Chapter Text
Martyn faces Grian with no fear. As Grian turns away from Gem's falling body, he looks a little surprised, but Martyn is already moving forward. There is no more desert, no winter on Martyn's heels, but this feels a long time coming for them both.
Whoever wins now, it will be a repeat showing. Is it possible that this is what the Watchers wanted? Somehow Martyn doesn't think so. Between the both of them, Martyn and Grian are two of the Watchers' greatest enemies. Even if they're playing the parts of hero and villain in the opera now, winning always bestows a gift, and either of them leaving further empowered is a blow to Those That Watch.
It goes quickly. There is blood, so much blood, pooling in the bottom of the hole, all around Martyn's shaking hands where he digs into the sand to keep himself up. In the gleam of sun and shadow on the liquid's surface he aches to see his king's eyes again.
It's over. It's all over. His heart skips a beat when the world plunges into predictable blackness — not even struck down this time? — awareness flashes by like sand plummetting through an hourglass, and technicolor eyes and hands may reach for him but Martyn is quicker than that, diverting himself to fall back into the stream, back to where he knows he's safe.
That's what's supposed to happen, anyways. The world is gone, taken back to reshaped by Watcher-hands for whatever their next idea is going to be, and he slips towards the stream before he hits something so hard that his veins turn to ice on the spot.
It's freezing, and all Martyn can see is red, blood-red liquid and coral growths and he writhes, trying to fight it, lashing out to find any hint of guideline to take him back to the safe stream proper, to get a hold on his sense of direction and more importantly his sense of being, but there is no mooring to find. This is not a fall into an empty void but being swallowed. The Watchers can't have grabbed him, he's stronger and more prepared than that, he's got firewalls, wards, and Grian does his best to protect them all — he knows Scar has been thoroughly haunted but that can't be the same thing as what this is, because if this is the only thing that Martyn will experience until the next game, he's going to go mad long before that —
He wants to scream but there is no air, only the cold and the dark and the sensation of lights far away and then the eyes all open at once, all of them looking directly at him, piercing through his being. He needs — he just has to make a connection and DOC will whisk him away and —
He's falling and falling until everything goes weightless and he's not crashing into the unknown anymore. He can't think. He —
"MARTYN!"
"I've got you, I've — fuck, he's heavy."
"How is — he can't have just breached X's wards —"
"Martyn — he's —"
"—he's not fucking breathing."
"SOMEBODY CALL—"
"Get him over here! Now!"
"He'll respawn! He'll just—"
"— not a risk to take!"
"Move back!"
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
"—didn't mean for it to—"
"—not tied to it?"
"You have to go faster than that,"
"I know what I'm doing!"
"He needs air!"
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Crack.
"Oh, gods,"
"If he's not going to respawn, then,"
"Then I don't know where he'd respawn, so we need to fix this now."
"You're not — I know how, let me."
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Move, Ren —"
"No, I—"
"Gem, can you—"
"Move!"
"LET GO OF ME!"
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
"What is — oh."
"Let me do it."
"We can trade places, man —"
"I can keep going."
"How long? How long do we —?"
"Until it works—"
Thump. Crack. Thump. Thump. Thump.
A sense of sheer, desperate relief trickles in, and is almost immediately followed by an iron-grip feeling of wrongness that clenches around Martyn's core, and the next thing he knows, the world is blotted white in its brightness and he's throwing up seawater into the grass while a mass of people are crowding around him.
His head is pounding, his chest feels like he's been kicked by a damn ravager, and the seawater burns his nose and throat horribly coming up. Martyn has no control of his body, can only submit to the survival instinct and all that hands that are on him, on his hair and shoulderblades and back and neck. Touching him, everywhere, and he doesn't know who they belong to or what the fuck is going on. There a haze over everything even as there's no more water coming up, just weak, raspy coughs. His brain is wailing with what little strength it has, all energy spent on desperate, agonal response.
He hears a pitiful sort of sound and it takes Martyn a moment to realize that's him. He feels so far away, his vision mostly useless with all the blur and blackness taking it up. People are talking but he can't really understand any of it. It's just sound. There are hands on his face, familiar ones, but they're hot, which can't be right. Way, way too warm. Those careful claws card through his hair, pushing back the damp strands stuck to his face.
Martyn would know Ren anywhere, even without being able to see or hear him. If Ren is here then it's going to be okay. Ren has him. It's okay.
There is no time for even the bone Gem has to pick with Grian upon their arrival back on Hermitcraft. One moment, Hermits are skidding up to greet their returned friends, and the next, Gem sees a blur and hears a splash.
The decision-making happens so fast she won't remember it in retrospect. She dives into the lake instantly, no water-enchant charms in her inventory like she'd usually gear up with, just adrenaline pushing her through each stroke as she swims toward a sinking body.
She expects him to grab her in that way that only a drowning person does, to use her like the last handhold of a crumbling climbing wall, but instead he's a dead weight. Some part of Gem knows that's bad, but all she can focus on is swimming up, towards the light, towards the sun, until she breaks the surface with a gasp.
Once she gets into the shallows there are others running to her, grabbing for them, to help. That's about when Gem realizes who exactly she's just pulled from the water: it's Martyn. Martyn, who was the last, and who inexplicably is here, after the end of the game.
Martyn is pulled from her grip by stronger hands and Gem is left panting, dripping water from head to toe as she stands in the ankle-deep water. Pearl wades in and takes her by the arm, helping her out as someone announces that Martyn is not breathing.
It doens't make sense. It doesn't make sense at all because of course there is free, gentle respawning here. This is Hermitcraft; there are no permanent deaths, no harsh awakenings. But Martyn is so, so still, and if he's not breathing then he's dead and if he's dead his body should vanish into starlight and if he's dead then he should respawn.
But nothing is happening.
"Somebody call X! Now!" In response Gem fumbles with cold fingers for her comm but Pearl catches her hand.
"It's okay, Grian's got it." She tells her.
"Move back!" Doc snaps at the Hermits pressed close to where Martyn is laying on the ground. There's a hiss at the tail end of Doc's words, and Gem's not sure she's ever heard him so harsh. He puts his palms on Martyn's chest and starts pumping.
Gem is walking closer without realizing it, dragging Pearl by the loose grip on her hand.
Tango has his head in his hands and is mumbling what sounds like oh Gods over and over. Cleo is standing over Doc and then swiftly kneeling, and he snaps something at her without stopping his compressions. Ren is at Martyn's head, clutching at his soaked hair and pale, still face.
"Move, Ren." Cleo tells him, but Ren doesn't even look at her. Gem is surprised when Cleo locks eyes with her and says,
"Gem, can you — I need him out of the way, now."
Zedaph is trying and failing to elbow through the ring of onlookers but Gem shoves right in. She grabs Ren under the arms and heaves him up, dragging him backwards. Ren starts fighting, yelling for her to let go, but Gem doesn't until Ren's feet are fully clear and Cleo is able to kneel where Ren just was. She grasps Martyn's face and chin in her hands and tilts his head back, pushing his jaw open, and leans down close. If Gem didn't know better she'd think Cleo was kissing him, but no.
Someone wonders aloud about oxygen and carbon dioxide, citing Cleo's undead nature, and someone else shushes them. Xisuma appeared when Gem wasn't looking and is arm in arm with Grian, staying back. Etho is telling Doc they can trade places but Doc doesn't even look up at them, just keeps going, refusing. It goes on for what feels like forever, Gem keeping her arms locked around Ren until suddenly Martyn's whole body seizes.
Doc and Cleo get him on his side to throw up water in a flash, and Gem releases Ren, who scrambles forward on all fours. The spell is broken and everyone floods closer, moving around Gem like a solid rock with a wave parting around it. She stares at them, thinking that Pearl must still be in her shadow. All words leave the group as they listen to Martyn's heavy, labored breathing, and the breath-catching of the rest of them, collectively sitting back.
Now free, Ren grasps at Martyn's face for dear life, brushing his soaked hair back from where it's stuck on his clammy skin and gazing down at Martyn's glassy, half-lidded eyes. Doc still has one hand on Martyn's chest and the other snaked up to the pulse-point on Martyn's neck; if it was anyone else that close to Ren, Ren would probably bite. Cleo is knelt at Ren's opposite shoulder, facing Martyn, paler than even she normally is. Grian and Xisuma are a few feet back still, heads tilted together and whispering in such soft, frantic tones that it doesn't reach the others.
Gem doesn't see Etho escape the crowd crush that surrounds Martyn, but he's suddenly snaking an arm around her waist.
"Breathe, Gem." He tells her in a quiet voice, and she wants to argue that she wasn't the person at a loss for air, but she does it anyways. Her lungs burn in pure relief, and she hadn't realized she was holding her breath at all. She leans closer, burying her head against their shoulder.
Xisuma and Grian break apart, with Xisuma going straight to the others and Grian hanging back. Gem extends her hand towards him, and it takes Grian a moment to stop staring into space to notice. Tentatively, he steps closer and twines their fingers together as Gem pulls him in.
Gem's anger at Grian killing her has faded into the background. She's disappointed to not have won, sure — but there are more important things.
If Martyn could, he would get up and brush everything off and tell everyone to calm down, but as is he's struggling to maintain autonomous body functions and it's not like anyone would believe such a lie right now. Breathing hurts, like there's a band of pressure wrapped around his chest that prevents him from taking full lungfuls of air, but at the same time his instincts are screaming for him to fucking hyperventilate just in case the air goes away again. It's a physically painful contradiction and he'd tell somebody about it if he had the air in his lungs to speak. It would've been leagues better to respawn. Is that still off the table? Martyn has no clue why but he'd like to know, once he can actually keep himself conscious.
"Martyn, hey." The hand on his shoulder is cold, just barely shaking him. It wouldn't be effective under normal circumstances but right now just the slight touch is a jolt through his entire body, even though he's not sure he knows where his fingers and toes are right now. "Look at me." It's not a request. Of course it's not. Martyn blinks blearily, trying to chase the black dots out of his vision. There a lot of faces crowded above him and it's hard to sort them out. Ren's big ears are easy. Cleo's red hair behind that. Doc's glowing red eyes. It takes Martyn a long moment to place the last one, hidden by a mask, before he realizes it's got to be Xisuma. Yeah, he's not really supposed to be here, is he?
If here is … where is here? He's lost the fucking train of thought.
"Try and stay awake just for a little bit." Xisuma encourages, voice warped through the helmet. "Then you can rest, I promise." Xisuma's attention turns, and oh, hey, there's Martyn's fingers, and then a warm hand is pressing against his Lifemarks, reaching out to them, holy fuck —
Martyn tries to say no, and bucks, his limbs flailing in an uncoordinated, drunken way, and new pain shooting through his abdomen. His attempt to speak is raspy at best and trails off into a choked cry. Previously gentle hands push his shoulders down hard, and oh gods they are still touching his fucking Lifemarks! Get off!
"X isn't going to hurt you." Ren is babbling. "It's okay, Martyn, I'm so sorry — X isn't going to hurt you, I promise, he just needs to see that you're okay, he needs to be able to enable your respawns, it's okay —"
Ren says it's okay but it doesn't feel okay. Martyn can't fucking see. Ren's hands are caressing his face and Ren is still talking but the hands are holding him down and he can't breath right and his vision is blacked out even though he's conscious, like something has stopped firing in his brain. Please, just let him respawn, it will go quick and it will hurt less and it will be familiar and then it will be over, and Martyn can sleep.
The hands are gone. Well, some of them are, but Ren's aren't. Ren's face slowly comes back into focus. Ren has been crying, Martyn realizes belatedly. His face is streaked with tears and his eyes are red. He really looks a mess. It occurs to Martyn that if Ren looks a mess, then Martyn probably …
"You can rest." Cleo says from somewhere Martyn can't see, and he could weep in relief.
"It's okay," Ren murmurs over and over, his fingers running over Martyn's face, still so warm. "It's okay."
"Just sleep." Cleo sounds even farther away.
Sleep. Martyn can do that. Letting go of consciousness is one of the easiest thing he's ever done.