The boy had come some time ago out of nowhere, smelling of magic, strange air, and speaking languages no one could say.

It took weeks for Steven to establish any kind of dialogue with him. Whatever he spoke sounded nothing like anything Steven had ever heard. And one night on the side of the road, over a campfire, the other boy gestured at himself and spoke.

It didn't look easy. The stout boy looked feral; perhaps a few years younger than Steven, his blue clothe were torn and ragged, and so worn through that they were nearly transparent in some places. His body was scarred, all over, from claws and teeth and blades and burns; he must have lived a terribly hard life. And his face looked... odd, mutated somehow. But it was a kind face, peeking out underneath a cute hat modeled after a white bear, locks of long white-blond hair falling over his eyes.

The boy pointed at himself and said, "Finn."

Steven pointed a thing at himself. "Steven."

It was, at least, a start.

Finn wasn't from around here. Steven took that as an assumption.

Certainly, he looked like he kept expecting to see something familiar and was disappointed, and excited somehow, to not see whatever it was he was looking for. He looked at mountains, staring at them hard, and then he'd wave his hand out, and Steven had worked out that this was his new friend's way of indicating plains.

There should be plains there.

He looked out, like a memory was playing out in front of him.

"I thought you didn't come from around here?" Steven wondered, as they drove on.

Finn looked out the window, head poking out of it (exactly like a dog, Steven thought), and waved his arm in another gesture.

'It's complicated', he seemed to say.

Finn didn't act like a normal human, honestly. Steven would be the first to admit that he wasn't really the best expert on that anyway, having inferred basic behavior all his life from the Gems, but he'd picked up enough things to notice that Finn acted like Steven was more socialized than him. It was a weird and strangely uncomfortable feeling.

He liked to drop on all fours and lope around when he got excited, or was in a hurry. He yelled at passing birds or unexpected threats in loud yelps that sounded like barks, and it should have been funny. Should have been a silly or embarrasing thing. But there was a slight edge to his voice that made even stern looking people back away, a faint fear in their eyes.

Finn acted like a dog, and one that would absolutely bite if the need seemed pressing.

And Steven had noticed that whenever he seemed stressed, or that Steven himself was uncomfortable, Finn's hands curled into fists. Such scarred fists, knuckles and fingers dotted with the faded remnants of what had to be old blade wounds.

As if he'd been used to fending off swords with his bare hands. Steven wondered what the poor guy had been through. It was almost a much a mystery as why Finn often stared at humans with a profound fascination.

It was almost as if the sight of other humans was a strange, exotic thing for him.

Finn fought, and he fought well.

"C'mon!" Steven pattered himself after being thrown to the ground again for the third time in a row. "Let me try once more?" Finn grinned, waving him in. Steven charged, head low and barreling in-

He felt the air swing below him, a small but strong arm catch him on the chest, and he was flying.

When it stopped, Steven was laying on his back, staring into the sky. "Ow." Finn helped him up, a sheepish grin wide, and Steven patted him on the shoulder so hard Finn almost toppled. "You're good at this, man."

Finn shrugged. In his halting attempts at the common language, Finn said, "Got good at fighting bigger guys."

Finn stared at buildings a lot.

He watched them as they drove by, his face occupied with a solemn emotion Steven initially couldn't place, but it was a sad one, an almost lonesome one.

Not longing, exactly. It was more resigned then that. Like someone who knew something was coming, and didn't want to say anything, or didn't think anything they COULD say would matter.

At one point, he asked Finn about it. Finn tried, but he couldn't quite put it into words.

After what seemed to be a lot of internal struggle, or perhaps deciding whether or not to share a terrible secret, he made a noise that sounded a little like a bomb going off.

Then he waved his hands at the buildings, and once more his hand waved. He blew into it.

Like someone blowing away dust.

Steven didn't understand what he meant. He didn't know that he wanted to.

Finn thought it was nice, being in the past.

Seeing the way humanity was, way back when.

It wouldn't last, he considered as he thought of the buildings in the distance. One day, perhaps soon, it would all be gone.

Humanity was its own worst enemy, in his experience. War would come. The bombs would fall...

And death itself would walk the land, with sickly green light and a ravenous, endless hate for all that lived and loved and hoped. Poison would stain the ground where it went, and everything it touched rotted. Humanity would not survive it as they were. It was a punishment, he supposed.

Nothing lasted forever. Finn was at peace with this.

Still, he wondered with a pang why he had never before seen beings like Steven, or the crystal people he sometimes talked with on the phone...

Like a family.

Finn thought of brothers; dogs who spoke and stretched and had brought him home. He thought of princesses doing everything they could to make the world better for the people relying on them. He thought of vampire queens, drifting alone in a world they'd stopped caring about until he'd brought them home. He thought of lost relics and despairing warriors, all who found a new reason to go on, one way or another.

He put a hand on Steven's shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said, and looked out towards the long view.

He'd find a way to go back, to take the same voyage through time. He had to.

But the thought of averting it all, of somehow stopping that and the Lich, of keeping the people who would die alive...

Could he do it? WAs it possible?

...Did he have the right?

Finn shut his eyes, and he wished he could talk properly to Steven about this.

He seemed to know better about the long view, about the big picture.