Page 45 of Evermore
Parallel Healing
Finn
F inn existed somewhere between drowning and flying, suspended in a temporal current that felt like warm honey mixed with starlight.
The usual terror of his TPD episodes had evaporated, replaced by something that made his soul feel weightless.
He was traveling backward through time, but not as a victim dragged by forces beyond his control—more like a swimmer who'd finally stopped fighting the tide and learned to let it carry him home.
Their love story unspooled around him in reverse, each memory sharp as cut crystal, revealing patterns he'd been too close to see while living them forward. The sensation was disorienting as hell, but also revelatory in ways that made his chest ache with recognition.
He wasn't lost in time anymore. He was excavating it like an archaeologist uncovering buried treasure.
The first scene hit him with devastating clarity—their confrontation with Future River, the moment when River had stood with Finn against the broken echo of their potential future.
But experiencing it backward, Finn saw what he'd missed in the chaos: how River's desperate need for control had finally been broken by understanding rather than fear.
“You don't get to rewrite our story because you were too much of a coward to love someone whose mind works differently,” River had said, pulling Finn closer.
But watching it in reverse, Finn caught what he'd been too overwhelmed to notice—the way River's voice had gained strength from their unity, how their joined hands had anchored them both against Future River's manipulation.
This wasn't the end of their love. This was the beginning of it becoming real.
As Finn continued his journey backward, he witnessed each moment of their relationship's evolution with new eyes.
He saw how gradually they'd been learning to navigate his TPD together, how River's genuine care had been slowly shifting from trying to fix to learning to accept.
But he also saw something else—the shadow figures lurking at the edges of every crucial moment.
“You manipulative bastard,” Finn breathed, watching scene after scene with dawning understanding. Every time they'd approached real peace, every time River had started to see Finn's TPD as gift rather than burden, Future River had interfered.
Temperature drops when they were making breakthroughs. Equipment failures precisely timed to moments of growing acceptance. Episodes triggered just as River began to relax into loving Finn as he was.
The pattern was so clear now it looked like a constellation in the night sky of their relationship.
Future River's manipulation had created the very anxiety and instability he claimed to be preventing.
Every interference had pushed River further from acceptance, every triggered episode had made Finn more confused and withdrawn.
Moving deeper into their history, Finn found the golden moments that had sustained them both—their early days when River had simply held him through episodes without trying to intervene, when love had been enough without needing to cure or change anything.
Their quiet domestic scenes blazed like small suns in the temporal stream.
Cooking together while rain drummed against windows.
Reading by firelight while the lighthouse beam painted moving pictures on their walls.
Exploring tide pools while morning sun turned the water into liquid diamonds.
In these moments, River had loved him exactly as he was, TPD and all.
These memories shone with purity undimmed by the fear that came later. Finn understood now that River's capacity for acceptance had always existed, only overwhelmed by Future River's constant interference.
“He never let us find our own way,” Finn murmured to the temporal currents swirling around him. “Every time we started to trust each other, he created chaos to drive us apart.”
But there was something else, something that made Finn's chest expand with wonder instead of grief. His TPD wasn't the curse that separated him from normal love—it was what allowed him to experience love across impossible circumstances.
His condition had brought him to River through bottles that crossed time, had let him write letters his conscious mind couldn't remember, had created moments of recognition that transcended ordinary limitations.
The very thing that made him feel broken had actually been the bridge to the most extraordinary love he'd ever known.
“I'm not broken,” Finn said to the temporal stream, his voice growing stronger with each word. “I'm different. And that difference is what makes our love possible.”
For the first time since his mother's death, since that first terrifying episode that had sent him spinning through time, Finn felt something miraculous: gratitude. Not resignation, not mere acceptance—actual, bone-deep gratitude for his condition.
His TPD wasn't an obstacle to love. It was a unique pathway to it.
As Finn journeyed deeper into their history, he began to understand what had destroyed Future River's original timeline. It wasn't TPD itself—it was the absolute refusal to accept TPD as part of their love story, combined with the desperate need to control what couldn't be controlled.
Future River's memories bled through the temporal stream, showing Finn a man who'd spent years trying to cure rather than accommodate, who'd transformed their relationship from love story into medical mission.
Every recovered memory carried the same desperate theme: the need to fix, to control, to make Finn “normal.”
“He never learned to love me as I am,” Finn whispered, the words carrying more sadness than anger. “He loved an idea of who I could become if I were cured.”
One memory blazed with particular clarity: River watching him restore a damaged book, his eyes soft with admiration. “The way you see stories,” River had said, “like they're living things with hearts and souls. I never understood that books could be loved until I watched you love them.”
In that moment, River hadn't been trying to fix or change anything. He'd simply been present with Finn as he was, marveling at the unique way his mind worked. Finn had felt seen and valued not despite his differences but because of them.
“These moments are what matter,” Finn realized, his voice thick with emotion. “Not the fear or the medical crises. These moments of pure love—this is what's real.”
Finn began to understand his temporal displacement as a gift rather than a burden, recognizing that it allowed him to experience love from multiple perspectives and timelines.
His TPD gave him insights into their relationship that linear time couldn't provide, let him see patterns and connections invisible to ordinary perception.
“This is why I'm different,” Finn said with growing certainty. “Not to be fixed or cured, but to love and be loved in ways that transcend normal limitations.”
His condition wasn't something to overcome. It was something to embrace as part of his unique capacity for love.
Moving further backward, Finn reached their first meeting—River pausing on the sidewalk, caught by something in the bookshop window.
From this temporal vantage point, Finn faced a crucial choice. He could continue backward into a time before they'd met, erasing their relationship entirely. Or he could choose to return to the present and face whatever uncertain future awaited them.
The option to erase everything held real temptation. He could undo all the confusion and medical crises. Spare River the fear that had nearly overwhelmed him. Spare himself the episodes and memory gaps that had caused such anguish.
But erasing their relationship would also eliminate every moment of joy, connection, and growth they'd shared. It would be choosing safety over love, certainty over the beautiful risk of caring deeply.
He thought about River's laugh when Finn told him stories about the books he restored.
The way River's eyes lit up when discussing marine ecosystems, passion making him glow like he'd swallowed sunlight.
The quiet mornings when they'd wake up tangled together, River's breathing against his neck like the most beautiful anchor to the present moment.
Most importantly, he thought about their unity against Future River—how they'd stood together, finally understanding that their love didn't need to be perfect to be real.
“I choose us,” Finn said to the temporal stream, his voice carrying absolute decision. “I choose the mess and confusion and uncertainty, because I also choose the love and wonder and connection. I choose River as he is, and I choose myself as I am, and I choose whatever future we create together.”
The decision felt like diving into deep water—terrifying and exhilarating, requiring complete trust in his ability to swim in uncertain currents. But for the first time since his TPD had manifested, Finn felt ready to swim rather than simply survive.
Love wasn't about guarantees or perfect outcomes. Love was about showing up fully for another person, choosing them every day even when that choice was terrifying. Love was about embracing the beautiful risk of caring deeply, knowing that deep care meant deep vulnerability.
Finn used his temporal displacement intentionally now, understanding that his condition wasn't something that happened to him but something he could work with. His TPD became a tool of love rather than a source of suffering, a way of choosing connection across impossible circumstances.
“I'm not fighting my way back to linear time,” Finn realized. “I'm choosing to return to the present because that's where River is waiting for me.”
The temporal stream responded to his intention, currents shifting to carry him forward rather than backward through time.
The journey required more effort than his previous episodes, but Finn moved with growing confidence.
Each moment forward felt like choosing to embrace their love despite its complications.
He wasn't returning to a perfect relationship. He was returning to one that was learning to be real—messy, uncertain, but built on genuine acceptance rather than the need to fix or control.
As he moved forward through time toward River's present, Finn felt something he'd never experienced: genuine excitement about his TPD. Not resignation or acceptance, but actual anticipation for what his unique relationship with time might offer their love story.
He was different. He was extraordinary. And he was finally ready to come home to someone who could love him exactly as he was.
As Finn chose love over safety, he felt a presence in the temporal stream—Future River, watching with something approaching wonder.
“Love isn't about ensuring happy endings,” Future River whispered, the words carrying years of painful education. “It's about showing up fully for whatever time you have.”
For the first time since his timeline's tragedy, Future River felt something other than regret: peace. He'd spent years trying to control love instead of experiencing it, so focused on preventing loss that he'd never learned to appreciate what he had while he had it.
“You don't need saving,” he said to Finn's departing presence. “You never did. Love him as he is. Trust him to be strong enough for whatever comes.”
As Finn's presence faded from the temporal stream, Future River whispered a blessing that carried across time: “Remember that the most profound love isn't about forever—it's about fully, completely, courageously now.”
For the first time in years, Future River let himself exist peacefully, finally understanding that love didn't require control—it required presence.