Chapter Text
Martin sits on the bed in his old flat, the one to which he moved after Prentis. His baggy jeans and T-shirt are dirty, he got quite the stubble, and he itches as a man that hasn’t bathed in a long time. His heart beats rabbit-fast and he still can’t believe what he sees. His hands clutch to his chest a worn book that has the infamous sticker inside its cover. From the Library of Jurgen Leitner. The cover says Ode to wilted dreams. The cover depicts a closed eye. The book is filled with worthless poetry about lost chances.
Martin is too afraid to close his eyes. Every time he does so, he is back at the Apocalypse, surrounded by mist and blood. It might be because the experience was too horrid and the change too sudden, or it can be just another trick, conjured by some sick Avatar (no disrespect to Basira). Martin’s too afraid to check, so he tries not to blink much.
He doesn’t have a plan, really. He had no idea that it was possible to get back at all. Truly, he hoped more that since the book was from the Leitner, it would hopefully kill him, putting an end to all his suffering.
He was a coward. He should have told Basira about the book.
The clock that he lost when he moved to the Lucas-appointed flat tick steadily. It’s morning too early for the Sun to be out. This would be his time to start heading for work.
There is calendar. Some days ago, there is a tick “mum’s funeral”. So, this is already after his mum has died, then. Sasha and Tim are dead, and Jon is already in a coma.
Martin nervously scratches his wrist. Why did he go back now? Why couldn’t it be earlier, the time when he could save them all from joining the blasted Institute in the first place? Even if it all fake, it would be nice to see them all and pretend that everything could be not as horrible.
Martin thinks that he would be really glad to see Jon. See him alive. Talk to him. At least that. Yeah. That would be nice.
The alarm clock sets off. He remembers this sound to be the ringtone that meant he was getting really late and he should hurry up if he wants to catch his bus.
Jon is in a coma, but he will be back. If, this time, Martin waits, surely, if he just waits, he can see Jon again. This time, it’ll be all right.
Martin abruptly stands and throws the book to the ground, his pale face angry and grim.
This all has been so ridicules. He can’t go to a memory of his work, then stand over Jon that will never wake up, then go home, and then repeat the cycle, again and again. This is no better hell that the one he supposedly left.
The book hisses, its page turning on its own.
Martin doesn’t let it get far. He grabs it, runs to the kitchen and feeds the book to the blue flame of his ancient gas burner. The book screeches, its eye opens and weeps, yet the pages burn warm and bright. Soon, it’s gone. It’s gone, yet Martin is still here.
Taking a shaking step back, he turns of his alarm clock and checks the time. He’s still late to work, his mum and friends still dead, and Jon is still in a coma.
Angry at himself, Martin takes his phone, his wallet and keys and gets out of his flat. Even if this is all fake, surely in this fake world in the fake Magnus Institute there should be some knowledge about what he can do. Perhaps, he can change something.
He ignores his conscious whispering him that he won’t ever get the happy ending.