Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Jon and Martin sit on the couch. Jon is reading and Martin is scribbling frantically in his notebook (with the fountain pen Jon had bought him at a store they’d visited in Edinburgh, the one he’d picked up and thought, Martin, and snuck into their pile of books at the register, and then given it to him in the car), and they have been in Scotland for four days. Jon can’t stop turning it all over in his head—the fact that they’re here, that they’re safe, and they’re together, and Martin is whole and all right and on the couch here next to him. It’s a struggle even to focus on the book, to not just put it down and stare at Martin, the wholeness of him on the couch next to Jon. 

Jon bites back a smile, staring down at his book. It’s too much, sometimes, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it. 

Martin sets down the pen, puts the notebook onto his lap and flips through a few pages. His free hand falls to the couch between them. Jon’s stomach turns a little, looking at Martin’s hand out of the corner of his eye (bitten nails, callused fingers, ink stains on the knuckles). His hand moves, almost unconsciously, onto the cushion near Martin’s, a tentative motion in consideration of whether or not he should take Martin’s hand. (Four days, five if you count the trip and before, in London, and he’s still uncertain, still hesitant to take Martin’s hand. They’d held hands all the way out of the Lonely; every time Jon had tried to let go, hesitant and paranoid that Martin didn’t want this—I really loved you—Martin hadn’t let go.) It should be easy; they’ve ran away to Scotland, they are sharing a bed every night, and yesterday (a bad morning, fog in the kitchen and Martin’s eyes going gray) they’d hugged for nearly an hour, clinging to each other right in the middle of the breakfast nook. It should be so easy for Jon to reach over and take Martin’s hand. But Jon can still only hesitate. 

He’s still contemplating it when Martin, absently, reaches over, slides his hand over Jon’s and tangles their fingers together. His hand is warm, and Jon bites back a wider smile at the sudden contact, shifts his hand to make the position less awkward. Martin hasn’t looked away from his notebook, but when Jon looks over him, he thinks Martin is smiling a little, too. 

Something warm blooms in Jon’s chest, uncontrollable, and he can’t hold back the smile anymore, can’t hold back the uncontrollable tug towards Martin: a tether, anchoring him to the ground. He shuts his book and pushes it aside, shifts his grip on Martin’s hand and lifts it, heavy, to press a kiss to the back of it. 

Martin’s face twitches, endearingly, and he shuts his notebook and turns to look at Jon. “What are you doing?” he says—not sounding upset, or displeased, or anything like that, just… somewhere akin to amused, and confused, and astonished all at once. 

Jon doesn’t let go of Martin’s hand. He presses his nose to the soft skin of Martin’s wrist, says, “I think that should be rather obvious, Martin.”

“You seem to have acquired possession of my hand,” says Martin, his voice shaking a little. He’s looking at Jon with some increasing soft emotion written all over his face, and the tug in Jon’s chest only increases. “A-and I don’t mind, really, it’s just… I’ll need it back eventu—oh,” he says, faintly, as Jon presses another kiss to the inside of his wrist, just over the pulse point. “Oh." 

Jon squeezes Martin’s hand, lifts his eyes to meet Martin’s. "Is… is this all right?” he says, and Martin nods, immediately, in a frantic sort of way, and Jon thinks of all the months Martin has spent alone. 

He kisses Martin’s wrist again, and then his palm. His knuckles, the pads of his fingers, one by one. Martin’s hand is shaking. “Jon,” he says, “Jon,” and when Jon looks back, his eyes are wet. 

Jon grips Martin’s hand in both of his, momentarily terrified. “Martin—Martin, I can stop…”

Martin shakes his head in that frantic way again. He lets go of Jon’s hand, but then his arms are going around Jon, and he’s saying, “Is this okay?” and Jon’s nodding, too, and then Martin is pulling Jon onto his lap. Jon clutches at the front of Martin’s shirt, finds Martin’s other hand and kisses that, too. Martin’s hand cups the side of Jon’s face, rubbing his thumb over Jon’s cheek, nudging Jon’s face up and whispering, “Okay?” and then peppering kisses all over Jon’s face, and Jon is laughing a little—unable to help it—uncontrollably happy and joyful and loving Martin. Martin kisses his forehead, his hairline, his eyelids and his cheeks, and then Jon is kissing his face, too, his nose and his chin, and he loves Martin, he loves Martin more than he can ever say. 

Later, burrowed under Martin’s arm and into Martin’s side, leaning into Martin where Martin’s mouth is resting warmly against the top of his head, he says, “I am keeping this hand, you know. You’ll have to fill out a request if you want it back." 

Martin snorts with muffled laughter. "Oh, really?”

“Yes, really,” says Jon, and he pulls Martin’s hand up to kiss the back of it again. Tucks it close to his chest and doesn’t let go. Above him, he feels Martin press a kiss to the top of his head. 

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There are months of nightmares, after the world turns back. Months of sleepless nights, trembling as they hold onto each other in the night, months of waking up shouting or screaming, reaching for the other. They’re reliving every horrible thing they saw in the apocalypse, every moment they thought they wouldn’t be coming back. (Martin disappearing in the Lonely house, Martin with a blade at his throat, leaving behind a faint scar that matches Jon’s. Daisy dragging Jon off by the leg. Jon trapped and floating at the top of the Panopticon, writhing there in Jonah’s place. Martin suspended above the cavern between worlds. That horrible moment after it was all over, the Archives burning and Jonah dead, where they couldn’t find each other; they’d thought the other was dead.)

It’s worse for Jon, most of the time, Martin thinks. He saw so much of the torment every person in the world was facing, so much more than Martin ever did. They both have their moments, both taking the chance to comfort and lean on the other, but Jon seems to wake up screaming so much more often than Martin. 

(They are happy, otherwise, finally happy, as happy as they can be. They’ve gone back to Martin’s flat—there isn’t anywhere else to go, Jon doesn’t have a place anymore—and they’ve been working on making it a home again, after months of the Lonely turning it into a hollow, impersonal place. Georgie and Melanie and Basira have all survived, have gone back home or found a new place, and they all see each other often as they can. Neither of them have a job yet, have even really thought about it; they’ll find something eventually, Martin knows, but they have somehow been awarded severance pay by the Institute, and that should be enough to support them both for a while. For now, they can spend time doing all the things they loved to do during that brief time in the safehouse: going to bed early and sleeping late, drinking good tea, cooking breakfast and dinner, reading books and writing poetry, waking up together every single morning. It’s more than Martin ever thought they’d get, towards the end, and he’s unbelievably grateful for it. They are happy—although the trauma lingers anyway.)

Martin wakes up one night to find Jon’s half of the bed empty. Panic seizes habitually in his chest and he starts to call out for Jon, reaching across the bed frantically and only touching empty sheets, until he sees the light on in the bathroom. Hears the shaking breaths coming from the other side of the door. 

Martin climbs out of bed quietly and pushes open the door, gently as he can. Jon’s bent in front of the sink, gripping the edge of it with both hands, his head turned down so Martin can’t see his face in the mirror. “Jon?” Martin whispers, voice gentle, in an attempt not to startle him. 

Jon jumps a little anyway, his head shooting up. His eyes are red in the mirror, tear tracks down his face. “Jon, are you all right?” says Martin, his stomach turning with worry. Jon usually doesn’t leave when he has a nightmare, usually just reaches for Martin. He’s almost nervous at finding Jon gone, finding him hiding here, wondering what in the world could have prompted that.

“Martin,” says Jon, his voice breaking. “I-it’s nothing. Go back to bed.”

Martin hesitates, leaning against the bathroom door. “I-if you need to be alone, I’ll leave you alone,” he says, finally. “B-but, Jon, you… you don’t seem like…” He doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t feel like he should leave Jon alone. He reaches out slowly, his hand trembling, to touch Jon’s hip. The way Jon leans into the touch, in a panicked sort of way, confirms it; Martin steps a little closer and slips his arms slowly around Jon from behind, presses his face against Jon’s back and kisses the crest of his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. 

Jon takes a sharp breath, lifts his hands to cover Martin’s. His hands are shaking, too. He says, “I’m sorry, Martin, I… I just…" 

"Don’t apologize, Jon, please.” Martin presses a kiss to the side of Jon’s neck. 

“No, it's… it’s silly, it was just a nightmare, I shouldn’t have gotten so upset, it’s just…” Jon takes another shaky breath, links their fingers and squeezes Martin’s hands. “I-I don’t want to lose you, Martin.”

It’s Martin’s turn to take a sharp breath, to tense from where he’s holding Jon. Jon turns in Martin’s arms, reaching up to touch Martin’s face. “I… I know we’re here, and we’re safe and we’re happy, but I… th-there was times towards the end I thought we’d never have this. Th-that it wasn’t possible to have this. I… I thought I wouldn’t survive, I thought it was inevitable.” Martin winces, his eyes shutting. Jon strokes a thumb over his cheek, the pads beneath his eyes, wiping tears away as they fall. “B-but Martin, I… I tried to tell myself all this time that it didn’t matter if I died, t-to save the world, because it meant you’d live. If you were safe, it didn't… a-and towards the end there, I thought…” His voice breaks. A tear streaks down his cheek. 

“It’s okay,” Martin tries. “I-it's…”

Jon takes a sharp breath, rises on tiptoe to press his forehead to Martin’s. “It’s silly. I know. I-I just… I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you, Martin, I…" 

Martin leans forward to kiss him; he can taste the salty wetness on both of their lips. He leans into Jon’s shaking palm and says, "Y-you won’t lose me, Jon. You won’t. I-I promise… with everything in me, I—I promise you won’t lose me.”

Jon takes another unsteady breath and tries for a smile. Martin catches his hand (still shaking, both of their hands shaking) and says, “You won’t,” and presses a kiss to the base of his ring finger. It’s as much of a promise as he can offer, right now, but it doesn’t mean he means it any less. 

Jon’s breathing goes sharp all over again, and he leans in to kiss Martin another time, their wet faces pressed together and their hands tangled, steadying each other, right there. 

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“I should’ve known,” says Martin, “that it would be something like this.” He laughs a little, bitterly. “Nothing simple, right? No easy way out?”

“That’s never been how anything is for us,” says Jon. “You know that.” He laughs hollowly, too; his head thunks softly against the stone wall of the tunnels. “If it were easy, we all would’ve left a long time ago.” (He tells himself, sternly, that this is true.) 

They’ve been down here nearly an hour; no chance of Elias seeing them down here. (One of the recorders is running, has been since just before Jon heard the pound of footsteps heading down the hall into the Archives. He’d known immediately that something had to be happening; Melanie had left for the night, Daisy and Basira had gone out, so it’d just been Jon in the Archives, for once, a rare enough occurrence. He thought maybe one of them came back, but he wasn’t sure why the tapes would want to hear that. And then Martin had burst through the door, panting and ashy, his eyes fixing directly on Jon, and he’d said, Yes.

Jon, barely daring to believe it, had said, Yes? and Martin said, Yes, said, Christ—yes, Jon, I’ll do it, I’ll go with you, staring at Jon almost like he expected Jon to take the offer back, to say he hadn’t really meant it. Jon had strode across the room instead, moving to embrace Martin in a desperate hug—tight enough to make Jon question the status of his remaining ribs. And when Martin had sagged into the embrace, limp like a puppet with cut strings, Jon knew that he had meant his answer.)

They’re here in the tunnels, now, sitting with their backs against the wall, passing a bottle of rum Daisy stashed under the cots back and forth. They’re supposed to be discussing strategy, how they’re going to blind themselves (where they’ll go, what they’ll do after), but they’ve mostly just been talking in circles. Stuck in the quiet awe of what they’re about to do, and the fact that they’re doing it together—this is the most Jon has talked to Martin since he woke up, and the reality of that is overwhelming. 

“I think Melanie is going to do it,” says Jon, just for something to say—and because it is the truth. “So… we’ll have some company, I suppose.” He issues a weak little laugh. “If… if she even wants to see us after this.” He has his doubts. He knows Melanie has a lot of anger towards him, and he knows the majority of it is earned. 

“I… I haven’t even talked to Melanie since… before you woke up,” Martin says softly. “Jesus. It's… it’s been that long." 

"She deserves to get out,” says Jon. “I… I hope this is a way for her, too." 

Martin makes a loud sniffling sound, and Jon turns abruptly to see him wiping his eyes. "I… I think Tim would’ve done it. If he’d know,” he says, voice thick with tears that haven’t fallen yet. “I… I wish… I wish we’d found out about this sooner. Given him a way out, too.”

Jon’s throat closes up a little at the mention of Tim—he’s barely been able to think of Tim at all over these past six months. Unable to make it past the reality that Tim is dead because of him, because he brought him to the Archives… this just feels like another way he’s failed Tim, in the end. He nods a little, looking back out at the tunnels, says, “Yes, I—I wish that, too,” and is unable to go any further, his voice breaking into pieces. Tim, Sasha—both are dead because of him, because he couldn’t save them. At least now he’s found something that might save Melanie and Martin—that might even save him, even though he doesn’t deserve it. 

Martin makes a sound of dissension, almost like he knows what Jon is thinking, and scoots closer until their shoulders are pressed together. “We… we can live in my flat,” he says, his voice still thick. “If you want. I-it’s gotten worse, since… I-I mean, it isn’t in the best shape, a-and there’s only the one bedroom, b-but…” He offers another little laugh—gallows humor. “I can promise you that there aren’t any worms.”

“Oh,” says Jon, biting back laughter of his own. “Oh, well—good. That—that sounds lovely, Martin." 

There’s a moment of silence then, a long moment of just the wet, eerie sounds of the tunnels, and of Martin’s soft arm against his. Jon swallows and adds, "W-we’ll be all right, Martin. We will. O-once the pain and the healing has passed, we… I really think we’ll be all right.” Happy, a part of his mind suggests, daringly. Maybe they will be able to be happy. 

“Do you really believe that?” Martin says—and there’s an edge there, something sanded off by the Lonely, remnants that haven’t left yet—but there’s also something genuine. A real question. 

“I do,” says Jon. He doesn’t Know—he can’t Know, his mind takes a sharp swerve every time he broaches the subject—but he has a feeling. Something almost like hope. “I really do.”

Martin must lean a little, because their shoulders press together; he says, “N-not to rehash wh-what we said… earlier… but… why me, Jon? W-why not Basira and Daisy, o-or… we haven’t talked in months, just… why me?" 

Jon could say any number of things. Daisy and Basira didn’t want to do it, or There’s no one else who would WANT to run away with me, I can’t think of a single other person, or I’m in love with you, I should’ve told you sooner, I’m so sorry. But he doesn’t say any of those things. He says, "M-Martin, there isn't…” He takes a deep breath. Presses his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes. “There isn’t a… a single other person I would want to do this with,” he says quietly. “It's… it’s just you. Only you." 

Martin makes a small sound, somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, and it is so Martin, so familiar in a way Jon hasn’t seen since he woke up, that his chest seizes a little. "Okay,” he says, “okay.” He reaches down between them and, tentatively, takes Jon’s hand.

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On a rainy night sometime in October, Martin had a nightmare about killing his husband. Something about the top of a tower Martin didn’t recognize, and a dead body on the floor, and a crumbling building. Jon was saying a lot of things he didn’t understand, and Martin was shouting a little. They both were crying. Jon handed him the knife, closed his hands around it and guided it towards his chest. 

Martin thought he wouldn’t do it, at first. He thought he wouldn’t do it. He tried not to do it, his arms stiffening with the motion. And then, as he pushed the knife into Jon’s chest, he started begging desperately, silently, to wake up. 

He didn’t. He felt every inch of that knife as it pushed into Jon’s chest, felt the weight of Jon’s punched-out gasp, felt the weight of Jon crumpling in his arms. Felt the tears sliding down his face as he didn’t wake up. 

And then he was awake, and he was crying, like it had been real instead of just a horrible dream, intrusive thoughts at their finest making a home in his head. It wasn’t real; he knew that. But that didn’t stop him from sliding across the mattress, from leaning towards Jon and pressing his face against Jon’s shoulder, biting his lip so Jon wouldn’t hear him sob. 

Jon woke up. Of course he did. He stirred slowly, shifting against Martin and groping back for his hand until Martin tangled their fingers together, Jon’s ring cool between his fingers. “M'rtin?” Jon mumbled sleepily, turning towards him. “What… what’s wrong? Are you crying?”

Martin swallowed hard, wiped his eyes with his free hand and said, “Bad… bad dream.”

“Oh.” Jon pulled his hand up and kissed the back of it, his eyes still mostly closed. “It… it was just a dream, Martin. It’s okay.”

It’s not, Martin wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. It felt silly to say. It was just a dream. He’d never seen that place in his life; he’d looked different in the dream, and so had Jon, unfamiliar versions of themselves somehow. 

He pressed a free hand over Jon’s chest, the place where the scar would’ve been, if the dream had been real. He said instead, “I hurt you,” in a faltering voice, the words almost too awful to say. He kept feeling it, the phantom motion of stabbing Jon. He couldn’t get the picture out of his head. The tears welled up again; Martin held his breath to try and hold back a sob.

“Martin,” Jon mumbled, sleepily, his eyes still mostly closed. He reached up for Martin, put his arm around Martin’s shoulders and pulled him down into his chest. Pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “You would never hurt me.”

Martin pressed his wet face into Jon’s neck and tried with everything in him to believe that, tried to banish the images from his mind. He mumbled I love you, and Jon said it back, and they fell back asleep tangled up on Jon’s side of the bed. 

When Martin woke back up in the morning, there was an unfamiliar sound echoing in his mind—something like the whir of a tape recorder. 

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1. So the basic premise of this AU is that the end result of Georgie's encounter with the End is that, instead of losing her ability to feel fear, she gains the ability to see the dead. Everything goes the same otherwise: the protest, Alex, the dead woman, Georgie waking up days later at home, the months of strangeness and unfeeling. The difference is that when Georgie wakes up, she can see the dead woman, too. Never too close—only in corners, behind doors, in the window. And never always, but only in the moments that feel crucial. The moments where she's searching for something of herself. Her mother hugs her and she sees the dead woman over her mother's shoulder. 

Georgie sees Alex, too, sometimes. Closer and more head on; she is always looking back. But she never speaks, and neither does the dead woman from the room. It isn't until she begins to see other ghosts that she realizes they can talk, if they want to. If they choose. 

(Six months later is when Georgie figures out how to lock the dead woman out. She stops seeing Alex shortly after, except on occasion. Sometimes she'll see a flash of those familiar eyes in the mirror, over her shoulder, and they always seem to be apologetic. But Alex still never says anything. Georgie gets good at pretending that this doesn't hurt nearly as much as losing her.)

2. Jon is the first one that Georgie almost tells. Almost. They're honest with each other in a way that Georgie usually isn't, when they first meet, and she almost thinks he'd believe her. They talk about ghost stories all the time. 

She mostly thinks about it when she sees Jon's ghosts. It isn't often but she sees them. He'll talk about what little he remembers of his parents, or pull out some old, faded pictures, and she'll see the faces reflected in the kitchen, the bathroom mirror, Jon's bedroom. He never talks about the apparition of a strange teenager that appears, once, when they both wake up sweaty from frantic nightmares and he refuses to explain, and Georgie doesn't press. He doesn't tell her about Mr. Spider and she doesn't tell him about the ghosts. Much as they love each other, they do still have secrets. 

Georgie goes to his grandmother's funeral years later, even though they're barely talking at this point, and almost tells him then. Seeing him stand mostly alone at the grave, looking monumentally alone, and then a flicker of his grandmother behind him—she almost does. But still she doesn't. She's never told anyone before, and she and Jon aren't really in touch, so she just hugs him and tells him she's so sorry, and doesn't meet the eyes of the woman watching behind the fresh grave. 

3. Melanie is another person Georgie almost tells. They still meet through their connections— Ghost Hunt UK, What the Ghost , and Georgie's power is (probably unsurprisingly) very useful for the paranormal podcast business. (All her episodes aren't pulled from real life, from her own experiences—that would be irresponsible, and there's more clout in retelling familiar stories. But sometimes when Georgie runs out of episode ideas, she'll visit a spooky place, write down what she sees, do a deep dive on the history, and fill in the gaps by attributing her sightings to "unnamed" witnesses.) She's met a lot of people in the ghost hunting business, but Melanie stands out, because they hit it off so immediately. Start hanging out outside of work drinks, at parties or pubs or research stints. Melanie starts inviting Georgie to consult on the show, or to collaborate, and Georgie uses what she sees to point Melanie and her team towards real sightings. Why not? Might as well have the horrible power be useful for something. Haley Joel Osment solved his problem by helping people, and this isn't the same at all (and that's a movie, anyways), but it is something. 

So she and Melanie become fast friends, faster than Georgie is used to, and Georgie genuinely thinks about telling her. She trusts her, and she doesn't think Melanie would laugh, or call her a liar. (Melanie's got stories about not being believed, too; it's common in the paranormal business.) She thinks Melanie might be the right person, maybe. Just maybe. 

(She doesn't end up doing it. She's still a coward when it comes to that. But it isn't because she isn't tempted.)

(The idea to tell Melanie comes before she starts seeing Melanie's father. But that fact doesn't help her decision, either. In quiet moments with Melanie, Georgie starts seeing the man in Melanie's framed photos in the shadows, looking at Melanie with sad eyes, calling her little moth. But Melanie can still barely talk about her dad, and the accident, and it feels even more wrong after he starts showing up, to tell her. Georgie worries Melanie might think she's making fun, or making something up to make her feel better, and she doesn't see this going well.

Instead she says, sometimes, I know your dad loved you a lot. Melanie says, Yeah, I know, too. Georgie says, And I bet he misses you, even though it isn't a bet; she knows. But she can't tell Melanie, and that's as far as it can go.)

4. The most significant time Georgie wants to tell Melanie, but doesn't, is the one she'll end up regretting the most in the end. When Melanie gets out of the hospital, first, and then when she comes back from India; when Georgie is basically the only friend Melanie has left from her old life, and therefore is probably the person Melanie goes to the most. The person Melanie confides in. 

So Georgie is there to see it all. She'll be sitting across from Melanie in a pub, or beside her on the couch; she'll brush Melanie's hand with hers, or their knees will knock together, and Georgie will see flashes of blood, violence. Hear screaming. She'll see haunted faces out of the corner of her eyes: soldiers, doctors. Muzzles of guns. Once, a stained hand gripping Melanie around the leg. 

She'll regret it, later, but Georgie doesn't say anything; she doesn't know what to say. She's never seen anything like this, even with over a decade of seeing ghosts. How is she supposed to explain it? She doesn't really know what it means. Melanie talks about war ghosts, and Georgie listens, and she rationalizes that Melanie will have to be okay. (She was okay, when it was her, and if—if this is something serious, something worse, than… then Georgie will be there. Melanie will have someone who understands.) 

5. One night in February of 2018, Jon shows up back in Georgie's life, looking shell-shocked on her doorstep. He stands in the hall looking mildly terrified, when Georgie opens the door, and behind him stands a dead woman, looking desperate and furious all at once. 

"Georgie," Jon says weakly. "I-I know it's been a while, but…" 

"Jon! Christ, what happened to you? Are you all right?" Georgie says, trying to take in Jon and the dead woman all at once. (She is new—Jon must have had someone else close to him die.) She focuses on Jon, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I… I'm fine." Jon's hands twist in front of him. "I… didn't know where else to go."

Georgie swallows hard and says, "Are you in trouble?" The dead woman is looking right at her. Georgie keeps looking at Jon. 

"I… yes." Jon chews on his lower lip. "If… I know it's a lot to ask, b-but I… could I… possibly stay here for a little while?"

Georgie swallows hard. She has a dozen questions—what's happened, why he needs somewhere to stay, why he looks like this—he looks like he's been through emotional turmoil, through hell—and worse, why a dead woman has followed him here. But she doesn't know how to ask these questions. And she can't just turn him away. Jon helped her heal during one of the worst periods of her life, even if he doesn't know it. And she can do the same. 

"Yeah," Georgie says, and leans forward to pull Jon into a hug—tentative at first, and then stronger, when Jon latches on like he needs it. "Y-yeah, Jon, of course."

Jon rambles out a frantic thank you, layered in with apologies and copious promises to pay rent, but it becomes harder to listen. Right over Jon's shoulder, the dead woman is staring right at her, her mouth hanging open. She's got long hair and glasses, and she looks exhausted, and it isn't immediately obvious how she has died, which is unusual. And she's looking right at Georgie. She says, suddenly, "Can you—can you see me?"

It isn't the first time a ghost has spoken to her, but it's a rare enough occasion to be shocking. Her throat is thick with surprise, and she can't say anything in front of Jon, so she just sort of imperceptibly nods. Holds the dead woman's gaze for a moment. 

" Fuck, " says the dead woman. "Thank—thank god, thank Christ, I…" She pauses and looks at Jon, then back at Georgie, still numbly hugging Jon there in the hall. "My name is Sasha," she says, and Georgie thinks of the scene in The Sixth Sense where the sick little girl under the blanket asks for help. "Can you… can you help me?"

Chapter Text

1. Oliver Banks comes sooner. No one knows why it happens this way, but this is the way it happens, and it mostly goes the same. Georgie shows up, Oliver leaves, and Jon starts to breathe again. It all just happens earlier.

Basira doesn’t tell Martin right away, when Georgie shows up. He’s taken this whole thing so hard, and it might be nothing, it might be nothing at all. She resolves to call him as soon as they have more details—when she has a hold on the whole situation.

2. This happens only two days after Peter has made his offer. He gave Martin a few days to “think it over,” and Martin still hasn’t come to a clear decision. (He thinks that the decision should be obvious—should be—but he isn’t that brave, and he’s never been the hero, and the decision seems impossibly stupid at times, and what if—what if Jon wakes up?)

Peter’s offer is still sitting like a stone in his mind, and he’s halfway considering visiting Jon, for some grasp at clarity—or maybe an attempt to say goodbye—when Basira texts, tells him to come to the hospital. She doesn’t offer many more details besides that, and Martin is out of the Institute and in a cab before there is even time to consider what this might mean. He halfway wants to call Basira up and press for information. The thing that sticks in his mind—the thing he thinks it must be—is that Jon is dead. Jon has finally died, and Basira’s called him there to say goodbye—and that just makes him want to press Basira even more, to demand answers, because what if he’s heading to the hospital with even a glimmer of hope and it turns out to be the exact opposite…

(Or what if—what if he’s awake? What if he’s alive?)

Martin doesn’t let himself hope. Doesn’t know how to. He keeps going over the possibilities—He’s probably dead, or worse—keeps reapproaching Peter’s plan—If Jon’s dead, I’ll have to take it, it’s the least I can do for the others, what will I have keeping me here then… He goes straight to the hospital, and up to Jon’s floor—the nurses know him, and wave him on through—down the halls to Jon’s familiar room, to Jon’s door, all the while bracing himself for bad news.

3. Basira is waiting by the door, and she looks up when Martin comes down the hall. “What’s happened?” Martin snaps, immediately. “What’s going on? Is he—” His throat closes at the prospect of finishing that sentence; he can’t do it, can’t say it…

Basira’s expression is closed off enough that Martin can’t read it, can’t tell if it’s bad news. But then she says, “He’s awake,” and the force of it is like a gut punch, nearly bending Martin in half. His hand immediately shoots for the door, and Basira puts an arm out as if to stop him. “Martin. It isn’t what you think.”

“What is it, then?” Martin snaps, and he yanks the door open, the word pushing out of his mouth entirely of his own accord—”Jon…”

Jon is awake. Jon is sitting up in bed, with a crumpled statement in his lap, and a tape recorder running on the side table, and Martin can’t breathe. Jon looks almost exactly the same as he has for months now, except that he’s awake and alive and looking at Martin. “Martin?” he says—a lot of emotions crammed into this one word—and Martin doesn’t know what to say, can’t get past the reality of Jon actually saying his name.

“Martin, you’re… here,” Jon says, quietly, the statement crumpling in his hand. “I-I didn’t know if… you’re all right?”

Martin starts to cross the room slowly, to the chair he’s more or less grown accustomed to sitting in when he’s visited. He hasn’t said anything yet—hasn’t found the words—and Jon is still talking. “I wasn’t sure if… y-your plan, Elias, Basira hasn’t… hasn’t filled me in, and I… you’re all right? You aren’t hurt, are you? Martin?”

Martin shakes his head numbly as he sits. Looks down at the bed and almost reaches for Jon’s hand—a long running habit, this isn’t his first visit, they’ve become as routine as anything—but he stops himself. He doesn’t know if Jon would want that. Maybe Jon never would have wanted that.

“You, er,” Jon begins, stops. He takes a slow breath, and his voice sounds remarkably well put-together, even after months of disuse. “It’s, uh. It’s good to see you here, Martin.”

Martin chokes a little. “Jon?” he says—he isn’t sure he has the words for anything else—and he looks up, and Jon is looking back at him—something unreadable in his eyes, something almost like affection, maybe—and one of them, or maybe both of them, move before Martin even knows what is happening. Martin jerks forward, and so does Jon, and then they’re embracing, leaning over the bed, Jon’s fingers digging into Martin’s shoulders, Jon’s heart thudding in his chest—Martin can feel it now. And he doesn’t bother to stop himself from crying anymore. He just holds onto Jon—Jon, awake, Jon, alive, Jon’s head on his shoulder—and keeps telling himself, over and over again, that it’s all okay, it can all be okay now.

4. Jon ends up staying with Martin. It makes sense—Jon doesn’t have a flat, and neither do the others—Basira and Melanie have been living in the Archives, and Georgie hasn’t said anything to either of them since the hospital (Martin has still never met her). But Martin still has a flat. And Jon deserves better than a cot, after months of hospital beds, so Martin offers to let him stay, and Jon agrees.

The marvel of it is too much—after months of quiet in the Archives, months of growing apart from Melanie and Basira, months of isolation and feeling lost, months of Jon being asleep… the reality of Jon standing in his kitchen, Jon drinking tea at his dining room table, is genuinely overwhelming. There’s a dozen things Martin wants to say without knowing if he should, a dozen things he wants to explain. Basira filled him in on most of the important things, but they haven’t gotten a chance to talk about any of them, and there’s even more things Martin wants to say, if he knew how to say them. He wants to talk to Jon about how much he’s missed Tim—how much of his mind has been stuck in the reality of that first year, when Tim was alive and Sasha was alive, and aside from Jon sort of hating him, everything mostly being all right. He wants to tell Jon about how much he’s missed him, when he was asleep—wants to say all the things he’s been able to say to Elias and a goddamn tape recorder, but not to Jon himself. He wants to tell Jon about his mum. He wants to tell Jon he visited every single week, sometimes two or three times. He wants to talk about how horrible this all has been, and what they do next, how they move on from this, because he genuinely does not know. He wants to talk about all of it.

He wants to tell Jon about Peter’s offer, and he wants Jon to tell him not to take it. Because a part of him still thinks he needs to take it. He thinks about Peter’s warnings, and his promises to keep them all safe. And yes, Jon is awake now, but shouldn’t that be even more reason to take it? To keep Jon safe, too, now that he’s awake and can be put in danger? And there’s still the others, in the same danger they would’ve been before, and they deserve to be safe, too—and Martin isn’t the hero by a long shot, but he wants to be, wants to do something more to make a difference besides lighting some fires while Tim and Jon went off to die. He wants to make the noble decision, even if it will be a thousand times harder with Jon here in front of him. But he also wants Jon to talk him out of it.

Martin doesn’t say any of this to Jon, because he can’t. Not with everything Jon’s been through—in a coma for months, how selfish can Martin be? He makes tea, and he sits at the kitchen table with Jon, and he answers Jon’s questions about what he’s missed, and he tries not to think about Peter’s offer. The urgency in his voice that was probably a lie. He keeps getting paranoid that Peter will see him sitting here with Jon (Peter is not Elias), and that Peter will insist that he can’t be doing this, that he’s breaking their agreement (except Martin never agreed), and then try to tell Martin that the deal is forfeit now, and it’s too late. And it’s absurd, because Martin doesn’t want to take the deal—except he’s scared about what not taking it might mean. Scared about how this will all end, scared that if he doesn’t take the deal that something will happen—and what if Jon (or Melanie, or Basira) die and it’s because of him, because he turned down this chance? Except that he was only going to take it because Jon wasn’t ever going to wake up, and now he’s here, and how can Martin leave now, after everything?

There is simultaneously too much and not enough to talk about, and Jon doesn’t seem to know how to initiate it either, so they talk about nothing. They end up on the couch, flipping through the television channels, and Jon asks some lighthearted questions about what he’s missed on TV shows Martin didn’t even know he watched. It’s easy enough to make that kind of small talk, over other kinds, and it’s enough to get them both laughing a little. They stay on the couch for a long time. (Martin halfway expects Jon to be tired, to need to get more sleep—and halfway decides to leave a couple of times, an attempt to give Jon space, before deciding in the other direction—but Jon never mentions needing sleep, and Martin guesses if he was sleeping for months on end, he probably wouldn’t be tired, either. So he stays on the couch with Jon.)

At some point, they do start talking: about Tim, about the missing months, about how hard everything has been. Martin doesn’t bring up the thing with Peter, not yet, but he talks about all the rest. (The tremor in Jon’s voice when he tells Martin he’s sorry about his mother is almost too much to take. There’s still a lot Martin hasn’t talked about yet.) Martin tries to find the balance—he doesn’t want to put too much onto Jon, with everything Jon’s been through, he can’t do that—but he’s honest, too. He says, I… I missed you, Jon. We all did—but I… He says, It’s been… bad. Hard. While you’ve been gone, and he tries not to think about how often Jon was gone, before the Unknowing; how far Jon pulled away after Prentiss. They had time—limited time—between America and the Unknowing, but then Jon was asleep, and now—if Martin takes Peter’s deal; if Jon has to leave again…

Jon takes a sharp breath. The room is dark, and Martin isn’t looking at him, but he feels it when Jon, tentatively, takes his hand. (Like a dozen nights in his hospital room except Jon’s awake and his hand is warm, his pulse beating against Martin’s thumb, and Jon initiated it, and it’s all okay now.) “Well,” says Jon, uncertain and reassuring all at once, somehow. “I’m… I’m here now. And I don’t know how much help I’ll really be, with… everything. But Martin, I promise… I-I’m not going anywhere. Not anytime soon.”

5. And Martin decides, in that moment, and in the moments after, and in the email he writes out the next morning, in frank, firm language. He decides then. Jon is back, and there has to be another way out, a way that they can figure it out together. So Martin doesn’t take Peter’s deal.

Chapter Text

1. They only really find out by accident. More specifically, they find out because Melanie is snooping around the Institute (already searching for solutions to her being trapped there), and finds the tape, somehow, the one where Nikola talks to Elias. She only needs to listen through once before they put the pieces together: Georgie told her Jon left. They haven’t seen Jon since—and sure, he wasn’t in much before, but—this long? And that is Jon’s voice on the tape: muffled and panicked and indecipherable, but still pretty obviously him.

Melanie shows it to the others, and the tape isn’t even finished before Martin is demanding they have to find him, they have to find him now, panic flashing visibly in his eyes—he’s been gone for WEEKS, and why didn’t I notice, why didn’t any of YOU notice, and don’t fucking try to argue with me, Tim, Jon has been KIDNAPPED and they’re going to KILL HIM— And Tim looks hurt, at this insinuation, is snapping back before Martin can even finish, I wasn’t going to ARGUE, Martin, Christ, and he hasn’t told them about his brother yet, but he immediately went pale when he heard Nikola’s voice, heard her going on about skinning Jon, and they all saw it, and Melanie and Basira are putting it together before Martin is: Tim’s in, too.

Basira’s the one who says We need to find him in the end, but Martin and Tim have already decided by then.

2. In the end, Elias is the one who tells them where Jon is. (After some persuasion.) He hadn’t intended to originally, but obviously they already know, and obviously no one is going to be focused on finding the ritual site, and sloppy work won’t benefit anyone, much less the whole world. (And if the rescue goes messy, and it ends up benefitting the whole of his plan, well—)

They take a car and ride up there, the four of them. (There’s some brief argument as to whether or not they all should go, but Martin’s obviously going, and Tim doesn’t back down, and Basira insists she can get them in and out, and Melanie isn’t saying no…) It’s a long, tense car ride, hours of mostly silence broken up by panic on Martin’s behalf. (He’s still berating himself, even if he won’t berate the others—how could they not have known, how could he not have noticed, how has Jon been held prisoner somewhere for weeks and Elias didn’t goddamn tell them, and it’s been so long, and what if it’s too late, what if they’re too late, what if he’s already dead—) And then, eventually, Tim breaks the silence. By telling them what happened to his brother. (It’s NOT a statement, he says, but it feels like one anyway, and no one speaks until he’s done. He sounds choked up by the end, furious and fearful and grieving all at once—I didn’t think they would come for—I-I didn’t think Jon would…)

The images from Tim’s story loom over well enough, along with the half-remembered sounds of the tape sent to Elias. We’re going to use every piece of you. I thought you’d make a lovely frock. The imagery is grotesque and Martin is sick with it, leaning against the car window, hoping with a fierce desperation that they aren’t too late.

3. They aren’t too late. And they get in without being detected, somehow. (Afterwards, Basira will keep saying that it was too easy, the whole thing felt too easy, and Tim will say tiredly, “Who the fuck cares? We got out.”)

Jon’s woken up by someone whispering his name—quiet, with a gentle subtlety that the Stranger more than lacks. It’s Martin—this becomes clear as soon as he opens his eyes, although it takes a moment for everything to slot into place, the reality of Martin leaning over him, eyes wide with concern. “Oh, Christ, you’re all right,” Martin says, his voice shaking. “Thank God. I-I thought…” He stops then, and goes to work on getting Jon free.

“Martin?” Jon hisses as soon as the gag is gone, and then—Tim, working at the ropes on his legs, Melanie and Basira towards the door. “What—wh-what are you doing here?”

“What are you talking about?” Melanie says, her voice as muted as the others. “We found you, that’s what we’re doing here.”

“Y-you can’t be here,” says Jon, still stuck in the panic of the past few weeks. “They’ll kill you, you can’t be here…”

“We’re already here,” says Tim. “We’re not leaving you behind.”

Jon’s eyes jerk between the four of them frantically before landing back on Martin—Martin, who looks like he’s nearly on the verge of tears, who says, “We’re getting you out of here, Jon,” and helps him to his feet. Jon grips at his hand as he’s pulled to his feet, the relief washing through him in waves—he hadn’t realized until then how much he’d expected never to be rescued or found—how much he’d thought he would die here.

4. They get hotel rooms rather than driving back—it’s a long drive, and Jon looks nearly dead on his feet, and it makes sense. Jon sleeps for nearly sixteen hours straight after a long-running shower, and the others mostly alternate between sleeping and watching for agents of the Circus. (No one ever comes.)

Melanie calls Georgie to let her know. Tim leaves Elias a nasty voicemail. Martin goes to get breakfast from a store nearby, and take-out tea, and when Jon wakes up, they eat clustered in the hotel room to mostly silence.

Jon says, at one point, I didn’t think anyone would come. He says it mostly to the floor, when the others are out of the room, and it’s just him and Martin drinking tea that isn’t nearly as good as the homemade stuff. He clears his throat and adds, Thank you for… for coming, Martin, I…

Martin tenses beside him immediately in immediate horror, says, Of course we came; of course we came, Jon, I don’t know why—I-I am so sorry, I’m SO sorry we didn’t come sooner, we didn’t know… We didn’t know, I’m so sorry.

It doesn’t matter, says Jon. It doesn’t matter, just… thank you. Thank you for coming, I… i-if anything had happened to you, I wouldn’t have…

They’re leaning together, almost unconsciously, their arms pressed together, and Martin says, I’ll always come. If… I-I hope this never happens again, Jon, b-but I… I’ll always come.

Sitting in the dim-lit hotel room, Jon believes him. He knows immediately that he’s telling the truth, and he says, I will, too, and he means it just as much.

5. The whole experience is a catalyst to everyone talking more, because how could it not be? There’s a difference between someone saying they were kidnapped and actually hearing about it—actually seeing it. The drive back leaves plenty of time to make peace, or something like it.

Jon starts spending more time in the Archives, in the weeks before he has to leave again. He and Martin have lunch almost every day; sometimes the others join them. Melanie calls and tells Georgie what’s happened, and Georgie immediately reaches out to make sure Jon is okay. And Jon and Tim make their peace, more or less, gradually—not all at once, but gradually. (Tim hugs Jon when they get back and says he’s glad he’s okay. Jon offers an apology a few days later, for everything they haven’t had the chance to talk about, and the recorders come on, and neither of them mention it. And nearly a week later, Tim tells Jon about what happened to his brother.) And it’s something, some step in the right direction, towards healing.