Chapter Text
Ren is asleep with Martyn pulled to his chest, heaped under blankets as Xisuma and Doc stand close by. Grian is several feet further back, perched on a chair and staring at Martyn's pale face with unblinking eyes and very, very still hands.
"We'll have to do a formal vote," Xisuma is saying to Doc. "But I don't see any issue having Martyn on the whitelist, the same as any other common visitor."
Doc hums in approval and nods. And it will prevent this ever happening again, no one says aloud, but Grian can hear it. Whatever fresh hell they want to say this is. Grian can still feels Eyes on his back, but he knows …
"X, the wards, they …"
"They didn't do that much damage to him." X assures, not realizing that isn't Grian's question at all. "I got in there quick enough to get the worst shards out, and now that I have him on the whitelist, he'll heal as fast as any of us do."
"Did it hurt the wards?"
Xisuma turns slightly more towards Grian, violet eyes searching from beneath his visor. Grian tries very hard not to look back at the admin, but Xisuma is very persistent and it's not quite in Grian's nature.
"Nothing that won't be quickly healed over just the same." X responds. "They're as solid as ever."
Grian just nods, putting his focus on staring at Martyn again. The Eyes aren't here; his mind is making it up. Grian's used to that, but he has an easier time writing off his hallucinations when a Game isn't so fresh, and when whatever the hell this is hasn't happened. What would have happened if Grian had won again, he wonders. He hadn't thought They would let him.
A hand touches Grian's shoulder and he flinches away from it hard, wing whipping away from the touch. Xisuma's hand moves away almost as quickly as it came.
"Sorry, sorry."
"No, it's — it's not…" Their apologies muddle together until they both look away from each other.
Xisuma looks back again, that thinking expression on. Grian's face is turned away but he can see it well enough.
"Later, X." Grian finally says. "Later, please."
"Alright."
Xisuma leaves and Doc sits down on the bed, nearer Ren than he is to Martyn, however possible that is. Grian thinks of Doc's face when he had been knelt over Martyn, hands aligned on Martyn's chest, doing everything and anything he could to drag Martyn back. When Grian closes his eyes, all he can see is a sword in hand pointed Martyn's neck and he doesn't know whether to feel thankful for his failure or not.
The Watchers have a lot to say about that. Grian tries to block those voices out as well. Xisuma said the wards were fine — the Game is over, for now — those voices can't reach him here. They aren't real.
Martyn wakes up and feels like he's been pinned under a rock. There's a weight on his chest he can't understand, because his hands fumble around and there's nothing there, but he's so sore and breathing hurts just enough to be uncomfortable, and there's warmth around him, and he's … Cleo isn't warm, Cleo is cold, that doesn't make …
It takes several ticks for his brain to catch up and remind him that the snoring he hears can only be one person. There's a background hum that takes Martyn longer to place, but he twists his head away from a drooling Ren to see Doc on the bed as well, the dull hum of his cybernetic eye in a dimmed resting mode.
He observes that he has no fucking idea how he got here. Ren's hand shifts from Martyn's hip to posessively wrap around Martyn's chest, and Martyn can't help but hiss in pain, which rouses Ren immediately.
"Oh, no, sorry, baby," Ren mumbles, pulling his hand back like he's touched the stove, using the back of his hand to wipe his beard. "I'm sorry. I — Martyn?"
The bed creaks as Doc sits up on Martyn's other side, and Martyn pushes his elbows beneath himself even as his ribs distinctly dislike it. "Hi." Martyn greets. His voice is hoarse as fuck, what was he doing?
"Hey, baby, hey," A relieved smile breaks out on Ren's face, and he reaches for Martyn oh-so carefully this time, cupping his cheek. "I love see your eyes, baby, thank goodness. How are you feeling?"
"Okay. What … what happened?" Martyn would rather pretend he remembers and it's all fine, but something in Ren's face is disconcerting, and Doc's red eye is casting a light over them as he wakes up himself.
"You … you ended up here after the last Game end, baby." Ren begins slowly, pausing oddly between words like he's not sure how to really explain it. "Just dropped into the lake. Gem hauled you out, and you weren't … you weren't okay, at first. But we gotcha back.
Martyn sort of just stares at Ren, not comprehending what Ren means by that last part: got you back. Something itches behind Martyn's eyes. Did They want him to win? If Martyn had lost, would They have lost more handholds on the Game? Does Martyn winning mean he is more their creature? There is there phantom sensation of coral, growing from his skull, locked around him, and has he come back differently this time? There's water in his lungs, saltwater burning from nose down his throat, and —
A cold hand is clamped on his wrist, keeping him still and unable to pull on his own hair. Martyn doesn't know when Ren lowered him to lay flat on the mattress but he's staring up at Ren and Doc's tired, worried gazes, and Doc has him by the arm and says, "Breathe, Martyn,"
And when Martyn takes the air in he starts to cough and it hurts so fucking badly the entire time until his lungs start working.
"You almost drowned. You have two broken ribs." Doc tells him when the coughing fit is over.
"That's why my chest hurts, I guess." Martyn mumbles. "Ow."
"Just take it easy, baby." Ren runs his thumb over Martyn's cheek gently. "Won't take too long to heal as long as you rest."
"Actually rest." Doc adds.
"I don't think you have any room to talk." Martyn fires back instantly. The Game is over, Martyn reminds himself. He won again. First two-time winner … what could that mean?
"Grian was here earlier." Ren remarks like he's reading Martyn's mind. "Not sure where he went. He was here awhile, Doc said."
"He'll be back." Doc shrugs. "I'm sure."
There is something haunting Doc's frame that Martyn can't place. If it was Ren or Grian, then it would just be the Game, but Doc's never been, only knows what he's been told of the experience.
Got you back, Ren had said. Martyn rolls the words around in his mind. The saltwater in his throat.
Martyn touches his hand to his chest.
"Oh," he says stupidly, not meaning to say it aloud at all.
Ren's eyes flicker away, and Doc's head turns the other direction sharply, almost —
Martyn shoves himself up onto his elbow, ignoring the stab of pain from broken ribs, grabbing for Doc's metal wrist. "Ow — jeez,"
"Woah, come on," Ren yelps, grabbing Martyn's shoulder, and Doc looks back right away, grabbing Martyn's other shoulder with his free hand and all but forcing him back down to the bed.
"Did you not hear what we said about resting, or do you enjoy the pain?" Doc snips.
"Then stop that and get over here." Martyn keeps his hold on Doc's arm and tugs.
"Stop w-"
"You heard me."
Doc sighs, though Martyn is pretty sure it's partially dramatic effect.
"You heard the man, Doc." Ren echoes in that tail-wagging sort of tone.
Doc is still for another few moments before he shifts to lay down on Martyn's other side. Tension starts to leak out of Martyn's form once he's there between the two of them, his hold on Doc's arm loosening.
"Wake me up when Grian comes back." Martyn murmurs. He's still so tired, but at least his chest hurts a little less when he's still.
Ren's hand brushes his face. "You got it, baby."
Martyn's half asleep when he hears Ren whispers across him to Doc.
"He's right, you know."
"Hm?"
"I know you … you saved him, man. You didn't hurt him."
"Those two things are not mutually exclusive."
"You saved him."
"…I know." Beat. "I'm glad you're back."
"Yeah. Me too."
"And that he is here."
"You're telling me. We gotta make the most of it, right?"
Ren shifts a little, his arm brushing Martyn as he reaches across Martyn to pat Doc.
"It's gonna be okay."
"I know."