Archive of Our Own

To say the datastream was quiet would be a lie. It was impossible not to experience some amount of static buzzing in the background of any moment spent within it. When Martyn was not actively soaring through its endless waves, searching for his next missions with Doc to guide him, then he was stagnant — simply left to listen. 

It was meditative, almost. Nothing but his thoughts and the gentle rush of code flowing past. If he closed his eyes, Martyn found it easy to replace the white noise, imagine it as something else. Something more solid, more real, more like the home he’d left behind. Rain against a windowsill, a brook bubbling in the distance, crowds of voices merging into one continuous chorus — he could hear all of those things during those moments of brief repose.

Such sweet, innocuous things, which he never expected to miss. Realistically, he shouldn’t have. The missions he’d completed had led him to endlessly similar worlds. Rain, rivers, and people were never usually in short supply. But that was all they ever could be — aspects of his missions. Fantasies made to mimic the world he’d left behind.

Meditation always brought homesickness with it. Martyn found himself longing for his mother’s embrace, the clap of Doc’s hand on his shoulder, the taste of his favorite foods, the warmth of a bed that had always been his, the smell of the garden right outside his home. Nothing of that familiarity could be truly captured in his missions. His life was out of reach, out of his hands, with no indication of ever returning. 

To a degree, it was maddening. Never being done, never being free, never truly knowing. Nowadays, all he had were those seconds of solitude, and he never had any intention of letting them go to waste.

Perhaps that was what had landed him in his most recent situation. 

The datastream was not made for rest, stagnation, stillness. It existed solely to contain worlds upon worlds of manmade stories. By introducing himself into the equation, he threw off its rhythm. He was an anomaly in the code, a glitch in the system, an accidental recruit to that realm between realms. Everything he did stood in opposition to the natural order of the stream. 

In a way, it was actually surprising he hadn’t run into more trouble. Beyond complications on missions themselves, his time in between was his to utilize however he so pleased. Martyn was able to introduce endless new disturbances with the firing signals in his brain, pushing against the flow of the waves and shaping them according to his needs. 

He supposed, looking back, that he had it too good for too long.

When that finally changed, it was a regular mission. Martyn was just supposed to go in, locate the LOOT shard, and return before any enemy agents could catch wind of his location. Doc had given him the same run-down as always. No differences in the instructions, no disturbances in their signal, no opponents in sight. Just the opened door to another world looming in front of him, and the building hum of the datastream behind him.

The only change was, as always, within Martyn himself.

He didn’t usually need to catch his breath before jumping into a new mission. At the start, it’d been easy to throw himself head-first into every situation. This was a new development, a causal leftover from the last mission’s events. Too many close calls, too many attachments made, too many faces that ached of home, but none that could ever fully know what was happening to him.

And now, Martyn was going to do it all again. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

Clear mind.

Just listen.

Rushing rapids, rolling thunder, wind against his ears.

He could do this. Easily, he could do this. So long as he just listened.

Martyn felt his heartbeat calm, enough that he could almost forget about the world that rested upon his shoulders. Before anything disruptive had the change to come back, he tipped forward. 

Freefall overtook him — a welcome, familiar sensation by that point. It was obvious when he’d passed through the open gate to the new world, his ears popped and his stomach jumped up to his throat. His imagination of wind whipping past him became real, hitting his face in a cold burst. 

Martyn would need to open his eyes soon, aim his descent to put himself in an advantageous spot. The last thing he needed was to be forced to swim to shore again. He’d been coughing up salt water and smelling seaweed for days after that. 

Still, he let himself bask in momentary blindness for a bit longer. Just listening. Always listening. Only listening.

And that was when something changed.

Martyn hit the ground hard. The air punched out of his lungs, a horrible wheezing noise echoing out around him. His mind exploded with white, hot pain. All at once, he was ripped out of his depths, cast out of every ounce of routine he’d come to expect. 

He was never supposed to land so immediately, so horrendously. There was always time to gather his bearings, always time to maneuver according to his surroundings, always time to ensure he landed more or less on his feet. And it never hurt like this. 

His arms shot out, limbs searching for a hold, and eyes squeezing tighter, as if trying to physically will away the sudden agony. But Martyn found no grass, no rocks, no grip at all. The ground beneath him was smooth, featureless, impossible to grab. No support anywhere.

Realizing this, Martyn curled in on himself, arms grasping at his middle and knees pulling to his chest. Every inch of his skin burned, every bone in his body felt broken and solid at the same time. The most he could do was endure, wait as it gradually dulled. 

When it had faded enough, leaving him only panting slightly, Martyn slumped. Exhaustion and lethargy weighed heavily upon his being, until the mere idea of opening his eyes became a grueling task. 

“Who are you?”

Martyn startled, pain shooting up his spine and bursting in his head. Whether he willed it to happen or not, his eyes did open then. 

Except, even as his eyelids gave way and he tried to see, there was nothing.

Martyn scrambled to sit up, spinning around as fast as he could manage while his body was screaming. Still nothing. No world, no surroundings, no light.

Only darkness.

His breathing picked up. His hands rose, but no matter how close he brought them, they could not be seen. Martyn moved next to feel his face, confirming it was still in fine condition. He didn’t find any cuts, bruises, or evidence of swelling, and when his finger accidentally poked his eye, he confirmed that they were indeed wide open. 

So, what was going on? Why couldn’t he see? Why had his mission brought him here? What kind of place could be this dark? Was he underground? Inside a house? The gateways never usually dropped him within enclosed spaces, so where had it put him?

“Who are you?”

Martyn cried out, nearly collapsing back onto the floor as words slammed against his very soul. Loud, abrasive, demanding, violent — he gripped his ears, trying to block out its echoing. It was not enough.

“I asked you a question!”

Agony roared through his veins. He realized then that the voice was not emanating from his unseen surroundings. It couldn’t be anticipated or muted, because it was within him. 

“Martyn,” he croaked out. “My name… is Martyn!”

There was a resounding, ricochet along the boundaries of his skull. Something like a confused hum threatened to knock him unconscious. Martyn winced, gritting his teeth. 

“That’s… not possible.”

Inwardly, Martyn cursed. He didn’t have the wherewithal to think before speaking, or to wonder if his real name was good enough for whatever realm he found himself in. There had been times in the past where his setting required new aliases from him. It was possible this was one of those places, and he’d just royally screwed up.

 “Someone like you should never have been able to reach this level of existence.”

Martyn paused his pained writhing briefly to process these words. He’d been prepared for confusion or disbelief at the strangeness of his name. Instead, the voice in his head sounded almost confused. 

Someone like him — what did that mean? And why had the stranger used such odd phrasing to talk about their world? Was it part of the pre-developed lore of the area? Did this new mission require him to navigate levels of existence?

God, was he really expected to carry out his mission whilst under this amount of strain? Martyn had yet to experience any sensation beyond anguish since arriving, but if Doc had indeed sent him here, then he would be expected to retrieve the LOOT shard no matter what. 

“Look at you,” the voice hummed, sounding stuck between bewildered and disappointed. It ached in the depths of Martyn’s throat. “Too human to handle even this much of my presence. You’ll die if this keeps up.”

Martyn tensed. “I’ll… what?”

Die? Just from the presence of this unseen person? Who in the world were they? What did death look like in this realm? Most of the places he’d visited had systems in place to prevent permanent loss of life, but the way this guy spoke of it did not inspire confidence. 

“You should never have been able to reach me,” the stranger reemphasized. “Our two versions cannot coexist.”

Martyn coughed, the air within his lungs liquifying. “Two… versions?”

“I really can’t explain more. Something must be done.”

Martyn felt the sensation of hands against his cheeks — presumably belonging to the voice. The stranger’s palms were freezing, stealing the heat from his skin nearly the moment they came into contact with one another. He tried to jerk away from them, but their grip was tight. 

“Quit fighting,” the stranger hissed. “I’m trying to help. Now, just stay… still…”

It was exceedingly difficult to listen to instructions from a voice that made him feel as if his very being was actively tearing apart at the seams, but Martyn did his best. Anything was better than a slow, painful death. He grit his teeth, and tried to think of every other instance in which he’d gone through worse.

Countless deaths, across countless worlds. The datastream hadn’t let him truly, permanently die back then, but he’d certainly felt it. Monsters driving their blades in, arrows piercing his heart, enemies charging him when he least expected it, allies falling to his hands — the emotional and physical, Martyn had felt it all. 

And still, almost shamefully, none of those past experiences could compare to the torment of the here and now. No weapons or monsters or enemies to blame. Just that voice, the chill of those hands, and he was crumpling so easily.

“I apologize. This will only keep you alive,” the voice sighed. “It will not… be pleasant.”

Terror shot through Martyn. “What–?”

His words were stolen from him before he could finish his inquiry. The feeling that followed could only have been described as being struck with the full-force of a train barrelling into him. The palms against his cheeks could not prevent Martyn from tumbling backwards against his will. His limbs filled with lead, his throat rushed with a sudden surge of blood, and his lungs became infested with cotton. 

Unable to breathe, move, speak, Martyn could only endure his change. 

There seemed to be no limit to the sensations that flowed through his body at that moment. His bones did not break, but he swore he felt them click into new positions. His eyes remained unseeing, but they set themselves aflame. His ear drums were never blocked, but they popped with a clarity unlike any he’d known before. 

“Temporarily merging our souls is the best I can do,” the voice said. It echoed from the depths of his own throat, as if he were its source. Blessedly, no additional pain came with these distant syllables. “Hope you’re good at Listening. You’ll need to be.”

Then, everything stopped.

Silence and stillness swept through him instantaneously. As quickly as it’d arrived, the anguish dissipated. Martyn gasped for air, chest rising and falling in desperate bursts. For several seconds, he could only bask in the absence of pain.

He didn’t dare move, lest the worst of his experience in this mysterious world reintroduce itself. Something within him knew, intrinsically, that he had nothing to fear. His whole body was light, airy. It seemed to float above mortal sensations — and in his mind, this was the only correct way to sort his change into categories. 

Before, he was mortal. Now, he was something more. 

Even still, Martyn didn’t exactly know more. There were pieces of disconnected information that occupied his head, but they didn’t clarify specifics. No names, no places, nothing to give hints about what was happening in these snippets. He had only little things to work with. Like the fact that, despite how he panted, Martyn was pretty certain he didn’t actually need to breathe anymore. 

It was a weird sensation, losing a habit that had been written into his brain since the moment he was born. His chest felt perpetually full and inflated. No amount of miming the act of breathing changed that. And when he stopped, the suffocating feeling of holding in oxygen didn’t follow. He was simply above the need for air. 

Curious about what else had changed, Martyn dug into his new instinctual memories to try and find a way to turn on the lights. The darkness was starting to get to him. Searching through the random assortment of information in his psyche wasn’t an easy process, though. Nothing came to him the way he wanted it to, and there were so many things that didn’t quite make sense. 

He didn’t need to breathe, eat, or sleep. The world around him was safe, comforting, something like a home, and it most definitely was not the datastream. Martyn had suspected his jumping between dimensions had been interrupted, but the confirmation was no less jarring. 

The mere thought of how unnatural his presence in this strange place was made static prickle along his skin. It was a feeling that was almost painful, and another unconscious part of himself told him that such simple tingling would’ve felt like a thousand knifeblades if he were still mortal. To say this world was rejecting him was an understatement. 

Throughout this mental fumbling, Martyn couldn’t help but note how silent everything had become. The voice from before had not returned, and the space around him held absolutely zero ambient noise. No birds chirping, no wind whipping, no code rushing. Only a vacuum of nothingness perpetuated the silence. It was as if this section of the universe was designed to steal his every sense away from him, like it had already done with his sight.  

Unfortunately, the silence did not remain. 

Martyn swallowed around a sudden rising dread in his throat, and his ears popped for a second time in so many minutes. With that, some previously unfelt blockage seemed to clear. 

A screeching ripped through his skull, like metal hinges being forced to move. Martyn gasped, doubling over to clutch at his ears. The hearing he’d lost returned all at once, and it was loud.

To describe the horror that he was forced to process was beyond his capabilities. No matter the distance, the size, the insignificance, its noise came to him at that moment. 

Screaming, singing, speaking, laughing, birds chirping, waves crashing, hooves galloping, leaves rustling, planes soaring, satellites beeping, asteroids travelling, stars burning, galaxies exploding, planets forming, molecules colliding — Martyn could hear everything.

Everything except for his own cries. Those were drowned out by the endless sea of sound. In comparison to the rest of the universe, he was insignificant. Mortal or immortal, god or human, nothing overwhelmed nature. 

“Martyn…”

It wasn’t pain that struck him now. This was far above such sensations. It was all-encompassing auditory torture, with no way to lessen it, no way to escape, no way to ease what had been thrust upon him.

“Martyn?”

Martyn’s mind latched onto the babble of humanity that swirled through the twister in his skull. Each voice, each breath, each taken step, he recognized as uniquely, familiarly, painfully human. Just like him, like he’d once been, like he wished now he could be.

But any amount of comfort or respite was fleeting. It was gone in the next second, lost to the cacophony. Martyn was alone, and yet so terribly surrounded.

“Martyn!”

Two hands slapped against his shoulders, their grip on him immediately tightening. Martyn failed to fully register it, though. Physical touch felt like a foreign concept, something distant and confusing. Within the echo chamber of his own ears, no senses aside from hearing seemed to really matter. This was all he could do, all he could bear, all he was ever made to endure — Listening and nothing else.

“Martyn!”

A force smacked into either side of Martyn’s head, and suddenly, the sound ceased.

Only blissful quiet remained. 

He realized for the first time that he’d begun to cry. His eyes burned, and his cheeks were wet. His unnecessary breaths came quickly, and his entire form shook with the effort of remaining upright. 

“There you are,” a soft voice sighed, nearer than Martyn had expected. It wasn’t inside of his head this time, and it didn’t have quite the same pitch either. He startled as he felt a thumb idly brush against his hair. “I’ve not seen a spike that bad in a while. Is something the matter?”

The question reached him despite the blockades against his ears, clear as day. He tried to look up, to follow the person’s words to find their face, but only darkness rolled out in front of him. That, at least, had not changed since his arrival. 

Still, it gave him no clues as to who was speaking to him. Their cadence suggested familiarity, and Martyn had heard this person call out to him by name, so they likely knew him. He’d experienced universes in which repeat characters appeared, and he didn’t have to re-learn everyone’s names. Sometimes, if he was lucky, they recognized him as well. 

But when he couldn’t see them, couldn’t get a read on their relationship to him, couldn’t deduce who exactly this version of himself was, recognition could be less a blessing than a curse. Familiar faces ran the risk of discovering he didn’t belong. No flawless improv would be able to save him here. 

Although, it didn’t seem like his reply mattered. Martyn felt the person in front of him tense, and heard a small noise of surprise. He wasn’t given a chance to even attempt a bluff. 

“You’re not him,” the person whispered, a quiet wonder to their tone. “Who… are you?”

Martyn swallowed, throat dry. Left with no other options, he simply muttered, “I’m… Martyn…”

“Hm? Sorry? You’ll have to lift your head up a bit more,” was the immediate response. “And you mustn’t mumble either — it makes it hard to read your lips.”

“Read my–?” Martyn’s brows furrowed. “Can’t you hear me?”

“No, that’s just your thing,” the other hummed. “Or, well, Martyn’s thing.”

A brief, pensive silence filtered in, as if the person in front of him were lost in thought. Finally, after it’d been long enough, Martyn figured he needed to intervene. “I tried to tell you a second ago — I am Martyn. That’s my name.”

For a moment, there was nothing from the stranger. Martyn wondered if he’d mumbled again, or if the person had been looking away and missed what was said. Endless things were possible when he couldn’t read body language. 

Something brushed Martyn’s cheek, and he flinched, not expecting it. All things considered, the touch was gentle, just a thumb tracing the spot below his eye, right atop his scar. The skin there had always been slightly more sensitive than the rest of him. Even in a form that was less than human, it still caused him to furrow his brows in discomfort. 

“Yes,” the stranger whispered. “Yes, I see that now.”

The touch gradually began to pull back and away from his ears, which sent a sudden wave of panic through Martyn. He made a noise of distress and grabbed the other’s hands, forcing them into place again. The last thing he needed right now was the return of those horrible sounds!

 “Calm down. It’s alright,” the other chuckled, tone bordering between fond and exasperated. “I’ve balanced out your power with mine temporarily. It’ll last for a little while, and I’ll reinstate it when it returns.”

“Oh,” Martyn replied eloquently. Realizing his overreaction, he swiftly dropped his hold on the stranger. He felt his face heat. His pride was usually far too great to allow anyone to see him truly panicking. 

He heard the stranger snort. “You really are just another version of him. You even blush the same way.”

Martyn bristled. “Excuse me?”

“Mhm, from the tip of your ears, down to the end of your nose,” they mused, delivering a small flick to said nose as it was mentioned. Martyn tried and failed to bat him away. “All bright, pretty pink.”

“Of course, obviously,” the dimension-hopper guffawed, doing his best to regain any amount of room to stand in their conversation. “Every inch of me is pretty, thank-you-very-much.”

Another snort, and then hands were taking his. It was a similarly gentle point of connection, though it grew firmer as their fingers laced together. Some aspect of it felt right, safe, and comfortable — like it was the most natural thing in this world. Not his world, but this world. Martyn knew that piece of instinctual information came from the other version of himself too. 

He wondered, not for the first time, what relationship these two had normally. Amicable, certainly. But was it more than that? Close friends? Best friends? 

Considering how softly he was being held — Partners?

No, that was unlikely.

Martyn had never entered a world in which he had a partner before. Situationships, will-they-won’t-theys, and homoerotic friendships, sure, but never anything set in stone as romantic. He doubted that would be changing in the wake of this cosmic horror fiasco. 

“Come on,” the stranger said. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Carefully, they helped him to his feet. Martyn’s legs shook from all he’d endured, but with support, walking a few steps forward wasn’t too difficult. Admittedly though, his lack of depth perception was really off-putting. Every time his foot came down, his brain sent out signals to deduce how far away the ground was, and every time, it panicked when those signals went unanswered. As a result, each movement was accompanied by a little pang of adrenaline that he could not control.  

Martyn startled more severely when his shoe landed upon something plush. He hadn’t expected the change in elevation or texture. Nothing had been fully tangible since his arrival, so this was a difference he’d not anticipated. It was made worse when his leg bumped against what had to be a piece of furniture. 

He sucked in a breath, doing everything in his power not to reveal how deeply it’d spooked him. Judging by the way his companion began to rub reassuring circles into his knuckles, he was not successful.

“Little bit further,” the stranger muttered. “The carpet and the sofa won’t bite.”

They turned a corner, and then Martyn was urged to back up. Something nudged against his legs, and he recognized it as the edge of a seat. The other didn’t need to advise him to sit. He lowered himself easily enough, and nearly groaned at the feeling of a fluffy couch enveloping him. It seemed as though years had passed since last he was able to be comfortable.

“There. Better?”

“Better,” Martyn confirmed, but he didn’t let himself relax completely. There were too many things left floating in his head. Literally and metaphorically, he was still in the dark when it came to this world, and that needed to change. He chose the most basic of questions to start. “Now, who exactly are you?”

The other person drew in a breath, and Martyn heard the rustle of fabric. Somewhere off to the side, the cushions of the couch sank under a second weight. “You don’t recognize my voice?”

He frowned. Martyn turned the words over in his head, trying to decipher the individual behind them. Honestly, there was an aspect of familiarity to it. He’d encountered them before, surely, but the datastream brought him to endless places with endless faces. Some repeated, and some didn’t. Some bore similarities, and some were completely unique. 

A hand touched his shoulder. He did not jump this time. 

“I can see it. We have met before,” the stranger promised. “You’ve known me across several versions of myself. I have always… meant something to you.”

His brows furrowed, forehead creasing with the force it took to try and piece that together. Very little was narrowed down, especially in the importance of this person in his life. For all his work not to form connections, Martyn was weak. He’d gotten attached far too often. Always to people he really shouldn’t — either because they were doomed, or because his stay in their world wasn’t ever permanent enough. He always disappeared, and he was always left to wonder if they noticed him go.

So, no, it was a terrible way to deduce who was in front of him. In a perfect world, he’d know before the question had even been posed, but it wasn’t, and he didn’t. Martyn was left to rely on other sources.

Namely, the wriggling little sensation in the back of his mind that meant there was something instinctual at play. Was it the person’s name? Was he supposed to have that on hand? Did this universe’s version of himself come with that literally written into the code of his being? 

A word formed on his tongue. He half expected it to come to him at that moment, for his mouth to open and for him to blurt out the correct answer. Instead, he breathed out a quiet, “Listen.”

It wasn’t his voice that came from his throat. Or it was, but not the version of himself that was him. Everything was very confusing. 

Either way, Martyn took the advice. Easy enough on paper. He needed to listen. He just needed to sit back and Listen. If he could manage that, Martyn knew instinctually that it’d come to him.

“Oh, I know that expression,” the stranger said, a slightly excited shift to his volume.

Martyn honed in on every syllable. He let them into his senses, let them reach him at the deepest possible level, and then waited. 

Nothing, except for a low thrum of discomfort behind his eyes.

He slumped.

What exactly did listening entail again? Was the definition different in this world? Were his super mystical powers not on autopilot, or was that not included in his inexplicable body swap with a cryptic god?

As far as he was aware, Martyn had done everything right. He’d taken in the sentences, processed them with the whole of his brain, didn’t let his attention stray for a second, and tried to precisely pinpoint who it belonged to. Even the most regular of people went through processes like this — it shouldn’t have been hard!

But that voice… 

Well, simply put, it wasn’t human. The stranger beside him wasn’t human. 

The sounds leaving them mimicked that of humanity, but if Martyn let himself focus on the shape of them, the intonation, the accent, his head began to hurt. He wanted to know, but this was beyond what he could feasibly process, whether he’d been fused together with some immortal being or not.

“Hm, perhaps I’ve pushed you,” the other sighed. “We’ll have to lead you to your answer by different means… Maybe in a way you’re more accustomed to experiencing.” 

“What… are you suggesting?”

“Nothing painful. It’s just something I avoid doing often, because it eats up a lot of power,” they explained, clearing their throat. Martyn felt them adjust their positioning and place their hands over his eyes. “Try not to freak out.”

“Very reassuring,” Martyn grumbled. 

He didn’t have time for any other snide comments. A flash of light struck his eyes, bright and startling after so long of darkness. Martyn jerked back, as if trying to escape, but the stranger just pressed his hands more firmly into his face, and did not let him run. 

It was as if the other’s hands acted as translucent glasses into the world of the seeing, rather than blockades. Everything that had once been lost was restored to him. Burning, borderline painful sight blotted against his irises, shapeless at first. His vision was out of practice, and his brain seemed to struggle to make sense of the blurry images it was trying to capture. 

Finally, a piece clicked into place, and Martyn ceased his struggling. His jaw dropped. 

A man sat mere inches away from him, wearing a purple hooded cloak, and a smile that Martyn could never hope to erase from his memory.

“Grian?”

“There we go,” Grian whispered, grinning ever wider. “Now, you remember me.”

Martyn heard himself let out a breathy laugh, rife with disbelief. He stared at the other man and a twisted level of understanding settled over him. Out of all the people he’d encountered on his journeys, of course Grian would be the one he bumped into in a realm of immortal beings. 

There had always been this primal knowledge in his eyes, an awareness of his circumstances even when every other person was lost, and no matter the dimension, Martyn constantly found Grian burrowing into his chest and making a home there. If he happened upon a reality in which Grian was present, the guy never failed to endear Martyn time and time again. 

It wasn’t always the same form of fondness, sometimes leaning more towards a type of respect he could only hold for a worthy opponent. Still, he was never able to ignore his steadfast confidence, or the odd life-pacts the other landed himself in. They were opposites, but also eerily similar in every way possible. 

And here Grian was — his only companion in this nightmare realm of bad things and confusion. All the gentleness, familiarity, and comfort that Martyn had experienced since arriving had been because of this man. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him.

Though, now that he was looking, there were a few differences between this version of his friend and the one he remembered. Mostly the tattoos. This Grian was covered in them. Little splotches of purple lines were drawn on every couple of inches of visible space, specifically in the shape of eyes. 

There were at least four on his cheeks, three on his forehead, six on his neck, and it seemed like they continued down past the collar of his cloak. Martyn suspected the pattern was perpetuated beneath his clothing, but didn’t let himself linger. Otherwise, Grian appeared vaguely human. Same sandy brown hair, same dark eyes, though his irises must’ve reflected an amount of purple from his tattoos, as they glinted when he tilted his head.

“Alright, well,” Martyn said. “I guess that’s sorted. Next order of business, where exactly—?”

His question faded as his head turned and his gaze landed upon their surroundings. Martyn choked on a gasp. 

The two of them were sitting upon a couch in the middle of a carefully-decorated living room. Except, it wasn’t just a living room. Martyn recognized this place. He’d seen it hundreds of times in his memories.

In fact, there wasn’t a single detail out of order. From the armchair a few feet away, to the chest of drawers pressed against the wall, to the fireplace lined with painted tiles. He was intimately familiar with the way the curtains matched the throw pillows, the way the carpet had faded stains from spilled drinks, the way the chimney was too often blocked for the fireplace to be of any actual use. 

His childhood home. 

“Oh my God.”

Martyn hadn’t seen it since the datastream took him. He swallowed back intense emotions, which rose faster and faster the longer he stared. What was his old home doing here? In this hellscape?

“Martyn, it’s not real.”

Though it was impossible for Martyn not to hear what was said, he struggled to truly comprehend it. The sight before him was exact, precise, and unbelievably bittersweet. He could almost pretend he was young again, and that his mother was going to walk through the door any second to tell him dinner was ready. 

“Martyn!”

Martyn's vision fell away as a sudden darkness swallowed him up. The hands had left his eyes to cup his cheeks. He felt the warmth of tear tracks gliding down his skin, but didn’t recall beginning to cry. 

“Oh dear,” Grian tutted, wiping them away. Despite his return to blindness, now that Martyn knew the identity of the man beside him, he could imagine the exasperation on his face. “I don’t know what you saw, but it was only an illusion. It’s meant to make you comfortable, but I don’t trust it to not overwhelm you.”

Overwhelm was putting it lightly. The illusion had taken his most precious, fragile memory and dangled it in front of his eyes. Martyn didn’t know what to do with himself now. How was he supposed to act normal? How was he supposed to return to questioning or return to trying to find a way out of here when he knew what his surroundings looked like? Illusion or not, he hadn’t been this close to home in years.

“You’re not home,” Grian hissed, flicking his forehead. Martyn blinked in shock, although the action did little for him. “Get rid of those thoughts.”

“How… did you—?”

“There isn’t a person in the universe that I know better than you,” Grian replied, with that tone of voice he always used when he didn’t want to explain further. While he was fumbling so desperately for any mental foothold already, it was reassuring to know that Martyn could still read his companion. 

The odd phrasing of that comment didn’t escape his notice, though. Really, what kind of relationship did this Grian and this Martyn have with each other where that kind of closeness made sense? 

He considered, briefly, that the pattern he’d encountered thus far might finally be broken by the people in this strange place. 

A slight flush crept up the back of his neck, and Martyn opted to change the subject.

“Right, okay,” he whispered. “So, if it’s not my home, then where are we?”

Grian hummed, “This is a world between worlds. Like a sort of limbo.”

At that, Martyn frowned. “Does that make it your home?”

Grian pulled back his hands, the comforting feeling of his palms going with them. Martyn foolishly leaned forward, as if thrown off balance as soon as they were gone. He righted himself by tossing an arm over the back of the couch and twisting his body sideways to fully face the other man. 

“No. This is only where we exist,” Grian elaborated. “No life can truly be created within it.”

A bit frustrated, the mortal man sighed, “So, it’s not a home, and it isn’t where you’re from. Then, what is it? Besides a limbo, I mean. Why are you here?”

“Well, hm,” Grian trailed off. He made a noise in the back of his throat, soft and probably involuntary. It seemed like he’d never been asked this question. Assuming his only other company was beings like himself, Martyn could guess that to be true. “Because it… lends itself to my work. I focus better in this place.”

“Great,” Martyn muttered. “A divine cubicle.”

He heard an ugly snort echo out of Grian, then a slap, like he’d covered his mouth to stifle any more noise. 

It was a… shame that more laughter didn’t follow. Martyn had forgotten how much he enjoyed the thrill of making Grian in particular crack up. His mad cackling was second-to-none when it came to boosting egos. Even with something as quick as that snort had been, Martyn felt a shiver of success climbing up his spine. 

To avoid that thought process, Martyn shifted to his next question, “What is your job, exactly?”

“Oh, easy. Seeing.”

Martyn waited. No further elaboration came. 

He hung his head, sighing, “Why do I have to pry every bit of specificity out of you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Grian chuckled. “I’m, uh, in charge of Overseeing everything.”

“Everything?” Martyn’s mouth stretched into a thin, worried line. “Does that mean—?”

“Yeah, big man. That means everything.”

Everything. The whole universe. All of time and space. The known world and far beyond. 

Honestly, if it weren’t for the horrible sounds earlier, Martyn probably wouldn’t have accepted Grian’s answer. Unfortunately, everything was a really good descriptor for that awful noise that had attacked him too. Martyn had heard everything — the whole universe, all of time and space, that jazz.

“Overseeing,” the human repeated. It was a little mind-melting, and he was sure it wasn’t a concept he’d ever fully understand, but he supposed it was clear enough. “Alright, I guess, but what kind of Overseeing are we talkin’ here? You gotta be looking at that stuff for a reason, right?”

“You’re right,” Grian said. When he spoke again, there was a faint echo to his tone, as though more than one person was saying it. “I look for mistakes in the fabric of reality, and I either fix them, or exploit them.”

“Mistakes?” A connection made its way into his mind. The presence beside him felt a lot heavier all of a sudden. “Mistakes like…”

“Yes, Martyn. Mistakes like you being here.”

Martyn flinched. It hadn’t been stated with any malice or ill intent, but it was the obvious truth. Something about the tone of the other’s voice made him aware of the difference between them. He was reminded that this Grian was not his Grian. This man was not a mortal, not natural, not even close to what Martyn himself was. He was disguised as a human, but when he spoke like that, with layers upon layers of intonation, it was impossible to ignore his abnormalities. 

“You, uh,” Martyn started, suddenly feeling as though he ought to be cautious. “You fix or exploit mistakes, you said? What does that mean?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Grian told him. It was not nearly as reassuring an answer as the mortal had been hoping to receive. “The second option is just a form of entertainment, really. I can make… games out of pulling strings from behind the scenes.”

For a reason that he couldn’t quite understand, flashes of past lives flickered through Martyn’s mind. Red, yellow, and green burned themselves into his brain. He tried to forget those times when he was not actively in them. To have them brought to the surface without warning or explanation wasn’t pleasant. 

He forced them back down, swallowing the emotions they’d brought with them. Martyn had bigger worries for the time being. Deciphering whether or not this Grian was going to put him in danger had become a top priority.

“So, what would you say the plan is with my situation?” He tried not to seem too bothered. “Are you going to send me home or… exploit my mistake somehow?”

Martyn prayed for the first, not that he’d be able to do much either way. If Grian decided he could garner entertainment from keeping the human around, then he could not defend himself. He’d certainly try, but against someone who could see literally any attack coming, he couldn’t imagine there’d be much success.

“Obviously, I want to send you home,” Grian said. Casually, his voice lapsed back into normalcy. The weird echo left mid-sentence. “Have you forgotten that my Martyn is stuck in your head until you leave?”

Stuck in his head was not how Martyn might have explained the feeling of literally melding beings with someone else, but he supposed that was true enough. Still, he didn’t relax completely. His whole situation gave him the creeps, and Mr. Eldridge Horror over there wasn’t doing much to relieve it. 

“Ah, right, right. I neglected to take that into account.” Martyn resigned himself, folding his arms behind his head to feign nonchalance. “Well, be my guest. If you want him so badly, then take him. I’d love to leave.”

The silence that followed was his own fault. He’d been aiming for a more amused tone, but it came across in practice as something closer to taunting. Judging by how he heard the other person tense, he assumed it had been taken as such.

A moment later, Grian huffed out, “You make it sound so ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Martyn blinked. “How is it ridiculous? I only told you to send me home.”

“Yeah, but you said it in such a—!” Grian grumbled, before pausing to take a deep breath, and finishing his thought more fully, “Both versions of you seem to be alike in the crude way you speak.”

“Crude?”

Martyn was on the verge of being offended when something caught in his senses — a facet of the conversation that existed below the surface. It sounded like a twinge of embarrassment, like Grian was hiding a secret by deflecting. Martyn wasn’t entirely sure how he’d identified these things, nor why they felt so definitively true in his mind, but they presented themselves to him willingly. 

“Listening,” a little voice whispered in the back of his head, “is a very useful tool.”

Suddenly, a couple of pieces clicked into place. Martyn hadn’t realized he was Listening, wasn’t even really aware of how it differed from regular hearing, but there was no denying that he had more information now. Although, that begged the question of why Grian would be deflecting in the first place, enough that magical insight powers had to tell Martyn the truth. 

He replayed his own comment in his memories, trying to parse what exactly Grian was so hung up on. Nothing out of the ordinary, unless one comment was taken slightly out of context and…

“Are you getting all defensive because I said you wanted your Martyn?”

Grian startled, the cushions rustling with the movement. Blustering and tripping over his sentences, a rush of offended gibberish poured forth. The other man sputtered for almost a full minute. Then, finally, he blurted, “Not in the slightest! How immature do you think I am?”

“He’s lying.”

“You are! You totally are!” Martyn jammed a finger in Grian’s direction. By pure coincidence, it landed somewhere between the man’s ribs. He couldn’t be bothered to be polite, though — not when the most outrageous piece of gossip had just revealed itself to him. “You won’t pull a fast one on me, buster, I know what I’m hearing!”

He was smacked away as the other gasped, “You’re cheating! Using your powers on me—”

“Oh, please. Obviously, I’m making the most of my big, special ears! What else are these powers good for?” Undeterred by the smack, he dove right back in with both hands to try and poke Grian. It drew a shriek from him as the human’s fingers jabbed into weak points. “Don’t pretend you aren’t using yours right now too!”

“Knock it off! I am not,” Grian huffed. “Maintaining order and balance in the universe is the only proper use of our abilities!”

It wasn’t a lie, so Martyn paused, a little awestruck. “You actually aren’t?”

“No,” Grian hissed. He shoved him back, not being terribly rough, but still succeeding in getting irritating hands away. “My Martyn and I agreed a long time ago that it wasn’t nice to pry on one another. It’s cheating.”

Martyn crossed his arms over his chest, debating the implications of such a deal. He supposed it wasn’t an agreement without merit — no one wanted to hang out with a person capable of seeing or hearing their deepest, darkest secrets at all times. When it came to a working relationship between two immortal beings, some middle ground like this would probably have to be found to keep both of them sane.

Still, Martyn had a pretty good guess as to why the breaking of such a rule in this specific circumstance might have Grian stressed. He definitely had pretty poor luck with it in every universe he’d visited himself, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t recognize a godlike being’s schoolgirl-esque crush from a mile away. 

“Powers or not,” Martyn said, more smug than he had any right to be, “Anyone could see how head-over-heels you are, buddy. No hidin’ that from me!”

He wished that his vision were working for a brief second, since he was certain the look on Grian’s face had to be priceless. The tension in the air proved as much. Martyn made do with his imagination. Picturing as best he could, he thought about how big Grian’s dark eyes would be, how red his cheeks turn, the slight downturn to his lips as he processed the situation with mild horror.

“Really, I should be upset at you for this,” Martyn went on. “I didn’t think the first version of myself that would have any luck getting a partner would be one of the guiding hands of the universe, but I suppose I could have worse standards—”

A hand slapped over his mouth. Martyn grinned against the other’s palm.

“We are not…” Grian gritted out, sounding a little breathless, “We are not partners.”

Martyn scoffed. 

“I’m serious! We are just friends. That’s… all we’ll ever be.”

Grian sounded a little sad as he admitted it. Judging by what Martyn’s ears picked up as he Listened, the guy didn’t believe what he said was a lie either. 

God, so it was that kind of misunderstanding? It seemed closer to some sort of shoujo plotline than anything a super powerful eye-in-the-sky should have been getting mixed up in — two blushing leads, missing each other because they’re too blind to see what was right in front of them. Though, in the case of the alternate version of himself, that was kind of on the nose.

“Right, right,” he mused, muffled and definitely not able to be lip-read with his present predicament. “I totally believe you!”

Evidently, whether Grian knew the specifics of his snarky comment or not, he understood he was being mocked. Without warning, the hand pulled away from the human’s mouth and pressed itself over one of his eyes. Half of Martyn’s vision flooded back to him, bright and unexpected. He winced, but recovered quickly when he finally saw the expression on Grian’s face. It was exactly what he’d imagined, paired with a lethal glare, as if he were daring Martyn to continue. 

And, well, who was Martyn to decline such an exciting invitation?

“Please, spare me the filler talk.” He leaned closer, delighting in the way Grian tried to lean back in turn, only to be stopped by the edge of the couch. When Grian’s face grew ever-redder, his confidence flared. He put on the dramatics, sighing, “Next, you’re going to say, ‘My version of Martyn couldn’t possibly like me too! There’s just no way!’ Because that’s way too cliche, and I already know that’s a lie.”

Grian’s expression shifted from mortified to confused. He sat up slightly straighter, regardless of how it brought the two of them closer together. “What? How do you–? Why is that–? What are you talking about?”

Martyn didn’t respond right away. He let the feelings churn in his gut, basking in the subtle tug of his heart — specifically, this version of his heart, because these emotions were not really his. 

The other Martyn reacted to Grian habitually, growing more aware of his presence every time their proximity changed, and paying extra attention to each word from his mouth. Even his more intrinsic knowledge revolved around Grian. His name, his voice, his touch were all things Martyn knew he could trust more than he knew himself. This man was built into his very soul, in the cheesiest, most honest way possible. 

And logically, he did understand it. He understood how a version of himself that loved Grian existed in the universe. In every world he’d encountered the guy, Martyn couldn’t help but linger on his smile, his laugh, his antics, his charm. Given more time, more permanence, more peace, he might well have fallen for him too. 

“I’m saying that I don’t understand how you wouldn’t be partners already,” Martyn replied. “Especially when he so obviously likes you too. Why are you trying to hide it?”

As soon as the sentence was out, he cringed inwardly at himself. His word choice was questionable, in hindsight, but it got the point across. It mattered to him that this unknown misunderstanding got wrapped up. A childish crush required childish solutions. The next best thing would have been to suggest this deity pass a note asking something along the lines of, ‘Do you like me too? Circle yes or no.’

Although, that wouldn’t be the worst idea either. He wondered how hard it would be to get a pencil and paper in this limbo realm.

“Oh-kay,” the voice in his head cut in. Martyn felt his gut drop, as if vertigo were overtaking his senses. “I think you have officially overstayed your welcome.”

“Martyn?” 

His vision blurred, despite the fact that Grian’s hand was still firmly over his eye. He could only barely make out the other’s concerned expression. Sickness rose in the back of his throat, and he gagged on it. 

“Are you okay?”

Martyn swallowed against the onslaught to give his best smile. “Yeah, great! I just think your… ugh… so-called-friend would like me to go back to my own dimension now.”

“Oh,” Grian said. “Oh, my Martyn’s coming back? Oh geez… I’m not ready. What should I do? What should I say?”

Though Martyn really had bigger priorities at the moment, such as the horrendous, head-splitting ache that had begun to rattle in his skull, he put a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. “Be yourself, mate, I’m sure he’ll go nuts for it.”

“Get out already!”

That seemed to be the final push. All at once, Martyn was flung to the side, torn out of the physical body he’d been in and left to float somewhere off to the side. It stung objectively less than the pain that’d come before, probably closer in comparison to a slap in the face rather than a grand rending. 

When he opened his eyes again, he found that his vision had returned. Though the illusion of his childhood home had faded into a black void, Martyn could see two figures sitting together on a couch in front of him — one his twin, and the other wearing the face of his friend. The Martyn that sat beside Grian had cloudy eyes, and a similar purple cloak. Swirling tattoo patterns crept up his neck, his cheekbones, and rounded out behind his ears.

Grian glanced between the two separate Martyns nervously, as if he weren’t sure which he should give his attention to first. The one sitting beside him took the initiative, intertwining their fingers and offering a smile with far too many teeth. Grian must have been reassured by that, because he moved to look at Martyn’s floating form. 

A hand extended outwards, an eye tattooed on its palm. In the strange void lighting, Martyn swore he saw it blink at him. Then, in the next second, a roaring green portal split the world behind him open. He was startled, but could do nothing to get away from it. A vacuum started, pulling at his limbs, his torso, his hair, anything it could grab. Martyn was going to be thrown through this portal whether he liked it or not.

“Relax,” Grian called, audibly amused. “I’m only fixing a mistake. Don’t you want to go back?”

Martyn caught a glimpse of familiarity on the other side of this strange portal — the flowing code that had blanketed him since his youth. He did relax then. The datastream wasn’t quite home, but it was about as close as he could get these days. 

As his body was pulled through the threshold of the portal, he glanced over his shoulder one last time. The other two weren’t watching him any longer. They were whispering through large smiles, foreheads pressed together, getting closer and closer.

Figuring it best to give them privacy, Martyn looked away. He kept the knowledge that at least one version of himself was out there with good luck tucked deep within his chest. The portal closed. 

“Woah, seems like there was a glitch,” Doc’s voice echoed around him. “Hope I didn’t send you anywhere too strange.”

He smiled and shrugged.

“Nah, nothing I couldn’t handle!” Martyn directed his attention to another open gateway, the datastream rushing around him and an eagerness spiking in his veins. “Now, how about we get started on this next mission?”