Archive of Our Own

 For the first time since moving to London, Jon is starting at a new job without being fired from the old one. He got to quit. He got to hand in a notice! Granted, he did it because he was fairly sure he was going to be fired soon and he wanted to be proactive about finding other work, but it still feels like an accomplishment. His nightmare visitors have cost him so many jobs before, sending him in constantly sluggish and depleted, but at least this time he got a bit of agency in leaving.

The Magnus Institute doesn't have the best reputation, but that doesn't matter. He wouldn't have the best reputation either if he announced all that he knows to the world. It might even be the kind of thing he can throw himself into and forget his life for a bit, instead of just an extra drain on his limited mental and emotional resources. He hasn't managed to get a job in actual academia, much less an area he's interested in, in a long time. They're in such high demand that his spotty work history gets him removed from consideration first thing.

Aside from actually giving him a shot, the Institute's contract guarantees a year of work barring severe disciplinary action. Even if he gets fired as soon as they're legally able, it'll be the longest he's kept a job in years. It can't exactly hurt his resume.

He straightens his jacket self-consciously and jogs up the steps. It's an old building, but well cared for, showing its age in design rather than wear and tear. He greets the receptionist politely and makes his way to the research department.

He was already assigned a desk space when he was here for orientation, so all he has to do is clock in, report to his supervisor for his first assignment, and hope his deskmate isn't too difficult for him to get along with.

Maybe here he'll be able to forget about vampires for a while.

-

Sasha eyes Martin, leaning against the back of the couch a bit until her head stops spinning but still alert for any opportunity. He's been denying her requests to meet Jon, newest bloodbag Jon, Underground creepshots Jon, makes-Martin-a-bit-moony-eyed-every-time-he's-mentioned Jon for months. She's tired of waiting. If he just leaves his phone unattended for long enough she can get Jon's number and go around Martin.

She devotes half her attention to filling out her log of feedings while keeping the other half fixed on Martin's phone, poking out of the back pocket of his jeans as he fixes her a snack. He only needs to leave her alone with it once.

-

The Magnus Institute doesn't seem so bad, but the real test is yet to come. Jon has plenty of practice operating on reduced capacity- he's spent more time than is strictly healthy reflecting on how if he had the tolerance he does now for maintaining focus while hypovolemic he never would have lost his first job, the one he was so excited for- but just how well he can do so at the Magnus Institute is going to be the determiner of whether he's able to stay long term. He's feeling hopeful; Martin doesn't drain him as much as Elias did, and he always schedules feedings on Fridays so Jon has the whole weekend to recover. He even bites low enough that Jon can wear a regular dress shirt rather than stick out sweating through a turtleneck in the muggy summer air.

He doesn't know Martin's intentions, doesn't know why he wanted Jon or why Elias gave him up, but he'll take as many little victories as he can get. With a few days' distance by his first back at work post-feeding, he can almost convince himself that things are fine. The human mind can't handle a constant state of terror, and when Martin isn't physically present it's hard to be afraid of him. He's probably lulling Jon into a false sense of security, with the little courtesies and the aftercare, but...

Well, Jon can't deny that the idea of never seeing Elias again is a relief.

His hopes have risen even higher by lunch, with a report already submitted and his laughing deskmate throwing out oddball theories about his own latest assignment. He comes on strong, but Tim isn't put off by Jon's prickliness and he can usually tell when to lay off and let Jon focus. He wouldn't exactly call them friends, not while Jon's been at the Institute for less than a month, but the last person he got this close to friendship with was Georgie.

Currently, his biggest problem with the Institute is that it's not remotely climate controlled, and he's baking. After an intense internal debate, he decides that the bruising from Martin isn't that obvious, and anyone who does notice will probably just assume it's a hickey. Embarrassing, yes, but not as much as passing out from heat exhaustion. Nearly everyone else has shed as much clothing and undone as many buttons as they can get away with; Jon won't seem unprofessional for undoing just the very top button of his shirt, and hopefully it'll cool him off at least a little.

No one comments, and though he tries to maintain as much professionalism as he can- he has to be twice as good when he's able to make up for his failings if he wants to last more than a year here- he makes a guilty habit of it over the following weeks. He'll stop as soon as the weather becomes a bit more reasonable.

He's squinting at the small type in an entirely-too-long volume on hallucinatory scents as a symptom of hauntings to find the quote he needs for his new project and laughing at Tim while he skims when Tim falls silent and straightens in his seat.

"Boss!" he chirps. Jon instantly sits up straight; he hasn't met the Head of the Institute yet, he apparently doesn't take much interest in the day to day operations most of the time, but he can't make a bad impression. He turns in his seat and

everything

freezes.

Tim's mouth is moving and the horribly familiar thing is coming closer, pretending to be a person more than it ever bothered with him, but none of that can be real because everything is frozen, Jon's thoughts ground to a halt by the sight of Elias. When the ice in his head cracks, he's back in his flat, standing shirtless and more certain than ever before that he was going to die, he's back on that night, the last time he saw Elias.

Elias' face is perfectly congenial, not giving away any familiarity with Jon in the slightest. He's neatly composed- by the time he came to Jon he was usually unwinding for the night, presumably, with his tie off, shirt unbuttoned at the top, hair mussed. But even neat and pressed, Jon would know him anywhere. He thinks by now he's good enough at reading Elias to see that the recognition is mutual, the faintest glimmer in the other man's eyes. He's pleased.

Elias is holding out a hand for him to shake, but Jon's arm feels like it weighs a ton- feels like it did when his body pulled them both above his head and the blood rushed down out of his fingers and they went numb and he stayed like that until he fainted, woke up with an ache in his shoulders. When he couldn't escape, trapped, pinned-

He isn't trapped now. There are witnesses, even more people in the rest of the Institute who would hear if he shouted, maybe even enough to overwhelm Elias entirely. The door isn't locked anymore.

Elias can't attack him now.

He can't do anything to stop Jon from breaking into a sprint right out the Magnus Institute's front doors, nearly turning an ankle as he races down the stairs.

-

Tim tries to be friendly to everyone. He has his suspicions that some of his coworkers were attracted to the Institute for the same reasons he was, and he might one day be able to pick out those with genuine knowledge of the paranormal and enlist their help. They tend to have retention problems as soon as the one year term is up and the Institute is able to fire the slackers and those using it as a jumping off point for better opportunities are able to quit, so there's a constant stream of new potential allies.

Jonathan Sims is the type of coworker he likes best. Hardworking, a bit stuffy, but exactly the sort of shy that Tim loves drawing out of their shell. He might not be making any headway in helping Danny, but seeing Jon start to flourish at the Institute makes Tim feel like he's doing some sort of good in the world.

He almost doesn't notice it. He wouldn't, if he were anyone else. If he hadn't tried so hard to help Danny, until he was forced to stop because he couldn't help if he joined him. It's mostly hidden by Jon's shirt, only visible at all because it's so hot right now even Jon has to let some of the picture of the perfect academic fall or melt to death, and anyone else would probably write it off as the result of an overenthusiastic lover if they noticed at all.

But Jon doesn't date. He said as much when, as soon as they clocked out at the end of their first week, Tim invited him out for drinks with a mostly-joking flirtatious slant to the question. He didn't say why, but the entire concept seemed to make him nervous; Tim backed off fast, but he still hasn't been able to coax Jon out for platonic drinks, even with a group. He's lucky that his miscalculation hasn't hurt their working relationship.

But really, when he first saw it, none of that was on Tim's mind. He just had a terrible certainty, a sinking intuition, that he knew exactly where the little wound with the bruise surrounding it, low on Jon's neck, came from.

With that framework, he starts to notice little oddities about Jon that he had brushed off as normal quirks. Is the single button he's willing to undo a symptom of his desperation to be taken seriously or a wariness of letting people see his neck? Are his occasional comments about various foods being high in iron because he's anemic or interested in healthy eating, or for more sinister reasons? Is his shyness social anxiety or genuine fear of other people?

He isn't thinking of any of those quirks when Elias shows up to make his occasional rounds of the department, selecting employees at random to check in on. He's just turning the charm up to eleven and hoping he leaves quickly. Nice enough guy, but he's still the Head of the Institute, and Tim doesn't need him realizing how much time he spends pretending to be in the middle of a report he's already finished and doing personal research on Institute time.

Plenty of people are nervous around the people with the power to fire them, but Tim's never seen anyone react like Jon does. He goes gray, freezes, and when he finally jerks back into motion he stutters out something barely coherent about not feeling well and races out of the Institute like he's got the devil on his heels.

Tim doesn't hide his worry, but he does hide his alarm at Elias' non-reaction. Just the faintest hint of concern before heading on his way with what Tim could swear is satisfaction.

He steps around to Jon's side of the desk and gathers up the essentials Jon left behind, piling them as neatly as he can and setting them next to his own bag.

He doesn't want anyone else using them as an excuse to wheedle Jon's address out of Rosie and drop by to return them. That's his plan.

-

The only thing he can think for a long time is just "get away get away get away," pounding in time with his feet against the pavement and his heart against his ribs. Elias isn't pursuing, probably didn't follow, but that doesn't ease the adrenaline coursing in Jon's ears, pushing him forward. His vision and thoughts don't clear until he's slamming the front door of his flat behind him, clicking the deadbolt to keep Elias out, this time.

He presses his back against the door like he's afraid someone might try to break it down and realizes that he's crying.

He sinks to the floor as the tears turn to sobs, heaving his chest and shaking his shoulders, tearing themselves out of his throat. His mobile slips out of the slightly-shallow front pocket of his trousers and lands beside him and he curls his head into his knees.

His mobile. He-

He's supposed to call Martin if he sees Elias again.

He doesn't know if it's remembering the order or just his brain finally coming down to a level of panic that can accommodate scrolling through his contacts (he hadn't wanted to but the letter M lurking in the list was better than whatever Martin might do to punish Jon for losing his number) that has him initiating the call.

He stares at the screen through renewed tears as the call goes through, some less anxiety-soaked corner of his brain thinking to press the speaker button so he doesn't have to try to hold the phone to his face (he'd probably drop anything he raised above his shoulders right now, rattled out of his grasp by the aftershock-memory of standing on his toes-)

"Hello?"

He nearly drops it anyway at the unfamiliar voice. He hadn't planned to talk, Martin had said that he had to call not that he had to say anything, but he's shocked into it.

"Martin?" he asks stupidly, even though the woman on the other end of the line couldn't be more obviously not.

"No, I can get him-"

"No!" He did what he was told, he doesn't want to know how Martin will react to Jon disobeying and seeing Elias when Martin said it wasn't supposed to happen anymore, even though it was an accident-

"Alright!" the woman says quickly, "No Martin. Can I ask why you called?"

"Elias," is all he manages to croak out, though he has no reason to think that she knows who that is or why it matters.

She evidently does, though, as she draws in a sharp breath. "Are you hurt, Jon?"

There's something in her tone that tickles some memory, something authoritative that he's used to obeying, but it isn't like when Martin or Elias tells him to do things so he says, "No."

"Okay, Jon," she says, and he knows he's being managed but with the adrenaline fading he's too tired to protest, "It sounds like you've had a shock. Why don't you go lie down? I won't tell Martin you called."

"Okay," he says. He doesn't know which of them hangs up the phone, but he drags himself to his feet and manages to curl up on the couch, too tired to make it to the bedroom.

-

Sasha takes a steadying breath, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress even though she doubts Jon is in any state to care about first impressions. He had sounded dreadful over the phone, enough that she didn't feel a moment's hesitation about deleting the call log from Martin's phone and slipping the key to his flat off Martin's key ring. It itched under her skin, to seem normal and go through the motions of their usual routine until Martin was out of her house, but she'd managed it eventually.

She knows a bit about Jon, the general outline of how he became Martin's bloodbag and what his life was like before, but Martin's been refusing to introduce them. Clearly she should have pressed harder; if Martin didn't keep Jon's address in his contact information (as if anyone filled out those bits anymore, old-fashioned bastard) she would have no idea where to go and she already knows these aren't the conditions she'd prefer to meet Jon under. Something to keep in mind, if Martin ever takes another bloodbag like she knows he really ought to. She doesn't like the way that the blanks are filling in based on Jon's frantic call.

The door is locked when she jiggles the knob, so she knocks twice, sharply, and uses the key to let herself in. She locks the door behind her; Martin could get in if he really wanted, but no one else will be able to.

Her first look at Jon in person is him curled up on his couch, his face pressed into the crease where the back and seat met and so tense he could be vibrating. She doesn't think he's breathing.

"Jon?" she says softly, careful to keep her tread heavy enough to let him know she's coming closer. His body spasms at the sound of her voice, but otherwise he doesn't move. She approaches slowly, keeping her posture loose and open even though he can't see her right now. "I'm Sasha. I wanted to make sure you're alright. Martin doesn't know I'm here, I didn't tell him."

Jon's hands jerk up to his neck, palms flat over the skin as though they could protect him from a bite, and she realizes with icy shock that her assumptions are all wrong.

She knows that most bloodbags don't choose this. She knows that Jon was in an even worse situation than having Martin visit regularly to drain his blood, that there was something keeping Martin from introducing them.

Just because Martin told her about Jon doesn't mean the reverse is true. Jon thinks she's another vampire, of course he does, why would he think Martin had any human friends to answer his phone while he's away?

"Jon," she says again, "Can you please look at me?"

Jon moves slowly, visibly shuddering in horrific anticipation, keeping his shoulders hunched protectively inward even when his hands drop to his lap, but he does roll over and sit up, head hanging to stare at his lap.

"Look," she prompts, bringing her hand to the gauze still pressed to the side of her neck from Martin's feeding earlier. "I'm not a vampire. I'm like you." She peels up the medical tape and lifts the gauze to reveal the clear imprint of Martin's teeth, barely hours old.

Jon raised his eyes reluctantly, but now that Sasha's wound is exposed he's frozen, wide-eyed, gaze fixed on it. His brow furrows, eyes a bit absent and glassy in a way that worries her. "You... who...? Martin...?"

"Yes. I was with him when you called, he had just finished feeding and I saw your name, so I answered."

Jon flinches at Martin's name. "You didn't..."

"I didn't tell him," she says again. "He'll only figure out I'm here if he realizes his key is missing and puts it together, and he'll text me first, He won't be showing up unannounced."

Jon's face scrunches miserably. "You don't... He can just make us."

"He won't," she says firmly. "He won't. I promise."

Jon's eyes are a bit less glassy, which is reassuring medically, but she thinks that was preferable to the hollow desperation in them now. "You can't promise that."

He won't believe anything she says, and the thing is he's technically right. If Martin were anyone else, if she hadn't followed and pushed him through all his discoveries about vampirism herself, she would agree wholeheartedly. So she bites down the defenses that jump to her lips and asks, "Did Elias hurt you?"

Jon shakes his head slowly. "He just... Martin said I had to call him. But Elias didn't..."

Sasha nods encouragingly. "Can you tell me where you saw him?"

Jon crumples, first his face, then his entire body. He folds in on himself and she can barely hear him say, "Work." Then he's too wracked with hyperventilating sobs to elaborate.

She shifts into action, kneeling in front of him and clasping his hands in hers. "Jon, you're safe. You're in your flat with me, and there's no one else here. Martin has no reason to come here and Elias can't get in."

He's almost silent, is the awful thing; she can tell he's hyperventilating, can see the tears, but he doesn't make the terrible heaving sounds people usually do. Jon has a panic attack like someone taught him to do it quietly, like maybe someone told him to and he had no other choice.

-

All of the heartache and terror of having another job he was excited about ruined, of seeing Elias again, of the entire cosmic joke that's been his life ever since he moved to London crashes over Jon and drowns out the embarrassment of having a breakdown in front of a stranger. He barely even registers Sasha's voice, no idea what she's saying over the roaring in his ears. He knows that he should try to calm down, but there's a level of satisfaction in letting his grief and terror pour out of him that's seductive, and the light-headedness that starts putting spots in his vision before too long just reminds him too closely of the feeling of being certain the last of his blood is going to be drained tonight and compounds the situation.

Something settles around his shoulders and he flinches before realizing it's a blanket. He twists his fingers into the cloth and holds on as tight as he can.