Work Text:
“Do you know,” Martin said, from somewhere just behind Jon. “I think it might be time for a break.”
“I know a lot of things now, Martin,” Jon said tiredly, “but I can’t say I’ve worked out the use of taking a break yet. We don’t need to rest. We could keep walking for—for years, if we wanted to.” He paused. “If years are even still a thing.”
“Yeah, I know we don’t need rests,” Martin said. “But don’t you think it’s nice to have a little bit of… I don’t know. Normality?”
Jon looked around them, quite pointedly. They had been walking through this barren moonscape for what could have been days, back when time still meant anything. Certainly nowhere like it should exist on Earth, but here it was: flat, and dusty, and littered with rocks and craters of varying sizes. Their clothing was covered in dust up to the knee, and despite their lack of need for sleep or food or drink, the dust was still capable of making them cough and sneeze until their throats were prickly and their sinuses raw. Above them, the sky blazed a deep, dull red, a colour that should have given off barely any useful light. Despite that, they could see perfectly, and always could: the sky was never-changing, always that same uniform colour, and always with that great, staring eye where one there had been a sun.
“Yeah,” Jon said tersely. “Because normality can be found in spades right now.”
“That’s all the more reason to make the most of it,” Martin said brightly. “You know how it is – if you fall out of habits, it’s easy to forget you ever had any. We can’t forget who we are, Jon. Normal people need to rest, so we should rest.”
“I’m not a normal person.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“Neither are you.” Jon sighed. “Neither are either of you.”
Both Martins glanced at one another. Their expression was identical – a kind of fond exasperation – and it was still dizzying to see. They were the most identical of identical twins, except where even the most identical of twins would still be two separate people, each with their own individual experiences and thoughts and opinions, the Martins were both Martin. They were the same person, doubled. There was nothing different about them, nothing to identify which was the original, so to speak, and which was the one who had followed Martin out of the Lonely. Jon knew, of course, because he just did, but if it hadn’t been for extreme supernatural influence he would have been clueless. Of course, he had an attachment to the original Martin, but even he could recognise that it was purely sentimental. There was no difference between the two at all. Even to call them clones would be inaccurate, because a clone had to come from somewhere; the original would always pre-date it. These two were one and the same, with the unique characteristic of there being two of them.
Because of this, it wasn’t just a case of them doing things simultaneously, like twins might. They did things identically, and even if the action could be filmed and slowed down frame by frame, there would not be a single difference in any of their minute movements or timings. Even the look in their eyes was identical, both of them staring at Jon like they might just indulge him a little bit, but no – this was something they were going to have to remain firm on. They even wore the exact same apologetic smile, despite the fact that only one of them spoke in reply. Jon was rather glad that they didn’t often go in for the in-sync talking. He didn’t think he would be able to cope with that.
“Well, that doesn’t mean we can just throw it all to the dogs, does it?” Martin asked. “If anything, that’s more reason to take a break.”
“We’ve been standing here debating for five minutes now,” Jon said. “Can that count?”
“No,” said Martin. “Find a rock and get comfortable. I think we should call it fifteen minutes?”
“How,” Jon said, through gritted teeth, “are we supposed to know when fifteen minutes has passed? We don’t even know the time.”
“Oh, if only there was somebody here who could just know everything,” Martin said, in an overly dramatic lament. Beside him, the other Martin sat down heavily on a rock, stretching his legs out and sighing. “Whatever shall we do?”
“I can’t know what isn’t there,” Jon said, annoyed. “There is no time anymore, Martin.” He tried to ignore the always-disorientating feeling of seeing them both look to him at their name. “It doesn’t exist. That’s why it’s so ridiculous to say we need to take a break for a set amount of time, because there is no time, and there is no distance.”
“Alright,” said Martin. “We’ll take a break until we feel like moving again. How’s that?”
“Things shift,” Jon said. “The longer we sit here, the more things might change, and—”
“If there’s no distance,” said the seated Martin, “it shouldn’t matter, right?”
“Yeah,” said Martin. “What is it you say? We’ll get there when we get there?”
Jon groaned. Martin was right – he had said that, and that was admittedly how this worked. At the same time, he sometimes got the impression that the two of them would be quite happy to sit around and let London materialise next to them, which he knew for a fact they both saw as a viable option. Jon knew that it wouldn’t ever work like that – there was a certain amount of things he needed to see and experience before London would reveal itself to him properly – but he hadn’t managed to impress that fact on the Martins well enough yet. They had a profound distaste for anything involving the fact that Jon had to roam around and take statements; the idea that they could be wandering for who knew how long, enduring endless suffering, was not something they liked to admit. Jon wasn’t overly pleased by it himself, but he could at least see the practicality of it. It was unavoidable, so it made sense to keep going and try to get it done as soon as possible. Sitting around was not going to speed up the process, yet here they were. Jon got the impression that if they had any food with them, the Martins would have spread out a blanket and started a picnic.
“It’s like Lord of the bloody Rings in this place,” Jon muttered.
“Oh?” asked Martin, lifting his head to look at him.
“The Hobbits,” Jon said vaguely, waving a hand. “In the film. They stop and ask about breakfast, and Strider tells them they’ve already had it, so they ask about Second Breakfast, and Elevensies, and so on and so forth.”
“We haven’t even had one breakfast,” said Martin, a little forlornly.
“The Hobbits had the right idea,” Martin said, sighing wistfully. “Double-digit meals a day. Good beer. Country living. That cabin would have been nice, don’t you think, if not for everything else?”
“A lot of things would have been nice, if not for everything else,” Jon said. He sighed, and with nothing else left to do but admit defeat, he swung his backpack off and used it as a place to sit out of the dust. “We couldn’t have stayed there for forever, I suppose.”
“I wonder how much worse it would be if we had,” Martin said. “Stayed there, I mean. Technically nothing could stop us from just saying screw it, right?”
“I don’t know,” Jon said. “You saw how strange it was getting. I think our hands would have been forced at some point, regardless of what we wanted. What we want doesn’t seem to have much influence here, does it?”
“When has it ever?” Martin asked, and then they both sighed, looking down and to the side in identical movements.
Jon couldn’t help it – he stared at them both. They were sitting side-by-side now, their shoulders practically touching. Each was using his right hand to draw squiggles and shapes in the sand, nonsense little doodles that they created and erased and created again in unison. Try as he might, Jon still couldn’t quite get used to it. He had tried to tell himself that it was no different to Martin suddenly revealing he had a twin – Jon would have surely felt the same dissonance looking at them in that context, but he would have eventually got used to it. The problem with this, of course, was that they weren’t twins, but rather two Martins, and for some reason Jon just found that headache-inducing to consider. It seemed that he should be able to find some difference between them, however slight; at the very least, he should feel a particular way towards one of them than the other. Martin was his boyfriend, and it seemed that he should have some loyalty to the original Martin, with the other Martin being as taboo as an identical twin, but that was not the case at all. Jon felt the same way towards both of them – the love he felt for Martin did not differentiate between the two of them, and neither of the Martins seemed any less than wholly in love with him, too. Therefore he had found himself, technically, with two boyfriends – but really, it was just the one of them.
He had peeked, of course. He tried not to, but with situations like this he thought he would give himself some leeway. He needed to know; he needed to be certain, to silence the thoughts and doubts and worries that had circulated in his mind the second that both of them had appeared from the Lonely, neither of them seeming too shocked to see themselves there. Jon had worried about all kinds of things, specifically some other trick from the Stranger, and for several days he had struggled with his doubt. He had known that Martin was off-limits, that thanks to himself Martin had some level of protection awarded to him by the Eye – something that sometimes seemed to Jon like a kind of sick favour on behalf of the Eye, like a little indulgence, letting its most powerful avatar have a little pet of his own. Even so, Jon wasn’t complaining, because it kept Martin safe, but in those immediately following days he had not been able to settle his doubt. So he had looked, and what he had found had been… Martin. Just Martin in his entirety, the two of them just as much Martin as the other. They had identical thoughts, identical memories, identical experiences; the only difference that Jon had ever observed had been during questions and decisions where there were a couple of viable options or things to worry about, whereupon one Martin would outline one option, and the other would point out conflicting points of the other. They never argued; it seemed to just be a direct manifestation of the way that Martin debated and talked with himself, something that Jon had seen Martin do time and time again. Martin liked to talk his problems and worries out loud, and Jon had heard him several times, back in the cabin or when he was walking along a few paces behind him. He would mutter to himself under his breath, speaking and replying; when he had a little more privacy, such as when he had been in the cabin and Jon had been in another room entirely, he would speak quite normally to himself, at a regular volume, sounding every inch the madman. He was essentially like a one man debating team, only now there was two of him, yet somehow the debating team still retained only the one member.
It was enough to give Jon a raging headache, despite the fact that out of everything he had come across, this was not the most complicated thing he’d ever had to grasp.
“I think it’s probably been equivalent enough to fifteen minutes,” he said.
“Not a chance,” Martin replied cheerfully. “Come on, Jon. Are you really in such a hurry to go running back into all that terror?”
“I think the sooner it gets done, the better,” Jon said.
The Martins glanced at one another, this time with matching expressions of almost guilty worry. Jon watched them for a moment, trying to work out if one of them would come out with it, but then they looked away again and it became apparent they had no intention of doing so. Jon could no longer compel people to answer him in this new world, but it hardly mattered – he could know anything the second he thought of it, which basically acted as its own version of compulsion should he ask a question. Many people seemed to like the illusion of choice: tell Jon voluntarily, or have him just know anyway. It seemed like a nasty thing to do either way, but Jon had promised Martin he wouldn’t peek, at least as much as he was able to avoid it.
“What?” he asked.
This time, the look they exchanged was one of mild annoyance.
“What?” Jon repeated. “You can’t just look like that and then expect me not to ask. Martin. I said I wouldn’t peek, and I’m not going to, but please tell me what that look was about.”
“Well,” Martin sighed. “It’s just…”
“I know that it’s going to be done when it’s done,” Martin said, “and there’s nothing much to do about that. But you did say there’s probably a certain amount of things you had to do before that, so the more you… you know, take these statements or make these observations or whatever, theoretically the sooner we’re going to get there.”
“And the sooner we’ll get to the Panopticon, and the sooner we might kick Jonah Magnus’s ass,” Martin said. “But we don’t know how that’s… going to end.”
“Ah,” Jon said. He was beginning to follow. “I see.”
“So what’s the rush?” Martin asked. “For all we know, we could be going towards our death. And I don’t know about you, Jon, but I’m not in much of a hurry to do that.”
“All these people,” Jon said quickly. “We can’t just… take our time. They’re suffering, Martin.”
“Yeah, I know,” Martin said. “I know, Jon. But we don’t have a clue what time is like for them, either. If it’s all messed up, it could have already felt like years for these people – centuries, millennia! And with something like this, you know… any time is bad enough. I don’t think these people will be much worse off because they spent a little extra timeless time in the worm pit, or the inferno apartment, or whatever.”
“Maybe it’s a bit selfish,” Martin said, “but so be it. It’s not the dying that bothers me, it’s… well, this. There’ll be no more time left with you.”
“I know it’s not exactly an ideal setting for dating and romance,” Martin said, “but I waited so long for this, Jon. You can’t tell me to hurry it up so we can get to the point where I might lose you forever.”
Jon swallowed hard. He had thought much the same, even if he had never dared to voice it before. Martin was right – it seemed far too selfish, but at the same time, he couldn’t help it; couldn’t pretend he felt otherwise. In fact, the thought had been tormenting him for some time; seeds of it had begun right when he had gone and ended the world, and the realisation had dawned on him that whatever brief time he and Martin had had together up until that point was all they would ever had. Gradually those seeds had germinated into the realisation that whatever happened between them and Jonah would mean the end of what they had and whatever they could have had – either one of them would die, or they would both die, or something else would happen that would no doubt be somehow worse. Jon was not optimistic when it came to their chances, and while Martin talked as though things would end up alright and they would work something out, Jon knew that he didn’t entirely believe it. They might be able to restore the world, yes, but Jon knew that at the very least, it would be the end for him. Too much of him was tied up in the Eye now – and he had been the one to create this world, bring it forth. If it was then destroyed or reverted, what would happen to him? He imagined that he would go with it. There would be no place for him in the healed world, and Jon supposed that was how it should be.
Hearing Martin put words to those terrible thoughts was almost too much for Jon to bear. He slumped his shoulders, looking down at the dust coating his trousers, the fine sand at his feet. How many steps had he walked now? Each one of them closer to the end of this – to the end of whatever little time he and Martin had together.
“Jon?”
He looked up, seeing both Martins were watching him, identical expression of confusion on their face. Despite the situation as a whole, Jon couldn’t help but feel a little amused.
“If you’d told me a few years ago that one day I’d be sitting with two of you, and I’d be enjoying myself, I would wonder what kind of substances you’d been doing in the storage closet,” he said quietly.
Both Martins laughed, the exact same sound, the exact same cadence and length.
“Is it… I mean, obviously it’s a little strange for me,” Jon said. “Is it strange for you?”
“Oh, yes,” Martin said, laughing again. “I mean—yes. It’s taking some getting used to. But…” They both shrugged. “It’s just me, you know?”
“Do you feel… depleted? Like you’ve been spread too thin?”
They shook their heads. “No.”
“I suppose I wondered if it was a case of, I don’t know. More containers, same amount of Martin.”
“I suppose it’s just a step above how things have always been,” Martin said. “I talk to myself a lot, you know? I bet you noticed.”
“Yes.” Jon smiled. “I did.”
“Well, that’s what it was like in—my domain, I suppose. Just… talking to myself. But dream logic, you know? Why wouldn’t I also be there, talking back at myself? Crazy to think that this set-up would make me look less insane to the regular passer-by, if there were such things anymore.”
“I still struggle with the fact that it’s you,” Jon said. “I know it is, but seeing two separate people, even though I know that they’re both you… I feel like I should be able to wrap my head around it, because all things considered it’s not the most outrageous thing I’ve ever been able to comprehend, but this just beats me.”
“It’s nice to know I can surprise you, of all people,” Martin said. “You know everything now. I guess a little mystery is nice?”
“Personally, I think it’s a long way to go just to get your own way.”
“It’s only fair. Two against one, Jon. We have to take it easy when I say so now.”
“Is it two against one, though?” Jon asked. “You’re the same person.”
“If we’re counting corporeal forms, then yes, I outnumber you.”
“With that logic, I should be able to call on the Eye in the Sky.”
“No,” Martin said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t have arms.”
“I didn’t know you had to have arms to be corporeal.”
“You do when the debate at hand involves you being at a drastic disadvantage if I decide to just pick you up and set you down.”
“I would say you wouldn’t dare, but I think I know better than that.”
They fell silent, something that seemed even deeper thanks to the lack of wind. Jon thought there should at least be a breeze – it was the kind of landscape that encouraged it, but everything was so unbelievably still. Jon could easily believe that everything around them for a thousand miles was dead; there was no sign of life anywhere, unless one counted the silhouette of the Panopticon on the horizon, jutting out like a needle, the eye framed perfectly above it.
“Lord of the Rings indeed,” Jon muttered, and then he put his face in his hands.
“Jon?” Martin asked. “Jon, are you alright?”
Jon couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He nodded, but sitting as he was, hunched and hiding his face, he didn’t think that he made a very convincing argument. There was the rustle of clothing and the crunch of sand, and Jon started as somebody sat down on either side of him – he had somehow forgotten, again, that there were two of them. He expected it to be strange, but instead he found it was immensely comforting, to have Martin’s weight and warmth on both sides of him, his arms around him from both angles, something solid and real and grounding. He hunched his shoulders, trying his best to keep a grip on himself, but there was something about Martin’s touch that always made it seem so impossible – and doubly so now, when he was so painfully aware of the fact that this touch was finite. There would come a day – perhaps a day soon – when they might never be able to do this again.
“Jon,” Martin said quietly. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s silly,” Jon muttered. “It’s just—so unfair. And all I can do is keep making comparisons to books, because there’s nothing about this that feels remotely real. Well, it does, but not in a way that I can believe it – my only reference is to all the books I’ve read, the storybooks where people go on grand adventure and face danger and terrible things happen, but at the end of it there’s always a way out. They might lose something, or they might be hurt terribly, but there’s always something that comes along or they find some loophole or they’re saved at the last moment; they always find a way home. Things might be different, and they might be different, but it’s something good and something they can do something with. That’s my only frame of reference, but I know that’s not going to happen this time. It can’t. Real life has its own internal logic – this shouldn’t have been possible, no, but now that I know it is, I can’t help but think it’s going to go the same way as the rest of real life. In real life there are no last-minute saves, and there might not be a happy ending. In fact, statistically, there won’t be. Real life has always been cruel, and unfair, just a—a monkey’s paw, no matter what. Growing up I learned that the first step to going on a huge adventure was to be an orphan, and sometimes that was the only way that I could deal with the fact that I never knew my parents – and I did get an adventure, and it turned out to be this.”
His voice finally caught; he didn’t want to cry, but it was beyond his control. He pressed his face against his hands and sobbed.
“Jon,” Martin said quietly. “Oh, Jon.”
“I don’t want this,” Jon said helplessly. “I never wanted this. I was stupid. I should never have thought—never have wished for—”
“Jon,” Martin said firmly.
“Don’t start doing that to yourself,” Martin added. “Don’t start blaming yourself again.”
“But it’s my fault!” Jon said. “Everything – everything – in my life has led up to this!”
“So how could you have known?” Martin asked. “Jon, if this was set in motion from the moment you were born, there was nothing you could have done.”
“There should have been. I should have done something. I should have known.”
“That’s just—well, that’s impossible, Jon. You’re not going to get anywhere thinking you can do the impossible.”
“This should have been impossible, right?” Jon asked glumly. “But I still did it.”
“Yeah,” Martin said, “It should have been impossible, and something that you’d only find in a book, but here it is. Just like reversing it sounds like something that could only be found in a book, or living happily ever after should only be found in a book.”
“But if you managed to do this,” Martin said, “why not everything else? If this is possible, all those other things have an equal chance of being possible.”
Jon shook his head. “Life is never that benevolent.”
“Jon,” Martin said. “Look around you. Are you really going to say that anything is impossible?”
Jon finally looked up, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Martin’s words had stuck somewhere in his mind, deliriously optimistic though they were, but he couldn’t quite shake them even if the cynical part of him wanted to. It was a sobering thought, thinking on those words and seeing that great unblinking eye staring right back at them, but it wasn’t that that caught Jon’s attention, caught on Martin’s words. It was the fact that there was a pair of dusty legs on either side of him, and that arms were wrapped around him from both sides, and that – despite everything, despite what he could see around them – he still somehow felt… alright.
“It’s such a long shot,” Jon said quietly.
“Yeah,” Martin said pointedly. “A lot of things are. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
Jon didn’t have to look to know Martin was referring to him – to them, to the fact that there was a them. He hunched a little smaller, and they huddled a little closer, and Jon concentrated on Martin’s warmth, on the solidity of him, and finally allowed himself to know what hoping for the best, despite everything else, felt like.
It didn’t soothe all of his thoughts, but it didn’t feel as pointless as he had feared. It felt, he thought, like a choice.