be there soon. Gotta rely on my fabulous sense of smell in the dark. How’s Marce?”

“Fell asleep, so we’re letting her catch some z’s. We’re hoping that some rest will help with… you know. Everything.”

“I hear ya.”

As silence befell the group Bonnibel turned to observe the world around them. The universe, or whatever powers that exist wherein, had finally granted them a break and it was a fantastic night to reintroduce Marceline to Ooo. There was no tension in the air, only a light breeze that reminded her that the seasons would rotate soon, would slowly become cooler and darker. It stirred the grass below Jake’s paws, the soft, green grass, not at all yellow and grey, as she imagined it still looked to her vampire. She slowly turned to her other half, watching her fondly, just taking a moment to appreciate the situation. Whereas Past Bubblegum saw only the laundry list of what was ahead of them through a harsh, clinical lens Present Bubblegum knew better, had learned to appreciate the little things that made up her life. The grass she hadn’t realized was so soft. The calm night air. The light of the moon and stars. The distance howls of the wolf Marceline so often ran with - as a wolf no less. Such simplicity. Is this how you think of the world, Marcy? She had to admit that she could see the appeal. Before this tragedy she saw such mindsets as counter-productive and a waste of time, but now she saw it as a form of clarity, a way of staying sane in a world - especially her world - boggled down by The Big Stuff in life.

Even now Marceline looked peaceful as she slept, and Bonnibel was certain the clear skies, the ever-present moon and stars, were at least partly responsible, but she also liked to think that the mere presence of her friends was a contributing factor, that she knew they loved her and would protect her. There was no tell-tale rise and fall to her chest, but she looked calm all the same, and the princess reached over to carefully lay her best friend’s treasured bass at her feet, not wanting to risk it slipping from her fingers. Without meaning to she herself inched closer, putting herself within arm’s reach of the other woman. Just in case. In case of what? She’d think of some excuse later.

“Alright, guys. We’re here!”

Glob it, Jake. Because the hero’s voice was loud even by her standards, and it caused the vampire to stir.

“What’s…”

Bonnibel felt a pang in her heart, because freshly woken the strain in her voice was even more apparent. “We’re at the cave, Marcy. Ready?”

Garnet eyes blinked the sleep away, taking in the sight before them instead. Yes, it was her cave, she remembered that much. She knew that gaping maw of an opening, the old stone beneath her calloused fingers, even without touching it. Without responding Marceline picked up her bass and floated down to the ground, scrutinizing the entrance. But nothing had been threatening about it then, and nothing was threatening about it now. Well, except that she felt like an alien in a home they promised was her home, even if it did just feel lonely as the Grasslands. “So we just… go in?”

“Yup!” And then Finn and Bonnibel were behind her, Jake shrinking to his normal size to join them. She paid them no mind, still intent on analyzing the area she found herself in. Had the walls dark green from the lichen covering overwise dark stone? The water dark but oddly clear? She had expected it to be contaminated and almost tried to stop Finn and Jake from approaching it for their own safety, but they seemed entirely unconcerned, Finn even dipping his flesh arm into the lake and splashing it. “See? Nothin’ here but a house and a garden!”

She frowned at the boy hero’s assertion, instead looking up. Yes, those stalactites looked familiar at least; she had vague memories of tossing rocks at them to dislodge them on property trespassers. As a prank. Yup. Just a prank. Certainly nothing more malicious than that, oh perish the thought. House and garden, huh? Those did indeed seem to be what took up the bulk of a cave she hadn’t realized was so small. It seemed bigger in her mind, but the structure- ...Structure? Where have I…? -seemed safe enough. Ignoring the bolt of pain that pierced through her skull she turned away to the cave’s main attraction: the small lavender house that was her own. In theory. She had a vague recollection of the building itself, true, but had it always been lavender? Had she always maintained it so nicely? With a frown she floated deeper into the cave to examine the building. The basketball hoop she recognized, yes. The porch was familiar, and she definitely remembered wherever she lived being intact. She almost turned to peak in the window, but something within her screamed not to, offered a bolt of pain for good measure, and, well, who was she to argue with gut instinct? Instead she reached out, tentatively touching the wood but, no, it was just painted wood. A normal house owned by a most unusual resident.

The garden, the one part of her property to face the mouth of the cave, and thus the Sky Ball of Death, seemed oddly healthy and full of life, all green grass that looked just as soft as its outside counterpart, yellow mushrooms on the skyline border, and- “Wow, your strawberries are looking great, Marce!” Finn meant it, too; the half-demon had always been an oddly keen gardener, especially for fruits and other edible plants, but this year her strawberries were looking particularly large, plump, and- Red! That gives me the best idea in the history of ideas. As his friends watched on Finn reached the garden, searching for the smallest one he could find before dislodging it from its plant, holding it up for his injured friend to see, only to find her watching carefully, though whether she was wary of him trespassing - she was territorial after all - or of the berry in his hand he wasn’t sure. In all honesty he had been hoping that she would scold him for helping himself to his fruit, just like she would have if she were healthy, but her wary expression was good enough. It wasn’t the primary goal anyway. “When was the last time you ate, Marce?” He kept the tone conversational, but Jake and Bonnibel sensed the worry underneath.

She turned away to look at nothing. Nothing was better than something, at least for now. “...Food tastes weird,” she muttered.

Bonnibel took the fruit from Finn’s hands, determined not to let the boy have every success in enticing Marceline to leave her comfort zone. “That makes sense, Marcy. You didn’t need to eat in your mind. You could, but it wasn’t necessary-” not that there was any red to begin with “-and I imagine your mind is still adjusting to that need. But you do need to eat. It’s a physiological requirement now.” She stopped, watching the queen. Watching her watching her suspiciously. “We won’t ask you to eat the entire thing if you’re uncomfortable, but perhaps you’d only nibble it? Please?” The half-demon continued to watch her cautiously, a look Bonnibel recognized as that of a wounded animal skeptical of the treat it was being offered. Yet even now, despite everything, despite the subjective audacity of the request and of who was requesting it, a grey hand slowly took the offering from the pink one, because even now her stupid broken heart shattered in a bajillion pieces couldn’t say no to the younger woman. Not when Princess Bubblegum looked so much like Bonnibel. With a flush of humiliation she sank a single fang into the sweet fruit, draining just a tinge of red, just the right amount to be perceptible.

Then there was a noise from within the house and the food was forgotten, reclaimed by a pink hand before it could be crushed. Garnet eyes slitted as her hand gripped the staff of her axe, a snarl escaping her as she turned to the building. Before anyone could even begin to stop her the vampire tore open the door, straight off its hinges in her haste to kill whatever had invaded what she had just been assured was her turf. Finn’s eyes widened in panic as he took off after her. Oh figs! Who would be dumb enough to squat in a vampire’s- Then he stopped, remembering that he and Jake had done exactly that. Twice. ...Okay, who would be dumb enough to squat in a vampire’s pad without being her bros?! He suddenly wished he had brought his sword, or any weapon not function of his robotic arm, because if Marceline did lose control who knew what it would take to stop her?

“Schwabl!”

Yeah, that’d work. He skidded to a stop, Jake slamming behind him with a small “Ow…”. But that happy exclamation deafened him to his brother’s whimper, because it was the first time in far, far too long since he had last heard that noise. The sound of their vampire ladybro happy. So he grinned and looked to Bonnibel, and she was grinning to. He let her into the house first, following straight after. And that’s where they found her: Marceline Abadeer with her own grin, kneeling on the floor, a zombie poodle with the world’s happiest tail licking her face. That’s… actually really adorbs. Not that I’m ever gonna tell her that. Ever.

Jake smirked, crossing his arms smugly. “See? Told ya. He totally missed you.”

If she had heard him perhaps she would have cared more, or at least punched him. But she didn’t, because One of Her Three Favorite People was with her, just as delighted to see her as she was to see him, and so her true reintroduction to her home was temporarily put on hold due to the influence of cute animals. Out of habit Bonnibel kneeled next to her, reaching out to pet the small dog. To Marceline’s bafflement he not only allowed her, he also licked her hand. Dude, don’t be a traitor, Schwabl. What the dip! But then… he had never been a traitor, and it was hard for her to wrap her mind around the confliction. Soon the burden was lifted for her when the small dog, now seemingly satisfied with the level of affection received, retreated away from his person in favor of the black and green crackled bed easily meant for a dog three times his size. It took three rotates but then he was asleep, leaving the four in only their company once more.

Awkward.

Though Marceline’s ill mood swiftly returned it was tempered now, weighed against the first truly positive experience she had had since awakening in her father’s office, covered in blood with an all-but ruined throat. But of course now she realized how filthy she was, courtesy of One Of Her Three Favorite People and sighed. “Alright, I’m headed to the bathroom.”

Bonnibel nodded her agreement, standing as Marceline did. “Good idea. We can begin the reintroduction upstairs. It wasn’t very different in your mind, so it stands to reason that it will be a good starting… point…” And then she trailed off, because all three of her friends were staring at her with matching looks that could only possibly be interpreted as ‘seriously?’. Clearing her throat she turned away, towards the ladder. “Shall we?” When there was no immediate response she turned back, only to find Marceline watching her warily.

The vampire glanced to her now sleeping dog, considered his excellent track record in assessing people in their motives, then returned to Bonnibel. “...Fine. Let’s go.” Ignoring the smile offered to her the vampire floated after the princess, entering the room cautiously. They could call it her bedroom all they wanted, but her brain was telling her otherwise. She set her axe down against the wall, leaving her free to examine the room more closely, scrutinizing every detail. Had her walls always been lavender, or at least some shade of it? She trailed her hand along the western wall, feeling the texture under calloused fingers, stopping only when she reached her recording equipment.

In her mind it was different, particularly the color. Wasn’t it black before? But there was no bolt of pain shooting through her head, indicating that this ancient tan and brown equipment was as it always had been, that her microphone hadn’t moved, that her speakers truly always were that small and grey. “...I remember this,” she muttered to no one in particular, feeling the soundboard’s casing, absently flicking odd switches at random. At least I remember how all of this works. It was a great relief, really; her voice may be damaged- or ruined, yeah, let’s be realz, Marceline - but at least she wasn’t completely robbed of her music. She had a vague recollection of the backlog in her arsenal, the many, many tracks she had to edit and compile. And if her voice wasn’t healed by then… well, she tried not to think about that.

Instead she turned towards her bed, which looked freshly made. It was odd, really; she almost never made her bed. Why would she? Unless she slept next to Bonnibel she usually slept floating on top of beds. ...Sleep next to Bonnibel. Right. There was that small bolt again, coupled with a foggy memory of two immortal women so intimately enjoying one another’s presence, of her fangs sinking into… something. Something important, something meaningful. Her eyes widened as she tried to grasp the memory, but it slipped through her fingers, as the truth so often did. She growled in frustration, almost kicking the bed. Almost, but not quite, because-

“You alright, Marce?”

She sighed, silently wishing Finn would stop worrying about her. Yes, she was injured; yes, it was endearing; but the rage was beginning to flow back, and the urge to snap his neck-

“I’m fine.”

Something in her tone screamed for him to back away and so back away he did, sharing a look with Jake of mutual concern. But Marceline was no longer paying attention to the brothers; instead she was gently pressing the mattress, confirming for herself that it did physically exist. That reminded her of something, something she couldn’t place, and she scanned the room, the walls, the shelves, the furniture. There was something was missing, something that needed to be examined, to be checked, to be-

And then she knew what it was and she floated to the closet, almost ripping the door off of its hinges in her haste to open it. Finn blinked, almost shocked by the sudden display of physical aggression. “Uh… you and the closet still friends, Marce?”

At first there was no response as she scrutinized everything within the closet. “...Just had to check.”

“For what?”

Now she blinked, the rage ebbing. “...I dunno.”

But Finn did. Oh snap. Navigator was living in the closet and Unifier didn’t even know. Some part of ya has got to remember that! He opened his mouth to solve the mystery, then closed it, thinking better of his clever plan. ...You don’t need to know that. No names, Finn. Respect your ladybro’s boundaries.

Said ladybro was examining the contents of the closet in a most unusual fashion. Reaching for the back and looking almost disappointed not to see anything being the chief feature of the unusual fashion. Weird. Wasn’t there something important back here? Something… it was… I know it was grey and cold. Ugh, this sucks eggs. But she let it go, because who was to say her dumb brain wasn’t lying to her about something stupid just for stuff and giggles? It’s exactly the kinda thing my brain would do. Something else caught her eye then, an oddity in her vast wardrobe, something that didn’t belong. At first she wasn’t sure she was seeing it correctly but, yup, there it was, and she pulled it out, almost not wanting to touch it. Not that she knew why. That seemed to be the new norm. “Bonnie, what’s your jacket doing in my closet?”

“My jacket?” The vampire held it up then, the clothing that caused a sharp pain of her own to shoot through her, though unlike Marceline this was in her heart - wherever that was. It caused so many feelings to come flooding back and it must have been obvious, because she felt a comforting metal arm on her shoulder, unaware that she had grown ashen. She wasn’t sure how to feel about seeing it again, but I should have predicted Marceline would have her letterman jacket in her closet. As it was the vampire was looking at her both curiously and expectantly, and the princess weighed her next words carefully. Some part of her must remember Tyrant giving me her jacket before I kil-

Don’t go down that road, Bon. She’s not dead, she’s just part of the whole, you know?

But the jacket-

Hey, if she says it’s yours why do ya wanna argue so much?

Why did she want to argue with the implication that the jacket was her’s now? There was no point practically speaking, but she knew what the real problem was: she would never stop feeling guilty about the way Tyrant died, even if it had been For The Greater Good. I hope you never remember, Marcy, and I’m not going to put you in the position of needing to. Drawing upon her magnificent ability to lie, and with only the ghost of Rechte to hear her internal screaming, Bonnibel smiled, crossing the room to accept the clothing, sliding it on. If she didn’t know any better she could have sworn it felt so very much like a hug. Like it missed her. Ridiculous. It’s just fabric, Bubblegum. “Ah. I must have left it here when I last visited. I tried to convince you to replace the travesty that is your dishware.”

Marceline frowned, removing the hanger from the coat before turning it over with a mumbled, “I like my plates.”

Bonnibel couldn’t help herself, really, she couldn’t. Or so she would later claim. “Your plates are falling apart, Marcy. You’re royalty. If anyone of note visited-”

In spite of herself, and the overwhelming feeling of deja vu, the vampire rolled her eyes, the words tumbling out of her without thought. “No one important visits me except you.”

Bonnibel tried not to smile at her own sense of deja vu. “They don’t visit you because I don’t let them see the travesty that is your dishware!”

“So what’s the problem?” It was then that Marceline realized two things simultaneously: despite how furious she was with the princess - and oh boy was that an understatement - she easily fell back into their typical banter, and that as furious as she was with the princess such banter… well, it felt right. Dirty, filthy even, but right. It didn’t help that Finn was smirking at her. “What?,” she growled, hand tightening.

It didn’t stop his smirk. “Oh, nothin’.” Before this - any of it- could turn from a friendly argument to a real one he pointed towards the east wall with his thumb. “Does anything else seem familiar, Marce?”

She glared at the boy, closing the closet harder than intended, but relented; the sooner they finished examining the shattered remains of her life the sooner she could go back to the Nightosphere in peace. She scanned the walls, the ceiling, the lights, everything she could. “I dunno. Did I always have all these pictures and junk?” And those books? But those seemed important for an all-too different reason, and she felt it best not to mention them around the goody two-shoes brothers. Why? What’s the point in asking myself anything?

“Yeah, but there weren’t any in your mind, so they probably look weird.”

“Wait, there were no pictures in my mind?”

Finn shook his head. “Nope. No pictures anywhere.” Except maybe the one on Lady Evil’s desk? Better not ask about that one.

“...Huh.” At least her trophies looked familiar, those demons and Ooo denizens that hand made attempts on Bonnibel’s life, or interfered with Marceline’s efforts to court her. Not that she even knows what that means. Not that she ever asked. Not that she ever care- The rage was returning, and she ceased that line of thinking. There was no point in feeding it, as good as it felt to. She knew, deep her heartguts, that Bonnibel did say she was trying to be better, and if Marceline was honest with herself she had been doing well. For now, anyway… But even she, no matter how angry, couldn’t ignore that truth. “I guess… I remember having those heads on my wall. I know I put them there. Don’t remember like… the fine details, I guess. But I remember them.” And they hurt to look at. No one questioned when she tore her gaze away, or when she made for the lavatory without looking at any of them, nor did they try to follow her in when she closed the door.

Instead they turned to one another, mixed expressions of satisfaction at how the day was progressing evident. Neither brother caught Bonnibel’s weak smile, nor did they know why she was looking at those creepy heads almost fondly. They couldn’t know - couldn’t be allowed to know - why those heads were there in the first place, that the wings and skeleton came courtesy of a voyeuristic Ooo denized who dared to watch the monarchs’ most intimate moment, when they had been joined together in a way too people so deep in love could. They could never be allowed to know that every single one mounting was a trophy, a twisted celebration of their love and bond. How could they understand? They still didn’t know the depths of her sins, how corrupted her own soul undoubtedly was, because she may be turning into a squishy marshmallow for her vampire but everyone else was fair game, that she knew to be true. She was egotistical, manipulative, an adept liar, a narcissist, and, evidently, capable of great cruelty, and though she had made a solemn vow to never use these weapons against the musician again they were still weapons, and weapons were meant to be used.

Looking at those heads, remembering how she had praised Marceline for her brutality and sadism, arose within her conflicting feelings, a feeling she felt only once before: the moment she realized that she simultaneously both reviled and was attracted to Lady Evil, that some part of her queen reflected herself in such an eerily similar way. That some part of her couldn’t help imagining how devastating the two of them could be together, if only their goals entirely aligned. How can I both want to see that side of her and still identify it as wrong and unhealthy? She turned to the lavatory door, listening to sound of a running sink. I suppose the bitter truth is that we both must learn to meld those parts of ourselves into something healthy, or at least non-destructive to those people and places we mean to protect. She didn’t want to believe the demon’s claim that her influence was as insidious as it was inevitable, but it nagged at her. Particularly the part where she was bound to train Whole Marceline in the ways of political clout and exercises of power and influence.

Her last thought before the door opened once more was how beautiful those heads were.

The door to the bathroom opened and Marceline exited, drying her hands with a white towel. “Alright, bathroom’s choice. What’s next?”

Finn hooked his thumb towards the trap door. “If you’re good up here we can do the living room and the kitchen. Then we should probably chill, since it’ll probably be dawn by then.”

At the word ‘dawn’ the musician tensed, but after one deep breath she relaxed. Stop being a wuss, Marceline. It’s just the Sky Ball of Death. You’ve dealt with it for like a billion years. Don’t be a ding dong. She said none of this. “Alright, let’s go.” With a sincere smile Finn travelled back down the ladder, Jake immediately after. Marceline started towards the ladder, then stopped, glancing first to the heads mounting her walls, then to Bonnibel. “...I wanna make sure I’m right. I killed those tranches because… right?”

Despite the missing chunk of that sentence it was loud and clear to the princess. “Yes, Marcy.”

Their gazes were steady, both women silent. Until Marceline nodded. “...Okay.” And with that she was gone following her friends. Bonnibel watched, perplexed. She didn’t look mad. She looked conflicted. Unsure how to feel about this, the younger royal followed the path back to the living room, where she found Marceline examining the couch both royals knew was not a couch. She seemed to be conflicted here as well, hand twitching as if she wanted to examine it closer, but not wanting to reveal its secrets to the boys. If those trophies upstairs were real and for her… then in here…?

Bonnibel knew exactly why.

“Guys, let’s go check the refrigerator. If Marceline is going to stay here-” please don’t stay here, Marcy, come home “-we should make sure she has enough to eat.” Not allowing any room for argument she held up her bag, indicating that its contents must contain red and a whole lot of it. It seemed odd to Finn and Jake, but who were they to argue with their liege? Or, more accurately, Jake just wanted to poke around and see if there was anything edible for mere mortals; it was way past his mid-post-midnight snack, and Finn knew his brother would trash the kitchen if it meant finding a cracker.

Only once all three were safely within the kitchen Marceline turned back to the couch, giving it a gentle punch, smiling instinctively at the scrape of wood against wood. After one last look over her shoulder towards the kitchen to make certain she was unobserved she lifted the top of the box very carefully, because, of course, the couch wasn’t a couch at all, and if she remembered correctly it should be filled with…

...Oh.

A grey, shaky hand reached down and pulled out a green shard, decorated with darker spots. Her eyes closed as she forced herself to dredge up the memory of where it came from. It came in blurs; three demons infiltrating the Candy Kingdom as it slept, assassins meant to behead its matriarch. She killed them in her defense. But… she wasn’t herself. It was a different part of her driving. She was-

The shell was returned to the box and the lid replaced, the bolt of pain driving the memory away. Alright, fine. You be like that, brain. Nuts to you! She stood, almost calling out to the others, but something else caught her eye. Something shiny and metal, with something familiar and pink scrawled across it. Her hand traced its casing, the familiar-

I like your handwriting. I think it’s… really pretty.

She withdrew her hand as if burned. How deep in my head are you? ...Were you? Ugh! Her mind needed a distraction, but everything else in the room seemed strangely normal. The walls were the same shade in her memory, the same hideous lamp she knew - even if she didn’t remember - rescuing from a landfill because Bonnibel found it tacky. I mean… she’s not wrong. But it’s my lamp! WIth a snort she turned to the kitchen, oddly calmed by the sound of Finn and Jake arguing about something she was sure was stupid.

“-Not how fridges work, dude!”

“Then what do fridge fairies do for work? Huh?!”

“There’s no such thing, bro!”

“Uh huh! I met one!”

“That’s butts, Jake.”

“Hey, just ‘cause fridge fairies-”

“What the flip is going on?” She meant for it to sound irritated, but the sight jarred familiar memories, ones that didn’t cause a bolt of pain to rip through her, was oddly calming. Both mortals turned to her, argument temporarily halted.

“Oh, hey Marce. Jake was just being lame. How was the living room?”

A shrug. “I dunno. Didn’t seem as important as my bedroom did. Like… not much changed, right?”

“Yup! Except for, like, colors it was mostly the same. So we’ve done the bathroom, the bedroom, the living room… wanna see the kitchen?”

She sighed. As much as she appreciated her friend his enthusiasm was sometimes exhausting. Why do mortals insist on cramming everything so fast? Her eyes rolled as she entered the final room of her home.

Finn held open his arms. “Ta da! See Marce? It’s all like it was! Well, I mean… not in your mind. It was kinda banged apart, but it’s all nice now!” As he turned he gestured to every part in turn. “See? Fridge is full of red food, got all the appliances working, Peebo says that the plates are still wanged up but held together with your hopes and dreams, but I haven’t checked yet. You wanna check, Marce? Since you know what they look like, and I think she’s exaggerating.” Silence.” ...Marce?” He turned to her, but she wasn’t watching him, couldn’t even hear him, because her attention was monopolized by something else entirely: the kitchen’s back door. She was pale, eyes wide, hands shaking, because that back door hadn’t been a back door in her mind. It had been a door to a very different place, a white room filled with silver hooks and spikes and restraints and pain and-. Finn’s eyes widened in panic. Oh flip. Oh flip oh flip oh flip.

He wasn’t the only one to catch her demeanor change, nor to immediately understand why. Because so much of Marceline’s mind was still trapped in her mindscape, and in her mindscape some part of her was trapped in The Room. “Marcy…,” Bonnibel whispered calmly. “Marcy, can you hear me?” She was trembling now, eyes pinned, not in rage, no, but in sheer terror. “Marcy… it’s okay Marcy. Just listen.” The princess took one tentative step forward. “It’s gone, Marcy. It’s not there anymore. You’re not-”

And then she was gone, having fled the room, the building, maybe even the Grasslands itself, Finn, Jake, and Bonnibel weren’t sure, had no hope of catching her. There was a horrible crashing sound, a bang, creaking metal and wood, what sounded like an explosion, and then Marceline was gone, truly gone. Bonnibel reacted first, taking after her lover, knowing exactly what was happening, knowing what her mate was about to go through, having seen it before, the question only being how bad it was going to be. How warped the panic would make her mind, if it would be as bad as the moment she discovered how deeply rooted her sedatephobia was. When they exited the kitchen and surveyed the living room - or, more accurately, what remained of it - Bonnibel covered her mouth in dismay. There was only one thing to say in a time like this.

“...schieße.”

Chapter Text

Chaos.

Absolute chaos.

With every ounce of care Bonnibel stepped out of the kitchen to enter the living room proper. At least, what was left of it. Both windows were smashed, glass shards scattered both within and outside the panes, crunching forgotten under her shoes. The smaller amplifiers Marceline once treasured were dented, cracked across the speakers from the sheer force of being thrown against the wall. Would they still function? Possibly, but only because the larger amplifier cushioned their impact, Bonnibel’s pretty handwriting no longer so pretty, what with the device itself now mangled beyond reason. But that wasn’t what drew her attention, even as that stupid over-logical part in the back of her mind began drafting designs for an upgraded replacement. No, that wasn’t what was important right now.

There, laying on the floor in too many pieces were the remains of the couch-that-was-not-a-couch, its contents scattered across the floor. Dozens of objects: horns and beaks and wings and any number of trinkets, each a momento, tokens of Marceline’s love and adoration for her younger lover. Symbols of how she expressed that love sometimes through song, but also sometimes through brutal and excessive violence. Trophies from her murdering would-be assassins in the princess’s name. They had been kept in the couch-that-was-not-a-couch, hidden from prying eyes to protect both royals’ reputations and to prevent such silly things as ‘inquiries’ and ‘riots’. Who could possibly understand how precious they were, the powerful sentiment they represented? They were treasures, priceless and irreplaceable, now scattered on the ground like trash. The princess kneeled, tracing a red, spiralled horn that was cracked across the top. As her thumb stroked its curves she looked on helplessly, unable to imagine what must have been going through her beloved’s mind if she so mindlessly destroyed the collection she had grown and cherished for hundreds of years.

“Woah.”

Ah. This presents a problem. She had been so focused on the remnants of her mate’s room she had entirely forgotten about her champions, and Finn’s awed whisper caused her to tense, hand now possessively grasping the horn.

“PB, what is this?,” he asked, obviously bewildered. And suspicious. That second part was the important part.

She turned to him, to her wide-eyed human champion and jaw-dropped dog champion. They were never meant to see this, any of this, because as much as they had proven themselves loyal subjects and deep friends they were strongly allied in the camp of the ‘good’ and ‘righteous’, and this was decidedly ‘not good’ and ‘not righteous’, except in the sense that Marceline’s methodical dedication was nothing short of inspiring. The heroes had seen so much of her lover, so many of her secrets. Her privacy, her dignity, so much had been taken from her vampire. And now? What else did she have to hide? What else was her’s and her’s alone? Because the trophies weren’t just hidden to protect the princess’s untainted name, they were also a form of catharsis, a way for the older woman to release the beast within her, relish in the demonic half of her bloodline before locking the spoils safely within a wooden vault, compartmentalizing half of her where it could do no further harm. Then, when she felt her bloodlust boil, she could gaze her collection and reflect upon her actions, knowing with certainty that the creature within her was only part of, a part that had its place within the whole, not as the whole.

But apparently dignity was not something to be afforded her mate.

Bonnibel sighed, standing, still clutching her horn. “...This was something else you were never meant to see,” she reluctantly admitted.

Finn and Jake fell silent; they may not be able to feel the weight on Bonnibel’s shoulders, but they could see her ashen expression. “Like… her void demon form thing?”

“Yes, Finn. These…,” she trailed off, subconsciously counting the many items littering the ground. The number of times her life was saved. More than you ever indicated, Marcy. “You already know that for hundreds of years demons and other assassins have vied for my death, and you also know that in that time Marceline has protected me.” She sighed. “Every one of these objects were recovered from these attempts.”

Under his fur Jake paled. “So she, like… killed things and kept them as trophies?” The horror was evident, but Bonnibel couldn’t blame him. It was one thing to see what Marceline was capable of within her mind, when those parts that were rage and despair incarnate were unchecked. But this? This was Marceline, Whole Marceline, engaging in such violence and sadism, actions they had no idea she was capable of. The Usurper as an individual was rage unrestrained, and though Jake knew that rage had to come from somewhere they had never dreamed that it could manifest in the real Ooo as something so deranged.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced up to his brother. “Hey. She’s still Marce, man.”

“Bro, look at-”

But Finn just shook his head sadly, nodding towards an obviously distraught Bonnibel. He lowered his head to keep his voice low. “She was just protecting what she loves the only way she knew how, Jake. Yeah, it’s really messed up. But she’s still the same person. ‘Sides… something’s wrong. We gotta find her. She’s hurting bad, man.” As much as it bothered him, as sure as he was that he may have trouble looking Marceline in the eyes, he knew Finn was right. “‘Sides, it’s just raw now, man. Give it time. It’s totes weird, yeah, but ya gotta roll with it. We can talk to them about it when this is all calm again and Marce is back to her old self.” He sounded just convincing enough for Jake to nod, albeit reluctantly. This was, after all, a ritual he couldn’t possibly understand, and as sick as those pieces of weird-ness made him it was something that began long before he had. It wasn’t exactly new behavior. Would this need to be addressed, would the brothers need to have a deep conversation with both their ladybros and one another about all they had seen and learned? Of course, but in lieu of the all-necessary chat his own words, the advice he had given his little brother even before they began this macabre journey, came back to haunt him, and he supposed he deserved that.

Man, you’re overthinking it. They’re still the same people. There was just a part of them you didn’t know about. Lots of people are like that. It’s not personal. They just have some mondo stuff going on, and I don’t think they’ve even got it figured out, and they’re so old it’s redonkulus. Getting to know people is just part of the journey of friendship. It keeps it fresh and interesting. So don’t think about it like they’re strangers, they’ve just got a layer you didn’t dig up yet.

It escaped neither brother that the ‘trophies’ were in the exact same location as Marceline’s Moral Code had been in her mind. Bubblegum, unaware of their conversation, or perhaps just not caring, slowly approached the entryway of the house. Or, at least, what was left of it, because however Marceline chose to leave her home it had left a gaping hole, as if created by a concentrated explosion. How…?

Hey, you always said she was a force of nature.

Before she could refute Rechte’s assertion she felt a small pressure on her foot. That broke her preoccupation with the destruction around her, as a small poodle so often does. She smiled at Schwabl softly, placing the cracked horn down in favor of petting her mate’s beloved pet. If she didn’t know any better she could almost think that he looked worried. Is an animal capable of humanoid emotions? Well, Bubblegum, he certainly seems more capable than you were. Could she blame him? He had known the musician even longer than she had, and as silly as it was, she felt compelled to reassure him. Marcy would. “Don’t worry, Schwabl. We’ll find her. She’ll be alright. I promise.”

Oddly enough, she felt better saying it out loud.

With a deep breath she stood, turning to her gallant champions. The conspiratal whispering stopped immediately. “We have to find Marceline.”

This was unarguable. The only problem was- “Right on, P-bubs. But where would she even go?”

Jake rubbed his chin. “Well… it’s gotta be a place she feels safe, right? I mean, she’s probably not feelin’ too right in the noggin’ right now.”

Bonnibel took a deep breath, brain figuratively rotating the problem every way possible, her normally analytically flawless and swift mind muddied by those flippin’ heartguts feelings. How ironic that her love for Marceline was destroying her ability to find her. Her eyes closed tightly as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “...Alright. Let’s consider the mindscape. It must hold a clue.”

“Oh, I get it! ‘Cause those were the places she called home!”

Her eyes opened and her hand lowered. He’s half right anyway. Without confirming or denying his idea she retreated to the kitchen to retrieve her bag, almost dumping its contents out in her haste to find the smallest of its objects: a pink holo-crystal, her immediate lifeline to her castle. She squeezed it, waited for what felt like a miniature eternity, then-

“Yes, Your Highness?”

She had never been so glad to see her most loyal subject, the one candy citizen she knew she didn’t need to maintain the illusion that everything was perfectly totally 100% absolutely unequivocally unquestionably alright. In fact, everything was the complete opposite, and by Peppermint Butler’s frown it must be obvious. It was a frown that asked ‘is everything alright?’ without wanting to voice it. Because everything wasn’t alright, and he had known that by her use of a holo-crystal. It was, after all, for emergencies only. Bonnibel’s answer came in the form of her Most Royal Voice with a Most Royal Request. “Pep, we’ve temporarily lost track of Marceline. I need you to contact Hunson and see if Marceline has returned to the Nightosphere. If not, check the dungeons.” It came out more in a rush than she had originally meant, but that didn’t matter. It never did with him.

“At once, Your Majesty.”

And then he was gone, his image fading. It was only then that she returned to her champions. “Uh… why’s he checking the dungeons?” Finn’s skepticism would have been almost comical at any other time, but in the here and now they had more pressing concerns. Besides, he was too young for such explanations.

Even if he was biologically older than her now.

As it was, Bubblegum shook her head to clear the distracting images from her mind, many of which were proper, others of which had Rechte snickering knowingly from wherever it was in the young scientist’s subconscious she resided. “Sometimes when she’s bored she likes to mess with prisoners. Regardless, that leaves just one structure. I will search here for any indication as to where she went and coordinate a search of the castle with Pep-But. Finn, head back to your house and see if she went there. Anything is possible, especially with her memory gonked up. She may have forgotten that she doesn’t live there.” She turned to the older brother. “Jake, you can make it to Simon’s fastest. His home wasn’t a structure, but if she’s acting on instinct-” it would certainly explain this calamity “-she may have gone there instead. If she isn’t there…” She took a deep breath, almost not believing she was about to say- “...call Phoebe. She may have gone there.” I don’t know what your relationship is with her, Marcy, but if the Fire Kingdom is where you feel safe I’ll just be happy to know where you are and that you’re alright. Even from paces away both brothers could see how much those words hurt her. But her plan made sense.

“What do we do-” don’t say if, Finn, don’t say if “-when we find her?”

“Call me immediately. If she’s alone don’t approach her until I’m there, when I can assess her mental capacity. If she’s with Phoebe or Simon they should be able to brief you regarding the situation, but call me immediately anyway. This will need to be handled delicately. If she’s willing to cause this much property damage to her own house we have to assume something is very wrong.”

“Uh… she’s not actually dangerous for realzorz, right? Like… she wouldn’t…?”

Jake trailed off expectantly, but Bonnibel only watched silently. Finally she had no choice but to admit- “To be honest, Jake… until I assess her condition I cannot make any wild prediction about what she may or may not do. It cannot be argued that she’s strong and afflicted with minute breaks from reality. However,” she rushed as he shrank back, “she’s still Marceline. But she just saw something that I imagine is immensely psychologically jarring and it’s safe to assume that she’s more of a danger to herself than others.”

Finn gulped and turned back to the kitchen. After all, bringing her in had been his idea. Nice work, Finn. You know what it’s like to experience something like this. What the flip.  “...I shoulda predicted that. That place was a torture room for her. I shoulda-”

“Finn, stop.” It was the firmest voice he had heard from her in days, perhaps weeks, and it snapped him to attention immediately. “We were all responsible her safe reintroduction to Ooo. But I was the most responsible. Damaged or not, given my role in her life it is inarguable that I should have anticipated this as a possibility.” Bonnibel closed her eyes, trying not to remember the panicked look in her lover’s eyes, her trembling, how sick she looked when she saw the door. Because even though the kitchen’s backdoor only led to the porch now what must it look like to her? She only saw the entrance to what must be her greatest nightmare. “Our primary concern has to be making sure she’s safe.”

She was right and he knew it. He might feel guilty, but there was no time to dwell. He was a hero, and he needed to go do something heroic. He could feel guilty on his own time. “Preach, Peebo. Alright, Jake. Let’s do this.”

“You got it, Finn! But def bring me a Jake Snack! Heroes get hungies, man!”

And then they were gone, Finn on Jake’s back as the dog stretched into what may as well be the horizon. Bonnibel didn’t care to check. No, she was left behind in the remains of Marceline’s shattered house, only except for a small dog. Now free from prying eyes she turned back to the wreckage, prepared to do a thorough examination. Alright, Bubblegum. Break this down. In order for her to exit in such a destructive manner she must have been profoundly upset. Does she remember that room now in its entirety, or was it merely a reflex? Something’s wrong here. Something… besides the obvious. Her hand traced the walls, feeling the point where her house met the open air. The scorch marks. This would take a concentrated effort on her part, or at least a buzz of a lot of fire, mixed with a concussive force. But why both, when she can just use a concussive force alone? Wouldn’t that make for an easier escape?

Fire’s her instinct, Bon. Telekinesis takes concentration. Fire just happens.

“Fire just happens…” So she wasn’t thinking. She was too desperate to escape to even consider her powers. That could not possibly bode well, and it made her skin crawl. She knew she would need to move quickly, especially if the half-demon was at the cabin, but chasing her would do no one any good if she didn’t have a plan of action when she found her. She knew her best. It was time to act like it. “Marcy, what happened when you saw the door?,” she mumbled. “Where are-”

“Your Majesty?”

Though she would never admit it the sound of Peppermint Butler’s voice startled her so much she almost jumped. She recovered immediately, snatching the holo-crystal from her pocket. “Pep? Was she there?”

His sad smile screamed sincerity. He may not know what was happening, but her panic must have been obvious. See what you do to me, Marcy? I used to be so good at hiding my emotions.

“Miss Abadeer has not returned to the Nightosphere. Jan checked twice under threat of you going down there to check yourself. No portals have been opened outside of or within the dimension since you departed. I am on my way to examine the dungeons now under pretense of condition inspection. It should distract all castle guards, should Miss Abadeer find her way here after all.”

Later, much later, Princess Bubblegum would be profoundly thankful for her butler’s quick thinking and foresight. As it stood now she could feel panic settling into the back of her mind, because of all the places she could possibly return she was certain the Nightosphere would be the highest priority on her list. After all, hadn’t she asserted that she would go back to her birthright homeland at the first sign of discomfort? Why wouldn’t you go there? “Thanks, Pep. Please, keep the line clear in case she sends a distress signal.” Whether or not Marceline even had a holo-crystal in her possession, or even her cell phone for that matter, wasn’t a question she had time to consider; now it was her own cell phone activating. She cleared the line with her esteemed butler before digging out the device from her bag. “What’s the story, Finn?”

The regret is his voice made her heart sink. “She wasn’t at the house. BMO says he hasn’t seen her since Movie Club.”

When was the last movie night? Of course, she couldn’t remember. Just another thing to add to the list of all the other things, all of the other opportunities to be with her vampire that she had missed over the years. “Alright, thanks Finn.”

“There’s… uh… something else, PB. You should see this.” And then there was the tell-tale *blip*, the signal of an incoming picture. It wasn’t the greatest quality, what with Finn not having the greatest camera on his phone, but it was more than enough to get his point across. When she turned the phone’s screen to face her her hand covered her mouth in horror at the grotesque sight before her, both because it in of itself would traumatize a lesser mind, and because there was no doubt as to what - or, more accurately, who - the cause was.

Desolation. It looked like an explosion had triggered in the middle of the Grasslands. Where there had once been grass there was now nothing but dust and ash, as if the area had never been green and full of life. Charred husks of trees lay broken, branches hanging on through what must be sheer dumb luck. The damage to the Grasslands was uneven, indicating something other than an incendiary device had triggered the devastation; in fact, if she didn’t know better, the princess could almost swear she saw deep marks, gashes even, clawed into the previously luscious ground, though for what purpose she couldn’t say, not without examining them in person. Even through Finn’s camera phone it was easy to see that smoke infested the area, and though she hadn’t been paying attention before Finn’s voice sounded scratchy, like he was trying quite hard not to cough. Smoke inhalation? She must have been there recently for it not to have dissipated yet! Where is she-

“That’s… that’s not all, Peebo.” And then a second picture popped into her view, and it was somehow even worse, because this time it wasn’t just the landscape that was mangled. No, now there was a village that had evidently been caught in the crossfire, a tiny one at that. Tiny mushroom buildings had been severed uncleanly, as if whatever creature was response was in great haste. The fence - or was it once a gate? - was crushed, embedded in the ground. Tiny trees were uprooted with no care, toppled without thought or strategy. Were it any other day Finn and Jake would be hunting for some horrible, destructive beast that at best didn’t know its own strength, at worst did know its own strength and loved it. But today that destructive beast was family. A conflict of interest Finn had never hoped to experience.

“Did the denizens say what happened?”

“They don’t know. Some guy said it just rained fire and then everything blew up, but I asked around and…” he hesitated, swallowed hard, took a deep breath, “...lots of guys say they saw a giant bat.”

Silence. Heavy silence. But the question had to be asked. “Is… everyone alright, Finn?”

“Nothing serious.” Her sigh of relief was audible. He had given his own not too long before calling her. “Mostly just building stuff. I’m still rounding peeps up to get the scoop.”

Bonnibel took a deep breath, hoping against hope it really was just structural damage. “Do whatever you can, Finn. Call Pep, call Doctor Princess, call anyone you have to. We have to contain this.”

“You mean by helping people, right PB?” He sounded almost nervous, and she only realized then that she had shifted back into a mode of clinical detachment without meaning to.

“Of course, Finn. Contact whoever you need to. Though it is not my territory if Marceline is responsible, even if she meant no harm, the rescue and recovery of as many Grassland citizens is my highest priority.” Liar.

“Your wish is my command, m’lady!” And then he was gone, but of course before she even had a moment of peace to continue her investigation Jake’s call took its place. It was bizarre to her how in sync the brothers were, even in situations like this. Especially in situations like this. A side-effect of a lifetime of being a heroic duo, she supposed.

“Bad news, Bubblegum. I just checked with Ice King, he hasn’t seen her. I think Gunther is leading a strike or something, so he’s been dealin’ with that.” Her free hand clenched in frustration hard enough that she was sure she would break a finger. “I called Phoebe, too. She says Marce’s not in the Fire Kingdom, but she wants to know as soon as we find her. She said she can send a sear-”

She cut him off then, because if Phoebe wasn’t harboring her half-demon then the princess did not possess the mental energy to further consider her. There was just too much happening. “Great, thanks Jake. Finn is by Mushroom Village. Get to him as soon as possible, we have a situation.”

“What-”

And now Jake was no longer on her radar. The call was ended, but she kept the phone by her ear. Just in case. Just in case what, she didn’t know. But just in case.

Did Marceline have her phone?

“Your Majesty.” The holo-crystal was active once more, but she didn’t even bother retrieving it. The reluctant tone of his voice was all she needed to hear. “She hasn’t been to the dungeons. The prisoners seemed rather relieved and expressed their appreciation of the fact. There is also no indication she’s entered your lab, through either entryway.”

No, she wouldn’t go there. Alright, Bubblegum. She’s not in the Nightosphere, not with Simon or Phoebe, she didn’t return to the tree house and obviously she’s not here. Bonnibel didn’t bother to listen as Peppermint Butler ended the conversation and excused himself to some task she didn’t care about, she only reflected on the shattered remains of her mate’s house, settling finally on Schwabl. Belatedly Bonnibel realized how relieved she was to see the dog. Who knew if Marceline would ever recover if something happened to him? But he looked concerned, worried even, and she knelt, beckoning him over. He readily accepted the petting, happy to receive such affection. It made Bubblegum smile weakly. You’re just like Marcy, aren’t you? “At least you’re alright…” She rubbed his ear. “She’s run before, but never like this. What if she’s hurt and vulnerable?” Somewhere her happiness was in grievous distress, and she didn’t even know where to begin. “She tells you everything, Schwabl. She told me so herself. So… please tell me. When she’s under emotional duress such as this where does she go?” The dog watched her, and if Bonnibel didn’t know better she could have sworn he rose his eyebrow sarcastically, just like his person. And then he headbutted her gently, but when a pink hand lowered to continue petting him he pulled away, watched her expectantly, looked disappointed, and did it again. Obviously the dog was trying to tell her something, but what? She suddenly and sorely missed Jake.

Want a hint, dork?

It may have only been inside her own mind, but Rechte’s voice still made her jump. She almost scolded the figment of her imagination, until she realized what the imaginary vampire had said. Yes. Please. I need to find her.

You’re looking at it from the wrong angle.

What does that mean, Rechte? Even in her own mind she sounded exasperated.

Schwabl head-butted her again, more insistent this time.

You’re askin’ where Whole Marceline would run to if she wigged out, right? But she wasn’t whole when that room messed her up, was she?

Head-butt.

See? Schwabl knows what’s up.

Head-butt, more insistently, coupled with an expression that could only be read as ‘you’re the smartest woman in Ooo and you can’t see this?’

Rechte, he’s just head-butting me-

And then she understood where Marceline was, where the vampire had to be. How the fig did I miss that? Because there was only one place left to check, and it’s exactly where she would have gone if given the opportunity. After all, it was the one place they would both retreat to when the sun rose and the day's treasure hunting was done. It was the first place the two had ever agreed was home. “Thank you, Schwabl. I understand now.” She kissed his fluffy head and stood, running out of the cave as she dug something most important from her bag. “I know you hate it, Marcy,” she mumbled to no one in particular, “but we have to get you safe before dawn.” And so she brought the whistle to her lips and blew, perhaps harder than was necessary, but, really, that’s just subjective. I’m so glad I trained you to heed a whistle, she thought as The Morrow landed before her, looking none-too-happy at having been woken in the middle of the night. Even as the great falcon squinted her displeasure, ruffling her feathers to accentuate the fact she still knelt, allowing her rider to take her rightful place. “We need to go to the cabin as quickly as you can.” That would be quite a feet for a bird Jake had once described as ‘crazy fast’.

Her wish was granted; were it anyone else they would have certainly fallen to their doom from the sheer speed of the great bird. But not Bonnibel. Never the cool, calm, collected Bonnibel. Who was trying her hardest to control her shaking and get her heartrate back under control. Who was struggling to think of something to say, to predict what it was she would find at her home-before-she-was-a-princess. She hadn’t considered that Marceline would go there at first; sure, the cabin had been a mental structure, but no one had lived there or occupied it in any way. It was, if anything, merely a gateway in cabin form, devoid of any other purpose. A footnote. But if Rechte’s hint was accurate she not only knew that Marceline would be there, she knew why. I should have seen the signs!  Exactly this has happened before!  Glob it, Bubblegum, are you a genius or not?!

Even Rechte was silent on that topic. Or maybe she just couldn’t hear her over the screaming winds whipping past her. The air was bitter and cold from The Morrow’s speed, but it was a good thing, a sensation that reminded her of sharp reality, and by the time the great bird had landed Bonnibel had decided to forego any planned or rehearsed speech. If Marceline were here, healthy and happy, she would tell her to just ‘wing it’, and now more than ever it seemed like good advice. She always was more insightful than I was… Pushing aside such negativity, the young scientist dismounted. The Morrow had landed within viewing distance of the cabin but had wanted to go no further than half-past Butterscotch Lake. She didn’t blame her. Even the air felt tense and wrong, a sensation she could almost hear Jake describe as ‘cursed’. Hold on, Marcy. I’m coming. She reached for her bag instinctively to call her gallant champions, provide them with a status update or instructions or just to tell them where she was, then cursed to herself once more, for in her haste to find her lover she had left it back at the cabin. She was on her own. With a deep breath she took one last look at The Morrow, a silent instruction to stay and wait for her, then pressed on to her ancestral home.

Unlike the pictures of the Grasslands that Finn had provided the air in this area was almost peaceful, save for the crushing tension of the atmosphere. There was no damage, no fire, no ruination. It was almost like nothing was wrong at all. The lake looked undisturbed, the sky was unobstructed, there were no screams or cries from helpless denizens. No sign of anything wrong at all on the surface; it was only when she reached her front porch that she found where it had all concentrated.

The good news was that she had found Marceline Abadeer, and she wasn’t a pile of ash, a possibility Bonnibel was only now registering. The bad news was…. everything else, and Bonnibel’s breath hitched at what she saw. ...I should have seen the signs. They were all there. I just wasn’t paying attention. Her lover sat on the porch, legs pulled against her, forehead rested on her knees. A deep gash ran across her left thigh, which probably had something to do with the bloody claws she possessed instead of hands. It was deep, too, deep enough to stain her pants dark red, deep enough to obscure the true extent of the damage. But it wasn’t healing, it looked fresh, and she thought she could see twitching muscle underneath. Just as fresh as the five marks raked against her abdomen. They danced against her shuddered breathing, sealing and reopening again and again. Surely the vampire, a creature of the night with heightened senses, must have heard her approach, if not The Morrow herself, but Marceline didn’t move, didn’t make a sound except for her labored breathing.  Bonnibel had only seen Marceline like this once before, hundreds of years ago. It was horrible then. It was worse now. And she knew she was running out of time before they Passed the Point of No Return.

“Hey Marcy…” She took one deliberate step closer, just enough to make her presence known. Calm, slow, deliberate movements. The half-demon didn’t respond. Jan said she destroyed half of the Citadel. The method she chose to run out of her house was frenetic. Those marks I saw on her arms and torso. I should have seen the signs. This is just like before… “Marcy? Can you hear me?” No response. “...Marcy, do you know where you are?” This time there was a response, a soft mumble that, to her shame, she did not hear. “Do you know where you are, Marcy?”

“...Go away,” she whispered flatly.

Bonnibel swallowed. Her voice was thick and scratchy, almost unrecognizable. “Why do you want me to go away, Marcy?”

Marceline didn’t lift her head, but she did shake it. “You’re not here.”

Against a frantic heartbeat Bonnibel kept her voice steady and calm. If Marceline ever needed support and guidance in her century of Unlife it was now, and it was a role the candy golem meant to fulfill, whatever it took from her to do so. “What do you mean, Marcy?”

“You’re not…” One of her claws clenched, a trail of blood soon following. “You’re not here. Not anymore. And you’re not coming…” Trailing off didn’t hide the raw emotion in her voice.

“...Do you know where you are, Marcy?” The queen fell silent, but Bonnibel prodded no further. If Marceline ran again who knew if she could be found before dawn? Every instinct in the young scientist screamed to go to her, to stop her very obvious self-destruction before she did any permanent damage to herself. That would be the logical thing to do... but logic had no place here. At least, not until the damage could be properly assessed. “We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to, Marcy, but I’d like to stay here. Is that alright?”

“...I remember,” she whispered.

Bonnibel swallowed hard. She wanted to break down the situation, analyze through a clinical lens. But she knew she needed to not do exactly that. “What do you remember, Marcy?”

Now the vampire did look up. It was then that Bonnibel realized what those strange prick markings on her upper arm she had spotted while Marceline was changing had been. It was so obvious now that her mouth was flecked with her own blood from where she had sank her fangs into her arm in frustration and pain. But that missing chunk of flesh from her shoulder, that exposed muscle with blood reflecting the shine of the moon, wasn’t her greatest concern. No, that was how far away garnet eyes looked, glassy and unfocused, and Bubblegum knew that when she looked to the sky she was seeing neither moon nor stars, only a sky of dust.

“...I waited. Here. For years. ...For you.” Now she was beginning to tremble. “I waited. The others… they told me it was dumb. That you weren’t coming back. I didn’t believe them. I knew you’d come back. You… you always come back to projects you think are worth it. You never abandon anything you think has potential. You told me that once…” The clenched hand suddenly unclenched and, talons bared, raked across her left arm. Bile rose in Bonnibel’s throat because she knew this behavior. This vain attempt of Marceline’s to keep herself grounded, to not become trapped in her own personal nightmare.  “So… I waited. I waited and waited and then… I knew I had to kill them. They were the problem. The reason you weren’t coming back. I had to fix it. Then there was the fight and I was in the room…” Her voice grew flat and pained. “It hurt so much. All I could do was heal around it. I didn’t want to. Couldn’t get out. Just… I thought I saw you in there sometimes. Thought… you came back. There was nothing else to think about. Just… how to kill them and when you’d come back. But…” the claw released, falling away. “...You didn’t. I’d think I’d see you, but you were never there. You’re not here now.”

Now it was Bonnibel’s turn to tremble. This is it. This is the fallout of all of my neglect, all of my poor decisions. I made terrible choices, but you’re the one afflicted with the consequences. “No… no, Marcy. I’m here now. We’re in Ooo, remember? You’re not in the room anymore, Marcy. You’re never going back there ever again.” Another step closer.

The vampire continued, so lost in her world that she didn’t seem to hear, or perhaps only didn’t understand the reassurances and promises offered to her. “...I just wanted to go home. I just wanted you to come back.”

Step. “I came back, remember Marcy? How we took you out of the room and brought you back to Ooo? Finn, Jake, and myself? That’s where you are now, Marcy. You’re in Ooo. You’re free now.”

Her head shook slowly. “You’re not here. You left. You took me out of my mind, stitched me back together with the others… but you didn’t come back.” Her eyes closed, forehead rested on her knees once more. “Why didn’t you come back, BonBon?”

It was the despair in her voice, that nickname, that made Bonnibel finally understand the question she was being asked, the question she never understood because it had she didn’t speak the same symbolic language as the musician and was only now beginning to learn. She… she’s not asking why I didn’t come get her in her mindscape all those years. This goes so much deeper than that.

It was, indeed, a catch-all for so many other unanswered questions, inquiries she had never allowed Marceline to ask of her because Past Bubblegum had seen such things as counter-productive at best, shameful at worst. Why had she missed so many meteor showers, even knowing that they had historically been a time of remembrance for the vampire, a time to reflect and focus on what she had gained instead of what she had lost? Why had she bailed on so many of her concerts, ignored her love songs for so long that the vampire just stopped writing them? Why had Bubblegum shattered her heart in an effort to drive Marceline away and focus more on the kingdom than the woman who helped her create it? Why had she locked Bonnibel the Person in a mental compartment to rot and let Princess Bubblegum the Role dominate her life? Why had she ignored the musician’s cries for help for so long that she just stopped asking? Why had been so adamant that loved and cherished the older once, only to abandon her? But perhaps, more than anything, Marceline was asking one question above all: Why wasn’t she good enough?

Bonnibel broke all protocol, everything that she knew to be logical and good, and increased her stride until she was past the lawn up the porch and pulling the older woman into her arms, letting her bury her face into the shoulder of the jacket that had until only recently been her own. That’s what you were trying to tell me. Your rage about the dagger was only a symptom, and I didn’t see it. I didn’t understand the true cause of your animosity. Our minds work so differently. I saw a weapon. You saw the proof you needed that Bonnibel Bubblegum the person was truly gone, leaving only Princess Bubblegum the role. It was the final straw for a problem I was too proud to see.

“I’m so sorry, Marcy…” A pink hand began stroking onyx hair, and when she felt the sleeve of the shoulder Marceline was buried in grow wet her own eyes teared as well. “I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault. None of this was ever your fault. I should have been there. I should have helped you.” Her hold was light and hesitant, but when Marceline curled against her cautiously Bonnibel pulled her the rest of the way, tightening the embrace, letting her sensitive ear rest against her chest, just over her heart. It’s no wonder you couldn’t forgive me. “I’m so sorry. None of this has ever been your fault. You did everything right. I just didn’t understand. I should have come back.” She rested her cheek on top of her head, only semi-adequately controlling the waver in her voice, but as she was only slowly learning one does not pick and choose which hearguts one feels; it’s all or it’s none, at least for one so inexperienced in understanding them. “All this time you just wanted me to come back. You waited centuries just for that. Just for things to become what they used to be.” When grey talons tightened, reopening a fresh wound a pink hand reached down, gently separating them. “You’re home now, and we’re together again.” She kissed the top of her head, keeping her voice as calm and soft as possible. “You’re safe, and I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe, okay? You’ve spent hundreds of years protecting me, now allow me to return the favor, alright? I know you don’t believe any of this. Maybe you can’t understand any of this right now. But I promise, Marcy. I’m back, and I’m going to help you. As a person, not a role.”

It was disturbing to Bonnibel how similar this time was to the last time Marceline had experienced a severe dissociative panic attack. Back then she had lost control as well, though instead of the left wing of the Citadel it had been almost two-thirds of the budding Candy Kingdom Castle. She had clawed and bitten herself then as well, made every effort she could to fend it off and control the festering emotions, not understanding that this only fed into the attack, that such behavior could never stop it. She had hidden herself away then as well, though rather than choose the cabin she had hidden in a familiar lonely cave, effectively caging herself. Yes, the variables themselves may be different but the sames went right down the middle, and all of the signs that this was brewing beneath the surface had been there, if only she had cared to actually put the puzzle together. Bubblegum rested her cheek on top of Marceline’s head once more, rubbing soothing circles on her back, yearning to tell her three little words she knew the older woman wasn’t ready to hear yet. It was such a weird sensation, letting those squishy heartguts take precedent over those pointy logical parts of her. But there would be plenty of time for those parts, those pieces that helped her earn and keep her crown, later, when she wasn’t holding Marceline’s battered form in her arms, trying to soothe her into a more complacent state. To bring her home, of course. Nothing more. Yes. You’re getting better at this. Well done, Bubblegum .

Bonnibel wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, just holding her lover, soothing her as best she could. It was no longer about presenting her worthiness as a mate, of posturing and displaying her nobility and grace under the circumstances. This transcended any of it, any of those trivialities. The candy golem knew she was the only one who had any understanding of what was happening, that even Marceline herself had a poor grasp of this situation. The last time she had had a panic attack of this magnitude she had ruined the Candy Kingdom castle, then fled just before dawn. It had taken days for her to come back, and years longer to work through the shame of what she had done. Only she had blamed herself, the shame entirely a figment of her mind, but she hadn’t understood that, had been incapable of grasping that the young scientist was just thrilled she was home. She had spiralled a second time then, state-dependent memory triggering a second wave of despair. If this attack followed the same formula-

“...I did it again. Didn’t I.”

It was so soft Bonnibel would have missed it, if not for the unfamiliar scratchiness. But there was no mistaking the meaning, and it would do no one any favors to pretend she didn’t understand what she was being asked. Without meaning to she held the older woman tighter. “There is some damage to the Grasslands, but nothing more. No one was hurt-”

“Tell that to the people whose stuff I wrecked,” she replied quietly. Her eyes were turning glassy once more. “I destroy everything I touch.”

She’s gonna rebound, Bon. Remember what we talked about? With your gumball machine things? She breaks things and what do you do?

A pink hand traced up her back, setting it calmingly over the back of a grey neck, ignoring the royal purple collar. It was so easy for the princess to let her mind slip back into what had happened hundreds of years ago, how she had soothed her mate then, because the variables may be different but everything else happening around her, to her, to Marceline, was just so formulaic, and she was all about formulas. Bonnibel fell back into the muscle memory so easily, and the words flowed just as naturally. “Things can be repaired, Marcy. They’re just objects. You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You reacted understandably, given the situation. Finn, Jake, myself… no one blames you.” She held her tighter, minding the many wounds that may as well be decoration at this point. “It’s not your fault, little bat.” And then she tensed instinctively at that traitorous slip, because-

“You haven’t called me that in years,” the vampire laughed bitterly, scratchy voice accentuating the sentiment.

Bonnibel smiled softly, taking a chance and kissing her temple. She’s right. But maybe... “No? Maybe I should start again.”

Now where had she heard those exact words before?

Marceline fell silent, and the princess flushed slightly when she realized that the vampire hadn’t exactly contested the offer. She had a different concern in mind. “...I did it again,” she whispered once more, the reality of the situation began to merge with her less-than-stable state of mind. Now it was the vampire’s turn to tense, but Bubblegum had no interest in allowing her to spiral, not when the young scientist was finally beginning to pull her out of that miasma of despair. “Calm, Marcy,” she soothed, stroking the back of her neck, waiting until the tell-tale shudder before smirking. But only because the vampire couldn’t see her. Even now, still so sensitive to touch… The gentle tone never wavered. “I’m more concerned about you. You’re not healing, Marcy. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered. The blood soaking through her clothing said otherwise. As did how limp she was against the younger woman, how labored her breathing was, how she was still trembling-

“You’re not fine, Marcy. Please, let me show you.”

“That you’ve changed?” The mutter was only a little acidic.

“That I’m back.” That gave Marceline pause, sincere and bitter-free, and the candy golem considered it an intellectual and moral victory.

The older woman turned, burying her face into her chest. “...You’re a buttnugget. You’re a dillweed, and I’m still mad at you. This… this doesn’t change that.” Though Bonnibel knew Marceline meant it the declaration lacked its traditional bite, the raw passion it seemed perpetually partnered with. There was only one proper response. “I know, Marcy. You have every right to be furious with me, and me being here isn’t meant to change that. I never should have left, but I am back now.” Another dare, she trailed her hand from her neck, cupping her cheek. Marceline didn’t look at her, but she didn’t pull away either. Her confliction was evident in the way she made a point to stare anywhere but at her, but Bonnibel knew that even if Marceline had indicated that she was forgiven the princess wouldn’t accept it; the vampire was just too vulnerable at the moment to make such important decisions. “It’ll be dawn soon. Come home, little bat. I promise.” Promised so much: that she was home; that she understood the real problem; that she was sincerely sorry; that she would never leave again; that she knew she was wrong; that she would never abandon the other woman again; that while the world could only see The Role Marceline would only see The Person.

The pause. The pause as Marceline weighed the hefty promise in her mind, trying to gauge its sincerity through the haze. It ate at the younger woman, who counted the seconds to keep her sanity, waiting for any response. And then, at Sieben, there was the sound cracking bones, a pelt of fur, and a little bat curled against her, wounds still fresh, still unhealed, and once again Bonnibel was covered in her lover’s blood. Not that this was the time nor the place to remark on this. As delicately as she could the candy golem dared she scooped up the tiny mammal, unzipping her jacket. Marceline’s breathing was still labored and haggard, even her small wings shaking from the adrenaline shock, from her grave and existential exhaustion. She’s going to pass out. “Just breathe, Marcy. I know you don’t need to, but it’ll help.”

She was still settling the bat against the warmth of her chest when she heard two very welcomed voices behind her.

“There you are!”

“Man, we were looking all over-”

The jubilation of the brothers ceased when they saw her haggard expression. “You have wonderful timing, boys.” She stood cautiously, turning to face them.

Finn’s eyes widened at the sight before him. Fur could only hide so many wounds, after all. And there were so many wounds. “Is that… Marce?”

Ah. Yes. All the blood and gaping wounds. That would be jarring, I suppose. “Yes. She had a dissociative panic attack.”

Finn’s sympathy knew no bounds. As did Jake’s confusion. “Whaaaaa?”

She sighed, cupping the fuzzy ear not pressed against her chest. Yes, the bat was definitely most unconscious, and though she doubted Marceline would appreciate her deepest secrets continuing to be shared with the world Bonnibel knew the boys could be of use. And that whole ‘friendship’ thing, she supposed. “When she saw the door in her kitchen she lost track of reality. We probably didn’t help by priming her for the better part of the evening.”

“So… what did all that to her? She looks hurts.”

Bonnibel closed her eyes, tracing the bat’s tiny claw. “She did. It’s… this is all very complex. We made her more sensitive to a prone state of mind, and in this vulnerable state she…”

When she trailed off Finn offered an understanding smile. “We should get her somewhere safe. We can totes exchange notes after.”

A wonderful plan. “How did you find us?”

Jake smirked, the smug look returning. “Went back to the house when we stopped hearin’ from you. Schwabl told us.” Her look was disbelieving. “Told ya, man. Dogs know what’s up.” Her look continued to be disbelieving, but he only stared back, unflappable, despite the fact that his story made absolutely no sense.

There were so many questions that sentence elicited, but for once the acquisition of knowledge was not of her highest priority. “...Alright, Jake. I’m taking her back to the castle. I’m better equipped to treat her there, and our bedroom wasn’t too different within her mind.” Now she looked to the heroes, surveying them, weighing the consequences of her next words carefully. “There’s something else. I need you to survey the Grasslands. Marceline’s house as well. We need to know the true extent of the damage.”

He banged his chest twice. “Say no more, m’lady. We got your back. Come on, Jake! It’s almost dawn!”

“Marce’s house first ! The food lives there!”

She almost reminded him that most of the food in the vampire’s kitchen was inedible to mere mortals but decided against it. He’ll figure it out. I hope. Bonnibel watched her gallant champions take their leave before looking down, kissing the top of a fuzzy head, watching a tiny ear twitch reflexively. “This isn’t how I imagined taking you home, Marcy… but it’s safe there.” A tiny garnet eye poked open before sliding shut, the bat falling still, save for the haggard breathing, and only then did Bubblegum zip the rest of the jacket. The sun was peaking over the horizon, the outside world was no longer safe for her mate. As she mounted The Morrow once more - knowing how much Marceline hated riding on the giant bird - Bonnibel stroked the bat’s back through the cloth in ponderance. Marceline had tried to sequester herself in the Nightosphere, with disastrous results. Finn and Jake had suggested they try the cave house, with even more disastrous results.

As the journey back to the Candy Kingdom commenced Bonnibel Bubblegum pondered her next steps, the tiny bat’s breaths almost acting as a metronome to focus them. When you needed Hambo I took care of it. When you wanged the castle apart I took care of it. When we identified your sedatephobia I took care of it. I’ll take care of this for you as well, Marcy. You’ve earned that. There was no more room for error, and the princess was no longer willing to justify any further risks to the older woman’s well-being. Her vampire would be safe now.

She would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

*click* *click* *click*

...What’s that noise?

*click* *click* *click* *click*

Ugh. It’s mega annoying.

*click* *click* click* *click* *click*

Whatever that is… I’m gonna break its face.

Marceline groaned, not realizing how much her head hurt until she lifted it. A bolt of pain shot out, through her forehead and down her jaw. She clenched both eyes instinctively, hand pressing against her temple, as if that would ever work to provide any semblance of relief.

*click* *click* *click*

But soon the pain passed. Suspiciously, even, far too quickly; the shooting agony was replaced with a gentle numbness and she found it within herself to open her eyes. Just a peak. Just enough to be terribly, terribly confused. “...Where the flip am I?”

The clicking stopped.

“Well, that depends on what you mean by ‘where’. It’s all a matter of perspective, really.”

Marceline’s eyes widened as she felt herself freeze, paralyzed from the sound of a familiar voice come from her side. A familiar voice that dripped with narcissistic venom, though she had never heard it sound so infuriatingly serene before.

“If you mean physically, we’re on The Morrow, safely in BonBon’s arms, on our way back to the Candy Kingdom, where I imagine she’ll go overboard helping us recover. Bonnie has a lot of strengths, but she also has a nasty habit of working within the extremes almost exclusively.”

With every caution she never afforded herself - because, really, demon powers usually made caution pointless - the vampire sat up and turned to her side, paling at the sight before her.

“If you mean emotionally, well… we’re kind of a wreck right now, aren’t we?”

It wasn’t just the voice. Marceline knew that tie. She knew that amulet. She knew that suit. Mirrors may be a foreign concept to her, but she knew this woman. She stood with every caution the situation afforded. Which was… quite a bit, actually. No. Way. Uh uh.

“But if you mean psychologically… well, we’re having a nightmare.” The other woman smirked with all of the arrogance and malice Marceline never thought herself capable of possessing. She watched with grotesque fascination as the other woman withdrew her claws - one grey, one a shimmering black - from the keyboard of her computer, rising from her chair. “Although I gotta say… we could do a lot worse, you know?” As the demon - and in her dead heart she knew in her core that she was a demon - before her chuckled at her own joke Marceline took a chance and tore her gaze from her. ...Nightmare? Wha? Though her memory was hazy she definitely remembered her last location being somewhere outside, in Ooo. Her new location certainly seemed to fit the bill for a nightmare, though. After all, it was an almost perfect replica of her father’s office.

A long window behind the desk, allowing an easy view of the Nightosphere’s perpetual chaos. Unlike the actual window, however, this one was pitch black and impossible to see out of, effectively rendering it non-functional. In the corner, to the diagonal left of the half-demon, was a nondescript file drawer, almost as tall as she was. It lacked any form of labelling or even identification, appeared to be made of steel, and no part of her wanted to know what was in there. The walls, she realized, were missing the portrait’s found in her father’s actual office, even lacking empty frames. They were completely bare, making the office look far larger than she knew it actually was. Finally, her sight landed on the desk before her. The one with an intimidating looking demon behind it.

In the Nightosphere, the real Nightosphere, her father’s desk was simple and utilitarian, having just enough room for the tools necessary to aid in his job of sowing confusion and frustration throughout the Nightosphere, befitting a man who took his work seriously and separated it from what pleasures he took in his Deathless semi-life. This desk, in contrast, was much flashier and more detailed, containing a short lip and hood instead of flat surface, scaled edges along the sides turned inward, and what looked like a tiny replica of the wrought iron gate lined along the back, effectively discouraging anyone from reaching over to invade her space. It was the desk of someone quite full of herself, someone of vanity, someone who regarded everyone around her with contempt.

The top of the desk featured numerous trinkets, not that any of them looked particularly interesting. The largest was, without a doubt, the computer, which was a grey sleek thing, small and boxy with a green holo screen sitting above the contraption, before a long keyboard, both of which were turned away from the vampire. Guess that’s where the annoying clicking was coming from. Almost immediately to the demon’s left sat a small, round object that looked to be made of a light brown wood, outlined in gold. In contrast to the pristine organization of the rest of the room- No way, I’m never this organized -both the wood and metal of the small thing appeared chipped, the clock’s wood cracked and the gold heavily tarnished and stained. It was round on the top and seemed to sit on a rectangular base, though it seemed to be carved from the same piece of wood. Next to the small object was a picture frame. A very familiar picture frame. Specifically, the one that sat in her Nightosphere bedroom, kept on her bed-side table at all times. Something about seeing the frame, an object so personal and sentimental, caused Marceline to bristle, effectively breaking her preoccupation with the infuriating woman before her.

“Who the flip are you.”

The demon laughed, a familiar sound now drenched in malice. “Oh, come on. You know who I am. I heard the guys mention me when they told you all about their little adventure into our mindmeats. Gotta admit, I feel so special that they told you about me specifically. It’s touching, really.”

Marceline growled. Enough. “Okay, that’s it. You’re annoying, and I’m decapitating you.”

The demon raised an eyebrow, pinned eyes raking over the musician. How such a non-gesture could feel so violating was a riddle Marceline would never think to solve. “Seriously? You wake up in my office and you threaten my life? Not cool.”

But Marceline wasn’t listening, too busy looking for- “Where the fig is my bass?!”

Now the other woman was smirking, clearly self-satisfied. “Oh, do you mean that bass?”

She hooked a talon over her shoulder, to the instrument chained securely against the wall. The vampire almost ran over to it instinctively, unable to shake the feeling of parting her missing, but something about the sight of the chains, so familiar, stopped her. Tarnished, black, chipped, it didn’t matter; she would know that metal anywhere. “What the fig?!” She turned, glaring at the demon, whose smug expression never wavered. “Give it back, you tranch!”

“No, you’re agitated. I’ll give it back when I feel you deserve it. Honestly, though, I’d be more concerned about that .” And then she pointed squarely at Marceline. Or, more accurately, around the tarnished shackle surrounding her left arm, her stomach turning when she realized it had been engraved: Notfallplan. Contingency plan?

Marceline recoiled pointlessly, resisting every urge to rip it off. She didn’t need to be told why that was a bad idea. What exactly it was made of. With a deep growl she glared at the demon. Uselessly. “Take. It. Off.”

The demon scratched her chin, making a grand show of pretending to think about the demand. “Mm… no. Wouldn’t be a good nightmare then, now would it? It’s made of exactly what you think it’s made of, and for the record… I can set it off at any time. Like a bomb!,” she chirped gleefully. “Just in case you misbehave. Ya gotta have a sense of urgency, ya know? A sense of… despair.” She chuckled at a joke Marceline didn’t understand.” Speaking of which…” And then she was sitting once more, leaving Marceline to float haplessly. There was the unmistakable sound of a thick drawer sliding open, the demon leaning down to retrieve its contents before closing it again.

Said contents appeared to be a large hourglass. It was as long as the woman’s forearm and appeared to be composed of a dark metal akin to pewter. Whereas most hourglasses Marceline had seen were supported by straight pillars this one was not; its pillars were actually warped, giving the impression that they were actually wrapping around the glass, rather than standing alongside it. The metal was thick, too, and it almost looked like small metal thorns were fused into it, though this metal was copper, rather than pewter. While she couldn’t see the base of the hourglass she could catch a glimpse of the top and noted that it featured the same design of the eight arrows pointed in separate directions, a pattern the vampire had seen before but, deep within the haze of a dream, she could not place. Both the top and base were supported by tiny copper feet that looked like tiny claws. Once the drawer was closed the suited woman flipped the hourglass, allowing the white sand to begin dropping to the bottom chamber. Task complete, she finally returned her attention to the floating musician.

“What. The. Nuts.”

The demon sighed. “Regrettably, we only have so much time together, and you took like a million years to wake up. I’m behind schedule now. I hate that. So,” she stood. “Shall we get started?”

Marceline stared, flabberghasted. It was only when the demon left the back of her desk that her eye caught a glimpse of her chair. Or, more accurately, the throne made of the same dark material as her father’s desk, decorated with a metallic crimson bat, wings spread to provide the illusion that it was claiming the furniture. Yes, Marceline knew that chair well. After all, she was the one who imagined it. Another growl emerged from the back of her throat as she watched the other woman approach the filing cabinet, undeterred by her other self’s enmity. “...So I’m having a nightmare. What the duck am I doing in dad’s office?”

The demon sighed audibly once more, tone changing as if she were addressing a small child. “First of all, it’s my office. Mine. See?” She tapped the amulet at the base of her throat, almost amused at the sight of Marceline paling further at the sight of it. Her hand shot up reflexively, only to find that while her scar still made her throat its happy home the perpetually burning sensation was conspicuously absent. “That aside, we’re here because I’m going to give you a choice. Freedom of choice is a very important facet of life, and one we’ve always prioritized. Never let us decide otherwise.”

...Wait. “Woah, hold up. You keep saying ‘we’.” There was a question hidden in there, but the vampire had no idea how to pose it. But relief was not going to come from her counterpart, who only looked on expectantly, clearly amused. “I thought the dweebs put me back together. You can’t be here.”

The demon chuckled. “Oh, I’m just here as a favor. Though you’re correct, the Dork Patrol did kind of smelt us back together. With that said… they told you who I was but not what I am. Probably for the best, but the key point is that I’m the oldest part of our psyche, the most developed, and the most extant from the whole. I’m also the perfect part of us to break the news to you.”

...What you are? Okay, not important right now, Marceline. Focus. What’s important is-

“This filing cabinet.” The demon stopped before it, resting her black claw graciously upon it as if it were an old friend. Such a simple, tan, non-descript looking object, out of place in an office so tastefully decorated. “Do you know what’s in here?”

“...Files?”

Pinned eyes rolled. “Oh look, we’re not a complete idiot. Yes, Marceline. Files. Specifically, files on every person we’ve ever met. We’ve lived a long time, seen and heard and learned so much about… well, everyone I suppose. This is the part of our brain we store that information.” She patted it almost affectionately. “The Dork Patrol saw this as well, and when they did I gave them the option of seeing anyone’s file they wished. But only one, and now I’m going to give you the same choice. Fair’s fair, after all.” A black claw drew across the top of the furniture and the bottom drawer immediately popped open. Only two files were present, and the grey claw carefully retrieved them. Marceline watched carefully as the two manilla envelopes were held, one per claw, blinking in confusion when she saw no names listed, only one word each.

“I hold in my claws a choice for you. You can choose Truth, or you can choose Freedom. It’s a choice we’ve made every day. Do we go to that meeting with daddy about the Nightosphere’s inheritance laws, or do we go kick something’s butt with Finn and Jake? Do we talk to Bonnie about her borderline abusive behavior, or do we fail to upset the status quo? Do we go learn what it means to be who we are and what it means to be a demon, or do we run from responsibility for as long as we possibly can? The difference between truth and freedom has always been a core part of us. And now it’s time for you to decide once more.”

The vampire eyed the demon carefully, glancing from one folder to the other and back again but, nope, both objects were identical, save for their scrawled labels. ...Okay, none of this makes sense. I’m in dad’s office… but it’s mine? This tranch is… ugh, I don’t even wanna think it. I’mma break her face. Alright, dillweed. Let’s see what you’re up to. “Alright, I’ll bite. What happens if I pick one? You’re seriously gonna make me choose a thing when I don’t know what the a thing is?”

Another eyeroll. “Of course not, don’t be dumb. If you choose Truth,” she held it up for emphasis, “this nightmare continues unhindered and you learn some… well, shall we say, rather important things about ourself that you , the conscious you, would otherwise never know. Information that could very well save the life of someone or someones we love. Of course, nothing is free, and it’s gonna hurt. I’m telling you now, you’re not gonna like it,” she sang. Marceline felt her eye twitch at the implied threat. “If you choose Freedom,” now the first envelope was lowered, the second taking itself place aloft, “this nightmare ends right now. You don’t go through the… unpleasantness that’s been designed just for you, you just wake up. I warn you, though, we are currently several kilometers in the air, and on the back of The Morrow, so…” she trailed off tauntingly.

Marceline’s hand clenched, threatening to become a claw itself, fangs almost extending in preparation for a fight. Every instinct in her told her that was a Really Bad Idea. The guys said she tried to gank another part of me… but is she the same part of me that did that? She said this is a nightmare. Does she even exist? Is she something different? Her headache returned the moment a thought came to her, and surely those two were occuring at the same time was entirely coincidental. “You said I’d be saving someone’s life. Whose?”

“Pretty sure it’ll become self-evident once you go through the nightmare,” the demon smirked. Marceline could count the number of people she cared about on two hands, but that didn’t make the existential threat any less significant and she knew it. Both of her knew it, that much was obvious. As she weighed her options, fang piercing her lower lip in anxiousness, the other woman shrugged. “The best way to think about it is that every choice for something is also a choice against something else.”

The implication made the vampire shudder, and by the look in pinned garnet eyes the sight was comical, the reaction intended. “...So you’re telling me that if I choose Freedom… I let people I care about die?” When the demon neither confirmed nor denied the allegation, only providing an innocent smile Marceline snarled, lunging-

“WHAT THE FLIP?!”

Only to feel a searing pain through her left arm, the epicenter of which was the shackle. The demon laughed softly, delighted by the sight before her. “I warned you to behave. Besides, it would be a waste of both of our time to fight. You can’t kill me, Marceline. We couldn’t even kill me. You wouldn’t be you without me.” The searing pain was spreading now, the fires of a thousand Sky Balls of Death running down her fingertips and up her shoulder. “Now pick. Pick and the pain stops.”

There was only one choice. She wanted to argue, wanted to fight, wanted to do something , but suspected, no, knew, it was futile. How she knew she couldn’t say, but she was plagued by a dizzying sense of deja vu and, well, her gut had never steered her wrong before. Deep in her dead heart, she knew there was only one choice, and as much as she hated playing mind games, how another was dictating her fate once more, how much she hated being a pawn or a tool or anything else of the kind, there was only one choice. “Truth, you tran-” And just like that the pain stopped, not even a residual ache remaining. Just as she meant to yell at the demon, scream at her, curse her, anything no matter how small or significant or pointless, she watched as the folder labelled ‘Freedom’ combusted into a concentrated white inferno.

Through it all the demon never broke eye contact.

“Excellent choice.” Marceline stared expectantly. The demon stared expectantly back.

“...So, you gonna hand me the folder?”

She tapped her chin. “Mm… no.”

“You just said-”

“Oh, the folder is just a prop. See?” Five talons raked across the item, shredding it into confetti, as if the vampire’s torture was a cause for celebration. “No, I’m going to show you your Truth. It’ll be funnier that way.” Snickering at a joke Marceline’s didn’t understand the demon turned to the front of her office, striding towards the door. “Come. I’d hate for you to get only half of the story before our time together is up and I have to go back to sitting in our subconscious.”

Marceline meant to argue with that, really she did, but the moment the command was issued she found herself moving forward until she was at the demon’s side, floating in time with her steps. It was humiliating; the lack of control over her own body, the feeling of helplessness as she was scorched by one of her only weaknesses, having her fate dictated by not only a different person but by a person who claimed to be part of her. But the half-demon had a new preoccupation, and such trivialities paled before it. “I wanna know who I’d be saving.”

A smirk. An infuriating, callous smirk. It was odd to see it decorating her own face and vowed to never let it happen in the real Ooo. As a rule, Marceline liked to be intimidating. This wasn’t intimidating. It was cruel. “I never said I’d tell you. You just assumed I would.”

The vampire snarled, ready to shape-shift into… well, she didn’t know what. Just something big with sharp teeth and razor claws and now her shape-shifting was being interrupted by a burning spike through her arm. “Calm down. I forgot how easy to bait we are.” A dark chuckle. “I’m not gonna tell you, but by the time the nightmare is done you’ll figure it out.”

The two women stared at one another, appraising each other silently, each issuing a challenge, a subtle defiance of the other as they walked down a hallway that was all-too familiar to the vampire. Just like the Citadel proper the hallway was obnoxiously long, but unlike the Citadel proper there were no paintings decorating its walls. Instead there were only eight bronze plaques, four to a side, but they were all blank, devoid of design or text. The two made their way making no sound, no longer even acknowledging one another, until they reached the second doorway leading to the outside world. It was Marceline who broke the stalemate. “...I hate you.”

“I get that a lot,” came the tranquil reply. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a schedule to keep.” Not caring whether or not Marceline did indeed mind the demon pushed open the heavy door, revealing a world exactly like and as the queen had left it. Ooo, filled with lush green life, small mushroom and cube and puff people playing happily, Sky Ball of Death bright and-

Wait.

Instinctively Marceline recoiled, hissing at the Sky Ball of Death futilely. That gave the demon pause and she stopped, turning to her other self, eyebrow raised. The patronizing tone had returned, as if her voice considered it a second home. “It won’t hurt you. Not here at least. In the real world we’re on our own.”

Marceline found her less than trustworthy. What with the shackle of silver and taking her bass and such. “...Right.”

The demon sighed, shaking her head pitifully. “What would be the point of me bringing you outside only for you to burn to True Death? As I said before, I have things to show you, and I can’t do that if you hide in the shadows. I know it’s difficult, but do try to be logical for once in our Unlife.”

That made sense. Too much sense. Marceline narrowed her eyes at her. “Uh uh. You’re messing with me.”

Now both eyebrows rose. “Me? I don’t mess with people. That’s my least favorite thing to do.” No one and nothing in that or any world had ever sounded as insincere as the demon did in that exact moment.

The musician looked to the sky, staring at that which was her mortal enemy. Or immortal enemy, as the case were. With every caution afforded her she stuck her hand out of the shadow of the doorway, letting the light hit it. The moment she felt its rays on her skin she withdrew, but to her surprise she was unburnt. ...Woah. Okay, that’s new. Returning her eyes to the Sky Ball of Death she took a step forward, ready to retreat… only to find that, like her hand, she herself was also un-True Dead. It was surreal, floating in the Sky Ball of Death’s rays without bursting into ash. Sure, it was obviously a dream, but it was something she had never thought she would ever experience again. Not since her brief stint as a mere mortal, and not since her Turning a thousand years prior. Yeah, it’s fake… but it’s…. Nice? Not really nightmare-y. But there was a pang there, in wherever her heart was, not because the Sky Ball of Death and her ability to genuinely enjoy it was fake, but because- No. Stop it.

“It was such a simple joy, and we never told her.” Marceline snapped her head from the sky to the demon, almost forgetting she was there. “Eating mortal food was a treat, but the real gift was being able to be in the sun with her, to just enjoy a beautiful day and one another’s company. No fear of staying up too late and burning to True Death, no guilt from encouraging her to stay up too late and thus negatively affecting her royal duties. Her company, unhindered, was what we enjoyed most. We never told her that. Do we ever plan to?” The question sounded almost sincere. Almost. Now the vampire turned away, flushing from the know-it-all tone in what was effectively her own voice that was so whimsical it was obviously taunting. “No?” There was a pause, but Marceline shook her head, not looking at her other self. “Hm…” The demon tapped her chin thoughtfully… then chortled. “Ah. I forgot. We’re still mad at her, aren’t we?”

Marceline glared at her. “Dude, don’t tell me you dragged me all the way out here for some ‘forgive Bonnie’ bunk.”

The suited woman snickered. “Believe it or not, not everything is about BonBon.” The queen stared at her, picking apart the layers of sarcasm and oh boy, there were a lot of them. “We have bigger concerns than our mate and how we’re not forgiving her yet.” With no further elucidation the demon returned to her path, silently commanding Marceline to follow.

If floating in the Sky Ball of Death’s rays was surreal travelling through Ooo, unhindered by the need for special clothing, was doubly so. As the two travelled through the Grasslands in relative quiet a village of bipedal reptilian children with rainbow scales and sharp claws and teeth played catch with a small, puffy thing that Marceline belatedly realized was sapient and not enjoying the game in the slightest. Hey, that looks like fun. She wasn’t able to watch for long, though, pulled along by some unseen force. “Dude, where are we going?”

“Would you remember it if I told you?” She grinned, all needle-sharp fangs and malice, as if she had said something very funny, a joke Marceline was too slow to get.

“Look, dude, if you’re me you know we’ve lived in Ooo for like a billion years. Of course I’d remember it-” And then she stopped, eyes widening as she understood what indeed was so funny. “...I remember,” she whispered. She whipped her head around, scanning to the horizon. “...I remember, and it doesn’t hurt. All of this. I remember...”

“Enjoy it for now, because we won’t be able to stay like this when we wake up, I’m afraid.”

The vampire gaped, eyes settling on the demon once more. “...Why doesn’t it hurt?”

She shrugged. “Dream logic, guy. A lot of us is messed up from the amulet, but there are still pieces of us that remember Ooo the way it really is.”

Marceline chewed her lip, pondering that claim. As much as she hated the other woman it was hard to call her a liar. Well, about this at least. She’s… not wrong. When the guys brought me back to Ooo not everything hurt to look at. It was kinda wonky… but didn’t hurt. The surrealism was becoming a haze and her head shook to clear her mind. Somehow, she doubted the demon was taking her on a leisurely stroll. If her friends were to be believed this was the same woman - or, at least, a shade of her - who tried to gank the only part of her that could restore her as one whole being. Focus, Marceline. She’s up to something. Marceline turned back to her counterpart, only to find herself being watched very intently. Guess the best way to be defense is to be offensive. “This doesn’t seem very nightmare-like,” she stated bluntly.

Sadly, the demon didn’t rise to the challenge, merely shrugging her indifference. “Not this part, no. Ooo may have its conflicts, but they tend to be few and far between. True threats don’t present themselves often.” There was a malicious twinkle in her eye. “Like the Lich.”

Marceline snorted. “Dude, Finn’s taken care of the Lich. Now he’s Sweet Pea. Like… the least threatening thing ever. I know donut bushes that are scarier.”

The demon’s grin reminded Marceline of a shark she once met. “Not what BonBon’s Cosmic Owl dream said.”

The vampire seethed. She was so sick of that feathered idiot. “Just ‘cause the Cosmic Weenie said the Lich is comin’ back doesn’t mean he is. The bird likes to be all symbolic and junk. It could literally mean anything.” Literally? Figuratively? ...Both? Is there a word for that when it’s both? Ugh, where’s Bonnie when- no. Wait. I don’t need her. Nice try, brain.

The demon nodded, undeterred. “True, the Cosmic Owl presents visions that are often symbolic, but even we aren’t foolish enough to ignore one of his dreams entirely. Even if we are too proud to admit that we liked some of its more, shall we say… enticing aspects?”

Marceline stopped, shooting her a glare. “So this is about Bonnie!”

The suited woman laughed softly but didn’t break her stride, and soon Marceline found herself pulled along by some invisible and intangible leash. “Dude, you’ve gotta learn to stop letting us get baited. That’s twice now. It’s gonna get us killed one day. Besides, you’re missing the point. You can’t ignore the vision he gave her just because you dislike it and find it unfavorable.”

The vampire fell silent, pondering the weight of those words, conflicted beyond what could ever be healthy. It wasn’t the first time such advice had been offered to her in her long life, and she suddenly and deeply missed Simon and his wisdom. As she mulled the very idea of listening to the heart of Bonnibel’s dream-message she watched the Ooo presented to her, reaching down to run her calloused fingers over the soft, lush grass, just enjoying the texture and feel of something that was alive and definitely not whatever it was her time in the mindscape was remembering. In fact, she realized, in whatever quasi-nightmare she found herself in now the mindscape’s horror-Ooo was becoming a faint memory. After centuries of Unlife she knew when something was too good to be true when she saw it. “Look, just get it over with. Show me what you wanna freak me out with.”

That, finally, caused the demon to stop. She turned to her, fully now, and appraised the vampire, raking over her once more with pinned garnet eyes as if searching for something. Evidently, she either found it and liked it or didn’t find it and didn’t care, instead reaching up with her grey claw, talons bared. Her tranquil tone never wavered. “This is Ooo, in the present. The sun shines, denizens continue to be rescued by Finn and Jake, candy citizens continue to be both protected and experimented on by a most gracious and beautiful monarch, Simon is still what passes for Simon, and Phoebe kisses newborns or whatever it is she does as a princess.” At once the claw began to claw and, were she not floating, Marceline would have jumped at the sudden scenery change. It warped and jutted like the fractals that decorated her bedroom windows, causing the landscape to reflect upon itself, replacing the bright blue sky with the lush green grass, inverting citizens and their positions, warping even the sun’s rays.

And then the claw became a fist, the fractals shattered like glass, and the illusion fell away.

Wasteland. That was the only word Marceline had to describe what she was seeing. Where there was once lush green grass there was now only dry, grey dirt that looked almost like clay; no sooner had she cupped it that it turned to dust and blew away on a harsh wind she could not feel. The great trees that were the forest she loved were nothing but husks, with not even insects making use of them as homes. Where there were once playful citizens going about their days there were now only corpses, skeletons in various stages of decomposition. She even thought she saw a green mint wrapper and felt her stomach twist at the thought of one of Bonnie’s- ...BONNIE! Immediately the panic set in and, eyes wide and slitted, Marceline made every attempt to go find her lover, to make sure whatever all this chaos was hadn’t hurt her, because she may be furious with the younger woman but her squishy heartgut emotions and love for her possibly-literal other half overruled the rage, only to find herself paralyzed. All she could do was helplessly gaze upon the collapsed ruins that were once beautiful homes and buildings, smell the stench of rust and blood and smoke and rot, watch the fire consume what looked like an entire village, hear the screams of the trapped and mutilated as they begged for help. It was nightmarish.

At once the screaming ceased, dying in choking sobs. And then, above all, was the silence. It started then, as it always did, in her hands, which began to tremble, her eyes blurring. Just as she began to feel her vision fade into the beginning of a panic attack an unfamiliar burning ate into her left arm and she was finally free to move, to look down at the shackle that was hurting her, yes, but that had also broken the episode before it began.

“There. I’m afraid we still have too much to do. That bracer will remain active. Use the pain to ground yourself in reality. Well, not reality reality. Nightmare reality.” Through it all the demon never stopped looking oh-so-pleased with herself.

...She’s enjoying this! Dude, that’s sick even by my standards. The question hung heavy, but as much as Marceline didn’t want to give the suited woman the satisfaction of asking it she had to know. “...What did this?”

“You do.”

Amazing how much destruction one can inflict with just two little words. Marceline stared at the demon, disbelieving, convinced she had misheard, or at least misunderstood, especially as it was framed in the present or possibly future, not the past. As she processed the assertion she stared, dumbstruck, because while she knew she would never inflict such raw destruction she also knew she was certainly capable. Her claim wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, even if it was outlandish. She hoped. But it was still a possibility, and one not easy to dismiss outright. After all, she always had it in her to be a monst-

“This is Ooo in the near future. Well, ‘near’ being a relative term. Time is sort of weird for us, huh? The point is that in the near future you end the world.”

And now a different kind of silence hung in the air, because the woman before her, the woman who both looked like and was her, had just told her that she could - had - would - end the world. Perhaps anyone else upon hearing such a claim would have laughed at the absurdity of the notion, shrugged off something that sounded so impossible; after all, the End of the World is Kind of a Big Deal, certainly beyond the capability of any one mere individual. But Marceline Abadeer wasn’t ‘anyone else’, she was an unnatural being in so many ways, but the way than ran through her mind immediately was of her birthright, of who her father was, of what the Cosmic Owl had predicted when she was-

“No. Uh uh. Not possible.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “What isn’t possible?”

“There’s no way I end the world. That prophecy is wrong! Wrong then, wrong now, you buttnugget! The humans already ended the world! I do a lot of messed up junk, but this?  What the butts?!”

The other woman sighed, once again adopting the same tone one would for a small, simple child. “Manners. We’re having a civil conversation. Your language is uncalled for.” She didn’t bother to wait until Marceline calmed down. “Besides, there are four problems with your argument. One,” she held up a black talon, “you may not believe in prophecy, but prophecy believes in you. Two,” a second talon, “the prophecy never said that we would end the human world, it merely implied it. Three.” This time when she held up a talon she unclenched her fist, restoring the illusion of a happy and very alive Ooo. “I see a perfectly good world for us to end right here. And four,” when she held up the fourth talon the grey fist closed once more, bringing the ruination with it, “whether you like it or not prophecy has a way of becoming fulfilled. It has a purpose, as do we.”

The demon fixed Marceline with a hard stare, lowering the black claw. Though the calm demeanor never shifted her voice became flatter, devoid of emotion. “Like it or not, the Cosmic Owl prophesied that daddy’s child would end the world, but we were still a child when the bombs fell. The logical assumption would be that the humans fulfilled the prophecy for us. But his prophecy wasn’t meant for the humans. It was meant for a world they couldn’t possibly imagine because they would never live long enough to see it. And you?” She gestured to the ruination surrounding the pair. “This is a gift you cannot understand. Not yet.”

If Marceline had a living heart it would have stopped. A GIFT?! She had watched the other woman, listened both blankly and intently as she explained her four very good reasons for the world she was seeing now, the chaos and disorder surrounding her. In spite of herself she tried to imagine how Bonnibel would respond to such logic, what she would say to prove it wrong. Were this a different situation the vampire would scold herself for running back, even mentally and in a nightmare noless, to the woman she was still Super Mad At… but she had always called the young scientist a brainlord for a reason, and she was really really good at this kind of stuff. What would she do? An idea. “Why would I end the world?” She spoke through gritted teeth, sickened by the very idea of the question.

Bafflingly, that seemed to amuse the demon. “Well now, that’s a matter of perspective. It’s actually due to a long and unfortunate chain of events that’s already in motion.”

Though the silver burned even more and prevented her from shifting into a more combative form she snarled, eyes still slitted. If it killed her she was going to rip this demon’s throat out. “So I cause all this-”

The black claw was held up. “I’ll stop you right there, at the word ‘cause’. This is a very important concept, so pay attention.” Once she was sure the other woman was going to control herself the demon lowered her claw. “One of the things we’ve always done very well is recognize patterns.. We’ve lived for so long that we’re quite adept at recognizing when something is going to happen over and over again. However, understandably, it becomes difficult to see when we are entrenched in it ourselves. So allow me to ask you this: what caused the end of the humans?”

Marceline waited for the jest that never came. “...The bombs. They fell and wiped everyone out except for like… twenty humans.”

She laughed softly. “So… the bombs caused the human-apocalypse.”

“Yeah, you’re laughing like that’s funny.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It must sound like that because I am. The bombs didn’t cause the apocalypse, the humans who launched them did. When the vampires were annihilated it wasn’t the stake that killed them, it was us. That time the Lich got his butt kicked? It wasn’t Finn’s sword that kicked his butt, it was Finn. Are you noticing a pattern?”

She did, and did not at all like the implication. “...Are you calling me a weapon?,” she hissed.

“We’ve been called one our entire life, yes. So, I am. BonBon is a genius, but even she can be wrong on occasion. She has asserted we are not a monster, but that’s just wishful thinking, sad to say. We cause the end of the world by being the weapon…” She trailed off encouragingly.

“...But we don’t set ourselves off.” It was eerie, really, how she had heard this exact warning before. She wondered then if Phoebe had been predicting this situation, or had just been giving her an oddly apropos warning in general.

But… fire doesn’t always know when it’s being directed for detrimental purposes. It just goes where it’s told until it’s unleashed, then it’s on its own. Usually to die, or to hurt everything around it. It doesn’t mean to… but that’s the very nature of fire. So I guess what I’m asking is… who’s directing your fire?

“Oh good. For a moment there I was afraid I would have to break out the crayons for you.”

Marceline bared her fangs but it was an empty gesture, one of frustration coupled with an existential crisis. She struggled to find something to say, some inarguable rebuttal. Something else came to mind instead. Because if this creature before her seemed tasked with providing profound truths there was one thing she needed to know. “...Finn said that when they were in our mind you gave Jake a message to give someone. Was that it?” A cautious, loaded question.

The demon snickered. “It’s not what you think.”

Marceline waited a beat for the other woman to elaborate. “...Ya wanna tell me the deets there?”

The suited demon seemed to ponder this deeply, as if it were a great debate worthy of all of her focus and attention. Finally she smirked. “Are you saying… you don’t remember?”

The vampire lunged instinctively with a roar, only to have it fizzle into a hiss when the burning in her left arm became searing pain, matching her rage’s intensity. She panted her frustration, eyes dilating once the burning subsided into a dull singe. “You flippin’ know I don’t remember squat.”

The demon laughed, “Oh, I know. I just thought it’d be funny. And it was.” The humor returned to her voice, which remained calm and controlled, never wavering. “While you’ll remember in time regardless I’ll remind you now if you deliver a second message for me.”

“Why the fig-”

“Nothing is free, Marceline, not even free will.” She lifted her claw and fist in mock defense. “Just tell Jake he’s a good boy, and that I believe in reciprocation.”

...Too simple. Way too easy. Definitely a trap. Obviously a mondo bad idea. Don’t do it, Marceline. “...Fine. Deal.” ...Seriously? Really?

The demon sighed in mock respite. “Oh, that’s a relief. Now I can sleep easy at night. Or day. Or whatevs.” When Marceline continued to stare expectantly she smirked and shook her head. “The message was a warning, meant for Phoebe.”

That was unexpected, and Marceline blinked automatically from the sheer force of her confusion. “Pheebs?”

A curt nod. “Yes. It was a warning that a very specific day is coming. On this very specific day we will betray Bonnie. And on this very specific day that we betray Bonnie it will be Phoebe’s decision as to whose heart weighs heavier and her decision alone as to whose cause is more just. Her decision will have profound ramifications, but it is still her’s alone.”

There were so many things wrong with that message that Marceline scarcely knew where to begin. She did so by grasping at straws. “Uh uh. No way. Never gonna happen.”

The demon shrugged. “Sorry, but-”

“First of all, we’d never betray Bonnie. That’s kind of her deal. Betraying us.”

The woman levelled a stare at her. “Manners. I was speaking. If you interrupt me again I will do something you will not like.” Something deep within the vampire seemed to warn her that such a threat held serious merit, and she fell silent. “Good. As I was saying, we do, and you’ll just have to accept that.” She smirked. “I mean… I do, which obvs means that at least some part of us does.”

Marceline shook her head, feeling herself bristle, tense against her self-restraint. But something else nagged at her, and before she tore this woman in half she was going to sate it. “Wait, you said there’s a specific day it happens, right?”

“Correct.”

“Yeah, I’m not buyin’ it. There’s no way you can know that. I’m not a fortune-teller.”

The demon tilted her head. “Yeah, but… aren’t we?” The question was entirely rhetorical, and Marceline didn’t dignify it as anything but. “Fortune telling… predicting the future… we do that all the time. Like I said before, one of our strengths is pattern recognition, and while it’s more difficult to see the pattern when you’re entrenched within it it’s still entirely possible. Since, you know… we’re doing it, even if you don’t realize it.”

“We’ve never-”

“Betrayed her before? That’s a lie and we all know it.” She sneered as Marceline flushed deeply.

Now Marceline hands were claws, the searing pain forgotten. “That was like a million years ago! She forgave us!”

“And yet here we stand with her betrayal on our shoulders, unable or, more accurately, simply unwilling to forgive her. Hypocritical, really. When you think about it though, it comes down to this: when roles are reversed, when duties are switched, opinions and motives often go with them. Remember that.”

Now Marceline did lunge, claws bared. Whether or not this woman was indeed a part of her was inconsequential; the lecturing was grating, the insinuations wearing on her bit by bit, and as furious as she was with Bonnibel the musician knew, knew that even at her worst she would never betray the woman she loved, the one person she promised to never hurt, the one person to see her, sincerely so, as more than a monster.

Her attack was cut short when the demon’s free claw shot out, impaling Marceline through the chest, gripping her heart. It stunned the half-demon, froze her, and she stared at her opponent. For a brief, fleeting moment fear gripped her but then it, too, ebbed away, leaving only righteous fury. The demon, on the other hand, remained as stoic as she always had. Even Marceline’s maroon blood had missed her immaculate suit. Evidently, she was practiced in ripping out hearts. “And here we stand, our heart in my hands.” Her head cocked to one side. “The part of us that is myself has no heart to speak of. I did, once, but I cut it out because it bothered me. You’re angry now not because of what I said but because of what you heard.” And then the claw released her, withdrawing in one swift motion. Marceline instinctively looked down but found no damage, none at all, not even ripped clothing. When she looked back up she found the demon watching her in a way that could only be described as predatory. “Accept it or not, but we do betray her. If it’s any consolation, we have an objectively good reason for doing so.”

She was being baited, led into a trap, and this time Marceline saw it before it caught her. Truth or freedom, huh? Her fingers twitched, every urge demanding to know what could possibly, even in a hypothetical situation, possess her to betray the woman she loved no matter how furious she was with her. She needed to know, both from a practical standpoint and an emotional one, but voicing the question would open a brand new can of worms. If Bon were here she’d say to finish one thing before starting something else. And so, picking ‘freedom’, Marceline turned away from the tempting question in favor of the path she was already on. “...Okay, yeah. It happened once.”

“What did?,” the demon asked sweetly.

Marceline’s claw twitched. “...We betrayed her. Once. That doesn’t mean we’ll do it again, and there’s no flippin’ way you can know otherwise. Like I said, I’m not a fortune-teller.”

“And, as I said, we are. In a way. We recognize patterns, and from the moment Bonnibel told the rest of the Dork Patrol about her Cosmic Owl dream I knew that there could ultimately be only one conclusion, unless it was redirected. So I sent a message to the one person who could redirect it. What Phoebe does with that gift is up to her. Freedom of choice is super important.”

“...You haven’t actually said what the conclusion is.”

The demon shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?!”

The demon snickered. “Either? As I’ve said, I’m part of you, which means part of us already knows what’s about to happen. I’m not giving you any new info, I’m just bringing what you already know to the surface. I had expected us to remember on our own by now, but I admit that I hadn’t anticipated our reintroduction to Ooo to be so mentally and emotionally crippling. We’re running out of time to reacclimate safely, so I’m just giving us a little push.”

Marceline was shaking with repressed anger now, eager for something to destroy to channel it, but there was nothing left in their shattered world to break. “Can you stop being cryptic for, like, three seconds?!”

She nodded softly. “Yes, but I won’t.”

The vampire meant to lunge again, but something deep within her held her back, whispered from the back of her mind that not only was it pointless it was outright detrimental, that somewhere a mental hourglass was counting down the moments until the dream ended and she still had so much to know. For now the musician would swallow her pride. It would be ugly when she coughed it up again. Besides, one Very Important Question still needed to be asked.

“Why Phoebe?”

The demon’s look of amusement was insulting. “What do you mean?”

“Why not Finn or Jake? Wouldn’t that make more sense? They’re used to this kind of buzz.” Ugh, you’re not even gonna answer that are-

“Ah, I see. Because Finn and Jake have their own parts to play.” Now her predatory stare moved, surveying the wasteland surrounding them. Even if it was an illusion it was eerie. “If we let either of them make the choice they’ll abstain, and then there will a fate even worse than this. They don’t want to get in the way. Phoebe, however, has the gift of clarity, something that escapes even us. Well, not me. But the rest of us. Ripping my heart out gave me lots of clarity, and I needed someone else equally unburdened.”

It hit her then. Hard. “...Truth or freedom. You’re making her pick.”

“Oh, we can be taught! Well done, and I mean that sincerely.”

“You don’t sound very sincere.”

A shrug. “No? I suppose not. Side effect of what I am.”

Marceline shook her head, not bothering to his her disgust. “I don’t even wanna know what you are.”

“No?”

“Uh uh. You said you’re part of me, right? So it doesn’t matter. You’ll just go back with the rest of me when the nightmare ends.”

That gave the demon pause, and this time when she raked her gaze over her other self it felt less invasive, and more curious. “Interesting. I suppose our time with a shattered mind made us grow up a bit after all.”

“I think you’re a wad, though.”

“I get that a lot,” she repeated. The demon turned. As she resumed their journey to wherever it was they were going she unclenched her hand, destroying the wasteland and returning Ooo to its rightful state. This time Marceline did not feel the invisible leash pulling her forward. Instead she did so willingly, traversing the landscape with her other self in silence that was almost comfortable. Regrettably, ‘silence’ and ‘comfortable’ never lasted together long for Marceline, and though she had to admit that the slight burning from the silver shackle was helping to stave off the panic attack it couldn’t hold out on its own forever.

“So… where are we going?”

The demon watched her from the corner of her eye. “There’s one last thing I want you to see before our time together comes to an end and I’m required to rejoin the rest of us. Happily, we’re back on schedule. I would hate for you to not learn this last lesson.” There were so many sarcastic things Marceline had at the ready as replies, but she let them all die on her tongue because the suited demon sounded bizarrely sincere. It didn’t inspire trust, but it did give the half-demon enough pause to follow her willingly, quietly watching the scenery change. Just as she was about to prod the other woman once more she stopped, Marceline stopping with her. “You now know that the prophecy that we will end the world hasn’t changed. You know that, at its core, every decision for one thing is a decision against something else and that, ultimately, it comes down to a matter of truth versus freedom. You know that, whether we like it or not, we will betray Bonnie, though we will have a very good reason to, and it will be up to Phoebe to sort that out. But there is one thing left for you to understand.”

Now it was her black claw that clenched and the very air around them shattered once more. Marceline tensed, ready for the return of the desolate landscape, the self-proclaimed evidence of her bringing forth the apocalypse. But this new world wasn’t desolate. In fact, it was horribly familiar, in every sense of the word.

“Woah. We’re back in dad’s office?”

Indeed, the pair had returned exactly where they had left off. Marceline scanned the room, scrutinizing every detail, every single aspect, searching for anything that had changed since they had departed. Just as she was about to call the demon out, demand she explain herself and what the flip just happened, the suited woman strolled back to her filing cabinet, drawing a claw across it once more. It was only when two familiar looking folders were back in her claws that she seemed to remember her whole self’s presence. “ My office. I thought I was quite clear on that.”

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that, but-”

“It’s my office. Well, our office. Not now, but in the future. Some fates are simply unavoidable.” Her tone left no room for argument, nor even a discussion. It Simply Was, and it was also simply infuriating. Marceline knew she didn’t need to voice her objection; if this thing was truly part of her it must know she would never, under any circumstance, take over the Nightosphere. But knowing didn’t stop her temper. It never did.

“Look tranch. I don’t know how to be clearer about this, but there’s no way I’m ever taking daddy’s amulet, especially after what the plop just happened!”

The demon raised an eyebrow, thoroughly amused by what was essentially her own temper tantrum. “I thought we all mutually agreed that the best place for our kind is the Nightosphere. You know, what with the wanton violence and all. I couldn’t get a good look at our house or the Grasslands through the haze of our psychological breakdown, but I do think it’s safe to say we don’t have a house anymore, and it’s possible Ooo doesn’t have a Grasslands anymore either.” The black claw shook and the room surrounding the two women stabilized. No, not a room, just a tastefully decorated cage. “We are not a monster because of what we can do we are a monster because we cannot control it. We are, for all intents and purposes, a weapon, fully capable of healing any injury, taking any form, and possessing enough fire power to level the world. Which, I may emphasize, happens no matter what we do.”

Marceline tensed, prepared to strike. This time the searing pain in her arm did nothing to dull her temper. “So I belong in the Nightosphere because of what I am, but it won’t protect Ooo anyway?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

The demon shook her head almost sadly. “It will not protect Ooo from the apocalypse. But… have you considered that we may have killed someone during our latest psychotic breakdown?”

Marceline froze. In all honesty, she hadn’t even considered that possibility, hadn’t had time to even think of it . She barely recalled the panic attack at all, actually, just a haze of agony and despair. She knew Bonnibel had mentioned something about the Grasslands- or… did I even ask? -but any answer she was given, if she even was given an answer, left her fuzzy on the deets. “...Did we?”

The other woman shrugged her indifference. “Who knows? It’s possible. Like I said before, I’m you . I can’t give you new info, I can just remind you of what you forgot. Or repressed. But you can’t remember, can you?” Her laugh was dark and it was a wonder she didn’t choke on its enmity. “The Dork Patrol knows the worst of you now. Soon will everybody else. We’ve done an admirable job of hiding for this long, but it’s inevitable for the truth to come out. And what then? The denizens of Ooo hunted us down just for thinking we ate their cows. Had we been a vampire at the time they would have killed us. What do you think will happen after word spreads that a giant bat reigned death from the sky over the Grasslands?”

Both women stared at one another, both a monarch in their own rights, but that seemed to be where the similarities ended. Marceline turned that argument over in her mind, trying to tear it apart. It was such an odd sensation, really, because it was the same thing she had been telling herself ever since she first felt the burning scar at the base of her throat. It was then that Marceline Abadeer realized two things simultaneously. One, the demon was right, or rather, she had been right all along. But, more importantly, she realized that, deep down where Denial and Shame live within her soul she had wanted to be proven wrong.

Her confliction, her slow acceptance, was obvious to the demon, whose voice dropped into a flat affect once more. “They’ll come after us once more, that much is certain. BonBon is undoubtedly already looking for a way to contain this catastrophe, and in doing so she’ll make a target of herself. Many of Ooo’s citizens may be idjits, but not all. Finn and Jake are friends, true, but they’re also righteous hero-types. This is a bit of a conflict of interest. I wonder which way they’ll lean?” Marceline winced at the memory of Jake fully being willing to turn her over to The Proper Authorities when he even suspected her of bovine-homicide. “Phoebe is a close friend, but she’s also a princess that has a duty to her kingdom. A kingdom that, historically, has had a tumultuous relationship with the Candy Kingdom. How far can her friendship extend when politics come into play?” No longer looking at the demon Marceline only stared at the black void that should be her father’s window. “So no, us returning to the Nightosphere will not prevent Ooo’s apocalypse, but it will prevent… well, everything else. And so we ultimately have a choice to make. Do we protect that which we care about and return to where we belong, or do we continue to play pretend and remain on the surface, placing them at risk?”

Marceline growled, but it was one of futility and frustration. Frustration with what she wasn’t quite sure, but frustration nonetheless, because as much as she hated it and as much as she hated this woman she sounded so right . Nothing she was being told was new information. Not really. They were all thoughts and ideas and rationalizations she had already experienced; it was just so new hearing them voiced aloud, and in her own voice noless. I’ve had a panic attack before… but back then it was just Bon’s castle. No one got hurt. “Yeah, but… I don’t know if I actually ganked anyone.”

The demon nodded thoughtfully. “True, but for the sake of argument let’s say we didn’t kill anyone, we just wrecked their stuff. Do you really think this is the last time we’ll do this? We love our dark streak. The fact is, however, that we cannot maintain our balancing act forever. Not anymore, and so we must make the decision. Truth and know what will really become of Ooo if we stay, or take the freedom afforded by our birthright and return to the Nightosphere, where we no longer need to pretend to be anything other than what we are.”

The vampire squinted at the glass window in concentration, rotating the argument in her mind. “But if the world is gonna end either way does it actually matter which option I pick?”

“Every decision in life matters because every decision has a consequence you cannot comprehend. It’s easy for us to forget that time matters, because we are immortal. Timeless. But while time matters so little to us it rules those we care about, spurring them into action or stopping their advance. We are liberated from the rules that govern the laws of mortals and nature.”

“Yeah, but… so’s Bon.” She meant it as a quiet mutter, but apparently the demon heard it all the same, because the response was a chuckle.

“Bonnie holds such contempt for natural law that she enjoys subverting it. She bends the laws of physics to their breaking point, wields intelligence like a weapon, and is, in her own right, scary beyond measure. She quite enjoys her status as the smartest woman alive, dead, or in-between, and she may be fully aware that she is the most gifted scientist to ever grace Ooo. She’s also a fabulous teacher, even if she doesn’t know it.” She snickered then at some joke only she seemed to understand. Marceline meant to ask her about that, but the chime stopped her. Four rings, echoing from around them. She growled at the sudden noise instinctively, but the demon’s only response was to tilt her head, listening intently. Once the noise ceased she nodded thoughtfully.

“What the flip-”

“I’m afraid our time together is over. I hope this nightmare has been educational for you, but it’s about time for you to wake up.” She strode to Marceline’s bass, still chained to the wall. “You’ve behaved, more or less. For us, anyway. So I’m going to return this to you.” With one swipe of her black claw the silver chains were shattered, and while Marceline herself recoiled from the metal as if the mere sight of it could scald her the demon showed utter indifference. She instead merely picked up the bass and returned to her other self, turning the instrument over to its rightful owner. “Far be it from me to separate one part of us from the other.” With a smug grin she waited for the vampire to cautiously take back her most precious possession before making her way to her office door.

After considerable hesitation, Marceline followed, silently wondering if the demon before her truly was the woman her friends had told her about, or if she was really just a figment of her nightmare. She probs wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. This time when they stopped before her office door she didn’t push it open. Instead she wore a self-satisfied smile, turning to appraise Marceline one last time. It was only then that the vampire noticed that the burning sensation in her left arm had ceased. Out of mindless curiosity she poked the metal, only to hiss and retract her hand. “Yeah, it’s still silver. You probably should have asked.” A sharp look didn’t stop her laughter. “Hate to break it to you, but the only way you wake up without any lingering ‘is this real or am I still in the nightmare?’ problems is for you to rip it off.” Her grey talon tapped the shackle. “When you rip this off, everything ends.”

Marceline gaped at her, appraising her now; her immaculate suit, her father’s amulet, pinned garnet eyes otherwise identical to her own, smug grin dripping all of the ego she never knew she could possess. It was, in a word, eerie, and the vampire was all-too eager to leave. “Wish granted!” Her hand wrapped around the top of the shackle and she could feel the hated metal scorch her flesh, burn into and through her, sear even the callouses, but she ignored all it, all of the anguish, and pulled with all of her enormous might. The great clasp shattered under her grip, the remnants of the restraint falling to the ground, leaving Marceline’s hand to stitch itself together effortlessly, as if nothing had ever happened.

She had expected the world to melt away, or fall apart, or do something interesting once she ripped herself free, but was disappointed to see that the only change was that the office door slid itself open- dude, that’s just like how Bonnie’s lab door -compelling her to exit through it. The moment she was past the threshold the door slammed shut, the hydraulic lock setting itself into place. Before her was no hallway, nothing she recognized, nothing at all. Just a white void. “What the-”

“She’s kind of a jerk, huh?”

She knew that voice. That stupid, infuriating voice. It wasn’t the demon, no. It was a voice she hadn’t heard in a very long time, one that made her blood figuratively boil. With a snarl she turned to the intruder in her mind, trying very, very hard not to murder him. “WHAT THE FLIP?!”

At least the Cosmic Owl had the decency to look chagrined before Marceline’s glower. Chagrined, but unapologetic. “Sorry, kid. This seemed like the best way to tell you.”

Somehow Marceline became even angrier. Quite a feet. “Are you seriously telling me that all this was just one of your dreams?! Was she even part of me or just one of your messed up illusions?!”

The cosmic entity fell silent for a long time before taking one clear step back in anticipation of the claws swipe launching where his beak had been only a moment before. “Sorry, kid,” he repeated. “But you had to know, and you had to know now .” A heavy pause before he shrugged. “Oh well. Good luck, Your Majesty!”

With a clap of his great wings the Cosmic Owl ended the dream.

Chapter Text

Peppermint Butler was a complicated mint. He had been blessed by his creator with intelligence unrivaled by any other candy person, save for his creator herself. In his several hundred years of existence he had lived quite a life. In fact, he lived a double-life, playing the dutiful and obedient butler of his esteemed creator while also acting as the most notorious dark arts master in Ooo bar none, save for demons themselves. If his creator was aware of his shady dealings - and how could she not be? - she never said a word, letting him have his private hobbies, never wondering aloud exactly how he knew to summon Jan specifically for updates as to Marceline’s condition, how it was he had met Hunson Abadeer, Lord of Evil in the first place, even before his daughter’s mate had, where he found the time to be his golf caddie. She didn’t pry, and he was grateful for that.

Peppermint Butler, on the other hand, liked prying, and he was really, really good at it. He was one of the few outside of the wizard community who knew how to scry, could look at demonic text without losing his mind - even if he couldn’t read it or even understand the language - and had his finger on the pulse of Ooo as a whole. Nothing happened in any kingdom without him - and, by extension, Princess Bubblegum - knowing about it. Oh yes, Peppermint Butler knew all sorts of things, and was often the first to know things before they were released to the general public.

Example: his creator’s mostly-perpetual relationship with one Marceline Abadeer, The Scream Queen, Queen of the Vampires, future Lady Evil… if her father had his way, at least. Their friendship began before he was even conceived, but as one of his creator’s first children he was privy to watching their romantic entanglement from its early years. He had seen them revoltingly in love, had seen them bitterly fight, seen his creator break the vampire’s heart, seen the vampire stash his creator’s heart somewhere unknown, though he did look. He was witness to the queen’s Great Betrayal, had gawked as his creator forgave her, just like also she forgave her for wanging the castle apart in what he once thought to be a temper tantrum, only later realizing the truth, feeling a slight twinge of guilt when he realized it hadn’t been her fault. But only a twinge. He had watched as his creator gradually groomed the half-demon to be A Good Girl and little more than an extension of her will, had watched the half-demon lash out in anger for reasons even she didn’t understand, because as immortal as she was she was still only nineteen and was thus saddled with teenage hormones and poor emotional development. They both were, if he was honest with himself. And he was.

The only one of Princess Bubblegum’s creations with the permission to speaking freely he did so often, imploring her time and time again to leave the vampire, to choose someone else, anyone else , because there were a dozen or more potential suitors who would fall over themselves to treat her as the princess she was. Suitors who didn’t try to make citizens explode for fun, who didn’t drain the orchards dry, who weren’t Of Questionable Reputation. At times he almost begged her to put aside their centuries together, to abandon the old in favor of the new; she always did so for literally everything else, why was this any different? And every time Princess Bubblegum would listen to his petition, nod along thoughtfully, then dismiss it entirely. The surface reason was different nearly every time, but the core was always the same: no matter what happened between them there was a bond she and Marceline shared that transcended everything, and that alone any other potential suitor was simple unacceptable. She recognized that he had her best interests at heart - and he did - but simply would not budge, no matter how much he wanted to see that scoundrel, that blackguard, that no-goodnik expelled from the castle, the kingdom, and his creator’s life post haste.

But as he stood in the cool aviary The Morrow called home, watching his creator, his liege, his mother dismount, tears already falling in thin strips, clothing coated in the blood of the tattered and battered bat held limply in the arms of a jacket that had until hours earlier been her own, he knew, deep in his stripes, that this wasn’t what he wanted. No matter his feelings on the distasteful station that bat held in Bonnibel Bubblegum’s life this would never, ever be what he wanted. He was a dutiful butler, a trusted friend and confidant. Not a monster.

“Your Majesty!” Only around her would he ever let anything other than quiet dignity present itself, and this hardly seemed the time or place for quiet dignity. He had known she would be returning to the castle in a rush the moment she had called him on the emergency holo-crystal regarding the vampire’s sudden disappearance, but he had never imagined that this would be the state she would return in. In all honesty, he had suspected that Marceline was just throwing a temper tantrum about one thing or another, perhaps having overreacted to some thoughtless comment courtesy of Finn or Jake. Yes, he knew she was unwell, but this? I owe her an apology, don’t I? Yes, he decided, because even if he had never voiced his suspicion to his creator or the queen herself he could not rule out the possibility that the vampire once attempting to eat him had tainted his behavior in ways that were subconscious. And he would owe his creator an apology later as well, because he would be remiss to not inform Hunson Abadeer about his daughter’s condition, his only child’s broken body, even if he was sure his creator would object to the demon’s involvement. Once he understood the deets, of course. “What happened?”

But the princess was shaking her head; she had no mental energy to review those deets, not when work was to be done, when time was of the essence. It didn’t bode well if his ultra-scientific princess was abandoning explanations in favor of action. That really was more of a Finn and Jake thing. He watched her carefully, worriedly even, as The Morrow knelt, allowing her rider and her rider’s passenger to slowly disembark. Slowly, both because of Marceline’s grave injuries and because there was an impossibly sharp axe strapped to the candy golem’s back that could easily separate a bird from its wing. Evidently the bird understood the gravity of the situation, returning to her perch with nary a complaint. “Pep, I need you to listen very carefully. Go to my lab and disconnect the ward. Find the ripest apples from the orchard you can, half a dozen at minimum. Bring everything to my rooms immediately. If I have any non-essential duties tomorrow reschedule them. Compile a list of anything that cannot be avoided. No one is to enter my chambers save for you, myself, Finn, and Jake.”

It didn’t occur to the mint to ask for details, explanations, any further information at all. It never did, because he had a job to do. And Peppermint Butler was quite good at his job. “At once, Your Highness.” Give my regards to Miss Abadeer. For once, for perhaps the first time, that thought held no animosity, only pity. After one last knowing look he was gone, leaving the two monarchs alone in a massive aviary, constructed for the sole purpose of housing The Morrow.

In the daytime it was actually quite beautiful, the roof a crackle glass dome that allowed UV lighting, essential to any bird’s health, to filter in, coupled with massive tree overgrowth suitable to providing shading. The room centered around a massive T-shaped wooden perch with faint beak marks capable of supporting the massive bird’s weight, much as it was doing at the moment. But as grand as the aviary was, what with its forest green rounded walls that shown from the bird’s evening bath it was humid, and Bonnibel knew it had to be uncomfortable for her passenger, even if she was deeply unconscious. With a small frown she zipped the jacket once more, covering the bat. “This isn’t how I imagined welcoming you home, Marcy… but welcome home.” The crack in her voice made it slightly less warm than she would have liked, but she supposed the sentiment counted.

After one last scan of the room - for paranoia was deeply ingrained in the candy princess, and it would not due to have prying eyes about - Bonnibel slipped out of the large room into the castle proper, closing the door softly. Not that there was any real risk of any of her citizens, save for Peppermint Butler, catching her. It was almost dawn, and though nearly all of her children were strictly diurnal by design only her castle’s staff were early risers, and even then only the staff whose duties included castle maintenance, chiefly the guards who would be rotating shifts. Even more fortunate, Past Bubblegum had seen fit to construct The Morrow’s quarters within striking distance of her own, just in case a quick getaway were ever needed. Or the reverse, I suppose, she thought as she absent-mindedly stroked down the bat’s back. But as unlikely as it was that anyone would be skulking about at the current hour the young scientist still took every care to observe before moving.

As thankful for it as she was, even the princess could admit that her castle devoid of her citizens’ various noises left the building eerie. She hadn’t been gone long, of course, and so nothing had changed: the halls’ walls were still a very light shade of lavender; red and white striped candy cane support beams were still strong and sturdy; the floral royal purple triangle and half-circle banners were hung with precision, and, above all, there was no damage, tarnishing, or anything else to suggest a problem, and so all hallway doors were closed. It was thus a simple matter of ducking from the aviary to the hallway proper, holding the small mammal just a bit tighter than was strictly necessary. With calm but deliberate steps the candy scientist strode past the locked doors to the larger one at the end of the hallway, eyeing over her shoulder every so often for reasons she could not explain. That bothered her.

It fell away the moment she pushed open the tan and cream door, slid into her room, and locked it. Only then did she exhale a sigh she hadn’t been aware she was holding, slowly unzipping her jacket as she cradled the vampire. “Marcy?,” she asked softly, hopefully, but there was no response, and if vampires didn’t turn to dust upon True Death she would have been convinced Marceline had perished from her wounds. As carefully as she dared Bonnibel slid out of the letterman jacket, gingerly transferring the older woman away from the soiled article of clothing in favor of her stain-free purple hoodie, making a mental note to have the jacket cleaned spotlessly due to its now powerful sentimental value, but for the moment that was neither here nor there.

With the exception of her bed, which was now made and not by her own hand, her bedroom was exactly as she had left it before making the journey to the Nightosphere. Good. Our room wasn’t too different in her mind, and nothing particularly jarring happened there. This should register as a safe location. There was no need to ponder if she would be recognized as a safe location. Nope, no need at all. With a soft sigh she gradually sat on the bed with more care than was strictly necessary, merely because it seemed like the right thing to do. Now would come the task of taking inventory of her lover’s wounds, a task that sickened her to her core not due to the gorey nature of it all, but because the last time she had done exactly this it had been- No. I’m not thinking about it. I’m not.

Bon, it’s not healthy to repress that. You were a different person then.

I treated Tyrant like property!

You’re the best at this kind of junk. Don’t let Past You trip up Current You. The tasks are similar, yeah, but the meaning is incredibs different. You’ve got a gift. Now’s the time to use it.

Bonnibel stopped at that, at the gentle but knowing tone in Rechte-but-not-Rechte’s voice. She was, objectively, absolutely correct, but…

You can’t keep running from who you were. It bites, but ya gotta own it or you won’t move forward, and if you don’t move forward she can’t either.

Bonnibel watched the bundle in her arms, still so deeply unconscious. I… yes. You’re right. Of course. And so, with a sour taste in her mouth, the princess lowered the small mammal into her lap… only to have said mammal wrap its wings around itself, shielding its ventral wounds. The candy golem arched an eyebrow. Ah. Of course. Chiroptera anatomy: their wings curl due to simple physiology. Of course you would choose a form that makes it difficult for me to examine you. She blinked then, not because of the logic behind that thought - it was perfectly sound, thank you very much - but because she had thought it without any trace of ire. It had been purely affectionate; she was even smiling.

See, Bon?

She did. The Old Bonnibel would have become irritated by such an obstacle, probably would have pried her wings apart as a matter of recourse. That wasn’t New Bonnibel’s style. No, New Bonnibel merely shifted her perspective. Alright, Marcy, we can look at your wings first if you’re so insistent. The same affectionate tone as she slowly reached over, unstrapping the bass exactly the same way she had seen her mate unstrap it hundreds of time. Only when it was leaned safely against their bed that she leaned closer to examine her wounds.

Her wings were, for a lack of better word, bad. A pink hand rose to touch them, get a better angle, but lowered. Marceline was sensitive to touch in the best of times, and with gashes like those her nerves were undoubtedly going haywire. And they were gashes , at least two on the right wings, three on the left below small puncture wounds on the arm. Bonnibel shook her head sadly at the small tear in the membrane. Small, but enough to be more than significant. She won’t be able to fly. Float, yes… but those wings won’t stay airborne until she heals them. And she wasn’t healing them, that was the problem. The wounds weren’t bleeding anymore, but there was no clotting, no coagulation to suggest that her lover was sane enough to put herself back together again. It was more like the dark, dead blood was held back by some unforeseen force, but it would only take one small provocation for the blood to flow all over again. And her wings were already covered in so much blood, the red mixing with the naturally grey skin to make something grotesque.

Bonnibel never wanted to see that color again.

Her right wing had fewer wounds, but they were no less considerable. Oddly enough, though, they were markedly different; the left side’s wounds were deep but small, with the exception of the tear at the bottom. The right side’s wounds were deeper, more akin to claw marks; the curved angle and width were giveaways in suggesting that- ...You didn’t make them at the same time? That’s indicative that your mental state didn’t falter all at once. It deteriorated, albeit quickly. Suspicious now, she slowly rotated the bat, just enough to catch a glimpse of its fluffy back. Although the poof made it difficult to examine without physically touching it, there were five marks running diagonally, beginning at where her left hip would be and running to where she suspected the shoulder to be. These are deep as well, but not as bad as your left wing. Now she very, very much wanted to examine her lover’s abdomen, but those battered wings were still wrapped tightly, and Bonnibel didn’t have the heart to pull them apart. In her current state of mind she may consider such an act as aggressive. Knowledge would have to wait.

She hated that.

Still.

The princess shifted her position once more, laying the bat over her chest so that its little ear lay parallel to a candy heart. The wounds may have stopped bleeding but Marceline’s fur was still caked in blood, and the perfectionist within the candy golem wouldn’t let that sit. There would be no logical point in patching the older woman’s wounds, but it would give her mind a task to complete. The vampire was always quite adamant that if Bonnibel didn’t have a mental chew toy she would destroy herself.

Does that make me your chew toy, Bon?

As much as Bonnibel loved the distastefully lewd tone in Rechte’s voice she desperately wished it was coming from the real Marceline instead. As a pang of an emotion she did not yet understand afflicted her heart she felt the bundling in her arms stir. Just a wiggle, really. But a tell-tale wiggle. Her heart skipped, which wasn’t terribly healthy objectively, but it caused the bundle to wiggle again. “Marcy?,” the candy golem asked cautiously. A tiny garnet eye reluctantly opened. It was glassy and unfocused, but at least it was looking in the correct direction. Bonnibel couldn’t help but smile, and she couldn’t help how wide that smile was. “Hey little bat.” The bat watched her sleepily, then turned and buried its head in her chest. Were it not for her grievous injuries it would be quite adorable. Still, the vampire being semi-conscious did change her plans a tad. Wound-cleaning idea abandoned, the princess turned back to the bed, speaking in little more than a hushed whisper. “Hey, it’s alright. We’re home now. Are you hungry?” But the bat didn’t say anything, just lifting its head once more to watch the woman who was her mate, wary, as one predator watches another. “Pep-But will be here soon with something to eat, okay?” More staring, more silence.

She doesn’t know what to make of you, Bon. You were her best friend forever, then you kinda turned into a psycho for a long time, now you’re saying you changed, right? Try to see it from her point of view.

Bonnibel mulled that over. I believe I understand. If I am claiming that I’m not who I was then there is no precedent for who I am. Coupled with her vulnerable state of mind and physical pain this all must be terribly confusing.

But she’s not running, right?

The princess, by some miracle, successfully restrained her smile, controlled the steady rhythm of her heart. No. She’s not running. With the gracious movements befitting her station Bonnibel lowered herself to the edge of the bed, settling the bat in her lap. Except, it wasn’t a bat now. Now it was a rat, whiskers long and sensitive, fur black and as thick and plush as Marceline’s hair. Its four garnet eyes watched the candy golem’s, taking in her every movement. It was tense, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Bonnibel knew this form well; it was the shape the vampire chose when she needed to be sneaky, when she needed to make a quick getaway, such as when performing sensitive tasks. Such as, oh, say, installing cameras in the homes of dozens of Ooo denizens. More importantly though, it was also a tell-tale sign that she was nervous; her body pressed against the leg under her to shield her underbelly and aid in a swift escape, her tiny paws twitching in a way that betrayed her dilemma as to whether or not she should run, run as fast as she could, as far as she could. In spite of herself Bonnibel gave her lover a soft smile; the half-demon liked to think of herself as scary and punk-rock, but, really, a small mouse with soft fur, teeny claws, and an adorable grey tail was neither of those things and the candy golem could not be convinced otherwise.

“Aw… little mouse.”

All four eyes squinted, but there was otherwise no reaction. Somehow that made it even cuter. It was all so familiar: Marceline turning into random creatures meant to intimidate the younger immortal, posturing before a woman whose will was titanium, courage unwavering; the cozy intimacy of two best friends alone and undisturbed; Marceline huffing and pouting because of aforementioned titanium will preventing her posturing from being effective in the least. It was all so familiar, so much so that it stirred ancient feelings in an ice cold heart, sensations not experienced since grey hands first crowned her, declaring her princess of the Candy Kingdom to great fanfare. If one could considered torn up napkins being used as confetti to be fanfare.

If I close my eyes… it’s almost like nothing’s changed. Like the past whatever-hundred years didn’t happen. Like she’s still my goofy best friend and we’re just starting to realize that we’re totes in love and not willing to admit it ‘cause we’re afraid it’ll ruin everything. Like any minute now she’ll turn into a giant bat and ‘trick’ me into going on an adventure. Like she’ll tell me to go the flip to sleep because I’m terrible at understanding that even immortal beings need to sleep and eat. But as nice as those stirred feelings that coupled ancient memories felt they were melancholy as well, because they were wonderful but they were also in the past , where neither woman could ever reach them. Because, more than anything, it made Bonnibel realize a haunting truth: that Princess Bubblegum had felt exactly this, all of it, remembered it all. And she had shrugged, been aware that the half-demon felt this way, ...and told Marceline to grow up, just not caring in the slightest, and left her alone with her anger and despair. Because, more than anything, it made Bonnibel realize that as much as a dinger as Princess Bubblegum was to her all Marceline ever wanted was for her friend to come back, to go on one last adventure, to tell her she loved her one more time, to watch just one more meteor shower-

Bonnibel Bubblegum wasn’t a woman who cried easily. She could count the number of times she had done so in her almost nine hundred years on two hands. But there was something about the way Marceline looked at her then, something about the fear and the wounded love and the and the hope and betrayal and the longing all mixing together, all fighting and merging in garnet eyes, how scared she was both of and because of her. And then the younger woman had another clear memory, this one fresher, fresher and darker. Of Princess Bubblegum sitting in Marceline’s cave house, waiting for her to come home so she could drag her to the Nightosphere, because the younger woman had demanded she be made a queen, but Marceline was too hesitant, forcing the candy golem to wait and wait and wait for hundreds of years. And that memory ended in a single thought, not her own now, but her own in the past: If the roles were reversed, would she wait for me?

Bonnibel cried then, silently and effortlessly, not great sobs but small trails, because as unbearable as these emotions and memories were now she had just started experiencing them weeks ago. She couldn’t imagine sitting with them for hundreds of years as Marceline had. Only now was it becoming real : Marceline had been waiting for her to come home, but Princess Bubblegum had been too proud to acknowledge any of her many shortcomings. That She Had Been Wrong. Only now, in this very moment, did Bonnibel Bubblegum realize the greatest profound truth of any: all she wanted was her best friend back, too. Marceline Had Been Right. “Marcy…” she didn’t even bother composing herself. If she could see the vampire’s gashes and torn claw and feel her trembling in trepidation the least Bonnibel could do was show her her tears.

And then a little furry ear twitched, all four eyes widened, and the rat was on the move, just before the abrupt knock on the door preceding Peppermint Butler announcing his presence. When there was no answer the mint frowned before unlocking the door and pushing the door open anyway; between the steel platter covered with various foodstuffs, the strange metal device tucked under his arm and the satchel of apples hanging off his shoulder he was in no mood to wait about all morning. “Everything you requested-”

No response.

“Your Majesty?” He raised an eyebrow and turned to his liege, wondering what could possibly have prompted her silence when she had been so eager for him to return not an hour prior. It was only when he saw her shocked expression, and where her hands were poised, that he understood. And smiled. And silently excused himself, leaving his creator alone with the rat who had dived into her hoodie the moment he entered the room.

“...Marcy?” It was difficult not to sound hopeful. She failed. But there was a muffled response, and Bonnibel took that as permission to stretch the neck of her hoodie and look down at the rat clinging to her chest, above her heart.

“...It’s just ‘cause you’re warm. ‘M cold,” Marceline muttered. She almost sounded convincing.

Bonnibel pretended she was anyway. It was the least she could do. “That makes sense. You do have a fair number of wounds. Coupled with your… poor health and sleep deprivation, I imagine your sense of temperature is actually-”

Marceline zoned out. It was hard not to, because as furious as she still was she was nestled somewhere very warm, next to the most soothing sound she could think of. As her eyes started to close she felt a gentle hand reach up, cupping her back. She tensed, thought of pulling away, wanted to pull away, but two of her four paws were still clinging to the shirt under the hoodie, too tempted by the possibility of someplace cozy to heal to let her flee. Traitors.

And then she realized how much pain she was in. It hit her, all at once, like a tsunami. Every muscle clenched, her teeth ground, and she hissed, all four eyes closing tightly. She thrashed against the hand because as light as it was it felt like fire, felt like every nerve was being seared and cut and spliced and everything and anything horrible. “Marcy, you have to heal.” It wasn’t a demand, nor a chide, It Simply Was, and it was an urgent hushed whisper. “You took a severe amount of damage in a short period of time. The pain won’t stop until you heal everything.” A wounded hiss was her only reply. “Marcy, I know it hurts. The worst of your wounds are on your left side. I suspect your abdomen is a close second. If you prioritize those areas you’ll recover more swiftly.” She lifted her hoodie, retrieving her and slowly placing the rat at her side. “And… I know you enjoy being an adorable little mouse, but it’ll be easier to heal if you return to your normal form.”

A growl of frustration, a snarl from pain, a piercing glare, and then the vampire was a humanoid again, laying on the bed in an almost fetal position. “Still so bossy…,” she hissed from the exertion. As it was, Bonnibel felt her breath hitch; she had forgotten the state of Marceline’s body in her normal form, how ruined her clothing was, how much blood she really was coated with. At least it was dry now, and would be easily rinsed once the surrounding gaping wounds were healed. Even now there was no clotting, but the dark blood did not flow.

In its own way, it was impressive. How fascinating… in an absolutely atrocious sort of way. Bonnibel shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I know. I’m a dillweed.” Marceline was fond of saying that a joke couldn’t be funny if there wasn’t any truth to it. Judging by the vampire’s smirk despite the immense pain the princess’s comment was funny. “But I’m a dillweed with centuries of experience in watching you heal. I know I don’t deserve it, but… please trust me. I don’t…,” she took a deep breath, “I hate seeing you like this, and I don’t know how else to help.”

Another growl, this one gutterall, but- ...Glob it, I hate when she’s right. I’ll never hear the end of- it was too much energy to think and heal at the same time, so Marceline made her choice, shutting down all conscious thought as she pushed the extra energy into stitching wounds deep enough to reveal muscle together again. Starting from the left, just as Bonnibel had suggested. She didn’t have it in her to hazard a guess as to where these wounds came from, or where she even was at the moment; her entire world was making her nerves calm the fig down so that she could think, but it was so hard to focus through the haze of pain, a sensation she was entirely unused to courtesy of her absurdly high pain tolerance. It made her work sloppy, leaving wounds half-patched, threatening to reopen again at a moment’s notice. Behind her, or perhaps from her side, she heard Bonnibel gently suggest she breathe to focus her concentration, because at the moment she was clenching her hand hard enough to break a finger, which was just creating more work for her; peaking an eye open confirmed her claim. ...Glob it. I need that. Lacking the will to argue Marceline relaxed her hand and slid her eye shut, prioritizing the finger’s reconstruction now, knowing that if she let a hand wound settle for too long it was a butt-ton of work to work it back up to full strength, and her music would suffer. It was all too much.

By the time her body ran out of stamina she was panting, not even wanting to glance and see how much work left she had to do to fix herself. At least it doesn’t hurt as much. As her breathing calmed she felt the exhaustion creep up once more, almost dozing off… until she felt a warm hand stroke her hair and her eyes shot open.

“Easy, Marcy… you’re still recovering. You’ve managed to repair your hand and the deeper wounds on your left side, as well as some of the smaller ones on your right. That leaves only the more superficial wounds on your left and those on your back and abdomen remaining. I’m quite impressed with your progress, all things considered.”

Yeah, because I rock. But where was the insufferable knowing tone in that familiar voice? Where the flip am I? As her vision focused her thoughts fogged once more. A horrible trade off she didn’t ask for. She was lying on something soft, right cheek rested in what she suspected to be Bonnibel’s lap. The rest of her vision was hazy, and her eyes slid shut from the frustration; she didn’t even resist when the hand resumed petting her. Not ‘cause it feels nice. I’ll just bite it off later. But where was the passionate snark so often coupled with that thought and others like it? Too much, all too much, but without any further energy she had no choice but to settle into the warm, comfy lap, oblivious to the smiling candy golem above her as she dozed, never fully settling into sleep. For some reason she couldn’t yet remember sleep seemed like an awful life choice.

Bonnibel watched her doze with a small frown. Are you trying to keep yourself awake? Do you still distrust me that much? ...No, that doesn’t make sense. If that were indeed the issue you would not be consenting to my close proximity now. Did you have a nightmare? The candy golem didn’t dare to voice that question. Marceline was prone to nightmares, that much was indisputable, but there was something about nightmares that makes them so deeply personal, so intimate. Sharing them amounted to a bond of trust. Moreso when the nightmares are based in reality, as Marceline’s were. Still… this isn’t healthy. You’ve exhausted yourself, Marcy. You need to sleep. “Hey…,” she whispered. It still made the half-demon jump. Not an auspicious start. “Pretty bad nightmare, huh?” A gambit. A big one. The queen curled into herself, eyes screwed tightly. Not arguing. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Marceline curled tighter into herself, debating making a break for it. The sole deterrent was that it would be dumb, even to her, to make a break for it without knowing where she was, and her mindmeats were too messed up to make that connection. “...No.”

You’re asking the wrong question, Bon.

“...Do you need to talk about it?”

A soft, half-hearted growl and for one horrible moment the younger woman suspected she had asked a second wrong question. But then, to her astonishment, the queen uncurled herself, just enough to remove the muffle from the voice, to release the pent up sigh that had been building for weeks. “...Yeah.”

That was entirely unexpected. “Really?” Now it was the candy golem’s turn to wince. Because that just sounded plain awkward.

Marceline nodded ever so slightly. “If I don’t I’m just as bad as you,” she mumbled. But there was no harsh tone, no lashing out. Just frustration and pain. And, frankly, Bonnibel secretly agreed. The older woman took a deep breath, thought carefully about how she wanted to word everything…

“I had a Cosmic Owl dream.”

...and then blurted it out anyway. Typical. But now that was out there, and she curled into herself once more.

To her credit, Bonnibel recovered from the surprise much quicker than Marceline had expected. That makes sense. If I were to receive one while within her mind it only stands to reason that she would receive one eventually as well. Instead of saying any of this, “I imagine yours was not as pleasant as mine was.”

With more effort than she’d ever like to admit Marceline pushed herself into a sitting position, eyes closed against the dizziness of trying to figure out where she was. Get out of my head, Bonnibel. But she wasn’t wrong, and the vampire pulled her knees to her chest, resting her cheek. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered the subtext of the princess’s comment, that a vision wherein the two were not only married but legit mates was pleasant. But it was only in the back of her mind, and it couldn’t hurt her there. “...Hate the Cosmic Owl,” she mumbled. “Hate that feathered idiot.” A snarl was emerging from the back of her throat, garnet eyes slitting. The rage that had been festering before may have dissipated before but it threatened now to return with a vengeance.

And then a soft, fluffy pink blanket was being draped over her shoulders and her eyes dilated and blinked, fury extinguished by that one small gesture. “Here… once the adrenaline passes you’re going to feel cold. It happens every time you heal an injury this severe.” Marceline didn’t turn to look at the other woman, the one whose hands hadn’t left the blanket or her shoulder, nor did she react to its presence except to allow it. Come to think of it… although Navigator accepted my dream rather well the Unifier reacted quite volatilely as well. Not to this degree, yet the similarities are unquestionable. It was bizarre to say the least. But that mental exercise wasn’t her concern at the moment. Just as she had predicted - or, perhaps, because she had even said it - the adrenaline was finally fading and Marceline slumped against her shoulder, conscious but exhausted. Shivering. Severe injury was the only situation Bonnibel had ever found that would make Marceline’s dull nerves realize she had no body warmth, and it granted the half-demon the same weaknesses to cold as any living being. “Here…” and then, before Marceline knew it, she was being maneuvered, manipulated, wiggled, and then Bonnibel was leaning her back against something, the musician leaning her head against her shoulder, both under the blanket now.

Curling against the younger woman in an effort to steal her body warmth was as humiliating as it was involuntary, a primitive reaction stemming from what Bonnibel had once called the ‘lizard brain’, a part of any sapient being’s mind that reacted purely on instinct. And Marceline Abadeer was all about instinct. Stupid lizard brain. But, there was no point fighting it; her strength would have to be saved for a fight she actually stood a chance of winning. And… it actually felt nice to be that close to the scientist, like a piece of her soul coming home. Like what was missing had been found again. Stupid soul. When she finally spoke her voice was quiet, drained, and almost unrecognizable as her own, even to herself. “...When I was a kid… an actual kid… I had a Cosmic Owl dream. I didn’t know it at the time, ‘cause the dunce didn’t actually appear… but it was a Cosmic Owl dream. Dunno how I know, but…” she trailed off, hesitant.

But I don’t want to sleep! My dreams are weird.

All dreams are weird.

But mom, my dreams are we-e-e-eird.

Marceline turned away from Bonnibel, not looking at her, not even sure if she could right now. It was just easier this way. “I remember telling mom about them, but she didn’t get it. I didn’t even get it. Not ‘till I was older. Then… they got a lot clearer until the stupid feather-brain finally got the guts to show up, and he told me… I get to end the world.” Her laugh was hollow, soft, and pathetic.

Bonnibel frowned, mind already kicking into overdrive. It finally had a puzzle. “But… the world had already ended by then, hadn’t it?”

The vampire sighed, nodding. “Yeah. The humans already blew themselves up, so I thought the ding dong was wrong. That it was over. But… I couldn’t shake it, you know? Even as a kid I knew who the Cosmic Owl was. I knew he was prophetic. I couldn’t shake that he basically just told me that I cause the apocalypse, even if I was already living in it. It’s not that easy… especially since…” Her eyes trailed down to her hand, nails still covered in her own blood. “I did all this to myself, huh?” Bonnibel wasn’t going to dignify that statement. “Even before I ganked all those vamps and took their pows I knew I could do a lotta damage if I wanted. Or… even… if I didn’t wanna.” Super strength. Pyrokinesis. Necromancy. Sucking out souls...

The princess pulled her closer. She knew where this was going, where it had always gone. “You’re not a monster, Marceline.” Her tone gave no room for argument, even as her mind began to put the pieces together. Though this clarifies why you think you are.

The queen granted herself another hollow laugh. “I thought since the world was already ended I was off the hook. All I’d have to do is control what makes me me.”

A bit emboldened now, a pink hand laced fingers with its grey counterpart. “You’ve done an unparalleled job at containing your abilities and using them for… well, not ‘good’ per se, but… not evil.”

That earned her a choking laugh. “For real, Bonnie? Did you forget how we met?”

One hand squeezed the other. “Of course not.”

“I was feral. I tried to eat you.”

Bonnibel kissed the top of her head, dropping her tone to something much gentler. “I got better.”

Marceline pondered how much impact those three little words were having on, on why they were having any impact at all. On why she wasn’t surprised. Just tell her. Even if you’re mad she needs to know. ‘If’ being the operative word, because it seemed all of the older woman’s emotions were dull now, having their sharp edges dulled against the memory of her first Cosmic Owl dream. “...I had another dream. On our way to… well, she said we were on our way to the castle, and vision’s not working too well right now, but I think that’s where we are.”

There was so much to that one sentence, but two things stood out beyond the rest. She? Her vision isn’t working so well? But concern over her lover’s ability to see would have to come second; if Finn and Jake were to be believed Cosmic Owl dreams were serious biz, and if one was couple by the queen’s reluctant willingness to be open about it… well, that was an opportunity the princess could ill-afford to miss. “She?”

“Lady Evil,” she spat.

Bonnibel shuddered, pulling her mate against her without thought. Even Rechte’s sarcastic commentary fell silent at that revelation. But… that’s impossible. Lady Evil fused with the rest of you when we rescued you. She cannot exist as a separate entity anymore. She’s gone. We made sure of it. Only the sound of a *snap*, the unmistakable noise of a broken bone broke her from her reverie. She peaked down and saw her suspicions confirmed; no matter how limp the musician was in her arms she was still stressed, tense, on the highest alert, and her fist clenching hard enough to break her thumb proved it. “Shh…” as her right hand settled calmingly on the back of her neck, avoiding the collar area, her left slid down, prying the hand open with just a stroke over her wrist. “Hey, it’s alright. Just tell me what happened.” The vampire tensed.

Sounds like a command, Bon, came Rechte’s warning tone.

“I’d like to help, Marcy. That’s all.” After four heartbeats Marceline relaxed, and the princess breathed an internal sigh of relief. I’ll have to be more careful of thoughtless comments such as those. “What happened?”

Now the older woman was tense for a much different reason, no longer registering as her thumb stitched itself together. How much do I tell her? No way I can tell her that I’m supposed to betray her. Not gonna happen anyway. “Well… I woke up in dad’s office. Her office?” She shook her head to clear the frustration of such a pointless discrepancy. “She said that you all merged us back together, but since she’s the oldest of us she got to be there as a favor to deliver a message. That… I’m still supposed to end the world. Ooo.” Bonnibel’s hand stilled. “She said… the prophecy - the first one, when I was a kid - just implied that I was supposed to end the human world. We all just assumed it… but it actually meant Ooo, and that there’s nothing I can do about it ‘cause prophecy has a way of coming true whether you want it to or not.”

The princess’s free arm wrapped around the older royal’s waist, pulling her closer subconsciously. It would be exactly like Marceline to run at this very moment, and while she was making excellent strides in being less of a power-driven megalomaniacal control freak Bonnibel was not yet of the opinion that the half-demon could be trusted on her own yet without incurring even more damage. “Marcy… Lady Evil was a tactical genius. If it was indeed her she could easily be attempting to manipulative you. Even if it is the Cosmic Owl his dreams aren’t always literal, are they?” If Finn and Jake are to be believed, at least. That was meant to sound more reassuring than it actually did, but Marceline didn’t seem to notice.

“...I need to go back to the Nightosphere, Bonnie.” The young scientist had heard this declaration many times now, but this was different. Every other time had had some powerful singular emotion coupled with it: rage, fear, confusion, something spurring it onward, drawing it out, making it the star of the show. But this was new. It was… resigned, as if her lover was accepting a heartbreaking, profound truth. And that was dangerous.

“Why do you need to go back to the Nightosphere, Marcy?” Her right hand began to gently rub the back of her lover’s neck, trying to ease her down from whatever it was that was running through her mind because she knew that, this time, with that tone of resignation, if Marceline ran she wasn’t coming back. It was her eyes. They were the giveaway.

“Because… if I’m there no one gets hurt.” That same resigned conviction, now matched by her pushing away.

Be careful, Bon.

It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Bonnibel was ‘restraining’ Marceline… but it would certainly be an accurate synonym. “Easy, Marcy… let’s finish our talk first. Then, if after you’ve debriefed me you’d like to leave I’ll escort you back myself. Would that be alright?”

Marceline stopped squirming away, clearly weighing the pros and cons of such an offer. She was certainly strong enough to break away from the princess whenever she wanted, but in that embrace? She could seriously hurt the younger woman, and that was out of the question. Always would be. She froze, crippled by indecision, knowing that she had to go back, had to get away, but knowing it would be forever this time. She’s a brainlord. She’ll get it once I explain it all. So… just… just for closure. That’s all this is. With a very subtle nod of her head she settled once more, fingers drumming nervously on her own arm. There was no nice way to ask this question. “...I know I freaked out. I don’t really remember it… but…”

Bonnibel saw where this was going before Marceline could even finish the thought and smiled softly, squeezing her hand once more. “You had a panic attack, Marcy.” You can say it. It’s okay. You shouldn’t be ashamed. There’s nothing to be ashamed about.

Truer words, but they didn’t stop Marceline’s flinch. I knew it. Telepath. “...What did I do?” The question came out more quietly than she had anticipated. She suddenly felt very, very vulnerable. As if sensing that subtle change the princess pulled the blanket tighter around them both.

Bonnibel’s tone was both kind and matter-of-fact. “Your house suffered considerable damage. Schwabl is fine,” she rushed, because she knew exactly how much that dog meant to her. “Your house can be repaired. It’s certainly in better shape than when the boys first found it and you tricked them into repairing it for you.” Yes Marcy, I know about that. The vampire turned away, grumbling.

And then the other shoe dropped. “...Wait. Were they there? When it happened?”

...Oh butterbrittle. “Yes, we were re-acclimating you to Ooo as a group-”

“So if they were there and I tore my house apart they def saw the-”

“Marceline.” A firm tone and, out of pure muscle memory, the half-demon’s jaw snapped shut. There was no time for the princess to feel guilty about that now. She would later, though, that was for sure. “Stay with me, okay?” Her voice, now so much gentle. “They saw your trophies, but they don’t know what they were. They think you just have odd tastes in decoration.” Amazing how easily lying still came to her. Amazing how swiftly the guilt of it all settled on her shoulders. Amazing how, despite everything, Marceline seemed to just accept this.

I know it blows, Bon, but lying in of itself is not an act of aggression. Consider the alternative. If you told her that the dweebs saw her trophies and knew what they were would it help anything?

She still deserves to know, Rechte.

Well, yeah, but would telling her help anything right now? Or would it just hurt her?

I promised I’d stop lying-

Man, you love operating in the extremes, don’t you, Bon? Rechte’s voice sounded too teasing, too amused. You’re new to this, so I’ll forgive you this time, but ya gotta work on knowing when to use that cold logical side and that squishy emotional side. Take it from the master, right now you gotta get her stable or it doesn’t matter what’s true.

It bothered Bonnibel that a voice in her subconscious that sounded exactly like a figment of a voice in her mate’s subconscious could out-logic her, but she supposed it was inevitable. At least until she got a handle on those pesky emotions before they got either of them hurt. I’ll learn. I’m quite adept at learning.

“I know I torched some of the Grasslands.” Marceline’s whisper brought the princess back to reality. “Bon, what if I killed someone?”

Absolutely not. We are not going down this train of thought. “Finn and Jake are investigating right now,” she soothed. “Their preliminary inspection has yielded nothing to suggest that there were any casualties or serious injuries. They have been instructed to enlist Doctor Princess and to utilize whatever Candy Kingdom resources are required to assure that no one is hurt and everything is contained.”

There was something almost dark about the way the younger woman said ‘contained’ that made Marceline shudder, but the fog in her brain prevented any possibility to even consider analyzing it. It was for the best. “Yeah, but… what if I did ? If you keep me here you’re just making yourself a target.”

Now the hand on the back of her neck stilled before trailing to the vampire’s cheek, cupping it. “Marcy… do you know where you are?”

That one she did know. “...Your castle.”

You’re half right. “Marcy…” The hand trailed to her chin now, lifting it so that knowing yet worried green eyes met reluctant, almost panicked garnet. She paused, taking stock of the sight before her: the fang poking nervously through the lip, only to heal and reopen again and again; the tense and coiled muscles of a lithe woman ready to flee at a moment’s notice; and, above all, just how lost her other half looked, how conflicted. How guilty. “Do you remember our first date?”

The empty laugh again at the absurdity of the question, how random it was, but she didn’t look away. “You mean our actual first date or the one we didn’t know was a date?”

Bonnibel smiled. “That second one. The night I met you at our tree so we could watch the meteor shower together we cuddled and drafted plans for this very castle. I told you about the stars, and you told me all about the humans who made up your family. I never told you, Marcy… but that was the moment I realized that no matter where I am or what I’m doing no place I inhabit will ever be home without you.” It was worth breaking eye contact to pull the stunned half-demon deeper into the blankets. “I brought you here because it’s our castle. Even though you’re still understandably furious with me I am quite tired of you falling victim to one atrocity after another. None of this is your fault. I’m not harboring you, I’m protecting my family. You didn’t kill anyone,” she emphasized, hoping she was right, “but if anyone is grumpy about something that happened beyond your control then they must contest their complaints with me.”

Marceline turned away, muttering, “it’s not your problem.”

She had expected an argument. After all, it was an ancient one, one that seemed to love rearing its ugly head. Marceline hadn’t expected a kiss to her temple, and sat, stunned. “One day you’ll understand that you’re not a problem, Marcy. I know that you largely think that because I’ve encouraged such a mentality in order to assure your submission, but I no longer find such behavior within myself to be acceptable in any context. As much damage as that amulet did to you… I did more. I’m sorry, Marceline.”

It almost sounds like she means it. And that was uncomfortable to say the least, the idea of Princess Bubblegum having and expressing emotion freely, not trying to purge it like a toxin. It’s… more like Bonnie. You’ve done a lot of things that are way more like Bonnie. ...Were the dweebs right? Did you actually get the message that you were butthole? Marceline didn’t want to feel hopeful, didn’t want to entertain the idea… but even she could admit that sometimes obvious solution was the correct one. I mean… you’ve always sucked at pretending to feel stuff… She could almost feel how content her soul was at that moment, how much it didn’t want to leave, but the rage, The Other Stuff, it was all still there, still powerful. Just like all of her other injuries, just like her mind’s fog, just like- “...I’m still so mad, Bon. I just… I don’t know why.”

Because I stabbed you with a silver dagger that I promised to destroy? Because I was abusive? Because I literally tried to force my will down your throat? Because I was neglectful? Because I manipulated you? Because I broke your heart into a bajillion pieces? Because- “There are many valid reasons, Marcy. You don’t need to explain yourself.”

But Marceline was shaking her head. “That’s… that’s not what I mean. I mean… I betrayed you once, didn’t I? But… you forgave me…”

Ah. “Marcy, whether or not you forgive me is something that will come with time and can only be decided on a case by case basis.” The garnet eye turned to her, squinting in displeasure. Her own rolled. “What I mean is that there is no pressure for you to forgive me simply because I forgave you. It doesn’t work like that. Your reaction to… well, everything I’ve done is valid and deserves to be recognized as such. I may have forgiven you, but that has no bearing as to what you should decide for yourself. I know what and how I am. I didn’t before, but… I do now.”

There was a long silence after that. Bonnibel ran her fingers through onyx hair, dumbstruck, having never expected to ever being allowed to do that again. Marceline stared off into space, rotating Bonnibel’s confession every which way, as if trying to jam a square-shaped block through a round hole. It hurt , because this was exactly how Bonnibel used to sound, before that stupid dumb crown turned her into Princess Bubblegum. Those are pretty words, Bon… but you can’t just go back being- And then she tensed, eyes widening. Because, perhaps, Lady Evil had said more than she had meant to in bringing her into the sunlight. In reminding her of what it was like to be de-vamped.

“...I hate your crown.”

Bonnibel supposed that was fair.

“You were my best friend, and it just made you so… cold. I mean, yeah, you were always kind of emotionally repressed, but you were… you. So it was okay.” That made no logical sense, but the young scientist got it anyway. “I just… wanted you to come back.” Now it was her turn to lock their gazes. If Bonnibel was going to admit something to Marceline the vampire figured it was fair to return the favor. “I never told you before, ‘cause I thought it was too… I dunno. But when you de-vamped me… it was really nice for awhile. I got to eat food, see what it was like to be a daywalker, terrorize a whole new pool of victims. But you know the best part? I got to walk in the sunlight with you. Neither of us staying up past when our bedtimes, no protective clothing, nothing getting in the way. And… since you didn’t have that stupid crown it was like you were the old you again. Like I got you back. It was amaze-balls. I think I wrote a song about it? Probably got blown up.” Now her gaze dropped, eyes sliding shut. Without realizing it her head came to rest on Bonnibel’s chest. “...Being a demon bites, Bon. We don’t get a say in who our souls pick, so when it picks someone not a demon it’s not fair. You’ll always have a power over me I can’t have over you. It’s like the world’s dumbest magnet, so no matter how mad I am there’s part of me that just wants to forgive you and get it over with. But… what am I supposed to do when it might get the rest of me emotion-ganked?”

It reminded Bonnibel too much of a nature documentary she had found as a child, well-before ever meeting a beautiful grey-skinned musician. It had been entirely inappropriate viewing for someone her age, and though she didn’t remember much of it she did remember one scene rather graphically: some extinct animal from the world before the bombs with its leg trapped in some sort of contraption, choosing to sever the limb just for a chance of survival. Is that what I am? Or… was? A trap? It wasn’t exactly an unfair analogy.

Come on, Bon. You can do this. Apply those mad skillzorz you’ve been racking up this whole time.

This isn’t a- ...no, I’m not going to lecture my own sub-conscious about whether or not this is a video game. Which it isn’t. Instead, the pink-skinned woman wrapped the blanket tighter. “You’re right. It would be unfair to pretend otherwise. I’m woefully ignorant as to how half of your bloodline functions, but I know enough to recognize that your soul chose me. That makes me responsible for its care and safety, and until now I’ve been woefully inept in that regard.” Green eyes trailed down as Bonnibel began to absently play with calloused fingers. They twitched, as if wanting to pull away, but relented. “But… you’re hurt, Marcy, and healing begins in the mind. I learned during your absence that…” She trailed off, flushing from the humiliation. The wonderful, well-deserved humiliation. “In terms of my royal duties I’ve been operating mostly on auto-pilot since we brought you home. When you were gone it was like half of me was missing. I know that it can’t be comparable to what you experience, but things are different now. I’m different. I want to show you that there really is a difference between me and my role. I can be cold, calculating, and manipulative… but...” She sighed, not sure what else to say. Unfortunately, leaving it without a ‘but’ set the vampire on edge once more. With a sad smile Bonnibel shook her head. I should have thought that sentence through more. “My apologies.”

“Your what?”

And then they both froze at that old joke, that ancient teasing that Bonnibel, even as a young-un, never could lose her prim and proper language. How easily she slid back into those old habits when flustered, and oh how this admission of touchy-feelyness was flustering her. She flushed more then, because of course Marceline’s brain, even broken a thousand ways, would still remember how to tease her. It may not remember what the sun was, but torturing Bonnibel? No, that it remembered. Apparently. So you give me another panic attack, make me almost gank myself, and that’s your response? Good job, brain. Really helpin’ me out here. You suck. So do you, body. All of you suck. In retaliation it shuddered, obediently calming down once her lover’s attention returned to her.

“You know my what, you butt.” It just flowed so easily, so effortlessly. Like nothing had happened over the past six centuries. Nothing at all.

Marceline took a deep breath, then exhaled. Both the rage and The Other Stuff were beginning to fade. A rare treat that granted her new clarity, that as nice as this was- “Bon… I can’t stay. I can’t even remember Ooo. I probs killed someone. Then what? Finn and Jake hunt me down?”

The princess felt her shiver once more as the adrenaline spiked through her and died, spiked through her and died. “Marcy, shh… you’re going to end up accidentally hurting yourself more. I know I don’t deserve your trust, but please… let me protect you. The boys will be back soon with an update. Then we-” Or, more accurately, I, you’ll probably be asleep by then, at least if I can help it “-we decide the best course of action. For now, though, this is a good opportunity to relax and recover a bit.”

“I’m fine,” Marceline grumbled, not meeting her eyes. That’s where lies live, after all.

“Mm-hm.” And that was all the acknowledgement that false statement was going to receive. Acknowledge and move on: an essential skill for any monarch of any court to master. By Marceline’s snort she knew she was being handled. “Now, let’s focus on more pressing matters. Do you know when you last ate?”

Marceline did an admirable job of making herself as small as possible without actually shape-shifting. “...At the house?” It was a question and not a statement, but it was telling enough.

“Yes, you ate a very small strawberry at the house. Do you remember when you ate before then?” Her silence said enough. “I recommend eating, Marcy. It’ll help you recover faster.”

“Food tastes weird,” she mumbled.

Bubblegum pondered if feeding the older woman her blood within her mind was having any influence over her reluctance once more, and not for the first time. The treacherous thing was even considering ways to test such an hypothesis. But that was all it was: treason. No. She’s not and will never again be an experiment, and I will not even consider asking her to break that taboo. She only has three rules in Unlife, and that needs to be respected. “It’s only natural that certain things will be difficult re-adjusting to. Fortunately, however…,” she trailed off, visually leading the musician to the desk, what with its piles of papers and steel platter. “I know of an immaculate orchard that a certain vampire enjoys ravaging because she hates when I have nice things.”

A pin drop could be heard in the depths of the silence, and Bonnibel subconsciously wondered if it was the same one from the Nightosphere, because Marceline had frozen at that subtle offer. Did I… push her too far? Did I take too many liberties with how well this conversation was going?

Her next words were somehow worse. “...Sorry, Bon. I don’t remember the orchards.” Worse because there was a thin sorrow there, as if Marceline was only now realizing how much of her was missing.

Oh no you don’t. You’re not spiralling on me again. With a subtle turn so that the queen could see the platter on the desk Bonnibel pulled her tighter. “That’s alright, Marcy. Not everything will come back to you at once.” She probably should have asked earlier, but- “Do you remember our rooms?” Really, she wanted to ask if the vampire remembered the castle itself, but suspected that may open a can of worms, given the tragic course of events that occurred within the pseudo-castle. This seemed like a much safer option.

The half-demon chewed her lip hesitantly, but, over the course of a very long minute, pulled herself away from the younger woman, floating to the center to get a good visual sweep. “...Yeah. I think. Some things kinda feel off, but… I guess the core stuff is there?”

Although Bonnibel’s smile was knowing it was coupled with a twinge of sadness. “Here.” If she didn’t know any better she could have sworn that Marceline seemed to disentangle reluctantly. Obvs that’s just the fatigue. Unless…? Doing her best not to make watching her from the corner of her eye all that obvious the princess strode to the opposite end of the room, gingerly picking up the plate of apples. When Marceline recoiled she understood why immediately. “It’s alright. It’s steel. No silver in this room.” Or in the castle. Or the kingdom. Or any of my territories.

To her surprise, Marceline shed her blanket shield, floating off the bed to reach the center of the room. A sweep yielded no further answers. “So… it’s always looked like this?”

Bonnibel nodded thoughtfully, strolling to the bed as nonchalantly as possible to give the platter a resting spot. “What seems different?”

The vampire chewed her lip. It did not escape the candy golem’s notice that she seemed to be avoiding the lavatory. “I dunno. Just… seems more full?” She didn’t remember Bubblegum having so many possessions. The last she recalled there was a bare desk, the bed, and empty booksh- Wait. That doesn’t make sense. She’s a brainlord, why would they be em- She hissed as a bolt of pain shot through her skull.

Her lover was at her side immediately. “Marcy? What’s different?”

The half-demon shook her head to clear her thoughts, gesturing absently to the great bookshelves made of a solid tan wood she could not immediately identify. “You always had books there, right?”

“Yes, many. In fact, you found two of the bookshelves for me. We found many of the books together. I believe you called it a ‘mall’? Where you found Schwabl?”

Alright… that does actually sound familiar. She had vague memories of that day. Or was it days? A record shop, a store that sold things humans put in their homes that even she could not identify, a pharmacy where the younger woman scoffed at the humans’ primitive understanding of medicine. Yes, those were familiar, and the pain ceased as quickly as it began. Though she needed no breath she exhaled a sigh of relief, unaware of the clinical gaze she was being afforded.

Fascinating. Even such a subtle change is causing you this much discomfort? Perhaps it’s correlated with the level of emotional attachment you have to a location or experience.

Serially, Bon? Right now?

She blinked. Ah. Yes. You’re correct, Rechte. Now is not the time. When she cleared her throat to clear her thoughts it drew the attention of her fellow monarch. “Does anything else seem familiar?”

Happily, Marceline remained blissfully unaware of the clinically detached mindset having briefly returned to the woman who was trying really, really hard to prove it was gone, at least where she was concerned. “I dunno, Bon,” she sighed. “I’m pretty tired.”

Against her better judgment the young scientist wrapped her arms around her mate. Who… didn’t pull away. Odd. “I understand, Marcy.” And then she detached once more, taking the half-demon’s grey hand into her own. “Are you hungry?”

“Would I know if I was?,” she grumbled.

Interesting thought. I suppose you might not. She snatched an apple from the platter, offering it slowly. “Would you like to try? You may not remember the orchards, but you do enjoy terrorizing them. And the citizens therein,” she smirked.

Yeah, that… does kinda sound familiar. “...Alright, I’ll bite.” Whether or not that was meant to be a joke would become knowledge lost to the ages. But bite she did, draining just a bit of the apple’s red. Delicious red. When it was half-consumed she retracted her fangs. “...Okay, so that’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. Choice.”

The younger woman beamed. “Wunderbar! It may take some time before the habit of eating returns to you, but this is a wonderful beginning.” In more ways than one. When she sat on the bed she patted her side. It took a serious moment of hesitation, but the queen joined her, still holding her apple, rotating it in her hand as if it could grant her the mysteries of the universe. “I’m… really glad you’re home, Marcy. It’ll take some adjustment… but you’ll see. This is home, and it’s a safe place for you to recover.” And perhaps… for us to recover as wel-

Marceline sighed, suddenly very interested in her apple. “It’s just… it’s weird.”

“What is?”

You really wanna tell her this? “It’s just… I’m not sure I can forgive you, but… I’m not sure I can stay mad at you. Not after… I dunno,” she sighed. “I’m usually better with this kind of stuff.”

The princess scooted closer, entwining her fingers, running her thumb over the other woman’s wrist. “It’ll take time. Regrettably, you aren’t capable of telling your heartguts how they should or should not feel, and what they feel can often be conflicted. You taught me that, when I was in your mindscape.” She ignored the resultant bitter laugh. “Besides, you’ve gone through a series of jarring events rapidly and sequentially. To be honest, Marcy, even if you did abruptly decide to absolve me of all of my guilt you’re not in a state of mind where you can consent to such a decision, and I would not accept it.”

That gave the musician pause. Considerable pause. She was almost frozen by that statement. She just sounded so full of conviction, of… honesty. It almost made Marceline feel guilty about not telling her that last part of the Cosmic Owl dream, where she was destined to betray her. No, scratch that, it did make her feel guilty. Not enough to act, because her gut was telling her not to, but the guilt was undeniable. “So… even if I said ‘hey, I forgive you’, you wouldn’t accept it?” Not that she was cruel enough to try. And that realization was jarring as well.

Again Bonnibel pulled her closer, letting her head rest on her chest as she stroked her long hair. “No, I would not. I meant what I said. You’re the most important aspect of my life, and you deserve to be treated as such. That includes me earning your forgiveness. Logically, I have spent until this point merely correcting my mistakes. I haven’t actually proven myself. Not yet.”

Marceline fell silent, weighing those words, that sincerity. The pause lasted minutes, which was quite impressive for a woman composed chiefly of pranks and impulsivity. Finally, finally, she curled deeper into the embrace. It all weighed so heavily on her; the Princess Bubblegum of the Past, how Bonnie was before the flippin’ crown, how the Princess Bubblegum of the Present was acting a lot more like Bonnie, how she had passed every little test the vampire had thrown at her, side-stepped them all with grace. How she was here now, caring for her, making the half-demon Her Top Priority. It was then she felt her anger shift. It didn’t want to shift, it wanted to keep being where it was, but that didn’t matter. She already knew what she wanted to say to that assertion. “Then I guess… this is as close as we get for now.” This time the words didn’t sound filthy. Perhaps a bit unclean, but not filthy. They still felt right.

That pin drop again. Did… did she just say that she’s ready to forgive me, once she can consent to such an action? No, Bubblegum, don’t get ahead of yourself. She’s still too vulnerable and may not understand what she’s saying. She’s quite literally not in her right mind just yet. However… she did say it. The embrace tightened and the younger woman was quite thankful that Past Bubblegum learned to control the rhythm of her heart. It would surely otherwise be going haywire at that admission. Well done, me. Excellent work. Her mental praise was interrupted by a yawn that was not her own. Her smile was half smirk. “Come on, Marcy. It’s past dawn and far too late for little bats to be awake.”

If she didn’t know any better she could have sworn that she saw the queen blush as she turned away to obediently remove her shoes. Fortunately, she didn’t know any better. Cute. “Would you like something clean to change into?” She was already rising to approach the wardrobe.

“Nah, I’m good.” To emphasize just how good she was Marceline was already a tiny bat climbing into a very large bed. “Forgot how soft this was…,” she yawned. Bonnibel Bubblegum had always insisted on having the softest bed imaginable, even when her reign first began. Something about bodies made of gum being easily pliable? There was definitely a lewd joke in there, but the tiny mammal was too tired to voice it. Then she caught the implication of the younger woman’s statement and poked her head out from under the blanket. “Hey, how long have you been awake?”

She… actually cares? Bonnibel cleared her throat. “I will join you shortly. I must confer with Pep-But that all non-essential meetings have been rescheduled for tomorrow, and be briefed on what essential meetings I am required to attend.”

“So… I’m making you miss work.”

The candy golem’s smile was gentle as she returned from her desk with two objects in hand. “You aren’t making me do anything, Marceline. Responsibility demands sacrifice, and I have more of a responsibility to you than some envoy from-” don’t say Fire Kingdom don’t say Fire Kingdom don’t “-neighboring territories about trade treaties. Nailed it. “Besides, it’s just for a day. I’ll meet with them tomorrow. In the meantime, however,” she held up a small yellow holo-crystal. “Do you remember how holo-crystals work?” The relief when the poofy bat nodded. “Regrettably, my own holo-crystal was left at your house. My bad. This one connects to Pep-But’s. If you need me use it and he’ll fetch me immediately.” Without thinking about it she laid the small device next to her mate on the steel platter, scritching her tiny ear on its way back up. No purring, but no biting either. She’d take it as a victory. Besides, Marceline was more focused on the second device.

“Isn’t that your lab’s ward?”

The wards were an ancient invention, one known only to three individuals, two of which were in the room, meant to prevent unauthorized access to vital sections of the castle. Which was, exclusively, Princess Bubblegum’s laboratory. They weren’t large devices; metal, oblong, dyed a soft shade of pink except for that tiny grey spot where Marceline had once tried to eat it out of boredom. In its inactive state it was entirely missable. Bonnibel crossed the room to the northwest corner, kneeling to place the device. The tiny bat pushed itself up on its wings, but couldn’t see through her. “Right now I’m authorizing only you, myself, Pep-But, Finn, and Jake access to and from this room. I’m sure Pep has already informed the castle’s staff that our rooms are off-limits for today, but this way I can be certain you’ll be able to rest without risk of being disturbed.”

Marceline tilted her head. “But… your lab needs it or peeps could go in it.”

“I’d rather prevent them from disturbing you. Besides, there are only three entrances to my laboratory, and they would never pass the security system.” At the mention of the ‘security system’ the half-demon shuddered and hid under the blanket, missing the princess’s apologetic smile. Ah, yes. You must have traumatic memories of the various defense measures I put in place. I’ll make sure everything is disabled for you. You won’t be conflagarated… or eviscerated or… well, any number of other conditions ever again. Before she could voice this promise there was a knock on the door and an adorable hiss from the bed. The young scientist rolled her eyes, clicking the ward into its activation state. A soft hum filled the room as four spiked legs emerged from the egg-shaped device, grounding it into the stone floor.

Unsurprisingly, it was Peppermint Butler at the door. Surprisingly, he seemed almost nervous, speaking in hushed whispers. “Your Highness, Finn and Jake have returned. And they brought-” A small white puff bolted passed the butler, and after a happy exclamation of ‘Schwabl!’ the two were left alone again. “Yes. That.”

The princess raised an eyebrow, repressing a smile at how happy her mate sounded. Still, her second oldest friend seemed distressed, and that could not possibly bode well. She matched his hushed tone. “They are more than welcome to join us here-” Now he seemed even more distressed, eyes darting to the tiny bat being licked by a tiny-but-still-bigger-dog. “They, ah… wish for you to join them in the throne room.”

Bonnibel stared at him, engaging in a silent but important conversation. When she nodded it was both an acknowledgement and dismissal. Once he was gone she closed the door, turning to the happy bat with a happy dog curled around her, both almost tucked under the impossibly soft pink comforter. “Marcy, I have to meet an envoy for a moment.” She strolled over to the bed, tucking her in fully as the bat yawned, the dog following suit. Aw… “Try to eat something, a’ight? I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The bat nodded drowsily. Between the relief of seeing her beloved pet, the warm blankets, and the soft bed she was asleep before the candy golem reached the ward once more.

For several long seconds she stared at the device, mindlessly doing its one job. After a quick look over her shoulder to confirm there were no prying garnet eyes she kneeled next to it, making one small but vital change: removing Finn and Jake as authorized users. It made one click of acknowledgement before resuming its task, the only other noise in the room being the soft breathing of three immortal beings, two very much asleep. The third? The third was strolling to her wardrobe, all warmth and emotional fuzzies she had been experiencing until now being safely compartmentalized, placed in the same box as Bonnibel Bubblegum the Person. By the time her crown was retrieved from the wardrobe Princess Bubblegum the Role was once more in control, unsure as to which part of her was real and which was the facade.

But one thing was very clear, and that was that the younger woman’s paranoia wasn’t unfounded. After all, evolution discarded features and traits of animals it found a hindrance, and it had seen fit to cultivate that . Her mind was already turning over her butler’s announcement. The only reason they would refuse to meet us in our chambers is because they have information they don’t want Marceline to know about. In all likelihood, that means something has gone wrong. If they wish to meet in the throne room they either have a poor sense of urgency or they are coming as champions of the kingdom. If they come as champions they are not coming as friends. It stands to reason, then, that it is not outside of the realm of possibility that they are not here for innocent or friendly reasons. She slipped out of the door, closing it gently behind her. Her champions were heroes of good, righters of wrongs. Friends, yes, but was she really willing to risk her mate’s safety in the name of friendship, now that she finally had her home, safe and sound?

Bon, put the mental weaponry away. They’re just the dweebs. You’re reading way too much into this. They probs just don’t want to disturb her. You can’t just start thinking of peeps as enemies just ‘cause they’re bein’ weird. Don’t go back to how you were just ‘cause it’s easier.

Perhaps Rechte, who was unquestionably insightful, was right, and their choice in location was purely innocent. Perhaps they needed to meet away from Marceline for an entirely unrelated reason, or they had expected her to bring the vampire along with her. There were lots of possibilities, lots of unknowns, lots to parse through. But Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum didn’t get where she was by taking foolish chances and letting her squishy heartgut feelings guide her intellectual and political decisions. No. Those were exclusively for Marceline.

Easy, Bon.

Princess Bubblegum was a machinator, a scientist, a princess, in that order. She would ascertain the nature of Finn and Jake’s unusual behavior, consider her options, derive a plan, and act accordingly, without any rashness or preconceived notions. After all, the duo were friends, that was unquestionable, and she would not have a beautiful grey-skinned woman sleeping in her bed if not for them. Curious behavior notwithstanding, they were special, not just because they were her champions, but because they had proved themselves capable guardians and loyal friends. They deserved more than she could ever repay, and she would forever be in their debt.

But Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum had not survived almost 900 years because Marceline Abadeer, her soulmate, gambled with her life. She identified threats, took the initiative to keep her safe, made sure she never worried about who or what lurked in the shadows. If her now-defunct trophy case was to be believed she had done this hundreds of times, far more than she had ever let on, ever hinted at. Bonnibel would not be alive were it not for her love and protection.

It couldn’t hurt to make sure Marceline was safe as well.

Chapter Text

When Finn Mertens was a child life was decidedly simple.

He had always known he wanted to be a hero. After all, his parents were heroes, and who was he to idolize more than the people who found him in the forest, took him home, and raised him alongside their natural puppies? His goals seemed so clear-cut back then: protect the innocent, stop and beat up the bad guys, help the good guys, right wrongs. In time his aspirations would grow, and he would become the champion of the wisest and most benevolent leader in all of Ooo. The fact that he had a slight crush on her certainly didn’t help that particular motivation. Absolutely not.

As a child he thought that these life aspirations were, indeed, what it meant to be a hero, and so the facts surrounding a hero’s duty were just so obvious, were so simply defined; the innocent were those who had done no wrong and didn’t deserve the misfortune befalling them; the bad guys were those that were hurting aforementioned innocents; the good guys - like he and his brother - were the ones trying to protect aforementioned innocents; righting wrongs meant balancing the scale of justice; and the wisest and most benevolent leader in all of Ooo was, without a doubt, Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum of the Candy Kingdom, who created, loved, and protected every one of her citizens with all her heart.

Adult Finn Mertens envied Child Finn Mertens’s innocence. In fact, it made him grimace.

He had suspected he was coming into his stride as a hero at the tender age of seventeen. By then he had fought countless enemies and saved Ooo dozens of times, not least of all from powerful foes such as the Lich. Not even a man grown and he was already a household name, the go-to guy for all problems great and small, from opening pickle jars to finding ancient artifacts by solving cryptic yet pointless riddles. He had known he was growing up the moment he made the crucial yet vain decision to try to reason with Gumbald not to start a war with the Candy Kingdom, to try to act as a diplomat rather than face-puncher. But it would take traversing his friend’s shattered psyche, meeting those pieces of her that acted as villain, hero, and anti-hero, all with their own motives and perspectives in life and perspectives of him , for Finn to come to the conclusion that, deep down, he really had no idea what it meant to be a hero or champion of anything. It was a crisis of identity his brother and best friend didn’t share, one he was alone in trying to make sense of.

Finn would like to say that the realization was gradual, that his crisis evolved over time, something he spent his life considering and weighing and trying to comes to terms with. Finn would like to say that, but he was just as guilty as his ladybros in denying the reality of his own life, of turning a blind eye to that which was unpleasant. In truth, it was only now hitting him with enough force to leave a psychological bruise, and he knew now that the complexity of reality was staggering, the unanswered questions now gaping holes in his sense of self-worth and understanding of the threads that held his world together. Was Princess Bubblegum truly benevolent, even with her wisdom acting as a double-edged sword, used to protect just as often as it was to manipulate? After all, she sewed life together and certainly loved and guided her citizens, but she also imposed her own will on her subjects to varying extents and apparently had a multi-century history of being a borderline-abusive girlfriend, something of which neither immortal spoke of, something he would have known nothing about if not for the entire tragedy. Were innocents always blameless? Surely the victims of the current disaster were, what with the broken homes and also bodies. Were people who caused pain and suffering bad guys by default? Sure, Marceline had caused untold destruction, but she hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, there was no doubt about that. Still… she was the cause, and she was capable of so much more, and he had personally met pieces of her that did want to do so much more. She wasn’t even with him to clean up her mess, but then again she couldn’t even control herself these days. Did that mean, as a hero, it was Finn’s job to stop her before something worse happened? What would it mean to stop her, exactly? To stop a friend, someone so close they may as well be family? Kill her? Detain her? Detain her where? What would it mean to balance the scale of justice in a situation as unprecedented as this?

What was justice, exactly?

He and Jake talked a lot about justice, which was weird; it occurred to him only now that he had never even bothered to define what it was and was not, the two only kept the concept vague and undefined. As children it just seemed so self-evident. Now he knew better, which is to say he knew nothing at all. Did it depend on the circumstances, and was he qualified to make that distinction on behalf of an entire land? Was it always retribution, or was there some grey area? Navigator, who was sentiment incarnate, certainly thought there was no decisive line between good and evil, and she had been as close to a hero as Marceline herself got. It was undeniable to the boy, deep down-ways in his heart of hearts, that Marceline was just as innocent as her victims. She had possessed the power for such destruction within her all along but had never used it until now, had struggled and hurt herself to keep her nature contained and hidden from the world, and even then when it did escape it wasn’t purposeful. Even years ago, when Jake had intentionally-yet-unintentionally stirred the villagers into action after finding their cows drained of blood, Marceline took no violent action against them. I mean… sure, she wasn’t actually a vampire at the time, but she still had her strength and her pyrokinesis. And… necromancy, I guess, even if she hates doing it. She still coulda wasted them all if she wanted. Besides… she’s my ladybro. I gotta duty to her, just like everyone else.

But where did one duty end and another begin? If Marceline proved incapable of recovering or fully controlling herself, would it be his responsibility to stop her? How far would he have to go? Could he do so in good conscience knowing that doing so may alienate him from the Candy Kingdom? Or… would he have to stop the denizens of the Grasslands from attacking her, to give her a chance to heal and return to normal? It had been some time since the Vampire Incident, and Finn especially knew that Common Folk had short memory spans; Marceline had ultimately ended up being their savior, but hatred comes so much easier than gratitude. Would their memory of her saving them outweigh their fury? Was he under obligation to tell them what really happened? So many questions swirled in Finn’s mind, so many variables he had never thought he would ever have to contend with, at least all at once, because he was only now realizing one great truth: he had dreamed of being a hero since he was a child, but the problem with deciding on a dream as a child is that the dream is created through the eyes of a child. Were Marceline with him, and were she in her right mind, she would undoubtedly taunt him about him finally losing his innocence, teasing him that the world isn’t black and white, that lines aren’t clearly drawn, and that maybe he should get off his own personal Percy.

Don’t get me wrong, you’re a nice kid, but I really dislike you ‘obey the law’ types on principle. All you do is take someone else’s rules and force them down the throats of other peeps, don’t even care if they want to. You just do what your leader says and expect everyone else to do the same. Not really fair, huh?

As absolutely insane as the Usurper had been Finn was beginning to understand where that manic statement stemmed from, where some of that rage had been rooted and why she had lashed out at the heroic duo with such ferocity. After all, she may have been psychotic but she was still part of his best ladybro, and so just as valid as any of the others. She shared in the Whole’s wisdom and life experience and, despite her mania and impulsivity was actually quite intelligent. That animosity didn’t derive from nothing, even if he would love to pretend otherwise. Usurper saw the grey of it all. She just saw oppression and was mad mad that me and Jake were trying to make it overly simple. We all keep saying she was mega selfish... but maybe that’s what she thought about us? It was a difficult pill to swallow, that a being of chaotic evil may have actually been more insightful than anyone anticipated. I mean… maybe I’m reading too much into it? I’unno. Peebo said that Marce could be really insightful, and they all kind of were, in their own way.

He shelved that line of thinking; now was not the time for his existential crisis, and he didn’t have the means or know-how anyway. As it stood he and Jake had their own problems to deal with, problems that could summarized in three words: conflict of interest.

“Finn, I think I’m freaking out, man.”

You and me both, brother.

They had been given explicit instructions: check out the extent of the damage done to Marceline’s house, then confirm the situation occurring in the Grasslands. Unfortunately, though, Princess Bubblegum had been in great haste and had forgotten one critical detail about those not as smart as herself: it doesn’t take much to cause a mass panic, and oh boy was that an understatement. No sooner had Finn hung up with her that It began, and It began en masse.

“Oh thank goodness, Finn and Jake are here!”

“Finn and Jake! They’ll get to the bottom of this!”

“Our heroes who have never let us down and surely never will!”

“They never disappoint us and this will be no exception!”

Through some miracle Finn managed to repress his sigh. While he would normally bask in such praise, already jumping into the fray with promises and vows and such, this situation was unique to say the least. It would be up to the duo to toe a very delicate line between being a hero and promising to help while being a friend and not giving too specific a promise of how he would do so. Were it not for their long history of saving the world the denizens of the Grasslands would have surely noticed the subtle difference, but his track record spoke for itself. ‘Sides… except for calling the cause a giant bat they don’t actually know it was Marce. Alright, Finn. Play it all cool-like. You’re a cube. An ice cube. Which is the most righteous kind of cube. But it wouldn’t due to appear like the brothers were disregarding their method of hero-ing up the place. They had to, at the very least, go through the motions. Convincingly.

“Don’t worry guys, we got this! Now, we’re gonna talk to everyone, so don’t go runnin’ off for any reason or… bad stuff will happen!” To Finn’s claim there was a collective gasp, a small puff of a creature fainting from the sheer shock. “‘Gasp’ is right! We wanna get to the bottom of this, and we need you all to channel your inner righteousness and help us out! So we’re gonna talk to you one at a time, so don’t go all whispering to each other! Rumors are for lame-os, and you guys don’t wanna be lame, right?” The consensus: No one wanted to be lame.

With a nod, Finn turned to his brother. “Alright Jake, how do we do this?”

Jake rubbed his chin, squinting as he surveyed the area. “We gotta be like detectives, man. Solve the mystery.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Uh… Jake? We already know who did it. And why. And even where she is.”

The dog was unamused, expressing so by blowing an unnecessarily loud raspberry. “Not that mystery! We gotta know how bad it is and junk. Tell ya what, I’ll call Doctor Princess, you start roundin’ up the victims.”

“While also making sure we don’t tell them who did it?”

The elder brother stopped to consider this. “Oh man, that’s an even better plan!” As his brother gawked Jake gave him the Ultimate Double Thumbs Up before reaching into his fur pocket for his phone. “What ya waitin’ for?! Get sleuthin’, Finn!”

As Jake began to dial with one hand while shaping his head-fur’s mass into a rather handsome hat with which to sleuth Finn sighed, shaking his head at his brother’s lackadaisical attitude towards the entire situation. Still… it’s an improvement over what went down the last time Marce was involved in carnage and mayhem. If turning this into a game kept Jake amused enough not to spill the secret of ‘whodunnit’ it was, in the boy’s opinion, a small albeit strange price to pay. “Word. See ya out in the field, Detective Jake!” And with that the boy turned, formally addressing the victims of Marceline’s panic attack. At least… those that could stand. That didn’t exactly seem to be a large portion of the population. Or even half a portion. Ah, nuts.

Those that had been cheering his name were the lucky ones. The blast radius was larger than he had anticipated, jagged and haphazard ground scorched red where there was once vibrant green grass. Any building or structure caught within were no longer buildings or structures; instead they were crumbled heaps, completely unrecognizable to anyone not already familiar with them. Even before investigating the full extent of the damage it was obvious that nothing had been spared. He only hoped the losses`were limited to stuff, not peeps. With a deep breath- “Alright guys! We’re here-”

And then came the cheering. The heart-wrenching, confliction-inflicting cheering.

“Hooray!”

“My hope for the future has been restored!”

“Life is worth living again!”

Finn sighed, shook his head, and started again. “Guys! We’re here to see what’s up! But you gotta let us work, alright? We’re gonna talk to everyone who can talk and figure out what happ-”

“We know what happened!”

“A horrible bat rained death from the sky! It hates us and our way of life!”

By some miracle Finn repressed a frustrated groan. Okay. Let’s try that again again. “GUYS! We know something messed up went down, but you gotta let us work! You can help us out by just answering our questions and not leaving! A’ight?” The question what rhetorical and he gave his captive audience no chance to argue; instead he crossed the threshold from the untainted Grassland to the remnants of his best ladybro’s madness.

At the very least, for whatever reason he didn’t care about at the moment, he was left alone to his work. Which was great, really, because that way no one could see him sweat, or hear his deep swallow, or his tell-tale sigh, or the hammering in his chest, because this portion of the Grasslands was completely unrecognizable. Yes, he had known that the ground had been scorched. But this? With great trepidation Finn kneeled, reaching into the dust that had replaced the soil, feeling it move between his fingers. It was more like clay, really, like it had never been alive at all. When he closed the hand into a fist it crumbled and disintegrated into dust, as if the very lifeforce, the soul of his home, had been ripped away. He wondered it was possible; nevermind Marceline’s state of mind, how was it possible to turn lush greenery into such desolation?

Nothing burns hotter than demon fire.

Finn shuddered involuntarily at the echo of Lady Evil’s smug claim. Demon fire? Is that what did this? It would explain a lot. Actually, it would explain too much, because he couldn’t even begin to understand the implications if such a thing were true. After all, he knew the color of his ladybro’s flame: a stereotypical orange, more often than not used to light candles or for use as amusing parlor tricks to scare innocent bystanders half to death. But only half. Marceline was a purist, after all. Alright. I gotta find someone who can keep it on the downlow who saw this. Easier said than done, of course, as his job so often was. Peebo should see this. After a quick glance over his shoulder so he could ascertain his brother’s position he flicked his backpack to the front and began digging through for any sort of container. “Let’s see… binoculars, glue, a strand of rope, some socks,” he muttered, pulling out a slip of pink paper that read ‘Do not lose this paper -Princess Bubblegum’ before gingerly returning it to its zipper compartment. With a frown he pulled out his second-finest white sock. “I guess this’ll have to do.” Cupping a small handful of grey ground Finn poured it into its new home, tying the garment off before dropping it back into his bag. With a quick glance around he straightened it, standing once more.

Now that the sample was safe in the impenetrable fortress that was Finn’s pack he was free to traverse the ruined land. It was difficult to ascertain exactly how wide the catastrophe spread, but it was easily enough to desolate at least two villages. Two small villages, filled with small residents, but two villages nonetheless. Still, it didn’t spread too far in that regard; he could easily seen greenery before the horizon, which meant the destruction had to end somewhere. Alright, let’s go with that. Picking no direction in particular - as was the mark of a skilled and experienced hero - Finn stalked off. Something’s weird here. He frowned, whipping his head around once more, but nothing new presented itself. Besides all the other weirdness, something’s… even weirder. Sort of like-

And then he understood, turning back to where he began. He was several meters away now, but within good shouting distance. “Hey Jake! I need your pow-pows, dude!”

At first he wasn’t sure that his call to arms had been heard, but when an incomprehensible shout was returned it was quickly followed by a brown furry body stretching over to meet him. “What’s up, Finn? I called Doctor Princess. She said she specializes in Little Tuxedo People, but she should be able to help. I think she’s on her way. I wasn’t paying attention.” Neither was Finn, who only nodded along in what he hoped appeared thoughtfully.

“Hey, I need to ride on your back while you get real tall.”

Nothing seemed suspicious about that odd request, and so Jake just shrugged, stretching to a bird’s eye view before scooping Finn up. “How’s that?”

Finn barely noticed as he was deposited on his brother’s back. He was too busy noticing everything else. The clear blue sky. The cool, gentle breeze that swayed the vibrant green and yellow and orange and red trees. Their leaves, too. Above him birds flew with nary a care in the world. The air smelt of autumn and what remained of the smoke, though one of these scents was decidedly more pleasant than the other.

But it was what lay under his brother’s paws that truly interested him.

“...Huh.”

Jake raised an eyebrow at the boy, then looked down for himself.

“...Huh.”

Yes, the ground was scorched, that much was obvious. What wasn’t obvious except from above, however was- “Woah. It just… stops. Finn, I think I’m freaking out again.”

When fire - real fire - spreads, as Finn especially knew from first-hand experience, it tapered itself out, gradually growing weaker until it was extinguished. It meant that, in the end, some of the immediate area would be burned, some of it not, some badly, some barely. This was not the case here. Whatever Marceline had done, whatever fire or fire-like substance it had been, it had abruptly stopped itself. Though the edges of the destruction were uneven, lopsided, jagged, and otherwise haphazard one thing was universally true: there was no tapering, no gradual lessening of the flame’s intensity. Instead there was a clear line between ‘destroyed’ and ‘not destroyed’, between ‘grey clay/dust’ and ‘lush green grass’, as if the flame had extinguished suddenly, had seared everything only to vanish without a trace. For the second time his thoughts turned to Lady Evil. How when she extinguished her fire it went out cleanly and without delay. How when anyone - everyone - else he saw with a flame had to put effort into dispelling it. ...No. Uh uh. Don’t even go there, Finn. This is still a mystery. Can’t be tainted your mindmeats into drawing a conclusion before you review everything. Snap out of it! Okay, I’ve snapped out of it. Radical job, Finn. Thanks, Other Finn. With a gulp he fished for his phone, taking as clear a photo as he could of what lay below him. “It’s alright, Jake. Let’s go down.”

The elder hero didn’t need to be told twice, or even once for that matter. The moment Finn had told him that it was alright he had taken it as permission to return to his normal size, almost dropping the boy in the process. “Okay, that’s better. If I can’t see it it can’t see me.”

That made absolutely no sense. “Makes sense to me, man.” Not that Jake needed to know that. “Wanna use those mad detective skills and help me interview the victims?”

That brightened Jake’s mood considerably. “Yeah, man! Let’s do this right!” Reforming his spiffy detective’s hat - Finn hadn’t even noticed he had lost it at some point - he once more allowed Finn to mount him before stretching back to the bulk of the carnage: the victims.

He knew it would be true, but it didn’t blunt the impact of seeing the calamity: as bad as the landscape itself was, the villages were worse. Prior to today the landscape was bare, only housing grass. The villages, on the other hand, were - emphasis on were - far more occupied. Before today there had been buildings, roads, people, all tiny, but all the hallmarks of civilization. Or… were. The buildings were unrecognizable charred husks. Most were collapsed in on themselves, or being supported through hopes and dreams and oddly well-placed support beams that wouldn’t be able to fulfill their intended purposes much longer. The metal was warped and twisted; Finn was amazed by the sight, but it almost looked like several cube-shaped buildings had been fused together to make a giant, purposeless cube that was in no was right. With a gentle nudge he signalled Jake to drop him off.

“Everything is like this. Some mushroom guy said his peeps are doin’ alright, but it looks like Soft Village got hit, too.”

Finn paled. “Are they…?”

“They’re still soft, but their stuff isn’t. He said it’s all melted and ruined.”

The young hero felt his insides itch. How did you do so much damage in so little time, Marce? It was almost impressive, in a macabre sort of way. If it weren’t so horrifying he’d make the trek to assess the damage himself. Logically, he should, he knew it, but it was getting to be too much for the human, so afflicted with human emotions.

Perhaps predicting his anxiety Jake held up his own phone. “Dude sent me the pics. You’re not gonna like ‘em.” But I’m gonna guess the princess is gonna like ‘em less.

Never before had Finn felt such relief. Sometimes he almost forgot what a competent hero his older brother was, once he overcame his sloth and occasional bouts of cowardice. Always the best big bro a little bro could ask for, though. “Alright, so Cube Village, Mushroom Village, and Soft Village were all hit.” Something bothered him, something about the locations of all three of those villages in relation to something else import-

His eyes widened. “Oh nuts! Those are all near where Tree Trunks lives!” And just like that, the gravity of the situation crashed around him. He was anxious before, but now he was positively panicked, and were he not so experienced in navigating impossible and life-threatening situations he would surely be hyperventilating, or something else less gallant than his normal demeanor. As it stood his mind was already racing, not so much putting the pieces together as he was slamming them together with brute force. This is it, isn’t it? P-bubs said the Lich is gonna come back, and this is how it happens! Marce loses control, accidentally kills Sweet P, and- “Jake, we gotta get there.”

With a salute Jake scooped Finn onto his back and took off, yelling something over his shoulder as he did so. Exactly what he said the boy couldn’t understand, but he also didn’t try all that hard: if his hunch was correct the Cosmic Owl’s prophecy was about to come true in the worst way. For a brief moment his fingers twitched towards his phone, but he resisted the urge to call the old elephant. After all, if he was right she was a grieving mother now, and that would just be insensitive. With a gulp, Finn closed his eyes tightly, hoping he was wrong. He was almost in panic attack mode himself now, memories of fighting the horrid monster washing over him. He was no stranger to panic attacks, but he hadn’t exactly planned on having one right that second and it took what Linke had once mocked as his heart of gold to repress it. Yes, he was victorious and had been every time, but that didn’t lessen the mental impact of what the Lich had done, what he could do, what he was destined to do again. Winning didn’t negate the mental trauma of what it took to do so. And here it is again, isn’t it? In the back of his mind he counted the seconds as Jake barrelled towards their destination at top speed. Even with the added power of stretching it was taking too long.

Once more Jake said something to him, once more he didn’t listen, too lost in thought. With a frown, Jake skidded to a halt, catching his brother as he was flung off. “Dude, you gotta learn to pay attention. We’re here. But… uh…” As he set Finn down on the plush grass the younger champion frowned at his brother’s frown.

Wait… grass? Yes, grass. Plush and soft, well maintained and obviously cared for over a long period of time. In fact, the entire scene was picturesque: the small pink house was still finely decorated with nary a scratch, the chimney undented, the windows looked freshly cleaned. Even the ‘welcome’ mat looked scuff free. In fact, all of the outside decorations did; the chairs the bird-feeder, Tree Trunks’s beloved decorative bush, the growing woodpile in preparation for the coming cold seasons… everything looked exactly as it always did. The apple trees were full of delicious red and yellow and green fruit and swayed gently in the breeze, small squirrels could be seen peeking out of the knotholes, and the smell of cakes and pies filled the air.

Finn was almost too stunned to comprehend what he was seeing, whipping his head behind him, then to the front once more. The fire damage stops, like… forty meters from the house? His relief was short-lived. Wait, where is everyone? As if the entire plot of land was an illusion the young hero carefully passed through, aiming squarely for the small pink house. He felt silly doing so, but once it was within arms length he reached out and touched it, feeling the fine grained wood dyed pink under his fingers, the cool lavender and gold and mauve metal below it in semi-tasteful vertical stripes. A quick glance up showed the metal roof to be in excellent shape as well. With newfound determination he motioned for Jake to leave the birdfeeder alone- it’s meant for birds, Jake, and you might be bird-shaped right now but you’re still a dog, bro -and join him at the door. With new resolution hardening his will he knocked.

It was only a moment later before the door opened, a happy and familiar face greeting them. “Why Finn and Jake! Here you are, surprisin’ an old damsel. Naughty boys.”

It was an odd sensation, being genuinely glad to see Tree Trunks, but there it was in all of its glory. “Hey Tree Trunks! We’re here to… uh…” Honestly, he hadn’t thought this far ahead.

For better or for worse, Jake picked up the slack. “We’re here investigating some-” not bat not bat not bat “-bird thing that messed up the Grasslands. Have you seen it?”

Tree Trunks tilted her head, confusion evident. “I’m afraid not, boys. I think I’d remember somethin’ like that. Are you sure that was here?” Jake raised an eyebrow, turning to gesture wildly at the ruination right outside her front door. She followed his motions, tracing the edge of the disaster. That seemed to perplex her more. “Oh dear me, that’s just dreadful! When did all this happen?”

Now the brothers exchanged a shared look, a look that said and asked and answered so much. Fortunately, dealing with Tree Trunks was part of the Adventurer’s Handbook. “Our evidence suggests it was a few hours ago, ma’am.”

Tree Trunks shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Finn, but I don’t recall, and I’ve been here all day.”

Jake rubbed his chin. “So… are you the only one here?”

She nodded. “Oh yes. Mr. Pig and my darling Sweet P are on a father-son bonding trip to the Grocery Kingdom to get me some ingredients for tonight’s dinner.”

Interesting… “So they’ve been gone all day?”

“Oh yes. I’m afraid it can take quite some time for those two rascals to wander there and meander back. They left this mornin’, and I don’t believe they’ll be back until nightfall. When they left all that rubbish certainly wasn’t here.”

“And… you didn’t hear anything.” Jake said in obvious disbelief.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve been listenin’ to my stories.”

Once more Finn and Jake exchanged a look, this time of relief and confusion. “Alright, Tree Trunks. You’ve been very helpful. We’re gonna go talk to the other witnesses now before the perpetrator gets away with it.”

Tree Trunks nodded, a look of determination settling over her. “I see. Well, I wish you luck boys. Would you like a pie for the road? You’re still growin’ boys and all.”

“N-”

“Yes. Definitely. Please. Thank you. I love you.” Tree Trunks smiled as she turned back into the house. Jake’s grin was too triumphant to care about Finn’s pointed look. “What?”

“Jake, this is serious!”

“I gotta refill my energy gauge, Finn. It’s like a power tax. You wouldn’t get it.”

Finn had no time to argue; already Tree Trunks had returned, pie in trunk. “I always keep a fresh pie ready for when handsome, hungry young men come my way.” With an unsettling wink she deposited the pastry into Finn’s hands. “Now don’t you two be strangers you know. I know my Sweet P loves when you two visit.”

Now Finn did genuinely smile, a soft one, too, because the large boy may be the flesh and bone prison of the Lich himself but he was still a sapient, sweet child who loved hearing parentally-approved tales of the brothers’ adventures. “We won’t, Tree Trunks. We’ll come by soon.”

“Thank you boys. You take care now.” With one last wave she was back in home, leaving Finn, Jake, and the pie.

“...Huh.”

“You said it brother.” As Finn stood dumbfounded Jake helpfully relieved his delicious burden. “Here, let me help you with that,” he gleefully shouted as he shoved the pie, tin and all, into his unhinged jaw.

“Thanks,” the boy mumbled dumbly, still trying to process whatever it was that had just happened.

“Yup, I’m just the best guy there is,” Jake smirked, shovelling food into his face, as befitting his favorite hobby. When there was no guffawing or joyous agreement he frowned, removed the tin, and flung it into the wilderness. “What’s up, Finn?”

Finn continued to stare at Tree Trunks’s pristine cottage. “...I don’t get it, Jake. PB said that the Cosmic Owl told her that the Lich is gonna come back, and we’re gonna have to fight him, right? But he’s Sweet P now, so he’d have to… not be Sweet P anymore, right?”

“Ah, I gotcha.” He motioned back towards the miniature wasteland and Finn followed. “Seems like this would make sense, right? I mean, for Marce to have accidentally wasted him, giving Lich the chance to come back.” When Finn nodded, still deep in thought, Jake shrugged. “Listen Finn, the Cosmic Owl is a strange bird. His predictions don’t always come true in the way you think they will. Or maybe it will, but not for years and years. Not like the dude wears a watch.” He strolled off and the younger brother followed mindlessly.

Finn tumbled that thought about in his mindmeats, which were still in overdrive and hyper-aware of everything around him. That’s all true, but… “I don’t know, Jake. I think it’s really weird that Marce’s freakout just parked itself right outside of TT’s place.”

The dog shrugged. “Eh, I wouldn’t read too much into it. The destruction had to stop somewhere. Maybe Marce can tell us herself when we give Bubblegum the status update. Seems like the kinda thing she’d do. She’s probs just messin’ with us.”

He had blissfully forgotten all about the status update, and now the weight of reality was making his back ache. “Yeah, I guess.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Can’t worry about it now. Just another clue, Finn. You got other stuff to do. Even if her brain is kinda broken and I dun think that- “Yeah,” he nodded. “We gotta focus on other junk.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, but just as Finn settled into returning to his observations of what was once beautiful nature Jake released a disgusted groan. “Ugh. The longer I walk on this stuff the grosser my feets feel.” With a wrinkled nose he lifted his bottom left paw, shaking it. “Finn, it won’t come off,” he whined. “I didn’t do anythin’ to deserve this!”

Finn gave him a sad smile. No one did. “Chill, man. We’ll be back at the villages soon. Then we just gotta see if Doctor Princess is there and finish talkin’ to the peeps. Then we’ll head to the castle. Things will definitely be fine there.”

His reassurances didn’t help, but then Finn hadn’t thought they would. “That’s gonna take forever.”

“A hero’s work is never done, brother.”

Jake groaned loudly, a cry of help to the heavens, but didn’t argue. “Fi-i-i-ne.” And then his form grew, no longer satisfied by walking alongside his younger sibling. In one swift motion he all but yanked the human from the ground in his haste to become his mighty steed. “Sorry dude, but this is taken’ way too long, and I gotta wash this grossness off of my feet. They’re precious tender babies.”

Finn chuckled, “Alright guy. Do what ya gotta do.” And then the pair were off, Jake stretching himself to victory with great speed. Not that it took very long, really, or that they were very far objectively. Finn didn’t really blame the dog for his eagerness; they were both tired, emotionally, physically, and mentally, and even he was looking forward to a nap. He may be benefitted by the strength of will and a heart of gold, but that didn’t mean he was invincible, despite what he may have thought in his younger years. Or as recently as a few weeks ago, if he was really honest with himself.

It was hard to be, but he was anyway.

“So I was thinkin’.” Finn almost jumped at his brother’s mouth, eye, and ear in such close proximity. Then an eyebrow was just his other pieces, and the boy imagined it was arched. “Uh… you okay, Finn?”

He gave his best try at a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m cool as a cucumber. Just thinkin’ about stuff.”

“Well, don’t think too hard. You’ll get all wrinkly, like a weird big raisin.” The mouth grinned. “And I don’t think Huntress Wizard wants to be all smoochin’ on a raisin. Pretty sure she doesn’t swing that way.”

That successfully derailed Finn’s morose train of thought, his lips tightening into a thin line as his face flushed a deep pink. “Jake!,” he stifled from a yell into a squeak. All it did was make his brother cackle, the mocking sound accompanying both boys to the final leg of their journey. Before Finn could think of some retort, some defense, anything , Jake was already shrinking down, dropping his brother onto a crinkled black tarp that had been laid out on the ground, his butt successfully protected from the mutilated ground, his hands catching himself before he could hit it as hard as his posterior. Bruised butts were anything but radical. “Wha?”

“Oh good, there you two are.”

There was just something about that matter-of-fact voice that gave Finn such comfort, and he almost grinned at its presence. He managed to restrain himself, instead channeling that glee into enough energy to push himself to a standing position. “Doctor Princess! Man, we’re glad to see you.”

“Most people are.”

Despite the controlled tone the hero continued to smile. It was something the princess often adopted when she was at work as well, and he supposed it must be a brainiac thing. “How’s it lookin’?”

Ooo’s favorite physician snapped her gaze from her pristine tan clipboard covered in a scrawl that seemed to be unique to her professional to fix both brothers with an amused stare. She was in full doctor mode: her long, soft orange turtleneck she often wore on her rare days off from work was covered by a spotless lab coat. Each pocket seemed to contain some device Finn was certain was medically related, but that was as far as his understanding went.

He supposed the ones he did understand were nestled in the hard black bag with its bronze latch at her feet, a pre-War relic gifted to her by Princess Bubblegum after she aided in the candy golem’s un-shattering, an artifact Marceline had claimed was what ‘all the docs used to doctor people up with’. Her shoes were already coated in the grey landscape, indicating she had been hard at work for some time now. Two rolls of unused bandages decorated her left wrist, which was miraculously holding up under the unnecessary swiftness of her writing and the sheer amount of paper that held her notes. She answered his question with her own. “What am I looking at here exactly?”

It was a sentence he had heard often in his youth, more of a statement than anything else really, an implication that she could only do so much without knowing what she was dealing with. It made sense, of course: you needed to know how something broke in order to know how to fix it. It was also a subtle accusation, a prod as to why this had happened, not just how. He always figured it must be a weird science thing, because the princess did it, too. This would call for the careful censoring of any information that could implicate Marceline, because while he knew Doctor Princess’s professionalism demanded she keep all communication confidential that tended to be a right awarded only to her actual patients. She and the musician seemed to be on good terms - what with the woman saving the vampire’s mate and all - but the not-an-actual-princess was all about facts and answers, and may not understand or even care about the political and personal ramifications of a thoughtless answer.

“The village peeps said they saw a big bat or bird thing reign fire from the sky. They said it wrecked the place up. The ground, the buildings, them… pretty much everything. Said it happened really fast, too. When we got here nobody thought they got a good look at it.” Thank crud it was dark out.

The faux-princess let out a low whistle, rapidly scribbling on her clipboard. “Woah nelly. Whatever it was did a real number on this place.” She peeked over the clipboard, raising an eyebrow. “Are you certain they said it was fire?”

Jake shrugged, not about to argue with Finn’s story. He was in too deep. It wasn’t the first time, and he knew how to deal with the fuzz. Or… doctor fuzz. Who was probably not a real person, because how messed up would that be? “That’s what everyone said we talked to ‘em. Why?”

If Doctor Princess noticed the slight nervousness in his voice she gave no indication. Instead she made only a non-committal ‘hm’, scribbling rapidly before ceasing entirely. “And the ground was like this as well following this incident?” Both heroes nodded. More scribbling. “I’ve seen lots of burns and fire-related injuries in my time, and while I do not claim to be an expert in conflagration I’ve never seen fire cause damage like this, especially so rapidly. Burns are often asymmetrical, but the injuries I’ve seen so far appear to have been made by something more akin to an explosion, or at least intense fire focused and delivered at a close range.” Both stared at her blankly and she sighed. “These are strange wounds.”

Oh yeah. Totes. Two questions remained, both difficult to ask, harder to have answered. “Was anyone… uh…” Finn scratched the back of his head. “Are they…”

“No one’s dead though, right?”

The pseudo-princess returned to her notes, flipping through her past observations as Finn glared at Jake for his bluntness. Dude! You can’t just ask stuff like that! It’s messed up!

Evidently, not to the woman who, by some miracle, shook her head. “No. There were no casualties. However, many of my patients will require treatment beyond what I can reasonably provide here.”

Finn brightened. It was the first good he had received news in a long time. “Oh yeah! When we gave Princess Bubblegum the heads up that there was an accident in the Grasslands she said you could use all her stuff to treat these guys. We were gonna see her to give her a status report.”

He had expected her to question the princess’s generosity towards an area of land not legally under her domain that she rarely ventured into for anything but pleasure. Instead she only nodded thoughtfully, flipping to a new sheet of paper. “Yes, her facilities will be adequate for their care and rehabilitation.”

Jake tilted his head. “Uh… rehabilitation?”

“Mm,” she nodded, eyes not leaving her notes as she flipped through them. “Although there are no casualties that I have identified many of my patients have suffered extensive and grievous wounds, including requiring the reattachment of the limbs we could locate. As for those with injuries that cannot be restored fully…,” she trailed off, seemingly to take stock of how many victims that description represented. “They will require immediate treatment to prevent further damage, as well as physical therapy to teach them to reach a new normal in terms of life quality.”

Finn knew it would be bad, but hearing it out loud caused his stomach to sour, caused bile to reach the back of his throat, caused his head and heart to ache and for one brief, horrible moment he found himself… well, not blaming Marceline per se, but acknowledging beyond all doubt that if she hadn’t had a panic attack, or had she not chosen that specific route, these poor souls would be fine. And then he blamed himself, because it had been his idea to show her the kitchen. He hadn’t even considered how she might react to The Door, the room a significant portion of her had been tortured in for years. He had just jumped ahead and acted without thinking. I’m not cleaning up Marce’s mess. I’m cleaning up mine. He almost asked how many citizens were in the ‘maimed forever’ category, but a reassuring paw on his shoulder stopped him. Jake’s right. Not now.

Oblivious to Finn’s inner turmoil Doctor Princess snapped her pen closed. “This conversation will have to be continued at the Candy Kingdom’s medical facilities. While I do wish to continue to exchange information my duty is, first and foremost, to my patients. They require care, and I can only do so much here.”

Finn’s second important question would have to wait. “Yeah, you’re right. We’re gonna head to the Candy Kingdom and get help. We might not make it back before they do, so we’ll meet you there, okay?”

Doctor Princess gave one more non-committal ‘hm’, then nodded. “Yes, that’s fine. Unless the Candy Kingdom’s advanced medical facilities indicate an otherwise cause I will treat these injuries as burn wounds, based on patient description. I trust you are going to search for the creature they described in their report?” It was an entirely rhetorical question. Which was great, really, because that meant she didn’t get to see either hero’s nervous look, and was oblivious to their anxious cough. That they had no answer to offer except generic reassurances. That would work, right? “Yup, we’re gonna brief the princess, then hunt it down and beat its face in with its own face! Shouldn’t be too hard to find a giant bird or bat or whatevs thing.” Generic reassurance that it was, the guilt still pierced his heart.

That reassuring paw gave a reassuring squeeze.

Doctor Princess bobbed her head, then turned back towards the direction of her patients. “Before you ask, once they’re stabilized you may speak with them. Until then, they’re off limits.”

Finn blinked. Guess my second question was answered after all. Freaky. “Thanks, doc. We’re gonna head over there now and get help.”

“See you at the castle!” This time when Jake picked Finn up his brother was ready, relieved even. Especially when he took off for the castle at top speed. Which, when you’re 10 times your normal size, it quite fast indeed. “Alright Finn. Bubblegum’s probably still busy with Marce, right?”

He hadn’t considered that. Way to hero. And… way to friend-

“Dude, stop.” Finn looked down, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge his brother’s sigh. “I know what’s goin’ through your mind right now. I can smell it, and I know those looks you’re shooting off. Look man, we were all there, even Bubblegum, and she’s known Marce for like a billion years. We all shoulda known that the kitchen was a no-vampire land, but none of us coulda thought she’d react like this. You gotta stop all this self-doubt. I see it in your eyes, brother. It’s not helpin’ the peeps, or Marce, or anything else.”

The boy fell silent, considering those words. But Jake’s weren’t the only words he was considering.

You don’t get it, do you? The only reason anyone does anything is out of selfishness, and you two are no different, even if you want to pretend you are. You’re just like me, Finnberly, even if you want to sit on Percy and kid otherwise. You play the hero because being needed is addictive. There’s no such thing as doing things just because you care. You say you wanna take us home, but that’s not what I want, which means it’s all about you, isn’t it? You and Jake and Bubblegum, when it should be about us. You’re not doing this for any other reason than our rockin’ presence makes your life more awesome.

Had Linke been right? Had Usurper been right? “I didn’t think about what could happen her, Jake. I just cared that she was back-”

“Dude. Stop . I know what you’re doin’. You can’t go down that road. You wanted to make her happy. This time it backfired, but she’s gonna be okay.”

“She didn’t exactly look okay the cabin.”

“So? She’s gonna get better, Finn. You can’t trip yourself up everytime somethin’ like this happens. ‘Sides, what happens if you stop now? You really think she’s gonna get over this on her own? If it wasn’t for us she’d still be in the Nightosphere pretending nothing’s wrong. Not healthy, Finn. Just like this isn’t healthy.”

“But what if we have to stop her?”

“Then we stop her by helping her.”

Finn fell silent, amazed by Jake’s logic. Not just because of how iron-clad it was, but because it was coming from Jake , the same guy who only a few years ago had been all-too happy to accidentally lead an angry mob against their ladybro. Time flies, huh.

“How ‘bout this? Once Marce calms down you two can talk about it. Bubblegum messed up too, but she took her right back to the castle, even after everything Marce just did. That’s what being a hero’s all about, Finn. Anyone can suck it up and protect and whatever. We’re heroes ‘cause we’ll do what no one else wants to. No way anyone else except us wants to be anywhere near Marceline right now. Not even her.”

That slammed on the mental breaks, his self-doubt and guilt crashing, falling to pieces around him. “Wait… what?”

Jake shrugged. “Think about it. If you just did all the stuff she did would you wanna be you right now?” There was no answer. “Ya gotta stop looking at it like you took something good and made it bad. It’s the opposite. You took something bad and we showed her she can’t get rid of us if she tries.”

“But-”

“Hey, Marce doesn’t do anything she wants to do, just like you’ll always do what you have to do. She came back on her own, ‘cause we asked. I mean… we asked a lot, but you know. Remember what Billy told you? Heroes solve problems, and you’re solving lots of problems right now. Making our ladybro better, helping all those peeps get healed, trying to investigate this Lich thing. You can’t get hung up on the little stuff. Big picture, man.”

Big picture, huh? “...Thanks, Jake. I needed that.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty great.” The boy could feel the smirk, even while staring at the Grasslands, watching the scenery give way back to the natural beauty of his homeland. Soon even that changed as well, becoming somewhere stone. Somewhere familiar.

“Uh… Jake?”

“Gonna make a quick pit-stop!”

Exactly why his brother had brought him back to Marceline’s house was beyond the human, but there he was, being delivered to the scene of the second crime. Or… the first crime, as it were. Sure, they had been instructed by Princess Bubblegum to investigate this area as well, but given the pressing matter of the victims’ injuries now hardly seemed to be the time. “Uh… Jake? We really gotta-” And then his brother let out a long whistle, there was four heartbeats worth of silence, a familiar face bounded to them. A familiar, furry face. Oh. Schwabl. That’s actually a really good idea.

Both dogs stared at one another, unblinking, unmoving. Then, suddenly, the zombie poodle bounded onto Jake’s outstretched paw and was gracefully placed in Finn’s lap for safekeeping. “I figure Marce is gonna want the little guy. She’s probably freaking out about wrecking her house, gonna wanna know he’s safe.”

There was probably more from the house they should grab, but now was not the time. We can always come back after we give P-bubble the what up. Finn nodded, looking down at the dog, who seemed rather anxious. “Hey, don’t worry little guy. We’re gonna go find your person right now!” Schwabl stopped then, almost as if he understood every word Finn was saying. Then he plopped down, tense, watching as Jake left the cave the small dog knew as home. He knew the Grasslands, having lived in the Tree Fort and the Tree Fort’s predecessor for many years, but as he watched the tall trees becoming thinner and white, the green leaves becoming poofy and pink, the lush grass becoming soft and yellow. It wasn’t long before the Kingdom’s outer border came into view, the tangerine-colored road passing through the orchard, some already picked clean, some with juvenile apples not yet ready to leave home.

Finn hadn’t expected to feel such relief at the sight of the untainted Candy Kingdom castle. True, he had already been there since returning to Ooo proper, but it had yet to cease being such a comforting view. Neddy’s currant-red river was rich, the moat absolutely full of the life-giving juice the kingdom so relied on. The soft pink walls were uncracked, proud and tall. The flourish below the windows - which were actual windows this time - was unbroken and a bright orange. This time it was easy to see that the cupcake-shaped entranceway was actually cupcake-shaped, what with its pink frosting and purple* gumdrops outlining the top, with plenty of sprinkles for good measure.

The apricot spires stood uncracked and in one piece, flags waving the Kingdom’s triumph. The Kingdom’s mechanical guardians sat against them, blissfully blowing bubbles without a care in the world, though Finn imagined that they had been instructed to be extra-vigilant. With any luck Princess Bubblegum had someone precious with her that needed the protection. Most important, though, Kingdom’s red striped tree was still growing straight through the castle’s middle connecting the princess’s rooms under the shaded protected of the white fluff that crowned the castle, a testament to the might of the Kingdom, the unbowed of its ruler.

The drawbridge connected the land to the castle, welcoming their entrance. As was Peppermint Butler, who watched them with a passive, unamused expression. As was his norm. Hands behind his back he waited in the castle’s entryway, suit and tie as spotless as always. Two things were obvious: he had been expecting them for so long that he had already grown bored and that he had news he knew they wanted and if they wanted it they could very well come get it themselves because he was a very busy mint, thank you very much.

Normally the brothers - specifically Jake - would already be making jokes at his expense, but not today. No, today was too grave, and when he shrunk down to cross the drawbridge with nary a quip the butler raised an eyebrow. “I trust your investigation was successful?”

That’s one way of putting it. “We called Doctor Princess. She’s gonna need reinforcements, and she needs to bring them here to help ‘em all. She said can’t do a lot in the field, so she needs PB’s equipment.” Peppermint Butler gave a heartfelt sigh but, oddly enough, gave no sarcastic remark. Or any remark at all, really, even one admonishing the vampire for her behavior in the privacy of the princess not being within earshot. “I will send guards at once to collect them. Where was the most damage?”

“Cube Village, Soft Village, and Mushroom Village. No one got killed, but a lot are really bad off.” There was no softening what came next, but Finn tried anyway by softening his voice. “Peebo’s gonna wanna see what we got for her, but the short version is that Marceline really did a number on the place. Ground is, like… scorched and there are a lot of peeps hurt. Doc Prin wouldn’t let us talk to them yet, but… they’re in a bad way. Marce shouldn’t see this.” Yet again, no disparaging remark or sarcasm of any kind. Instead the candy man only held out his hand expectantly, and Finn obediently handed it over.

To his credit, Peppermint Butler held his composure for an impressive amount of time, but even he wasn’t amused to the sight of the sheer destruction and extent of the injuries Finn had managed to document, and Jake’s phone only added to his growing horror. “...Oh dear.” He returned the phones, no longer caring to peruse their contents. “Yes. It’s for the best that Miss Abadeer not be made aware of those images.”

“Yeah.” A deep pause. “How… uh… how is she?” His look said more than words could, and Finn felt his heart drop into his stomach to be eaten alive. “We should meet PB in the throne room. No candy people are allowed there, right?”

The mint nodded. “Yes. Unless she is within it, and without her express permission, the throne room is off-limits. Privacy should be assured there.” And with that he turned, a silent beckon for the champions to follow him. Evidently, the Kingdom’s regent had the authority to grant permission. Or maybe these were just extenuating circumstances, a situation so charged and so strained the normal rules didn’t apply, at least to the brothers.

When they reached the entryway to the throne room the situation abruptly became even more charged. “Oh dear.” With eyes wide, Peppermint Butler cleared his throat nervously, then turned on his heel towards his liege’s rooms. “You stay here, I’ll be back in a flash with Her Majesty!” There was no room for argument, not that he’d hear one anyway, because the situation had suddenly gotten a lot worse, and it was going to get worse still. By the time he was up the short flight of stairs and down the hall - almost skidding on the royal purple carpet in his haste- I must have that cleaned immediately - he had lost all composure, hadn’t even noticed the small dog following him; the pet knew from experience that where Bonnibel was Marceline wasn’t far behind. Peppermint Butler finding his composure again was the worst sort of treasure hunt, but duty called. Though he could hide how out of breath he couldn’t hide his nervousness. With another clear of his throat he knocked on the bedroom door. Once it opened he spoke in a hushed whisper.

“Your Highness, Finn and Jake have returned. And they brought-” A small white puff bolted passed the butler, and after a happy exclamation of ‘Schwabl!’ the two were left alone again. “Yes. That.” He couldn’t see the vampire, but found himself strangely relieved that she sounded in better condition than when he last saw her.

The princess raised an eyebrow, matching his hushed tone. “They are more than welcome to join us here-”

Now he seemed even more distressed, eyes darting to the tiny bat being licked by a tiny-but-still-bigger-dog. “They, ah… wish for you to join them in the throne room.” There was absolutely no reason to explain why that was. She would never come otherwise. Bonnibel stared at him, engaging in a silent but important conversation. When she nodded it was both an acknowledgement and dismissal. He was all-too happy to accept it, swiftly returning to the throne room’s entrance. “She will arrive immediately. Let’s, ah… let her enter first, shall we? I will call for you once she is settled.” And then he fled that location as well, sliding into the throne room through the main entrance. It wasn’t long before his ruler entered through the private doorway, who was trying to shake the memory of doing exactly this when confronting the Usurper for the first time.

“Pep, why do they wish to meet in the throne room?”

He cleared his throat once more, nervousness intensifying. He knew that tone of voice, something Marceline once called her Most Royal Voice. Somehow, within just the few minutes since he last saw her, the princess had lost her warm demeanor. Maybe her crown had banished it away. “They have news regarding the state of the Grasslands, and it was decided that it is best Miss Abadeer not be made aware of it.” Their eyes met then, and he almost squirmed.

“Is that the only reason, Pep?”

It was hard to look her in the eyes then. They really were piercing, as if she could see into his very soul. After all, for all he knew she built the thing. “There’s, ah… a guest for you. I thought the throne room was the best choice to receive her .”

It was the way he emphasized ‘her’, the way his eyes darted to the main entry-way’s massive door, the way he seemed keen to leave as soon as possible that told Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum everything she needed to know. “Send her in, with Finn and Jake.”

“Back in a flash!” And then he strolled off, composure regained. After all, his behavior was a reflection of his matriarch, and he would allow the vampire to drain his stripes before he would ever act in a way that suggested she was an ineffective ruler. As he left Princess Bubblegum followed him, lowering herself with every bit of grace, sitting with every bit of authority afforded by her station and centuries of rule. By the time the door opened once more, by the time Finn and Jake entered sheepishly, eyes averted, the immortal had lost all of the warm fuzzy heartgut feelings so inspired by her mate and didn’t even register as both kneeled before her. Right now she was the last thing she needed because Bonnibel Bubblegum had had a plan: cancel all appointments, convince the half-demon to eat, take stock of her wounds, maybe pamper her to demonstrate how safe and loved she was.

What was the pre-War expression about the plans of mice and men?

And then Peppermint Butler appeared, trailing after her champions, one more guest in tail. He cleared his throat, hands rested behind his back, then spoke with the authority befitting his station. “Princess Bubblegum, I present Flame Princess Phoebe, of the Fire Kingdom.” And there she was, in all of her glory. Through centuries of experience the candy golem successfully hide her bristle, controlled herself to not glare at the fire elemental’s self-satisfied smile. The two monarchs stared at one another, an equal challenge, for it is always prey who deflects from the predator. Without dropping her stare- “Thank you, Peppermint Butler. You may leave us.” He nodded, turning towards the exit. Until-

“And Pep-But?”

He turned to her, hand on the wooden escape-route, so close but so far. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“...Close the door.”

Chapter Text

Perilous.

Adjective.

Definition: Involving or full of grave risk or peril; hazardous; dangerous.

Examples include: Mountain climbing during a snowstorm. Sailing a ship through stormy seas. Running through an inferno to rescue cute forest creatures.

In short, the word-a-day calendar BMO has jokingly gotten him as a birthday present when he was 14 gave Finn a really good way to describe the situation before him, but absolutely no guidance as to where he should go from here. Princess Bubblegum was often fond of saying that knowledge was the key to power, but this wasn’t exactly helping her case.

Let the record show that Phoebe had come with purpose. This was deliberate, it was calculated, it was not a rash action. How else could she have made it through the gate and parked herself outside of the Candy Kingdom throne room otherwise? No, she had a mission, that much was clear. It showed in the unmistakable resolve in her eyes, in the imposing way she mannered herself, the obvious way in that she knew she wasn’t on home soil but that she wouldn’t let it compromise the integrity of her mission. What mission? Finn felt it a reasonable assumption that it had to do with Marceline, as everything else had been lately. But then why’s she dressed like that?

Her choice of attire was indeed odd for a mission of peace, and Finn was hopeful that was all this was. Though she was not wearing the maroon battle armor befitting her station as a real-deal princess of one of the most powerful kingdoms in all of Ooo she wasn’t exactly dressed down as if visiting an old buddy either; a form-fitting vermillion dress with a tangerine blaze down the middle, outlining the hem, falling just below her knees. It was accented by a short amber-colored sash with matching ankle boots. It was simple attire, and one may even mistake her for a peasant of her own kingdom, if not for her golden crown with its royal gem mounted in the center, shining with all of the authority her calm demure demanded. Yes, she may not be dressed to the nines but Phoebe’s quiet royal dignity spoke for itself.

In contrast, Princess Bubblegum was not dressed befitting her status as the matriarch of one of the most powerful kingdoms in all of Ooo. It seemed to the boys that she hadn’t changed her outfit at all since they last saw her, save for shedding Marceline’s-turned-Bonnibel’s letterman jacket. Which made sense, given that it was probably still soaked in maroon blood. Whereas Phoebe’s outfit appeared carefully selected the candy golem’s was relaxed; she still had her lavender hoodie and matching sneakers on, as well as her washed jeans. Her hair was still tied back, her own crown with its own royal gem as imposing as a simple tiara could ever be, its presence the only change from when the brothers last saw her.

Her wardrobe may have been relaxed, but Princess Bubblegum was anything but. She sat rigid, not quite glaring, but not quite not glaring. The hand-painted dark violet and carnation wedged-pattern mosaic throne, something so delicate and beautiful, seemed to accentuate her visible displeasure. The size and delicate shape, befitting the most powerful woman in the most powerful kingdom - politically at least, was in of itself a weapon, one she was already wielding, as if to remind the younger woman that she wasn’t entirely surrounded by friends, and those friends she was surrounded by wouldn’t be able to do a thing to help her if this meeting - or whatever it was, Bonnibel had no idea yet - went sour, as she assumed it would.

When she rested her arms, a visible indicator that she was settling not only into her seat but into her role, her mindset, her cold demeanor, it was a silent signal to Finn and Jake, and the brothers exchanged a pitiful look; as tense as this all was, Phoebe had, knowingly or not, declared that she wanted Bubblegum to hold formal court. She was their ladybro, but Bubblegum was their princess, and unless things turned ugly there was nothing they could really do but figuratively hold their tongues and hope it played out peacefully. Their plain-clothes loyalty was to all friends, but their station-loyalty was to their princess alone, and the thought caused Finn’s heart to plummet into his stomach. What happened to you guys? Yeah, you weren’t ever really buds, but there wasn’t all this animosity. Why are you hating on one another?

“You’ve entered my kingdom without my express permission, interrupted my biz, and demanded my attention. What reason do you have?” And it better be a good one.

To her side, Jake gulped. Oh man, she’s gone all Dark Bubblegum again. Both fear and guilt panged in his heart, because why he didn’t exactly recommend Phoebe come over for a quick ‘how ya doin’?’ he didn’t exactly leave her with the impression that Marceline was fine. What with the frantic calling and Lady Evil’s ominous message and all. What else could this be about. Oh man. Oh man oh man. Don’t tell Bubblegum about that message. No way. Uh uh. I’d be a dead dude for not telling her.

Alright then, if you’re gonna use the formal language… “Thank you for holding court under such short notice, Bubblegum. Do you want the formal reason I’m here or the informal one?” ...then I’m gonna go nice and casual.

Bonnibel’s posture was ramrod straight. No movement, not even a flick of her wrist, was a misplaced gesture. Her gaze bore into the younger woman who held her own, not with the same ferocity but unyielding all the same. It provided adequate shelter from the icy, indifferent tone in a voice Finn and Jake were no longer accustomed to. Not since The Tragedy. “Get to the point, Phoebe.”

Phoebe watched her carefully, admiring her demeanor, her mannerisms, her tension. That bad, huh? “Alright. You broke the trade agreement, so the Fire and Candy Kingdom’s have a dispute on our hands that I would prefer not to turn ugly.”

The older princess sighed as Finn turned to Jake, mouthing ‘trade agreement?’, to which the dog only shrugged. “And that required you present yourself to the Candy Kingdom like this?”

The fire elemental shook her head, seemingly unaffected by the alacrity she was being assaulted with. “Not as a first response, no. But you’re hard to get a hold of, girl. I’ve sent you envoys, sent messengers with formal requests for an audience, mailed invitations to meet me in the Fire Kingdom, and you’ve dodged all of my phone calls. It looked a lot like you needed some help in getting us in the same room at the same time, so here I am.”

Were it any other circumstance the matter-of-fact manner that was so blatantly a mockery of Bubblegum’s own methodological thinking would be almost comical. This was not comical. This was like watching a car crash in slow motion, and Finn and Jake both knew they were helpless to stop the impending clash. They could only hope they could mitigate the damage. It was looking unlikely. “Yeah, I get that. Yes, I violated the agreement-”

“And I know why.”

I hate being interrupted. It wasn’t helping the candy golem’s mood, that was for sure. Nor was the seemingly implied threat to her mate, and to herself. After all, if Phoebe knew why and she wasn’t on such buddy-buddy terms with the beautiful woman fast asleep in her - their - room then it was, indeed, very much a threat. After everything Bonnibel would not tolerate even the hint of a risk to her lover’s safety. “Is that your informal reason?”

“Yes.” In contrast to Bonnibel’s icy tone Phoebe’s was firm, but warmer. “I want to see Marceline. I want to know how she is.”

Green eyes narrowed, a challenge Phoebe aimed to meet. “Marcy is resting right now. No one is disturbing her.” Least of all you.

“Yeah, I heard. She’s kind of had a long… whatever unit of time, huh?” Now the almost mocking tone of voice was gone, replaced with genuine concern. Bonnibel found it unsettling. “I don’t know the whole deal, but Jake gave me some of the what-up when he called really panicky because you guys couldn’t find her and thought she might be a danger to herself?” The question was tricky there, because it wasn’t actually asking if Phoebe had the correct course of events straight. It was actually a different, thinly veiled question, one aimed squarely at her fellow royal. Phoebe disguised it well from Finn and Jake, but the older woman heard it loud and clear: ‘you did this, didn’t you?’.

Princess Bubblegum resisted the urge to turn to the dog, to see him squirm. Were she in pleasant company she most assuredly would like to see his guilty expression, but turning for confirmation right now, this very second? That would imply she didn’t control the actions of her own champion, that she wasn’t the one dictating what was happening. That she wasn’t in control. Blasphemy, plain and simple. “Yes, but she’s been located. She’s safe and resting.”

The two held a tense silence before Phoebe sighed. “Look, I know what happened. At least a little bit. I made Jake fill me in when I let you guys use my kingdom’s outskirts for stargazing.” Bonnibel repressed her eye twitch quite elegantly. “You manipulated her into putting on Hunson Abadeer’s chaos amulet, she was badly injured because of it, and now she’s having a difficult time re-adjusting to reality due to what happened when you went into her brain with your tech to rescue her. Am I right?”

She’s not wrong, Bon.

Princess Bubblegum ignored that, because that one little summary betrayed that Phoebe knew a lot more than the scientist would ever want her to under any circumstance. She knows who Hunson is, she knows about his amulet, she deliberately accused me of manipulating Marceline, she’s aware not only that she’s injured but that her injuries are extensive and, furthermore, she’s knowledgeable of what kind of injuries they are. And now she’s purposefully being vague about how much she knows about the rescue itself, which she shouldn’t be aware of anyway. What exactly were you telling her, Jake?

“I’m going to guess that he was being honest?”

Too honest.

“So her mind really shattered into eight people?”

WAY too honest. She was seething now. Invisibly so, but seething nevertheless. It was one thing for Finn and Jake, her champions, friends, and trusted heroes, to know the details of what befell Marceline, and why. After all, Bonnibel knew she wouldn’t have the - her - vampire back if not for them, and that knowledge was tempering her budding disgruntlement with the dog. But it was quite another thing for Phoebe, the person Marceline apparently had some manner of secret relationship with, to know the gorey deets. She’s done nothing to earn that right. Not after what she did to me.

Finn recognized that subtle glint in his princess’s eye. He had seen it a lot when she was at her worst, when she had been possessive and manipulative to his vampire ladybro in a way he never thought his literally sweet-as-sugar monarch could be. When she desired the demolishment of any to her kingdom and her citizens. When her wrath was deemed righteous, at least to herself. It reminded him of the glint of light off a blade edge, of the sound that precedes a killing blow. Champion or not, he knew he had to step in, because, yeah, sure, Phoebe was a foreign dignitary, and it did kind of sort of maybe sounded like she was messing with Bonnibel, but she was also a really awesome friend. He was really sick of seeing bad things happen to really awesome friends. Come on, Finn. Peebo’s mad mad, but this is still about helpin’ Marce, right? It looks like Pheebs is actually trying to help for realsies. It sucks, guy, but you gotta ask or P-bubs is just gonna- He didn’t let his mind complete that thought. There was only one way it could end, and there was only one thing he could think of to break the stalemate the two royals were finding themselves in with minimal bloodshed, figurative or otherwise: address the elephant in the room before the Unknown ruined everything. Because Princess Bubblegum was a proud woman, and she would never ask herself. That would be validating the situation. With that in mind he rubbed the back of his head, entirely unsure of how to ask his question without coming off as insensitive. Or without starting an international incident. “So… yeah… one of her said you guys were… uh… ‘close’?”

“We’re good friends, yes.”

If he didn’t know any better he could have sworn she was smirking at the candy golem, as if she was waiting for exactly that question. It abruptly reminded him of Hierophant, of how the old guy, messed up as he was, couldn’t do anything until he was invited in. I guess I just invited her… or… yeah, all that in? You’re enjoying this, Pheebs. This was coupled with a mental but frustrated sigh, because by now he knew Princess Bubblegum way well enough to recognize the dangerous look in her eyes, the controlled glare, the over-thinking of a hundred possible ways to read into that one damning statement. For now tensions were running extra super duper high, and it would do absolutely no one any shred of good - except, maybe, Phoebe herself - to beat around the bush. He knew Bonnibel loved Marceline with all of her heart, trusted her with all of her soul, but that didn’t change that she was a jealous and possessive woman who hadn’t been aware in the slightest the two royals even interacted before Rechte had blurted it out to taunt her twin in the heat of battle. Come to think of it… “But like… how did you guys meet?” Implication: Because this is news to me.

“Oh oh oh!” Jake’s paw raised into the air. “It’s when Marce was messin’ around in the Fire Kingdom, right? When she kicked us out of our house that’s where she said she was!” He swelled with pride at remembering such a small, easily dismissable detail. Nailed it.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow, befuddled. “What?” Something sparked in her memory and, unlike the one offered to her fellow princess, the smile given to her friends was gentle. “No, that was before my time, though I suppose it is related.”

No further clarity was offered, and Bonnibel allowed herself a subtle jaw clench. You would like me to ask, Phoebe? Two can play this game. “Please, elaborate for me, Phoebe. I imagine it must be quite a tale.”

The fire elemental’s smile was sweet. Too sweet. She never did tell you, did she Bubblegum? Although there were perhaps a hundred valid reasons for her silence Phoebe imagined it had something to do with how tense her fellow princess looked in that moment, how deliciously bothered she was. Self-preservation was something she knew Marceline could be really good at. She was quite insightful, after all, and there was no doubt in Phoebe’s mind that she had been trying to avoid exactly this. Despite how much she was enjoying the young scientist’s ire, though, it wasn’t the reason she came. Or, more accurately, it wasn’t the only reason she came. It was definitely a reason though, that was for sure.

Besides, seeing her reaction to the actual explanation proved a lot more fun. “We’ve known each other for awhile actually. I first met Marceline the night you tried to waste my kingdom with a phony cold snap. When you destroyed priceless treasures vital to the safety and well-being of my peeps.” By the way the candy golem stiffened it was quite clear that she remembered that day all too clearly. More telling, though, was that Marceline hadn’t mentioned this either. “It had been enough. CB had told me that you were a bad person, and after that I knew something in you was messed up. ‘Letting’ me keep what was already mine isn’t the same as being a good person. I asked around and found that this was kind of the norm with you and you’ve been doing it to everyone for like a bajillion years, so I got to thinking… why hasn’t anyone actually tried to kill you?”

“Phoebe!,” Finn gaped, indignant. “You can’t just say junk like that!” Though he had to admit: had he not seen their bond and what Marceline was capable of with his own peepers he would be asking the exact same question. Young Finn would give himself the credit for protecting his liege. Current Finn wasn’t quite so naive.

“It’s alright, Finn.” Bonnibel’s eyes never left the younger woman’s. “After what happened it’s a fair question.” I regret nothing.

Phoebe gave Finn another comforting smile before returning to the other woman. “I didn’t really need to look that hard to figure out that your kingdom is way older than you look, but as you’re the only recorded ruler here you had to be even older than it. You’re smart, that’s pretty obvious, but you gotta sleep sometime and I know you’ve made some powerful enemies. So… you’d need a more powerful defense system, especially since all that’s visible is your Gumball Guardians. You’d need something way more capable of protecting you. Or, more accurately, someone.”

“So you knew about Marceline.” It was a statement, an accusation. A threat.

Phoebe nodded, unbothered by the underlying dangerous tone hidden in those five words. “I knew of her, and it didn’t take long to put the pieces together. You got past my fire wolves when you visited me, which are bred specifically to prevent stuff like the messed up crud you pulled. They had to be smelling someone familiar. Marceline spent a lot of time in my kingdom before I was born but after they were, so there was only one explanation. I already knew she was at least almost a thousand years old, so the timeline fit. When I heard a rumor that a monster was protecting the Candy Kingdom I knew it had to be her. So, that night, I went to go see her.”

“With what intent?” Princess Bubblegum tried so hard to keep the animosity from her voice, really she did, but she was tired, her nerves were raw, and she didn’t need a drama-bomb involving the love of her endless life.

“To talk.” For one made of fire the response was surprisingly cool. “I wanted to know how deep in her brain you were. Pretty deep, huh?” Rhetorical. “I said like five words to her before she predicted that I was there because I felt wronged by you. I gathered this wasn’t an unusual situation. I also gathered that people who do this usually end up dead. She’s pretty protective, huh?” Always rhetorical. “In truth, I admired that about her. She could be doing anything she wanted, but she was right there protecting you, and I’m gonna guess it’s because you told her about what happened and she secretly expected me to do something like attack you.”

“But that wasn’t your intention, despite coming when you knew I’d be asleep?”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t really have any intention against fighting a thousand year old demon. Based on all the stories I heard she coulda wasted any of my guys without much of a fight. ‘Sides, there was no point. I just wanted to see if the rumors that you were a hypocrite were true.” Bait set.

Now Princess Bubblegum narrowed her eyes, a blatant challenge, a reminder that Phoebe was a visiting dignitary, with no power and no protection to speak of. “Phoebe, are you visiting my kingdom to insult me?”

Of all things, Phoebe smirked. Gotcha. Interesting how she fell into the same trap Marceline had years before. “That would be silly, huh? No, I’m here to visit an injured friend, of course.” The ‘it’s not all about you’ was left unsaid, but it didn’t matter: it rang loud and clear to all four of the room’s occupants, a whisper to Jake, a melody to Phoebe, an off-key whine to Finn, and a cacophony to Bonnibel. “That night I learned three things. I learned that you did indeed have what amounted to a super-weapon guarding you and the Candy Kingdom, happy to eliminate anything she thought of as a threat. I learned you had reasonable control over her because you were in a committed and long-term relationship.” For some reason. “ Most importantly, though, I learned that she was like me.”

“Like you.” There was almost a growl there, a baby one in fact. The audacity!

Bon, you gotta chill. She’s just tryin’ to rile you up. She’s messing with you.

Two can play such a game, Rechte.

Cool, but… should they? Come on, BonBon, you’re better than that.

Bonnibel considered this, weighed Rechte’s declaration, before deciding that- She’s attempting to intimidate me, and she’s implying that she and Marceline-

Speaking of, just do it for her, okay? If Phoebe really is important or whatevs to Marceline do you really think you two fighting is gonna help her get better, or do you think it’s gonna show her that all this is your, you know… default?

It was hard, exceptionally so, for Bonnibel to both bite her cheek to ground herself and to do so without any of her guests noticing. She hated that really, she had two options: sit and endure Phoebe’s… whatever this was, or spare herself pointless dribble by expelling her from the kingdom, proving to everyone that she was incapable of change when it came down to it. She would need to find a delicate balance, one she had never needed to learn in her almost nine hundred years: have the capability to destroy someone who probably deserves it but refraining not because it was politically beneficial, but because it was personally so. Because using that mental weaponry, that desire and ability to utterly demolish someone, would mean undoing all of the work she had put into providing not only to Marceline and her champions that she could change but all of the time she had spent convincing herself she could be more than a heartless megalomaniac.

This is your first real test, Bon. You know that right?

She understood that, not that it made it any more palatable. I suppose I said it myself, didn’t I Marcy? Until now I’ve only been trying to rectify the damage I’ve done and put back together that which I broke. Now the time has come for me to actually prove myself.

There’s my girl. Hey, who knows, maybe you’ll learn something. Facts come from the weirdest places, right?

That wasn’t worth dignifying, and by Rechte’s snicker the disembodied voice knew it. With a deep-breath masquerading as a disinterested sigh Princess Bubblegum nodded along thoughtfully to Phoebe’s taunting.

Yeah, but… is it taunting?

That time Rechte sounded sincere. Bonnibel didn’t like that, not one bit.

Unaware of her fellow monarch’s internal struggle Phoebe nodded, lifting her hand and delicately extending her palm. There a tiny orange flame blossomed into life, flickering in the air as if seeking something, another like itself. “We’re both flames. Kindred spirits.” The controlled teasing became almost affectionate once her choice of topic left the candy golem and Bonnibel stiffened. It was too much like her own tone, the one she adopted when she pondered her vampire.

Finn tensed for an all-too different reason: the mere suggestion that a girl he was romantically entangled with could be at all like his best, purely platonic ladybro. There were accompanying images, courtesy of his jerk subconscious, and they were unsettling indeed. Aaaand that one goes in the vault. His discomfort must have been obvious, because a reassuring paw was draping itself around his shoulders, a furry mouth urging him to, “just breathe through it, bro. I promise I won’t tell Marce.” It was for the best. No one would survive that heckling.

“Marceline and I both have fathers who embody evil, who wished for us to embody it, and we’ve both flirted with the idea while also struggling to see ourselves as something worth more. We’re both stronger than them, despite our youth. Well, relative youth in her case. We both possess the capacity for immense destruction and had no one to teach us to control our power. Fire is our natural instinct, and our own flames burn differently than others like us, even if it’s because she might be the only half-demon with powers that are weird, even for demons. We’ve both been locked away because of what we are. And we’ve both been kept secret from the world. Actually, we were locked away by the same person, huh?” When she rotated her hand the flame rotated with it, resting now on the top of her palm, flickering between orange and blue.

“I assume you’re referring to me.” The tightness in her voice, that was a giveaway she didn’t want, but if it was going to make itself known Bonnibel Bubblegum was going to make it work in her favor. It was time to go on the offensive. “What I would like to know, Phoebe, is how you came to know in the first place.”

“That you had been maintaining a secret relationship for hundreds of years?” By her smile Phoebe knew that was in no way what the scientist meant.

Audacious. “Actually, no. You referred to her specifically as a demon, not as a vampire. I wish to know how you came upon that-” leak in information “-knowledge. After all, you yourself said that you had yet to formally meet Marcy, so it’s not possible for her to have told you herself.”

She had expected Phoebe to look even more smug about Bonnibel’s implied lack of control. Instead she seemed almost… sad, the flame wavering as she considered the best way to answer that without letting too much sentiment bleed into her fire. “My father wasn’t always the Fire King, but even when my uncle led the Fire Kingdom we were a volatile domain. Fighting, war… we’re made to destroy, and we’re really, really good at it,” she began, seemingly unrepentant. “Demons in Ooo isn’t a new thing exactly. If they break out of their own home they often come to mine. I’ve never been to the Nightosphere, but I heard from my cousins that many of them called it ‘less sucky enough’, like it’s similar enough to the Nightosphere without the ironclad rule of the Lord of Evil. They say it was nice finding other evil, like-minded beings, and the demons loved to gossip. Especially about their boss.

“No matter what demon passed through my home they all had something to say about Hunson Abadeer. He was both revered and reviled in the exact way my father always wanted our family to be. Evil beyond all doubt and ruling with an iron fist. My uncle didn’t see the Kingdom going that way, though. Hunson Abadeer was impressive to him, but… we have our own culture and our own traditions.” For one brief moment the small fire intensified and grew twice its size as the fire elemental’s emotions intensified. Then, just like that, they - and her fire - were tempered once more. “Dad didn’t like that. He… saw it as weakness.”

Finn shoulders slumped. He remembered when he first met the man. When he learned from Phoebe’s cousins exactly how he came to wear his crown. “So… your dad killed your uncle to be king ‘cause he was inspired by Hunson?”

“Man, that guy doesn’t even need to try to be evil,” Jake muttered.

Neither agreeing nor disagreeing Phoebe sighed, flames twirling around her fingers in an elegant spiral. “Marceline showed up not long after that, shortly before I was born. From what my brother has told me she needed a place to crash and the timing was just oddly right for everything. Something about screwing up ‘back home’ and not being sure if she was allowed back?” It was only then that her eyes shot up, but Bonnibel was prepared to receive her glare before they both settled once more. “Anyway, she hung around for awhile. When dad found out that she was Hunson’s daughter he was so like ‘woah no way’. It wasn’t her favorite topic, but she didn’t exactly hide it on purpose. She was treated really well because of my dad’s hero worship, so she brought some of her culture in with her to thank us for our hospitality when she found out he loved the stuff. She taught us some demon magic. Not a lot, since she really hates doing it. But she taught us how to cast flame shields, so that was nice.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “Oh snap. So when Flambo cast those flame shields on me and Jake he was using demon magic?!”

Phoebe nodded. “A derivative, yeah. Marceline used to use it herself when she started hanging out with me more.”

Jake nodded solemnly. “Ah, I getcha. Gotta get used to the flames, like a hot tub. Or… something else analgalous that doesn’t involve water.”

The younger royal laughed softly. “No, Jake. Because she’s a demon. And-”

“...Nothing burns hotter than demon fire.”

Now Phoebe returned her full attention to the opposing princess. “Yes. She was afraid of her own flame, and of hurting me or someone I care about, and I can understand why that was something she was so paranoid about. She hated using her fire in its true form, said she could never do it ‘back home’.” The subtext was obvious , and it caused the candy golem to flush involuntarily: sugar has a melting point after all. True form? “Even as a half-demon she was still more powerful than most Fire Kingdom citizens. Probably because of her heritage, but ignoring it didn’t make it go away, and when she did let loose she couldn’t control it, just like I couldn’t when I was younger. It meant that she needed a safe place where she could practice releasing her fire. Somewhere she couldn’t destroy just by being her.”

It was a miracle, really, how well-composed Princess Bubblegum was keeping herself. Especially because she was seething below the surface, jealousy spiking through her at the very idea of the vampire turning to someone other than her for assistance of any kind. Marcy, I could have built-

Bon. Rechte’s voice was firm, understanding, somber. You did have a history of trapping everything stronger than you. Phoebe. Goliad. Her. Can you really blame her for being scared of you?

And that really was what it amounted to, Bonnibel saw that now: Marceline had been too afraid of her mate to ask for her help, too afraid of what she would do to her. Though she gave now outward indication the young scientist felt something in her hurt. You thought of monsters and always looked at yourself. Maybe you should have looked at me.

“Dad was certainly impressed by her fire back then. Most demons that came our way had orange flames, like my kind. Well, if they could even generate fire that is.” She shrugged. “Mine can become blue, which is a rarity. She won’t admit it, but her’s is rare, too.”

“Rare?”

Phoebe nodded. “Yes. Her’s starts out orange too, but when she lets it go wild it turns white and super strong. White fire isn’t really something we see a lot. Dad loved it. You can tell so much about someone by their flame. So a rare color that was stronger than his subjects and the daughter of his idol?” Her smile was almost wry, but her words were bitter. Blissfully, she was unaware of Finn and Jake’s exchange of panicked expressions, of who exactly they met that possessed a concentrated inferno of white flames. “I don’t think he ever actually met Marceline’s dad, but he got it in his head that he could unite the Fire Kingdom and the Nightosphere under his rule. Again, no idea what Hunson was doing in that dreamworld of his, but he kinda fixated on it for awhile, and he had a scheme to make it happen.” Her laugh, soft as it was, was mirthless. “Me being a girl sorta ruined that plan for him. Me being stronger than him ruined everything else.”

Silence. Silence by every resident of the room. Somewhere, at some point, Bonnibel would find that pin that kept dropping and put it out of its misery. “Are you implying that your father had some weird notion about betrothing you to Marceline?”

Bon, calm down.

“Yeah, it was a really weird thing to find out.”

She wasn’t calming down. “And she’s aware of this?”

Phoebe’s smile seemed genuine. “Yes. She thinks it’s funny.”

She would! It was a mental huff, a genuine huff, but a silent one, where only her subconscious could hear her.

Unfortunately for her, her subconscious was taking such huffs rather seriously lately, because there was no affection, no benevolence in them at all, really. No, there was only enmity, because the princess was still a rookie when it came to regulating her emotions, especially those dark pointy ones she had valued so much for hundreds of years, and just as the Nightosphere brought out the worst in Marceline Bonnibel’s crown and throne brought out the worst in her. Rechte-who-was-not-Rechte was having none of it. Bon. Cool your jets.

She didn’t tell me this!

You don’t tell her lots of stuff, and look at how you’re losing it right now. You know how you were. You really think she wanted to be on the other end of this?

Princess Bubblegum didn’t answer that, didn’t even bother to listen. After all, Marceline had been right about one thing: anger was addictive and self-gratifying, and oh how angry she was now by the mere thought of her vampire sharing anyone else’s bed. Was it absolutely ludicrous? Of course, and she knew that, deep down at least. Nevermind the practicality in that Marceline was hardly fireproof just the notion itself was absurd: the half-demon may be many things, but disloyal? Absolutely not.

But then why wasn’t this indisputable logic soothing her? Why was she so furious over an injustice that didn’t exist? Why did the idea rile her, cause her teeth her grind ever-so-subtley?

She’s never strayed and you know it. This is called ‘jealousy’ Bon. It’s a trap. Don’t fall for it.

I’ve been jealous before, Rechte. There was an unasked question there, because she had a policy of not asking questions she didn’t want to know the answer to, but it was there all the same: ‘so why is it so different now?’

Rechte, it seemed, wasn’t going to let her squirm out of this one. All those times in the past you were jealous you were secure in knowing that Marceline was under your thumb. Now you’ve promised to let her be her, since you were kind of a crazy-pants and you know it. She knows it, too, so you’re scared that now that she’s free to be her she’s gonna leave because you’re paranoid and just now getting it that you don’t know as much about her as she knows about you.

But-

Simply put: You don’t trust her.

All mental gears stopped turning, the machine they supported grinding to a halt. It was as if the support beams she had so recently constructed were toppling now, the walls coming down around her. It reminded her of a time hundreds of years ago, during her castle’s construction, when she had initiated a controlled demolition, controlled until it wasn’t, and her arrogance had toppled the freshly-built structure. She had only lived because someone impossibly loyal with no self-preservation instinct had pushed her out of the way. But there was no one to save her this time, no one to protect her from the reality shattering around her. It fell to the caltrops she used to protect herself and she had no way of thinking, no way of navigating those four little words without hurting herself.

Rechte’s voice was knowing, understanding, gentle, and blunt. She had this whole other life you didn’t know about. You’re seeing not just a whole new side of her, but you’re finding out why you didn’t know it existed, too. She found some sort of comfort with someone else, and it’s eating you ‘cause it’s someone you really, really dislike, and you’re wondering ‘hey, if I had been less of a buttnugget, would she have come to me instead?’. You know that she’s only ever had eyes for you, but now you’re startin’ to wonder how well you really knew her for the first time since you brought her back from the mind-thingy.

I… I need her more than she needs me, it seems. Even in her mind she felt so small.

‘Need's’ a strong word, Bon. You’re just not used to not being in control yet, and you’re in a sucky situation where you need to be in control of your Kingdom while not being in control of her, even though this is all about her right now. Life’s mean like that. I think you can do it.

Bonnibel wondered how true that was. But her self-pity would have to wait a tick, because- “Forgive me, but did you say her fire was white?”

If she didn’t know any better - and she did - she could have sworn she saw a quirk of her fellow elemental’s lips, as if trying not to be amused. “Yeah, if she really let loose. It doesn’t happen a lot, though. I’ve only seen it a couple of times. Usually you’re involved in some way.” That tone was almost accusatory.

“Does she discuss me often when she visits you?” Another almost accusatory tone. A lot of that going around lately.

Phoebe shook her head, and Bonnibel felt something like relief, something like disappointment. “The Fire Kingdom has a policy of strict honesty, but she’s a foreign dignitary and is exempt. She hates talking about the Nightosphere, and doesn’t mention the Candy Kingdom at all.”

Is she that afraid of-

Finn’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I get it! ‘Cause she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s connected that much to PB?” She didn’t even tell us they were girlfriends or whatevs, and we’re best bros! As time passed he was gradually growing less and less offended by such a profound omission.

When Phoebe nodded, turning to him now, Bonnibel mentally winced at her own poor reasoning, how she was so willing to pass blame - actual blame - onto the vampire once more. I’m rather bad at this, aren’t I, Rechte?

“Yes, she’s rather protective of Bubblegum, and by extension the Candy Kingdom. I figured out her secret, but I don’t think anyone else has, and she wanted to keep it that way. As her friend, I felt it important to respect her wishes.”

“And… what does that have to do with white fire?,” Bubblegum asked, keeping the curiosity from her voice and replacing it with something firmer, more befitting to her position in life.

The fire elemental sighed, shaking her head. “It was after the whole thing where you turned everything into candy, when Ooo returned to normal. Marceline came to check up on me and make sure I was alright. While she was there, though… well, one of my advisors demanded my attention. She hid, as she had not properly announced herself and, given her royal status, it would be improper for us to be meeting so casually right after what happened. It’s not something we allow in the Fire Kingdom. To her credit, Marceline doesn’t spy on me and couldn’t really care less about actually acting like royalty, but that doesn’t exactly negate that she’s a legit queen. I tried to steer him out of the room. You know, somewhere more private. He was too worked up and was very vocal that you were a threat, one I should deal with. You know, since you turning everything into candy. Granted, you, I, and Slime Princess didn’t mean to do any harm to anyone, don’t give me that look, but this guy had always been aggressive and he had some weird grudge against you even before. When he threatened to take action against you himself, outlining exactly how he planned to do so, Marceline lost it and… well, I have an open position now, thanks to your mate.”

Jake’s jaw dropped, not due to the level of violence - that was par for the course now - but because, “Woah, so you’re telling me she burnt some guy made of fire to death?!”

Phoebe’s smile was mournful, but not morose, as she shifted her attention to the dog. “Like I said, demon fire burns hotter than anything. I couldn’t fault her on a personal level because he really was going to take action, and she’d been really upfront about how compelled demons are to protect their mates. I doubt he was actually going to threaten Bubblegum’s life or anything since I wouldn’t allow it, but given that this isn’t the first time someone has tried to kill her I can see why Marceline reacted that way. I had to banish her for awhile, but I made sure to leave a loophole for her to find her way back in. She’s good at finding those.”

“I’m aware,” came Bonnibel’s cold reply. It was hard to decide whether she felt relief that Marceline was so protective of her or concern that her fire could shift into a demonic flame under the right circumstances. Lady Evil… you told us you were going to influence the whole in order to manipulate your way into your role as ruler of the Nightosphere. Had you already started when we met you? Were you already guiding her while we were unaware of your existence in her mind?

Phoebe turned back to the candy golem, face once more neutral. “I haven’t come to fight with you, Bubblegum. I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you, and against my advice Marceline always seems to go back to you.”

“Then why are you here?” The cold edge didn’t thaw.

Phoebe was unphased, the small flame in her hand dispersing. It was time to get to the heart of the matter. “It’s like I said before: I know Marceline’s hurt, but I don’t know how badly. She’s my friend. I want to know what happened and how she is now.”

From her side Jake was fidgeting, unable to hide his anxiety. After all, he had been the one to visit Phoebe immediately after waking up from the VR simulator, burdened with being the bearer of the bad news that Marceline had been badly hurt. Under the direction of Lady Evil herself he had been forced to warn her that the vampire would one day betray her younger lover, though he was vague on the deets, and he was forbidden from sharing that knowledge with even his little bro. He had been her point of contact at every turn, the person tasked with deflecting her offers to help in any capacity, official or otherwise. If she named names his would be the first up, and his secrecy would be revealed. She wouldn’t tell Bubblegum about the message, right? I made her pinky promise, and that’s a sacred vow! If she did spill the beans he knew Finn would probably forgive him. Eventually. But the scientist? He hadn’t seen her this hard since the adventure began. Who knew what she would do to him.

But he was underestimating Phoebe, because she wasn’t just his friend, the girl his brother had a mondo crush on who had an odd talent for free-style rapping. She was as much a princess as Bubblegum herself and was well-versed in dealing with a foreign dignitary on their home turf. She may not be as experienced as Bubblegum but she wasn’t exactly a rookie either, and though there was bad blood between Phoebe was prepared to be the more graceful and humble of the two, the bigger woman as it were. Whereas she would always have a temper and be prone to emotional flare-ups, she was and would always be a dignified monarch. She was also Jake’s friend, and understood implicitly the delicate situation the dog found himself in. How could she betray his trust?

It was bros before apparent threats to national security. Apparently.

Bonnibel was having her own mental dilemma. It was quite clear that Phoebe knew things about Marceline that few other souls did, and while she would have to fact-check her outrageous claims later they seemed genuine, and it wouldn’t be like the younger woman to make something up she could so easily validate. Just as Phoebe didn’t trust Bonnibel Bonnibel didn’t trust Phoebe, and it was unlikely even their mutual concern for their vampiric friend and/or lover would cleanse the bad blood between them. If she had it her way she would dismiss the fire elemental, remove her from her presence and her home with all the grace befitting both of their roles. Yes, it was possible that Phoebe was visiting purely out of the goodness of her heart, but there was something lurking in her eyes, something that was off-putting. Was it her own jealousy, projected on someone with pure intentions? Or was there some ulterior motive? Could she afford to take that chance?

Counterpoint: If you kick her out of the castle after all that do you really think Marceline’s gonna take that well? ‘Cause that’s something Princess Bubblegum would do, not Bonnie, and you’ve been doing a great job so far at showin’ her you’ve changed.

...Figs. Fine. The bare minimum and nothing more. Before her subconscious could argue she returned her attention to Phoebe. “Very well. It seems you’re aware that Marceline is the Nightosphere’s heir. In my quest to cement my place as queen I pressured her to take over the mantle of Lady Evil. Unfortunately, my hubris backfired spectacularly, and she was badly hurt in the process. With no small effort Finn, Jake, and myself identified that her psyche had been split and, using my VR technology, we were able to traverse her mind and smelt her back together once more. As expected, she’s experienced considerable psychological and physical trauma, and is learning to adjust to Ooo. As I said before, she is in our rooms, resting.” There was no need to mention her great betrayal in the form of a silver dagger, or their relationship issues. I deserve some privacy, and who’s to say that Marceline would want her to know?

You’re low-balling, Bon.

Yes. Yes she was. Unfortunately, Phoebe knew that as well. “So, if I’m right, you almost got her killed again, and she went right back to you?” There was a flare there, just a small one really, but the room’s temperature definitely increased a degree or two.

But how to answer that question without incriminating herself? After all, Phoebe may be Marceline’s friend but she was still the princess of a Kingdom that she had only a tentative truce with, one she technically violated. Our relationship troubles are personal, not to be aired for the entire world for your amusement, Phoebe.

The groan in the back of her head. Bon-

Bonnibel was having none of it. “I made a mistake, and I freely admit it.” Now, at least. “She hasn’t decided whether she forgives me, but I think that’s none of your concern. Once she recovers I’m sure she’ll be happy to tell you about it herself.” Okay, that sounded way less sarcastic in my brain. She was unapologetic, regardless. “For now, however, it took considerable effort just to convince her to return to Ooo in the first place, and I do not intend to have her rest interrupted.”

“So you’ll keep her locked in your tower.”

A green eye twitched, invisible to all. “She isn’t locked, nor trapped, nor confined. If she wishes to leave at any time she’s free to. She knows that I advise against it given her current state, but if she really wants to go-”

Her ire was interrupted by Finn, who stepped between both of his former love interests - which did not escape him - hands up to indicate they should both stop and separate themselves. Metaphorically, at least. “Okay, guys. Let’s all calm down…” Though both made great strides to appear calm that’s all it was: appearance. The room was still noticeably warmer than an hour ago, and Bonnibel’s features might as well be carved into stone. “We’re all here because we care about Marce. We all just want her to get better. Fighting’s not gonna help that. If she saw you guys like this she’d hate it, right?” The silence was disquieting, but Finn resisted every urge to evolve his plea into a speech on the importance of friendship. He hated seeing friends fight in every circumstance, but he had been sincere in wanting his lady friends to focus on their mutual tie, not on one another. More importantly, though- Come on, Peebles. Don’t go back to how you were. I know this bites mega hard for you, but we don’t need this kind of junk right now.

Phoebe took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. The room temperature returned to normal, but the candy golem’s features didn’t soften, and their gazes remained locked, one predator challenging the other. “You’re right, Finn. Marceline has enough to deal with at the moment. I’ll stop.”

Because you’d know whose side she’d take. It was a mental sneer, but it was too much.

Bon. Stop. Now Rechte just sounded exasperated. Put it away.

She didn’t, and no knife in Ooo was sharp enough to cut the tension suffocating the room. “Is that all, Phoebe?”

While Finn and Jake were - and had been - noticeably on edge throughout the exchange Phoebe herself seemed almost sad, though for what reason it was difficult for the heroes to say. Perhaps it had something to do with someone she apparently considered a great friend being injured and firmly within the clutches of a woman she distrusted down to her firey core? Yes, surely that had something to do with it, Finn mused. It seemed like every day they were learning more and more about their collective ladybros, and every day the collection of secrets and lies steadily grew. Though he felt guilty for the thought Finn was almost relieved that the fifth member of their party was Phoebe. After all, she kept a very strict life policy of honesty, and though she was not always capable of revealing an entire truth she wouldn’t purposefully mislead her bros. It was rather refreshing, really, because as much as Finn loved Bonnibel - platonically, yes, strictly platonically, as a champion does for his liege - her lies were lies within lies, a depth so profound he wondered if there really was a bottom to the pit. Perhaps, he supposed, Phoebe knew all this, or at least suspected it. Based on her description of how she met Marceline it certainly seemed plausible. If so he really did have to commend her on daring to set foot in that throne room, knowing what kind of person Princess Bubblegum was. But somehow he doubted that royal duty was what brought her there that day, and though he didn’t know it yet he would spend the rest of his life admiring her dedication to their mutual friend. You said someone’s fire says a lot about someone, huh? I dun think it’s a coincidence that you were born or… whatevs stronger than everyone else. He let himself smile, a real one. I knew you were good.

“No, Bonnibel. I have two more questions for you.” There was something in her voice then, not exactly an edge, but as if she were trying to restrain some bitterness, trying not to let it influence their conversation. “When Finn and I first started dating you tried to convince him to break up with me.”

Finn’s eyes widened. You’re bringing this up now?!

Bonnibel evidently thought the very same, pink eyebrow arching. “Yes. You put the world in danger because you couldn’t regulate your emotions. You nearly destroyed the planet’s core with a single kiss.”

Phoebe nodded, unabashed. “True. In the end it helped me better understand and control my elemental powers, but I won’t pretend I didn’t almost blow up the planet because of my feelings for Finn.”

I’m right here, guys… Jake patted his back encouragingly. The awkward tension regarding his past romances - which, evidently, only he felt - was becoming absurd.

“My first question is… how is what you’re doing with Marceline any different?”

Princess Bubblegum stiffened, her stare now a full glower. Only one thought ran through her mind. How dare you. It wasn’t a question, an inquiry, a curiosity, or anything else that implied she actually wanted more information. No, this was a threat, one not even spoken allowed because it would betray just how furious the candy golem was. It was the implication that her relationship with her vampire was anything like the trivial puppy love Phoebe had shared with a mere child. It was sheer arrogance, as if Phoebe could ever understand what the two immortal women had been through, what tragedies and joys and sorrows they had seen one another through. It was an utter dismissal of everything her vampire suffered through to keep her at-times horrific urges under control. It was the implication that she could ever know her vampire a fraction as well as Bubblegum herself. It was equating the princess to that of a lovestruck girl with no understanding of the sacrifices responsibility demanded, a dismissal of all the times she had had no choice but to push the half-demon away for her own safety. In a word, it was heresy. I will demolish you. Within the back of her mind Rechte tried fervently to snatch her attention, to grab hold of it and talk her through her slowly building blinding rage but Princess Bubblegum refused to listen. Refused, at least, until-

You’re doing it again.

Doing what, Rechte? Even her thoughts were icy.

Being a weapon.

It was the disappointed tone in her own subconscious’s voice that roused the princess from the blinding mire that was her fury, yet even then she did not retract her proverbial claws, nor did she relent her posturing before the younger woman. No, Rechte’s lament only made her aware of what she was doing. Her eyes narrowed, and both Finn and Jake exchanged distressed looks, trying to decide how and when to separate the two women. It was obvious to everyone - she was making no point in hiding it after all - that Princess Bubblegum was just a tad insulted by the comparison, and both heroes had personally witnessed what the immortal woman was capable of.

After all, Phoebe had already been a test subject once. And locked in a lamp. And the candy elemental showed no remorse for either.

Although outwardly calm Phoebe knew she needed to tread carefully. Princess Bubblegum was a proud woman, and by Jake’s account she had already been through much, up to and including an existential identity crisis. But her worries weren’t only for herself. No, she was more worried for Marceline, because Phoebe personally knew how hard it was to change core parts of yourself, parts that were unhealthy but gratifying. If she pushed too hard Phoebe’s punishment would be severe, but at least she stood a chance to run back to the safety of her kingdom, or at the very least suppress fellow elemental’s wrath enough to enlist Finn and Jake’s aid. She could be tortured, she could be killed, she could be any number of things. But that wasn’t really her focus. At least, not her only focus.

Her greater worry was for Marceline, because while she believed that Finn and Jake believed that Princess Bubblegum was trying to change she knew the older royal was stubborn and cruel. She had seen it in the vampire’s eyes, heard it in the way she described their relationship, even when she recalled the fun and happy adventures, which seemed to always be in past tense. How unfair, Phoebe always thought, that the vampire’s own soul would choose the scientist over its own physical form, would protect her mate first, herself second. If I push too hard she goes back to how she was, and it’s Marceline who gets the brunt of it. Jake said she’s already hurting really bad. As much as she wanted to hurt Bubblegum with her own precious logic she was unwilling to risk the musician being inflicted with the spill-over. I’m sorry guys, but people don’t change. Least of all her.

“I hope you’re going somewhere with this, Phoebe.” The ‘for your own sake’ was strongly implied.

You got this, girl. “Marceline doesn’t really talk about the Nightosphere much, but I know if she took over like you wanted her to she’d basically have absolute control over it. The dimension… it’s never dealt with Ooo before. It can’t even connect with Ooo unless someone goes out of their way to make it happen. If Marceline took it over, and you were still in a relationship with her it’d basically be setting up a perma-door between us and them, right?”

“As Lady Evil she would have control over the demons.” The glower hadn’t dropped, it had only hardened into what Finn and Jake hoped wasn’t a permanent scowl. They secretly liked the squishier princess they had grown accustomed to. Not that they would ever say that. It wasn’t befitting their station, and this - collectively this entire ordeal - seemed like a bad time.

Phoebe nodded. “I know. But what if something happened to her? Or you go through a bad break up?” It didn’t escape her notice that pink hands were squeezing the throne’s armrests tight enough to turn the knuckles white. “Then she releases the Nightosphere on Ooo. We don’t even know anything about it, but she knows all about Ooo.”

“Marceline is anything but retaliatory.” It was true; it took too much effort for her to hold a grudge except under very specific circumstances.

I don’t know, Bon, Lady Evil was pretty vindictive and she’s a huge part of her. And you promised to train Marce for her, remember?

Not now, Rechte. Please.

“I’d like for you to get to the point, Phoebe, because it sounds like you’re encouraging me to do something that I strongly encourage you to rethink suggesting.”

Phoebe frowned, then shook her head. “Look. I care about Marceline. I want her to be happy. Against my advice she keeps going back to you. She doesn’t talk about you, or the Candy Kingdom-” It was a rushed reassurance, but a sincere one “-but I know enough to know that she’s fighting an internal war, and has been for a long time. I see it in her fire, how she tries to repress its white flame into something simple and plain when its natural form is beautiful.” So suck up your precious pride and help her! Saying that would be absolute suicide. What came out wasn’t much better. “I want you to stop teasing her with it. I couldn’t control my flame until I accepted it, and I only did that because Finn - the person you tried to scare away from me - refused to listen to you and helped me instead. He was who I needed then. So my second question is… are you who she needs? Because… well…” Her smile was nostalgic. “Do you know what she told me the night we first met?” Bonnibel stared at her, unblinking, seething, suddenly having great sympathy for how hard it must be for her vampire to refrain from killing someone distasteful. “She told me that when things are going well for people, or for kingdoms, ruling is easy. Everything is simple because you don’t have anything to lose. But when things go wrong, especially when they stay wrong, you’re tested, and so is everyone around you. That’s when you find out what kind of person you are. And, for me, what kind of ruler I want to be.”

Green eyes narrowed. “Thank you, Phoebe, but I know what kind of ruler I am and want to be.”

Yeah but… do you, Bon?

Rechte, you do not express self-doubt to the enemy.

She’s not the enemy, she’s your first test, Marceline’s friend, and you’re not doin’ great.

Phoebe’s smile was gentle, and that only made the candy golem’s enmity worse. “I know. She said you’ve been doing this for hundreds of years. By comparison, my rule and even my lifespan is a blip on your radar. Her advice has guided me and seen me through some tough times. I really don’t think she’d actually turn all evil and attack any of us. She’s too laid back for that. My point, Bonnibel, is what kind of ruler does Marceline want to be?”

...What?

“I know she’s point-blank told me she has no intention of ever being Lady Evil, since it’d be an upset of everything she values in life. I totes respect that. But, after everything I’ve heard from Finn and Jake about what’s happening with her, it has me thinking… if she did rule what would it look like? What would make her happy?” Phoebe shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s ever talked to you about it, so maybe I’m way off-base, but I always wondered what it would take to change her mind? I mean… I never wanted to rule the Fire Kingdom, but here I am because I saw what would make me good at it, and I did it.”

“Like your honesty policy.” It was a deadpan. A disbelieving deadpan.

Phoebe bobbed her head. “Yeah. It means that everything I do is transparent. No secrets means my people always know what I’m doing when something happens, so they trust me. It means they believe me when I tell them junk. That’s the kind of rule I wanted, so I made it happen. You have your own policies and did the same kinda stuff. Whatever they are.” Now her smile was, of all things, encouraging. “Look, all I’m saying is that I know Marceline feels trapped by the idea of being Lady Evil… but what if she didn’t because she knew what kind of ruler she’d be?” Her smile was genuine. “Personally, I think she’d be really good at it, and I think if she found her own balance she’d be able to accept things like how intensely she can burn. I’ve told her so, but… I think she needs to hear that from someone else.”

Now the glower faded into curiosity. It was hard to resist, what with her feeling Rechte’s grin in the back of her mind. Hey, I like her.

You would.

Bon, I’m your subconscious. That means some part of you likes her too, you dork.

The young scientist barely repressed her involuntary shudder at the distasteful notion. As much as she hated Phoebe’s logic she had to admit that it was entirely possible that she hated it because it came from Phoebe, not because of the logic itself. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that the fire elemental may have a small, itty bitty, maybe totally completely valid point. I hadn’t considered reframing her taking over the Nightosphere as something that would benefit her. She doesn’t need to rule like her father, she could create something more to her tastes. My only strategies thus far involved convincing her how it would benefit me, and how her new position wouldn’t be completely redonk. But how do I go about this in a way that’s both practical and unlikely to trigger her running?

Want a hint, nerd?

She did, but she also had a test to pass. She was failing so far. She had to fix that. ...No. Not this time. This time I’m going to figure it out on my own.

She felt the moment the mental grin became an affectionate smile. That’s my girl.

“...Alright, Phoebe. I can admit a good suggestion when I hear one.” Her pride tasted awful, but she swallowed it whole anyway. Did it dissuade her animosity, or her bitterness, or how much she really, really disliked both Phoebe and how close she was to her vampire? Not in the slightest. But her fellow princess’s idea was logically sound, and Princess Bubblegum was all about logic. Regardless of its source. Do it for Marcy, Bubblegum. You would be fully within your legal right to take action against Phoebe for her flippant tone and obstinate behavior, as well as her barging into your court… but she does sincerely seem to be trying to help her in her own bizarre manner. You may not like her, but it isn’t about you at the moment. Besides, she’ll certainly mess up in some way again, in a way that has nothing to do with Marceline. Then-

Bonnibel. Serially.

...Yes. Well.

Mercifully, Phoebe seemed unaware of the mental havoc storming within Bubblegum’s mind. “I know you’ve all be dealing with a lot of crud, and based on what the guys have told me you’re all still trying to help Marceline recover and get reacquainted to Ooo.” Finn and Jake nodded vigorously, eager to help resolve this debacle peacefully any way they could. It didn’t escape Bonnibel’s notice that the younger woman didn’t mention the Grasslands incident, and hoped that meant she was ignorant to it. “I can’t ignore the trade violation, but I know why you did it, and I think we can come to an understanding.” The words looked like they should threatening, but the tone was calm and proper. Understanding. “I’m going to head back to the Fire Kingdom and tell the council that you need a couple of days to work out a new trade agreement. I’ll be back in three days so we can get that done. Alright?”

Once more, Princess Bubblegum found it difficult to argue with logic and reason, because just as she would be within her rights to take legal action against Phoebe Phoebe would be within her own rights to take action against her. As much as she disliked the woman this seemed to be an ideal solution. An oddly amicable one. Begrudgingly, Bonnibel had to admit that it was helping Phoebe’s ‘I care and am trying to help’ case. “Agreed. I’ll begin drafting a new agreement. Thank you for your visit, and I’m glad we can reach an understanding.” She rose, a universal silent indicator that the conversation was over. “Finn, Jake, help me see Phoebe out.” It was polite, really, despite how the duo gaped at her as if she had said something outlandish. But then, they were children and could never understand the intricacies and subtlety necessary when contending with fellow royals. Her tendency towards secrets and lies came from somewhere, after all.

Phoebe seemed unperturbed, turning towards the door as if this was all standard practice. As the four made their way down the castle halls, past the immaculate paintings and flawless tapestries there was only silence, Finn not knowing what to say, or even if he should say something. Well, actually, that wasn’t entirely true: he knew what he wanted to say, but somehow doubted it would be an appropriate question. At least, until Phoebe left. By the time the four reached the drawbridge Finn was fidgeting, and by the time the fire elemental was mounting her wolf he was practically biting his nails. “Bye, guys. I’ll be back in a couple of days. Tell Marceline I said hi, alright?” Not waiting for an answer - because it would almost definitely be a biting remark from the other monarch, she urged the mount forward. Only Jake waved his farewell.

The moment she was out of earshot Finn turned his head towards his liege. “Hey, what did she mean by you breaking a trade agreement?”

Princess Bubblegum sighed, turning to enter her home the moment it was socially acceptable to. “As part of our truce agreement The Candy and Fire Kingdoms engage in predetermined trade. The exports and their worth has already been agreed upon, and we are both legally bound to follow the contract’s rules and bylaws. I export raw material from the dextrose and sucrose mines, which the Fire Kingdom uses for fuel or whatevs. In exchange, I import their metal ore.”

“...Why?”

“Experiments, mostly. Sometimes decoration or as gifts for other visiting royalty. Or for whatever it is Pep-But does in the room he thinks I don’t know about.”

Finn didn’t want to know what kind of experiments. In general, it was best not to ask. “So…” He trailed off expectantly, but answered his own question. “Oh nuts! I forgot, you put up that silver ban!”

The candy scientist nodded, stopping once the trio returned to the throne room. “Yes. I do not regret my actions, but in retrospect I should have alerted Phoebe in advance that I was changing our agreement when I put an abrupt embargo on one of her exports.” With the fire elemental gone it was so much easier to say she was wrong. Funny how that works. “Silver wasn’t the largest component of our trade, but technically any unapproved change is illegal under inter-kingdom law.”

“Huh. Lucky she and Marce are friends. She probs figured out right away why you put the banhammer on that super specific thing.”

Yes. Lucky. “Three days will give us enough time to recover and to contain the Grasslands damage.” She sighed, suddenly quite eager to retreat to her rooms and check on her patient/lover. “I recommend resting now, boys. I somehow think we’ll need the energy quite soon.”

Finn nodded, but his agreement was interrupted by Jake’s profound skepticism. “Hey, hold on. You said ‘truce agreement’. Why’s it a truce agreement? I knew you two didn’t get along, but all that bedonk in there was downright cold.”

Princess Bubblegum said nothing, didn’t even look at her champions. “...Get some rest, boys. I’m going to check on Marcy.” Without even saying goodbye she stepped into the throne room, towards the door that would lead towards the hallway entrance to her rooms.

Finn watched her retreat, shaking his head. He was downtrodden, really; he had hoped to never see this side of his princess again, not after everything they had gone through. Poor Marce…

“Hey, man.” Finn jumped, then coughed to hide his embarrassment. “She’s just tense. It’s cool. Let’s get back.”

As Jake pulled a reluctant Finn out of the throne room and into the bright of day Princess Bubblegum slowed her gait. Now that there were no witnesses she exhaled loudly, almost a growl actually.

Hey. Somehow, the voice within her mind managed to surprise her. I’m proud of you, Bon.

Just because Rechte didn’t sound sarcastic doesn’t mean she wasn’t. Very funny.

Come on, dork. I mean it. I’m proud.

I almost-

But you didn’t. You regressed, but you bounced back. Now you’re talking to me about how you feel bad about it, right? And when Phoebe was gone you even told the dweebs you were wrong.

Oddly enough, she did feel bad. Not because she lashed out at Phoebe - no, she deserved it - but because she had engaged in the mode of thinking she had promised Marceline she would never engage in again.

You almost lost it, but you passed that test. You’re proving that you’ve changed. So what are you gonna do now?

Bubblegum stopped outside of the door that would lead to their bedroom. ...The only logical thing. She reached up, snatched her crown, and promptly shoved Princess Bubblegum back in the box she belonged in. There was no place for her Role here. Not in her rooms. Her rooms were for Bonnibel and Marceline, without the coldness that came coupled with her royal persona. That was all good and all, but she found the mindset difficult to contain, especially after who she had to meet with. She wrestled with it, a fierce battle waging in her mind as she tried to relax, tried to put work aside in favor of her vampire. Her vampire, who didn’t need hard logic, who needed warmth, to know she was safe and loved. After everything Bubblegum had done she doubted the half-demon would ever feel safe around Princess Bubblegum the Role, at least for a long time. But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the wrestling of her conflicting mentalities, her struggle to entice those squishy heartgut feelings to come back. What mattered was her worry that she couldn’t seem to do it, and her hand stilled on the knob. What am I doing? I can’t even get a handle on this. Everything within me is still pointy and hard. What if I go in there and hurt her?

Hey. Just calm down, you dork. You’re just having like a delayed freak-out from all that stuff Phoebe told you. It’s alright. Totes normal. ‘Sides, see what you’re doing? You’re already worrying about her. Her, not you. Go check on. Make sure she didn’t run or whatevs.

Green eyes widened. She hadn’t considered that Marceline may have fled in her absence, or perhaps woken up confused and accidentally hurt herself. Hesitation gone, Bonnibel opened the door, frantically scanning the room. She almost missed the vampire, almost missed her because she was exactly where the princess had left her. In a shocking twist, perhaps for the first time ever, Bonnibel had requested Marceline stayed put and she had actually done so. Now in her true form, the musician was buried under the bed’s numerous blankets. There was no tell-tale rise and fall to her chest, but Bonnibel had lived with the older woman long enough to know when she was dead asleep - figuratively speaking. Aside from shape-shifting and shedding her ruined shirt and pants to the floor where they distinctly did not belong it didn’t actually appear that she had moved at all. She looked relaxed. Peaceful.

And there they were, all those squishy little marshmallow feelings Bonnibel had only moments before been convinced had abandoned her forever. She wasn’t prepared to be overwhelmed by them, but she had no say in the matter and, honestly, she had no problem with that. It meant that, somewhere, she still had a heart, and it was warmed to see its other half so calm and not a pile of ash and blood. Not wanting to disturb her Bonnibel gently closed the door, quietly crossing to her wardrobe, past the sleeping poodle that had made her beanbag chair his bed. She decided that that was cute as well.

In smooth, quick motions she shed her shoes, her hoodie, her shirt, everything but her bras and panties. Where they and her crown went would be a problem for later. It was only now that the door was closed, where the blackout curtains assured the room was pitch, that she realized how exhausted she was. She almost went to bed in just her underwear but managed to stop herself before closing the wardrobe; somehow she doubted she and Marceline were there. Yet. With a silent yawn she grabbed the first overshirt she could find, slid it on, then padded to her side of the bed. She found the platter of apples there, but, sadly, none seemed to have been eaten. With a shake of her head she plucked it from the bed and deposited it on her bedside table, more resolved than ever to find a way to convince her queen to eat.

Perhaps she was being forward, but Bonnibel quietly pulled back the blankets, sliding into the bed. She kept a healthy distance between them, and though she wanted nothing more than to reach out to her mate she was jubilant that she was once more sharing a bed with her. She almost laughed, because the moment she settled fully Marceline rolled over, facing her. It was instinctive, an unconscious attempt to steal her warmth because she was so easily drawn to it. Bonnibel was just fine with that; now she got to look at her vampire up close, appreciate her and all she was. You’re the best sort of problem, Marcy.

She almost asleep when she felt the most curious sensation of the weight of the bed shifting. ...No way. She peaked an eye open, but, yep, Marceline had curled closer to her. Are you cold? That would make sense. After all, severe injury almost made her realize she had no body warmth, so it would be only natural that she would seek out the nearest source of heat. Not able to resist a good experiment Bonnibel carefully reached out, draping her arm across her thin waist. Well, less ‘draping’ and more ‘barely touching’. I’m going too far. I know I am-

“Bon?”

The princess froze. Oh figs, did I wake her up? No, she still sound sleepy. Maybe if I just pull back very slowl- A garnet eye peeked open when its owner didn’t get an answer. But what was she supposed to say? “...Yes?” Well, yes, that was technically something she could say, she supposed.

The eye blinked, then slid shut once more. “...’mm cold.”

Yes, she’s definitely mostly asleep. It was hard not to smile, it was impossible not to feel triumphant, because her arm was stilled draped over the half-demon, the half-demon who recognized her immediately but didn’t tense, didn’t recoil, didn’t do anything except lay there comfortably, settled on the edge between ‘asleep’ and ‘awake’. And so Bonnibel didn’t fight her smile. In fact, she let amusement creep into her voice as she slid just a little closer, just enough to make sure Marceline could have all the warmth she wanted. That she was pushed off the edge, back to ‘asleep’.

“...kay.” To the scientist’s delight three things happened simultaneously: 1.) Marceline curled closer, not fully into her embrace, but definitely more touching than not, 2.) She yawned, settling in a manner very much suggesting she was back to sleep already, and 3.) Now there was a tell-tale rise and fall to her chest, because Bonnibel had always been adamant that just as Marceline slept better when she could hear her heart Bonnibel slept better when she heard Marceline’s soft breathing, for it may not be necessary but it meant she was okay, and that if she was hurt it wasn’t something that could cause True Death. Either that’s an automatic reflex… or… She dare not get her hopes up about what that ‘or’ was.

Instead she watched the older woman, felt her body gradually grow warmer as she absorbed Bonnibel’s body heat. Were they cuddling, holding one another as they once did? Not by a long shot. But she was close enough to trace the thread of the t-shirt the vampire had apparently dug up from her trunk before passing out. She was close enough to stroke thick onyx hair, close enough to see her eyelids flutter as her mind entered the beginning of REM sleep. Bonnibel’s embrace cemented, and she kissed Marceline’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, Marcy…,” she whispered. If she was still feeling cold she was still injured, but that aside… she looked so calm now, as if her severe break with reality was something in the far past where it could no longer hurt her, where she no longer had to contend with it.

But Bonnibel had a reality she had to contend with. It was a fresh wound, but then when else do you treat a wound?

Rechte?

Nerd?

Even in her mind she sounded hesitant. Did you… mean what you said? About me not trusting you? Or… rather, her?

Yeah, why? She just sounded so matter-of-fact about it it was almost absurd.

Because it’s atrocious!

Whereas Bonnibel’s responses were fervent, Rechte’s were blunt, but free of aggression. As was the style of the real Rechte. Bon, stop. It’s not a big deal unless you make it into one. You don’t know what trust is yet, except like… the dictionary definition. It’s not just one thing. Trust has a lot of layers. I’m gonna guess that this is the first time it ever became really real to you that she could find comfort in someone else. You’re still dealing with what you are and what you did. That’s a lot to pile on for you, and maybe Phoebe showing up now was before you were ready, so, yeah, you don’t trust her because you’re only now figuring out that you were a controlling psycho. So you’re starting to think to yourself buzz like ‘what if I drive her away?’, which becomes buzz like ‘how do I stop that from happening?’. But you know why this is a good thing?

She didn’t.

‘Cause you might not trust her, but even when you almost lost it in the Big Boss Room back there you didn’t consider going back to controlling her. Yeah, okay, you kind of went off on Phoebe, but I live in your brain, Bon, and I didn’t hear anything about telling Marceline what to do when this is all over. Nah. It was all about ‘how do I make it better?’.

Is… that’s why you said it’s a test I passed, correct?

Yup. Jealousy’s not a problem on its own, it’s when it turns into a monster that you gotta stop and go ‘woah man, not cool’. It’s like those blinking lights on your science things. A lot of them are warning lights, right? And sometimes they go off ‘cause something’s wrong, so you gotta find the cause right away. Jealousy and this distrust thing you have going on right now are like those blinky lights. They’re not something to get all bent about. They’re just warning you that something’s gonna go down unless you fix it.

Bonnibel traced Marceline’s jawline in concentration. I see. That makes sense, yes. I don’t want to control her. I can’t, nor should I. Logically, she’s bound to me, and I know with full certainty that she would never be disloyal. And yet…

Phoebe still nailed ya good, huh?

Crass, but yes, Rechte. It felt dirty to admit that, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. I was unprepared.

Eh. It happens.

It shouldn’t, though. Even if - and I emphasize if - there are things that Phoebe can help her learn that I cannot she should have been able to feel comfortable enough to not hide it. The fingers rested on the cool cheek, and Bonnibel smiled at how even now the vampire reflexively turned to the warmth. Cute. Blood sucking vampire? More like warmth leech.

So what’s the plan, brainlord?

Rechte’s amusement was in full force, but there was definitely an unmistakable undercurrent of affection. The candy golem paused at that question, rolling it around. She was out of her comfort zone now, so far gone it may as well be on another planet. Or… another dimension? And then she knew exactly what she was going to do.

I believe it’s time I have a private meeting with Hunson Abadeer.

Chapter Text

*scritch* *scritch* *scritch*

Not again.

*scritch* *scritch *scritch*

Am I just not allowed to not wake up to dumb annoying noises?

*scritch* *scritch *scritch*

You know what? No. I’m not gonna let it win this time. I’m just gonna go back to sle-

*scritch* *scritch *scritch* *scritch* *scritch *scritch*

With a snarl and righteous fury Marceline Abadeer threw the blankets off of her shot up, and scanned immediately for the source of her frustration. Or… her most recent frustration in a long line of other equally if not more frustrating frustrations. But it had the desired effect: immediately the scratching noise ceased, taking only a bit of her animosity with it.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

It was eerie how similar her current situation was to her nightmare. Being awoken by repetitive noises that grated on her sanity? Check. A recognizable location with absolutely no recollection as to how she made it there in the first place? Check. A familiar voice rousing her from her stupor, forcing her to crash back into reality, or at least what passed for it these days? Check. No idea as to what time or day it is? Check. But there were differences as well. The repetitive noises were scratches and reminded her of a quill or even a pencil, far less high-tech than Lady Evil’s strange computer. The location was recognizable because it was the Candy Kingdom castle’s master bedroom, a place she had willingly spent a collective hundreds of years. The voice wasn’t insufferable - and wasn’t that a shocking thought? - it was concerned, almost relieved. She wasn’t waking up on the hard cold floor of whatever it was the Citadel was made of, a demonic word she couldn’t pronounce, she was laying in what was probably literally the planet’s softest bed.

Vague memories pawed for her focus, wanted attention in a way that reminded her of a pesky housecat. Alright… so I remember wigging out. And… I got hurt? Yeah, that sounds like me. Then… right! Bonnie brought me back to the castle to… ugh. It faded then and her eyes closed against the frustration of her memory betraying her. What the flip. I know I was awake for the rest of it-

“Hey.” Now the voice was at her side and she startled, then growled in embarrassment. The number of times Bonnibel had successfully startled her in their centuries of friendship could now officially be counted on two hands. As disheartening as that little tidbit of knowledge was, though, Marceline could hardly begrudge her. Even she could hear the concerned twinge in her voice, feel the way she cautiously lowered herself on the mattress, as if Marceline were made of glass. The vampire could feel her warmth, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Why didn’t that notion sicken her? Okay, so… Bon’s here. Duh. That makes sense. What happened before I fell asleep?

“I suppose you’re having some trouble remembering what happened just before you fell asleep.”

Marceline eyed her warily. Telepath!

Bonnibel knew that look, that silent accusation that she was telepathic - it was the same accusation she had heard for hundreds of years - but chose not to feed its poor background logic. She only offered a knowing but gentle smile. “It isn’t surprising. You’ve gone through a lot of mental trauma over the past few weeks. Memory is already fickle in the best of times, and I know you haven’t been eating, which is probably exasperating your situation.”

The logic presented bothered her. The fact that it didn’t sound like a lecture - not even the part about her lack of eating - bothered Marceline more. It was all matter-of-fact, but not unkind. But through that bothering she recalled something very important: She had willingly stayed in the princess’s room because she had acted so much unlike Princess Bubblegum and so much like Bonnibel that it had caused her stupid dead heart to ache, and her stupid soul to refuse to leave. Just like she was refusing to leave now, with no excuse except that she just didn’t want to. With a grunt of acknowledgement, and unable to bring herself to look at the woman who really, really looked like her mate, she sat up and pulled her bare knees close, rested her forehead on them, and groaned in exasperation. How was it possible to be so exhausted from the mere act of waking up?

She didn’t see Bonnibel’s loving smile, but it was there all the same. “I brought you home to tend to your injuries. We had a discussion about my behavior… and about your desire to return to the Nightosphere out of a noble but misplaced desire to protect those places and people you care about-”

It was coming back to her now. “Right. The Cosmic Owl Dream. The Grasslands I torched. The people I probably killed.”

Bonnibel didn’t like the sound of that flat affect. “One thing at a time, Marcy. Do you remember what we talked about before you fell asleep?” It wouldn’t surprise her if she didn’t; selective memory lapses weren’t exactly uncommon in situations such as Marceline’s. Without meaning to, the princess reached down to lace their fingers and squeezed her lover’s hand. Without meaning to her lover squeezed back. “First, why don’t we see how well you’re healing and see if we can find something for you to eat? You consumed half an apple before you fell asleep, but I suspect that’s not enough to sustain you, given all that’s happened.” Marceline turned away, her cheek now rested on her knees, a small huff escaping her. Are… are you pouting? It was what she had always done when they were younger, a way of acknowledging that Bonnibel was right without admitting she was right. It was coded language, developed over centuries of friendship. A language only they shared, that allowed them to have an entire conversation with a raised eyebrow. She smiled. You are. You are pouting. Well, go ahead and pout.

The candy golem knew better than to draw attention to it, especially now, when she was so close. Both physically and metaphorically. “I promised that once you heal a little bit we would review the damage to the Grasslands and its denizens together. I meant it, Marcy.” Now she did scoot closer until the two were touching. Whatever she was wearing, Marceline felt the younger woman’s body warmth through the fabric. It took away the fight in her and put itself in its place. “That… may involve going outside, and it’s day now, but I have ideas of how to safely re-introduce you.” The less they dwelled on that the better. “There’s… also something I need to talk to you about. We can do so before we investigate the Grasslands, but I’d like to see how you’re recovering and get some red in you first, alright?” To Marceline’s bafflement that question actually sounded like a question, as if she was actually being asked her opinion and not being lead to just agree with Bonnibel.

Which she did anyway, because habits are sort of hard to break.

“...Alright. Where do you want me.”

The princess’s smile was wan. “You don’t need to go anywhere, Marcy. I want to make sure you’re able to rest for as long as you’d like.” Goodness knows you need and deserve it. “Is it alright if I look you over?” The vampire tensed then, freezing in her position. Unseen by the young scientist her eyes have shot open, just as frozen as the rest of her.

Remember what ‘looking her over’ used to entail, Bon?

She did. Oh, how could she not? “We’re not going to my lab or anything, Marcy,” she soothed. “Just literally looking you over, with my eyebones. I saw how badly you were hurt before you fell asleep and I’d like to see if you were able to heal anything while you were unconscious. I won’t even touch. I promise.”

After considerable hesitation the half-demon nodded, sighed, and unclenched from her righted yet balled position. All while still not looking directly at the scientist. “So just… lay down?”

Bonnibel’s gentle smile had yet to fade. “That’s right, Marcy. When I ended my examination before your abdomen, back, and right side were still heavily damaged. Just a quick check to see if any of that damage has been rectified.” Without meaning to she kissed the top of the vampire’s head, the vampire who waited for some comment about her voice and throat, because she knew the princess who had only been allowed a quick peek under the purple collar but once. How could she resist another? But as long as she waited there was no follow-up, no acknowledgement of the one area damaged the most and above all. The queen had a vague recollection of Bonnibel promising not to touch the area days ago, but was still surprised nonetheless.

She… kept the promise? It was enough. “...Alright.” And with that she uncurled fully, laying first on her left side out of habit. Now she could see what the princess was actually wearing and why it was so easy to feel her warmth through it: it was a soft, form-fitting lavender dress. The sleeves, hem, and neckline were laced mosaic, flowing in spirals and loops colored rose pink and made of the finest velvet. It was a familiar dress, but an article of clothing Bonnibel hadn’t worn in some time. In all honesty, if she hadn’t spent so much of her time raiding Bonnibel’s things for stuff and giggles she wouldn’t even have been aware she still had it.

Marceline raised an eyebrow and Bonnibel laughed softly at her look but chose not to address it, not exactly wanting to admit that she had chosen the garment specifically because she knew it radiated warmth and would naturally draw the older woman in . With a smirk to indicate that she wasn’t going to satisfy her best friend’s curiosity Bonnibel hummed happily, slowly pulling back the remainder of the blankets shielding grey flesh from prying eyes. It gave her just enough room for her to shed the t-shirt she had fallen asleep in, leaving the musician in exactly three articles of clothing: her bra, her panties, and her royal purple collar. Head rested on her pillow her eyes closed, silently consenting to whatever it was that Bonnibel had in mind, unaware that the sight before her had caused the princess to flush deeper than should logically be healthy. After all, it had been a long time since they had been intimate, and even on those rare but brutal occasions when they fought it was unlike the pair to have a dry spell. As much a woman of logic and science as she was hormones happened, and when deprived long enough when so accustomed otherwise… well, the view before her raised some curious thoughts, and oh how impossible it was for Bonnibel to control her curiosity. If we have been apart objectively for several weeks and this is having such an effect on me… well, subjectively it’s been over a hundred years for-

Bon, as much as I am genuinely loving this train of thought you’re on and am more than happy to help you ride it later you’re kinda on a time limit, huh?

The flush deepened, and she was oh so thankful that Marceline had since closed her eyes against the exposure and was unable to see her indignity.

Definitely push it back here to your subconscious though, I’ll take good care of it for you, Rechte purred.

The sounds of delighted cackling faded to the back of the young scientist’s mind as she did what she did best: science. “Alright Marcy…. It looks like your side is doing much better. There are a few faint scratches-” that are quite obviously claw marks “-but they look significantly better than before you fell asleep.” Marceline nodded, but remained silent. Remained un-engaged. “Could you roll onto your stomach for me?” With a soft sigh the vampire did as she was bid and rolled over, exposing her back. Out of habit a pink hand reached out, but stilled. I promised.

Nice catch.

“Could you move your hair, Marceline?” Because as beautiful as it is, it’s obstructing my task. This time Marceline did open an eye, watching her carefully. It was a look Bonnibel was used to seeing, but not on her older lover. It was something she herself wore far more often. It was the expression of someone intent on an experiment and the pursuit of knowledge. ...You tested me?

You should probably get used to that, Bon, at least for a while. You said you were you again, so she’s probably gonna test you and lash out to see if you’re lyin’ or gonna abandon her.

There was a pang in her heart then, not because she knew Rechte was right but because it made perfect sense in terms of being a logical course of action. There was something unsettling about Marceline making perfect sense. But the flowing locks were whisked away, exposing the previously perfect grey skin underneath, now marred by strange wounds she wasn’t used to seeing on the older woman. “Hm… well, not as bad as it was, that’s for sure. I think you subconsciously prioritized your sides while you were out. Once we get some red food in your tummy you should have enough energy to finish the job back here.” There was no point in mentioning that the strange wounds were heavy bruising, a type of injury Bonnibel couldn’t place given the circumstances. How did this get here? “Does it hurt to move?”

“Not to me.”

And therein lied the rub: Marceline’s typically wonderful pain tolerance made it virtually impossible to tell how bad an injury really was unless the body part was literally falling off, and even then that only sometimes got a reaction out of her; the last time she had lost her entire arm she was more angry that it had taken her an hour to find it than crippled by the pain of losing it in the first place. “Alright, if you’re not bothered by it I’m sure it’ll heal nicely on its own.” There was gentle humor in her voice, not that Bonnibel knew how it got there. She let it stay all the same. “One last spot to check. Could you please roll onto your back?”

With a grunt of effort Marceline rolled over, exposing her underbelly. Her still very clawed, raw, damaged underbelly. Grey skin was lighter than it should be, indicating that even now, after plenty of opportunity to recover, the flesh was still inflamed, still sensitive. Inwardly Bonnibel frowned, disappointed that it had yet to heal, even if she outwardly gave no indication. Why leave a naturally vulnerable area for last? Have you been healing indiscriminately? Her mind floundered for an explanation but staring at a wound was a sign of predation and so she tore her gaze away, offering the vampire an encouraging smile. “Thank you, Marcy. Your abdomen seems to be the only are left that needs work. That’s quite an improvement. I suppose rest really was the most adequate medicine,” she mused absently.

Marceline eyed her, then rolled over to push herself back into a sitting position. The effort made her dizzy, and a dull thud began behind her temples. Only then was she noticing a familiar sensation, and one that didn’t come easily: grogginess. “...Yeah, speaking of. How long have I been out?”

Bonnibel’s smile was sheepish. “Oh. Yes… I haven’t really been keeping track of the exact hours, but at least a solid 24 of them-”

“Are you serious?!”

She had been prepared for that outburst. “Marcy, you needed to rest-”

“The flip I-”

An idea. A risky idea. “Marcy, do you remember the time I stayed awake for 83 hours making Goliad?”

“Yeah, but-”

“And when you tried to make me rest I kept getting out of bed after only short naps?”

“Yeah, but-”

“You almost resorted to physically restraining me until I cooperated. You did that because you knew that doing so was never going to let me catch up on my sleep debt, and you cared too much to let me do that to myself.” Garnet eyes narrowed, but the threat was empty and they both knew it. It always was. “You haven’t been eating… like, at all. And you were horribly hurt, Marcy. You needed rest.”

“How do you know what I need,” she muttered with only half the normal amount of vitriol.

But while even a week ago such snark would have been biting Bonnibel had come prepared because Rechte-who-was-not-Rechte was entirely right; Marceline’s modus operandi would be lashing out, to try to push the younger woman away, to test her claims and assertions. Because one of the most sacred promises had been broken the moment the princess had thrown that dagger, and that was that Bonnibel would never leave. It made only perfect sense that this would be where the half-demon would push hardest. This was the weak link in the chain, and this was where the stress test would begin. In a weird way the candy scientist was proud of her mate. She’s experimenting with thoughtfulness and consideration of the potential implications. Whether or not this was her natural curiosity afoot or a symptom of Lady Evil’s influence that Princess Bubblegum had been her unwitting teacher the princess wasn’t sure. But she was happy to consent.

“The same way that you’ve always known what I need. Sometimes we’re too engrossed in ourselves to understand what we require to not just live but to thrive. You’ve always been more adept than I at this, given your remarkable ability to adapt to pretty much any situation you find yourself in, but you’re allowed to be vulnerable. I just so happen to have six centuries of experience with your particular type of vulnerability and recognized both its cause and solution.” She gave the calloused hand, still clasped in her own, a tight squeeze. “Letting you continue as you were wouldn’t be freedom, Marcy, it would be abandoning you. You’ve always protected me. I’m overdue in returning the favor. Now,” she rose, using the vampire’s dumbfounded stare to her advantage, “I believe it’s time we move on to Phase 2 of helping you recover.”

Marceline knew where this was going and turned her head, entirely unsure how she should feel about her challenge being met and matched. “...Food tastes weird.”

“Mm.” Bonnibel nodded absently to herself, turning towards her desk in pondrance. The queen watched her from the corner of her eye. “Is it all food?”

You’re not letting this go, are you? She groaned. “Uh… apples, strawberries… I think I ate a towel. Or… a sock? Those come in red, right?”

Bonnibel laughed softly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, even if it was exceptional to hear just a bit of humor creeping back into her favorite voice so unexpectedly. Though that’s Marcy for you. Forever enigmatic. “Yes, I assure you that most articles of clothing come in red.” How easy teasing was coming to her now, as if a skill learned centuries ago was responding to muscle memory effortlessly, as if no time had passed at all.

Told ya there’s hope for you.

She shot Rechte a mental glare that was without merit. “So the same problem has presented regardless of what you’ve tried to eat?”

“Everything just tastes weird,” she repeated, laying on her side once more. It was only then that she withdrew her hand.

Unwilling to let the contact between them break Bonnibel took to her own side of the bed, laying on her back on top of the blankets, just to see if her oldest friend would object to her close proximity. When she didn’t her cold grey heart grew just a little warmer and pinker. “Have you been craving food of any kind?” Like bloo-

Marceline shook her head, eyes closing. “Nah. I don’t think I’m hungry? I mean… it’s not like I’ve gone red-starved, so I’m probably invincible, right?”

Now Bonnibel did roll her eyes. “No, Marceline, that’s not the way any of this works. While I don’t have a solid understanding of what’s happening to you just yet I hypothesize that not all of your consciousness is recovering at the same pace, such as your memory lapses.” Please, please never remember the world you were trapped in. “You may be hungry and just not capable of recognizing it yet.”

Marceline seemed to consider this. “...But like… I keep doing that brain thing where I’m not sure if I’m in my mind or in actual Ooo, right? I didn’t eat when I was in my brainspace, right?”

A gross oversimplification, but one that made her heart sink, her blood run chill. She knew where this was going, even if Marceline didn’t. Oh no. “Honestly, there wasn’t any red in your mind to begin with, Marcy. Well, except for your bass. No piece of you required sustenance, though one of you did eat Finn’s notebook when offered. It seemed to be more for pleasure than a requirement.” She frowned at a sudden memory. “Though one of you was capable of eating non-vampire food, so I suppose that may also be a factor.”

“Lady Evil?,” she spat.

Bonnibel sighed, moving herself just a tad closer to her vampire. “Yes. She was the only full-blooded demon, though I somehow doubt her eating solid food is causing this dilemma now.”

“...You seem pretty sure of that, Bon.” There was a suspicious tone in her voice. One the princess had to soothe immediately.

“Only because she was quite adamant that she functions best subconsciously and without drawing attention to herself. She was rather clear that she prefers stealth, and I doubt that aspect of your psyche would allow for such a dramatic upset in your behavior or physiology.” Please, please don’t make me tell you what part you she was.

Marceline rolled that explanation around in her mind. She knew there was something that Bonnibel wasn’t telling her, something she was dancing around, something that almost made her snap, but even she was capable of introspection. No. She’s been really honest about everything so far. I told the Dork Patrol I didn’t wanna know about the … other me’s? Me’s? Whatevs. Is this just her respecting that? For the sake of argument she decided that was the case.

Or maybe she just wanted to hope Bonnibel had actually changed.

“So… that’s it? My brain doesn’t know what food and hunger area unless I’m force-fed?” Awkward silence. “...Bon?”

And then Bonnibel did something unthinkable, something she never except in the impossible situation where she was trapped by Marceline being inarguably logical: She squirmed. “Well… there is a third possibility. Do you recall when Finn explained that one part of you was almost killed?” Here it comes, Bubblegum. Get ready for the fallout.

“And then you made that bet with Lady Evil. Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna forget hearing about that.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. Mentally preparing herself for this peace she had spent so long building and the bridge between them so freshly mended to come crashing down. “Before I thought to make such a deal with her I had the idea to… feed you my blood. Just a few drops!,” she rushed, unfamiliar nervousness beginning to blossom into something grotesque and counter-productive. “You can feed on red but it can’t nourish you like blood does, and I thought perhaps the nourishment might heal you-”

“But… I don’t crave blood.”

Green eyes snapped open. There was no yelling, no accusation, no alacrity. Nothing except mumbled confusion. “...What?”

Marceline misunderstood Bonnibel’s confusion as to why there was no shouting with intrigue as to why she wasn’t craving the one thing vampires were meant to crave. “Yeah. I know what a craving for blood feels like and I just don’t have it in me. It’s more like… not being hungry? I think?”

The princess stared at her lover in disbelief. She had expected Marceline to be absolutely furious about what was - she assumed- a grievous betrayal. After all, the musician had only three rules governing her immortal lifespan, and not drinking blood was one of them. And to not only drink blood, but to be forced to by the person who claimed to love her most? Why, that violated a second of the three rules: not hurting Bonnibel. And for Bonnibel to violate this rule not only for her, but on her behalf and without any semblance of consent? No, she had expected another outburst, another accusation of betrayal, of righteous indignation that she had ignored what Marceline wanted in favor of what was easy. Bonnibel was prepared for revulsion, for glaring, even for preventing Marceline from running out in the daylight - for her own safety, of course - in her haste to get away. But there was none of that. No enmity, no rage, no fury.

Nothing.

“Why aren’t you furious with me?”

Only then did the scientist realize her bewildered internal monologue had turned into a bewildered external dialogue, one whispered, as if giving it volume would remind the musician that she was supposed to feel righteous fury. Instead Marceline gave an apathetic half-shrug. “‘Cause of the you feeding me your blood thing?” A small, silent nod, followed by another half-shrug. “I mean… it’s not real, right? It’s not like you tried to make me drink blood out here in Real Ooo. And you said it was ‘cause you were trying to save me, right? I dunno. I’d do a lot worse if I thought it could save you, even if you never wanted to see me again after-” And then she was silenced by the younger woman pulling her into her arms, by the tight embrace, by the envelopment of warmth and softness. Even the stinging ache of her still unmended wounds didn’t register against the bizarre action. “Uh… Bon?”

“I thought you’d hate me.” It was so uncharacteristically soft that Marceline would have missed it if not for her acute hearing. Even if it was muffled by how stunned she was not only by the sudden affection but by how much it wasn’t revolting her. “I thought when I told you… that that would be final straw for us.” Her fingers became possessive claws around the older woman. “How isn’t this a mondo mega deal to you? Why aren’t you furious? Why are you just letting me get away with it?”

The half-demon opened her mouth then to repeat how not a big deal drinking dream-blood was when, for the second time that day, she had another rare moment of introspection and settled in the hold. “...You’re not talking me vamping your blood, are you?”

For a long moment Bonnibel was quiet and calm, but keen ears heard the brief moment her heartbeat became erratic and knew better than to trust the facade, because it took a lot for the candy golem to lose the impeccable control she held over her heartbeat’s rhythm. Marceline had once again done what Marceline did best, and that was upset the natural order of things. She was supposed to be disgusted, this was supposed to be another opportunity for Bonnibel to explain herself and prove her merit and demonstrate that it hadn’t been the easy way out. But here was her vampire, her overly-sweet and sometimes simple vampire just shrugging it off because, yeah, sure, maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal on its own but she had just thrown a dagger had done so many horrible, horrible things and didn’t that change the context the meaning the- “...I almost destroyed you. When I de-vamped you all those years ago I almost killed you, but this time I almost destroyed you. I know you’re still livid with me, and you should be… but before you passed out you indicated you would be willing to forgive me, in time. Then, when I came to bed that night you were barely awake and you still sought me out. Even right now you’re letting me hold you. Why ?”

“Seems like you need it.”

Bubblegum’s frustrated sigh had everything to do with herself and nothing to do with- “Marceline, you know what I mean. I know that it will be years before we are what we were and we have what we did and I have so much ahead of me to prove myself to you… but why are you even letting me in the first place? Is it because your soul compels you that strongly? That’s so unfair to you-”

Marceline shifted those curled claws away from a sore spot on her back. “Chill, dork. Yeah, I’m still mega whizzed, and all of this is super messed up… but you wouldn’t forgive you for doing this, would you? Like, if you did all this crud to yourself instead of me?”

How obvious. “Of course not-”

How obvious. “See? That’s kinda my point. You wouldn’t forgive you, so you know what you did is unforgivable. But… that’s something you get to say ‘cause you don’t have the sitch I’m in. If I try to do the you thing and logic this out and do what’s supposed to make sense… I’m never gonna get closure, ‘cause that’s not how this works. Yeah, case closed, but that doesn’t make me feel better. I can’t just feel get over stuff because I know something. But if I go with it and you can’t show me you’re honest… then I get it. So yeah, you fed me blood. Make believe blood, ‘cause you thought it’d save me. You’ve done worse, both to and for me. I’m mad mad, but I can’t think things out like you do. I feel ‘em out. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Bonnibel stared, then closed her eyes as she tried furiously to wrap her mind around that bizarre form of what only kind of sort of passed as logic. “Me… being unwilling to forgive myself lends credence to my claim that I’ve changed.”

She didn’t open her eyes, but she did hear her queen sigh. “Bon, you’re really good at justifying why you do gonked up stuff, and I know for a fact you’d rather get maimed than admit you were wrong about anything, even dumb stuff, and I know you lie whenever you can get away with it making your life easier.” No argument. There was none to be had. “But… it’s like I said before. You promised you changed, or you’re at least trying to. It’s really weird, but you’re doing okay so far, and this would be a really weird thing to lie about. I doubt you fed me Finn or Jake’s blood, because even you have a limit on messed up stuff you’d do. That leaves only one person to make that sacrifice? So that’d be you putting yourself in a dangerous position, too. You know, if it did make me crave blood and junk, since I’d probably come after you first.”

The princess wanted to open her eyes, see the look Marceline was wearing as she mused.

Can’t apply what you’d do to what she’d do, Bon. You’re in unknown territory with like… a garbage can lid as your only defense.

That’s an absurd analogy.

Nah, it’s legit. If you guys ever have kids this’ll be a funny story for ‘em.

You’re not helping, Rechte!

Yeah, but… aren’t I?

The mental argument with herself would have continued had Bonnibel not realized that Marceline was giving her an odd look. “I… you’re right, Marceline.”

“Always am. So,” with only a few winces the vampire disentangled herself, “you promised me I’d get to judge for myself how much of a monster I am and let me see how many peeps I murder-”

“Marceline.” Disgusted with the idea that her beloved see herself as a monster she responded to the situation in exactly the incorrect manner, once more slipping back into a warning tone strong enough to cause the older woman’s jaw to snap shut. She could feel Rechte’s frown radiate from the back of her mind.

Not cool.

She sighed, not disagreeing. Not when she saw the subtle wince, the visible waver in Marceline’s confidence. Great job, Bubblegum. “I’m sorry, Marcy,” she began gently. Already the vampire was settling back into an old habit, not even looking at the younger woman. It was morbidly fascinating how one word in one specific tone of voice could cause so much progress to unravel so swiftly. “That was uncalled for. I’m… still learning how to break those destructive habits I ingrained in myself, but that’s no excuse. Yes, I made you that promise and I fully intend to keep it. In the interest of transparency, however… there is one more thing I need to tell you.” But how to do it? Especially now, with that thoughtless and perfect blow? Would now even be the best time? Was there such a thing?

Perhaps not, she thought as she watched Marceline beginning to fiddle with some device laying on top of her trunk. As she watched her re-explore their room. But then again everything she was doing was a gamble lately. She had made so many promises with no guidance as to when to fulfill them. One thing was for sure, though: Rechte was right, and she was on a time limit. If it expired before she finished debriefing Marceline the situation would worsen in ways she could scarcely imagine. Once again, she took a gamble. “After you fell asleep I received word from Pep-But that a late night envoy had shown up unexpectedly. I wanted to send them away, but he seemed nervous and insisted that even Finn and Jake were in attendance. I thought it may have to do with what happened in the Grasslands, so I made the decision to hold a late-night court.” Here it comes. “To my surprise, however… it was not an envoy in attendance. It was Phoebe.”

Marceline couldn’t help it. The contraption she was fiddling with just… slipped from her icy fingers, out of her grasp and taking her sense of safety with it, reigniting the ancient war that had roared within her for six centuries, the urge to run battling the knowledge that it was against the rules. All curiosity of whether or not Bonnibel was actually her old self were rendered null and void because it was just so ingrained in her; the price of her underestimating the other woman’s ire was simply too high. Mind almost blank from the panic that had begun to settle into her very core her eyes darted to the window, but no part of her moved, too obedient down to her soul even now to run. But that was all that sang through her mind, or what was left of the conscious part: getting out, vacating the area as quickly as possible clearing the blast radius that was Princess Bubblegum. She could see it already, so clearly in her mind, could hear the firm sharp voice castigating her, the declarations of betrayal. And she was right, of course, Princess Bubblegum was right because Marceline knew she was putting the Candy Kingdom in danger in keeping a friendship with Phoebe. How selfish could she be? She needed to know but had no answer to give herself.

For one moment, for one last, glorious moment Marceline tried to imagine what her elemental friend could possibly have in mind, why she would ever visit the Candy Kingdom- but I’ve been gone for a hundred years, haven’t I? I don’t know what’s changed. But Bonnie doesn’t look happy. No, no, she doesn’t look happy, she’s so mad mad I can tell, she hates Phoebe and if she knows she and I are buds she’s gonna be SO ultra mad- And with that all forms of thought and reason extinguished from her ancient mind, replaced in their entirety with one singular instinct: Run. But even as instinct spurred her to run - for even the daylight would surely be better than Princess Bubblegum’s ire, after all, the Sky Ball of Death wasn’t the one that knew all of her secrets or how to wield them as weapons - she remained planted, rooted, grounded, because some deep, traitorous part of her heard the whispered command in the back of her mind, not spoken in her own voice but that of her princess: stay put.

There was something grotesque about watching the woman you love tear herself apart, but it was so much worse when seen through enlightened eyes. It was the first time Bonnibel had ever truly witnessed the meltdown that played out when Marceline was confronted by the need to escape but the helplessness of not being allowed to do so. She had never before seen the war between Marceline’s love and fear. It broke her heart to see the other half of her tremble, to see her eyes dart futilely to the window, to know that the vampire would rather risk True Death than whatever Princess Bubblegum had in mind, but it broke her soul to realize that Marceline was wearing the exact same expression now that she had worn the moment she had seen The Door. The moment the half-demon had gone from cautious sarcasm to despair. The moment before her sanity had imploded.

Bonnibel Bubblegum wanted to vomit.

She’s… she’s terrified of me.

Bon, be extremely careful about what you do next.

How cruel was I, Rechte? Have I always inspired this reaction in situations such as these?

Bon-

Rechte, is this… is this normal? A typical reaction? All of those times I remember thinking her a coward for wanting to run instead of dealing with her problems… is this how she looked?

Bonnibel, I’m loving this moment of self-awareness, but if you don’t contain this now we’re looking at a repeat of the Grasslands Incident, and something tells me she won’t hide at your cabin a second time. I really don’t think she’s gonna stop to put on Sky Ball of Death safety gear either. You’re staring. Predators stare.

...And she’s not staring. She’s frozen. She’s prey. I primed her for this, by thoughtlessly issuing that subtle command.

So what are you going to do?

What am I going to do? The first thing she was going to do was assure that she kept all movements slow and deliberate, that her tone remained calm, gentle, and understanding. She believes that I’m not a safe place to her at the moment. I have to show her that there’s no danger. “Hey… hey, it’s okay, Marcy.” The vampire flinched, automatically looking away from the younger woman. It made Bonnibel wince as well, that knowledge that only moments before her lover had been so firmly on the road to recovery, even ready to reluctantly share her bed again. But it had all come crashing down, for it is so hard to create but so easy to destroy. What little trust that was beginning to blossom was already withering, rotting under centuries of exposure to a harsh and unforgiving woman who saw the queen as property first, always property first. I’m so sorry, Marceline. “I didn’t know you two were such good friends. I can see why-” you were so afraid of what I’d do “-you kept it to yourself.” She almost took a step forward but felt a mental tug holding her back.

Don’t.

The princess swallowed hard against the silent response. “She’s really worried about you. I don’t know exactly what she knows, but she’s definitely aware that you’re hurt.” More silence. “She’ll be back tomorrow. We have to work out a trade arrangement between our kingdoms, but I’m sure she’d love to see you after we’ve concluded. If you’d like I can make sure you have plenty of privacy, wherever it is you want. I’ll take care of it.” Somehow Marceline’s expression didn’t betray her believing the younger woman in any way, shape, or form. Not with how tense she looked, or how her hands were clenched into fists. The way she was obviously clamping down on her cheek, that the trembling signifying the beginning of a panic attack had yet to subside.

But it’s not full-blown yet.

No, but that was hardly a comfort. After all, it may not have progressed but it wasn’t clearing either. “Marcy… I know you’re afraid. I understand why. It’s the same reason you hid your friendship with her from me, isn’t it? Because you were afraid of how I’d react. I understand, Marcy. I put you in a horrible position. None of any of this was ever fair to you. I put myself and my disagreement with Phoebe first. It’s no wonder you were worried, but I’m not mad, Marcy. I’m only sorry that I did this to you.” Say it, Bubblegum. “I… I understand if you don’t feel that you can be here right now. I never let you leave when I was angry, did I? I always thought it was because you were avoiding your problems. When I was inside your mind I learned how wrong I was, Marceline. You were just trying to protect a wound you weren’t ready to show me yet. If…” A deep breath. “If you don’t feel safe here no one will make you stay. But if you do leave… Marcy, it’s day out right now.” Another flinch. “I know. But it is, and I know that you may not remember the sun yet, but you do remember how dangerous it is for you. If you’d like to leave… I know there’s protective clothing in your trunk. Please… put it on first, so that you’re safe. You’ve already been through more than you ever should have.”

At first there was no movement at all, no response, no indication that Marceline was even all there mentally. Bonnibel waited, resisting every urge to ramble further, knowing that her mate needed the time and space to feel safe enough just to process what she was being told. In truth, Marceline was finding it rather difficult to think at all; her head was pounding, her vision was blurred, ancient blood filled her mouth, her body was rigid and numb, and even though she was sure she understood most of what Bonnibel had said it mostly sounded muffled. As it stood it took more energy than it ever should have just to choke down her own blood and she hoped against hope that Princess Bubblegum didn’t catch the unintentional self-mutilation, her pitiful attempt to stay focused and in the present. After all, she had rules against such behavior.

It was hard for her to understand how much sincerity really lived in those pretty words. It was unlike the younger woman to be gentle and understanding when faced with betrayal - and that’s what her friendship with Phoebe was, no need for her to point it out apparently - and, in fact, it had never happened before. Not really, not sincerely, not genuinely, and so as much as Marceline wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that it really was okay and that she really wasn’t in trouble it was a lie and she knew it. Princess Bubblegum just didn’t forgive, and there was a steep price for betrayal. Especially for her. It all just hurt so much, and there was only one way out. There was always only ever one way out.

“I’m sorry.”

It was a whisper, but it was more than enough. It should never have been said in the first place, should never have needed to be said, but there it was. Bonnibel offered her a sad smile. “No, Marcy… you have no reason to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. This was all my fault. I didn’t respect you as an autonomous individual. I only saw what you could do for me. You had many reasons to hide your friendship with Phoebe. I’m sorry, Marceline. I was profoundly and undeniably wrong.” Could her queen hear her inability to control her heartrate? Her nervous breathing? Her longing to make this, all of this, right, if only she knew how?

So slowly Bonnibel almost missed it Marceline’s breathing, once haggard, gradually ceased entirely. Still not daring to meet her eyes the older woman cautiously turned towards the window, still blacked out, shielding her from one of the only things that could Truly Kill her. Is it even day? That could just be a lie to keep me here. But even plagued with doubt it somehow seemed unlikely. No… she told me where my stuff was. I’m guessing she means my hat and gloves. Why tell me that if she’s lying? What an odd and novel thought; Bonnibel Bubblegum telling the truth. But… she has so far, right? About the other stuff? In all honesty, she wasn’t sure. Her head hurt, her cheek stung, and as the panic attack faded so too did her energy. Would I even make it far even if it is night? There were too many questions, the knot in her mind was just too tangled. Where do I even begin with this?

“Marcy?” She jumped, tensing once more, but without the adrenaline that came from her panic it was a futile gesture and Bonnibel cursed herself inwardly, where only Rechte could hear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Would you like to sit down while you think about what you would like to do?” As the half-demon mulled over that suggestion her eyes trailed to the only place near her to sit: the desk chair. No sooner had she dared think it she recoiled, unable to even consider it. Bonnibel’s sad smile turned morose. It’s not even occurring to her that she can float. “Here. Why don’t I move from the bed, and you can sit on it. Would that be alright?”

Would it? The knot tightened until it was too much for her humanoid form. Unable to stay, unable to run, a rat took her place, flat against the corner of the bed, clinging for all she was worth as if mustering the energy to bolt at a moment’s notice. Four garnet eyes watched Bonnibel, observing her every movement. Piercing green eyes watched back, softening at the new form; after all, the young scientist always did have a soft spot for rodents. Even horrifying and ferocious rodents such as herself. But… why isn’t she moving like she said? ‘Cause I didn’t say yes? Am I supposed to? Marceline wanted to test it, wanted to see if the princess really would keep to her word and leave the soft bed if she was only asked to, yet the instinctive desires that demanded she run or hide or apologize were too strong, the very idea too outlandish. All she could do was stare, frozen in place by the amalgamation of love and fear. When the candy golem gave her a smile, an oddly loving one at that, confusion joined her mental party.

“Would you like a pillow? I know how comfortable you find our bed, but… forgive me, Marcy, but you look tired.”

As absurd as it was a pillow did sound nice. It also sounded like an idea. A highly risky one, one that could land her in a mondo stuff-load of trouble, but an idea all the same. With her own slow and deliberate moments, and forcing herself not to break eye contact with the younger royal in what she knew was a pitiful attempt at a challenge, Marceline crept across the bed, towards the top, stopping just before the head. She almost lost her nerve then, almost chickened out, but with held breath she crawled past the threshold of the blankets, planting herself firmly on a pillow. Specifically, Princess Bubblegum’s pillow. It was no secret that the younger woman was quite possessive and would never tolerate such an insult as Marceline laying claim to something as trivial as her soft pink pillow. When there was no immediate reaction the small rat dug her nails in, not enough to rip the fabric - she wasn’t that brave or stupid - but enough to send the message that, at least for the time being, this was her pillow because, after all, she was offered one.

Surely Bonnibel, the smartest woman she had ever met, understood what she was doing, knew that she was purposefully trying to instigate… something, though even Marceline wasn’t sure what. Yes Bonnibel knew, but to the musician’s confusion her lover only laughed softly. “I would have brought you a pillow, but I suppose that suffices. Are you comfier now?”

...Is… is that it? It couldn’t be. That sincere question, that gentle humor, couldn’t possibly be the only reaction she was instigating. There had to be more, it had to be a trick, a trap of some kind. There was a lecture coming, or yelling, or… or… something , she just knew it. Uh uh. I don’t buy it. Braver now, or perhaps only frustrated from her growing confusion, Marceline Abadeer did the unthinkable. Without breaking eye contact she extended two tiny fangs and pierced the soft pillowcase, draining just enough of the pink to be perceptible, only faintly registering- huh, this actually tastes really good. It’s gonna be an awesome last meal before she ganks me. But Bonnibel wasn’t ganking her. No, she was… chuckling? No, that’s… she’s not supposed to…

“I suppose that counts as food,” she teased. Of course she knew what Marceline was doing, but two could play this game. And that’s what it was, really: a game where the vampire would try to push her buttons, testing her, trying to find a breaking point that would turn ‘Bonnibel’ back into ‘Princess Bubblegum’ while Bonnibel thwarted her attempts by doing exactly not that. Undermining Marceline’s efforts was a risky move, but it was a calculated one because it was something Bonnibel knew she used to do. Before the crown had corrupted her. Before she had turned into a monster. “Though I don’t think you’ve ever eaten my pillow before. Does it taste better than the fruit we tried?” Now genuine curiosity stepped in place of the teasing; it was left in the background but was not allowed to leave.

Marceline detached, staring at the scientist. She’s… not mad? It was unfathomable. Unheard of. Not even Marceline had ever been exempt from Princess Bubblegum’s demanding nature. Of course, she was often a part of that demanding nature, but it remained true all the same. And then she registered the question she was being posited. And then she registered the answer. “...Yeah, actually.” Her voice came out small and anxious. She was being offered a treat that was both literal and metaphorical, and with no solid idea of what was happened she only eyed it warily. Both literally and metaphorically.

In response Bonnibel tapped her chin, a non-committal ‘mm’ escaping her. It was what she did when she was on the trail of solving a puzzle, when she had an idea, some experiment in mind. “Interesting…” Keeping her promise of slow, deliberate movements she stood with all the grace befitting her, glancing from her wardrobe, to the lavatory, then to- “Marcy, would you be willing to help me with-”

Do not say experiment, Bon.

“-an idea I have? I think I may know what foods would be palatable to you. Granted, even if I’m correct I’m not sure why that would be, but my primary concern is finding you a stable food source while you recover. We don’t even need to leave, I have everything I need right here!”

There was a light in her eyes, the same one Marceline had fallen in love with six centuries ago. It was the light of curiosity, of wonderment, of needing to understand and discover. Some ancient feeling, not felt in a hundred years, stirred in the tiny rat’s chest, and with it the fog of instinctive fear began to fade. Was she still cautious? Oh yes, she wasn’t an idiot.

Still.

“...What kind of idea?” She pressed against the pillow, nails dug into the fabric, ready to run, ready to hide, ready to be anywhere but where she was.

Now the light reached Bonnibel’s smile, and Marceline knew she must be very excited for that to happen. “A taste test! You don’t need to move. Actually, it’s better if you don’t. The results will be more reliable if you aren’t aware of which items are the control and which are not.”

Marceline wanted to say no just for the sake of it, just to see if she had that power, both to know for herself and to know if Bonnibel was serious about not doing anything she didn’t want her to do. But it had been a hundred years since she had seen that light in her eyes or felt her excited energy to solve a problem that she at least assumed only she could, because even before she was Princess Bubblegum Bonnibel was just a little bit arrogant. And really, this was exactly like Bonnibel, wasn’t it? A spontaneous idea, an experiment instantaneously planned, Marceline kind-of-sort-of volunteering because it was hard to say ‘no’ to her. But I’m still not convinced you’re her again. You gotta prove it. It didn’t hurt that it actually sounded a little fun, like the games they used to play when they were just getting to know one another. “...Okay, but only if you tell me why Phoebe came. Even if you’re telling the truth and she’s just worried she would’ve just called or something. Especially since I know you two still aren’t on talking terms.” I really hope that sounds a lot more confident than-

“Deal!”

That was unexpected.

“Now, close your eyes. I know how good your vision is and I need to make sure I’m right! Oh, and no more eating my pillow! Science demands any investigation be as free from uncontrolled variables as possible!”

It was embarrassing how quickly Marceline obeyed and shut her eyes. She even flushed under her fur. If anyone asks, I’ll deny it. It was just so hard to say no, even as she heard suspicious ruffling and the sound of running water. After all, it had been a command, sure, but it hadn’t been in Princess Bubblegum’s Most Royal Voice. It had been in Bonnibel’s excited tone, driven by The Need to Know something. She’s… not mad. She’s never like this and mad. They’re like… anti-moods of one another. I dun get it. But her bewilderment would have to wait, because-

“Alright Marcy, you can open your eyes!”

At first only one eye peaked open, but when it saw the pile in front of it the other three joined it. “...Bon, what is all this?” Well, what it literally was what obvious: a pile of cloth, all shades of red. Towels, a jacket, a dress, certain undergarments, all various shades of red. There was even the plate of apples Marceline had been tempted with before, though now, curiously, they were sliced. Everything seemed to be organized, though it was impossible to tell in what manner. It made her frown in consternation.

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal that just, Marcy. It would taint the results. I assure you though, this should be a quick and easy test.”

“And… what do I have to do exactly?”

She beamed. “I’m going to hand you two objects, most of which are cloth. I’d like for you to take a little nibble of each and just tell me which tastes better.”

“And… then you’ll tell me what happened with you and Phoebe.” She sounded disbelieving. About everything.

Bonnibel nodded, undeterred. “Yes. I promise, as soon as this taste test is finished I’ll tell you about her visit and answer any other questions you have.”

The four eyes squinted at the younger woman, but all they saw was intrigue and eagerness. “...Alright. Fine. Let’s do your thing-” No sooner had she consented to be a guinea pig - figuratively speaking, she was not turning into an actual guinea pig, thank you very much - two hand towels were offered to her. With a resigned sigh she sniffed them both, but they just smelled like pink hand towels, the same towels from the set she had never been allowed to break up, no matter how delicious they looked. ...Weird. But a quick drain of their color, made it even weirder.

It must have shown in her expression. “What’s wrong?”

Marceline nudged the small towel in Bonnibel’s right hand. “It’s… weird.”

“How so?”

“They’re from the same set, right?”

Her smile was apologetic of all things. “I’m sorry, Marcy, I can’t tell you. It might impact the test.”

“...If you say so, but they look exactly the same but that one,” she nudged the right towel once more, “tastes way different.”

“How so?,” she repeated.

“I dunno. Just… better. Like, not weird.”

“Oh! Like how food is meant to taste?”

“I guess.” Actually, she didn’t guess, that was exactly what it was like.

“Fascinating!” Both towels were set to the side, the beginning of two piles. In their place came two faded vermillion rags, the sight of which caused the rat’s nose to wrinkle. Bonnibel chortled. “I know, I know. Lab rags. Just go with me on this, okay Marcy?” She was definitely getting glared at, but the musician proved cooperative, once more nudging the object in her right hand. “Interesting…” The two were sorted once more, the chosen rag with the chosen towel, the discarded rag with the discarded towel. This time the options were two slices of apples.

“Uh…” Marceline glanced up at Bonnibel but the princess only smiled knowingly. That was good enough for her and with a shrug she drained a tiny amount of red from their peels. “...Yeah, these taste really different, too. Bon, what the lump?!”

“Don’t worry Marcy, just a one more left. You’re doing wonderfully.” As if compliments were a fair reward. When the vacant pillow, her own pillow, was patted Marceline grumbled and left her comfy spot, making the grand sacrifice of draining it as well. “Still different?”

“Yeah. How much more do I have to do?”

“None, actually.”

That was suspicious. As was the smugness in her voice. Granted, smugness seemed to live in her voice naturally, but still. “...That doesn’t seem to be a lot.”

“No, but it did successfully establish the pattern, and for all that’s enough for a preliminary hypothesis.”

“...Pattern? Hypo… thing? Do I really wanna know, Bon?” When the candy golem sat on the bed she scuttled away to make room, but when a pink hand gently patted her lap Marceline couldn’t resist crawling into it. There was just something about her deliciously soft warmth that melted the residual panic from her mind. Especially when aforementioned pink hand began to stroke down her back.

“Aw… soft little mouse.” But now her smile was turning sad, as if she was conflicted about whether or not she should be honest. In the end, her promise of being a new and improved version of herself won out. “Marcy… I’m going to disclaim to you first that you’re not going to like the results of the taste test, but I am going to ask that you refrain from any rash action until we discuss the implications. Is that alright?”

Marceline narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like when you begin stuff like that, Bon. What’s going on?”

Well, here it goes. “Keeping in mind that we do not know the reason yet, and that it is counterproductive to act until we do know… Marceline, every item you picked was, at some point in the past, contaminated with blood. Specifically, my blood.”

If Marceline had a living heart it would have froze. “...What?,” she asked quietly, muscles coiled and tense.

Stay calm, Marcy, please. “Yes. The hand towel you chose I used to clean your bite mark the last time we made love weeks ago, whereas the other was a replacement for the towel I sent in your care package when you first returned to the Nightosphere. One of the rags was stained from when I was cross-examining blood genotypes in candy people in an attempt to establish a syrup bank, should the Candy Kingdom experience another disaster or war, whereas the rag you rejected had been stained with Finn’s blood when he attempted to… help me.” What an unpleasant and irritating memory. “My pillow case was from… well, I had a nightmare.” Her voice turned stiff then, for the nightmare had been filled with silver daggers and lost love. With a shake of her head and a vague ache from the memory of when she had bit her cheek in her sleep, she pushed it back towards her own personal Mental Vault and left the explanation at that. The less Marceline knew about that the better. “The apples I sliced just now, but I purposely cut myself while picking that specific apple, though I did rinse the specks of blood off immediately after.”

Silence, as the rat stared straight ahead, unable to process what it had just heard.

“...Marcy?”

“...I..”

Careful, Bon.

“Marcy… this doesn’t mean what you think it means. None of this blood is fresh. It’s all from the past.”

“...I drank your blood?”

When the trembling began once more Bonnibel scooped the rodent into her arms, kissing the top of her furry head. “Shh… you didn’t drink my blood, Marcy. All of these objects came into contact with my blood at some point in the past, but none of it was fresh or even present currently.”

Without meaning to the half-demon’s gripped the pink hand cupping her underbelly, tiny nails digging into soft flesh. Neither woman noticed. “...Then why..?”

Bonnibel kissed her head once more, manueving so that her back was rested against the bed’s headboard, her legs stretched down the mattress. “I’m not sure just yet. I hypothesize that it may have to do with you consuming my blood within your mind, or it could be you instinctively seeking something with enough emotional resonance that it’s powerful enough to ground you to Ooo, as opposed to the mindscape and, given our relationship, I suffice.”

Poor choice of words. “...No, Bon, no, I can’t, you can’t ask me to-”

Oh butterbrittle. “Shh… no, Marcy. I’m not asking you to drink my blood. I would never ask you to break your vow. For now we have my pillowcase, the apple slices, the towel, and the rag. None has any trace of blood remaining, all of which have been washed and rewashed many times since their initial contamination. These should more than suffice. We can use this food to wean you onto proper food by making you more accustomed to what your diet used to be like. But,” she gently turned the rat’s head so that their eyes were locked, “I promise. I will not feed you blood, nor will I ask you to consume blood.”

“I eat red Bon-”

“That’s right,” she soothed. “You don’t drink blood. All of these objects have lots of red for you to eat.” Not loosening her one-handed embrace Bonnibel reached over, pulling up her pillowcase. “We last made love weeks ago. This pillow has been washed and rewashed several times since then. There is no blood. You enjoyed eating it. Would you be willing to eat a little more?” Marceline squirmed, not knowing which answer was the lesser of all evils. “Please, Marceline. I’m worried. Eating is paramount to you healing, and it hurts to see you starve yourself.” She certainly sounded worried, and her logic certainly sounded right, but the musician had no way to ponder that: the pink hand found her sensitive ear and was now scritching it lightly. The rat fell limp, eyes closing, mind going blank and not exactly willing to move. It was a dirty trick. Dirty, but effective enough that when the pillow was offered to her once more she instinctively bit down, slowly draining it of its delicious pink. Once it was a bit over half grey she snapped out of her trance and detached, only a tiny bit humiliated by how easily she was manipulated. Even if it was with good intentions. “...Full..”

Bonnibel smiled, taking it and switching it with the vampire’s pillow. “Thank you, Marceline. It means a lot to me.” With the rat set upon the comfortable pillow, and fuzzy ear still being scritched, she knew it was time to fulfill her end of the bargain. “Now, I promised to tell you about Phoebe.” Two garnet eyes opened, watching her. “We let Phoebe know the basics of what’s happened when we first recovered you from the Mindscape. She’s aware of what I did to you, and how you’re hurt, though I thought it best you tell her the specifics yourself. You deserve that freedom. We… had a long conversation wherein I must admit I was not as hospitable as I should have been given the circumstances.”

Marceline’s remaining two eyes opened, suspicion raising. “What circumstances?”

The princess’s smile was… abashed? “Oh… yes. There was a bit of a… ah… trade dispute.”

“...Trade dispute.”

Bonnibel exhaled forcefully. “Do you recall the trade agreement the Candy and Fire Kingdoms signed a few years ago?”

Marceline tilted her head. “You mean the thing where you’re mad at her because she-”

“Yes,” the candy golem emphasized. “It mandates that the Candy Kingdom exchange raw dextrose to the Fire Kingdom and, in exchange, they provide raw metal ore. I was… ah… in violation of it.”

“...How is that even a thing? Seems really simple.”

It was, before I wrecked everything, yes. “I… set up an embargo on silver without consulting Phoebe, in violation of our agreement.”

Silence. Then, “...What’s an embargo?”

She sounded just so befuddled it was adorable, and Bonnibel smiled in spite of herself. “...I banned silver from the Candy Kingdom, and its territories, in all of its forms.”

More silence. Then, “What the flip, Bonnibel?!” But it wasn’t irritation or bafflement or alacrity in the queen’s voice. It was guilt.

“Marceline,” she began carefully, “I hurt you very badly, in every way. I refuse to risk your safety again.”

“So you banned an entire metal?" Just... for me? "What about your experiments? You use it for those, right?”

You’re worried about me? It was too endearing. “You only have four weaknesses-”

“If you blocked out the sun-”

“-and as we’ve discussed, blocking out the sun would be a catastrophe for the entirety of Ooo. That leaves only decapitation, which is an oddly specific way to die, and a stake to the heart-”

“Didn’t you confiscate all of those after you de-vamped and re-vamped me?”

“Exactly my point. Now you’re safe.” Her voice was firmer than she meant, tight with repressed emotion.

Marceline’s gaze softened. “Bon…”

The younger woman cleared her throat. “However, in a rare lapse of judgment I forgot to consult or alert Phoebe as to the change in our agreement. When she could not reach me in the usual manner she came to the Candy Kingdom herself. Fortunately, due to her friendship with you she was able to guess why that particular metal was banned. She gave me three days to draft a new agreement, which she will sign when she returns tomorrow. And, as I said, I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

She… wasn’t lying? “So… what else did she tell you?” She resisted squirming, but couldn’t control the nervous twang in her voice.

The gentle hand returned to stroking a furry back. Somehow she thought it best not to mention that she knew how the two had met. No need to open that can of void demon-shaped worms. “She mentioned that you visit her in the Fire Kingdom. Do you really have a white flame?” Her voice was kept curious and light, as if this question were mere intrigue and not one of deep metaphysical ramifications.

The rat nervously rubbed the back of its neck, making it a point to avoid the collar. “Yeah, just… like… when I get ultra mad? I can’t really control it, and it’s mega hot. I can’t really make it come out, and it’s hard to make it stop, too. I didn’t wanna hurt you, since… you know…,” she trailed off.

Bonnibel continued the calming strokes. “I understand, Marcy. If what Phoebe said is accurate your fire can be hot enough to even burn fire elementals. It could certainly do considerable damage to my kingdom.” And me.

Marceline nodded, tense. “Yeah… Phoebe’s been helping me learn to control it. She thinks it has something to do with me being half-demon. Thinks I should, I dunno… embrace it?”

Yes, that sounds accurate. “She may not be wrong about your heritage being the cause.”

“What, like… demon fire? I don’t think I can do that, Bon,” she frowned.

Oh, you give yourself too little credit. “I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility. Even if you are only half demon that half comes from Hunson Abadeer. It’s not like your father is an ordinary guy. Even for the Nightosphere.” Marceline sighed, curling into herself. “I know that it may not be what you want to hear, Marcy, but if her hypothesis is correct learning to control it and what its generation means may be the safest thing for you… and that may involve a trip back to the Nightosphere.”

The half-demon groaned, rolling off of the comfy lap to assume her normal form. Modesty seemingly forgotten she sat at the edge of her side of the bed, gripping the mattress, still dressed only in a pair of panties and her bra. “What happened to you not wanting me to go back there,” came the bitter question.

Although she didn’t see it she was offered an understanding smile. Yes, this must be confusing. “Returning to the Nightosphere in an effort to treat your injuries and improve your health is a course of action I am against, as I firmly believe it will only make exasperate the situation. However… the Nightosphere is where half of your heritage originates, and it may have answers to questions we haven’t even postulated yet.”

Marceline said nothing, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Then she lifted her right hand, concentrating until a small orange flame was birthed in her palm. It was impossible for Bonnibel to understand what her lover was thinking, what must be racing through her mind as she stared into her own flame. Tense family reunion aside, it was now undeniable that the Nightosphere did in fact bring out the worst in the vampire, just as she claimed. It was a dimension full of unknowns; even Turtle Princess’s library had no information on the pocket space, or even any mention of it at all. If Bonnibel hadn’t known Marceline so intimately and for so long, had not seen the mountains of evidence herself and first hand, even she would believe it to be nothing more than a rumor, a scary story to tell the children of Ooo to coax them into behaving.

But the Nightosphere did exist, and everything Marceline had ever claimed about it proved to be uncontestedly accurate. Her mother was a full-blooded human, her father as demonic as demons come. There was a horde of demons vying for the princess’s head. There was a Lord of Evil with a chaotic and sadistic disposition, wearing an impossibly powerful artifact that drew its power from manipulating and corrupting the wearer’s psyche. Materials that should not or could not exist within the laws of physics as Bonnibel knew them not only existed but did so in great amounts, enough so to construct an entire castle. There was a language and culture all its own, a history she could never begin to understand, and though she didn’t quite buy this whole ‘demon magic’ Phoebe and her gallant champions had referred to it was undeniable that Marceline did seem to possess the ability to warp reality in small ways she hadn’t made a peep about, ways that her soul-sucking didn’t entirely explain, no matter how hard she stretched that truth.

Marceline Abadeer knew all about candy people and the Candy Kingdom. After all, she had literally been present during the construction of both, had been told time and time again exactly how everything worked. The Nightosphere, on the other hand, was a mystery to all, possibly including Marceline herself. When she felt a hand rest on her shoulder the vampire dispelled the small flame. “Bon… that placed is messed up. You’ve seen how it’s messed up.”

Yes, but I’ve also met the large part of you that wants it to be your own. “That’s undeniable, Marcy. I won’t ask you to accept your heritage without question because you should always question, but this may be an avenue of knowledge at least pursuing. There are a lot of unknowns-”

“And you hate unknowns,” she muttered. When the princess failed to continue to talk Marceline tensed. She knew how much the younger woman hated to be interrupted after all, but to her surprise it was not indignation she was greeted with, but concern.

“I do. Especially when they can hurt you. They’ve already done that.” Even from behind the half-demon could feel green eyes focusing on her royal purple collar, her shield against exposing her newly developed scar. It made her self-conscious, and she was relieved when the princess didn’t draw attention to it. “I won’t ask you to decide right now, because I made a promise that I would accompany you in your investigation of the Grasslands. Will you at least think about it, though?”

She’s keeping that promise? That alone was enough, and before she knew she was already nodding. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.” Unaware of the triumphant, self-satisfied expression behind her Marceline turned to the blacked-out window. “...It’s still day, right?”

Bonnibel nodded, realized her queen couldn’t see that, felt foolish, then spoke. “Yes. Later in the day, but the Sky Ball of Death is still outside.”

The singer took a deep intake of air, then exhaled forcefully. “...Alright. I’m..” And then she trailed off, unable to admit-

“...Do you still not feel ready to go outside?”

That. Admit that. It caused her to flush in humiliation, at her inability to do one simple thing. She had protective gear, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen the sun thousands of times before as a vampire. So why…?

“Marcy… recovery doesn’t happen all at once, especially when you experience the level of trauma you have. You may find that some aspects of your life will get better before other aspects. That’s a part of healing.” Without though she pulled her mate into her arms, resting her head over her now calmed heartbeat. “I know that you’re not used to taking so long to heal from injuries, but this is a special kind of wound. Healing will happen, but it may be slow or painful at times, and I’m sure this must be quite frustrating. But as vexing as this is you will recover. I promised, remember?”

The vampire wanted to snap that, yeah, sure, Bonnibel always kept her promises… but it just felt wrong to, because Bonnibel did keep her promises. It was Princess Bubblegum who didn’t, and Princess Bubblegum didn’t seem to be here right now. Instead she curled against the younger woman, closing her eyes. “...I hate it.”

“I know,” she whispered, stroking her hair. “I cannot possibly imagine what you’re going through, but you’re not alone. It will be one step at a time, and you may regress at points, but progress is progress.” Her freehand moved to the grey cheek not resting against her chest. “I’m here. Finn and Jake are here. And, evidently, Phoebe is here. Or will be tomorrow.”

“...And you’re gonna let us talk in private after your trade meeting… thing.”

“I understand why you sound so disbelieving, but the answer is yes. While you were resting I drafted a new agreement that will benefit both the Candy and Fire Kingdoms.”

“You two are gonna kill each other,” she mumbled, eyes closing.

And that gave Bonnibel an idea, one that mixed her reluctant promise to Lady Evil with her need to prove to Marceline that she had changed. Funny how those seemed to coincide. “We won’t kill each other. In fact, I will demonstrate so.” The garnet eye cracked open. “Why don’t you come with me when I meet with her?”

“...You hate it when I’m in your throne room. ‘Specially if you’re doing royal junk.”

That suspicious tone was entirely warranted and Bonnibel knew it. “While what I do is not terribly interesting it was wrong of me to ban you from it. You helped build this kingdom, and you were instrumental in me becoming a recognized-” and the most powerful “-princess. Further, you have proven countless times that you are an insightful and invaluable advisor.” She laughed softly, pulling her mate closer. “Now I can only imagine how many meetings with foreign dignitaries could have ended even more in my favor had I let you be there.” A soft kiss to the top of her forehead. “I welcome you to join our meeting, Marcy. You can come exactly as you are or, if you prefer, you could be invisible, or perhaps even an adorable mouse. If you decide that you’d rather not join me you can always rest here, and I or Pep-But will come let you know when we’re finished.”

“...I’ll think about,” she sighed.

Odd. I’d expect you to be excited for that. Perhaps you’re nervous? She knew better than to push it. Instead she laced their fingers, squeezing her hand. When the hand squeezed back she had no idea what to do with that joy. How fortunate that she knew just the thing to spoil the mood. “Excellent. Now, I know that I promised to show you the Grasslands to demonstrate how not a monster you are,” Marceline opened her mouth closed it, and let the younger royal continue, “but as going outside isn’t something you’re prepared for just yet, why don’t we go to the infirmary on pretense of me visiting the-” don’t say victims don’t say victims for the love of “-patients Doctor Princess brought? Most have been discharged by now, but as you will see there are no casualties.” You didn’t kill anyone, Marcy. Not a soul. Do you understand?

“...What about the ones I maimed?,” she whispered. “The ones whose lives I gonked up?”

Evidently not. The hold tightened. “Marceline…,” the gentle voice behind her began. “I know you must feel so guilty.” She chuckled lightly. “Finn and Jake didn’t believe me when I told that, between the two of us, you were always the one with the conscience. You’ve just spent so long knowing what you can do you’ve never stopped to think about what you would do. That’s why I’m going to show you to the infirmary. Then, if you have the energy later, we can go to the Grasslands after it gets dark. Alright?”

Marceline gave this offer deep consideration, that much was obvious. She was looking for flaws in the other monarch’s logic, some weapon of self-deprecation. It was almost frustrating to not find an armament to hurt herself with, but none was being presented to her. With a sigh she slid from Bonnibel’s embrace, shuffling around for her previous day’s clothing, aware that the moment she began to dress once more her princess averted her eyes. And then she shifted once more, the small rat scaling the bed, crawling over the candy golem’s lap, up the arm of the smooth dress, until it was nestled under the blanket of Bonnibel’s pink hair. There it flickered into invisibility, all-too aware of the younger woman’s smirk. “Is this your way of asking me for a ride?” Tiny nails gripped the dress and she rolled her eyes. “Alright, you can stay there. I don’t mind being your steed.” If she didn’t know any better she could have sworn she heard some snickering, though whether it was from her shoulder or her subconscious she couldn’t say, and so thought better about drawing attention to it. Instead she swung her legs over the bed to retrieve her matching shoes. As they were leaving the room she felt a tiny nuzzle.

“Are you gonna, like… make a big announcement?,” Marceline whispered.

“About the Grasslands?” A nod nuzzled her. Ah, a teachable moment. Are you happy now, Lady Evil? “No, there’s no need.” The door was closed and locked behind her. A quick scan of the hallway revealed none of her citizens lolling about, and she supposed she must have her esteemed butler to thank for that. He had been doing a smashing job of keeping the area leading to her rooms clear, providing space for both immortals.

“Why not?”

Which was good, because Bonnibel wasn’t even making an attempt to match Marceline’s hushed tones. After all, even if there were citizens skulking about the princess often engaged in conversations with herself on her way to science something, lost in a world of equations and logic. Over the centuries they had learned to just not ask questions. Especially since asking too many questions sometimes lead to disappearances. “Well, save for you, me, Finn, and Jake, no one is quite sure what happened in the Grasslands. They only saw a large winged animal and fire. Further, this incident happened miles from the Candy Kingdom, far outside of my jurisdiction. While you rested I made a formal welcome to the injured to the castle’s infirmary, but if I do any more than that it becomes suspicious.”

If she was hoping for relief she heard nothing of the sort. “So… that’s all anyone saw?”

“Yes, and if we’re objective that description could match any number of creatures in Ooo.”

“But… what if something thinks it’s me? I shape-shift all the time-”

“I considered such possibility, and they have no reason to suspect you. Ironically, the Vampire Incident actually gave credence to Finn’s argument that you are little more than an impish prankster. Even though all of Ooo saw what you could do you used your powers to save them. It would be counter-intuitive to think poorly of you now.”

By now they had left the central hallway and reached the peach spiral staircase that would lead to the infirmary. By habit Bonnibel gripped the candy cane stripes bannister to balance as she descended. “...I just don’t like it, Bon.”

That’s adorable, she wants to help.

There’s nothing for her to help, Rechte. It’s done.

Eh. Not to her. Reality’s all about perception, Bon, and this reality is still new to her.

Perception? Hm… that does give me an idea…

Yup. That’s what I’m here for. I know, I know, I rock, you can say it.

If you know then there’s no point in saying it, hm?

Oh, Sassy Bonnie came out to play! Def one of my top three favorite Bonnies.

I’ll ignore that

No you won’t.

She was right. Bonnibel cleared her throat, touching down to the final step. “Well, perhaps there is something you can do, Marcy.” She kept her tone conversational, even knowing her suggestion could go horribly wrong. If Marceline sensed her trepidation she gave no indication, which is to say she didn’t sense her trepidation.

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t performed in concert in quite awhile have you? In this area, I mean. I know you did a tour not too long ago, but the last time you held a concert here was before the war, wasn’t it?”

Marceline eyed her. “Yeah… right before the thing with the gumwad.”

“I bet the denizens of the Grasslands would love to hear the Scream Queen herself. You could do a free benefit concert. You always did assert of the ‘healing power of music’.” For emphasis she even used finger quotes. “And it’s not out of the ordinary of something you would do even if you weren’t involved in the incident. It’s common knowledge that you relish in impromptu musical events.”

Marceline fell quiet as she pondered the idea. True, it would not be out of character for her to see any excuse as an excuse to party, and if it helped spread her music so much the better. And true, she hadn’t actually performed a home show in years, or put out a new album in almost as long. There was just one small problem. One giant small problem. Namely: “Bon… my voice is-”

“Getting better,” She emphasized while reaching up, scritching the back of the rat’s neck as she avoided the collar. “It’s noticeable to those who know you best, but I doubt a loud and frenetic audience would be able to tell the difference, especially with how frequently you shift how you look and sound even during your normal concerts.”

Once more Marceline fell quiet, and Bonnibel hoped that meant she was giving her suggestion actual consideration. True, her voice wasn’t how it used to be but it was healing, she had been honest about that. Really, though, she could care less about benefiting the Grassland residents and victims. It was Marceline herself she cared about, and the candy scientist could think of no better way to help her mate return to a healthy mindset than to talk shop and think about her music, to get up on a stage where she belonged, where a crowd would cheer her name and rally for her gift. Because that had been something else Marceline had been deprived within her mind: her own music. You couldn’t create anything new for a hundred years. This would be cathartic for you.

“...I’ll think about it.” She would, too, that’s what scared her.

“Thank you, Marcy. That’s all I ask.” She glanced at her shoulder from the corner of her eye, but there was no rat to be seen. Not that anyone would question even if they did see a rat riding along on her shoulder. Princess Bubblegum had certainly done worse. And weirder. With that security in mind she pressed the door, opening it slowly enough to announce her presence to staff and patient alike.

It had been quite a long time since the vampire had seen the Candy Kingdom’s hospital wing, but it seemed as though nothing had changed in her absence. The walls were an unblemished mustard-yellow stone. It wasn’t an especially large room, with only four beds per side, each a flat mattress with turquoise blanket draped over white linen and a candy cane frame, each with a white curtain blocking Marceline’s view. Above each bed, embedded in the walls, were large rectangular grates, between each of which sat a soft light, candy corn-shaped on the east wall, donut-shaped on the west. Above the room, flanking the center of the ceiling, was an elongated series of window panes, allowing the horrible daylight to illuminate the room. At least, that’s what would be the case typically; this time the pink and cream frames had blackout curtains mounted over them, leaving the central strip of the ceiling - which was actually one long lamp - the only source of light in the room. Well, that and the uncomfortable glowing from the strange medical equipment in the room. When something moved from the corner of her eye she felt Bonnibel turn towards it and she instinctively drew back.

“Oh, Dr. Ice Cream! I didn’t know you were back.”

Marceline blinked. It had been quite a long time since she had last seen the Candy Kingdom’s chief medical practitioner. Not that she had changed any, not that candy people ever seemed to change any; still tall and yellow, with partially melted ice cream for both hair and brains. She wore her longer lab coat as proudly as ever, strange blue horse parasite and all.

“Yes my dear, I came back licketty-split as soon as I heard about the accident in the Grasslands.”

Bonnibel felt the tension in her shoulder. Both Marceline’s and her own. “Are you working in tandem with Doctor Princess?”

Dr. Ice Cream nodded. “Yes, she requested Finn and Jake’s assistance in locating whatever it was that injured these poor souls.”

Tiny nails clenched. Sorry, Marcy. “Is everyone alright? Do you have enough supplies to treat everyone?” It was amazing just how sincere Princess Bubblegum could sound when she wanted to fake concern.

“Well, most of the injuries we saw were minor. Bumps, bruises, and doctor’s notes to get out of work and the like. I let Nurse Pound Cake see to them. Only a handful were actual injuries. I had to attach a fair amount of limbs, but with some physical therapy with our clown nurses they should be right as chocolate rain in a few weeks.”

The princess nodded along thoughtfully. “And what about the patients still residing in the hospital?” She made a vague gesture to the over half dozen filled beds, hoping she hadn’t just asked a loaded question.

Dr. Ice Cream made a noise even she couldn’t interpret. “I’d say 90% of what I saw was minor or will be minor in a matter of weeks. 10% of it though was crazy nasty, though I’m afraid I can’t explain further, due to patient confidentiality. Not even to you, Your Highness, as they are not Candy Kingdom citizens.” Her smile was apologetic but firm, and Bonnibel was quite glad for it. The less Marceline hear of the fine details the better.

“But they will recover?”

“Yes,” she started. “Though I can’t say how whole we will be able to make them. The prognosis is looking good, though.”

“Excellent. Is there anything I can do to assist in any way?”

Dr. Ice Cream paused, scanning her room of patients. “If I were to provide you with a biopsy of the injured tissue could you examine it? You may have better luck than we do about finding what exactly these injuries are, which would give us a better chance to heal these poor souls. As it stands they’ll be lucky if they can walk again, or if I can at least unfuse their limbs-”

“Yes,” Bonnibel interrupted as quickly as she could, “I would be happy to analyze any sample you provide me with.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Would you also like our documentation on the injuries? I can’t tell you who the patient is, of course, but I can provide you a case study of the damage itself.”

No no no no, we most certainly do not need Marceline to see- “Yes, that would be very helpful. Send the images via the castle intranet and I’ll head to my laboratory now. Once you’ve acquired the physical specimens please ask Peppermint Butler to bring them to me.”

“Wicked stuff. Thank you, Your Majesty. Are you going to head there now?”

Bonnibel was already turning to the staircase. “Yes, I’ll begin making preparations immediately. Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Ice Cream.”

“Of course. I’ll send you the case files now.”

The candy golem could feel the good doctor’s eyes on her retreating back, but that didn’t matter. The moment the hospital ward’s door was closed she heard the small whimper. “Marcy… it’s okay. No one was killed, and I’m sure I’ll be able to science something to help the handful of people that need extra help.”

“She said fused limbs , Bon. I didn’t even know I could do that!”

Neither did I, nor was it any of the behaviors any of your psyche fragments demonstrated. How suspicious. Had her time so shattered awakened something else within her? “It doesn’t really sound like something you even can do, Marcy. You have a plethora of power, but nothing like that. I really will need to examine this in the lab. Something is wrong here.” It was blind reassurance, but reassurance was the necessary ingredient.

“...Lab.”

Why does she sound so hesit- ...oh. Yes. “Yes… my laboratory. I imagine you must be feeling some reluctance.” Silence, the ultimate confirmation. “My laboratory wasn’t an… ideal location in your mind. While nothing-” that I’m aware of “-happened there it seemed to be representative of my own corruption. I doubt it inspires confidence and trust in you.” Now she began to ascend the staircase. “I understand you will probably want to see the results of my research, so how about we compromise?” With one hand she reached over her shoulder, scooping the rat up with practiced grace. “While you catch up with Phoebe tomorrow I’ll perform the necessary analysis on the samples Dr. Ice Cream will provide me with. Then, once you two are finished, I’ll update you in our room.”

Marceline sat in her palm, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “...And you’ll actually tell me what you figure out. You won’t donk up your… results or whatevs just to make me feel better?”

Bonnibel’s smile was genuine. “Marceline, when have I ever altered science to better suit anyone’s desires? Facts are infallible, and it’s one of the reasons I treasure them. You know that. I will be honest once I’m finished. I promise.”

She did, all too well. It made her sigh in both frustration and appreciation. “...Fine.” I trust you. She didn’t say that part out loud, didn’t know if she had it in her. It didn’t seem to matter anyway, Bonnibel got the message.

“Wunderbar. Thank you, Marcy. We’ll have answers very soon.” There was no response as Marceline took this time to stare into space, trying very hard not to think about the implications of what she had just heard. Any of what she had just heard. She was silent through the ascent, silent as they crossed the halls, even silent as they re-entered the bedroom.

The door closing broke her silence. “So… what happens tomorrow?”

The princess watched as Marceline bounded out of her hands, returning to both her normal form and visibility. “Tomorrow I meet with Phoebe to discuss the trade agreement, however long that will take. After we’ve concluded I welcome you to spend as much time together as you’d like. While you do that I’ll analyze the samples and case studies that Dr. Ice Cream will provide me with, and I imagine that by the time you’re both finished I’ll have answers for you.”

Marceline sat on the bed, arms folded over her knees. “...I guess that works.” Her posture said otherwise: slumping, head downcast, eyes downtrodden.

Well, that won’t do. Making just enough noise to be perceptible Bonnibel locked the bedroom door before following her queen to their bed. “Marcy…” A pink hand slid under her chin, effortlessly lifting it until their eyes met. “I know that you need more than my word to convince you, but you aren’t a monster, you will heal, and everything will be alright.” A furry lump zooming passed her made her smirk, especially when the furry lump jumped on the bed. “See? Even Schwabl thinks so.” The dog seemed proud of himself as he settled next to his person, accepting dual-petting from both Bonnibel and Marceline. When the musician turned away to focus on her oldest friend Bonnibel smiled, strolling to the window of her balcony. Peeking out of the curtain. Smirking in self-satisfaction. “Marcy, I think you should come look at this.”

“Look at what?” Bonnibel shook her head in playful disbelief, then looked over her shoulder, still smirking. When she gave no further response Marceline looked down at her apparently only loyal friend. “You seeing this, Schwabl?” To which Schwabl opened an eye, did indeed see this, then closed it again. “...Cool.” And with that Marceline was up, floating to the window with every caution. “Uh…”

But the caution proved unnecessary, for when Bonnibel pulled back the curtain there was no Sky Ball of Death, only a clear, cool night and a full, bright moon. Just like that the vampire was calmed, staring at the night sky with every bit of wonder she did when the trio had first brought her home. Now the princess’s look of self-satisfaction was almost a grin, one she described by kissing her cheek. “I’m going to take a quick shower and prepare for bed. I’m not sure how late in the evening it is exactly, but I imagine tomorrow is going to be very taxing on us both and I for one would like the extra rest.”

Marceline raised an eyebrow, spell broken. “ You ? Resting? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Bonnibel wasn’t going to take that bait. At least, until she was standing and halfway across the room. “Yes, well you see, I have an incorrigible mate who becomes irate and vocal when I don’t care for myself to her specifications, and she has quite high standards. I may not deserve her or her curiously impressive devotion, but I think the least I can do is make the great sacrifice and sleep once a week or so.” And then she was gone, through the lavatory door, the sound of her teasing soon replaced with the sound of running water as the door creaked shut.

Marceline gaped as she watched the younger woman leave. ...What the flip just happened. It was almost… normal. Once she heard the water running she turned to Schwabl, knowing she could tell him anything, both because he was a dog and good at keeping secrets. And because she knew that bathroom was soundproof. “What do you think, Schwabl?” The only response was a loud snore. Excessively loud. What do you do all day that makes you so tired? After a shake of her head to clear that line of thinking she turned to the only other item of interest in the bedroom: her bass.

In a lot of ways it was just as much a part of her as her arm or ears. Only once or twice in her thousand years of life had it ever been separated from her, and it had been painful in every way both times. Without meaning to she summoned it to her hands. Guilt poured into her, because as well as she had been keeping it her bass was an instrument and instruments were meant to be played, but she was so ashamed of her mutilated voice it just wasn’t something she could bring herself to do. Her right hand rested over the cool metal, her left automatically finding the staff. Though she was loathe to admit it she had only attempted to return to her music a handful of times since waking up in her father’s office with her throat deformed; singing was out of the question, and it hurt her heartguts to just strum pointlessly, knowing that her voice was changed now, possibly for awhile, possibly forever.

And yet.

Concert, huh?

Marceline tilted her head, listening intently. Running water in a soundproof lavatory and Schwabl’s snores were the only sounds that greeted her, and before her the moon and stars beckoned her. ...Ugh, I feel like a dweeb.

Perhaps if Marceline had not been so pre-occupied with her own inner turmoil she would have realized her error, because soundproof rooms can only be soundproof if all points of entry are closed. Had she thought about that she may have realized that the only way she could have possibly heard the lavatory’s running water was if its door wasn’t fully closed. Maybe then she would have realized that she wasn’t alone when she began singing. Maybe she would have realized that she had an audience of one. Maybe she would have realized that this audience of one, who was half undressed and with tears of delight stinging her eyes, had her hand covering her mouth to stop any undignified sounds signifying her joy that the vampire was actually really truly practicing singing, was finally returning to what she did and loved best. Maybe if she knew who her audience was she would have picked a different tune entirely, because this was the beautiful song Marshmaline had once serenaded an elemental Bubblegum with, way back when the world was almost candy, when they loved one another openly and freely because it was just so sweet.

Or maybe.

Or maybe Marceline did realize that she could only possibly hear running water if the door wasn’t fully closed. Maybe years as a professional musician made the judgment of a location’s acoustics child’s play. Maybe she realized exactly how sound carried in their bedroom from having sung in it for hundreds of years. Maybe guilt sparked the idea, and maybe she was spurred to try by the need to return to her natural environment of music and encouraged by her moon and stars. Maybe she knew that she had an audience of one. Maybe she knew who that audience of one was.

Maybe she was practicing just for her.

Chapter Text

As a general rule of thumb, Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum liked routine. She liked formulas and equations, for she was a scientist, and as royalty her daily life was strictly regimented, even her speech heavily scripted. Because she was egotistical and controlling nothing happened without her knowing about it weeks in advance, and because of her insatiable thirst for knowledge if she wanted to know something she would learn about it no matter who or what got maimed in the process. She liked schedules, she liked certainty, she liked not only knowing the rules but making them herself.

As a general rule of thumb, these principles had guided Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum well throughout her eight and a half centuries of life. She was always well-prepared for any eventuality and had full confidence in her own abilities, as well as complete knowledge of her own limitations, few though they were. She knew how to compensate for the handful of weaknesses she possessed, and she knew all about the individuals and circumstances surrounding her life. Nothing, no gesture or word, was done thoughtlessly, and if chance was indeed involved she knew how to rig the odds in her favor.

That may be all well and good, but there were rare occasions where this lifestyle could backfire, and when it did it would do so spectacularly. Once a pattern cemented itself in her life it tended to latch on and could not easily be dislodged, not without replacing it with a brand new pattern, something far easier said than done. Example: for 47 nights in a row she had suffered through The Nightmare. It was always the same: her form the essence of silver itself; she was a living weapon; a friendly reminder that she killed Tyrant; a taunt from her subconscious - thn non-Rechte part at least - that she didn’t deserve happiness and would live and die alone; that she couldn’t change who she was, no matter what sweet promises she made to herself or others; that she wasn’t worthy of her mate and if she really loved her she wouldn’t let her forgive her and would accept her isolation with humility.

For 47 nights in a row she would be plagued with these images and thoughts, these emotions she could not control, and this would invariably lead to 47 mornings in a row where she would wake up in a cold sweat, bed unmade from her thrashing against her mental plague, and in each of these 47 mornings in a row she would reach over instinctively to the alternate side of the bed, feel the sorrow of its occupant’s absence, habitually feel her shoulder for a love bite, and realize she was truly gone. Following this course of events she would feel a gaping hole open where her heart should be, taking all cheerfulness and light and sucking them away, tearing them to shreds. For 47 days in a row she would trudge through her daily chores, meeting with whoever she needed to meet with, sign whatever documents she needed to sign, eat just enough food to survive, try in vain to complete or devise some new science experiment before giving up. Sometimes she would scream into her pillow, or write letters to her lost love only to burn them, knowing that she would never read them anyway. Perhaps she would sleep, perhaps not, but the nightmares would always find her anyway.

Which made it very peculiar to her when she awoke on Morning 48 without having any nightmares at all. She didn’t jolt awake, there was no cold choking her spirit, she could even still feel the blankets wrapped around her. What…? Her sleep-addled mind couldn’t process that- I… slept? -tried to form some sort of coherent thought, really any coherent thought would do. Anything to explain why the 47-strong pattern of events had been broken. That explanation, it seemed, would come in the form of a weighty presence in her arms, a pleasant pressure against her chest, and a coolness she was not accustomed to. Now she was awake, now her eyes were widening as her brain immediately put the pieces together, blinked in disbelief, tried again, got the same answer, and then validated the answer a third time: there was a vampire in the bed. ...Marcy?

Even her own thoughts sounded disbelieving, whispered as if the older woman could hear her. Yes, it was all beginning to make a strange form of sense: Bonnibel had quietly slipped into bed the night before, not wanting to disturb her queen’s vocal exercises, a silent way of encouraging her return to her first love that preceded even herself. At some point the princess had fallen asleep, lulled by the music filling the room, and sometimes after that, it seemed, Marceline had not only fallen asleep herself but had done so in their shared bed, cuddled into Bonnibel’s arms, her head rested against her chest, cool breath meeting just above where her heart was supposed to be. The older woman was tense, not as relaxed as the night before, but was obviously comfortable - or exhausted - enough to remain asleep. Which was a bit problematic in that she was laying on the candy golem’s arm, but that discomfort was a Future Bonnibel problem. Present Bonnibel was quite content with the cuddling, thank you very much. It left only her left arm free, and she put that to good use by stroking down her lover’s onyx mane. They were both clothed, she realized, or at least more clothed than they typically were at night, what with her own nightgown and the vampire’s oversized band t-shirt, but that was fine.

With a happy sigh Bonnibel settled into the comfort of the morning. Marceline was obviously still fast asleep, or she would have heard the brief increase in a candy heart’s rhythm. While she preferred to be nocturnal for the purposes of avoiding the Sky Ball of Death she generally had an Unlife policy of sleeping when she was tired, being awake when she wasn’t, regardless of time, something she justified as not being real. My mistake was attempting to explain quantum physics and eternalism. Bonnibel, on the other hand, had an almost perfect internal clock, and if she was awake it must be because it was time to be awake and commence the day’s schedule. Were this any of the previous 47 mornings now would be the time she would begin the process of making herself miserable before dragging herself through another day. But this time she was waking up with her best friend and mate in her arms. She didn’t need to check for her, didn’t need to torture herself.

I… don’t need to look for you. You’re here. Her thoughts were elated, they were awed, they were baffled, they were heartfelt. As her sleepy mind began to return to its normal speed she began to recall the night before. That only made her thoughts more elated, awed, baffled, and heartfelt. Not that she complaining. Not this time, never again. She… was singing! Well, more of vocal exercises, really, but the thought made her beam. Yes, she sang… and then I went to bed while she was- She blinked, already flushing. If… I’m not mistaken she must have sung me to sleep. Although I’m sure it’s just a matter of me falling asleep while she was still practicing. She glanced down at the sleeping woman as best she could without disturbing her, absently twirling the end of her thick hair between her fingers. Still... if I did fall asleep first that means she joined me in bed of her own volition after. She wants to be here? Not even twenty minutes awake and it was already a good day. With a smile she pressed a kiss to her forehead.

How long had it been since she awoke calm, almost at peace with the world around her? A year? A hundred? More? I imagine it must have been before I began to fill into my role more. Yes, she reasoned, that must be it; it had to have been before the weight of her crown. Even before this tragedy I remember waking up tense and stressed, but the further back I consider… how long have I been more of a role than a person, Marcy? It seemed like the sort of thing she would know. Not that she was in a position to ask, of course. Marceline may be gradually opening up to her, and she may have indicated that she was trying to find a way to forgive her, but their relationship wasn’t there just yet, and Bonnibel still had a lot to demonstrate. And that one thought encouraged yet another thought, shameful but there. Though that does beg the question… which will return to us first? Emotional intimacy or-

Kind of jumping the gun, huh Bon? She could feel the smirk from the back of her mind.

And what do you mean by that, Rechte?

I’m just saying. You’re doing a pretty rockin’ job of showing her you’ve changed, but you remember what today is, right?

Of course she did. How could she not? I’ll be good. Even in her thoughts those words tasted sour.

‘Course you will. Even her subconscious sounded amused. You’re on a roll. Now you just gotta show her you can play nice with her friends, put her brain back together…

Yes, Rechte. I get it. There’s a lot to do, and not all of it pleasant.

Yeah speaking of-

But Rechte never got to finish her sentence because of the oft ill-timed knock at the door. It was fortunate that Marceline could sleep through the dead - no pun intended - or surely waking in her still-sort-of-mad-at-lover’s arms could have gone quite awry. As it was it still made Bonnibel huff in place of her normal morning groan, but the intended effect was there all the same. Because who else came to wake her during the previous 47 days? Glob it, Pep-But. With great care Bonnibel slid her arm from under Marceline’s still-sleeping form, tucking her in tightly to preserve the body heat she was taking with her. As she rose from the bed it was hard not to watch her, and it was hard to rid herself of the guilt she knew she rightfully deserved. I shouldn’t be able to. As much as I want to hold her in my arms I don’t deserve this. What were you thinking last night, Marcy? Why would you join me in bed after everything we talked about? But there was another knock, more insistent this time, and with a shake of her head she strolled to her door, knowing that if he were not acknowleged Peppermint Butler would have no qualms against barging in..

No sooner had she opened it a crack her ever-loyal butler entered her chambers, steel tray full of a curious assortment of breakfast items; waffles, sweet tea, warm syrup, these were nothing new. But the red juice? The bowl of raspberries? A kitchen hand towel? Those were new. As Peppermint Butler settled the tray on the one vacant space of Bonnibel’s desk the sounds of stirring could be heard from the bed, the vampire’s deep sleep apparently no match for the sound of metal grating. She growled and sat up sleepily, rubbing one eye as the other opened. Upon seeing who the intruder was she hissed, then laid back down.

Peppermint Butler raised an eyebrow, speaking loudly enough to make it obvious that he was addressing both of the room’s monarchs. “Good morning, Your Majesty. It’s wonderful to see you awake and still with us, Miss Abadeer.” She grunted, he didn’t care, life moved on. “I trust I will not need to lecture you on the importance of taking care of yourself this morning, Your Highness?” Lots of rhetorical questions happening these days, but she was saved from having to answer by his voice, now so hushed even Marceline wouldn’t hear. “Your appointment with Hunson is scheduled, as you requested.” Without leaving her stare he slid an inconspicuous sheet of paper onto her desk, hidden under three layers of parchment. While she was still formulating a response - or at least a grateful ‘thank you’ for his subtlety - he turned to leave, stopping only briefly to address the now-awake zombie poodle who was looking at him with squinted eyes. “I don’t know what you eat,” he quipped. And then he was back through the door, closing it behind him.

Bonnibel sighed as he left, but even she wasn’t sure why. Exasperation? Relief? Frustration? Or maybe-

“What’d he mean?”

That. Or that.

“What’d he mean about you needing an…” And then the sleepiness was gone from her voice. “Bon, have you been doing that ‘I’m not gonna take care of myself’ thing again?”

Bonnibel sighed once more, but this time she knew why. It was a sigh of defeat, of resignation, of acceptance. “...Yes.” It was a whispered admission, but still an admission. “Regrettably… I have been neglecting my own care.”

“Bon, we’ve talked about this…,” Marceline prodded. Warned. Warned-prodded.

“Yes, you’re right,” she admitted. “It’s just…” She sankinto her desk’s chair. Guilt was heavy, after all. “Eating, sleeping… I’ve mostly been acting on auto-pilot during your absence.” She took a deep breath to steady her confession, but it didn’t give her the strength to turn to meet her mate’s eyes. “It’s been difficult. I didn’t expect you to ever come home, Marceline. I’ve had an unbroken string of nightmares about everything I’ve done to you. I know I deserve all of this… but,” her laugh was bitter. “I imagine you’re disappointed in me. Five centuries together and I still can’t manage basic self-care without your interference because it’s the lowest on my priority list when I see something that needs to be fixed.”

There was loud silence and Bonnibel tensed, bracing for impact. She was expecting yelling, ranting, lecturing. Then she remembered that that was her style, not Marceline’s. No, instead she got- “I hate seeing you hurt yourself.” -a whispered lament. It was somehow worse. “Take the tray and come back to bed, Bon. We’re talking about this, and you don’t get to hide over there for it.”

Bonnibel nodded silently, standing and lifting the tray as instructed. It was such a bizarre role reversal, even now: It was always Bonnibel who always gave the orders in their relationship, even before she was a princess, and it was Marceline who always tried to hide from difficult conversations, or who else at least wordlessly submitted. I wonder if this means she’s growing up more than I ever gave her credit for. The answer seemed obvious. So obvious, in fact, that after she set the tray in the middle of the spacious bed she sat on her side, avoiding the older woman’s eyes.

“Bon, look at me.” The role reversal only grew stranger. Were Bonnibel in this position, were their roles somehow reversed, she would not hesitate to lecture her queen on whatever it was she had done wrong, and that sentence would have been said forcefully and with just a hint of accusation. Instead, out of Marceline’s mouth it was soft and gentle, more than she deserved. That was somehow crueler, she silently mused, to be shown kindness when she deserved revulsion. But she did as she was bid, meeting concerned garnet eyes. “Talk to me.”

Here now, another difference, she realized. At this point in the conversation, in any other situation, Bonnibel would take the initiative, beginning a long lecture on the importance of Not Doing What She Did, in this case self-neglect. But Marceline wasn’t a creature of a logic and rules, she was one of emotions and symbolism. And now she was having the princess step out of her comfort zone, almost forcing her to express emotions she was just now discovering she had. In their normal daily life Marceline being able to explain away her actions would be the easy way out, just as Bonnibel lecturing would be, because lecturing was something she understood and even appreciated. It seemed as though this was her punishment: having to confront herself, her own worst enemy, without the safety net of a diatribe. She understood diatribes, so as unpleasant as they were they were comforting in their own way. She’s testing me. She’s seeing if I’ve grown insightful over my own mentality and characteristics. Yes, that made sense, and it emboldened her to have something logical to fall back on. “I’m sorry that I fell back into old habits, Marceline. I just…” She sighed again, now one of frustration. “I don’t know.” And she really didn’t. Did these feelings welling in her have names? Were they one or multiple? Stagnant or fluid?

But Marceline was a master of this, and evidently took no pleasure in seeing the younger woman so frazzled. Mercy was generally not in her nature, but even now it was a hard thing to deny Bonnibel, who was so obviously trying. Perhaps, just this once, she’d lead her to the answer. “Nah, I get it. You missed me, so it made your bad habits worse. It’s like a comfort thing. A really dangerous comfort thing.”

Bonnibel collapsed on her side, back to the vampire. She couldn’t see that disappointment in her eyes anymore. “Why are you still here, Marcy?,” she whispered, voice heavy.

Uh uh. No spiralling. When the princess felt a cool arm wrap around her she jumped before realizing that the vampire had apparently laid next to her and was now pulling her closer. She let it happen. “Well, you dragged me out of the Nightosphere, I’m pretty broken mentally, and this room seems like the only safe place in reality for me right now.”

The candy golem lifted her hand and laid it across the calloused arm wrapped around her. The original intention was to pull it away, but she realized that would take emotional strength to do so. Strength she just didn’t have. She settled for resting her hand there. “...You’ve been considering forgiving me.” A question not phrased as a question, because there was always the possibility the older woman had changed her mind. I would.

“Yeah,” Marceline whispered. “I miss my Bonnie. You look a lot like her.”

Bonnibel was unsure how reassuring that was. “When… did you know that your soul chose me?”

Perhaps it was the tightness in her voice, or how hard her grip was, but any trace of humor left the vampire entirely. This was a serious conversation, and if they were ever going to be able to overcome this even Marceline knew they’d have to redefine their boundaries. “I’ll be honest, Bon… I don’t know. It’s not like we get a little text message telling us. I think it was…” She closed her eyes, trying to remember. “I know it was before you figured out I hate silence, but… after you moved out of the cabin and into the castle? We were definitely dating.”

“What does it feel like?”

Marceline exhaled forcefully. Loaded question. “Just like… you ever look around and you find something that you didn’t know was missing? You didn’t know it was missing, but you’re really glad you found it anyway and you’re like ‘no way I’m losing this again’, ‘cause it’s mega important to you, you just didn’t realize it before? It’s a lot like that.”

“Are… you trying to forgive me because your soul is telling you to?”

Loaded question number two. “It doesn’t really tell me to do things, it just…” She trailed off, not sure how to explain this to a non-demon. “How do you feel when you’re away from your lab? Not ‘cause you wanna be, but ‘cause peeps and royal junk don’t give you the time or space to go down there?”

When she stopped Bonnibel realized she was asking an actual question. How different from her own tendency to harangue. “...As if I’ve been cut off from a piece of myself.”

“Yeah. It’s like that. As far as my soul is concerned you’re part of me. It… can’t really work like that in reverse, but it’s one thing when we have to temporarily split up ‘cause I’ve got a tour or you’re curing the Space Plague, but it doesn’t like being forced to separate.”

How cruel to you. And now the heavy blow. “...If you weren’t bound to me, would you forgive me? Would you still be here?”

Marceline tensed around the lump in her throat. She had been expecting this question to come at some point. She just hated that this ‘some point’ was now. “I’ll be honest, Bon… I wanna say yes, but I know you. You want like… facts and stuff to back claims up, and I can’t do that ‘cause that’s part of being a demon and I don’t really know anything else. It’s like me asking if you’d still eat tons of sugar if you weren’t a candy person. Yeah, you may not need to like you do now, but you still just might end up someone who just eats tons of sugar for fun, you know?” And then, in a shocking twist, she actually pulled the younger woman against her. “We’re still getting used to everything. I know you’re a brainlord, so you want to think about all those tiny details and ‘what if’s, but just… don’t. Not right now, okay?”

Bonnibel mulled that over, pressing into the embrace. Despite having just woken up she was suddenly very tired. I suppose emotions spend energy just as thinking and physical activity do.

Probably more, ‘cause you’re not used to. Like training a muscle so it gets stronger.

Mm. At some point, and she had no idea when, her eyes slid back closed, hand still tight around Marceline’s arm. It was exhausting to feel herself at war all the time, and she wondered how everyone around her did it.

“What do you want, Bon?,” Marceline whispered.

Bonnibel blinked the sleep from her eyes, but made no effort to move. “What do you mean?”

“Well… ‘s far as I can remember, before the amulet got shoved down my throat… I came back from the Nightosphere, went to my cave house, you were there already, and I got yelled at. We ended up in the Nightosphere, messed up crud happened, as far as I know I’ve been gone for like a hundred years, reality is dumb, and none of you will let me hide in my room. I’m tired a lot, and I have stupid mood swings. You betrayed me, but… you’re trying to go back to the way you were. But you’ve never really talked about your end game here.”

She’s got a point, Bon.

“Just… be for real with me, okay? No more mind games.”

Ouch. Not that she didn’t deserve that one. “Yes, I understand where you’re coming from, Marceline. I thought it was obvious, but I once more assumed that because I knew something others… well, that’s not the point.” She squeezed the arm under her hand. “I want you back. Us.” Already she was tensing, knowing that, in all likelihood, this was about to go horribly wrong. “I took you for granted as my best friend and my mate in so many ways. My primary goal is for you to heal, and I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that I would make sure you recover regardless of how long it takes. My secondary goal… is to show you that I’m worthy of you. That if you do take me back I’ll be better. The mate that you deserve. No more mind games, or power plays, or anything else duplicitous. You deserve a safe home, and I don’t just mean the location. I want to be that home. Like… I was once. When you were able to trust me. Before I became a monster.”

Marceline was silent at that admission and every second grated on the candy golem. Nausea began to eat at her soul, the anxiety turning the back of her mind into poison. Only the vampire’s soft breath - something she only did as a benefit for Bonnibel, the candy golem realized - was the only other sound in the room. Although she was laying on her impossibly soft bed the feel of the other woman’s cool body, the strong arm wrapped around her, were the only things she cared to feel.

“Yeah, but Bon… how long are you going to want that?”

The heartbreak in Marceline’s voice was contagious. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll never be enough for you.”

Bonnibel absently wondered if this was what a stake through the heart felt like. “Don’t… that’s not true-”

“It is, though,” Marceline whispered. “Otherwise this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

Before the candy golem could response further she felt a tug at the back of her mind.

Hold up, Bon.

The serious tone stopped her glib comment. Yes?

I’m stopping you from falling into a trap.

A trap?

Yeah. Don’t sweat it, you’re not a high enough level yet to spot these things consciously, so that’s what you’ve got me for. Gotta level up those mad skills before you can do it on your own.

This isn’t a-

Don’t look at the literal meaning of what she’s saying, look at how she’s saying it.

A fortunate fact of life was that Bonnibel Bubblegum not only liked making puzzles, but was quite good at solving them as well. It was just a matter of searching for the common link in all the pieces. The tone of her lover’ voice, the words, the inflection… these were her only clues. Individually, they meant nothing to her, but collectively- with tears stinging her eyes she rolled over eyes, a hunch in her heart. When Marceline glanced away - glanced down - she knew she was right. “Marcy… none of this was your fault. You know that, right?” When there was no response she dropped her hand from the cool arm, cupping her cheek instead. “I encouraged this in you. I know, because I met the part of you that personifies it. Meeting her taught me how afraid I was of losing you. When she died it made me realize what you really meant to me, and at first I thought that I would do anything to have what we had back. I realize now, though… that what we had wasn’t entirely healthy, and it isn’t because you’re the one who corrupted everything. It’s because I did. Do you understand?” When Marceline didn’t look up she knew she didn’t. “This travesty happened because I was selfish and because you wanted me to be happy. This was about what I wanted, not what you wanted. That’s why my first priority is you healing. I miss you, I miss, us… but if I prioritized that first then you would be right, nothing would have changed.”

“So… you’d rather have me healed and gone than…” It seemed even the vampire was having trouble vocalizing the contrary situation.

“You are the most important part of my life,” Bonnibel emphasized, forcing every amount of love and sincerity she held within her into the declaration. “I’ve hurt you for far too long. I want you to be happy and healthy. I need that… even if it means I cannot be in your life.”

Marceline fell silent, unaware as she held the younger woman tighter. Unaware as the younger woman slid her arm are her waist to hold her in return. “I don’t know what to do, Bon.”

This was a different tone of whisper, an altogether new strain to the musician’s already injured voice. It wasn’t an entirely foreign one. If anything, it was the opposite; a tone of voice, a plead even, that the candy scientist had heard many times before, for there were many reasons why their relationship had the dynamic it did, why Bonnibel was always the more dominant of the pair, why her part of the dynamic was to guide the vampire. But here now there was a fork in the road, a test that even Marceline was not aware she was issuing. And so Bonnibel Bubblegum did something she swore she’d never do. Rechte?

Mmyes?

Please help me.

Aw, I can see why this one’s tough, huh Bon? Oddly enough, the voice of Rechte-who-was-not-Rechte did sound oddly thoughtful.

It gave the princess encouragement that she wasn’t hopeless. I can see this going so many ways, and we’ve both come so far. I don’t want to say or do anything that could jeopardize her ability to recover, especially with what today will entail.

Yeah, I can see that. But it sounds like she’s asking for help, right?

But my help hasn’t-

Always been this messed up? Yeah, it has.

She was taking too long to respond, and with only a vague understanding of what Rechte was trying to say she did something she learned to do very well as a member of Ooo’s royalty: bluff. With a smile that wasn’t entirely sure of itself she held the vampire tighter, snuggling into her. “Shh… it’s alright, Marcy. You don’t need to right now. I still have a lot to prove to you, remember?,” she murmured. With every bit of tenderness she tilted her chin up so that their eyes met, no matter how hard Marceline’s tried to dart away. “I meet with Phoebe to sign our new trade agreement today. Why don’t you come with me? You could come as you are, or hide as a little mouse or bat if you’d like. You could even be invisible if you’re not ready to be seen yet.” Conscious effort was made to make these suggestions sound like suggestions, not passive-aggressive orders.

By the way the half-demon shifted, the way her arm tightened, it seemed to be working. “...But… you hate when I’m in your throne room and you’re working…”

A fair observation. But she’s beginning to sound uncertain as to whether I’ll be angry, rather than making an assumption. Excellent. “As I said before… I never should have banned you. You’re an invaluable advisor and my best friend. You made this kingdom ever as much as I did. In this case you are also a mutual tie between both Phoebe and myself. If anything your presence, even if you did choose to remain hidden, would be most beneficial.”

It was a hard concept for Marceline to wrap her mind around, that her presence in Bonnibel’s sacred throne room may actually be a boon, not a burden. In fact, it was too hard a concept, so she mentally shelved, choosing instead to focus on something else. “...I really don’t want you guys to kill each other.” It was more to herself than anyone else, merely a thought aloud. Regardless, “...Alright. I’ll come with you.”

Strangely, those five words filled Bonnibel with something that was almost nervousness. Though it isn’t entirely unwelcome. What is this feeling? It was a mystery she would have to solve another time. Uncertain yet daring, she lifted herself enough to kiss the vampire’s cheek. “Thank you, Marcy. Once Phoebe and I have finished you two can catch up while I analyze the samples sent by Dr. Ice Cream. How does that sound?”

At first Marceline only eyed her, and at first Bonnibel wasn’t sure why. “And what about your cameras and other bugs you have in the throne room?”

Ah. That’s why. “I understand your reluctance, Marcy. Once Phoebe and I have concluded I’ll disable the security system on my way back to my laboratory. Pep-But knows to keep everyone out of my court when it is in session, so I guarantee you will both have complete privacy.”

The eyeing continued. “I dunno, Bon… you love spying.”

The accusation was glaring, but well-earned. “I don’t disagree with you, Marcy, but even at my worst I’ve never spied on you.”

That was hard to argue against, even if Marceline was never quite sure why she was spared the princess’s paranoid wrath. It was one of those situations where she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know the answer, so she didn’t think it best to ask. But it was true; Princess Bubblegum had always made certain the half-demon was aware of when she was wearing a transceiver, and the older woman was the only one to know where the Super Secret Spy Room existed prior to its destruction. And, of course, the ‘secret’ camera placed in her house was placed for a much more fun reason, and before she knew it she was blushing at that fact. Ah crud, she’s smirking. Well, that was no good. “So you’re saying that you trust me more than you distrust Phoebe?”

The smirk didn’t die, but it did soften. “Marcy, whatever you and Phoebe would like to discuss is private and has nothing to do with me. You’re welcome to use the gardens or any of the Kingdom grounds if you’d like, but…”

“...Going outside’s still not a thing I’m ready to do.”

Now the softened smirk was a sad smile. “You’re an autonomous individual, Marceline. What you and your friend talk about - even if it’s me - is and will remain between you two unless you choose to share it.”

“...Promise?”

It was so soft, so apprehensive, that Bonnibel couldn’t help but pull her closer. Is this… you trusting me? How emboldening. “I promise. My hope is that by the time you two have concluded your meeting I will have some answers for you regarding the samples I’m going to be provided with, so I’ll have my own preoccupation. Then you and I can decide where to go from there. Alright?”

“Alright.” It came out faster than she had meant, but she was anxious and anxiety often made her rash in a way even she recognized as unhealthy. With a surprising amount of reluctance she pulled out of Bonnibel’s embrace, withdrawing from the bed. “I’ll get ready, alright?” And that came out faster as well, causing her to blush and look away, all the way to her trunk. It felt so odd, turning her back on the scientist, showing that vulnerability, knowing she could use it against her in every sense… but doing it anyway, because this was the only way to know for sure how much the younger woman had really changed. It was too much to think about right, too much could go wrong today. She’ll show her true colors today. Then at least… well, it won’t be closure, but… There was no way for her to finish that sentence and not have it be heart-wrenching. With only one swipe through her trunk her outfit was chosen and, with a complete evasion of the other woman’s gaze, she floated to the bathroom. “Be out soon,” she quickly mumbled, then passed through and closed the door.

Bonnibel watched her move, watched her avoid her, watched her leave with a melancholy expression. She knew trust would take time to rebuild, and she had suspected that it would take the form of small tests that she was sure even Marceline wasn’t aware she was administering. Curiosity was a trait they both shared, after all. With a proud exhalation Bonnibel hoisted herself into a sitting position before finally pushing herself off the bed. It was time to get to work. Alright, Pep. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.

While she reached for the platter on her desk her real target was the sheet of parchment that her esteemed butler had carried in with him. True to his dutiful nature, he had been in cahoots with someone underworld contact - quite possibly Jan - and snagged her an appointment with the Lord of Evil, exactly as she requested. It was the rest of the message that caused her eyebrows to rise. Really? In just a few days? It was almost frustrating; it had taken three weeks and much-deserved posturing to secure a meeting with Hunson Abadeer the first time, and even that had been lucky. I suppose Pep must have told him how the purpose of the meeting is to update him on Marceline’s health. He must have failed to mention the second reason I wish to meet with him, or he would surely never have agreed to this swift an appointment. She made a mental note to thank her favorite mint later for this strategic omission. For now she would settle with filing the parchment and marking her calendar.

When she stood and approached her wardrobe her good mood floundered, just a bit, because regardless of what would come after this meeting with Phoebe was not only royal biz but it was royal biz that Bonnibel was technically in the wrong about. With a concerned frown she opened the doors, quickly retrieving the article of clothing Marceline readily claimed to be Princess Bubblegum’s Most Royal Dress: long and magenta, passing even in her ankles, accented with a purple sash. The short sleeves, barely passing her shoulders, were lined with neatly trimmed lace, as was the necklace, though this lace was the same rich purple as the sash. The dress hung neatly on its soft pink hanger like an accusation, cloth soft and deceiving. Logically, she knew, that Phoebe would be at the castle shortly and that, logically, now would be the time to get ready to receive her. But… something doesn’t feel right.

You can’t wear a different dress?

Regrettably, no. No, because after being caught in a hoodie and sneakers three days ago Princess Bubblegum needed to make a statement, needed to do a little posturing of her own. Even if Phoebe was a friend of Marceline’s she was still a foreign dignitary, and her own kingdom was volatile with no love lost between the two princesses. No matter the reason she couldn’t give the appearance that she was losing her touch, or that she was going soft. At least, as far as politics went. No one needed to know that someone was turning her into a squishy marshmallow behind the scenes.

Yeah, and that someone’s gonna wig out when she sees that dress.

Yes. Because I won’t look like Bonnibel anymore. This would have to be handled delicately, because only now was the candy golem beginning to realize the flaw in her ‘take your vampire to work day’ plan: she would have to look and act like Princess Bubblegum, the same role that had stolen Bonnibel away for hundreds of years. Before she would never have recognized the subtle treachery, and now she didn’t have the luxury of trust built up yet. With a frown she laid the dress at the foot of the bed, turning back to retrieve the platter of breakfast items instead. I’ll talk to her first, rather than risk adding to her trauma. She placed the platter on the bare sheets of her side of the bed, preparing the amazingly still warm waffles and syrup.

When the bathroom door opened Marceline exited, now dressed, drying her hair with a soft pink towel that lacked any grey spots. Unlike the princess, who had an image of infallible power to maintain, the queen needed no such public perception; she was billed at the punkest of the punk rockers, and even now she dressed for it: her jeans were so dark blue they were almost black, with black cloth cords stitched up her right thigh. Her oversized flannel shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a dark green tank top with a fuzzy bat ironed on over her right breast. Bonnibel noted with regret that her purple collar remained, but there was no sense drawing attention to it or her feelings towards it. Instead she patted the bed next to her. “Breakfast?” Marceline raised a skeptical eyebrow, threw her towel back into the bathroom where it did not belong but whatevs, then floated over to land where she had been beckoned. Her skepticism only grew not only when she was handed the bowl of raspberries, but when Bonnibel began to willingly consume her waffles without being prodded. “...What?”

“You’re eating.”

“And you aren’t.” She nudged the hand clutching the soft yellow bowl.

That seemed to break Marceline out of her stupor, but instead she only frowned at the fruit. “Bon…”

The younger woman smiled encouragingly. “Marcy, I’m not going to try to make you eat. I think it would be wonderful if you tried. If they don’t taste right we do still have lots of items left over from last night you can eat.” That had the unintended effect of reminding Marceline about why exactly food didn’t taste right to her. “We’ll find a way to make normal food palatable to you again. This is only a temporary adjustment.”

Marceline eyed her darkly, but Bonnibel had expected as much. If she had spent every day of her immortal existence resisting the urge to devour the life force of every living creature, including those she loved, she might be a bit testy about the proposed compromise as well. With a small snort of irreverence the vampire plucked a small raspberry, ignored that Bonnibel was trying very hard not to make it look like she was watching intently, and sank her fang into the soft flesh. The taste that assaulted her was not a pleasant one, and her grimace must have shown.

“Marcy…”

No. Uh uh. She forced herself to choke down its red, unwilling to even consider -

“Please.”

It was the earnest tone in her voice, how soft and gentle it was, that broke the half-demon’s preoccupation with her own ire. With a growl of resentment she dropped the now grey fruit back into the bowl, but refused to look at the younger woman.

“I know you’re hungry, little bat.” The extended fangs were a blatant giveaway. “I hate seeing you like this.” Setting aside her own plate, Bonnibel scooted closer. “I can’t imagine what this must be like, and I know that what must be a simple request for me seems almost impossible to you.” Reaching down, she laced their fingers. “I promise you though, none of those objects have my blood on them anymore. You’re not drinking my blood. I would never do that to you.”

“Why…?,” she whispered. She didn’t mean ‘why wouldn’t you do that to me?’. No, this was much more profound.

Now Bonnibel turned, pulling Marceline against her. “I know… it’s not fair, and it’s cruel. It’s only temporary, though. We’ll figure out the cause, and then I’ll take care of it.”

They stayed that way for several minutes, Bonnibel unwilling to let her go, Marceline reluctant to face the truth. Finally, though, facts won and she pulled away. Without looking she reached her hand to Bonnibel’s side of the bed, summoning the half-consumed pillowcase from the ground. As she drained the remaining pigment she closed her eyes, tried to avoid looking at her meal, but it didn’t change how good it tasted, it only dropped her heart to the pit of her stomach. Finally, after too long, she retracted her fangs and threw the balled up fabric to somewhere it could no longer psychologically torture her.

She was disgusted with herself.

“Hey…” Evidently Bonnibel felt differently, because now she was taking a clenched hand into her own, stroking under the wrist until it relaxed. “Thank you. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you. All of this, really. You’re getting better though, and I’ll make sure you continue to improve.” Not wanting to overstay her welcome she kissed the hand, returned it to its rightful owner, then stood.

“Time to go?”

It was easy to ignore the slight waver in Marceline’s voice, and the abrupt change in topic. Bonnibel supposed that must mean she was improving as well. “Yes. I imagine Phoebe will be here soon, she’s very punctual. Before she arrives, however, I wanted to brace you for something.” Not wanting to drag it out Bonnibel lifted the hanger of her dress. Just as she predicted, the vampire tensed, not reacting quite as severely as the night before, but still visibly uneasy. “I know, Marcy. Since this is an official court this calls for my Most Royal Dress, as you so designated it.” Even when she laid it back on the bed trained garnet eyes fixated on it. “Marcy…” When the prod for attention failed to elicit any Bonnibel cupped her cheek, turning her gaze to meet her own. “I need you to understand something important. I’m still me.” It took every shred of her newfound humanity to keep her voice soft and reassuring. “I’m still Bonnie. But since I’m about to do something involving royal junk I also need to use my role as Princess Bubblegum while I work out a new deal with Phoebe.” Marceline was almost rigid now, and she didn’t blame her. Hang in there, little bat. “I promise, though, I’m still me.”

Despite her best wishes, Marceline turned away. “...But you said everyone else only gets you at your role.”

Bonnibel watched her mate, watched her fidget and hunch her uncertainty. She’s still not stable. This will require I be delicate. “Yes. Everyone who isn’t you… they require my role, because that’s how I keep my kingdom and my people safe and secure. But that isn’t how I keep you safe and secure. This is a special case, because while I violated a trade treaty I did so to protect you. Using only my role wouldn’t be appropriate. It’s not about them,” she made a vague gesture to her closed window. “Further, Phoebe is a fellow princess, but she’s also your friend, and she understands why I violated our treaty. This is a very special circumstance where I’m still me, I’m just using my role as a tool.” A pink hand slid up, resting on the back of her queen’s neck, even as she looked away. “You’ll be with me, and just by being there you’ll keep me grounded. You always have.”

Marceline was quiet, confliction both painful and evident. Finally, just when Bonnibel’s heart threatened to arrest, she nodded, though whether it was one of submission or understanding the younger woman couldn’t say. “Alright, Bon. If you say so.”

That’s probably the best you’re gonna do right now.

Yes. My actions will have to speak for themselves, because I certainly don’t have the credibility to back up my own claims otherwise. After pressing a kiss to her forehead Bonnibel withdrew her hand, standing. “You’ll see, Marceline. I’ll show you.” Even if the half-demon didn’t look the candy golem still smiled at her, already building the mental resolve to endure whatever this meeting would entail with grace and aplomb. Even if she had refrained from any overt action against Phoebe during their meeting days ago their cold war wasn’t going to be enough this time. Marceline wouldn’t - shouldn’t - be satisfied with trivial improvements at this stage. No, after centuries of her admonishing Marceline it was now Bonnibel’s turn to prove that she could behave. Though I’m sure Phoebe won’t make it easy-

You’re already going down the Path of Toxic Thoughts?

Bonnibel had no response to that tongue-in-cheek quip, only retreating from her lover at enough distance to slide out of her nightgown. Out of the corner of her eye she noted that Marceline had turned away, not watching as Bonnibel changed from one persona to another, and wasn’t sure what to think of that.

Yep, firmly down the Path of Toxic Thoughts.

That’s enough, Rechte.

I know, but you keep doing it anyway. What’s up with that?

That didn’t warrant a response either, and she instead turned back to the bed, where a vampire once sat, but now there remained only a small rat. Bonnibel smiled gently, reaching her hand out. “Ready, Marcy?”

A twitch or two of her nose, a small delay, a moment’s hesitation, and then the older woman was scurrying up the offered arm, nestling under the blanket of gummy hair, on her shoulder. No sooner had she settled she turned invisible, clearly not wanting to be seen. Something about that warranted comment, but the princess had no idea what the comment should be. Best to leave her be. That wouldn’t stop her from reaching up to give the invisible rodent a tiny ear scritch, and apparently it wouldn’t stop the tiny rodent from accepting the gesture. Not wanting to push her luck Bonnibel crossed their room to her desk, fetching a small bundle of documents. Before she could leave, though, a strange sensation of playfulness, something she wasn’t used to feeling in her current attire, struck through her, and she glanced down at the zombie poodle that she only now realized was staring at her. “Schwabl, you’re in charge of the room.” If she didn’t know any better she could have sworn she heard a soft snicker from her shoulder as she left and locked her room.

She didn’t reach the back entrance to the throne room before a small presence made itself known. “So… what do I have to do?” The soft whisper sounded full of trepidation, and it took a good amount of self-restraint for Bonnibel to resist providing her with reassuring physical affection. After all, if she was invisible it was because she didn’t want undue attention.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Marcy.”

She’s used to you telling her what to do. Think about it from her perspective.

How heartbreaking. And yet... “Oh! Why don’t you observe our interaction and see how it is I function in my role? Once the day has concluded you can give me your insight, both professionally and… well…”

“...If you’re really being you and not your dumb role?”

She sounded too uncertain for that comment to have any bite. “Bluntly, yes.”

“...Kay,” she whispered.

The rest of the walk to the throne room, short as it was, was in a silence that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Rather, it was almost thoughtful, and the tiny weight on Bonnibel’s shoulder was almost a reassuring hand nudging her forward. When they did finally reach the back door to the throne room the princess stopped.

“...Where is everyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s… quiet. It’s weird.”

“Oh! Yes, I often ask that Pep-But keep the foyer clear on days that I hold court. I love my children, but not all of the kingdoms I trade with are… friendly, and some just prefer the quiet.”

“Is Phoebe one of those?”

It was almost a trap, but lacked the malice needed. It was… curious. “Because our kingdoms enjoy a tentative truce, and the Fire Kingdom’s culture isn’t one I’ve been able to study, I thought it best to keep my citizens away from Phoebe and her delegates, rather than risk an accidental incident, or insult.”

“...I could help.”

Bonnibel’s hand stopped over the knob to her throne, completely unsure as to whether or not she had heard her mate correctly. “...You.. want to help?” Marceline tensed, not sure what to make of that tone of voice. She gave no reply, made no noise at all to betray her apprehension. Instead she froze, feeling every bit like the prey she was masquerading as. “...That would be wonderful, Marceline. But… are you sure you feel comfortable with that?”

Marceline turned away. Even if she was invisible she felt too exposed. “I’m not gonna give you Phoebe’s secrets… but I know more about how she does things, and I really don’t want you guys to kill each other.” Her nails twitched. “It’s just you two today, right?”

Bonnibel nodded. “Yes. I promised Phoebe that after we concluded she could have private time with you, if you so desired.”

“...Okay,” Marceline exhaled. “Let’s go. I’ll just… watch. And then… yeah…”

The princess’s smile was sad, and she was rather glad that Marceline wasn’t at an angle enough to see it. Are you happy now, Lady Evil? “That sounds like a perfectly adequate plan.” And with that she pushed into the door, leading into the empty throne room. All thoughts of how her conversation with the younger monarch would soon cease, for when she felt the fine tremor began, heard the not-at-all concealed whimper, she knew something was wrong. “Marcy, what is it?” There was no response. Well, except for the fine tremor now becoming honest to goodness trembling, and it put the princess on high alert. “Marceline? Please talk to me, if I don’t know what’s wrong-”

“Did it always look like this?” Maybe the question started as a hiss, but it devolved into something pitiful.

“This… room-”

Her question was cut short, because even if she couldn’t see the older woman she could feel the rat clutch its head, heard the tell-tale hiss indicating something in her mind was severing from reality, and if her shaking was any indication it wasn’t a clean break. Even while she was still formulating an explanation the rat rolled off her shoulder, and only her trained reflexes allowed her to catch it. It convulsed now, sharp incisors digging into her flank in frustration and pain. Bubblegum, break this down. She doesn’t go into your throne room, why would this cause-

But some part has gone into your throne room, Bon. Even Rechte was betraying some apprehension in the way she began her sentence so delicately, as if torn between giving away the answer and wanting to stop a problem before it became a catastrophe. Some part that destroys everything she touches.

...Usurper. Yes, she remembered now. How the embodiment of Marceline’s rage and jealousy had taken over the faux Candy Kingdom throne room, how in her anger she had destroyed not only the room but the castle itself, how she had literally taken Princess Bubblegum’s throne and made it her own in a twisted form of admiration, how she used that admiration to punish not only Bubblegum but that piece of Marceline so loyal to her. This break is severe because not only is she questioning this reality she’s in a figurative mental war with herself.

I’m not so sure it’s figurative.

But that was neither here nor there, because if Marceline’s agonizing path to recovery had taught Bonnibel anything it was that the vampire would destroy herself and be helpless to stop it. “Marcy, please listen. Do you know where you are?,” she asked gently. A soft whine was her reward. “I know it’s confusing, but you’re in my throne room. The real throne room, not the one in your mind.” But how much to reveal? She said no names. She didn’t refuse any other information. Technically. “This hurts because when we were in this room in your mind the… well, one of the most malicious parts of your psyche had taken it over and wanged it apart to send a message to me. She was violent and killed off two other pieces of you traumatically.”

“Why…” When she found she was unable to stop her own physical self-destruction she welcomed the pink hand prying her apart.

“Because she was your rage.” Apparently we were revealing almost everything now. “She was mad at me, and she wasn’t unjustified. But this room isn’t her room. It’s in one piece, and it’s safe. Look.” Almost cradling her now, Bonnibel swiftly approached her still-immaculate throne. Knowing this could go only horribly right or horribly wrong she lifted the rat’s tiny paw and placed it against the lavender mosaic chair. “Do you remember? She carved an ‘M’ right here in this spot to declare it her own. But there’s no ‘M’ here, because it’s not her’s. It belongs to me, because this is the real Ooo, not the one in your mind.”

Though the message was received Marceline still withdrew as if bitten, hiding in the crook in her arm. “...Hate it.”

She knew what ‘it’ was, but, “What do you hate, Marcy?”

When the vampire tried to sink her fangs into herself once more in frustration she was once more pried apart before any serious damage could be wrought. “...I live in two realities, but one of them isn’t,” she muttered after a significant pause. Under her fur she flushed in humiliation.

Bonnibel quieted, watching as the woman she loved tore herself apart mentally, knowing it wasn’t her fault but not knowing how to stop it. Well, except for- “I know, Marcy. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. You’ll get better, though. Remember?” It wasn’t a good sign when Marceline jumped upon feeling a soft hand stroke over her fur, but it was a phenomenal one when she let it happen regardless. “It’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you’ll get better. For now, try to focus on the other end of the room. There was less corruption in the front.” Though that does raise an interesting consideration. Arbitrator died where we stand. Is that the cause of your acute reaction now? Or… could it be that my disallowing you to spend time in the throne room without me gave you a less concrete memory of what it should look like, thus making it harder for you to tell fantasy from reality? So many curiosities, all in too poor a taste to research. Once again science would have to take a backseat to sheer love.

Somehow her reassurance was anything but to the small rat. “...It’s not just this room, though.” Though clearly a good amount of it was, as her eyes were still closed. “I keep slipping in and out in stupid dumb ways.”

Bonnibel’s fond smile was nothing short of morose. Really, all she wanted to do in that moment was send Phoebe away again, take Marceline back to their rooms, tuck her into something soft and feed her hand towels. “Would you like to talk about it?,” she broached not unkindly. “I could ask Phoebe to delay our meeting. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind for you.”

Marceline sighed, trying to her hardest to find comfort in the gentle warmth of the princess’s shoulder. “...Nah. S’alright. Lemme think about it and maybe we’ll talk later.” Maybe.

Bonnibel’s smile didn’t fade, nor did it change temperatures, but she did graze the rodent’s head with a soft kiss. “Alright, then. Whenever you want, perhaps even after this meeting with Phoebe.” Oh. Right. That. Steeling herself mentally, the younger woman crossed the room to lay her trade treaty across the large circular table before taking to her perch of power, setting herself in its center, arms rested on the rests. She could feel Marceline squirm restlessly on her shoulder, pace down her arm, freeze, then ran back up. “It’s alright, Marcy,” she soothed. “This is a mutually beneficial conversation.”

Despite the dread in her voice Marceline seemed almost relieved to be focusing the burden of conversation topic off of herself. “Then why does it feel so… wrong?”

Because you’re used to seeing me malicious, controlling, and megalomaniacal, and that persona has all but trumped the person you fell in love with. You’re a protective individual, and you’re worried about your friend, who you see as a person, not just her role. You want to protect her, and you’re not sure if you’re betraying her or helping her because she’s private, distrusts me, and I’ve made no secret that I distrust her as well. You only want a balance you know does not actually exist, but you don’t know how to create it, or if I would even allow you to try because you’re still afraid of me.

She said none of this. That would make it too real. “You’re just going through a lot right now, and you’re being introduced to so much. I know my promises may not mean much to you yet, but I promise, Marceline. It’ll be alright. One step at a time.”

There was no time to respond before the door opened and Peppermint Butler peeked in. He saw only his princess, but he knew better. “Are you ready, Your Majesty?”

No. Yes. Probably. Definitely not. Does it matter? “Yes, Pep-But. You may allow her entrance whenever she is prepared.”

You got this, Bon.

Amazing how sweet lies can sound. But… not as sweet as Marcy’s music. I’ll do this for you, little bat.

The sound of her throne room’s main entrance opening had never unsettled Bonnibel before. It was always familiar, comforting, a reminder of her own power and authority. But now the tune was different, off-key and more of a high-pitched whine. ‘Out of tune’, that’s what she knew Marceline would call the sound, a warped reminder of The Way Things Were, the Way Things Were Supposed to Be. When her throne room door opened this time there was no small rush of power, no small reminder of her status and position of authority. If anything, it pricked at her poorly mended heart, and she felt like she was on foreign soil. As if the throne room she found herself in were a replica of the real Candy Kingdom throne room, a poor yet impressive forgery, with cheap air and quality props.

And then there was a tiny, cool nose pressing the tension against her neck. Did it soothe her? No. But it did help preserve those tiny seeds of a conscience she was trying so hard to grow. In the back of her mind she could hear the vampire’s melodic laugh, calling her a dork and telling her to take a chill pill, and make it a double-dosage. As if the half-demon didn’t have all of the power right now. As if she cared. Or knew.

“Presenting Flame Princess Phoebe, of the Fire Kingdom.”

As always, Peppermint Butler didn’t need to shout to impart the authority of his words. He did a fantastic job of looking impassive, of ignoring what the long-term ramifications of this meeting could hold. To her credit, Phoebe came alone, seemingly without any escort or accompaniment. Which is not to say she came with pure benevolence and well-wishes in her heart. No, because unlike her last visit she wasn’t dressed in a semi-royal-casual outfit. No, she was dressed in traditional Fire Kingdom royal attire. Her bronze armor shined, reflecting her flames and glory. A brown cloth lining featuring a dual scarlet ‘V’ accent had been overlayed on the armor, a matching mantle settled over her shoulders with a traditional ruby cut in a diamond shape centering her chest. Her crown was impeccably straight and just as shining, and if she felt any trepidation she showed no signs. No, the only sign of her emotional state was how warm the room was.

“Thank you, Peppermint Butler. Please leave us.” She didn’t need to watch to know he had bowed and excused himself, nor did she need to listen to know he had gracefully closed the door behind him.

Now it was just her, her guilt, and her best laid plans. Even the room felt warmer.

“Thank you for returning so promptly, Phoebe. I trust the journey was unremarkable?”

The temperature seemed to lower to its original state. Well, ‘original’ in the sense of the temperature it first was when the fire elemental first entered the throne room. “It was, yes. I thought it best to resolve this matter swiftly and quietly, so I elected to come alone. I figured you’d share my sentiment and not want to hold an open court.” She made a show of looking around the almost-empty room. “I’m glad to see I was right.”

Pink fingers tensed, only relaxing when that tiny nose pressed her once more. Even if she didn’t know what that gesture meant it was a reminder of why she was doing this. “There was no point. I violated a trade treaty, and it is a situation that is in our best interests to resolve. Now,” she leaned, reaching enough to gesture to the dual parchments on the table. “I have a copy of the new proposed agreement for you. The parchment is flame-retardant.” Phoebe’s eyes flickered towards it briefly before returning to her fellow princess. “Before I read it, what does it say?”

Bonnibel said nothing, but internally she was almost impressed. Giving me an opportunity to be caught in a lie? I hope you’re observing this, Marceline.  Whether because she wanted her to learn or because she wanted proof that Phoebe could be just as diabolical she wasn’t sure and didn’t care. “Silver ore accounted for 9% of our agreed upon trade. That is a considerable portion, I admit.”

“How do you plan to balance that scale? Unless you plan to literally buy out the debt.” If Bonnibel didn’t know any better she could have sworn that her fellow royal sounded almost amused .

“I already trade you raw material from the dextrose and sucrose mines. I propose I counter the offset by introducing maltose.” There was an undertone there, something dangerous that Marceline didn’t understand and didn’t like.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “You’re offering to trade a reducing sugar?”

“I think you’ll find quite a difference in your ability to use it as a raw fuel source, given that it itself is a catalyst. You may also find it more palatable for your young in emergency situations, reducing your dependence on rocket fuel.”

The younger princess watched her carefully. “You must have quite a lot of maltose stored up, I take it.”

Bonnibel wasn’t going to fall for that barb. Instead, she danced away from the information prod. “Reducing sugars are vital for many medical tests I perform, given the chemical composition of my subjects.” There. A perfectly acceptable evasion.

Already playing hardball, girl? “I admit, that’s pretty tempting, Bubblegum. You’ve been pretty stingy with reducing agents in the past.”

“...You have something else in mind.”

“I have to explore every option available to me.”

Is that how smug I sound? You don’t wear it well, Phoebe. “What do you propose?”

“I want access to technology.”

Bonnibel raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware the Fire Kingdom shared my appreciation for science.” When the nose jabbed into her neck she actually did feel a teeny bit bad for that snark. Teeny bit.

“When I was just a spark you managed to build a lamp to cage me. I want to know how you did it.”

Bonnibel narrowed her eyes. “I had to-”

Phoebe did the unthinkable: she lifted her hand, interrupting her growing-less-gracious hostess. “I know, Bubblegum. I’m not asking for why you did it. I want the technology you used to do it.”

“For what purpose?” The candy monarch’s voice was tight.

“I have an idea of a television show.”

Bonnibel didn’t react to that sarcasm. Well, she almost didn’t. And really, shouldn’t she get brownie points for that? “For what purpose, Phoebe?,” she repeated, harder this time.

The flame elemental watched the other woman, the tension in her jaw, almost saw passed the well-hidden ire. She recalled, then, a conversation she once had with Finn, back before their doomed relationship even began. I called him a water elemental, the opposite of my own being. Marceline, Bonnibel… you’re opposites too, aren’t you? You’re bound by law and order, and she just… does things. But your binding is self-constructed, whereas her’s is inflicted. You can’t trust a prisoner to make her own cage, and I suspect you know that. Phoebe sighed softly. “Bubblegum, you’re dangerous. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I know why you altered our agreement, and on a personal level I agree with your decision, but I can’t let you decide the changed terms. If I do what’s the point in having a legally binding agreement? My people would lose faith in me as a leader. I accept your offer of maltose to balance the scale. In addition, though, I would like access to the technology that allowed you to contain me when I was a baby.”

Bonnibel sharp intake of breath was well-hidden by everyone who was not herself and Marceline. Internally she seethed, and that was hidden even from her lover. In addition?! How dare she! How dare she try to punish me like I’m some sort of child! She would have-

Bonnibel, reel it back in. She’s right. You’d do the same thing to prove a point. Are you mad ‘cause of what she’s asking or why she’s asking?

Both!

Okay, well, put the ego away before you hurt someone with it, alright?

It was not alright, it was anything except alright. “Why.”

Phoebe shook her head slowly. “Bubblegum, I’m offering you an easy way out of this that will allow us both to save face. I can show the Fire Kingdom that we came out of this violation better than we went into it, and all you sacrifice is technology that you’ve already created and proved functional.”

She’s right, you know.

Piercing green eyes narrowed into a barely-repressed glare. “...I will offset 7% of the production with maltose. I will provide you with the blueprints and readily-existing technology as you are requesting it, but I reserve the right to continue to use and improve my methods and techniques. I’m not signing over all rights to you or the Fire Kingdom.”

Her words were cold enough to chill all three royals in the room. Good thing Phoebe was a quick recovery. “I’m not asking you to, Bubblegum. What’s yours is yours… so long as you treat it right of course.” It looked like a threat, but sounded only… sad. As if she wasn’t talking about fire elemental containing technol- ...Oh.

That only made it more infuriating, but the cool presence watching over her shoulder calmed her. “7% worth of maltose and the plans to the lamp technology. Shall I assume that your personal acceptance of why I barred silver is why you’re suddenly being so agreeable.” Silence. “Off the record, of course.”

No such thing with you. “I’m trying to avoid an international incident. If you’re offering a reducing sugar, an agent we both know would allow us to increase our energy efficiency, you must have put serious thought into it. That tells me that you want it resolved as much as I do. There’s no point in nitpicking the nitty gritty when your offer is already close to satisfactory, which is why I’m asking you to add the technology.”

“You’re taking something from me personally, rather than my kingdom’s resources, to prove a point.”

Internally, Phoebe was grinning. “Off the record?” But she didn’t finish that thought, only watching her fellow royal impassively. It in of itself was enough of a message.

Bonnibel seethed, but diplomacy won out. “...Alright. Agreed.” With a sigh that seemed to intake more filth than it expelled Bonnibel picked up her quill, making scribbled notations to indicate the changes to her original trade offer. “Pep!,” she called

There was an awkward silence, the scurry of footsteps, the sound of a door opening, then- “Yes, Your Highness?” He seemed almost scared to enter the room. But then he had always been a wise mint.

Princess Bubblegum tapped the annotated parchment. “Phoebe and I have reached an agreement. Please fetch my sealing wax so that I may officiate the document into law.”

“At once. Back in a flash!” And then he was gone, leaving the two princesses to stare at one another. It was an awkward, tense silence, and both were quite eager for it to end. When Bonnibel’s second oldest friend returned with her pink wax and seal in hand there was a silent collective sigh of relief. Both items were placed on the table before Peppermint Butler backed himself a good three meters away, out of the blast radius. Just as she indicated the candy golem made no delay in unstoppering the wax, sealing her crest into the modified parchment. As she watched expectantly Phoebe produced a small lump of coal, and were this any other time Bonnibel would have even been curious as to how the small puff of smoke - or was that a tiny flame? - could possibly act as a royal seal. But soon that would be the least of her curiosities, because the moment her esteemed butler went to recover the document Phoebe raised her hand, politely stopping him.

“One sec, Pep. I think it’s customary in Ooo for all attending royalty to give their seal indicating they’ve witnessed a new international agreement be forged. We’re missing someone.” And then, just like that, her gaze turned squarely to Bonnibel. Or, more accurately, her right shoulder. “It’s your turn, Marceline.”

“Excuse me-”

She had no room to finish, because before she could even finish objecting the rat rolled over her shoulder, turning itself both humanoid and very visible. But her eyes were averted from her friend, her hand rubbing the back of her neck nervously. “What gave me away?,” she whispered nervously.

Unlike the princess, Phoebe gave her friend a sincere and comforting smile. Her voice was calm but unrestrained, with even a bit of humor injected into it. As if Bonnibel wasn’t there. As if she didn’t matter. “I’ve told you before. You leave a cold spot.”

The candy golem eyed her fellow elemental, quickly putting the pieces together, as was her gift. “When we came into the room you increased, decreased, then increased the temperature again. You were looking for Marceline.” She was almost impressed. Maybe a little impressed.

“Thermodynamics is something my kind tend to grasp very easily.” She motioned to the parchment, almost daring to touch it. “Your turn, Marceline. I know you hate to admit it, but you’re a legit queen. Gotta acknowledge you were here and saw this go down.”

Marceline somehow resisted the urge to turn to Bonnibel for approval, not entirely sure what it was she was going to, or even hoping to, find. Instead she nodded obediently, pricking her finger with her own fang before allowing a single drop of dead, maroon blood to drop between Phoebe’s mark and Bonnibel’s seal, bridging the two with a stain. “Are you two done, now?” Hopefully that sounded a lot less timid than she’d meant. It’d be a long series of days.

Bonnibel rolled the parchment, tightening it with a second royal Candy Kingdom Seal to indicate that it was a treaty agreement, before handing it back to her most loyal servant. “We are. Thank you for joining me a second time, and for your cooperation, Phoebe.” All that, and she still didn’t look at her. Instead she looked at someone much more meaningful. “I’m going to analyze those samples, okay? Enjoy all the time you’d like.” It didn’t escape Marceline’s notice that Bonnibel’s voice was a lot calmer now, affection softening it.

“...Alright, Bon. I’ll meet you at your desk or something.” The ‘or something’ would definitely be at her desk, but it felt so wrong to defer to her for instructions in front of Phoebe, or even imply that the castle royal quarters were her own. No matter how many pretty words Bonnibel used the castle was still a strange place, this Ooo a strange world. But, be it mercy or just plain good luck, the princess only gave her a reassuring smile and exited her throne room the way she came in, suddenly feeling like an invader in her own home, and that wouldn’t do at all.

And then there were two.

Marceline watched Bonnibel retreat, turned away from Phoebe just enough to avoid looking at her. True, she may not have known the younger princess for a fraction of the time she had known Princess Bubblegum, but the flame princess hadn’t exaggerated when she had called the pair of them ‘kindred spirits’. Unknowing if she was more excited or nervous about talking to her friend again after a brief but subjective one hundred year absence the vampire exhaled forcefully, took a seat in the air, pulled her knees to her chest, then rested her forehead on them. “Hey Pheebs.”

“Hey Marceline.” There was noticeable worry in the younger woman’s voice, but also profound relief. “How are you feeling?” A grunt. “What happened? I heard the summary from Jake when you were first jailbreaked, but I’ve only received sporadic updates since.”

Marceline groaned, pulling herself tighter, but finally looking up. “What do you know so far?”

Phoebe shook her head, even knowing her friend couldn’t see it. “Marceline, this is your story. You know my life policy on honesty; unless you tell me it’s conjecture, and I’d rather hear the truth.”

Crud. But it was hard to argue with that logic. After all, one of the things Marceline appreciated most about the mini wildfire before her was how consistent she was in her thoughts and deeds; she loved Bonnibel with all of her heart and soul, but there was just something so nice about being able to trust someone at their word, at knowing you were being told the truth for a change, because if Phoebe knew she couldn’t be honest she would say so straight away, rather than play a mind game or construct an overly-elaborate lie. Of course, that also made it difficult not to respond in kind. Like right now. “...It’s not great, Pheebs.”

“Is that why she’s making you wear a collar?” And why your voice sounds warped?

Marceline frowned, almost wanting to growl from just how ‘too soon’ that comment was… but honestly, that was a fair assessment. It did nothing for her discomfort, be it mentally, physically, or emotionally. “She’s not making me wear a collar, I’m doing it because I want to.” When Phoebe raised an eyebrow Marceline sighed. “That came out wrong.”

“How should it have come out?”

Marceline tried to shoot her a pointed look but it backfired, turning her animosity into guilt at the sight of the concern festering in her friend’s eyes. Ugh. In a rare moment of words having officially failed her the vampire reached up and behind her neck, unclasping the royal purple collar. When her soft shield fell away so did her mental fortitude and she turned, simultaneously displaying her shame in an effort to hide from it. When she heard Phoebe’s inhalation, followed by a slight ripple in the room’s temperature, she bit her lip, one fang easily piercing the flesh and lodging there. It stopped her from needing to think of something to say.

“Marceline…” Phoebe trailed off, knowing not what she was looking at, only that that knot of silver flesh, the lines extending around her neck like a living collar, that scar that shouldn’t be there. That explains your voice... Against her better judgment she briefly found herself cursing Princess Bubblegum - and not for the first time that day - before scolding the thought away. That wasn’t what her old friend needed right now, and those comments would serve no purpose except for inflict more pain. “Is that from your father’s amulet?” As kind as the question was it was still sharp enough to make the half-demon wince. “Does it hurt?” Besides psychologically.

Taking that as implicit permission to shield herself once more Marceline quickly returned the collar back to its protective position around her neck. “...Yeah,” she whispered, feeling every bit a child. “It’s been weeks but it’s still tender, like the nerves are going nuts. Sometimes a strong breeze hurt it, and I don’t know how to heal it. So I just… don’t wanna…”

“...Look at it.”

“...The Dork Patrol says my voice is getting better, but..”

Phoebe may not have known Marceline for as long as Bonnibel but she knew a dark train of thought when she saw one. Keeping to the flesh-exposed areas - for Marceline could knit flesh, not cloth - the flame elemental pulled the immortal woman for a hug, derailing her. Once Marceline realized what was happening she returned the gesture before pulling back, the burns already having healed by the time she was settled in the air once more. She gave no indication she even felt the pain from having been giving physical affection from a heart of fire itself; after spending so long together it was unlikely she even did. “What have you been doing since the guys rescued you?”

It was becoming increasingly hard to look at the younger woman, and Marceline couldn’t fathom why. Maybe if she ever built up the mental fortitude again she’d try to decipher that riddle, but Present Marceline had enough problems. More than enough problems. All of the problems. “Well… I remember they brought me back to Ooo to show me the moon and stars, since they didn’t exist in my world. I guess that was on your turf, huh?” A shaky laugh didn’t tempt Phoebe to rise to the bait of interrupting her story. “Then… I was in the Nightosphere for a long time. I don’t really know how long, since time doesn’t exist there… but enough that they came back and got me. Bonnibel says I can’t heal by avoiding this, so she brought me back to Ooo. To be honest, I don’t know how long I’ve been here, either.” She sighed, her bones beginning to ache from profound fatigue she wasn’t even aware she was being subjected to. “I don’t remember a lot about when I was in my brain, but I don’t really remember Ooo either. So either my brain is trying to remember both or not both at the same time and… I don’t know.”

She had expected Phoebe to ask the same follow-up questions everyone else had been subjecting her to: what’s it like; is she getting better; what are the differences and similarities between the world you don’t know and the world you don’t know you don’t know. Maybe she was even expecting the young monarch to ask about the Grasslands Incident. What she wasn’t expecting was, “What did Hunson say about your reaction to the amulet?”

In retrospect, Marceline would later muse, she shouldn’t have expected Phoebe to focus on what everyone else had focused on. After all, their friendship had been forged through the gradual recognition of their eerie similarities, by being given the cheat sheet of what fate had in store for them before flipping the script and carving new paths. They had questioned their own alignments, flirted with their own dark sides, but despite being mortal Phoebe had come away from it all in remarkably better shape than the relic of an ancient queen. Marceline admired that about her friend, respecting her not only as a ruler but as a wise individual in of herself. Despite her age - relative or otherwise - Phoebe had evolved beautifully and grown into a wise woman. Were anyone else to ask that question the musician would probably have reacted with a convenient rage-filled mood swing. But Phoebe? Phoebe may never have met Hunson Abadeer, but she knew the man, knew him because she knew her own father, who also worshipped evil and thought nothing of raising his daughter to follow in his own footsteps.

In retrospect, Marceline would later muse, she should have seen this discussion coming. Would she have given Phoebe the same Talk? Probably not. But then… Phoebe was a lot more responsible than her. “...He didn’t think it was able to do this. Not to me.” Not to his flesh and blood.

Phoebe regarded her friend sadly, watched her poorly-hidden fidget, the way her shoulders sagged, how self-conscious she looked. “You know what I’m going to suggest, Marcy,” began encouragingly.

Once more, were it anyone else, Marceline would have had their head between her teeth. But it wasn’t anyone else. “Pheebs… come on.” It was almost a plead, as if the fire elemental had any real control over the onyx-haired woman’s life. Do I even have control over my own life? You know what, I’m not gonna ask ‘cause I’m not gonna like the answer, am I?

Regrettably, Phoebe cared not for Marceline’s desire to not hear her out. “It’s tempting to say that this began because of Bubblegum being Bubblegum, but I can admit that I’m pretty sure she was just the catalyst. I know the chaos amulet is literally pure evil and all, but it shouldn’t have been able to do all of this to you. Not with your bloodline. Have you given any thought as to why it was able to?”

Marceline began to rub her arm nervously, still not looking at Phoebe directly. “I dunno. Maybe? Sort of?” Lies. All lies. And Phoebe knew it.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear, Marceline, but I think you’re never going to get better until you get to the bottom of why you got hurt in the first place… and to do that I think you need to go back to the Nightosphere.” When there was no groan or other vocal objection Phoebe began to realize that either she wasn’t the first person to raise this suggestion, or that Marceline had already begun to suspect that for herself. Hopefully the latter.

No such luck. “Yeah… Bon said the same thing,” she grumbled. Well, not so much ‘grumbled’ as ‘whimpered pathetically’, but no one needed to acknowledge that. It seemed dignity was a fleeting luxury for the half-demon. “It’s just… Pheebs, that place is so messed up.”

“I know.” And she did. Even if she had never personally seen the pocket dimension she had certainly met enough demons that weren’t Marceline, had heard all of the stories and legends. Was even standing in front of one at this very moment. “You’re almost a thousand years older than I am, so I know that I don’t really have audacity to tell you what you should do, but I can say that if I hadn’t confronted my place of origin and my father I wouldn’t be as happy in life as I am right now, and I wouldn’t be able to control everything I can do. I’m not you, but we share circumstances… enough so that I don’t think you can run and hide from this anymore.” Her burning hand settled on her friend’s shoulder, neither noticing the soft stench of burning flesh. It was par for the course by now. “You’re special, Marceline. You told me how being half human and half demon means you’re not of either world, but that’s wrong. You’re from both worlds, and right now you’re only drawing strength from one.”

“I shouldn’t draw strength from anything. You don’t even know what I’m capable of.” Her eyes closed, her mind filling in the images for her.

“I have a pretty good idea. Remember how we met, and how I knew where to find you? You could have killed me.” The conviction in her voice made it abundantly clear that Phoebe knew that this wasn’t an idle thought; she really was certain that there was at least a 50% chance she wasn’t making it out of of their initial encounter alive, and yet she did. And here she was, only now withdrawing her hand to give the now scorched arm before her a chance to regenerate. Marceline may not register the pain but that didn’t mean Phoebe was going to let herself inflict it. “You’re afraid of yourself, girl. I think you’d stop being afraid if you knew what you were. You’d know how you could use your abilities to benefit those you care about.” The vampire looked so uncertain, almost scared. “You’re good at running, Marceline, and you’re really good at fighting… but you’re not always good at knowing when you should do one or the other. You want to run right now, and I think that’s pretty understandable, but I don’t think it’s what’s going to help in the long-run.”

Marceline floated, cheek coming to rest on her knee in ponderance. The whole thing left a sour, biting taste in her mouth, and for once it wasn’t from the dead blood pooled from a gashed cheek. No, this time it was worse. “...I had another Cosmic Owl dream, Pheebs. Feathered dillweed said I’m supposed to end the world.” Her eyes closed at her own flat affect, but she felt the soft orange flames that comprised her friend’s body edge closer.

“You need to stop torturing yourself like this. Finn and Jake don’t like it, I don’t like it, and I really doubt Bubblegum likes it.” Just as she predicted, at the unexpected usage of her mate’s name Marceline’s grey ear twitched. It would have been endearing, were Bubblegum herself not involved in the sentiment. Well, maybe a little endearing anyway. “I don’t know what you two have going on right now, girl, but she’s really obvs worried about you. I didn’t make my last meeting with her easy on purpose, but she restrained herself. Even when I told her how my father wanted to wed us.”

A loud groan. “Ugh, Pheebs, you didn’t…” Bonnie  was actually…?

That garnered a small smile. “My point, Marcy, is that she’s worried about you. Doesn’t it say something to you when both she and I agree on something?”

It did. And it sucked. “Yeah, but…” But… what?

“Please, don’t misunderstand me, Marceline. I’m not recommending you go take over the Nightosphere or anything, just that you try to figure out what’s going on with your flame. I’ve seen how beautiful it can burn.”

“Yeah. It could burn Ooo down,” laughed bitterly.

“Or it could roast some marshmallows at Finn and Jake’s weekly movie night. It could do a lot of things. But the best part of knowing how it works is that you get to choose what it does. It doesn’t pick for you.”

Now the bitter laugh was a bitter chuckle. “You sound like Finn, Phoebe. Are you going to try to convince me that I’m a good guy next, since all of this is ‘cause I don’t wanna hurt people or end the world? ‘Cause spoiler alert: I’m not a good guy. I know ‘cause I think this is me at my best, def at my most vulnerable, and you know what? Still not a good guy.”

“But you want to be.” Amazing how such a being made of literal fire could give such a cool reply. Even more amazing, though, was the odd sense vertigo accompanying the deja vu assaulting the older woman. Marceline bit through her lip once more as Phoebe politely pretended not to notice. “Why not think about it? I know that it’s a big decision, and it’s one only you can make. But whatever you do, Marceline,” at the sound of her name in that convicted tone of voice the vampire finally glanced up, “I’ll support you. And if things ever get too redonkulus here you know you’re always welcome in the Fire Kingdom. You and Schwabl.”

It was hard to tell if she was joking, serious, or both, but the intended effect was the same regardless, an the singer couldn’t help her grateful smile. “Yeah… thanks, Pheebs. You rock.”

Phoebe laughed softly as she turned back to the massive table to gather the now sealed - and flame shielded - trade agreement. “You’re always welcome, Marceline. Let me know what you decide to do, alright? And if you do decide to go to the Nightosphere… come find me after, alright? I’d love to hear about it.” She made a vague motion to the front of the throne room, and Marceline uncurled to float beside her towards it. “I’d like to get a call or something with some good news about you for a change.”

That was an excellent point, and Marceline rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment. “Ah… sorry, Phoebe.” The fire elemental only chortled softly, letting her friend get the door for her. No sense in accidentally setting the room partially on fire. No, she’d been enough of a maverick already, and she was quite comfortable with ending the serious note there, letting it go naturally so that her first visit with her nocturnal friend end on a pleasant note. Once they reached the point where Marceline dare not tread - for it was still daylight in a threatening world - Peppermint Butler would take over the duty of escorting the flame princess out of the kingdom, leaving the vampire to wave haplessly at their retreating backs from the dark, empty foyer. Left alone with her old enemy - her thoughts - Marceline would slowly began the subjectively-long trek back to the castle’s master rooms, where she would return to bed, cuddle with Schwabl, and ruminate.

And, as Marceline ruminated, down an endless hallway she dare not cross, Bonnibel would sit in her lab, unaware of the conversation her mate was having with Someone She Really Just Didn’t Like. But that was neither here nor there; in keeping with her promise she was buried in her work of ascertaining what exactly happened in the Grasslands, and to those remaining some half-dozen victims mutilated by the events wherein.

True to both Dr. Ice Cream’s and Doctor Princess’s promises Bonnibel had been sent samples and notes in droves, even a candid video from a cheap cell phone. They littered her laboratory, brown box after tan box after manilla envelope after blue binder after wave after wave of frustration. All but three of her stainless steel beds held open anatomy and physiology books and reference guides for the various species that called the Grasslands home, and her sink held a possibly still-living tissue sample cooling from a brief but fruitful experiment on heat intensity.

But for now that was forgotten. Instead, Princess Bubblegum, having shed her crown in exchange for her glasses and changed from her Most Royal Dress to a more disposable white smock and lab coat, was staring intently at her computer’s screen, eyes dancing along the text, mumbling to herself in concentration. To the right of her desk sat two of her Official Science Journals, as well as her Unofficial Science Journal, a document she kept for her own eyes only where she could comment on her findings without contaminating them or inviting bias.

Really, Bonnibel had absolutely no idea how long she had been figuratively barricaded in her lab with only her promise and the shards of reality to keep her company. She was quite good at compartmentalizing, and the moment her door had closed she had shoved Princess Bubblegum The Role in her happy little box and gotten to work, almost entirely forgetting about the heart-to-heart chat Marceline and Phoebe were undoubtedly having. It was easy to do with science by her side.

But now hours had passed, and samples had been poked, prodded, injected, and stained. Her microscope was short hundreds of clean slides, and she had filled a notebook with her findings. Were this any other circumstance she would be quite pleased with herself, not only for the amount of work she completed but the high quality of her effort as well. But this wasn’t any other circumstance, and instead she leaned back in her soft, pink, ergonomic desk check, drumming her now glove-free hand on the armrest in consternation. She used to be so good at managing her research anxiety, used to be a champion in fact, if such things had competitions… which, in her learned opinion, they should have.

What’s up, Bon? Even her mental portrayal of Rechte sounded concerned which, while not unheard of, jarred her just enough to break her concentration. For once she considered that a good thing.

It just doesn’t make sense… Even in her mind it was a mutter, and she turned back to her personal notebook to review her notes.

Science got ya down?

All six lived, Rechte.

Yeah, but I thought that was, like… a good thing. You like when people live, right? That’s a thing you’re in to?

Yes, but… She sighed, turning back to the digital images only a click away on her computer. Before her laid the mangled leg of a small reptilian child. At one time, she knew, it was covered in green and turquoise scales that shined in sunlight, some evolutionary mechanism designed to disguise it when hunting in the nearby lakes of the Grasslands. In this case, however, the leg was a bright orange and pinkish-red, flesh under the scales exposed to the harsh world above. The top of the leg, once attached to the small child, was a blackened mess that flattered and tapered where it once met the thigh, cut off somehow and by some unforeseen force. At first glance it looked as if it were blown apart somehow, but the upper wound, she realized with horror, was seared shut. Further, the mangled flesh stopped just above the ankle, leaving the three clawed toes, calf, and foot itself unhurt in any way. According to Dr. Ice Cream’s notes the foot itself experienced normal reactions to external stimuli, including the pinprick test. And including after it was detached from the body, having been found a meter away. “Do you see this?”

Uh… yes?

“What cauterized that wound so cleanly while severing the leg from the torso just below the knee? What could possibly allow for the nerves in the foot to remain active and responsive so long after the amputation? How are select sections entirely unharmed, and in such a bizarre pattern?” All hypotheticals, because this Rechte may be a part of her sub-conscious but it was her conscious mind at work right now. “And here.”

A new tab, a new image, a new atrocity. This time it was white skin that reminded her vaguely of Finn’s - a realization that accompanied some form of nausea - but injured in a whole different way. This time the cloth of some shirt of pants - she wasn’t quite sure - had been cooked into the flesh by the same intense heat. It wasn’t an uncommon thing to occur to victims of second and third degree burns, for skin - even of whatever this creature is, Dr. Ice Cream wasn’t sure - cooks easily under intense heat, it doesn’t melt, despite popular misconception. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. But when the good doctor had cooled the area and tried to remove the covering she had found that it gave easily, and though the patient reported that the area was numb and hard to move the previously attached cloth had peeled off easily, as if it had only been gently stuck, and under it there was no sign anything was wrong at all, not even a scratch.

“They’re all like this.” Another picture, this time of the limbs the royal doctor had called ‘fused’, but on second and third examination she found both arms almost perfectly fine, at least in function. The patient, Bonnibel learned from the notes, had later felt an intense pain they could not describe - possibly because Mushroom People typically held limited vocabulary - felt a crack in them before she heard it, then pulled her arms apart. Where the two had met there was the tell-tale warped and rough skin indicative of poorly healed third degree burns, and the patient complained constantly of a dull ache, but there they were. The only oddity was that she found using both hands at the same time to be uncommonly difficult, but the good doctor suspected physical therapy would rectify that situation.

Bonnibel sat back in her chair, pen between her lips in pondrance. None of this makes any sense. All of these injuries are bizarre. You’d never know they all happened at the same time, in the same place. Further, I’ve never known Marceline to possess the capability to inflict anything like this. Burns in of themselves? Certainly. And in her void form she can assuredly cause all kinds of untold mayhem. But…

This is nuts, huh?

That’s one way of putting it. Her head ached from the idea that she was missing something, something important about the situation. I need to see the Grasslands for myself. She had in even more tabs and folders well-documented images of the destruction, and the personal photos Finn had taken for her when he had arrived on scene, but as an esteemed woman of science the candy golem wanted nothing more than to see the damage with her own eyes. She was sure then that she’d figure something out.

Makes sense to me… but what about your lover-girl?

Ah. That was a good point. Marceline seemed to be firmly entrenched in the beginning stages of recovery but the outside world was still foreign and probably a bit scary, especially that part with the Sky Ball of Death. Bonnibel knew she needed to get to the bottom of this, but that would either involve forcing the vampire to leave her comfort zone before she was ready or leaving her alone, both ideas out of the question. The young scientist was growing less certain that the older woman would flee the moment the opportunity presented itself, but she knew she was still having minute breaks from reality, and Bonnibel needed to catch those as well, both to study them and to help ease her mate through them.

So what wins out? Solving an intellectual-type puzzle or being an emotionally supportive mate?

It was weird knowing what her answer used to be, knowing why it used to be that, and knowing now why it was a problematic one. In the old days, a mere couple of months ago, Princess Bubblegum wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have instructed the half-demon to wait obediently in their room, maybe even instructed the ward to keep her there if she was feeling particularly sadistic, under the pretense that it was For Her Own Good. I would have argued that getting to the bottom of this was paramount to her recovery, as the more time lapses the harder the mystery will be to solve. She tapped her finger on her desk, lost in thought. But… recovery isn’t so linear. It may bring both of us comfort in the knowledge, but I understand now that I can’t dismiss her emotional and psychological scars.

Or that one around her neck, Rechte chirped.

Yes. That. But she’s not ready to talk about that yet, and I’m not ready to push her. The pen was withdrawn from her mouth. I cannot shake the feeling that although Marcy is involved in this she isn’t the cause. While the simplest solution is usually the correct one that’s a proverb, not a hard rule.

So… what? Wrong place, wrong time?

I don’t know. Odd how it was getting easier to admit those three little words, at least in the privacy of her own thoughts. Not yet, at least. Now it was the pen’s turn to be tapped against the desk. It may be harder to solve this mystery the more time passes, but it’s still possible. There’s ample evidence. But the longer I allow Marcy’s health to drag out the harder it will be for her to heal until it becomes impossible… until those wounds, all of them, turn into scars that I can’t soothe for her. She needs her mate more than she needs this solved.

And you should probably see what happened with her convo with Phoebe, huh?

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Butterbrittle, I almost forgot about that. Do you think she’s back by now? She turned, searching for a clock, didn’t find one, and scowled. Why are there so few clocks down here?

Time’s not real, Bon.

Her mental glare resulted in a mental smirk. Not today.

Everyday.

Her deep sigh turned into a quirk of her lips. The voice in her mind may not be the real Marceline, or even the real Rechte, but she reminded her so much of the woman she abandoned. Please don’t misunderstand me, Rechte, because I value your company… but how long do you plan to reside in my sub-conscious?

Odd how she could feel the mental shrug. When it happens, you’ll know.

Cryptic, but did she really expect less from her trickster of a mentor? And that’s what she was, really; a representation of that small part of her that vaguely understood what it would take to be a better partner, and a better person. For now that answer would have to be enough, and she closed all three notebooks before rising. Alright. It was time to go home, and with a quick flick of the monitor’s power button the screen darkened and her lab coat was shed, freeing her from the quandary within. There would be no sense in tidying the lab; she knew where everything was, and there was no one who would even be able to enter the spacious labyrinth of a room. Not with the security system in place, which housed so many traps and means of destruction that only an immortal woman capable of surviving almost anything could traverse it.

Of course, she didn’t need to anymore. In the old days the security system was always online, except when the princess herself needed to reach her lab or purposefully allowed guests in. Otherwise none were spared, not even Marceline. But time had turned her mind, and in the musician’s long absence she had modified the security feature to accept a drop of Marceline’s blood as proof it was her wanting access, disabling the system and allowing her safe travels. It had taken a long time to update the old system, and longer still to get over the sickening sensation, the mental images of all the burns, cuts, bludgeonings that the singer had to have had to endure just to spend a modicum of time with her younger lover.

Bonnibel had had a lot of time to herself to think on things.

She crossed the lab’s passage in quiet contemplation, thinking not only of her next move but of all that had happened so far. The journey, then, was quick, and she exited so lost in thought she almost missed the vampire dozing on the bed, a small poodle tucked under her arm. Except to remove her shoes she hadn’t changed at all; it seemed her conversation with the mortal princess had taken a lot out of her, and Bonnibel hoped that wasn’t a bad thing. Removing her own shoes, Bonnibel gently eased herself on the bed, watching Marceline nap. Her right arm was tucked under her head, as if she had forgotten what a proper pillow was. She was almost hanging off the bed, shirt ruffled, and the princess couldn’t help but nudge her back on the bed. The jostling didn’t stir her but the zombie poodle, who opened his eye, lazily wagged his tail at the sight of the young scientist, stood up, yawned, and licked his person’s face.

“Ugh, Schwabl… let me sleep, little guy,” Marceline grumbled, slowly rousing from her pseudo-slumber. When she heard a soft giggle behind her, coupled with a familiar heart head, she turned over her shoulder. She tensed, suddenly very awake, and for a moment Bonnibel couldn’t figure out what could turn her admittedly restless lover from dozing to anxious in a matter of seconds.

Then she remembered one of Princess Bubblegum’s many rules: No dogs, or any other animal for that matter, on the bed. Feeling only contempt for Past Bubblegum she reached out to rub the small dog’s ear. Schwabl, evidently sensing no danger, laid back down. Well, more like plopped back down, watching the two immortal women half-heartedly. Surprisingly, it was enough to calm the vampire, that silent reassurance that everything was fine and she wasn’t in trouble. What did I do to you, Marcy? But she didn’t ask that. Instead she asked something much more productive, something less hurtful. “How was your conversation with Phoebe?”

Marceline turned back to staring at the small canine next to her, reaching out to stroke his belly as he helpfully rolled onto his back in a silent demand. It was so much easier to talk to him than to the princess, even if she was technically talking at him at to her by proxy. “It was… nice. Nice to see her.” She fell silent, and Bonnibel tried to think of something to ask that didn’t seem like prying, something innocuous. As it turned out she didn’t have to. “We… I told her about what happened. You know, with…” Oh yes, Bonnibel knew. “She… I dunno.” A strong exhalation. Why was this so hard? “She doesn’t think I can get over all this junk here by avoiding it all.”

Bonnibel felt herself grow cold, but didn’t contest the claim. Mostly because she had made it before. Of course, when she had made it it was different. Who knew what context Phoebe meant it in? “Did she have an idea?” The tone was kept as conversational as possible, but this was dangerous territory. Only a few days ago Bonnibel had learned how close the two were, but what they did together remained a mystery. What they knew, what they talked about… all unknowns. She hated unknowns. It was what made her such an effective scientist.

After a pause, Marceline nodded. “She thinks all this… that I can’t…” Why was this so hard? Again the thought crossed her mind. But she knew why. “She thinks that the answer or… I don’t know, whatever it is in the Nightosphere. She said…” How much did Bonnibel know? Was this betraying Phoebe’s trust? No… Pheebs would be okay with this. I’m not spilling anything. “She said that she couldn’t, like… come to terms with herself until she learned what it meant to be her. She thinks that’s what I need to do.”

It bothered Bonnibel how much she was agreeing with her fellow elemental recently. “And what do you think, Marcy?”

Marceline fell quiet then, and for several long minutes the princess feared that she had pushed too far somehow. “I mean… it makes sense, I guess. I don’t want to become Lady Evil ever… but you said you met her in me, right?”

Oh yes. We all are quite familiar with Lady Evil. “Yes. She was part of you, and quite a large part at that.”

“...She wanted to be Lady Evil in real life, didn’t she?”

And I promised to train you to that end. “Yes, that was her intention. To kill the rest of your psyche and come back herself.”

Marceline shuddered at the idea. “...Yeah. That’s what the dweebs said.” When a pink hand came to rest on her shoulder she found she didn’t hate it. This was gradually becoming less surprising to her, so much so that she found her own hand unconsciously reaching up to cover it. The sensation of her cool skin coming in contact with the warm skin under her was gradually becoming more welcome. “So… I guess some part of me wants to be Lady Evil? I don’t know…”

A daring move, but- “...Maybe some part of you just wants to learn more about yourself, and both who and what you are?,” Bonnibel broached gently.

Marceline’s frustration manifested in pitiful squirming, her hand stilling on the small dog’s belly. “...Yeah. That’s what she thinks, too. I guess a lot of this wouldn’t have happened if I knew me better, right?”

Bonnibel gave her a small, sad smile. “Marcy…” She brushed an onyx lock behind her ear. “This isn’t your fault. You know that right?”

“But… it makes sense, in a warped sort of way. If I knew me better…” Her thought trailed off, only to be picked up anew. “If I knew what I was I’d know what I can do. Maybe… I could control everything then. Not just my pows, but why I’m like the way I am.”

You mean wonderful, loving, loyal, and a mischievous little punk-rock imp? “What are you thinking?”

“That… you and the dweebs can try to make this better all you want, but like… I can’t get your spasms out without finding the source, right?”

“Are you going after the source?”

No no no no no- Her chest tightened, and she was suddenly so happy she didn’t have a beating heart unless she wanted to. “Yeah, she nodded. Otherwise you’re all trying for nothing, and something like this could happen again. Maybe not you putting the amulet on me, but… something.” Now she pulled away from her precious pet, rolling onto her back to meet the piercing green eyes above. “...I think I need to go to the Nightosphere, Bon.”

The princess nodded. “I agr-”

“And I want you to come with me.”

Chapter Text

Despite being nothing more than an illusion, Time is the most valuable resource imaginable. However, like everything else of importance its subjective worth exists in inverse proportion to the amount available. For mortals with semi-definite life-spans Time is valuable because more of it cannot be acquired, except by bending and bashing the natural order of things. Even in the bizarre world of Ooo mere mortals could only cheat Death for so long before he would come looking for you, but they were not the only ones under the metaphysical gun. Even cosmic entities in mortal form such as Finn knew Time as precious, because while his consciousness seemed quite keen to reincarnate he himself had only so many decades on the planet before expiring, and so any dreams or goals for himself must be accomplished within that set period of Time or else not occur at all.

Of course, not even all mere mortals experienced Time in the same subjective worth. Jake and Jermaine, Finn’s dear older brothers, were finite beings as well, but their species aged differently than the human; while Finn still possessed the mind of teenager both of the Dogs were already psychologically adults. As the passage of Time seemed slower for the younger the two furred siblings would never be able to appreciate the concept in the same way as their baby brother, even if they were chronologically of similar ages.

Time is had always been difficult to conceive of, even for those wisest. When Jake had been growing up he had thought that he understood Time quite well, but after the birth of his pupsters it had gone all wonky, for he had not understood what would happened when his species’ version of time met his girlfriend’s. He had anticipated a decade or more of adventures in raising his puppies, only to find that they were all adults in a scant few months, soon forming lives and children of their own. Although thrilled with his growing family he had and would always feel that pain of being robbed of an experience he had been so certain of. But then, that was the curse of mortality, to always assume you have more of a resource than you do.

It would be folly, though, to assume that only mortals fell into this trap. Bonnibel Bubblegum, who had grown up fiercely independent and as the sole provider of his brother, had a lifelong habit of taking Time for granted, for her hubris assured her that she could and would always control the circumstances within and surrounding her life. It meant that nothing happened to or around her without her permission. Even among candy people she was unique in that she could manipulate her own biological age by adding or subtracting to and from her own biomass, allowing her to be any age she wished, choosing to remain on the cusp of 19 due to the allure of the vitality of youth and the desire to stay close to her own mate’s biological age, despite the latter’s assurance that she couldn’t care less what age Bonnibel chose to live as. Because this age manipulation prevented Death from claiming her in old age it made her effectively immortal, so long as she avoided getting herself killed, a task Marceline took with deadly seriousness.

Yet herein lied the rub; because Finn, Jake, Jermaine, and all of her other mortal friends had life circumstances decided for them they could appreciate what few resources were available to them more. They had less Time and so knew its true worth, whereas Bonnibel had lots of Time and never thought of its price. Only when it was suddenly robbed from her in great amounts - perhaps most notably the two times she almost killed Marceline - did she remember that she wouldn’t always have the freedom afforded her, that even the rich could be robbed and left penniless, that she may be able to lead a life of eternity and decadence, but nothing promised it would be pleasant. She hadn’t learned that lesson in her first eight centuries of life, but now, and only now, were growing pains making sure she never forgot.

Then again, Marceline Abadeer was unique when it came valuing of Time. Across all cultures for as long as there was a culture to think of it people had desired immortality, but here was a woman who had it thrust upon her and wanted nothing to do with it. Unlike Bonnibel, Marceline knew that immortality, the possession of literally endless Time, didn’t mean squat for happiness because she knew first-hand that happiness was never guaranteed and that nothing was ever fair. Endless Time was a burden and nothing more because it was everything around her that made her grotesque pile of Time worthwhile. Without her friends, her music, her mate, what was the point? And so she guarded it all fiercely, often with little regard to her own safety. After all, that wasn’t her priority, her priority was keeping her miserable existence palatable, because insanity was the result of having too much Time and nothing to spend it on. Her birth and brief stint as a mortal had taught her what it meant to have finite resources, but her living a thousand years with those resources now infinite had taught her a harsh lesson: Time was something she could only spend on herself . If Bonnibel or Finn or Jake or Phoebe were killed her own immortality wouldn’t save them, and she would be left alone with her nightmares.

Oh yes, Marceline knew all about Time, not just from living through the apocalypse, and not just from watching everything and everyone she loved be killed and destroyed again and again. Her very existence was entrenched in the annals of Time, for being Endless was part of her very being. In public, and even in front of Bonnibel, she liked to blame her vampirism for her despisal of the concept of forever, but her deep-seated hatred for the desire for immortality went well-beyond the bite. No, its source came from the Nightosphere, a pocket dimension she could resist for long but never ignore, and never forever. It was a land of chaos, fear, and confusion, its very existence a legend among legends. There were hundreds of worlds in the multiverse, but few even knew its name, and only half a dozen individuals knew why it existed in the first place. It was a unique landscape, but perhaps most unique of all was that Time stood still. Events happened, demons were born and died, but Time was paralyzed. Even Hunson Abadeer wasn’t immune to this effect; one moment he was leaving his infant daughter in the hands of his mate to check in on the office, and then that same moment his mate was gone, his daughter a young woman lost in a destabilized and horrific world.

If both father and daughter were honest with themselves they would admit that their perverse relationship with Time was something they both shared. After all, Marceline had to have inherited her broken internal clock from somewhere; even her poor circadian rhythm that dictated that she sleep when tired and be awake when not while giving no further guidance was a side-effect of prolonged Nightosphere exposure, including genetic exposure passed down through her father. Though the two never spoke about it Hunson was well-aware that as she got older his daughter was feeling herself drawn more and more to the pocket dimension, but would never stop resisting. Contrary to her belief he didn’t actually like it this way; ideally, she would come to him willingly so he could have The Talk they should have had hundreds of years ago, but when that had failed to happen he had stooped to tricking her and, well, everyone who was anyone knew how well that had turned out. But Hunson wasn’t just immortal he was Deathless, and so often suffered a Bubblegum-like problem of forcing his subjective value of Time on those around him. He cared not for the demon subjects he had absolute domain over, but watching his own flesh and blood mangled from the amulet he drew much of his power from, power that should never be able to actually hurt her by virtue of their shared blood, had put everything in perspective for him. And so, when her cool friends - and the pink gum woman - had come to reclaim her he had let her go, not knowing if she would return.

And now, without his knowledge, there sat Bonnibel and Marceline on the soft pink bed, a scant two weeks later.

“You… want to go back to the Nightosphere?”

A quiet nod.

“And… you want me to go with you?”

Another nod. Sometime after Marceline had voiced the idea she had fallen silent, perhaps rendered mute by the enormity of the words she had uttered. She had said the words, looked away, then curled up in the younger woman’s lap when the candy golem sat on the bed next to her. She was tense, a storm of emotions raging inside of her only calmed by the gentle hand stroking her hair. The other hand had reached down and laced fingers with her own, preventing the vampire from clawing at herself in frustration, because somewhere along the way her mode of absent-minded self-mutilation had changed from ripping open her own cheek to tearing at her flesh. Bonnibel wasn’t sure why, but at least this was easier to stop. All she needed to do was put her own skin between Marceline’s talons and the tearing would stop and yes, it was a bit manipulative, but better the young scientist use her immunity from the half-demon’s wrath to protect the older woman than to leave her to her destructive urges. Instead of leaving her to herself Bonnibel redirected her thoughts, running her warm thumb over the cool wrist in her gentle capture, listening to the older woman’s breath as it began to steady in tempo with her own heartbeat.

Marceline hadn’t even asked about the results of the candy golem’s research in the Grasslands; she had just blurted the words out the moment she was sure Bonnibel was listening and then immediately shut down. This was not an outcome Bonnibel had expected of her lover’s private conversation with Phoebe. She had kept her promise to not spy on the pair but thought she had had a pretty good idea of what the chat would be about: her, Marceline’s thin grasp on sanity, maybe her strange throat wound or the Grasslands Incident. Had they talked about the conversation the two elementals had had with one another a few days prior? What had brought them to this point? But there was no way to ask any of this tactfully, and more to the point Bonnibel didn’t want to push her mate into opening up before she was ready. Even vocalizing her duel desires to return to her homeland willingly and with Bonnibel noless seemed to have taken a lot out of her. For now the princess was content with providing silent comfort and reassurance.

“...I don’t think I should go alone.” Well, at least they could both agree on that. Not wanting to interrupt what she hoped was an actual train of thought and not just nervous mumbles Bonnibel lifted the grey hand clasped in her own, giving it a soft kiss. It worked. “I just… I don’t think…” She sighed, closing her eyes. “It brings out the worst in me, you know? If something happens… Finn and Jake and Pheebs… they can’t stop me. You could.”

Even as she said those words Marceline stiffened, almost making it a point to look anywhere but at her lover. There was something more to that thought, more to that idea. Her sagged shoulders, the way she seemed undecided as to whether she wanted to be curling into or away from the princess, the fang piercing her lip, these were all symptoms of something else brewing below the surface. “What do you mean?,” Bonnibel asked gently. Her arm came to wrap around the older woman’s thin waist. Something in her voice, some soft waver, told her that this wasn’t about the queen’s not-so-hidden violent streak.

Marceline exhaled, deciding on a new position now: flipping over to curl into the younger woman, nuzzling into her abdomen. She was faintly aware that her residual anger was being pushed further back by some other unseen emotion, something like relief or shame cobbled together, a representation of how happy yet embarrassed she was that, even now, after everything, the younger woman could calm her so effortlessly. “...You still have silver, don’t you.” Now it was the vampire’s turn to make statements rather than questions, to plead rather than accuse.

...She wants the answer to be ‘yes’. What have I done to you to make you prefer this method of controlling your inner demons? How did we get to this point where you’d ask me to use such a horrible method as a first response? “Marceline, no.” No to every part of that thought. Every single part of it. Bonnibel ignored the queasy feeling brewing in her stomach, channeling the unintended guilt trip into something more productive, turning the older woman’s face to meet her eyes. “Absolutely not. I destroyed every bit of my stores and banished every conceivable form of it from both my kingdom and territories. There is no more silver here.” Marceline turned away. “...Did you really expect me to keep some after all of this? After my promise?” The hurt was there in that question, asking whether or not this was some sort of sick test.

The half-demon rolled back to her side, no longer facing the scientist. “...No,” she whispered honestly. “I was just hoping…”

That stake in the heart again. “Marcy, why would you hope that?” The arm tightened around her waist unconsciously, a silent plead to not run from this. Because that’s exactly the type of thing Marceline would do exactly in moments like this: run, because it was better to run from Bonnibel than to fight her, and after centuries of having to face accusing eyes and pointy words this had to look a like a battle was about the commence, one Marceline knew she couldn’t win. But this isn’t a fight. Please see that.

The musician closed her eyes, tense, every coiled muscle demanding she do just that. But where would she flee to, even if she had the strength to leave? ...No. Phoebe’s right. I never know when to run or fight. Bonnie… she doesn’t sound like she wants to fight. Exactly what it did sound like she didn’t know, but that seemed like a mystery beyond her grasp at the moment. “...’Cause it’d stop me.”

We’re going in circles. The thought was accompanied by a mental sigh, not of frustration but of uncertainty. Knowing that her lover was perhaps one stitch away from falling apart Bonnibel pulled her closer, free hand rubbing soothing circles over her stomach. “Are you that worried about what could happen there?” There was no response, but that in of itself was all the affirmation she needed. “Marcy… please look at me.” After a small beat of hesitation Marceline shook her head softly, making it a point to stare off and into the wall as if it held the answer to whatever dilemma she was suffering through. Are you avoiding looking at me? There was a clue in there somewhere, but the scientist had bigger problems at the moment, and that was breaking her lover’s mental preoccupation with a very dangerous train of thought. “I won’t let anything happen to you, but I’m not going to use pain to control you. You don’t need to be controlled.”

“You saw the Citadel. I totalled, like… a third of it,” she mumbled, eye closing. A shift in her mood swings was peeking over the horizon of her mind, but something foreign seemed to be driving it back, even if it did seem to be at the cost of a bad headache brewing. Not that she was complaining; it would be a nice change of pace to keep a consistent mental state for longer than a few hours. “What if I totally lose it and I’m not me anymore this time?”

Bonnibel said nothing at first. She only held the vampire against her as best she could, rubbing soft patterns over her belly as she watched the musician struggle against some unseen force. What did Phoebe say to you? But that toxic thought was stopped before it could even be a frown; she may not like the younger elemental, but it was clear that the fire princess felt nothing but affection for the queen, and even the candy golem couldn’t imagine she had said something to inflict this level of existential anguish. No, there was something else at work here, something deeper and more profound playing with her lover’s psyche like a toy. “Marcy, you don’t need to be controlled,” she repeated. “Pain isn’t the answer. You’re already in pain. It’s what we’re trying to stop, remember?” She ran her fingers through the thick onyx hair before her, trying to find some way to persuade the vampire to open up without risking like she was giving an order or anything else aggressive. “Sometimes,” she began carefully, “in order to heal a wound you have to open it up again to try all the bad stuff out. Sometimes when you just let something heal on its own it doesn’t do a great job of it ‘cause it needs some help. I think that going to the Nightosphere to find what’s there is doing exactly that, and I’m going with you.” That last part was emphasized. “While it’s true that it brings out the worst in you it does so by feeding on your dominant emotion. Right now it’s obvious to me that would be your despair. I support your decisions, but please understand, Marcy… I can’t let you go there in this state of mind. Please… let me help, and once things have calmed down we can head out.”

Marceline curled into herself, as if such an action could ever hide her vulnerability from Bonnibel. “...You wouldn’t get it.”

She didn’t see the kind smile behind her. “That’s true, I might not. You’re going through something profound and unique. It’s a situation I, admittedly, cannot possibly fathom. But that’s not going to deter me, and I think you know that.” When the vampire nodded weakly, still unmoving except to hide from reality by curling into herself even tighter in the vain hope it couldn’t find her the candy golem developed a hunch. “...Does this have to do with what you told me earlier? That you still slip out of reality in little ways? Is that why you’re worried you won’t be you anymore?”

“...Don’t be mad.” Please. It was a desperate whisper, and by the change in the half-demon’s tension it was evident she was preparing to actually run this time, that she was done toying with the idea at those three words, not spoken but whimpered. It was, to say the least. What could possibly have happened in her mind to make her believe that after everything Bonnibel had done so far to prove herself she would ever be mad at her mate for being ill? It was heartbreaking just to consider as a hypothetical, but to stare at it laying woefully in her lap was almost unbearable.

“Marceline, I promise, I won’t be mad.” Why would you ever think that? “Please… tell me so I can help you. My only goal is to make sure you recover. Everything is to that ends. I promise, I will not be mad or anything else so-” ridiculous absurd ludicrous “-cruel.”

Without either woman realizing it Marceline had found the one bare patch of her arm and now, despite how small the easel was, the vampire had made deep wounds. Dark blood trickled down, and by the way the muscle underneath twitched it looked that she was actively resisting healing the gashes. Instead she was digging her talons in deep and dragging slowly, as far as she could. It hurt, sure, but it was a good focus, a way of grounding herself. At least, that was usually the case. Now? Now it did nothing to stop her breathing from becoming erratic, or spare her from feeling her chest tighten.

About the time Bonnibel realized Marceline was digging her talons into her arm, about the time she separated the two appendages, covering the claw until it returned to the form of a hand, was about the time Marceline broke. With the ebb and flow of her moods turning more into an ‘ebb’ than a ‘flow’ the fight was once more drained out of her. If Bonnibel was going to kick her out of the room into the sunlight - and why wouldn’t she? - the vampire supposed that was fine. At least it’d be over then. “...I don’t think you’re here.”

The heartbreak was so great it was amazing it didn’t possess a physical form. But it was enough to still the candy golem, to cause her to tense to the point of freezing. Only a whispered word from Rechte, a reminder of how terrified Marceline was of something steered her back to the task at hand: creating a safe and nurturing environment. “What do you mean?” Even Bonnibel wasn’t strong enough to keep the waver from her voice, and sensitive grey ears picked up on it immediately. The older woman immediately made to run, entirely misunderstanding the terror implicit in those four words as budding anger, but one gentle arm wrapped around her waist pulled her back. Sure, it meant that Bonnibel had lied about never restraining her or preventing her from running again, but this time she felt justified. But… I’ve always felt justified in the past- No. None of that. I’m a different person now, and she really could get hurt or killed like this. She’s already bleed- “Hey… it’s alright,” she soothed. “It just startled me. Can you tell me what you mean?” And how long you’ve been hiding this?

You ever maybe think she’s disassociating right now?

It hadn’t, and she cursed herself inwardly. But what triggered it? Phoebe?

It doesn’t really need a specific trigger, Bon. You’re doing an awesome job of putting her back together, but her mind’s donked up. It’s gonna turn against you first ‘cause you’re probably the safest spot for her. You remember all those times Finn was a kid and he’d get himself hurt, but he’d go right back to the exact thing that hurt him without meaning to? It’s like that.

Ignorant to the second mental curse Bonnibel berated herself with Marceline considered her options. She could tell her lover, but she really didn’t want to. What choice did she have though? At least it would grant closure, allow her to come to terms with this ending. She sighed in defeat, but was no less tense for it. The burning of her arm helped to keep her thoughts steady.

“I remember…,” she began cautiously, terror gripping her soul. “...Being in that room. Everything hurt there. I don’t remember why. I don’t wanna remember why. But it hurt… and I remember it was silent. And alone.” Her eyes closed tightly, and though she could not remember the images themselves she remembered the associated emotions; the fear, the guilt, the pain, the self-loathing, the dejection and, above all, knowing she had failed at something important. “Sometimes… you were there. It was nice then. Like having you back… I could never talk to you, but you’d talk to me.” Behind her eyelids tears begun to sting, but she was too lost in her memory to realize that she was being moved, being drawn into a tight and loving embrace. “I don’t really remember about what. Science, I guess. But… if I tried to see you you’d be gone, and I’d be alone again. You’d come back… but it’d be a long time.” She squirmed, but the embrace didn’t loosen, not that she was in a place to even notice it. “So… I just…” She trailed off, unable to continue, enjoying the last vestiges of warmth before she knew she would be ejected from the room for lying. For misleading Bonnibel, for not telling her everything. Lying, especially by omission was a sin, and she had felt Bonnibel’s wrath from doing it before. It was alright, though. She knew she did this to herself.

Bonnibel was stunned into silence, quite a feet that, in any other circumstance, Marceline would have surely relished in. Too many thoughts were racing in the candy golem’s mind, even for her to parse through. As she searched for a mental thread to begin with she stroked down her mate’s hair, keeping her close to her now admittedly erratic heartbeat without realizing it. Her mind turned, flying through recent memory after memory, putting together strings of thoughts and ideas. Yes, it was beginning to make sense now, all of those times Marceline had been speaking to her without looking at her, acknowledging her indirectly but not directly. What she had previously dismissed as a bizarre quirk was, in actuality, a symptom of a severe disassociative episode, expertly hidden because… why, exactly?

“I didn’t want to lose you again,” Marceline whispered against the unasked question. “I’m sorry.”

It was too much like when she, Finn, and Jake had broken Tyrant out of her prison; the way the Baddie had apologized for nothing, the way she had looked remorseful for no discernible reason. Actually- ...this is exactly like that. Rechte?

Sup?

When we first opened The Room within Marceline’s mine, didn’t Finn and Jake mention feeling weird?

Yeah, I think they described it as ‘all joy and happiness having been drained out of ‘em’?

This was beginning to make sense now as well. The sense of despair in The Room had been building up not from the physical torture the embodiment of loyalty had been subjected to but the mental anguish of having the illusion of her lover ripped from her again and again, from the guilt of believing she herself was the cause. When the three had finally managed to free her Tyrant hadn’t looked at Finn or Jake, even as they were freeing her, something Bonnibel had attributed to her fixation on Unifier and Navigator as her jailers and her thirst for vengeance. But… they were hiding right behind me and she avoided looking at me as well. In fact… she didn’t even look at me until I purposefully put myself directly in her line of sight. She seemed so shocked. She nodded silently to herself, replaying the course of events in her mind’s eye, slowly as to not miss any details. No matter how much it burned her soul. Yes, that’s when the boys said her aura dissipated. I had thought it due to the surprise of having not seen me in so long… but she was actually…

Even Bonnibel couldn’t finish that thought. Even at Princess Bubblegum’s worst the torture Lady Evil had inflicted was unconscionable. Tyrant had suffered more than she had ever indicated, certainly more than she had ever planned to indicate, that much was becoming obvious. And now Marceline, Whole Marceline, had realized that she needed to return to the Nightosphere to face her proverbial demon, and some great part of her remembered exactly who and what that demon was. The timing is just too perfect. To have a disassociative episode so fixated on not driving me away by encouraging her to take me with her on her journey… no, the timing is just too perfect. Had Tyrant’s torture chamber been designed that way purposefully? Was all of this an elaborate set up by its creator to drive Whole Marceline back into the Nightosphere should her mission to return alone fail? Was this one of Lady Evil’s schemes? I had always been a part of her plans, wittingly or unwittingly. Even if she was reluctant to hurt me she showed no remorse for hurting any of her counterparts. Was this a failsafe, should her Whole self fail to live up to her plot?

No way to know now, but I wouldn’t put it past her. The wad didn’t seem like the type of person to leave anything to chance. I know she liked Phoebe, but I can’t see her bankin’ on her convincing her whole self to go down to the place she hates most, ‘specially with you.

Yes. It’s more likely she’d go alone unless she were given proper motivation otherwise. This is sick, even for her.

If it’s true. Could just be bad timing. Happenin’ a lot lately, you know? Then again… it’d make sense in a messed up sorta way. She said Tyrant was the only one of ‘em that stood any chance of beating her one-on-one, and it’s a pretty good motivator if you think about it. I mean, what better way of making sure she goes all out in protecting you from Usurper and everything else than driving her ultra insane?

Even in her mind, Bonnibel seethed. And whose side are you on exactly?

Even in her mind, Bonnibel felt the mental shrug. Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m your subconscious, Bon. So what does that say about you?

The mental exercise would have to wait; Marceline was beginning to tremble, the first sign of an imminent panic attack, her first in days, and Bonnibel was not willing to break their winning streak. For now and for the conceivable future the vampire’s health and safety would trump everything. “Hey…,” she began softly, cupping the singer’s cheek. “I’m right here. I know you may not be able to understand that right now but I am. I’m not leaving ever again. You don’t need to look at me if you’re not ready, but in the meantime I’m just going to hold you and keep you warm, okay?”

“...Are you mad?” The whisper was so soft the candy scientist almost didn’t hear it, but the melancholy was just too much to miss.

“Of course not, Marcy. Why would I be mad?” Only now was she realizing that her queen hadn’t pulled away or squirmed from her hand, and what a fantastic sign that must be.

“...Because I should have told you.” But those weren’t her words. Bonnibel knew, because they were her own, echoed from mere months ago. They were an admission of guilt, but also the repetition of the outcome of so many lectures and diatribes; that Marceline wasn’t allowed to have secrets, wasn’t allowed to run, and wasn’t allowed to protect herself.

But if this isn’t a sign of trust, what is, huh?

Disgusted with herself and eager not to let that show - because Rechte was right and her smug tone betrayed that she knew it - Bonnibel kissed the top of her grey forehead. “This is a wound, and you were just shielding it from potentially more damage. That’s all. If you’re not sure I’m real it’s no wonder you didn’t tell me before. I am here, though, and I’m going to keep you safe. Thank you for telling me, Marcy. It means a lot to me.” Both arms wrapped around her wounded lover, pulling her closer, just in case the thought of turning into a bat and flying away crossed her rattled mind. No, they most certainly were not making the journey to the Nightosphere with Marceline in this state of mind. Even anger was preferable, at least Bonnibel had experience in- manipulating -working with that, and in the pocket dimension it could even prove useful. But this state of mind would leave the older royal too vulnerable and, if she were anything like Tyrant at the moment, she wouldn’t hesitate to needlessly sacrifice herself to protect the princess. Which was the literal opposite of the scientist’s intended goal. “This will pass soon,” she promised. Marceline only nodded before settling closer, because the younger woman might be an illusion but her warmth wasn’t.

Soon that same warmth was beginning to lull her into a doze, not true sleep but enough to let her body relax and let some deeper part of her let out a few traitorous tears without her consent. They were wiped away by someone who wasn’t her, but exactly who it was would be too much to figure out; it felt like her mind was growing numb, her thoughts muffled to the point of uselessness. Instead of pushing against the emptiness she was grateful for the touch, easing into it as she felt the tremble overtake her in full force, then gradually fade. It took her energy and understanding of where she was with it, and there was an almost crippling nausea and powerful headache in its wake, but there was also a secure arm latched around her to focus on.

For almost twenty minutes the pair stayed like that, Marceline too deaf from the inside out to hear the soft reassurances she was being given, Bonnibel too disenchanted with the world not to give them. Then the cotton from Marceline’s mind cleared and at least she knew where she was, could name what she was touching and feeling, physically at least, and wasn’t that what mattered? Well, that and the soft voice murmuring about something unimportant, something about science or the stars or something else that sounded reassuring because her voice sounded familiar and reassuring. In fact, it sounded like- “...Bonnie?”

The voice cut off mid-sentence, then laughed softly. “Aw… sleepy little bat.”

Okay, maybe she did sound a little sleepy, but- “...What happened?” Despite her own nervousness Bonnibel sounded calm, and that primal part of the vampire that called her ‘mate’ and not ‘girlfriend’ found that reassuring, and it must have shown in the way she uncurled haltingly, in how her eyes had dilated past her pained state, and in how her claw marks had finally begun to heal.

All of that was encouraging, but how much to reveal? All of it, Bonnibel supposed. Carefully. “You almost had a panic attack. You had a little bit of a disassociative episode, and you fell asleep for a little while. You’re alright now.”

Even that was too much. “...Wha?”

One arm slid out from under the vampire, lifting her chin so their eyes met. When she felt no resistance Bonnibel gave her a genuine smile. It seemed the attack had passed without becoming full-blown, and if that wasn’t a victory Bonnibel didn’t know what was worth celebrating. Crisis averted. “It’s alright. How do you feel? Do you remember anything?”

Marceline shook her head, pulling away and sitting up just long enough to bury her face in her lover’s chest. “M’head hurts… but I think I’m okay. I don’t really remember…” She trailed off, trying to force herself to. It was involuntary, done even though she knew it was best not to force trauma, no matter how small, to the surface before it was ready. That was part of the problem, though; it became impossible not to think about something once you were told not to think about it.

Fortunately, the voice by her ear was more firm than the one in her mind. “That’s alright. When you’re ready you will.” The ear was kissed and the half-demon growled softly, feeling it twitch. Knowing that the candy golem had done that on purpose, knowing that she just wanted to see her flush and react so strongly to such a simple gesture. Knowing it worked. “You mentioned before your nap that, after consulting with Phoebe, you’ve decided to go back to the Nightosphere and that you want me to come with you. Is that still true? Because I’d love to-”

The reassurance wasn’t necessary, and the queen was already snuggling back into her princess’s embrace. “No… I mean, yeah.” That certainly made sense, or at least sounded familiar. “She thinks I can’t get over everything until I find out what it means to be me. Mom…” A sigh. “Mom was from Ooo before it was Ooo. I can’t go there, but I’ve lived in Ooo for a thousand years, so probably as good as I’ll get, but I don’t really go to the Nightosphere except every few decades for a couple weeks.”

Bonnibel nodded. “Yes, I see. Your father isn’t just a demon he’s the Lord of Evil, and because you’re not as familiar with that half of your heritage it could be having a profound influence we’re unaware of due to its subtlety. In order to confront it, we’d have to go there. Do you know what we’re looking for?” The hopeful tone was kept out of her voice; the last thing she really wanted after her lover’s near-psychotic episode was to feel pressured to perform. Is she even capable of stage fright? It might be an odd time for such an irreverent thought, but it relieved some of her mental pressure.

Marceline shook her head before returning to her comfortable position. “Nah… not really. Though I’m gonna guess that since it’s got to do with dad it’s probably in the Citadel…” Her groan was muffled by the ample chest she was buried into. It helped. “I don’t want to talk to him about this.”

The scientist stroked down her hair with her free arm, entwining their fingers with the one still lodged. “I know, Marcy. We’ll make it abundantly clear that this has nothing to do with you wanting to take over his station. We only want to find out the answer to the mysteries surrounding your demon heritage.” And I’m sure after what just happened two months ago he’ll understand. She assumed. Hoped. Marceline bobbed her head before reluctantly pulling herself away. If she had met Bonnibel’s eyes a second time perhaps she would have noticed the surprise there that the older woman hadn’t contradicted her about taking over her father’s job, that the scientist hadn’t been accused of manipulating her. You’re starting to believe me that I’ve changed? She resisted smiling only by dint of will and knowing this was the worst time for any gestures representing joy. Even Marceline was being serious.

“Some of it I get. I know how soul binding works, and I’m cool with that since it picked you. I know that sometimes I have a white flame instead of an orange one if I get really stuffed off, but… I can’t really make it come out. It just does, and even Pheebs said it burns mega hotter than anything she’s seen. I know that’s where my bloodlust comes from, even if I can’t control that either. And that’s it. Dad never really told me much about the Nightosphere except that he rules it and he wants me to, too. I don’t really even know a lot about being a demon except killing things, ‘cause that’s a lot of fun.”

Bonnibel nodded along thoughtfully, ignoring that delightful part wherein her beloved indicated that she was perfectly content having her soul bound to the princess. It just didn’t seem the time to draw attention to it, even if she could hear Rechte snickering from the back of her mind. “Yes, I see. There does seem to be a knowledge gap, and it does stand to reason that the Nightosphere is the place to start.” With one more brief forehead kiss the candy golem pulled away and stood from the bed, knowing that if she stayed much longer than journey may never truly unfold. “Why don’t we have a discussion with your father? If he proves less than cooperative perhaps some other sector of the Citadel will prove fruitful.”

Marceline gave a half-shrug. “I mean, there’s the library…” When those piercing green eyes noticeably brightened she gave a sad smile. “Sorry, Bon. You can’t read any of the books. It’s not a rule, they’re just not written in anything you’d understand.”

If anything that had her more intrigued. “I wasn’t aware the Citadel had a library! Are the books written in demonic? Is that what it’s called?” After all, how often was she going to receive a lesson in demon culture that didn’t stem directly from pain, bloodshed, and mental trauma?

Another half-shrug. “I mean… that’s not what it’s actually called, but I can’t pronounce what it’s actually called… so that’s what I call it?”

How interesting… now that you mentioned it, Navigator mentioned writing in it when we went to confront Lady Evil... “Can you understand it?”

The vampire turned her head to the ceiling, wondering if she possessed the ability to phase through it. “I can read it and write it… I can’t really speak it though, and listening to it kinda gives me head cramps.” She shook her head at some unknown memory. “When you and I stopped talking for awhile I went back to the Nightosphere and ran into one of the few demons I don’t wanna gank. His name’s Naxal, really old dude. Almost as old as you.” At the soft huff Marceline smirked, encouraged. “He’s pretty okay, but he said that since I had nothing better to do dad should make sure I could at least read and write like a demon.”

Bonnibel watched Marceline’s smirk, the near-affection in her eyes, her relaxed posture. Her almost-normal breathing. How this was the first time in their entire life together Marceline had ever spoken positively of any demon that wasn’t her father, and even that was reserved for special occasions. “I never knew that you were cordial with other demons.” After all this time, learning something new about her mate’s life still struck her in awe. She would never stop appreciating how, even now, after six hundred years of friendship, the older woman could still surprise her.

Marceline shook her head. “Eh, just him and a couple others that I sometimes jam with. Nax isn’t totally lame. Doesn’t have a problem with you, thinks the whole thing’s stupid. I bring him stuff from Ooo when I go back to the Nightosphere. He likes to make stuff, and finds real-world crud… I dunno. He just likes it.”

A demon I didn’t even know you were on pleasant terms with was able to persuade you to learn demonic. That was impressive, and some powerful part of her wanted to meet this strange man. “Would he know anything about this?”

Marceline rolled her eyes. “He’d probably tell me to get off my perfect butt and go read something. So, you know. Library.”

If anything this had the princess even more fascinated, and she resolved to have Marceline teach her this language once the dust settled and she was safe and mentally whole once more. Probably right after she interrogated the vampire as to when and how she saw fit to learn German. For now, though, that would have to wait, because the half-demon was beginning to look to be in better spirits and, more importantly, was beginning to share information she had until only now been hiding. “Well, we can make that our second stop should Hunson prove less than cooperative.” Ignoring the soft, sarcastic ‘hooray’ from the bed Bonnibel turned to her wardrobe, lost in thought.

Marceline raised an eyebrow. “Uh… where you goin’, Bon?”

“I’m going to change. I don’t particularly feel like traversing the Nightosphere in this dress.” She laughed softly at a memory that, only now, she was finding humorous. “When we went the first time you actually lectured me on my fashion sense. You implied that I was making myself into bait.”

The response was soft and hesitant. And unexpected. “...I didn’t think you remembered that.”

That jolted Bonnibel back to the present and she looked over her shoulder, the light turquoise shirt and lilac jeans she had been removing now hovering partway out of the wardrobe. I didn’t think you’d remember that either. Nevertheless- “I do. You were right, and I choose to heed your warning now as well. I’m safe with you, but fighting in your condition is a last resort.” When she turned back to the wardrobe she began to disrobe, not seeing the furious flush behind her, or the vampire turning her head just a little too slowly to be called decent. “I have no doubt you would win, but there’s no sense straining yourself unnecessarily.” After retrieving one final garment she turned back to the musician, curious about that light blush but not bold enough to call attention to it. “Are you almost ready?”

As Marceline watched Bonnibel slide on the letterman jacket she tilted her head, strapping her bass to her back. “Yeah… are you?”

It was an odd tone of voice, but then Bonnibel supposed the half-demon must have odd feelings towards the jacket that had previously been her own, especially coupled with the mental psychotic episode she had just experienced. After all, Tyrant had given it to her, and that one action had somehow cemented itself in her mind as her giving it to the princess. Are there other memories from that journey that have influenced you like this? Sure, Marceline may be disassociating and having painful memory lapses, but so far this had proven the one part of her journey that had some real-world ramification that didn’t involve any overlap, memory wrinkles, pain, or any discomfort at all. It was an odd thing for her mind to select, but there was no time to dwell right now. It would have to wait. “Yes. It’s quite comfortable, and it still smells like you. I’m not sure if demons can be scared off by such things, but-”

Marceline rolled her eyes as she floated off of the bed. “Chill, dork. You don’t have to justify wearing a jacket.”

By now she was even beginning to sound normal, and it bolstered Bonnibel’s confidence. Only if you really knew her would you catch the waver in her voice. In all honesty Bonnibel wasn’t actually wearing it to scare off demons, though that did provide adequate cover apparently. It was a reminder to herself, because just as the Nightosphere brought out Marceline’s rage and sorrow it brought to the surface the princess’s slowly-turning-latent sadism. It was a weapon, and one she had no intention of aiming once more at her still-hurt lover. The jacket, given to her by the part of her mate’s psyche she was forced to kill, whose body she felt turn to ash in her arms, wasn’t meant to scare demons into behaving. It was meant to remind herself of what happened and what could happen if she didn’t behave. It was Bonnibel’s reminder to herself of what she was capable of, and who this was for. But it wouldn’t do to draw attention to that detail, and so she cleared her throat, feigned indignance, and slid on her matching purple shoes that had been thrown to some corner. “Yes. Well. Let’s gather the necessary supplies. I know I have chalk in my laboratory, and I’m sure Pep keeps bug…” And then she trailed off, realizing that Marceline was looking at the wall wearing some weird emotion. “What?”

Only now tearing her gaze back to her mate, head rubbing the back of her neck in a betrayal of how uneasy she felt, grinning sheepishly. “...Promise you won’t be mad?”

Yes. But you don’t need to know that. Now a pink eyebrow raised. “Mad about what, Marceline?” She let a warning tone slip into her voice, just a very light one that bordered on playful.

Nonetheless, Marceline squirmed. “...We don’t actually need the bug milk and circle to get in the Nightosphere.”

Pindrops. Pindrops everywhere. “...Pardon me?”

The half-demon sighed. “I mean… I never told the dweebs we needed that stuff to go into the Nightosphere, just to summon dad.”

“So you omitted a vital detail… because?”

Marceline avoided her pointed look. “I mean… come on, Bonnie. You know the dweebs. If I told them I could go whenever I wanted…” She shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “Finn’s chilled out a lot, but when he was a kid he totally would’ve tried to go there to mess some demons up. That’s my deal, and he’d probably get himself hurt or lose another arm. Especially after that thing where I left that demon outside of the castle with the stick up his-”

“Marceline, don’t be distasteful,” Bonnibel sighed.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

Before she knew it the princess had returned to her side and was cupping her cheek, and before she knew it once more Marceline was leaning into that gesture, eyes closing. “Though that does explain how you’ve been getting to and from the Nightosphere these past few centuries. Sometimes you’d leave at a moment’s notice.” She raised her eyebrows at a sudden realization. “In fact, when you returned from the Nightosphere the day we left for it you did so seemingly from nowhere. I hadn’t thought about it before, but there was no reason for you to appear as randomly as you did unless you didn’t require outside aid. You’re free to come and go as you please, aren’t you?”

Despite the lack of accusation in her voice Marceline’s skin prickled with anxiety. “...Yeah. Kind of. In a way. Dunno why. I don’t even think dad can do it.”

Fascinating… “Do what, exactly?”

With a sigh that may as well be a groan Marceline pulled away from Bonnibel, retreating to a safe distance on the other side of the room. “Just… wait there.”

In that moment it was all so familiar. The stance, the left hand reaching out into the air, touching nothing, or at least nothing that the untrained eye could see. The vampire stayed that way for long minutes, eyes closed, neither saying anything nor moving a muscle. No until her right hand came up and tore across the open air. Suddenly there was a disruption in the room, something so familiar Bonnibel may as well be back in her lover’s mind, standing before the twisted Tree Fort. So that’s where Rechte and Linke… “Did you just tear a hole in reality within the confines of our bedroom?”

“...Kinda?”

It was stunning, even if Bonnibel dare not stare into the gaping maw too long. “How?” Legitimately stupefied, that was all she could think to ask.

Marceline understood her intention anyway. “To be honest, I don’t know. I just… feel it. I can’t do it a lot though. It takes a lot out of me. I’ll use the bug milk trick if I wanna go right to the Citadel and don’t care if dad knows I’m coming, but…”

“...You want him to know on your terms.” Fair enough. “Well. This is a surprise.”

A silence that bordered on uncomfortable fell between them, and Marceline refused to let it gain a foothold. “...We should go. You first, so I can close this thing behind me.” As the princess approached the portal she heard a mumbled, ‘be careful, okay?’ and couldn’t help but smile, issuing a silent promise that, unlike last time, she would take no unnecessary risks. And so, just as Rechte had taught her, Bonnibel crossed the threshold into a world of madness.

And then there they were. It was a world where Time stood still, so it was no wonder that nothing had changed since the princess’s last visit mere weeks ago. The ground, hard, black, and unyielding, was tinted red with the dried blood of perhaps thousands of demons. The bright red sky seemed to glow, glaring at the world below. Great spires rose from the earth where Bonnibel knew the most cowardly of demons hid from those who would have no qualms against devouring them whole. Monsters surrounded her, some tall and with entrails exposed, some small and fleeing from her presence, for everyone knew at least of the young scientist, even if few had seen her personally. After all, demons were terrible gossips, and Hunson’s daughter choosing a candy golem as a mate had been the talk of the proverbial town for hundreds of years.

Bonnibel closed her eyes as she felt something stir within her, something she had spent months now resisting. It was the urge to ‘feed the fire’ as Marceline once put it, of loathing for the tinier demons that fled her very presence like curs. It was the rush of power of knowing that even if her mate chose not to become Lady Evil she was still one step away from being Alpha Demon, perhaps the most powerful being in the dimension, even moreso than her father. A being who, under the right conditions, was wrapped around her little- No. Stop that immediately. You know better now. Do not let this world corrupt your mind. You must stay strong for Marceline. Do not forget why you are here, Bonnibel.

As she wrestled with her natural predilections the portal closed behind her, a welcomed presence hovering behind her. Unlike Bonnibel Marceline didn’t give her would-be homeworld a second glance. Why would she? What did she have to fear? She had an impossibly sharp axe, ferocious temper, fangs, claws, and a slew of superpowers at her disposal. One bloodlust- No. Not now, Marceline. Keep it together. It seemed that in place of the depression she had experienced moments before had been overwhelmed with another emotion, providing an adrenaline rush she had forgotten she sorely needed.

Evidently the princess noticed as well, noticed claws that were once hands, noticed the slitted eyes and elongated fangs. She had seen all of this before, but this time she was not intimidated. When her hand came to rest on her queen’s shoulder a garnet eye shot to her, but the vampire otherwise didn’t relax the coiled muscles posed to strike or shift into something grotesque and frightening. Deep in her heartguts she knew a monster of her own was opening an eager eye. A monster that encouraged her to use the long onyx hair she loved to braid as a leash. “Calm down.” It was a firm tone, something almost commanding that almost startled even her.

But not Marceline. No, the abrupt change had influenced her as well it seemed, her rage bubbling to the surface. Were she in Ooo, were this even half an hour ago, such a tone from her lover would have caused her to recoil, would have triggered a flood of scarring memories. But not now, because the rules of the Nightosphere were different, and while some part of Marceline snarled at the restraint she was being effectively ordered to obey a different, more primal part was just so thrilled to remember what it meant to be more than a mentally scarred child. “Muss ich?” Her smirk was dark.

Later, back in Ooo, Bonnibel would fully appreciate that not only had this marked the first concrete evidence of Marceline’s trilingual abilities in general it would also be proof of her fluency in German specifically, a language she hadn’t known they shared until The Tragedy. She would also realize her accent was almost perfect, a sign that she had been practicing. “Yes. You’re still recovering and I hate seeing you in pain. You know that.” Yes. Good. That’s acceptable, Bonnibel.

“I dunno, Bonnie. Maybe killing something would make me feel better?” Yep, makes perfect sense to me.

“Vielleicht, aber noch nicht. Wenn du gut bist. Oder provoziert.”

Marceline snorted, but didn’t argue. It wasn’t common for Bonnibel to switch to German unless she was In Serious Mode. Besides, it was more or less permission to kill something if the opportunity presented itself. It’d be cathartic- Wait… wha? Something about that word snapped her out of her aggressive fog.

The disposition change caught Bonnibel’s eye, but if anything it only increased her own version of aggression, triggering something not unlike a protective desire. Is this what you feel when you think I’m vulnerable? It would certainly make sense; in a long string of recent role reversals it was Marceline’s turn to need protection, no matter how she might thrash against the idea. Bonnibel knew she herself may lack claws or fangs but it wasn’t a stretch to assume she was the most intelligent woman alive, dead, or otherwise, was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and had at least three weapons of destruction hidden on her person, snug inside her letterman jacket. Some part of her, where she imagined her version of Rechte lived, wondered if Marceline would appreciate being presented with the corpse of something that had tried to harm her. I’ve always been on the receiving end of such an offering.

Probs should keep it that way. This is getting weird, Bon. Don’t go down this rabbit hole.

Yes, Rechte was right, even in her own mental haze Bonnibel knew that. Her role, reverse or not, was to be the guiding hand Marceline needed in daily life, and if she didn’t need it now more than ever, when? Her thumb absent-mindedly traced the threading of the jacket she wore.

See? Easy, Bon.

With a deep inhale and forceful exhale Bonnibel nodded in silent agreement with the voice that lived in the back of her mind. “Alright. Ready, Marcy?”

“Yeah. I’m good,” she said, like a liar.

Bonnibel frowned, stepping in front of her path. “Hey,” she said delicately. “It’s okay. We’re both feeling weird, but we’re together, okay? If someone starts something you can kill them or however you want to handle it, but don’t go after anything, alright? I was serious about not wanting you to suffer any more than you have, and if I’m correct your mood is swinging back to anger, right?” When the slitted eyes glanced away it was all the answer she needed. “Yeah, I thought so. I know it feels really good in the moment but it takes a lot of energy out of you. You know that.”

“I just wanna kill something. I don’t even know why,” Marceline mumbled, flushing just enough to be noticeable.

“I know. I have… similar urges.” She cleared her throat. “But we have something very important to do. Remember?”

Marceline sighed. “Yeah. I know.” With one nod towards the Citadel looming in the distance the two started off. Despite her haphazard guess the musician hadn’t actually been far off from their goal. She had picked just far enough to not immediately raise the attention of any of the demons that frequented the Citadel, or any waiting for an audience with Hunson. Not that any of the demons in The Pit of in line would have dared given up their coveted spots by drawing her attention.

Besides, if one did try she’d have a perfect excuse to eviscerate them.

“Do you have a plan once we reach the Citadel?”

Marceline shrugged. “Either we corner dad or we head to the library. Why, you got a preference?”

In fact, she did. “It might be more prudent to meet with your father first. While I’m sure the library would objectively prove quite fruitful I cannot assist you in searching for answers there, and while I do not doubt your abilities it’s quite a burden.”

“So… what? You hope he just tells us everything? Not gonna happen, Bon.”

“Oh, I know. But it will give us some indicator of where to look.” No sense wasting energy in either of our conditions.

Marceline snorted. “Well, you’re the brainlord.” The cracking of bones followed, the tearing of flesh and sinew. Muscles expanded and contracted as the half-demon’s body warped, grew fur and sprouted wings. Amongst the quiet of the pocket dimension the sounds seemed to echo in direct contempt for physics. Bonnibel watched with clinical attachment as her other half mangled her own form to that of a giant bat, the same form that the Usurper had said ‘just feels right’. In retrospect it was no surprise that Marceline had seen fit to change shape; her rage had been reflected in a woman whose favorite trick was shape-shifting, and it was her rage that was budding now. Once her party trick completed the half-demon whipped her head to the candy golem. Were they in Ooo, were Bonnibel’s mind not as tainted as her lover’s, it would probably react with revulsion at the sight of the great bat. It had, after all, been the same form the Usurper had used to destroy her faux home, and even Rechte had asserted that the scientist couldn’t ignore that she herself needed to heal. But that would be for later, because without any word of permission the bat was scooping her up.

“Why a bat?” Bonnibel raised an eyebrow, allowing her knees and back to be supported.

Marceline grinned, mouth full of fangs. “I want them to see me. I want them to know.” With a great flap of her wings the singer took to the sky, soaring above the would-be assassins looking to make a name for themselves at the cost of the princess’s head. Resting her head against the bat’s fluffy chest Bonnibel watched them scurry like vermin, saw as the stupider ones were eaten alive by the demonic fire that she had since learned was sentient, if not sapient. A fitting punishment.

Bon.

I know.

Yeah, but do you? She could feel Rechte’s frown, but didn’t respond.

“I’ve missed flying with you, Marcy.” Sentiment from a woman whose detachment from morality, temporary as it was, dulled her sense of empathy. It made it no less sincere.

“I’ve missed flying with you, too.” There was a pang in her voice, a surprising one at that, at least to Bonnibel, even if her heart matched it. It stirred something in her and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sense of freedom flight afforded more than the view below. Marceline held her tighter and she smiled a genuine smile, one untainted by the dimension’s ruination. All too soon she felt the older woman land and, reluctantly, she opened her eyes and slid from her arms.

As Marceline resumed her normal form Bonnibel surveyed the area. Her queen had seen fit to land in front of the Citadel’s entrance; given their trajectory she had to assume that the bat had purposefully flown within the line of sight of The Pit and Endless Line, most likely to send a message that she was back and unafraid. At least, that’s what the glares surrounding them said. Marceline snarled back and the smarter demons, the ones without a death wish, averted their gazes, shuffling their feet at having been reminded of who exactly they were challenging. But then there were the younger ones, the ones born after the last time Marceline had gone on a killing spree. How long ago was that? Did they have any personal experience with her queen’s wrath?

Evidently, Marceline had considered this as well and found the answer unacceptable. Her glare turned to a small huddle of snickering demons standing at the edge of The Pit. They were hideous things, a gang of green thugs, some with claws, others with pincers. One particularly large one held an armful of stones, and judging by the bruises on several of The Pit’s victims they had been their victims as well. When the tallest of the group, a humanoid with size arms, double-jointed and ending in sickles muttered something that the rock holder found particularly amusing Marceline smirked. “You got something to say?” Despite the venom in the question it was uncharacteristically quiet.

Were the demon intelligent he would have turned away and made himself scarce, just as all but two of his friends had. Instead he tilted his head, eyes briefly glancing to Bonnibel. “You’re the heir, aren’t you? Marceline?”

The queen raised an eyebrow at the snark in his tone. He wasn’t exactly intimidating; he was lithe, and judging by the curve of his spine he could turn quadrupedal in the right circumstances. His head was bare, quite unusual among demons, who often had horns or at least tiny nubs that pretended to be horns. His tail was thick and reptilian, and Bonnibel wondered absently if it was cumbersome or had a practical application, like balance. Though she supposed she was about to find out. “Aw, you’ve heard of me.”

“Yeah, we just didn’t know you wore a collar. You know, like a pet.” The demon looked over his shoulder, perhaps expecting support. Instead he received only some curious stares, some horrified shakes of the head. It didn’t deter him. “So what brings you and your mistress to grace us with your presence? Did you really level your house?”

Marceline watched him with her own head tilt. “Let me guess this straight. You know who I am, but you’re seriously starting stuff with me? For real?”

The demon shook his head. “Don’t be so-”

And then Marceline was gone, having vanished in thin air. The creature’s four eyes blinked, even as his friends began to scatter. With a smirk Bonnibel began the mental countdown. After all, Marceline did love disappearing before tearing things in half. Ein, zwei, drei, vier-

There was a soft noise, almost indiscernible. And then there was blood, soaking into the ground, pieces that were once bodies littered on the earth like waste. All but one of the group lay in tatters on the ground, unrecognizable. Flesh had been rended, exposing the muscle beneath. The cacophony of cracking filled the air before a second body was dropped in The Pit, white and black bone sticking from the skin of a now unrecognizable corpse. She reappeared briefly once more, just long enough to sever the tall traitor in half at the abdomen, watching as he collapsed into three smaller demons in response to the trauma. Even as they were still in shock two were flung by some unseen force, one against the Citadel’s wall, the other into a rock. The former was the lucky one; if his cracked skull, half-caved in from the force, he had died instantly. The latter, however, landed neck first and lay on the ground twitching. Whether or not he was alive was no concern of any witness, for poised above them Marceline’s axe was drenched in their lifeforce, in her claw the one surviving demon.

“You know what this is? This is me being gone for awhile and you all forgetting who your alpha is. This isn’t about my dad, or me being the Nightosphere’s heir. This is about The Law of Bigger Than You.” Her claw tightened and there was the disgusting sound of the demon’s air being forced from its lungs. “This about you morons forgetting that I can do this all day, all the time. It’s fun for me! So here’s the deal.” Her axe lifted, pointing squarely at Bonnibel’s chest. Even without looking she’d know the location of her heart, always. “Mine. You got me? No one messes with her, and I get to choose what counts as messing with her. Next time this is worse. Next time one of you pulls that you all die. Got it?” She turned to the still-living demon. “Go.” And then he was dropped. And kicked. Where he landed she didn’t know and didn’t care; she stalked past Bonnibel, claw returning to a hand as she took the pink one in her own.

Behind them, silence.

A soft, mirthless laugh followed as Bonnibel allowed herself to be guided inside. “Fühlen Sie sich besser?”

Marceline stopped abruptly, as if snapped from a stupor. “I do. Wait… what happened?” Without meaning to she glanced over her shoulder, but a soft tug of her hand pulled her forward once more.

“You just killed four demons and almost tore a fifth in half. It was very sweet.”

“...Huh.” Now under the threshold of the Citadel, pulled along by her mate, the fog was beginning to lift. Maybe I just got it out of my system? No way she was thinking too much into that, no way at all.

Yet whereas Marceline was beginning to feel herself return to some sense of normality - or what passed for it lately - Bonnibel only felt her own haze thicken. In the back of her mind she heard a soft voice urging her to do something, or think of something, or some sort of action, but it was annoying and easy to ignore-

BONNIBEL.

Or… was. Was being the past tense. But the mental shout* had the intended effect and successfully snagged her attention. Rechte!

Yeah. Me. Still here. Are you?

Of co-

You sure about that? Rechte sounded exasperated with the entire situation. ‘Cause all I see is you slipping back into old habits.

Marceline was only-

Uh uh. Nice try. You know she’s unstable right now and you encouraged that behavior anyway. Not cool, Bon. You’re better than this. This is just like what happened in the Thorn Gate.

Perhaps because the chastisement was in the voice of her mate, or perhaps because she knew it came from her own sub-conscious, Bonnibel sighed. Sighed, but didn’t necessarily agree, because deep down she had liked watching Marceline kill in her name, had missed the thrill of seeing-

You see what this is? This is the part of you that’s attracted to Lady Evil.

This time it was Bonnibel’s turn to stop short, inadvertently pulling Marceline with her. ...What? , she whispered. In her mind she sounded small.

Rechte’s tone softened. Bon, I know you’re repressing this but you gotta face facts. This part of you still exists. You can try to suppress it, but it’s totes still here, and when you were in Marceline’s mind this part of you liked the wad, remember?

Absolutely not.

Come on, be real. It’s just me in here.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Rechte sighed. You’re not gonna heal until you face facts. Your lover girl wasn’t the only one scarred by all this. You were, too. She’s gotta face herself and you gotta face yourself.

“Bon?”

Snapped back to reality, Bonnibel was met with Marceline’s concerned expression. “Oh! Yes, Marcy?”

A frown. “You were just staring off into space. You feeling alright?”

Am I? Yes, she decided. Yes she was. “I’m alright. I had forgotten how profound the Nightosphere’s influence can be. Though, it’s strange…,” she frowned, looking around the entryway with sharp eyes for something unknown.

“The whole place is. Kinda the point.”

“No, not that. When Finn, Jake and I were last here to retrieve you the influence wasn’t this powerful. At least, not to me.”

She had meant for it to be an absent musing, an important curiosity to be answered at a later date, but it had the unintended effect of making Marceline turn away from her, and by the time Bonnibel’s attention returned to her companion the vampire’s was already far away. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m here,” she whispered.

“Absolutely not. That makes no sense.”

“Nothing makes sense here, Bonnie. There’s no other difference, right?”

Technically untrue. “It could be for a number of other reasons. Finn and Jake acted as a natural deterrent to my previous mindset, and it’s entirely possible that without them here-”

“Or we just feed one another’s dark sides too much.”

There was heartbreak, actual legitimate heartbreak in those words and all at once the latent sadism budding in Bonnibel’s mind was throttled, that protective streak surging to the surface once more. Technically Marceline could be right, and in the old days Princess Bubblegum wouldn’t have hesitated to acknowledge it. She knew better now, though, she knew that if she did so it wouldn’t validate that hypothesis as a hypothesis , it would validate it in Marceline’s mind as right. Ultimately, what the exact cause was was inconsequential, at least for the moment. It was a mystery she would need to solve for both her own mental health and that of her mate’s, but now was neither the time nor the place. Bonnibel had a mission, and letting self-doubt morph into self-loathing was not part of it. In fact, it was the very opposite, and it spurred her to reach out and take Marceline’s hand. “No, Marcy. Look at how we are.”

When Marceline failed to look at her Bonnibel cupped her cheek, directing her gaze instead. “We’re not at each other’s throats, I’m not trying to manipulate or hurt you, and all you did was kill-” some vermin “-several demons who, inarguably, started the fight themselves. As you yourself have recognized morality is relative in the Nightosphere, and we both know that any insult to or about me can escalate to a murder attempt with little notice. You’ve calmed down, and we’ve both at least begun returning to our senses. Whatever is at play here is a problem for a different day.” Marceline bit her lip, the sharp fang easily piercing the soft flesh, but didn’t look away. Even if, she realized, she totally could, because Bonnibel wasn’t restraining her she was guiding her to focus on something that wasn’t self-destructive: that they were together and they were themselves, and that was all that mattered.

Freedom felt weird, almost sick and wrong. Or maybe that was just her anxiety talking.

“I know, Bon… it’s just…”

Now the soft smile, the one that belonged to Bonnie and not Princess Bubblegum, returned and Marceline felt tension she wasn’t even aware she was experiencing fade. “It’s alright. You don’t need to explain anything. Maybe once we speak to Hunson he’ll be able to illuminate us as to why this time is so different.”

“He owes me answers,” the vampire growled, temper stirring.

“Yes,” Bonnibel nodded. “He does.” Perhaps emboldened by their proximity, or a subtlety of the Nightosphere’s influence, the princess did the unthinkable: she trailed her hand from the grey cheek it had been cupping to the sensitive ear it neighbored, lingering behind it as her soft nails traced the edge. In Ooo she would never have attempted such an intimate gesture, not so soon, maybe never again, not without explicit permission. But here? Now that she was aware of her latent sadism and what it was doing to her specifically it was becoming easier to fuse that domineering urge with her newfound protective streak, dampening the mental stranglehold she once yearned to have over the half-demon. Nightosphere or Ooo, crown or no crown, Bonnibel Bubblegum was a possessive woman and she knew, knew in her heart of hearts that Marceline belonged to her and her alone. That was a boon, but it came coupled with the burden of making sure that the older woman stayed intact, stayed alive and happy, and sometimes it took unexpected gestures such as tracing her pointed ear to interrupt the cycle of her self-destruction. By the beautiful sight of slitted garnet eyes dilating, of elongated fangs returning to their normal size, it seemed reasonable to assume that at least some part of Marceline understood this as well. “Good girl,” Bonnibel soothed, withdrawing her hand. “Feel better?”

Marceline flushed first because of the nature of the contact, then again out of embarrassment for how well it had worked. Unable to trust herself to speak in a coherent sentence she nodded. Some part of her hated how much she had enjoyed that, and it was quite loud in demanding she never let the younger royal touch her like that again. But that part was small and easily ignored, outmatched by other parts of her that seemed almost relieved by what the musician belatedly realized was a sense of normalcy. While Bonnibel had never been as physically affectionate as Marceline herself she had never shied away from accepting her lover’s tenderness, and was not adverse to the idea of initiating it herself in the right circumstances.

This just marked the first time the ‘right circumstances’ had occurred since The Tragedy.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled in her finest act of denying reality.

Bonnibel laughed softly, something soft and affectionate, taking her hand once more. “I know you are. Come on.” WIth a matching smile and a light tug Marceline found herself pulled down the hallway leading into the Citadel proper.

Just like the rest of the Nightosphere nothing had changed at all since Bonnibel’s last visit. Well, except for the part that a little over a third of the building was now a pile of rubble, not even cordoned off. There just was a Citadel, and then abruptly there was a pile of stone, or whatever it was Hunson’s castle was made of, she wasn’t sure. By how strongly Marceline averted her gaze the candy golem knew that this must have been what everyone had been referring to when they had mentioned the half-demon wrecking wanton destruction during a particularly powerful moodswing. Even in her haze of light sadism Bonnibel took no joy in the sight.

“I won’t do it.”

It was soft. And ashamed. “Do what, Marcy?”

Without stopping the vampire nodded towards what was once the left wing of the Citadel. “That. To the castle.”

While she didn’t stop Bonnibel did, baffled. Where had that come from? “Marcy, I’m not worried about that.”

“I am.” Now it was her turn to squeeze the princess’s hand, gently pulling her away from the wreckage. Both were silent now, one traveller in contemplation, the other in memory. It was only by virtue of Marceline knowing every inch of her birthright home that the two were able to traverse without interrupting one another. She knew where all of the winding corridors led, could tell what was behind every door, all heavy and locked.

Well, almost every door.

They stopped before the largest door of all, made of a thick red wood and actual wood at that. Marceline seemed to be glaring at it, the anger bubbling to the surface once more. When the soft hand in her own squeezed she blinked, felt the animosity edge away, then squeezed back. “...I’m good.” With her free hand she knocked on her father’s office door, silently proud at her own restraint: she didn’t rip it off its hinges.

The pause was shorter than expected. Also unexpected: the one who answered it, because when it creaked open there was no tall alpha demon with an unbelievably innocent smile, there was only- “Oh come on, not you again.”

Jan yelped and backed away from the door, retreating to the relative safety of halfway into Hunson’s office. “Sir, your daughter and her legitimately terrifying mate are here!”

Not that he needed to be told; the demon’s seat behind his sheer black desk was a more than practical vantage point. “Marceline! Well, isn’t this a surprise!” The half-demon grunted her own greeting, bared her fangs in a wild hiss at the smaller demon, then snickered when she saw his recoil. As she floated into the room Hunson gave a quick glance over her shoulder, to where Bonnibel was entering far more cautiously. When he raised an eyebrow in silent intrigue she gave an almost indiscernible shake of her head: this visit was not about what she wanted to discuss with him. With a single nod to indicate the message - that Bonnibel wanted their conversation to be private - was received Hunson stood, rounding from his desk. “What do I owe the pleasure? Hey, did you see what I did with my office?”

“Uh, dad-”

Hunson waved his arm. “No no no, this is really cool, show them, Jan!” He grinned so proudly that Marceline couldn’t help but groan and look towards the crippled demon. With his own groan - this one much softer, because he wasn’t suicidal - he pointed towards the wall, covering his eye with his free hand in exasperation. The same wall where Marceline had once punched a solid fourteen centimeters deep, which was quite impressive given the absurd stability of the wall’s construction. The hole was still there. It was just surrounded by an immaculate gilded frame, as if the small manifestation of Marceline’s anger management issues was a work of art in the literal sense. “Pretty cool, huh? I’m thinking of selling prints in the gift shop.”

Marceline’s growl emerged from the back of her throat, but it did nothing to intimidate her father. “Great, thanks, dad. Not why we’re here though.”

“But this is great! Look, I even put a label!”

When Marceline failed to move Hunson pouted, but even that failed to get a rise out of her. “Dad, no.”

“But-”

“ Later .”

He sighed the same overdramatic sigh Bonnibel had spent centuries hearing from his daughter. “Alright, little monster. What brings you home?”

Pardon me? Bonnibel felt her good mood curdle at the word ‘home’, but either Marceline didn’t hear it or disregarded it entirely. Both were equally possible.

“I’ve got questions and you’ve got answers.”

“To…?,” came the genuinely confused question.

That only resparked Marceline’s anger. “What the flip I am! What the figs is happening to me! What the duckling all of this,” she gestured to the world around her for emphasis, “has to do with me! Why I can do junk like have a white fire if I get really ticked off, why I keep coming back here when I don’t want to, why-”

A gentle hand on her shoulder and her verbal assault ceased, instead phasing out into a soft growl. Even as Bonnibel took over Marceline never took her eyes off of her father, who only watched her thoughtfully. “Please understand, Hunson. Finn, Jake, and myself have been doing everything we can to help Marceline recover but every setback we’ve had has lead back to the Nightosphere in some way. Marcy has already decided never to take over your station, but that doesn’t seem to have made a difference and her healing remains hindered. The simplest answer seems to be that the Nightosphere isn’t just a location… that it’s part of her somehow. We need to know how, or if we’re even on the right track. She needs to get better, so we’ve come to you to ask for your help. Please.”

At some point in her lengthy explanation Hunson’s gaze had turned both solemn and away from Marceline to focus on the princess. Somehow, despite no visible change to his facial features, he seemed almost saddened. With a deep sigh he turned to the only member of the room still cowering. “Jan, reschedule whatever appointments I have left today, then go home.”

Jan stared at him, temporarily stunned. But only temporarily; soon he was giving a double thumbs up before retreating from the room, because no one ever got half-days from Hunson Abadeer. Marceline watched the maimed, pathetic thing hobble off, waited for the *click* of the door closing, before turning back to her father. “What is it.” Hunson continued to watch Bonnibel as if trying to read her soul without tasting it, before looking to his daughter, his one child. Now his innocent smile wasn’t so innocent. It seemed almost regretful.

“Alright, little monster. I hope you’re not too old for story time.”

Chapter Text

“Before me there was nothing, and before there was nothing there were monsters.”

Story time had begun as Marceline had always begun story time when she was a child, in the good old days when she both lived with Simon and was alive enough to enjoy it, ignorant of the destiny woven into her soul. She would lay on her belly, listening attentively, imagination running wild. Except this time she wasn’t a child, nor was she filled with wonder or amazement for the world around her, all too-aware that this story was less a tale of whimsy and more of a history lesson long coming. For that matter she wasn’t a small girl either, but rather a great bat, having been unable to control her growing aggression except by taking the Usurper’s favored form. She was listening attentively certainly, and her imagination was already beginning to run wild, but while Simon always filled her head with delight there was nothing her father could tell her now that would ever bring her joy. Really, it was just a matter of how angry she would end up being and what exactly she would do with that rage. Who would get maimed or killed in the process. If she would even care when all was said and done.

In contrast, Bonnibel never really got a ‘story time’ as a child. Sure, she read herself stories, and she had a dirty secret of reading an honest to goodness novel at times when she was truly ill, but no ‘story time’ in the sense of something make-believe read to her to fill her head with glee so that she may appreciate the brief suspension of disbelief that was the inherent ability of youth. On the contrary, this was very real, her mate was very agitated, and the princess had seen fit to nestle herself against the bat, stroking the thick, plush fur as she leaned against it, a comfort behavior for both women, something reassuring despite its twisted nature. It was obvious to her that Marceline was trying very hard to keep it together, that the influence of the Nightosphere was encouraging her fury, so Bonnibel allowed her hand to trail higher every so often to stroke her soft ear and down her neck. In the normal Ooo these would be highly intimate gestures at best, an assertion of authority at worse. Now? Now they were a subtle reminder to the vampire that whether she wanted to do this alone now was inconsequential: Bonnibel was here to support her, and when the dust settled she would appreciate that truth. By the fact that Marceline was tolerating the gentle strokes, allowing them to happen even, seemed to add credence. Whereas the queen was almost glaring at her father for reasons unknown Bonnibel only watched intently. After all, despite the lamentable circumstances how often did one get to hear tales of how the universe began from a being of incomprehensible age?

Hunson Abadeer was no fool. He could literally sense his daughter’s fury crackling in the timeless atmosphere of his home, but he didn’t blame her for it. How could he blame her for his own failure as a parent? If she had spent more time in the Nightosphere as a child maybe she would have grown accustomed to its influence and gradually become inoculated against it, or even learned to use it as a source of power, just as he had. Now, though, after everything, it was no surprise that Marceline was rebelling so hard against both her homeworld and, by extension, him. And it was no surprise that this confliction was beginning to exasperate all of her mental trauma, manifesting it physically just as his chaos amulet had mutilated her neck. And yet… as much as Hunson still distrusted the candy golem he couldn’t deny the obvious calming effect she had on his only child, and despite his dislike for her he was grateful for it. Ideally, he and Marceline would have had this talk centuries ago, alone, where she could have the time and space to process the information in a safe and supportive environment. Ideally he wouldn’t be telling Bonnibel any of this at all - that would be Marceline’s decision - but if her presence was vital to his daughter’s own than so be it. And so he watched them, a look of pity expertly hidden behind a facade of calm collectiveness.

“It may be hard to believe, but this was even before my time. GOLB, Orgalorg, a few other guys… they were around before there was nothing. They all had different ideas for how ‘reality’” - emphasized with finger quotes, of course - “should be interpreted. It’s… really awkward to explain, but it’s a lot like fighting over how a project should be completed. Until everyone is on the same page it’s just a pile of plop, without any purpose or function. Eventually these guys reached an agreement on what reality should be, and that agreement itself became what’s called the multiverse, which is… well, it’s every dimension of every world in one fun-sized package. You can’t see multiple universes unless you know what you’re looking for, even those that are filled with life. Some are hidden by design, never meant to be stumbled across.” Especially this one.

“That makes no sense,” the bat muttered, only stilled when the hand rubbed her soft ear. It was a given that none of this would make any sense - this was brainlord territory as far as Marceline was concerned - but her grunt was more of an expression of frustration, rather than misunderstanding in of itself.

Bonnibel raised an eyebrow, waiting for the bat to settle. “They, these monsters… thought about the multiverse and all that is held within, and then it just… was?”

Hunson nodded, glad that at least one of them was taking this conversation seriously. Even if it was the wrong one. “Pretty much. The multiverse and everything in the multiverse exists because all of those dimensions have things in them to think about how they exist. In fact, everything alive or undead thinks about it all the time, whether they know it or not. Even the three of us right now! They think about themselves, their world, their reality… what makes them them, and because everyone has to exist together certain traits of dimensions are just agreed upon. Think of it like a shared reality. Things exist the way we do because… well, we agree they do.”

“Reality as perception.” Quantum physics in the most strange of applications.

He nodded again. “It’s also what makes reality itself such a fragile concept, and why such niceties as the comet and prophecy can exist. It only takes one…” He stopped abruptly and sighed, as if struck with the memory of something very unpleasant. “We’ll… come back to that. Anyway, it got pretty weird in the beginning, but the basic premise is that because the multiverse exists the way it does only due to everyone agrees reality exists everything is involved in maintaining it, whether they want to be or not. We call this specific consciousness a ‘soul’. That’s why everything sapient, even GOLB, the Lich, and everything else I imagine you both have met have souls.”

“Which you eat,” Marceline all but spat.

His smile was sad. “We’ll get to that, little monster, I promise.” A soft, sarcastic ‘hooray’ but one knowing look from Bonnibel turned it into a disgruntled grumble.

“Calm down, Marcy,” she soothed. “We won’t leave until all of our questions have been answered to both of our satisfactions, I promise.” When there were no further arguments Bonnibel turned back to her mate’s father. “So where did these monsters come from?”

His attention returned to Bonnibel and her curious tone. Even before meeting the immortal in person he had been told a great deal about her, some of it with pride swelling in Marceline’s voice, some of it in hushed tones as if she could hear through dimensional gateways. He remembered then, how the candy golem styled herself a scientist, perhaps the greatest disbeliever of magic of all realities. Yes, that’ll do for a good opening. “I don’t think anyone remembers, maybe not even the monsters themselves. We don’t really talk a lot.” The joke fell flat. Anyway. “No one knows how many universes there are, just that many are connected, though in different ways. Those of us old enough to remember all this starting called them bridges. Some are portals, or objects that can teleport a user, or maybe just their consciousness or soul itself. There are even select individuals who can tear the fabric of one reality into another, though they would need to be equally connected to both and have the natural talent. It helps if a dimension itself doesn’t have a lot of strict laws. While not a rule for every reality, Ooo’s like that. Very flexible and filled with potential!”

Marceline tensed, wondering if her father was specifically referring to her as he so casually mentioned tearing space-time apart. There was no way to call him on it though, no way at all without blowing her secret open. There’s no way he knows. He’d never be this chill about it if he did. Dude’s a-

“What do you mean by ‘strict laws’?”

While Hunson considered the best way to phrase this to the woman who considered her intellect unparalleled Marceline shot her a silent thanks for redirecting the conversation. Just in case. “Well, remember how I said that reality exists because we all say it does?” Rhetorical, an ice breaker. “Reality, especially individual universes, change flavor depending on the individuals residing in it. If a universe radically changes for whatever reason-” such as, say, an apocalypse “-its laws of reality change as well.” He suddenly chuckled, but it was so bitter and full of remorse that not even Marceline growled at the noise. “Ooo is a very different place from when I met your mother, little monster. The human apocalypse really shook up the laws of reality. It allowed a certain… elasticity into the natural order of things, allowed things to happen that would otherwise be really improbable. There weren’t candy people or magic dogs like your cool friend before then, and now the laws that govern Ooo’s reality are so much more flexible than before the war. When the laws changed new beings could take the place of old ones.”

“Forgive me… but what happened between the time you came into being and Ooo as we know it now? I feel as though there may be a few years missing.” In fact, by Bonnibel’s math, that left approximately 5 or so billion years unaccounted for. Not to split hairs, of course.

“After the multiverse became… well, the multiverse a bunch of beings that mostly weren’t all monsters got together and we all said ‘there needs to be some ground rules in order to make sure the multiverse keeps existing’. Self-preservation on an interdimensional scale. In your dimension we’re called Cosmic Beings, and we serve purposes to keep the multiverse linked. Death, a very nice pickler named Prismo-”

“The feathered dillweed.” There was ice in the bat’s voice so thick not even the warmth of Bonnibel’s touch could thaw it.

Hunson’s look was apologetic. “Yeah. The Cosmic Owl as well.”

In a preemptive strike, knowing exactly how the vampire felt about the Cosmic Owl, Bonnibel snuggled closer to Marceline, silently discouraging her from leaving her spot by enticing her with something more self-gratifying than rage. If she was pressed against her the vampire wouldn’t be able to attack her father at the implication that the humans she had literally died for were merely being ‘replaced.’ “If a dimension undergoes radical change its rules change. Has that ever happened in the Nightosphere? I notice time doesn’t seem to flow, nor does anything else appear to change.”

He grimaced at some unpleasant memory. “I’ll… come back to that.” Marceline snorted, but said nothing. “Marceline, it’s important you know about this in order to unders-”

“Just go, dad.”

He could understand her irritation, but as he watched his daughter’s mate soothe her once more he began to have second thoughts about his previous desire to have this conversation one-on-one. Perhaps the princess’s presence was more beneficial than he initially anticipated. It was, in fact, she he focused on next. “Marceline tells me you don’t believe in magic, but you yourself are directly involved in these realities shifts, aren’t you?” Was that an accusation? Or just curiosity?

Either way, she raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m wrong in my assessment?”

He laughed, an actual laugh. “Well, not necessarily. It all depends on how you think about it. Magic, science… when I was your age they were one in the same. I said that the rules of a reality warp when the reality itself warps, but it still has rules. I think humans called them ‘physics’ and thought everything that happens in reality can be explained by knowing how those laws work.”

Bonnibel nodded knowingly, with just a bit of arrogance in her voice. Right where it belonged. “Well, yes. Everything possible can be explained with science. Magic is just what someone calls something when they don’t know the science to explain it. It’s reductionist and counterproductive.”

Marceline rolled her eyes, but said nothing. She had heard the same thing repeated over and over for hundreds of years. It was nice to see some positive things about Bonnibel’s disposition never changed. Something about it, something about that know-it-all attitude just now, was almost reassuring. It was a subtle sign that the younger woman was holding it together despite the Nightosphere’s aura, it was a security blanket that at least something was normal. It was nice. “Calm down, brainlord,” she mumbled, not without affection. The princess cleared her throat but settled, once more allowing Hunson to continue.

Hunson shook his head at the exchange. Yes, the princess’s presence was definitely have a positive effect on his child. “Reality is made of a consensus, but it’s also made of individuals. Some individuals possess the ability to change the structure and content of reality on a very small scale. This is what’s known as ‘magic’. So yes, you’re right in that it has a strong relation to your natural laws, but those individuals exist that can bend reality to the point they almost break them, such as your friend dog friend who stretches. Or the four elementals who have persevered across the cosmos for billions of years, reincarnating again and again.” There was a knowing look in his eyes that wasn’t quite an accusation, but knowing all the same.

“And demons.”

There it was, and Hunson turned to his daughter, smiling apologetically. He already knew where this was going, and he was already sorry for what was about to happen. “High demons are capable of reality bending, but in order to use what mortals call ‘magic’ you need to have the natural inclination towards it, a detachment from reality, and a… drive. A painful one.”

Marceline’s claws dug into the ground and Bonnibel moved her hand to sit atop one. “Why a painful one?”

Hunson rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a good motivator. We’re a lot more willing to break the rules and try new things when we’re in pain or anguish. You don’t rock the boat when you’re happy with it. Demons by default have all three of those criteria, though everyone’s different.” And now the first blow, as he turned to meet his daughter’s eyes. “With my blood in you you already have the natural disposition to bend reality, and being a hybrid life belonging to two different dimensions gives you a detachment from both. And… well, there’s no nice way to talk about-”

Her eye twitched. “Yeah. The apocalypse. Immortality. All that good stuff I went through ‘cause you weren’t there and Simon lost his mind. I get it.”

“You’ve suffered-”

“I get it!”

Now even Bonnibel was offering the demon an apologetic look. He wasn’t looking at her though. “Marceline… you’ve got a lot of heavy burdens on your shoulders. Our curse alone-”

The piqued the princess’s interest, and her apology was immediately forgotten. “Curse?”

“DAD!,” Marceline snarled.

But Hunson didn’t heed the danger in that near-roar, too flabberghasted by the combination of his daughter’s vitriol and Bonnibel’s confusion. “You didn’t tell her?” That was genuinely surprising; even he had seen fit to tell his mate when their relationship first became serious. How long had the two women been seriously involved? More than long enough to warrant this disclaimer.

Now Bonnibel was no longer confused. She was alarmed. “Tell me what, Marcy?”

The question was asked with the utmost caution, but even as Marceline answered she continued to stare down her father. “Later,” she growled.

It would have to be good enough. Now was not the mental state to argue, that much was obvious to them both. Besides- “And… well, I suppose with all that in mind now comes the Nightosphere. And myself.” With a sigh Hunson walked to his desk, taking his chair away so that he may sit before the two royals. They would both need to hear this, and he would need to explain it, not as the Lord of Evil, but as Marceline’s father. “The first thing you need to know, Bonnibel… is that I didn’t create the Nightosphere.”

“You… didn’t?” That was a revelation if there ever was one, and Bonnibel tried to eye Marceline from her peripheral, just to see her reaction. Instead she found the vampire still intently watching her father. There was a protective glint there, one the princess had not seen since Navigator had almost challenged Lady Evil in her own office, but no look of shock like her own. What to make of that?

He shook his head at some bitter memory. “No, it was already here when I came into existence, but that’s a really long and boring story. When I came into being the Nightosphere was already here and already had a few thousand demons, but it was getting out of control. Some demons had figured out how to break into other worlds and were… well, demons enjoy a reputation for murder and immorality for a reason. I quickly discovered how much stronger I was and took it over from the demons trying to run this place, but I knew there was always the possibility that someone even stronger could come and beat me up for the Nightosphere, so… well, I created this.” He tapped the amulet at the base of his tie. Marceline turned away, visibly disgusted, though whether it was at the sight of the chaos amulet or Hunson’s story was anyone’s guess. Both were equally valid reactions. “I bound the amulet to myself so that no one else would ever be able to even wear it, let alone use it. It took a lot of time and effort but I got the Nightosphere under control to what it is today. No one leaves the Nightosphere and all of the chaos is contained so that the Nightosphere feeds itself with all the pain and confusion. But…” He exhaled forcefully, watching Marceline who, in turn was watching the wall. The wall he framed. “I saw the damage my demons could cause. Their descendents are weaker but could still wreck entire worlds up without someone to control them. I knew I could, and I was immortal, but I could still be killed…”

“...You made yourself Deathless to keep everything static.” Bonnibel had to admit, she was impressed. Both with the decision and his ability to actually conspire to make it happen.

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck in nervousness once more, a trait Bonnibel recognized as living on in Marceline. “The one who wears the amulet is Deathless. But as you can see, I run a strict dimension. Time doesn’t even change. Nothing changes. No one leaves and lives.” Finally, he looked to Bonnibel and Bonnibel alone. She had seen that look before, had seen it from other dignitaries desperate to tell her something they could not freely say in present company. Perhaps if she had missed it the course of events following the duo’s conversation with Hunson would have ended differently. Perhaps, had Bonnibel remained ignorant, the minute details would never have formed together into something not unlike razor wire. But she caught it, even if she did not yet understand the gravity of the message. “The Nightosphere needs a Lord to keep things the way they are, and being Deathless assures that whoever wears it can protect the other dimensions, potentially forever. The catch though, is that the amulet can only be bound to someone from my bloodline.”

Bonnibel’s blood ran cold as she caught the implication in Hunson’s words, what he was silently emphasizing. When the man fell silent she turned to Marceline, who turned away. Somehow that was even worse than her rage. “...Only you and your father can control the Nightosphere. If you took over as Lady Evil, it’s not that you would be invincible... it’s that you’d never be allowed to die.”

Marceline didn’t look at her, but the waver in her voice was more than enough to break Bonnibel’s heart. The stab of guilt didn’t help either as she began to realize a whole new layer the enormity of her betrayal, of her literally trying to force the amulet down her lover’s throat in a sadistic effort to force her to become the thing Bonnibel had wanted her to be. “Like I said, Bon. Greatest fear is eternity without you.” Her talons scraped against the floor and she watched them form. When a pink hand settled over her claw the talons dug deeper and her jaw set.

Bonnibel only squeezed harder, but when that failed to elicit any further response she turned back to the other demon staring at the floor. “What is the Nightosphere that it would require you to forego Death?”

Hunson exhaled, shifting his view away from the floor and to his daughter’s back. Somehow the nature of the Nightosphere itself was a pleasant conversation compared to the current one. Besides, as distasteful as it may be… She may be more understanding. Irony at its finest. “In order for the multiverse to exist… it needs people to think about it. Souls. Souls can’t be destroyed, but they can be converted to different things or places.”

“Matter.”

He shrugged, but not in disagreement. If physics made it more palatable to her than, well, there were certainly less apt analogies he had heard before. “Nothing changes in the Nightosphere, so it’s always at an equilibrium. Everytime a demon dies…,” he trailed off briefly, deliberately watching his daughter’s back awkwardly before returning to the topic at hand, “at least one new one takes its place. Usually more, depending on the circumstances. There’s never a shortage of demons around here.”

“How?” Marceline’s voice echoed strangely across the room, despite, or perhaps because of, her refusal to face either member of her family. “How many of those buttnuggets do I have to-”

Ah, yes. I had forgotten about that feud. He would never begrudge her her protective instinct. If his demons were going to pick a fight he was proud that she was ending it so decisively. “Death and I have a lot of conference calls.” When she glared at him over her shoulder he counted it as an improvement to her disposition. “How much do you know about Death, little monster?” Her grunt indicated either that she didn’t know or didn’t care. “Dead World is pretty spacious, with 50 levels. He doesn’t really tell me about his ranking system, but he likes to keep everyone organized.” Hunson shrugged. “I don’t really get it, but it makes him happy. When a sentient being dies they usually go to him by default, but he’s pretty picky if you can believe it. If he doesn’t really like someone he gives them to me.”

“He must not like many people.”

Hunson chuckled. She wasn’t wrong. “Pretty true, I guess, or he and I would have… well, that’s a different conversation. More than enough souls for everyone!,” he chirped. “Those who are truly despicable are wrapped up for me and they stay here until I say they can leave.” If I say they can leave. His smile was becoming almost disturbing.

So this is where Marcy gets it from. “And… do they have a purpose here, except to suffer?”

“Well, mostly to suffer. Their suffering fuels the Nightosphere and it’s fun, too!”

Yes, this is definitely where she gets it from. “And-”