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Jon coughed, wincing at the rawness of his throat and the uncomfortable tingle of static manifesting behind the headache. He was tired and the energy it took to keep himself from slipping was exhausting.
So exhausting, that the second he wasn’t thinking of it, he compelled Martin over the breakfast table. Of course he understood. He was more understanding than Jon would ever deserve. But he had no right. No right to Know and not for the first time he thought about locking himself away in a closet until he could control himself to avoid hurting his family like that.
“That’s the start of a lovely fever.” Martin made a sweet noise of concern after pressing a kiss against Jon’s forehead where he was cuddled upon the couch in his stolen cardigan. “I can cancel for us, darling.” Bless Martin, he looked so worried, and Jon kicked himself for it. Get a hold of yourself.
“No, we. I don’t want them to think.” He breathed, chest tight, willing his heart to stop its incessant pounding. “We’ve already done once.” Things with Tim were still tenuous at best and Jon didn’t want to be the reason they decided to stop visiting though he was positive compulsion would be a deal breaker, a straight path leading right back to where they were before the Unknowing. But the way Martin brightened whenever he saw them was important enough to him to try. It was an evening. One evening. He could. It would be fine.
And it was, for a while, but the Beholding was becoming more insistent, taking advantage of how poorly he felt, demanding things that Jon refused to give it, and he hated how it still found ways to disrupt their lives. The fears would always exist. Meaning there would always be avatars and most days it wasn’t a problem. He would make certain that today wasn’t a problem either. He tried to focus it on the weather, the clouds, species of birds and their migration patterns, the plants in every window box on the street. Even the makes and models of cars, brands of clothing, fabric, threadcount. But there was no mistaking what it truly wanted. Jon became quiet, focused on ignoring the whispering, the old promises, dropping further away from the conversation and leaning more heavily into Martin. He hadn't noticed Jon's shifting mood, caught up in catching up with their friends. He was relaxed and it felt like old times as the conversation shifted from Sasha’s young students to Martin speaking animatedly about how training new EMTs was going and it was so similar to Jon’s experiences with his own classes that he found himself becoming interested again.
Tim seemed so excited about teaching his junior recruits and Jon genuinely wanted to know more, forgetting himself for a moment and allowing the Knowing to latch onto his curiosity and ask.
“Tell us more, Tim?” And the compulsion burned through his tongue and escaped his clenched teeth and the look on Tim’s face when he realized what was happening--
Oh god.
He felt himself begin to shake, not even hearing the answer he’d forced him into saying.
Tim was going to kill him.
The air in the room disappeared and reflexively Jon grabbed at his throat, over the scar left by Daisy.
He would be so angry.
Jon’s ears filled with static, his mouth with the bitter taste of ink, and he coughed into his cupped hands, trying to contain his wretched mistake and felt it ooze thick between his fingers.
“I, I, I, I’m.”
He couldn’t hear the yelling over the noise in his own head, couldn’t feel his own body, make out his own voice though he was trying to apologize. All numb. All, he couldn’t. Martin. Where--
Tim.
“S’s’sorry, m’s--” Another hot gush like blood, was it blood? Bitter blood like iron biting tongues teeth knives flashing and Tim hated him hated him was going to hurt him and he was frozen frozen frozen can’t move have to run
monstermonstermonsterjust another monster hurt it kill it
“M’Mar’Martin?” Dizzy, he couldn’t. Couldn’t breathe. He. “S’sorry, ‘mmm’so sorry.” Held hostage by his own spinning thoughts. Real. Not real. The separation between the two a line in the sand he'd crossed. Words poured from his lips, down his chin, he thought they were apologies but knew they'd come across as excuses.
And maybe they were.
Cold.
A bright, focused spot of cold.
Curled fingers.
Fingers around his fingers curled around the cold, holding, tight, squeeze, release. Keeping him still as he shook.
“Hayati?” Martin. “There you are, good. Breathe, well done.” A gasp like drowning, and he doubled over, hacking, choking, swallowing back the remnants of ink.
“Jon?” Stiff. Fight or flight or freeze. “Hey, hey.” He flinched from the hand on his back. Hands hurt. Hands were supposed to hurt. But it stayed, warm, solid. Grounding.
“Mmmartin?” Drawn out into a miserable cry.
“I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe. I know it might not seem like it right now, but I’m here and I will keep you safe.” Sick. Exhausted, tears running down his face. Folded up in familiar arms and held there tight. Safe.
The cold in his hand was gone. Replaced by a warm flannel sweeping the length of his palm, between his fingers. Tim.
“Doing great, buddy. Just breathe. We’ve got you.” He was wiping up the black mess, the streaks and smudges, soft and careful and holding his scarred hand like it was something precious and not an extension of the fears marking him inside and out and, overwhelmed, he hid his face in Martin’s chest and sobbed.
Jon opened his eyes at the dip in the mattress, lashes still damp from earlier, and accepted the soft press of lips at his temple.
“M’sorry.” Martin slipped under the duvet and tugged Jon’s overheated body into his arms and he went willingly, fragile and unsure.
“That’s quite enough of that, love.”
“Were they. I.” He sighed, shuddering, pressing closer. “I made a right mess of things, didn’t I?” He welcomed the soft kisses, the kind touches, reassuring and familiar and good.
“I warned them this might happen.” Jon was silent, waiting. “I told Tim that if he couldn’t handle it that we should reschedule.”
“Oh.” Small and a bit ashamed.
“I wouldn’t have him here yelling. Or. Or going on like he did. Before.” Lord, he didn’t deserve this man. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s.” He tucked himself under Martin’s chin searching for the words. “It’s, hm. Not. Okay? But I will be?” Martin’s answer was another lingering kiss, and Jon could feel the shape of his smile on his skin.