Chapter Text
There were birds, chirping and chittering away at the edges of Martin’s consciousness. That in itself didn’t necessarily mean anything good; there had been plenty of domains which had birds in them. Had they been real birds? If not, where did all the birds go? For that matter, where did the rest of the animals go? None of it had really made any sense to Martin, he’d just asked Jon whenever he had a question. His own personal search engine, plugged into the mainframe of the Fearpocalypse.
Anyway. These birds. Were these real birds or fear domain birds? Were they going to peck his eyes out in a never-ending loop? That would just be his luck, wouldn’t it? Try to save the world, end up in some idyllic hellscape.
Well, he supposed it was better than the flesh garden.
Slowly, warily, his eyes opened. No murderous birds as far as he could see. Just a field dotted in flowers, some trees several feet away, a fence in the distance with what looked like sheep, their wool fluffy and white against the green background. He blinked a few times and gazed around, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. Jon lay still in his arms, so he tried to shift as little as possible. Best not to disturb him until absolutely necessary.
“Okay, Martin,” he murmured to himself. “Walk yourself back through it.” Martin had had to do this so many times while working for Peter. Gaps in his memory happened naturally working with The Lonely. He closed his eyes and tried to think.
They had done as Annabelle asked. If Martin was honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely confident it was going to work. It almost hadn’t. He remembered…the Panopticon. Jon taking Elias’ place. Trying to hold the fears, and failing and telling Martin to…
Martin gasped, his hand falling to where he knew he had stabbed Jon with the knife he’d so gleefully been ready to plunge into Elias’ heart. (What was left of it, anyway) There was a hole there, in his clothes, but no knife, no wound. He sighed in relief and pulled Jon closer, resting his head on top of his boyfriend’s.
“You damned idiot,” he murmured, one hand stroking his hair. “I almost lost you.” He half expected Jon to wake up and scold him, tell him it would have been worth it if he had died. He wondered if Jon had ever had any intention of surviving this when they left that cabin.
Knowing him, probably not. That damned martyr complex of his.
Jon put so many people before himself. He took that weight and held it with shaking hands above his head, until it threatened to crush him. He had always been like that, though Martin had not been able to see it at first, when Jon had hated him. Even hating Martin, he’d offered him safe haven without a second thought when he was attacked by Prentiss. It wasn’t exactly when Martin had started loving him, but it had planted the seed, and forever after he found himself watching Jon, hoping to catch a glimpse of that selflessness.
That very nature had almost cost Martin everything, and a part of him wished Jon could just be selfish for once. Let himself be happy, and who cares about everyone else? He knew Jon would never, but he could dare to dream. A life with the man he loved was a good start.
He wondered where they were now. Not London anymore, that was for sure. Was this another universe, like Annabelle said would be waiting for the fears on the other side? It didn’t seem any different than any other countryside, but what did he know about parallel universes?
“Hey. Jon.” Martin shook his boyfriend’s shoulder gently. His face was buried in Martin’s chest, and he hadn’t let go, even unconscious. He smiled, shaking him again a little harder. “We have to get up. We need to figure out where we are.”
He frowned when Jon didn’t respond. That wasn’t normal. Jon had always been a light sleeper. He’d complain constantly about Martin waking him in the middle of the night stealing the covers, or just talking in his sleep. Martin dropped his hands to Jon’s to pull them away.
They were ice cold.
“Jon…?” Martin was able to push him away, just a little, and his breath stopped short in his chest. Jon’s eyes were open, and completely lifeless.
“No. No no no no, Jon… Jon!” Martin continued shaking him, unwilling to believe what was right in front of him. “Come on, this…this isn’t funny! Jon!” His voice took on a hysterical tinge as he realized Jon wasn’t only unresponsive, but almost completely stiff. This could not be happening. Not after everything they’d been through. Not after they finally had a chance.
“Please! Jon!” he sobbed. “Come on, you can’t…you can’t do this to me!” He clung to Jon again, great heaving sobs shaking his whole body. “You promised! You promised we’d…we’d be together! You…great damned idiot!”
If only he’d been a little faster, found Jon before he’d killed Elias.
If only he hadn’t told the others to blow up the tunnels.
If only.
If only…
The world turned to night around them as Martin clung to him. His wails became sobs, became whimpers, became silence. He couldn’t stop stroking Jon’s hair, thinking of how soft it’d been before all this. How he’d loved to bury his face in it when he cuddled up behind Jon in bed. It had been so new then, their relationship. They’d had so little time to just have each other. Wasted so much time before then with things they’d thought were important.
Martin didn’t know how long he laid there, rhythmically stroking Jon’s hair and back, as if he could somehow bring that life back into his cool skin. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because he was blinking awake in the dark.
For a moment he was disoriented, confused, until the memory of his loss washed over him like a steel tide, knocking the breath out of him. He didn’t bother trying to wake Jon again, but instead very carefully extracted himself and stood on shaky legs.
It was early, dew still clinging to his hair and arms. Martin could only barely see in front of his face. His head felt fuzzy, every movement distant and unfamiliar. He took one step forward, and then another, and suddenly he was walking, only just managing to watch the ground in front of him. He only stumbled a few times before he found the barn he’d spotted in the distance. He wondered if the farmer was around and would protest to him being there. He wondered if he cared.
A few moments later he was heading back, a shovel in one hand, splinters biting into his hand. He watched his feet trudge along the dirt as if they didn’t belong to him. Where was this person going? This sad, empty person? What future did he have left?
He would bury Jon. He couldn’t just leave him like that, for someone to find. He deserved at least that much. And then… and then Martin would join him. Whatever world this was, it wasn’t worth living in without Jon.
When Martin reached the top of the hill, he stopped short at the sight of Jon. With his arms outstretched like that, it looked like he was reaching out to Martin. Pleading with him. He knelt down and laid a hand on Jon’s cheek.
“Just a little longer now,” Martin said, his own voice unfamiliar and distant. “Let me take care of you, one last time, and then I’ll be with you.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Jon’s forehead, and then got to work.
The sun was fully risen when he was finally finished. It wasn’t exactly six feet, but he figured it would do. The sides came up to his chest, and as tall as he was, it still took some considerable effort to get out. He hauled himself out and rested a moment, laying back on the grass with a deep sigh.
He’d almost forgotten the sky could be so blue. Even in domains where the great eye hadn’t been visible, the sky had always looked…wrong. Blue, but like a cheap plastic. An illusion disguising something else. How long had it been since he’d seen the sky, really? Months, for sure. It felt like years. It felt like he’d never really seen the sky before.
“Do you remember when we went on that hike?” Martin said aloud, his gaze on the clouds above. “Right after we escaped from the Lonely, when we’d gotten to the cottage. You said it was to…to ‘check the perimeter’ or something, but…” He smiled. “We just talked. And I got to hold your hand for the first time. We saw cows.” He rolled onto his side and gazed at Jon. “Remember? You told me you loved me. It was the first time you said it.”
Martin didn’t realize he’d starting crying again until he blinked, and suddenly Jon’s face was blurry. He sat up and scrubbed at his eyes. He had to get ahold of himself.
He wrapped Jon in his jacket and carefully lowered him into the hole. It wasn’t until he began to shovel the dirt back in that he let the tears flow freely, letting the monotony of the action turn his mind into nothing more than a low buzz.
When he was finished, he found a few rocks and made a makeshift cairn, simple and crude but enough of a marker. He wished he had time to make a proper gravestone. But then, who was going to visit him out here?
“Goodbye, Jon.” Martin laid a hand on the freshly overturned earth, then rose to his feet and began to walk.
He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even really know where he was. He just kept walking, glancing up only when he had to pick a direction. As numb as he felt now, he knew he didn’t want to suffer. Nothing that was going to last. He wanted it to be quick. Ideally, he’d use a gun, but the chances of just happening upon one of those was too slim to consider it a viable option.
A bridge, he decided. Something tall enough there’s no way he would survive the impact. He could see a city skyline a couple of miles away, so he began to wander with more purpose toward it.
“It’s going to be okay,” he muttered under his breath. Fear warred with his despair for a moment, but he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t live without Jon. Didn’t want to live without Jon. He had nothing to go back to and nothing to look forward toward. They had saved the world, but their story was over. It was time for him to end his part.
Would he go to heaven, he wondered? He’d never been particularly religious, certainly not after his entire world had been turned upside down by the discovery of fear entities that shaped and manipulated the world to their will, but his mother had been deeply so and ingrained that fear in him. Would he be good enough to get in? For that matter, if there was a heaven, would Jon be there?
Well, that was no question. No heaven would be worth going to without Jon. Wherever he ended up, if there was anywhere to end up at all, he’d find Jon.
The bridge was full of cars whizzing past, on their way to work or lunch. What time was it again? Martin didn’t have a watch. Definitely didn’t have a phone anymore. Who knew when he’d lost that. Had the cabin eaten it? It had never seemed important enough to worry about, and he wasn’t going to start now.
“Alright…” Martin took a deep breath and hauled himself up onto the side. He gazed down at the river below and shivered. Definitely a far enough drop to do the deed. His hand gripped the cool support bar firmly as he found his footing.
This was it.
He was going to do it.
Martin took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes.
“I’m coming, Jon.”
He let go of the railing.
“Stop!!” A hand gripped Martin’s hand, yanking him back just as he began to fall. He scrambled, steadying himself as whoever had grabbed him got a more solid grip and hauled him further away from the edge. A spike of anger pierced his chest as he turned to face this person, who had so rudely interfered, and just as suddenly his breath caught in his throat.
Jon.
“You don’t want to do this.” Both of Jon’s arms wrapped around one of Martin’s, tugging slightly as if he was going to pull him over the rail by sheer force of will alone. “Please. Just come back over here and I’ll get you some help. Whatever’s wrong, it can’t be worth losing your life.”
Martin’s mouth had gone dry. This couldn’t be real, right? He’d buried Jon in the ground. Was this some kind of trick, some last cruel prank of the universe? He raised a shaky hand to grip Jon’s arm, feeling the solidity and the warmth, feeling how real he was.
He tried to speak, to ask how this was happening, but the lump in his throat made that impossible. Tears made twin tracks down his face as he turned fully away from the sheer drop. The relief on Jon’s face was clear.
“That’s it. It’s going to be okay. Just come on back to this side. That’s it.” Martin did as asked, all the fight and anger gone out of him. His limbs were shaking so much he almost fell anyway, but Jon’s steady and firm grip on him got him to the other side of the railing. Once on the sidewalk, he collapsed, a sob finally escaping his lips as he reached for Jon. Jon knelt down in front of him with a shaky smile. “You gave me a fright there. Almost lost you. Alright?”
“Yeah…” Martin hiccupped. “I didn’t…h-how…?”
“Shhhh…deep breaths.” Jon’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Look, is there anywhere I can take you? Anyone I can call? I know the number for a crisis center if you’d prefer.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Here, I definitely have it saved…”
Martin frowned. That…was not what he’d expected. He scrubbed at his eyes, and finally Jon came into clear focus.
No worm scars.
No burn on his hand.
Hair perfectly black.
This wasn’t Jon.
Well…it was, in a sense. It was definitely Jon’s voice, his face. He more closely resembled Jon when they’d first met, back in the early archive days. His eyes were kind, though, and he was looking at Martin. Oh god, he was looking at him, and Martin felt stripped bare.
“I don’t…have anyone to call.” Martin took a shaky breath. “No family. No friends. No…nobody.” He chewed at his lip. “Look, I…appreciate your concern, but…you can’t help me.”
Jon’s face fell, and Martin would have done anything in that moment to bring that hopeful little smile back. It wasn’t his Jon, the man in front of him clearly didn’t know him, but that face made everything in him tremble. He wanted to bring him the moon. Instead he could only break his heart.
Martin stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, avoiding Jon’s worried gaze. “Just forget about me, okay?” He tried to turn but Jon’s hand shot out and grabbed his to stop him.
“Please, I…” Jon stared up at him, earnest and desperate. “I want to help you. If you don’t have anyone to call, at least…at least come back to my place. I’ll make you some tea, we can talk. I don’t want to just leave you here.”
Martin should have said no. He should have left, and found another place to jump off the bridge where nobody would stop him. But he’d always been weak to those eyes, to those pleas. Body and soul, he’d always been drawn into Jon like he was the sun, and Martin was nothing but a planet in his orbit.
So he followed Jon back to his car and climbed into the passenger side. Passing cars were honking and shooting Jon dirty looks, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care as he kept shooting furtive glances at Martin. For his part, Martin did his best to stare out the window. If he let himself stare at Jon, he would never want to look away.
Martin closed his eyes and laid his head back, letting the silence wash over him like a lapping tide. In and out. In and out. Inevitably, gradually, down.