#i didn't even know skizz and jimmy as a duo was one i needed either

[charizardstolemynickname]

Jimmy, reading a donation: "'Twitter has exploded with rancher crumbs', HAS IT?? Did twitter enjoy that one? Did twitter enjoy it? I hope you did"

Jimmy with that smile KNOWS we enjoyed this stream, 10/10, I do not buy for 1 SECOND that he didn't know tumblr and twitter were exploding, I am not on twitter anymore but even *I* know it is

[safetyrat]

happy not last life tuesday everybody!! it's that session 7 fic i won't shut up about, aka. the testament to how incredibly slow i am at writing, started this almost a week ago now. pretty happy how it turned out overall, though, so a like and reblog would mean the world to me :]

So, here is: The Six Allies That Martyn Lost + The One He Still Has Left | 3k words

“He looks ill”, Grian whispered and Martyn swallowed his comment of “He looks dead.”

His grey skin was littered with the remains of an explosion barely covered up by the loosely sitting bandages and his piercing red eyes glared into Martyn’s for an eternity, or maybe it was only a moment, but it was enough to hear the screams of “this could be different”.

It was enough to remember his hand tightly grasping Martyn’s, warm in a way he knew it wasn’t anymore.

Enough to remember how hesitant, yet genuine he sounded when he said “Deal” and “I trust you”.

Enough to remember Jimmy, gullible, gullible Jimmy, ripping open his then brown eyes when he realized he was lied to.

Because that was something Martyn knew how to do, lie to people. How to weave a story just believable enough not to get questioned.

And so, he told them about his ‘halloween costume’ and saw Grian chase Jimmy away, joking about how he would be the first one to go today.

It felt a lot less like a joke when he saw Grian shoot and Jimmy fall. He didn’t even hear him scream.

Of course, he backed Grian up when he said it was justified.

After all, Martyn was a liar and Jimmy was dead.

---

“‘Till death do us part”, Martyn had joked once, but as he approached the duo of Mumbo and Skizz for a deal, he wondered if that condition had already been met.

It wasn’t like Mumbo looked that much different, he pondered. He had been powdered with red the minute he spawned into this world, though the dust that was before uselessly specked on his skin seemed to be buzzing with a new found energy now. There was also the gaping axe wound in his side and… one other thing.

Martyn didn’t know how to describe it, but there was something about the way he crouched and smiled at them, a foreign glitter in his eyes. How eager he was to accept a deal he didn't even get an offer for. How he turned around on one heel, rushing to do a hit as if he was asked to get groceries.

Martyn would have taken grey skin over that any day.

It was only after they were gone that he noticed how he had been grasping his communicator, finger dangerously close to where he knew he had saved a command just some time prior.

He deleted it, then, after watching Grian spill blood on a black suit.

Simply because he wouldn’t need it anymore.

Not when Martyn was a widow and Mumbo was dead.

---

Martyn has heard the curse being described in many ways, but none of it had been enough to prepare himself for the impact. He supposed it made sense that no one else felt it quite as immediately, it wasn’t like any of the other members had the same… pumpkin infestation problem as him.

Either way, it wasn’t an itch, nor a mist. He supposed ‘burning’ was as close a simile he was going to find. His vision was clouded, but he didn’t see red.

He saw green.

With the heat of the just exploded end crystal still behind his back, he swung his sword and Grian’s body fell towards it, but it was too late.

It was only a second in which it went lump, any last trace of life escaping into the night, and then it disappeared with a respawn before even hitting the ground.

“I’ll take that!”, Joel laughed and somehow, that made the flames rise higher.

It wasn't until way later that Martyn saw Grian again, just a red speck in the corner of his vision while he was focused on the wither.

He heard him yelp, once, presumably one of Scott’s arrows, but as cold metal stung his ring finger, he couldn’t bring himself to pity.

The smell of smoke still lingered close to the soil as Martyn tried a last feeble attempt to restore the farm.

He was truly alone, now, the unjust heir of the southern palace. Maybe it was so ironic because there never had been a big reveal of double-crossing. Even when practically flaunting his false loyalty, people were too preoccupied for suspicion.

That didn’t mean it was any less wrong for him to be here when none of the others could.

Not when Martyn was a traitor and Grian was red.

---

When meeting the shadow alliance for the first time Martyn’s focus hadn’t been on BigB at all, really.

How could it be, when Ren was right there, Ren, Ren, his Ren, just an arms length away?

How could it be, when he was about to meet Her only ever whispered about Highness, whose reputation deemed her fae?

No, that wasn’t why, was it? Not only, anyway. It was also that BigB just… felt natural. He felt comfortable, like it was the most right thing in the world to be on his side.

Maybe that was why he was so easy to trust. (Maybe that had been Cleo’s downfall).

Martyn had heard Dogwarts being described as a family before, and there was no denying that he liked the thought. Yes, the things the war had done to them were horrible, but there was nothing that could bond you quite like healing someone's wounds and smelling their dying breath. And despite everything about this world, he knew he’d throw it all away again for the red banner.

BigB had been the same, then. He was there, whether it was out of a personal grudge or for their protection didn’t matter, as long as Martyn had somebody to turn his back to.

So really, nobody could blame him for falling into easy banter again. Nobody could blame him for following whatever mission they were on and getting distracted by whatever tangent again.

It was fun. That was all there was to it.

Martyn had joked and he had called BigB dad, once, and he went along with the bit and they laughed and it was so simple and careless and god, it’s silly, but in that moment he dared to indulge in the wish that things were different.

He shouldn't have.

Not when Martyn was sentimental and BigB was red.

---

Where there was laughter bubbling just some seconds ago a sense of dread crept up in Martyn's chest as he watched Mumbo slowly climb the ladder.

“Red light”, he typed, hoping Grian and Impulse got the hint and then looked around the area beneath the platform to see if there was anything he could do to help.

He was quick to pull out his water and pour it onto the floor, only to see it evaporate in milliseconds.

Right. They were in hell. He forgot about that.

Sighing, he turned away, hoping the both of them would be smart enough not to risk anything by themselves.

He should have known his southern allies better than that, really, but it took him until he heard a bone shattering scream just in his right ear to realize.

Impulse’s body disappeared while it’s thud was still ringing through the nether roof, but even the short moment he got to see it was enough to make Martyn’s blood run cold.

Fuck.

“Careful, be careful!”, he called out, while navigating his route around the cold walls of the snow fort.

Jumping away from one of the wither’s blasts just in the last second, he somehow managed to put his arm right in one of the flying arrow’s tracks.

After cursing through the piercing pain, he yelled again. “The reds are shooting, be careful!”

The reds, he said, despite knowing pretty exactly who it was on the other side of the snow. It was easier to think of them that way. He couldn’t be distracted by having faces and dead bodies to the names.

Another arrow flew over his head, this time it was Scott shooting.

“Landed one, landed one!”

The callouts blended into background noise as he shifted his attention back onto the wither. Striking one hit, maybe two, a loud scream of celebration pulled him away again.

“Impulse down!”

“Let's go!”, he joined in, voice filled with an energy he wasn’t really feeling.

He forced himself to focus on it, though, and on the adrenaline of the battle. And if he was blinded by an image of a body so distorted that it’s splintered bones were visible through it’s bloodied skin, that was for nobody else to know.

Not when Martyn was cheering and Impulse was dead.

---

“I like your words”, Martyn smiled carefully while looking up into the deeply blue eyes of the fairy. “You carry yourself with honor and dignity.”

He meant it then, respect for the woman visible in his every move, even when he opposed her authority. How could he not, when he saw the way Ren looked at her? The way BigB shifted at her side?

When he knew about that gamble she took, just a second before one soul met its demise?

She had the aura of a leader and it radiated from every patch of her skin. Somehow, he knew it didn’t stop at the borders of this world.

It was different, now, as he saw her standing below him, soot and blood of somebody whom she had offered refuge just days ago covering her arms. She smiled, a smile so nonchalant for admitting to a murder it made him feel sick. Though he knew well enough he wasn’t one to judge.

That was the last time he saw her, but it wasn’t the last he was in her presence. There was one other time, and his leg still ached, he was still struggling to breathe from running, running, two pairs of footsteps far too close to be comfortable. Her goodbye to him was being hunted, for no other reason than the bloodlust that spawned out of a hateful death.

So when she fell, when she was gone, gone, truly gone, he was not the one to keep her name in honor. He wasn’t who’s sobs could be heard through the cold night. He wasn’t the one to gather anything that reminded him of her in a pile, just to have something, anything reminiscent of a grave in this world that didn’t allow the dead to rest. He was not the one to pray for her, to whatever god was merciful enough to listen.

How could it have been him, when Lizzie was not his queen and now could never be?

---

The crooked towers of the south loomed over his head with long shadows and it was as if they were mocking Martyn’s feeble attempt to fall asleep. Of course, the day and night and day before had been restless, not enough time to catch a breath let alone close his eyes between the constant reminders of death, death, death.

He didn’t know how he had hoped it would be different now.

The moon looked down on him, seemingly trying to let her light play on his features in comfort, but there was little she could do that would make the silence inside the walls feel less ghostly. And so, he took the pathway she illuminated and left.

He didn’t have a route or a goal, except whatever path was not claimed by mobs, so he let himself wander. He didn’t know how long he had walked or how far he’d come, either. Before, he could have made a rough estimate, but the world that felt so busy and restricting had suddenly become huge.

There was a weird feeling that followed him, like nostalgia or some deep sadness threatening to break out now he had nothing to focus on to keep it away. He ignored it, somewhat, but there was another one, a feeling, that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.

He felt like he was being watched.

He wondered how accurate that was.

It wasn’t like he thought the dead would enjoy following him around, really, that must be boring, but then maybe they didn’t have much choice. Being forced to watch somebody who lied to you, didn’t help you, cheered your death? Martyn grimaced at the thought.

Himself, he never got to figure out where souls go in this world, last time. The end was too close to the Battle of Dogwarts for it to make sense to try and find anything on that other plane.

He died. Grian jumped. The time in between happend. (He didn’t know how he felt about the time in between). Then he was back here again, though this ‘here’ was very different from that ‘here’.

It was still the same, really, but he supposed nobody else knew it like he did. The world was the same, on the most fundamental level, and it had liked the first story it crafted. They changed the rules, they said not to repeat alliances, but they still felt it, all of them, tugging on their limbs towards familiarity. He saw it, in glances between Jimmy and Scott. He heard it, in banter between Grian and Scar. He knew it, when the first corpse hit the floor and didn’t disappear.

For some reason the world decided it would be funny if Martyn was the one to feel this the most, was his best bet.

And so, he wasn’t surprised with himself at all when his feet inevitably led him towards the shadow tower. Ah, so it would be one of those nights where he would sit outside the walls, letting the strings that bound him to it burn themselves out a bit, with no intention to get in. Far from the first one.

What he was surprised about, though, was how the tower stood out, a warm orange illuminating the stone, setting it apart from the cold moonlight. It was faint enough, the fire of two or three furnaces, maybe, but it flickered and glowed just that bit stronger as another one got lit.

Figured Ren couldn’t sleep, either.

Standing there a bit dumbfounded, Martyn was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t stay, really, feeling like he was intruding and not wanting to be seen. Yet, and he had to admit that to himself with a goulp, he didn’t want to leave, either. Not to ghost town. Anywhere but to ghost town.

Before he could make up his mind, that decision got torn out of his hands, as the door opened with a creak.

“Martyn?”, Ren’s voice sounded out and his ears stood up straight. “Bro, whatcha doin’ out here at this hour, you must be gatherin’ the creepers-”.

And then Ren looked at him, truly looked at him, and whatever he saw made his expression soften.

“Come in”, he said.

It was a command in all but tone and Martyn felt his feet move before he knew what he was doing.

Ren closed the door behind them and watched him settle in for a second, as if he had never been in here before. Then, he helped himself to Martyn’s bandana, untying it and running his hand through his hair once, ruffling it so it would dry and oh, it had been raining, he hadn’t noticed that.

“Man, you look like you haven’t slept since new years.”

Ren’s voice was laced with genuine concern, but Martyn couldn’t help but grow defensive.

“Could say the same about you, to be honest.”

Ren looked away, his eyes darting towards the ladder.

“Wanna come up? I’ll boil you some water, you look like you need it.”

They said in silence for a while after that, Martyn working his way through the… tea, and Ren sitting beside him, offering company. The more time passed, though, the more uneasy he grew, fidgeting with his suspenders and wagging his tail up and down in an uneven rhythm.

Frankly, it was annoying.

“Come on, spit it out, what is it?”

“Nothing! There is nothing wrong! What could you mean?”

Ren’s overly eager answer only gained an unimpressed glance. He sighed in resignation

“Uh, I don’t think you were with us at the time, but I suggested to the other greens and yellows to make the tower our place to hide-out if they wanted to. Thought it’d be safer to stick in a huddle. I guess you can see they didn’t take the offer”, he chuckled humorlessly.

“Stickin’ by what I said, though. It’s not safe. So, I guess what I mean, uh. Would you wanna stay here, maybe, for the time being?”

‘Oh’, Martyn thought and let out a breath. “Yes, yes I would.”

He didn’t realize it then, not immediately, but this was the moment he let go. When he stopped trying to resist the world’s strings so desperately. When he let himself fall.

He didn’t remember the details of what happened next, but at some point they had thrown together a blanket pile on the floor so they had a place to rest next to each other.

Now, he was laying by Ren’s side, close enough to feel the warmth radiate off his skin.

They had talked, then, and Martyn told him. Not all of it, of course, far from all of it, he didn’t even know how to put most of it in words, but he didn’t need to for Ren to understand.

For his part, Ren talked a lot as well, about Lizzie, BigB and Cleo too sometimes, but mostly about his queen and when he said her name, his voice was as far away as could be.

And Martyn listened, until his speech grew slurred and his breaths quietened, became more regular.

Martyn wasn’t about to fall asleep himself, not for hours, but it didn’t matter. Not when he felt right for the first time on this goddamn server. When he felt like home.

Somewhere, the moon gave off a satisfied tinkle, but he could not have given less of a fuck if he tried. He wasn’t doing this for her, he knew, as he shifted closer towards the body beside him.

He was doing this for himself.

Because Martyn was selfish and Ren was alive, alive, so devastatingly alive.