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Rather than reflecting on the day—which consisted of eating flowers and whatever else they could get their hands on in a desperate attempt to live—Ren just wanted to live in and enjoy the moment. Life has always been like this—well, should've been like this—he thought as he gazed at the man beside him. Always, always, always. Ren didn't want to remember a day without Martyn, his teammate, his friend, his Hand, his—
Martyn shuffled beside him, moving more into Ren's chest and momentarily cutting off his thoughts. The lazy wagging of Ren's tail sped up ever so slightly as he held onto Martyn tighter. His, his, his, a voice in his head piped up, Always, always, always. He indulged in those instinctive thoughts sometimes.
They were together on their bed that lay outside in their field of flowers and trees. And their very flammable and not-so-visually-appealing houses in the sky. Neither of them were going to sleep in a space separate from the other, now that they had each other again. Well, Ren knew he wouldn't, anyways. He squeezed his hold around Martyn again before loosening it.
Since when was he so... possessive? Oh god. Did that make him sound evil? He wasn't evil. He mentally searched around in his brain for another word.
Loyal? Yes. Yes, since when did he gain such an undying loyalty to the man who he currently held in his arms? Wasn't Martyn supposed to be the loyal one as his Hand? Well, he's not his Hand anymore, but it was a nice memory of their friendship. Ren hummed. Friendship, of course.
Sometimes he thought their friendship should be a little more. As in best friends. His face flushed at the embarrassment of his inner monologue... Something a little more than friendship? That sounds intimate. Not that he'd mind, if Martyn wanted something a little more than friendship and not in the best friends way. Not at all! Ren would be open to trying something out! It's been so long, the last time that they have been allied this closely was when they first met, and that was sad! He needed Martyn more in his life. He'd let this man do anything with him...
But Ren didn't feel like staying awake with his thoughts any longer. There were better things to do, such as succumbing to sleep with his favorite man ever cuddled up to his chest.
***
A week later, after the next wild card had come and went, everyone was left emotionally and physically devastated. Paranoid to the point of no return. And they had all thought the Great Hunger was bad, now they have irreversible snail trauma.
Ren and Martyn were both sitting down on their bed together as they spoke about the better and worse parts of their day and whatever else came to them. The conversation flowed naturally, as per usual, despite the frequent long gaps of silence in this particular conversation. Ren shifted around, casting glances around their surroundings and appeared visibly distressed at every sound.
"The snails aren't coming back, Ren." Martyn reassured him—along with possibly himself—after he had jumped again, though a hint of amusement was blatant in his tone.
"I don't want us to go on red! I'm just being safe, my dude!" His ears were pinned down to his head as he frowned at Martyn.
Martyn just shrugged. "Well, if it bothers you so much, we could keep a lookout. Sleep in shifts."
"Ohhh, that's the perfect idea, Marteen. I'll stay awake first? For a few hours or something."
He gave him a look. "You gonna wake me up for my shift?"
"Yeah!"
He continued to stare at him skeptically. "Okay. Well anyways..."
They continue to talk and talk, both of them absorbed in each other's words and presence and everything. Their surroundings were nothing. Everything else was nothing, everything was each other. Though, inevitably, Martyn's speech eventually slowed and his responses become less and less fleshed out, until he ends up falling asleep cuddled up to Ren as usual.
It's only when Martyn is fully asleep that Ren gradually starts becoming paranoid again. Everything that was previously nothing becomes everything. Everything is terrifying. Everything is out to get them and hinder their progress and bring them down to death, that's been proven by the last three wild cards! He growled in both fear and frustration before reluctantly moving away from Martyn and out of bed. He had a duty to fulfill!
***
The sun started to light up another day. It was early dawn when Martyn woke up. He immediately noted how cold he felt, partially due to simply just having their bed outside, sure, but Ren hasn't spent a single night recently without his arms wrapped around him. So where is he?
Martyn slowly rose from laying down, wiping away the crust from his eyes before blinking and looking around his surroundings. "Ren?" He called out groggily, "Reeennn?"
No answer. He sighed as he shoved his blanket off of him and stepped out of bed. He really made more of an effort to look around now, keen on trying to find Ren. He called his name a few more times before ultimately deciding that he must've went either mining or hunting. After coming to this conclusion, and remembering that there wouldn't be a wild card for the next few days at the rate they've been popping up, he promptly flopped back into their bed to wake up at a time that wasn't the earliest dawn.
***
Ren had woken up a few hours after Martyn first had. Initially, his first thoughts were scrambled panic. After a bit of that, it was regret. And then embarrassment. Gosh, why did he think that he could stay awake for the entire night and have everything turn out fine afterwards? He should've known that he would've been exhausted. Also, sleeping on a plain wood floor isn't all that comfortable, his back complained with aches as he sluggishly rose up from the ground of Martyn's tower.
He nervously cleared his throat as he made his way over to and looked down the stream of water that led to the ground. He didn't want to know if Martyn was already awake or not... would he be looking for him? Did he—Would he think that Ren had left him—No, no—
He quickly descended from the tower and as he shook off clingy water droplets he saw Martyn. Still sleeping. Thank god! But—he tore his eyes away from his resting body and looked up at the sky again—wouldn't he be waking up soon? He just had to slide back into bed as if he hadn't spent all night awake. Except for when he passed out in the tower. This should be easy.
As he crawled back into bed, being meticulously careful as to not wake Martyn, the other man started to stir awake by the time Ren had situated himself next to him.
Martyn mumbled something that Ren couldn't quite make out. "What'd ya say?"
"You're back," Martyn repeated, turning over from where he was faced away from Ren to now shoving his face in his chest. Ren's entire being buzzed and bloomed and erupted with domestic joy.
And then he realized what Martyn had said.
"What?"
Martyn made a humming sound before returning back to his slumber. Maybe he was just... sleep talking. Ren closed his eyes. He'd definitely be waking up way later than he should, but that's a problem for him later in the day.
***
Ren and Martyn were both in the mines. They were not getting much mining done.
Ren was still too giddy over his frag to engage in any productivity, but also giddy over the fact that the wild card let him engage in shenanigans with Martyn while the time was still in slow motion. That was so fun. And stupid. But mainly fun! His tail wagging picked up in speed as he thought about the wild card, a stark contrast to his reaction of the last wild card. Martyn, being nearby and also not doing much himself, took notice of Ren's blinding joy.
"What's up with you, Ren? Not over that kill yet?"
"Nope!"
Martyn chuckled lightly as he slid down to the ground of the cave, sitting up against the wall. He sighed afterwards. "Hey, Ren, come over here," he said as he patted the rocky floor beside him, torch held in his other hand.
At his beck and call, Ren was beside him in about two seconds. "What's up, dude?"
Martyn let out another small sigh, "Oh, y'know, I just don't really feel like mining right now," he was the one who suggested it, "Felt like we should take a break before doing that, maybe." He looked at Ren almost expectantly.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Of course!" His tail whacked the wall of the cave as he turned more towards Martyn. And leaned up against him. And titled his head in a way that his head was resting in Martyn's hair.
"Always so quick to cuddle, huh?" Martyn chuckled, the smile on his face evident through his voice, as he raised his free hand to pet Ren's head.
Ren didn't have a response to that other than the uncontrollable action of his tail wagging accelerating in speed as it thwacked the wall harder. His brain was melted, the combination of being spoken to like he was just some dog—no, he was Martyn's dog, Martyn's beloved dog, and he was getting pet and they were just sitting in a cave doing nothing and—
He wasn't like this about Martyn back in Dogwarts, was he? He thought about it for a moment... and then decided that it's better if he doesn't dwell on it. He didn't really know what to make of anything after the time he turned red back then. Or the beheading. What in the world was that beheading?
A particularly good scritch behind the ear threw him back into his current reality and the bliss he was living in at the moment. He couldn't waste this moment away wondering if he's always been a little... affectionate about Martyn! He's got a metaphorical collar around his throat that says he belongs to the man petting him and, wow, he never thought he'd be this content while his instinctual dog thoughts take over. He pressed a few quick kisses into Martyn's hair as a thoughtless action and as he did Martyn's hand stuttered in its movement, but it seemed like he quickly recovered as it went back to normal.
Ren, in a sudden action, wrapped his arms tight around Martyn. "Love ya, dude!"
"Watch out, I'm still holding a torch, Ren!" He paused for a moment long enough where Ren really thought that he wouldn't say it back, which is, y'know, fine. But then he turned and moved to look him in the eyes, "Love you too."
Ren thought about kissing him at that moment, being so suddenly filled to the brim with affection with something so simple as just a reciprocation of a casual declaration of (probably platonic) love. But a sliver of rational thought screamed at him that he couldn't do that, no way, so instead he settled for a grin so wide and bright he was sure it radiated his adoration. He moved back to resting his head on top of Martyn's, occasionally giving light pecks to the top of his head, occasionally reassuring his love with a few love ya's!
Whenever it was that Martyn decided that it was about time they got up to actually go mine, Ren didn't know, but what he did know was that even then they couldn't get much mining done, but that was mostly his fault. He was now far too lost in bliss to focus on mining and he also wasn't keen on going too far from Martyn. He couldn't.
***
Ren sat on the edge of the small amount of land left in their base and kicked his feet in the water of the large pond that was their new and renovated home. It was a long day. Long week! Lots of trivia about everything that has happened in these death matches. He was mainly still wondering whether or not the beheading counted as a wedding ceremony, and if it did, would they still be married?
He stopped pondering over that, though, when Martyn popped over the walls of their base and dropped into the pond below. Ren smiled and waved at him and he did the same back as he waded through the pond towards him. Martyn definitely knew the drill by now: any time he was with Ren he'd be smothered with unconditional love, and the knowing glint in his eyes as he sat next to Ren let him know that he was definitely ready for whatever he was going to receive from him.
This time Ren simply leaned his head until it rested against Martyn's shoulder and let out a content sigh, "I'm happy we're still both alive, dude. We've been through some things, and yet we're still here," he kicked his feet in the water some more, "Together. We're gonna make it to the end together, Martyn!" He optimistically exclaimed.
Martyn's hand found its way to the top of Ren's head and petted it as he spoke, "As long as there's no more surprise ravagers, we might actually make it!" They both laughed.
"You'd be the only one dead, man!"
"I know, I know, shut up," Martyn responded with no real malice, "But seriously, I'm glad I can be here with you too, Ren. It felt like some of the soul of these games were gone along with you," he admitted solemnly, an almost distant look in his eyes.
Ren smiled sadly, "Aww, dude," how else was Ren supposed to reply, to comfort, other than giving Martyn a real big hug?
"Ren, you're squeezin' me—"
"Oh! My bad," He loosened his grip, but still continued to hold Martyn for a long while afterwards.
***
Their base was entirely a lake after they had removed all of the land for safety during the wild card, and Ren didn't feel like sitting around in their secret bunker or leaving the base and, well, the water was very shallow. So he sat in the water, not bothering with a boat. The water only reached halfway up his torso, the water was cold, and he was hot from constantly running everywhere and the mobs and everything and maybe he just needed some quiet time to himself in his and Martyn's pond and— and. Hmm. Where is Martyn?
A voice at the back of his head scratched and clawed its way through the voice telling him to go and find Martyn, it told him that he deserved time to himself, it told him that this was his resting time, it told him that he didn't have to have Martyn around at all times. It told him that he would be fine. He'd be alright without his teammate. And he took this voice into brief consideration. He could live and thrive as a lone wolf, believe it or not! But Martyn was different. He was—he was his. And that could go both ways.
With a stretch and a made up mind, he stood up out of the water and called out for Martyn, getting a very muffled reply in response. His ears swiveled around to where the entrance of the bunker was located, certain that he was there. Ren quickly made his way down the ladder into the bunker where Martyn was sat on the bed, visibly tired, and presumably also simply taking a break in this chaotic world.
Martyn's gaze shifted into something soft as Ren came to sit next to him on the bed, though it quickly morphed into confusion. Ren's tail was swishing back and forth more and more rapidly just from being in the physical presence of Martyn.
"Why are you all sopping wet?"
"Took a break in the lake," Ren replied.
"Damn, our blankets are gonna be all damp now," he said with an exaggerated sigh. Ren grinned.
And then Martyn raised a hand and started to pet Ren, and yet again that dizzying and all-consuming feeling of overwhelming affection hit him all at once. He barked in delight—a sound he almost never makes, he doesn't ever indulge in his dog impulses that much, he's sure—and leaned into Martyn. Martyn briefly had a look of surprise wash over his face that quickly transformed into a smile that neared a smirk. "That's new, huh?"
Ren's face burned with a slurry of different emotions. "I mean, dude! I'm a dog!" He defended himself lamely.
Martyn took a moment before replying, almost like hesitation, though the boldness in his voice betrayed the fact that there was any hesitation, "What, my dog?"
Ren immediately barked again, showcasing his approval. Yes, he had complete confirmation now, he was Martyn's. His dog. His! And he'd follow him to the end, straight into death, as long as he could say that he was by his side.
"There's been a bit of a role switch here," Martyn chuckled affectionately.
Ren let out a small growl from his throat, more in a disapproving way than anything, "No, you're still mine—my Hand."
"You put it bluntly. But, you're no king right now," he patted the top of his head, "So I guess I got more power right now, Ren."
Ren nodded. Yeah, he's got more power over him as long as he keeps Ren around in his general vicinity. He's got that kind of power over him. Ren wondered if he had held a power akin to this over Martyn back in the days of Dogwarts.
Ren laid down on his back and his head ended up in Martyn's lap, and Martyn continued to talk to him even if he would only give a bark in response, he would continue to pet him on his head and on his tummy, he'd continue to love him as he always had been.
Ren got up at some point—time was irrelevant now—and just gazed into Martyn's face. Took in all of it. He bumped their foreheads together, and he was okay. These death games are nothing but that—death. So much death. But he still gets to spend time with his friends, friends that he ends up killing, but friends nonetheless. He may see them die. He may die.
He held onto Martyn's hand tightly.
Could he seriously tell Martyn that he loved him? Not just in a way that was purely affection, an affection that could be perceived as platonic, but in a way that was a confession. Full endearment, a possible seal on what they could be.
At some point he had realized that the line between a platonic and a romantic relationship had been erased in his mind when he looked at Martyn and himself, and that point in time was lost in his mind. He hadn't even realized! Though, considering kissing him in that cave should've been more than a hint, should've been a blatant sign, but that was unimportant. As he sat here, so close to Martyn...
...so close to death, weren't they? He didn't want to ruin whatever they could keep on having while they were still alive together. He couldn't ruin that.
He'd never tell him, as a confession, that he loves him. He couldn't do that.
***
DNA shapeshifting and superhuman listening, an odd combination of powers, but far from a boring one.
During the duration of the wild card, things went as usual for these death matches. Death and chaos tenfold, a collective effort to take down the green lives. Maybe a bit too much chaos, though. What was even happening?
What was happening as he looked up at that tower, finding the opportune moment to shapeshift—what was...?
No. He did not see that happen with his own eyes. No, he saw that happen, in— in Martyn's flesh. Martyn wasn't here anymore—god, that explosion, what happened, no, that didn't really happen—
Ren was running but he wasn't really aware of it. He was Martyn, but he wasn't really aware of it. He couldn't be anything anymore. He wasn't anything anymore. He subconsciously clung on to what was left of Martyn, he had to keep Martyn alive, it was instinct to do so. Martyn was alive as long as he was here to keep his form alive, keep his soul with him, he'd get to the end, him and Martyn would win together and they wouldn't have to fight because they'd be together and they would have the best outcome and Martyn was here as long was Ren was here and Martyn was with him and he was Martyn and he was here to serve Martyn and Martyn, Martyn, Martyn—
He wasn't dead, couldn't be dead this early, didn't he win one of these games when Ren was absent? He was a winner! Not gone yet, he really wasn't dead, he was here, Ren's been blessed with this superpower to keep him here and carry him to the end and Martyn got blessed with hearing to communicate and listen to him from the beyond, or—or something, right?
***
Distantly, Ren—no, they saw red. Him and Martyn. Their vision was tinted red. Both of them knew what this meant: bloodlust. It meant that they had a drive to win.
But not now. Only until the next wild card will the remaining victims of this game get to see who wins. Only then will they be free.
They laid curled up on their bed in the bunker, sniffling but with no tears. Reaching up to the left side of their face with their right hand they whispered, "Martyn?"
There wasn't exactly a response back but that did not deter them, "Martyn. We're gonna make it, Martyn."
Silence.
They whined. "I'm sorry, Martyn."
The hand on their face lingered, brushing their thumb across their blond stubble before it went down to trail different parts of their body down to their waist. They wrapped themselves in their arms with a deep sigh.
***
They were in their lake, sat on their knees as they splashed water onto their face in a hopeless attempt to feel alive. Half of them was dead, and the other half couldn't live without the other, and they knew that! But, well, Martyn wasn't... really dead, was he? They flexed their left hand and started at it. Yes, definitely alive.
"Martyn," they mumbled hoarsely.
Ren.
They froze, only moving to clench their thigh, their clawed hand close to drawing blood. "Martyn?"
Yeah, I can hear you.
For the first time since the last wild card, their tail wagged, even though now it was mangled and deformed. It still moved in a vaguely wag-like motion. "Why'd you never say anything before?"
Silence.
"Martyn?"
Silence.
Their tail slowly came to a stop as they realized that they weren't getting a response. The silence of the air was more than just deafening—it was devastating. The hand on their thigh released its grip and instead went to aggressively tug at their hair, ripping some out with ease.
They stared at the mix of brown and blond hair in their hand and promptly blacked out.
***
The final wild card was nearing closer and closer day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. And they found themselves in their bed, far too mentally drained to do much else. They had enough food here for them, anyways. They had no reason to go out of their base.
They had apologized so many times. Trying so hard to start a conversation with their lost half—no, he was still here!—to only get short replies, often just one word. They sighed.
They've felt every part of themselves. They've learned their new body well. Martyn didn't speak through their body. It was—it was just Ren. And they didn't like that, not at all. It... it was both of them, wasn't it? Martyn's DNA was still here. He was still alive, clinging onto Ren's form for he had dragged his dead body to him. He will drag him to victory.
But only Ren controlled the body. Only Ren talked. Martyn was more of an... accessory that showcased his loyalty. A gruesome display. A saddening look into how far a dog would go to be around its owner.
They huffed and tightened their arms around themselves. No. No, Martyn was alive. Reanimated through Ren. Not dead, not completely.
"Martyn," they tried again, "Martyn. I'd die for you. I'm here for you."
Silence.
"...I love you."
Their left hand, as if it had gained a mind of its own, shot up to the right side of their face, holding it with a firmness that only increased.
Ren.
They went silent, wanting—needing to know what he would say next. They wanted to give him room to speak, say whatever he wants to say, god please just say anything!
Ren. Let me have my body.
They blinked. "Yes, yes, how—how do I give you it, Martyn, you can have it, take it, please—"
Ren. I love you, too.
Ren, we'll win the game.
Ren—
They blacked out.
***
Sometimes they—Martren, now—would be able to tell what was happening. Had a feeling of control, a grasp on the world and the people around them, albeit a shaky one. People stared at them with pity and some twisted form of amusement and horror. Horror at loyalty!
"Do you think they're disloyal?" Ren whispered, "Or have been betrayed?"
I wouldn't be too surprised myself.
And then they blacked out again, but seemingly not for long, coming back to their senses again just a few strides away.
The final wild card felt mocking. A teasing reminder directed fully towards Ren—and Martyn, he was still here too, of course—of all of the affection that filled the times before Martyn had his soul taken away from his body. Sure, the snails might've been traumatic, but he still remembered being with Martyn afterwards. He still remembered every time after the wild cards. Just experiencing the cycling of each wild card threw him back to those memories with Martyn.
But this wasn't about Ren, none of this was for him. This was for them. A loyal dog serving their loving owner, aiding them to victory.
They had seen Martyn's reanimated corpse, his actual corpse. They had spoken to it. It didn't have much to say back, though that was fine. The real Martyn, his soul, laid within Martren. Even if seeing Martyn truly dead did take an awful toll on them. They blacked out.
And with each blackout, victory seemed closer and closer. The communicator in their pocket buzzed with each death, each buzz assuring them that they were closer to being the victor.
When the wild card disappeared, the message from above that rang in their ears letting them know that this was now all in their hands felt like another personal attack. The memories associated with the wild cards begged to leave along with the wild cards themselves. The memories of Martyn.
Each step. Stepping closer to that mountain, up that mountain, up the mountain to victory, Martyn! Being fought with and against; the thoughts of two people at once, in battle, clogged up the same mind. It was beyond overwhelming, but they would take it, take it for victory. For Martyn. For Martyn's victory.
They would kill anyone. Loyal dog, loving owner. Win the game. Get that satisfaction. Get the proof that they are loyal.
Dog. Owner.
In their final moments, as they were hit off the side of the mountain—possibly disadvantaged due to the chaos of experiencing the stress of two people in one body in a deciding battle—all they could think was sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry I'm so sorry, Martyn, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Martyn, I'm sorry. Apology after apology for not living up to being the protector, their hero to the end, their guide to victory.
Moments before then there were so many thoughts scattered about. But as they fell, before they even hit the ground and truly died, they were gone. Had Martyn given up on him?
He wasn't responding to Ren's apologies.
Did he abandon him?
Abandon him in his final moments?
And as they—he?—hit the ground, full of sorrow and despair and regret and so much else... that was all. There was only the awful emotions of one man and a large and empty gap in his mind. In his body. In his soul.
Not a good dog. Not a loyal dog. Not enough for a loving owner when it really mattered.