Chapter Text
“It’s a two-seater!” Martin patted the couch, raising an eyebrow in an almost comical fashion. Jon bit back another sigh. It felt like all he did was sigh, and no matter how much Martin said it made sense, he still wasn’t a fan of doing it. Jon ended the world, getting to be grumpy about that was a privilege.
“Yes, it is.” Jon said, and Martin snorted slightly. Jon looked at the couch, its tattered leather long since peeled to reveal a discoloured padding, he was pretty sure something was dripping down the side of it. “Hard pass, thank you.”
“Your loss.” Martin said. Jon forced a snort through his nose. Martin was in a good enough mood, he didn’t want to waste that by sulking. But there was something odd about this place, something off.
Well, other than it being a domain of the Extinction. That being an actual thing that exists wasn’t really a surprise, the Eye had helpfully stuffed the knowledge of its existence into Jon’s head as soon as he’d woken up here. The world went from sunny highlands waking up next to Martin to a roiling, trembling place that seemed to perpetually be getting tortured by some power or another, sometimes all at once.
Jon reeled, realising he forgot to breathe while thinking through that sentence.
“What’s up?” Martin asked, leaning further into the seat, stretching his feet in front of him. The couch squelched, Jon winced. “Other than… y’know.” There was a moment of silence. “Is it this place's statement?”
“No, no.” Jon waved him off, and then noted he couldn’t actually answer that question properly.
Something is wrong.
There’s a lot wrong. He thought, rather unhelpfully. But the Eye, or the part of himself that was connected to it and, in a way, spoke to him through it, also wasn’t very helpful. He looked up, searching for it in the sky, where it should be sitting neatly where the sun once was.
Jon missed the sun.
But the Eye, or the part of it that liked to pretend it could be the sun, wasn't there.
Jon noticed he missed the Eye too. And he would much rather not analyse what that said about his mental state. All he could see was clouds, and in this domain they took horrid, bloated shapes that glowed orange in whatever dull light the broken street lights and shattered lamps gave out. It looked like some great beast had dug its claws into the tarmac of the road and dragged it to the horizon, everything in the way either tossed to the side or destroyed, dumped. That great beast was probably humanity, if he understood the Extinction well enough.
He didn’t understand the Extinction well enough, though, and that was probably what was wrong.
There is a way to find the sun.
He shook his head free from the thought, and took a seat next to Martin, ignoring the other man’s triumphant smile. As if Jon sat down because Martin looked comfortable and not because the Eye was screaming nonsense into his head. But ignoring Martin’s smile was rather difficult, and Jon didn’t even try to hold back his own quirk of the lips.
“Then what is it?” Martin pulled him closer, their thighs flush.
“I’m just… not used to the Extinction.” The arm retracted from his shoulder, settling in front of them instead, where Martin began to fiddle with the rings on Jon’s fingers. There weren’t many statements that related to it, and it made him feel… vulnerable. If the Eye knew anything else about the Extinction then it wasn’t sharing. Jon hated talking in hypotheticals.
“Would it help if I told you what I know? I get I’m not an eldritch fear god that sits on knowledge like some fat cat guarding the milk but-” He stopped, his chest vibrating as he giggled. “But I learned a little when I was working with Peter, do you know any of that?”
“I don’t know, I don’t want to Know either,” Jon emphasised the word. “I would like you to tell me.” The part of him that was unabashedly the Archivist purred at the prospect of erasing any mystery around the Extinction, why shouldn’t it Know? But Jon liked to hear Martin talk, so it would have to learn to like the sound of his voice, too.
“Sure thing.” Martin sniffed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “I mean, it’s not much really. And I’m not sure we should trust someone like Peter but… for what it’s worth, he genuinely seemed scared.” Jon nodded, not wanting to interrupt. “It was that Dekker guy that I read about, his statements talked about the Extinction a lot, at least… at least towards the end.” Of his life, remained unsaid.
“It’s the fear of, well, going Extinct.” Martin said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Of change, a catastrophic kind.” That was something Jon had already gathered. Nothing particularly helpful, not that he would say that out loud.
“What makes it different from the End?” Jon asked. “Did Dekker not say?”
“Well, I’m not an expert.” Martin said. “But the End is the end of everything, right? The Extinction is just the end of us. I think? Or the end we bring about. Something like that.” Jon nodded again, exhaling slowly. That was also something he’d gathered. So why were Martin’s words putting him more on edge? He swallowed, he wanted Martin to keep talking.
“Anything else?” He asked. Martin seemed to catch the hint of desperation in his tone, he brushed the hair from Jon’s face, his hands were cold.
“It’s also the fear of what comes after us.”
Look for the sun.
Jon’s ears were ringing from the volume. He had to move, there was something pulling him, and it was strong, the string taut and painful. “After us?”
Martin hummed. “The things that we leave behind are so advanced that they take over. Maybe there’s some hubris there, some fear of the cycle repeating. Everyone always going extinct.” He did air quotes. “I don’t know how these things work. But in one statement there were these… statues, made from all sorts. I think they were people at one point.” He was quieter. “I think they were still alive, in some way.”
Jon stood, sudden enough for the blood rushing to make him feel faint for a moment. Martin reached out as if to steady him. “It’s the cycle.”
“What?” Martin stood up, too, holding onto Jon’s elbow.
“It’s the cycle. That’s what the Eye doesn’t like.”
“Why should we care what it doesn’t like?” Martin said, a scoff clear in his tone. “Sorry.” He quickly added seeing Jon’s expression. “I get that not caring is pretty difficult for you, right now.”
“It’s the idea that you have a whole pool of knowledge from those who came before…” Jon started walking, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he knew where his feet were taking him, but he was just following that string. Martin followed. “And you still make all the same mistakes.” He felt like he was jogging, but maybe he was just out of breath.
“Where are we going now?”
“I mean, really, what’s the point in Knowing anything if you don’t use it to reach any goal?” Martin had joked about the Eye hoarding knowledge, but Jon knew the apocalypse itself was proof that the Eye knew when and how knowledge should be used. It just wasn’t a fan of sharing.
“Jon.”
“What’s the point of an archive if it’s not organised, if you can’t find information on the event you’re supposed to be trying to avoid?” He was definitely going faster than a brisk walk.
“Jon!”
They stopped. Jon looked at Martin as he breathed in relief. “I don’t mean to interrupt your pondering but I would be quite put out if you walked off the side of a cliff!” He gestured with his head, and Jon followed it to see that, yes, they appeared to have made it to the edge of… something or other. Maybe the Extinction intersected with the Lonely somewhere nearby. Though there was no water, no beach. Just a sheer fall onto a bed of jagged rocks, it was far enough down that most of the bottom was obscured by a cloud of fog.
“Hindsight would be a powerful thing.” Jon said. Martin turned to him.
“What do you mean?”
“I could’ve stopped it. If I knew.”
“Oh, Jon.” Martin grabbed onto his shoulders, forcing him to face him. “If I had hindsight I would’ve been a millionaire. I would’ve kissed you a lot sooner." He said. “And I wouldn’t have given you that statement.” Jon went to open his mouth. “But it doesn’t… work like that, Jon.”
Jon was engulfed, and for a wonderful moment, everything was Martin. He tightened his grip on Martin’s jacket, and didn’t let go even as he pulled away.
“Why can’t it work like that?” Jon said. “I’m… I have so much knowledge. My patron,” He spat the word. “Is in charge of this whole place. I should be able to do whatever I want.”
“Please don’t do this to yourself.” Martin’s eyes seemed shinier than normal.
“That’s why the Extinction hurts so much, Martin.” He said. “It’s taunting me, it’s saying I could’ve helped the person who came after me. If I had just rolled over and died.”
“Jon, shut up!” Martin was crying. It was a gentle sound, not an outright sob. But it grounded Jon all the same, Martin continued before he could speak. “Gertrude tried to help you, but Elias killed her and you didn’t get her tapes until it was far too late. So, clearly the Eye doesn’t want any of this to be avoided.”
“But maybe it changed its mind. Now it must realise that everything dies, and when everything is dead there is no fear.” And if there is no fear, there are no entities that embody it. “Nobody can predict the future, even the Mother of Puppets can only follow her myriad of strings in an infinite amount of directions.”
“None of it matters! We can’t stop it, we can only fix it!” Martin’s grip on his shoulders was suddenly far too tight. “You can’t torture yourself like this.”
“That’s not up to you.” Jon shook him off, an unintentional amount of bite in his words. Before he could apologise, Martin raised his hands.
“Fine, whatever. I’m not going to keep arguing with you about this.” He said. “I’m going back to my couch, I’ll give you a few minutes to calm down. Soon as I know what a minute is in this place.”
Jon didn’t know how far they had ran here, but surely splitting up was a terrible idea. It didn’t matter if Martin was more avatar than human, some amalgamation of the two. This place was still dangerous. Jon watched Martin’s retreating form a little too long, the apology still stuck on his tongue. Because why should he apologise? Martin had no right to tell him what he could and couldn’t do.
Or, at least, no right to stop Jon from dreaming that he was capable of doing good. He was supposed to be on Jon's side.
“You’re a bit of a hypocrite, you know.” Jon’s face fell, as he looked at the figure sitting at the edge of the cliff.
“What do you want, Annabelle?”
“You think sulking is terrible, right." She was laughing. “Then you go and have a whole breakdown instead.”
“It’s none of your business.” He walked closer, glaring down at her. She didn’t look at him, continuing to stare into the foggy distance, as if she could see something he couldn’t.
“Sure, sure.” She said. “It’s not an infinite amount of directions.” Before Jon could ask her to, she continued. “There’s an incredibly large amount of directions, of possibilities. The number sure seems like it’s infinite to mortals, or beings that were once mortals.” She finally looked to him. “But Mother dearest is overjoyed at the prospect of a challenge.”
“I wasn’t aware that I had issued one.” Jon huffed.
“No, you haven’t. She is offering the challenge to you.” Annabelle said. The thing that was emulating the wind picked up.
“I’m…” Not interested, not having it, not going to play this game with you, is along the lines of what he should say. “Listening.” Is what he says instead.
“She’ll send you back, into one of the directions that she supposedly can’t see.”
“So this is because I slighted the Web, is that it? Because I said it can’t possibly do anything about the future?" Jon said, sighing. Annabelle shrugged.
“Don’t get mad at the messenger, Archivist. She’s giving you the chance to do it over again, you’ll keep your memories.”
Jon held his breath, finally sitting down beside her. She took that as a confirmation to continue. “You’ll still be the Archivist, or you will still become it, I suppose is the more accurate term. The Eye won’t let the Web snatch you away like that.” She flexed her hand like a claw, a grin on her features. Jon watched as webs stretched and fell from between her digits.
“So… back to when I was first promoted?”
“I don’t know, I guess so?” She said. “Technically I’m not sure of the kind of agreement that the Eye and the Web have come to. I just know they have one.”
“I didn’t even know they could collaborate or… talk.” Jon suppressed a shiver.
“Not for us to know, Archivist. Whatever happens, happens.”
“How very helpful.”
“If you would stop interrupting.” Annabelle cleared her throat pointedly. “The terms are thus,” She pretended to unroll some parchment. “You go back, you keep your memories. You can try again.” Jon continued to listen, blinking blankly, expecting something else.
“That’s… it?”
“Not complicated enough for you? Apologies, it’s just that it’s rather simple.”
“What’s the catch?” Jon asked, glancing back nervously towards the direction they had come. It had been a few minutes, surely, where was Martin?
“Whatever do you mean?” Annabelle frowned, but her eyes kept that little sparkle.
“I’m not in the mood.” He stopped most of the venom. Because he really was beginning to consider her offer.
“You never are, it’s a shame.” She said, “But I genuinely don’t know why they want to help. Maybe because it’s funny. To reverse the apocalypse through a domain of the Extinction.”
It sounded petty enough, but Jon wasn’t going to let Annabelle talk him in circles. “That isn’t what I asked. I didn’t ask why the offer was made, I asked what the catch was.”
Maybe he was imagining it, but she seemed to shuffle away from him slightly. “Probably that you’re going alone. I can’t guarantee your partner will be able to follow.”
Jon began to laugh. It was a hollow thing, it echoed in his own chest. “Of course.”
“I’ll see what strings I can pull.” She flexed her fingers. “But I can’t promise you anything. Besides, you’re used to doing things yourself, right?”
“Stop.” Jon didn’t mean to compel, but she was the one who pushed his buttons. Annabelle cleared her throat, and Jon couldn’t tell how much it affected her, if at all. He had rarely tried to compel other avatars, and when he had the results were mostly inconclusive. He was too new, like with Mike Crew, or they were too powerful, like with Elias. Annabelle did seem cowed somewhat, but he didn’t know her well enough to tell if it was a genuine reaction.
“What do I need to do?” He decided to save her the bother. Martin couldn’t die here, the Eye wouldn’t lose its last archival assistant. And if Jon stops the apocalypse, and becomes powerful enough with both the Eye and the Web helping him along, well, maybe Jon would be able to dance along the strings of reality and drag Martin through himself.
Jon was glossing over the fact that it may not even be a possibility. After all, there was little to no research to support what happens to someone who has two entities influencing their growth. When had that ever happened?
Martin would be fine. Jon would fix everything. And Martin would see he could do good.
“I can practically see the steam coming from your ears, Archivist. I’d choose soon, the fog is starting to clear. You just need to jump.” Annabelle pointed into the fog, she smiled.
“Into the fog?” Jon pointed towards the edge of the cliff, too. She nodded.
“Into the fog.”
He stared at the space they had both pointed at. “I’m starting to dislike the word fog.” He huffed, but stood up, taking a few steps closer to the edge.
“Well, if you don’t hurry up there won’t be fog for much longer. You’ll jump and just,” She made a popping noise. “End up a pile of flesh that was once the Archivist.”
“Nonsense. I can’t die, not here. Not anywhere.” Jon said.
“Maybe. I wouldn’t want to jump without that lovely cloud there to catch me, regardless.” Her tone seemed to change when she next spoke. “You’ll be fine. You just need to let go and trust what the Eye tells you, it's learning, too.”
“Why would I trust it? It’s paranoia incarnate.”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Your connection is none of my business. But if it’s anything like mine, then it has only ever kept you alive. It’s up to you what you do with the information it gives you.”
“More like the information it forces into my brain.” Jon said, looking into the fog, but there was no way to see through it. “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”
Annabelle said something, he was sure he saw her stand up out of the corner of his eye. But just as the words left his mouth, he was blinded by something finally breaking through in the distance. It took him a moment to realise the orb was glowing, a gentle white light. The sun. And it didn’t hurt, the light swept over his ragged form and he felt relieved. He felt seen. And then there was static, and only one thought hollowing out his mind, and settling where his consciousness normally would.
Face the sunrise.
Jon couldn’t see anything except the light, but he slowly lost feeling in all of his limbs. Then, finally, there was no mind to feel anything anymore.