Work Text:
The sound of static and tape unspooling still rings in Martin’s ears as he opens his eyes. The pain he remembers being in has miraculously passed and as he looks down he no longer is wearing, dirty ripped clothes covered in grime and blood. There is however blood under his fingernails and Martin feels like throwing up. It’s Jon’s blood, he is sure of it. But Jon is nowhere to be seen. Martin looks around the room he is in. It seems weirdly familiar.
When he steps out of it he recognizes the layout of the flat instantly. This is his old flat, his flat before Prentiss. It doesn’t look quite the same though. There are plants everywhere, for some reason more light seems to come through the windows. Framed photographs cluttered all over his bookshelves that groan under the weight of the number of books in them. One of the photographs makes his breath stop in particular.
“Dad?” he whispers to himself, grabbing a frame holding a picture of him, his mother and someone who looks like his father. But this can’t be. Martin is at least in his 20s in this picture, his mother’s hair has greyed and yet for some reason, Martin’s father is in the frame.
There are more pictures of unfamiliar faces on his bookshelf, Jon cannot be found among them.
There is no also Jon in his phonebook. Of course not. If there have never been fears in this dimension there has never been a Magnus Institute. Jon, if he even exists, and Martin have never met.
Martin tries to ignore the panic that is churning in the pit of his stomach and the stinging anxiety clogging up his throat. Did Jon not make it through? Did he whine up somewhere else? His mind supplies him with the horrible image of Jon, lying in a street, alone, slowly bleeding out.
He is out on the streets before he knows it. It takes a moment to notice that his legs are carrying him to the institute.
London looks painfully normal. There are no zeppelins in the sky (or eyes for that matter), there is no one dressed in steampunk, no aliens or monsters. It’s just plain old London, without any fears yet and without Jon.
His heart is beating in his throat as he jumps onto the tube. When he arrives at the institute Martin feels like he is close to having a heart attack. He almost walks past the institute, it’s a different building, modern architecture. Inside is a gym. Martin finds the smallest bit of solace in that Jonah Magnus would probably have hated that. It still doesn’t quiet the fear pressing its sharp claws into the space between Martin’s shoulder blades.
He runs to Jon’s flat next. It’s a long shot, Jon had not been living in the flat since before the Unknowing, but maybe he is there now. The building is still the same. But the name Sims can be found on no door inside.
Despite being a skilled liar, his lies do not get him far with hospitals emergency rooms. The few that actually look up if there is a Jonathan Sims among the patients just shake their heads and tell Martin that apparently, they can’t find him. He starts asking after stab victims that were brought in, he gets even fewer replies than when he was asking after Jon by name. One hospital threatens to call the police on him. After that Martin takes a break from hospitals.
The only thing the internet reveals is that Jonathan is a popular name and there are as many people named Jon Sims as there are grains of sand found at a beach.
It is sheer dumb luck that Martin remembers the name of the publishing company Tim had worked for before joining the institute. The Tim in this universe works for them too. After a little digging Martin finds his profile on the company website, a few moments later he is looking at his Instagram. When Martin doesn’t recognize the woman Tim is holding in his arms but reads that her name is Sasha J. he counts it as a blessing.
He doesn’t contact them. Neither of them has ever lived in London, chances are very low that they know Jon and he doesn’t want to disrupt their bliss. Danny Stoker as it turns out is alive too and has grown out of his urban exploration phase. Martin hopes that even with the fears in this world he gets to live. That they all get to live.
Melanie doesn’t have a youtube channel. However, she hosts a podcast together with Georgie, but about fictional horror rather than real one. A picture shows them with matching rings on their hands and the Admiral in their laps. Their podcast website reveals that this Georgie is pretty much the same, only that she went to Cambridge and not Oxford. Chances are she never met Jon either. Still, he finds her email and writes to her, claiming it’s a missing person case, asking if she has ever heard of a Jonathan Sims. To his surprise, she replies, to his disappointment she has never met Jon.
Daisy and Basira he can’t find. Even though he has never managed to warm up to her, he hopes that if Daisy exists in this world she goes by Alice instead.
He learns that the Martin Blackwood of this universe works in a public library. Currently as an assistant, but if rumours are to be believed he is up for promotion to head librarian in the near future. He finds the framed degree in his living room. Apparently, this Martin Blackwood didn’t have to drop out to take care of his sick mother. His mother still died in this universe. Martin can’t bring himself to feel the grief of losing her a second time. He is too occupied doing that for Jon.
It seems that not having to lie about his degree has made this Martin Blackwood a social creature. There are many people calling themselves Martin’s friends at work and outside of it. This Martin Blackwood even just went on a first date with someone named Brian. When Martin starts to suddenly withdraw from all these people that are nothing but strangers, they see his mother’s recent passing as a good enough excuse for it.
For a while, he hopes the Lonely will stand in front of his door. That it will recognize him, recognize his pain and pull him into the pleasant numbness of the Forsaken. But the day doesn’t come. There is no fog reaching up his legs, no haze to dissolve into.
He thinks about Jon and how Jon doomed this world and possible others just so Martin could live. Martin stops waiting for the Loney. He doesn’t start living, but life continues and so does he.
Brian asks him out a second time. Martin declines. He knows that Jon would want him to go out there and look for someone else. But Martin knows that he can’t. He was ready to die in Jon’s arms, there is no one else out there for him. No matter how fond Brian is of Keats or how nice his tea tastes.
Weeks turn into months. His dad calls, but Martin says he is busy. One part of him wants to get to know this man, wants to know what it feels like to have a father who chose to stay, a father who loves him. The other part just thinks of his father as a person he won’t be unable to resent.
He checks the news religiously, looking out for reports of weird encounters that could be one of the fears. Nothing ever shows up. Maybe this world has been spared, Martin thinks. Maybe that is why this world doesn’t have a Jon.
Months turn into half a year. Martin has still not given up hope, but it’s fading. A small, quiet, selfish part of him wonders why all his friends from the old world ended up together, but he has to be alone in this universe. An even uglier part whispers how this is what Martin deserves for killing Jon and unleashing the fears into this world. He tries to mute that part as much as possible and continues his search.
Martin pushes his trolley filled with books past the man. He only really sees him out of the corner of his eyes, his brain doesn’t even fully notice him. Slowly, Martin starts sorting the books in the marine biology section when he hears the man speak.
“Sorry, where can I find the poetry section,” he asks one of Martin’s co-workers and Martin feels like he is being thrown into ice water, shocked and unable to breathe.
He knows that voice. He has spent years listening to that voice. He could recognize it in a crowd of thousands screaming easily.
“Of course, Martin should take you,” Martin just barely registers his co-worker’s reply as he steps out from between the shelves and looks over. “He is our poetry expert.”
All he cares about is the man standing next to his co-worker. He looks younger, no scars, no traces of sleepless nights on his face. He hasn’t spotted Martin yet, but his face falls.
“Martin?” Jon doesn’t even finish fully pronouncing the last syllable of his name when Martin sprints across the room and wraps him in his arms. He buries his face in Jon’s hair, shorter and with no grey streaks, but it still smells like him.
Martin doesn’t care if this isn’t his Jon. He doesn’t care if this Jon doesn’t remember if this Jon doesn’t care if this Jon never loved him. For now, Martin wants to never ever let go again of Jon’s thin and frail body and just hold him.
He braces for this Jon to push him away, to scream, to do anything really. What he doesn't expect is for Jon’s bony arms to come around his torso and pressing his body against Martin as his life depends on it.
He isn’t sure if the rhythmical pulsing he can feel is the beating of his own heart or Jon’s. Martin still doesn’t dare to speak, afraid any word could ruin this moment in which he is allowed to feel the joy and the relief of Jon being alive.
Jon speaks first.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he mumbles into Martin’s jumper.
“You’re here now,” Martin can’t hold back the sobs. Based on the way his body is shaking, Jon has started crying too.
This is his Jon. He is alive. He is alive and well and in Martin’s arms.
The sound of his co-worker clearing her throat startles Martin only slightly. Still holding Jon close to him Martin looks up and says, “I’ll have to take the rest of the day off.”
He doesn’t catch the exasperated look his co-worker gives him, he is busy pulling Jon out of the library. Like two slow dancers still entwined they move out into the little, empty backyard of the building.
They just stand there, close, unobserved. Martin presses a kiss against Jon’s forehead then his lips. When they part Jon kisses his cheek before returning to Martin’s mouth. It’s soft, it’s sweet, it lacks the burning taste of desperation and hot blood that had tarnished their mouths the last time they had kissed.
Gently they lean their foreheads together. Martin still rests his hand’s on Jon’s jaw and Jon’s hands are tight fists in Martin’s shirt. This is real, it slowly sinks in, but neither is able to let go, to stop touching the other.
“I could understand if you hated me,” Jon finally says.
The words echo a conversation that feels like it has been held aeons ago. Still, Martin finds himself having the same answer as Jon had back then.
“I love you,” Martin says, knowing he will never be able to hate Jon. “Always.”
“I love you too,” Jon whispers back.
They both still carry guilt around with them and there is justified anger festering in both of them. They will have to talk about it, argue about it, live with it. Neither of them truly got what they wanted. The Mother of Puppets is the only one who won.
But they got each other and that is enough to live a happy life. A life they finally get to have.