curriculum_fictae | [PSL] time travel, time travel

[PSL] time travel, time travel

[ 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? ]

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okay? ill unlock the door

[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.]

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.

[ 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. ]

[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.

[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.

[ 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. ]

[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.]

[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.]

[ 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.

[For that second, for that single moment where Martin was gone, Tim thought that was it. He was gone. And the impulse, the grieving terror of losing another friend was just amplified by the echoing chill of the room.

The waters of the Lonely slosh around Tim's ankles as he walks into it, heedless of this mini-domain. It wasn't that he didn't feel the bite of chill in his knees as he dropped beside them, or the sharp burst of pain from his sling as he pushed his arm out of it. He welcomed it, folded it in, and made it a focus in all of the panic and fear. The Lonely couldn't touch him, not while he grabbed the recently reappeared Martin into a fierce hug.]

[in...less extreme circumstances, Martin might have waved off any attempts at comforting or consoling. "it's okay, I'm fine", "don't worry about me", and any other such deflections of care and concern.

but this is an extreme circumstance, and Martin is far too shaken to put up defenses or to refuse. he clings to Tim like the only lifeline he has in the world, still trembling almost violently. later, he'll apologize profusely for the ice climbing from his hands and up Tim's arms...even though it melts quickly. Tim's hug is doing wonders, but that might not be something that anyone notices in this moment.]

Why are you... You sorry? Elias did this, he's-- H-he's a monster.

[sure, they all know this by this point. but he emphasizes the word with such a terrified awe, comprehending the scope of Elias' evil on a whole new, viciously personal level.]

And you came anyway...

[Martin's too addled to debate whether Algric braved such a consequence on his own virtue, or because he loves Jon that much. either way, he's...touched, in a way.]

I'm sorry... I'm so sorry that he--

[ It can be both? Jon told him to come here, but Algric had been worried about himself, and had accepted Jon’s request despite the danger. And now ... he risks tilting his head up towards where Martin and Tim are, hugging. Desperately glad to have Tim there to anchor Martin in a way that Algric truly can’t.

(He should have realised what that revelation would mean to Martin. He hadn’t known at this stage, only suspected.)

With aching slowness, he hauls his feet out of the water and back onto solid ground. He stands too, keeping his head turned away, and wraps his own chilly arms around his double. ]

He’s a monster. Like - like you said.

[ His voice drops. ]

I want to - to prevent your horrible future too.

[Honestly? Tim at this VERY instant really isn't inclined to notice or give a single damn about the ice. He just holds on, relieved to FEEL Martin there, to have his friend react and return it, as if that can keep Martin present and safe in some way.

The conversation comes at a distance that is a lot the room, and perhaps a little him, and how it sparks a little more anger at the monster masquerading as their boss.

His head only lifts as he feels Algric's cold hands slide in. His own shifting to grab a fistful of his jumper before just, continuing to stay right where he is, while Martin clings back.]

[Tim's grounding touch alone is having a positive effect, despite the absolute depths Martin's emotions have plunged to: there's less blur to Martin's shape, and muted color is blooming out from where Tim's hands are touching.

but there's something about one giving oneself empathy and comfort that no external consoling can achieve. as much as Martin and Algric might hate themselves, it's nonetheless - or maybe especially - a kind of mercy that registers somewhere deep and substantial enough to bring Martin back into sharp focus and significantly lessen the ice coating the walls. the water quietly lapping at their legs remains, but it's even less noticeable than before with the temperature now rising a little.

Martin, for his part, might not be refusing the hugs, but he is refusing to let himself go any further. he does not sob, he does not cry. he just shakes and bites his lip almost hard enough to break the skin.]

I don't care what. What happens to me. If everyone else ends up alright.

[ Oh. Oh. Is - that how Tim feels when Algric talks about disappearing at the end of all this? What Jon is feeling when he reaches out to assure Algric that he likes Algric specifically? It’s a blow straight to the gut hearing those words from Martin. God. Maybe ... maybe he’s causing those reactions too.

Martin isn’t crying, but Algric manages a few traitorous tears. He squeezes a little more tightly, leaning his head down on Martin’s shoulder with his eyes squeezed shut. ]

I care about what happens to you. Not - not caring is how you become me.

[Tim's voice is thick and a bit muffled by Martin's jumper, not willing to let up, even for clarity.]

No one is going to be all right if you're not with us. Okay?

[why is it, he wonders distantly, that even surrounded with so much affirmation, that he can't accept what they're saying? what is so messed up about him that makes him believe that they're factually incorrect; completely wrong about this? about him?

even the part of him that wants to absorb this...this affection and wants to change because of it, doesn't know how to.

so it's easier to fall back on what's familiar, however unhelpful it might be.

it dawns on him that he's in the spotlight, and not in a good way. oddly enough, that's what starts making cracks.]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to- I'm sorry.

[ Oh, Martin. Algric knows that feeling so well that he might as well be feeling it himself. Hell, he is feeling that himself, courtesy of Tim directing that comment at the both of them. The Lonely whispers in his ear, telling him that it’s meant for Martin only, not himself, he’s just an extra version of Martin -

And that realisation makes him stop for a moment, to take in a breath and just ... let it come in for once. Maybe - maybe Tim is right. Maybe he does need to find a way to live past this. Through this.

If only to help his other self see that he can do the same. ]

It’s - it’s okay to need help. You don’t have to. Have to figure it out right this second.

[ It’s a soothing mantra for himself too, as he leans in to squeeze Martin’s shoulders a little more tightly. ]

[It's not a terribly long way from Jon's place to Martin's. But it feels like miles when he's struggling. A short tube ride for a couple stops, and by the time he's back on the ground walk, the adrenaline's carrying him through the pain. His head is pounding, he knows something just happened to Martin even after he knew Tim got there. He can't sit by not doing anything. So maybe Algric was right and Jon can't just sit and wait. Screw it.]

Of course there'd be stairs. [He mutters it, takes one steadying breath, and starts climbing. It's a no brainer which apartment to look for. He can feel the chill seeping out from under the door crack (and some of the leftover... ick from the worms. it really had been bad). Jon stops to look at it, then knocks once. Which comes out more like a heavy thump as he just rests his whole arm and head against the door.

Breathe. It's fine. Tim's here, Algric's here, everything's fine. After a moment of no response, though, he decides to try the door. He finds it unlocked and lets himself in.]

Martin? ...Tim?

[What is there to add to that, but his agreement comes in the way he pulls both of them a little tighter.

The sound of Jon's voice is almost eaten entirely by the soft lapping of now- now nearly tepid waters.

-rtin?

But it couldn't be Jon, there's no lift in this building.

Tim?

The voice is sharp, and a tiny little bit of ... something that pulls the attention in an unconscious way. He ends up looking up, blinking away the blurriness of his vision to see-

On one hand he's DESPERATELY glad to see him.

On the other.

Did that stubborn bastard just. Just abandon his chair at the bottom of the stairs? Did he bring it at all?]

[ Algric doesn’t follow quite the same train of thought, but when his head pops up from behind Martin, he distinctly looks down at Jon’s feet with some distress, before looking up with relief to see Jon here. (Or at least the blurry blob that Algric has come to associate with Jon; he’s rather used to not being able to see anyone clearly by now.) ]

Jon! You -

[ God damn it. Algric keeps his grip on Martin and Tim tight. ]

W-why are you on your feet!? I thought I told you to - to stay at your flat!

[ Please back him up on this, Martin. ]

[first, there's a spike of mild panic.

oh god. Jon. why is Jon here. I'm not ready to see him. I'm not ready to apologize for half the things I need to apologize for. oh my god. I look terrible. I'm an absolute mess. and he's going to see me like this. a mess, being barely held up. at a vulnerable, singularly uncool moment in my life. that man I'm in love with is seeing me in my pyjamas almost crying ice tears because I'm such a wreck of a human being. this isn't how I ever wanted to see me in my flat. or at all. oh god I haven't thought of half of the things I need to say.

thankfully, Algric's voice cuts through the mental haze, and Martin's attention is finally drawn outside of himself enough to see Jon's feet and remember.

he gasps, horrified.]

Jon, what the hell are you doing?!

[Jon starts to instinctively take one step in, feels his heel start to slide and stops, lifts his foot and looks down for the first time.

Christ, that's a lot of ice. He's keeping himself propped up holding onto the door frame and the doorknob and. Just looks further in to the flat, like an invisible fence is keeping him at the door.]

I-- I needed to-

[God, are they yelling at him because he came to check because he was worried??? His hands tighten around their props as he fights to still stay upright, but if he doesn't get the door closed, other people on this floor are probably going to notice the sudden rush of cold. He looks positively put out being stuck at the door.]

How was I supposed to stay when I get a message like that? [Not that Algric knows that Martin texted the both of them.] Th-that you'd passed out, Algric? Or-- or that Martin disappeared? [That one was definitely not a text he received. Stupid. Eye knowledge.]

Edited (eye, brain, all the same to hte ceaseless watcher) 2020-08-17 04:07 (UTC)

[It's fortunate that Tim's really not in a place to notice that Jon couldn't possibly have been told about Martin disappearing, else he'd add his own voice to this. (Though something unconscious settles in the back of the mind, the way the Eye does, a sort of fingerless unease.)

Instead he takes a moment, a steadying breath and drops his forehead to Martin's shoulder a moment.]

Okay. Stay right here. I'm- I'm going to go get him before he breaks his bleeding neck.

[Algric will feel Tim's hand find his forearm and give a reassuring squeeze, and then a warm grip on Martin's shoulder, before he pulls himself up, ignoring the aches and bites of the prolonged cold. He scrubs his face with his palm (a small second for himself), then decides if anyone didn't want to see him a wreck they could just mind their own damn business.

He is... at least, steadier, finding the patches of the floor that had begun to thaw through, and while Martin and Algric continue their reactions, he'll guide Jon's arm around him (the shoulder's too high, but-) to bring him back to the Martins. ]

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