#i keep thinking about the first time daisy says 'im done' and jon says 'yes. doyouknowanythingaboutvampires???'

[hotdrinks]

Just got to Daisy's first appearance and I forgot how violent their first interaction is. Jon's fledgling beholding powers emerging, and Daisy so clearly disturbed that she told him her story. Daisy keeps saying she's done answering questions, Jon disregards that completely and keeps asking, and she keeps answering!! Even though she's so disturbed! Even though she doesn't want to!! And it's the first time in season 2, maybe even in the whole show thus far, that Jon sounds sooo completely happy. Like. He's delighted, he's well fed, he's ENRICHED, he's having fun!! And he doesn't know he's even doing it, consciously. But also. He must, deep down. He doesn't even know about The Eye and yet he's already flexing his wet little newborn Archivist wings. AAAAH Haha Jonathan a darkness is unfurling within you from which you can never escape 🤪

[rubykgrant]

(a little thing I wrote for a bigger fic, but I like how absolutely nonsensical Jon and Martin's "meet-cute" was, and now Jon gets to let Martin know the secret dorky side he's been hiding behind his very serious attitude~)

“If you don’t mind me being blunt?”

“By all means,” Jon encourages him.

“When exactly did you start to notice me- that is, notice that you found me attractive?”

“Oh, well… haha, um- that actually happened almost right away…” Jon’s mouth makes that flat little smirk that means he’s mildly embarrassed.

“Right away? Oh, come on…” Martin has trouble believing that.

“No, honestly. Before I really even knew you, before I convinced myself you were the bane of my existence, my very FIRST thought when I saw you was- he’s lovely,”

“You’re just trying to butter me up!” Martin argues, but feels himself blushing. Just barely.

“Hmm, ‘lovely’ was the first WORD that formed in my head. I suppose my other thoughts were less articulate,” Jon doesn’t elaborate on that (only twice had he allowed himself to gush about his early thoughts regarding Martin, which never really went away; once to Georgie, once to Daisy. Georgie had called him a sap, and Daisy had called him unhinged. He wonders what they would have both said together, if they’d had the chance to compare notes).

Martin continues to shake his head, unconvinced.

Jon thinks this over.

“Do you remember when we met?” Jon asks, leaning beside Martin at the sink; his body-language looks like somebody at a pub, about to drop what they believe to be a winner of a pick-up line.

“Yes, unfortunately. I think we BOTH made pretty strong first-impressions on each other,” Martin replies.

“Mmm, very much so. But- when you first ran up, and asked if I had seen a dog? I thought you were trying to tell me a joke,”

“You thought- what? A joke?” Martin turns to look at Jon.

“A joke. I was surprised right out of my train of thought, forgot about whatever I had been doing, forgot to keep my aloof and serious attitude as the new Head Archivist. I didn’t know what to think, and I was so taken off-guard, it made me genuinely intrigued. I was even excited to see if I could figure out the joke, be all impressive and clever. But then…” Jon trailed off, rolling his eyes.

“Then I made it clear- an actual dog was running around inside the building,” Martin finished. “Honestly Jon, what kind of joke could that have been?”

“Hmm… have you seen a dog? I was hoping somebody could help me SPOT one,” Jon answers. Martin’s jaw drops. That was indeed a terrible pun… but Jon isn’t finished. “Have you seen a dog? I CANINE find it anywhere! Have you seen a dog? I’m having a RUFF time looking on my own! Have you seen a dog? I’ve searched this place a HOUND-dred times! Have you seen a dog? This one is im-PAW-sible for me to find! Have you seen a dog? I’m worried it might be in GREAT DANE-ger! Have you seen-”

“STOP, HAHAHA, STOP- YOU’RE GONNA KILL ME!” Martin doubles-over, and slides down against the cupboards under the sink. He’s laughing so hard he’s crying, and his cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Terrible puns aside, my first thoughts of you were- Oh, somebody is talking to me? Oh, he’s telling me a joke? Oh, he’s lovely. Oh, I can impress this lovely man when he sees how good I am at figuring out jokes! OH, HE LET A DOG INTO THE BUILDING!”

Martin laughs again, helplessly hiding his face in his knees. Jon steps away from the sink, crouching down in front of him. Martin continues to giggle, peeking through his fingers as Jon lightly strokes his hair.

“Is that what I should have done? Won your heart with bad puns?” Martin asks.

“I’m not sure I’m much of a prize, but you certainly won my heart, regardless. The problem was ME, almost everything about you kept catching my attention, I just had my head up my own arse. I’m not good enough for you,” Jon answers. Martin finally moves his hands away from his face, catching Jon’s with his own.

“Maybe you just need to step-up and BE good enough for me?”

“I can try,” Jon says with a smile that implies he’s actually determined to do exactly that. Martin leans forward and kisses him.

[voiceless-terror]

#6 for the kiss prompts?

this was an ‘im sorry’ kiss, and i picked jonmartin! some safehouse fic cause we can’t stay away from it, apparently. this begins a little angsty but ends on an entirely fluffy note.

Three days in, Jon gets hungry.

He tries to hide it, but Martin knows the signs. As much as he professed to stay away from Jon over the last year, he still spent his fair share of time in the Archives, looking for statements and keeping an eye out. Jon would pace the halls, attempt conversation with Basira or Melanie only to be shot down, scratch at his arms and bite his nails. Martin wanted nothing more than to usher him to his seat, fix him a cup of tea and hand him a statement but he never did, of course, fleeing the basement whenever the impulse got too strong. 

The past three days at Daisy’s cottage have been like some sort of waking dream, each of them tiptoeing around the other, pretending Jon didn’t sleep on his shoulder the train ride up, pretending Martin didn’t hold his hand the entire way. Jon rambles about everything but the institute, shooting him shy smiles and lingering in the doorway before he leaves a room. Martin makes them tea and goes through the cupboards, telling Jon of any interesting finds. They’ve spent more time together these last couple of days than they have in the past two years. But they haven’t talked about….them. This, whatever it is that they’re doing. They’re living together, but acknowledgment of the situation would disturb the delicate peace they’ve made, and Martin’s not in a place to take any sort of rejection, perceived or otherwise. 

So when Jon shuts the door to the bedroom that afternoon, Martin’s naturally worried. He woke up bleary-eyed and irritable, barely touching his toast and speaking in short, clipped tones. Martin’s mind automatically goes through every action from the past few days, searching for something he’d done wrong, something he’d said, when he noticed Jon’s hands itched at the sleeve of his jumper. His eyes looked somewhere past Martin, as if struggling to focus. 

He needs a statement.

So Martin stamped down the urge to nervously chatter and instead remained silent, watching as Jon mumbled something unintelligible and rose from his seat, retreating to the bedroom. He’ll come out when he’s ready, Martin reassures himself, moving to clear the table. He doesn’t hear the murmurings of a statement just yet, but still, he doesn’t want to bother him. Maybe he’s trying to hold off. They hadn’t brought many statements with them in their rush to leave the institute. Jon’s been so reluctant to speak of such things, and Martin doesn’t want to push. 

But then it’s past noon and Martin’s starting to get hungry- Jon must be, too, since he barely touched his breakfast. He knows Jon has other, more pressing hungers to deal with, and he’s not going to fault him for it, but he’d still rather he eat three meals a day. He has to keep his strength up, and maybe a bit of company would help distract him.

So he knocks on the door, despite his trepidation. “Jon? I’m going to fix lunch, did you want anything?” No answer. He opens the door a crack, more out of worry than anything, and peers into the dark room. “Jon?”

Jon’s in front of the bed, the satchel of statements emptied beside him and papers strewn across the floor. His eyes scan the pages in his hand hungrily, as if searching for his next meal. That’s what he’s doing and he doesn’t want you to see this, his mind helpfully supplies and yet still he speaks, he can’t help it.

“Jon, I was just going to-”

“Not hungry.” The words are startlingly severe, and Jon doesn’t even raise his eyes from the page. Martin bristles.

“Alright, but you should really-”

This time he does look up, and the glare leveled at him is surprisingly reminiscent of earlier days in the archives, when Martin would interrupt a statement or exist near him a little too loudly. “I said I’m not hungry.”

Time to go. “Fine.” Irritation drips into the word and he takes a step back from the doorway.

“Close the door.” He does. Slams it, actually. He’s not hungry anymore.  For the first time the house feels big and empty, despite the cozy quarters. 

He grabs his coat from the couch, deciding to go for a walk. It’s not as temperate a day as it could’ve been- it’s getting colder, and the two sunny days they had beforehand seem now more miraculous than a regular occurrence. He wanders aimlessly in the fields, not willing to commit to the hour walk to the village, and too moody to visit the cows he knows are only a mile off.  As much as he wants to lose himself in solitude, he resists. Back with Peter, he would hold on to every perceived slight and tell himself it’s better this way. Without people. That way, you can’t get hurt. It numbed the loss, and it’s so, so tempting to fall back on. But the voice that urged him to take Jon’s hand is louder now, and it tells him this will pass. Jon’s not truly angry with him, he doesn’t have to stay away. It’s this voice he listens to now.

It helps that his feet kind of hurt, too. 

By the time that he comes back, it’s starting to drizzle. He shakes out his coat and hangs it on the back of a chair, heading towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. The door’s still closed, but he can hear no noise behind it. He loses himself in the routine motions of making tea, humming under his breath. He’s so wrapped up in his task that he doesn’t hear the door creak open or register Jon’s presence until he turns around and finds the man within a foot of him.

“Christ Jon!” He yelps, the mug in his hand just barely remaining steady. “You scared me-”

“I wanted to apologize.” The words sound almost grave, and Jon’s gazing up at him an intense look of contrition. He looks better, the circles under his eyes slightly faded and his face not quite so gaunt. He’s eaten, then. “For...hiding away like that, and snapping at you. I shouldn’t have done that.” He fidgets on his feet for a moment before moving even closer, directly into Martin’s space. Jon has to crane his neck to look up at him, and still maintains that intense eye contact. “I’m sorry.” Martin’s heart is hammering in his chest and he watches, eyes wide, as Jon awkwardly gets on his toes and leans forward, putting his hand on Martin’s chest to balance himself. Not without some strain, he reaches up and kisses him.

It’s a tiny, dry peck on the cheek, lingering just too long as Jon struggles to maintain his balance. He falls back on his feet and looks up at Martin anxiously.  Martin, who’s still holding a cup of tea in one hand and a spoon in the other. Jonathan Sims kissed him. 

“W-Was that alright?” he asks, a squeak to his voice in stark contrast to the deep gravity of the words before. Jonathan Sims kissed him and has now asked if it was alright. 

Martin blinks owlishly. “Y-Yes? I mean, yes. That was fine. And, uh, apology accepted. Yes.”

They stare at each other for a few moments before Martin comes to his senses, gesturing to the cup in his hand. “Tea?”

Jon takes a few steps back, an unreadable expression on his face as he wobbles into a kitchen chair. “Um, yes, please.”

That exchange taken care of, Martin makes him a cup and sits down across from him. Jon’s now refusing to meet his eyes, cheeks red as he stares into his cup of tea like it holds the answers to the universe. Martin can still feel the burn of the hand on his chest, the soft pressure of Jon’s lips on his cheek. He wonders if it was a one time thing. The irrational part of him thinks it's just how Jon apologizes. You know it’s not, the more rational part says. But neither part seems to be controlling his mouth as he starts to speak.

“Next time I’ll bend down.” He stares at the table, willing himself to shut up as he outwardly takes a calm sip of his tea.

“W-What?”

“Should you, uh, feel the need to do that...again. I’ll make it easier on you.” He taps at his cheek and hazards a glance at Jon, who’s gone rigid in his seat. He’s staring at Martin uncomprehendingly, though there’s the hint of a smile on his lips.

“T-That would be very, er, appreciated,” Jon replies in a strange, businesslike fashion. “Should I feel the need.”

Martin nods, his heart going into overdrive. They both take a sip of their tea. 

“And if you-” Jon continues, face going even redder. “If you ever felt the need yourself, I could-” He tilts his head and shoulders up awkwardly in a weird little pantomime, as if leaning up to an invisible kiss. “-make it easier too?”

Martin lets out a strangled little sound. “Yeah. That, uh, sounds good.”

“Good.”

They finish their tea in silence. Jon looks away every time Martin attempts to make eye contact, and the hint of a smile has turned into a full-blown grin, though it's leveled at the table instead of him. Ridiculous, planning the logistics of their kisses like they don’t sleep in the same bed and wake up entangled. They’ve got a lot of things to talk about and work on, some more serious than others. But for now, should Martin feel the need, he can clear the dishes from the table and kiss Jon on the forehead before he walks them to the sink.  

And he does just that.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30882518

[janekfan]

ive been Searching and Craving for any scenario/canon divergent au where jon and tim make up because jon shows tim thats hes just as much a victim as anyone else and tim is just like... ah. so we're both assholes. and jon insists that tim didnt do anything wrong (and obviously its all very whumpy and hurt/comforty). basically just... tim and jon making up because tim wants to after jon tugs at his heartstrings enough (because im a sucker for the whole "whatve i done" bit)

Here we go!! Sorry these are taking so long but I’m still working on prompts!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972698/chapters/67878991#workskin

Too Much Chapter 2!

Watching Martin remove the evidence of panic by carefully, slowly, swiping a damp flannel over Jon’s skin, Tim continued holding the cold pack in place. The man between them made a sound, nondescript, shifting enough that his lips parted with a soft sigh as he settled.

“He’s made a right mess of these.” Martin lamented, gingerly lifting one hand to examine the heavy bandages, soiled with fresh blood and coming undone. Not altogether certain he wanted to know what was hidden away beneath, Tim stayed silent. “Would you mind fetching the first aid kit while I get rid of these?” He used the time away to take a deep breath, attempting to gather his rampant thoughts now that he was roped into fixing up their boss. There was always the possibility of giving him the kit and hightailing it out of that place and never setting foot near document storage again but before he realized what he’d done he’d accumulated other supplies he figured they might need and the relief in Martin’s eyes when he slipped back into the room was palpable. Jon’s hands were bare, blisters laid over blisters, broken and bleeding sluggishly from torn welts, one palm layered over with a nasty burn. Tim couldn’t help the noise torn from his throat in sympathy as the walls he’d built around himself began to crumble under the weight of Jon’s wounds--and he wasn’t even the one to bear them! Jon had acquired more scars, more shadows in the gaunt hollows carved into his body by his bones since Prentiss. It was like laying eyes on a stranger, or opening his own and finally seeing what his negligent ignorance had truly cost.

Were these marks, this pain, not proof that Jon had every right to be scared? Paranoid? To suspect them? When it was his own “friends” raising hands violently against him?

“What. Martin, what happened?” He accepted the water, easing Jon’s arm over the edge of the bed and doing Tim the kindness of not reminding him that he’d never cared to know before.

“I couldn’t tell you what caused most of this, but you know. Daisy.” He swallowed, eyes narrowing as he dabbed away the worst of the scarlet slicking his skin and Tim saw red at the reminder. How dare she touch him. “Hush now, you’re alright.” Jon’s arm twitched, an aborted attempt to tug his hand away from Martin’s surely painful ministrations. “Just cleaning these up.”

“Hnn…” Saltwater-soaked lashes fluttered and damn his body’s reactions but Tim was at his side on the cot before he could blink and wholly unsure of what to do now that he was there, settling on running fingers through tangled curls, teasing out the knots as Martin worked. Clouded and slightly crossed, Jon’s glazed brown eyes peered up at him, through him, blinking slow, and Tim could feel the heat of his fever under his palms.

“Hey, bud.” Surprising himself with his own softness, Tim continued combing through his hair. “Close your eyes, boss. Marto’s fixing you right up.”

“Hur’s.” Badly slurred and tinged with vulnerability he wasn’t used to anymore, Jon’s voice sent a chill racing up Tim’s spine.

“I know.” He said anyway. “It won’t soon.” Trust and exhaustion won out, dragging bruised lids closed. “Martin.” Tim didn’t look up, tracing silver strands, so many, with the fingertips. “I would like to know. Please.”

Martin hummed, finished up the first hand, the worst hand, and cradled it over Jon’s stomach in a poor attempt at elevation before starting on the next one.

“I haven’t gotten much out of Jon--not because he won’t tell me!” He amended, remembering the promise Jon had made to be honest with them and clearly worried it would make Tim angry again if he thought he was keeping secrets. “He’s just. I mean.”

“I understand.” After leaving Elias’ office, whatever tenacity and fortitude Jon managed to scrape together after his ordeal with Daisy and Basira had faded quickly. Even Tim wasn’t able to ignore how bad off he was, more along the lines of being unable to explain than lacking any desire.

“I know she, she hit him. He’s bruised all over. Clocked him with her gun I assume, to leave him concussed--I still can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner.”

“It’s alright. We’ve all been. Preoccupied.” Some of them only with themselves.

“He was filthy, covered in dirt and I think bl’blood? Not his. Or, not all of it I think.” Martin rubbed his own neck thoughtfully, tracing a path that mirrored the red grin carving up Jon’s throat. “I think.” He looked into Tim’s eyes, haunted. “I, I overheard them saying he’d been made to d’dig a grave.”

“His grave.” There was no real proof, not yet. But it felt right. And Tim felt sick. “His hands.”

“The burn is bad, I don’t know how he got it.” A crease formed between Martin’s knit brows. “I. Tim.” He sighed. “You’ve been so furious with him.” He dragged both hands down his face. “Jon’s doing his best. Please, you have to believe that.”

“I think I’m beginning to.” He’d yet to stop his detangling. Jon liked when people he trusted played with his hair, especially when he wasn’t feeling well. Unbidden and effervescent, memories rose to the surface of Tim’s mind, each a different moment, beads of time strung on delicate silk strands. Sasha. Sasha, whose true face, true voice, had been written over and worn, her hands on Jon’s shoulders, working out the tension he carried there despite his complaints. Tim himself draping a cardigan over him where he slumped forward on his desk in Research when he succumbed to sleep. A rare moment at someone’s apartment, Jon three drinks in, flushed bright red and ridiculous, throwing himself into Tim’s lap and nuzzling his stomach until he got what he wanted; hands in his hair, on his back, honest to god cuddles. The embarrassment in the morning would paint him vivid with blush and he would accept the painkillers and tea with a shy grin.

That Jon was still in there.

Right?

For the first time in his career Tim chose to come into work early, heading immediately to doc storage to find Jon curled up against Martin, ruddy face squished against his chest and arm slung over his waist as though he’d recently been clinging there.

And if this had been another time, another universe, he would have teased them both, but the shadows under their eyes were beginning to match.

“We had a hard night.” Martin yawned hugely and Tim caught a quick glimpse of glassy brown at the movement but Jon passed out again in the next second. “Nightmares. You remember Crew?” Tim nodded. “Explains the vertigo. He’s going to want to work.” Martin’s palm found its way to the back of Jon’s head, tucked him under his chin as he exhaled, slow and measured.

“And you want him to rest.”

“He won’t.”

He didn’t.

But the dizziness kept him in his office for the most part and Tim helped keep an eye on him, checking up regularly, awkwardly. It was almost like old times. Except Jon was careful not to speak. Not now that he might force answers out of someone. Not now that he might be hurt because of it. Jon was smart. He tried to remember the things he learned because he only seemed to learn the hard way and right now he was trying to figure out Tim while Tim was trying to figure out himself, wary of the change towards him, confused when instead of lashing out, he asked if he needed anything.

“N’no, thank you, Tim.”

“It’s no trouble.” But it was physically painful to watch the gears turn as Jon balanced the possibility of pissing him off with how uncomfortable he was in this situation. “I’ll check back later, yeah?”

“Uh. Y’yeah. Yes. I mean, yes.” Nervously, he shifted between folders. “Of c’course.”

The day dragged and Jon’s fever and groggy exhaustion lingered, kept barely in check by Martin plying him with the painkillers and fever reducers because he refused A&E. It was frustrating, even if he was looking somewhat improved. When they caught him asleep it was often in the throes of a taxing nightmare. He was a shadow in his attempts to avoid them all, to focus on work, and now that Tim was paying attention he didn’t like how Basira was so cold, how Daisy made Jon flinch on purpose, how Melanie went out of her way to collide with him in the narrow hallways. How he was slight enough, unsteady enough that it sent him into the wall.

How he did nothing about it except murmur apologies and move past them as quick as he could.

Jon was back to pushing himself too hard, not bothering to ask for help because he’d never gotten any before so it wasn’t worth bothering with it now. He was alone. Deserted by everyone except for Martin--and oh the way his expression lit up at the sight of him. How soft his voice became when he thanked him for the tea. Tim knew Martin couldn’t see it yet, or wouldn’t let himself realize, but Jon was taken with him. Smitten. And already believed beyond a doubt that he had no worth. As prickly as Jon could be there was so much love in him just vying for a way out.

How could Tim have forgotten that?

Tim paced the length of the archives three times before heading back to check on Jon, alarmed when the office was empty. Worry, both familiar and unfamiliar, twined its way around his heart. He'd watched as the afternoon hours slipped by and Jon became worse and Tim didn’t bother asking anyone he came across; they didn’t care, he wasn’t supposed to care. But there weren’t many places Jon would go and Tim found him in the breakroom stabilizing himself on the sink. He didn’t react, didn’t turn, didn’t seem to know anyone was behind him, and Tim could make out shivery, deliberate breaths. Jon let go, lifting a hand dazedly to his forehead and staggering backwards such that Tim had to steady him.

“Whoa there, Boss.” Softly, quietly, Tim knew his head was still pounding more often than not no matter how adamant his denial. It didn’t stop Jon from flinching like he’d been struck or attempting to whirl around and only making it all that much worse as eyes filled with fear rolled back into his head and Tim had to catch him outright, lowering him to the floor and pillowing his shoulders in his lap. Unconsciously, he laid a palm over his overwarm forehead, dragging fingers back through damp strands rhythmically and wondering how he’d react to waking up with Tim staring down at him. They were dancing around each other, or at least Tim was. Jon couldn’t do much more than sit at his desk in what amounted to pyjamas and pretend to work in an attempt to wedge some normalcy back into his life.

“What happened?” At least now Martin’s inquiry wasn’t accusatory as he knelt beside them and checked over Jon himself. “How long?”

“Minute. Maybe two? He, uh. I surprised him and when he turned…” he trailed off, gesturing with a sigh.

“Ma’tin…” nothing more than a small breath of awareness in recognition of his voice, eyes still closed.

“You should be at your desk.” Lightly scolding.

“Nn...was col’...tea…” Tim met Martin’s eyes with worry at the barely coherent jumble of syllables caught on his sluggish tongue and he held up a hand, signaling him to wait.

“What’re we going to do with you, hm?”

“...Dunno…” He’d failed to understand the gentle ribbing for what it was, instead answering honestly, tearfully, and it tugged on Tim’s heartstrings. Martin chuckled kindly to ease the sting, moving forward to lift his weight off from Tim and standing still to let Jon wind a hand loosely into his jumper, hanging on for dear life with a gasp.

“You sound tired.”

“Mmyeah...tire’...” And that discordant admission alone was enough to cause alarm, doubly so when his body lost all rigidity in Martin’s hold.

“Martin--”

“Shh, Tim. He’s alright.” Protectiveness urged Tim to follow them back to document storage. Concern made him sit down before Martin asked. “Stay with him? I don’t want him to forget and wander off again. I’m gonna get that tea and something for the fever.” Tim supported his chin with a hand, elbow digging sharply into the top of his knee, and watched Jon sleep. With his eyes, he traced invisible constellations over the worm scars dotting his skin and connected their lines to the ink dark splash of lashes twitching as he dreamed. “What’re you thinking about?”

“How much running I’ve been doing.”

“Mm.”

“How much easier it was to ignore all this if I just hated Jon instead. Blamed him for it.” He lifted his fingers in a bitter and general indication of their unreasonably bad situation. “He’s made mistakes. We all have. And his are the only ones I’m not willing to forgive.” Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, stung. “Why is that?” His skin blushed with heat when his voice broke on a sob and before Martin could speak they were interrupted.

“Head’spounding…” He could barely keep his eyes open.

“Ah, I’m sorry, love, I know, here,” he was like a rag doll when Martin lifted him. “This’ll help.” Tim watched the ease with which Martin navigated Jon. All sweet and kind, steadying his hands when they proved too shaky to hold the cup, testing his temperature with the inside of his wrist when Jon was distracted with swallowing down the medicine.

“Shouldn’t do this.” Whispered, lost and undone, as Martin tucked him in, gripping back tightly when Jon grew dizzy with the change. “M’sorry.”

“You say that too often, Boss.”

“Hush, both of you.” To Jon, “we can all talk later, when you’re feeling better. It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to rest.” And while he didn’t look convinced, he was helpless against the drag of that heavy, insistent tide of exhaustion.

“Never liked to owe people, our Jon.” Martin sighed, frustrated.

“It’s not a transaction. I wish he’d trust that I only want to help.” Tim snickered ruefully as Martin tucked stray salt and pepper strands behind Jon’s ears.

“He’s always been suspicious of decency.”

“That’s not right.” There was a lot wrong with it, and far too much to solve at this moment.

“You look knackered, Martin. Go home.” He needed caring for after keeping them all together like he’d done. “I’ve got it from here.”

“I don’t want to ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, Marto.”

“Tim--”

“I need to. I. I need to do this.”

Tim was worried that the only reason Martin left him here alone was because he was too tired to spend another night here keeping an eye on the both of them. He only had himself to blame when it came to the loss of trust.

It was no secret his dislike of Jon.

He hadn’t forgotten his treatment of him just the other day. Yanking him up off the ground and shouting at him, blaming him for his confusion and unsteadiness, for worrying Martin while he’d been the one ill and frightened and unmoored on the dusty floor. A mournful cry jolted him out of his musings, and the nightmare didn’t sound kind, wrenching Jon awake and leaving him panting, narrow chest heaving, eyes wide and unfocused in the dim.

“Hey.” Soft and quiet, it didn’t stop Jon from jumping in surprise, nearly swooning when he jerked his head in the direction of his voice. “Back with me?”

“Tim.” Real surprise, he blinked hard, trying to clear his bleary vision. “Yeah. S’sorry.” Jon offered him a sheepish quirk of his lips.

“I’m the one who needs to apologize, Jon.” He swallowed thickly and Tim could hear the click in his throat, somewhere behind the bandage hiding that yawning red grin from sight.

“Wh’what?”

“I’ve treated you unfairly.”

“No, no, Tim. You. You had every right! I was out of line and suspected the worst with no proof and didn’t trust yo--” Jon was trying to get up, ignoring how it had to hurt, and when Tim made to stop him, he flinched in real fear and backed himself into the corner. “S’sorry. I. It’s, it isn’t you, I swear.” Guilt wrapped around Tim’s heart like a thorny vine at his stammering apologies, at the way Jon laughed at himself and scrubbed his face with the back of a bandaged hand, staring up at the ceiling as new tears pooled in his eyes. “A lot’s h’happened.” When he closed them, the damp rolled down his cheeks into the grey at his temple. “I,I,I know you don’t w’want to hear it. But I, I don’t have anything else left t’to offer and I’m so s’sorry.” Jon tucked up his knees and buried his tear-stained face in the blankets he pulled around himself. Scared and small and awaiting derision. Tim edged closer.

"Jon.” He reached out to touch and thought better of it. “I think. I think I'm ready to hear it now." Consumed by constant fear and torment, run ragged for months and months, when Jon risked glancing up at him Tim could finally look past his anger and see him. Flushed with fever, thin and drawn, bruised and beaten and burned.

But still Jon.

Still Jon, terrified of the kind of help he'd been taught by experience not to ask for. Not to accept. Not to trust. Not to need.

“No, n’no, Tim. It’s.” He sniffed, tried to offer Tim a watery smile. “M’not feeling w’well, heh. You know how I, how I am.”

“I know you don’t take care of yourself.” He continued before Jon could interrupt. “I know I’ve left you to deal with this alone.” Indeed, at the very first sign of trouble, Tim abandoned him to his own devices. “I understand why it’s been difficult to trust me.”

“Not just you.” Tim had to strain to hear him, voice tiny, wavering with misery. “It’s so hard to trust, I have to, to think about it, choose it, don’t I. Talk myself out of how a’afraid I am all the t’time. I can’t even trust myself, my words. I. They. It’s easier to not speak at all, if it can be helped. And I try. But. Tim.” Fraught, brown irises nearly swallowed by black pupil bored into him, begged him to listen, to see. “I’m a monster.”

“Jon--” He tugged at messy curls, ignoring the pain it had to cause, the spots of blood, and if Jon would let him, he would need to fix the wrappings after this. He’d folded into himself even tighter, rocking himself just slightly in an attempt at comfort.

“If everyone is saying it, it must be true. But I’m trying. I promise, Tim, I promise. I was hoping it counted for something, anything. I can’t. I.” He broke off, attempting to pull himself together, face contorted and when he noticed Tim’s stricken expression, stumbled on with half-thought out reassurances. “I, I won’t stop! T’trying, that is. I, I, I want to, to be better. I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s not about counting, it’s about doing the right thing. Or something close to--it never seems to work out, I’m not. I keep doing the wrong things so I know--but I p’promise--and besides, D’Daisy’s watching, if you’re worried, heh.” He laughed, a little broken thing, tears glittering in his eyes. “She’ll put me d’down. If that makes you feel any better.”

And god how could he think Tim wanted that? Jon, living with the knowledge that any mistakes he made could lead to--

Hanging over his head. Just awaiting collapse.

“That’s. Jon, I don’t want her to do that.”

“Oh. Did.” Tim realized the pause was an attempt at managing his powers of compulsion. “Did you want to? Instead I mean?” Tim recoiled in horror at the genuine curiosity, the dull acceptance that they all might be waiting for their chance. Numbness flooded his fingers. And even though Tim knew Jon was trying to use the right words, the ones that would make him feel better, he was furious.

“How could you think that?!” Jon held up his raggedly bandaged hands, the blisters from digging his own grave and who knows what else hidden from view.

“I, I’m sorry, I. You’re right, that was stupid of me. I’m sorry, Tim, I’m sorry, I--” Tim cut him off by sweeping him into an embrace, pressing his face into his shoulder. He was little more than bones rattling around in a scarred and ruined skin, shaking in his arms, his own held away, stiff. Dear lord, what had he done? “T’Tim? I, I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”

“Stop it, Jon.” And he collapsed, spent from his outpouring, breath loud in Tim’s ear. “Just stop.” Tentative, Jon wrapped him up in return. “I’m going to do better.”

“You don’t--”

“I do. And I am.” Damp soaked into his sleeve despite the silence with which Jon sobbed, little more than uneven, ardent gasping as they clung to each other.

“B’but.” He pressed closer, starved for it. “I.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been so afraid.” Murmured against his shirt, Tim could feel the shapes of his words, the trembling of his lips.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you. You mean. If, if you--I couldn’t stand it. If it wasn’t real.” Desperately, he whispered, thick with tears. “Don’t think I’d survive losing you again.” Too much loss. Too much all around and not one time had Tim thought about who he still had.

“I’m going to help you.” Tim realized then he’d been crying as well. “Like I should have from the start of this mess.” Gently, he pulled him away, took his damaged hands. “Let me get these fixed up. If Martin sees them, he’ll have both our heads on pikes.” For a moment, Tim was worried it was too soon, that Jon would need to hide this vulnerability from him, and he held his breath, until he nodded, just once.

It would take time, but they’d made a start.

[p1nkwitch]

Ok, i did not forget tmastuck is still alive, i just had lots of other ideas, but.

Here we go again. 3 conversations.

@nonbinaryeye

SINNAMONROLL started pestering BEATINGHEART

SR: How long Jonah?

BH: As long as it takes to reach the new session, then I can just leave if my presence is so annoying to you.

SR: Not what I mean and you know it. They are both looking for you. There are just so many times I can lie to their faces. So many times Kitty kat has to lie to her humans, she is sad Jonah.

BH: Do not put our child into this.

SR:...

BH:Ughhhh stupid cat brain.

SR: Still its actually bothering them.

BH: Oh and what should I do, let them find me? How do you think that would end? Hm? I basically took away their powers Barnabas, I let the institute- my institute get destroyed. There is no coming back from that.

BH: Then there is the whole other thing about not actually being anything that a copy!! What do I do with that?

SR: Look, I'm a copy too! I'm not the Barnabas Bennet that was, but I have his memories still. So what? I like this new life. This new chance!! You can have that too Jonah.

BH: We could…

SR: Oh Jonah we both know that it wouldn't work, we already tried and it fell apart. Its not me that you want anymore and I'm… more happy with just being friends this time around. It was stupid of us to even try again, i knew it, but i was just… lonely, heh. Neither is what the other wants. Not anymore.

BH: Maybe if we work on it! I could... try to change.

SR: No, no you won't, and honestly ? I don't want you to. Mistakes happen, otherwise we wouldn't keep falling into each other.

BH: Not all of it was a mistake, it couldn't have been!

SR: … Maybe, maybe not before, I will admit that, but you want more than I can give. That's not bad, it just means I'm not the one you should be getting it from. We worked before, but you have more memories of a life without me and you aren't the same person I loved then.

BH: If i'm not that, and i'm not Jonah, then who the hell am i?

SR: Well, that is really up to you I suppose. To figure it out. I… will keep them away still for a little bit more. But Jonah, I can't keep doing this forever. We are barely halfway through on the trip.

BH: So? Have you seen them, i- they are in love. God why would- i dont even know what else to say.

SR: Try, speak with them, figure out something. You are clever. I need to go, I'm supposed to play cards with Martin. Its funny, he reminds me of Jonathan…

BH: Im sorry.

SR: I know, but its not enough.

SR: Talk to you later ok?

BH: Sure.

SINNAMONROLL ceased pestering BEATINGHEART

BH: …

BEATINGHEART started pestering SPOOKYARCHIVE

BH: How are you holding on?

SA: … Not sure. Its weird.

BH: Breakups are always messy affairs.

SA: You would know wouldn't you?

BH: Rude, do you want me to leave Jon? Because I can. I'm fairly sure i'm the only one you are even talking with at this point.

SA: Not true, I speak with Daisy.

BH: Aha, how does that go for you?

SA: … Its ok, she tries to cheer me up and its… nice, but sometimes she insists on me to stop moping and well.

BH: Tiresome?

SA: Yes, so much. The other just don't want me near, and its- i dont even have my powers anymore, i thought- well i assumed that perhaps like this it would be better, but its like someone cut off something from me.

SA: Georgie tries, but if I mention anything regarding my powers she becomes upset. Melanie is… herself, that bridge got burned a long time ago. Basira.

BH: Ah the detective, she is… impassive i have come to understand.

SA: Yes, and it's confusing, because sometimes we can get along but others I just seem like the enemy. I'm starting to realize that perhaps it was always like that.

BH: Mm, how does that make you feel regarding what happened with Martin.

SA: I- god i was so stupid, i thought we could just be better now that i was cut off, that we could be together but it became obvious that we had two different views of things and it was always grating, I could overlook it, but Martin did not. And it- its not a break up just some time to think.

BH: Jon.

SA: Hahahaha, it's actually funny i think, that's exactly what Georgie told me before breaking up with me.

BH: I do not think its funny Jon.

SA: Well what else am I supposed to take from it???

SA: That I'm terrible at keeping things? That the people around me dont care?

BH: Purrhaps, you confuse coworkers with friends, Jon. Have… Do you have a good frame of reference? To know what is normal or not? I'm trying my best to not sound pushy since you established that does not help you. So think of this as your homework of sorts.

BH: Try and think of behaviour that points to them being friends or coworkers. Hell just go with trauma victims if it makes you feel any better, take that. Make a list and tell me the results.

BH: As for Martin, as you said I don't have the track record to help. Asking Elias… well he has Peter. So maybe that is more helpfur to you. But I doubt it. Listen, divorce your feelings on the matter and think objectively.

BH: Imagine…. imagine someone else, literally anyone you know and try to put them in your place. Would you accept them to be treated like that? Do you think its normal?

SA: I… don't, I really don't. God i'm a mess.

BH: You are something of a mess, but the blame is not on you completely. That others see you as an easy target for their own insecurities doesn't make you the one to blame. Now, you did make mistakes from what we talked about, and we addressed that and their consequences on your relationships before, like with Tim. But, clearly there are also things they are not dealing with either and they use you as a scapegoat.

SA: Don't try to put them against me.

BH: Oh Jon, the sad thing is, I don't have to.

SA: I… will try to speak with Martin again later.

BH: Ok. Good luck, do try to do what I asked you, ok?

SA: Yes… yes, sure. Thank you Jonah.

BH: You are welcome.

SA: … Will you speak with them?

BH: I can't. Goodbye.

BEATINGHEART ceased pestering SPOOKYARCHIVE

WEBDESIGNER started pestering BEATINGHEART

WD: ::::)

BH: What do you want Annabelle?

WD: Can a friend not say hello?

BH: Considering we are not friends and you weren't supposed to make it here, I hardly doubt it.

WD: Oh buuu you sad, sad man.

WD: Anyways, I saw those two moving around trying to find you, very sad. Peter was looking grumpy. Elias was very annoyed. Do you want a picture?

BH: Why are you bothering me with this??

WD: … Its… the first time in years that I don't have the web controlling my actions. I always liked to play matchmaker, before my change.

WD: Its refreshing to be able to say what I mean without pain or speaking in riddles. The trip gets boring otherwise. I have been pestering Martin, but he is stubborn. Plus poor sad Jon.

BH: Leave him alone please, he is already messed up enough as it stands and im playing therapist for free. No need to add more trauma.

WD: That you caused him, or the other you caused him. Its perhaps a very interesting thing that he chose the version of you that did not harm him to be his confidant don't you think? There is something there to be said, even psychoanalyzed.

BH: Annabelle the point.

WD: Right pictures.

WD: sent (picture)

BH:... Annabelle, they are just making out??!!? How did you-??

WD: I have secrets. Have some more.

WD: ATTACHED (PICTURES1,2,3,4)

WD:??? Are you ok? Its been 20 minutes??

WD: Did I kill you? They didn't even get to lose more than the shirts calm down, I was sure you got into more freaky stuff in your years.

BH: How??

WD: Do you want me to get more?

BH: No!!

WD: Are you sure? Trip is long… maybe you need something to keep you… mmm interested?

BH: I will leave.

WD: Sure, sure. Offer always stands. Anyways. I will just say, because i'm fully capable of it now. They very much want you in there too. Its very weird, but considering the things i have seen and done for the web its the least concerning thing.

WD: So stop hiding and go get your throupe you coward.

BH: ANNABELLE!!

WD: ;;;;)

WEBDESIGNER ceased pestering BEATINGHEART