#oh oh oh im about. uh. a quarter of the way?? ish. through season three and im in love

[birdybirdnerd]

WHATS UP CHABOY NEEDED TO BA ASLEEP UHHHH *checks watch* TWO AND A HALF HOURS AGO BUT INSTEAD I WROTE A ONESHOT BC THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES HAS TAKEN OVER MY SOUL AND @brinnanza HAD A REALLY GOOD PROMPT FOR IMMEDIATELY POST EP 22 ‘COLONY’ SO YEAH

on a serious note this is entirely unedited word vomit that im gonna clean up like. tomorrow or smthn and post to ao3 bc im proud of it in some way and alos my ao3 has been dead for MONTHS and its killing me

enjoy!!! now i die

EDIT now cleaned up and posted to ao3! gonna make a separate post about Specifically That but thought id throw it here too for posteritys sake

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20953844

Jon was still staring at Martin’s phone, the cryptic message from Jane Prentiss shining up at him, when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked up in time to see Martin sway dangerously on his feet. 

“I think I’m-” 

Martin’s eyes rolled back in his head and Jon was on his feet in an instant, phone falling to the floor so he could catch the other man before he fell too. Jon stumbled, almost toppling as well, but he managed to catch Martin under his arms before he hit the ground. 

“Martin, what the-” he started, grunting from the effort. “Martin?” 

But he was out cold. Jon huffed; seems like the adrenaline fueling him finally wore off, letting the week of stress and no sleep take its toll. It could have happened in a more… convenient place, but Jon admitted he was at least glad Martin had made it back to the Institute before it happened. Wouldn’t want him passing out in the middle of the street. Or back at his apartment, where Prentiss could return at any moment. 

Jon grimaced and braced himself, hauling Martin up and looping one of his arms around his shoulders. It was awkward and took a few minutes of adjusting his grip and nudging doors open with his foot, but he managed to haul Martin through the Archives to the spare room. Thankfully, no one intercepted them on the short trip. It would have been awkward, to say the least, to explain the situation, and Jon was feeling the beginnings of a headache settling at the back of his brain from all the questions that kept cropping up. 

He debated just dumping Martin on the cot and leaving, but sighed and shook his head. The poor boy had been through a lot. The least he deserved was a modicum of comfort. Jon laid him down as carefully as he could, pulling off his shoes and tugging at the thin sheet underneath him to free it. 

He settled it on top, tucking the edges in, mind still whirring as the events of the day and Martin’s words played on loop in his mind. There was so much they still didn’t know, and every statement he read only added more questions to the list, only complicated things further. And Martin, having gotten so caught up in things directly, now weighed down on his mind as well. 

Smoothing Martin’s hair out of his face, Jon sighed again. Evidence of his harrowing two weeks was evident in the lines on his face, the darkness under his eyes visible even in the dim light filtering in through the doorway. But he looked somewhat peaceful like this- sleeping, REM not quite started. That would no doubt bring nightmares - it always did - but for a few minutes, at least, Martin had oblivion. 

Jon didn’t realize for a few moments that he’d kept stroking Martin’s hair, watching him breathe steadily and absolutely lost in thought. When he did, he frowned, removing his hand and clearing his throat. That was enough of that, he decided. His own lack of sleep was affecting him. Well, the cot was taken, so Jon would have to find somewhere else to stay for the night. Returning to his own flat, after hearing Martin’s statement, made him feel uneasy. The break room couch, then. 

That decided, Jon turned towards the door to leave. 

And slammed his knee into the desk. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, momentarily forgetting himself. 

A gasp from behind him, and Martin was shooting up in the cot, breathing heavy. “Who- who’s there?” he called, voice cracking. “Where am I? Is Prentiss-”

“It’s- it’s just me, Martin,” Jon bit out, clutching his throbbing knee. “Hurt myself on this bloody desk, that’s all. You’re at the Institute. Go back to sleep, everything’s fine.” He cursed again, this time under his breath, as he rubbed at the sore spot. 

“O-Oh. Okay.” Martin’s voice was still shaky, but smaller now. Jon could hear him swallow thickly in the darkness. “H-How did I, how did I get in here?” 

“You passed out in my office,” Jon explained patiently. “I carried you in here. End of story.” 

“Ah.” There was silence for a moment. “Thanks.” Barely a whisper. 

“Don’t mention it.” Jon straightened up, sending the dark shape of the desk one last glare, and headed towards the door again. 

“Do you-” Martin started, before cutting himself off with an audible snap of teeth. 

“What?” 

“Do you think- no, it’s stupid. Never mind.”

Jon stopped in the doorway. “What, Martin?” he asked again tiredly. 

Martin seemed to chew on his words a moment, avoiding Jon’s eye, before the question came out in a rush. “Doyouthinkyoucouldstay?” 

Jon blinked. Blinked again. “Sorry, repeat that.” 

Martin chuckled nervously. “No, it’s fine, I said it was st-” 

“Martin.” 

“I said do you think you could stay?” Martin asked again, voice high and panicky, looking anywhere but at Jon. “‘Cause I’ve been alone for thirteen days now and I really don’t wanna stay alone and I’m really tired and don’t like the Archives when it’s late at night but-” 

Jon cut him off. “Yes, fine Martin, I’ll stay.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the headache now residing behind his eyes. He left the door open a crack, just enough to let the faint moonlight that streamed through the windows outside cast the room in a dim blue light. Just enough to see where he was going, now that his eyes had adjusted better.

“You don’t, I mean, you don’t have to stay the whole night,” Martin babbled, twisting the sheet between his hands as he spoke. “Just, just stay ‘till I fall asleep again, I guess. I won’t make you stay the night, can’t really, you know, just- just need someone nearby until I’m out, I guess.” 

“Of course,” Jon said, dragging the desk chair to the edge of the bed and collapsing into it. It was far less comfortable than his own desk chair, but it would fulfill its brief purpose just fine. “Go to sleep, Martin.” 

“Okay, yes, doing that.” There was the sound of shuffling as Martin got comfortable again, then silence. Then, “Thanks again.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Martin hummed in response. 

He was out in seconds. Jon watched him sleep, telling himself he’d wait just a few moments longer to make absolute certain he wouldn’t wake again at the first slight noise before leaving. And really, he was giving his legs a rest after hauling Martin here in the first place. And his knee still ached a little bit. And it was so late… 

Jon really didn’t mean to fall asleep in the chair, watching Martin sleep peacefully. And so long as he woke up before Martin did, and before anyone got to work that morning, then no one would know. 

Well, his back would. But that was his own fault.