Chapter Text
A dirty-blond, lithe youth, with a black headband and the banner of the Red Army on his shield, ran for his life; away from the skeletons that chased him from all sides. The filthy desert folk had fled, wounded from the battle. Blindly, the Red King’s hand rushed through trees, and was shot, the arrow piercing his shoulder muscle. He screamed and writhed in pain, falling to his knees as he gasped for air. His watery-blue eyes brimmed with tears; he knew wouldn’t get home to his king on this fatal day. His life flickered before him, visions of the Red King kneeling in front of him, an axe in his own hand, and the trusting look in his king’s eyes. He lifted the axe up high, and beheaded his king. Now, he breathing was raspy, just as the king’s had been, finally at peace with his own death, just as his king had been. He closed his eyes and smiled... but there was whispering... what were they saying..? His mind slipped into an easy unconsciousness.
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Opening his eyes, Martyn gasped and scrambled in his bed, flailing his arms around as he fell out, wrapped in blankets. He crawled out of them, still breathless from his nightmarish death. He looked around the room, and screeched when he saw a figure sitting by the window.
“It’s okay, my love! It’s just me.” Martyn’s partner reassured him, meditating in the early morning light. Ren was soft at heart, and came over to Martyn.
“Are you having those dreams again?” Ren asked, pulling him up. Martyn nodded, a subtle movement that he almost missed.
The two had barely spoken about Martyn’s traumatic dreams, as Ren seemed to be unnerved by them. The two went on with their day, eating breakfast together before splitting off to go to work. Martyn retreated to his home office and booted up his computer. He opened his writing document and continued to write his novel. All his followers had been eagerly awaiting an update, and he was determined to give his fans what they wanted. After a couple hours of writing, he decided to have a break, and decided to go for a quick walk. He rushed to put on shoes and a coat, for the weather was turning chilly. He wandered to the shops, and grabbed some carrots - the only thing he could currently eat without feeling ill. Martyn paid for them and left, walking back through the suburban paths of Ren’s hometown. When they’d first met, Martyn had been a traveller, and found difficulties with staying in one place for long. However, once he had met his partner, he had settled down for a relatively peaceful life, or so he had thought.
Martyn analysed his dream as he wandered home, and ended up deciding to call his therapist to book another appointment. He went every other Thursday, but he felt uneasy, and desperately wanted someone to talk to about his weird, realistic dreams. He unlocked his door and walked inside, then paused as he was shutting it behind him. Shivering, Martyn turned to look outside. His neck tingled with the nagging fear that someone was watching him, and he scanned the street, his eyes darting around swiftly. His gaze fell on a shadow across the pavement. It resembled a human-like figure, with many pairs of wings, some even on its head. Martyn blinked into the weak sunlight as he tried to spot what was casting the shadow, but he couldn’t spot anyone. He tensed, terrified of whatever was there. He knew he was being watched! A slight smugness wormed its way into his mind, and he was briefly distracted by thoughts on how he’d tell Ren about the proof he’d found. However, once he returned his attention to the shadow, it was gone. He rushed outside and to where the weird vision had been. The only thing he could see left behind was a scorching mark, which looked to be the outline of an eye.
Martyn was thoroughly freaked out by now, and he staggered back across the street and into his house, lightheaded with fear. He slammed the door behind him, fumbling with the keys as he struggled to lock it. Once he had, he slumped against the door, breathing heavily. He knew he wasn’t truly afraid, just unnerved, and for some unknown reason to him, he despised what the shadow and eye stood for. He returned to writing his desk, but instead of writing his novel, he opened a fresh document, and started to write all of his strange experiences. They had started in April, and it was now the start of June. Every week he had another dream, and he could always feel someone watching him, stalking him. He typed away, noting everything down in chronological order, and then added a rough timeline. Once he was done, he saved it and titled it “Therapy can’t fix this”.
Just then, the sound of the door opening made Martyn turn his head sharply. He sighed with relief when he saw that it was just Ren. His partner walked through the open office door and over to Martyn, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you alright? You seem a little jumpy, my love.” Ren asked him, concerned. He took hold of Martyn’s hand and brushed it to his lips, but Martyn pulled away. Ren frowned, but let him go.
“I’m fine,” Martyn started, absent-mindedly, “Oh! Wait, Ren, come with me.”
He dragged his partner back to the door and on to the street, taking him to the eye scorched into the ground. Surely enough, it was still there, and Martyn gestured at it. Ren looked confused as he looked at the ground.
“Sorry, what am I meant to be looking at?” he asked.
“What? The scorch marks of that eye of course!” Martyn scoffed, “It’s quite obvious! And, Ren, it’s proof that someone is watching me! You see, there was this shadow that didn’t have a figure to go with it, and it had like wings on it’s head. It was really odd. When I next look, the shadow is gone and there’s this weird eye in the ground!”
Ren’s puzzlement grew into worry, and he looked at the ground again. He retook Martyn’s hands, and said with extraordinary patience, “There’s nothing there, it’s just ground, my love. Are you sure you’re quite alright?”
Martyn took a step back, stumbling as his mind spun, “No. No, no, no, no. No, that’s wrong, you’re wrong! It’s right there! I can see it!”
Ren hesitantly approached, putting his arms around Martyn as he stared in disbelief at the ground. At the contact with Ren, the eye shimmered violet, and then set aflame. When the fire died down, the ground was smooth tarmac once more. Martyn blinked repeatedly, letting Ren drag him back inside. For a drama teacher, Ren had the strength of a medieval king. Martyn silently went back to his home office, and Ren followed. He reopened the document he had filed away for later, and edited it, writing about the encounter he’d just had. Ren watching over his shoulder was a little off-putting, but he typed away, describing everything with immense detail. When he finished, he turned off his laptop, shakily, and Ren steered him into their bedroom to rest.
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A few days later, on Tuesday, he went to his therapy appointment, and shared the document, which he had only edited every now and then since the weird shadow-eye-thing on Friday. He knocked on the door, and a blond, young man answered.
“Oh hey Martyn! What’re you here for?”
“Hi Tim, I’m here for Scott if he’s in?” Martyn asked. Jimmy rolled his eyes at the nickname, but called for his husband. A moment later, Scott came to the door, and Jim walked off into their cozy home.
“Well, come in then!” Scott ushered Martyn into the house and through to the living room, “Now, sit or lie down on the couch, and tell me why you needed this session so desperately that you decided to bug me on my day off?”
“Sorry, Scott, but it’s urgent,” Martyn took a shaky breath, “It’s about those dreams I was telling you about.”
Scott turned to look at him, his blue hair catching the sun’s rays through the window. He left abruptly, and returned a few minutes later with two mugs of coffee.
“You look dreadful, drink up, and tell me what happened this time.”
Martyn started explaining, then remembered that he had written everything down for this purpose. He pulled out his laptop from his satchel, and opened the document. He shoved it towards Scott, across the table, then downed his coffee as he waited for his therapist to read the whole thing. In the end, it took about ten minutes for him to read, and another five while he processed it.
After he’d contemplated what to say, Scott looked up, a flicker of recognition in his eye. Martyn briefly wondered why, but it was gone as soon as he’d spotted it. His friend and therapist looked away, and hesitated before speaking.
“Well, nightmares are only nightmares, but seeing a vision during waking hours should be looked at more seriously. Perhaps you’d want some medication for that? I’m sure Skizz or Impulse could sort you out with that.”
“No, Scott, it wasn’t a hallucination, and you know it! I’m perfectly sane! I really think you should tell me the truth.”
Scott stood up abruptly, “Is the eye symbol still there?”
“Um, I think so? It wasn’t when I was touching Ren, but I think I saw it this morning.”
“Right, show me it then.”
Martyn blinked at him, confused beyond measure, “What?”
Scott was already at the door and putting his shoes on. Martyn hurried to follow, and they left the house with a quick goodbye to Jimmy. The two friends walked briskly to Martyn’s street, and he showed Scott the marking.
“Huh. I can see it.” Scott muttered, no shock in his voice.
“See? I told you I’m not insane! It’s as I said, a scorching mark of an eye, right where the shadow of someone with wings was.” Martyn retorted.
“Well, uh, why didn’t you take a picture as proof?”
Martyn sighed, “I tried, it broke my phone’s camera and the picture was glitchy and purple.”
Scott looked up from the ground, “Why have they shown us this?”
Martyn caught the subtext in the question, and changed quickly responded, “I don’t know, but, wait. You’ve been having these dreams too?”
Scott nodded uncomfortably, “They hate me; talk to me sometimes. The shadows are always lurking around my house, stalking me and Jim. I call them the Watchers.”
Martyn wondered why Scott hadn’t told him before, but then remembered that a therapist shouldn’t endorse their patients worries.
“Timmy too?” Martyn inquired, nervous in the silence so close to the eye. Scott’s eyes showed a defensive wall slamming down.
“He... won’t talk to me about it.” Scott responded cautiously. His guard lowered slightly as he continued, “He feels a presence, but he says there’s someone who is ‘helping him to listen’.”
Martyn frowned, curious despite what this meant. There were more people like him, seeing these dreams, this strange reality. He started to speak, but Scott cut him off.
“I don’t know who it is, Martyn. Don’t question him about it either; he won’t tell you anything.”
“Fine,” Martyn relented, “but, Scott. Do you think if we ‘listen’, we could stop this? Or maybe be able to have more control when we’re in there?”
His therapist stared at him, but then shook his head, and turned back the way they’d come. Martyn hurried to catch up, intending to collect his laptop and go home to think about things. When he got back to Scott’s, however, Jimmy was waiting for them, and asked Martyn to talk. Unnerved, he got his laptop and went up to the guest room. His friend rushed to shut the door and told Martyn to sit down.
“Look, Martyn, Scott’s told me about the dreams, and we have them too. He probably already told you, but he isn’t okay with the Listeners, so I wanted to ask you about them.”
Martyn’s face twisted in confusion as Jimmy talked, not understanding why he thought that he knew anything about these mysterious ‘Listeners’. Jim, seeing his expression, stopped and tried to explain.
“They came to talk to me and Scott, because they want the Watchers to stop torturing us, even if it is the only way for them to survive. So, they came to ask us if we want a way out, and I said yes, but Scott doesn’t trust them. I just thought that you might’ve seen them, since you see the other world too.”
“Right,” Martyn started, “So you think that I would get Scott to join the Listeners because I’ve seen them too? Sorry man, but I don’t know who these creeps are.”
Jimmy’s face fell, and Martyn felt a pang of guilt, before it was swallowed by his never-ending curiosity.
“Could I meet them?” he asked suddenly.
“What?” Jimmy looked up.
“The Listeners.”
“Oh right, yeah sure.” Jimmy said, “Just call to them, and listen for their response. They’ll come to you when the time is right.”
Martyn stood, nodded to Jimmy, and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Jim cried out, in a voice that was not his, “Do not follow the Listeners, even if you are more like them than us. We like you, player, and we want you to help us, in exchange for freedom.”
The voice was chilling, icy and mysterious, with only the vague emotions of ambition and megalomania. It sounded more like several voices rather than one, and they sent shivers down Martyn’s spine as he turned back to Jimmy. His friend’s eyes were blazing purple, darkening into a void in the middle, with no sclera visible. His body jerked as if a puppet on a string, and his mouth moved unnaturally when he spoke.
“We are those you call the Watchers, we are those who watch, who feed, and who trap. Now, we offer freedom for service, and we want you to obey us, listen to us, speak to us, and don’t tell the others. Listeners and players have no say, but as our friend, we can help you. We’ll let you think on it, but our patience will grow thin the more you spend your time with these two. The Cursed Canary and the Final Knight are restless, but we see glimpses of the future, and they stay trapped for a long time. Oh yes, a very long time.”
Terrified, yet with many unanswered questions, Martyn whispered the easiest one, “What did you call them?”
Martyn noted down a third emotion that the Watchers possessed, as amusement filled their deafening voices, “Such a simple question for such a curious mind. Well, player, all of you have names to us, although they may differ to your own.”
“So, what’s my name to you then?”
A twisted smile, unnatural on Jimmy’s face, was the initial response. A hissing of murmurs turned into a crescendo, before finally quieting.
“Your name, player, is the Timeless Puppet.”
Martyn took a shuddering breath as Jimmy’s eyes returned to their normal chocolate brown, and he collapsed onto the carpeted floor. He appeared to be sleeping, so Martyn scurried downstairs, and ran back home as fast as he could. As he passed the eye mark on the ground, it glowed purple, but he ignored it. As soon as he got inside, he locked the door and sat down, leaning against it for support. He opened his laptop and wrote about the day’s happenings on the document.
When Ren returned home, he opened the door to find Martyn toppling backwards as it swung out behind him. He quickly regained his balance and stood up, scooping up his laptop as he rose.
“Hi Ren,” Martyn smiled cheerfully, and leant against the doorframe. His partner looked at him with concern and walked past him, carrying a big cardboard box.
“What’s that?” Martyn asked, and he peered through the useless flaps on top, “Oooh, costumes! For one of your amazing school plays I suppose?”
Ren looked at him quizzically, “Yes, they are, but they need stitching. I thought that Jimmy might want to help me tomorrow. Anyway, what’s got you so hyper?”
Martyn dropped his façade, shoulder’s slumping, and helped Ren put the box in the living room before answering. When he did, he did so non-verbally, and instead opened the document on his laptop once more. He let Ren read at his own pace, then shut it off. His partner watched him for a few seconds, before crushing him in a fierce hug. Martyn’s eyes watered, but he brushed at them angrily, and let himself fold into Ren’s arms. After several quiet minutes, he pushed away, afraid to drag Ren down with him.
“I’m sorry,” Ren whispered, “I don’t know what to think about this anymore.”
Martyn offered him a weak smile, “You know I wouldn’t lie to you, Ren.”
His partner nodded mutely, returning the slight smile with one of his own. Ren hesitated before speaking, obviously still not quite believing him. He gestured towards Martyn’s laptop, “So... everything here is true, then?”
“Yeah, it is. I’m so sorry you’ve got caught up in this,” replied Martyn, sorrowfully.
“Do you think you’ll see those ‘Watchers’ again?” Ren asked, a hidden motive in his tone.
“Probably, why?”
“I was just wondering - could you see what my name is? If you’re okay with that, of course.”
Martyn guffawed at his partner’s curiosity, which was so similar to his own. Ren’s confused expression only added to his amusement, and he grinned from ear to ear.
“Yeah, sure,” Martyn managed through his laughter. Ren shook his head at him, love in his eyes and smile.
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Jimmy gasped, sitting up with a jolt. The pain was slowly decreasing, but enough of the twisted whispers still rummaged through his mind to make him squirm away from the internal conflict. Writhing on the ground, he screamed for Scott, his hands tight over his ears. It was dark outside his window, and he cringed at the thought of being alone.
Uncoordinated footsteps pounded on the floor, sending shockwaves to Jim’s head, and worsening his headache. A moment later, Scott ran into the room, flinging himself down beside his husband.
“Jimmy! Are you okay!? Jimmy!?” he screeched, terror plain on his face. He cradled him in his lap, slowly dragging him into a sitting position.
“When... When did Martyn leave?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and dry.
“A few hours ago, why? What did he do?” Scott demanded, his voice shaking with held-back rage. He lightly caressed Jimmy’s face, his hands betraying none of his anger.
“Nothing, nothing, not really his fault...” Jim trailed off, and squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered. It had felt like he was pushed out of his body, leaving a shell of himself behind as he watched the scene unfold from the sidelines.
He wasn’t a physical being, but his presence and thoughts remained intact, and so he could understand what was going on, even without eyes or a brain to process it. He could easily ‘see’ Martyn’s face, his expressions, his body movement. However, what scared him most was the way his own body moved without his directions, like a puppet on a string. If he had a mouth, he would’ve screamed or begged for his life. As it was, all he could do was look on as Martyn and the Watchers conversed.
His friend’s curiosity was plain on his face, yet he asked only about the names the Watchers used for him and other players. All of a sudden, the same dizzying force that had shoved him out of his body came back. It dragged him towards the empty shell of himself, and his mind spun as he dropped back into his body. His vision was tinted purple, but it quickly faded back to normal. He collapsed, eyelids drooping, and felt Martyn’s fleeing footsteps quicken with panic.
Scott jerked him back to the present, his headache flaring back to life, and he gasped as he opened his eyes.
“What?” Jimmy groaned in pain. The whispering murmurs were now only background noise, but they still felt like needles in his mind, jabbing at him from all sides. He couldn’t quite make the words out, but he didn’t stop to listen.
“-kill him if he did anything to you.” Scott muttered through gritted teeth.
“No, he didn’t, I didn’t, you don’t understand-”
“Spit it out, Jim.”
“Sorry. Martyn didn’t do anything, it was the Watchers.”
Scott’s expression flickered through many emotions, mainly shock, concern, then back to anger.
“Tell me,” he commanded, slightly softer in tone as he turned his eyes back to Jimmy. He did his best to explain what had happened, stopping several times to drink from a water bottle that Scott brought for him. When he’d finished speaking, his pounding headache had faded to a slow throbbing in his temples, and the voices had disappeared entirely.
Scott frowned when Jimmy told him about their names to the Watchers, and scowled when he realised Martyn might actually be insane enough to try communicate with the Watchers. They had done many things to make his life miserable, such as cursing his husband, damning him to murder innocents, and offering false hope to get out of the death games. Scott knew by now that they lied, hurting all the players who don’t obey them or their rules. Jimmy combated this as best as he could with the help of the Listeners, but he decided he’d rather found his own group of people. Those in the middle ground, wanting peace for themselves and their allies without directly opposing the powerful Watchers by leaving.
Jimmy realised his husband had gone off in his head, probably following a noble idea, so he stood up shakily and went to bed, exhaustion overwhelming him as his head hit the pillow.