It'll Be Okay

an 'Adventure Time' fic by TheOneAndOnly1993

Prologue

"Careful now," Funn whispered. "Careful little buddy...I ain't gonna hurt'cha!"

His heart almost leapt from his scarred, malnourished bosom when his hand lashed out. He sometimes imagined it like a python, sneaking through the mossy stone floor and cracking out like a whip at the last second. His fingers wrapped around the furry prize, yellow nails digging into its soft, writhing flesh. Funn almost cried when he caught it; even without a thumb, he still managed to catch a meal. When Funn bit into its vulnerable underbelly, the rat squealed and screamed, pawing frantically at his freshly-blooded cheeks. The meat was so sweet, so juicy. He attacked the red ruin of the rat's belly once more. Its struggle ceased that time, giving Funn a fleeting moment of content. His chewing made gross, sloppy sounds that resonated throughout the moist dungeon.

Then he heard the harmony of harsh voices and the scuffle of footsteps down the hall from where he was being kept.

Funn froze like a deer in the headlights, terrified to even think of chewing the warm mess of flesh and fur in his mouth. No, he thought, no, Glob, no. It can't be Tuesday already. Master was just here last night! Or was that three days ago? A month? Down in the dark where it was always dark and rainy, it was hard to tell. Funn looked down at the rat in his hand and stifled a scream. His belly screamed hunger, but his phantom ear cried the loudest and he flung it across the room, praying to whoever was still just in this cruel world that Master didn't look in the corner. If he sees me with food I didn't earn, he'll take my other ear! Oh Glob Glob Glob, why? It took me so long to catch that rat... Tears salted with dirt ran down his grimy face. Funn chewed with what remained of his teeth and swallowed the rat meat.

If Master was in a good mood today, thought Funn, then he may only be checking up to see if he remembered what he is. I'm Funn. I'm nothing but. That is all I am and that is all I'll ever be, he recited in his head, as he had a hundred times before. There's nothing more Master can take away from him; he already took a sledgehammer to his teeth, what more is there? Unless he decided to take Funn's tongue as well. No no no. Come on, Funn. Master wouldn't do that, silly! He loves to hear me beg! And you can't be fun without a tongue. Everybody knows that.

Funn tongued the morsels of stringy flesh that got caught in between his yellowed teeth and holes where others had once been. The whole process was an agony, but Funn was so starved he could not bring himself to stop.

Down the hall behind his own dungeon door, the sound of another crashed open. "He's not it here!" said a male.

"Well check the others!" cried the female, opening another herself. "He HAS to be down here!"

They're coming to get me. Funn's scrawny figure shuddered, and he dragged himself across the dungeon floor on limbs thin as twigs, iron chain scraping noisily against the stone from his ankle. The pain was real and raw, as the gash on the back of his ankle screamed and spat fresh red in protest. Funn wedged himself tight into the corner, atop a pile of hay that he made his bed. Funn still recalled his first days here, back when he was known as another boy, a fearless hero long forgotten. He recalled the hay pile smelling musty. But Master made him grateful for all of the little things in life, and soon the hay's must became his own.

Some of Master's jailers had taken to calling Funn "Dung", on account of his smell. It was meant to be a joke, he knew, and laughed with them when it came up. Funn learned to love even the jailers; sometimes they'd hit him when he laughed and other times they wouldn't, so it was like a little game that he found exhilarating.

The footsteps shuffled louder. More joined further down the hall from where they came. It was a march, like a small army made up of six pairs of feet. Funn couldn't even begin to ponder who Master was looking for; as far as he knew, Master kept no other entertainers. There was one, on the first day he arrived here. He screamed all through the night, Funn shuddered to recall, even through the thick stone walls. Then the screaming stopped in the morning, and it was only his ever since.

"Princess," one of the new voices said, a male that struck as a little slow, "we've rounded up all the bad guys."

"Good, good." The female they called "Princess" sounded distant, opening another door and sighing in despair.

"No sign of Finn the Human," he continued. "We think he may have escaped," said another.

"If we don't find him here," said the gruff male from before, "then I hope that he did."

Funn wanted to scream. He knew what Master was doing; he did this before. In the early weeks of Funn's reconditioning, Master staged a farce of a rescue mission to give him false hope. This was back when Funn was still considered a man and known by a different, more beloved name. He got as far as the front gate before an arrow took him in the shoulder, and as punishment Funn was stabbed twice, once with a needle to stop the wound from festering, and again with something, far, far worse. After that, Funn was no more than a sack of bony meat that was fed only twice a week and lived to entertain. But the question remained: why is Master repeating games?

The footsteps shuffled closer to Funn's lair. "This is the last set of doors, princess," said the male. He sounded hopeful. "Let's keep our fingers crossed!"

No! Funn scrambled his callused heels against the straw and stone floor as he tried to push himself harder into the cold, damp corner, into the shadows. Pass me by pass me by. Please just leave me be and pass me by! Overgrown hair fell over his eyes in the struggle, hair that was more like the hay he slept on than anything else.

The footsteps advanced and stopped when it seemed they were at their loudest. The lock tumbled and rumbled. Funn squeaked and he wiped his bloodied hands on the only article of clothing he still had: his blue shorts, now fringed and torn and reeking of mildew and blood and other bodily fluids. Go away! Please! He made the effort to hide in his straw pile, yet it was only deep enough to conceal the nub of his right arm, its flower long-plucked by the Master himself when he first arrived here.

The sound of the door slamming open was the most terrible sound he had ever heard. When the torchlight streamed in and hit him full in the face, Funn let out a shriek. It was like staring into the sun, and his effort to cover up the brilliance with his one hand proved futile. Funn wanted to tear his eyes out, the torture pained him so. Even Master wouldn't be this cruel, he thought.

"Please," he whimpered, "I'll do anything. I'll entertain your guests again; I'll even let them do that thing you did to me when I-I tried to escape! Just please oh please put that light out!"

"Oh my Gob!" The intruder scampered toward him, and the light was brought closer. "Finn! Bro, is that you!?"

"NO! Don't say that too loud, or Master will pull my fingernails! I'm Funn! Funn!"

"Bro, it's me! Your buddy Jake! You're safe now!" Funn clenched his eyes shut and looked away. He heard the intruder sniffle and knew, just knew, that he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he wrapped around him something warm and soft. A blanket. And he felt two arms wrap around him. "You're okay buddy. You're okay."

No I'm not. I'm not okay. I'm Funn. And being Funn is never okay.

Funn felt something wet plop down on his blanket. And then another. The little intruder was trembling, Funn realized, who then lifted his head from his arm and shouted out, "Princess! Princess! I found him! HE'S IN HERE!" His voice made it seem like he was crying. Sobbing, actually. Funn didn't dare to look, lest there was a knife right in front of his face ready to poke his eyes out.

No knife came, but instead another pair of feet entered his dungeon. "FINN!" It was the female. She ran towards Funn and his "savior", and pulled the two of them into an embrace. "Oh Finn, we've found you. You're safe you're safe you're safe and we found you..." The female's strong, commanding demeanor from before seemed like an entirely separate entity now as she started to weep quietly like a small child. Her scent was the most pleasant thing Funn smelled in ages. It was sweet, like bubblegum.

And yet, he wouldn't stop wondering how long this farce will continue until another one of Master's goons would cut a toe off, or pull another tooth.

Dark stuff you guys. I'm pretty keen on making this more than a oneshot, but think of it as me testing the waters. Do you guys think I should bother continuing this? Let me know!