Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Of course Tim thought this would be a good idea. Of COURSE he did. Tim doesn’t have things like a sense of danger, or a survival instinct, and Sasha is too cool to be worried about things in the woods. Martin, on the other hand, is not cool, and knows it, and will continue to quietly curse his friends even as he holds the camera for them.

The trees stretch on for what has to be miles around them, pines and oaks and especially birches, and Martin twitches every time the flashlight on his camera catches one of the many ‘eyes’ in the dark. “Legends say,” Tim mutters ominously, “That there is a creature in these woods. A figure of myth that heralds- God, no, that’s way too Ghost Adventures, fuck.”

Sasha laughs, cuffing Tim on the shoulder. “Stop saying fuck, you’re gonna get us demonetized!”

“Excuse me for not wanting to censor my art, Sasha!”

“Someone has to after what happened at that hotel last year, Tim.” Sasha smirks widely, and Martin swings to catch it, before panning over to Tim’s smug blush. How the hell do you make a blush smug? Tim magic, Martin suspects.

“Listen, if we go somewhere, and they say a ghost likes to crawl in bed with people-” There’s a little cracking noise behind them, and Martin jumps.

“Did you hear- oh.” A squirrel darts away from the sudden light, and he deflates, shaking his head. “N-nevermind.” Tim chuckles, but it does make Martin feel better to hear that it’s just his mind running away with him. 

“So!” Sasha has her presenter voice going, and Martin straightens up. “We’re here on the trail of the elusive Mothman. Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Sasha, really, Mothman? Isn’t that kind of lame? Wasn’t it just an owl or something?’ Maybe! But the stories still come out every now and again, stories of flapping wings and red eyes lingering around the edge of town, stories of feeling watched just before tragedy strikes…”

---

They’ve been walking for awhile, and Martin’s only seen a couple more squirrels and a very annoyed mother bird. Yet, somehow, he keeps getting tenser with every step into the woods. According to the map, there’s a river nearby, and they plotted out a course through the woods to a campsite next to it. Martin thinks it’ll be a good place to get some filler shots… if they ever get there.

It feels like it’s been hours, and he can’t shake the thought that the eyes on the birch trees are watching him.

Tim’s hand rests on his shoulder, and Martin jumps, then flashes him a grateful smile. “Buddy, there’s nothing out here. We’re just gonna poke around for a bit, and it’s not like we’re doing some bullshit that’ll make whatever ghosties are around mad, right?” The smile on his face widens to a grin, and he steps back, gesturing between himself and Sasha. “Besides, you’re with us. Even if something wanted to mess with me, which, doubt it, they wouldn’t dare fuck around with Sasha.”

Sasha smiles from behind Tim, but that’s not what Martin’s looking at, as nice as her smiles are for making you feel better and safe.

No, he’s looking at the rather tall fellow behind her that’s staring at him. Martin can only process it in pieces: neon blue and red spots, hands- hands? Too many hands?- glinting eyes, a ragged shirt, the way it squints against the light even as it leans in…

He barely has time to connect the pieces to the legends of the creature in the woods. Tall, wings, four arms, it’s the bloody-

“M-m-mothman!” He squeaks out, pointing with the hand that isn’t holding up the camera. Tim and Sasha whirl, and Martin is so relieved that they see it too that he forgets to be scared for a moment. The creature stares back at them for a moment, eyes as wide as he feels his are, before its wings flare out and it launches out of sight.

For something as brightly coloured as it is, Martin is amazed by the fact that he immediately can’t see it anymore, hidden in the branches even when he swings the camera light up.

“Did you SEE that? Oh my god. Oh my god, we saw something,” says Sasha, all in an excited rush, hands clapped together in delight, while Tim just stares up and shakes his head slowly.

“Please tell me you got that on tape, Martin.” Tim’s voice is low, a little shaken, but even from behind Martin can tell he’s smiling.

On his part, Martin just scans the trees, trying not to shake the camera too much. After a moment of not seeing the Mothman, he decides to take a chance, calling out. “H-h… Hello? Friend? We don’t want to hurt you!”

The woods are silent for a moment. There are no rustling squirrels, no chirping crickets, no annoyed birds woken from their slumber, only a faint breeze that shifts the leaves around them and a distant sound of water. Then: “H-h...hello? Friend? -Saw something. ...Don’t want to hurt you- Martin.” It’s like someone took recordings of their voices and spliced them together, their own cadences on their own words coming out. 

Martin can’t deny the chill that runs down his spine, but he can deny the feelings it brings. He’s very, very good at that. He swallows hard, and tries again. “If you come out, we have-” His voice breaks, and he laughs nervously. “We have snacks! I don’t know what a moth eats- or if Mothmen eat different things- or, well, we have some things to choose from. We’re really not going to hurt you!”

His hopes rise when he hears a shifting noise, but they crash when there’s a low, indistinct call in the distance, and the branches rustle loudly. Martin barely manages to catch a glimpse of blue between the leaves, but then… nothing.

The call comes again, and Martin shivers for a much different reason, something sickly and strange settling in his chest even as Tim and Sasha excitedly talk back and forth. After they make sure he’s okay, they don’t seem to notice his silence, and he’s glad for it. He doesn’t need them to ask him questions he doesn’t know how to answer.

---

Thankfully for Martin’s poor nerves, Tim and Sasha agreed that that was quite enough for one night. Who could ask for more than a real sighting of a cryptid, anyways? It’s not like a human could fly like that, even if they were being puppeted by wires or something. 

Martin should know. Since getting back, he’s watched the scene over and over again, watching the Mothman’s head tilt while staring at him, watching how both pairs of hands wring just before he jerks upright.

He? Martin pauses, thumb rubbing over the play button. That’s a can of worms, isn’t it? The creature is called MothMAN, after all, but he didn’t- they didn’t really think… Well, they didn’t think the Mothman was real, for one, but even then, it didn’t seem like a person. Just an animal. A creature.

But the more he thinks about it, staring at the still shot of panic, looking into the reflective eyes, Martin thinks maybe ‘he’ fits. Mothman, the handsome fellow in the woods that also just happens to have fuck-huge wings and antennae and wait a second, Martin, what was that adjective?

He quickly puts the camera down and looks away from it, biting his fist. Well, it’s not like. It’s not like he means that, of course, he’s just. Describing it from how a story would describe it! Him. Martin bites harder on his fist, before hissing and shaking his hand out.

Tim looks up-down from where he’s hanging off the adjacent bed, one eyebrow quirked. “You good there, Marto? You’ve been, uh, quiet. And weird.”

“Well, sorry if I’m a little bit off after seeing a real supernatural phenomenon, Tim!” It’s flustered anger, obviously, and Tim raises the other eyebrow. “I’m fine!”

“Sure, of course, obviously. That’s why you’ve been staring at the camera for the past hour.” Tim straightens up, and has an uncharacteristically concerned look on his face. Martin feels bad for making him worry, it’s stupid really, getting this blustery over something- someone- like this. It’s not like he’ll ever see the Mothman again.

Wow, why does that hurt?

“Tim, did you kick Martin’s dog or something?” Sasha comes out of the bathroom in her nice robe, looking more comfortable than Martin looks when he’s in actual pajamas, and he envies her deeply for it. 

“No! I would never. Steal his tea, maybe, but kick a dog? What do you think of me?” But Tim focuses on Martin again, making him swallow nervously. “Seriously… Are you okay? That was pretty wild. I wouldn’t blame you for being scared. I kinda am. That thing with the voices-”

“The voices scared you? It was that other thing that freaked me out! He was obviously just mimicking us the best he can, but that- thing- why are you looking at me like that?” Martin asks, because Tim and Sasha are both looking at him with undisguised worry.

Sasha sits next to him, and Tim flanks him on the other side, resting a hand on his knee. “...What other thing?” Her voice is gentle, but that doesn’t make the question less frightening. 

“The- the thing that was calling? It scared him away. He was going to-”

“He… the Mothman?”

“No, bloody Santa, of course the Mothman! He talked to us, he was looking at us, and we startled him! But he hadn’t run off yet, he was in the trees, and I think he was- was going to come down, yeah, and then that… that other thing was calling and he flew off. See, I have the-” He fumbles with the camera, fast forwarding to when the Mothman flew away and clicking the volume on. Because he’s a decent human being, he was keeping it on mute for his replays, thank you very much!

But all that he hears are the sounds of nature, them talking, and then he sees the flash of blue.

There’s no call.

Martin looks at the camera again, mouth working uselessly before he stammers, “It must- it was- it was low, see, I guess- I, I, I guess the camera didn’t pick it up, it was listening for you two-” But why did it pick up the water, then, his traitorous brain asks him.

Tim and Sasha look at each other over his head, and Sasha leans into his side. “Hey, listen,” Tim says quietly, “why don’t we scooch the beds together? You make a great space heater, and ours is a little too small for all three of us. Besides, I wouldn’t mind being stuck between two of my favorite people tonight. It was weird back there.”

He’s still staring down at the camera. Martin rewinds back to the Mothman’s face, the first one, where he’s staring right at them, at- at him.

“I-I’m- I’m going to go for a walk,” he says suddenly, getting up from between the two of them. “Just for a bit. I’ve got my phone, I’ll call you on my way back, I just need to… clear my head.” 

“Are you sure? I can come with,” Tim offers, but Martin is already shaking his head.

“No- nah, you stay here. Get a shower when the water comes back on. I’ll be fine,” he mumbles, pulling his shoes back on. “Just a walk for a bit. I’ll- I’ll get a snack on the way back, no big deal, I can take care of myself.”

Martin hates that he can feel them looking at each other. What, is it so much to want to be left alone? They have each other, they don’t need to worry about him. “I have my phone. And, obviously, the Mothman isn’t here to kill people, or we’d be- be dead in the woods somewhere, I don’t know, so I’ll be fine.”

He’s out the door before he realizes he’s still clutching the camera.

Chapter Text

Oh, this was a terrible idea. It’s only gotten darker as the night’s worn on, and the woods are deathly quiet. If it wasn’t for the sick feeling returning every time Martin thinks about walking back to the hotel, he’d be curled up with Tim and Sasha already. But just the idea of turning around makes him feel ill- thinking about the way they’d look at him makes him shudder, almost gag. 

They’re probably having a better time without him, anyways. He just slows them down. He can do this on his own, get those filler shots, no big deal. Martin’s done this before, he’ll do it again. Tim would walk into a spiderweb and try to fight it, anyways.

At least he feels a little less crazy now. Whatever it is, the call is back, this wordless half-tune that makes his stomach sour. The river gets louder as he walks, and fog starts to drift around him, the humid night making his hand damp on the camera. “At least it’s hard to miss a river,” he mutters to himself. “Can’t get too lost.”

“Oh, it’s easy to get lost in the woods, lad.”

Martin yelps, nearly startled out of his skin, and whirls around. The light falls on a man sitting by- by the river, in fact, when did it get so close? The man looks old- not decrepit, just kinda like a grandfather, if your grandfather lived on a boat his whole life. He’s holding a match, lighting a pipe, and he gives Martin a steady look. 

There’s a lantern at his feet. Where did that come from? Martin could have sworn it was just his flashlight out here. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because the man is gesturing across from himself to a smooth, flat rock. “Take a seat. You look like you need to take a load off, there.”

Well, he could. He must have been walking for a long time- they hadn’t even made it to the river before. The fog is thicker here, and the air smells like fish. “Are you a fisherman?” Martin asks, sitting down. The rock is cold, but it’s better than standing.

“Of a sort,” the man replies vaguely. The lantern casts an eerie sort of glow from the fog, but Martin can see him a little better like this. There’s a coat hung over his shoulder, some kind of fur, and he looks bizarrely at ease. This whole scene is bizarre, really. “You could call me a fisherman. More of an explorer, a sailor, a- hm, a captain. When I’m not busy, of course.”

“...I, I’d think that’s what would make someone busy, a job.”

“Oh, you would think that, wouldn’t you.” The words are casual, open, but for some reason, Martin feels… smaller. “Yes, it occupies my time, but I really have better things to do. Better ways to- well, you don’t mind if I smoke, do you? Some people do. I come out here to get away from those sorts.” The man puffs his pipe all the same, not even glancing at Martin’s shrug. Martin curls his free hand against his knee, frowning. “The bustle of the city, all those people… we know better, don’t we, Martin. They don’t need you, and we don’t need them.”

“I- I…”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To get away from all that?” Isn’t it? Martin can’t quite focus. The fog curls in his chest, around his lips. Maybe it is. Sasha and Tim don’t need him around, a cameraman is a dime a dozen, and they have each other. Really, the camera he’s holding is more necessary. “That’s why I’m here. Good to be by myself. The crew is nice, but nothing quite beats a quiet river to drown out the rest of the world.”

“It is- loud. Out there. But at least there’s lights.” Martin isn’t sure what this discussion is about anymore. Why is he talking to this man? Wasn’t he here for something? Something with the camera? He looks down at it, frowning.

“Nothing to see, though, is there? Just a bunch of people running around. Getting in your space. Really, if I could man the ship on my own, I would. Just me and the water. It’s nice this time of year.” It’s hard to drag his eyes away from the camera, but he fixes his gaze on the river rushing past. The fog dances across the surface, keeping most of the light away. It has to be, because there’s no way this river is that deep.

“Oh, look. Fish, see?” There’s a shifting noise beside him, but Martin wants to see the fish. He leans closer to the water, squinting into the darkness. “Just there.” There’s a hand on his back. The call is so loud it hurts his ears.

“Peter!” The voice is distant, but the hand jerks away like it’s been burned. The man- Peter?- looks around, and the moment has broken, the tune lost, leaving Martin to blink and gasp, catching himself on the edge of the rock. Half his leg is already off it, his foot hovering just above the surface, water lapping at the sole of his shoe. He pulls himself back, blinking wildly.

“Elias? What-”

“Peter,” the voice says again, more stern, closer. “When are you going to learn,” this Elias says, their tone odd, “that your actions have consequences?” Peter scowls while Martin regains his bearings, sitting more firmly on the rock and catching his breath. 

“You have the worst timing, you old bat, I was almost- Do you know how few people come out here? Of course you wouldn’t, you like living in that eyesore you call a building.” Martin goes to use this distraction to get away, but then Peter grabs his arm, looking for all the world like he’s forcing himself to touch something disgusting. “Listen, if you’re going to interrupt, I guess we can share. It’s the least you can do.”

“Why would I want- to split- with you. I’m much better at this. Come back- home- I have something for you.” Something about the voice- not the voice itself, but its tone- is familiar. Martin frowns and pulls against the grip, but Peter doesn’t let go, his nails digging into his arm.

“But this-”

“Is useless. Go home. I have something for you, Peter. Much better.” Wait. Martin blinks up at the trees, and sees something blue. Peter finally lets him go, muttering under his breath. “Peter,” the Mothman says, with a voice that isn’t his own, must be this ‘Elias’s, but he’s looking at Martin.

“Fine! Fine, fine. I get it, you’re always right, I’m just the man who hasn’t had to change identities in the past thirty years,” he grumbles, to Martin’s vast confusion. This is not helped when Peter pulls his coat on properly and dives into the water.

The water where a river otter is swimming against the current, making all manner of noise. When the otter- Peter?- is out of sight, Martin realizes the lantern has disappeared. It should be dark, but the moon is shining clearly now. The fog has lifted, and with it goes the rotten feeling. Well, most of it, anyways. He’s still shaken by the fact that this- this thing, whatever Peter is, almost talked him into… what? Jumping into the river? 

His attention is drawn away from this to something equally strange, but potentially less dangerous. Now that Peter is gone, the Mothman flutters down from the tree he was perched in, his wings catching the moonlight beautifully. 

Somehow, Martin thinks, the oddest thing is that he’s wearing glasses. 

The Mothman is tall- taller than Tim, he thinks, but not as tall as himself- and very, very thin. Honestly, Martin is glad he didn’t try to engage Peter. The moth would have broken something. One of his four hands, maybe? He has a care-worn bag looped carefully over his shoulders, and Martin wonders if it had to be modified for his wings, and out of it he pulls a small, handheld tape recorder. He clicks a button, and a soundbite of “Peter,” plays quietly.

“...I thought his voice was going to come in handy,” the Mothman says, equally soft. “Did he hurt you?”

Oh, so he can speak in normal words. Okay. Alright. Martin rubs his arm after setting the camera safely to the side, checking under his sweater- the skin is broken in five small spots, accompanied by the skin being red. “Only- only a little. I doubt it’ll be anything come morning, it’s fine,” he says, like he’s not talking to a legend. “You- saved my life? I think? Why? What? I. I mean, thank you, obviously-”

“Obviously,” he repeats, quietly.

“-Yes, obviously- wait, that was- you really are a mimic! I thought you were just really good with that tape, honestly. Which would have still been impressive, just differently! Different. Oh, gosh, what am I even supposed to say. You saved my life, thank you, but are you now going to eat me?” 

The Mothman looks aghast at the thought, despite the small fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Eat you- no, certainly not. No. I don’t- I’m not sure what they say about me, but I certainly don’t eat people. I’m not Elias,” he mutters darkly.

“Who is Elias? And who was that- Peter? And- oh, honestly. Who are you? What’s your name, I mean, you’re the Mothman but I doubt that’s what you call yourself. That’d be like me introducing myself as human. I am, but. It’s not- you know?” Martin gestures vaguely, but the moth seems to catch his drift all the same, coming a little closer to sit down- not on the stump, but just on the ground.

“Jon,” he says, hands folded together in his lap. “The Mothman… obviously.” There’s a note in Jon’s voice Martin can’t quite place, but it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. “And you’re Martin. The human.” Martin laughs quietly, startled into smiling by a cryptid that apparently makes jokes. 

This seems to perk Jon up a bit. His antennae certainly twitch up, at least, the eye-spots on them catching the meagre light. “Let’s see. I saved you because- well, Peter was going to take you. To keep you or eat you, I’m not… sure, but neither option was good.” Keep? That’s somehow more alarming. “He is a selkie. Or that’s what he’s called. He takes his fur off, and he looks like one of you. He puts it on, he’s an otter.”

“Of course. You couldn’t be an otter without the fur,” Martin says, joking, but Jon just nods seriously.

“Exactly. Elias is… Somewhat like me. More batlike, but, well. That’s vampires for you. Always a predator.”

“Wait. Wait, hold on. Vampire? Vampires are real.” He looks up at the sky, breathing deeply. “Obviously, Martin, vampires are real if bloody Mothman is. Full on, burns in the sunlight, drinks blood, bleh bleh bleh?” Martin mimes fangs, trying to act like his worldview isn’t being shaken very far today. He doesn’t think it’s working very well, judging by the careful look Jon gives him. 

“I don’t know about bleh-bleh-bleh,” he says, “But to the rest- yes. It would have been worse if he was here and did want to share. I don’t have a voice that would draw him away from you but my own, and mine would not have worked on Peter.”

There it is again. This- Jon. Jon wanted to protect him. The Mothman, capital T, capital M, wanted to protect him, specifically. “W-w-why? Why, I mean, did you. I’m grateful, certainly, if I get the chance I’ll make you a tea in thanks and whatever else you’d like, but why- you were looking at me earlier. Not us, but me. Why?”

Jon looks away, tangling his hands together. He looks… human, which is ridiculous, given that he’s hiding half his face in a collar of some kind of soft fur around his neck, but he does look painfully nervous. One hand tucks away the recorder, two stabilizing the bag while he reaches inside, the fourth drawing out what looks like a Polaroid picture and holding it towards Martin.

He hesitates before taking it, bringing his light up to see it better, and he can’t help but gasp a little when he realizes what he’s looking at- or, rather, who. 

It’s a picture of him. Not a perfect one, a little blurry and distant, but one of him for certain. He’s standing at the guest stop, waiting there for Tim and Sasha. “This is from this afternoon,” Martin says quietly, looking at the already worn edges of the picture. The sun has caught on his hair, turning the normally dark reddish-brown almost gingery in patches, and he looks sort of lovely like that. He laughs softly, handing back the photo and taking up his camera. “I- I’m here because, well.”

He rewinds the footage to the shot of Jon, the first clear one, the one where he’s looking at Martin, the flashlight catching on his soft fur, his delicate wings, his wide eyes. He holds the screen out. “I wanted to see you.”

There’s a swishing noise from Jon, but his wings aren’t moving. Martin furrows his brows before leaning around him, and then laughs, surprised. “You know, in all the stories, they somehow never mentioned you have a tail!” Because he does, and it’s swaying over the grass, stirring up leaves. Not quite like a dog’s wagging, but more the contentment of a cat that is figuring out something. Martin looks up again, still laughing quietly, and more is pulled out of him when he sees Jon awkwardly looking away and- blushing. 

“Oh, that’s adorable,” he says without thinking, then pulls away quickly. “I- sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m-”

He’s saved from further embarrassing himself by the jumpscare of a lifetime: his phone rings loudly, echoing off the trees. At least Jon jumped as well, Martin thinks as he catches his breath, then immediately feels guilty. 

“Just a second, Jon. Tim probably thinks- well. He probably thinks I’ve gotten myself eaten. He’ll have to thank you,” he chuckles. “He’ll hate that.”

“WHERE IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU?” Comes Tim’s voice, piercing every eardrum in a mile radius. Thankfully, Martin had the foresight to not put the phone to his ear right away. “It’s been HOURS, Martin, if you’re not DEAD I’m going to do it MYSELF!”

“Tim- Tim, I-” 

“Oh, so I have to get the ax, huh? You ignore my texts, alright, whatever. You ignore Sasha’s texts, rude, kind of worrying. You ignore her calling you? You ignore three of my calls? I was ready to call the police, and you know how I feel about them!” Martin can’t help but smile, can’t help a smothered laugh at Jon’s very, very confused face. “This is funny? This is ha-ha time? When I get my hands on you-”

“Tim, I’m talking to Jon- ah, wait, you don’t- I found the Mothman, Tim, he’s very nice actually!”

It’s a rare pleasure to make Tim Stoker speechless. 

“It turns out he’s rather friendly, if you don’t surprise him. Did you know he has a tail? Funny they missed that, huh?”

“I- hold on a moment. I need to make sure I haven’t lost my mind. You, Martin, are having some kind of- of three am tea party with the bloody Mothman, and this is why you’ve been ignoring your phone.”

“Well, I wouldn’t- Not a tea party, more like a nice chat. Show and tell, maybe? I didn’t exactly bring a kettle, and I don’t think-” Jon tilts his head, then shakes it.

“Actually, I found one by the town. Works… mostly.” Martin stares back at him for a long moment, before shrugging.

“Oh, never mind, he has one, but he didn’t bring it. So, no, not a tea party. I don’t- oh, maybe- I think I know why my phone wasn’t working, but really, honestly, it’s not my fault. This place seems to be covered in… creatures is the wrong word, as you can tell Jon is very intelligent, and the others are-” Jon makes a face. “-Are at least capable of speech. Entities? Close enough I suppose, really, to just call them cryptids, there’s plenty of intelligent ones in the stories.”

There’s a very, very heavy moment of silence. Martin can hear Sasha vaguely on the other side of the call, but can’t quite make out what she’s saying. Tim mutters something back, then sighs loudly- he can fully imagine Tim wiping his face dramatically. “Are you coming back to the hotel, or are we dragging you out of the woods tomorrow morning? God, it’s not like there’s much time left to sleep… You know I’m legally allowed to kick your ass for this, right?”

“No, you’re not,” says Jon from beside Martin, frowning deeply. Martin blinks at him. Was he always that close? “No one is allowed to hurt Martin. That’s not right.”

“Is that him? Jon Mothman? Oh my god, what is my life? Sasha, fire me from this.” Tinny laughter comes over the line. “Sashaaa! Martin is leaving us for an oversized insect!”

“I am not an insect,” Jon mutters, arms crossed. “I have an endoskeleton and mammalian eyes. I looked it up, I have a tapetum lucidum-”

“He wears glasses, Tim. Insects don’t wear glasses,” Martin sums up. “He’s special.”

“You are leaving us for the Mothman! I knew it!” 

“I’m not leaving anyone! I’m coming back soon, you clingy little man.”

“Clingy?! Little?! Martin, I swear to god, I will kick your ass.”

“After dealing with a selkie trying to get me to bloody drown myself, I’m not that scared of you pummeling me.” Martin immediately winces, because there’s twin cries out outrage. Tim must have put him on speakerphone, oh no, Sasha will kill him, that’s actually possible. 

“A selkie? A bloody seal man? Really? Martin, what-”

“Ah- kssshhhsh, ksshsh, you’re breaking up, kshhh, I’ll call you later-”

“Martin-!”

“Kshshshsh, bye Tim!” Martin hangs up, considers his phone, then turns off the ringer. Honestly, he’s just not prepared to get into all that, and with the fog gone, it seems there’s nothing stopping Tim from blowing up his phone. Oh, that explains why he didn’t get the texts, actually.

It’s quiet again, but a much more natural quiet. Jon seems content to just look at him from where he’s sat down, a few feet from Martin’s rock, and the feeling is mutual. He wishes he was braver, so he could ask- oh, he wants to examine everything about Jon. He’s- interesting. Yes, that’s a word that doesn’t make him sweat. Interesting.

Jon tilts his head up higher after a while, looking to the sky, and he frowns. “...Do you sleep at night, Martin?”

What an odd question. “Yes? Usually, I mean. Humans are diurnal, and I try to stick to it, things get in the way sometimes-”

“I mean… Ah, it’s late, I mean. You do need to sleep. And, for that matter, I will too. Soon, anyways.” If Jon were human, Martin would suspect he doesn’t sleep enough. His eyes have that hollow look. But he doesn’t know how moth people work, really, so it’s not his place to worry.

He worries anyways. Jon is thin and tired looking, and Martin worries about him. “Do you have someone to look after you? I mean, I don’t think- you can certainly handle yourself with  Peter and, uh… Elias. I just mean, it can be hard, being lonely, hard to look after yourself. Do you eat enough? I-” He frowns, and Jon’s shrug makes his frown deepen.

“I’m fine. Thank you. You… Martin, I can walk you to the entrance of the woods. It’s dangerous here, for a human alone… I don’t know where Elias is. And it’s not the right moon, but Daisy can be territorial as well, and- Well. It’s dangerous, and you don’t need to walk alone.” If it were someone like Peter saying it, Martin would take it as an insult, but Jon seems genuinely concerned, as much as he emotes. 

Martin goes to respond, but is interrupted by a sudden yawn, noisy and full-bodied. “...Oh, maybe I should take you up on that,” he says, head ducked sheepishly. 

Jon gets up to his feet, tail hanging a few inches above the ground and wings fitting more closely to his back. Martin wonders why only as long as it takes for Jon to hold a hand out palm up. 

“Wh- oh. Oh, yes, ah.” Martin stands up as well, and hesitates a moment before taking Jon’s hand. 

It’s a nice hand, he thinks distantly. Long, thin fingers. Dry skin. Cool, but not cold- Jon’s body temperature must be much lower than his. This close, Martin can see a patchwork of scars, and his heart aches. 

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Now that Jon has made some kind of decision, he’s moving quickly, wings fluttering in something like agitation before he leads Martin back towards the proper trails. He didn’t even realize how far he’d gone. 

As they walk, he takes a moment to shoot Tim a quick text- ‘Walking back with Jon, see you soon’- before pocketing his phone and readjusting his grip on the camera. Martin wonders if he caught Peter’s transformation on camera, but shrugs it off. He did or he didn’t. He doesn’t want to think about Peter much. 

“...Tomorrow- well. It’s past moonhigh, so I suppose today. Later, at sunset, if you want to come back… I’ll find you here, at the edge of the woods. Not right out in the open- humans are. Panicky. About me. They’ll think there’s going to be a crash or something.” Jon scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “I just record things. I don’t cause them.”

“That- makes sense. Of course I want to come back, I- well, how many people can say they met someone like you?” Martin pauses, then perks up a little. “Could I bring Tim and Sasha? They won’t hurt you, I promise. They’re my friends, they wouldn’t do anything to like, actually upset me. And you’re, well, you’re my friend too.”

Jon offers him a small smile, and Martin’s heart flutters. 

“...That sounds lovely,” he says, low and warm. “I don’t mind, as long as they aren’t too loud. Noise is- difficult to handle.”

“Oh, yeah. I understand. No, they’ll be good! Promise.” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand gently to settle the matter, returning his smile.

They walk in silence for a while longer, the trees slowly thinning out. When Martin can see the parking lot clearly, if distantly, Jon stops and takes a couple steps back. 

“Alright. Alright,” Jon says softly. It’s quiet enough that Martin feels compelled to look closer, but he relaxes as Jon goes on. “Right here, at sunset. If you don’t see me right away, just call my name. I’ll find you, I promise.” 

“Easy as can be, huh? Sunset. God, I’ll probably just be waking up then- oh, you will be too! Remember to eat something, Jon, you’re already skin and bones. I’ll bring something, too, but still.” Martin doesn’t want to let go of Jon’s hand, but he does, or else he might never. It’s a magical moment under the stars, and it’s only added to when Jon steps closer and brushes his dry lips against Martin’s cheek.

“Sunset. I promise, Martin.” With a quick, small smile, Jon backs away. Martin can only watch in wonder as he flares out his wings, taking a few flicks to warm them up- and then he’s gone, up into the trees and out of sight. He lingers, maybe longer than he should, just touching the spot where Jon kissed him, before finally breaking out into laughter and trudging out of the woods.

---

By the time he gets back, Martin feels half-asleep on his feet. He’s done an absurd amount of walking today. He’s thankful for his shoes holding up, honestly, and very glad he didn’t actually get them soaked in the river.

Tim is waiting by the door to their room when he walks up, and he immediately winces from the look on his friend’s face. 

“...H-hi, Tim,” he says, and Tim narrows his eyes at him.

“...Thank God you’re safe.” The words barely have time to register before he’s pulled into a bruising hug, and Martin has to scramble to hug back and not drop the camera. “If you ever pull this shit again, I will- I will end you. Sasha will help me,” threatens Tim, and Martin squeaks out a guilty laugh when he’s squeezed that much tighter.

He’s only released long enough to enter the room, immediately being pulled in by Sasha. Thankfully, Tim takes the camera from him so that he can hug her properly, before coming back for seconds. Martin is big enough to hold both of them, and he does so gladly.

God, he really thought they didn’t care. Damn otter and his depression fog.

“I’m alright, I’m fine. I- It’s a bit of a weird story, really, kind of a mess… Can I sit down?” He’s only allowed to if they can stay close to him, apparently, because as soon as he settles on the bed Sasha is looking him over for injuries.

“Did the- Did Jon do this?” She asks, voice sharp as she points to the claw-marks on his arm, and Martin shakes his head before she even finishes the sentence, once and then twice rapidly.

At first, the words come slow, stumbling and messy, but he finds himself desperate to explain. The thought of Sasha with her righteous anger brought to bear on Jon… he can’t handle the thought of it, and it pulls the words out of him.

He’s glad he finds his composure as he explains hearing the call, and getting lost, and finding Peter the otter. Tim squeezes Martin around the shoulders when he describes almost falling into the river, and Sasha holds his hand when he shivers, rubbing his wrist gently.

It’s easier to talk about Jon, though, his smile returning when he mentions the whole tail thing. Martin doesn’t know why it’s such a neat thing, knowing something almost no one knows, but it makes his chest warm, Sasha’s demands for better descriptions driving away the rest of the lingering fog.

“If- well- I’m going back out there tomorrow, and he said you two can come, if you’d like to meet Jon for real. Well, today- god it’s late.”

“Of course we want to go,” says Sasha, and Tim nods vigorously in agreement. “I mean, talking to the Mothman? As long as it’s safe, we can go, and apparently, your knight in fuzzy armour is good at keeping you protected, hmm?” Martin blushes furiously, and drops his face in his hands.

“You do have to give us all the dirty details, though.” Tim nudges Martin’s leg with his own. “That’s what you get for scaring us.”

Even though Martin groans out a complaint, he’s smiling.

Sleep is for the weak, anyways.

Chapter Text

It seems almost fitting for them to finally crash as the sun rises. In the end, they did push the beds together, which means Martin wakes to Tim and Sasha sleeping on his chest, pinning him down.

He decides to enjoy it for a while, until his arm well and truly falls asleep from Tim’s cheekbone digging into his shoulder. Martin crawls out from the pile, trying not to wake his friends. It doesn’t really work- he’s not exactly sneaky- but he doesn’t feel too guilty, especially after he looks in the mirror and sees that Tim drooled on him. 

The sun is just starting to set when they finally pull themselves into something like function. Sasha looks good, as always, and Tim is a disaster, but in his own brand of messy that seems almost intentional. Martin tries to brush his hair flat, but it doesn’t work, so he just hopes that Jon’s standards are really low. 

Thankfully, the hotel has pastries out all day, which means they aren’t starving when they pull up to the parking lot by the woods. The sky is clear, streaking with red as the sun dips lower, and the breeze brushes away worries about fog. 

“So! It’s almost time, I think- I mean, Jon didn’t exactly specify if he meant at sunset, or after the sun had set, but it’s close enough. If it starts to get foggy out of nowhere, um, just stick together? We should anyways, he did imply there was maybe a werewolf or something here, but especially if it gets weird and foggy.” Martin shivers a little. “It makes you feel weird, but I think being together will make it easier to shake off.”

“Besides,” says Sasha, “If we see a weird otter dude, I’ll take care of it. I don’t go to the gym for nothing, you know.” She flexes a little, and Martin laughs, which seems to be the point if her smile is anything to go by.

“Right! Right. And, um, try not to be too loud? I don’t think you will, anyways, but he’s sensitive. Moth biology reasons, I think? ...I don’t actually know all that much about moths.”

“Well, I’m sure he doesn’t know that much about nerds, but that just means you both have shit to learn.” Tim smirks at Martin’s offended noise, then cuffs him gently on the shoulder. “Gotta be quiet, remember?”

“I suddenly don’t remember why I invited you,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Because I agreed to carry the camera this time?” Tim gestures with it lazily. It takes all of Martin’s self control not to snatch it back. “Listen, we’re not gonna scare him off. He’s your…” He glances at Sasha, an eyebrow raised. “Friend.”

“What does- you know what, it doesn’t matter. It’s late enough, I think,” Martin says quickly, striding towards the woods and ignoring the chuckles behind him. “Bastards.”

It’s easy to find the clearing Jon left him at, but there’s no one waiting. His shoulders slump a little- did Jon forget?- but he shakes it off and cups his hands around his mouth. “Jon! ...Jon?” Martin waits a minute, straining for any hint of the flickering wings, before trying again.

“Maybe he’s late? I mean, he sleeps during the day, right? We almost slept too long-” Sasha is cut off by Martin shushing her, raising a hand and squinting into the woods.

Was that a flicker of blue? Martin sees a shadow moving between the trees and perks up, drawn towards it. “Jon! There you are.” He frowns when the shadow moves farther away, following cautiously. “Guess it’s too bright for him. C’mon, the canopy gets thicker back here.”

His concern grows when Jon keeps edging further and further back. He’s… well, Martin might not know exactly what he’s like, but last night he didn’t seem to want to be further away than absolutely necessary. Maybe there’s something wrong? God, maybe Peter’s back? He picks up his pace, grateful he’s not the one carrying the camera this time. Jon makes a low sound, one that makes Martin’s heart shudder with worry, but he just keeps moving and moving and moving.

“Jon? Are you okay?” From behind the trees ahead, he sees a hand waving him forward. There’s a concerned mumble- maybe Tim- but Martin shakes it off. “It’ll be fine, we just have to get to him.”

The trees begin to press closer, cutting off the remaining sun, so Martin flicks on his flashlight. Jon might be able to see in the dark, but he can’t, and he’s not willing to break his neck out here. His footsteps are loud on the leaves, almost deafening in the oppressive silence.

Finally, finally, Jon seems to stop. The trees have parted, but the sun is still choked away by the sprawling canopy. Martin huffs as he moves closer, shaking his head. 

“What’s this all about, buddy? I-I mean, there wasn’t anyone out there, I don’t think…. Did Peter come back? Or,” he frowns, fumbling for words. “You know we won’t hurt you, right? I wouldn’t let Tim and Sasha hurt you, even if they wanted to. Which they don’t! Right, guys?”

The silence presses harder on him, feeling almost physical. 

“Guys? Come on, I know it was more walking than I thought, but- Wh- Huh?” When he looks over his shoulder, there’s no one there. “I just heard you, Tim, come on. This isn’t the time to mess around.”

No response comes, not even a joke. His flashlight shows only the dense trees and sprawling brush Martin just pushed through. He swallows, then turns back to Jon. “I, I don’t know where-”

But Jon isn’t there.

A man in a suit that looks like it costs more than his camera is leaned against a tree, looking for all the world as though he’s lounging in an office somewhere instead of the middle of a forest. His eyes are a piercing, electric blue-green, and Martin feels pinned by them, feet staying in place despite the thrill of fear that makes him want to bolt.

God, he hopes Tim and Sasha are safe. Maybe they ran away. Or, or they got lost before this, and they’re walking around the woods and they’re fine and everything will be fine.

Fangs longer than Jon’s flash when he talks. “Oh, Martin, don’t worry yourself. I know where your friends are.” The man leans away from the tree, taking measured strides closer to Martin. Each step makes the air grow frostier, and he shivers despite himself.

Cold sweat drips down his neck when he tries to talk. “I- I- You? You do?” The man- the creature?- chuckles softly. It would almost be hot if he wasn’t absolutely terrified.

The creature raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head. “Oh, humans. Always so driven by their... needs.” Wait. Wait, hold on. Is he reading his mind? “You don’t exactly keep it shut, you know.”

The eyes pinning him in place. The fangs, seeming to grow more prominent with each passing second. The sharpness of his face, the cold in the air. This has to be- Oh, no, no no no-

“Ah, yes. So you do know of me. I was rather put out, you know, when I realized you were… settling so low. Jon is interesting enough, I suppose, but he’s hardly more than an oddity.” Elias- because this has to be Elias, the vampire Jon warned him about- taunts, words edged with so much amusement that makes him seethe.

“Did you hurt him? I- I won’t let you,” Martin says, more firmly than he feels, he’s just a human, it’s not like he brought stakes or garlic or silver, “Or my friends. Where-”

“Oh, hush, Martin,” Elias purrs, close enough now to touch Martin’s cheek, fingers like ice. Martin’s jaw clenches shut, and he finds he can’t open it again. “You seem so tired. We’ll continue this… Interview… later. But for now?”

He can’t drag his gaze away from the vampire’s eyes. 

“Sleep.”

Martin doesn’t stop seeing Elias’s eyes, even as his knees buckle. They remain, seared into his sight, looming out of the darkness that swallows him in a single bite.

---

The sun is just beginning to set, scarlet light bathing Jon’s shack, and he shivers awake slowly. Without his usual blankets he’s cold, early fall air seeping through to his bones. He slowly sits up and shakes his wings out from where they’ve lain still, followed by a full body stretch.

Jon’s tail drags along the floor slowly, then picks up when he thinks on his plans- Martin is coming back today. He still has an hour or so to get ready, as sunset is slow this time of year, which he’s definitely going to have to use cleaning up. His stomach rumbles and he frowns at it, annoyed. He ate yesterday, he doesn’t have time to worry about this.

The breeze has caught some of his hanging photos, and he scowls deeply when he sees them clumped against the wall. Jon picks up the more scattered ones as he moves, imitating the lazy smile on the top of the stack for practice. The ones that feel are mostly his expression collection, snapshots of emotions he’s seen the humans display near his woods.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel them, he’s explained to Georgie half a dozen times, he just doesn’t know on his own how to show them. His face wants to stay in its neutral position, eyes wide and mouth a thin line, so he has to practice making the expressions people usually have. Jon might not go into the city, but he likes to talk to Georgie and Daisy, and they react better when he can show what he’s feeling. It does make reading humans easier, too.

He was certainly thankful for his practicing yesterday. A rare, unbidden smile tugs his mouth up when he thinks about Martin, Martin smiling back at him, Martin talking to him… Jon shakes his head and pins up his pictures again, back in their proper order. The emotion wheel sits in the middle, and he takes great care to match the positions so that he doesn’t mix them up. 

Mixing up angry-teeth-baring and happy-teeth-grinning made Daisy bristle at him once, and he really doesn’t want to repeat the experience. He still has the claw-marks from her lashing out. It didn’t hurt too bad, and it did teach him the lesson, so Jon doesn’t grudge her for it.

He readjusts the pile of tapes beneath the photos, smoothing labels back down where needed. ‘Nervous Laugh’ needs a new one soon, but ‘Annoyed Grunt’ seems to be holding up okay. That one was easier to learn, for sure, considering how often Elias necessitates practicing it.

On the way to his wardrobe, Jon nudges his rug back into place. Sadly his nest needed a wash, so all his blankets are at Georgie’s to be cleaned, but at least the thick rug has avoided getting damp from the elements. This is why he doesn’t begrudge Daisy the scars. 

“You’ve been such a great help,” he says to the air, practicing the way the words flicker on his lips. “Sssuch. Such.” The ess sound still gives him trouble with his fangs, but he’s gotten much better than his original lisp.

He wants to say it just right when he sees her again, since she’s put work into keeping his shack standing, boards hammered into place and even a window replaced when the wind blew a branch through it. The rain doesn’t leak in anymore, and the rising sun stays out of his eyes when he’s trying to sleep. 

It’s while he’s pulling on one of the shirts that Georgie altered for him that he feels something. A displacement in the air? His antennae twitch, quivering to pick up what’s changed, and then he hears it: a soft step.

Could Martin have found his way out here? No, surely not. Jon doesn’t leave much of a visible trail. Daisy is in town, visiting her mate, and Georgie is busy… 

His wings buzz nervously, and he wills himself dim. Maybe it’s human vandals again. It happens now and again, and the best thing to do is to hide until they get bored. They don’t expect to see him- or anyone else, for that matter, so it’s easy to dim away from their eyes.

A hand grips the door frame leading into his living room, and Jon flares his wings, fluffing himself out. “Hello, lad,” says Peter, leaning his way into the light with a smile that makes his tail coil around his leg. “We have a problem, you and me.”

Jon twists, ready to run, when he remembers that his bolt-window, the one that sat broken for years, was fixed. Daisy made sure that his sunset windows were all sturdy, so that he didn’t wake up frozen. The pit in his stomach grows deeper, and he backs away slowly. If he can just get Peter away from the door, he can bolt out through the kitchen, hide somewhere until-

Oh, god, if he runs, Peter might find Martin again.

“See, Elias got me a phone. Said he was tired of not being able to get a hold of me when I’m away. After he so rudely called me away from your Martin and then didn’t even bother to show his face, I got a little…” Peter shrugs. “Annoyed. So I called him. Figured I’d give him a piece of my mind.

“It’s the funniest thing, though. When I called, he didn’t have a damn idea what I was talking about. Said he was in town all night.”

Jon clears his throat, trying to break the lump that’s cutting off his air. “That’s. Quite rude of him. A shame, really, to lie- are you going to dump him again?” He’s still edging to the side, drawing Peter closer.

“Oh, I threatened it, for sure. Usually gets him to fess up, if he’s not actually trying to get under my skin.” The selkie rolls his shoulders before crossing his arms. “But he did some looking for me. And he said the funniest thing, Jon. He said that the cameraman was with you. What do I find when I look around again?”

Peter reaches into his coat, withdrawing a sparse handful of blue and red powder. “Scales left in the grass.”

He has to risk it. Jon twists and bolts past Peter while his hands are busy, wings pinned tightly to his back to try to keep them safe. He’s just into the kitchen when fog seeps around him, muddying his mind and leaving him off-balance. Why should he run? He earned this. 

If he had just stayed out of the way, gone home instead of trying to watch Martin, he’d be safe.

It’s his fault for going outside.

He’s still struggling to get away, but he bangs into the table, stumbles into the counter. It’s hard to think straight, Jon’s mind full of buzzing static. There’s a footstep behind him, and he jerks his head to look at Peter, who looks painfully smug.

“We need to have a proper chat, I think. You can come quietly, or I can drag you out. It’s up to you.” Peter’s voice is so calm, so reasonable, but Jon still has enough spine to move towards the backdoor. “Ah, well. I did try to warn you, lad.”

With a twist of his wrist, Peter yanks the water from Jon’s pipes, surging out of the sink. The flood hits his face first, flattening his antennae to his head, and he cries out miserably, half-blind and deaf. The pain of it sends him reeling to the side, but that just means his wings catch the worst of the assault, slicked down and sopping wet. 

He tries to buzz them, but the water keeps coming, even as Peter steps closer.

“Shame about that, but I can’t have you flying off. Elias wants to talk to you as well… after he rounds up your humans.”

“Leave him alone- you’re not allowed- ” Jon bites out, but Peter just chuffs, looming over him.

“Sleep tight, Jon.”

Peter’s fist crashes into the side of his head, and Jon goes down like a very damp sack of bricks, unconsciousness roaring up to meet him.

Chapter Text

Even before he opens his eyes, Martin knows that Tim is with him. His shouting and ranting is like nails on a chalkboard, but Martin has never been so glad to be in pain- if Tim has the energy to bitch, he’s alive.

He sits up slowly, wipes his eyes. Why wouldn’t Tim be safe again? 

Martin blinks into the cool light, not recognizing his surroundings. Tim is, in fact, alive and reasonably well, kicking at a sturdy door while Sasha is pacing the room. He can only see the one exit; there’s not even a window in the room, but it’s not exactly barren. There’s a couch under him, and he can see more furniture, rich and plush, that he has to assume the others were sleeping on. It’s the color of the couch, black with silvery pinstripes, that pings in his memory.

It’s the same as Elias’s suit.

Martin scrambles to his feet, and Sasha pauses in her pacing to look at him, relief plain on her face. She bolts over to check on him, and he’s doing the same, both of them touching each other’s faces, arms, shoulders.

“You were out for so long, we couldn’t wake you up-”

“I couldn’t find you back in the forest, I was so scared-”

Their words overlap, frantic and hushed, and Martin pulls her into a tight hug. She relaxes against him minutely, clinging to his back. Tim stops ranting at the apparently locked door, his eyes narrowed before he focuses on Martin and he immediately moves to take his place next to Sasha. It’s easy as anything to widen his hug to hold both of them, resting his cheek on top of their heads.

It’s hard to talk. He just wants to go on holding his friends until his heart slows down, but he knows the moment can’t last, not like this, not here. So when Tim wriggles away, when Sasha sighs and backs up, Martin lets them go with one final squeeze.

“How long… was I out? Or, I guess, how long was I out while you were awake?”

Tim goes back to glaring at the door. “About an hour. That- Elias. He came in when I woke up. I couldn’t even move with him staring at me like that, I wanted to punch his face in-” Sasha makes a noise of agreement. “-But he kept me in place. Introduced himself, the smug prick. Told me he had some business to take care of, and left your camera in here.” He flips his hand towards where it’s sitting maliciously on the table. 

“He didn’t come in when I woke up, Tim had to fill me in.” Sasha scowls, and Tim pats her shoulder.

“He knows you would have kicked his ass anyways, weird mind-control eyes or not.”

“Yeah, he’d better fucking know.”

“Well," Martin pipes in. "Elias can read minds, apparently , so I’m sure he does.” They both look at Martin like he’s told them he’s actually a faerie prince, then Sasha throws her hands up.

“Of course he can! It’s not enough to just hypnotise people, he has to read minds. I guess I should be grateful he can’t, I don’t know, clone himself?” She gives him a look, and Martin shakes his head frantically. “Well, the universe has small mercies!”

“Did he, he… You know, did he bite either of you?” Martin looks at both of them closer, and Tim squints at him for presumably the same kind of once-over. “He didn’t before knocking me out, so. I don’t know.”

“...He said that it would be uncivilized to just bite us, but I didn’t really believe him,” Tim admits. “But we’re clean, and I don’t see any bites on you.”

“Of course not. That would be uncivilized.” Martin jumps as Elias pushes the door open, but can’t make himself rush forward. Judging from Tim’s scowl and Sasha’s hands tightening into fists, they’re in the same boat. “I don’t know when you last washed, or where you’ve been. It would hardly do to put my mouth on someone I’ve never met.” 

Tim says something, but Martin isn’t listening.

He’s too busy staring at Jon, who follows Elias in with his head bowed and shoulders slumped.

---

Jon wakes even colder than before, wings still damp and shivering. It takes all four hands to lever himself off the smooth tile he’s on, eyes burning as he takes in his surroundings.

There’s so many lights streaming in. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, letting in dozens of shimmering lights above and below. He has to cover his eyes, leaning heavily on his right side to keep from falling over. 

“Ah, you’re awake. I was almost concerned Peter put you down.” Jon glares at Elias from under his hand, and the vampire chuckles softly. “No, I don’t want that, despite what you might think. I have no need to be cursed. Well, further cursed, depending on how you think of my condition.”

His glare intensifies, and he chatters wordlessly at Elias. Jon forces images of Daisy’s snapping teeth at him, followed by Basira’s pistol, Melanie’s fury making her hands glow. 

The threats are cut off by a growl behind him, and Peter nudges him with his foot. “It’s rude to have a conversation without everyone being able to join, Jonny.”

“Oh, he was just threatening me with his friends,” Elias sighs while Peter crosses into his line of sight and wraps an arm around Elias’s waist, and the vampire smiles fondly down at Jon. “But he doesn’t know that I have something very dear to him. You did an acceptable job keeping him busy while I dealt with the others, Peter.”

“And you didn’t completely fail at getting our leverage, Mr. Fussyfangs.” The selkie huffs a laugh when Elias digs his elbow into his side, squeezing him closer despite the annoyance.

“Please stop flirting. Please. You can drink my blood. I don’t care. Stop.” If he refuses to let Elias’s words prick at him, he can pass it off as a bluff. Elias bluffs all the time. Jon thinks it might be just what happens when you can read minds and pull on fears.

“You know your blood tastes terrible, Jon. Once was enough for that.” The vampire tilts his head, and Jon really hates that smile. He pushes more threats, thoughts of falling and tumbling through trees, but Elias’s look of superiority does not falter. “And you’re avoiding the real issues here. The issues we brought you here to discuss.”

“We?” Peter clicks his teeth.

“You, dear,” he says tiredly. “Honestly, can you accept the royal ‘we’ for two seconds so that we can properly threaten our friend here? Thank you.” Elias straightens his collar slightly, and his smile grows sharper. “Jonathan, you’ve been interfering with our business for a very long time. Oh, yes, we know. You might be a good mimic, but you don’t cover your tracks all that well. Between Peter and I, you’ve lost us several hunts. What was your count last at?”

Peter scowls down at Jon, tapping out what must be numbers at his side. “...At least a dozen. Not all of them in the past few months, but enough to really get frustrating.”

“And half that for myself. Really, it’s rude. We don’t interfere with your witches, your wolf, or her mate. They all remain of sound mind and body, yet you drive away good prey. For what? The populace to call you a monster? You do know they’re terrified of you.” Elias laughs when Jon opens his mouth. “Or they think you’re a myth. Or both! You know your darling cameraman didn’t actually think you were real, right? Of course you do.”

Jon buzzes his wings. Just the mention of Martin has him on edge, muscles taut to the point of aching. Threats. Leverage. Others .

He’s on his feet before he can finish the thought properly, screeching at Elias with all his rage. “That’s not ALLOWED! I told HIM that!” Jon jerks a hand at Peter, who just smiles like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “What did you do, Elias?!” Bloodsucker, parasite, monster, thief- His insults are silenced, suddenly, by a weight on his mind.

It presses and pushes at him, oppressive and silent, forcing him back to the floor. His lungs don’t respond to his thoughts. His eyes don’t convey their messages. Jon is trapped on hands and knees, but he can barely feel the cold floor beneath him.

“I didn’t do anything yet, Jon.” Elias’s voice is even colder, so soft that it would be lost if it weren’t for the silence. “You don’t throw away your bargaining chips before you make the deal. Are you going to behave, or should I keep you like this? I could make it worse, you know. I could convince your mind that you’re drowning. That your wings are being pulled off.” There’s a pressure at his back, and Jon’s panic spikes under the muddling force.

Slowly, like pushing through mud, he sends his surrender to Elias. 

All at once, sensation returns, and Jon buries his face against the tile, panting weakly. He wants to hide in his nest. He wants to wedge himself beneath tree roots where no one will ever find him.

“But I would prefer not to do that. After all, there’s just so few of us wonders. It would be unwise of me to reduce our numbers further.” Fabric enters his periphery, and Jon realizes Elias is kneeling beside him. If he wasn’t still trying to breathe, he’d spit on his trousers.

“Don’t be rude, Jon, you’re a civilized fellow. That’s why we’re going to make a deal, you and I.”

---

Martin stares at Jon, who hasn’t even raised his head since he entered the room. There’s a dark bruise spread over his cheek, and his wings drip water when they shift slightly, but even then, they don’t move and flick the way they did before.

“Oh, he’ll be fine once he dries off,” Elias says flippantly. “Peter went a little overboard keeping him grounded. Don’t worry about him.”

A quiet wave of apathy washes over Martin, but he shakes his head furiously to dispel it. “I- I do worry, but- I won’t do anything. Okay?” After all, Elias could probably throw him out a window if he tried something. That wouldn’t help Jon, only get himself killed.

The vampire raises an eyebrow. “You’re smarter than your friends, then.” He cuts a look at Tim, whose hands are curled into tight fists. “You don’t need to look so mad. I have excellent news! Honestly, it’s a net positive situation. Stop sulking, all of you.” He gives Jon a little push, where he was standing in front of the door. “Go on, I know you’re incapable of being reasonable. I’ll tell you all night long I haven’t bitten your toys, but you won’t believe me.”

Jon moves, then- his steps uncertain and almost drunken looking, one of his antennae flattened in his damp hair- making a beeline for Martin. He does offer Tim and Sasha a glance, but Martin is overwhelmed by the way his eyes glow with concern. 

“He didn’t hurt us," he tells Jon calmly, wanting to soothe the worried moth. "He just put us to sleep.” The words are a balm not only for Jon but for his friends, too. He doesn't want something worse to happen. 

Elias laughs then, and judging by Jon’s scowl, he must be thinking something pretty awful. It just warms Martin’s heart all the same, that someone would be willing to risk a vampire’s anger to protect him. 

Jon’s hands flutter more than his wings, hovering inches away from Martin but not making contact. Slowly, he reaches out, meeting those worried hands with his own- well, half of them, anyways- and soothing the twitchiness out. 

“There, see? Everyone’s alright. Now we can worry about more interesting things.” Elias primly settles on the edge of one of the couches, smiling in a way that makes Martin struggle to contain his violent urges. He really doesn’t know how Tim manages to stay calm. Sasha has her arm around him, so maybe they're balancing each other out.

“Don’t call yourself a thing, Elias. It’s less funny than you think it is.” Peter shuts the door behind him as he follows, dropping down next to him almost hard enough to dislodge the vampire from his perch. Elias scowls at him, but there’s something in his eyes.

Martin blinks hard, then stutters, “-Wait, wait-”

“Are you two-” Tim tries to ask at the same time, but they’re both cut off by Elias.

“Now, now. Hold your questions for the interview,” Elias says, crossing his legs. “And first, we have to discuss the terms of your… survival.” Jon scowls, but doesn’t correct Elias, only moving to sit on the arm of the couch by Martin. “Honestly, I’d prefer not to have to cover up and explain the deaths of three journalists, so we have a very simple deal.

“First, Jon here has graciously agreed to stop interfering with our hunts, so long as we offer you three the same… safety… as his other friends.” Elias smiles further as Jon ducks his head, tail curled tightly to the side. “Oh, he can continue to try to avert other situations, but Peter and I do need to eat. It’s very rude to sabotage another man’s meal, and I believe you have finally given me the means to show him.”

“Jon…” Martin says softly, unsure what else to do. He didn’t even know Jon rescued people. Well, there are some legends, he supposes, but for the most part he’s started to just ignore what he’s been told before, since most of it seems patently untrue, but this one seems to have something to it. Martin squeezes the hand he still has, uncurling Jon’s clenched fingers.

“Yes, yes, the moth rescues lost travellers from the big bad selkie. We can get to that later.” Peter waves his hand lazily. “That’s all I care about, but someone is a drama queen.”

Elias elbows Peter sharply, but only gets a low chuckle out of the otter. “Hush, Peter. The other part of the bargain is that I want you all to know there’s no hard feelings, so I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime.” He sits there, radiating smugness, and Sasha makes a noise as though she’s trying not to talk.

The compulsion wins out after a moment, and she asks, voice flat, “What is that chance?". 

Elias raises an eyebrow, and she growls, as if fighting her mind, before repeating it almost enthusiastically. " What is the chance ?!"

“I’m so glad you asked, Miss James. Now, I mentioned it to Martin when I found him, but he might not remember me telling him. I want you to interview me for your vee-log.”

Tim jerks under Sasha’s arm, and Martin latches onto Jon’s hand as tight as he dares. Elias looks between the three of them, frowning. “What, are you not pleased? I’d think cryptid vee-loggers would enjoy the chance to talk to a real vampire." He stops himself as Tim makes a sound like he’s dying and buries his face in Sasha’s shoulder."Why are you making that noise?” 

“Ah- ahaha- sorry, sorry, I’m sure it’s- difficult to stay up to date, Mr. Elias-”

“Bouchard. Yes, I heard that. Shut up, Tim.”

“Mr. Bouchard," Martin pipes up diplomatically, "It’s, ah, vlog. Like blog, just with a v. People make that mistake all the time.” 

“Vlog? Vlog.” Elias rolls the word around in his mouth, frowning. “But it’s- no, no, I understand, technology makes little sense, even as far as the names. Well. You may interview me for your vlog. Ask me questions. Make the video accessible.”

Sasha looks at Elias, visibly baffled. “Why? I mean, Mr. Bouchard, you literally just admitted to hunting humans for food. Like, you’re a vampire? If anyone believed us-”

“If anyone believed you, they would already know I exist. Or at least know of others like me.” Elias smiles, showing off his fangs. “But those who don’t know I exist are going to look at your show and believe… what. A vampire sat down and had a polite interview with you? With a mothfolk sitting in?” He shrugs elegantly, twisting his hand. “Who would ever believe such a thing?”

She goes on staring at the vampire, then narrows her eyes, squeezing Tim tighter on reflex. “...You want to ruin our credibility by offering definite proof. Oh, you are a bastard-”

“Sasha!”

“Well, Martin, he is and he knows it. Look at him. We’re going to have exact, real proof, descriptions of three myths, and it’s going to mean jack and shit to anyone who doesn’t already obsess over cryptids.” Sasha scowls. “...Because we found Jon, right? Because we already had real proof. Believable proof.”

“Oh, they were right to think you’re the smart one, Miss James. And, I will admit, I enjoy the prospect of talking about myself to a captivated audience.” 

Everyone in the room knows full well he means a captive audience, but not even Tim can find the foolhardiness necessary to actually say something.

Elias sits back, leaning partially against Peter and spreading his hands widely. “So. Set up your camera, and get comfortable. Then ask away.”

Chapter Text

Martin wishes he had his tripod. It’s another layer of frustration on an already deeply annoying day, having to rig the camera for an interview he doesn’t want to do on a person he’s really coming to hate. 

“Please don’t move too much, Mr. Bouchard. I don’t have anything to angle this on, so…” And he’s certainly not going to try to stay still as a statue for however long this is going to take. Martin gives the camera a couple last tweaks, making sure it catches Elias fully. The screen flickers and warps occasionally, but the picture stays mostly clear; even from a distance it’s undeniable that he’s not human, eyes glowing and teeth sharp. 

“I understand,” he says airily. “I can’t hope for high quality from people I pick up out of the woods.”

God, how is Elias’s face unpunched?

Jon is sitting to the side with a towel, finally allowed to dry off some now that the deals have been decided. It’s not like he could fly out of this room anyways, which Martin guesses is the real reason. He leans slightly into the moth’s side, trying to leech away some of his trembling. Jon hasn’t stopped shivering since he entered the room.

Sasha fixes her bun quickly, while Tim tries to uncrumple his shirt back to its usual state of casual mess. 

“You know, we would have happily interviewed you if you asked," Sasha says cooly. "It wouldn’t be a problem. Actually, we would have loved that. But no, you had to kidnap us without our lighting kits or makeup.” She shoots Elias a glare from under her lashes, but he just chuckles in response.

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t have been as useful. I think this will lend a lovely edge to the interview. Much more believable.” 

Tim scoffs, and Elias-

Elias has an evil laugh. It’s a low chuckle that builds to something like a cackle, long and almost  unnerving, if only Peter didn’t look so totally bored with him. Martin doesn’t know how to process it, so he just stares at the both of them, blinking a few times. 

“So, how long did you practice that?” Tim asks, one hand holding up his head. The other gestures to Martin, who nods; the camera is recording. “Like, I don’t think you get an evil laugh right first try.”

“Oh, he didn’t. He practices every single night,” Peter sighs, then winces as Elias kicks his shin. “You’re the one who wanted an interview, Elias, don’t blame me.” He obviously does, if the second  kick is anything to go by.

“Incredible," Sasha says dryly. "Well, you’re… devoted to your craft, I guess. Elias Bouchard, vampire, obviously rich. Let’s start with the normal questions. How old are you?” She quickly takes the lead, arms crossed on her thighs as she leans forward.

“...You know, it’s hard to remember exactly. My last birthday was quite a while ago. Forty-eight, I believe, is what we’ll go with.”

Tim smirks. “And how long have you been forty-eight?”

Elias’s stare is blank, and Martin has to bite his lip to keep from either laughing or yelling at Tim. After a moment, the vampire answers.

“Roughly four hundred and fifty years. Give or take a decade… Part of that was spent in hibernation.” Elias shrugs delicately. “It’s difficult to keep track of time when you’re asleep.”

“Hibernation? So, you can sleep through being hungry?”

“If preparations are made. It requires a rather large feast first, as well as a secure place to rest.”

“So, you’re a bear that sucks blood.” Sasha is pleasantly smiling, which gives Tim leave to laugh.

“No, Peter’s the bear, look at him.”

“...Peter is an otter,” says Jon, quietly, making the investigators and Peter crack up. Jon just looks confused, while Elias scowls at the room at large.

“You are all a gaggle of children. Stop.” All at once, Martin can’t quite breathe. He doesn’t feel like he’s choking, but his lungs just don’t move. Peter is the only one left chuckling, but even he sounds a little wheezy. “Now. Be good.” Martin gasps, clutching at his chest. Jon shudders, then checks him over, tail flicking in annoyance.

“Alright! Alright, sorry, Bouchard. Okay. So. You’ve been a vampire for going on five centuries. How’d that happen, if you’ll tell us?” Sasha’s voice is still calm, but her hands are tense against her legs.

“Ah, of course! Well. I was once like you investigators, though with far less attention. The world was darker, more dangerous, and I was documenting the supernatural influences of the world.” Elias’s smirk has a softer edge as he stares into the middle distance, one hand lifting to his neck. “I underestimated the danger. It was just the once, but it was more than enough. 

“My... friend at the time rescued me the only way he could: he drank of me, and I of him. He didn’t survive, but he ensured that I did.”

“...You wanna give us some more details?”

“No.”

“Alright, then." Tim says. "So, you’re a vampire. What’s that like for you? Like, I mean. Is human blood a choice, is there a better blood type, does the sun make you sparkle?” The way he speaks, he's going to get himself killed and Martin’s not even close enough to make him shut up.

“Will you please stop referencing Twilight? I understand the situation is tough for you, but really, have some common decency.” Elias’s frown radiates disapproval, but he shakes his head slightly, focusing on them again. “Human blood is a choice in the same way that eating meals is a choice. You could gain your nutrition from vitamin supplements and bland calories, but it’s a miserable option, is it not?

“For the record, I do not usually kill my prey. It’s much more efficient to take what I need and then leave. AB+ is by far my preference, but it does tend to be rarer than I need. It gets uncomfortable if I don’t feed at least once a week, so I make do.” He flips a hand. “The sun is harmful, but not immediately fatal. With enough protection, I can walk even at the brightest moments… but who would want to? Nightlife is much more pleasant.”

Sasha tilts her head, more of a curious spark entering her eyes. “Why are there so many of you… entities around? Are there more?”

Elias smiles at Sasha in a way that makes Martin lean closer to Jon. It’s like looking at a tiger baring his teeth. “For the same reason every group bands together. Connection. After all, you could have just held your own camera, Miss James, but you invited your friends to make this with you. Why would we be any different in seeking out people with similar circumstances?”

Martin squeezes one of Jon’s hands and gets a nod in response. That reassures him enough to speak up, and he clarifies, “So- so it’s just. You don’t want to be alone? I would have thought it would, um, limit your… territory?” 

The smile grows sharper still as Elias looks at Jon. “Oh, yes, it does. When one of us decides to interfere, it can be very frustrating. But it’s worth the connections.” One of Elias’s hands lands on Peter’s thigh, rubbing lazy circles, and Tim makes a muffled gagging sound.

“Connections?” Sasha sounds remarkably calm, even as she elbows Tim. “The two of you… Are you... married?”

“Yes,” Peter says, confidently, at the same moment that Elias says, "No," joylessly.

Peter and Elias look at each other, eyes narrowed. “We got remarried in the fall, Elias,” the otter says lowly.

“And did I not serve you the divorce papers after that atrocious necklace you got me?”

“That was the Yule before last.”

“No, Peter, it was last Yule,” the vampire hisses back, shoulders tense. “You bought the ruby-”

“-Excuse you, I stole it from a museum for you-”

“And it looks terrible with my color scheme, so I gave you the papers-”

“You’re a vampire, you should have red in your ensemble!”

“Pardon me, I refuse to be a stereotype.” Elias sniffs, and Martin can’t help but watch in fascination. Sasha clears her throat, and both of the men look at her in annoyance.

“Sorry, we’re just still here and recording. The camera only has so much battery.” Beside him, Jon’s tail flicks. Martin looks at him, but the moth just shakes his head minutely, going back to carefully toweling his hair dry, brows furrowed. Sasha continues, “You’re very interesting, but I thought you might like some more questions?”

“...Well. We have been married several times. He took me across the ocean a few hundred years ago, and we stayed in contact... Every so often, we take a break. It’s good for keeping immortality fresh.” Elias turns away from Peter, who huffs out a foggy breath. “Now. You asked about others with supernatural abilities. I don’t know what Jonathan has told you- oh, very little, hm? Tricky bug, hiding his friends.

“Georgina Barker and Melanie King are witches. Rather well practiced ones, at that,” he says, nodding to Jon.  “They protect this one for the most part.”

Elias takes a long glance at Martin, making his skin crawl. This isn’t helped by the smile that creeps across his lips, or the nervous way Jon shifts and flutters. After a moment, he shrugs, continuing on.

“Alice- ah, ‘Daisy’ Tonner. Former police officer, current werewolf. Michael and Helen, most likely not even close to their real names, local fae royalty. Hm, he’s dead, he’s dead, she’s dead… Oh , Gerard Keay, demon. I’m honestly surprised he’s still alive, thank you for the update, Jon.”

Jon scowls, arms crossing, but he leaves one hand close enough for Martin to hold. “Her name’s Georgie,” he says quietly.

“Quite fond of nicknames, people in your little group.”

“Like you have any ground to stand on there, Jonah,” Peter grunts, and gets another sharp kick for his trouble. 

Tim opens his mouth, presumably to ask, but his jaw clicks shut so fast that it’s amazing he didn’t bite his tongue off. Elias’s eyes are cold and luminous, his face seeming gaunter in the fluorescent light. “Pick a different question, Tim.”

Instead of whatever he was going to ask, Tim just shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “What’s your sign?”

Elias quirks an eyebrow, the ice dissipating. “Scorpio.”

“Oh my god. If I didn’t know you’d make me think I was a dog or something, I’d punch you in the face.” Tim puts his head in both hands, laughing quietly. “Of course.”

“Yes, yes, I get that reaction a lot. Continue.”

Sasha takes up the lead, her spine straight now, voice steady. “Why keep Jon alive?”

“Sasha!” Martin cries out, clutching onto his hand. She looks at him, shakes her head.

“No, really. He’s obviously in your way, Mr. Bouchard. It doesn’t make sense.” Her tone is so cold, and Martin doesn’t like the way Elias looks, smug and sharp and cruel.

“Well, there are two reasons. Both are very important, I think. He makes a very good cover. People tend to blame my business on him even when it’s very silly. Honestly, I’m not sure how much it would take for humans to realize there’s a predator in their midst.

“But more importantly… It’s a dangerous thing to kill a moth. Not only because his friends would retaliate, though facing them is more danger than I particularly want, but also due to his inherent magic. Killing mothfolk curses everyone who had a hand in the murder.” Elias rolls his neck slowly. “Much… simpler, really, to keep him on a short leash. Not that he makes it easy to keep an eye on him... anymore, at least.”

Martin desperately wants to drag the information out of Elias- he’s obviously holding something back about Jon, and he’s terrified of what it might be- but a muffled sound cuts him off.

“What was that?” Sasha asks, and Elias frowns.

“I-” 

The sound comes again, louder and clearer, something thumping into a wall. Jon straightens up, curling his hand around Martin’s. A third thump comes, then a fourth, and Elias goes even paler than before.

“Oh, dear. It seems our time is up,” he says, just before the door shatters open.

A massive, blonde wolf slides across the floor, snarling and barking, its ears pinned back and teeth bared. Wood chips fly as it shakes out its pelt, and Martin flinches away from a piece that comes close. Jon, though, simply springs to his feet, wings buzzing. He has a smile on his face, one Martin can’t understand until he opens his mouth.

“Daisy,” he says fondly, and the werewolf gives a loud bark. Her eyes are trained on Elias and Peter, every hair along her spine bristling. With her attention on the pair, Sasha and Tim take this as a good time to edge away, retreating back to where Martin is gaping.

When Daisy crouches, Tim pauses, twitches. As she springs, he’s hauled to the side by an unseen force, directly in the wolf’s path to Elias. Tim’s shocked, pained cry pierces through the chaos, and Martin and Sasha both rush towards him. Daisy is already withdrawing with a whine, preparing to pounce again, but Elias twists and flickers away.

From where he was sitting, a bat launches into the air. He swoops away from gnashing teeth and snatching claws, winging towards the shattered door. Elias’s panic is radiating through the room, mixing with Martin’s own as he presses down on Tim’s shoulder, trying to staunch the blood. Sasha cradles his head in her lap, stroking his hair and trying to keep him calm, but the dread is only growing.

If he hadn’t gone looking for Jon, if he had thought this through, if he hadn’t brought Sasha and Tim… He’s going to die, and this werewolf will kill them, too, or Peter will, or Elias will come back-

Why doesn’t he just lie down and take it-

Martin notices his vision fogging over, he blinks hard, wiping his eyes to dispel the tears building. It doesn’t clear away, though, and after a moment he realizes that the room is filling with a thick, cold fog. Hot, sickly rage pours through him, and he jerks his head to face Sasha, who is so still she already looks dead.

“Sasha!” His shout startles her, and she stares at him wildly. “I’ve got Tim- get Peter,” he says firmly, because Jon is holding Daisy back from chasing after the fleeing vampire. 

Sasha hesitates only a moment, before her eyes narrow at the source of the fog. She carefully lays Tim flat, before rising up to her full height, fists clenched.

Martin moves Tim to his lap, once he realizes that the bleeding is much less severe than he thought. Tim groans lowly, but his head tilts to the side, meaning he’s able to see when Sasha reaches into the fog and yanks out Peter.

The selkie had fallen, apparently, and he’s still trapped on one knee as he struggles against Sasha’s iron-clad grip. There’s no time for him to beg, because Sasha rears back and punches him, once, twice, three times across the face. The growing fog dissipates as suddenly as it started, wicking back into Peter’s coat as he tumbles to the floor. 

The hood of his coat falls over his face as he lands, and Sasha is left standing over an unconscious otter.

“Daisy, Daisy,” Jon says softly, “Elias is gone. It’s alright. We’re alright, you did it.” He has her massive head cradled in his hands, and he strokes her fur smooth down her neck. “We need you to come back now. Someone is hurt.”

“I’ll survive,” Tim croaks, which does not fill Martin with confidence. “No, really. She got me a little bit, sure, but- shit,” he hisses, trying to move his shoulder. 

“Tim! Stop, you don’t know if she tore or, o-or broke something-”

“I think I’d know if she broke my whole shoulder, Martin,” he gripes, but stays still enough for Martin to wriggle out of his jacket and tie it around his shoulder. “Fuck, that stings.”

“Suck it up, you big baby,” Sasha says, holding Peter by the scruff like an unruly cat. The wobble in her voice undercuts the words, though, as well as how she sniffs. “I’ve had papercuts worse than that.”

All three fall silent, though, as Daisy thuds onto her side. Her claws recede slowly, as well as her fangs. Her fur parts in waves, thankfully revealing clothes and not just skin, and, after a few moments, a woman is lying in place of the wolf. Jon doesn’t seem concerned about this, seeing as he leaves her to help Martin support Tim.

Daisy groans loudly, pushing herself off the floor. She glances around the room, opening her mouth to say something, before her jaw snaps shut as her eyes fall on Tim. “...oh, shit,” she says hoarsely. “Please tell me I clawed him.”

“No, you fuckin’ bit me- oh, shit,” Tim repeats.

Jon frowns as he looks down at Tim, but leans closely to Martin’s side all the same. “...well. It seems you’ll be meeting Georgie sooner than I had planned.”

Chapter Text

To Martin, the walk to Georgie’s seems almost anticlimactic. From the world’s most awkward elevator ride, in which Tim kept cracking jokes while Sasha held Peter like a bag of garbage, to the walk through the edge of town, where Jon walked beside him completely calmly and no one they passed acknowledged the level of weirdness, Martin kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It never did, not even when Sasha, on Jon’s advice, dropped Peter into a river. “He’s a selkie,” he said disdainfully, “He can’t drown.” And it even seemed to be true, seeing as once he hit the water, Peter just rolled onto his back and continued to be swept away, out of sight.

Daisy helped keep Tim upright for the whole walk. Martin offered to- it’s not like he’s weak, he’s the one who holds their equipment- but she shook her head. “I need to do something,” she grumbled. “Forcing a change like that leaves me jittery as hell.”

Tim certainly doesn’t seem to mind, narrating their adventure for as long as he can. They’re almost there, according to Jon, when he coughs and winces, steps stumbling. “Shit,” he wheezes, “That stings.” 

Martin has had to retie the jacket around his shoulder a couple times, and at this point, he’s accepted that it’s a lost cause. That makes it all the more worrying when he sees the fresh shimmer of blood on the fabric. Sasha cups Tim’s face, and it drives home how pale he looks. “Daisy, can you carry him the rest of the way? I don’t want him to fall.”

“Aw, babe, are you worried about me? Kinda gay.”

“I’m literally your girlfriend, idiot.”

“Still, though- ah!” Tim’s cut off by Daisy scooping him up in a princess carry, seeming to barely notice his weight. He turns a strained smirk on her. “I love a woman who can pick me up-”

“Bud, I am a lesbian and also a werewolf, do not tempt me. I don’t care that I’m the one who injured you, I will kick your ass.” 

“I also love a friend who can kick my ass! Martin could, if he weren’t so nice.” Apparently, pain has turned off Tim’s brain-to-mouth filter, despite the fact that he sounds out of breath. Jon laughs a little, a low, warm sound that makes Martin melt. 

“...how did you find us, anyways, Daisy?” Sasha asks, peering around Tim. She can’t help prop him up, but she’s stayed close the whole way, alternating between rubbing his back and twisting her hands when he winces.

Daisy shrugs a little. “I smelled humans, Elias, Peter, and Jon. Jon being with those two is always bad. Humans being with them is also always bad. Hell, them being together is enough cause for concern, usually Peter hates coming into town. So, I came up. Locked doors, Jon smelling like anger and fear? Obviously Elias was doing something shitty.”

“Yeah, that checks out. Thanks. I mean, yeah, you did bite Tim, but you did get us out of Elias’s whole deal.”

“I didn’t want to bite him, you know. When I jumped, I swear he looked like Elias.”

“Yeah,” Tim chimes in, “And he pulled me in the way. S’not your fault. You’re a good girl.”

“Don’t make me drop you,” Daisy says, but she is smiling. Martin has the sudden certainty that if she were still in wolf form, her tail would be wagging. It makes him laugh, and Jon leans against him.

The trees begin to part again, giving way to sprawling plots of flowers and herbs. Just the smell wicks away some of Martin’s stress and anxiety, and from Tim’s sigh, he can only assume it’s doing the same for him. The cottage isn’t there until it suddenly is, cozy and radiating warmth from every window. Martin looks down and sees rings of runes encircling the clearing, glittering in the sharp moonlight.

Jon walks up to the wooden blue door, going to knock but pausing. He glances back at Martin, at Sasha and Daisy and Tim, and Martin gives him a smile and a thumbs up. It doesn’t matter so much that he doesn’t know why, exactly, Jon seems nervous, he just wants to make him feel better.

Then, Jon knocks.

A cat rushes out the door when it opens, twinning around Jon’s ankles. Martin can hear the loud, rumbling purr from where he’s standing, and he wants nothing more than to scoop up the ginger tabby and bury his face in it. Well, that’s not exactly true, he wants Tim to be okay and for weird evil gays to stop ruining his newfound life, but the cat thing is pretty high on the list.

“Admiral, stop running out, you don’t know if Daisy- oh.” One of the witches, Martin assumes, steps out, frowning at the scene before her. Jon’s wings flutter in what he’s decided is probably sheepishness, and he shifts out of the way. “...oh, Jon. What have you done this time?”

“It wasn’t me! Elias and Peter are back together again, and. Well. I’ve… made new friends.” Jon gestures, and Martin comes forward with an awkward wave. “Georgie, Martin. Martin, Georgie. And Sasha, and Tim. And, well, you know Daisy…”

“Hey, Georgie,” Daisy says tiredly, shifting Tim in her arms.

“Hi, Daisy. Gods, Jon. Did- ugh, gods. Alright, come in, I need to wake up Melanie.” Georgie clicks her tongue and the cat- Admiral?- follows her in as she goes, pushing the door open.

Martin isn’t sure why it surprises him that the cottage seems bigger inside than it should be, but it does. Georgie waves the group to a circle of furniture- a plush couch, some chairs, and an unreasonably large beanbag chair- before disappearing into another room. Daisy carefully sets Tim on the couch, his injured shoulder facing out, and sits on the floor beside him, seeming disinclined to move. Sasha takes the nearest chair, and Martin sets the camera beside her, making sure it’s turned off. 

Jon stays standing, pacing in a tight little track beside a bookcase. The tip of his tail keeps flicking. Martin comes closer, letting Sasha quietly soothe Tim behind him. “...Jon?” 

The moth turns towards him, eyes tired behind his glasses. One is still squinting from where Peter must have hit him, and it pains Martin not to be able to make him feel better. Jon just looks so stressed and frustrated, and after a moment’s hesitation, Martin holds his arms out.

Jon seems baffled by the offer, drawing back slightly, but then he just slumps and sinks into the waiting hug. Martin tucks him close, one arm around his shoulders and the other tucked between the pairs of wings. It’s a little awkward, but he doesn’t mind. Most of what he does is a little awkward.

“I’m so… I’m so sorry, Martin. I didn’t want any of this to happen,” Jon says quietly, forehead leaned on Martin’s shoulder. 

“...What? No, no, this- This isn’t your fault.”

“But if you hadn’t met me-”

“Then I wouldn’t have met you, and that would suck! You didn’t ask for an old couple to kidnap the four of us. Or for Daisy to bite Tim. Or to get bloody played by them!” Martin shakes his head firmly. “From what Elias said, you’ve been saving lives. We’re- we’re gonna be okay. It’s okay. Alright?”

“Finally, someone else to talk sense into Jon.” Georgie has returned, apparently, and Martin flushes about being caught. Caught doing what, exactly, he couldn’t say, because comforting his friends is kind of his thing. 

There’s another witch under Georgie's arm, and Martin has to guess that’s Melanie. Her eyes are wide and sightless with curling, twisting scars around them, but he can still feel her gaze moving across the room. “Well, this is a clusterfuck,” she says flatly, before yawning. 

Jon pulls away from Martin, reluctantly, and goes over to the witches. His voice is low but urgent, cut over by a grunt of pain from Tim. Martin immediately moves to sit by him, one hand resting on his leg. 

Daisy is still staring at him intently, and she’s begun to frown. Sasha gives her a nudge, but she just shakes her head, not looking away.

“Tim? You still with us, buddy?” Martin hates that his voice wavers, even though he’s trying to be strong.

“Yeah, Marto. Ow… Really wishing unconsciousness would take hold right about now. Kinda- ow- rude.” The bleeding seems to have tapered off, but Tim still looks awfully pale. He tries to crack a smile, tiredness tugging at the sides of it. “Hey, do you think I’ll be a cool wolf?”

“You don’t know- ...Yes, Tim, you’ll be a cool wolf. We’ll get you a big bone and everything.”

“I always wanted a dog anyway. Good thing I hate those little yappy things, huh?” Sasha runs her hand through Tim’s hair, and he leans towards it as much as he can. “You better be house-trained, though. I’m not cleaning up after you.”

“I will pee in all of your suitcases. You cannot stop me,” he says, closing his eyes. “I am unstoppable.”

Georgie clears her throat, and they all look up to see her with her arms crossed. “Well, this is where we come in. Daisy bit you. You are gonna be a werewolf. I mean, technically, you literally are a werewolf now, it just doesn’t show until the next full moon.” Daisy nods, so Georgie continues, “But we can fix your shoulder and make sure you don’t go feral.”

Tim makes a questioning noise, but Daisy is the one who answers. “If a wolf is left alone after being bit, they won’t be able to stay human when they’re shifted. It’s- bad. They don’t care about friend or foe, just a meal or a threat.” She shakes her head. “Plus, they don’t have any control over their turns. A feral couldn’t have saved you lot the way I did, because it’s not the full moon.”

“It doesn’t make it healthy to change without the moon,” Melanie says firmly, and Daisy winces, “But you can if you need to. We’ve got a slow way and a fast way, but the fast way means you three are gonna have to pitch in. With blood.”

“What my dearest means,” Georgie dryly explains, “Is that you three- Daisy, Martin, Sasha- will have to give us some blood to work with. The maker and the wolf’s bonds, in technical terms. We can whip up a potion that’ll heal you and keep you domesticated in an hour. If you don’t want to give blood, it’ll take all night.” 

Martin is already rolling up his sleeves, and he smiles as Sasha shrugs out of her jacket at the same time. Daisy reacts slower, but she stands up, and he thinks her slowness might have only been that she didn’t want to look away from her charge. 

“We’ll help,” he says, speaking for the others because of how obvious the answer is.

The witches smile, and Georgie gestures them over. Jon has moved off to the side, holding the cat out of the way of Melanie chopping plants. She holds a knife out behind her, and Georgie takes it, turning to grab a bowl. “This is gonna sting like a bitch, and we can’t just heal it after. When you use blood, it has to be an actual sacrifice, it’s annoying. But, on the upside, we do have snacks afterwards.”

“You’re gonna need them,” Melanie quips, laughing when Georgie nudges her.

“So, just repeat this when I cut you, alright?” Georgie rattles off something in a language Martin doesn’t know, slowing it down and repeating it until all three of them are able to say it without trouble. Daisy gets it quickly, but it takes Martin a minute, busy thinking and overthinking.

Sasha holds out her arm first, wisely using her left instead of her right, and Georgie cuts along her forearm. As they repeat the words together, the blood flows quickly, pooling into a condensed golf ball of crimson before dropping into the bowl. Daisy follows suit, not even wincing at the cut, and then it’s Martin’s turn.

He wipes his hands on his jeans, then offers his arm. Georgie’s hand is warm as she cradles the limb, and Martin watches as the knife digs in. It does sting, a burning sting that makes his heart race, but he’s distracted from the pain by the little swirls of emerald that mix with the scarlet of his blood. Georgie raises an eyebrow, but continues chanting with him, and his blood mixes in all the same, the green continuing to shimmer like sunlight on the ocean.

The words continue, new ones that wrap around his head and settle on his skin, but Martin is shuffled to the side to sit with Daisy and Sasha. Sasha hands him a cloth, and he wraps it around his arm with a quiet hiss. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to talk or not, so he doesn’t, instead just leaning into his friend while he thinks.

Green blood. Is he turning into a crab? Or a bug? But he still has plenty of red blood, and he doesn’t even know how that would work. Is Jon’s blood green? No, his bruises look normal. Martin frowns at nothing in particular, only brought out of his thoughts when Sasha nudges him.

The chanting has stopped, and Georgie is holding a shimmering bottle. He’s not sure exactly how blood and herbs came together to make this coppery concoction, but he is glad it doesn’t just look like pasta sauce. “Alright,” she says, gesturing for them to get up, “Time to work some magic.”

“Technically we just did the working part, but hey, this part is way cooler,” Melanie adds. “Sasha, right? Get his shirt off.”

“Of all the times for me to do this,” Sasha complains, “This is definitely the least hot.” She pauses for a moment, considering Tim’s shirt, an awful flower print that only he can pull off- and even then, only just. “Well, at least it isn’t the pink one.”

Sasha crouches down, gently working the fabric away from the wound. She takes a towel from Melanie to lay under him, and Tim groans when she moves him around. “Sash?”

“Yeah, babe, I’m here,” she says softly. “We’re about to fix you up, okay? Just stay still.”

“You got it, boss,” he replies, sounding exhausted. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t leave for the world.” Sasha leans to kiss Tim’s forehead, and he smiles, eyes shutting fully. 

Georgie has a bowl of water now, and an armload of towels. Martin watches as she carefully cleans Tim’s shoulder, and it still amazes him when she whispers a few words and he drifts into the air a foot above the couch. Tim barely seems to notice the treatment, remaining still and calm as she wipes down his back.

“Tim? I know you’re tired, but you have to hang in here for just a few more minutes.” Melanie’s voice is kind but firm, enough for Tim to roll his head a little and look at her. “I need you to think about your friends. Martin, c’mere,” she says quieter, and Martin fights his dizziness to stand beside the couch. “Take his hand.”

That’s easy, of course, and Martin does, wrapping both his hands around Tim’s free one. He smiles when Tim looks at him, brings it up to kiss his knuckles. “Hey, buddy,” Martin says, and gets a little strained smile in return.

“Sasha, hold his head. Like if he was in your lap.” Melanie helps guide her hands, cupped around his ears and jaw. “Good, good. Daisy, you’re fine where you are. Jon, don’t do anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Jon says lowly, but just gets tutted at for his trouble. 

“Tim, we need you to focus on your friends, on how much they mean to you. You never want to hurt them, right?”

“Never,” Tim says quietly, squeezing Martin’s hand and looking up at Sasha.

“You want to protect them?” Melanie’s voice is quiet, but it resonates strangely, rolling around the room.

“Always. Of course.”

Georgie places her hand over the mouth of the bottle, then draws it away, the copper fluid following after her like a ribbon.

“What are your friends, Tim?” Martin blinks at that question, but Tim answers firmly, immediately.

“They are my pack,” he says, like he’s known that for his entire life.

“The pack provides for their own,” Georgie says, her silver eyes bright and smiling, then brings her hand down to rest on Tim’s shoulder. The potion flows over his injuries, turning gold on contact with the bites, and Tim sighs in utter relief, hand relaxing in Martin’s. Georgie keeps her hand in place for a moment, then pulls it away, revealing more of the gold. It shimmers and shines, hiding any trace of the wounds.

Wounds that do not resurface as the gold seeps into his skin. Martin watches in wonder, but there’s barely any signs of the marks, only small silvery scars laying flat against Tim’s skin. 

“Oh, that’s much better,” Tim says clearly, offering the room a bright smile just before his eyes close and he immediately falls asleep.

Georgie drops the spell that had him in the air after whispering another to clean the couch, the blood going from the fabric to the dirty water left in the bowl. She gives a little grin, then yawns, stretching as she stands up. “Well, he’s out til morning, at least. You lot hungry?”

Martin blinks at her, and Sasha doesn’t seem much better, but Daisy groans from the kitchen area. “Yes, please, gods, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

He can’t help but laugh, a nervous giggle that gives way rapidly to a wheezing guffaw, and he covers his face to hide his red cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, I just- ah- haha! What? What is my life? What is happening to me. Oh my god.” Martin is defenceless to it, all the strain and tension and anger and fear, so much fear, leaving him in a flood of helpless squeaks when his breathing runs ragged.

Melanie joins in with a cackle, which draws a chuckle out of Georgie. Daisy just snorts, but Sasha laughs too- all of this to Jon’s confusion.

“Admiral, I think the humans have lost it,” he confides quietly. The Admiral only purrs louder- but even that is conquered by the multitudes of laughter.

Chapter Text

The witches’ cottage, Georgie informed them regrettably over a cup of tea, only has one spare bed. Sasha claimed it for Tim immediately, and no one wanted to argue that. When she carried him to the bed, Daisy followed after. Martin caught a glimpse of her laying down on a pile of pillows at the foot of the bed before the door swung closed, leaving him with Jon and the ladies. 

Now he’s munching on a biscuit with the Admiral in his lap, the cat nosing gently at the bandage covering his arm. Martin pets him absently, watching Georgie and Melanie as they chop fruit together. Jon has his chin propped in his hands, elbows resting on the table. He’s been staring at his mug for awhile, and the silence is growing thick and heavy like fog.

“...So, you’ve known Georgie for a while?” Martin asks, nudging Jon’s foot with his own. The moth jolts a little before looking at him, antennae twitching.

“Ah- yes. We met… wow, years ago.” Jon pushes some hair out of his face where it’s escaped his ponytail. “I broke into here when it was raining, and she dumped a load of towels on my head.”

Martin laughs, and it turns into a wheeze when Jon gives him the ‘I am making a perfectly factual statement’ look. “No! Really?”

“Yes. Why would I lie about that? Or to you.” Jon shakes his head a little. “I wasn’t keyed into her wards at the time, so this looked like a rundown shack. Rather like my home, actually... I’m just lucky the wards didn’t fry me.”

“Well, you didn’t register as a threat, being half-drowned and all,” snorts Georgie. “You looked pathetic, so I took pity on you. One of my better calls. Not my best,” she adds, bumping her hip against Melanie’s, “but certainly a better one.”

Jon shrugs, but he’s smiling down at his mug now. “I didn’t know anything about humans, or… well, much about anything, really. My grandmother wasn’t exactly a fan of humans, or anyone who wasn’t a moth, so my scope was limited to what she knew and the books we found. Georgie took me under her wing, so to speak, for the better part of a couple years.”

“Taught him everything he knows. Got him that tape recorder and his camera, though he came up with recording people all by himself. It was supposed to be for playing back stuff I told him-”

“Well, you only have one voice! And there are a lot of useful ones.” Jon crosses one set of arms, and Martin gets the sense that this is a long-standing argument. Before it can escalate, he reaches over and rubs Jon’s shoulder. The moth looks at him, eyes wide, but he settles down, body relaxing under the touch.

“Regardless,” Jon says softly, “She did teach me a lot, both about human life and about myself.”

“And for the most part, I got it right! Except for the gender situation,” Georgie says, taking down another bottle that shimmers a soft gold, “That one I guessed wrong.”

“She thought I was a she,” Jon explains. “I went with that for a while, then realized that being a she wasn’t right for me. Now I come by every now and again and she gives me the he-potions.”

Martin blinks, then blinks again. “Wait- wait, you make magical hormones?” He asks Georgie, who nods as she funnels herbs into the bottle. 

“Sure do. It’s a hell of a lot easier than trying to get a doctor to see me about estrogen, and it’s not like I could take Jon in for testosterone.” Georgie gives Martin a look, and he can feel himself relax- it’s the same look he’s given to people at Pride, a look of knowing, of kinship. He smiles widely at her. “If you stick around, I can make some for you, too.”

Jon looks at him, dawning realization on his face. “You chose yourself too?” He asks, and Martin loves the way he says it, from the admiration in his voice to just the words themselves. 

“I- yes, I did,” he says, cheeks gone ruddy. “Like you said, um, I went with what people thought I was, but being a girl wasn’t me. So I chose to be- to be me.” He feels so warm, saying it like that. It doesn’t feel like a hardship, or a struggle, or something to hide, just something that’s true finally being shared with someone he-

Someone he cares about.

The Admiral mews at him, and Martin realizes he stopped petting him, so he focuses on doing that. It’s soothing, and the purr he gets in return rattles his bones. 

“Well, you’re in the right place to trans your gender,” Melanie chuckles. “I only got here a couple years or so ago. Used to do a show like yours,” she says, gesturing to the logo on his shirt, “But for ghosts. Then one wouldn’t leave me alone, and I had to ask Georgie for help getting it off of me, and then. Well. I never really left.” Her hand finds Georgie’s without fumbling.

“I visit here a lot,” says Jon. “Sometimes for potions, sometimes for laundry- I don’t have a washing machine,” and he says the words carefully, specifically, “And getting wet is a nightmare for me, so I bring my blankets and clothes here. Sometimes I just want to be here. Georgie is my friend,” he finishes, a content smile smoothing out the stress he carries. After a beat, he adds, “So is Melanie. Obviously.”

“It’d better be obviously, I’m the one who upgraded the wards on your shack.” Melanie goes back to chopping, but the rhythm slows after a few seconds. “...Ugh. Georgie, do you want to go into this, or-”

“...Yeah, alright, okay.” Georgie kisses Melanie’s cheek, before turning away from her to sit at the table. Her eyes are focused on Martin, who swallows nervously, fingers curling in the Admiral’s fur. 

“Martin,” she starts, then sighs. “There’s no easy, gentle way to say this. You’ve got magic in your blood.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say, though he tries to respond; chopped off words and abandoned sentences dying on his tongue. The air has become heavy, Georgie’s gaze stifling his rational objections. It’s not possible. None of this is. But as much as he wants to say something, convince her she’s wrong, the words don’t come, and a creeping feeling of certainty is twisting his tongue.

The only saving grace is Jon reaching over to wrap one of his slim hands around his wrist.

“I- I don’t know what that means,” he settles on, voice quavering. “Did Elias- or, or Peter- did they do something to me? Am I sick? It’s not going to make Tim sick, is it?”

Georgie is already shaking her head, her curls bouncing around her face. “No, no, nothing like that. I wouldn’t have gone through with it if I thought you were a danger to your friend. I’m a witch, not a bitch,” she jokes, but it falls flat in the tense atmosphere. She shakes her head again, drumming her fingers on the table.

“My blood has streaks of silver in it,” she settles on, looking at Martin. “It has ever since the fantastic touched my life. I’d wager that you started bleeding emerald as soon as you met Jon.”

“So it’s- just something that happens?” Martin asks, confused and more than a little frightened. “I don’t understand, I’m not special.” 

“Of course you are,” Jon says firmly, fingers minutely squeezing around his wrist. “Of course. Obviously.”

“I- maybe to you- I don’t know why, really, I’m just- listen, my self esteem isn’t on trial here, my bloody- my blood is! I don’t know what’s happening, and-”

“You have magic in your blood,” Georgie repeats. “You always have. It could have been brought to life by a book you found, or by meeting someone fantastic, or by tripping over a wardstone- there’s a thousand ways it can happen, but it doesn’t matter. You are magic. You are, essentially, fantastic. Of fantasy. You can do magic. Or, well-”

Melanie cuts in. “You have the ability to do magic, she means. Maybe you’ve noticed things other people haven’t. Maybe you’ve known when people are hurting, and how to fix it, even if you can’t explain how. Maybe you find things. Maybe animals trust you.” The Admiral mews again, rubbing against his arm. 

“The point is,” says Georgie, “You’re not mundane. There’s things you can do with it, things you can be, but it’s unhealthy to ignore it. It’d explain why Jon found you so interesting.”

“I find you interesting because you are interesting,” Jon says fiercely, his eyes sharp. He sounds so adamant, so offended by the thought that Martin would laugh if he could do anything but stare around the room. “Magic has nothing to do with it. I didn’t know until now.”

Martin’s head is spinning. His heartbeat pounds behind his eyes, and he has to pull away from both the cat and the moth to cover his face, leaning back. “I can’t- I’m just- It’s been a very long night,” he says into his hands, “And I can’t handle this too. I just- I can’t!”

There’s silence around him, but it doesn’t stop the ringing in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, as a chair scrapes across the floor. A hand falls on his other shoulder, and Martin looks up at Georgie, concern plain on her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some sleep? The couch is cozy,” she suggests. “We’ll wake you up if Tim gets up, how’s that?” 

He manages to nod limply and Georgie helps him up, the ground swaying under his feet.

Martin does manage half of a smile at Jon, because he really doesn’t want him to feel guilty. It doesn’t seem to do much, but it’s all he can offer before he’s led to the couch. 

Sleep takes Martin before he can even lay down.

---

Tim blinks awake, groggy and heavy-headed. He’s nestled against Sasha, tucked under her chin despite having a few inches on her. He wriggles free of her grip to roll onto his front, stretching the stiffness out and then flopping onto his belly. 

It takes him a minute to realize this isn’t his bed, and at first, he just figures it’s a hotel bed. It happens often enough, losing track of where he fell asleep, so he flips onto his side to gain his bearing. The wooden boards and assorted papers pinned to them do not scream hotel to him, and Tim blinks before it comes back to him. 

The vampire’s cold hands. The searing pain in his shoulder. The endless walk. His vision greying around the edges as he says slurred, half-remembered words.

He clutches at his shoulder, expecting a mass of bandages at best, but he finds only skin. Tim makes a noise that wakes Sasha, and he’s still prodding at the new scars when she sits up. There’s hints of gold around them, but it wipes away when he bothers the scars.

Sasha shifts behind him. Where’s Martin? He was here, he helped. Tim sits up straighter, distracted from his examination. He can smell him, a warm bready smell hidden under layers of citrus and fur and crushed flowers, but he can’t see him-

“Tim, you’re hyperventilating,” Sasha says quietly, ghosting her fingers down his arm. He looks at her with wide eyes, and she stares back calmly, fingers trailing down to take his hand. “You passed out after the witches healed you. Me and Daisy put you in bed. Martin’s out in the living room.”

Tim’s breathing settles slowly, and he curls his hand around hers, basking in the warmth that seeps in from the simple contact. “Daisy?” He asks, then notices her watching from the foot of the bed.

Her eyes shine in the dim light, and Tim wonders if his are, too. Daisy pulls herself up onto the bed, shedding a blanket as she goes, and he relaxes further. “Didn’t want to interrupt,” she mutters, glancing to the side. “But I needed to make sure you were alright.”

Tim sighs, leaning back against Sasha. She holds him up like always, and he loves that about her, loves his immovable partner. He nuzzles under her chin and she brings a hand up to comb through his messy hair, smoothing it down again. “...So. I’m a werewolf now,” he says, voice low and rough.

“Yes. I’m… sorry about that. I would take it back if I could.” Daisy is twisting her hands in her lap, and Tim can’t stand the sight of her looking so stressed, so he reaches out to rub her knee. 

“Listen. Did you want to bite me? Was this your secret plan? Were you actually hired by Doucheard to turn me into a werewolf?”

“What? No, of course not, I hate the bastard. I was trying to bite him.”

“Then thanks for your condolences, but stop apologizing. He pulled me in front of him and made you bite me. It’s his ass that’s on the line for it. You, like, carried me miles to get help, I’m literally not mad at you, boss.” Tim gives her a lazy smile, and she returns it after a minute. “If you wanna help, though, give us the low-down on what this means. Like, I know- Georgie? Yeah, that’s right- Georgie helped. She said she, uh, made me tame?”

Daisy sits up more when Sasha nods, and everything feels more relaxed. Tim could honestly go back to sleep if he wasn’t focused on listening.

“Tame is just the word we use for werewolves who are in control. Not, you know, feral. It means you have power over your wolf, it’s part of you, as opposed to ferals whose wolves are like parasites.” Daisy rolls her shoulders a little, shaking off her own sleep-stiffness. “You won’t go into a murderous rage or anything, unless you’re already predisposed to do that. I hope you aren’t a vegetarian, because you’ll want to eat raw meat more.” 

Tim laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I love a good ham. Or steak. Or chicken. I’m down to eat anything, really.”

“God, you’re gonna start stealing even more of my sushi now, aren’t you?” Sasha taps on his forehead, and Tim smirks unrepentantly. “Menace.”

“And it’s not even going to keep him from stealing your chocolate. At least, y’know, when you’re human-shaped. The more wolfy you get, the more you get those downsides.” Daisy grimaces. “I had like three silver rings that I can’t wear anymore. It’s a pain in the ass.”

“Alright, so, silver is real. Anything else I need to look out for? Like, I dunno, pineapple?”

“Pfft, what? No. Pineapple is fine, if you can stomach it normally. Uh, wolfsbane, obviously, but that’s poisonous for everyone. Dismemberment, decapitation, normal stuff like that. You can heal from a lot more than you used to, though, and I personally haven’t gotten sick since I turned, so there’s that.” Daisy shrugs. “Otherwise, you’re just a tough guy who turns into a wolf with the full moon. With silver, though… a bullet to the heart kills everyone. You need your heart. Silver causes rot and infection with prolonged contact, so just avoid it. Copper is better for cooking, anyways, or so my mate says.” She has a wide smile when she says that, and Tim can’t help but smile with her.

“Mate. Elias mentioned that before, that you have a mate.” Sasha smooths Tim’s bangs out of his face idly, watching Daisy. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, my mate is my fiancé, Basira. My partner when we were in the force together.” Tim makes a face, and Daisy laughs. “We left. We’re technically vigilantes at this point, because there isn’t exactly anyone keeping an eye on the supernatural going-ons around here. 

“She’s human, so she can actually deal with the forward facing stuff. And, besides, you’d be surprised at how much fantastic stuff can be put down with a single shot.” Daisy chuckles fondly, gaze on the distance before she pulls herself back. “Your mate is just the person you want to be with, the one you care about most, who you wouldn’t hurt for anything. You can have more than one mate, but, uh, I don’t. It’s like… a level above just dating? But wolves don’t exactly have marriage.”

Tim nods slowly, taking it all in. “Alright, it’s just a relationship status for dogs. I get it. Then pack is just friends and family? Close friends and family,” he clarifies, when Daisy opens her mouth. 

“Yes, just the close ones. People you care about. The ones you’d kill for. And, sometimes, the wolf who made you, if you don’t hate them for it.” Daisy smiles a little, eyebrows raised, and Tim grins back at her, then up at Sasha.

“What do you say, Sash, is she cool?” Sasha looks down at him, then smirks.

“Well, if nothing else, she’s already cooler than you.”

“Ouch, you wound me!” Tim paws up at her face, and she laughs.

“No, no, she wounded you. I’m just calling it how I see it.” Sasha ignores the sulking werewolf on her chest to smile at the one next to her. “But yeah. She’s cool.”

Silence curls around them after that, warm and soft. Tim’s pretty sure he dozes off a little, because the knock that finally breaks the calm makes him yelp and jolt almost out of Sasha’s lap. There’s a laugh on the other side, and then Melanie pokes her face in, giving a wave to the room at large.

“Come on, Sasha and pups, it’s breakfast time. Georgie scored some bacon.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Tim tumbles out of bed, and the girls all laugh at him just before he laughs at himself.

Chapter Text

Martin doesn’t dream. Maybe he’s too tired to, maybe he just forgets them the second he twitches awake, but he knows nothing but steady, silent darkness until he feels something nudge against him.

The light burns his eyes when he jerks awake to stare at Tim and he has to cover them immediately. “Ugh, five more minutes,” he grumbles, but is immediately nudged again. Martin tries to slap at him blindly, but that doesn’t seem to deter histaps and prods until Martin finally sits up. “What, Tim? What-? Oh.”

It all comes back to him. Witch cottage. Kidnapping. Mothman. Right.

Wait, Tim?

Martin drops his hands just in time to be poked again and sees Tim grinning at him. 

“Hey, lazybones,” Tim drawls. “Thought you’d never wake up.”

“Tim!” Martin yelps, jolting up to pull Tim into the most crushing edition of one of his patented hugs. He hears a quiet ‘oof’ but that just makes him squeeze a little tighter, swaying with his friend. “I was so worried- You’re okay?” He finally releases Tim to pat him down, pulling on his shirt collar to check his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t strip me before breakfast, I’m starving!” Tim smiles up at him despite his protests, holding his arms to the side to enable the inspection. “Clean bill of health, aside from a new silver allergy and a tendency to get furballs.”

“And he’s clingier than ever,” Sasha says from behind him, leaving Tim to groan. “It’s true and you know it, you’ve literally only left me alone so you can bother Martin.”

“It’s true, but you don’t have to actually say it! Leave me some dignity, babe.” 

“Sorry, it’s my job to make fun of you.” Tim whines, but quiets down when Sasha ruffles his hair. She smiles at him, then turns to Martin, smile widening as she reaches out to him. “C’mon, you look like you need to eat.” 

Instead of letting himself be led, Martin tugs Sasha into a hug, wrapping himself around his best friends like a particularly affectionate octopus. “I love you guys,” he says quietly, because they’re stable. Even with Tim's new wolfy predicament, he’s still Tim. And Sasha is the same Sasha, who pats his back to prevent him from crushing her.

He releases her when the Admiral brushes against his legs, drawing him back to the situation at hand. When Martin looks to the kitchen, he sees the witches fussing over breakfast. It takes him a moment to see Jon pressed against the cabinets, tucked out of their way as much as possible. 

That’s what gets his feet moving, leading him to sidle up to the moth. He keeps a little distance- those wings aren’t exactly small- but Martin’s close enough that Jon’s tail brushes against his leg when it flicks. 

“...I’m sorry about last night,” Martin mumbles, remembering how he just fell apart towards the end.

Jon gives him a baffled look, his head tilted almost comically. “What?”

“W-well, I- I freaked out, then crashed, and, um-”

“Martin,” Jon says slowly. “You were told that you’re magic on the same night one of your friends was turned into a wolf- and the same night you were kidnapped. I’m just glad you’re safe. And awake.”

Said like that, so obvious, flat, matter-of-fact… Martin flushes and looks away, hunching up a little bit. It’s too early to deal with the kindness in Jon’s voice, and he casts around for any possible distraction. “So! Tim said there was breakfast. I don’t know about you, I’m way hungrier than I am tired.”

“Well, that’s to be expected. You did give blood last night.” Melanie chuckles, setting a plate heaping with toast on the table. She tilts her head at Jon, eyes narrowing a little. “Don’t eat all the honey this time, asshole. Other people like it too.”

It’s Jon’s turn to blush, his antennae flicking back. Martin can’t help but laugh at him and it gets him a huff in return. “What? It’s high in energy! You try flying under your own power, it’s very exhausting, and anyways I am nocturnal so I need the sugar to keep up with you lot-”

The words don't help Martin stop his laughter, but he muffles it the best he can behind a hand. 

Tim doesn’t have that restraint, barking out a laugh as he takes a seat. “We get it, you have a sweet tooth. Hey, Martin, be a dear and pass the butter?” The question takes him by surprise, but Martin takes the butter dish from Georgie to pass to Tim all the same. “Thanks, pal, you’re such a sweetheart .”

Jon makes a strangled noise behind him, and everyone is laughing. It takes a second for Martin to catch the joke, then he flushes furiously, certain that he’s a match for the roses growing outside. 

“Bad boy,” Martin grits out, and instantly regrets it when Tim flashes him the most kicked-dog look he’s ever seen. “Ah- I-”

“I’m screwing with you,” Tim says, dropping the look and instantly getting a swat on the shoulder from Georgie.

“Stop fucking with Martin and eat, we have shit to talk about and I’m not going to get serious when he looks like he wants to cry,” she says, before gesturing to the other chairs. “Sit, eat, be merry.”

While they were talking, more food appeared on the table: a plate stacked high with bacon, a bowl full of scrambled eggs, and various cups of chopped fruit. Martin, feeling particularly wise, loses himself in the lovely meal, letting the breakfast conversations wash over him.

It’s not until Georgie clears her throat that he tunes back in, setting his fork down. “...I don’t know how to say this tactfully, so I guess I’ll just say it. You three obviously need to stick around for a little bit.” She gestures at Tim, who has just finished pulling a nearly-raw piece of bacon apart, and then looks at Martin. Martin nods slightly. “Martin has signs of magic, as well, and it’s dangerous to be alone with yourself when you’re growing into it.”

“Martin?” Sasha frowns at him, head tilted, and he swallows.

“We talked about it after you three went to bed. I- apparently, I’m magical. It happens to people sometimes.” This is certainly too vague for Sasha to be happy with, but Martin just shrugs weakly. “Georgie can tell you about it more.”

“Tim needs to stay around for at least the full moon,” Daisy cuts in, elbows propped on the table. “You gotta learn how to be a wolf, how to deal with yourself. It’s not like being a person. There’s instincts to deal with. Plus,” she adds, “If you don’t know how to handle yourself, Sasha will have endless blackmail material.”

“Well, maybe we can go-” Sasha gets cut off by Tim nudging her and she laughs a little, tapering off into a frown after a moment. She drums her fingers on the tabletop, looking pensive. “We can’t exactly stay in hotels the whole time. I’d ask if we could maybe stay here and help out, but there’s only one guest room and I don't know how all three of us would fit into it-”

“Martin could stay with me,” Jon says, surprising himself as much as Martin. The moth blinks widely when everyone looks at him, and he crosses his arms tightly before he explains. “I have an attic. Two people would be too many to stay in it, I think. If Georgie says it’s okay, you two- Sasha and Tim- can stay here... I’m close to here. So you wouldn’t be away from your friends,” he mumbles, glancing to Martin, who is blushing and nearly speechless.

“I- Oh. Um. Well?” Martin looks around, trying to find something to say. Tim is giving him a smirk and a thumbs up, and Sasha winks, making Martin blush deeper. “Well, that sounds… Nice, I think, I mean- yes?”

Jon’s smile is worth his anxiety, sending sparks through his chest that drive away the exhaustion weighing his shoulders down.

Things blur together after that, discussions back and forth. Daisy lives with her fiancé, of course, so she can come visit Tim here. Tim and Sasha will get their things, and Sasha can help Georgie and Melanie with business they have in town, while the witches will teach Martin how to handle himself, which seems to be a reward for them, for some reason.

They split up after breakfast to do just that, Martin hugging Sasha and Tim goodbye. Sasha wags her finger at him, insisting he keep his phone on, and he promises from behind the backpack put into his arms, apparently full of blankets.

He looks over to Georgie and Melanie as they say something to Jon before the moth nods, gesturing towards Martin. Melanie mutters something that makes him huff, his tail lashing as he turns to join Martin at the edge of their property.

Martin is glad to see the irritation melt away at nothing more than him smiling at Jon, and he follows happily after a wave goodbye to his new friends.

---

It’s both calming and utterly nerve-wracking to walk in the woods with Jon. Martin shifts the backpack on his shoulders looking for some pressure to distract him, but it doesn’t work and just makes Jon look at him curiously. Where has the smooth, easy-going Martin that held hands with a cryptid gone? 

Gods, maybe he should have offered to just sleep on Georgie’s couch for all eternity.

The minute he has the thought, though, guilt surges through him. Jon asked for his company- specifically his . He’s defended Martin against threats and insults, even just perceived ones. 

For some reason, this fantastic entity wants him around, enjoys his presence. 

He still remembers how it felt when Jon kissed him on the cheek that night.

Martin screws up his courage as much as he can, using every ounce of it to reach out and touch one of Jon’s hands. 

There’s a pause, and he wants to pull away, embarrassed of being so bold, but then Jon smiles to the forest before them and takes his hand. 

“I… filled Georgie in, about things. While you were asleep.” Jon lets out a hoarse laugh. “She yelled at me for an hour about overstepping boundaries with you. I’m sorry,” he says, his apology sounding rehearsed before he repeats it in his own inflection, not whatever borrowed one he was working with. “I’m sorry. I'm sorry if I upset you. I- It’s been made very clear to me that I do not know how to court humans.”

“Well- wait. Hold on?” Martin looks at Jon for a long moment, trying to break down the words. He takes a deep breath, settling himself down. “Okay, one, you didn’t upset me. You, uh, you surprised me, for sure, because I’m not, like, the usual target for people to- whatever, that’s not the point. You were fine. It’s fine, this is nice,” he squeezes Jon’s delicate hand lightly. “This is good. I mean, yeah, it was kind of weird that you took a picture of me. Why, uh, why did you do that?” Martin won’t deny that it’s flattering to be the object of someone’s affection, but he’s not exactly Tim, looks-wise.

Jon laughs again, but in a more self-pitying way, looking off to the side. “Well. I saw your smile. It’s a very good one. I wanted, at first, to practice it, because it made me happy to see and I wanted to- do that. Make people happy when they see me.” He hesitates, before meeting Martin’s eyes for just a moment. “But the more I looked at you, the more I wanted to… to make you smile that smile.”

Martin barely keeps control of himself. If he didn’t have an iron grip on what remains of his composure, he would have swooned into Jon already, likely crushing him. Instead, he breaks into a smile- maybe even the smile, judging by Jon’s face- and brings his cool hand up to cradle against his own warm cheek briefly. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

For some reason, this seems to distress Jon, his wings buzzing briefly and eyes sharpening. “I will- I will have to say more things that are true, if that’s the nicest thing. Because you are… full of good things, all over and people should have told you.” Jon nods firmly, despite Martin’s bafflement. “It’s a good thing you’ll be staying with me, so I can find more things to say.”

“I… Um. Oh.” What does he say to that? Compliment him! shouts his inner Tim, and Martin swallows his nerves to say, “Your eyes- your eyes are beautiful. I like when you look at me, when. When you see me.”

Jon looks both blown away and highly flattered, which is exactly what Martin was going for but it still embarrasses him to see his words cause such an effect. The moth presses their shoulders together, seemingly at a loss for words and Martin is content with that because he doesn’t know what else he could possibly say.

At least, of course, until his brain catches up to him some more, and he yelps, “Wait, wait, courting? Like- Like?”

“Well...yes. That is why I kissed you goodbye, Martin.” Jon levels a look at him. “Wait. Did you not realize I was trying to-”

Martin feels the tips of his ears go red, “Trying to date me?!”

“To romance you,” he says, in the very particular way he uses to defend Martin from insult. “You’re beautiful. You’re nice. You’re smart and strong. You aren’t- weren’t from the start- scared of me. You’re… warm,” Jon says softer, cutting off whatever Martin was going to try to say. “You’re warm.”

“I… oh.” Martin wishes they were at Jon’s cabin already, so he could sit down and stare at his hands and quietly have a breakdown over this new positive attention. Instead, he’s holding a cryptid’s hand in the middle of the woods. He blinks hard, then reaches up, wiping at his burning eyes. “That’s- that’s quite alright, I think, I- That’s alright, then.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the walk passes in comforting silence. Jon seems like the words have been wrung out of him, and Martin can certainly sympathise with that; it turns out the mortifying ordeal of being known is more exhausting than anything else.

Holding hands, with all the little squeezes and tugs that come with it, is more than enough conversation.

The woods are dark and cool, but not cloaked in the eerie frost he’s come to associate with Peter. A breeze twists between the branches, making the moonlight shift in a hundred shadows that feel more like an art exhibit than a horror movie. 

Martin is startled suddenly by a raven that swoops silently out of a tree and perches on a lower branch in their way. It stares at them- at Jon, he thinks, judging by the way Jon stares back. Jon makes a low, crooning noise that rises sharply at the end, and the raven sways to it before flying away again with a croak. It leaves behind a ribbon, and Jon leads Martin closer with a smile.

“So, uh, you talk to birds?” Martin tries, following his lead.

“Not exactly? Ravens… they’re smart. They know I share my food and keep the area around my home safe, and they leave me presents for it.” Jon plucks the ribbon from the branch, a shimmering blue-green thing with tattered ends. “And they like when-”

Martin blinks when Jon cuts himself off, squeezing his hand gently. “When…?”

Jon mutters something, and Martin squeezes his hand again. The moth tilts his head a little, revealing a faint blush. “I sing to them. I have been told that only old crows could enjoy it, but- well- they do like it.”

The knowledge is a new treasure, one Martin can’t help but smile over. “Then I suppose I’ll have to see if I’m an old crow or not, huh?” It’s the right thing to say, apparently, because Jon smiles a little, just a flickery thing as they keep walking.

It’s quiet again after that, but not for very long. Martin can feel the magic crackling before he sees the place, bringing to mind walls of bramble and fire weaving together to turn away threats. Even as he thinks of it, he sees shimmering brambles twisting up the copse of trees before him, grasping at the branches and choking out the sky.

And then it washes over him, thorns and vines twisting up inside his chest and pouring through his lungs like frozen flames, like claws gently scraping over him to find any vulnerability to dig into. He knows it’s just in his head, just how he’s picturing the magic, but it still burns and stings and chokes him like nettle leaves in his throat-

He can only breathe again when Jon tightens his grip, the sensation dropping away all at once- and with it, the trees he was staring at.

Where there was a thick grove, Martin now sees a run-down cabin that’s been carefully patched back together. It’s smaller than the witches’ cottage, less maintained by far, but it does exude a level of safety that’s new to him. Jon spits a few words at the cabin and lights come on inside, shimmering through the windows.

“Witchlights,” he explains to a curious Martin. “They’re… built into the wards? Georgie taught me the sounds to make the lights come on and off.”

“I suppose that- well. That’d be easy for you, wouldn’t it?” Martin laughs, drawing one out of Jon. “Can you do magic? Or could anyone do that? You know, say the words, I mean.”

Jon frowns a little, thoughtful, not annoyed. “A little bit. Not like a human can. I can make myself dim- unable to be seen unless you want to, or, no, expect to see me. Or if I want you to. I don’t know if mimicry is fantastic or mundane… I just do it.” He hums, then adds, “And I can fly, of course. Georgie says my wings are too small to be what makes me fly, so I suppose magic comes into that. But I don’t have spells, or rituals.”

Martin nods slowly, mulling it over as Jon pulls away to open the door. “So… fantastic entities have their own magic, but humans have a different kind?”

“Oh, yeah. But we’re not all the same. Demons are very different. Werewolves don’t have external magic- it only affects themselves, not other people. Aside from bites. I’m not sure if that’s magic, but, well, maybe?” Jon shrugs, then makes a pleased noise as the door pops open. “Good, Peter didn’t break my door.”

“Wait, he broke in? I thought he, like, got you on your way.”

“No, no, I was getting ready and he broke in. I don’t know how he did it, I’ll have to ask Melanie to check the wards. He isn’t allowed to hurt you, so he can’t be able to break in anymore.” Jon gestures inside, holding the door for Martin. “Come on in.”

There it is again, Jon saying people aren’t allowed to hurt him. Martin doesn’t have time to mull it over, though, because he is curious about the cabin of a real life cryptid- and also it would be very rude to leave Jon hanging. 

The inside matches the outside’s level of maintenance, half the windows boarded over. A large green rug covers most of the scuffed, wooden floor, with a smaller dark blue one in the middle that looks exceptionally soft. There’s a table pressed against the wall to his left, covered with cameras and tape recorders. Stacks of worn books are lined up underneath, covering myriad topics and genres. Martin notices more than a couple books about mushrooms, but has to keep himself from fixating.

Pressed against the wall behind him are boxes and a wardrobe, the latter of which looks well loved and used. A calendar with a schedule is attached to it, important dates marked with a bright red pen.

The main attraction of the room, though, is the wall opposite of the table, to Martin’s right. The entire space between two of the boarded windows is dedicated to dozens of photos. After a moment, Martin realizes the pattern: there’s a mood chart in the middle, listing emotions in a wheel, growing more descriptive as it radiates out, and Jon has pinned pictures relating to each emotion around it. 

There’s also pictures of Georgie, Melanie, and Daisy pinned to the sides, as well as a few other people Martin doesn’t recognize. A woman with a stern smile in a hijab next to Daisy, Melanie knuckling between the horns of a gothic demon, and a few photos that look distorted and warped.

He steps closer, baffled, and has to tilt his head back and forth to make sense of the final three images. Martin can only process them in pieces; wild blonde hair that curls and twists in the still frame, sharp eyes that almost cut to look at, a surprisingly gentle smile on darkly painted lips. It’s only when he sees what he thinks are gossamer wings that he realizes these three pictures must be of fae, and he turns to Jon to ask.

The moth is frowning at the warped pictures, but he lightens under Martin’s gaze. “Ah- yes. Michael,” he says, tapping the blonde and then the other, a woman with even more hair than Georgie, “and Helen. The fae. They’re nearly impossible to take pictures of, but I think they do it on purpose to fuck with me.”

“Oh,” Martin says, feeling slightly out of his depth. “That makes sense. Fairies are mischievous, and whatnot. Right?”

He’s relieved when Jon nods, fingers tracing over the third photo which seems to feature both of the creatures. “Exactly. They can’t lie, but they can make the truth not matter. Helen is more, uh, reasonable. Neither of them are malicious, but… Well, it’s best to just deal with them, not seek them out.” Jon snorts, then, surprising Martin. “Not like you need to go looking. If they want to talk to you, they’ll find you, even if you’re, say, perched on top of a bridge in the middle of the night and lost in your thoughts.”

“Are you… speaking from experience?”

“No,” Jon says, lying terribly. Martin laughs a little, reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of Jon’s. He is surprised when Jon takes his hand, seeming completely on instinct, not even looking down to do it. “Your hands are so warm. It’s nice.”

“Well, yours are cold, so- wait,” Martin says quickly, when Jon goes to pull away, “I didn’t mean in a bad way! It balances out. I like it,” he assures him, adjusting his grip to be more comfortable.

He admires the rest of the photographs for a minute, then looks down, taking in what he ignored at first: stacks and stacks of little tapes. Each has labels, some with names attached, others just describing the contents. Jon fidgets the longer Martin looks, but doesn’t say anything.

Martin, for his part, isn’t exactly sure what he thinks. His gut instinct is that it’s a little creepy. If he didn’t know Jon at all, it’d be even moreso, but for that reason he stops and mulls over the feeling. He knows Jon uses these for mimicry, but why would he need the pictures for that? Martin frowns at the emotion chart, before blinking. He’s seen something like this before.

“Oh,” He realizes. “Do you- Jon, do you record things so you know how to- to express yourself?” 

Jon absolutely beams. It’s a little awkward around the edges, a little crooked, but the grin is undeniable, warm and shining in a way Martin didn’t know something with fangs could manage. “Yes! You understand. I don’t- it’s not easy,” he says, tripping over himself, “I don’t know how to do the- ...Feelings are difficult. I wanted to show Georgie my feelings better and then, ah, everyone else showed up, and I had to learn because they knew. People think you’re-”

“Rude, or that you don’t care, or that you don’t feel.” Martin squeezes his hand in both of his, surrounding him with warmth. “I had to learn parts of it, too. What was right to show other people, you know, because I was the other way- I felt too much, and it would get away from me, and people would think I was broken.”

“You are not broken,” Jon says firmly, and Martin smiles back at him.

“Neither are you.” After a moment, he lets go of Jon’s hand, only to carefully fold him into a hug. Martin can feel when Jon relaxes, all the tightness going out of his bony frame, his hands coming up and sliding under the backpack to fist in his shirt. He’s more than happy to hold and be held, cradling Jon against his chest and swaying slightly in place.

Sadly, he’s interrupted by a yawn, one he fights to stifle as much as possible. Jon notices, though, and pulls away, frowning at Martin. “You’re still tired,” he says, and Martin can’t exactly argue that. “I’ll show you the attic- ah, the bathroom is there,” he points to the door on the left, “And the kitchen is there, on the right. I have some food… Need to get more, but help yourself to it.”

Martin watches as Jon scrutinizes the ceiling, then steps back as the moth launches up into the air, wings fluttering. He hangs there a moment, then makes a noise of triumph, falling back to his feet with a loud clattering as he pulls down a ladder from above. “There we are. After you,” he declares, gesturing to the ladder.

It’s an easy climb, his hands and feet almost sticking to the ladder with the magic imbued holding him on, and Martin pulls himself up into the small attic. He can stand, and there’s lights up here, and enough space to store things… But as he looks around, as Jon flutters up after him, Martin realizes something.

“Um, Jon?”

“Yes, Martin?”

“...Where’s the bed?”

Jon looks at him blankly for a long moment, then closes his eyes. It turns out that you can cover quite a lot of face with four hands, Martin discovers as Jon groans with frustration. 

“I forgot humans use beds,” he growls, hands sliding up further to fist in his hair. “You can- my rug is soft, and Georgie packed blankets, you can sleep downstairs and I’ll sleep up here if you can spare me one-”

“No, no,” Martin says, horrified, “I can’t kick you out of your own sleeping spot! That’s not fair, I-”

“I’m the one who forgot, it’s my fault-”

“I should have asked, really, it’s on me-”

“You-”

“Well-”

They stare at each other in polite exasperation, Martin feeling embarrassed and guilty. That has to be the reason why he blurts out, “Why don’t we share downstairs?” His cheeks immediately burn.

Jon stares at him like he’s grown another head, despite what seems to be a content swaying of his tail. “I- what? You mean. Share the rug?”

“I am warm and cozy,” Martin says, awkward but entreating. “My friends sleep on me all the time, it’s really not a big deal!”

And that’s how Martin finds himself downstairs again, cushioned exceptionally well with far more blankets than he thought could reasonably fit in the backpack. He is grateful, though it leaves him slightly suspicious, that Georgie apparently resized some pajama bottoms for him, because he was not looking forward to another night of jean sleeping.

He does approve of the purple sleep-shirt with cats on it, though. Georgie has good taste.

Jon comes out of the bathroom in some kind of halter top version of a night-shirt, though his pajama bottoms are thankfully normal. Martin can’t quite stop himself from admiring Jon’s slim shoulders, or the smooth dip of his waist. His hair is loose now, falling around his face, and Martin goes redder the longer he just gawks at the moth.

“You- you are so pretty,” he says, all in a rush, and Jon startles visibly from the compliment, wings flicking out briefly before settling back against his spine. “Sorry, I- I mean, if you don’t want me to-”

“Th-thank you,” Jon says quietly, giving Martin a flustered smile. “I- thanks. You’re good too- pretty- your face is nice and I like it,” he decides on, saying the words more firmly. 

Martin can’t think of a good response to say without stuttering himself to death, so he just holds his arms out from where he’s laid down, welcoming the moth to bed. Jon is slow and careful as he picks his way over, fidgeting and adjusting the blankets until he’s made a spot mostly against Martin’s side. He hesitates, before taking off his glasses and muttering a word that dims the lights to a weak, cozy glow.

“I can’t- well, I obviously can’t sleep on my back, or with my wings facing you, so. Can I just…” Slowly, Jon lowers his head until the side of it rests on Martin’s chest, just past his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“...That’s fine,” Martin says, when he can get his words under control. “It’s good, actually!” Too much. “Whatever makes you comfortable,” he settles on, and Jon takes his word at face value, pressing closer into Martin’s hold. Martin, on his part, carefully adjusts so that he can fit an arm around Jon while still avoiding crushing his wings. It takes some shifting, but it works out, and Martin pulls the top blanket over them to keep the warmth in.

“You’re so warm,” Jon says again, so soft Martin almost misses it. “Am I cold?”

“No,” Martin assures him, and it’s the truth. “You’re just fine.” Sure, he’s cooler than a human, but not actively so. Already, the difference is negligible, nothing that would make anyone uncomfortable. 

There’s a moment of silence, then Jon quietly says, “Sleep well, Martin,” tucking his head down further. Martin smiles hopelessly at the ceiling, rubbing a slow circle on Jon’s back with his thumb.

“Sleep well, Jon.”

Chapter Text

It’s bizarre what you can get used to. Martin takes it in stride when he wakes up and Jon has glued himself entirely to his chest, only pausing to gently push some hair away from his mouth. As much as he likes Jon, he doesn’t exactly want to eat his hair first thing in the morning. Or, wait, is it morning? Martin glances to the side, and frowns a little bit when he realizes the time.

The late afternoon sun is spilling through the windows, bathing the room in warm light. Martin wouldn’t mind going back to sleep, if he’s being honest with himself, but his phone buzzes on the rug and he doesn’t want Tim to yell at him again. This leaves him in a dilemma: his phone is out of reach, but Jon is clinging to him.

“Jon,” he says quietly, getting a twitch of an antenna in response. “Jon, I need to get up.”

The moth chitters at him, face hidden against his shoulder, making Martin chuckle. “No,” Jon complains, “Zleep. No awake.”

“Excuse me, did you say ‘zleep’?” That’s too cute.

“Zzzz- Zuh- Sssssleep,” he growls, tail thrashing briefly to punctuate his demand. “Sleep, no awake.”

“Sorry, buddy. You can hog the warm spot, but I gotta get up.” Martin withholds his coo when Jon blearily lifts his face, one eye squeezed shut and a fang stuck over his lip. With purposeful slowness, he peels himself away from Martin, sulking in place. “Thank you,” he tries, only to get those fangs shown more fully as he pulls himself out of the nest and onto the wider rug. 

Jon, of course, immediately face-plants back into the spot of warmth. 

If Martin snaps a few pictures on his phone to send to Tim alongside his assurances that he is, in fact, alive and well… Jon did start this by taking secret pictures. It’s only fair.

The moth is only starting to stir when Martin comes in with what breakfast he was able to scrounge up: eggs with cheese and mushrooms. Jon doesn’t have a lot of cookery or plates, but there’s enough for something this simple… and there is an abundance of fungi in the fridge, so he hopes Jon won’t mind him using a few.

Jon twitches his head up at the footsteps, and Martin smiles down at him. “Hi. I made some food,” he says, gesturing with the plates. “I, uh, take it you like mushrooms?” 

That’s enough to drag the moth into a sitting position, his antennae perked up. “I do like mushrooms. They’re interesting.”

“I mean- um- do you like to eat them? I put them in the eggs.” Jon blinks at Martin, and Martin pauses. “...Have you never eaten them?”

“Not cooked. Or in eggs.” All the same, Jon reaches up for the plate, carefully examining the meal with his fork once it’s settled in his lap. Martin’s already digging in when Jon goes for a cautious first bite, and he pauses to gauge his reaction. Jon simply hums and eats more, his legs crossed under himself. “Morels. They grow under the strawberry trees.”

“Strawberry… Trees? I thought they only grow on little, um… Vines? Bushes?”

“Ah- not strawberries like those. They’re smaller and spiky- I’ll show you outside.” Jon waves towards the window, looking tired but content. Martin is relieved to see that the bruise around his eye has faded to almost nothing, the only squint seeming to stem from his little smile.

Breakfast comes and goes, Jon cleaning up after the food mess with dish gloves that go up to his elbows. While he cleans, Martin responds more fully to his built up messages.

Tim is, apparently, having a good time. Sasha took a video of him playing fetch with himself, tossing sticks and then bolting after them like his life depends on it. It makes him laugh, but there’s a pang in his chest, watching Tim be an overgrown dog. Martin tries to shove the guilt down, scrolling further in their group chat. “We’re being told to go over to the… Garden Cottage?”

“Georgie’s place,” Jon informs him as he sets aside a dried plate, and Martin smiles thankfully. At least Jon knows what’s happening, what they’re doing. Martin feels out of sorts waking up this late, his schedule blown to hell. He shakes his head a little.

“The Garden Cottage, tomorrow evening. Tim and Sasha got our stuff today, I guess they got up early? Thank goodness, my jeans are starting to get kinda gross.” Martin scrolls through, finding two new numbers. “Oh, good, Sasha gave the witches my number. So, if you’re not busy, we can go over together tomorrow- I don’t know what you do day to day? Huh.”

Actually, he doesn’t know all that much about Jon. He’s a moth, he does some magic, he seems friendly. Maybe he rescues people? But Martin doesn’t know what he really cares about, what he does… Hell, he doesn’t even know the man’s favorite colour, something literally every child asks people.

Oh, god, he moved in with someone he barely knows and they’re alone in the woods and the scariest thing is that it hasn’t bothered him. Martin stares down at his phone, breath coming a little faster, heart thumping in his chest. What is he doing? What’s happened to him? He’s not- not special, or important, he’s just a cameraman for a cryptid channel, or he was, and now he’s rooming with the Mothman and his only friends are living with literal actual witches-

It’s all because Tim is a wolf now, a real werewolf, and it’s Martin’s fault for dragging him into this. Thank god Sasha’s okay, but- But. It was his brilliant idea to drag his friends into the woods. It was his failure to recognize that what he was seeing wasn’t really Jon. Shouldn’t Martin have known better? What if Sasha got hurt too? What if Elias had bit her and made her a vampire or Peter had done something or-

What’s wrong with him? He’s supposed to be responsible for people, he’s the caretaker. He’s supposed to be better than this.

His hands are shaking enough that his phone tumbles out of them, bouncing off his knee and skittering across the floor. What if he broke it? What if something happens to him? Worse, what if something happens to Sasha, or Tim? If something goes wrong and he doesn’t know, it’ll be all Martin’s fault-

The anxiety spikes higher, Martin’s chest tight as he loses himself in the thoughts, and he almost jolts out of his skin when cool hands rest on his forearms and curl around his tight fists. He stares wildly at Jon, mouth open but no words breaking through the screaming tangle that is his mind.

“Hush,” Jon says softly. “Shhh. Your brain is hurting you?” Martin manages a little nod, and Jon nods with him. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t hurt you. The world is scary, I’m sorry.”

It takes a few dry swallows, but Martin finds his voice, shaky and pitchy and quiet. “I don’t know- I don’t- It’s all- Everything is different and I like s-some of it but it’s all different and it keeps happening to me? I don’t want it- I mean- I like you and your friends are nice, they’re good, but there’s just so much- How? Why me, what did I do?”

The hands on his gently coax his fists to uncurl, Jon rubbing his thumbs against Martin’s sweating palms. “You- Martin… You found me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull you-” Jon cuts himself off with a quick shake of his head, his face firming. “No. I won’t- You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you. Things have changed, but it’s- You are in a new season of you. A spring of your world. There are storms, yes, but there are flowers. There are birds and mushrooms and little scurrying things.”

Martin can’t look away from Jon’s blue-red eyes, focusing on the glow of color and the soft tone curling around him. The moth lets go of his arms to run his fingers through Martin’s messy hair, the motions slow, obvious, and steady. “You are new every day, because you’ve done things you didn’t do yesterday. You just had some really big yesterdays,” Jon says, adding a lightness to his voice that makes Martin smile faintly.

It takes a lot of effort to find the words he needs. Martin closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a slow, deep breath. “...I- What. What do you do? I don’t- You’re... What do you do out here?”

“...Well. When I am having a normal day, I read. I tend my garden. Ah, I grow mushrooms in my garden- I grew the ones in the coldbox.” Jon tilts his head, eyes squinting more in a subtle smile. “I watch people, sometimes. Not every day, but sometimes, when I want to. And I visit with my friends. Especially when I have an excuse.” After a beat, he adds, “So no, I am not busy.”

Martin blinks at the seeming non-sequitur, then laughs a little. It’s still more hysterical than he’d like to admit, but it’s enough to loosen some of the knot in his chest. Jon carefully leans up, pressing their foreheads briefly together in a motion that does wonders for settling his frayed nerves. “You have had a lot of busy nights,” the moth notes. “If you want, I can leave you to relax on your own; I don’t mind sharing my books. I could be gone an hour or all night if you need, I can keep myself busy.”

Cutting off that train of thought, Martin shakes his head, squeezing Jon’s hands lightly. “I don’t… I do not want to be alone with myself. I’ll freak myself out- uh, even more than this.”

“Do you want to call your friends, then? I-” But he quickly shakes his head again, so Jon falls quiet, waiting for Martin to find his words.

“I want... I want to see your mushrooms, I think,” Martin says slowly. “And I want to talk to you more. I would like to- to know you better. I like what I know, but, well, I don’t know very much about you? And you don’t know much about me. At the, um, at the very least, we should probably know each other if we’re gonna live together for now?” He chooses his words carefully, trying to find exactly what he means as he says it. When Jon nods, Martin adds, “And it means I can find out how to, uh- Date, um- Court you better, later on.” Oh, he didn’t know he meant that until he said it, but it’s true.

Judging by Jon’s startled smile, Martin has found just the right thing to say. “Of course I’d- I want to know what you want to share with me. Anything you want to tell me, or know about me- Anything you want.” Jon’s hands tighten briefly, fingers curling through his hair in a way Martin rather likes, then he releases his grasp, just lightly cupping Martin’s face and cradling his hands. “But you- You don’t have to worry about that right now- Or ever, obviously. Unless you want to, I mean,” he says quickly, but his flustered reassurances are undercut by his quiet purr.

Martin matches Jon’s smile, even if his own is a little shaky. “I’m not worried about it,” he says honestly. “A bunch of other things? Oh, yes, very worried, all the time. But not- not that .”

There’s a quiet moment then, one Martin thinks he’ll keep close in his memory for a while. The late afternoon sun spills through the kitchen, turning everything warm and soft, as Jon’s low purr settles the rest of his nerves. Not all of his panic is gone, of course, it’s never so easy and his hands still twitch lightly in Jon’s, but Martin breathes slowly and deeply in the new calm.

He only moves to pull away when his phone buzzes on the tile, but Martin takes a moment to cup Jon’s hand against his cheek and lean into it. “Thanks, Jon.” Then, gracelessly, he twists to the side so he can crouch and track down his damned phone. 

When he does find it, thankfully intact, Martin smiles at the message; Tim has sent another selfie, this time of him and Sasha sitting out in Georgie’s garden. Sasha is smiling, Tim is grinning, and they’re covered in what looks like pink dots. “Oh, cute,” he mumbles, reading the caption underneath: ‘hey b check it the cherry blossoms dropped!!!’ 

Later that night, as the stars twist above the tree canopy, Jon tells Martin his favorite color is the blue-green of the sky after sunset. He talks endlessly about his mushrooms as he waters them, patiently answering when Martin asks regarding specific ones. He even asks questions in return when Martin describes different spiders he’s seen, regardless of the fact that he shies away from the huntsman that’s crawled in with the mulch.

True to Jon’s word, there are little animals living around the cabin- mice and birds, skinks that shy away from Martin’s footsteps, even a few deer that skirt carefully around the edges of the property. Martin is surprised to hear how much work has gone into the place, most of the heavy lifting done by Daisy. Apparently, when Jon found it the building was barely standing, and Daisy took pity on the moth.

In turn, Martin shares his own little secrets, describing the warm olive greens he likes to knit into chunky sweaters and how he used to try to get Tim to wear them. He surprises himself by telling Jon about the dead-end filing job the three of them met at- it’s something Martin doesn’t think about often, because the place was dull as dishwater, but the moth never looks bored, only watching him with the same fascination he pays to his garden.

By the time they’ve circled the property, the moon is hanging high in the sky, and Martin’s heart feels calmer than it has in… Well, months, really, now that he thinks about it. 

It’s only when he’s led back inside that he realizes he hadn’t once let go of Jon’s hand.

Chapter Text

Martin stretches his arms over his head, feeling his back and shoulders pop as he twists in the evening sun. He’s still surprised that sleeping on the floor hasn’t royally screwed up his back. Despite the lack of a real bed he still feels as fit as he ever does, though part of that might be owed to falling asleep holding someone he cares about. 

Jon yawns beside him, leaning into Martin’s side. Martin gives him a glance, then shrugs a little and wraps an arm around Jon’s narrow shoulders. It’s hard to feel awkward about physical contact after sleeping with someone two nights- no, days, in a row. God, it’s still weird to wake up at sunset. 

Breakfast, thankfully, was uneventful. Eggs on toast is a bit of a boring option, but it’s filling and warm, enough to get them out the door and down the path. Jon had shrugged earlier, when Martin asked if they should make more, and said that they could ask the witches for some lunch later if need be.

The wards reinvigorate him as they pass through them, wiping away the weariness from their walk. The Garden Cottage fades into sight without the searching assault from before, and Martin can’t help a little sigh of relief. It’s interesting though, and he puzzles over it as they approach the clearing.

“Huh,” Martin comments idly. “The magic felt like, hm, warm water this time. Last time was a real bastard.” He means to elaborate but it’s hard to keep his thoughts in line when he sees Tim meditating with Daisy. The difficulty certainly isn’t helped by the cocked wolf ears poking out of Tim’s hair, or the swathes of fur curling around his arms and face. Martin watches Tim twitch suddenly, his head jerking up to see the pair standing at the edge of the property. 

Jon wisely twists away from under Martin’s arm to push into the air, winging towards Daisy just in time to avoid being crushed by a very enthusiastic Tim. Martin takes the near-tackle in stride, turning his stumble into a spin as he clutches his friend close. Tim feels denser than before, a little harder to swing off the ground, but Martin has never backed down from a challenge when it comes to high quality hugs. 

“Martin!” Tim shouts. “You came back from your little loveshack! I knew you wouldn’t run off forever, big guy.” He plants a scruffy kiss on Martin’s almost equally scruffy cheek, making Martin laugh as he sets him back down and takes a proper look at him.

Tim’s ears are perked up like every attentive dog that’s ever existed, and reddish-grey fur has spread across part of his smirking face in an odd whorl. The oddest change has to be his eyes, which shine a vivid sunshiney yellow instead of their old hazel green- though they still hold the same level of mischief. 

“Well, I know I was gone for a couple days, but I didn’t think that was enough time to grow… half a beard?” Martin raises an eyebrow as he tugs lightly at the cheek-fluff, and Tim barks out a laugh, nipping at his fingers without connecting.

“Oh, do you like it? I think it gives me some wolfish charm.” 

Martin refuses to dignify that with a response, even when Tim goes, “Eh? Ehhhh?”

“I heard you and you’re a terrible werewolf,” calls Daisy from where she’s chatting with Jon, who just looks dreadfully disappointed with this use of language.

“What is the point of being a fantastic creature if I can’t make puns out of it? Martin, no one will laugh at my jokes, please rescue me.” Tim turns pleading eyes on him, but Martin scoffs and ruffles his hair.

“Sorry, I’m not supposed to lie, it’s bad for me.” He’s rescued from the onslaught of bitching by Sasha stepping out of the cottage. Georgie stands behind her, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. 

Martin calls over to her, “Sasha!”

Sasha strides over to hug him. “Martin, I see you’ve met the world’s worst Animorph.” She pushes at Tim’s shoulder. “Hurry up and go back to normal. Facial hair doesn’t work for you.”

Seemingly just to be a little shit, Tim narrows his eyes. Martin loses focus on Tim for a moment, and suddenly a massive wolf is leaned against him instead of his friend. 

“Augh,” Sasha grumbles. “That looks so weird every time.” 

“Wait, huh? I didn’t see anything weird, he just… Is a wolf now?” Martin frowns when Sasha gives him a disbelieving look, and he gestures at Tim, who sits there like he’s not a giant magic wolf. 

“No. What? No. Like, it was fast, but it was still weird. All that fur coming in...” Sasha squints further at him, and Martin is starting to feel like he’s losing it. Did he miss something? Is Sasha just ignoring it?

“He went all blurry, then he was a wolf instead of a person.” Martin waves his hand vaguely at Tim. “Like, I don’t know, a hologram on some bad sci-fi show that doesn’t have a budget. Honestly, Sasha, it sits low on the weirdness scale for us right now.”

“Dude, his face stretched out like a balloon. Did you blink or something? Like, his fingers got really small, his feet got huge, it was fucking weird .” Sasha cocks her head, and Tim imitates the tilt. The more she insists on it, the more Martin feels like maybe he did blink.

Georgie comes down from the doorstep, frowning thoughtfully at Sasha. “When you got here, what did you see before you crossed the wards?”

Now looking unsettled and suspicious, Sasha glances at the cottage. “Uh, your house? Flowers? And then there were the tingles when we crossed the property line. What, was I supposed to just see a big tree or something?”

“Um, Sash,” Martin pipes up. “I got, like, attacked with mental images of brambles and thorns and fire.” 

Georgie breaks into a slow grin. She mutters a few syllables and magical light begins to spiral off of her arms, twisting around her curls. Silver and purple mix together and Martin can’t bring himself to look away. “Whoa.”

“Whoa, what? She’s not doing anything,” Sasha says, frowning at Martin, then at Georgie. “You just said some- I dunno, magic words. Did I blink?”

“Now, that’s interesting. Oh, that’s cool.” Georgie lets the magic go, and Martin rubs his eyes to get rid of the lingering sparks. “Werewolves have a minor glamour that keeps them from freaking out when they shift. Seeing the whole transformation is upsetting and unproductive, especially in packs, so it gets blurred to protect the other members.” She focuses on Sasha, “But you see it actually happen. You can see through established blood wards. Hell, you don’t even see the wards. That is… That’s cool.” 

Tim looks like he’s about ready to bite the answer out of Georgie, but she just pushes his snout to the side and continues, “You have truesight. Really fucking strong truesight, at that. You just straight up don’t see illusions.” 

“Huh,” Sasha says softly, then shrugs in a sharp twitch. “Well, I’ve always been pretty good at cutting through bullshit. But… why didn’t it work against Elias?”

“Oh, that’s simple. Vampiric mind magic alters your perceptions, it- Okay. Illusions are like a sheet. They’re held up outside of something. They cover things.” 

When Martin and Sasha both nod, Georgie continues, “Vampires go in and change what you’re seeing, or hearing, or whatever. To go with the sheet metaphor, it’s like… Putting a blindfold on you instead, or throwing paint on something, or blasting music over a conversation. They don’t obscure things, they make your eyes not see them. It’s difficult to guard against, even when you’re expecting it. You’re harder to bullshit in that arena, but Elias has the upper hand of being an old bitch and, loathe as I am to give him any praise, he’s good at fucking with people.”

Sasha relaxes a little at that, and Martin thinks he gets it. Georgie has explained it in just the right way to erase any worries that Sasha somehow failed or simply wasn’t good enough when faced with Elias. Having been there plenty of times, Martin gives Georgie a thankful smile and Sasha a hug. 

He only gets so long of one before Tim barks, drawing his attention away. Martin isn’t looking at him but he can still feel the magic twist as the wolf becomes a man again. 

“Someone’s coming,” Tim says quietly, his voice rough.

Jon squawks from behind them, but Martin doesn’t even have time to be worried before Daisy bolts past him towards the edge of the yard. 

“Daisy!” Jon shouts indignantly, but she ignores him entirely, tail wagging a mile a minute. The source of her excitement becomes clear quickly, as a figure emerges from the forest path.

The light catches on the woman as she enters the yard, glinting on the golden pins that decorate her headscarf. They’re shaped like stars and the moon, resting on the rich blue fabric. The pair are too far away for Martin to hear what Daisy says, but he does watch her swing the woman around in her arms, proceeding to nuzzle her cheeks fiercely.

“Oh, I was wondering when Basira was going to come get her,” Georgie remarks, and it finally all clicks for Martin. 

“That’s Daisy’s fiancée! I saw a picture of her at Jon’s place.” For a second, he wonders if that’s weird to say, but Georgie just nods. Sasha and Tim do share a raised eyebrow, but Martin shrugs off their looks. “He takes a lot of pictures of his friends. Oh, that reminds me. Jon brought his camera to get pictures of you two today.”

Jon dusts himself off before coming over to the group, arriving just before Daisy and Basira join. 

“Hello, Basira,” the moth greets in his quiet way, and she gives him a pat on the shoulder.

“Hello to you too. I see you made friends.” Basira holds her hand out and Martin, Sasha, and Tim all shake it in turn. “Basira Hussain. Former detective, current ‘vigilante of the fantastic.’” She rolls her eyes. “You can thank Melanie for the title.”

The trio introduce themselves in turn and Georgie breaks in to add, “You won’t believe what we just found out, B. Sasha has the sight too. Just as strong as you do.”

“Wait,” Sasha’s eyes are bright with curiosity. “You do too?”

Basira returns the curious look, “Yes…. Interesting. I didn’t think it was common to see so well.”

“And yet I still need glasses,” Sasha complains, getting a round of laughs in response. “How do you deal with seeing the full shifts? It’s weird , man.”

Georgie rests her hand on Martin’s arm, gently tugging him from the group. “We’re going to borrow him for a bit.” 

Sasha gives him a little wave, and Tim hugs him around the shoulders, both couples offering ‘see you later’s. Jon follows immediately, of course- and isn’t it nice to say of course about that, Martin thinks- and Georgie doesn’t argue, just says, “You’ll need to keep your mouth shut while we work, or I’m gonna kick you out.”

“Alright,” Jon agrees easily. “I’ll pet the Admiral.”

She shrugs a little, turning her silver eyes on Martin. They’d discussed on and off through texts the night before about this magic practice, but he’s still nervously swallowing under her gaze. 

“We worked out the best thing to start you out with,” She explains. “I don’t know what you’re capable of believing in yet, so we’re sticking with something pretty standard.”

When they walk in the cottage, Melanie seems to be putting the finishing touches on whatever this ‘standard thing’ is. Despite her blindness, she’s laid and straightened out various blankets and cloths, a large, aromatic candle taking center stage. Bundles of flowers and crystals ring the room, sitting in new arrays, different than when he and Jon left. 

“Well, this seems nice,” Martin offers, uncertain of what else to say.

Melanie snorts, taking a seat at one edge of the topmost blanket, and Martin realizes everything has been placed in a triangle. “I sure hope so, I spent an hour trying to get this right.”

“And you did an excellent job as always, dearheart.” Georgie takes another corner, but she leans to rub her hand over Melanie’s knee. “Take a seat, Martin. And don’t worry, you can’t sit wrong as long as you’re at your point.”

He was absolutely worrying about that. Jon shifts at his side, moving to pull away, but Martin swallows down his nerves and stops him for a moment. The moth blinks widely at him, head tilted to the side, and Martin can’t stop himself from gently pressing a kiss to Jon’s scruffy cheek. 

“Give- Give the Admiral a pet for me,” he says, trying to smooth over his nervousness.

Jon just smiles at him so soft and fond that Martin feels his anxiety melt away like fog in sunshine. 

“I-I-I …I will. Do your magic, dear. I’ll be right here,” he promises, blushing when Melanie laughs outright. 

“Was that as sappy as it sounded, Georgie?”

“Way, way moreso, love.” Georgie chuckles. Jon crosses all four arms and huffs, which certainly charms Martin, but Georgie seems to have a resistance. She just laughs quietly and gestures across from her and Melanie. “Come on, loverboy, pop a squat.” 

Martin is relieved when Jon only goes as far as the couch to sit down, his lap immediately being overtaken by a giant mass of fur. He hesitates a moment to make sure he doesn’t disturb anything around him, then takes a seat on the designated cushion. 

“Oh, that’s softer than I was expecting,” he mumbles.

“What,” Georgie quips. “Did you think we’d make you meditate on some rocks?” 

Martin laughs with the girls, but he’s embarrassed all the same because, well, yes. All his ideas of mystic meditation tend to revolve around things like sitting under a freezing waterfall. 

Georgie seems to read it on his face, because her smile turns teasing as she continues, “It’s hard to relax if you’re not comfortable, especially early on. For more focused meditation, sure, blocking everything out is helpful, but we’re not gonna throw you into the deep end.”

“You’re a friend, Martin,” Melanie says, voice lacking the usual edge. “This is new and weird and exciting. We don’t want you overwhelmed, that’s usually seen as a pretty bad teaching method.”

Martin heaves a sigh of relief, shoulders coming down from where they were around his ears. “Right- right. Sorry, I should’ve known-”

“Literally how would you have known?” Georgie asks, gesturing vaguely at the triangle. “This isn’t your everyday thing. Just relax. We don’t expect anything. We just wanna help.” 

Melanie nods firmly, resting her hand on top of Georgie’s.  “Take a few deep breaths and tell us when you’re ready,” She gives him a quick thumbs up with her free hand. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Okay. I- Okay.” Martin shakes the nervous energy out of his hands, breath escaping him in a shuddering exhale. He glances towards Jon, who smiles comfortingly and that reassurance lets him close his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slower and steadier.

He focuses on the light floral smell of the candles that mixes with the embedded scent of baked goods from the kitchen, letting the air settle in his lungs for a long moment. His next breath comes easier, the knot in his chest unwinding with each drag. Martin can hear his friends distantly talking, covered by the quiet purring from the couch, and he smiles when he notes Tim’s laugh.

The stress melts out of him and he opens his eyes to see Melanie and Georgie sitting peacefully, not a hint of expectation or impatience to be found. 

“Alright,” he says, “What do I do?”

“Well, you look like you’re halfway there already.” Georgie smiles, and Melanie nudges her a little, prompting. “He looks like the way the Admiral purrs.”

“Oh, that is pretty good. So, Martin, you’re in the right headspace for what we call meditative scrying. There’s other ways to do it- mirrors, bowls of water, looking in fires- but that’s usually pretty specific. We don’t want you to worry about trying to find anything in particular, that’s way harder.” Melanie holds a hand over her chest before continuing, “So. Meditating is about clearing your mind, centering yourself. Magic can be considered the center of yourself. It can help to make an image of it, or picture some kind of representation of it in your mind.”

“I picture a purple tower in a silver lake,” Georgie offers. “The lake is the rest of myself, but the tower is my magic.”

Martin nods slowly, folding his hands in his lap. “It can be anything?”

“Yep,” Melanie confirms. “I went with a turquoise fire. Y’know, like my hair. But it feels… soft.” She frowns a little, shrugging. “It’s hard to explain, but I know it better than anything else, and that’s what the goal is. You make your magic into something you know inside and out, regardless of if you can make sense of it to other people. Before we do anything else, you gotta do this. It really does help.”

“I… I think I understand. Okay, I… Alright.” Martin twists his fingers together, looking down at them. What is his magic? He knows it’s an emerald green, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever forget his initial shock at looking at his blood swirling like that, but…

He closes his eyes again, trying to focus. Martin sinks into the calm darkness inside his head, letting it flow over him. The lights around him seem to fade as he focuses, no longer leaking through. Gradually, though, a new light rises in the distance. Green, shapeless and twisting, seeping out of the shadows, and it spills over him in tides of warmth. Martin watches as it wraps around his hands, cradling his skin like vines clinging to branches. 

And suddenly it’s there.

A vast garden stretches all around him, lush and sprawling and so, so green. Dozens of different flowers vie for his attention, red and blue and gold and so many shades in between, and Martin knows each of them like his own heart. He holds them in his arms, startled into laughing by the feeling of pure contentment he finds radiating off of the flowers. The vision is slow to leave him when he opens his eyes again.

All the flowers in the cottage are blooming, straining towards him like he’s the sun. Martin looks down at his hands, somehow not surprised to see wisps of green light disappearing into the air. He jumps a little when he hears a low whistle, but it’s only Melanie, who grins at him.

“I can feel that from over here, sunshine. You’re just a bundle of spring, huh?” She does give him two thumbs up, which chases away Martin’s remaining nerves about this. “That’s fantastic. I set my clothes on fire when I first tapped into my magic.”

Georgie snorts. “Of course you did. I turned half the rocks in my room into quartz.” Martin stares at her quizzically, making her huff. “What? Some of us like to collect rocks. We can’t all be Mr. Mushroom over there.”

Jon, following the agreement to keep quiet, just gives Martin a smile that feels even warmer than the dissipating magic. He smiles back, stronger than he thought he could manage, and it’s only brighted by Jon’s purr, which joins the Admiral’s.

“Alright. Step one done. Step two is actually using what you’ve got.” Melanie cracks her knuckles. “It’s not complicated, this part. Magic always wants to protect the person or place or thing it’s attached to. In this case, your magic wants you to be safe. So,” She waves her hands out. “Defensive meditative scrying. Close your eyes. I mean, you don’t technically have to, but it’s a good way to focus. I still do it.” She closes them, leading Martin to do the same.

Georgie picks up the explanation from there, “You’re going to reach out to your magic again, but this time, you’re going to ask it to help you. This is easy magic, because there’s no ritual words to use, just you putting out what you need.” Her voice is steady and soft, keeping Martin just as calm as before. “Ask for help knowing what you need to keep an eye out for that you can’t see right now, in whatever words makes the most sense for you.”

“I use it and half the time it warns me not to trip over whatever weird spot the Admiral is sleeping in,” Melanie chimes in, making Martin laugh. He smiles, eyes still closed, and she adds, “But it’s warned me about storms, and when not to cross a road, and so on. Even kept me from getting mugged one time.”

Martin nods his understanding, adjusting on the cushion to keep his circulation properly going. “So. Go in, ask for help, and it’ll… show me?”

“Yep, that’s the gist of it.” Georgie’s voice is still calming. “It might be vague, or detailed. Magic is not an exact science, so I can’t make any promises, but we’ll be here to help if anything gets to be too much.” The reassurance sounds so steady, Martin can understand why Jon’s been her friend for so long. It’s almost impossible to be anxious when she’s calm. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Martin nods again, feeling slightly like a bobblehead, but he’s alright with that. It’s hard not to feel alright in here. Everything is so warm and gentle and that’s what lets him fall back into the hazy place between being aware and being in his magic. It comes so much faster this time, rushing towards and around him like a lost love, and he can’t help but smile widely at the feeling.

It takes a moment to think of the right way to ask, but he finds it in his garden. ‘What am I not seeing that could be dangerous?’ Martin asks gently, the words hanging in the air like a fine jade mist. The mist shifts around him like the vines curling up his legs, then closes in tightly, fogging up his vision and turning everything dark.

The garden grows dimmer and dimmer, and the first stirrings of anxiety pluck at his nerves when Martin finds he can’t see anything at all. Are they trying to say beware the darkness? Well, he’s already nervous in the dark, so he’s not sure if he exactly needs warning about that.

Before he can pull himself out, a light flicks on. He can see a pale hand on a lightswitch, and the edge of a pinstriped sleeve passes in front of the place he’s watching from. Martin swallows when he recognizes the silver and gold stripes, but recognition does not stop the fear that surges up as Elias steps into this new room. 

There’s quiet music in the background but the sound of the vampire’s steps are far more present. He walks over to a desk and of course he has a quill set up next to ink and paper. The utter pretentiousness makes it all less nerve-wracking, and Martin finds himself looming closer so he can better understand what’s going on. The writing is blurry, out of focus, but he watches as Elias signs and seals several different letters, each being pressed shut with wax.

As Martin’s eyes open, all that he can truly see is the vampire’s seal: The sharp outline of an eye, with tears- or maybe blood- underneath, all pressed into shimmering dark green wax.

“Goddamned Elias,” is the first thing he says once the vision fades, and all four heads in the room turn towards him. Martin’s pretty sure the Admiral just looks because there was noise, but everyone else has varying levels of anger, disgust, and concern on their faces. 

He doesn’t move from his seat as he relays his vision the best he can, stumbling over his words here and there. It gets easier when Jon slides off the couch to rub his back.

Georgie frowns, glancing over at Melanie, who is deeply glaring at the middle distance. 

“But he was just writing letters?” Georgie asks to clarify and Martin nods. “I don’t know why that’s the biggest threat. Unless it’s just a warning of the bastard in general. We’ll have to make sure your shack is safe.”

“I’m going to make a ward that’s the equivalent of a fucking bug-zapper for vampires,” Melanie growls, her hands clenched on her knees. “And for Peter, too, the prick. They’re not gonna know what hit them.”

Chapter Text

Behind their freshly upgraded wardstones, the next few days pass quietly for Martin and Jon. He’s grateful for the breather, finally able to just relax with his friends. It’s so nice to have even more people to hang out with, and even more relieving that they all seem to notice when he really needs to just be left alone.

Every night, Jon piles up on his chest, and it’s still a treasure each time. 

They eat and read together in the afternoon sun, and the evenings are spent equally between visiting their friends and exploring Jon’s territory. The woods seem to stretch far longer than Martin expected from the maps, and he’s still not sure if it’s a magic thing or his lack of spatial awareness. It’s the kind of question that’s hard to ask Jon, because he’s lived here all his life- what’s strange for Martin is normal for Jon.

The sun has just sunk past the horizon when they leave the kitchen together, Jon squeezing Martin’s hand before wandering off towards his garden. 

“I’ll be there in just a moment, Jon,” he says, and gets a wave in response. The moth is quiet today, but his tail sways over the grass all the same, reassuring Martin that he’s not being shut out. The tarps over the mushrooms rustle behind Martin while he admires the growing night sky, Jon disregarding the view to focus on his interests.

Martin mulls over their plans to find more of the aesthetically pleasing mushrooms as he drops his gaze to the treeline, and is surprised to see new fungi dotting the ground just before the trees grow thicker. From what he’s seen in Jon’s books, he thinks they’re elfcups, but the pictures never showed them in rings like this, or in this almost golden color. 

He’s almost positive they aren’t poisonous, though, so he shrugs and moves closer to admire them. 

“Hey, Jon! There’s new ‘shrooms over here,” Martin calls over his shoulder, smiling to himself. It’s not often he finds things like this before the actual mushroom expert, so he decides he’s allowed to be proud of himself.

As Martin steps into the fungal ring, though, he hears a cry from the cabin. He only has time to catch a glimpse of Jon’s distraught face before his foot hits the grass and his world flips . 

Colors bleed and tumble like paint on a turntable, swirling around him and choking his lungs more thickly than the most cloying smoke. Martin closes his eyes against the onslaught, but light bleeds through his lids all the same, a searing darkness and a smothering brightness warring for his attention. He coughs out thick globs of neon that bubble in the air, dancing in front of his closed eyes before drifting into the sky.

By the time his eyes open again, the world has stopped turning end over end and Martin does not know where he is. All the grass has turned a rippling black, as well as every leaf on every tree, darker than any ink yet still retaining some kind of depth. The mushrooms he’s standing in are almost blinding in comparison, vivid yellow with curlicues of orange that squirm under his watch. It’s hard to breathe looking at them, so he turns his eyes to the sky.

He immediately looks away, because the stars are whirling overhead in twisting, lurid arcs of light on the darkly vivid blue of the night sky. Martin covers his face with his hands, breathing tensely and trying to tune something, anything out. Even that doesn’t save him from the neon, because in the added darkness he can see yellow light bouncing off his palms, forced to face the fact that his veins are shimmering with emerald under his skin.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that wherever he is, it is not a place meant for the mundane. 

Martin closes his eyes slowly, but the green doesn’t disappear, doesn’t even dim. It is a relief that when he drops his hands, he finally sinks into darkness, but the relief isn’t enough to even dull the edges of his panic. “Alright, Martin,” he says to himself, “You’re not in Kansas anymore. Kansas might as well be on bloody Pluto.” His words sound distorted, like they’ve been run through some kind of faint staticky filter, but it’s so down his list of overwhelming observations that he just shrugs it off.

When his breathing steadies out enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s going to have a heart attack, Martin opens his eyes again. The world is still distorted and burning like colors under a blacklight, but it doesn’t send him into a blind panic just trying to process the grass. 

He takes a careful step outside of the mushrooms, but everything remains as strange as before. Stepping back into the ring doesn’t change anything either, and Martin feels his brain shoving down his emotions to make room for sheer survival instinct. He’s trapped somewhere strange, he doesn’t know where he is, and he doesn’t know how to get back. 

He could be in Elias’s rooms again instead of this funhouse realm, so it could be worse, Martin supposes.

Now that the panic has been bottled up for future Martin to deal with, he takes stock of his surroundings. There’s far more mushrooms than he thought at first, some dotted along the grass, some crawling up the trees, and even more towering between the mighty pines, all of them in myriad neon patterns. The longer he looks, he realizes that none of them are encroaching on a barely-visible path that leads further into the darkness. It’s not something that looks manufactured, as the grass is uninterrupted, but the sheer blackness gives way to a deep blue with edges sharp as knives.

“...Am I not allowed to have a normal day, world?” Martin complains, but his voice falls on fate’s deaf ears. With no cabin behind him, no Jon to walk to, nothing at all familiar to guide him, he stares into the dark forest. The path seems to ripple slightly, brightening almost imperceptibly in a long wave, and Martin sighs. “Of course not.”

With that, he takes a step onto the trail, submitting himself to the unknown.

Martin can’t deny that, despite being eye-burning and disorientating, this world is beautiful. Hidden between the trees are what he can only assume are bizarre fireflies, flickering little things that leave multicolored glitter in the air they dance through. It’s only when he passes close to one of the trunks that he gets a closer look at the critters, as one has perched on a glowing blue mushroom.

The creature is smaller than his palm and a brilliant pink from head to toe. Delicate wings, more like a dragonfly’s than anything else, flutter in a breeze Martin cannot feel. It’s hard to take in every detail at once, but he blinks a few times, eyes wide behind his glasses as he admires the tiny pixie. “Hello,” he says quietly, not sure how loud his voice would seem to the little dear. They just giggle and flit away, darting over his shoulder and down the path.

He follows after them, but brings himself up short when he sees an indistinct form stepping from behind a copse of trees. Martin stares at the figure, but it’s difficult to make anything out besides a vaguely human shape. His eyes don’t want to track the searing yellow-green, shapes twisting uncomfortably. If it weren’t for the disconnect he’s forced himself into, the sight might even make him sick, but as it is he just stays as still as he can.

The pixie has disappeared into the woods, leaving Martin alone with whatever this new being is, and he deeply wishes he had anything to hold. Even having to lug the camera around would be better than this complete helplessness, he thinks, twisting his fingers around each other in his sweater. He’s unable to look away even as his eyes water, but he finally manages a proper blink despite the fact that it stings like hell.

After a few more seconds, Martin realizes he can understand what he’s seeing better. The colors pull themselves inside invisible lines, and instead of an abstract art display, he’s looking at a person designed by someone who has never seen a human being before. He doubts the designer’s knowledge of things like physics and reality, either, because their eyes don’t sit in their skull, instead seeming to hover just out of sync with the way their head bounces. One long hand covers their mouth, and Martin’s hands curl into loose fists when he hears muffled laughter. 

“What’s- What’s s-so funny?” He asks, voice still off-key to his ears.

He frowns when the person shakes their head. Their lemon-bright hair bounces around and then away from their face, revealing long, pointed ears and an even more pointed smile. 

He pushes on despite the fear. “Listen, I’m so very sorry if I’m- If- If I’m trespassing, but I didn’t even intend to be here, so if you could just show me the way out of here-”

“Oh, Martin, you’re certainly not trespassing… It’s difficult to be a trespasser if you’re brought somewhere, isn’t it?” The static is so much worse in their voice, twisting and lilting on every slow syllable. They tilt their head the other way, thin wings fluttering behind them, and suddenly the figure is familiar instead of alien.

It’s almost painful to push his mind down the tracks, but Martin focuses on details in turn instead of trying to examine them all at once. Their wings, long and almost cutting to look at, reflect the neon lights with an iridescence that would be lovely if it was less searing. He drags his eyes over their wild hair that well and truly defies all logic, more than bottle blonde and shifting in patterns that, even if there were a breeze, would not follow physics in the slightest. Yellow and yellow-green and hints of a piercing purple dance together, and Martin is reminded of fractals, of corrupted tape, of photos on a wall, of Jon’s voice complaining about fae- 

“You’re Michael!” He says all at once, syllables turning over each other in a way that sounds far more certain than he feels about anything in this situation.

“That is a name, isn’t it?” Michael smiles wider when Martin drops his shoulders, relieved to at least know who he’s talking to. “And you’re Martin. I’m so surprised, I didn’t know our dear moth had any level of taste.” 

“Wh- Gods, what is with people kidnapping me and then complimenting me?” Martin thought he said it quietly, but Michael laughs all the same, his gossamer wings twitching with it. “Well, you did! I think? Didn’t you?”

“...I suppose I did. It’s difficult to find you alone, did you know that, Martin? Always attached to someone or other. One could think you didn’t want to meet me.”

“Do you- No, okay, I don’t think this is the time to ask a question about magical theory. Unless the theory is how to get me home, which I would really like to do about now?” Martin gestures back down the trail vaguely, swallowing his nerves at Michael’s unflinching smile. “You’ve met me, we talked, we could talk somewhere that maybe doesn’t hurt my eyes?”

Michael only laughs again at this, covering his mouth in a mockery of politeness. His bright chartreuse clothes barely seem to crease with his movements, the lines somehow remaining straight even when his arm bends and he twists from side to side. “You wound me, Martin. Not even wanting to remain for tea and a talk? I thought you were a gentleman. Do you hold no respect for royalty? How odd for someone from England.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but a flick of Michael’s wrist silences Martin. It’s not magic, just a growing sense of unease that stills his tongue and makes his hair stand on end as he looks at the claws tipping each finger. “A mutual acquaintance asked me to meet with you. He had quite the… Mmm, interest… In you." Michael clicks his tongue, a chuckle hidden under his voice. "Just imagine my surprise when I hear of a new human falling into the fantastic from all sides of our community, from angles that I was not aware were even interacting.” 

The edges of Michael’s smile have extended past his fingers, and he tilts his head again, cocked almost completely to the side. “I think it’s quite about time we have a proper conversation, Martin K. Blackwood.”

Chapter Text

It’s dizzying to follow Michael. Space doesn’t seem to quite function around him, and Martin has to tune out the walk to be able to keep moving, since it seems just going home isn’t an option. The path blurs together in his memory, feeling almost like a tape glitching from one shot to the next- he goes from convoluted paths in the claustrophobic forest to standing in a new clearing without knowing exactly how he got there.

At this point, Martin has given up trying to make this realm fit into rational sense.

Michael has taken a note from human fairy tales apparently, as he pulls even further away from Martin to sit at the head of a table piled high with mushrooms. It looks like a scene straight from Alice in Wonderland,  The table, he realizes after a moment, is also a broad, flat mushroom, and Martin scoffs as he notices the seating. “Toadstools, really? You’re really going for the aesthetic, huh.”

“Well, of course. Is there anything else to live for?” Michael laughs in his discordant way, gesturing widely at his spread. “Come, sit, drink. Would you like some tea?”

Martin reluctantly takes a seat, not wanting to risk the ire of someone who he suspects could turn his world upside down. The scent of tea curls around him, but he frowns at the array of mushrooms all the same, not soothed as he usually would be. 

“I’m not sure if I’m thirsty,” he says, voice slow and calculated. He can’t put his finger on why, but it just sounds like a bad idea. Michael hasn’t hurt him, per se, but taking some kind of mushroom tea from a fae king just doesn’t seem like a good idea.

“You look so suspicious!” Michael shakes his head, wings fluttering in his amusement. “If I wanted to harm you, I could do so much better than poison.” 

Martin doesn’t doubt that, but he frowns all the same. 

Michael seems to notice his continued hesitance. “Oh, perhaps lunch just isn’t to your liking. I thought you might have a taste for fungi, living with our dear moth, but I can oblige.” With a delicate flourish of his long hands, the mushrooms become posh tea cakes and little finger sandwiches. 

Martin just frowns at him, eyes squinting behind his glasses. “I’m not exactly a fae expert, but I have heard of Persephone, you know. Eating things from other worlds generally isn’t the best idea.”

Michael titters, scooping up a fancy biscuit. “So distrusting. Well, I suppose that simply leaves more for me. Don’t blame me if your throat goes dry, Martin. We have so much to discuss after all!”

“Can we start with, you know, why I’m here?” Martin tries, hands folded awkwardly in his lap. “Or where here is?”

“If we must,” Michael drawls, setting his biscuit back down. He takes another moment before he starts. “Here is here and several other places besides. One could say we are exactly where you were- after all, were I to return you to the realm of the mundane, you would find yourself back at that charming little cabin. On the other hand, we’re really rather no-where in the grand scheme of things, aren’t we?" The fae pauses, pensive. Martin feels his head spinning, even as Michael continues. “But to answer the question I believe you’re asking, we’re in the realm of the fae. Honestly, I thought you might have guessed. Jon usually has a taste for the intelligent.”

The jab manages breaks through the confusion. “Hey!” Martin protests, sitting up straighter. “I guessed that, I just don’t know what it means to be in the bloody fae world! It’s not like I make a habit of roaming into other realms, you know.”

Michael raises an eyebrow, smiling in amusement. “Oh, but don’t you? Did you not fall right into the fantastic?”

Scowling, Martin glances away from the fae’s teasing. “That’s- that’s hardly relevant. It’s still the same…” His voice trails off. The same forest, he was going to say, but is that true? Hasn’t he thought the woods are too big? With the apparent abundance of fantastic beings, wouldn’t it make more sense if the forest was something separated from the normal world?

He shakes his head fiercely, focusing back on Michael. “You’re distracting me. Why did you bring me here?”

Michael hums as he pours himself a cup of tea, taking so long to respond that Martin almost repeats the question. 

As he lifts a sugar spoon, though, Michael finally speaks. “As I said, people find you quite interesting. Perhaps I simply wanted a hands-on experience.” 

At that, Martin can’t help pulling a face. 

The expression makes Michael chuckle. “No? Well, aren’t you the devoted thing? The bat might have a point after all.”

The bat. Martin rolls that around in his head, then frowns deeply. “Do you mean-? The bat, I mean, is that Elias? Do you know- Is he the, um, acquaintance?”

“Oh, you are smart, then! How delightful!” Michael takes a sip from his cup before continuing, “Yes, yes, Elias Bouchard. He made contact recently and I couldn’t help but see for myself what he was so… excited by. Quite the fellow, you know, he’s lived in the area for a long time.”

Martin can't help but notice the tone the fae uses- despite what would ostensibly be praise, a level of condescension coats his words and it doesn’t even feel aimed at Martin. He scratches the back of his neck, offering Michael an awkward, questioning smile. “I take it you don’t exactly, uh, like him?”

There’s another long pause as Michael stares into the distance, running his finger around the rim of his teacup. Martin is prepared to wait once more but, as his eyes study Michael, he feels unsettled as he realizes that it’s not some kind of vivid amber he's expecting in the cup, but instead a searing crimson. 

Michael chuckles, finally, and Martin focuses his face again. “He’s interesting enough, though he can be a bit... much. I’m not sure if he knows what he’s getting into, sending out his little missives.”

“Missives?” Martin asks, leaning forward. “You mean letters? Do you- I saw- I had a vision-”

“Oh?” Michael cuts him off, eyebrows raised and making his eyes seem even larger. “My, my, you are making progress, Martin. How impressive.” 

Martin flushes, a sense of dread coloring his embarrassment at the praise. 

It doesn't seem to shake Michael. “Yes, letters… Elias does have a flair for the dramatic, doesn’t he? It makes one wonder how he came to be with such a practical man as his husband. Most likely due to the money.”

The conversation is getting away from him again. Martin clears his throat. “The letter? What- I mean, can I see- No, um. Would you tell me about it?”

Michael blinks at him- it feels like the first time he’s done so all evening- and laughs, sounding genuinely baffled. “You’re a very trusting sort, aren’t you.” It’s not a question, just a statement that makes Martin’s heart hit the dirt. “Well, you are a darling… Hm, hm. My queen would tell you more, but should I take her place?”

“That’s not necessary,” comes a voice from behind Martin, and he twists to see a tall woman standing at the mouth of the path Martin forgot was there. She walks past him and towards Michael, though she spares him a brief glance. 

“Hm,” Her tone is considering as she moves towards the head of the table. “He is cuter in person.” 

“What?” Martin says, floundering, but the fae ignore him. 

“Oh! Helen! What are you doing back so early? I thought you were busy with the Boneturner,” Michael says quickly, his composure cracked as he rapidly sets out another cup for the new fae. 

Her wings flutter in an unknown breeze as she looks down at Michael and she shakes her head. “I was. Past tense. And then, funnily enough, Jon started yelling for me. And didn’t stop. For ages. What a coincidence that the other source of magic on his territory suddenly disappeared while he was calling, hm?” 

“Dreadful coincidence, really, I hope he’s alright-”

“How long have you had Martin?" She cuts through his words, voice is calm but sharp, cutting like the claws that tip her fingers. “I could have sworn that we hadn’t decided what to do with Elias’s letter.” 

Martin sits up straighter, anxiety and worry tugging at his heart. He gets stuck on her words- Jon’s been calling for help from her? From, from Helen? For… For ages ? How long has he been gone? He could have sworn it’s just been an hour at most. 

Michael glances off to the side, pulling on a mask of indifference as he shrugs. “Oh, it can’t have been too long. It’s just been so dull, you know, waiting and watching from the sidelines.” His voice rises, and he smiles with genuine cheer, waving towards Martin. “We’ve just been having such a lovely conversation, and, really, how am I supposed to sate my curiosity by just watching?”

“Watching?” Martin asks, bewildered. “What do you- I- I’m still here, you know, I-” 

Helen cuts him off with a look that makes him swallow heavily. 

“So,” She turns back to Michael. “You stole him. Without my input? How very rude, Michael. And short-sighted! You’re going to give us a bad name again, you know.” She takes a seat beside Michael, though Martin could have sworn there was only room for one toadstool before. It ranks so low on his list of concerns that he doesn’t even try to question it. “I’ve rather enjoyed our ability to move about the woods freely, and Melanie’s only gotten better at her wards.”

“He’s all in one piece, isn’t he? Magic intact, healthy, happy-”

“You could ask me about that, you know. I am right bloody here,” Martin finally snaps, but the annoyance only lasts as long as it takes for both of the fae to look at him. Like this, he’s able to connect Helen to her photo- she’s almost smiling, her long curls framing her face in a way that only makes her look all the more regal.

“Ah, yes… Yes, Martin, you are right here, aren’t you? Such a dear,” she says, ignoring Michael’s rolling eyes entirely. “Did my dear, foolish king offer you food and drink? I’d hate for you to think we’re poor hosts. First impressions are everything, you know. Oh, but you would know, wouldn’t you? Meeting our moth the way you did.” Her smile grows broader, more friendly, but it's wrong, somehow. It makes the hair on Martin’s neck rise.

“I- Yes, yes, he did, um- But I don’t think-” He swallows dryly, watching as Helen fills her cup with the bright crimson drink and adds a couple of biscuits to her plate. “I think it would be a bad idea to eat that? For me, anyways. Uh, I don’t- It looks very nice, but I’m not hungry, and this place makes me kind of nauseous with all the colors….”

Helen narrows her eyes slightly, but she leans back all the same, her smile remaining neighbourly. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for being human.”

Martin looks down at the plates and cups, trying to think through all this mess. Something pricks at his mind, and he snaps his head up, staring at the both of them. “Wait a moment, hold on, did you say you were- he was- you were spying on me?”

Michael smiles innocently at Helen, and she scowls back at him. 

“Well- oh,” she starts, before a flicker of purple appears. They're like stars, little sparklers lighting up in front of her face. Martin has a hard time looking at them, the image making him feel like the world is tilting. 

“Oh, indeed.” Helen harumphs. “Now I have to go deal with the witches, don’t I? Because you -” she cuts a look at Michael. “Have to take care of your guest. And I have to explain your actions to them. And I have a headache! You have truly cocked this up, my king.”

Helen pushes herself away from the table as Martin gapes at her, the purple lights multiplying and giving off a soft keening sound. She glances back at Martin with the same look as when she arrived, though it’s softened by her smile. “Please make yourself at home, Martin.” 

And then she isn’t there, and neither is the light.

Only Michael is, and he gives Martin a slow smile.

---

This is Sasha's new normal, she thinks as she swallows down one of Georgie’s so-called 'anti-boy-otic' potions. 

She feels something change, a shift in the air. It’s hard to place at first, just a keening on the edge of her senses, but then it sharpens even further, a long drawn out wail emanating from somewhere that makes her want to sit down and cry. For a second, she thinks maybe she drank the wrong thing. She opens her mouth to call out for a witch but there’s a crack in the low wail just before something slams into the cottage door and Sasha shakes her head roughly to dislodge the feeling.

She’s braced for a fight when the door bursts open, but that does nothing for the absolute devastation that is the sight of Jon. 

The moth usually looks calm, placid, even tame for a cryptid but in this moment, he radiates a fury and panic that reminds Sasha of Daisy bursting into Elias's interview room. His eyes are glowing even in the bright lights of the cottage, blue-red beams searing as he searches the room. In place of his usual well groomed hair and fur, he’s bristled from head to tail-tip- even his wings are larger than usual, the fine feathery scales puffed up and making him look more like the stories of the Mothman she found in her research. There's an aura on him that Sasha has learned means magic. She can't see anything too noticeably different and, for a second, she wonders if he'd look more menacing if she could see it. l

“Jon?” She asks cautiously and his eyes turn on her. The eye contact is almost unbearable, his red pupils constricted to pinpricks in his obvious panic.

“Martin,” he says in an echo of the wailing she heard moments ago. “Martin, Martin, Martin ,” all in a low, miserable moan. His tail lashes as he claws at his shirt, then he jerks to the side, breath coming in rough wheezes. “ Georgie! Martin, Martin…” 

Sasha’s heart pounds at the emotion in Jon’s voice. Usually he’s not- not dull, exactly, or flat, but he doesn’t sound like this. She clenches her jaw, batting away the thoughts that crowd at her, the speculation of what could possibly have happened. It’s not useful right now. 

“Jon,” she calls firmly, keeping his attention on her as she moves closer. “Breathe, okay? You have to calm down.”

He lets her take one of his hands in both of hers, despite the tremors that are running through him, and Sasha rubs the back of it with her thumbs. Hardly a moment later, Georgie and Melanie are both out of their room, any trace of tiredness gone in the face of Jon’s panic. 

Georgie is allowed to take his face in her hands and she pulls Jon gently to look at her. He doesn’t fight, just shudders and breathes harshly.

“What happened?” The three of them ask almost as one, Melanie low and Georgie calm and Sasha tense, and Jon flinches all over again. Georgie gives Sasha a reassuring look before repeating it, even steadier than before. “What happened, Jon? Where’s Martin?”

“The fae- They took him, one of them, someone- He was right there and he stepped in, he didn’t know . He- Martin… ” Jon groans, his eyes shutting tightly. “Helen, she won’t- I’ve been calling and calling and calling but she won’t appear, I’ve been trying, Georgie, you have to- You have to, he-”

Georgie just nods firmly, giving Jon’s face a little squeeze. “Of course. Come on, it’ll just take a minute. Panicking won’t make it faster.” 

As Georgie pulls Jon away, Sasha lets him go to stare at Melanie. Melanie’s face is tight and her brow is furrowed deeply, but she’s here and not immediately moving, so Sasha asks, “The fucking who? What’s going on, Mel?”

Melanie scowls further, arms crossed and fingers digging deeply into her arms. “The fae. Fairies, you know. If they’ve taken Martin, they’ve taken him into their realm. Fairies live in a magic world. It’s hard to go there if they aren’t bringing you. From the sounds of it, Martin was fool enough to go walk into a fae circle. Mushroom ring.”

“Hey,” Sasha says sharply. “Don’t blame him for getting kidnapped.”

“I wasn’t- Okay, fine, yes.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, then shakes her head. “Sorry. Jon knows the fae. One of them is nice enough: their queen. Her name’s Helen. Georgie is going to contact her to get Martin.”

Georgie calls Melanie's name and Sasha watches her go. The witches work together quickly, putting ingredients into a bowl while Jon watches with a raptor’s focus, his entire body tense like a band about to snap. Sasha watches him in turn as she shakes off the feeling of panic. She can't freak out here. Martin has been taken and that makes her want to despair along with Jon, but she knows she has to be the one to keep a level head. 

She keeps her determination in mind as she pulls on her boots and pack, trying to make sure Martin’s boyfriend doesn’t completely lose his mind trying to rescue him. He twitches to look at her when her phone beeps and Sasha grimaces.

Tim is out with Daisy, patrolling the woods together as they’re wont to do lately and he always texts her sporadically while he’s out. She sends back a quick update under Jon’s watchful gaze, followed up by a reassurance when Tim immediately freaks out. By the time he stops triple-texting her, Georgie has brought the bowl of magic to the sitting area, and Jon is-

Still watching her, actually. Sasha looks back at him, and he pulls compulsively at his hair with one hand. “Why are you-” He cuts off, teeth clenched as words seem to fail him. He gestures at her helplessly, a growl low in his throat. “Bag?”

“Bag? Oh.” Sasha adjusts the strap so that it won’t bounce too much on her hip, stepping to the side as Jon crosses towards the working magic. “Whatever the hell is going on, I’m going to help get my friend back. Better to be prepared than just rush in.”

He nods a little, but all the focus in the room goes to Georgie when she calls out a sharp word, one that makes Sasha’s jaw tense and sends purple sparks into the air. They dance in the air in looping spirals before forming a doorway in the air, rough and sketchy, but undeniably a door.

“Helen,” Jon says firmly to the doorway, his voice rough from use. 

Sasha watches as the door ripples then folds in a way that hurts her eyes. When it settles again, it’s spat out a tall woman who looks like she’d be more at home in an 80’s showroom than a magical fae dimension.

The mysterious Helen looks around the room with a smile, a long finger tapping on her chin. “Oh, hello! It’s been a moment, hasn’t it? Is that one of your new friends, Jon?” She says, tilting her head towards Sasha. “It’s a shame the wolf isn’t here, I’d love to meet the whole set-”

“Get over yourself, oh my god,” Sasha says, cutting off Helen, who narrows her eyes. It’s an unnerving look, but Sasha ignores the twisted spiral of her pupils to glare right back. “Where’s Martin? You have him, don’t you?”

“Martin? Well, perhaps,” Helen says vaguely, trying to maintain her smile. “I can hardly know where he is right this second.”

“Stop- Stop,” Jon croaks out, then coughs. “I saw him go, saw you take him. I saw the circle before it- Before it vanished- I tried, I.” Sasha takes his hand again as he trails off, breathing heavily enough to make his wings shift back and forth. 

Helen's face moves in the mockery of shock, hand covering her mouth as her eyes go wide. “Me? Steal your dear Martin? Oh, of course I didn’t!” 

There's a pause where Sasha can tell it's not just her who knows Helen is holding something back. She watches as Melanie reaches to touch the handle of one of her many knives, the sight apparently hilarious to Helen, who chuckles. “But my co-regent... he’s another matter.”

Jon growls again, a deep noise that rattles up Sasha’s arm. “Michael. I should have bloody known.” He squeezes Sasha's hand as his other flicks in the air, and Sasha returns the squeeze more gently. That seems to give him enough strength to lift his head fully, his wings flaring out widely, brushing the floor and wall. “Give Martin back, Helen,” he says, each word low and firm.

She sighs fondly, her own wings fluttering through the purple lights still flickering in the air. “Oh, only for you, Jon. I’ll see what I can do. We wouldn’t want you to work yourself into a full tizzy, would we?” 

Helen laughs when he bares his teeth in response. The fae blows a kiss to the witches and Sasha can't help her surprise when the strange woman pauses, gaze settling on her before she gives her a wink. 

With a dramatic flourish, Helen spins on her heel and disappears back into the doorway. 

Sasha makes a frustrated noise, shaking her head. “That’s- That’s not bloody good enough,” she says, stepping forward. Jon follows her to the rift in the air, but he pauses in place, tail lashing, even as she draws close.

“Wait,” he says, pulling back on her arm, but it’s not fast enough to stop her. Sasha reaches out for the dissipating lights, and the moment she makes contact everything twists. She only hears part of the witches frantic yells behind them but it all gets muffled by a roar in her ears as the magic takes her.

Everything is dark-bright-dark for a long moment, then Sasha is standing in a mossy clearing. A dusky sunlight filters through blossoming trees and she takes stock of her surroundings. The moss is speckled with mushrooms and flowers, but it’s not all that different from the cottage’s garden. The only things she notices out of the ordinary is the sunlight. She was sure it had been night just a second ago but even then, the sunlight feels different, as if that's unnatural, too.

Around her, she notices thin motes of light that hover over the surrounding flowers, twisting and giving off little giggles. She's also sure that motes of light don't giggle in her world.

Next to her, Jon is half-collapsed on the ground, one hand still holding hers while his other free hands are clasped over his eyes. His antennae are flattened against his skull as he lets out low whimpers.

Sasha kneels down beside him, frowning. “Jon? Hey, buddy, are you okay?”

All he manages at first is a groan, then he shakes his head slowly. “Bright,” He grumbles. “And dark- It hurts. Hu-u-urtz.” But he slowly lowers his hands, squinting against some visual assault that Sasha doesn’t see. He peers at her from under a heavy brow, and she offers a reassuring pat to his shoulder.

“Just hang on to me, alright? Whatever is screwing with you isn’t- well, it’s real to you, but it’s not hurting me.” Sasha helps him off the ground, letting him lean against her when he threatens to fall again. 

“Man, you weigh nothing," She notes. "How on earth do you not get knocked over by a stiff breeze?”

Jon glares at her, but she’ll take that over pain and panic any day. “It’s hard to fly if you’re heavy,” he says flatly. 

Sasha squeezes him around the shoulders carefully, so as to not startle him, and Jon buries his face in her arm to hide away from whatever hell he’s dealing with. 

“That’s fair, I guess, but I’m still pretty sure the Admiral weighs more than you.”

“The Admiral is spoiled.”

The bickering seems to work as a distraction, keeping Jon from reeling or trying to run off after Martin by himself. Sasha guides them along the first trail she finds, one marked by faintly shimmering flowers and gaps in the trees. It’s a pretty place, but kind of boring if she's being honest. Then again, she could be seeing whatever is tormenting Jon so thoroughly, so she’ll take a generic magic realm. 

After a while of walking and quipping, Jon stops, antennae twitching. Sasha opens her mouth to ask what’s wrong now, but then she hears it, some kind of distant talking. No, not talking. Someone is arguing with someone else, sharp voices indistinct at this range but undeniably annoyed. 

“Hello?” She calls into the woods, then grunts as Jon strains against her grip.

“Martin? Martin!” He yells, and Sasha picks up the pace to keep Jon from running away from her.

She matches Jon's tone as they hurry. “Martin, we’re coming!”

---

“You stole his human! Jon looks terrified, you wretched fool.” Helen has been berating Michael since she returned, and Martin can’t exactly say he feels too bad for the king. “Now we’re on a time limit. We could have invited them for a visit and gotten real information, but no, someone had to get bored and impatient!”

“Excuse me for making decisions in my own realm!” Michael snaps. “I was going to send him back eventually, after I got to meet him and talk properly.” 

Helen huffs, gesturing towards Martin. “Yes, of course! You, who has no concept of mundane time, would send him back. Would you have put him back in the same decade? Well, who’s to tell with you, Michael? I’m sure you remember what happened last time.”

“That was a mistake,” he protests, but Martin tunes out the rest of what the fae says. 

He twists in his seat, looking back into the shadowed wood, because he could have sworn he heard someone calling his name.

“Martin, we’re coming!” He hears, and he can’t help the smile on his face because that’s Sasha’s voice. It’s baffling how she could possibly be here, but Martin can’t help but be deeply glad that she is. 

Footsteps interrupt the arguing royals, and the two fae turn as one to watch the human and the moth stumble out of the forest. Sasha has Jon propped up, his legs looking weak and wings trembling, but she loses her grip on him as he pulls away when he sees Martin. 

Jon looks even more magical in this blacklight world, every detail carved out sharply and colors clashing like a migraine. The patterns of his wings shift in the light, the eye spots trained on Martin like real pupils. 

He surges away from Sasha, stumbling over the grass with an urgency Martin never expected to see from the cautious man. Martin barely has time to stand up before Jon slams into him, hands coming up to clutch at his sweater. 

“Martin,” he gasps out, and Martin wraps him in a tight hug.

“Jon,” Martin responds softly, then buries his face in the messy curls. Jon is shaking hard, breathing harder, and Martin’s heart aches when he hears little whines edging each exhale. 

“I’m okay," He reassures the moth. "I’m okay.” 

Sasha approaches, too, moving into his side, and Martin makes room for her to sneak into the hug. He’s surprised to see her wrap one arm around Jon as well, but it’s a warm kind of surprise. Still, she doesn’t linger long, and he doesn’t miss the righteous fury on her face when she stalks away.

“Helen,” she says, voice firm, though her tone cools considerably as she jerks her head. “Michael. Is it some weird rule in fae society that means it’s totally fine to just kidnap someone out of their own damn yard?”

Michael smiles personably as he leans forwards, examining Sasha closer. Martin wants to pull her back into his embrace, but he doesn’t think she’d appreciate that much, regardless of whether or not he feels it’s safer. 

Michael gestures with his too-long hands as he speaks, “It’s hardly my fault that he walked into one of our doorways.”

Jon’s growl cuts him off, but the moth doesn’t seem to have words to offer. Sasha takes that role for him, biting out, “That doesn’t mean he wanted to be here. You tricked him into falling into another bloody realm for hours! It’s almost morning.”

“See, Michael? I told you,” Helen laughs, not deterred by Sasha’s glare.

“You’re not off the hook either, Helen! Jon said he's been calling for you all night. You could have showed up and told him what was going on, or, oh, I don’t know, brought my friend home?” Sasha scoffs, ignoring the way Helen narrows her eyes.

“I have other business than to be looking after a single moth.” She pauses, then chuckles behind her hand. “Or not so single, I suppose! Congratulations, by the way, dear. You make an adorable couple. I can see why Elias would be threatened. It’s not like he and Peter are going to win and prizes in that department.”

“Elias?” Sasha crosses her arms. “What does he have to do with anything?”

Martin pipes up, “Apparently they got some kind of letter from him about… Me? Us?” He frowns, rubbing his thumb along the back of Jon’s neck. “They’ve been pretty vague about it, believe it or not.”

Michael perks up then, spreading his hands to offer the table to the trio. “Oh, we could tell you all about him and his little schemes. Why don’t you take a seat, have some tea? I find that things tend to be much more civil over a cup.”

Sasha raises an eyebrow at his smile, barely sparing the spread a glance. “Uh, I don’t really want mushrooms. Or mushroom tea. That’s Jon’s thing.”

That makes both fae pause. They tilt their heads towards each other, then turn back to Sasha with matching smiles. 

“Oh, how interesting,” Helen says. With a wave of her hand, Martin watches the teacakes become plates of delicate sandwiches that he might be tempted towards if he didn’t suspect them. “Is this more to your liking?”

Sasha seems unamused at the spread. “It’s still mushrooms. I’m not an idiot.” 

Michael makes a sort of cooing noise as he clasps his hands together. “You are interesting, aren’t you, Miss James?”

“You get to be ‘Miss James’? I’ve just been Martin to them,” Martin grumbles, though he quails a little when everyone looks at him. Even Jon looks a little flabbergasted by his choice of complaints, and Martin coughs. “I’m just saying. Also, wait- If it’s still mushrooms, were you just trying to trick me into eating? Wow, you’re dicks.”

“What gave it away, Martin? The kidnapping?” Sasha snips, but she does smile to soften the edge of her tone. The softness fades after a second, worry overtaking it. “You didn’t eat anything, did you?”

“No! I didn’t, thank you very much.” Jon lets out a relieved noise against Martin’s chest, squeezing him tightly, and Martin presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m not that trusting, come on.”

“You are, but it’s endearing,” Sasha says, then turns her ire back to the quietly laughing fae. “Will you please send us back, or am I going to have to start something?”

Michael hums, then drops his voice to confer with Helen in a language Martin doesn’t understand. It twists in his ears uncomfortably, but it makes Sasha's scowl deepen. After a moment, the fae king smiles at her, all sharp teeth and a surprising amount of fondness. “Oh, certainly… Though we might propose a trade.”

“I am NOT giving you my name, I picked it out myself,” she starts, but Michael waves her off.

“Nothing so stereotypical as that, Miss James,” he says, “No, that’d be really quite boring. You want to go home. You want information. We might be persuaded to oblige, we’re very reasonable creatures. For example, if you were to spare time for a chat, a… sharing of information, as it were. Well, that would be lovely.”

Helen raises her eyebrow at her companion, but smiles all the same, idly flicking her hand. “In that case, the three of you would be free to go home.” She winks at Sasha before adding, “But you’ll have to come back if you want to talk. Perhaps you’d bring your wolf with you, hm? I’m sure it would be oh-so-interesting.” 

Sasha snorts, glancing back at Martin. Martin tries to project his confidence onto her, and he likes to think it does the trick, because her shoulders relax a little, still strong but not up to her ears from tension. 

“Fine,” She agrees. “Ugh, but- No, actually, I don’t have time to get into the discussions, I have a boyfriend to go reassure.”

Martin can’t help but notice the contemplative look the fae share. It’s just a shade away from what he thinks is disappointment, but the moment passes when Sasha speaks again.

“But I have an extra condition. I’m not risking losing time for this, so you two have to come to me.”

Michael laughs openly, a far cry from his usual smug chuckle. 

Helen just smiles at Sasha. “Oh, Miss James, we were certainly planning on that .” She lifts one of her long hands and snaps. The sound echoes off the trees eerily, then it’s replaced by a litany of pop-pop-pops as mushrooms sprout through the thick grass in the space between Sasha and Martin.

When the pops die down, Helen is still smiling at Sasha. “Don’t be strangers, loves.”

The mushrooms in the circle are a shimmery blue-green, and are surprisingly easy on Martin’s eyes, compared to everything else he’s seen. Sasha steps around the circle to meet Martin, hooking her arm around his broad shoulders, and he can’t help but lean into her as much as he dares with an armful of moth.

“Thanks for, uh, not killing me, I guess,” Martin offers as a goodbye. 

Michael titters. “Oh, Martin, that was never an outcome. Where’s the fun in ending a game early?” 

Martin isn’t sure if that was meant to be reassuring or not. Sasha scoffs and pulls him and Jon into the circle. He only catches a glimpse of the fae leaning together and waving goodbye before the world flips right side up. 

Jon's cabin stands before the trio, the only steady fixture in Martin's world which still wavers on its axis. Time slams into him with the early streaks of sunrise which peek through the trees. It’s like waking up from an unexpected nap, leaving his head pounding again, his inner clock completely off. Martin squeezes his eyes shut, breathing heavily for a moment to adjust to the weight of proper continuity. Sasha pulls away to give him some space, and he tries to just focus on counting seconds against his thudding heartbeat.

It’s Jon’s searching noise that draws Martin back out of his own head, and he looks down at his moth. 

“Hey,” Martin says softly, “We- We’re back. We’re alright.”

Somehow, this is the wrong thing to say. Jon pulls himself back a few inches, eyes huge and luminescent as he examines Martin’s face, searching for something. His mouth works without sound for a moment, then he shudders all over, reaching up to cup Martin’s jaw. For the first time, his vibrant eyes are wet with tears. 

“I’m so, so, so sorry, Martin, I should have- I should have warned you, I should have looked out, I should have-”

“No, no,” Martin cuts him off, shaking his head for good measure. “No, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know, Jon.”

“But I-” 

This time, it's Martin's actions which silence Jon. He leans down slightly, pressing their foreheads together. He’s careful not to push too far back, avoiding Jon's sensitive antennae the best he can while still giving the firm pressure. 

“Jon, we’re okay. We’re alright. You helped get me back. I…” He leans a little closer, but hesitates, not wanting to take even the barest chance of making Jon even more unhappy.

It turns out that he needn’t worry. Jon presses up, pulling Martin’s face so gently towards himself so that he can brush their lips together. It’s a slow, soft kiss, one that makes Martin sigh out all his stress and tighten his grasp on Jon. All he can think about is the cool dryness of Jon’s lips against his own, how much better it is than he ever imagined, especially in the warmth of the late morning as the sun weaves gold into Jon’s hair. 

All too soon, Jon pulls away, already stuttering out an apology. “I- I, I should have asked. That was rude, I’m s-sorry, you-”

Martin stifles the words with another kiss, this one much briefer but no less warm for it. “No, shh. It was perfect. You’re- It- We’re alright,” he finishes weakly.

A whistle behind him startles them both, and he jerks his head to see Sasha grinning at them, phone out. “Took you long enough, lovebugs. I have so many people to tell.”

Martin hides his face in Jon’s fluffy hair, but it does nothing to muffle his hopeless, bashful laughter.

Chapter Text

Martin is surprised by how easily time passes. 

After being sent unceremoniously back home, Martin has spent his days much the same as before being pulled into the fae realm, with practice and sleep and reading filling the time. Of course, since they broke through to a new stage of their relationship, Martin has added kissing Jon to his routine. It’s a very good use of time, one he indulges in as often as he dares. 

Jon hasn’t stopped him yet, so Martin supposes he must be doing something right.

Martin smiles at his screen as he types away, content with his life. His laptop is a warm weight in his lap, comforting in its familiarity. Tim and Sasha had brought it to him a couple days after the adventure to the other realm, after it was charmed against magical interference. Martin doesn’t think speed was supposed to be a part of it, but he could swear that the laptop runs better than it used to. 

The closing of a book startles Martin out of his focus. His fingers twitch above his keyboard, and he glances at Jon, who tilts his head back at Martin innocently. 

“Yes, Jon?” Martin asks, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. 

Jon’s hands flex on the cover of his book. It’s one of his favorites, a thick encyclopedia of fungi with exacting detail, and usually Martin has to fight to persuade Jon to put it down when he’s engrossed. Instead, the moth only has eyes for Martin, and it takes him a few tries to speak his mind.

“I don’t want to be a distraction,” Jon starts slowly, then stops. He frowns, looking down at the book but not focusing on it. “I. Hm.” He shifts in his seat, hands curling again until his knuckles go white. “I don’t want to distract you,” he tries again, then presses his head against Martin’s shoulder.

Martin isn’t sure what to do, so he waits a moment, but Jon doesn’t seem inclined to continue. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m working on a video that’s, well, partly about you,” he says, teasing. “So I don’t think you can actually distract me?”

This reasoning works, apparently, because Jon leans back with a thoughtful look. It’s better than his worried frown, which means Martin is content to wait out the pause. Jon works slower sometimes, especially when it comes to feelings. It’s faster, not to mention kinder, just to let him work through whatever’s on his mind than to press him. After a moment, Jon says, “I would- I want, I mean- This is unnecessarily difficult. You only have two arms.”

“Well, yes.”

Jon nods. “Yes. I want to have one.” Martin can’t help his baffled noise, and Jon shakes his head quickly, waving the words away like smoke in the air. “No, that’s not- I want- Like the movies?”

“You’re going to have to give me more to work with, buddy, I don’t know what you mean,” Martin says calmly. “You want to have one of my arms, like the movies. What does ‘like the movies’ mean?”

That gives Jon enough of a mental handhold to explain himself, apparently, because he clarifies, “Theatres. Around me? Alright, alright, I- I would like you to put- Hold- Around me. Please hold me like in a movie?” He makes a curving gesture with one hand, and Martin suddenly gets it.

“Ohhh. That I can do.” He loops his arm around Jon’s thin shoulders, pulling him closer like every cliche date in a movie. For good measure Martin ducks down to kiss one of Jon’s scruffy cheeks, then the corner of his mouth. Before he can get too distracted, though, he turns his head back to his laptop.

The first part of his work today was just answering the concerned comments on their last video and the few dozen tweets that had built up since they had last posted on their channel, and the tabs hadn’t even frozen when he was loading them. His updated computer has handled editing equally well, not stuttering while he scrubbed through the audio. Thankfully, most of his actual editing work for their update video is already done, since he spent all day yesterday on the video proper.

With so much real footage to show, Martin hasn’t had to up the suspense at all, just put the files and clips together in a coherent order. It took some debate to decide if they should break up the footage into multiple videos, but there just wasn’t a good place to cut apart the topics.

All that’s left is making sure it’s accessible, and then it’ll be ready to post. One hand is enough to work on the subtitles, while his other can remain on Jon’s waist, rubbing the smooth skin that stretches over his hip. 

As Martin continues typing up the captions, Jon happily curled up to his side, he hears a noise from the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow over the screen, and the noise comes again, followed by a clatter of claws skittering on the wooden floor. He drops his eyes with a growing smile, chuckling when he hears a sharp mew.

“Hello, Cap’n Dappy!”

“Martin, please. His name is Captain Dapperling.”

//

MEETING REAL CRYPTIDS? [NOT CLICKBAIT] [GONE WILD]

5,023 views - Premiered an hour ago ^435 v29

Archive of the Unknown

141k subscribers

So, yes, we know this video is longer than usual! And was kind of sudden. And is super late. We’re sorry, of course, but a whole hell of a lot has happened. From Sasha getting a dog to us being trapped in a room by a bat, we have a lot to sha… 

See More…

//

They decide to shoot in Jon’s territory. Martin struggled with the choice, worried that it might lead people to Jon’s cabin, but the moth insisted. Ever since the faerie ring incident, Jon’s been loathe to let Martin out of his sight, growing fidgety and worried when he can’t keep an active eye on him, and Tim unfairly pointed out that Jon could watch them film from the window. That had gotten Jon’s vote, and Martin reluctantly agreed.

Now that they’re out here, though, he feels more secure in the familiar surroundings. It’s not that Martin doesn’t like the Garden Cottage, but this is… Well, it’s his home now. He knows the trees and the bushes and, yes, the mushrooms. He spent a few days with Jon learning the surrounding area like the back of his hand, though it took a little longer than it should have due to being distracted.

It’s hard to not just wrap himself around Jon full time, now that they’ve broken the barrier of kissing. Despite Tim’s teasing about how slow they are, Martin is very comfortable with first base, thank you very much. Wait, is there a base for just sleeping together? Martin shakes off the thought after a minute, bringing the viewfinder to his eye. 

Sasha adjusts the tie of her hair band while Martin circles to catch the light best, but she stops to flash him a smile. “I’m surprised you’re this awake, the sun’s still up!”

“Oh, ha-very-ha. I still like sunlight, you know,” Martin says, disregarding the fact that he’s been chugging tea by the kettle since he managed to pry his eyes open. He’s so glad the cabin has good plumbing. “You look great in this light, I can see the overly saturated gifsets now.”

She chuckles, then laughs as Tim comes bounding over, wrapping his arms around her from behind as he lightly kisses her cheek. “Like she doesn’t always drive our fans wild? For shame, Martin.”

Sasha makes a considering noise, looking up at Tim with a satisfied smirk. “I think you might be the hot topic this time, wolfman. We both know at least a third of our viewers are furries.”

“Pffft, only a third. You think so poorly of them, Sash.” Tim pauses, resting his cheek on the side of Sasha’s head. “Are we still sold on including the Elias interview? Like, I know, I know, it’d be intellectually dishonest to withhold actual evidence, but he’s such a dick.”

“He is, but for one, people like hot vampires.” Everyone grimaces, but no one argues as Sasha continues, “And secondly, yes. We have information, we’re an archive of information about supernatural bullshit. This might even get him off our backs!” 

None of them believe that, of course, but the hope is nice. Martin rolls his shoulders, then smiles at his friends. “Okay, got a good shot. Ready?” Tim pulls away from Sasha some, giving her the floor, but she keeps him close by a hand around his. She nods to Martin, who readies the camera. “Alright. In three, two, one-”

“Hello, Archivists! Welcome back to the Archive of the Unknown. I’m Sasha James,” she starts, voice warm and steady, like she has a dozen times before.

“And I’m Tim Stoker, your favourite host.” Tim smirks at the camera, fringe brushing across his face. Martin is pleasantly surprised when he adds, “As always, we’re joined by our wonderful cameraman and best friend, Martin K. Blackwood. Hey, Marto, what does the K stand for again?”

“Kuh, uh, King?” He stutters, startled by being asked. “King, yup.” Thank god he’s behind the camera, Martin can feel how red he’s going.

Sasha laughs behind her hand, elbowing Tim. “Babe, don’t tease him, he’s literally putting up with us.”

“Then I have to give him something to put up with!” Tim barks out a laugh, grinning ruefully at Martin. “Sorry, Martin. We’ll be good. Agh, Sasha, your elbows are sharp- I’ll be good, promise.”

Martin makes a sound of vague disbelief, which only serves to make Sasha laugh more. She regains her composure, though, somehow pulling off both friendly and professional in her pose. “Now that we’ve hassled our friend, I’m sure you’re all waiting with bated breath for why it’s been so long between videos. Well, the shortest answer is that we’ve been busy. The longer answer is… well. Complicated.”

Despite knowing the story, Martin is still fascinated by Sasha and Tim talking. Even when they talk over each other, their words are more like weaving than a clash of swords, building the tale together. Tim handles the first part, detailing their plans to explore the forest, to look for Mothman. Sasha takes over to describe Jon’s appearance, though Tim interjects to tease with, “Though Martin could tell you better, he knows all about our bugboy.” 

Martin barely notices the joke, because he’s planning out the video in his head. Here’s a good spot to cut in the footage from that night, spanning Sasha’s introduction all the way to the footage of Jon standing in front of them. Maybe Tim explaining the location can be set over the landscape shots he’s taken.

With a huff at Tim, Sasha carries the story through Peter and Jon’s rescue of Martin and the subsequent return to the woods. “I couldn’t see what Martin was chasing after, and we fell behind. I started following what I thought was his voice… It wasn’t. We were lured away from each other and kidnapped by the resident vampire, Elias Bouchard. As loathe as we are to give him screen time, he did force us into interviewing him.”

He still can’t believe that tape survived. Martin didn’t remember turning off the recording, but apparently he had at some point in their escape, just after Daisy had broken them out of their room. It covers enough that Sasha doesn’t go into the details, instead picking up towards the chaotic ending.

“We were rescued by one of Jon’s friends. A werewolf named Daisy tore her way into the room, but when she tried to attack Elias…” Sasha’s voice trails off, and Tim gives the camera a grin. He stretches his arms over his head, then shifts, much more fluid with practice than the almost stumbling way he started with. The wolf bumps Sasha with his muzzle before barking at the camera, looking far too smug for a dog. Sasha gestures to him, resigned. “She bit Tim, and now I have to deal with him shedding.”

Tim gives a little trot around Sasha, showing off all of himself, then picks himself up off the ground. Somewhere in the middle of rearing up, he’s himself again, though he’s chosen to retain his ears and tail. “And I get used as a heater, so she can’t actually complain that much.”

Tim covers Georgie and Melanie, explaining what he can of the night, though Sasha has to cover everything from after he passed out. Martin can’t help but be relieved she’s the one to talk about Martin’s fledgling witchhood, because she makes it sound so sensible and reasonable, instead of ridiculous. He’s sure he’d say something wrong, make himself sound like a loon.

With a smirk, Tim breaks in, “I took some extra footage from after we moved in. Martin, put it in, won’t you?”

Martin squints from behind the camera, but he mumbles, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Tim.”

//

Martin is sitting with his back to the camera, holding hands with the person beside him. Person might not be the right idea, though, as their wings are visible from this angle, spread over the lawn behind the duo. They say something that the microphone misses, but Martin’s laugh is loud enough to be caught. The black bars on either side of the shot cut off the sprawling garden they’re sitting in, but what is visible is lush and green.

The camera pulls away from what is revealed to be a window, less smoothly than in the other shots of movement. Cozy wooden walls enter the frame, along with dozens of plants in varying states of preparation. The screen pans across the room, catching Sasha putting her hair back up in her usual bun while two other women chat. 

“New digs! And new friends,” Tim says from offscreen, and a tan hand breaks into frame in a thumbs up. “Landlords do not interact, we’re woods people now.”

//

Sasha rolls her neck as Martin lowers the camera. “Should I, um. Is this a good spot?” He asks, then bites his lip. “I mean, for the-”

“Yeah! Here, hand me the camera.” She takes it without hesitation when Martin holds it out, its weight seeming like nothing to her. “Is this the first time we’re actually getting you on screen?”

“No, um, there was an episode earlier, uh… Two? Yeah. The one where I had to hold you up so you could get over that fence? When we were breaking into that old castle to look for ghosts?”

“Eugh, right, I ripped my shirt to shreds on that thing.” Sasha frowns in mock sorrow, then smiles encouragingly at Martin. “Well, at least this can’t be more boring than that adventure was. A castle with no ghosts! Like, it was a bloody castle, at least someone is bound to have died there pissed off or something.”

Tim laughs while Martin moves closer to him, giving him a friendly nudge. “I still maintain that you were just too powerful for them, babe. Speaking of royal beings whose league you’re way out of, got any more letters from the pixies?”

“They’re fae, Tim,” she corrects out of habit, then laughs a little. “Yes, Helen left me one in my makeup bag this morning. Covered absolutely everything in glitter glue. It was cute, remind me to show you later.”

“I’ll hold you to it, babe.” Their byplay has given Martin time to steady his nerves, and he can’t help but wonder if that was the whole point. Man, he’s lucky to have such good friends. 

He’s smiling when Sasha swings the camera up on her shoulder. She counts down, and then Tim is introducing him in words he can barely process. It takes Martin a moment, then he shakes out his hands, gazing at Sasha instead of the camera to make himself feel less tense. “H-hello, everyone! Martin here, um, obviously.”

Tim doesn’t break in, only rests a hand on his back, and that’s enough for Martin to keep talking. “I’ve been practicing this, ah, garden magic, I suppose you can call it, and I thought it might be fun to show it to you!”

What Martin doesn’t tell the audience, of course, is that he set up part of the layout last night. It would take too much magic to do it all on camera in a decent amount of time, and most of it is really quite boring to look at, all the carving and measuring. He rubs his hands together as he closes his eyes, focusing on that wonderful green place inside himself. 

The magic surges to his hands eagerly, spilling out in waves of emerald as he focuses on the seeds dormant in the earth. Martin smiles at the feeling, the sprout propelled out of the dirt with his magic with a sensation almost like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. 

Tim’s startled bark makes him open his eyes, and Martin can’t blame him for the surprise. Sunflowers are big plants, sure, but this one is massive, taller than Martin himself, the stem more like a trunk. More flowers are sprouting up in the ritual circle, climbing over themselves in an attempt to reach for more magic, and he has to stumble back as he cuts it off. 

Instead of a sudden end, his magic splutters out, leaving him out of breath and his hands shaking. Tim pats Martin on the back gently, saying something that’s muffled by the blood roaring in Martin’s ears. It buys him enough time to stand up straight, dusting pollen clouds off his hands and shirt.

“Well, um! Well. That was a little more than I intended, but- But, uh, I guess, I guess I’m a mobile seed bomb now,” Martin jokes, hoping he sounds more solid than he feels. It makes Tim laugh at least, so he feels better about his mild disaster. The sunflower really is massive, blooming as big as his head and much taller. It’d be beautiful if it weren’t so exhausting. 

“Tim, you get to hold the camera now. I think if Martin has to hold anything, he’s gonna keel over.” Sasha’s smile is fond, though, so Martin doesn’t make a fuss, just lets himself be transferred to Sasha’s side. Once she's settled, she sets a hand on his back, right by where Tim's just was, rubbing soothing circles. Martin focuses on that rather than his exhaustion and he tries to summon energy from Sasha's close presence, from the way Tim smiles behind the camera.

“You okay?” Sasha asks quietly, facing Martin, not the camera. 

“Yeah,” Martin assures. “I'm good.”

“Hey, Sash!” Tim calls out, taking his eye away from the viewfinder. “Why don't you tell the audience about your new crushes.”

That does the trick of lightening the mood, of drawing attention away from Martin and giving him other things to focus on. Sasha stops moving her hand but doesn't take it away from his back even as she rolls her eyes. 

“I hope you know how much you sound like a primary school gossip.” Despite her bemused tone, Martin spies a fond smile making its way onto her face. “Some time ago, Martin got sucked up into the faerie realm. Just wandered into a faerie ring, as I heard it.”

“That's not fair,” Martin interjects, blushing. “They looked like normal mushrooms. Jon really likes mushrooms.”

“I know, sweetheart.” She turns her fond smile to him, hand on resuming the movements briefly. “It's our fault, really, Tim and I should've kept you on a child leash.”

“Hey!”

Tim cuts in before Martin can truly protest, a chuckle lacing his words when he calls, “You're straying, darling.”

She pulls her hand back and squeezes Martin's bicep instead, another comforting movement. “Do you wanna tell the story?”

Martin nods and looks to the camera, recounting his time in the realm of fae. If he can just get through this, he can go lay down and be done with his terrible friends teasing him. He tells of the awful, headache-inducing landscape and absolute lack of decor knowledge with all the mushroom motifs. He makes a joke of the similarities between Alice in Wonderland and the tea party he was made to sit in on, and the whole thing spawns a bit of casting their different friends as characters from the book. 

When they come around to Martin realizing he didn’t know how much time had passed in that strange place, Sasha picks back up, telling the camera about Jon coming to the witches, of the magic door, and of Sasha's own adventure in the ‘less-than-exciting’ realm.

The wording of it makes Tim scoff, ignoring the swaying of the camera as he shakes his head. “Two new partners and it's 'less-than-exciting'?”

“You're being a real menace today, wolfman.”

Martin can't help his giggles as Sasha picks a branch off the ground and throws it in Tim's direction. It sails past him but he still turns his head to follow the movement, ears and tail perked up in attention. For a second, he looks like he's about to bolt after it. He shakes himself out of the trance but it doesn't escape either Sasha or Martin's notice. They share a laugh at Tim’s expense, and Martin wishes he'd got that on camera. Maybe he can recreate it for the B-roll.

“Oi!” Tim tries to calm them down but fails, their giggles sounding for a few more moments before petering off. “Okay, now, out with it. Details. The juicier the better. You've put it off long enough, our poor audience is starving.”

Sasha's eyes sparkle with joy, barely containing a smile. “Alright! Alright, okay. So, yes, it's true. The fae monarchs started sending me love letters soon after I left their realm. They're very sweet and very... Unique. Very fond of glitter. Their names are Michael and Helen.”

“They're kidnappers, Sash,” Martin stage whispers, joke obvious by his tone. 

She shakes her head, her eyes meeting the camera and smile growing to be completely obvious. “They're unique ! Anyway, as some of you may be aware of, Tim and I are polyamorous.”

“And proud!” Tim calls from behind the camera, giving his chest a couple thumps for good measure. 

Sasha rolls her eyes, but continues without skipping a beat, “So I don't think it should shake anyone for me to admit that I'm kind of dating faerie royalty now? They've brought me into their polycule. Tim isn’t dating them, just me. He’s got a more edgy taste.”

Martin feels his energy resurging, smile widening as he grows more comfortable on camera. “Besides, they didn't seem like dog people. Dog fae?”

Sasha ignores Tim's scoff. “They're more into farm animals. I've heard they have cows in their realm somewhere?”

“Cows? In the fae realm? Are they good?” Martin can’t help himself. Cows are adorable, and if the fae are hiding more good cows from him, he’ll have to have words with the royals.

“I don't know! But I've asked after them. I think they'll show me next time they have me over.”

“I'd say take a video but I, um, I don't think technology would cope well in that place.” Martin suppresses a shiver. As supportive as he's been about Sasha's new partners, who are, admittedly, both very nice and very funny, he still doesn't quite like that neon-mushroom-nightmare realm. “My camera barely likes Jon.”

“I'll describe it to you when I come back. It'll be like a bedtime story.”

“Thank you, mother goose.”

“What about you, Martin?” Sasha asks in her best interviewer voice, turning to face Martin with her free hand on her hip. “Any new additions to your household?”

Martin plays along, fake cheer coloring his words. “Well, Sasha, I'm glad you asked!” They both laugh at themselves for a second before Martin sobers up, smiling more genuinely. “We've, um, Jon and I, I moved into his place, like I said, and, and we've adopted a cat recently! His name is Captain Dapperling. Georgie and Melanie, they have a cat named the Admiral, so- So Jon thought he should be the Captain, you know. And dapperlings are a kind of mushroom, and there’s a kind that’s specifically called cat dapperlings, so... 

“He was a gift from the fae, like an apology present? I'll show you guys some footage of him playing with Jon. They're both…” Martin looks to the cabin, thinking about the way the moth and the cat purr to each other, the way they've become a little family in such a short amount of time. His throat threatens to close with the emotion that fills it. “They're both very important.”

His words hang in the air for another second, the three of them letting the calm settle. Martin breaks the silence by clearing his throat, feeling a touch awkward that he caused it. “Anyway. Saved the best for last, there. Did I miss anything?”

Tim and Sasha look at him with fondness clear on their faces before Sasha speaks. “I think that's it. You got anything, Tim?”

“All from me, boss.”

Sasha gives the camera a bright smile. “That's it then! Thank you for tuning in once again. Remember to like, comment, and subscribe, you know the drill. Leave questions if you have any, I know this was a long episode and we might have missed some details. Statement ends!”

//

“Statement… Ends!” Martin flexes his hands with a content sigh, shaking out the stiffness from all the typing. He saves the edits and schedules the video for the morning, before putting his laptop to the side, half closed. 

Finally able to relax, Martin closes his eyes and leans back into the nest. The freshly laundered blankets smell strongly of lavender, adding to the serenity. He’s startled out of his respite by hands pulling away his headphones, sliding them off his neck and setting them on the rug. When he opens his eyes, all he can see are Jon’s, luminous and soft in the warm witch-lights. 

“Hi, love,” he says softly, earning a smile from Jon.

“Hello, dear.” Jon leans down to press a kiss to his lips, one Martin accepts with all the gratitude of a man offered water in the desert. Jon’s thin tail curls around the crook of his knee, squeezing gently. The kiss is broken when Jon makes a noise against Martin’s mouth, and he blinks at his boyfriend curiously.

“Captain, I must insist you stop trying to eat me,” Jon says calmly down at the cat who has his paws curled around the thick tuft of his tail. The Captain simply meows out a complaint, one Jon replies to with a sharper, though still amused, mrow.

Acting as though it was his plan all along, the Captain releases his prey to jump into Martin’s lap. Jon pouts so severely that Martin can’t help laughing, even as he reaches down to rub under the cat’s chin. The Captain’s mismatched eyes squint as he’s pet, the yellow one closing completely while the blue still watches him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Jon, we both know it’s against the rules to deny a cat his due pets.” Martin smiles at Jon’s continued sulk, scooching slightly to the side to make more room.

Jon instantly makes use of the free real estate, flopping onto his side and snuggling up under Martin’s arm. Despite his prior protests, he joins in on petting Captain Dapperling, smoothing his thick fur down and purring along with him. Martin just admires them, basking in the contentment that’s pooling in his heart.

He’s on the edge of nodding off when Jon talks again, words reaching Martin in a confusing mumble. “Mmm, wha? What’s up?”

Jon laughs quietly, squeezing impossibly closer to Martin. His tail is swaying across Martin’s legs now, brushing from knee to foot and back again in a slow pattern. “A friend of mine is coming over in a few days. According to Tim, he’s back in the area, and it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him. He’s the demon, Gerry Keay?”

“Gerry, Gerry… Oh, the snake guy, right?” He would point at the picture, but with one arm trapped by Dap and the other around Jon’s waist, Martin doesn’t really want to move. Jon nods anyways, his hair ticklish against Martin’s neck.

“Yes, I- I’d like for you to meet him. He’s my friend, and you’re important to me, and… I’d like it if you two were friends? Or friendly, at least?” Jon’s tone is off, and it takes Martin a moment to place it.

“...Love, are you nervous? This Gerry, he’s your friend . I like your friends! I even like Daisy, and she bit my best friend.” Martin presses a kiss to the top of Jon’s head. “Don’t worry, alright? I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“You always are! It’s him I’m worried about.” Sulking is better than nervous, and Martin laughs when Jon continues, “He’s a trickster, I don’t want him to mess with you. So, so just tell me if he does, and I’ll tell him off. Or you can! I mean, I don’t- If he’s a dick, don’t let him be. Which he won’t, I don’t think, he does know when to be nice, it’s just…”

“I’m sure everything will be perfectly fine and dandy. Besides, if he was coming here with the goal of hurting me, he wouldn’t be able to get in!” Martin squeezes Jon again, just to reassure him, and gets a little flutter of wings in response. “Melanie sewed the wards up tight. Jon, I’m not worried, so you don’t have to either, okay? I’m with you. That’s the safest place I can be.”

Jon doesn’t have a rebuttal for that, it seems, because he trades his words for kisses. Martin is all too happy to oblige.