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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.]
[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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Martin's voice echoes badly through the feeble protest as his eyes stay glued to the possibility that he's about to lose the only family he has; the only constant in his life. What if she dies now? Dies alone? Martin doesn't wish that on anyone, least of all her. To be surrounded by strangers instead of any friendly face, any family... For the last thing she experienced to be terror and hate...
Maybe if it was anyone else, he'd shrug off that hand, but Martin knows Algric is right, and hates it. Reluctantly, he allows himself to be pulled away, watching as long as he can until he has no choice but to turn to walk out.
Closing the door behind them drowns out most of the noise of the staff trying to save her life. Martin leans against the wall next to the door, needing a minute to just stare at nothing.
"Should... We should stay. M-maybe? Wait for news?"
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(If she dies, he'll have killed her. A whole year taken away from his alternate. He suppresses the shiver of cold that ripples through him.)
Objectively, they should go. If this effect wears off, they might get tied up in the inquest after, and that would end poorly for both of them. But ...
But Martin needs this, doesn't he. And on some level, Algric does too.
"Yeah. We can - we can stay. See if - if anything changes."
Or worsens.
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The minutes drag on, and Martin feels himself quickly disassociate. Trying to follow the high stress activity on the part of the home's staff became too much on top of the hard knot in his throat and stomach.
It had felt like eternity, but in reality it was only twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes before the team gave up and noted the time of death. There was a moment's pause, but the staff won't pretend that Ms. Gorecki had been a beloved resident, so clean-up begins quickly. One nurse voices her confusion at the flowers - Mr. Blackwood hadn't been here in quite a while, had he? - strewn about the floor with the shards of vase. Another sighed and said he'd call Mr. Blackwood later in the day.
And that was it. Her life ended in pain and fear. Dimly, Martin wonders if he feels pity for her, or or some modicum of vicious satisfaction. Or both. But it's hard to think with how loudly his ears are ringing.
She's wheeled out before either of them can even considering a moment at her side to say goodbye. So Martin brushes her hand with his and she passes.
"Bye, Mum. I'm sorry that I wasn't what you wanted."
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He killed her.
Not with his own hand, but what does it matter? He wished harm upon her, appeared in her room like a vengeful ghost, and caused her heart attack. Manslaughter at best, with a good argument for murder. The inquest would certainly rule as such if they stopped to consider the twin ghosts that have become her sons.
But the worst part is his alternate. Algric himself has made what little peace he can with the woman; he had a whole year past this point to try. Now he's torn that away from Martin right after telling him that he had a whole year to figure things out.
(Monster, he thinks. He's just a monster now. That's all there is.)
Despite his misery, Algric tries to reach out for Martin's shoulder, to lean in lightly. What can he say? There's nothing to say here.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. To their mother? To Martin? Both. "We - we should go."
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"Imagine that they call while we're still here. A ghost mobile. We'd be hearing about that on What the Ghost."
Admittedly, he's reluctant to let go. Not just for himself, but...Algric is going through this a second time. Martin chooses to focus on that rather than the chaos of his own mind and feelings.
With limbs feeling like lead, Martin finally leaves his mother's room for the last time. Silence pulses uncomfortably between them with each footfall, until they're standing outside the home. There's a vague thought that it'll be nice to save the money, now that he won't need to pay the home.
"The usual cafe?" He surprises himself when he asks, not even sure when he'd had the thought. Maybe it was too automatic. He doesn't miss, however, how each of those few syllables sounds like shattering glass.
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He almost doesn't hear that suggestion. Does blink over at his twin for a long moment, not opposed, just ... trying to resurface. "The one we always go to," he echoes, "after visiting her. All - all right."
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Algric looks...awful. Haunted. Martin misinterprets it completely.
"Unless...you'd rather go back? To J- The others?"
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He sucks in a rattling breath.
"N-no, let's. Please. The café. I'd like to go."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7boVSL4P6_4
Granted, he prefers it this way. The fogginess protects him, for the time being, from the thoughts that would otherwise engulf him. They prowl around the periphery of his mind like wolves. Even if it's an illusion, there's a part of him that wants to try to be strong for Algric - as much as himself, until he feels safe enough to let go...or at the very least, can no long dam the flood - even as the intent at the beginning of this trip had been the reverse.
The cafe's small patio is largely unoccupied when they arrive, and Martin aims for the table in the least populated corner. No need to drag anyone else down with them.
...Should they order something? Would that be comforting at all? Or is this just a final practice of the usual ritual, where they sit in silence and attempt some kind of comfort for each other?
He'll miss the Danish here. They're really good.
...Lord. He is a terrible son.
oh no
Mostly, anyway. He watches one waiter after another drift past them, unseeing. "I - I don't think we'll get anyone to stop," he murmurs. "No one can see us any more."
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Wait. Can he?
When he's relatively certain that none of the other patrons are looking and there's no waiter passing by, Martin attempts to come into clearer existence. But then he remembers the scene at the home and gets too distracted; only managing a weak flickering.
"I'll. Let me try again-"
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"Don't strain it too hard," he says, quiet. "We can always just take something and leave money on the till."
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Subdued, Martin folds his hands in his lap and stares at them.
"...Sorry."
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"She hasn't been well for a long time." He knows he's saying this in vain; if he was in Algric's shoes, surely he'd be blaming himself, too. "It wasn't your fault."
So he says, but there's a seed of agreement that lodges somewhere in the dark recesses of Martin's mind.
"Maybe it had already started when she-" Martin's hand reaches up to gesture at where the vase had-- Oh. It's caked with dried blood. He'd completely forgotten about it.
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"For being so frail, she really...has a strong arm."
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"She really does," he murmurs. "And even when she doesn't, she has a way of - of keeping you weaker than her."
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It's...nice. Odd, to be on the other end of his own kindness, but really nice. Warm. It's brotherly, in a way. Even if Algric has been with him the entire time, Martin has felt, in some ways, very alone from start to finish. Ready to fade away. As it is, though, his edges get a little less fuzzy.
(If he was in a much, much different frame of mind, Martin might have a quiet joke to himself about a Persona Social Link RANK UP!)
Suddenly very aware of the sensation of fabric against his back, Martin nods mutely.
"Even when you feel like you should've grown beyond it."
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It's kind of nice being able to do this for himself? It really is brotherly, isn't it. What a thought that is...
"R-right. I - we - I thought that once I got tall enough, or old enough, I'd be strong enough. Good enough." A faint laugh. "She's good at making you feel like you're eight again."
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And it's the home. So he might as well get it over with.
Reluctantly, Martin forces himself back into existence. Some patrons give him odd looks for appearing so suddenly, had he been there before? But people are very good at pretending that they haven't seen anything.
Martin picks up.
With sympathies, the nurse informs him that his mother had passed from a sudden and unexpected heart attack. At his earliest convenience, he can come fill out the paperwork and settle final fees. Do you have any questions, Mr. Blackwood?
"No. N-no, no. Thank you. Thank you very much."
He hangs up before the nurse can continue, and allows himself to fade out again.
"...So. That's it, then."
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