Chapter Text
Jon doesn’t know what to write, now that everything else is ready. How do you know what to say last, to the person you’ve loved most, when the last thing you’re going to do to them is utter betrayal?
That you shouldn’t have? Loved them.
Because there is no option around betraying them.
He still remembers the first cup of tea Martin brought him. That’s where it began, not with the dog incident. A sweet and strong blend, reasons for appearance unknown, how could it taste so good, also unknown.
Jon stares at what will be the last cup between them. His miserable parting gift. Where it’ll end.
He’s briefly been outside, where the Eye has favored him the location of a nearby actual kettle and tea bag. The perks of holding the Apocalypse in central London. The Eye also reminded him of the pocket in Georgie’s bag where the lighter was, so he could arrange a tiny fire for the kettle. Clueless eyeball. Of course, he liked Jon as his Archivist, blind guiding blind, a puppet feeding another puppet, thinking they were…
Digressing.
Green tea doesn’t need to boil, the Eye confirmed, steeping time 3 minutes. Because of course, he’s the kind of “person” who’s more proficient at using an evil god than his smartphone.
And now he’s back in the tunnels, fidgeting with an empty piece of paper, threading and then discarding sentence after sentence, pointless apologies, broken promises, hurtful affection. There is nothing he could write that won’t be stained by his being the one who ended the world.
The steeping time must be way passed, if it passes at all. And Jon hasn’t decided yet what to write on the note he’s going to leave with the mug. “Sorry”? Sorry wasn’t conceived to cover for world ending mistakes. No one yet had a need for a word to define the accidental damnation of the entire planet, followed by the intentional extermination of its remains.
Right after you’ve agreed not to.
And no one will be left to come up with a proper word after. It’d probably be “Sims”, anyway. Just like Leitner’s name had become the trademark for evil books. Leitner. The ultimate boogie man of his youth. And now? He’d give anything, to have been only as bad, and foolish, as Jurgen Leitner, as reckless as Gertrude. All the people he’s belittled were far better at keeping the world together than his pompous ass. Tim was so right about him. All too late, to do better. There’s only don’t do even worst left and that requires hurting Martin again.
The others are asleep at some distance, Melanie doesn’t like Jon too close, they can hardly be disturbed by his movements, and he still feels a hint of their dreams. It’ll be some time before any of them wakes up. But he cannot take chances. He’s not going to keep himself together much longer. There’s a limit on how much despair one can take before your brain just slips away from reality, and he needs to be still himself after his takeover of Jonah, or he’ll end up ruling this world instead of ending it.
“I love you” is all he writes on the note, all he has left and his biggest regret, binding Martin to an abomination like himself. Martin will hate him within the hour. It feels so more logical, Martin hating him instead of loving him. He briefly looks at his beautiful, round, freckled face, a last time, just an instant, just a last stab to himself.
Then leaves.
But Martin is all he thinks at while ascending, because everything else is the world’s tasty fear screaming into his mind, how he’s going to burn every scrap of life left down to ashes. With every step the enormity of the horror weights him down more than the Eye can pull him up. So, he’s going to use Martin one last time, to escape reality for as long as it takes to reach the top.
Martin. Martin who cared (he didn’t deserve his care), fought (but he’s a lost battle), suffered (he’s not been there for most of it). Hoped. Still does. For a world without fears, for a tomorrow to come, for them to go out and have a good cup somewhere together. How many times in their past he’s said no to exactly that? Martin would have been delighted with simply that, even if deserved far more, everything good the world had to offer. And all he’s going to get by the time he awakens, alone once more, is a lukewarm bitter mug of tea.
---
His hand is cold. It’s holding nothing.
Jon isn’t curled up at his side.
Most likely, trouble sleeping, Martin considers. Sure, trouble sleeping, understatement of whatever passes for a century in the Apocalypse. Jon would be downright dead, consumed by his sense of guilt, was his body still merely human. That’s the most use he’s made of his powers. More range for self-harm.
Maybe they should have gone immediately after their decision. Jon is as much a prisoner in his own hell as any of those trapped in the domains. There can be no rest, no quiet, for him now. Just doubts and guilt. But he let them have a moment, for them, the only ones in the world that can still have it. And probably went to smoke another cigarette…
Also-Martin would say “Of course not”.
Martin remembers. Tim. And himself, coming back to the Archives to see why the hell Jon had told them to go home because “he was sick”, the day Leitner was killed and Not!Sasha…
Jon’s office was empty, and Tim’s voice commented the obvious. “Aaaaaand he’s gone. Thought so.”
Jon is gone.
Took Martin three years more than Tim to realize that. Jon will always be gone, Jon will always leave him behind.
He doesn’t even try to dampen his anger. If only Jon could see into the tunnels. He’d want him looking. Let him fucking Know his feelings right now. Arrogant bastard, liar…
He can do nothing with his rage beside sitting up. In the pale light of a tiny fire, he notices the mug, the lighter forgotten by the kettle, the small, crumpled note. He wants to shatter everything, but he cannot even see properly through his tears.
His Jon is desperate, and is alone, and Martin does not know how to help him, or the world, or the universe at large... How could, when he does not even know how to help himself?
He never managed to truly help Jon, had he? That’s why he leaves you behind. There is no point in having you. What did you ever contribute? The mark of the Lonely, here’s one. And another: you went to see the cows while he was alone with the statements. Oh, and let’s not forget Annabelle’s plan, another great help of yours. Solved nothing, just burdened Jon with one more worry (you left him alone to follow her) one more choice with just bad outcomes, one more reason for guilt. One more reason to leave. Alone.
And yet, “I love you”, says the note.
It’d be easier if Jon hated him by now. Everything in the world was fine, back when Jon hated him. But he doesn’t. Jon is still human, Jon still loves him. The note says as much, the tea says even more. Martin sits, in silence, sipping the last proper tea of the world, because tea is his go-to when he doesn’t know what else can be done, but the pain rages inside his head.
Still hot. Jon just left. And the climb takes time. Think Martin, think while you still have a last bit of time…you used to try a way forward after you stopped for tea. So, think… Because it cannot end like this.
As much, he cannot simply run blindly and try to catch Jon. He cannot force him out of his plan. Jon has made up his mind that the right thing is to sacrifice this world for the others, and he’s not going to allow himself to reconsider. If he confronts him… one of the two will have to force the other to stop. He’s not going to put that on Jon’s shoulders on top of everything else.
So, he pointedly stays and drinks his tea. Slowly, because if he finds nothing by the time the cup is empty, he’d have to acknowledge it’s hopeless, it’s truly how it ends. Think, think, think. Where he goes, I go… and I know where he’s going, but I’m not there with him, because… he knew, I would never follow him on that. Did I even truly consider Jon’s plan, his reasons? Of course not, I didn’t want to lose him… but I am. Again.
And I forbid it. Yes, I still forbid it!
“Alright, fine. Fine. What do you want?” the memory of Tim says. Like he’s still here, angry and complaining, yes, but still searching these same tunnels alongside him, looking for Jon. “What’s your light at the end of these spooky damn tunnels? And don’t say ‘everyone happy forever’ because that’s not happening.”
“I want to save Jon. I want everyone to be fine, and, you know what? If we were all happy that wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.”
Tim. Tim I’m so sorry. No, it’s not happening for you, not for Sasha, or Daisy. But Jon? He’s still here.
But how?
“Big showdown, the kiss and the button that saves the world.”
Before his also-brain yells “In your dreams”, the image of a button is in his mind. The dull orange record button of their first tape recorder. And then looks at the lighter. Forgotten, again.
The Web has turned Jon’s voice on tape into a siren’s song for Entities. The most powerful force of this reality…
He takes his poetry notebook out and starts scheming, then scribbling. Sipping Jon’s tea when his hand shake too much. He gives himself less than twenty minutes, then it’s a wrap. He removes a few pages and pockets them, leaving the rest. He takes a moment to extinguish what little flame is still under the kettle, to drink the last drop of tea, then go.
Martin has a plan. Not Peter’s, not Annabelle’s.
His own.
---
“…and through The Eye brought about a new world, a wide and unending vista of terror and agony, and the place from which it might spread, and spin another web far grander than anything conceived of in the minds that birthed it. Finally, it would find its escape and with it… apotheosis.”
Jon exhales.
“No. It won’t. It has only found its end.”
Or so, he says, with as much certainty as he can conjure, but then, it’s time to do it. Unavoidable now, and yet, it still has to sink in. He moves towards the glass walls and takes a moment to look at the hellscape with his own eyes, trying to get a hold of his own new power, to understand how… he can feel and know each single person, one by one. Their terror, but also who they were before, who loved them, what they hoped for... Know exactly what he’s going to destroy.
The Eye is going to have him See them before he Ends them.
He let out a hysterical laugh when, after a few minutes of planning his genocide, he feels the pale mark of the Extinction on him. The missing sticker on his album.
Ah, he certainly deserves this one.
Didn’t even need Jonah’s help for that. More proof he’s perfectly able to screw everything up on his own.
He’s trying to understand if the newly born Entity is just there to play evil cheerleader, or if he’s been granted some new power to at least do it quickly, when the door opens. He doesn’t need to turn. He doesn’t want to.
Martin.
Martin should still be sleeping, not here, not seeing this. He shouldn’t have wasted time convincing himself of a decision made so much time ago and yet never truly taken, nor stopped to make tea, but…
Elias’ corpse is right there. Is Martin going to yell at him? It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s considered Martin staying with him until… but now, he just makes him sick to consider Martin having to be anywhere near something as rotten as himself.
“Jon”
Just that. A quiet whisper. Jon wonders if it would hurt less, if he had Martin believe there’s only the Pupil left. That his Jon died, and it’s a monster, the one on the verge of extinguishing their world.
Maybe that’s exactly how it is.
But then, I’d be easier for them to decide to try and go ahead with their plan while he’s still figuring out the logistics of how one ends the world.
“Yes. It’s still me.” His voice comes out too broken, and he has to harden it. They are not going to talk. “It’s over. Go back. Tell the others.”
“No need”
He has no clue what to make of Martin’s face, now that he has turned to him in surprise. No rage, no desperation. Stern, looking at him like he’s the one examining.
“What?”
The Eye answer first. Mindless brat.
A fragment from Jon’s memory, his hand hovering over the tiny note he wants to leave with the cup, agonizing over what to write. Managing just those three words, and then slipping away with nothing in his head beside Martin on loop.
Forgetting the lighter.
Forgetting the tiny flame in a corner over which the kettle is still heating.
Its sudden whistle is pulled from Martin’s memory.
Jon’s mind imagines the rest. The water left in the kettle probably took no more than a couple of minutes to reach a boil after he left. Waking Martin, who alerted the others, and they have the lighter with them, so while Martin climbed, they must have reached the gas mains… and as soon as the explosion goes off Martin will have to kill Jon and… then, it’ll be over.
That’s it.
He forgot a kettle, and it whistled.
That’s what shall condemn hundreds of worlds to this same nightmare, bind Martin to be the one to take this decision, to be left alone in their restored world, carrying his same unescapable guilt. A whistle. The universe is the sickest joke ever and Annabelle must be rolling off her cobweb with how hard she’s laughing.
Jon’s legs give way, and he ends up on the floor on his knees. Doesn’t bother to move. It’s too perfect for an execution.
“How’s not Melany the one doing it?” he whispers to Martin “Did… did you ask for it?”
“Wait what… Oh no… No, no Jon! I’m not here for that plan! They’re still sleeping! Hope so.”
“Do I need to ask the Eye, or would you explain?”
“I didn’t alert them when I saw you gone. There was no point. It’s just me, Jon. I want you to hear me out. Just that. And then where you’ll go, I will. No matter how dark it’ll be. I didn’t lie when I promised you that.”
At that Martin’s brain somehow conjures a for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part daydream, but he promptly catches himself. He’s not going to propose with some flashy ring stolen from Elias’ still warm dead fingers.
“Martin, I cannot have this conversation again. It’s too much. I killed our world. I cannot bear to go on, damning universe after universe just so we…”
“I got that memo when I woke up alone.” Martin exhales deeply, then clears his throat. “Is, is that thing running?”
“How do you compel a tape recorder to stop?” Jon lets out something that’s almost a laugh, but soon that dries up “Gives an idea about how much choice being a god affords me, isn’t it?”
“We’ll see.”
Martin’s hand goes to his pocket. He extracts and unfolds his scribbled sheets, and then rummages again. There’s something shining in his hand that clinks as it’s tossed on the floor between them.
“Your lighter. Still forgotten, still here. Our…” Martin was almost going for our friendly neighborhood Spiderwoman but having to wait for the Eye to explain that to Jon wouldn’t do “…Annabelle told you why. You fail to remember it because deep down you cannot bring yourself to choose what to do with it. Because you’re still undecided.”
There is no rebuttal from Jon. Martin face hardens as he goes on.
“But I’m not. Not anymore.”
Martin is big, and strong. Sometimes, it’s handy. His foot raises, and then slams down. Just once. The resulting metallic crash is certainly picked up by the tape, as much as Jon’s harsh gasp.
When his foot moves away, there’s little left of the lighter. A few warped metal pieces and a sticky, blue fluid staining the floor. Martin spits on it for good measure, very audibly so. “Seems you were right, Annabelle, about my lack of patience.”
Jon clamps his mouth shut with his hand, while the Eye rambles about how hemocyanin is what gives spiders’ blood a bluish color when it's oxygenated.
The lighter is gone. No looking back. The Archives will not burn, their world will, Martin will…
Martin goes on.
“Here you go Jon, exactly as you wanted it. The Entities stay with us, chained to their tether. Away from those untouched greener pastures. With that out of the way, for this world there’s only The End awaiting, and I assume it’s not opposed to you accelerating us all down its throat.”
Jon is still kneeled on the floor, looking up at Martin’s looming figure, petrified by his cold resolve. Where is his Martin, fighting him tooth and nail each time he’s tried to martyr himself? Stubbornly hoping to save their world, demanding a chance at being together? He doesn’t know how to handle a Martin that’s not pushing back anymore against his own destructive tendencies, but instead wants him to burn as fast as possible. It shouldn’t hurt so much, it should be fine, really, aren’t they preserving hundreds of worlds this way? Wasn’t that Jon’s plan, Jon’s idea of rightful sacrifice, to begin with? But why is Martin suddenly fine with not hoping anymore?
What happened to him? Jon shivers. I happened to him.