Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jon took a deep, shaky breath. The door ahead of him was plain and gray with a simple black knocker. It was set in the frame of a drab little house painted completely white. There was no color around it- no grass, no trees, no bugs to decorate the dull black earth. Even the sky was clouded over here. He knew exactly what lay before him.

"Jon?" Martin's voice brought him out of his thoughts. Jon glanced up at him, trying his best to look brave. He certainly didn't feel brave, but he hoped his acting had improved since last he checked. Apparently it hadn't, as Martin reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"What do you see?" Martin asked. Jon smiled, even chuckled a bit at the repetition, the familiarity.

"You. Of course, you." Martin nodded, satisfied with that answer.

"And I'm not going anywhere. Unless, of course, you have to do a statement, but even then I won't be very far away." Jon hummed happily.

"You're better than I deserve," he said. Martin chuckled.

"I must respectfully disagree, but thank you." Jon turned his eyes to the door again.

"Well, into the valley of death, I suppose." He raised his free hand to the knocker and let it fall once, the door swinging open before he could knock a second time. Jon jumped back in surprise, bumping into Martin who rested his steady hands on Jon's shoulders.

The man who had answered the door was very tall and built like a twig. He had dark brown skin, frizzy black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wore a torn and dirty blue shirt with a red and yellow bird sporting the letters 'KU' on its side. Even with the filthiness of the apocalypse that hung around him, like everything else, he was the brightest-colored thing for miles around. His brown eyes surveyed the both of them.

"Oh. Okay," was all he said. He had an American accent. Jon glanced up at Martin.

"We're- um, we're-"

"-The Archivist and a former Avatar of the Lonely. I know. You've been well acquainted with my patron, the way I understand it," he said with a smile. Jon couldn't tell how genuine it was.

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, hoping he betrayed no emotion. The man nodded.

"I'm Elliot," he said. "Please, come inside." Elliot disappeared inside the house. The two exchanged a look.

"He seems... okay," Jon reasoned. Martin's brow wrinkled in thought.

"Yeah. I guess he does." His eyes trailed to where Elliot had just been standing. "Well, Death isn't in a huge hurry, right? 'Cause it happens eventually? We probably won't, y'know, die in there or something... right?" Jon shrugged.

"Sound reasoning. In we go, then."

The inside of the house looked as normal as it possibly could, other than the lack of color. A small mudroom led into a sparsely decorated living room with high ceilings. Elliot gestured to a gray couch.
"Sit." It wasn't a request. They quietly complied as he took a black armchair.

"This, um, this is a bit different than most of the other domains," Martin pointed out. Elliot nodded. When he said nothing, Martin tried again. "It's not exactly what I'd expect for the domain of Death itself." At this, Elliot raised an eyebrow.

"No? How so?" Martin gestured around them.

"It's, you know, cozy. It's a home. I'd think death would be more... I don't know, dark? Gloomy?" Elliot smiled as though he'd been expecting that answer.

"The way I see it, this is just as likely a place as any to house Death. A living room for a wake. A home where somebody quietly passes in their sleep. The site of a cooking incident, fall down the stairs, a slip in the tub. There's a reason people don't want their parents living alone in their old age. It may not be a traditionally violent place, but Death knows the home just as well as anywhere else." Martin squirmed a bit. Jon grabbed his hand in a way that he hoped read as reassuringly, rather than 'wOW I'm freaked out too, babe hold my hand' (which it was).

"That's... fair enough, I suppose," Jon said.

"But enough about this place," Elliot said. "We have business." Jon's grip on Martin's hand tightened.

"W-we do?" Martin asked.

Elliot nodded. "Of course. Did you think I would just invite you in to chat? I assure you, Mr. Blackwood, my patron has no shortage of Avatars. If I just wanted some company, I have plenty of compatriots to choose from." Martin frowned, but stayed silent. The avatar of death turned to Jon once more.

"As I was saying, I have an offer for the two of you." Jon's eyes narrowed.

"We aren't making any deals," he said firmly. Elliot looked exhausted and annoyed, like he'd been trying to explain astrophysics to a very dull child.

"Archivist, did I say that it was a deal?" he asked slowly. Jon crossed his arms, taking his hand out of Martin's.

"You expect me to believe you're just offering us something that we'd want with no catch?" Elliot sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Something that I think you fail to grasp, although I'm not sure how, is that I'm getting anything I could want because of this apocalypse. I thrive off of the fear of death, I hope you at least understand that at this point?" He waited for Jon to reply, which he did reluctantly with a nod. "Then you understand that the fear of absolutely everyone in existence is feeling me more than well enough. This 'ruined' world that your..." He thought about it for a second."...boss is so proud of ruling is more than enough for me, my peers, and my patron to thrive off of. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who isn't afraid to die in the apocalypse. As such, we hardly have to do anything at all to keep satisfied. So no, I don't want or need anything from you."

"Then why would you want to help us? We only just met you," Jon pointed out. Martin softly elbowed him.

"N-not that we aren't grateful for your help, of-of course," he added. Jon nodded. Elliot leaned forward, propping his elbows up on his knees.

"Simple," he said. "Pity." They frowned.

"I'm sorry?" Martin asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," Elliot said. "I've heard about the two of you, what you've been through to get here, and I gotta say- I don't envy either of you. When it comes down to it, I just feel bad for you. Like I said, you've become well acquainted with death, whether it's brushes with it yourselves or losing loved ones. While I can't permanently fix either of these, the latter I may be able to temporarily undo."

Jon's eyes narrowed.

"You don't mean... you can't-" Elliot sat back in his chair.

"If you would let me finish, Archivist?" he requested. Jon's mouth closed. "Thank you. As I was going to say, all Avatars have specific skill sets that they are gifted to serve the one who claimed them, as I'm sure you know. More often than not, these skills are unique to the individual. I, personally, was given the power, for lack of a better word, to temporarily control the souls of the dead. I usually force my victims to see their loved ones at their last moments of life, especially if it was grizzly, amongst other things. Anyway, to my point- I think you two deserve something nice. As such, I will allow you each a chance to speak to anyone you please for twenty minutes, one person each. How does that sound?"

They were speechless and pale.

"I-" Jon exhaled, trying to determine his next words.

"We... we need time," Martin said. "We need to talk for a few minutes? In private?" Elliot nodded.

"Understandable, take your time." He stood up and went into another room. "Let me know when you've decided," he called, then shut the door.

They let out a collective breath.

"So," Jon said, but it was clear he didn't have anything to follow it up with.

"So," Martin agreed. They looked at each other as if the other's face might hide the answer.

"We... we have to make a decision," Jon whispered. Martin nodded, sighing.

"I mean, the obvious choice for me would be my mum, but I don't... I don't really want to see her?" he admitted, his cheeks flushing. Jon took his hands.

"Martin, that's perfectly okay. And very understandable with the way she treated you," Jon added. "You would be much better off choosing somebody who was good to you."

Martin scoffed. "Well, that narrows down the list significantly."

"Good, now it's easier to choose. I mean, obviously it's not good that your 'list' is populated by so many people who were unkind to you, I just meant-"

Martin kissed him on the cheek.

"I know what you meant, Jon, it's alright." Jon smiled.

"Let's see... oh! You could pick Tim or Sasha," he suggested. Martin's eyes lit up, but immediately dimmed.

"Oh, Jon, I couldn't pick just one of them! No, no, I'm better off picking my mum."

"You don't have to choose one, then," Jon said. Martin frowned.

"Um, yes, yes I do, remember? One each," he reminded Jon. Jon shrugged.

"Sure, but if you pick Tim and I pick Sasha, we can have both. So no, you don't have to choose just one." Martin eyed his warily.

"Jon, are you sure? Don't you have anyone you want to see?" Martin asked.

"Of course," Jon said with a shrug. "Tim and Sasha. I miss them too, you know." Martin thought about it.

"O-okay. Okay then. So... Tim and Sasha? Final decision?" Jon nodded, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto his face. Martin grinned back, feeling a little childish. "Alright. I'll go. Tell him, I mean." Jon gestured towards the door Elliot had disappeared into.

As Martin went over and knocked on the door, Jon set to thinking about seeing his friends again, if he could even call them that. With a sudden chill falling over him, he remembered the state of his relationship with Tim right before he... before the Unknowing. Would Tim even be willing to talk to him? Would Sasha, after learning about what he'd done? Maybe this wasn't the best idea... well, it was too late now. Martin was excitedly telling Elliot of their decision. If nothing else, it would be worth seeing Martin happy, if only for twenty short minutes.

"So, Timothy Stoker and Sasha James, huh?" Elliot said. Jon nodded as Martin sat back down next to him, taking his hand again. "Friends of yours?"

Jon hesitated.

"Yes," Martin said firmly, seeming not to notice Jon's lack of confidence. Elliot nodded.

"Alrighty then. Now, it'll take a few minutes for them to show up, and I can only call up one at a time."

"Wait, we can't see them together?" Jon asked.

"That's not what I said," Elliot reminded him. "When both are here, you can see both together, but I have to call them separately. Does that make sense?"

"The twenty doesn't start until they're all the way here, correct?" Martin asked.

"Correct. And, just because I'm feeling strong today, I'll give you twenty minutes starting when the last one has arrived."

"Thank you," Jon said.

"Yeah, thank you so much," Martin echoed, his huge, sunshine-reminiscent smile lighting up his face and Jon's entire heart.

"Now, I'll need complete silence to do this, if you don't mind," Elliot said.

"Of course, of course," Martin said, looking around. We'll..."

"-be in another room if that's alright?" Jon finished. Elliot nodded.

"Please. You can wait in the kitchen," he said, pointing to a wide doorway that they hadn't noticed.

"Okay, thank you," Martin repeated.
From the kitchen, they could see the back of the couch they'd been sitting on and it front of it where Elliot was kneeling, whispering things.

"How do you think it'll go?" Martin whispered. His eyes were full of so much emotion that it seemed a wonder he didn't burst on the spot.

"Truthfully, Martin? I don't know," Jon admitted. "I want it to go well so badly." Martin's kneejerk reaction was to say 'of course it will go well!', but knowing their situation, knowing who was involved in said situation, he couldn't rightly promise anything.

"Whatever happens, I'll still be here afterwards," he promised instead. That was the one thing he was positive of. "I said I'm not going anywhere and I meant it." Jon smiled as he was enveloped in a hug which he happily returned.

"I'm glad." There was a very brief silence. "Martin?"

"Yeah, Jon?"

"I love you so much. So, so, so very much," he said into Martin's jumper-clothed shoulder. Martin's arms tightened around him ever so slightly.

"I love you too, Jon. More than you know."

Slowly, they pulled away. Jon glanced over at the living room and the Avatar.

"Wh- Martin! Martin, look!" he stage whispered, remembering their promised silence but still very excited. There wasn't a lot to be seen if you didn't know what you were looking for, but when you did you could tell that there was very visibly some pigment where there wasn't before. Some lilac purple in the vague shape of a skirt maybe? A hint of brown where hair could be? It might have been Jon's wishful thinking, but he swore he could make out the shape of a woman. A woman he knew he wouldn't recognize, but one that he knew he should.

"Sasha..." Martin breathed. As they watched, she slowly became clearer and clearer, although she stayed statue-still.

"I... I forgot that we didn't- we don't know what she actually looked like," Martin said softly.

"We will soon," Jon replied with a smile.
She was mostly there now. It was like looking at her without glasses on; unfocused, fuzzy, some color from one place bleeding into another. It was, Jon noticed, oddly similar to how he'd imagined her all these years. He knew what she wore, knew that her skin was light brown (courtesy of Melanie), knew her big, round glasses that took up a large percentage of her face, ones that were almost the same as Martin's (leading to plenty of 'twin' jokes from Tim). But as much as he knew about her, what she was supposed to look like, he could never even begin to picture her. This blurry, out of focus freeze-frame was the closest he really ever got. The current situation was oddly reminiscent of a dream where you're anticipating something you want more than anything, but you wake up the second before it happens. He didn't know who he was praying to, but he prayed that wasn't the case.

It was two whole, agonizing minutes before she was clear. And there she was.

"Almost done with the first one," Elliot called. He whispered one last thing, and then stepped back. She was still frozen, Jon noticed, his heart sinking.

"Why isn't she-"

"Patience, Archivist," Elliot hissed.

Sasha gasped, her eyes suddenly coming into focus.

"Wh... where am..."

"Hey, Sasha, it's okay," Martin said calmly, jumping at the chance to help. He slowly made his was towards her. She squinted at him.

"Mar...tin?"

"Yeah! Yeah, it's me!" he said, laughing a little. Tears that had been waiting for her to show pooled in his eyes immediately. Her face softened.

"Martin, what's- oof!" He bowled into her, enveloping her in one of his huge, warm hugs that almost knocked her over. His chest shook with sobs.

"Sasha, I'm so sorry we couldn't save you! We would have in a heartbeat, I swear! It's been hell since you..." He faded into sobs again. The look on her face was nothing short of confused, but she rubbed his back gently.

"Martin, it's alright, it's okay. Easy there..."
Martin pulled away when his breathing had evened out, almost a full minute later. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Sorry that I'm... a mess," he chuckled. She smiled.

"It's alright, love, it's perfectly fine." Her eyes drifted around the room until they locked with Jon's.

"I'm sorry, is that- Jon? Jon Sims?" He smiled, giving a small wave.

"Hello, Sasha. It's really, really good to see you again." The double meaning of his words were lost on her.

"Good grief, your hair! Jon, your hair is so long! And almost completely gray! What on earth is going on?" Jon frowned, his brow creasing slightly.

"Do you... do you remember what happened?" he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could. She pushed a stray strand of oak-brown hair behind her ear, as she always used to do when she was thinking. Her simple habits were so familiar that it hurt, even if the body doing her habits was alien to him.

"It's really fuzzy," she admitted. "But... the institute was attacked by Prentiss. Right?" Jon and Martin nodded. "And then we realized Tim was gone, I tried to save him, I talked to Elias, then..." Her face paled. "Oh. Oh, I remember," she said quietly. She looked at her hands. "How am I here?"
Jon gestured to Elliot, standing quietly off to the side.

"Avatar of Death. Wait, I forgot- you weren't there when we learned about-"

"I know about the Fears," she said, her expression cold. She glanced at Elliot. "Are you sure you can trust him?"

"For the most part, we think," Jon spoke up.

"Gee, thanks," Elliot said drily. "Now, do you want me to bring up your other friend or not?"

"Ah, yes. Sorry. We'll go back to the kitchen," Jon said apologetically. They led Sasha out of the living room.

"Other friend?" she asked. Martin smiled.
"He's bringing Tim back too, we get twenty minutes with you two," he explained, unable to mask his smile.

"Just... just because?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"He said he feels sorry for us," Martin said. "And quite honestly, I'm too tired to be suspicious of him anymore. I just want to spend twenty minutes with my old friends, alright?" Sasha surveyed his face, slightly red and bordering on annoyed. Jon took his hand, rubbing his thumb over Martin's knuckles to soothe him.

"Alright, Martin, if you're sure," she said finally, offering her own smile. "Now, I haven't really gotten a good look at my boys yet." She stepped back, looking them up and down. "Wow, you two look old," she said. Jon laughed abruptly.

"Thanks, Sasha," he said with an eye roll. She watched him, clearly amused.
"And Jon, you're so much more... expressive."

He smiled. "Well, I don't have the stick up my arse anymore, so that certainly helps," he quipped. Sasha snorted with laughter.

"I imagine so," she said. Martin chuckled, putting an affectionate arm around Jon's shoulders.

"He is a lot better and I'm very proud of him," he said, the love in his eyes spreading to his smile. Sasha shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms, but said nothing.

"Suppose he's almost done with Tim yet?" Martin asked, straining his neck to see over the couch. Sure enough, Tim was almost completely visible, but there was something different from the way Sasha had appeared. While Sasha had slowly faded into focus, it was almost like Tim was burning in reverse. Small, almost imperceptible fragments at a time, but they could still see the bizarre process. The parts of him there were frozen in a stance with his knees bent, one arm clutching his torso and the other up at an odd angle with his hand in a fist. Like he was holding something.

"Oh my," Martin breathed.
The men knew exactly what he was supposed to be holding.

"What is he doing?" Sasha asked, squinting. Jon turned his head away, his eyes clamped shut. He subconsciously rubbed the burn on his side from the blast.

"It's... how he died," Jon said quietly. "Explosion." Sasha looked like the wind was knocked out of her.

“He- oh, Tim,” she whispered.

“So you didn’t, you know, see anything?” Martin asked. “From, like, heaven or something?” he elaborated. Sasha thought about it for a second.

“I remember… some things, but I don’t think I can tell you any of it. I mean literally, if I tried I think something bad would happen.” Martin looked a little disappointed.

“That makes sense, I suppose,” he said. She put her hand on his arm, unable to rest her hand on his shoulder due to his enormous height.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Martin. You have a while yet before you have to deal with the afterlife, I’m sure.” He laughed humorlessly, opening his mouth in what was probably a protest, but she interrupted him. “That wasn't a suggestion. I’d better not see you there anytime soon, Martin Blackwood,” she said, leaving the threat open. He shut his mouth, blushing. “And that stands for you too, Sims,” she said pointedly. Jon gave a small smile.

“We’ll certainly try,” he promised.

“Hey, you three,” Elliot said. “You’ll want to be over here when he comes to.” Sasha’s eyes lit up.

“Tim’s almost done!” she gushed. She grabbed their wrists and dragged them back into the living room. Elliot was just stepping back when they reached him.
Now that they could see him clearly, the desperate, crazy, pained, and triumphant look on his face was that much clearer. It was terrifying, in all honesty. Sasha tried not to dwell on it, instead waiting in earnest for him to come to life.

“You might back up, Sash, so you don’t overwhelm him,” Martin suggested. “Last he knew, you were dead; seeing you might be a bit of a shock.” Sasha reluctantly took a few steps back, but no more. At last, Tim gasped, looking around wildly.

“What the hell?” he hissed. His eyes caught on Sasha, softening.

“S...Sasha,” he whispered. She smiled.
“Hi, Tim,” she said softly. He searched her face almost hungrily, drinking in every detail.

“Holy shit, I’m dead,” he said finally, more to himself than anyone else. Elliot seemed to have enjoyed the last sentiment, so he piped up.

“Usually, yes, but not right now you aren’t,” he corrected. Tim squinted at him.

“And who the hell are you?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“My name is Elliot, but what’s important to you is that I’m an Avatar of Death,” he explained. Martin stepped forward.

“He’s agreed to help us, Tim,” Martin explained. “He brought back you and Sasha for twenty minutes for us.” Tim’s eyebrows raised gently, a smile slowly growing on his face.

“Martin,” he said. Martin grinned.
"Hi, Tim." Tim's smile suddenly dimmed.
"Wait… us?" he asked, looking around until he spotted Jon. Jon seemed to shrink into himself under Tim's gaze.

"H…hi, Tim," he said quietly. Tim's expression betrayed nothing, positive or negative. It was almost worse to Jon than if he'd been outwardly angry.

Sasha frowned, looking back and forth between Jon and Tim, visibly confused. She opened her mouth to say something, but Martin caught her eye with a fierce glare and swiped his hand in front of his neck, miming to stop. Sasha closed her mouth.

"Hi, Jon," he said stiffly. Jon winced, his eyes misty.

"Look, Tim, I-I know this means nothing, but I really am-"

"Oh, save it," Tim interrupted. Jon's mouth hung open, mid sentence.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me, Sims. You've apologized before. It didn't work then, definitely isn't working now, but if we only have twenty minutes for this, there's no sense in spending it at each other's throats, right?"

Jon's eyes were filled to the brim with grateful tears.

"Thank you, Tim," he said softly in disbelief. Tim shrugged slightly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just remember that you aren't off the hook. The second you kick the bucket, it's pure spite 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, got that?" he asked. Jon chuckled, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah, yes. Yes I do." Tim lightly punched his arm. Jon fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves, smiling a small smile.

"Awww, my boys!" Sasha gushed, pulling them all into a surprise hug. "You three are such a mess without me," she cooed.

"Can't argue with that," Martin chuckled, leaning over a bit so he didn't completely tower over the five-foot-four Sasha. Jon let himself be smothered by the hug, melting into the arms of everyone around him. It had been so long, so long since he'd felt anything resembling safety, even longer still since he'd been around so many people he trusted. Martin was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, no doubt about that, but there's only so much void one man can fill when there used to be three.

"Oh dear, Jon," Martin cooed, taking his arm from around Sasha's shoulders and using his sleeve to wipe at Jon's damp cheeks. He hadn't even realized that he had been crying.

"Oh good grief," Jon sniffled, swiping at his own eyes. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's alright, love," Martin said softly, lightly touching his forehead to Jon's from across the hug circle. Jon smiled, letting out what was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Tim made a sound of surprise.

"I- I'm sorry," he said, pulling out of the hug so he could gesture at his living friends dramatically. "Is that what I think it is?" Sasha chuckled, pulling away as well to look them up and down. Martin wasted no time putting one of his free arms around Jon whose eyes were slowly drying.

"I knew it!" she said, grinning. Tim turned to her, a betrayed expression on his face.
"You knew about this? And you didn't tell me?"

"To be fair, Tim, we've been reanimated for all of about three minutes. 'Hey, Tim, by the way, I think Jon and Martin are a couple' wasn't exactly at the top of my priorities." Martin let out a small chuckle.

Tim turned back to them.

"So it's true then?" he demanded. Jon looked up at his much taller partner with an expression nothing short of completely in love.

"Yes, Tim," he said finally. "Martin and I are… a couple." Martin's face lit up and he planted a kiss in Jon's long, tangled hair. Tim whipped around to Sasha.

"I am so mad," he declared. Sasha raised her eyebrows.

"Tim, they look really happy together…" she pointed out, the look in her eyes a vibrant blue Tread Lightly, Stoker sign.

"Oh, I know," he said, "I've known for five years, Sash, but did you believe me? Noooo, they hate each other Tim, they're too different Tim, there's no way Jon isn't a raging homophobe, Tim," he mocked, waving his hands about wildly. Jon raised a hand apprehensively.

"I'm sorry, you thought I was homophobic?" he demanded. Sasha chuckled, but Tim didn't even slow down.

"I put fifteen bloody pounds on it, Sasha, that's how sure I was!"

"You what?" Martin demanded, his voice going up several octaves. Tim ignored him and kept going.

"And you know what, Sasha? We're dead! We don't use earth currency anymore! Meaning you can't pay the hell up!"

Sasha threw her head back in laughter, her fringe bouncing. Jon made a point to remember this action. It seemed like it should look so familiar to him. It was something he knew she had done frequently when she laughed, he knew that. He decided to ask Elliot if he had any Polaroid cameras around before their twenty minutes was up.

"Hold on, back up- you two bet on whether or not we'd get together?" Martin squeaked. Sasha smiled sheepishly.

"To be fair, Martin, you two have been at least a little bit in love for pretty much the entire time you've worked together," she pointed out. Jon thought about this.

"I… I suppose that's true," he said quietly, blushing. "On my side, at least."

Martin looked down at him, brow wrinkled and mouth upturned in a disbelieving smile.

"Uh, Jon, did you even see me the first year we worked together?"

"Yeah, mate, he wasn't exactly subtle," Tim pointed out, chuckling. Jon frowned.

"Really?" he asked, looking up at Martin. Martin nodded with a small giggle. Jon hummed.

"News to me," he said. Sasha snorted.

"Martin Blackwood is morosexual, part two-hundred-and-four," Tim muttered. Jon laughed in surprise.

"Shut up, Tim!" Martin cried, trying not to laugh (and failing). Tim grinned that shit-eating grin of his.

"I'm right and I should say it."

He glanced at the arm chair behind him. "Okay, was anybody going to tell me I could've been sitting down this whole time or was I just supposed to figure it for myself?"

Sasha rolled her eyes, taking a seat next to him. He shifted to sitting on the arm rest so she could have the whole chair.

"Tim, it's a perfectly big chair and you have the width of a telephone pole. We could've shared," she pointed out. He shrugged.

"Curse of the bisexual, Sash; you know I can't sit correctly." Martin and Jon sat on the sofa together.

"Oh my God, Jon is the same," Martin interjected. Jon froze, legs already contorted into some weird version of the pretzel. Martin laughed. "Case in point." Jon pulled his ponytail over his shoulder so he could mess with it, a little embarrassed.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted with a small smile. "Sitting normally is awful." Tim waved his hands at Jon, keeping perfect eye contact with Sasha as if to say, 'See? He gets it!'

"You're both weird," she said with a shrug.

"Seriously," Martin agreed. Jon gave him a playful shove. "What?" he said with a laugh. "You are!"

"To quote one of the greatest minds of our time," Tim said, promptly clearing his throat, "'We know, but hey!'" Sasha exhaled sharply in place of a laugh.

"Did you just quote John Mulaney?" she asked.

"Of course I did. I'm ashamed you had to ask."

With his own laugh, Jon recalled the week that Tim discovered John Mulaney. You were lucky to hear him say anything that wasn't a quote for at least a month afterwards. His favorites were "I said, y'know, like a liar" and "y'know those days when you're like 'this might as well happen'?", or so it seemed, as Tim used the two religiously.

"You are the only reason I know that," Sasha said, shaking her head.

"And I'm very proud of that," he returned. Suddenly, his face fell.

“Tim?” Martin asked, ready to get up if necessary.

“I just realized that Mr. Mulaney is either dead or in a fear prison,” he said quietly. “Holy shit, so is literally everybody else. Holy shit.”

Jon looked at the ground. He felt Martin’s huge hand envelop his and give a gentle squeeze. It’s not your fault and you know that, the squeeze said. You were manipulated. We don’t blame you, love. Jon smiled ever-so-slightly, putting his head on Martin’s shoulder.

“That’s why we’re going to the panopticon. We’re gonna kill Elias," Martin said firmly.

Tim looked pleasantly surprised by this.
"A- you? You, Martin Blackwood, are going to kill Elias Bouchard?"

"Jonah Magnus, actually," Jon corrected. "But yes, that's the plan."

Tim whistled.

"That's some intense character development, right there," he said. Jon smirked up at Martin.

"He's been… more murder-y, of late," Jon said teasingly. Martin's jaw dropped.

"Out of context!" he cried.

"So you have been more murder-y, then?" Sasha asked, the awe visible on her face. Martin flushed red.

"In broad terms, yeah, I guess so. I have been a bit…" He sighed. "Murder-y." Tim howled with laughter. "To be fair, most of them deserve it!" Martin added.

"Most of them!" Sasha wheezed.

"He hasn't actually killed anyone yet," Jon assured them.

"Keyword- yet," Martin muttered. Jon snorted. "When we find Simon, though-"

"Martin, we are not killing Simon Fairchild," Jon said sternly. Martin pouted.

"Oh, come on, not even a little murder?" Jon laughed abruptly.

"A little murder? Sure, I suppose, as long as you only murder him a tiny bit," Jon chuckled. Martin smirked.

"Score."
"How does one murder a little bit?" Sasha whispered to Tim.

"Frankly, Sash, I'm too afraid to ask at this point." They all erupted into laughter.

Jon had missed this more than he could say. Meaningless chatter, conversations that had no purpose other than enjoying the company of those around you. Sasha's motherly tone, Tim's easy smile… he absorbed everything around him and held them close to his heart. They were so familiar to somebody he used to be, somebody he was glad that he was not anymore. He tried to relax back into their patterns, even with his part having changed. The Jon whom Sasha never met, the changed man Tim was too hurt to see, he fit well into their little group. The old archival staff, bruised and battered and torn and traumatized, but together again.

But as hard as Jon tried to relax, he Knew their time was drawing to a close. At first he ignored it, too overwhelmed with joy to pay any mind to that itching knowledge. As the time went on, though, the voice grew louder in his head.

You have three minutes, Archivist, it hissed now, sounding like old, crinkly paper and whirring tape recorder and knowledge itself.

"Jon?" Martin asked softly, bringing him back to the present. Jon looked up tiredly.
"Three minutes," he said quietly. Martin's face fell.

"Oh." They looked at Tim and Sasha in the armchair.

"Well," Tim said grimly. "I guess we should… finish up, then." Suddenly, Jon remembered his idea about the Polaroid. He stood up abruptly.

"Hold on," he said. "Elliot! Ellioooot!" The avatar poked his head out of his office.

"I'm death, Archivist, not deaf," he deadpanned. "What do you want?"

"Do you have a Polaroid?" Jon asked timidly.

"Like, a camera?" Elliot asked. Jon nodded. Elliot thought about it for a second.

"I mean… I think so? Yeah… yeah, in my laundry room, I think."

"May I borrow it?"

"Oh, I suppose. I'll look for it, you go spend spend the rest of your time with your friends." Jon nodded.

"Thank you." He rushed back over to the three of them, locked in a hushed circle, not sure what they could possibly say that would mean enough.

"Tim, Sasha," Jon said, breaking the silence. "I- that is- I'm- I'm glad we had this," he said at last. "It meant the world to me that I was able to apologize, to… say goodbye…" He sighed deeply. "I miss you two."

"We both do," Martin added. Jon nodded.

"Yeah. I…" He took a deep breath. "I love you guys so much," he croaked, his throat tightening as he felt the tears return.

"Oh, Jon," Sasha cooed, closing her arms around him. "We love you too." Tim followed suit, then Martin. They cried, oh they cried. Everyone cried into the fabric of everyone's clothes, all too much of a collective mess to care one way or another. A great, messy group hug featuring two almost-ghosts, a puppet for a malevolent eye god, and an ex-errand-boy for the spirit of loneliness itself in the living room of a junior angel of death. What a sight.

"I got it!" Elliot called. They all looked up, disoriented, having forgotten about him entirely. He waved a Polaroid camera at them. Jon's face lit up.

"Oh! Yes, thank you!" Jon said, wiping his eyes. "Guys, could we take a picture? Just so I'll believe it actually happened tomorrow," he said, only half joking.

"Oh! Sure!" Sasha said, readjusting her glasses. Tim groaned.

"Right after we've been bawling our eyes out? This is when you decide to take a picture? I look awful, and I'm the hot one. You guys don't stand a chance!" he whined. Sasha elbowed him.

“Be nice, Tim.” He put his hands up in defense.

“Basira said it, not me.” Jon wracked his brain for when that could have occurred. He frowned, the realization dawning on him.

“Timothy Stoker, were you listening in on me and Basira’s conversation that day?” Tim grinned.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Alright, guys, everybody group in.” He held the camera out to take the picture but Martin sighed and took it from him.

“Wh- Martin!” he whined.

“You have the shortest arms of anyone I have ever met, my love,” Martin said in his defense. Jon pouted but didn’t protest. “Smile, Jon.” Jon forced on a smile that looked just as fake as it was. Martin kissed him on the cheek, making him erupt into a fit of giggles just as the camera clicked.

“Martin!” Jon complained between laughs as Martin took the picture out of the camera. Sasha cooed.

“You two are legitimately made for each other,” she said. Martin pressed a kiss to Jon’s mess of hair.

“I certainly like to think so.” Tim scoffed.

“Sasha, you always complained when I was that cheesy! What is this ridiculous double standard?” Sasha stood on her tiptoes to kiss Tim’s nose.

“Because you were bad at it, Stoker.” He sighed.

“There’s just no pleasing you, is there?”
Martin made a small squeaky sound, the Polaroid picture fluttering to the ground.

“Martin?” Sasha asked, concern written all over her face.

“You’re… you’re fading,” he said softly. They looked down. Just as they had appeared, Sasha was starting to become less visible and Tim looked like he was fading into dust.

“Good lord,” Jon breathed. Sasha had a mildly panicked look on her face. She gathered all of them together for one last hug.

“Hey, give Elias a hard time for me, a’right?” Tim said.

“Be careful, take care of each other, we love…” Sasha’s “you” was barely audible. It might not have even been there; maybe the sound Jon thought he heard was wishful thinking, but he clung to her voice as the last bits of their friends disappeared. Then it was just the two of them, hugging each other and crying in the empty, monochrome living room. Jon couldn’t say how long they just stood there, holding each other as tight as possible. Jon marveled at how Martin was so solid, so here, one hand on Jon’s back as the other held the back of his head, buried in his ponytail. Jon rubbed his back gently, admittedly just as much for his own comfort as it was for Martin’s.

After a few minutes, the sobs having died down to hiccuping, Jon cleared his throat.

“Martin?” Martin hummed in response. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Martin pulled out of the hug just enough to look at Jon’s face. He cupped Jon’s jaw with a big, soft hand.

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be. Even if we weren’t in the fearpocalypse.” Jon smiled, turning his head to kiss Martin’s palm.

After a while, Martin remembered the picture he’d dropped on the ground. He picked it up and turned it over.

“Jon, have a look at this.” Jon took it from him. If not for the slightly shimmery state of Tim and Sasha (apparently having started to fade even before Martin pointed it out), it could have passed for a normal picture of a group of friends. Tim was winking, Sasha’s head was tilted back in a laugh, Jon was blushing profusely and caught in a giggle, and Martin’s lips were pressed to Jon’s rouged cheek.

“We look happy,” Jon said with a smile. Martin put an arm around Jon’s shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Great, you’re happy, fantastic. Will you please get out of my house?” came Elliot’s voice from behind them. They both jumped.

“Oh, uh, right. Right,” Jon said. Martin caught his eyes, mouthing 'Forgot this was his place'.

Jon tried to stifle a chuckle, mouthing 'Same here'.

"Thank you for this," Martin said. "Really, it meant the absolute world to us." Elliot nodded.

"You're welcome. Good luck, you two," he said as he showed them out the door. It was closed in their faces before they knew it.

"Well," Jon said, breaking the already minute-long silence.

"That was… a lot," Martin said. Jon nodded.

"I hate to ask this, but shall we press on?" he suggested. Martin shrugged.

"I suppose we should."

And so they pressed on.