Work Text:
Worms. There were worms - burrowing into his skin, tearing through muscle and ligaments, the hard capsules of their heads scraping against his bones, worms, so many worms - the pain - the pain ---
Martin awoke with a start, scrambling backwards in the narrow cot in document storage. His breathing was fast, uncontrolled - worms, so many worms - and at some point as he slept he had broken out in a cold sweat. He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. His legs were tangled up in the blankets, and the close, hot feeling didn't help to dispel his anxiety. He drew his knees up to his chest and shoved the sheets onto the floor. It had been a few days since he'd gotten out of his flat and started sleeping in the archives, but he was still having the same dreams he'd been having all the while he was trapped there. The worms. The worms getting in. The worms boring into his flesh, chewing and burrowing and -
"Martin?"
There came a quiet knock at the door, accompanied by Jon's voice. What time was it? It had been mid afternoon when he'd dozed off - Jon had given him a few days to rest and recover before he started working proper - but it was always hard to keep track of time in the windowless basement that was the archives of the Magnus institute. "What time is it?"
His voice came out as a croak. Jon glanced down at his watch, performing a near-comical double take. "Good lord, coming up on nine p.m."
Martin swung his legs around, letting them hang off the edge of the cot. For whatever reason, it felt wrong to let Jon see him half-curled up on the bed he currently called his own. At the very least, it was probably unprofessional. "Nine! What're you still doing here?"
It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Jon might have turned scarlet. "I was working late, lost track of time. It happens."
Martin tried not to dwell on the fact that Jon had just implied that he worked this late regularly, and instead focussed on the familiar sound of his clipped voice. Snippy as it was, it was surprisingly grounding. He was here, in the archives, *not* in his flat, and there were not any worms. The light coming in from the doorway vanished, and Martin looked up to see that Jon had stepped closer. "Are...are you alright? I thought I heard a shout."
Jon looked incredibly awkward, but the softness creeping into his tone made it clear that he was genuinely concerned.
"‘m alright. Just a nightmare."
Jon nodded and walked over, sitting down on a box file next to the cot. He looked up at Martin sincerely - if a little expectantly - and Martin felt his face redden. "Just still a bit shaken after the whole ’worms’ thing, that's all."
Jon nodded sagely. "I can imagine."
They sat in silence a little while longer, before Jon cleared his throat stiffly. "Have you eaten yet? Since breakfast, I mean."
Martin shook his head. "No, meant to grab a bite after I woke up, but it seems too late now."
Hesitating a moment, Jon got to his feet and smoothed down his trousers with the palms of his hands. "Well, that won't do you any good. Come on, then."
"What?"
"I haven't eaten yet, either. You're more than welcome to join me for some food. You had to get by on canned goods for two weeks, it'll do you some good."
Martin barely stifled a laugh. "What? I've seen you miss lunch most days, you can hardly talk!"
He regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, snapping his mouth shut and shrinking in on himself. Much to his surprise, though, Jon gave a quiet chuckle as he headed towards the door. "That's true. Shall I go gather my things while you get tidied up?"
Still a little bewildered by Jon's uncharacteristic relaxed mood, Martin only managed to nod as Jon bustled out of the room again.
****
"Anything in particular you'd want to eat?"
The walk away from the institute had been a little uncomfortable. Martin guessed it was since this was possibly the first time Jon had spent any time with any of the assistants outside of work. Martin stayed silent too because, well, he was still a little scared of losing his job.
"Oh, I don't really mind."
There was another beat of silence before Jon cleared his throat again. For something so simple as discussing food, Jon carried himself as if tentatively navigating a friend's messy divorce. "I...recall you bringing in pasta for lunch, a few times. Perhaps we should get something like that?"
Martin winced. "God no," he blurted, not giving time to think before speaking. Jon turned towards him, wide eyed with surprise. "Oh? I - ah - I'm sorry?"
Feeling himself blush miserably, Martin stopped in his tracks, flapping his hands as if to convey his apology. "No! No, it's just...the sound."
"...of pasta?"
"...sounds like worms."
Jon blanched, shuddering as he turned away again. "Good lord, that's a fair point."
A few moments passed without conversation.
"So," Jon murmured, quirking an eyebrow, "literally anything other than pasta?"
Martin snorted, Jon's sudden expression of humour catching him by surprise. "Yeah, literally."
They walked for a few minutes longer before Jon slowed to a stop in front of a hole-in-the-wall takeaway joint wedged between a small international supermarket and a set of heavily spray painted metal shutters which presumably hid another shop. Glancing at the menu tacked next to the service window, Martin was surprised to see an array of fast foods and snacks. Not a bad sort of surprise - the photos on the menu looked quite appetising - but he hadn't expected it to be Jon's sort of thing. "Everything alright?"
Jon's question shook him out of his thoughts and he realised he must have been staring blankly into space for the past few seconds. Blushing, he rubbed at the back of his neck and smiled awkwardly. "Nothing's wrong, I just sort of thought you'd choose something...fancier?"
For the second time that evening, Martin considered slapping himself in the face. Or asking the ground to swallow him whole. Jon's features quirked into an amused sort of smile. "What? Because of the whole ‘R.P. accent’?" he joked, accentuating it comically. Martin snorted.
"Yeah, yeah. But really, I've seen you eat plain salad for lunch a couple of times! What was I supposed to expect?"
"It was all I had left in the fridge," Jon admitted balefully. Martin burst out laughing. "Anyway, what did you want? I'll pay."
"What? You don't need to do that."
Jon shook his head. "No, really, I want to. You've just lost your flat and experienced what can likely be classed as trauma, while completing follow-up work that I set. If there's nothing I can do to help in a more professional capacity, let me at least do this as a form of personal consolation, insufficient may it be."
Martin blinked, taken aback by this sudden display of sincerity. Jon stood in front of him, lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line as he stared up at Martin over the rim of his glasses. Martin looked away, finding Jon's intense eye contact a little difficult to match. "Yeah, okay then."
****
"Have you been sleeping alright?"
"Hm?"
They were currently sat on a park bench while they ate. Martin's falafel was impressively good, considering how tiny the shop had been, and Jon seemed to be enjoying his kebab, despite the horrific amounts of chilli sauce he had doused it in. It was a warm evening despite still being only early in the summer, and a few other people could be seen wandering the green space. Martin turned to face Jon as they spoke, nervously wiping crumbs from his mouth. "You said you had had a nightmare. Have the other nights been this bad?"
Martin sighed. He hadn't been sleeping well at all. "Yeah, unfortunately," he mumbled. Seeing Jon's face contort into a look of concern, he rushed to explain. "But I'm sure I'll be fine soon."
Although he didn't seem convinced, Jon relaxed a little. "Right," he murmured, before leaning back, turning his gaze to the darkening sky. He seemed deep in thought, and Martin felt a little as if he were intruding on something personal. He turned away too, glancing around the park. The street lamps were starting to turn on around them, drowning out the stars and casting stark shadows. He shivered.
"I do understand, you know."
"Pardon?"
"I mean I understand what you're going through right now."
Jon's voice was uncharacteristically soft.
"I...I had a paranormal encounter as a child."
Martin gasped, turning to face him again. Jon nodded silently "Oh, god."
"I don't like to go into the details, but I didn't sleep very well for quite a while either. Still dream about it sometimes, even now."
"I'm so sorry, Jon."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago, and it's hardly your fault."
Despite the grave nature of their discussion, Jon's mouth twitched into a smirk. He was still staring into space, but didn't seem as distant as he had a few minutes ago. Taking a chance, Martin placed a hand on his shoulder. "Still. I'm sorry it happened."
Jon flushed and looked away. "Right."
Pausing, he glanced briefly back towards Martin. "Look, what I'm trying to say is...I'm here for you. Both as your supervisor and as a-a peer. I'm here if you need to talk. I'm sure Tim and Sasha are too."
Martin had the strangest sense that Jon had wanted to say 'as your friend'. That realisation sent a flood of warm emotion rushing through his stomach and he felt himself smile. Jon looked up at him with a slight smile, nervous crease forming between his eyebrows. It was kind of thrilling, realising he had made him nervous. This whole evening had been kind of thrilling, realising Jon possibly didn't hate him. Getting to spend time together just as human beings rather than coworkers.
The moment was definitely over though, when Jon turned away and cleared his throat. The awkwardness from earlier settled back over them like a blanket. "We probably ought to get going. Work tomorrow and all that."
Martin found himself nodding along mutely. Jon glanced back at him, that gentler concern creeping into his expression again. "I can walk with you back to the institute, if you'd like?"
"Yeah, that'd be nice. Still a bit nervous after dark."
Jon hummed in acknowledgement and stood up, tossing his takeaway container into a nearby bin. Martin pushed himself to his feet and followed suit. "Right."
"Yeah."
Jon cleared his throat again and gestured with his hand. "After you?"
They walked in silence. Jon carried a near palpable nervous energy the whole way, and Martin didn't feel inclined to speak up and risk shattering the tentative peace they seemed to have made this evening. As the doors to the institute became visible at the end of the dim street, however, he felt as if he needed to speak up. "Thank you."
Jon glanced up at him in surprise.
"For what?"
"For tonight. I think getting out for a while helped clear my head a bit."
Jon waved his hand dismissively, but a flustered smile made itself at home on his face nonetheless. "It's the least I could do. I hope you sleep well, and I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, see you."