Adventure Time Rebellion: Fight for the Throne

Chapter 43: PB's Choices (1)

A full day and night had slipped by since Finn's return to his homeland—a mere twenty-four hours, and yet the very fabric of the Kingdoms of Ooo had begun to unravel under the weight of his presence.

The people's joy was nothing short of euphoric. News of the legendary hero's return had spread like wildfire, sparking wild celebrations that echoed through the valleys and touched even the distant corners of the land. Shouts of glee filled the sky, chants rang from the mountaintops, and fireworks burst like vibrant memories over rooftops, painting the heavens with light and hope.

But amid the storm of love and admiration, Finn remained untouched by the noise. While the rest of Ooo celebrated the miracle of his return, he walked in silence, his steps light but firm as he made his way toward the Royal Pink Palace.

He stopped before the palace's massive gate, gazing up at its majestic facade. Then, without a word, his feet lifted from the ground. Rising effortlessly into the air, he soared through the glowing twilight toward the central main tower—the very heart of the palace—where Princess Bubblegum's private quarters awaited.

There was no intention of being seen. He had no desire for applause or praise, and he certainly wasn't ready to endure the tidal wave of adoration he knew would crash against him the moment he revealed himself publicly. Not now. Not tonight.

Instead, he slipped in quietly, like a ghost through the wind. The window beside the princess's forbidden room—the one barred to all except him—yielded to his presence without resistance.

Inside, his fingers glided over the keypad, entering twelve intricate digits. A code only he possessed, whispered to him in secrecy by PB herself the night before, just after the gathering with Simon ended.

The door clicked open with a soft hiss.

As Finn stepped inside, he was met with a stillness that felt sacred. The room was soaked in silence, untouched by the chaos outside. And at the center of that quiet stood a sight both serene and sorrowful—PB, lying motionless on her pink bed, her body curled in a quiet aftermath of an emotional storm, her breath shallow, her eyes distant.

He said nothing.

Only the echo of his footsteps disturbed the hush as he moved slowly toward her, each step deliberate, each heartbeat louder than the last.

Then he sat down at the edge of the bed, his back facing her, separated by only a few inches—but it may as well have been miles.

"I thought you'd come earlier," came her voice, barely more than a whisper, trembling on the edge of vulnerability. Her soft lips barely moved, but the weight of her words pressed heavily between them.

"Got caught up with something... unexpected," Finn said after a pause, his voice calm, maybe too calm. He leaned back slightly. "Looks like you didn't enjoy the wait." A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was hollow.

PB slowly lifted her body from the bed, turning just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes—usually sharp, calculating—were bloodshot and wet. Delicate smudges of blue darkness had crept beneath them, a visible testament to sleepless agony. Her face, pale and drawn, made her look almost like a ghost of the woman she usually was.

She hadn't eaten. Hadn't drunk. Hadn't moved much since he left.

She had simply sat. And thought. And thought. And thought some more.

Sleep had abandoned her. Rest had betrayed her. Her only companion had been her mind—a whirlwind of doubt, confusion, and anguish spinning mercilessly in her skull. For hours, her brilliant mind had offered no refuge, only torment.

And through it all, one truth remained: she didn't understand what was happening to her. Not the aching in her chest. Not the endless storm in her heart. Not the way Finn's absence hurt more than it should have.

"What... what's happening to me, Finn?" she asked at last, her voice breaking like fragile glass, tears welling at the corners of her eyes, desperate for an answer.

But Finn didn't answer—not right away. He looked at her instead, as if searching for something in her expression. Then, lowering his voice, he said, "Didn't have the best day, huh?"

She shook her head slowly, wordlessly. It was more than a bad day. It was emotional torture. One of the worst days of her life. A day where her thoughts had turned against her, where her pride and intellect offered no protection.

"So what now?" he asked, voice flat.

"Nothing..." she replied with an emptiness that chilled the air. "Just do what you want, Finn. I'm just another thing you own, in the end."

The words came out numb, yet their meaning struck like lightning. It was more than surrender—it was defeat. The kind that comes when even hope feels like a lie. She sat down beside him, not out of will, but resignation. She had made her peace—or tried to—with the reality that her body no longer belonged to her, but to him. The decision had already been made, and whatever illusion of choice she had once clung to was long gone.

Finn stood slowly, then took a place beside her. They sat side by side in silence for a moment before he finally spoke again.

"Guess that was rough, huh?" he murmured, softer now.

At the mention of what had happened—what he had done—PB's eyelashes fluttered involuntarily. Her head dropped further, her gaze vanishing beneath her silky pink hair, as if shielding her emotions from the world.

The atmosphere thickened. It wasn't just quiet—it was heavy, dense with all the words they hadn't said and all the pain they couldn't erase.

"There are two things you need to understand, PB," he began, his voice dipping into something colder—harder. It cut through the stillness like a knife. "Everything that happened—you wanted it. Don't pretend otherwise. And it wouldn't have been my first choice... if you hadn't made it necessary with your foolishness."

She didn't flinch, but her breath caught for just a second. The accusation stung—not because it was wrong, but because a part of her feared it was right.

"And second..." Finn's voice slowed, more deliberate now, as his hand reached up and gently—yet firmly—gripped her shoulder. He pulled her body against his, his warmth now unavoidable, inescapable. "I don't regret it. Not a single moment of it. And I'd do worse... if I had to," he whispered, so close to her ear she could feel the sharp chill of his breath on her skin. It sent a strange tremor down her spine.