[PSL] time travel, time travel

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Martin had always known that Lukas would kill him in the end. If not along the way, then surely at the end, once he'd gotten what he wanted out of Martin, whatever that turned out to be. When the Lonely rose up to swallow him, he'd accepted his impending death with ... what?

What did he have left, really? Numbness, mostly. A hallucination of Jon in the Lonely, looking for him, but - but that was impossible, ridiculous. His mind playing cruel tricks. He settled himself down in the frigid surf, knees drawn up close to his chest, unshed tears frozen to his cheeks and lashes.

And then. A door. A door that shouldn't exist, that couldn't exist. That he shouldn't take at all. The Lonely was terrible, yes, but it was quiet, and it was peaceful. Martin was aligned enough with it by now to very nearly enjoy it, in a strange and terrible way. The Spiral would be infinitely worse than this quiet beach.

But ... it was hope, too. In a strange way. Hope enough that Martin found himself turning the door handle and stepping through, leaving the false comfort of the Lonely behind him.

The transition was unpleasant. Long. But Martin couldn't remember it after; he only remembered stumbling out through the door of a supply closet somewhere deep in the Archives, blinking up at the dim bulbs that pretended to be sufficient. What time was it? Had he escaped? Where were Lukas and Elias now?

And where was Jon? ]

Comments

[kayakking]

I'm sitting here with you on the very same page as you and hearing that just shot an INSTANT sense of alarm that you're going to do something stupid.

[DEAD ASS SAID OUTRIGHT.]

No. Nope. What we have to do is convince him that without the information we are definitely going to be even MORE stupid than previously thought.

[eyediot]

[Jon just. Stares at him.]

As always, you are the pinnacle of understanding.

[Yeah, Tim has the right of it. But Jon kinda motions for the papers he gave him earlier.]

Something that might help, some, in the future. He has a mobile now, I'll-- Write the number.

[Jon your phone is literally still on your lap just text to him like a fucking mid-30-year old millennial you old man.]

[secreteary]

[uh?

holy shit?????

Martin is frozen (ha) for a moment before panic quietly starts setting in. he jumps off of the bed and around to Algric's unconscious body, hands hovering, uncertain of what to do. he eventually decides on shaking Algric's shoulders before attempting to smack his face (perhaps a little harder than necessary, though he doesn't mean to).

of course, nothing works. so Martin resolves to send out an alarming text to Tim and Jon both:]

algric is passed out on my floor what do i do?????

[Martin brushes back some of his bangs from his forehead, beading with sweat slightly just from the stress.

it's so. bizarre. it's too strange, to look at...himself, in the flesh. something angry twists in his gut at the sight, unable to even notice the differences between them (aside from the Lonely effects).

a horrible thought occurs to him then:

does his own self-hatred get so bad in the future that he can't even look at himself? to the point of such a visceral, uncontrollable reaction?

the idea frightens him and freezes his heart. he can't imagine what it's like for his view of himself to get any worse, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels empathy and deep pity for himself.

he takes Algric's hand and holds it because of this, and unsure of what else he can do until help arrives. ice and fog spread beyond his bedroom and a little into the hall.

and so Martin sits, miserable and spiraling again.]

[eyediot]

[He's been sitting, just... Waiting. Algric said he'd come home, and even if it wasn't the same instance, he had also told Algric he was capable of sitting and waiting. So he's determined to do just that.

So he jumps at the text and... Oh god.

What.]

Are you all right?
What happened?

[God he can't even get there, it'd take him ages.]

[secreteary]

[Martin shifts in his seat, and leans his chin on one hand thoughtfully.]

I think...maybe, if nothing else, this will help us repair our relationship with Jon, and then...whatever comes, we won't be divided. That's a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

[secreteary]

im fine he just took one look at me and fell voer

[kayakking]

[The message comes in for Tim in one of those tiny swoops of open air between the underground on the tube. So he's left, sitting about 2 minutes staring, with his message prepared and anxiety spiking.]

Is his eyes covered? If not, do that.
Be there in 5.

[Where Tim lives, of course, is way the hell off, so either he was in town, or was already on his way.]

[kayakking]

Yeah? Yeah. It's nice to ... well not be snitty at each other by this point.

[As most discussions around Jon had gone that way.]

Good to all be running on the same side.

[eyediot]

[Shit. He looks at his chair, then back at the text.]

Tim can get there faster than I could. He'll help.

It's all right, Martin.

[kayakking]

[He gets the paper out or risk not ever receiving it from his proto-boomer boss. God.]

That... Yeah. About time actually.

I can't believe you still have a land line. I mean, I'm thankful you did. But still absolutely amazed.

[eyediot]

[He stops mid-writing to raise his free hand in exasperation.]

Why does everyone keep saying that? The flat came with one, so I use it!

[But back to writing the number.]

[secreteary]

okay? ill unlock the door

[secreteary]

doesnt feel like it

[eyediot]

It is. I promise, it is, Martin.

[kayakking]

[He tries to send ok thank at least three times before the time outs frustrate him too much, and he ends up just deleting it. The rush he takes at the station, breaks into the fastest walk he dares to break into.'

So, it's a little less than the ETA he gave (and probably feels like so much longer) that there's a heavy knock.]

Martin?

[And the front door to Martin's flat eases open. Tim'd taken the time to make himself presentable before seeing Jon home, so he'd look almost put together without the telltale of bandages under his shirt or the sling. Or the general look of exertion of the rush.]

Jesus it's cold-

[And foggy- SHIT.]

[kayakking]

Because it's nearly as much of an antique as you are.

[It's a light and easy retort.]

[secreteary]

[judging by the "typing" icon on Jon's end, Martin must be writing an essay. but when the text finally comes, all it says is:]

im sorry

[secreteary]

"Snitty".

[a small scoff; not that Tim is wrong, but that it's unknown how much more tense things could have become before they broke entirely. thank Algric for little miracles, he begrudgingly admits to himself.[

I'd like to hope I'm not so stupid as to think friendship will get us through everything, but...yeah. I'd much rather be all together on this. Especially considering the...the scale, my god.

[eyediot]

[That just gets a derisive sort of snort through his nose before he hands the paper back over.]

We're nearly the same age, you realize that.

[secreteary]

In here.

[hey Tim was Martin's voice echoing that badly the last time you saw him

he had done as he was told, though. when Tim makes his way to Martin's bedroom, he'll find Algric still on the floor, but with a scarf tied around his head and covering his eyes. Martin also seems to have taken it upon himself to arrange Algric into something more resembling a comfortable position: there's a pillow under Algric's head, a heavy blanket covering most of his body, and Martin is holding Algric's hand.

Martin himself looks miserable and lost. he's blurry around the edges and has only the faintest traces of color. he looks up at Tim, then to Algric to try and get a sense of what the scene must look like from Tim's perspective, and back again.]

I. I didn't know what else to do.

[eyediot]

[Jon's own typing icon starts.

Stops.

Starts.

Stops.


Starts..................................]

I was worried. I'm sorry.

[secreteary]

no its my fault please dont blame yourself

[curriculum_fictae]

[ And Algric in turn is ... comfortable enough. Head and body carefully wrapped, hand limp in Martin’s hand but still physically present. He’s drooping a bit strangely around where his feet should be, though. Algric has begun to sink into the patch of Lonely currently occupying Martin’s bedroom floor, as his own instincts kick in to try to shield himself from the horrible pain in his head. The Lonely is a comforting sort of pain, after all; he’s used to it by now.

But Martin’s hand-holding keeps him stable, at least. And when Tim comes running up he shifts a little, groaning softly. ]

[kayakking]

Younger. Which means you have way less of an excuse.

[eyediot]

[Yeah it's a few minutes before there's any other response.]

I'm just relieved you're safe.