[ In another life, Martin was back in the tunnels beneath what used to be the Institute, having a heated debate about the fate of their world. The options were grim, either they contained the fears and condemn this world to suffer until The End had its fill and the entities burned themselves out, or they took the Web’s advice and killed Jonah Magnus – scattering the entities to thousands of other realities in hopes they would be weakened and unable to truly anchor themselves enough to rise to power again. John had been greatly opposed to that idea, and Martin? He should never have expected someone tied to the Beholding to be content with hypotheticals.
The only thing that they could genuinely agree on was Jonah Magnus meeting his end, once and for all. He’d been prepared to hike up to the top of the Penopticon and drive that blade deep with a ferocity that would make Melanie proud.
When Martin had woken up alone the next morning, a sick realisation had washed over him. He’d known that John would… would do something stupid. That he’d lie. They’d made a promise and he’d lied, but, as Martin reached the top of the Panopticon, so had he.
Martin had claimed that he could live with the guilt of wondering if he’d made the right decision. He was horribly wrong. The last thing he remembers before shooting to sit up on the cot is how heavy John had felt in his arms and pain. His arms are empty, but it still feels like he’d been the unwitting target of a crumbling building.
The doctor seems amused when Martin looks down at himself to see a clean shirt that does not belong to him. They tell him they couldn’t very well let him walk out covered in blood, and was that… suspicion just beneath the pleasantries? His head spins when he stands, shakily reaching for the canvas bag he’d recognized as his. He feels unmoored, roaming through what he’s gathered is a medical tent, jaw tightening painfully when there’s no sight of John. ]
Have you … excuse me, did you happen to see … [ He trails off, confusing one of the medics that had been walking past. He’d caught himself from following through. It’d be strange to admit he knew of a man with a knife in his chest. ] N-nevermind. Nevermind, I’ll look for him myself. Thanks.
[ He’s already moving before the awkward dismissal, panic rising inside of him, and he almost rushes past the partition – but that voice is unmistakable. ]
John?! [ He’d have given himself whiplash with how he overcorrects, eyes landing on a very… living man. He doesn’t recall how he’d found himself at the side of John’s cot, but he’s got his arms wrapped around the man before he can stop himself. The guilt is a quick and dreadful thing, and Martin reconciles it by hiding his face against John’s hair. ] This is real? You… I’m so sorry. [ He doesn’t know how he can feel so relieved and miserable at the same time. John feels solid in his arms, but God… what if this was some final mercy his brain is feeding him before he dies? There are so many things Martin could say, but it feels moot. ]
delicious spoilers.
The only thing that they could genuinely agree on was Jonah Magnus meeting his end, once and for all. He’d been prepared to hike up to the top of the Penopticon and drive that blade deep with a ferocity that would make Melanie proud.
When Martin had woken up alone the next morning, a sick realisation had washed over him. He’d known that John would… would do something stupid. That he’d lie. They’d made a promise and he’d lied, but, as Martin reached the top of the Panopticon, so had he.
Martin had claimed that he could live with the guilt of wondering if he’d made the right decision. He was horribly wrong. The last thing he remembers before shooting to sit up on the cot is how heavy John had felt in his arms and pain. His arms are empty, but it still feels like he’d been the unwitting target of a crumbling building.
The doctor seems amused when Martin looks down at himself to see a clean shirt that does not belong to him. They tell him they couldn’t very well let him walk out covered in blood, and was that… suspicion just beneath the pleasantries? His head spins when he stands, shakily reaching for the canvas bag he’d recognized as his. He feels unmoored, roaming through what he’s gathered is a medical tent, jaw tightening painfully when there’s no sight of John. ]
Have you … excuse me, did you happen to see … [ He trails off, confusing one of the medics that had been walking past. He’d caught himself from following through. It’d be strange to admit he knew of a man with a knife in his chest. ] N-nevermind. Nevermind, I’ll look for him myself. Thanks.
[ He’s already moving before the awkward dismissal, panic rising inside of him, and he almost rushes past the partition – but that voice is unmistakable. ]
John?! [ He’d have given himself whiplash with how he overcorrects, eyes landing on a very… living man. He doesn’t recall how he’d found himself at the side of John’s cot, but he’s got his arms wrapped around the man before he can stop himself. The guilt is a quick and dreadful thing, and Martin reconciles it by hiding his face against John’s hair. ] This is real? You… I’m so sorry. [ He doesn’t know how he can feel so relieved and miserable at the same time. John feels solid in his arms, but God… what if this was some final mercy his brain is feeding him before he dies? There are so many things Martin could say, but it feels moot. ]