Martin is still sitting in the sand on the beach, his fingers still curled around the glass eye he plucked from the water. He's pushed himself a bit further up the beach, so the waves don't quite reach him any more. Not that it matters much, he's already soaked anyway. The confusion is ebbing away, as though the time spent as a squid in the ocean was nothing more than a particularly strange, but realistic dream.

He remembers those last few agonizing moments. He remembers having to make the one decision he didn't think he would ever be able to make, even with encouragement. He remembers the feel of Jon's lips against his. The weight of the knife in his hand, and the feel of flesh giving beneath the blade. The squeal of static. Then nothing.

Nothing except for the swim to shore anyway. Is this even the same world? Or did he, as Jon said might happen, end up somewhere else? Maybe it doesn't matter so much as long as everyone else is okay. He wishes Jon was here right now. He wishes he wasn't alone.

He turns as he hears his name being called by a voice he would know anywhere, and for a moment, he's frozen, jaw dropped and eyes wide and bright with tears. He can hardly believe what he's seeing.

"Jon..." he breathes out. He scrambles to his feet, and between the newness of his proper human legs, and the way the sand shifts beneath him, he sinks right back down to his knees. He lets the glass eye drop with the second attempt to rise. It goes better the second try, and it's not until he closes the gap between them and nearly loses his balance again as he seizes Jon by the shoulders to pull him in for a fierce hug.

"Jon, Jon, Jon! You're alive!" Martin sobs with relief. The presence of the owl finally registers, and he finds himself looking up into the Omen's yellow eyes. "And you brought... a friend?"