Work Text
“Tell me, or I will rip it out of you! ”
Instead of answering, Peter Lukas stepped backward, and the static that Jon had felt rising in him seemed to collapse under the weight of the fog that swirled around them, closer now than ever. The cold stung Jon’s skin as it pressed in, and he whirled around, peering uselessly into the haze.
“Martin!” he called. The sound seemed to die as soon as it left his mouth, and yet echo endlessly. “ Martin!”
“Hello, Jon.” Martin’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing in the gloom.
“Listen,” Jon said desperately. “I know you think you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer, and, well, maybe it is.” There was a shape to Jon’s right. It could have been just a denser patch of fog, but— “But we need you.” There he was. “ I need you.”
Martin turned toward him, eyes hidden behind foggy glasses. “No, you don’t,” he said. “Not really. Everyone’s alone, but we all survive.”
“I don’t just want to survive !” Jon said, grabbing for Martin’s hand. He passed through it like smoke, and Martin pulled it away.
“I’m sorry,” Martin said. He turned away, and Jon could see that behind his glasses, his eyes were a cloudy grey.
Jon stepped forward again. “Martin, look at me.” He reached up and cupped Martin’s face, pulling his gaze toward him. “Look at me and tell me what you see.”
“I see…” Martin hesitated, and his glasses seemed to clear. Jon watched as the grey in his eyes leached away, leaving behind the bright brown that Jon knew. “I see you, Jon.” He let out an incredulous little laugh. “I see you.”
Jon sighed in relief. “Martin,” he said.
Martin’s bright eyes filled with tears. “I was on my own.” He crumpled into Jon’s arms, sobbing. “I was all on my own.”
Jon caught him, held him tightly. “Not anymore.” He pulled back slightly so he could see Martin’s eyes again. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
“How?”
“Don’t worry.” Jon smiled up at him. “I know the way.”
“How touching,” a voice said from behind Martin. The fog thickened, and coalesced into the form of Peter Lukas, his hand on Martin’s shoulder. Martin stiffened, his eyes meeting Jon’s, panicked, before the tension drained away and he slumped, his glasses clouding over again. “But I’m afraid he isn’t going anywhere.”
Jon snarled, starting forward, but the fog swirled around Peter and Martin and they disappeared. Jon reached inside for that Knowing, desperately searching for where Martin had gone, but all he could See was that endless fog, and the Knowledge that here, he was all alone.
“MARTIN!” Jon called. “PETER LUKAS!”
“Give up, Archivist.” Jon whipped around, trying to see where Peter Lukas’ voice was coming from. All around him, the fog rolled, uniform dark and grey. Peter sighed. “I’ll let you go, as a favor to Elias, but Martin stays with me. He belongs to the Lonely now.”
“I want to hear it from him,” Jon insisted.
The fog thickened in front of him, and Peter Lukas stepped out. Martin was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is he?” Jon said.
“I told you,” Peter said calmly, as though Jon was just a petulant child. “He is mine now.”
“No.”
“No?” Peter asked, sounding amused.
“Let him choose,” Jon said. “If he wants to stay, then… fine. But give him the choice.”
Peter looked at him for a long moment, apparently considering. “Fine,” he said at last. Again, the fog thickened, and Martin appeared at Peter’s side, staring off into the distance through clouded glasses. “You can leave, Archivist, and he can follow you. If that’s what he wants.”
There had to be a catch. “But?” Jon asked.
Peter smiled like a shark. “But he follows you. He stays behind you the whole way. And if you turn to see whether he’s there… I take him back and he stays here. Permanently.”
“You’ll really let him go?” Jon asked, trying to pull the truth out of Peter Lukas, who just laughed.
“That won’t work here, Archivist. I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.” He pushed Martin toward Jon. Martin stumbled, blinking, and seemed to come back to himself for a moment. He looked up, meeting Jon’s eyes, and oh, there was that clear, warm brown again. Martin managed a shaky smile. Jon tried to return it.
Peter gestured toward a slightly thinner patch of fog to Jon’s right. “There’s the way out.” He smiled again, and said cheerfully, “Don’t look back!”
“Wait—” Jon almost turned back to Peter and Martin, then caught himself. Okay. No looking back. He could do this. “Onward, then.”
He took a deep breath and walked into the fog.
—
The Lonely was a fantastically boring place to walk through. Compared to other domains, it seemed tame. Jon remembered being trapped in Mike Crew’s domain, the panic of falling through an endless sky. Or the dizzying strangeness of the Unknowing, not being able to remember who, where, what he was.
The Lonely didn’t want to kill him. It didn’t even want to hurt him. It didn’t care enough about him for that.
On the soft ground, Jon could barely hear his own footsteps, and no matter how he strained his ears, he couldn’t tell if anyone was walking behind him.
No one is there. No one has ever been there.
No. Jon had to trust Martin. He could trust Martin. Martin wouldn’t leave him, even to stay here.
Martin hasn’t talked to you for months. Martin hasn’t talked to anyone for months. He doesn’t need you, doesn’t want you, no one wants you, no one is there, no one has ever been there, no one will ever be there…
Jon shook his head. Of course Martin was there. Of course he would follow Jon. No matter what Peter Lukas had told him, no matter how safe he had felt, alone in this place, Martin knew that Jon needed him, alive and present, in the real world.
Martin had to know that.
Martin knew that, right?
Martin knew. He had to know how Jon felt, because there was no reason to have searched through the whole Lonely if Jon didn’t—
“I really loved you, you know?”
Loved.
He loved you, he loved you, he loved you
Honestly, it almost made sense. Martin seemed like the kind of person to give love freely, at his own expense. Unlike Jon, who preferred to keep all his feelings to himself, wrapping himself in a prickly shell under the guise of professionalism. Which usually worked out fine. Except that Jon’s absence had driven Martin to Peter Lukas, and now…
God, he had been awful to Martin, hadn’t he?
He loved you, and then he realized…
To be fair, that first day, Martin had let a dog into the Archives. Not a great first impression. And his filing skills did leave much to be desired.
He realized you would never love him.
Jon knew he could be… difficult. Had even been told so, in no uncertain terms. Which only made it more baffling that Martin might like him, much less love him.
Why would he love you?
It didn’t matter. They could deal with everything once they were out, back in the real world. He just had to trust that Martin was there, that he had followed him, that this wasn’t some cruel trick that Peter Lukas was playing.
He’s not there. He’s never been there. You really think Peter Lukas would let him go?
Jon didn’t know.
Jon had no idea whether Peter Lukas would have let Martin go. He still couldn’t hear Martin behind him. He couldn’t See anything but fog and fog and fog.
He doesn’t want you.
Was there a rule against calling out? Would he even be able to hear Martin if he answered?
He won’t answer.
Would he answer?
He’s not there.
Was he even there?
Peter Lukas lied to you. He won’t let him go.
Martin would have followed him. Right?
You wanted him to follow you, before.
That was different.
“Well, you’re welcome. Because I can’t follow you on this one.”
No. That was before. Before Peter Lukas had taken him, before he had left—
“The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?”
“You know, I think it always did.”
No. No. Jon had to believe that Martin was there, he had followed him, he was there —
But you don’t know that.
Jon didn’t know that.
—
Slowly, very slowly, the fog started to get lighter. Jon didn’t notice until he realized that he could see the grass beneath his feet, still that half-dead greyish brown, but startlingly clear after so long in the haze. He took a deep breath. He could do this. They were going to make it out.
If he’s even there.
Jon still couldn’t See. He couldn’t have come this far for nothing, right?
Right?
They were so close. And once they were back at the Panopticon, they could find someplace safe.
If there was anyplace safe, now. With Trevor and Julia hunting them. Now that Daisy was part of the Hunt. Now that Not-Sasha was free again. And Elias. Now that all his coworkers hated him. Not that that was anything new.
A cold breeze started to pick up. It was almost gentle, pushing him back toward the depths of the Lonely.
Why would Martin want to leave? Why would anyone want to leave when all there is outside is darkness and pain and fear?
No, no, no, no, Martin trusted him. He had to trust Martin.
Martin trusted him, right?
Martin loved him. Had loved him, anyway.
But Martin had been working for Peter Lukas for so long. He was already so lonely, no thanks to Jon.
He wouldn’t follow you.
Would he follow Jon?
Jon had absolutely no idea.
He’s not there.
They were so close.
He didn’t follow you.
One foot in front of the other.
You don’t know whether he would follow you.
Take another step. Another. The breeze picked up, cutting straight through Jon’s sweater.
You don’t know him at all.
The wind whipped his hair against his face.
You don’t know.
Jon didn’t know if Martin was there. He could just barely hear his own footsteps over the wind.
You don’t know.
All around him, the grass bent in what felt like a hurricane. At the edges of the endless field, Jon could almost see the Panopticon.
You. Don’t. Know.
He was so close. What if he reached the real world and Martin wasn’t there?
You. Don’t. Know.
What if Martin had never been there?
You. Don’t. Know.
He didn’t know.
YOU. DON’T. KNOW.
Jon didn’t know.
YOU DON’T KNOW YOU DON’T KNOW YOU DON’T KNOW
He didn’t know.
YOU DON’T KNOW YOU DON’T KNOW YOU DON’T KNOW
He had to know. He had to know. He had to know.
He turned around.
Martin gasped, stumbling back. “Jon?”
He was here he was here he was here
Jon reached toward him. “Martin!”
Martin’s hands covered his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. “Jon…”
Behind him, Peter Lukas appeared again. He smiled at Jon, and put his hand on Martin’s shoulder. He looked down at Martin. “Time to go,” he said, cruelly cheerful.
Martin met Jon’s gaze, devastated eyes locking before Martin’s glasses fogged over once again and he turned away. The fog rose up again, and Martin was gone.
At some point, Jon had fallen to his knees.
—
The Panopticon was silent.
Jon didn’t know when he had left the Lonely. At some point, the fog had disappeared, and Jon was back here, underneath the Institute.
At some point, he had stopped caring where he was.
He wasn’t crying. He felt vaguely like he should be, but there weren’t any tears, just the sense of you failed you failed you failed, he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone .
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there.
He didn’t really care.