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Martin fiddled impatiently with the knife in his hands. Soon they would be dragging down Jonah’s body from where it hung suspended in the center of the chamber at the pinnacle of the panopticon. On Jon’s signal, they would pull him down and Martin would kill him. Jon would Know exactly when to time it, but Martin was left waiting, impatient. He really wanted that bastard dead.
Jon looked over at Martin.
“Are you ready?” He asked. Martin nodded. Jon took a calming breath.
“On my count. Ready... and.... now.”
In unison they reached up and yanked on the body of Magnus, dragging it lower. Holding him down with one hand, Martin hovered the tip of his knife over Jonah’s chest. He looked dead into his eyes, which appeared distant, but Martin Knew they we’re looking back from somewhere deep within.
“You deserve this.” He said before plunging the knife deep into Magnus’s heart. Jonah let out a blood curdling scream and dropped the rest of the way to the floor, whatever power keeping him levitating snapping all at once. But Martin was on him, scraping his knife between the evil bastards ribs. The man gurgled, blood running from his lips, and soon he went limp.
Martin should have felt relief as life deserted Magnus’ stolen body, but he only felt faintly sick. He stood up and stumbled away from the body, stricken.
Blood ran down his hands and slowly pooled beneath the body of Jonah Magnus. Martin stared at Jon for a second before dropping the knife with trembling fingers. Jon looked like he was mentally fighting through something. All of the sudden, he grabbed Martin’s hand.
“We need to run”
“But-”
”NOW!”
They took off sprinting down the panopticon steps. Martin felt himself careening downwards but let his momentum carry him, hoping that his balance wouldn’t fail. Jon ran beside him, a panicked terror stark in his features. From somewhere deep beneath them, they heard more than felt the beginnings of a deep rumble. Somehow, they began to run even faster, the stairs still stretching seemingly endlessly downwards.
Martin began to feel the tower tremble. It was slight at first but grew steadily. A sickened feeling in the base of his chest told Martin that they wouldn’t make it. There were too many stairs and the tower was already coming down-
Bits of stone or... whatever material the panopticon was made out of began to rain down. Though they were going by in a blur, Martin saw the eyes lining the walls seem to widen in pain, though they still tracked his and Jon’s desperate flight downwards.
They weren’t going to make it. They would be trapped in the remains of the tower that had Watched their misery for so long, had done nothing but drink in and feed on their terror. And they’d never be able to leave it. There were still so many stairs.
But Jon continued running, doing his best to avoid chunks of rubble, and so Martin followed him. If they were going to be trapped, Martin thought, at least they would be trapped together. Maybe the banishing of the fears from their world would even grant them a quick death. Martin thought about stopping, of holding Jon through their final moments...
No, No. They had come too far, done too much, to die now. They deserved to live. Determined, Martin ran that much faster, his hand still anchored in Jon’s. Months... or however long he had spent walking through the domains made his feet nimbler, less likely to trip over the increasing amounts of rubble, or even themselves.
They ran for what felt like ages, the only sound their panting breaths and the rumbling of the panopticon slowly falling apart. Finally, finally, they saw a crumbling arching doorway up ahead. Martin almost couldn't bear the shaking of the ground and the walls as the eyes all around them watched as they flew towards that arch, they were almost there, so close...
And they were through. Careening into the heavily monitored streets of London. Almost as if sensing Martin beginning to slow down, Jon shouted, out of breath,
“Don’t stop! We need to keep running!” Sparing a glance backward, Martin could see the tower, that spire that stretched impossibly high, falling. How they had managed to make it out in time Martin didn’t know, but he did know that the aftershock of all of that... material falling to the ground could possibly kill them, so he looked back forwards and continued running, tightening his already vise grip on Jon’s hand.
The shaking in the ground was intense, a proper earthquake, and it was almost as hard to run here, on level ground, as it was to run down the panopticon. Almost. The cries of others echoed around him now. Those who had been trapped in London, seeing what was happening with the tower, and deciding to join their panicked flight away.
And then, Martin heard a scream. Because a scream was the only way Martin could describe that sound. It was the worst thing he had ever heard. Martin couldn't fully comprehend the sheer amount of terror he felt at that sound. It echoed around him, through him, tearing him apart.
Martin fell to his knees, skidding a bit. He couldn’t help it. That noise - no, it was more than a noise - that screaming feeling stripped him bare, and he couldn’t run anymore. Jon was tugging at his arm, trying to haul him back to his feet. He was saying something, shouting desperately to Martin, but Martin couldn’t hear it. He could only hear the ringing in his ears, the rush of his blood, and that terrible, awful, scream.
Jon glanced behind them and visibly balked. He tried even more vehemently to tug at Martin, but it was useless. It was all... useless.
And then the true wave hit. Martin had thought that scream was bad, but it had only been the warning. The preamble to this.
The fear of a world rushed through him. He could feel all of it. It was too much. The fear of being caught up in something far too large and complex to see. The fear that things were not truly as they seemed, that they were slightly off, people and places that should be familiar but are not, the fear of insanity tugging at the back of your mind. The fear of being brutally murdered, cut down as if you were nothing. Of being hunted down, persecuted. Of only being a slab of useless meat for those with more power to throw away. Fear of being contaminated by an itching filth that buried onto your bones. Fear of endless dark, endless nothing, for eternity, trapped with no way out. Choked by the emptiness pressing in on all sides, uncertainty filling the depthless black around you. Fear of change, of irreparable damage, of losing everything you hold dear, having it ripped from you. Fear of being utterly forsaken by everyone and everything you love, cast aside and forgotten. The fear of everything. Just. Ending.
And the terror of being seen in your entirety, even the parts of you that want desperately to hide away. Of scrutiny you Know is not kind that will see your every flaw, but will do nothing to help, instead making every imperfection glaringly obvious. Of constant harsh judgement under a hateful gaze. The terror of knowing yourself too fully, all of the parts that ashame you. The fact you like causing pain, making other people feel discomfort. That you are a monster and will never be anything but.
Faintly, through it all, Martin could see Jon crouched around him, clinging to him. Tears were streaming down his face. If it was this bad for Martin, it must be worse for Jon, who had been able to see all of this from the start. Struggling through the pain in his mind and a heaviness in his limbs, Martin reaches up and brought his arms up around Jon, holding him as waves of horror rolled through them both.
Then yet another wave came, and everything went black.
***
He opened his eyes to see a warm, kind face hovering above his own. He could tell it had once been round, possibly happy, but it was gaunt now, and panic pooled in its eyes. As soon as it saw him wake up, relief flooded it’s features and it spoke.
“Jon! Jon are you ok? We- we did it! The world, it’s-!” The voice cut off and arms wrapped around him, the person shaking as they sobbed into him. But he just hung limply from their arms.
“Who... are you?” He managed. The shaking and crying immediately stopped.
“Jon..?” came a wavering voice.
Jon. Was that him? Jon...
The face was above him once more, a panic different from the one before written all over it. “Jon?” they said again, but all he - Jon - could do was stare back up in confusion. The person was shaking again.
“Come on, Jon. It’s me. It’s Martin. Please.” New tears were welling in Martin’s eyes, and Jon had the strangest desire reach up and gently wipe them away. He didn’t, though.
He just blinked up at this stranger, for surely he was a stranger, and tried to recall anything. Anything at all.
He couldn’t.
*
Martin’s breaths were coming in gasps. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. They had won. They had done it. Why was Jon acting like this?
It wasn’t an act, it couldn’t be an act, but still it was happening, and Martin was too panicked to do anything but stare at his vacant boyfriend’s face. A nearby bird had the audacity to chirp. As if everything was ok. As if everything was good. And it was, want it? They had put the world back. They had succeeded. So why did Martin feel so incredibly lost?
Jon was looking at his limbs like he wasn’t sure what they were, and Martin had the sudden urge to flee. He needed to go, he couldn’t be here anymore-
As soon as he tried to stand up his shaking legs gave way and he fell to the ground again, hitting already scraped knees in the process. That was right. He had fell earlier.
Earlier. Jon had been there earlier. They had been together. Now he felt so... distant. Martin scooted backwards on his hands, away from Jon, away from this shell, until his back hit something. A building.
Martin curled up, pressing his back against the wall, and screwed his eyes shut. He was alone. He was alone. Again.
Martin’s body shook. He wasn’t supposed to be alone anymore. Never again. Jon had told him so. Had said it with such confidence and clarity. Had whispered it to him in their quiet moments. But here he was. Alone.
Martin’s eyes flew open. But he wasn’t alone, was he? Jon was still there. He might not have been himself, but he was there, wasn’t he?
Martin couldn’t leave this Jon by himself. This Jon who didn’t recognize anything, couldn’t even recognize himself. He wouldn’t.
After standing up on aching legs and steadying himself against the wall, Martin walked shakily over to Jon, who looked up at him with big, owlish eyes.
Something in them was missing, something distinctly Jon, but Martin tried to shake that off as he offered him a hand up. Jon took it, rising unsteadily to his own feet.
“I’m Martin.” He said. “And I love you very much.”
*
For Jon, life seemed to pass in a haze. Sometimes he was slightly aware of himself, but mostly he was not. Sometimes he had horrible visions. Those visions scared him very, very much.
One thing that remained constant, though, was the man always nearby, always at his side. Sometimes, he remembered this man’s name. Martin. He was Martin. Other times, he did not. No matter what, though, this man was always there.
*
It was a normal, slightly overcast day when Jon truly came back to himself. He gasped and looked around wildly. He had no idea where he was.
“Martin?” He called. “Martin?!”
The bigger man came around an unfamiliar doorway, calling a soft “I’m here,” but as soon as he caught sight of Jon, he froze. He gasped as his eyes widened. Jon just stared. When had Martin gotten so grey? Martin was shaking now, and took a tentative step forwards.
“Jon?” He asked, uncertain.
“Martin!” He called, trying to rise to his feet. As soon as he had he felt Martin crash into him. Arms wrapped around him and hugged him so hard it hurt. Jon squeezed back as tightly as he could. Martin was sobbing quietly into Jon’s shirt, whispering incredulous “you’re here’s into it. Jon reached up to stroke Martin’s hair, still as curly and soft as he remembered.
“I’m here.” He assured Martin, holding him until the sobs stopped. The two of them sank back down on the couch, still embracing. Martin pulled back slightly and brought up his hands to hold Jon’s face. A shaky smile spread across Martin’s face as he looked at Jon. Jon looked back. Martin’s cheeks shone with tears, and he looked so relieved and happy. But... he looked old. Older than Jon remembered.
“What... happened?” He asked.
“We did it, Jon. We won. The world... it’s- it’s back.” Martin was beaming, happiness lit up his features. Jon stared at him, and slowly a smile began to spread across his face now too.
“We did it?” He asked, a fluttery hope in his chest. Martin nodded and laughed, and suddenly Jon was laughing too. They had done it. Their plan had worked. They continued to laugh. The joviality seemed to strip some of the age away from Martin, and suddenly Jon was thinking again about how old Martin looked. His smile fell.
“Martin... what about me? What- what happened to me? To us?” The smile had dropped from Martin’s face now too, replaced by such a melancholy expression that Jon’s chest ached.
“You... you lost yourself, Jon. There was... nothing. Nothing behind your eyes. You didn’t recognize me, you didn’t recognize yourself. It- it was hard, jut you were still you. I couldn’t abandon you, Jon. Not even when you were like that. Especially not when you were like that.” Martin stopped to let out a shuddering breath. “I love you, Jon.”
Jon was stricken. Absently, he lifted a numb hand to Martin’s face, brushing his thumb across Martin’s cheek to wipe away a stray tear. How long had it been, since the end of the apocalypse, the beginning of this new world? How long had Martin been caring for him, lost as he was to reality? How could Martin even stand the sight of him in such a state?
“I’m so sorry.” He said at last. “I love you, Martin. So dearly.” Martin curled back into Jon’s arms, resting his head against Jon’s chest. Jon held him there, taking in all of Martin’s features. The familiar ones he already knew by heart, and all of the new ones that time had given him. Martin was still big, but he was bonier now. He seemed a bit more grizzled, harder around the edges, although those had already begun to develop while they were surviving an apocalypse.
Suddenly, taking Jon quite by surprise, a small furry creature jumped up into his lap. Jon startled. It was a cat. Without any hesitation whatsoever, the cat curled up in Jon’s lap and promptly fell asleep. Jon’s heart melted a bit.
“Who’s this?” He asked Martin, who was looking up at him. Martin smiled warmly.
“That’s our cat.” He said.
“Our cat.” Jon echoed reverently as he gently buried a hand into the cat’s fur. It was so incredibly soft.
“His name is Watcher.” That startled a laugh out of Jon, and Watcher looked up at him. He only had one eye, round and lamp-like, and where the other should be there was only a slight scar.
“Oh.” Jon said, touching the cat on top of his small head. Watcher’s eye closed as he leaned into it.
“You’re scarred. Like me.” Watcher settled back into his lap and Jon smiled fondly at him. Then he looked back up at Martin, who was watching the interaction with a gooey smile. Feeling full and happy, Jon leaned against his boyfriend and let out a contented sigh.
“Tell me about it?” he asked. Martin hummed.
“About what?”
“About our life. What you’ve been doing. How we got Watcher. Everything.”
And so Martin did. He told Jon about his job at the small local library. About his coworkers there, who were very friendly and pleasant people. Apparently Martin had found Watcher as a kitten in a box on the side of the road, his eye already missing, and took pity on the thing and adopted him. He told Jon that Watcher had taken to him right away, his lap apparently the perfect spot for a nap. He told Jon about what happened to Melanie, Georgie, and Basira. They had all survived, and all three of them together had moved somewhere not far from London. He and Jon lived in a ground level flat just outside of London. The air here was fresh and they had a decent yard where Martin and the people in the other flats kept a small garden.
Jon listened intently to everything Martin told him, responding when appropriate. They talked like that for a while, until Jon began to find himself... fading. He held on for as long as he could, but there was only so much he could do.
“Martin.” Jon interrupted whatever his boyfriend had been saying by brushing his fingertips across Martin’s cheek and jaw. Martin knew what was happening. He looked like he was trying very hard to hold himself together.
“I love you, Martin.” He told him, looking him in the eyes, fiercely keeping a hold on all of the shreds of himself that he could.
“I know.” Martin whispered. “I love you too.”
Jon leaned forwards and kissed Martin, pressing himself into the one he loved, holding him until the last vestiges of his mind slipped away. His hands dropped to his sides.
Jon found himself pressed up against a larger man. Who was he? He didn’t know this man, but for whatever reason, looking at him filled his chest with affection. He tilted his head, looking curiously at this strange man. He was crying. Why was this man crying? Jon had the strangest urge to reach up and brush his tears away. He didn’t, though. Jon opened his mouth.
“Who are you?” He asked.