Chapter Text
Martin hears a voice.
No
Martin understands a voice.
Ceaseless Watcher, look upon this man
Martin blinks, or.. He tries to blink but he can’t tell if he has eyes to blink at all.
Gaze into him, through him… And out of him.
Martin speaks, or… he tries to speak but he can’t seem to make his mouth move.
“What does that mean?” Martin asks somehow anyway.
Gift him your power and protection. Make him yours.
“Jon?”
I need him to be okay.
Martin wakes, pained and aching, with his face against cold stone. Upon opening his eyes he can see he’s not in the rubble of an exploded building, but rather the brick foundation and scaffolding of a construction site. He doesn’t recognize the place but somehow connects that it’s Millbank’s foundation. They’re somehow right where they left, but not. There is more than enough moonlight illuminating them and Martin’s eyes are quick to land on Jon. He still looks monstrous, stretched out, boney, and covered in glassy eyes. He’s unconscious in a pool of dark liquid Martin can only assume is blood. How.. How did he get so far away.. Wasn’t Martin holding him before..?
He finds his footing and winces at the way everything hurts. Martin feels like he’s been hit by a truck but he’s sure Jon feels worse. If he’s feeling anything at all.
Jon’s heftier than Martin’s used to in this form but he still manages to shift his weight to his chest and lift him. Even with all of the blood and the clearly open wound there is a very shallow rise and fall of Jon’s chest and a raspy wheeze with each breath.
Thank God. Thank whomever he should be thanking. Martin knows who to thank but he doesn’t want to put that praise out there.
There isn’t much between them and the river besides scaffolding and a cobblestone road. Martin winds his way out from where the two of them ended up until they stand in open air. And he realizes that there’s one more thing between them and the river: A stagecoach with an expectant coachman waiting. “Mr Blackwood?”
“Y-Yes” Martin stammers, voice hoarse and difficult to get out.
“I am here to chauffeur you to Hill Top.”
“E-Excuse me?” Martin clutches Jon tighter as he continues to wheeze.
“I was told to tell you that ‘Annabelle is waiting for you?’”
“I-I…..I don’t….” Martin doesn’t finish his sentence or move an inch. That doesn’t dissuade the coachman at all. He moves to open the door for the two, clearly not accepting no for an answer or giving further explanation. His movements are stiff and unnatural as if not his own and it causes Martin’s brow to furrow. Monsters. Were Jon conscious he would have already sat them down in the coach. So Martin steps in. What else is he to do? His arms are tired, he aches, and his legs won’t be able to carry Jon as far as he might need to go.
The coach is cozy enough. Martin lays Jon out across the bench. He has his head in his lap and is fidgeting with his coarse hair. He thought to try putting pressure on Jon’s wound but after a moment of using his jacket to do so he realizes the bleeding stopped. The wound is still clearly open but Martin can’t think of what else to do. So he covers his boyfriend with his jacket and hopes and only spares passing glances when his stomach allows it. Coach rides do not do well for someone with motion sickness. Neither does cobblestone or dirt. At some point the rocking stops making his stomach lurch and lulls him to sleep.
They must have stopped multiple times but only one of those wakes Martin. Who knows if it had been a slow or sudden stop, it had been enough to make his stomach flip. He stands in the grass swallowing thickly and hating recognizing his meal from Upton House. The fresh air helps and Martin climbs back into the carriage.
He wakes again to see the beginnings of sunrise. They’d pulled up in front of a large home- or maybe manor is a better word. In the pink light Martin can see Jon is still breathing in his lap. He’s smaller now, back to his normal self. Even the wound looks smaller, maybe not as deep. The door is opened and Martin refuses to let anyone take Jon from his arms despite the multiple footmen who jankily offered their help.
“Martin!” The man startles and whips his head toward the front door of the place to see a familiar woman. Tall with dark skin and light hair, though the cropped blonde is now curly, white, and pinned up with an odd hat. The word ‘fascinator’ springs to mind from nowhere. Her long, lilac dress is practically regal and something he’s seen in movies or the covers of a few of the novels Jon had in the cabin. She waves and grins enthusiastically while walking down the steps like greeting an old friend.
“A-Annabelle?”
“Took you two long enough!” She strides up to them expectantly looking like she’d meant to go in for a hug but couldn’t figure out the positioning. Instead she looks at Jon and wrinkles her nose. “Let’s get him inside and taken care of.”
“Wait, I have questions”
“I am sure you do.” She gestures toward the front doorway and the footmen follow the three in.
The manor is large. Martin can’t see either end of the place, it seems like it just keeps going. It’s elegant and beautifully furnished. It’s clearly well maintained without a single speck of dust, yet every corner and crevice on the ceiling has webbing that is definitely occupied. Doors are held open for the trio as they wind their way to a bedroom already prepared for them somehow. Jon’s placed on the bed and Annabelle looks over him.
“Can someone talk to me now??” Martin breaks the silence.
“Sure. How are you, Martin?” She looks at him with a wry smile. His face twists up and he groans.
“No- I mean- Where are we?”
“My…house?”
“ Where? ”
“Oxford?” Martin throws up his hands, incensed.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“My goodness, your patience has not gotten any better.” Her smile has gotten gradually more toothy. Annabelle refocusses on Jon and pulls up his shirt to properly look at the hole in his chest. Martin’s mouth strains into a tight line but he doesn’t interrupt her. She clicks her tongue and from her sleeve a small spider winds its way down her arm until it dangles its way to Jon’s chest. It crawls into the hole there and Martin doesn’t react in time to grab it. He immediately lurches forward and digs his fingers into it but doesn’t manage to catch the thing.
“What are you doing???” He screeches at Annabelle.
“I’m helping.” She seems unconcerned. At least she isn’t grinning anymore. Looking back down at the wound, Martin watches as the spider gradually sews it shut with it still inside.
“YOU CAN’T PUT SPIDERS IN HIM!”
“Oh fine.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t seem to actually do anything about it. Almost instantly there’s noise from Jon. He’s coughing and spluttering like a drowned man trying to get all the water out of his chest. The spider comes up with one of the coughs and it quickly scurries back to Annabelle and under her dress. Jon’s eyes open, five that Martin can currently see, and he looks terrified and lost. Martin’s quick to squeeze his hand and when those eyes shift to him there’s a wave of relief that washes through them. He sighs and falls back into the pillow.
“Oh thank god.” Jon whispers, closing his eyes again.
“You really ought to trust I know what I’m doing.” Annabelle shuffles around the room. There’s a pitcher of water on a tray stand and she pours him a glass. She grabs two long white shirts that were laid over the corner chair and places them on the bed.
“Y-your plan..” Jon’s voice is hoarse. He takes the glass of water and drinks. He looks to Martin as if to offer and he takes it from him and has a sip as well. How long has it been since they’ve had something as simple as water? “Did it work?”
“You tell me.” Annabelle gestures around her. They’re definitely somewhere else, that’s for sure. Jon and Martin both look around and see the sunrise in full from the window. Jon doesn’t have to Know to know.
“But- So- Where did we.. end up? I mean it’s clearly- She picked us up in a carriage, Jon, horses and everything.”
“Not in Kansas anymore, Toto?”
“You’re annoying.” Martin glowers at Annabelle. She seems extremely amused but she lets her face settle into something more serious. Her posture even seems to change into something demonstrative.
“From what I have gathered now that we’re connected to… all realities, most of them are actually very similar. Some just.. Came into existence at different times or have very minute differences from the others.” She walks as she speaks, making her way to the other side of the bed. “This one,” She gestures widely, “Happens to be just like our old one…200 years before it ended.”
“Oh..” Jon inhales sharply. He and Martin make some very concerned eye contact.
“I hope you two enjoy reading by candlelight.”