eyediot | that one time travel psl

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!monsterhaus

that one time travel psl

sad bad end s5 jon and tim on a monster road trip

[Algric had given the trio a fair warning of what was happening. Not the specific details of what he was coming from, but he was from a little further along Algric's timeline, and came through Hilltop Road. Never pleasant, but he's here now. IT took a few days of settling, readjusting, and putting some firm self-imposed boundaries on himself before Jon felt comfortable enough to see the others.

After a few minutes of surprise and staring, Jon ends up sitting alone with Tim for a few minutes; the others having some things to take care of themselves. He sits there, fiddling a bit with his fingers, trying not to be self conscious. He can't do anything about the myriad of different, newer scars, nor about his black sclera or so many other things about himself now.

But god... Tim. Alive and not shouting at him right this second. How novel.]

Tim... I.. [Where does he even start.]

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I don't know. But I do know that he...h-he loves you. And he's still Jon, so... He's still got that mile-wide kindness streak. It's fine, or it'll be fine. I-- I believe in him, in that way.

... Yes. Yes, I - I do too.

[yup, sorry, bringing it back around.]

...What was it like? Having Jon stand up to her.

It was ...

[ His voice goes soft, tentative. ]

It was nice. It probably shouldn't be, but ... having him in my corner, after all those years of enduring her alone ...

[oh no. there's that...bitter anger at the back of his throat. here, Martin can only dream. what must it be like to have someone believe him, and stand up for him against her? and again, Algric got to have it. with Jon. his Jon.

swallowing the jealous lump down, Martin musters up as much sincerity as he can.]

I get it. I'm glad.

[but then he just...deflates, defeated.]

I can't ask him to go a second time. I won't do that to him.

[ Ah. That - that isn't something Algric had considered? He looks a bit alarmed in fact. ]

You can take my Jon. He hasn't gone yet.

[ And he would 100% be feral for you. ]

[a small snort, and even the hint of a grin.]

It's starting to sound like they're- They're items to be swapped around between us. Or different Jons have different effects on boss battles...

[it amuses him more than anything else, for some reason. do the Jons talk about them the same way?

the mental distraction only lasts a brief moment, before Martin's shoulders hunch and he shoves his hands in his pockets.]

It's. Tempting. ...But no, I-I'll. I can just. Go. 'S fine.

And the boss battle is our mum?

[ It's very stupid, but he can't help a small laugh. Better than the alternative. ]

You don't have to go at all, you know. Or - or I could go with you.

[that's when Martin stops and stares with big eyes.]

You've only just been. You just- You would? Why?

Because - because you shouldn't go alone. You should have someone there.

You know I've done it plenty of times...

Yes. And I know how terrible it is.

Good...point.

[hands reappearing, Martin rubs at one arm uncertainly.]

If you're...willing. Then. Please.

[ He nods at that. ]

Whenever - whenever you want to go.

Doubt you're in a hurry, so... It can wait until you're...okay with it.

Mm, well. I probably never will be, so let's not wait for that.

[fuck.]

I- Oh. Okay. Th-then. Um. ...Just. Give me a minute.

[he's fine, he just needs to rest his head on the cold bathroom sink for a minute so he doesn't have a small panic attack from the suddenness of it. he's fine.

when he comes back after a few minutes, he's ashen-faced but resolute.]

Not ready whenever you are...

[ Oh. They're doing this now? That's not quite what he expected, but ...

But this is better, probably. Get it over with for now. Give Martin a chance to do this while not alone.

He waits, his expression a grim mirror to Martin's. ]

R-right, same. Let's go then.

[what more is there to be said? they both know what's going to be facing Martin on the other end of this metaphorical gallows walk, they both know what it takes to screw up the courage to face it, and they both know what it'll do to him afterwards.

Martin's mind is static the whole way; set on an awful, disassociated autopilot. what little solid thought occurs is both deeply bitter and desperately grateful that it's Algric who's going with him to this possibly final encounter. (he knows himself too well to think that he won't try again to talk to her before she passes, to try and find some peace between them, some meager shred of love and acceptance now that he has a known deadline.) Algric robbed him of the opportunity to find comfort and support in Jon, but Algric knowing every aspect and layer of this agony in a way that no one else can is, blessedly, a relief to not have to try and fail to explain or convey.

what brings him back to the present in painful clarity is when he stops at the usual flower stall beforehand to pick up a small but cheerful bouquet. the hopeful peace offering that always gets thrown back in his face, yet almost never fails to bring. will it be a relief to not have to enslave himself to this small ritual anymore?

will her death mean any relief at all?

probably not. and yet here he is. the two of him.

as the automatic doors yawn open in front of them, Martin finds himself unable to think of how to ever repay the colossal kindness that is Algric's choice to be here, or even just how to thank him. --but Algric isn't here, technically, and Martin remembers that almost too late for it to go unnoticed that, in the view of the on duty nurse, he's giving a very complicated expression to the empty space next to himself.

she's surprised to see him again so soon, so Martin fumbles for an excuse about having " a little more free time right now", then winced as that made it sound like he was out of work. (which... well.) he tries not to alter his pace on the way to his mother's room, but his feet don't obey and slow on their own, until

until.

the door to her room is the last defense and the last chance to back out. there's absolutely a part of him that's screaming to run, but there's the rest which knows that running isn't an option. assuming that Algric is staying outside, Martin just gives him...A Look. what kind of look, even Martin isn't sure - his everything is on high alert and he feels vaguely nauseous - but it's the last little purge of his own emotions that he needs before sacrificing them. with a thrill of dread up his spine, Martin affixes a smile and opens the door with a quiet clatter.]

Hi, Mum.

[ He's not Jon, no. Jon would be better - and worse? But probably better, and he is sorry for having denied you that, Martin.

But he is here. And he understands every horrible layer. And now ... there's a dim sort of comfort in doing this for Martin instead of himself. He can do something to shield his younger self this time; it feels a little like being a brother that he never had. (And isn't that what they are now? The strangest of twins, separated by a couple years of misery.)

He stays quiet and invisible all through the approach. The ritual of picking out flowers, the long walk through the care facility hallways. He only really solidifies again right in front of the door inside, when he puts a hand on Martin's shoulder. He's here, Martin. He's going to help you through this. Yes, he'll stay outside to start out with, but only out of the doomed hope that their mother might treat Martin nicely. ]

As - as soon as it starts going wrong, I'll be there. All right?

[ He gives Martin's shoulder a squeeze before letting him go in. Watching the door after.

Inside, their mother is the same as always. Sitting up in bed, her tray from earlier having been cleared away by a nurse. That's good; she won't be able to throw it at Martin. But her eyes are as sharp and damaging as always. ]

"You again. Did your boyfriend break up with you already?"

[Martin wishes that Algric's gesture of support could give him any semblance of bravery, and maybe it did for a fleeting second...but it withers with his mother's first word.]

N-no, no, Mum, we're still together. He's r-really wonderful, and h-he. He loves me, Mum, he really d-does.

[the smile on his face is so forced that it makes his jaw ache, made worse by the way his teeth want to chatter from stress alone. so he busies himself with the non-descript vase on his mother's bedside table; a staple next to every bed for guests to place the flowers they bring.]

Aren't-- Aren't these nice? Sunflowers this time. I thought they'd, um. Cheer you up. B-brighten the room.

[ She does have a way with them, doesn't she? By know, she knows the shortest route to Martin's heart. ]

"Well. He's an idiot, then. One day he'll wise up."

[ She turns her shoulder at that, blatantly ignoring the flowers. ]

[the second twist of the knife. and a third in quick succession.

it's all Martin can do to swallow down the lump forming in his throat and keep talking to her like nothing's wrong. sitting and telling her about what little in his current life is safe to talk about. asking about her. does she have any new complaints about the nurses?

from outside, his voice is quiet and relatively even, while her slowly escalates in volume and ferocity. she doesn't care, she doesn't want to hear any of it. nothing new.

the crash and yelp of pain is, though.

Martin is bent over double in the visitor's chair, broken pieces of vase and sunflowers littering the floor. his mother is sitting up as much as she's able, chest heaving with the effort and her eyes burning with hatred.]

[ Algric, meanwhile, had leaned against the outside of the door, listening to those tones as best he could. Not good, no - he recognises that awful rising patter from their mum - but not terrible yet. He was just considering opening the door anyway when --

A crash. A cry of pain. Martin steps through the door without even realising it, reforming on the other side like a ghost. He goes to Martin's side first, seeing the trickle of blood in his hair, before looking at their mother.

(His heart ices over, threatening to freeze solid.) ]

Why - why did you do that? What could he have p-possibly done to deserve that?

[ Anger and pain intertwined together. ]

[Ms. Gorecki doesn't have any color to her to begin with, so she can't pale at the sight of another of the same son...but her skin can turn a horrible ashen grey, eyes widening impossibly big. she presses herself against her bed in confusion and terror, eyes darting between Algric and Martin.

the latter of whom is cradling his head and trying, weakly, to insist that he's fine, it's fine - it's not true. his ears are ringing a bit, and for how weak she's supposed to be, the force of the impact was enough to disorient him and make him slightly dizzy.

their mother's voice comes out in a breathless hiss:]

"What are you?!"

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apologies, as ever, for slow!

all good <3

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