[Canon Update] Together, Somewhere Else

[lofi_charm]

Who: Jonathan Sims (apocryphalarchivist) & Martin Blackwood (lofi_charm) (And Mortanne for a bit)
What: Returning from their canon update and reuniting!
When: Some ambiguous time in May
Where: Jack's Marina
Warning(s): Significant spoilers for the entirety of the Magnus Archives

Ported over from Discord as one bigass log. This isn't really intended as an open, just making it available for reading purposes for those interested and for our own records! Thanks for checking it out if you do!




"If you stay, you'll die!"
"Then I'll die!"
"No! Martin, please! I can’t lose you. Not like this…"
"Tough! Okay? Where you go, I go."
"That's the deal..."
.....
"Maybe, maybe everything works out, and we end up somewhere else."
"Together?"
"One way or another. Together."
.....
"Are you sure about this?"
"No. But I love you."
"I love you, too."

The white hot sear of pain, true pain, for the first time in a long time. It quickly turns cold, even surrounded by fire. The tears of a lover. It all falls away, like sliding into a bath. And then there is nothing. It's unlike the first time, where rushing fire and flying debris made it instant and violent, followed by snapping awake in that beige office. There's almost a peace to it. How strange.

When Jon comes to, he'll find himself sleeping on a pew, in a cathedral. It could almost be mistaken for Catholic in origin, with its arched windows and soaring ceilings, were it not for the distinct lack of crosses. Instead, there are stained glass murals arranged into the shapes of ornate snowflakes in each window, and tapestries of horses pulling carriages and wagons from a hundred different cultures and time periods.

But the most noteworthy detail isn't the wintry iconography. No, what really sets this scene is the fact that there are hundreds of thousands of candles floating through the space, suspended ostensibly by magic. There are no other lights besides the candle-light, and even then, it is still fairly dark.

Outside, it is snowing.

THE ARCHIVIST:

Unsteady legs pull Jon up from the pew, somehow both so hazy and so clear. Everything feels like a dream; his mind refuses to reel from the vicious mental image that plays on loop. Any thoughts that come feel like they're just as weighed by the snow outside as the ground below is, slow and still.

He steps to the side, carefully navigating away from the pew, to the center of the aisle. His eyes wander the candles, floating so gently, and the chandeliers that tower so far above, towards the altar.

Jon does not speak - not yet. There's an altar that sprawls at the top of the steps, just above the pews, and it calls to him. When he reaches it, he lets his fingertips, the skin still so warped with scars, run over it softly. He takes a breath in, slow and quiet, and exhales it the same.

Even with the gentle quiet of his thoughts, he finally succumbs to the weight of everything that'd happened. Slowly, his posture slumps, and he falls to his knees, not moving an inch from where he sits.

"...So this is it, then?"

MORTANNE:

"No, not quite all."

A woman in all black steps out of the shadows. A black mourning gown and lace veil, silver hair streaming out from beneath. She sets her hand on the altar, and there's a tentative pause.

"Do you remember me, Jon?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

He looks to her hand, then up to her face. For a moment, he only stares. His mind brushes away the dreamlike fog of a life lived he'd forgotten when he woke in the hospital, everything feeling like such a strange, distant dream.

"Mortanne," He murmurs, after a long moment of silence. "Yes, I... I do."

Another fleeting few seconds of silence, and though he doesn't rise to his feet, he looks to one of the windows, watching the snow flutter so gently to the ground.

"Where are we?"

MORTANNE:

"My home," she tells him, setting a pair of candles onto the altar. With a long match, she lights the first of them, revealing an ornate moth design carved into the base. There are eyes in the wings. "I wanted to talk to you for a bit. I'm sorry for delaying your reunions."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Oh."

Jon blinks, finally looking back to the altar. He shifts to stand at last, but it's difficult for him to tear his eyes away from that candle. He watches the candlelight dance in it's slow, steady sway.

"It's alright. There's a lot to discuss, isn't there?" Jon swallows lightly, letting out a soft breath. "It's been... God. A year? Maybe more? Time got... a little strange, there for a while."

MORTANNE:

"Time is always a little strange for me," Mortanne says, laughing softly. "But it's good to have you back. I'm sorry you had to go through all of that."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I didn't go through anything that wasn't my fault." Jon lifts his hands to his upper arms, hugging himself loosely. "But... it's over now. It's all finally over."

He lets out a breath, the air trembling a bit. A sad smile rises to his face.

"If I'm remembering right, this is... supposed to be a carriage ride, isn't it? At the end? Not that I'm not glad to be here. This... a very, very beautiful place. I'm honored you've brought me to it."

MORTANNE:

"We'll do that, too, when it's time." Mortanne lights the other candle, which has an elaborate, whorling smoke design that features a distant landscape of rolling hills. There's a little cow.

"But you're still alive, Jon."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon blinks, a quiet surprise sinking slowly in. He looks back to the candles, stepping closer, his arms lingering in front of his chest, looking as though he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"But--- how?"

MORTANNE:

"Same as last time. The barrier's still up. Do you remember the deal?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

"...Oh. I--- I do. It's starting to come back to me. ...For the longest time, I'd thought this was all just--- a strange dream."

MORTANNE:

"I know," Mortanne assures him, turning to him at last. "Unfortunately you couldn't take memories of this place with you, because they changed you. Painful as it was, living out your fate left you stronger. And there's a reckoning coming. You're needed."

Hands lifting, Mortanne raises her veil and reveals her face. She looks... very close to Jon's own age, perhaps a bit older, despite her white locks. Her eyes are the steely grey of a winter sky. She takes his hand. "I know that all you've ever wanted was to be able to do some good. I hate--- I hate asking this of you. After all you've been through. But if you can go a little further, you can help. ...If you have nothing left, then I'll carry you. I won't make you go. But if you can----"

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I will."

Jon cuts in gently, lifting his hand to hold Mortanne's in both of his own. His smile is soft and somber, but there's no reluctance to it. There's nothing but pure acceptance - there is, however, a flicker of hesitation.

"...I do have one request, though. If that's alright. One small favour, and I'll offer you any part of me that this reckoning needs."

MORTANNE:

"If it's Martin, it's already done."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I just want to know that he's somewhere where he's happy. That's all. If he survived everything, or if he's--- somewhere else, now, it doesn't matter. Just that he will be happy there."

MORTANNE:

"Jon," Mortanne stops him. "He's here."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon opens his mouth, blinking. When he speaks again, it cracks, and he immediately leaves her hands to hurriedly turn, frantic in his search of the pews.

"Here?"

MORTANNE:

She laughs. "Not here-here, but--- He's on the island. Waiting for you."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I--- I need to get back, then," He turns back as quickly as he can, the quiet collectedness crumbling under sheer urgency and desperation. "Did you speak with him already? He agreed?"

MORTANNE:

"Jon. Breathe." Mortanne puts her hands on his shoulders. "Slow down. He said he wanted to go as long as you did. 'That's the deal,' he said."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon takes a deep breath, then another, trying to settle himself from his buzzing. "I-I see. Okay. Okay. That's--- that's good, then. Alright."

One more deep breath. It's a dedicated effort to reel himself back in, but he's trying so very hard.

"I'll go. I'll do whatever I need to do to help."

MORTANNE:

"Thank you." Mortanne takes Jon's hand gently, leading him toward the door. "Your house is just as you left it. Your friends are waiting for you. And Celestine has rolled out a bright blue sky just for you."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon follows her attentively, allowing himself to be led so gently. It's difficult to imagine a blue sky beneath the snowy haze; he believes her, even still.

"I-I remember. I remember them," Jon murmurs, overwhelmed as each piece comes back to him. "How long have we been gone? Will I need to find my friends, apologize for leaving them for so all that time?"

He's still a bit hazy in the waves of memory, but he is so very earnest in his worry.

MORTANNE:

"For them, it's only been a few days." She brings him out of the cathedral, and into the snow. Down the slope of a hill, the ferryman waits on an icy shoreline.

"I can't go with you. So this is goodbye for now." She looks up at him, smiling. "Go to him. He's waiting."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"When the barrier is finally down, come visit, will you?" Jon asks, overwhelmed by emotion, everything finally slowly blossoming up through the snow that had quieted his aching heart. He lets out a small laugh, so joyful despite it's softness, he could cry. "I'll make tea."

MORTANNE:

Mortanne pulls him into a tight hug, murmuring. "I'll be there, Jon. Of course I'll be there."

Then, she pulls back, putting a hand on his face like a proud mother. Because that's what she is. "And when you're truly done, I'll bring you home. You'll have a kind afterlife waiting for you. Give Martin an opal before you go, it'll make it easier for him to find you there."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon hugs her back just as tightly, and he gives a short nod, having to swallow harshly to collect himself. "Thank you, Mortanne. I--- I can't thank you enough. Be well, and--- I'll see you this winter, perhaps."

And, at last, he parts.

It takes all his effort not to stumble down the slope, covered in that gentle powder snow, so desperate to get to the ferry. He gives the ferryman a short, courteous bow--- one of the same he'd given when he'd seen the poor man off his stolen boat, so long ago--- before he boards, lingering by the bow.

It feels like no time at all and an age away before the ferry's horn calls, echoing over Jack's Marina. And, glued to the edge of the ship, all but prepared to throw himself off the side of the ship to get off of it the second it meets the dock, is Jon, desperately looking through the crowds of the beach and the docks for one face that towers above so many others.

MARTIN:

There he is. Right along the shore, without any shoes on, trousers rolled up, up to his calves in the tide. The wounds he got during those last... weeks? Months? Have all gone. His hair looks windswept by salt spray. He watches the boat keenly until----

Until his eyes meet Jon's. And then he immediately abandons the beach for the pier, practically sprinting to the docking area saved for the ferry.

THE ARCHIVIST:

There he is.

Jon's shameless in his haste to cut to the front of those disembarking from the ferry the second the gangplank is locked into place, his rush nearly sending him toppling when he turns. He runs faster than his legs have ever carried him, breaths heavy and ragged in his mad dash.

The second Martin is close enough, he all but throws himself into his arms, his hands desperately balling fists in the back of his shirt. He can't help the relieved sob that tears from him, tightening his grip impossibly.

"You're here, you're--- oh, god, you're here---!"

MARTIN:

Martin hugs back just tightly, hand to the back of Jon's head, a sob ripping from him. "I'm here, I'm here, I-I waited--- I'm not going anywhere, oh my god, Jon, we--- we did it."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Somewhere else, together," Jon buries his face into Martin's shoulder, his shoulders quaking as each sob shakes him deeply. He's desperate to pull himself back, though, moving his hands only to part from Martin's back to his face, looking miserably guilty.

"I-I'm so sorry, Martin, I--- I'm so sorry I lied to you, and we--- we both paid the price for it, you didn't deserve to have to do that, I'm so sorry---"

MARTIN:

Martin's mouth is pressed into a deep, involuntary frown as tears streak his face, and he shakes his head. "Later. I don't--- Let's talk about it later. Please."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon takes in a shaky breath, but nods, quick in his agreement, pulling Martin back into a hug. "Of course, I--- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I-I'm so glad you're here."

MARTIN:

"I love you too," Martin murmurs, squeezing Jon close. "I love you. I love you so much. I love you." He sobs out every word, swaying Jon gently. "We're here. We made it. We got out, we're--- were somewhere else, together. Just like you said."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"We're--- we're here, we're out, a-and we're safe," Jon barely manages the words more than a waterlogged croak, and he pulls himself off of Martin's shoulder, desperate to pull him into a kiss.

He can't hold it for long before another sob breaks it, but he presses his forehead to Martin's, his hand moving to the back of his head to pull him down. "I love you so much. I-I was so scared I was going to lose you forever, I--- I love you so much, Martin. Oh, God, I love you."

MARTIN:

Martin gladly welcomes the kiss, however brief, and puts one of his own hands to the back of Jon's head as well. Sobs continue to wrack him. There's so much to feel right now. Relief, fear, exhaustion, joy, pain, sadness, love--- the anger he'd had back in the Panopticon is all but forgotten. "I-I was scared, too, I was so scared---" He hiccups a sob and sniffs in sharply, trying desperately to control his face in vain. When Martin speaks again, his voice is very, very small.

"...We're home."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon lets out a laugh that's more of another sob, but even in all his tidal wave of emotion, he is so, so very happy. He is home. He's finally home. His fingers curl gently into Martin's hair, anchoring onto him like he'd disappear if he didn't, and in these arms, he is home.

He takes in a shaking breath, and finally pulls back, so, so very reluctantly, those hands of his not so much as once leaving Martin's person. He offers a smile that trembles under the weight of the great, crashing everything over them, sniffling sharply. He only moves a hand to brush some hair affectionately out of Martin's face; it's as though he can't get enough of making sure his lover is truly, really there.

"I--- could we---" He tries to find his words, letting out another waterlogged laugh. "Let's--- let's go home, shall we?"

MARTIN:

With another sniffle, Martin manages a shaky smile. "Yeah. Yes. Let's--- let's go home."

Despite saying so, Martin doesn't move for another moment. He doesn't want to tear his eyes away from Jon, doesn't want to stop holding him in order to move. Eventually, fumblingly, he settles on taking Jon's hand. "Let's go," he murmurs. "Do--- do you feel okay?"

After all, the last few times they'd been anywhere but underneath the Eye's gaze, Jon's gone all fuzzy.

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I'm--- alright, I think," Jon assures him. Even if he's no longer being held, he does all that he can to almost be pressed against Martin's arm. He doesn't particularly want to look away from Martin, either - and, unfortunately, he doesn't think not to split his focus. From between his curls of hair, green eyes peer out.

"I don't know how much of the Eye's influence reaches here, but--- but it's enough not to leave me without, I think," Jon mutters, none the wiser. "I-I mean, I--- hahah, I can't just--- reach out and know everything anymore, so, that's--- got to be a step in the right direction, isn't it?"

MARTIN:

"Yeah, that's closer to--- to normal---" Martin pauses. "...But there's still those."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"...Those what?"

MARTIN:

Martin gestures to his own cheek.

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon lifts his unoccupied hand, and apparently all it takes is for him to interrupt their own eye-contact for him to notice, jolting in surprise. "Oh, fucking Christ--- I'm so sorry."

When he pulls his hand away at last, they're closed. He puts in careful, active effort to make sure of it.

MARTIN:

Martin laughs softly. "I guess half the reason we went back at all was for avatar powers. It wouldn't quite be our lives if things didn't stay weird."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I suppose you've got a point," Jon lets out a deep breath, and, finally, albeit reluctantly, he lets his eyes wander the streets, a soft frown lingering on his lips. "...It's strange to see everything just like we left it, after what feels like so much time, isn't it?"

MARTIN:

"It is," Martin agrees. "But reassuring. It's--- nice to be able to get something back. For a long time, everything's felt very--- horrible and permanent? Just--- bad forever, and nothing can ever be the way it was again. But that's not true here, is it? Everything stayed where we left it. We barely missed anything at all. Nothing's lost."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Yeah," Jon agrees quietly. "Nothing's lost."

He doesn't get into the strange weight that settles in his chest, a feeling of otherness of having witnessed so many horrible things and having life carry on as normal, with nothing to do but follow suit; Martin's clearly taking comfort in this, and maybe with time, Jon will be able to, as well. Even if, for now, that doesn't make him want to hide away any less.

MARTIN:

"...Doesn't mean I don't want to bury myself in our bed for a few days before I try and be social, though," Martin adds.

THE ARCHIVIST:

"You'll be lucky if you get me out of that bed for a week at minimum."

MARTIN:

"I feel like we've earned it." Martin chuckles warmly. "We'll ease back into being people."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Hopefully anyone who comes calling will understand," Jon manages a weak smile. "Worst comes to worst, I imagine we could ask Daisy to speak with anyone who's got a problem with it. She's terribly convincing."

MARTIN:

"I might call around," Martin says, holding up his wrist. The sending stone is back!

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I'll have to see if I managed to put mine somewhere easily findable, or if I've managed to lose it again... if I do have it, I'll help you with a call or two," Jon assures him. "Let's worry about that when it comes, though, alright? Even thinking about calls is... daunting, right now."

MARTIN:

"Oh, yeah. for sure. Maybe we can just... put a sign on the door. 'Do Not Disturb, Apocalypse Recovery Center' or something," Martin jokes.

THE ARCHIVIST:

"'Enter at own risk, anxiety smiting not held accountable by law," Jon jokes back, gesturing with a single, vague jazzhand.

MARTIN:

"Christ, can you still smite things?" That'd certainly be an asset but Martin doesn't love the implications. Though he supposed the Fears can be anywhere, after what happened... No doubt some part of the Eye followed Jon here.

THE ARCHIVIST:

Though Jon had mostly been joking, he hadn't been sure - at least, not until the information comes to him unbidden, all through simply being asked.

"Yes and no?" He offers, tentative. "The Eye isn't watching our every move, and it's nowhere as close as it was when it was in our world. I could call to it, of course, but... getting it's attention will take a great deal more than a whim like it'd been before."

MARTIN:

"Probably for the best." Martin pauses. "I thought you couldn’t Know like that anymore."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Oh, I can't. You know how I likened it to a door once? I can't open it on my own without really working for it, so I likely could find something with time and effort, but it's easy enough to do it on a dime if someone asks," Jon explains. A beat. He makes a face like he's just eaten something sour. "I think I hate it."

MARTIN:

"...So unless someone asks, it's just gone? Or can you still do it on your own for little things like you used to?"

You know. Like in bed.

God, with all these memories coming back, Martin realizes that they haven't had sex in like a year.

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Little things here and there! But I'm not just ambiently knowing anymore, I have to take a moment, focus, and look. It's honestly a relief."

He pauses, and the glance he takes Martin's way, wide-eyed with realization, speaks volumes to his most recent attempt at Knowing is quite successful.

MARTIN:

Martin's face immediately reddens, and he splutters. "What! I was just wondering! I didn't even remember--- a-and it's not like we had time, and I---"

THE ARCHIVIST:

"It's alright, Martin!" Jon lets out a sheepish laugh, giving the hand he held a squeeze. "I mean, it seemed like you were wondering something specific, so I wanted to check, and--- I didn't remember, either! God, there is a lot to remember, isn't there?"

MARTIN:

"God, there really is. It's kind of wild. Just... information happening to me." A beat. "Is that--- what it was like?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Honestly? Yes, pretty much exactly like that, just regarding---" A vague wave of his hand. "Everything."

MARTIN:

Martin wrinkles his nose. "I don't think I like it. Makes me feel... like I gaslit myself?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Mm, I know what you mean. I know on my end, I just wrote what of it I could remember off as a dream." Jon pauses for a quiet moment, before giving Martin's hand a little squeeze. "...There's one nice thing that comes out of it, at least. Knowing I fell in love with you twice. That's something sort of special in it's own way, isn't it?"

MARTIN:

"That's---" Dawned upon, Martin cracks a smile. "That's true! We did, didn't we? You---"

This pause is a little softer. Another realization that has a different sort of punch to it.

"You left someone for me. You were here for a year, and you'd been with Neil. You left him for me."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon softens considerably, running his thumb over the side of Martin's hand. That information, usually so laced with guilt, lacks the bite of it as it all begins to resurface.

"I did," Jon murmurs, quiet and sentimental. "I realized I loved you, so much more than I could have ever expected to love someone, and I couldn't imagine my life without you in it. I'd barely managed to move past it all when you hadn't been here as it was, but then... there you were."

MARTIN:

"Yeah," Martin murmurs. "...I think I was wrong before."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"About what?" Jon asks, looking back to Martin from where his attention had briefly drifted ahead. Home was only a short few minutes away.

MARTIN:

"About us not being compatible if not for trauma," Martin says. "I mean, even though we did still... go through a lot of the same things, it wasn't exactly the same. But we still fell in love. And we stayed together through things that would've broken people."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon's a little breathless at the notion; that'd been something that'd weighed on his mind, and to hear that it didn't feel like the case anymore...

He tightens his hold on Martin's hand, offering him a smile so thoroughly overwhelmed by emotion.

"We did, didn't we? It's... it's nice to think that, in another place, not having gone through what we did, we still would have found each other."

MARTIN:

Martin smiles back softly. "Maybe you're someone I would love in any life, if I found you."

It's a little strange, to finally shake some of that bitterness which followed him his whole life. But never so pressingly as in his last year. That desire to be romantic and and whimsical about love had been quashed by the reality of his cynicism about himself, allowing him to believe that he was only ever worthy of love he had to beat himself to death for. But Jon had proven otherwise, hadn't he?

Martin's gaze drifts to the land around them. Rolling hills, sea breezes, steep cliffs, cobblestone and timber. The ocean of towering pines. The blue, nearly-cloudless sky. "God it's beautiful here."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Soulmates. Jon had never been sure believed in them, not really; it was something he'd always wanted to believe in, something seen in so many books and movies, but being tied so deeply to one person to find them over and over again in each life didn't strike him as possible in reality. It's amazing how feeling this close to one person can change his mind.

He follows Martin's gaze back ahead of them, letting out a soft, content breath. Mortanne had been right - there was that clear, sprawling blue. He'd have to thank both her and Celestine again later.

"It is, isn't it? What a perfect day to come home to."

MARTIN:

"It's such a relief to see a normal sky. How long had it been? Did it--- translate, in any way, to real time?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

"When it'd ended, those on the other side of it found themselves a week later, but it doesn't necessarily translate to that much time lived. I, ah. I couldn't really answer that if I tried. For some people it was a few days, for others, upwards of a decade...?"

MARTIN:

"Just a week?! Christ." Martin falls quiet, thinking. "For us, it felt like... a few months?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I could see that," Jon agrees. He's not going to get into the fact that he'd stopped perceiving time for the most part, at that point - considering most of his entirety was attuned to solely feeding off fear anymore.

At last, the winding path up the hill branches off. The little cobblestone walkway up to their cliffside home has gathered stray fallen leaves, and the inside of the home is dark, but it looks exactly as they'd left it. Outside, their two "housemates" of Pokemon, Vera and Grimmly, seem to chat idly, but stop when they catch sight of the two's return.

It's only after sufficient fussing, and a surprisingly tight hug from a typically unmoved ghost, that they're turned loose into the house.

As soon as Jon's managed to turn some lights on, it's off to the bedroom, shoes discarded and day-clothes off with almost a hurry.

"God, it almost doesn't feel real, does it?" Jon lets out a quiet laugh. "Our bed. Our house. I know that it's only been a few days for them, but I kept expecting to find it, I don't know... dilapidated, but everything's fine."

MARTIN:

"Yeah." Martin lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Feels like a whole lifetime later. I was... a little worried it'd feel too much like the safehouse, but. No, it's just... our cosy little cottage by the sea. It's not even dusty, either."

Martin falls back into bed, relaxing into its familiarity. Outside their window, the sea sprawls out past the Bluffs for miles. It's so calm.

"It'll be nice to go back to the tea shop, too. God, it's so hard to believe I'd forgotten about that."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Christ, the shop. Something about that feels like a--- like a comical amount of normalcy."

Jon finally pads across the room to his side of the bed, shuffling into the blankets. He faces away from the window, but he's perfectly at peace with that, really - anything he'd want to see is right here. He lifts his hands to either side of Martin's face, his fingertips brushing softly over his cheeks.

"I love you, Martin," He murmurs. "I was... I'd been worried I'd never get the chance to get to see you like this again."

MARTIN:

Martin takes a slow breath, leaning into all the touches. His hand rests on Jon's wrist. "I love you, too," he murmurs. "I was so, so scared. I've never been that scared."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I know," Jon frowns softly, his heart aching in his chest. "I'm so sorry."

MARTIN:

Tears well up again in Martin's eyes, try as he might to resist them. "Why did you do that?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon crumples a bit, and he struggles to look Martin in the eye. As he starts to speak, he can't manage it any longer; he looks away.

"I... I never wanted to tell you about any of it, what it was like to change. The people in our statements loved becoming monstrous, how serving these things was freeing to them, and reading that, it always seemed so... horrible, until it didn't. I couldn't have told you any of it. Not how--- how it felt--- good, to take what was not mine from those people. How, when the Fears came into our world, I felt--- complete, how I was immediately given something vital to my core, at the simple cost of dooming every single person in the world."

He takes in a breath, and lets it out, slow and shaking.

"I shouldn't even be telling you it now, I--- I don't think. I don't think it's meant for anyone but me to know, but after what I put you through, you deserve to hear it. I... I know I was deluded into believing it would work. I know I was. But, I-I thought it was the right thing to do, to try to make sure no one ever felt those things that I did again. To burn out one single world, and--- and take away the chances of any one single person ever having to be eaten alive by that guilt. I never wanted another person to hurt the people around them, and realized that, at their core, it satisfied them to do it."

That same guilt pulls pain onto his features, and he starts to pull his hand away from Martin's face.

"I'll understand if knowing this is too much, and if you couldn't see me the same way ever again, but... I put you through that. I-I chose that at every step, and I accept the consequences. The least I can give you is the opportunity to know."

MARTIN:

Martin reaches up to take Jon's hand in his own. "Jon," he starts softly, "I love you. More than anything else in this entire--- multiverse, but--- I know there's more hardship coming, and when it comes, I don't--- it can't be like this again."

Both of Martin's hands squeeze one of Jon's, desperate to be heard. "You have to stop deciding you know what's best for other people and making choices that go against what everyone else thinks. You have to stop being the judge and jury, taking the final say away from other people. And you have to stop throwing yourself into danger because of your guilt. You are so determined to martyr yourself, to take the brunt of everything, to carry all the weight, to throw your life upon whatever pyre you think might redeem you, and in the process, you're--- you're leaving me behind. Mortanne says we have an opportunity to do some good here. Please, please don't throw yourself away anymore. Please don't leave me behind. Don't make me watch the thing I love most be ripped away from me again."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon still can't meet Martin's eyes, but he watches their hands, squeezing one of the ones that squeezed his own. He wants to promise Martin that: that he'll never do anything like that again, that he won't lay himself on the line even if he feels he needs to, even if other lives depend on it, even if he can't accept those acceptable losses.

He can bear the idea even less of putting Martin through that, though. Of seeing that hurt that he'd seen in their last moments, of running the risk of truly, genuinely leaving him alone. Both sides wage a vicious war, and the heaviness in his heart is suffocating.

"I don't... know that I know how not to," Jon finally admits. There's no defiance to it - he's not pushing back against him, but stating a deeply sad fact. "I think that's all I've ever known how to do. But... but I'll try. I promise. I'll try to learn not to for you."

MARTIN:

"You're needed right here," Martin insists, pulling him into a hug. "You're needed, Jon. Don't forget. I need you alive and with me."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon hugs him back, holding onto him tightly. He tucks his face into Martin's shoulder softly, letting out a shaky breath. "I won't forget. I promise."

That promise, at least, is one he knows he can keep.

MARTIN:

"Thank you." Martin takes in a waterlogged breath, and kisses Jon on top of his head. "...It ended with us here, together. Let's not waste it."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"We won't. One way or another, we'll see this all the way through." Jon lifts his head after a long few seconds, catching Martin into a soft, light kiss. "I love you. I'm sorry again, for everything I've put you through."

MARTIN:

"I--- I won't say it's okay," Martin admits. "But I do forgive you. And I love you, too."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"I wouldn't expect you to. I know it wasn't okay," Jon assures him gently. "But I'll make it right, as much as I'm able."

MARTIN:

With a soft sigh, Martin kisses the top of Jon's head, petting his hair idly. "When we get done with this barrier nonsense, I want to retire from horror forever."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"Do you think we'll be able to?" Jon asks, a bit playful. "I'm starting to feel like we may be prone to it."

MARTIN:

"We're retiring!" Martin insists, fake-indignant. "No more! I've hit my quota. I want to go travelling, see the rest of this country, maybe a little further. And then I want to come back to Pumpkin Hollow and get old with you in this cottage."

THE ARCHIVIST:

That gets a laugh out of Jon, finally bringing a smile back to his face. "Retiring it is! Just me, you, and the somewhat-less-haunted countryside."

MARTIN:

"And it's going to be amazing." Martin sighs contentedly. "No more spookies. Definitely no scaries. And there better not be any creepies! Just cottage and tea shop and you."

THE ARCHIVIST:

"We're already at the spooky and scary quota between Grimmly and myself," Jon remarks, ever-casual. "And the creepy vacancy has been filled by that spider up in the loft that I can't reach well enough to get rid of. We're entirely booked up. Everything else will simply have to move along!"

MARTIN:

"It's true! No more!" Martin laughs, wiggling a bit to find miniscule ways to wedge himself closer to Jon. "God I'm so tired."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon can't help a grin, adjusting himself any way he possibly can to let Martin come even closer. They're nearly pressed flush at this point, but Jon doesn't mind it in the least; in fact, he uses the opportunity to hook one of his legs against Martin's own, and loop an arm over him, shimmying gently to settle in.

"God, me too," Jon finally lets out a deep, content sigh. "Thoughts on a nap?"

MARTIN:

"Yes, please," Martin agrees easily, covering Jon with kisses. "...Hey Jon?"

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon scrunches his face with delight at the kisses, closing his eyes. He cracks them open just a bit at the question, however. "...Yes?"

MARTIN:

"I'm glad that you were right. About us ending up somewhere else."

THE ARCHIVIST:

Jon relaxes visibly, giving him a loose squeeze in his hold. "I couldn't even begin to tell you how glad I am, too."

MARTIN:

Martin smiles sleepily at him, giving his forehead one more kiss. "Sleep well, Jon."

Day turns into night, and a nap turns into a full night's sleep, and it becomes clear just how long its been since either of them slept. Not just slept, either, but really rested, in a place where they felt fully safe. But there is no danger here. No eye to watch them, no nightmares to haunt them, no screams on the wind. Just the muffled ocean waves beyond the window.

THE ARCHIVIST:

"You too, love."

Lost to the world, Jon remains completely and utterly tangled with Martin, never so much as budging - except, of course, to snuggle closer.