Chapter Text
Okay, so Gabbro has given self-pity a try. It gets old really quickly, it turns out. But Mylon's words keep echoing in their mind, and they have the uncomfortable ring of truth to them. They assume the hatchling has stormed off to do… well, the opposite of Gabbro’s advice, apparently. So it's a surprise when their ship blasts through the clouds the very next loop, and even more of a surprise when Mylon bursts into the campsite. They throw their helmet down, panting for breath in the thin air.
“I’m so sorry,” they gasp, “I shouldn’t have said those awful things. It’s not you I’m angry at, it’s this stupid time loop and dying over and over and the sun exploding and I don’t know what I’m doing-”
“Oh, buddy.” It only takes a second for Gabbro to haul themself out of their hammock and wrap their arms around them. “I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”
Mylon buries their face in Gabbro’s chest, a low whine escaping their lips. “It’s not fair.” No, it’s not. It’s not fair that one young astronaut should have to carry this on their shoulders. It’s not fair that what should have been a joyful first voyage has turned into an existential nightmare. It’s not fair that Gabbro is in love with their best friend, who would choose to forget them rather than face the horror to come. None of this is fair.
“You should hate me,” they sob, their voice muffled. They’re all bony limbs beneath the padding of their bulky space suit, and it hits Gabbro anew just how young they are. “I deserve it.”
“Nah, ‘course you don’t. We’re still buddies. Always. Anyway, if I couldn’t handle being yelled at I never would have made it through Gossan’s flight training.” Gabbro pats their back until they sniff and pull free, rubbing furiously at their wet cheeks. “Feel better?”
“Not really.”
“Wanna try talking about it instead?”
Mylon looks away, flipping a pebble over with their toe. “I dunno. It’s stupid.”
“Yeah, probably,” Gabbro says cheerfully. When Mylon shoots them a look, they meet their gaze. “But stupid things have a way of bugging you the worst, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s… it’s not even the dying that gets to me,” Mylon bursts out. “Well, okay,” they amend, “maybe it does, a bit. But what kills me is how lonely it gets. At first I made a point of visiting Hal at the start of every loop. We used to talk for hours - for whole cycles - hiking out to the caves, or making up our own secret languages. You know what that’s like, don’t you?”
Gabbro thinks of all the times they’ve asked Chert about asteroids, just to see their face light up. “Yeah,” they say. “I think I do.” The ghost of a smile flits across Mylon’s features, fading as quickly as it appeared.
“But now they just say the exact same things, and react the same way, and I… I can’t do it anymore. I’m sure it hurts them every time I launch without saying goodbye. They won’t remember it the next loop, but it still makes me feel so guilty.” They hang their head. “So when I overheard you comforting Chert, I… I was a jerk. And I’m sorry.”
There’s a hollow, gnawing feeling in Gabbro's chest. The past few loops they’ve kept their signalscope switched off, hiding from Chert, for almost the exact same reason Mylon’s been avoiding the village.
“It’s funny,” they say slowly, letting the right words come to them. “Hornfels came up with an alternative to my quantum theory. They reckon instead of observation collapsing all possibilities into a single state, every possibility exists at the same time, side-by-side. Multiple universes.”
Mylon scuffs their boot in the sand without much interest. “Doesn’t that contradict your theory?”
“Yeah, like, completely. We kind of got into it, actually. They didn’t speak to me for six cycles. Anyway, if they are right, then there has to be a universe out there right now where you did stop by and talk to Hal before your launch. We just happen to be standing in this one.”
Mylon considers this. “So… maybe there’s a universe where we did say goodbye. Or maybe we’re talking on the signalscope.”
Or a universe where Chert gets to be happy. “Yeah, you’re getting the idea!” Gabbro forces a smile. “There’s probably one where everyone is still on Timber Hearth.”
“Laughing about how crazy it would be if the sun went supernova.” Mylon adds with a wry twist of their lip. “No offense and all, but I kinda hope Hornfels’ theory is right.”
“Don’t tell them I said this,” Gabbro tells them, “but I kinda do too.”
They make an odd pair, the veteran astronaut and the newbie - well, not so new, not anymore - as they sit together by the fire under the darkening sky. They pass the marshmallow tin between them, in between sips of bitterwillow tea.
After a while, Gabbro clears their throat and says, "So, uh. How was Feldspar, when you found them?"
Mylon shoots a sideways glance their way. "Not bad, all things considered. They say they’ve been living off the land, but I’m pretty sure I saw a box of attleroot jerky in their stuff.” They spear another marshmallow and hold it out toward the flames. “I kinda get the feeling you don't like them much."
"That's not true." Is it? "I guess you could say Feldspar and I have… history." When Mylon wrinkles their nose, Gabbro grimaces and utters a laugh. “No, no, nothing like that! You uh, remember my sibling, Sphale?"
Mylon's eyes take on a guilty cast. "Oh, yeah, sort of. I was really young when they…"
"...Died. It's okay, bud. Anyway, there's more to the story than Gossan and Slate probably told you. But it's all in the past, now. I’m glad they’re okay.” For now, they don’t add. Not that they need to.
Mylon’s gaze drifts to the horizon. Their marshmallow is long forgotten, beyond salvageable even by Gabbro’s standards. “What would you do if you could end the time loop?” Their tone is artificially light, but something in the way they refuse to meet Gabbro’s gaze tells them it’s not a hypothetical question.
“With or without the impending supernova?” Gabbro asks. Then, when Mylon’s shoulders stiffen, they add hurriedly, “Right. Stupid of me to ask.” Distantly, they’re aware that they should probably be starting to panic. Instead, a curious calm has settled over them. “I’m definitely not qualified to answer that, Hatchling,” they say slowly. “But you once asked me if I want to live the same twenty-two minutes forever. So here's a question; do you?"
“I dunno.” Mylon draws their knees up to their chin, shrinking into themself. “Should it come down to what I want?”
“Now you’ve answered my question with another question.”
“The trouble is, once you know things, you can never un-know them. Like, imagine there’s an off switch for-” Mylon spreads their fingers wide - “ everything. What do you even do with that?”
“If it’s any consolation, I always figured the world would end with a Hearthian asking ‘What does this button do?’, so…”
Mylon sighs, scooping up a handful of damp sand and letting it trickle through their fingers. “I don’t think you’re treating the prospect of total annihilation with the gravity it deserves.”
Okay, so Gabbro might be panicking a bit. They do tend to fall back on bad jokes whenever things get intense. “Sorry.”
“I just… I thought I could fix this. That’s what kept me going this whole time.”
“Fix the sun?” Stars above, hatchlings these days. “It’s not a fritzing autopilot. You can’t whack it with a wrench or slather it in resin glue.” Gabbro shakes their head. “Some things don’t have a fix. You have to be able to accept that, y’know?” They frown, fishing the last marshmallow out of the tin. “Anyway, no more serious talk,” they grumble. “It’s the end of the world, and you’re killing my buzz.”
“That’s not a buzz, that’s oxygen deprivation. Chert told me this planet’s air is about eighty-seven percent nitrogen.”
“Uh-huh. S’partly why I enjoy it here so much.”
Mylon echoes their chuckle. “Hey,” they say, suddenly sobering. “You… should go.”
“Go where? This is my campsite, you cheeky hatchling.”
“No, I mean, go.” Mylon flings a hand out toward the sky. “Be with Chert. I know I said it was pointless, but…” their eyes shine in the firelight. “I was wrong, okay?”
Huh. It’s a tempting prospect. And a frightening one, in more ways than one. But still.
Perhaps I will, thinks Gabbro, lying back and letting the warmth of the fire soak in.
“And, Gabbro?” Mylon’s voice makes them turn, sleepily opening one eye.
“Mhm?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
I’m going to do it.
As soon as they’re on their feet, Gabbro fumbles themself into the harness of their jetpack and runs for the beach. They launch from the sand, toes skimming the choppy waves. They risk overheating their thrusters, but who cares? The only thing that matters is finding their ship, wherever it’s ended up.
They scan the ocean wildly. Did Mylon make a mistake with their coordinates? Has it drifted? Sunk? Been seized by a waterspout and tossed into low orbit? No - there it is, in shallower waters. Of course - Mylon must have noted its location later in the loop.
They shut off their thrusters and drop beneath the waves. The hatch is beginning to rust shut, but they wrench it open and pull themself up into the cabin, dripping all over the floor. The insulated hull shuts out the howling wind and slap of the waves, the ship pitching as a wave catches its starboard side. The sudden movement almost sends Gabbro sprawling, but they manage to catch themself and squeeze into the pilot’s seat.
It’s been a while since they last launched, and even longer since attempting to do so from the water. It’s doable, but the conditions are far from ideal. Everything is against them - the minutes counting down, the waterlogged engines, the wear and tear their ship has endured… not to mention the sheer distance they’ll have to cover. But if they can pull this off, it will all be worth it.
Oh stars, it has to be worth it.
The engines roar to life, fighting the pull of the planet’s gravity. Gabbro’s stomach drops as the ocean falls away beneath them. A few shuddery moments later and they are through the cloud layer, space unfolding endlessly before them. And there, in the distance, is the sun.
Flight comes as easily to Gabbro now as breathing, and their fingers instinctively find the controls despite the time they’ve spent grounded. Against the sun’s furious, deepening light is the shifting silhouette of the Hourglass Twins, inextricably bound together since (according to Chert) a fateful near-collision millions of years ago. The planets grow steadily larger in Gabbro’s viewport, until the shadows resolve into the smooth sandy ball of Ash Twin and the scorched umber badlands of its sibling.
They ease the ship onward until Ember Twin’s weak gravity takes hold and coast for a while. Below them yawns a sand-scoured chasm, dividing the planet almost in two. This must be the equator, then. They adjust their course by ninety degrees, and - there. A thin column of smoke rising from an island in a dried-out lakebed. Exactly what Gabbro was looking for.
With no ocean to cushion them, landing takes quite a bit more finesse than they’re used to. But on the other hand, there are no gale-force winds threatening to flip them and slam them into the terrain, so before long they’re safely on the ground, their engines spooling down. The hatch hisses open, Gabbro’s ears pop as the cabin depressurizes, and seconds later their feet crunch into cracked, reddish soil. Their first steps on Chert’s world.
The heat is incredible, worse still with the sun’s bloated shape blazing right overhead, but there’s still the unmistakable glow of a campfire coming from Chert’s spire of rock. You can take the Hearthian off Timber Hearth…
Chert’s small form paces the width of their camp, their agitation obvious from their hunched shoulders, the way their palms are pressed to their faceplate. Gabbro is by their side in seconds.
"I can’t believe this!” they say, arms wrapped about themself. “I could have stayed blissfully ignorant. I could have stayed on Timber Hearth. But nooo, I was born on a one-in-a-million planet that I evolved specifically to thrive on, and I left! I threw away the promise of safety and everything I’ve ever known to spend my last days on a- a sun-baked rock with no atmosphere and a tendency to dump sand all over everything-”
"Chert,” Gabbro says, intercepting them and gently prising their hands from their helmet. “Hey, hey. It’s going to be okay. Take deep breaths.”
"What in the - Gabbro?” Chert recoils, then seizes Gabbro’s arm, their fingers clamping on the fabric of their suit with vice-like strength. “What are you doing here? Are you real? Or is this a panic-induced delusion? No, don’t tell me if you’re a hallucination, I don’t want to know.”
“Stars, Chert!” Gabbro half-laughs, half-groans. “It’s really me. I…” they hesitate. How much should they tell them? There’s a fine balance between telling them the truth and upsetting them so much they withdraw completely. “I had a feeling something was going on,” they say finally, jerking their head in the direction of the sun, “and I wanted to see you.”
There’s a pause as Chert takes this in. “I see…” they sigh, drooping with despair. “Well… I’m glad you’re here. If everything has to end, then at least we won’t be alone.” They let out a startled yelp as Gabbro grabs their hand. “What are you doing?!”
“C’mon, let’s get out of here. My ship isn’t far.”
“But that won’t-”
“I know,” interrupts Gabbro, clasping Chert’s helmet between their gloved hands. “I know. Trust me, okay? You deserve so much more than any of this, but I can’t put everything right. I can’t keep you safe. I can’t stop the sun from exploding. And I can’t stop the universe from dying.” They breathe deeply, steadying themself. “But what I can do is fly a ship. So, stars help me, I am getting you off this planet.”
Gabbro turns the ship away from the distended sun, filling the viewport with a dazzling view of the rest of the solar system, and the velvety darkness of space beyond. There’s a brief flare of light somewhere in the far distance. Gabbro can’t be certain whether it’s another supernova, Ol’ Spacey still dutifully doing its job, or Mylon’s ship zipping between the planets. In any case, they hope the hatchling is okay.
The cabin has repressurized, so they release the clasps on their helmet and toss it aside, taking a few deep breaths of - relatively - fresh air. Reddish dust coats their boots and gloves, giving off the faintest burnt metallic tang. The smell of an unfamiliar world.
There’s a movement beside them as Chert discards their own helmet, pressing their face to the viewport and gazing out towards Timber Hearth. The planet has caught the sun’s glow, shining like a gem in the distance.
“I never get tired of seeing home from space,” they say. They turn back to Gabbro with a shy smile. The creases around their eyes are deeper, and there’s a smear of red dust on their cheek, but otherwise they’re exactly as Gabbro remembers them, right down to the constellation of speckles scattered across their forehead and nose.
"Hey,” they say, urgency gripping at them. The hearts-break of their last ill-fated conversation is still rattling around inside them, but they can’t leave these words unsaid, not this time. If they don’t say them now, they never will. “I have to tell you something-"
They never get to elaborate, because at that moment Chert leaps into their arms and kisses them.
"I'm sorry," Chert says sheepishly a moment later, pulling away. "I just - I didn’t know if I would ever get another chance."
“Don’t be sorry,” Gabbro reaches up to rub the dust from Chert’s cheek with their thumb, eyes wide with wonder. There’s no amount of extra time they would trade for this moment. “Never be sorry.”
“I’ve loved you since your first launch,” Chert says breathlessly. “It was the first time I caught a glimpse of the way your mind works, and I realized… I always thought of space as a data source, a problem to be solved. And then I started to see the universe the way you saw it. The grand sweeping beauty of it all. And I hoped that… you would see me the same way.” They shake their head, the tips of their ears darkening as they cast their gaze starsward. “Oh, sweet Hearth, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“A little bit.”
“I’ll shut up now. What were you going to tell me?”
“Pretty much the same thing you just did, but maybe with more rhyming couplets,” Gabbro says, grinning as Chert squirms with acute embarrassment. “Hey,” they say, catching Chert’s eye with a gentle nudge. “I always saw you. Every moment. All these years. Always.”
“Oh. Um. Well. Good.” There’s an expectant pause as they regard each other fondly, the only sound the murmur of the ship’s engine and the thud of their hearts. Chert’s arms are still flung around Gabbro’s neck, but neither Hearthian makes a move to let go first. “So, um…” Chert bites the corner of their lip. “Can I kiss you again?”
Gabbro bursts out laughing, despite the indignant look Chert gives them. "You don’t need to ask!”
“Well, I thought it would be polite!” Chert retorts.
“As polite as jumping on me when I’m trying to-” Once again, Gabbro never gets to finish their sentence, as they’re cut off by Chert’s lips pressed firmly against their own.
And they don’t mind at all.
There’s so little room in the cabin, but the two Hearthians lie against the cool floor, their heads together and their fingers intertwined, watching the stars flare and fade one-by-one through the viewport.
“How many civilizations out there are watching the universe die?” Chert sighs sadly. “How many worlds snuffed out before they even know what’s happening?”
“You wanna know what I think?" says Gabbro. "I think there’s a solar system out there where there are two people having this very conversation. One of them is a genius, of course."
Chert laughs quietly, squeezing their hand. "Of course. And the other?"
"A poet."
"Naturally."
"Maybe they’re lucky enough to be together," Gabbro continues. "Or maybe they’re on separate planets. It doesn’t really matter, in the end. Because, in all the billions of years their star has existed, by the most infinitesimal of chances, they’re alive at the same point in time. And, sure, the poet wishes there was more time to tell their genius how much they love them, and make them laugh, and watch them grow old. But they're grateful for the time they had. Because even though that star will die soon, it also brought them together, at least for a little while.”
It’s a long time before Chert responds. When they do, their voice is barely above a whisper.
“How lucky they are, then, to be born at the end of the universe.”