Chapter Text
Time passed, but it was hard to tell how much.
There had been pain before this—tearing, ripping, brutal pain—but it was a memory now. Martin didn’t know where he was, or if he even was anywhere at all. It felt a bit like floating, maybe, if he had to describe it. He couldn’t feel himself.
He couldn’t feel anything.
He couldn’t feel Jon.
***
Time passed again, and he could open his eyes.
Jon was there, after all. He just wasn’t breathing.
There’s so much blood, he thought. It’s all over both of us. I have Jon’s blood all over me.
He closed his eyes and tried to forget.
***
Time passed, probably.
“Martin.”
He wouldn’t look; he wouldn’t let himself. He simply refused to see it again.
“Martin, please—stop crying.”
Am I crying? He wondered. If I am, I don’t feel it. I don’t know how to stop.
He wanted to though, for Jon.
***
Time passed. It must have, because things were changing; the world was forming around them. They weren’t floating anymore, they were resting, but on what Martin wasn’t sure.
He could feel again. There was a little pain, but not enough to matter. Mostly, he could feel Jon. Jon had weight in his arms now; his clothing had texture against Martin’s skin. His chest rose and fell, and he was warm.
Martin opened his eyes one more time, and Jon looked back at him.
“You’re alive.”
“So are you,” Jon answered.
“You—you weren’t breathing.”
A moment passed before Jon answered again.
“Neither were you.”
No, that—that’s not true. That can’t be true.
They stared at each other in silence.
***
Time passed, but less.
The ground was soft, like grass. Maybe it was grass. They could hold each other now, actually hold each other, touch and move together and breathe each other in, and they did—even as they made their first feeble attempt to sort through what had brought them here.
“I’m sorry,” Jon murmured.
“No, you’re not,” Martin replied, his face buried against Jon’s neck.
“Martin, that isn’t—”
“Yes, it is. You’re only sorry that I messed it up.”
Jon went quiet, fingers tangled in Martin’s hair.
“You’d do it again if you could. You’d just—you’d find a way to keep me out.”
“No. Never.” With some effort, Jon pulled away to meet Martin’s eyes. “I would never keep you out. Not… not if you wanted me.”
Their lips met once, then twice.
“What, then?”
“I would have… It was…” Jon was getting lost in his thoughts, and Martin compulsively tightened his arm around him. “I didn’t… I didn’t think they could—”
“You didn’t think they could blow it up.”
“Right,” Jon said, his eyes troubled. “I would have… right.”
Martin’s heart ached. He kissed Jon again, longer this time, and felt him relax.
***
Time passed, and it didn’t feel so strange anymore. They lay side by side in the grass and dirt, hands intertwined. Martin turned his head to look at Jon, to ask what he had been wondering for a while.
“Where are we?”
“I’m… I’m not sure.” Jon closed his eyes, and was quiet.
“Checking?”
“I… I can’t right now. I’m remembering,” Jon answered. “Trying to. There was a moment, before we were here, I could… I could see it. The connections, the web… something didn't work. It wasn’t… it wasn’t what we thought. Not yet.”
“Christ, Jon. You remember it?” All Martin could recall was that awful wrenching pain, and then everything had just… disappeared. Gone blank. It hadn’t occurred to him until right then that Jon might have experienced something different, and probably worse. He usually did.
“Not well enough, I’m afraid.” Jon sighed and gave up, opening his eyes to stare at the blue sky that had filled in above them. “Wherever we are though, I think… I’m not sure, but the entities—I don’t think they made it past this place either.”
Martin considered this. He imagined that meant that where they were, the fears had come here, too—but maybe they hadn’t really spread, not exactly. The second part sounded good—possibly—but he’d been part of this long enough to know there was always some catch. He’d ask about it again, later, after Jon had more time.
He had other questions now.
“Jon, is there any chance… could we still be in our—our dimension, I guess?”
“No,” Jon said, too quickly. “No, I don’t think so.”
Martin sighed. “What about the people there, then? Are they… are they ok?”
“Ok?” Jon repeated. “No, they are not ok. But their immediate suffering, the apocalypse, the—the fear domains… that is over.”
“Good.” Martin was ready to declare a victory of sorts when he realized what Jon was getting at. “Wait—are you saying that they—that they remember what happened?”
Jon looked at him blankly. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“I just… you know, in the movies, when they end the apocalypse, everything goes back to normal, and they—no one remembers it! Things just go back to the way they were before it happened. I just… I guess I assumed—”
“You assumed things would be like they are in the movies,” Jon finished dryly.
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds pretty stupid.” Martin pulled his hand away.
“I’m sorry.” Jon’s voice was gentle again. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s all right. It was pretty stupid.” Martin paused before adding, “I still think it’s better for them, though. That it’s over.”
Jon didn’t answer him, and they lay in silence again.
***
Time passed, but Martin no longer thought about it. They were curled up on their sides, facing each other, heads resting on their arms. Although they weren’t touching, they were close enough to reach out when they needed to.
“Jon.”
“Hm?”
“Let me see it.”
Jon was confused.
“Let me see where I—” Martin couldn’t finish his sentence; the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he brought a hand to his own chest, over his heart.
Jon understood now. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Just… not yet.” Jon touched Martin’s arm. “Not right now. I… I don’t want it to hurt you.”
“I’m going to see it sooner or later, and… well, it hurts anyway.”
“Martin—”
“Jon.”
Jon withdrew, sighing. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Jon nodded reluctantly. He reached for the edge of his shirt, but couldn’t lift it far enough, and slowly moved to lie on his back. They hadn’t stood up yet—Martin wasn’t sure if they could—but he pulled himself close so that when Jon’s hand reached for the shirt again, his own closed over it.
Together they lifted the fabric, stiff and red with dried blood, until they had raised it enough to reveal the aftermath of the knife. It had healed, like all of Jon’s injuries, but it had healed angry, a mass of pink and white tissue that made Martin inhale violently. He let go of Jon’s hand. He couldn’t help himself; he had to touch it. He had to know what it felt like. It was his, after all.
“Does it hurt still?” he asked, voice shaking as he pressed his hand to it.
“No.” Jon hadn’t even looked at it; he hadn’t looked away from Martin’s face.
“Jon, I’m—” Martin swallowed as his fingers sought out the raised edges of the scar, whether he really wanted them to or not. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I did this.”
“Don’t do that!” Martin snapped, yanking his hand back.
“Do what?”
“T—take the blame for everything! Insist on keeping all the guilt for yourself!” Martin pulled himself up, pressed his hands to the ground on either side of Jon’s chest. “Jon, either you are responsible for your choices and I am responsible for mine, no matter what brought us to them or pushed us to make them, or—or neither of us is. You don’t get to have it both ways.”
Jon looked back at him with so much sadness that Martin was ashamed of himself. He was ashamed for trying to make Jon listen, ashamed of his outburst. Jon had been right; it was too soon. He shouldn’t have asked. He started to pull away, but instead Jon pulled him down, pulled him to his elbows, pulled him close.
“I love you,” Jon said quietly.
“I love you too.”
They came together in yet another kiss, physical comfort begging to bridge the chasm that had briefly opened between them. Comfort worked here in a way it hadn’t for a long time; although he wasn’t sure if he should, Martin let it.
***
They lay where they had finally collapsed, each lost in their own thoughts, when Martin noticed something he hadn’t before.
“Jon.” He propped himself up on his forearm, touching Jon’s shoulder. “Jon, the—the uh—that wasn’t here before, was it?”
“Oh. Um…” Jon roused himself and looked where Martin had directed his attention, at a building that now stood next to them. “No. That’s new.”
Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Well, actually, technically it was here, but—”
“What?”
“Technically it was here. We’re the ones who weren’t here before, and now we—”
“Ok, ok, sure—I mean, I’m not sure, but—but look at it, Jon.”
Jon sighed, but took a longer look, and Martin felt it when the jolt of recognition ran through him. “Oh. Oh god.”
“It—it’s the Institute, right?”
“I—” Jon paused, concentrating in a way that Martin knew all too well. “I—I don’t know. I can’t. There’s—there’s nothing. I’m trying, but—”
“Jon—”
“The… the Eye, it’s so weak right now—”
“Then stop trying to use it! That’s a good thing! For god’s sake, Jon—”
“Wait, shh.” Jon went still. “Listen.”
Martin listened. At first, he couldn’t figure out what Jon was referring to, but then he heard it also. Birds. He was sure he hadn’t heard birds here before. Then his brain made one slow, final logical step—one Jon had already made, judging by his expression.
“Are there—are there people here?”
“There must be.” Jon answered. “We just… we’re not quite with them yet.”
“What does that—what do we do?”
“I—I don’t know. I don’t know.” Martin wasn’t used to hearing Jon sound so uncertain, and for all he would have given for so long to get him away from the Eye, he really didn’t like it. Before, in the tunnels, at Upton, Jon had at least been aware that all he had to do was step outside to—to reconnect, or whatever the hell he did.
Now he just sounded frightened.
“Hey.” Martin touched his face, gently asking him to refocus. It worked, a little—at least Jon was looking at him again. “Hey, it’s ok. We’re—we’re together. We can do this. All right?”
Jon didn’t say anything.
“Jon, I mean it. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.” He instinctively reached for Jon’s hand and squeezed, and was relieved to feel Jon squeeze back. He was trying to decide what to say next when a voice interrupted him.
“Oh, shit.”
Jon’s head turned sharply, and Martin followed suit, twisting his neck back over his shoulder to have a look. A man stood on the pavement walkway behind them, staring at them in a mixture of shock and growing alarm as he took them in.
The thing was, Martin knew this man.
“Tim?”