Chapter Text
The city is bustling around with people going through their day, shops are being opened, newspapers are loudly being sold, the people are generally hurrying about their days, and Jon feels secured by this. If everyone is busy, it’s easier to blend in after all.
Martin is keeping just a tad extra close to Jon while they make their way through the city. Obviously he knows the way better than Jon does, but he refuses to lead the way and instead stays as close as he can without actually tripping Jon over. His shoulders are hunched, trying to make him look smaller, which is no easy feat, and his eyes keep shifting around, scanning the area. Jon tries to not make a deal out of it and simply does his best to keep up the quick pace.
After a while, he notices several small clusters of people standing together on numerous street corners scattered around the city. They seem to be keeping watch for something, talking secretly amongst themselves, and Jon tugs at Martin’s sleeve for his attention.
“What is it?” Martin glances at Jon without slowing down or really looking at him, eyes still flicking around the area.
Jon discretely gestures towards the nearest group of people, voice hushed, “Do you know what that’s about? That’s the fourth group I’ve spotted like this.”
Martin scowls and pointedly avoids looking at the group. “I’ve noticed too. I don’t like it. There’s usually only patrols out like this when there’s about to be a problem.”
“Right,” Jon says, now on high alert. Trouble is the last thing they need right now, and Jon hopes they’re of no interest to whoever these people are.
“Let’s just pray that they’re on the lookout for werewolves, or not in the mood for a fight today,” Martin says through clenched teeth, picking up the pace even further, making Jon nearly half jog to keep up with him.
“Martin, I- please can you walk a little slower?” Jon huffs.
“Sorry, sorry,” Martin slows down and Jon gratefully falls into step next to him more easily, “it’s just this place, and those groups, they set me on edge.”
“I can see that, and I understand, but I think we look more suspicious the way we’re basically fleeing through the streets.”
Martin ducks his head in embarrassment, and Jon gives his arm an awkward little pat in comfort, earning him a pained smile from Martin that’s honestly more of a grimace.
They round a corner and nearly bump into a broad man standing with yet another group. Jon stumbles a few steps backwards and the man looks down at him, annoyed sneer on his face.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says harshly. The entire group is now looking at them with lazy interest, and Jon quickly steps to the side.
“Terribly sorry,” he says with an acknowledging nod towards the group.
“Hang on,” Jon’s blood freezes, and he reluctantly turns towards the man who spoke, barely slowing his step as to convey that they really cannot stay and chat, hopefully so they’ll let them pass in peace.
“I know you,” the man says, pointing towards Martin, who is looking increasingly panicked. He clutches Jon’s wrist so hard it’s painful, and Jon can feel Martin trembling through the grip.
The man splits into a wide grin, revealing sharp pointed vampire teeth neatly on display for all the world to see. Jon realises the entire group must be vampires, as they all look at the two of them with a new attentive sort of hunger in their eyes that sends a shiver down his spine. His instincts tell him to flee, but his feet stay firmly rooted to the ground in defiance.
“Where have you been, Blackwood?”
“ Run ,” Martin hisses out, and Jon barely registers being forcefully dragged away by Martin who is still hanging on to his wrist as if his life depended on it.
They set into a sprint at once, and Jon knows that if Martin wasn’t literally refusing to let go of him, he’d be long gone, Martin’s long legs and supernatural speed giving him a clear advantage.
Jon’s lungs are already complaining, and he breathes deep and ragged to try and keep up as they fly through the city. He can hear yelling coming from behind them, and he has a vivid flashback to his first violent encounter with this world and the similar chase from the werewolves.
Martin had saved me then. I don’t know how to save him now , Jon’s panicked thoughts race at a hundred miles an hour, as he fruitlessly tries to scan the area for anything of aid.
People are getting out of their way with almost practiced ease, and Jon grits his teeth at the implications this has. We never should have come here, this is my fault.
“ We always knew you’d be back, Blackwood! ” The taunts from their pursuers are close behind, too close.
“ Thought you could hide, did ya ?” Martin whimpers loudly, his grip on Jon tightening somehow further, making Jon wince in pain but not daring to shake him off.
By pure luck, Jon stumbles over a loose cobble stone and in his hurry to get himself upright and running again, he spots a hole in the road in a nearby alleyway, hidden a little away by a fruit cart on the street.
It’s not a hole, he registers. It’s an open basement door.
Without thinking anything through, he wrenches Martin in the direction of the basement with all his strength, making Martin almost skid to a halt and fall over. Luckily he catches himself at the last moment and follows Jon, who urgently pushes Martin into the basement with no care as to how he’ll land and quickly gets in after him. Swiftly, he slams the wooden doors shut and locks the door securely.
With shaking hands still clenched tightly on the lock, he tries to get his wheezing under control while also listening for anyone outside to see if they were spotted. His heart is hammering away inside his chest with more speed than he’s ever experienced before, and he fears it's even louder than his breathing.
Second by agonizing second, his breathing slows and his heart returns to a more respectable amount of beats per minute, albeit still above average.
He can hear running outside, but not near enough that he thinks they’re searching this immediate area.
He closes his eyes tightly and rests his head against the door, letting out a ragged sigh of relief.
When he opens his eyes again and looks towards Martin, he finds him against a wall, hands on either side of his head, entire body still trembling excessively. Jon immediately stumbles over and kneels in front of him, hands hovering hesitantly by his legs, but not quite touching yet.
“Martin,” he says as calmly as he can possibly muster. He doesn’t get a response, and he has to stop himself from panicking as well. He takes a deep breath and shrugs off his coat.
“Martin, I’m here, we’re safe for now. Listen to me, can I put my coat over you? Can I touch you?”
In response he gets a small shaky nod, and he gently drapes the coat over Martin’s shivering body. Martin lets out a long trembling breath, and shuts his eyes painfully tight.
Gingerly, Jon reaches over and slowly removes Martin’s hands where they’re boring into his skull. He takes them in his own hands and rests them between them on their legs, making calming circles with his thumbs.
“It's okay,” he tells Martin, trying to sound as soothing as he can, “you’re okay, Martin. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise, I won’t let them get you.”
They sit like this for a while, Jon mumbling reassurances to Martin, who slowly stops shaking. His entire body is slumped over, but his breathing turns even, which Jon takes as a good sign.
With a final pained sob, Martin’s body slacks further forward, and his head lands to rest on Jon’s shoulder.
Jon startles at the contact, but when Martin doesn’t move away, he relaxes and let’s go of one of Martin’s hands and softly cards his fingers through his hair, making Martin sink deeper into the awkward sort of almost embrace they’ve found themselves in with a soft, contented sigh.
They sit like that for a good while, Jon’s legs going numb and his arm protesting at the odd angle, but he stubbornly ignores them and refuses to let go of Martin. Jons unsure if he’s actually fallen asleep, until he very slowly retracts his head from Jon’s shoulder and sits up a little straighter, looking down sheepishly, but still quite close, not breaking their fragile little bubble of comfort.
Jon lets the hand that was petting Martin’s hair fall back down and takes Martin’s unoccupied other hand, giving it a little squeeze and hoping to convey that everything is okay.
“Sorry,” Martin mutters wetly, sniffing.
Jon scoffs lightly, “don’t be, please.”
“You shouldn’t have to-to deal with this only because I was recognised,” Martin lets go of one of Jon’s hands to wipe at his eyes and all Jon wants to do is shake some sense into him, but he knows that course of action won't help.
“Martin, honestly, you have the right to be upset. I never should have asked if we could go through this city at all, so please don’t feel bad.”
Martin makes a bitter, gargled noise that was probably supposed to be a laugh, but he doesn’t try to make any more apologies.
“Listen, I know the conditions aren’t exactly ideal, but I think we should stay here tonight. I don’t think it’s safe to go out for now.”
Martin wordlessly nods, not moving away and still not meeting Jon’s gaze.
Jon looks around the small basement properly for the first time since he pulled them down here. It seems to be used as some sort of storage, with large bags of supposedly grain stacked on the floor. There’s no windows, and the room is almost totally dark by now. It’ll do.
He stands up on aching, wobbly legs, his joints complaining and popping at the movement. Gently, he attempts to let go of Martin’s hand, but Martin doesn’t let him. His fingers tightening their grasp, and he finally looks at Jon with unsure, frightened eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jon says softly, “I promise.”
Reluctantly Martin lets his grasp on Jon’s hand go, and with a final reassuring smile, Jon turns around and gets to work.
It takes a bit of effort from his exhausted limbs, but Jon starts heaving the large bags together, grunting with the effort. He gathers every single bag and lays them in a makeshift bed, Martin silently watching him from the side. With a final huff, he places the last bag down and pats it down smooth, pleased with his work.
He then walks over to Martin and takes his hand, tugging him up. Martin follows, and Jon is briefly overcome with the sensation of being trusted so fully before he shakes it off, and wordlessly leads Martin to the hastily put together excuse for a bed they’ll be using tonight, picking up his discarded coat from the floor.
With a bit of maneuvering around, they manage to get themselves laid down somewhat comfortably, considering the circumstances. Jon drapes both their coats over them, and then shuffles up and tugs Martin under his chin, holding him close.
Jon has a split second to be terrified he's overstepping several boundaries, before Martin buries his face in Jon’s chest and puts his arms around him as well, desperately clinging to him.
Once again, Jon reaches up and resumes his gentle caress of Martin’s hair. He shuts his eyes, and simply murmurs small reassurances into the night. Martin’s grip on Jon goes slack after what Jon thinks is about an hour, and he assumes this means he’s fallen asleep.
After everything that’s happened, he finally allows himself to relax completely, and he’s fast asleep within minutes.
---
The next day Jon wakes up feeling not at all rested and thoroughly aching all over. His eyelids are heavy, and all of his limbs are prickling uncomfortably with sleep.
So maybe he isn’t a morning kind of person, but he always did pride himself in his ability to power through nonetheless, but right now he’s finding himself childishly unable to muster any will to get up.
Maybe it’s because he’s seldom slept in such an uncomfortable “bed”, maybe it was the chase yesterday and the prospect of more anxiety today. Or maybe it’s because Martin is still wrapped around him, breathing deep and even, still fast asleep.
A shiver runs through Jon, they’ve effectively slept on the floor in an unheated room, and Jon muses that clearly, vampires don’t retain heat very well.
Sighing in defeat, he detangles himself from Martin, who slowly blinks awake at the movement, taking in the scene with a bleary look.
Jon slips out and stretches his arms above his head, “Morning.”
Martin looks at him, then down at the bags of grain they’ve used as a bed, and then back up at Jon, eyes unfocused and still glazed over from sleep.
“Did you, er, did you sleep okay?” Jon asks
“Yeah I… I actually slept fine,” he responds, thoughtfully looking at their coats messily left where they were being used as blankets.
“That’s good to hear,” Jon continues stretching, his knee making a particularly loud pop. He winces, and Martin raises an eyebrow in amusement.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone this young whose body complained that much at being used,” he teases, and Jon huffs in offense.
“Well it’s not my fault my bones are against me,” Jon complains, going for overly dramatic rather than sincerely annoyed, earning him a snort from Martin.
Seeing the smile on Martin’s face, Jon can’t help but mirror it.
“I’m glad you seem to be better,” he says, gathering up his own coat and giving it a good shake. He tries not to let it show how glad he actually is.
Martin fiddles with his own coat before also standing up and putting it on. He reaches out and strokes the makeshift bed, letting his fingers run over the woven cloth of the bags.
“Thank you,” he says finally, voice a little rough. “For this. For staying with me, and helping me calm down.”
Jon softens, “Of course.”
They look at each, both unsure what to do. Jon wants to tell Martin again that he won’t let anything happen to him, but he finds himself unable to produce the words in the light of the new day, the atmosphere from yesterday gone, and in the end he looks away and grabs his bag.
Nothing else is said after this. They simply get going again, carefully making sure the road is clear. It’s still very early morning, and no one seems to be out and awake yet, streets barren and quiet.
This time they spend no effort to seem inconspicuous, spending as little time as possible in this city. When they finally reach the city limits, they only slow down so as they’re not running anymore, both wanting to get as far away as quickly as they can.
It’s only when the sun is high in the sky that the silence is broken by Jon’s stomach loudly complaining.
“Ugh,” he rubs a hand over his stomach, “I’m hungry.”
Martin giggles at Jon, who doesn’t deign this outrageous action with a response, simply scowling at the road in front of them, which only results in Martin full on laughing at him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear from one eye, “you just look like a cat who’s been denied a treat.”
Jon lets out a very undignified noise of complaint at that, making Martin throw back his head in laughter. Jon’s facade breaks at this, and he can’t help the smile that spreads on his face.
Martin stops laughing and gives a quick look around. They’re surrounded by field after field of fruit trees, and he seems to come to some decision, judging by the determined look that sets in on his face.
“Here, hang on,” he takes off into the trees and swiftly grabs a couple of big red apples hanging low on a nearby branch. He runs back over to Jon with a wide grin on his face, hooks his arm around Jon’s and quickly drags them both away before anyone can spot the thievery that’s just happened.
“Wait you can’t just, just steal like that!” Jon splutters, and Martin cackles.
“Who’s going to notice? It’s just a couple of apples!”
“But we can’t just go around stealing!”
They stop running and settle into a brisk walk. Martin deposits all the apples into Jon’s arms, who attempts to not immediately drop them all.
“You sure do have a lot of opinions about this for someone whose entire job is stealing books,” Martin winks.
Jon takes a bite out of an apple, thinking he might as well eat them since they can’t go back on the trees anyways, hungrily devouring the entire thing.
“That’s different!” he says around bites of apple, not slowing down to eat while talking. “And we often try to replace the book with an exact copy if there’s only one of them, we do not just steal .”
“Sure, sure, it’s not stealing, it’s borrowing without telling anyone.”
Jon throws his apple core at Martin.
Once all the apples have been eaten, Jon plucks out his map and folds it open, trying to locate where they are.
“Oh!” He jabs at the map with a finger, and Martin leans into his space to see what he’s pointing at curiously. “Look, we’re almost at the town with the train station!”
“So we are. That’s a relief, I feel like we’ve been walking for years by now.”
Jon carefully folds the map again and pockets it, “Oh you feel like it’s been a long walk, Mr. I-have-superhuman-stamina. It’s been exhausting for me and my normal human legs, let me tell you that.”
“You can’t blame me for having better stamina, Mr. I-am-an-old-man-trapped-in-a-young-man's-body,” Martin teases back, and Jon crosses his arms defiantly.
“I’ll have you know that I actually have above average stamina thanks to all the training I’ve done for the Library.”
“Oh I’m sure you’re above average, my sincerest apologies,” Martin makes a point of bowing as deeply as he can, and Jon scoffs at him.
“Shut up,” he mumbles, but there’s no real bite to it, and the two continue in pleasant conversation, tone and mood light with the knowledge that soon they’ll be able to take a train to Scotland, and hopefully the rest of the journey won’t be as tumultuous.