[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

[curriculum_fictae]

[ And Algric turns in the same moment, intending to only glance at Martin’s hands or shoulders—- ]

That’s got nothing to do with you —-

[ —- And stops short as he sees ... well. Himself. The compulsion burns like a brand in the back of his head, vicious and painful and agonising. Both hands cover his eyes a moment too late; he staggers off the bed with a strangled cry of pain. Some instinct wants him to run, to hide, to get away from that awful blazing hatred in his head. But he can’t. He can’t, it’s there, and the reminder of what lives in the bottom of his head is unbearable.

He manages one shaky step before collapsing tot he floor. ]

[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]

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

[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.

[secreteary]

doesnt feel like it

[eyediot]

It is. I promise, it is, Martin.

[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

[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

[eyediot]

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

I'm just relieved you're safe.

[secreteary]

[no idea how to reply to that. there's a long silence.]

safe enough.

[eyediot]

[He may be emotionally ...inexperienced like this, but Jon at least knows enough to know not to have this conversation over text. Or over the phone, even. But he can read the "Go away" vibes through those letters plain as day.]

Tim should be there any moment.
This wasn't your fault, Martin. Please believe that.

[secreteary]

i wasnt talking about this. im sorry for

[there's a pause before the next text:]

everything else

[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.]

[secreteary]

okay? ill unlock the door

[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.]

[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.

[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]

[No, no it wasn't. Martin sounds like he's coming from somewhere far away. (Too distant, too soft to be anywhere he could walk to.) And the scene he walks into is both better than the worst case scenarios he'd run through on the tube (cracked his head open on the way down, or it was something else, something new and terrible).

But also worse than his more reasonable side had tried to sooth him with. The ice crackled under his shoes, and he- has to focus on both of them. Martin was not that bad last he saw the man.]

You- God, no, you did everything right.

[He closes the distance, the jacket not quite enough for the powerful chill pouring off of the two of them. The groan filters in, and he gives a sigh of relief.]

This is something Elias did.

[secreteary]

[Martin sits up straighter, frowning.]

Elias? What does he have to do with this?

[he looks down at Algric, frown deepening.]

I just thought my own issues festered and got worse.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Under the scarf, Algric blinks slowly, coming back to the world. He feels ... strange. Disconnected? And cold, but the cold is fine. Someone is holding his hand, though he can’t tell if it’s Tim or Martin.

Ah. Martin. Martin is asking a question. ]

He - he put a compulsion in my head. Makes it so I. I see our mum’s hatred. Whenever I see my own face.

[ The words are soft, but clear. ]

[kayakking]

[On one hand, it's good to have confirmation that Algric's okay. On the other.]

Jesus Christ. That's the context?

[Was this better or worse than someone I hate? Worse, he immediately decides. Much worse.]

[secreteary]

[hey guys guess what

if anything was going to make Martin temporarily disappear into The Lonely fully, it was going to be trying to wrap his head around the concept that Algric just proposed, and it...really starting to sink in what that means.

Algric's hand just drops when Martin fades out. and the fog gets worse.

when Martin reappears, he's wide-eyed and shaking.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Sorry, Martin. Algric’s hand drops to the floor with a chilly splash, and he sinks in a few more inches. But focusing on Tim helps, at least, and he wriggles a little, struggling to sit up despite being underwater up to his knees. ]

Yes. That’s - that’s the context. I think I always suspected, I just ... I didn’t know.

[ He turns his head towards where Martin’s reappeared. ]

I’m sorry.