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Jon didn’t keep the archives particularly well-lit, and Martin knew that. The archivist usually opted to hunch over his desk with a single lamp overhead, and the dim main lights scattered throughout the stacks of shelves.
It was about 7:00 at night, so the large window adorning the main wall was of no help. Since it was so “early” that meant that Jon had to still be here, and if he had left, the main lights would still be on because well… they just always were. So the fact that all the lights were off, was, not to put too fine a point on it, odd.
The only light was of that streaming through the door and even still it didn’t reach the further parts. As Martin stepped inside decidedly confused and to a point concerned, he called out, “J-Jon?” Only silence answered him, and he stared into the dark room worriedly, he could hear breathing though, harsh, ragged breaths, and maybe even soft whimpers. “Jon, w-where are you?”
It was another long moment before Jon cleared his throat. “Go away. Don’t come in here.” He was trying to talk in his usual professional voice, but his voice cracked at the end. He sounded so broken...
“Hey, I'm not gonna do anything, It’s alright.” Martin tried. The archives were so bloody echoey, that the assistant had a hard time guessing where the voice had come from. He walked forward, heart clenching in his chest. “Are you hurt?” He took another step, ominous walls dark and frightening.
Jon seemed to consider his response before mumbling, “No… don’t come in, just leave me alone, I’m f-fine.” Martin didn’t believe that for a second and despite this, continued to walk, looking behind the shelves. The floor creaked as he got closer to the back, and he could hear Jon more clearly. The man was breathing heavily and his voice made it clear he was crying or at least had been.
It was surprising that the assistant didn’t trip over anything, with statements and who knows what else, littered on the floor. “You don’t sound fine.”
Jon shook his head even though Martin couldn’t see it. “I’m fine… I swear-r…”
A moment more and he'd concluded Jon was just around the corner, in the very back row of the archives. But Martin waited just out of sight. Well, all Jon would see was his silhouette, but still. It was torture to stay still, but he waited. “Do you need help, Jon?”
Jon’s hands shook as tears rolled down his face. I-I, I don’t need help-help,” he choked and sniffed, “I don’t want it, I’m fine.” He was aggressively trying to regain his composure, but it was only causing more tears to fall.
Martin switched tactics feeling sick and worried, stomach tight with anxiety. “Why are the lights off Jon?” He didn’t know why he was saying the archivist’s name so much, he just felt like Jon was so distant. He was scared the man would run.
“Because… Because I like it this way?”
Fine. “And… why are you hiding, Jon?”
There was about a twenty-second pause before, a whisper really, answered, “… Because I messed up…”
Martin froze for a second and felt his heart sink to the floor, sweat on his brow. “Wha- what did you d-do?” He swallowed. Maybe it was something stupid, he tried to comfort himself. Maybe Jon had ripped up a statement and was just upset about it… he got no answer, just tears trying to be silenced. “Are you physically alright, Jon?” He dreaded the answer but waited, talking slowly and calmly.
“P-please, don’t ask…” his eyes were raw and red, checks wet and stained.
That was Martin's cue to turn the corner. This had gone far enough and he was almost positive something horribly wrong was happening right in front of him. It was a lot less dramatic than he thought it would be when he rounded the shelf. It was almost pitch black and he couldn’t see a thing, much less Jon. Martin wasn’t even sure how the archivist got himself back there. But with the light at his back, Jon caught his breath when he saw Martin, a black splotch against the light.
He tries to stop his crying, but that just seems to make it worse, fresh rivers rolling down and onto the floor. “Don’t, please… Go away.”
Martin was positive that he was gonna trip over something, having no idea where anything was. His heart pounded. “Jon…”
“D-don’t come closer… P-please!” He panics, he can hear the sound of papers shifting and Jon’s breath increasing. Martin does his best to follow the sound, crouching, he puts his hands in front of him and felt his way through the dark.
“Jon, you said you were hurt… can you tell me where?” Even though Jon didn’t say it, he made the fact clear.
He was starting to hyperventilate, more pain running down his face as a broken sob filled the quiet. “I don’t want a-anyone to c-see…” In the silence, Jon's cries ring through the archives. This was so uncharacteristic and it was terrifying.
Martin took a step back and raised his hands imploringly, even if Jon couldn’t see him. “Ok, ok, Jon. It’s alright, you’re alright.” He tried to speak gently. “Can you breathe with me?” He asked softly, inhaling, holding it, before exhaling, hoping Jon would follow.
It took a moment, but he heard Jon shakily breathe in and hiccup on the way out. He was still crying but was less frantic. “That’s good Jon, I’m proud of you, just breathe.” Jon was doing his best to listen, but he was still choking and sobbing. “Jon… do you think you can answer my question?”
The archivist shakes his head and scrunches his face tight. “Please, Martin, I don’t want… I don’t want anyone to see, pl-“ hic, “please…”
“Jon it’s pitch black, I can’t see my own hand in front of my face,” He reminded softly, “I’m not going to see, but I need to know where and how you got hurt.” He was talking as gently as he knew how.
Jon was still shaking his head in the dark, sniffing every so often. “Wh-... Why does it matter? D-d-on’t make me sh- show you, please.” Jon made a valiant effort to force his voice to not be so high and whiny, but it didn't help.
Martin gave a soft sigh and kept making his way through the dark, desperately trying to be quiet. “I’m not going to look at it, not unless you show me. I just need some information… Are you bleeding?” He holds his breath.
He can hear Jon swallow, weighing his words. “Just… say you won’t tell anyone…”
He sounded… so small. So scared. Martin just wanted to hold him close. “Jon, if you are in danger, then I have to tell someone, but it won’t be without you involved.” Jon's breathing picks up again, but it is clear he is trying to calm himself down. “Does that mean you are bleeding?”
The ragged breaths pick up again as Jon chokes on his tears. “I-I-I’m n-not… I’m not bleeding..” Martin can't see it as his nails clench deep into his thigh. “Please don’t tell anyone.” He is shaking so hard.
Judging by the sound of Jon's voice, Martin was about a foot away from him now. His hand reaches out for Jon, but he pauses and sits down trying to calm the archivest. “Jon… if you are hurt, I’m gonna need to call 999 or something.” Martin's hands shake and he curses himself for not having his phone on him. “Now, can you be honest… are you bleeding?”
Martin hears a thud and after a moment figures Jon had stomped his foot against the floor. While that was true, Jon's fist had also hit his own arm quite harshly. “Please!” Jon's usual vest was becoming soaked in his tears. “I don't, I don’t want anyone to know!”
If Martin could have one wish in the entire world at that moment, it would have been to hug the man and never let go. But the archivist was in such an erratic state it seemed like anything could alarm him. “Jon… is it ok if I touch you?” He decided to ask. He just wanted to hide Jon from all the fear that radiated off of him.
Unfortunately, that was a very poor idea because Jon did indeed panic harshly, and Martin felt terrible. “No, no! Please don’t touch me!” The man continued to recite that phrase over and over, rocking back and forth. Martin couldn’t see it but he could hear it as Jon tried to move away from him.
“Alright, alright, I won’t… I won’t,” he reassured. The archivist didn’t cease his mantra but this did help to calm him. “Jon I won’t touch you, but I need to know where you are hurt and if you are bleeding.” he was looking at the man so softly even if it was useless.
There was a very long pause and Jon quieted before curling in on himself. He was so still, if it wasn’t for his inconsistent breaths, Martin would have thought he was gone. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, the assistant unwilling to break it.
“I don’t… it doesn’t matter.”
The sound of Jon’s voice hurt Martin more than it had any right to. He wasn’t going to touch Jon without him being ok with it, but he felt himself sit cross-legged on the floor, moving ever so slightly closer to his scared… friend? “Yes it does Jon,” Martin implored quietly, “I need to know if you’re alright.” Jon didn’t answer only whimpering in a high-pitched voice Martin never thought he would hear from the man. He sighed to himself. “Can you please give me a yes or no? An honest yes or no?” he added. Whether or not he actually got one was a different story entirely. To really know, he needed to turn on the lights (and he didn't even know where they were), and if he left the chances Jon would run or do something rash was high.
As if reading his thoughts Jon finally murmured, “Please- I, I don’t want to be a bother…”
“Oh Jon… you will never be a bother.” even when Martin started and… they weren’t on the best terms, he didn’t think of Jon as a bother. A bloody arsehole of a boss, sure, but even then it wasn’t like he tried to impose on their professional relationships. If anything Jon was likely to get how he was now, from shutting everyone in his life out. That wasn’t the point, however. Right now, Martin's number one goal had to be accessing the archivist's condition and finding a way to phone 999 without Jon losing his shit. He just needed some questions answered. “Yes or no Jon?”
He heard Jon sob again the man moving again to try and escape his coworker, “Don’t make me, don’t make me! Get away from me!” again came that thudding, Martin still unaware of jamming his fists into the aching side of his chest.
Martin jumped back slightly, putting space between the two of them. “Shhh, alright, alright,” he tried. “You’re okay, let’s take a step back, breathe remember? In, out.” Jon did, however it was clear more tears were falling down his face.
“I’m scared…”
Again: hug the man tight and shield him from the world. It was a very strong urge. “I know…” Martin breathed in. “I know you are, but everything is going to be alright, I promise. I can help you, but I just need to know what’s wrong. I’m not going to force you to do anything, but I need to know.” he thought Jon was looking at him, obviously, it was hard to tell but if he had to guess, big brown eyes were watching him like a caf who was lost. “In, out… your safe Jon.”
He seemed to perk up. “Safe? You're not going to tell anyone?”
Martin sighed. “Safe… meaning no one is going to hurt you. If I tell someone it’s to keep you safe. But right now that is not going to happen.” That was definitely going to happen, but he needed Jon calm. “I am going to stay right here with you. All I need you to do is breathe and say yes or no for me… ok?”
About a million things were running through Jon’s mind. Mostly how every little thing seemed to be amplified. His sight was blurred, whether that was from his tears or not was up for debate. His ears were ringing and most of all it was as though someone had simply injected anxiety into his veins. Martin hated him now, (not that he didn't before) what Jon did was going to get found out and then he’d be out of a job, and everyone would think him weak and blame him… there were no words to describe how much Jon just wanted to the ground to eat him, or the sky… then he wouldn’t have to deal with this but no he had to go and worry Martin when the man already has gone through so much because of the archivist…
But… it did feel nice to have someone care. Of course, it was fake, Martin didn’t actually care about him but… you know considering the sweat that was rolling down his face along with tears; if Jon wanted to pretend, he’d allow it.
“Ok…” he forced the word out like all the world was trying to keep it in his throat. “just… please don’t make me be detailed.” he wanted his composure back, but at this point, he’d embarrassed himself to the point of no return.
Martin felt horrified for a moment and reassured, “Of course.” he breathed in and held it for a moment preparing himself to accept that Jon could be greavishly hurt. He exhaled. “So are you bleeding?”
“Y-yes.” still quiet but only a slight quiver.
There was a checklist in Martin's head. Yes, no; yes, no. “Okay, Jon… do you know how you got hurt?”
Jon sighed and made a sort of whimper. “Yes…”
Martin's chest was so tight as he breathed in. “Was it a person?” it was his turn to have his voice crack.
There was a strangled noise and then a soft “uh-huh…” then the fear returned, “Please don’t tell anyone! please!”
Martin was within a few inches instantly. “Shhhh, it’s going to be alright.” he was being very careful about his words, hoping that he could keep the man calm without lying. He tried to stay on track “And can you tell me who?” thick dread formed a ball in his stomach. He felt hot and so, so scared. He had a pretty good guess but he hated it so much, Martin hoped it was wrong, somehow another person barging into the archives and beating the shit out of Jon or something was better than Jon self-harming.
Jon turned away and tears fell from his face again. “Pl-… please d-don’t make m-me say it. Please d-don’t make me…” he was shaking his head in the dark and the dispare hung thick between the two.
Martin thought he was going to cry as well. That pretty much confirmed his fears. He didn’t want to force Jon though. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes trying to settle himself. “Ok, Jon… I won’t make you…” he honestly didn’t want to hear the archivist say it either. They just had to get through the questions, and then he could help Jon… “where did you get hurt?”
“My arms.”
That could mean a lot of different things considering where on his arms could determine the danger, but again he just needed to get through this. “Ok and how long ago were you hurt?”
Jon was quiet, this time like he was thinking. “A few hours maybe?”
You know that feeling like being thrown off a skyscraper in paras? Martin didn’t either, but he figured the way his stomach just dropped was exactly would it would feel like. “And… you are still bleeding?”
He heard Jon breathe in again, “Y-yes…”
No need to panic, just the fact that Jon could be dying from blood loss less than a foot in front of him. “H-have you tried to stop the bleeding?”
Jon cleared his throat, both because, well- crying, and to cover his shame. “N-no… it’s fine it will stop soon…” he whispered.
That did stand to help Martin a little bit. Not much by any means but that was better than trying to stop the bleeding for hours and it not doing anything. Still bad! But… small victories.
Rubbing his face for a moment, Martin squeezed his eyes shut. “And- what did you-… what did this person hurt you with?”
Jon winced and shook his head again even if Martin couldn’t see it.
“Jon?” he prompted.
The conflict was almost audible before Jon stammered out, “A… it was-“ he looked down. “A knife.”
There were so many questions about what knife it was but that wasn’t the biggest concern at the moment.
“Alright, Jon… and is the knife still nearby?” He heard Jon shift but that was it. “Jon, is the knife still here?” He said a little firmer, but still talking as if Jon was a frightened animal.
Silence.
Jon didn’t want to give it up. That knife was all he had to make himself feel. Of course, he could always find something else, but he didn't want to just hand it over. “Maybe… why?”
Martin would have thought it obvious, but that wasn’t what Jon needed. “Because if this person still has the knife, I need to make sure he- they don’t do anything with it…” Martin whispered patiently.
There was another pause. “Don’t tell anyone about this…” he sounded… just so broken. It wasn’t fair. The archivist was one of the strong (all-be-it stubborn) people he'd probably ever met. Don't get him wrong the man was an ass in the beginning, just in time… they’d gotten closer. Yeah, that's what Martin wanted to go with… closer.
He just wanted Jon to be alright. He moved ever closer. “Shhh, yes or no remember?” there was a whimper that came and Jon shook his head. “That's all you need to focus on, okay? Is the knife nearby?”
Jon gave a deliberate breath out. “Y-yes?”
Martin held his breath. “… can I have it then?”
There was a shuffling sound as Jon pulled his knees to his chest, burying his head in his arms. “Please don’t make me…”
There was a part of Martin that would do anything if I meant Jon would never sound that broken again. But of course, the longer this interaction went on the more he knew that he didn't want the archivist near a paper clip just less that bloody knife. “Jon I need it…”
“Please I don’t want to!” there was a thwack noise and a box of flies fell to the floor. Jon hissed in pain as it appeared he’d knocked it over with his arm.
Although it had startled Martin he did his best to stay calm. He let a moment pass so the other could collect himself before asking, “Can you please give it to me Jon?”
Nothing.
“Jon… I can’t let you keep it…” he whispered.
Jon's voice was muffled by his arms and distorted by his tears. “Please…”
This wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t think Jon would just hand over the knife, but at this point, they were going in circles. He had pretty much figured out that Jon didn’t want to do anything directly. If he wanted to know something Martin was going to need to ask indirectly. “Can you tell me where exactly the knife is?” he tried.
Jon took a slow breath, but he was clearly holding back a sob. There was movement in front of him but it was too dark to discern. “If you are nodding I can’t see it,” he reminded.
“I-I-it’s in their… h-hands” he managed to get out. Martin felt a tear fall onto his leg and he just wanted to hold Jon close.
“Jon can I touch your hands?” he wanted for Jon to freak out again. He hadn't even wanted to ask but he needed that knife.
To his surprise, he got a very quiet “Okay...”
Martin blinked before moving to be right in front of Jon. He started by feeling his way forward. His hand fell on the coarse fibers of the man's slacks. They felt dirty somehow like there was a layer of filth and despair encasing him. Feeling blindly around, Martin worked his way up Jon's leg. He felt the transition from fabric to skin as he found the warm brown of the archivist’s arm.
It took only a second for Maritn to rip his hand away. Jon's arm was wet…
Not like water or sweat; wet like thin yet sticky build-up. And it certainly wasn’t dry. Not that Martin wasn’t prepared for that? He knew Jon was bleeding but… touching the- the texture of what his arm now was. It was unsettling, ok?
He felt blood many times, covered in it all his own fault, but it being someone else… someone he cared about made this something else entirely for him.
Jon breathed in sharply from the pain and then went into an absolute panic. He wildly kicked and thrashed, forcing Martin to back the fuck up. He gave a sudden scream before beating his head wildly with his fists. Ripping out strands, then clumps of hair; it was like he wanted to collapse his skull. He was shrieking and sobbing. “I’ll s-sto-p! I- I promise I’ll stop! Please!” Martin could hear him hiccup and hyperventilate.
He’d pushed himself against the wall, out of Martin's reach and the man groped blindly in the dark, searching. “Jon! Jon- stop!”
Jon had clumps of his own hair in his palm and could feel the trickle of blood down his head as he continued to headband violently. “I-I’M S-SORRY! I’ll stop, I’ll stop!... PLEASE!”
It took a long moment for Martin to grab Jon quickly moving arms, especially with the archivist pushing him away and resisting, but when he did. The assistant held on tight. Jon had already done enough to himself. The dripping fluid smelled of rust and terrible nostalgia. It forced Martin to squeeze tighter to keep his grip and it hurt his heart.
He did his best to stay calm but- wow he was scared. “JON! Jon, Jon you’re alright, I promise, you’re safe! Jon, you’re alright-” NO! N-no im not… i-i-am a bother! I'm so sorry Martin! Im sorry, I'm sorry-” he chanted, a broken pleading mantra.
Still struggling but less so now, Martin had the opportunity to slide his hands up, so he could grab Jon by his hands rather than violently bleeding arms. When he reached Jon's first he felt something metallic and cold.
With a sudden shock of fear and panic, Martin tore the boxcutter from Jon's grip and hurled the thing across the room. It landed with a high-pitched ‘clink’ and Jon's head snapped up immediately.
With surprising speed, the archivist jumped up and bolted in the direction of the sound.
Unsure what else to do, Martin grabbed the man's ankle and winced as the other hit the ground with a painful-sounding thud. He tried to be gentle but was forced to literally drag Jon away from the blade. Jon kicking and screaming manically.
“LET ME GO! LEAVE ME ALONE! PLEASE!”
Martin was bigger and stronger than Jon as he pulled the still scrambling archivist towards him. He got a hand on Jon’s shoulder and pulled towards him. This allowed him to get a strong arm around Jon's waist. “JON! JON! Stop!” he cried, despite the man clawing at him and throwing his head.
“P-PL-PLEASE! I- I can't! Let me go!”
Pressing jon small shacking frame against him, Martin held him in place. He figured waiting till Jon ran out of energy was his best bet.
It only took a minute or so for the archivist to finally slump and lay against him exhausted. Martin was still dubious, but let his hold loosen slightly.
Jon moved and Martin was afraid he’d jump for the knife again, but the man only turned and buried his head in Martin's soft, all-be-it bloody, sweater. Silent sobs still raked his frame, but for now, there was a lull in the chaos. There was the realization that Jon had headbanged with an open boxcutter in his hand. If his arm had slipped… it could have wound up in his skull. Martin held him close, just letting him cry and process.
The next 10 minutes or so were spent with Martin thinking of ways to melt down that knife, meanwhile, Jon was either sleeping or just very quiet.
Every part of Martin felt sticky and dirty with blood. He was getting worried about the bleeding and was about to say something when Jon broke the silence first.
“Im… so sorry Martin…”
A tear ran down Marin's cheek. “Please don't be Jon… it's not your fault.”
Jon wanted to protest, but he was just so tired… he breathed in slowly and shakily. “Martin..?”
How badly he wished to see Jon's face, to see the man he cared… so much for. “Hm?”
He felt the archivist curl closer and whispered, “Can we… Can we stay here? …Like this?”
It shouldn’t have been sweet, but it was. He pulled the man into his lap, and, after feeling around, was about to cup Jon's face. The archivist was very responsive to the touch and clung to Martin desperately. Even so, Martin knew he had to break it. “Jon… I'm worried about you bleeding out…”
All he got was a shake of the head. “That doesn’t matter.” He said it so matter of factly.
He breathed in. “It matters to me, Jon… Will you let me dress your wounds and then we can go back to doing whatever you want..?”
There was a very long pause like Jon was evaluating his options before sighing and whispering a confirmation. “Okay then…”
There was a brief debate about the fact and whether or not they would go into the light so Martin could do it properly. They eventually landed on being just within the light of the door. Martin stood to go root around the lounge or a first-aid kid, whispering, “Okay Jon, I'll be right back. You stay here and-”
“NO!”
Martin took a step back in surprise. And Jon quickly started apologizing and panicking. ‘Im-Im sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry… sorry.”
Martin kneeled back down to him again, softly hushing him. “It's alright Jon… no what?”
Jon was hugging himself and he just looked so small, so scared, so helpless. They'd moved closer to the light now and he could see the shadows on his boss's face. The streaked redness for him tears and the heavy bags under his eyes. Had he looked like this before and they’d just never noticed?
The man tried to take a deep breath, the cold floor under him and new blood covering his clothes. He was sat on his knees at an angle that looked rather painful. He gritted his teeth and looked at Martin, bloodshot eyes holding so much fear. “Don't… don't leave me.”
Hand hovering over the shredded skin of Jon's arm, Martin hesitated. “Can I touch you?” He was answered with an almost desperate nod. With that, he wrapped strong arms around the smaller one and petted through matted and dirty hair. “I'm not going to abandon you I promise. I’d be right back… but if you want to come you can, I just don't… I don't want you to faint or freak out since you’re overstimulated.”
Eyes locked on the floor, handshaking and small streaks of blood still dripping down from cuts, the archivist considered this. “I want to come with…”
Martin gave him a considerate look but relented. “I could… carry you if you'd like..?” Marin offered, seriously worried about if Jon really did faint.
Sheepishly moving closer, Jon half looked at his assistant. “Id… like that, please.”
The way he was sitting would make it hard to lift someone else, but Martin decided it wasn’t worth standing up over. To his surprise and worry lifting Jon was barely a problem. The man was very small, sure, but he should not be this light. Suppressing his concern, he stood to his full height, letting Jon hide his face in the soft, albeit now bloody sweater, away from the light, away from the world.
Retrieving the well-used first aid kit from the lounge, Jon carried it, pressed to his chest, while he was taken back to the darkness of the archives.
They sat just on the outside of the warm light still sneaking through the open door, it took a moment for them to actually get settled before Jon let Martin take his frighteningly small arm. They spend most of it in a heavy but not oppressive silence. It gives Martin a chance to look closely at the damage. Some were as wide as his thumbnail. He hadn’t struck any veins which was good, but the moment he’d applied bandages, they’d soaked through. Opting to first clean the existing blood and then stop the bleeding, Martin used the disifectant wipes to remove the dried and dripping liquid alike. Every once in a while, Jon would hiss in pain, but aside from that, his gaze was distant and blank. I’d taken about ten minutes before he opened his mouth, expression not changing.
“Why are you doing this?”
Martin spared a glance at his face and then continued his task gently. “Well- I mean, I don't want you to bleed out more than you already are and I-”
Jon shook his head. “No… I mean why are you… helping me?”
Martin was tucking in the wrap on the first arm, so he didn’t think through his answer as hard as he should have. “Because… I need you, Jon-” Then he reconsidered. “I- I care. And ... I want you to be alright.”
Jon actually looked up at this, expressionless face morphing into recognition. “Thank you, Martin…”
“You're welcome, Jon…” It didn't take long before the other arm was ready for bandages and Martin watched helplessly as Jon teased at the tightness of the first wrap. The assistant tried to rub his leg soothingly. “I know, love. It will be over soon.”
The pained expression passed, and Jon remained silent, meanwhile, Martin soaked in his anxiety at the words.
He got another five minutes before Jon looked back at him. “... Love?”
He answered with a nervous laugh. “S-sorry about that… didn't mean to say that.” He was pleased with the slowed blood flow.
Jon scooted closer and let himself lean on his caregiver. “It’s… it's nice…” He felt his cheeks flush as the wrapping was completed. He put a questioning hand on Martin’s thigh before arms were opened for him. Jon promptly crawled to be in the warm lap of the one person he’d let get even remotely close. The archivist’s head rested on his shoulder before he passed out in a much-needed sleep.
Martin gave it a good five minutes just to be sure Jon really was asleep before calling an ambulance, having made sure to grab his phone when they’d been up. He’d asked that the paramedics be quiet to not wake Jon.
They’d arrived shortly and much to his disappointment, Jon did wake up. He left the institute tied tightly to a stretcher while screaming and thrashing. The last thing Martin heard before the doors closed was, “I HATE YOU MARTIN! HOW DAR-”
In the end, the man was tranquilized, and awoke in a hospital bed, -still tied down, with multiple IVs and many, many stitches up and down the trashed skin of his limbs.
He’d been there for 31 hours, strapped down for almost all of it, in a mania until tiring out and falling unconscious. Martin tried to visit him, but whenever Jon saw him, he’d freak out, either cursing at the assistant or flat-out having a breakdown while calling for him. When he was discharged, he was taken by another ambulance to Nightengale Mental Hospital.
Considering all the man had with him were the clothes on his back, Martin went back to the archives to collect anything Jon might want while there, (that he would be allowed to have). Also going to the store, Martin dropped off the largest assortment of entertainment that he could provide.
Box of 100 crayons
Some clothes including a hoodie he thought Jon might like
GRIPPY SOCKS
An origami kit
some playing cards
Fluffy blankets
And of course lots of books
He hoped Jon would appreciate the gesture. It wasn’t much, but it would help make him more comfortable.
Jon remained there for 9 days. He was discharged with 3 new medications, a collection of grippy socks, and ILP for the next month. Without actually owning a car and not really having anyone else to call… Martin was standing in the lobby eating saltines while Jon finished his paperwork.
He was wearing the hoodie Martin got him and actually looked like he had some food in him. The stitches were covered, but the bag over his shoulder must have been disturbing them. His footsteps barely made a sound as he tentatively took the bag and simultaneously the weight off of his boss's arm. Jon didn't dare make eye contact and instead muttered something appreciative.
They left the building together, Jon giving nothing away to his spiral of feelings. The world seemed so big compared to the day room.
Martin's car was exactly how he expected. Cloth seats, and a vanilla scent air freshener. Martin opened the boot and placed the bag inside, Jon standing uncomfortably next to him. When Martin grabbed a blanket and handed it to Jon, he finally cracked.
“I'm so sorry Martin! I shouldn’t have forced you to take care of me- and, and! I said horrible things to you when you were just trying to help, and I-” Tears were flowing down his cheeks again as he clutched the folded blanket to his chest. “You shoul-dn’t ha-have had to, to deal with-”
Martin took a step forward and slowly opened his arms.
There was hesitation for a moment before Jon nearly knocked him over, clinging to him like Martin would disappear. He sobbed in the parking lot, Martin whispering sweet nothings into his ear, fingering through the now blood-free hair.
They stayed like that for a while, just existing with each other.
“Thank you, Martin…. Thank you for saving me.”
“Of course, Jon,” He whispered softly.
Jon was quiet again, then, “I need you too, Martin.”