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Something was wrong. Martin wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but there was undeniably something off. There shouldn’t be; after all of the nightmares of the past few years, the isolation since Peter had taken over, after everything, they were on their way to Daisy’s safehouse. He and Jon. After all of this time. Sure, everything outside of the Lonely felt too bright and too loud and too much, but hadn’t Jon been through much worse?
He tried to bring his attention back to his book, but the more he tried the less he registered the words. His heart was racing now, and he felt...almost dizzy? Was that what this feeling was? He was still trying to get used to feeling things again, but that seemed like the right word. That wasn’t all, though. There was another feeling underneath the others, and even though he couldn’t put a name to it, he knew that it was unpleasant.
He’d given up trying to read entirely. The more he’d tried, the worse he’d felt, which left only staring out the window or staring at Jon in the driver’s seat. They were well out of London by now and into the countryside, and there wasn’t another car in sight. That didn’t, however, mean that the roads were clear. Rabbits and other small creatures occasionally darted across, and it was only after Jon had to hit the brakes to avoid hitting one that Martin realized what had been creeping up on him; the sickening lurch of his stomach made it clear that he was very much motion sick. He couldn’t help the nauseated groan that escaped him, and the fact that Jon stopped the car entirely in order to look over at him gave the other man just enough time to comment on how unwell Martin looked as he struggled with his seatbelt and darted out of the car. He sunk to the ground, world still spinning as he let his head hang between his knees. Don’t throw up in front of Jon, don’t throw up in front of Jon...
“Martin?” There was the click of the driver’s side door, and then Jon was kneeling beside him. Martin still felt far too ill to risk anything other than slow, deep breaths as he fought down the need to be sick. He didn’t know how long it was before he risked raising his head to respond. “S-sorry, Jon. I usually don’t get travel sick, but I guess it’s been a long time-”
“It’s fine.” Jon’s voice was sharp, but he paused momentarily and his tone was a lot kinder when he continued “Why didn’t you ask me to stop earlier, before it got bad enough for- for this?”
“I couldn’t figure out what it was at first. Everything...it all feels like so much after t-the Lonely that I guess my brain didn’t know how to interpret it?” Martin flinched at the way his voice cracked as he spoke, but Jon carefully reached out to rest a hand on Martin’s back gently. Even through the flood of emotions and residual nausea Martin couldn’t help but laugh; the way Jon moved made it seem like this was the first time he’d ever done something like this. It came out a little broken, though, and he looked away in shame.
“Will you be alright for a moment if I go to get something from my bag?” Jon’s fingers brushed against his cheek, trying to get Martin to look at him again. Not trusting his voice anymore, Martin just nodded.
“Right. Just, ah, just wait there for now then.” As soon as the comforting warmth of Jon’s hand left his back, he missed it. Physical contact initiated by the other man was such a rare thing. Something he still couldn’t quite believe he was now being given.
As Martin’s head cleared a bit more, he registered the sound of Jon muttering to himself underneath the assorted rustling from him sorting through the stuff they’d managed to pack. Finally, it seemed as though Jon had found what he was looking for as he closed the car door a little too hard and walked back around, holding something out with a look of relief. “I’ve got some dramamine. Thought I remembered having some rattling around in my bag from the trip to America.” Martin accepted the bottle, turning it to read the label before shaking a couple of pills out. He was about to attempt swallowing them dry when Jon offered him a thermos of water, which he accepted gratefully.
“It will take some time before you’ll feel the effects. I won’t start driving yet, but I think the passenger seat will be a lot more comfy than the road, come on.” Jon’s expression was surprisingly warm as he helped Martin stand, peering at him with dark eyes filled with concern. Before he could think twice about it, Martin hugged him. He half-expected Jon to pull away, but after the initial flinch Jon’s arms came to rest on his back.
“You’ll let me know if you feel off again? Even if you aren’t sure what’s wrong?” “I will. Sorry about all this…”
“No, I should have noticed sooner. I...know it’s been difficult for you. I’ll try to pay better attention in the future. Now, brush the dust off your trousers so you can sit down properly.”
Shortly afterwards they were back on the road, and within twenty minutes Martin was fast asleep. He wouldn’t wake up until Jon gently shook him awake a couple of hours later to stretch their legs and eat, by which point he felt much better.