Chapter Text
"Of course I'll let you know if I see any good cows."
Slipping on his shoes and his coat, Martin made his way out the door. It was a nice day out, a little on the warm side for this time of year but with a nice breeze blowing that kept everything comfortably cool, and just few clouds drifting across an otherwise perfectly blue sky. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, Martin started down the path that lead to the safehouse. He could certainly get used to this.
Martin had always thought he was a city person. He'd always lived in the city, so it had made sense that he would be a city person. The sound of noisy streets and emergency sirens and your neighbors who forgot how thin the walls of their apartment actually are, he hadn't thought he could live without it. He'd always assumed that all that background noise was good for him in a way, that if it was too quiet he'd be stuck with nothing but his thoughts to listen to. His time spent lost in The Lonely seemed to have confirmed that to him.
But being out here made him realize that he might have been wrong about all that. Sure it was quiet here, but it was a nice quiet, a gentle quiet. And it was actually gentle, too, not like the Lonely. The quiet there had been oppressive, leaving you stranded with nothing and no-one except the very worst parts of your mind. He'd only called it gentle there because, well, with everything else he'd been through since he started in the archive, it had felt gentle in comparison. It had almost felt right in that moment. It wasn't until Jon led him out that it hit him just how bad it had actually been in there.
No, this was nothing like the Lonely. There was warmth and colour and life here. This place had the kind of quiet that was a comfort rather than cruel. Quiet without being silent. The wind ruffling through the grass, the gentle pattering of rain against windows, the soft creak of an old house. The bedspring groaning slightly as someone tosses beside you. Lots of little noises to remind you that you weren't alone, without them feeling quiet to overbearing like the sounds of the city. It was one of the many things Martin was learning to love about Scotland.
When Martin stopped to think about it, he could see himself spending the rest of his life like this. He wondered if Jon felt the same way. The idea of it always made a little spark of excitement flutter in his chest.
Though he wouldn't admit it to anyone out loud, Martin was a romantic at heart. Despite his best efforts he would find himself swept up in a sea of emotions each time someone found there way into his heart. In his idle moments he would catch himself dreaming up ridiculous scenarios that were right out of some cheesy romcom, composing lines of poetry to try and describe just how enamored he was, all sorts of sappy stuff. There was just so many feelings when he liked someone, he couldn't help himself from those little moments of fantasy. And now that he loved someone, and that someone loved him back, there was no stopping those little snippets of some idyllic life creeping into his mind. He'd imagined a life with Jon plenty of times back at the institute, sure, but that had all just been wishful thinking back then. Now it almost seemed like a possibility. That he might actually have a chance at a happy life, with someone who loved him - actually, truly loved him - by his side. That he might be able to do things like get married, adopt a pet, grow old together with someone. All those simple, domestic things that had seemed to unobtainable for so much of his life. It might have been a bit early into their relationship to start thinking about these things, but after everything they had happened to them, everything they'd had to fight through to get here, Martin thought he deserved to dwell on what felt like the first real bit of hope he'd had in years.
For the first time in a long time, Martin was happy. Absolutely, undeniably happy. So what if he wanted to imagine what his life might be life with Jon. If he wanted to indulge himself a little, he was going to do just that.
Looking the the ridge just up ahead, Martin picked up his pace. It was usually just over this hill that he would see the cows on his walk. That was undeniably another one of the benefits of being out here. He and Jon had both been more than a little excited the first time they saw the cows, and since then they made a point of trying going to see them as much as they could.
He felt a little bad that Jon might have to miss out on seeing them today. Especially now that the wind was picking up more, that always did fun things with their shaggy fur. Martin decided that he was going to take some pictures if he saw them, he knew Jon would appreciate that. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed for his phone and...
Wait...
Damn.
Being off the grid meant neither of them were in so much of the habit of keeping their phones on them at all times. It wasn't completely uncommon for one of them to forget their phone on walks to trips down to the village. It wasn't really that big of a deal, but damn if it wasn't annoying sometimes.
Pausing, he took in his surrounding. He wasn't really that far from the safehouse. He was only walking for maybe five minutes at most. It would only take him a moment to walk back, grab his phone and be back on his way, and he probably wouldn't even have to disturb Jon in the process.
It was settled, then. He turned around and began making his way back to the safehouse.
As he neared the cottage, he glanced up at the sky. Maybe he should grab an umbrella while he'd here as well. The clouds were starting to gather pretty quick. He didn't mind walking in the rain much at all, but he just wasn't in the mood to get soaked today.
He was careful to tread lightly as he entered the house, trying to keep the old floorboards from creaking too loudly. It really shouldn't matter if these was background noise in the recordings, since it wasn't like these ones were going to end up in the archives or anything, but it had just been so long since Jon had read any statements, he didn't want to risk disturbing him. He'd seen how Jon had begun to slow down bit by bit since they arrived here, as the effects of Peter's statement started to wear off. Martin might not have been happy that his boyfriend needed to be sustained on a diet of other people's trauma, but it wasn't like Jon was trilled about it either. They really just had to make do with what they had.
Jon's voice carried through the little cottage as Martin quietly searched for his phone. It was a comfort to listen to him, even if it was one of the statement. Those things had never sat right with Martin, but even eldritch horrors could have a bit of comfort in them when it was Jon reading them. Another reminder of there being someone else there with him.
Heading in the direction of their bedroom to search for his phone there, Martin peaked a look at Jon as he read. It was rare Martin ever got to see Jon reading statements back at the institute. Usually whenever he walked in on Jon reading statements it would pull his attention away from them pretty quickly, so he'd only ever catch glimpses for him. Just that brief moment of him hunched over his desk, engrossed in the words in front of him as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever read. He always looked so strangely content in those moments. But that wasn't how he looked now.
As soon as Martin saw him he knew something was off. There was just something about the way he was sitting, or how his shoulders were tensed. Maybe it had been something in his voice, but it raised a red flag in Martin's mind.
"Jon?"
There was no response. Jon just kept reading.
"Jon!" Martin called louder this time, but still nothing. He moved closer him and noticed how he shook ever so slightly, he whole body visibly stiff. This close he could also hear what Jon was saying much more clearly.
"-possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans. Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer. It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive. Because-"
Martin's blood ran cold.
They hadn't been safe from Elias after all.
Rushing around to his front, Martin could now see the look of terror that was plastered across Jon's face. Despite the rest of him, though, his mouth appeared to be moving without hesitation, rattling off every sentence written in front of him with ease. Martin knew enough about some of the Beholding's little tricks and the effect those statements could have to know that Jon's reading was not being done under his own will.
"Jon? Jon, what's going on, what's happening?" Martin asked him frantically, still with no answer.
Starting to feel desperate, he reached for Jon's shoulders, giving him a shake. With his hands on him he could feel just how strained his muscles were, like this statement had locked him in place. There was still no reaction from him for several seconds, but then, with visible effort, one hand pulled away from the paper, shooting over to take hold of Martin's arm with an almost painful grip. The rest of him kept on reading, but that hand was enough of a cry for help for Martin.
"Alright, ok, you're with me, um, ok, we can fix this. We can fix this." Martin started rambling, not totally sure if he was trying to reassure Jon or himself, "W-we're gonna...we're..."
He wrenched the paper out of Jon's hands.
As soon as the statement was out of Jon's line of sight, he went completely still, making a quiet, choked off noise as the words died on his lips. His eyes were blown wide, staring into nothing, and his mouth hung open slightly. It looked to Martin disturbingly like someone had pressed a pause button on him.
But he wasn't reading the statement anymore. That was good. Martin didn't know exactly what Elias was doing, but he had heard enough to know that this statement was dangerous. Between the effect it had on Jon and the words "lynchpin for this new ritual" playing over and over in his head, he also suspected that nothing good was going to happen if Jon got to the end of it.
He looked down at the paper in his hand, focusing on not letting himself actually read any of the writing it. There wasn't even a question about what he needed to do next.
Looking back to Jon for just a moment, he ran a hand down his arm a few times, careful to keep the pages out of his line of sight, "Ok, ok, we're going to fix this. You're going to be alright. I promise. You are going to be alright."
Martin took off towards the kitchen sink, tossing the statement into it. He then went to the drawer where they kept a box of matches. Striking one, he threw it into the sink along with the statement, then another after it for good measure. The paper caught quickly enough, a few flames growing as they spread across them. He stood close by, making sure that every last bit of ink was destroyed with a small twist of satisfaction in his chest. There was a type of poetic justice somewhere in this, watching Elias's- or Jonah's or whoever's - little plan go up in smoke just like those statements Martin had burned over a year ago.
As Martin watched the pages burn, he felt his gaze being drawn to those few words that he could still see, unable to look away from them. In particular his eyes seemed drawn to one sentence that hadn't yet begun to blacken and curl;
I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself.
He was only pulled away from the trance it had him under when he heard the sound of a body collapsing on the floor.
In and instant Martin's thoughts turned back to Jon. Turning around, he looked to where Jon had been frozen just a moment ago, and saw that he was no longer sitting there. Looking to the floor, Martin saw where Jon now was, sprawled out on his back unconscious. It looked as though his body had given out as soon as the statement lost it's effect on him, knocking him out cold. Martin could see how his limbs were out at uncomfortable looking angles, as well the way that they convulsed, making his whole body shake along with their spasming.
A new panic flooded Martin's mind as he ran back over to Jon, but he did his best to keep it at bay. It wouldn't be any help to either of them if Martin had a panic attack right now. No, he needed to stay calm. He needed to do something. Kneeling beside Jon, Martin searched through his memories for things doctors had told him as a teenager. His mother had had a few seizures back when he was younger, so he'd learned what to do when she had them, and this was seizure, right? It look enough like one, even it might have been supernatural in origin. Did it really matter? Martin didn't have time to consider what else it might be. He had to do something.
He shoved the furniture out of the way first. Jon might heal quickly most of the time nowadays, but it was still probably in their best interest to not get him any more scars or bruises than he already had. Then he pulled off his jacket, folding it quickly and placing it under Jon's head, before carefully rolling him so that he laid on his side rather than his back. That he definitely remembered being told to do. Something about helping with breathing or whatever. Giving Jon a once over, he made sure there wasn't anything that he needed to take off his. He hadn't been wearing his glasses, which he sometimes didn't when he read statements - didn't really need them for statements he'd told Martin - and there was nothing tight around his neck that Martin needed to worry about.
"It's ok, Jon, it's ok." His voice was trembling ever more than the hand he was stroking across Jon's back, "I'm here. It's ok. I'm here. I'm right here with you."
The shaking continued. Martin considered calling 999 briefly, but that wasn't really an option. Even if he knew where his phone was right now, it wasn't like they had signal, and who knew how long it would be for anyone to get to them. Besides, he wasn't leaving Jon alone if he could help it. So he stayed there, sitting beside Jon, waiting this to end. He continued whispering quiet reassurances, repeating them over and over again, hoping that maybe, if he was lucky, Jon could hear him.
The seizure had stopped after a few minutes, but Jon had remained unconscious. Martin waited there on the floor with him, but after ten minutes, the panic he'd been ignoring made itself known again. He'd moved Jon from the floor to the bed after about twenty minutes of waiting, deciding that if anything, Jon should at least be comfortable. Once Martin was satisfied with the way he'd positioned Jon, he grabbed a chair and placed it beside, where he remained for the last hour and a half.
It was an all too familiar position to be in. Martin tried very hard to keep memories of hospital rooms out of his thoughts. The room smelt unsettlingly like antiseptic that he knew was not there.
Instead, Martin focused on keeping an eye on Jon, his fingers rarely moving from the pulse point at Jon's wrist. He had a heart beat, at least, and he was breathing. Sure, his breathing was shallow and labored, and his pulse was weak enough that Martin had had to focus harder than he would have liked to to find it a few times, but it was something. Something that told Martin that he was still alive, and that maybe, maybe he would be alright. Maybe he would wake up and be fine and everything could just go back to the way it was.
Martin wasn't ready to consider the other way this could go. He refused to consider it. They had made it this far, he was not going to lose Jon now. He couldn't.
The bedroom now had a soft golden hue to it, since the sun was beginning to set. The warm light from the window seemed entirely discordant with how cold the room felt to Martin. The beauty of a sunset felt like an insult to him. How dare things be beautiful at a time like this? The contrast made every ugly thing he was feeling come that much more into focus.
His eyes stung. From the tears he was had been holding back or from how tired he felt, he wasn't sure. But they were sore. He could close them, just for a second, just to give them a bit of rest...
The bed creaked.
Martin's eye's shot open again, his find back at full attention. The bed had just creaked. For over two hours Jon hadn't stirred, but the bed definitely just creaked. Watching him closely, waiting for any signs of what might have caused the noise, when Jon turned his head. Excitement overtook Martin as, slowly, Jon's body shifted, testing out tired joints and sore muscles. His breathing was deeper now, his chest raising and falling a healthy looking amount. After a minute of movement, a small sound escaped Jon's throat, nothing more than a groan, but still enough to make Martin's heart soar.
"Jon?" Martin breathed, giving his hand a squeeze.
Jon's eyelids lazily drifted open, his eyes glassy and unfocused beneath them. He looked up to where Martin was, seeking out the source of the noise.
"Martin?" His voice was full of confusion, and carried a tone in it that Martin hadn't heard it nearly two years.
The way that Jon looked at him made Martin's blood go cold all over again.