Hear me out, for the "Undertale Blue falls into the underground first before Yellow falls after to find out what happened to him" scenario...
What if Blue told him that he has a special surprise for him in the forest near Mt. Ebott because Yellow continued to encourage him to keep dancing and doing ballet despite being bullied for it that Blue wanted to give Yellow his own special ballet performance?
But Yellow wasn't able to come despite promising that "Of course he would come! They're friends after all!" since his parents needed his help and it reached until nighttime, way past the time they agreed to meet in the forest.
Thinking Blue just got stood up by Yellow, he thought himself foolish to have thought another boy would've actually enjoyed his passion for dancing arts and decided to wander around the forest instead to clear his mind since the flowers and butterflies would at least be willing to lend their eyes to his sorrows
(Besides, he's going to have to explain himself to his parents where he went off to and why he "borrowed" his mother's ballet shoes and tutu temporarily once he'll come back home. Some time spent sulking and gathering himself up before coming back home will be needed for that)
And well... it was then that he accidentally fell into the underground. Be it his ignorance, carelessness, or lack of thought for just a moment, his fate is sealed.
What if Bubbles really WAS just a regular cat that got kidnapped and experimented on because noone could find whoever the Cat Mage's successor was and they NEED a Cat Mage successor after they've shown to be able to push back The Corruption with their magic.
They needed all hands on deck and thus, he was made a Mage
So, am I the only one thinking about how Bubbles commented that "He can't even run on all fours anymore" or are you normal?
I'm really curious if this is a lore crumb Martyn purposefully gave since he did say previously that he was giving some lore in the background or if this was just a usual improv'd line
thinking about the information we got from the flowers in chapter 5 in reference to the human souls in undertale. what if blue and yellow were two gay tweens that ran away togetherrrr or something and fell down and while going through the underground blue died first in waterfall and yellow tried to get revenge and died for it in hotland im gonna barf literally everywhere
blue being a super effeminate gay boy who got bullied to hell and back and yellow who tried to protect him and got bullied for it too so they ran away together. toriel is one of the first adults in their lives to show genuine compassion and adoration for the two of themmmm but they still wanna try to go home or maybe yellow hears what asgore is doing and wants to stop him and blue refuses to let him go aloooone im pacing around in my 4 by 4 cage
The Cat Mage's whole thing is things slipping through the cracks. The previous one may have found those that did and helped them, but it seems like the current one is moreso the one that is.
Martyn successfully hunting down the Celestialmetals in MCC Pride is making my brain think of a scenario where Bubbles end up getting controlled and forced to hurt them while they're asleep, making them distrust him (even more in Sausage's case) that when Bubbles finally woke up, she's confused why they suddenly don't like him.
They know they're not as close to them as they are to each other, but they're still her closest people! So why do they look at him like he did something wrong when she was just sleeping?
Headcanon that because The Listeners chose Jimmy as their Messenger first in Evo, Jimmy has been blessed by them to be immune to the Watchers' control.
Which is why he's more physically targeted to whittle him down organically since the Watchers' couldn't bend his will forcibly until he decided that he's tired of dying first and decided to pray to them on his own volition. (The Instagram post of cc!Jimmy jokingly praying to the Evo/Watcher symbol during Secret Life)
Meanwhile, Martyn was just a second choice due to merely being close to Jimmy which is why he doesn't have the same immunity to the Watchers' will. The Listeners only truly started clinging onto him when Martyn went through the Listener Exit Portal first while Jimmy stayed behind in Evo.
And by that point, the Listeners couldn't do much except to give Martyn his soundboard powers as a consolation prize of being the only one who used the Listener Exit Portal. (BigB did play the Portal Jump Animation in his last episode but he didn't physically jump into the portal on video so I headcanon that the Watchers intercepted the portal by that point so BigB went to the Watchers' hand instead of being free thanks to the Listeners)
Which is why, come Traffic Life, Martyn is susceptible to the Watchers' will.
Jimmy got blessed by the Listeners with mental protection
Meanwhile Martyn got blessed by the Listeners with useless sound manipulation
One's blessing is more obvious but the other is actually more valuable in practice
(Well, until the Listeners did get enough of a foothold to help give PL!Martyn plot armor from all of the close calls)
The first thing Martyn saw when he opened his eyes was nothing. No, seriously, everything was black. Where on earth was he?
Martyn was confused, if that word even did justice to his situation. He tried to move around to find something that would help him figure out where he was. The first thing he touched was stone: stone on the floor, stone on the walls, stone on the ceiling… wait a minute, on the ceiling? He wasn't even standing up. Now that Martyn looked closer, he was lying down. Had they buried him?
The last thing he remembered was being in his castle (which was definitely his and he hadn't just taken it since its owners were dead) and that he'd been having problems with the people he ruled. Governing a village of humans was harder than Lord made it seem.
Martyn knew the people had planned a revolution to overthrow him, but he was immortal. It wouldn't have worked. But the narrow walls and total darkness made him think it had.
Martyn remembers how they entered the castle with torches and rakes. He thought he could handle them; in fact, he killed most of them. But then he remembers one of them saying some strange words, almost like he was singing, and how tired he felt afterward. Which is odd—he was a vampire; vampires don't get tired…
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
DID THEY PUT HIM TO SLEEP WITH MAGIC?!
That was humiliating—a powerful vampire defeated by sleep. It was a good thing they were foolish enough not to stake him when they had the chance. When he got out of there, they'd pay.
Martyn could already hear the Lord and Sire's voices in his head, telling him what a disgrace his fate and defeat were. Well, he was alive, and they were dead. Who was the disgrace now?
Martyn tried to rummage through his… tomb? I suppose this was his tomb. if he found something he could use
He found a… sword? An axe? A pickaxe? And… bread and fish?! Why would they bury him with these things? They were supposed to want him dead, and why weren't the bread and fish rotten? Martyn seriously doubted the food could last that long without spoiling in this environment.
Putting the food's illogical nature aside, Martyn used the pickaxe to climb out of his coffin.
When he emerged, he couldn't say what he saw was fine. It was old, and despite the ravages of time, he recognized the place: the castle crypt, the one Sire always liked to be in, the one they never allowed Martyn to be with.
Martyn wandered around the crypt for a while, trying to get used to being awake again. It was so difficult for him to move; it seemed like he'd been asleep for a very long time. The question now was, how long had he been asleep?
When he emerged from the crypt, he couldn't say the castle was any better. Who was he kidding? It was a disaster. It had no roof, no walls, no rooms. It wasn't even a castle anymore, just a pile of stones.
"What on earth happened here?!" Martyn threw his hands up in despair, trying to grasp how much time had actually passed. Judging by the state of the castle, either the villagers had gone mad and had truly dedicated that much effort to dismantling it piece by piece, or his revenge would have to wait. Judging by its condition, it had been sleeping for what felt like a millennium.
There was nothing Martyn could do about it, and he had to admit it infuriated him. The years he'd enjoyed the castle's luxuries without a Sire or Lord telling him what to do or reminding him of all those stupid rules he'd never bothered to learn had been wonderful. He'd felt strong, he'd felt free. Now he had to start from scratch …. again.
Martyn had slept in worse places, so he'd surely manage; perhaps he'd even rebuild the castle. Yes, he will do that, perhaps he could even reconquer the village, make it his own, truly his, without Lord constantly telling him that everything belonged to them.
Martyn already had a goal in mind: go to the village, see who was left, hide among them to gather information on who was worth keeping and who might be a problem while he recovered his strength and rebuilt his empire. An easy task; he was a vampire, stronger than any human in that backwater village.
There was no one who could stop him.
Apo
When Apo woke up, the first thing she felt was cold, a sensation she hadn't yet grown accustomed to, or perhaps she had and simply didn't like it; that was also a possibility.
However, Apo didn't usually feel so cold in the mornings; the warmth that Cherri and their dogs gave off was usually enough to keep them warm. Now that Apo looked closer, she felt something heavy pressing down on her. It wasn't the blankets on their bed, no, it was something else. It was dark. Had they drawn the curtains? No, it was too dark if that were the case.
Apo tried to move, but it was harder than usual, as if her body and mind were urging her to stay put. Whatever was on top of her moved with her, as if it were taking over the space she had left. Where was she?
She tried feeling around to see if she had a clue. She reached to one side and grabbed a piece of… of something. It slipped from her grasp. Was it sand? No, it was wet, it was hard, it was dirt.
Apo tried to move her body and ended up face down (if she had even been lying down at all) and touched something hard, textured, rough. It was… wood?...
.
.
.
Oh…
.
.
She knew where she was…
Just thinking that what had happened was real and not a nightmare only made them want to turn over and go back to sleep. Hopefully, that way she would be reunited with her, but at this point, Apo doubted that was how it worked.
Apo stayed curled up on the ground, on top of the wood, a while longer, lost in memories. All she really wanted was to stay there forever, to wait for sleep to return and take her back to it, or whatever it was that happened when she tried to sleep. She couldn't think of any better place; it was her grave, after all.
Apo wanted to stay there, but the ground began to vibrate. At first, she tried to ignore it and close her eyes, but it grew stronger the longer it went on. To make matters worse, she began to hear other noises.
Thump... thump... thump...
Bam... bam... bam...
Were they footsteps? Heartbeats?
The idea that it was the last thing gave her hope, until she realized it was coming from above the ground, not from beneath it. It was probably the town.
Just thinking about the town sent a shiver down her spine. She really didn't want to go back, not after what happened, not after what they did, not after what she did.
But the noises and vibrations were becoming unbearable.
She tried to put her hands to her ears, but it seemed the noise could only get worse.
"Ugh.., fine, fine, I'm coming," she said, defeated, and with great physical and mental effort, she emerged from the ground.
Apo didn't know what to expect when she came out of the ground, but it definitely wasn't a bunch of blossom trees.
"But... what... How much time has passed?" Apo knew where she was; it couldn't be anywhere else, and she remembered that there had only been one cherry blossom tree, not a whole forest of them.
When she turned around, she saw it. It was the largest cherry tree in the entire forest, and it was also clearly the oldest, too old (it still had the carving cherri had made on it).
Apo lowered her gaze and bent down to place her hand on the stone beneath the tree.
"At least this hasn't changed that much." The gravestone was worn with time, cracked, and surrounded by plants, but the inscription was still legible.
"Here lies Cherri Fire"
"You will never be forgotten"
Apo couldn't say exactly how long she remained in that position, but it was a long time. Everything around her had changed so much; it wasn't hours, it wasn't days, it felt like years, many years, too many years.
Apo was right. Whatever she had become prevented her from aging. It wasn't her imagination; she wasn't changing, while Cherri was.
Not that this knowledge made her feel better; in fact, it made her feel worse. She had to find another way; this one wasn't working. But first, she had to find out how much time had passed or try to discover what she was, so she could know how she could reunite with her. (Seven years had passed since Fernsfield, what made her think that she was going to find out now?)
They had to believe; there had to be a way. Maybe the town would give them a clue. As much as she didn't want to go to Oakhurst, it was the best place to start. Maybe she'd find out there how much time had passed. What was the worst that could happen? At this point, Apo had nothing to lose.
Apo got up and started walking, trying with all his might not to look at or go into their house. She couldn't do it, not without her, not without Cherri.
A week or two after the games, Grian will usually check in with the victor.
It's a habit that's probably more for his own benefit than anyone else's. But it is, he thinks, a good habit nonetheless.
After all, as fun as it all is, things can get a bit... intense, towards the end, and it's good for his peace of mind to make sure the last one standing is ok with how things shook out.
Nothing much has ever really come of it before; they're all pretty resilient. He doubts this time’ll be different. Except- well.
Something about it all itches at the back of his mind, and he hasn’t been able to work out why. There was the actual ending, of course, but also Grian may have been whispering in Martyn's ear about how boring that final showdown was turning out to be, and how narratively satisfying it would be if he just betrayed the other two and got it over with, so.
If nothing else, it feels like he's got no reason to break with tradition.
There's just one more concern.
Martyn seems to have made it almost impossible to contact him.
It's not... unheard of, for players to keep to themselves most of the time, especially when it comes to those they don’t share a server with. It seems a little uncharacteristic of Martyn, but the last time Grian saw him outside the games was before they even started, so maybe he does things differently these days.
There are certainly a great many reasons why that could be the case, most of which are perfectly sensible.
But Grian's never been able to resist picking at a puzzle put in front of him, whether the puzzle likes it or not, so he is going to talk to Martyn. And he can just see what happens, and worry about any consequences if and when they appear.
Luckily, he already has a way to do just that.
He doesn't usually need to do this - although it is very funny to startle Scar or Mumbo with it sometimes when they're concentrating. Honestly it's usually less effective than communicators, with how much effort it takes.
But he does have a way. The same way he used to whisper in Martyn's ear very recently, in fact.
He reaches out, away from his home, away from his body, and it feels a little like simultaneously overextending himself, and putting his foot down on a step he thought was flat ground.
That is... not how this usually feels.
It's odd. Rather unnerving.
But it works.
He finds Martyn. Watches the vague shape of him solidify into something more real.
He’s still wearing his red life outfit, for some reason. His eyes are closed. Around his head, the coral curls like a blood-red crown.
“What do you think you're playing at?” Asks Grian.
Martyn blinks his eyes open slowly, looking less confused than Grian would expect for someone hearing a disembodied voice out of nowhere. “Oh good.” He says dryly. “You again.”
He squawks indignantly. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”
There is silence for a few seconds.
“...Hey.” Martyn says, and as flippant as he suddenly sounds, he looks as thrown off balance as Grian feels. “Not sure who this is, but I think you might have the wrong number!”
“I think that's unlikely.” He deadpans. “Where are you? I haven't been able to get hold of you.”
“Uh-” There's a short pause as he looks around at wherever he is right now. “Falling into endless nothingness, looks like. Same old, same old, am I right?”
Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ok. Well, I suppose you don't have to tell me.” A part of him makes a note of Martyn’s wording, though. Just in case.
“...Hm. Well, not gonna lie, I do appreciate the change of pace, but I would love to know what exactly you want from me. You know, just on the off chance that you feel like giving me any clues.”
It's at this point that Grian remembers: one of the main reasons this method of communication is good for messing with people is that it makes him sound, um. A little different. And while he can see Martyn, it’s not as if Martyn can see him.
...Best to just pretend that hadn't slipped his mind.
“You do realize this is Grian, right?” He asks, as though it ought to be obvious.
“Riiight, yeah, sure.” Says Martyn. “And I'm also Grian, did you know that?”
“Oh for- what, do you want me to tell you some secret only the two of us would know, or something?”
“Nah.” Says Martyn. “That wouldn't work.”
“Elaborate.” Says Grian, through gritted teeth.
“You know what? I don't think I will!” Replies Martyn brightly.
Grian takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I'm beginning to wonder why I bother.” He grinds out.
Martyn snorts. “Tell me about it.”
There's a short silence.
“But- ok.” He continues. “Just suppose for the sake of argument that you are Grian.”
“...Yes?” Asks Grian warily.
“I have a question for you.”
“...Yeeees?” Asks Grian, even more warily.
The silence stretches for several long moments.
“What's up?” Asks Martyn.
“Yeah ok, this isn’t worth it, I'm leaving now.”
“Wait! No, I'm serious!” Under the amusement, there's a note of something that sounds almost like nervousness in his voice. It's uncharacteristic. Unnerving.
“What are you talking about?” Asks Grian, trying very hard to keep his voice at least mostly free of annoyance.
“Oh, you know! What's going on, what's the deal, what'd you want to talk to me for?” There's a slight hesitation. “You need help or something?”
“I- ok. That's actually sort of relevant. It's really nothing too complicated, Martyn.” He says, grumpily. “All I wanted to do was make sure you're good with what happened at the end of the last game.”
Martyn blinks, and goes very still.
There is a long silence - long enough that Grian starts to feel concerned.
And then Martyn laughs.
It's not a nice laugh.
“Good, huh. You want to know if I’m good with it. That sure is an interesting choice of words.”
“...How so?” He asks, guardedly.
“Grian. Grian, I’m not sure if you remember this, but I won. I won this one, Grian.” Every word he says, however restrained, sounds like it’s had to claw its way out of him. He glares at nothing. “And guess what? It's just like the others. I don’t really care enough for any of it to matter to me, anymore, and that's fine by me.”
Now that's... a lot to unpack. “You- I'm sorry?”
“Well that makes one of us then, doesn't it?” His voice is coated with scorn.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you actually think I’m going to explain myself to you?” He asks, looking half-amused. “You, of all people?”
“Well unfortunately, Martyn, I can’t exactly put Ren on the line, so I’m afraid I’m all you’re going to get.” He snaps, and instantly regrets it when he sees the look in Martyn’s eyes.
There is a short silence.
Grian shifts uncomfortably. He’s not going to apologize, obviously. But. Well. “That... ok, maybe that was a bit much.” He says.
“...Little bit, yeah.”
There is another silence.
After a while, Martyn speaks.
“I would’ve betrayed him too, you know.” He says coolly.
“What, Ren?”
“Yeah. At the drop of a hat. Soon as it was convenient.”
“I mean sure, I suppose?” Says Grian, caught off guard. “You didn’t, though. Did you? When you had the chance.”
“Eh.” He shrugs, as though that’s an irrelevant detail. “It would’ve been more dramatic later. You know how it is.”
...There's no real way he can justify saying no to that, is there? “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I do.”
He tries to picture the King, betrayed. The Hand, triumphant.
“I dunno, though.” He says, thoughtful. “I don’t think you ever could’ve done it, to be honest. Not in the first one. Whatever it was you were planning, it was just never how that story was going to go.”
“That’s not true.” He says it just slightly too fast. “I know that’s not true.”
Grian scoffs. “You know thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it, right?”
“What, no, really?” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t say!”
“What I’m saying,” He lets his voice turn biting, “Is that you’re being stupid.”
Martyn lets out a startled laugh. It’s surprisingly genuine. “Wow. You’re really bad at this, dude.”
Grian bristles. “Well why am I the one who has to do it then? Why don’t you talk to someone else, if you hate talking to me so much?”
“I mean…” He makes an unconvinced noise. “Obvious problems aside, when do you even expect me to do that? We usually have other things to worry about.”
“I don’t know, maybe at literally any point between the games?” He sighs exasperatedly. “There’s no way you’re that busy.”
“Between the games?” Martyn asks incredulously, and Grian suddenly feels as though something dangerous is hovering over their heads, just about to drop. “What do you mean, between the games?”
“I mean between the games! Like- now! What do you think this is, right now, if it’s not between the games?” He snaps.
“This right now?” He looks nonplussed. “I think we’re usually asleep for most of this bit. Or possibly we forget about it. As you can probably imagine, it’s hard to know for sure.”
“Now I know that’s not true.” He says firmly, ignoring the unease trying to creep up on him. “I know I do stuff between games, and I know I don’t just forget about it. That makes no sense.”
“I mean, I don't necessarily mean everything between the games, more just this specifically.” He gestures around at nothing. “That gets more complicated, though. But you- hm.” He looks curious. “That’s interesting. Where even are you, then, at the moment?”
“I’m at home! Which is where I thought everyone else was too!”
Martyn seems to consider this for a few moments, and then he frowns, and then his expression goes blank. “…Oh.” He says. “Yeah. No, that… makes sense, actually. Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“Wha- what do you mean? Right about what?”
“Everyone probably went home. Or, at least, they thought they did. And hey, what’s the difference, when you get right down to it?”
“...Ok, I’m going to ignore the second part for now, I already got past that little existential crisis after Ren and Doc’s whole… thing… in season eight- if you think everyone went home, why are you- what was it you said- ‘falling into endless nothingness’?”
There’s another pause.
“...You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? That seems cruel, even for you.”
“Wait, no, what do you-”
“Where else do you think I would go?” It sounds less like an admission and more like an accusation. “What ‘home’ do you think I have left, Grian?”
“Look.” Snaps Grian, feeling vaguely tricked. “It’s not my fault that you-”
“Yeah, it never is, is it?” He glares into the darkness. “It’s always a tragic inevitability with you, never a choice you’re making. That way you get to stab people in the back and pretend to be sad about it. Best of both worlds, huh?”
Grian splutters for a few seconds. “Why are you being so rude to me??”
“Because you’re you and I’m me.” He smirks. “Don’t know what you expected, honestly.”
“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite, sometimes. Also, I never said I felt bad about it.” He replies levelly, and all at once, they’re talking about something else.
“You didn’t need to say it.” Snaps Grian. “You might be good at lying but you’re not perfect. I could see in your face that it hurt.”
He narrows his eyes. “It felt good, actually.”
“Wow, good for you.” He says, almost amused suddenly. “You didn’t say I was wrong, though.”
His expression twists into something unreadable. “I know you, Grian. Like recognizes like.” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re a liar.”
Grian shrugs, despite the fact that Martyn will not see it. “And you’re a coward. Your point?”
“I don’t need to justify myself to someone who refuses to admit that he could have chosen to be better, if he’d ever wanted to.” He spits out.
“Hey, at least I don’t try and convince myself I’m a monster just because I want to survive.”
That one strikes something tender; he can tell. “Right, yeah, and you’re just a blameless angel and everyone you cut down had it coming, I’m sure.”
“I didn’t say that. But since you bring it up… how many people did you give up your time for, again?” He grins. “Is it less than one? Because I think it is. I think I’ve got you beat there, Martyn.”
“And where did it get you?” He snarls.
“Home, in the end.”
Martyn flinches back as though he’s been struck.
“Did you forget about that part?” Asks Grian.
There’s a long pause.
Martyn fidgets with the end of the banner he wears around his waist, pulling at where the white threads are coming undone. He stares out into the darkness. “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I did.”
The satisfaction of winning the argument feels less potent, suddenly.
“You’re right.” Says Grian, after a while. “I’m really bad at this.”
Martyn laughs quietly. “To be fair, I’m not exactly helping.”
“You’re really not.”
He sighs. “You know pulling the knife out just makes the wound start bleeding again, don’t you? That’s all we’re doing here. That’s all we’re going to do to each other. We’re too alike to do anything else, unless we just don’t do anything. And hey, we’re not great at that either.”
“Hmm.” Says Grian begrudgingly. “I’d say something about inevitability again, but I honestly don’t think you’re wrong.”
“We both just enjoy pushing buttons too much to be particularly good at not pushing them, I guess.” Martyn sounds half-amused, half-resigned.
Grian makes an irritated noise. “Yes, alright, I don’t need another reminder of the whole button debacle.”
There is more silence.
After a while, Grian speaks again. “There’s something I was wondering about, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” Martyn raises an eyebrow.
“What’s the reason?” He asks.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one, mate.”
“‘This is a death match for a reason.’” He says matter-of-factly. “That’s what you said. So- what is it? What’s the reason?”
Martyn blinks, then lets out a short, harsh laugh. “You think I know that?”
“No, not really. That’s why I wondered what you meant when you said it.”
“It- look. I don’t know if you’re expecting philosophy from me, or something. It’s a death game. People die, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be special, it doesn’t have to be honourable, it doesn’t have to be fair. That’s what I meant.” He frowns. “You know that.”
“I do.” He admits.
“Then why ask?” Martyn looks around as though this time, somehow, he might be able to find Grian’s face in the dark.
He doesn’t.
“I just-” Grian sighs. “What do you want?” He asks. “What do you actually want, Martyn?”
The question sits heavy in the darkness between them.
“What do you want me to say?” Martyn asks. He sounds more tired than Grian’s ever heard him.
“I want you to tell the truth.” Grian says. He needs to know. He needs to know.
“Now, Grian.” Says Martyn, voice gently chiding. “Have you met me? You know I can’t do that.”
“Pretend it’s a lie, then.”
Martyn’s grip on the banner he wears tightens, slightly. There is a long, long silence.
“Or how about,” Says Grian, eventually, “You say something, and I won’t know whether it’s a lie or not.”
There is another pause.
Martyn frowns at the red of the fabric in his hands, as though it might offer him something.
As far as Grian can tell, it does not.
He’s just beginning to give up hope of ever getting an answer when Martyn speaks, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.
“I want it to be warm again.” He says.
It’s quiet.
For a moment – just a moment, no more – Grian remembers bloody, aching fists. He remembers burning heat.
“Well.” He says. “That makes one of us, then. Doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Says Martyn, voice low. “I guess it does.”
There’s another short second of silence before Martyn speaks again, sounding cheerful. “So, suppose I’ll see you in the next one, huh? If that ever happens.” He grins. “Wanna take bets on how hard Scott’ll have to try not to win it? I’m gonna go with very.”
Grian snorts. “I’m not taking that bet. That man is infuriatingly good at surviving.”
“You’re not wrong! You are not wrong.” He gestures into the void. “And don’t even get me started on Timmy’s whole thing, I think we both know how that one’s gonna go. Unless you want to bet against him being gone first next time round?”
“You’re not Scar.” Says Grian. “There’s no way you talk anyone into taking that bet in a million years. Except maybe Timmy.”
“Fair, fair.”
There’s a short pause.
Grian hesitates for a moment before he speaks – almost, but not quite, reluctant. “Why do you keep looking back?” He asks. “There’s nothing left for us there. You know that, right?”
“I mean, let me know when you find a better place to look.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, curious, and frowns. “Do you really never want to go back?”
“No.” Says Grian. “Never.”
Martyn opens his mouth, and then, uncharacteristically, closes it again. “Yeah.” He says. “Me neither.”
Grian is tempted, momentarily, to tell Martyn to take the banner off and let it go. Let the darkness take it. Prove it.
But just like Martyn, he lets it drop.
Mutually assured destruction is a potent thing.
Now all he has to do is the hard part. The part he’s dreading most of all.
The main concern is phrasing it correctly. Making it sound just how he wants it to sound.
After some thought, he thinks he’s found the words he's looking for.
He could always be wrong, though. He’s usually more one for incredible violence than smooth talking.
“Martyn?” He asks cautiously, casually. “Do you want me to help you?”
The expression that crosses Martyn’s face is unreadable.
He processes the question for a few moments, before he answers.
“Nah. I’m good.” He says, voice guarded. “Don’t worry about it.”
And that’s the rub, isn’t it.
Because now Grian has to decide whether he’s going to let Martyn lie to him or not.
Whether he’s going to pass the test that’s been set before him, or not.
...
Grian’s not a monster.
He’s just realistic.
There's nothing he could do, anyway.
“Well.” He says levelly. “Just let me know if that changes.”
(Martyn would do the same to him.
It’s not a justification, or an excuse. But he knows it to be true.)
Martyn stares out into the darkness. His eyes are almost, but not quite, resentful. “Sure thing, man. Why wouldn’t I.”
It’s not said like a question, so Grian doesn’t answer it. “Well, you know I can’t stay here forever.”
“I do know that.”
“Any messages you want me to pass on to any of the hermits? I know you haven’t seen Mumbo in a while.” It’s not really a compromise, or a peace offering. Hopefully, however, it’s close enough to one or the other of those to act in their stead.
Martyn closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. Opens his eyes again. “If you were Grian, then maybe.” His gaze is cold. “But I think this hypothetical has gone on long enough.”
...It’s a lot easier for both of them, if Martyn believes that.
He’s positive Martyn knows that.
Just this once, perhaps he can manage to not look a gift horse in the mouth.
“For what it’s worth,” He says, looking away, “I moved on from the Bad Boys when it got too expensive to keep them alive.”
“It’s not worth a lot.” Says Martyn flatly. “And it would be worth even less coming from Grian.”
Grian sighs. “Alright. Fine. I’ll see you around, Martyn.”
“I know.” Says Martyn. He closes his eyes.
After a few moments, Grian does too.
When he opens them, he’s home.
…
Oh, that doesn’t feel good.
It really doesn't.
He could dwell on this. It wouldn’t be hard. He could drown himself in guilt over what he’s done, or not done, or will not do.
But- well.
Grian never really saw the point in letting someone else drag you down with them.
