Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jonathan Sims was in a foul mood. It had been approximately 27 hours since the intrusion attempt, but he was only just now able to get himself out of bed. Bad pain days were nothing new of course, but he had so many things he needed to get done and the fact that his schedule could be so derailed by a group of misguided youths daring each other to harass the dangerous recluse who lived in the woods was aggravating to say the least. 

He’d tried to expend as little magic as possible to strengthen the barrier and reroute them back in the other direction, with vague suggestions of horrors flickering across their vision to hopefully deter future attempts, but they were persistent and it had left John completely drained. 

At least it had worked in the end. Settling on this method to keep out intruders had been a long trial-and-error process, and he bore scars that proved it necessary. This was the safest method for all involved. 

Not for the first time he wondered if he should leave, move far away, but he’d already tried that. That was how he’d ended up here in the first place, except the pre-existing building and defenses had been a stroke of luck that wouldn’t be happening a second time. There was no way he would be able to build a house and start over all on his own. 

Besides, it wasn’t like magic was looked on more favorably anywhere else. He’d be in danger wherever he went, and he couldn’t hide forever. At least these woods were dangerous to travel through, discouraging most from exploring. 

The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was more afraid of those in the town nearby who had discovered him than he was the monsters that lived with him in the forest. Then again, the fact that the monsters didn't seem to want him dead on the same level might have been because they saw him as one of them, and that didn’t exactly set him at ease either. 

Regardless, all of this had led to him outside, elbow deep in soil, replanting herbs well after dark. They had been outgrowing the hanging basket for some time now and he simply couldn’t put off relocating them any longer. The forests were dangerous once night fell, but he was more than safe inside his little haven. 

At least, he was supposed to be. 

There was a loud crash followed by his chickens squawking in surprise and indignation and John felt his blood run cold. If a wild animal or monster had gotten in, the chickens would be making very different noises. In a lot of ways, it would have been better if it had been, at least then he wouldn’t have to find a way to fend them off without harming them. 

No, it had to be those delinquents, back to try again, and John had just been too weak to notice their approach. The runes were still in place and the barrier was definitely still up. If they’d discovered how to pass through without destroying it, he would be in serious danger. He could be overrun by the entire town, a proper angry mob, and he would stand no chance. 

His old injuries ached, reminders of why it was so much safer to isolate himself, to hide away from the world. It was scary enough being confronted with one reckless kid trying to impress his friends let alone the entire town. He let himself cling to his anger, at the indignation of it all, the constant fear he was too tired to feel anymore, and he let it stoke that anger. 

He knew he wasn’t exactly an imposing figure, but he had an impressive temper, and it had successfully chased off some before they could realize how frail he looked. If he could utilize that now, he would. Anger was easier than dwelling on that fear anyway. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he fumed, raising his voice as he grabbed his cane and used it to help leverage himself onto his feet. “Back again so soon? I was lenient before, but if you insist on intruding, you’ll wish I had simply killed you when I had the chance, instead of running you off—“ 

He came around the side of the chicken coop and froze. Lying on the ground in a heap was not a young delinquent but an injured man, looking up at him in bewilderment, breathing hard, presumably from running away from whatever had injured him. And, no doubt, the shock of winding up in John’s little hiding place. 

“Good lord, are you hurt?” John asked, taken completely off guard. He bit his lip to try to focus, get back on track, because he couldn’t show that sort of weakness here, not in front of a stranger. He raised his cane as if he or it were anywhere strong enough to bludgeon someone. “If you leave now, perhaps I will show mercy— wait, you’re bleeding rather a lot—“

“Sorry,” the man said, throwing him off again. “About your chickens.”

He didn’t even look afraid of John like he should be. Confused, yes, and certainly in pain, but the fact that his concern was immediately on the chickens he had frightened left John with no idea what to do. Especially when the man collapsed, unconscious. 

“Well,” John said, studying the man, bringing his cane back down to lean on. “That’s inconvenient.”

John himself had been described many ways; wiry, scrawny, lanky, and the like, and the man on the ground was anything but small, more than twice as wide. This would be difficult, but not impossible. Over exertion would leave him unable to move much the next day or so, but he should be able to get him inside and tend to his injuries before his bad leg gave out. Probably. 

-

Honestly, John was grateful that the stranger hadn’t been conscious for any of his puffing and panting as he dragged the man into his bedroom and eventually onto his bed. It was altogether an undignified experience. He was successful in the end, though, and finally set to tending his injuries. 

There were plenty of superficial cuts on exposed skin, a hazard of sprinting through the trees and brambles. There was also an ugly gash on his side; one that looked suspiciously familiar. If it was caused by what he thought, this man could have been marked and still be in danger. He should strengthen his wards just in case. 

He was about to draw away when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. He barely managed to stop himself from yelling in surprise, looking down at the large hand holding him in place. The grip wasn’t particularly tight, but it still caused his hand to shake minutely, unwelcome memories helpfully supplying possibilities for the sorts of terrible directions this situation could go in. 

He looked up at the large man currently in his bed. He still looked pale and weak and afraid. No anger or accusation in his eyes, which was possibly a good sign. To his surprise, the man’s eyes widened at John’s reaction and he quickly released him, raising his hand as if to reassure. The shock of this was enough to surprise John out of his own fear, leaving him bewildered.

“Please, wait,” the man said, voice weak. “Please don’t go.”

“You— want me to stay?” John asked. Maybe he just didn’t understand what was happening, too delirious with pain. Maybe he didn’t know where he was. 

“There was something out there—“ he said with wide eyes. 

“It wasn’t me,” John said quickly, and the man looked confused, as if it didn’t make sense for every townsperson to accuse John of any ill that befell them in the forest. 

“No, I know,” he said, still looking confused. 

“O-okay,” John said. “I’ll stay.”

The man looked so relieved he let out a heavy sigh, his eyes falling shut. He must have been exhausted. And if he’d had an encounter with one of the more insidious monsters in the forest, John felt for him and what he must be going through. 

And then John berated himself for the thought. It didn’t help to feel for others, to get attached. Yes, this stranger had such an open and friendly face, and he appreciated the consideration he showed in releasing and reassuring John despite his own fear. But once he was properly awake, he was sure he’d change his tune. Still, John didn’t want to have to see this man’s expression twisted in disgust or hatred, directed at him. 

John shook his head as if that could banish the thoughts. This was pointless, this always went the same way. As far as the town was concerned, John was the boogeyman they warned their kids about. The monsters in the area were supposed to be all his fault, and every death they caused was blamed on him. This man would look at him just like all the others, as a monster who had sold his soul or some such nonsense. 

The truth was, he was just as much a monster as far as the townspeople were concerned. Any time he’d found one injured and tried to help, they’d usually fled as soon as they were able. After a few days at most, this man would be gone and John would be alone again, as he was meant to be. As he deserved. 

The biggest danger would be trying to avoid angering the man or accidentally getting in his way during his escape and getting injured for it. His body had taken more than enough punishment over the years and he wasn’t exactly keen to add to his collection of scars. And this man was solid and strong even despite his injury. 

John waited another hour before he left the stranger to his sleep. He knew all too well the nightmares the things in the forest could give, so he weaved a little magic, hoping it might help keep them away, allowing him to actually rest peacefully. A wave of exhaustion washed over him for his efforts, but he simply sighed. It was time to get back to his planting. 

-

John was moving much slower today, exhaustion and pain seeping through every part of him. He wasn’t going to take a break, though, he had too much to do. He’d changed the stranger’s bandages that morning, but he didn’t have a chance to check in on him again until early evening. He was halfway across the bedroom before he realized the man was sitting up, watching him, and he stumbled to a halt. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said, blinking in surprise. Then winced. He of all people knew how invasive it could be, stuck in an unknown place, at the mercy of someone else. He wanted to do this properly, make sure this man knew he would be given as much privacy as possible, and he’d already messed it up. “I apologize, moving forward, I will be sure to knock before entering.”

“It’s fine, it’s your house,” the man said with a shrug. “I should be thanking you, you saved my life. I’m Martin, by the way.”

“Um, Jonathan. John,” he replied. “You do know where you are, right?”

“I think so,” Martin said, glancing around at the room, as if it held the answers. John wasn’t much for interior design, it was mostly filled with practical items, tools and supplies, extra blankets. No evil talismans or dead birds or whatever people thought he should collect. “I remember running through the forest, running from— something. So I assume that means you’re…“

“It’s fine,” John said casually when he stopped to ponder his next words. “You don't have to find a polite way to say it, I know they call me a witch.”

“A-are you?” Martin asked, and to his credit, he did look more curious than fearful. 

“No, but people don’t exactly care about the nuances,” Jon said with distaste, conveniently leaving out the bit where he did in fact know magic and didn’t exactly get it from a reputable source. “If they see something they can’t explain, they usually chalk it up to witchcraft.”

“Okay,” Martin said, as if that answered everything, as if he was going to simply accept his word for it. John told himself it didn’t mean anything, he could just want to move on. But there was something so trusting in his eyes. It made him feel unsteady. 

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat. What was he even doing? He had a script and everything to make this as smooth as possible. He needed to get back on track. ”I have gone to great lengths to tend your wounds, so I suggest you not do anything to worsen them. Unfortunately, that means a return journey back to town is ill advised, so I am forced to extend my hospitality while you heal. You are, of course, welcome to leave at any time, but my protection only extends to my land here. Once you cross over the perimeter, if you collapse, I will not be carrying you back here again. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes,” Martin said quickly, but he looked concerned. “I don’t want to impose—“

“Nonsense,” Jon said dismissively, because there was no chance he would ever throw someone out while they were hurt. “While you are under my care, you will be provided food and shelter. And, no, I don’t plan to poison you. There would be no point.” 

He’d had to add that to the end of his little speech after being accused several times, as baffling as that was. He didn’t even grow anything poisonous here. And then he waited. The man still showed no inclination to flee. 

“O-okay?” was all Martin said, more of a question than confirmation when the silence dragged on a little too long. 

“Usually this is the part where you would try to flee. I won’t chase you if you do.” He indicated his cane by gently tapping it against the wooden floor. “Even injured, you’ll likely be faster.”

“I have no idea what is happening right now,” Martin said. “I don’t really want to run, do I have to?” 

“Wha— no, obviously not,” Jon said. He’d been doing his best to stand straight, give some sort of weight to his presence, even if he wasn’t exactly imposing. This entire thing was so confusing, though, he couldn’t help but deflate, clutching his cane close to himself with both hands, like he could hide behind it. “Like I said, I’d advise you to stay. It’s just that people usually wish to get as far from here as possible when given the chance. Are you sure you know who I am? It’s just that, I’d heard my reputation was quite grim.” 

Martin pondered this for a moment before he spoke. “You saved my life. I’m a complete stranger, but you still went out of your way to take me in and patch me up, I think a little trust is the least I owe you after all of that.”

John couldn’t remember the last time someone reacted this way. Had anyone ever, after he’d gotten his magic? He’d come so far, to a place where no one knew Elias Bouchard, where he wouldn’t be associated with the likes of him. But it hadn’t mattered, they could still see the magic in him. 

Not that John had ever been great at lying or hiding his nature. He discovered that the hard way when he’d first gotten involved and went looking for help. That was why he needed a cane most days. Not that he blamed them, they’d been right. This had all been his own fault.  

He pivoted, trying to get back on track, returning to his script to help him through this interaction. He couldn't let himself get so thrown like this, he couldn’t let himself be vulnerable. 

“Well, as I said, you will be staying here until you are well enough to leave. Please make yourself comfortable as this will be your room. I will have dinner prepared shortly. I make three meals a day, but you are of course welcome to any food in the kitchen whenever you like, and you’re free to roam about as you like.”

And with that, he turned and left the room. He was on unfamiliar ground, now. So very few people stuck around after this point, and his paranoia was throwing out all sorts of suggestions, reasons why this had to be a trick or a trap. But what would even be the point? 

He sighed and leaned heavily on his cane as he headed for the kitchen. He still had things to do. And a suspiciously endearing individual to cook for. He grimaced. He shouldn’t be thinking of Martin as endearing, he was only going to get himself hurt. He was usually so much better at not getting attached. Maybe he was just more lonely than usual and this was the first person to not lash out at him in— a very long time. 

Chapter Text

It was a bit of a balancing act, holding the tray of food as well as leaning on his cane all while fumbling with the door after knocking. Eventually John got it open, though, and felt much too proud of himself. Martin made as if to stand when he saw, but he just glared at him and waved him off. He did not want to have to redo any stitches so soon. He then hooked his cane around the leg of a small table and dragged it over to the bed and placed the tray down on it. 

“Dinner,” he said with a gesture, as if an explanation was needed. “In order to avoid aggravating your wound, I thought I would bring it here. However, you will be expected to take meals in the other room in future so long as your condition doesn’t worsen.”

“Of course,” Martin said, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m sorry you had to go to all this trouble.”

“That’s— that’s fine,” John gave him a confused look, because grateful or apologetic was not typically the reaction he received and he found himself thrown once again, uncertain how to proceed. Somehow this made him more worried than anger would have. 

“Wow, this looks amazing,” Martin exclaimed as he examined the food, oblivious to his internal turmoil. 

”Um,” John’s cheeks darkened and he awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. “You can leave your dishes there when you are finished. I’ll retrieve them later.”

And then he turned and slipped out of the room at impressive speed before he could say something else kind, that made his chest feel so warm. He decided it was time to scrub the floor. That would distract him from all this. 

-

When John heard the door to the bedroom creak open late in the evening, he froze where he was sitting at his desk. Was this it? Was Martin finally going to show his hand? Maybe he was just planning on sneaking out when he thought he was alone. It would be idiotic to leave now that night had fallen, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d seen someone attempt. 

There wasn’t time for John to hide, all he could do was stay still and hope not to be noticed. The sun had set at some point while he’d been deep in concentration, so he hadn’t lit any additional lanterns, he’d just been squinting in the dim light, but at least that would be to his benefit now. If Martin planned to search his home or rob him, maybe he could use the cover of the night to sneak away, maybe go hang out with the chickens while he got on with things. 

In the very likely chance he was spotted, he left his cane where it leaned against his desk. Yes, he would need it to walk, but he didn’t want to make himself look like a threat. He’d rather have to just hobble around and suffer the consequences of that. 

He was frozen in place as he listened to the slow plodding footsteps coming down the hall, each second causing him to come up with more and more wild ways this could go catastrophically wrong. And then Martin stepped into view carrying the tray of dishes. 

John just stared at him, his brain not quite comprehending what he was seeing. Meanwhile, Martin made his way over to the sink on the opposite side of the room, careful not to rattle anything too loudly. John didn’t have indoor plumbing, but he had left a basin of clean water out, and it seemed Martin knew his way around well enough that, to John’s absolute bafflement, he began to wash the dishes. 

“W-what are you doing?” John found himself asking before he could stop himself. He cringed, wishing he’d just stayed silent and let whatever this was play out. 

“Oh, John!” Martin said, and he didn’t look like he was upset at being found out, like he was intending to sneak around. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I just thought I’d wash my dishes is all, I hope that’s okay.”

”I said I would retrieve them later,” John said lamely. 

“I know, I know, I should be resting,” Martin said, smiling at him over his shoulder. “But I guess I’m not great at sitting around doing nothing. And I wanted to help.”

“Oh. Fine. Um. Thank you,” he added grudgingly. 

And then, with a smile, Martin went back to scrubbing a plate. John supposed that meant he should do the same and return to his own work. He turned back to the manuscript before him, but he could hardly concentrate knowing someone else was there, so close. 

Even after the dishes were cleaned, Martin continued to busy himself in the kitchen. John bit his lip, wondering if he should find a way to excuse himself, to go hide away somewhere else until he was done, but stubbornness left him rooted to the spot. It wouldn’t be the first time his stubbornness got him into trouble. 

He tried not to visibly tense when he heard Martin’s footsteps approach. Thankfully, he was already plenty tense so it probably wasn’t noticeable. He stayed still, waiting to see what Martin would do. He almost fell out of his chair when he placed a steaming cup of tea at his elbow. 

“You looked like you could use it,” Martin said with a much too radiant smile. 

“That wasn’t necessary,” John snapped out of reflex and quickly tried to amend with, “but thank you.”

He still sounded huffier than intended, but it didn’t seem to matter because Martin was somehow managing to look even more pleased. John coughed and tried desperately not to be endeared. Again. 

“What are you working on?” Martin asked. 

“Over the years, I have acquired some rare texts,” John explained, glancing at Martin over the top of his glasses. “I’m translating them both to preserve them as well as see if they contain anything useful to me.”

“Oh, like,” Martin wiggled his fingers. John just stared at him with his mouth hanging open. “You know, magic stuff?”

“Oh, I got that, I’m just horrified that that’s what’s supposed to represent magic,” John said, and he was certainly not endeared by that either. 

“Right,” Martin said, turning a little pink. 

“But to answer your question, yes, for—“ and here he too wiggled his fingers with a roll of his eyes. “Magic stuff.”

Martin grinned at him and he couldn’t help but smile back, although he quickly schooled his expression and returned to the papers before him, scolding himself for enjoying winning that smile from him. 

“How are you feeling?” John asked, business like as he tried to return to more familiar territory. 

“Oh, I wanted to ask about that actually. I am feeling surprisingly okay, these stitches should definitely hurt more.”

“I have gotten good at crafting tonics for pain,” John replied. Given his physical state, he thought that would be obvious. 

“Oh! Is that magic too?” Martin asked with interest. 

“No, chemistry, mostly,” John pointed back towards the kitchen where he had plenty of beakers and bottles lined up neatly. “I find I have a lot of time on my hands these days to pick up new hobbies.”

“That’s really impressive,” Martin said, and he sounded genuine. 

“Oh,” John said as realization dawned on him. “I never offered you any books. The ones in the bedroom are a tad dry even for me, but the library is just through there if you would like to peruse.”

“Wow, thank you,” Martin said, looking excited as he headed for the door and John tried to smother a smile. 

John was rather proud of his library. The room was small, but the shelves went all the way up to the ceiling and were carefully organized. He had a broad range of subjects, he really wasn’t picky, he just loved the written word, knowledge. Even fiction contained plenty to learn within their pages. He had all of the dangerous tomes locked away, so it was safe to explore, and he felt a bit of pride at Martin’s impressed, “oh,” when he entered. 

He couldn’t help but remember the first time he himself had seen a proper library and his own awe that had swept over him. It had of course been much larger than his own, but as fond as he was of the memory, it was somewhat tainted now. It had been Elias’ collection, and there was a sinister undertone to it now that he knew his true intentions. Still, it wasn’t the fault of the books who they belonged to and he tried not to focus on that. 

He didn’t want to make Martin feel like he couldn’t peruse freely, so he remained at his desk, leaving him alone with the books. He wanted to remain on high alert, to see what Martin would do once he was done, but somehow he felt at ease. 

Maybe it was the memory of the library, or just knowing Martin appreciated his. Whatever the cause, he found himself slipping back into his work. He was too absorbed to notice when Martin returned to the bedroom, and he felt a pang of disappointment, not being able to see which he had chosen. 

 -

He didn’t even need to knock on Martin’s door when he finished cooking breakfast. He’d apparently followed the smell and was entering the main room just as John placed the last egg on a plate. 

“Ah, you’re up, good,” he said, handing it to him. 

“Good morning to you too,” Martin said with an amused smile.

John wasn’t exactly used to pleasantries. Being reminded threw him off for a moment, but upon deciding they were still fairly useless, he raised an eyebrow and simply gestured behind him. “Sit wherever you like.”

He’d left out some clothing for Martin to wear, considering his own were a bit bloody. There was no way John’s would fit him, but he’d found others, probably belonging to Gertrude or just salvaged from crates or luggage lost to the forest, and hoped they would do. Martin had chosen a soft-looking yellow jumper and he couldn’t help but think how much it suited him. 

“So, what do you have planned for today?” Martin asked as John joined him at the table, sitting across from him. 

“Cleaning out the chicken coop,” John said, confused at the line of questioning, but he had no reason to hide it. 

“Can I help?” Martin asked eagerly. 

“I don’t need help,” John said, because he didn’t, he did this task by himself all the time, he was perfectly capable. But then, Martin looked so devastated he stopped in confusion, unsure what he’d said wrong. “Why?” 

“You’ve already done so much for me,” Martin said, suddenly very intent on his fork. “I just wanted to return the favor, if I can.”

Ah. That was something John could understand. The fear of being indebted to someone, especially someone who might use it against you. The useless feeling of not being strong enough, or good enough, in another’s eyes. Even just wanting to help someone simply because he could, which was why Martin was here in the first place. If he felt any of those things, and John could alleviate it, he would. So few people had done it for him in the past, he didn’t like the idea of being the cause for anyone else. 

“Fine,” John said with a nod. “I suppose an extra pair of hands would be convenient. But nothing strenuous. You should still be resting.” 

The way Martin lit up shouldn’t have made John feel as warm or flustered as it did. He could feel his face burning, and he focused on his food, hoping Martin wouldn’t notice. 

-

Having Martin around was— nice. It was true that John could technically do all of his chores on his own, but having someone else around to keep him company, to help, was just— pleasant. And he actually seemed interested when John went on long tangents on whatever new hobby or bit of interesting information he was studying. 

Even before he got mixed up in all the magic bullshit, John would be hard pressed to remember someone who was as patient, who didn’t seem to just tolerate him and his annoying habits.  

It was late afternoon when they finished everything he’d planned to do that day. It wasn’t exactly a cold day outside, but he still ached and wanted to spend some time in front of the fire before he had to make dinner. It didn’t take long for Martin to settle onto the couch beside him, offering him another mug of tea. 

“You better make a habit of this,” John joked as he took a sip. “Not sure I can go back to drinking my own.”

“You like it, then?” Martin asked, looking incredibly pleased. 

“Of course, it’s very good, Martin,” he said, because he looked so hopeful, and John didn’t like the idea that he could ever doubt himself. 

They were silent for a moment, but John thought of it as a pleasant silence. He wasn’t used to having someone beside him, just sitting with him because they could. He would have thought this would feel unpleasant, with how used to the solitude he’d become, but it wasn’t. Martin was still a stranger, but he was already growing to like his presence. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Martin asked conversationally, and John felt his heart drop, the peaceful moment shattering. “Did you set it all up yourself?”

“Fishing for information, I see,” John said, more accusation and bitterness in his voice than intended. “Is this your plan, then? Act chummy until you can get the information you need out of me?”

“What? Woah, no, that is not what I’m doing at all. I don’t even know what I’d be fishing for,” Martin said quickly, and to his credit he really did look surprised. He could have just been surprised that John had guessed, though. How stupid did he think he was? “I just— want to know more about you. If there are things you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.”

“Hmm,” was John’s only reply, looking at him suspiciously. 

“I feel like I’ve missed something,” Martin said. “Can we go back? I can talk about myself if you’d prefer. There just isn’t much to tell.”

“Let’s start with why you’re still here,” John said, eyes narrowed. 

“I thought that was fairly obvious,” Martin said with a laugh. It seemed a bit forced, thanks to the direction the conversation had taken, and John did feel a bit guilty for that. “I don’t exactly want to bleed out on my way back home. Or get killed by whatever attacked me. If you’re trying to not so subtly tell me to leave—“

“No, no,” John raised a hand, but let it fall uselessly, unsure what he’d even been planning to do. He certainly hadn’t been reaching to take his hand, that would be absurd. “I apologize. I would also rather you not die on your way back.”

“Oh,” Martin said and John wasn’t really equipped to interpret his expression. He looked almost touched, like no one had ever told him they didn’t want him to die before, but that seemed a bit extreme.

”This isn’t exactly the typical reaction I receive from strangers,” John said. ”Usually they can’t get away from me fast enough.”

“I didn’t grow up around here, so maybe that’s why? I mean, sometimes you hear about someone many times removed who had a run in with a monster or a wizard or mage or whatever. Actually, do you have a preference?”

“I couldn’t care less,” John replied. “My— well, I knew someone who used ’warlock,’ but he was a pretentious ass, so I’d rather not take his word for it.”

“Well, regardless,” Martin continued. “It was a bit removed from me, I never encountered anything first or even second hand. Until the woods, of course. But you don’t feel anything like that thing.”

“I should hope not,” John snorted. It served a completely different patron, after all. 

“I don‘t think I’ve ever been as scared as I was in that moment, and you saved me when you didn’t have to,” Martin continued. “So I trust you.”

”You’re really not afraid of me?“ It felt like he was pushing too hard for an answer that would just upset him, but he did it anyway. Anything to make the world make sense.

“Should I be?“ 

“I-I don’t know,” John said. “Most people are.” 

”Well, I’m not,” Martin said, with such finality that he had to believe it. 

“I— oh.” He didn’t know what to think of that. It went against everything he knew, but he believed him. He really did. 

”So, would you like me to go first?

“Fine.”

“Dad left when I was still young,” Martin began, as he gazed into the fire. “And then mum got sick, so I spent most of my time doing odd jobs, even as a kid. Like I said, I’m not originally from here; I got offered a job under a blacksmith about four— maybe five years ago and I couldn’t afford to turn it down. Mum passed a few years ago, though, so I guess it’s just me now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” John said, and was he really saying that to someone who was more than likely lying? Always too trusting, he would never learn. Just because he was bad at lying, didn’t mean everyone else was too. “Why were you out in the forest after dark?”

“I messed up, was running late to deliver a shipment. If I didn’t bring it in time, I’m pretty sure I was going to get fired this time. Stupid, really. I’ve probably lost the job anyway, and I almost died in the process.”

“It’s not your fault,” John said, bringing his knees up to his chest and staring down into the fire. “These things are drawn to loss and fear. They feed off it. They’re insidious, probably would have found a way to get at you regardless.”

“Well that’s comforting,” Martin said with a laugh that was too false, doing a poor job hiding the fear beneath. “How do you know so much about them?”

“Really?” John asked, eyebrow raised, glancing over at him. 

“What? Did I ask something wrong again?”

“I know the rumors say I am the one responsible for the monsters, but sorry to break it to you, I’ve only been here 6 years.”

“I didn’t actually know that,” Martin said. ”From what I hear, they’ve been here for generations. Seems silly to blame you.”

“It’s fine. I likely inherited some of my predecessor’s reputation. From what I hear, she liked to play up the witch angle a bit, thought it was funny. I doubt many people notice when one reclusive outcast gets replaced with another. But she wasn’t the source of the monsters either. I believe she was here because they provided something of a deterrent, keeping curious eyes away. When she was killed, this place provided a convenient place for me to lay low after— well, just, after.”

“She was killed?” Martin asked, horrified. “That’s awful!”

“Pretty sure you’re one of the only people still living who would think that,” John muttered. “I imagine if the town knew, they’d have celebrated.”

He felt guilty being so blunt, considering how sad Martin looked at that. It was still the truth, though. They liked to blame people like him for all of their problems. 

“You said she was your predecessor,” Martin said. “How did you meet her?”

“I didn’t,” John said. “But I suppose she saved my life, in a way. She was the one who set this all up. I would have ended up just like her if I hadn’t found her notes.” 

“I’m glad,” Martin said, and he looked so sincere that John had to turn back to the fire, overwhelmed by the sight. 

“Don’t be too glad,” John said, his frustration evident. “She was much better at this than me. I’ve been looking into the monsters for years and haven’t made any headway. She probably would have had it sorted by now if she wanted.”

“Wait, you’re looking into the monsters?”

“I’m hardly going to let them run rampant. All I have are useless theories, though, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“I honestly think I feel better knowing you’re looking into it,” Martin said with a smile. 

“Like I said, don’t get your hopes up.”

He’d said too much. He’d said so much, and while he couldn’t think of a way it could be used against him without knowing about Gertrude and Elias by name, the uneasiness was still there, making him feel sick to his stomach. It felt like he was waiting for something to go wrong. 

“Oh, I wanted to ask,” Martin began, and John couldn’t help but tense, waiting for what he would say next. “I grabbed a couple books, but I honestly don't know where to begin, your library is amazing and I got a bit overwhelmed. Can I get some recommendations?”

John was aware that it was much too easy to shift his mood. He’d been staring into the fire gloomily one moment, and now he was talking animatedly about his collection. It was definitely a flaw that could easily be used against him, had been in fact, but honestly, right now he didn’t mind it. He could use the distraction. And Martin listened, engaged, and shared his own opinions back. It was— nice. Even if he did prefer poetry, a genre John found to be a bit reductive at times. 

Chapter Text

Some days, Martin needed to rest more than others, but as his injury healed, he started tagging along for more and more of John’s chores. This particular task required more walking than usual, so it was the first time they’d done it together. 

“Okay, let’s see it then,” John said, holding out his hand. 

Martin passed him the empty bucket and he took it and waded into the river to fill it. They were still inside the safety of the barrier, but this was the farthest they'd gone from the cabin and Martin kept glancing around nervously. He couldn’t blame him. A run in with one of the monsters left its own kind of mark on people. This did mean John was hauling the bucket out of the river with his cane shoved into his belt before Martin realized what he was doing. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Martin asked with a disapproving look that was definitely hiding a fond smile. 

“Carrying a bucket of water,” John said dry. “I thought that was obvious. I said that was what we were doing before we came out here.”

“Come on, give me the bucket,” Martin said, holding out a hand. 

“No, I’ve got it.”

“You can’t even use your cane like that!”

“Yes, but at least I’m not in danger of ripping stitches and having to start the healing process all over again.”

In the end, they compromised by having them both hold onto the handle, that way neither of them had to carry the full weight and John still had a hand free for his cane. It was a ridiculous setup that seemed completely unnecessary, and John complained the whole way back, but Martin was failing to hide a smile the entire time. 

There was no real heat behind John’s complaints anyway. It was a distraction, because this whole thing was nice in a way he was having trouble putting into words. Maybe it was knowing someone wanted to spare him the pain he always felt after walking without the cane, or that someone would even notice his discomfort. Maybe it was just having Martin beside him, helping him with simple everyday tasks. He didn’t have to do it alone. 

-

John had always suffered from insomnia, but it had gotten worse after he’d gotten mixed up in the magic. He wasn’t sure if it was the same for everyone in his… ‘situation,’ he hadn’t really had the opportunity or desire to ask anyone associated with magic about it. Elias was a liar who only spoke in cryptic hints anyway and there was no way he was going to trust anything he said, and he hadn’t run into any others willing to talk. Usually their first order of business was to try to gut him. 

His nightmares were worse too, which only contributed to the insomnia. That might have just been because of the horrors he’d witnessed, both magical and mundane, adding fodder for his subconscious to draw from. Or maybe this was just one of the many costs associated with having access to magic. 

Regardless, he found himself bundled on the couch watching the fire more often than not. At least it meant he was awake to stoke the fire, preventing it from burning down too low. Then again, sleeping on the couch as he’d started doing after Martin arrived meant he was always nearby to keep feeding logs into the fire. His home had never been so warm, which was a relief for his joints, even if they then suffered because of the lack of a proper bed. 

Not that he would ever complain about giving up the bed. He was growing accustomed to hearing the quiet snoring coming from the bedroom. It was strangely nice, proof that there was another person nearby. What had once been a source of anxiety had somehow morphed into a comfort, because he was slowly realizing he didn’t need to fear Martin. Instead, his presence made him feel— safe. That was dangerous thinking, he knew, but he tried not to examine it too closely. Things would go back to normal eventually and then he would return to jumping at every creak of the house. 

Tonight, there hadn’t been much snoring from the bedroom, so he wasn’t surprised when he heard the door open and Martin’s steps approaching. His footsteps weren’t as slow and careful as they had been on that first day. Good. That meant he was healing well. 

“Can’t sleep?” John asked without turning around. 

“No, I suppose not,” Martin said, his footsteps pausing. 

“I sympathize.”

“It’s strange,” Martin said, and John glanced over his shoulder to see him staring deep into the flames, leaning on the back of the couch “I keep dreaming about getting attacked in the forest. My dreams never used to be so repetitive. Kind of silly to keep dwelling on it.”

“It’s not,” John said. ”Those things— they tend to get in your head. If my guess is right, the one that was after you preys on isolation. Loneliness, despair, it enhances it until it feels like there’s nothing else. It numbs the senses, makes you feel like that kind of pain is better than facing the world. One of the nastier ones. If it can’t consume you into the fog, into the Forsaken, it will do it in a more literal way.”

Martin shuddered, and John nodded sympathetically. He didn’t have much first hand experience with the Lonely, that wasn’t his particular domain, but from what he had seen and heard, it sounded pretty bad. He couldn’t help but wonder if, had he still been susceptible to the other domains, if his own didn’t extend him at least a little protection, if that particular one would have come for him by now as well.  

“Come, sit,” John said. ”It might help, being near someone else.” 

Martin looked surprised by the sudden offer. John didn’t think it was such a strange thing to say, but then, he had been a bit skittish around Martin since he arrived. He was getting used to his presence, though, and he wanted to help, if he could. He hated seeing anyone a target for these powers, but for some reason, he especially didn’t want to see Martin fall victim. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” John asked as he dropped onto the couch beside him with a world-weary sigh. 

“Not much to tell, really,” Martin gave a half shrug. “Your description was accurate enough. I didn’t even get a good look at the thing that attacked me in the end, there was too much fog.”

“Yeah, that’s how it hunts,” John said. “Not many people make it out again, once they’re in there.”

“Pure luck on my part,” Martin said with a quiet self deprecating laugh. 

“No,” John insisted. “What you did takes a lot of courage. But you’re safe, it can’t get you here.”

Martin took in a shaky breath as he continued to stare into the fire, unable or unwilling to look over at him. It was a long moment until he spoke again. 

“I guess it makes sense that it would come after me. I’ve always been alone.”

“Not anymore,” John said, and now Martin did turn to look at him, eyes wide with surprise, and something else. Was it hope? “At least, not if you don’t want to be.”

John placed his hand between them, palm up in invitation. Somehow the action felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done. It was terrifying, it was reaching out and trusting someone when they could so easily shatter him. He’d been too afraid to do anything like this in so long, he wasn’t sure he really knew how anymore. But if there was even the smallest chance it could save him from the monsters, he would do it without regret, whatever the cost. 

Martin stared at his hand as if he wasn’t sure it was real before he slowly reached out to grasp it, fingers wrapping around gently, like he was afraid holding too tightly would cause him to disappear. He was slowly turning bright red, which made John feel his own face heating up as well and he glanced away quickly. 

”I suppose being friends with the local pariah can be its own sort of lonely, though,” John said, because it was true. 

He doubted he could really do much good here, but he wanted to try. Looking at Martin now, so open and hopeful, John felt a warmth flow through him and an intense desire to do more, to prevent him from ever feeling lonely again. He just didn’t know how. He couldn’t even do it for himself. 

“It has its perks,” Martin said, voice thick with emotion that John couldn’t hope to parse, squeezing his hand. 

“If you say so,” was all John could say, and they simply sat in silence together, watching the flames. 

-

John hadn’t intended to sleep. It felt wrong to do so this close to another person. A part of him still felt like there was a danger here, but he was lulled by the warmth of the fire and Martin’s hand in his. 

It really shouldn’t have been this comfortable, being here with him. He hadn’t known him that long, and he scolded himself as he reflexively scrambled to his feet as soon as he woke. He was alone by the fire, now, with morning light streaming in through the windows. Martin had moved to the kitchen where he was cooking breakfast. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” John said as he approached, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands. He could still remember how Martin’s had felt in his own. 

“I know, but I wanted to,” Martin said, smiling at him over his shoulder,  and the only way he could reply was to nod. 

“Sorry the selection is a bit limited,” he said lamely, feeling exceptionally awkward, unsure what to do with himself or what to really say. 

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Martin said. “Do you grow everything here?”

“Or harvest in the forest,” John said. “It’s not like I can just pop down to the market.” 

He left out the fact that he had, on occasion, done exactly that. It was incredibly risky, someone could have realized what he was, seen the magic in him, but it had been that or starvation in the winter when it was harder to procure his own food. It had taken him a bit to get the hang of preserving, and some things he just couldn’t make himself. 

“That must be hard,” Martin said, much too sincere. “I can bring you more of a variety, once I get back home.”

“That would be ill advised, unless you’re planning a repeat of how we met,” John said. 

“Oh, I suppose not,” Martin said, looking crestfallen, and only then did it occur to John that he’d been wanting to visit, after all this was over. He would willingly choose to return, to see him again. 

What was he supposed to do with that information? It couldn’t work, he’d get himself killed traveling back and forth like that. And even if he didn’t, what would be the point? Just because he enjoyed his company? The idea that Martin of all people might, left John feeling light and warm in an altogether unfamiliar way. But just as quickly, it turned to ice at the danger he would be put in because of him. 

“You should be careful who you talk to about me in town,” John said. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone anything about you,” Martin reassured. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“No, no,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was his fault, for putting such emphasis on that before, but he needed to make sure Martin understood. “I meant, if people found out that you were willingly visiting me, that you were my friend, they might respond poorly.”

“Oh,” Martin said and he looked like he genuinely hadn’t considered that. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I’ll be fine.”

“Just— just be careful, alright?“

“I will, I promise,” Martin said, sensing some of his desperation, but it was obvious he didn’t entirely understand. 

Unwelcome memories bubbled to the surface, of violence done in fear, leaving John the broken shell he was now, and the idea that that might be inflicted on someone else, on Martin, made him shudder. 

He didn’t want to see him chased away from a place he thought of as home, for smiling faces he saw every day to suddenly change. To know, for a fact, what it was like to know every single one of them wanted you dead. They would never see him as truly human ever again. He was lesser. Filthy. Undeserving of even pity. 

“Hey,” Martin said, setting aside the ladle for the soup he’d been stirring. “You’re shaking. Can I—“

John nodded absentmindedly, not even really sure what he was agreeing to, too caught up in his own mind. But then Martin was there, much too close. He carefully placed a hand on his arm, waiting until he was sure he was okay before gently rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. And when John leaned into him, he wrapped him in a hug. 

John had forgotten, how warm another person could be. How soft and careful a touch could be. It felt like something inside him was breaking, shattering completely. Being held like this should have been terrifying. He hated being trapped or restrained, but he wasn’t either of those things. He knew he could step away and Martin wouldn’t stop him. He… trusted him. He had never felt so safe. 

He wasn’t doing a very good job reciprocating. He didn’t bring his own arms up and just stood there uselessly, but it didn’t seem like Martin minded. He rubbed a few circles onto his back before finally pulling away. 

John felt fragile as he stood there in front of him, stunned. It was an altogether pathetic feeling and he sniffed, trying to gather what dignity he had left. Martin was blushing from the closeness and John did his best to pretend he wasn’t as well, neither of them looking at each other. He reached out, brushing his hand against Martin’s, looping just two fingers, the barest of touches. 

And then the moment was over and he was pulling away, going to sit at the table while Martin finished his cooking. He cupped his hands together in front of him, rubbing his thumb against the place they’d touched. He wasn’t shaking anymore. All he could do was sit with this feeling, wondering why it made him want to cry with how overwhelming it was. And through it all was a deep primal fear he had learned that he didn’t think he could ever completely shake. 

Chapter Text

John was nervous. He didn’t really know why, this was a practical item, it wasn’t really a gift. Still, he’d made the item himself and there were connotations that Martin might realize and the implications therein and— John just felt much too exposed when he thought about it, so he tried not to. 

He’d been hiding in the attic for a while now, where he kept his more dangerous items locked away for safekeeping, referencing everything he could to ensure he was using the correct rune. When he finally descended through the little trap door in the ceiling of the main room, it was to find Martin reading by the fire. Martin glanced up to smile warmly at him, and John was all too aware that his own returning smile probably looked more like a grimace. Martin was kind enough not to comment.  

“I’ve been meaning to give you something,” John said, sitting down beside him, perched on the edge like he was ready to flee at a moment’s notice. He knew he was being ridiculous. 

“Oh?” Martin set aside his book and turned to face him, waiting patiently. Why was he always so patient with him?

“Here,” he said, unceremoniously thrusting the necklace out to him. 

It was a simple thing, a glass bead shaped like a teardrop; what he imagined to be a crude combination of the Lonely as well as the domain where his own powers lay, under the Eye. It was infuriating how almost poetic it was, the strange rules this all worked on. At least symbolism extended beyond just poetry, but he imagined that would be the part of this Martin was drawn to most. 

“Wow,” Martin said, closely examining it. Glassforming wasn’t exactly a technique John excelled in, but he was still proud of it. ”Is it magic?”

“That’s— a hard question to answer,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes and no?”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Martin laughed. 

“I guess it has the magic we give it. If you accept it,” John said, ducking his head to avoid eye contact. “Sometimes that’s just how magic works. Dream logic. It can be a reminder that you’re not alone, though. Sometimes that’s enough, to get you out of a place like the Lonely.”

“Oh,” Martin said, smiling at him so fondly it broke his heart. No one should look at him like that. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I’d recommend avoiding the whole situation if at all possible. I’ve never had the opportunity to test. It wouldn’t have worked on me before without, you know, connections. I’m fairly certain it will work,” he added hastily. “For the same reason being near someone, someone you know, helps when you’re feeling the pull. You know, feeling particularly lonely. It’s just— better to avoid the risk altogether. I just don’t want you stuck out there with nothing if you do run into something in the forest again.”

He was babbling, he knew he was, but he was having a hard time getting himself to stop. Martin was just listening to him patiently as he slipped the necklace over his head, letting the teardrop rest against his chest before reaching out to take John’s hand in his when he finally managed to shut his mouth. 

“Thank you.”

John just nodded dumbly, looking down at their linked hands, memorizing where they touched, feeling like the warmth was spreading from there up his arm and all through him. The cold returned much too quickly when he released him. 

“So, do I just— hold it tight and think of you, then?” Martin asked with a teasing grin. 

“O-or, you know, anyone,” John stammered, feeling his face burning. “Anyone you’re close to. Or care about. Or—“

He trailed off, horrified by the words coming out of his mouth, and Martin laughed. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, not at all. It was full of fondness and settled some of the anxiety in John’s chest and he was grateful for it. 

“Do you think it would work for you now?” Martin asked, and John mentally took that all back, he took back every nice thing he’d ever thought  about this terrible man, putting him on the spot like that. 

“Y-yes,” John managed, although he was sure his glare was completely ineffectual. “I rather think it would, now. With you.” Because he felt closer to him. Because he cared about him. Those were the words that were left unsaid between them. They didn’t need to be spoken out loud to be heard. 

They were silent for a while, Martin looking much too pleased as he examined the glass in the firelight. There was a gentleness in his eyes too, though; a fragility that John was sure he mirrored. For his part, John was growing much more aware of how close they were sitting together on the couch. 

They’d started off on opposite sides, pressed against the arms of the sofa as much as possible. Now, their thighs were pressed together, resting much more casually. The couch wasn’t that big, so it kept them close regardless, but neither of them needed to be over quite this far. He had no intention of moving.  

“You know,” Martin said. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you do magic. Does this count?”

“I suppose not,” John said thoughtfully. 

“Oh!” Martin said suddenly. “I’m sorry, is that too personal? We don’t have to talk about this, forget I said anything.”

“No, it’s— it’s fine,” John said. This was getting into dangerous territory, but he trusted Martin. He did. He had to forcefully remind himself as a thrill of panic shot through him. He was so used to this topic being as good as a death sentence, but he was safe here. With Martin. He had to be. “I’m not all that good at it, really. And my particular skills aren’t exactly useful in day-to-day activities.”

“See,” Martin joked with a nervous laugh, “the first spell I would have learned would be ‘clean dishes,’ but everyone has their own priorities.”

John surprised himself with a genuine bark of laughter at that. “Unfortunately, I don't think it works like that.”

“You’re really not selling me on magic, John. Is it really worth it if it can’t do chores for you?”

“No, it’s not,” he replied, much too seriously. Because it really wasn’t. It had destroyed his life. No, he had destroyed his own life, with his inability to see the big picture, to stop and ask why instead of ceaselessly looking for answers that hadn’t solved anything in the end anyway. He certainly wasn’t better off for knowing. 

“Oh,” Martin said at the sudden shift in mood. 

He reached out, hesitantly, slowly enough that John could react if he wanted, and placed his hand over John’s a second time. It was a comforting weight, warm and solid, and he couldn’t help but stare at where their hands were linked for a long moment. He took a shuddering breath and turned his hand over, wrapping his fingers around Martin’s. He would need the strength it gave him to continue.  

“There are things out there,” John said slowly.  “Hungry things that feed on fear. That’s where my magic comes from. That’s where the monsters come from. I’m not sure there’s much good it can do in the world. I think it was mainly made to harm, and I’ve done more than enough of that in my life. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” 

“I don’t know if it helps, but you’ve already done more for me than you could ever imagine.”

“All I did was patch you up,” John rolled his eyes. 

“You know those things that live in the forest, you know that isn’t completely true. I think getting killed by one is the kindest thing they can do to you.”

“You’re right about that,” John sighed.

“And that’s without even touching on— y-your friendship,” Martin said, nervously, carefully, like John was a stray cat that might spook at any moment. “What it means to me.”

“You should know,” John said, looking down, not wanting to see the change in his expression that was likely to come. He kept his grip on Martin’s hand loose, so he could pull his hand away if the disgust got to be too much. “What they say about us, about anyone who uses magic, isn’t completely wrong. The idea of witchcraft is absurd, of course. Selling your soul to some sort of demon? Preposterous.”

Martin nodded with an apprehensive smile as he waited for him to continue, giving a quick squeeze to his hand and that really shouldn’t have helped as much as it did. 

“But I made every choice that brought me to this point because I had to know more about this world of magic I’d stumbled into. It didn’t matter how many warning signs I saw, how everyone I heard about ended up dead or traumatized. By the time I really understood what I’d gotten involved in, it was too late, I was in too deep. There was no one who would help me.”

”I’m sure someone would have,” Martin insisted. It didn’t sound like he was doubting John exactly. Moreso it was as if he was trying to reassure, promising that if things had been different, he wouldn’t have turned his back on him. It didn’t change the way things had gone, though. 

“I tried. They threw me out.”

“What? That’s horrible!” Martin exclaimed, his hand squeezing again, almost protectively. 

“They believe you can’t be tricked into selling your soul. They were sure I had to have chosen this.” And because he was absolutely pathetic, he felt the need to defend himself, as if that could possibly salvage the image Martin was no doubt developing of him. “That isn’t how it works, obviously. No decision is ever so cut and dry, but that doesn’t change the fact that the magic did change me. I think I might have lost some of my humanity along the way. I don’t even really know what that means, but that hardly matters. It terrifies me, but I’m well on my way to becoming a monster, and using the magic makes me worse. And that’s all they see me as, now.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin said. 

John looked up at him in surprise, and the judgment he thought he’d see there was missing. Everyone else seemed to think he had committed an unforgivable crime, and yet it didn’t seem to change Martin’s opinion of him at all. His eyes were still just as soft, no harshness or revulsion to be found. 

“Don’t be,” John said at last, with a sigh, looking away again. “I guess I should be thankful they didn’t try to burn me at the stake, or something. Leaving me beaten and unconscious in the wilderness was a kindness, really.”

“That’s hardly a kindness.”

“You didn’t know Elias; where I’m from, the town did. After finding out everything he’d done, all the people he led to their deaths, I can’t say I blame them.”

“Is that how you got your scars?“

“That’s how I got my bad leg, but no. The scars have been collected over the years; some from the things like the ones living in the forest because I was sticking my nose where it didn’t belong,” here he ran his hands along his pockmarked skin, shuddering at the memory of too many tiny slithering bodies and how he’d barely escaped with his life. “And others, well. Most people aren’t exactly thrilled to see me, even if they aren’t acquainted with Elias. And if they show up here like you did, they’re already terrified and ready to lash out. Can’t say I blame them. I’ve been told even before the magic that I’m very off putting. And an asshole. I doubt that helps my case.” Here he touched his neck, where a neat slash had faded into a scar; that had been one of his closer encounters with death. 

Martin was silent for a moment before he spoke again, bringing his other hand up to grip John’s between both of his. “You didn’t deserve that. Any of it. And you don’t deserve to be alone out here.”

“What would you know about it?” John snapped bitterly, and immediately regretted it. Why did he always do that? Why did he always have to lash out? He hated himself in this moment more than he usually did and he bit his lip, trying to stop the vitriol Martin certainly didn’t deserve. 

But Martin didn’t pull away. He didn’t flinch or sneer or leave, any of the things he would be completely justified in doing. And John just stared at him. He watched the way the firelight played across his features, how his jaw was set, determined. He wasn’t going to take the bait. He had chosen to care, to stay, and he would continue to do so. 

And— John believed him. For whatever reason, this man had encountered what was supposed to be the epitome of evil and had come to a different conclusion. John had no idea what he saw in him and was too afraid to ask. He already knew how alone Martin had felt all his life. Maybe the world had made him feel like an outcast too, maybe it had made him feel beyond love. His heart ached at the injustice of it all.

“I’m sorry,” John said eventually, because he had to say something, and it was the only way he knew how to take back the words he’d said. 

“It’s okay,” Martin said, and his smile was so soft, so kind, and John knew he didn’t deserve it, his mind screamed with it, but Martin apparently wouldn’t listen. 

He wanted to explain more, to lay everything out so Martin would see that he wasn’t worth this, but the words got stuck in his throat. He was scared, he’d always been a coward. He so desperately wished he could be the person Martin seemed to think he was, so he stayed silent. 

Martin shifted on the couch, resting his head on John’s shoulder deliberately, choosing to be close to a person tainted by magic, who had lost at least some of what made him human, and John squeezed his hand, wanting to reciprocate more but completely unable to. He leaned his head against Martin’s and hoped he understood.  

Chapter Text

John had been working at the table more and more instead of at his desk. He’d said it was for a change in scenery even though it was just on the other side of the room, but really it was so he could sit across from Martin. He even worked there when Martin was resting, just on the off chance he could join him later, that way he didn’t have to be so obvious as to pick up and move closer the moment Martin sat down.

He just enjoyed the proximity, which was a strange thing for him to contemplate given how nervous he’d been just existing in the same room as another person when all this started. But this was Martin. He liked being around him, talking even when he had things he was supposed to be doing, or getting to hear Martin’s thoughts on whatever book he was reading, his scathing criticisms a joy to hear. Just looking up to see him there was a comfort. 

They were doing their own thing at the moment, John muttering under his breath as he often did while working. He still wasn’t used to there being anyone else around to hear and he forgot to be self conscious. Martin usually just smiled fondly at him, so at least he didn’t seem to mind. 

Today, though, John found himself muttering darkly under his breath even more than usual as he flipped through tome after tome, unable to find the reference he was looking for. Martin seemed amused and offered to help as it escalated to incessant cursing as he upturned nearly every surface in his search, but John just brushed him off. 

With no other ideas where to check, he pulled down the trap door in the ceiling. He didn’t think what he needed was in any of the more dangerous books, but it didn’t seem to be anywhere else, so he might as well check. They were locked away in a large chest and he fumbled with the padlock before he managed to pull it open. Inside, he started shoving aside volumes, until he caught sight of something sickly-green at the bottom and he froze. 

It couldn’t be what he thought it was, right? That was absurd. It had been years since he escaped Elias. What reason would he have to hunt him down now? He pushed a stack of books out of the way with shaking hands and fell back, stifling a horrified cry. Looking back up at him was an eye drawn with what looked like green paint on the bottom of the chest.  And he knew Elias was likely looking back at him through it. 

He slammed the chest closed and all but threw himself down the rickety ladder. He stayed where he had fallen, his body aching at the painful landing, trembling, eyes wide and unseeing as he realized his entire life was about to collapse around him, snatched away by a cruel hand he thought he had left far behind.  

He’d barely managed to escape once, and he'd been stronger, then. He’d have no chance at a second attempt in the battered state he was in now. It felt like there was a hollow pit opening up inside him, an endless hopelessness that could never be bridged. He was going to die. No, dying would be a welcome outcome. There were too many unpleasant uses Elias could find for him to feed the Eye.

Martin was scrambling to his feet, a look of horror on his face as he took in what was happening before him. He’d never seen John like this and John hated one more person seeing him so weak and pathetic. He grabbed a book off the ground and threw it impotently towards him, but immediately regretted it. Martin didn’t deserve that, and neither did the book. 

Apparently that wasn’t enough to dissuade Martin, because the next moment he was kneeling beside him, one hand raised like he wanted to reach out, to comfort, but he didn’t know what might be welcome. 

“John? What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he trembled there on the cold hard floor, voice hoarse. “I am so sorry.”

Because he was helpless to stop this. Because he never wanted to get Martin involved. Because he thought it would be okay to get close to someone, to care, and now he was going to hurt Martin, leave him behind, all alone again. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Martin said, but he didn’t know, he didn’t understand how untrue that was, and John didn’t have the words to explain. “Can I touch you?”

John nodded, too numb for anything else, and he felt Martin wrap around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. John was still stiff and shaking, but Martin was patient and just held him through it. He knew he shouldn’t let him, but this might be the last time he ever got to feel a kind touch, the last time it would be Martin holding him. He would never have this again. He tried to memorize how it felt, hoping he wouldn’t forget what it was like for whatever remained of his life. 

He honestly wasn’t sure what would happen to him when Elias eventually came for him. He usually didn’t like to get his hands dirty, preferred to make others do it for him, but he’d killed Gertrude readily enough, as well as others. Would he kill John, too? Would he be fed to some horrible creature of fear and violence? Would he be sacrificed to their own patron, the Eye, made an example of? 

From Gertrude’s notes, John was fairly sure he was responsible for the release of at least some monsters into the world. He didn’t know how, but maybe he’d be used for that. Or maybe Elias would find a way to take any magic John still had in him, drain him, rake his mind dry of secrets, feeding the Eye until it finally killed him. 

And if he decided to keep him alive, locked away, what then? It was difficult to use magic on another with the same patron, but maybe he would find a way to wear him down, command him to kill for him. He knew how hard it was to stop once the magic began to flow. Would there be enough of him left to care in the end? To recognize Martin? Would he turn on him, too? Or would Elias simply kill Martin himself? The thought terrified him and froze him to his core. He shuddered and Martin tightened his grip ever so slightly. 

“I need you to breathe with me, okay?” Martin was saying, as if that would solve anything. “You’re having a panic attack. Here, put your hand on my chest and breathe with me.”

That’s right. Martin was still here with him for now. And he was trying to help. He wanted to cry. Martin somehow saw good in him, but John was likely going to prove him wrong, show him just how monstrous he was. And John was too weak to stop it. 

-

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Martin asked. 

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed in disapproval, watching as John pretended everything was absolutely fine while he cooked dinner. He did his best not to let on that his body was burning in agony, strained as it was from his fall from the attic. 

“It’s not important,” John said, not looking up. 

“It sure seemed important.“

“It wasn’t,” John finally looked over to study Martin for a moment before speaking again. “You should go home.”

“Oh,” Martin said, and he looked so hurt. And then he looked angry. “Are you seriously sending me away so you don’t have to talk about your problems?”  

“No,” John said unconvincingly. “But you’re nearly healed now, you have a life you should get back to. 

“And what about you?” Martin persisted. “Are you seriously telling me you’re, what, just fine after that breakdown?”

“I am fine,” John said. “I always am.” 

“We both know that’s not true,” Martin said, but John didn’t say anything else. 

He felt like an idiot. He’d let his guard down, gotten complacent. He should have known Elias was infinitely patient. He should have known he was waiting for him to mess up this badly. And he had to go and drag someone else into this, putting Martin at risk and he didn’t even know. It had been so cruel of him. But it was too late to explain, he couldn’t risk Martin insisting on putting himself in harm’s way. 

“Please talk to me,” Martin tried again. “You really scared me. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

John bit his tongue, trying to hide all emotion as he forced himself to look Martin in the eye to lie to his face. “I overreacted. Everything is fine.”

It was for the best. He couldn’t protect Martin anymore. He should get as far away from John as possible, or he was just going to get him killed. This had been a wonderful dream while it lasted, but it was cruel of him to put Martin in a situation where he had to watch him die, or watch his mind be consumed by the sentient embodiment of horror. And that was hoping he didn’t get consumed right alongside him. 

They didn’t talk much the rest of the day. John spent a sleepless night on the couch, but Martin didn’t come to join him. In the morning, they both started to speak several times, but words failed, finally falling silent as Martin headed into the forest. He was still wearing the necklace he’d given him and John didn’t move until he couldn’t see him through the trees anymore. 

He had never regretted abandoning most of the magic he had. He’d seen others try to use it for good only to either be consumed by it, or consume everyone around them. But this was one of the few times he wished it was safe to use. He wished he could watch Martin as he trudged through the forest, ensure he made it through safely. But all he could do was trust he could find his way, that he would be careful. 

Standing there by himself, he had never felt so alone. And the way he had spoken to Martin so cruelly and dismissively ate at him. He reminded himself that he deserved to be alone, and Martin deserved to be surrounded by people who cared about him. Hopefully he could have that now, back in town. 

Chapter Text

John had been living in this cabin for years, now, and it had always felt like a refuge; a haven away from the hell his life had descended into. Sure, it had been lonely at times, but he’d gotten over it. This was his life, and he could be happy with that. It was surprising enough that he actually still had his life. 

With Martin gone, though, the entire place felt so— wrong. Everywhere he looked, he would see where Martin’s warmth had been, where his laugh had filled the room, where his tea had sat. Now it was all so empty and cold. Even his chickens seemed sad. 

“Oh, get over it,” he told himself as much as the chicken sadly pecking at the feed he’d spread on the ground. The admonishment didn’t work for either of them, it seemed. 

It wasn’t until John dragged himself into bed late that night that he remembered Martin had been sleeping in it. It took him by surprise, suddenly being surrounded by his smell, by this remnant left behind after he had gone. John was alone, and yet, if he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that he was still here, so close, just out of reach. 

His eyes blurred with tears and he closed them tightly, frustrated with himself. He should leave, sleep somewhere else, this was only going to make it harder, but instead he burrowed deeper into the blankets, letting it soothe the ache in his chest. 

He knew it would just make the pain of being alone come morning all that much worse. He didn’t care. He deserved to be miserable. He deserved to be alone. He deserves the inevitable sting of being brought back to reality after how he had treated Martin. 

-

The sun was streaming in through the windows and John couldn’t get himself out of bed. He knew the chickens would need feeding, he had to go deal with that, but everything just felt so pointless. It felt like he was just waiting for Elias to come collect him. 

He hated thinking about it that way. He would put up a fight, of course, but there really wasn’t much he could do until he showed his hand, and after several days, the waiting was agonizing. Sighing heavily, he eventually managed to drag himself upright, getting ready for what was left of the day in a haze. 

And then he felt it, slicing through his muffled thoughts like a shard of ice, sending him stumbling as it knocked him off balance. Someone was trying to push through the barrier, to enter his home. He hadn’t even realized anyone was approaching, normally he would feel it, but this time he hadn’t and it terrified him, how complacent he’d become. 

John clamped a hand over his mouth to stop the terrified sound creeping up his throat because this was likely to be his end. It took him a moment to realize that Elias could probably just walk through the barrier, their magics nullifying as they mixed. If it wasn’t him, who could it possibly—?

He didn’t let himself even hope as he stumbled towards the door. It could have been anyone, but if there was even the smallest possibility that it could be Martin—

It shouldn’t be, it couldn’t, not after how cruelly he’d sent him away. But as he stepped out into the sunlight, he could see Martin himself standing there and his legs felt weak at the sight, feeling much too relieved and happy to see him despite knowing how much he didn’t deserve to. 

Martin was standing there in a thoughtful pose, occasionally reaching out to touch the invisible barrier. While John could see out, he wouldn’t be able to see in, and he took a moment to study him, pleased to note how healthy he looked. And then he stepped through to join him. 

Outside, the forest loomed around him, making it much darker under their canopy than it had a moment before. Martin jumped back with a start at his sudden appearance, nearly tripping over a fallen branch as he did so. 

“John?” He said, breaking into a huge smile. 

“Martin? How—“ John began, but he couldn’t find the words. 

“I-I hope it’s okay I came back,” Martin said, the happiness on his face replaced with apprehension and it crushed John to know that was his fault. “But I said I’d bring you some stuff from the market. And—a-and, well, I missed you.”

“Oh.” 

It was selfish and cruel, the desire to forget the danger and let him back into his life. But he reasoned it would be equally cruel to abandon him to the forest. So, he did the wrong thing, the selfish thing. He stepped forward and wrapped Martin in a hug. 

He felt the relieved breath escape Martin’s lips, and he felt his arms come up and wrap around him as well, holding him. It was just as soft and warm as it had been that first time, and John was surprised by it all over again, surprised that he could be made to feel this way. That Martin of all people would want to. 

John was a bit taller, but Martin was broad and soft and enveloped him. The tension John had been carrying, the guilt for the way he'd pushed him away, all melted into relief as he indulged in the moment.

He wondered if it felt the same for Martin. John was so used to the pain other people could inflict on him, sharp and violent and cruel. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to just how gentle and good it felt, to be touched like this, to be shaken to his core. To be touched by Martin. 

He hoped Martin received this all the time, that that was the reason he was so good at comfort and kindness. But John knew how lonely he had been, when they’d first met. It wasn't fair, that someone like him would lack this in his life. If there was even the smallest of chances that he’d get anything out of this touch, John would happily provide it. 

“Oh, sorry,” John shook himself, stepping back quickly as he remembered where they were. “We should probably get inside.”

“Yeah, how do we do that?” Martin asked. He was looking away, pink dusting his cheeks with a pleased, if slightly dazed, smile on his face that John was very glad to see. 

“All you have to do is want to be somewhere safe,” John said, reaching out to take his hand and lead him through. “That’s all there is to it.”

He didn’t mind Martin knowing the secret, he wouldn’t tell anyone else. It would be safe with him. 

-

The initial relief of seeing Martin again was settling, now, as they entered the cabin, and suddenly John was feeling incredibly anxious and foolish. He couldn’t believe his audacity, to just immediately hug him like that. Yes, Martin hadn’t seemed to mind, but that just wasn’t something John did. 

He didn’t have any right to that kind of warmth, all he ever seemed to do was hurt those around him. And yet Martin was back despite it all, had indulged him, and John had a sick weight forming in the pit of his stomach for it. 

“Sit down,” Martin said in fond exasperation due to his hovering. “Let me make us something to eat.”

“You’re the guest,” John insisted as Martin began unpacking the rucksack he’d brought, full of bread and cheese and various other types of food he couldn’t easily get out here. “I should be the one to—“

“No, no, this is my recipe,” Martin said.

None of this was really what John needed to say. He should have started with this, instead of dancing around it like a coward, so he stopped Martin before wringing his hands in his anxiety, burning under the weight of his gaze. 

“Martin,” he began. “What I did, it wasn’t fair of me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Martin chuckled, but sighed when he saw the devastation likely visible on his face and continued. “I wish you’d told me what was going on. I don’t need you making decisions for me. If you really don't want me here—“

“No!” John exclaimed more loudly than he’d meant. “No, I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re here, I am. You deserve to know what’s going on. 

“Thank you,” Martin said his smile was genuine. “I was really worried about you.”

John deflated. “I really am sorry. I missed you. 

“I know, it’s okay, I missed you too,” and Martin reached out to touch his cheek, his fingers brushing there gently with a look on his face that absolutely shattered John. “But first; food.”

It was barely a touch, but it still made John shiver, made him want more, made him want to know what it would feel like to have him touch his cheek properly. It made him wish he could ask for something like that, made him wish he could actually deserve to be touched like this. It felt like he was lying, somehow, to get Martin to look at him like that. Could he be forgiven for never wanting him to stop? 

He still could hardly believe Martin had come back. John didn’t deserve the faith he seemed to put in him. Soon, he would explain everything, show Martin the danger he was in, and then he would understand. Until then, he watched Martin work. 

It was a wonder, getting to see him like this. He looked confident and precise and it was impossible to pull his eyes away. He wondered why he hadn’t watched him cook before and mourned not doing so sooner. He should have been doing this all along, not now when he was about to lose it. 

Finally, when there was a plate of food in front of them both, John began to explain. 

“When I was young, I had an encounter with— something,” John shuddered at the memory, its resemblance to a spider leaving him with a fear of them ever since. “I survived, obviously, but it took another boy in my stead. From then on, I was consumed with the need to know more about monsters and magic, as if they might have logic or rules to them, and if I could just understand, no one else would ever need to be hurt by them again. Idiotic.”

“Why is that idiotic?” Martin asked. “You were trying to help people. 

“Because it was foolish to believe they could be predicted. Someone else would have figured this out by now if they could. This whole line of questioning was greatly frowned upon, as I’m sure you are aware. That was when I met one Elias Bouchard. He encouraged this desire for knowledge in me and hired me to work for him. I thought he simply had a more open mind than most and would be a great ally when he showed me his private collection of artifacts and books, most of which would have been banned had the authorities known. 

“I thought I was simply good at my new job, questioning people, gathering and documenting everything I could, expanding Elias’ library. I didn’t even realize I was tapping into magic until it was too late. There were warning signs, of course, but my own arrogance and craving to know made me blind to it, and then I was trapped, serving something I didn’t understand. 

“That was when Elias revealed his own magic. I can’t believe no one realized sooner, but that was always his specialty, playing everyone around him, manipulating them to do his work for him, all while remaining unassuming. And I played right into it like a fool. 

“He told me about the embodiments of fear that exist outside of our reality and feed off of our terror, an endless cycle of creation and consumption, making it impossible to tell which came first. And how, if one aligned themselves with such beings, they would receive magic as payment. He called our patron the Ceaseless Watcher, what with its affinity and desire for knowledge. I always just thought of it as the Eye. It’s different than the Lonely, but no more benevolent.”

“You said you were tapping into magic without realizing,” Martin said. “What sort of stuff could you do?”

“It started subtle at first,” John said, looking away in shame. “I could get people to tell me things that they wouldn’t ordinarily. Eventually, their reluctance was irrelevant and they couldn’t refuse. When I approached Elias about it, he showed me another trick he’d learned. He flayed a man’s mind, leaving him worse than dead, and I knew it was more of a threat than a demonstration so I wouldn’t turn against him. But that was the thing that made me finally run to the authorities.”

John shuddered at the memory. It had been so horrible to see, he still had nightmares. And John had just stood there and let it happen. It was the most terrified and useless he had ever felt. He mentally shook himself and tried to get back on track. 

“When my role in everything became apparent, a few angry citizens decided to demonstrate their displeasure to me. I commanded one to release me, and he did. I hadn’t meant to put any magic behind my words, I didn’t even know I could do that, but it didn’t help in the end. It just made the beating that much more severe.”

“I’m sorry that happened.” Martin reached out and took his hand, but John jerked away. How could he still touch him so gently after hearing all the horrible things he was capable of? All the things he had done? 

“You don’t understand,” John said. “Magic is— once you begin, it’s nearly impossible to stop. There’s a terrifying loss of control, and a hunger and need for more. All those people I had questioned, I had been torturing them without understanding the full extent of it. I wish I had stopped after Elias threatened me, but I didn’t, and I killed someone.”

Martin was silent for a moment, and John held his breath, because surely he would understand now. Surely he would realize the general consensus of John’s character was correct, that he never deserved any of the kindness he extended to him. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Martin said at last. “I know that had to be difficult.”

“What, that’s it?”

“I’m glad you got out of there and found somewhere safe to go, but I’m sorry no one helped you when you needed it.”

Somehow the sympathy felt more like a punch to the gut than anything else he could have said. 

“Don’t you get it?” John exclaimed. ”I’m as much a monster as those things in the forest. I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed!”

“John,” Martin said severely. “You were defending yourself, and you’ve gone out of your way to not use magic on anyone else. You probably could have avoided some of those injuries if you had.”

John winced, the very idea of lashing out at another person making him genuinely queasy. He was capable of terrible things and the fact he was trying to show restraint didn’t make it okay. ”I don’t—“

“I’ve been living around you for weeks, I’ve seen the guilt you put yourself through. You may blame yourself for everything that happened, but I don’t. You’re a good person.”

John put his face in his hands. “Why? Why can’t you see what everyone else does?”

“Because I know you,” Martin said with such certainty.  “Because I’ve seen how you’ve gone out of your way to help me, and I know I’m not the first. I’ve seen your compassion, even as you’ve endured isolation and pain. And you are my friend.”

“You are infuriating,” John said, voice hoarse with emotion, eyes burning. 

Martin was out of his chair and kneeling beside him in a moment, taking his hands in his, holding them so carefully. 

“If you want to blame someone,” Martin said “Then blame this Elias. You said it yourself, he manipulated and used you.”

“He’s coming for me,” John said and Martin stared at him in alarm. “I found his— signature, I guess you could call it, letting me know he found me.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Martin asked. “We have to do something, we have to—“

“No,” John said, and it came out too close to broken. “I can’t let you get mixed up in this, you have to go—“

“Like hell,” Martin said, and his grip on John’s hands became a little firmer, solid and grounding, a promise. 

“I can’t lose you,” John choked. 

“And I can’t just stand by and let him take you!”

“This is why I sent you away.”

“I know,” Martin said, voice softer now. Kind. “And it was a stupid self-sacrificing thing to do. I’m not going anywhere, so your best bet is to work with me to make sure Elias doesn’t stand a chance. Okay?”

“It rather seems like I don’t have a choice,” John said, at a complete loss. 

“Exactly."

And what could John do but give in like a coward? He would put Martin’s life on the line because he was too weak to stand up to Elias on his own. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Martin. Too many people had died because of him already. 

He didn’t know what to do, it felt like everything was crashing down around him, and he was more scared than he ever had been. For once, Martin’s touch, hands wrapped around his own, couldn’t comfort him. Instead, it was a scalding accusatory brand against his skin.  

Chapter Text

“So,” Martin began, sitting across from John at the table again, looking much too calm. “What can you tell me about Elias Bouchard? Goals? Motivations? Any obvious flaws or weaknesses?”

“If he had a nut allergy or glaring weak point,” John said in annoyance. “He wouldn’t be nearly this much of a problem.”

“Okay, sure,” Martin just rolled his eyes. “But I need everything you’ve got on him if I’m going to be able to help.”

“I don’t know,” John exclaimed in exasperation. “He is already powerful enough that people are afraid to go up against him, and I’m failing to see how we stand a chance.”

“And I’m guessing he’s been doing the whole magic thing a lot longer than you,” Martin said. 

“Yes, but using magic on each other is a bit— odd. Our magic comes from the same place. I don’t think the Eye thinks like we do, but unless it decides it wants me dead too, I think Elias would have some difficulty simply killing me with it.”

“Okay,” Martin said. “Okay, that’s good, we can use that. What about this place? I know you said your predecessor set it up, anything we can use there?”

“Not really,” John sighed. “The defenses are more for keeping anyone from noticing it. If we just run, I’m not confident in my ability to set it all up again elsewhere in a timely manner, but chances are Elias would just find me again eventually anyway.”

“Okay,” Martin said, and he sounded much too patient and determined despite John’s hopeless acceptance. “Did your predecessor learn anything else?”

“She learned he isn’t above simply using a knife when he really wants someone dead,” John deadpanned. 

“Anything else?” Martin pressed. ”She was working against Elias, maybe she had a plan.”

“I think her plan was to simply hide,” John gestured around the room. “But she didn’t mention any weaknesses either. There were artifacts in Elias’ collection, if only I still had access, there might have been something there we could use.”

“What kind of artifacts?” 

“Mostly horrible items that will kill you,” John said. “Maybe one could be used as a trap. Then again, if he’s collecting them, maybe we could find one he wants and use it to lure him.”

“Did you find any artifacts while you were working for him?” Martin asked. 

“No, he never really gave me much direction, I think he preferred to watch me blunder around. Gertrude seemed to think he was looking for some sort of crown, the pompous prick, but your guess is as good as mine where we’d actually go about finding something like that.”

“A crown? That’s weird. Did she know why?” 

“She thought it might give access to wherever the entities and monsters exist, bring them through to our world. Honestly, even if we did know where it might be, we should probably keep it as far from him as possible.”

“Probably wise,” Martin said, considering. 

John sighed and rested his forehead against the table. “This is hopeless.”

“Not necessarily,” Martin said. “But let’s take a break for now. You look like you need it.”

“I suppose he hasn’t come knocking yet so we probably have time,” John sighed. He was doing a lot of sighing today. 

“Hey,” Martin said, getting his attention and John looked up at him tiredly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I wish I had your optimism.”

“It’s mostly stubbornness and spite,” Martin chuckled. He absently reached down to scratch at his side, staring into his cup of tea, and John realized he hadn’t checked on his injury in some time. 

“How is that feeling?” John asked. “It’s probably about time those stitches came out.”

“Oh, good,” Martin said. “Honestly, they have been driving me crazy, itching constantly.”

“May I?”

Replacing the bandages had been a relatively simple task, so Martin had been doing it himself since waking up in the cabin that first time. Being this close to Martin, examining the injury and preparing to remove the stitches; the entire thing felt much too intimate. Martin had a dusting of pink across his cheeks as he sat there with his shirt off, trying to remain still with his arm raised and as out of the way as possible. 

“Relax, this won’t hurt,” John told him. 

He placed his palm flat against his side to brace and felt Martin’s warmth, trying desperately to keep a professional detachment. It didn’t feel right to indulge the part of him that was enjoying the closeness, not when he was simply tending to his injury. But he still couldn’t forget Martin’s warmth and trust in allowing him to do this for him. 

When he finally finished, he sat up only to realize how incredibly close he was. Their faces were only inches apart, and he had no idea how that had happened, but Martin was staring into his eyes so intently, he couldn’t look away. Then Martin glanced down at his lips and then he was leaning that little bit more forward, kissing him. 

It was so much, too much. Nothing made sense. He wasn’t supposed to have anything like this. He wasn’t supposed to care about someone as much as he cared about Martin, and it certainly shouldn’t be reciprocated. It terrified him, it thrilled him, and it broke him all at once. He shuddered into the kiss and Martin pulled away only to wrap him in his arms where he could sag against him, cling to him, completely overwhelmed. 

He was already so afraid of so many things, and it seemed that list was expanding. What if he exposed Martin to the same violence that was often aimed at him? What if he pulled him deeper into this terrible world of magic? What if he messed this up? What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he hurt Martin?

He knew Martin had chosen to be here, had chosen this, and he just tried to trust him. He was stronger than John ever could be. 

“I don’t know how—“ John began. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Martin said. “It’s going to be okay. We can figure it out together.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t alone anymore. They weren’t alone anymore. They had both been alone for so long, but now they had the choice not to be. And not because they were two lonely desperate people. Well, perhaps they were that as well, but first and foremost they were two people who cared so much for each other. 

No matter how much John felt like he should run, his fight or flight kicking on, he knew that would only hurt them both. He wanted Martin to be happy. He wanted to make Martin happy. This was a terrifying world he was stepping into, but at least he had Martin’s hand in his. And he trusted him completely. 

It didn’t erase the fear, and it didn’t stop John’s trembling hands as he wrapped his arms tightly around Martin, too tightly. But it helped. It helped so much. His chest ached with it, equal parts terrible and wonderful. This was all he wanted in this moment. 

He sniffed, trying to regain his composure, and Martin pulled away enough to cup his cheek, to wipe away a tear he hadn’t even realized had fallen. He gave him such a devastating smile that John couldn’t help but laugh, almost hysterically, as he pulled him in for another kiss, brief this time before he buried his face in his shoulder, wishing the world would just disappear, leaving the two of them the only things to exist, leaving behind the looming fears and anxieties. 

And then he realized Martin still wasn’t wearing his shirt and it felt like his face was on fire as he pulled away, pretending it didn’t take everything in him to look away instead of stare. It wasn’t fair how attractive Martin was. For his part, Martin’s blush went all the way down his chest, which John was so glad to be able to know. 

Chapter Text

As usual, John couldn’t sleep, but for once it wasn’t due to the nightmares. His fingers kept ghosting over his lips, remembering how Martin had kissed him. It made him shiver. Everything felt so unreal, like this had to be a dream, but it wasn’t. He had to tell himself that over and over, to keep himself grounded. 

John had never been lucky in love. He’d never been lucky in anything, as evident by his entire life. He could still hardly believe he might have a friend, let alone that he might be in love with him. And that the friend in question might love him back. 

He didn’t know how to do this, he was going to ruin it all. He was going to break Martin’s heart as well as his own. No, that wasn’t fair, he had much more confidence in Martin than himself. He’d managed to remain his friend despite how he’d tried to push him away. Maybe they would be okay. But he didn’t want to constantly be a burden like that, always leaving it to Martin to clean up his mess. 

Which, once again, left him with no clue what to do. Martin was already giving up so much by being here with him, and it wasn’t fair. He deserved so much, but instead he would likely lose his entire life; friends, his job, everything. Maybe they could keep this a secret, maybe Martin could still have both. John just didn’t know how to make that happen. 

He was still lost in thought when he felt Martin approaching the cabin. He looked outside, surprised to see the early morning sunlight streaming in. When had that happened? He figured he might as well get up and make them both some tea. It wouldn’t be as nice as Martin’s, but hopefully he would appreciate it being ready when he got here. The forest could be chilly so early in the morning. 

By the time he’d finished brewing, Martin still hadn’t come inside. That was strange, he’d definitely entered the safety of his wards. Maybe he was worried about waking him and was staying outside? John grabbed the two mugs and headed for the door.  

It didn’t take long to find him. Martin had apparently been feeding the chickens, but was currently sprawled on the ground with two lying on his chest, a third enjoying Martin’s hand as it ruffled its feathers. The remaining chickens were busy pecking at the ground, occasionally running over Martin in the process. 

“Ah,” John said, failing to smother a grin as he leaned against the fence. “I see they have finally abandoned me and claimed you as their favorite. Traitors.”

“John,” Martin exclaimed, craning his neck to look up at him. “Good morning. We didn’t wake you, did we?”

“No, you're fine,” John said, and he knew the smile he gave him had to be absolutely besotted, but he couldn’t help it. 

There was just something so endearing about the entire situation, seeing him so gentle with the birds. They’d been a necessity in the beginning, and as annoying as they could be, John had grown rather fond of them, so it was nice to know that they approved of Martin in some way. 

Beyond that, though, Martin had returned. In fact, he’d returned so early, as if he had been counting down the hours until it finally became light enough for him to head out, like he couldn’t wait to be back. 

It made something in his chest ache with the unfamiliarity, a warmth that spread through him and scared as much as it soothed him. He was fairly certain they smiled at each other for much longer than was normal, lost in the moment, until John finally shook himself. 

“I, um, made tea,” he said lamely. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Please,” Martin said with a little laugh, blushing as he also broke eye contact, trying to brush the chickens off of himself. “I’m starving, I haven't eaten breakfast yet.”

There was that little spread of warmth again, confirmation that he had left in a hurry, and he could feel his own face burning. He looked down at the ground in the hopes that Martin couldn’t see, even as he passed him his tea. Because of this, he was several steps into his home before he looked up. When he did, his own tea slipped from his hand, shattering on the ground where it landed. 

There, painted on the wall, was a stylized sickly green eye. And another, on the window, another on the door to his bedroom, and more scattered around the room. They were everywhere. 

He stumbled back, into Martin, who put a hand on his back to steady him. He knew it was Martin, would recognize his gentle touch and his warm hands, but he still had to stifle the horrible sound that wanted to claw its way up his throat. His entire body was a coiled spring, waiting for what had to be coming, because this was a promise from Elias that he was coming, as if that had ever been in doubt. 

“What the hell?” Martin muttered behind him, looking around. 

Something snapped in John. He had been living with terror for so long, he just couldn’t take it any longer, the indignation and rage taking hold. he held onto all the hatred he could muster and practically threw his desk, knocking it to the ground before attacking the next mark with his bear hands, as if he could rip and tear at the eyes, when all that was needed was to wipe it away. 

Martin stared at him for a moment. He had never seen him like this, but John didn’t have the presence of mind to be self conscious. Martin seemed to come to a decision, though, because after a moment he pulled off his own jacket and started scrubbing away the eyes. John didn’t care how it got done, so long as they were gone, so long as it left the bastard blind here. 

When he had finished, John knew he had to be trembling all over as he stumbled back heavily against the wall, fist clenched in his hair as he tried to ground himself and clamping a hand over his mouth. He was breathing hard, the rage replaced with a hollow terror, wishing Elias’ taunting didn’t affect him like this. 

His chest burned with the grief brought by the certainty that this part of his life was coming to an end. He would never be truly safe, he’d taken a few beatings over the years to prove as much, but he had felt safer here than he ever had since entering this world of magic, but he was finally going to lose it, and the nightmare he had suffered under Elias would start again. 

The room was a wreck. He’d knocked things off surfaces and the only reason the furniture was still more or less intact was due to his own lack of strength. He didn’t care. He didn’t even care about the broken glass as he slid to the ground, bringing his knees up to his chest as if that might protect him from the world. And he couldn’t stop shaking. 

“I think we got them all,” Martin said. 

He had done a valiant job trying to minimize John’s destruction, and now he used his stained jacket to brush the glass and the worst of the debris out of the way into a pile before kneeling beside John. 

John wanted to say something. He wanted to thank him, or apologize, anything, but if he opened his mouth, he was afraid of what might come out. He might never stop crying. Or screaming. He could see the concern and alarm in Martin’s eyes as he studied him, looking for any signs of injury maybe. He hesitated to reach out to him, but John simply grabbed him, pulling him close.

He didn’t think he made any noise, no sobs escaped him even as the tears began to spill and Martin practically pulled him into his lap, wrapping him in his arms. He placed a kiss to the top of his head as John buried his face in his shoulder and he shuddered, hoping against everything that it might not be the last time. 

He didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want to lose Martin. He didn’t think he had any fight left in him, but he would fight for this. He would fight for him. He would fight to protect the only person who had ever made him feel this way, so safe and cared for despite what he knew the world was capable of. Despite what the world had done to him. To them both. 

It was a long time until he felt composed again. He was too exhausted to feel self conscious about being held like this by Martin, but he knew he would be later. He just very carefully untangled himself and wiped his face on his sleeve, keeping his eyes on the ground. 

“What can I do?” Martin asked. “What do you need?”

“I need you to stay away,” John said, even though he knew it was pointless. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Martin said with a mirthless laugh. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

John nodded numbly and took his hand. “Are you sure? This might be your last chance.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Martin snapped, like he was angry John would even suggest it. 

“Can you—“ John began, finding words difficult. “Can you check the attic?” 

He didn't think he could stomach seeing anymore eyes, but he hated the idea of leaving any that Elias might be able to see through. He also wasn’t entirely sure his legs were strong enough to make it up the ladder. 

Martin hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave his side, but nodded after a moment. He pulled open the door in the ceiling before climbing up, looking around as he did so. 

“Wait,” Martin exclaimed and while John couldn’t see his face, he flinched at the tone, terrified it meant he’d found something else. Something worse. “There’s nothing up here!”

“What?” John stopped wringing his hands and looked up in alarm. “It’s all gone?”

“No, I mean,“ Martin climbed back down and returned to his side as John clambered to his feet. “There's storage up there, sure, but I thought that was your bedroom.”

”Why would you think it was my bedroom?” John asked, bewilderment at least momentarily distracting him from the horror of the situation. 

“I mean, I know you had trouble sleeping and stayed by the fire sometimes, but I’ve seen you come down in the mornings, I just thought—“

“Sometimes I go up to work,” John said. “But that’s always been my bedroom.” He pointed to the only bedroom the house had. 

“What?” Martin demanded, crossing his arms. “Are you seriously telling me that I have been staying in your room the entire time? And you’ve just been, what, sleeping on the couch?” 

“Yes?” John said in complete bafflement. 

“Oh my god, John!” Martin threw his arms in the air. 

“This really isn’t the point right now, Martin,” John said, also gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “If we could get back on task, please?”

“No,” Martin said. “There’s no more eyes, you aren’t getting out of this so easily.”

“I hardly think that should be your priority right now!” 

“You’re going to sleep in your own bed tonight,” Martin said, crossing his arms with finality. 

“Fine, whatever,” John said, and it was only then that he realized there was a chance he was only so caught on this because it was a distraction for them both. And somehow it had worked. 

John felt a little more stable as he went around to check his defenses, Martin very patiently following along and helping where he could. He still doubted it could actually do anything to stop Elias, but he needed to do something with his nervous energy and maybe it could still provide a warning, alerting him of his approach. 

By the end, he was exhausted and in pain and Martin had to take his arm to help him make it to his bed. He crawled in, letting his cane fall as he did. Looking back, he saw Martin picking the cane up and settling it next to the nightstand and John knew he would appreciate that come morning. For now, though, he reached out and took Martin’s arm, tugging him gently forward. 

Martin let out a questioning noise, but followed the pull until he was climbing into the bed beside him. Wordlessly, John pulled the blanket up over them both and curled close, draping an arm across Martin’s side. It was true he didn’t want to be alone right now, he wanted the comfort Martin provided. But more than anything, he didn’t know how much time he would have with Martin and he didn’t want to waste a second of it. He just wanted to be with him. 

Martin was looking at him as if he was worth looking at. As if he was worth something, anything, everything. He kept doing that and it sent a thrill through him every time. He shivered when he felt Martin caress his cheek, and only then did he let himself cry. He didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want to lose Martin. He didn’t want to wake up tomorrow and be back there, isolated from everyone and everything, used to strengthen Elias’ power, to kill so many more people. 

If he could stay in this moment forever, he would. But he knew it would have to end eventually. And then he’d have to get up and face another day no matter how overwhelming, no matter how terrifying. He’d cry himself to sleep eventually, and then he’ll probably feel ridiculous for it. But for now, he just let Martin hold him, trying to memorize the feel of his arms around him, in case he never felt them again. 

Chapter Text

John woke slowly, the fog of sleep dissipating as the solid weight beside him slowly came into focus, as well as the warmth emanating from there, seeping into his bones. Somehow, he woke feeling content in a way he was completely unfamiliar with, the knowledge that Martin was with him preventing him from panicking at the foreign feeling. 

Waking up beside someone else was not something he was used to. Any previous relationships felt like a lifetime ago, like they happened to a completely different person. John let himself indulge in the feeling, in the warmth that would quickly become stifling, in his arm that was slowly going numb from the awkward position, and the absolute relief and fondness that swepped over him at how perfect it all was. 

He knew there were things he needed to do, concerns and fears he needed to contend with, but when Martin’s eyes fluttered open and eventually focused on him, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips, it was the only thing John was capable of caring about. 

John leaned in and kissed him, because he could, because he was allowed to. Because it made Martin smile. He knew his expression had to be one of self satisfaction when Martin did exactly that. 

“Good morning to you too,” Martin said, placing his hand on John’s arm, smoothing his thumb against his skin, and he looked so fond, it made John melt. 

This closeness was still so new, John felt himself somewhat overwhelmed despite how much he wanted to indulge in it. He wanted to stay here forever, but the agitated need to walk was greater and won out. 

“It’s still night, I think,” John said, squinting towards the window. “How about some dinner?”

Martin had barely opened his mouth to agree when John climbed over the top of him. It was either that or climb to the foot of the bed, and this way won a surprised laugh that filled him with such pride and fondness, he decided he’d chosen correctly. 

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Martin muttered, covering his burning red face until John had climbed off of him and the bed, before following. 

It was inevitable that they’d eventually have to talk about next steps. The place was still a mess, but Martin righted the table and chairs so they could at least sit down while they ate. Instead of sitting across from Martin, John elected to sit beside him, which neither of them commented on, although John could tell he wanted to given the pleased and amused smile Martin tried to hide behind his tea. 

“Maybe we can train the chickens,” Martin joked. “They can act as guard… um, chickens.”

“Guard chickens?” John repeated, deadpan. “I’ve been living with them for years and I can’t even get them to lay eggs in their nests like they’re supposed to. I think they’re beyond training, which is a shame, because I for one would love to see Elias attacked by chickens.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Martin said. “I don’t know how useful they’ll be, but I did get some weapons while I was in town.”

“Weapons?” John asked in alarm. While being able to defend himself was certainly an appealing idea, he didn’t actually know how to use— well, anything. He had to admit to himself that he was more likely to stab himself than anyone else.

“Look,” Martin said defensively. “I may not have any proper training with a sword, but I’ve made a few in my time and that includes testing the strength of the blade. I can work out the basics. Unless you’re going to tell me Elias is also a renowned dualist.”

“Not that I know of,” John said. “He’s likely far older than he looks, though, so who knows.”

“Great, that’s just great,” Martin griped, and John hoped it wasn’t obvious how endearing he found it. “Well, what about—“

And then all hell broke loose. 

It sounded like an explosion, rocking the house to its core, sending spiderwebbing cracks up the wall and ceiling, and knocking John to the ground, where he landed hard. His entire body felt like it was on fire, his magic ripped out of him as it tried to strengthen his wards against the unseen magical bombardment, but it was pointless, there was no way he had enough strength in him to combat that sort of power. 

It felt like he was being flayed open and ripped apart, everything he was torn out of him, leaving a ragged hole behind. He couldn’t even cry out, paralyzed by the agony. And worst of all, he could feel the exact moment his protections gave out. Everything that had shielded him from the outside world was stripped away and he was left vulnerable and broken in its wake. 

He tried to gasp, but he couldn’t get enough air in him, leaving him wheezing on the ground, grabbing at the neck of his shirt as if that would somehow alleviate the crushing weight on his lungs. 

“John? John, can you hear me? Please say you can hear me!”

He was vaguely aware of Martin over him, trying to support him. It was all he could do to reach out and cling to him, every movement a tremendous effort, his hands shaking too much to properly hold onto him. 

John could feel tears running down his face. He wanted to tell him to run, that all hope was lost and he needed to get as far from here as possible, but no words would come, only a strangled sob. Martin heaved him into his arms and carried him to the couch, staying close to hold him, to whisper reassurances that John didn’t know how to tell him meant nothing against the horrors of the world. The horrors that were coming for him. 

He could feel the full force of the Eye, of Beholding, glaring down on him now. It had been so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be such a target of that scrutiny; the at once intoxicating and horrific power that he was too weak to fight. He didn’t like who he was with it, the people he had hurt, the people he would likely hurt in the future. It had never been this intent on him, and he didn’t want to know what that meant. 

He cried for a long time, there in Martin’s arms, taking comfort where he didn’t deserve it. He should have pushed him away when he had the chance, at least then he would be far from here, where he might be spared whatever was coming. Martin was smoothing his sweat-dampened hair out of his face, trying to talk him down, when he finally got enough breath in him to speak again. 

“The protections are gone. Elias will be coming for me,” John said, gripping Martin’s hand where it had been resting on his shoulder. He thought he might have been holding on too tightly, but he was so weak, it was likely Martin barely felt it. 

“Like hell he will,” Martin said, determination and a protective fury in his eyes that both warmed him, knowing someone could care for him so much, and also froze him to the bone, because he couldn’t get hurt, John couldn’t watch that happen. Elias wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he wanted. 

“Please don’t try to fight him,” John said, still gasping for every word. At least the pain was lessening, the tight grip on his chest slowly growing slack. 

“I’m not just going to stand by! “

“Please, I can't protect you from him,” John begged, and he felt the tears in his eyes again. 

“Tough! It’ll be him that needs protecting.”

And, fuck, he loved this man so much. If he wasn't giving up, then John couldn’t either. Whatever was coming, he would face it. They would face it together. 

“Help me up,” he said, and Martin did just that, grabbing his cane and handing it to him as well. 

“Come on,” Martin said. “Let’s at least get somewhere more defensible.”

“Oh,” John said, and any remaining shred of hope he had fled from him completely. “Oh, god. They’re all coming.”

He could feel it. He could feel the unnatural tremor through the earth as they came, the fury and hatred whipped up into a supernatural frenzy, and he knew Elias was somehow the cause. He never did like to do his own dirty work. John shouldn’t have been able to see it, feel it, without his wards, but maybe this was one last gift from Elias. 

“What?” Martin said. “What’s going on? John?” 

“Martin, Martin I need you to listen to me,” John said, grabbing his arm tightly once again, desperately, as he spoke as quickly as he could. ”I need you to go out the back. They can’t find you here.”

“Is it the monsters?” Martin asked, and the set of his jaw told him there was nothing he could say to keep him safe. He’d fight them with his bare hands if he had to. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“No, it’s not, it’s—“

“Come out, witch!” A voice yelled from outside, followed by another. “We know you’re in there, sorcerer!”

“Oh. Oh no,” Martin finally saw what he could; a crowd of people from the town, whipped into a frenzied mob, stepping out of the forest and into his clearing, armed with whatever weapons they could find. 

“They’re coming up with new things to call me all the time,” John said, almost hysterically, catching onto the absurd amidst the horror. 

“Maybe you can sneak out the back while I de-escalate,” Martin began. 

“No, no,” John said, stopping him when he made to walk towards the door. “Something isn’t right, I think Elias has done something, they can’t be reasoned with.”

“Are you sure? We have to at least try!” Martin insisted. 

“Look, if you at least stay here, stay hidden, I might be able to do something,” John lied. “It’s just, my magic won’t protect you, you have to stay safe.”

“I can protect myself—“ Martin began, indignation clear on his face. 

“Martin please, we don’t have time,” John said. But even as he begged, he knew there was no chance. Neither of them could leave the other in danger. They just weren’t capable of it. 

“You’re right, we don’t have time,” Martin said, a steeliness in his eyes. 

“Okay,” John relented, trying desperately to think of something, anything that might get them out of this alive. Or at least get Martin out. He didn’t know what was even happening, really, which made it impossible. 

And then, impulsively, Martin pulled him into a burning kiss. John wasn’t sure if the tears were his own or Martin’s. He wanted the moment to last forever, but a crash caused them to jerk apart. Someone had thrown a rock through a window.

Martin tried to position himself in front of John as they heated outside to confront what was happening. There was no way John could let him do that. He was going to face this head on, he was not going to cower. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Martin risk himself like that. It made his chest ache, knowing he would try to shield him from all of this and the pain he would suffer for it. No, they would face this side by side at the very least. 

A few people were at the head of the group, no doubt the spokesmen. This entire thing was beginning to feel surreal. This was the most organized mob he had ever witnessed. That was probably thanks to Elias, though. He always loved order and bureaucracy. 

A roar went up through the crowd when they spotted them and he suppressed a shudder. He didn’t have his cane on him and he did his best to walk without limping, refusing to even lean on Martin. If nothing else, he wanted it to be said that he met his end with dignity, not groveling and crying. He would stand tall until he couldn’t anymore. 

There were shouts, demands to know what he had done, but he couldn’t answer because he hadn’t done anything. He and Martin were left bewildered, trying desperately to figure out what was happening, what they were being accused of, until one of the lead figures called out louder than the rest. 

“We know this isn’t you, lad,” an older gentleman said to Martin. “Step away from him.”

“What are you talking about?” Martin asked. 

“He’s bewitched you.”

“What?” Martin said, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Of all the stupid—“

“Just step away from him, it will all be over in a moment.”

“No! This is absurd, he hasn’t done anything.”

“He’s a monster!”

“What are you even—“ Martin said, furious and completely at a loss. 

“Actually,” John tried to whisper, because on some level he probably was a monster, they all seemed to get their power from the same place, but Martin just glared at him because now was not the time to be joking around. John personally thought, if not now, when? 

“He’ll kill us all given the chance,” another heckler called. 

“He’s been trying to help. He saved my life, probably plenty of yours, too!”

Martin continued to talk, to defend him, but that was when John saw him, out of the corner of his eye. Very casually lighting a cigarette, watching the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the trees, was Elias Bouchard. He was still dressed in his immaculately pressed suit, a strange contrast in the middle of the forest, a slight smile on his face, and John wondered how he ever could have looked up to this insufferable, cruel man. 

Realizing he was being watched, Elias waved briskly, his grin widening. Then, he looked out over the crowd and back at John, and it was clear exactly what he was thinking. Things were moving too slowly, perhaps he could liven things up a bit. 

A shout went out in the crowd and a rock suddenly struck John in the shoulder, causing him to stagger. He looked around in alarm, but Elias was gone and Martin was grabbing him, pulling him behind him, and then all chaos broke out. 

John was thankful, in a way. When the crowd surged forward, he and Martin were both grabbed and ripped apart. At least that meant whatever happened to him, Martin couldn’t be caught in the middle. He didn’t know what he would have done if Martin had taken a rock for him.  

“Stop it, stop! Can’t you see he hasn’t done anything?” Martin was yelling somewhere to his right. “Leave him alone!”

He caught sight of Martin, being restrained by several men, and he breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t taking this out on him as well. If they truly thought he was being controlled, maybe they would let him go when they were finished. He hated that Martin was here for this at all, he couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be to have their positions reversed, but at least he would live. 

He had a feeling where this was going, and while beaten to death wasn’t exactly an ideal end, if Martin was safe, he wouldn’t use his magic. He couldn’t. The idea terrified him so much more than the violence of the crowd. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. He would rip open their minds, expose knowledge and secrets for the Eye to feast on and it would be horrible to see. 

He doubted Martin would be able to look at him the same after that. He wouldn’t be able to look at himself, either. Assuming, of course, that it didn’t consume what was left of him in the process, until there was nothing but the thrill of power, making him as cruel as Elias. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to recognize Martin anymore if that happened. He wasn’t sure he could protect him from the Eye, or from himself. 

Through the throng, he managed to catch Martin’s eye and he tried to smile, tried to reassure him that everything would be okay, that he was okay with this. That just made the tears begin to flow down Martin’s face and his chest ached to see it. 

Then, someone punched John in the face and he couldn’t see anything anymore as he was sent sprawling. A sharp kick dug into his stomach and he did his best to curl into a ball, covering his head, as another caught him in the back. 

Out of the corner of his eye, back towards the house, he saw movement and managed to turn in time to see someone opening the door and slipping inside. Elias. It was Elias. And as their eyes met, he had the audacity to wink. And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and John was brought back to the current situation by a kick to his ribs

He always seemed to end up back here, under the boots of the people around him. He’d wanted to help them, but he’d failed at every turn. He’d done nothing but hide away and protect his own skin, while they fought and died to the creatures lurking in the darkness, the creatures he should have been able to work out, protect them from. 

Maybe this was the end he deserved. Elias had been right, he was a failure. He could do nothing for anyone, living off the work Gertrude had put in while contributing nothing of his own. He would die unmourned and forgotten. Hopefully Martin would eventually see him like that too, so he could move on and forget him like he deserved. 

John was fine with this, with keeping their focus on him, to let them take their rage and hatred out of his body, hoping it would be enough to satisfy them so they wouldn’t turn it on Martin or anyone else. It was a familiar oppressive terror, the hopelessness of knowing no one would save him, as they demonstrated just how far their hatred for him went. 

Somehow that was always more frightening than the physical pain; knowing for certain that whatever self loathing he possessed, their hatred for him was exponentially worse. It was unfathomable in its cruelty, that it could blind them until they couldn’t even see him as a person anymore. He was just a monster. Lower than a monster. And the world would be a better place without him in it. 

Someone stomped down on his ribs, causing him to cry out and flinch from his position, leaving his head exposed and he caught a kick to his forehead, dazing him. It almost made him miss it. There, an oppressive weight, fear and a bloodthirsty intent. But it wasn’t coming from the crowd, at least not completely. It was so much worse, so much bigger than all of them, and it fueled them all in their violence. 

Oh god. They were coming. More monsters than should have been in the forest, pressing in on all sides, feeding off of all of this. He tried to scramble to his feet, to cry out a warning, but he was knocked down immediately, brutally, and he had no breath for words, unable to even protect himself from the assault coming from all directions. 

And then the screaming began. 

First to arrive was the Slaughter, feeding off the long-festering anger of the townspeople and amplifying it, a horrible visage of a man, twice as tall and towering over the crowd, with too many heads and too many limbs, that sliced through those closest with swords and spears and knives. Then the Flesh, and John was grateful for his angle, unable to truly see the form they were taking. The last one he’d seen was hulking and bulging and dripping and he didn’t want a comparison. 

Then there was the fog, snaking in at the edges. 

The crowd had backed off somewhat, distracted by the chaos, and John took advantage of the moment to search for where he’d last seen Martin, but he wasn’t there. There was just a group of confused individuals looking around frantically as the fog bit at their heels. Unhindered by the press of the mob now, as they began to scatter, John began dragging himself across the ground, desperately casting about. 

Martin had to still be here. The Lonely couldn’t have taken him so quickly, surely. But if it had, it would all be John’s fault, forcing him to watch all of this, leaving him helpless to stop it. John of all people knew what helplessness felt like, what it could do to a person, and he hated himself for putting him through that, for not even thinking. 

John could feel himself on the edge of desperation, near tears, when someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him roughly to his feet. He staggered, forced to lean on the man holding him to stop himself from falling or being choked by his own clothing, his bad leg unable to take his weight. 

“Give them the witch,” a man shouted, and they dragged John forward a stumbling step. 

They were going to feed him to the monsters. And Martin was still out there, he needed his help. He tried to object, to explain it wouldn’t do anything, they didn’t care about him, but he knew it was useless before he’d even begun. Everything was happening in a blur around him, he could barely process any of it, the screaming of the injured and dying drowning everything out, his panic making it all into an incomprehensible wave of noise. 

He was vaguely aware of something hitting the man holding him and it was almost a relief when John was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, where he could press his face against the cool grass. But then he was looking up at Martin and he thought he might weep in relief. 

Martin was trying to check his injuries, but John grabbed at him and pulled him close enough to wrap his arms around his neck, pulling himself closer to give him a desperate hug, more relieved than he’d ever been in his life. 

“We need to go,” Martin said, and he tried to nod along, even though he didn’t know if he could. 

Martin pulled his arm across his shoulders and hauled him up. John bit back a cry of pain at the sudden movement and just tried to hang on, moving one foot in front of the other, dizzy from the movement. They were jostled several times, but Martin stood strong, determined. As they reached the perimeter, the fog grew thicker. 

“Martin,” John said, voice hoarse and painful, still barely able to get breath into his bruised lungs. “It’s coming, we can’t —“

“It’s okay,” Martin said, and the smile he gave him chilled him to the bone. He imagined it looked a lot like the one John had given him before the first blow had been struck. 

“No, Martin, please,” he tried to protest, but he was much too weak. 

And then they were swallowed up by the white, drawn into the depths of the Lonely, by Martin himself. John thought there was a chance he himself might be protected by the Eye, he might be able to retain his sense of self in that oppressive forsaken place, if it could even still reach him there, but Martin had no such protection. And yet Martin was welcoming it in like an old friend. And he was doing it for John, to get him somewhere safe, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

Chapter Text

John was drifting. He’d never been in the Lonely before, not properly. The Eye was all about knowledge, of revealing, and, of course, witnessing. In contrast, this place left his mind foggy, muffling everything, even the fear and the pain Beholding was usually so intent on. It promised escape from everything he had suffered and he probably would have believed it, if not for his connection to the Eye allowing him to see it for the lie it was. 

The Lonely wouldn’t shield him from rejection, or protect him. Instead, it was its own quiet kind of violence directed at himself, that told him, in a voice that sounded much like his own, that he deserved it. He deserved to cut himself off, to isolate so he wouldn’t inflict himself on anyone else. Yes, it framed it in a way that made it sound like freedom, like rest, but that was what these entities were good at; tempting their victims into walking willingly into them. 

Knowing this, and walking directly through its domain, was a terrifying experience. Martin was the only reason he was still moving, but it would be so easy to pull away, to let go. He couldn’t even feel Martin’s warmth where they were pressed together. Everything just felt cold and numb, and he wondered if he’d ever feel warm again. 

He could feel his identity so close to just slipping away, leaving him just another shadow claimed by the Lonely, but he redoubled his efforts. He focused on the feeling of Martin’s hands on him as he supported him, helped him walk. He even focused on the way his own body thrummed with pain, battered and bruised as he was, trying to bring it back to the forefront, letting himself feel the hurt. 

And just like that, it was over and the fog was receding from wherever it had come. John could feel Martin at his side again, warm and sturdy, and he thought he might cry all over again with the relief.  

They were back in the house, in the bedroom. He could still hear the screaming and violence outside, but for the moment at least, they had a wall between them, even if the safety wouldn’t last. John’s legs gave out, his body aching from the strain as the full force of the pain he was in hit him, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Martin was breathing hard too, and sank to the ground with John so he wouldn’t fall. He never let him go, which John was grateful for. 

He kept searching Martin’s face, to gauge how he was reacting to the Lonely, and while he wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, Martin seemed present and still himself, his eyes still frantic and unsettled from everything that had happened. He had managed to walk them through unharmed, which all but confirmed one of John’s greatest fears. 

“Are you—“ he started, but his voice was hoarse from strain and he had to start again. “Are you okay? Do you remember who I am?”

”Of course I do,” Martin said, surprised and bewildered by the question. 

”Do you— do you remember who you are?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Martin said, now looking at him with concern. 

“Okay, okay,” John said in relief. “That’s good.”

“Do you?” Martin asked, likely still trying to piece together what was happening. 

“Of course I do, yes,” John said, 

“Hey, you’re the one asking all the weird questions,” Martin said. “And you almost died. For all I know, you probably have a concussion.”

“That’s fair, that’s fair,” John said as he slumped against Martin, every ounce of strength gone now that the adrenaline was wearing off. When he spoke again, his voice was more hesitant. “You did that, didn’t you? You took us through the Lonely.”

“They were going to kill you, I’m sorry for not just standing by and watching it happen,” Martin said, his sharp words in contrast with his gentle touch as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, from his forehead. It took all of John’s strength to reach up, take his hand, still his movements.

“What did you do?” He finally managed to ask, and he could already feel his eyes burning, knowing the answer, and knowing this was all his fault. 

“I think a part of me has always belonged to the Lonely,” Martin said. “So asking for its help in exchange only seemed fair.”

“Oh, Martin,” John said, his heart breaking, because he had stepped into this world of horror and magic and taken a patron of his own, all because of John. “I‘m sorry, I never wanted this for you.”

“I know,” Martin said, waving a hand as if he could wave away his concern. “It isn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“But if I hadn’t—“ John began. 

“No,” Martin interrupted him, voice firm. “Don’t do that. I knew exactly what I was doing and I don’t regret it for a moment.”

“Whatever happens, you’re not alone in this,” John said, desperately, because he needed him to know. Sometimes, with the Lonely, it was easy to forget. “I’ll be here, to help however I can. If you want. I’ll be here.”

John’s chest ached, knowing that Martin was just as trapped in this life as he was, and there was nothing he could do to spare him from it. He was at the mercy of a cruel world and had already been forced to watch first hand what it would do to him if given the chance.  And yet he had still made the choice. For John. 

Martin took his hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss there, to the horrible burn that wrapped around his palm; more proof of the cruelty of the world. It was too tender a gesture, John didn’t deserve this. He was breaking apart at the seams and Martin was the only thing holding him together, but that was asking too much of him. He’d sacrificed everything and John couldn’t even protect him in return. 

There was a pain in Martin’s eyes as he moved his hand to caress the side of John’s face, no doubt tracing a cut or bruise, and maybe he was thinking something similar. Now they were just two broken men who had seen too much pain in the world and he wanted to weep for the life Martin might have been able to have. Even if he hadn’t taken on the power of the Lonely, he still wouldn’t have been able to return to his life with the knowledge of what had happened here tonight. 

John did his best to sit up, to pull Martin into a hug, and just hold him. It was a weak offering of comfort, but it was all he had. He just wanted Martin to be happy, and instead he had dragged him so much deeper into the horrors of the world. 

Another scream startled them out of their embrace, reminding them that they were still far from safe. Martin glanced towards the windows and John could see the conflicted expression on his face. He understood, it was hard to remember the humanity of a group of people who had tried to kill you, but Martin had been able to see the humanity in everyone, John included, and he didn’t want him to lose that. 

“It wasn’t their fault,” John said. “This is all Elias’ doing. We have to stop him.”

And Martin just looks at him, a sad sort of understanding on his face. He didn’t even need to point out that this was hardly the first time a group of people tried to beat John to death, even without Elias actively messing with them. And yet they would both still try to help if they could. 

“The monsters,” John continued. “They hunt at the fringes, luring people to their deaths. They aren’t supposed to be able to attack like this, and there’s so many more than before. I don’t know what he’s done, but I saw Elias come inside the house, he’s here somewhere.”

“What?” Martin spun around in alarm, as if he might be in the room with them. 

“Yes,” John said, an edge to his voice. “And I think it’s time we paid him a visit.”

“Can you even stand?” Martin asked. “Maybe you should stay—“

“Like hell,” John said, cutting him off. 

“Fine, where’s your cane?” Martin asked. 

“I think I left it by the door,” John said. “I was worried they might think it was a weapon.”

Martin nodded grimly. He went to his bag and pulled out a dagger, shoving it in his belt for easy access. Then, he went back to John and helped him to his feet. John had to take a moment to steady himself, the rush of the movement causing him to sway dangerously.

He was bruised and battered and probably had a few fractured ribs. Even just standing was a great effort and he was surprised his legs didn’t give out immediately. But he wanted to face Elias on his own two feet and he was stubborn enough to make it happen despite the pain. 

After sitting still on the floor for so long, his entire body protested at the movement. There were too many ways he could move that sent pain lancing through his frame, and it took him several false starts to gather himself enough to start moving, still leaning heavily on Martin. 

Upon opening the door from the bedroom, it was obvious where Elias had likely gone as the ladder to the attic was down. Martin released John in order to hurry over to the door and retrieve his cane, both of them keeping an eye on the attic the entire time. 

They had guessed right because, as Martin returned to John’s side, they heard clapping from upstairs, followed by Elias climbing back down, wearing, of all things, a crown on his head. 

“Very impressive,” Elias said. “Honestly, your tenacity never ceases to astound. I thought you were a goner for sure.”

“Elias,” John said, voice dripping with disdain. 

“Oh, come now, John,” Elias said, voice saccharine sweet and utterly repulsive. “No need for that tone. I know you’re happy to see me.”

“Oh, yes. I’m simply overjoyed,” John said, completely deadpan.  

“You should know by now that there’s no escaping the Eye. Did you really think you could hide from me out here indefinitely?”

“Honestly, I try not to think of you at all,” John said. “Turns me off food. What’s that on your head? Finally letting your delusions of grandeur reach new heights?”

“All that potential, such a waste,” Elias sighed, shaking his head, and he had the audacity to sound disappointed. “Surely you’ve heard of the Watcher’s Crown by now.”

Ah. That did sound familiar. John’s throat felt dry and he tried to swallow. He was beginning to put it together. Either that, or the Eye had slipped in and was letting him Know it. It was the artifact that allowed the Fears, the entities that lived on the edges of reality, to come through fully, the crown Gertrude had mentioned. 

“Gertrude found it and hid it from you here until she could kill you.”

“Except I killed her first,” Elias said, much too casually. “Impulsive, yes, not usually my style, but I was a touch upset at the time. Thankfully, you were kind enough to lead me right to it.”

“Why?” John asked. “How could destroying the world possibly benefit you?” 

A slow smile spread across Elias’ face and it made him feel ill. “To become a god in a new world? To wring out every last bit of fear for the Eye to drink up? To become the most powerful warlock to ever exist? Take your pick, I suppose.”

“We’re going to stop you,” John said, and he could feel Martin at his side, and that gave him strength. 

“I look forward to you trying,” Elias said. “It does seem a bit cruel to bring someone else to their death, with you, though. Martin, was it? Ah, well.”

John flinched, so afraid that he really had brought Martin here to die. He’d already hurt so many people, he didn’t want Martin to be added to the list. More than he already had, at least. 

Martin didn't flinch, though. He stood strong despite it all and that made John feel brave. He funneled everything he had, every bit of power he could grasp from the Eye, but it crashed around Elias like an invisible wave on the cliffs. He was left unharmed, standing tall, a self satisfied grin on his face. 

John wavered, feeling that hopelessness well up inside him again. That was everything he had. He was bruised and battered and had nothing left to give. He didn’t know what to do. They were going to die. 

“Oh, John,” Elias said, patronizing. “Did you really think that would work?”

“I’m sorry, Martin,” John said.

“Yes. Apologize to him while you watch him die.”

“Stop!” John cried, because he couldn’t let this happen, not to Martin. He threw himself at Elias, who snapped to face his direction, and John was falling into those eyes. 

Maybe it was because he was falling out of favor with be Eye, or maybe Elias had just become that strong. Whatever the reason, Elias’ eyes cut right through him. He was reliving every moment of pain in his life, every broken bone, broken heart, it didn’t matter. He was simultaneously kneeling in front of his grandmothers grave while he was being beaten half to death by countless faces he couldn’t strike out against because they were his friends, his neighbors. And through it all, Elias was manipulating him so so easily, dangling knowledge just out of his reach and watching as we walked towards the slaughter like the idiot he was. 

And then there was numbness. It was suffocating, pressing in and drowning him. He had a moment of absolute terror before it was numbed with the knowledge that he would disappear from the world and no one would care. He deserved to be alone. All he ever did was hurt others. It would be better if he just went away. He deserved to drown over and over again and— 

“John!”

A hand was fisted in the front of his shirt and he was hauled up into someone’s arms. Martin. That’s right, Martin was here, he wasn’t alone. Slowly things came into focus. They weren’t in the cabin anymore. Everything was grey, a thick fog obscuring everything. It beckoned to John and he shuddered at the thought of being lost in it. 

“Ah, I see you’ve learned a trick or two,” Elias said to Martin. “I’d say it was impressive if it wasn’t so rudimentary. Allow me to demonstrate how to properly terrify someone—“

His focus was back on Martin, who glared back at him. John’s entire body was still shaking from reliving so much trauma, every tremor causing him to flinch as it reawakened pain from countless injuries. He should have collapsed, his body giving out completely, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand by and let this happen to Martin. 

He took Martin by surprise when he dodged out of his reach and took the few remaining steps, closing the distance between himself and Elias, before cracking his cane against his head as hard as he could. 

His cane snapped in half at the impact, but it caused Elias to jerk his head violently to the side, sending the crown skidding across the floor. John unbalanced and fell, watching in horror as Elias dove for the crown, but Martin got there first, stomping on it so hard it cracked in two. 

Elias didn’t even say anything, and somehow that was more frightening than if he had. He loved the sound of his own voice. Instead, he grabbed the front of Martin’s shirt, and stared into his eyes. 

It would have been comedic, there was no way Elias was strong enough to physically push him around, Martin could easily lift him into the air, but John knew what those eyes could do. And he knew what he was putting Martin through was so much worse than what John had experienced a moment ago. 

“Oh, you are a tasty one, aren’t you?” Elias said. “The Eye will certainly make a meal out of you. It’s a shame the Spider didn’t get to you first, you could have been fascinating.”

Scrambling to his feet, John grabbed the dagger from Martin’s belt and plunged it into Elias without a second thought. He looked so surprised, like he hadn’t even considered physical violence as the thing that would finally undo him. John thought of all the people Elias had killed, everyone he had hurt, and he ripped the blade out only to plunge it back into him again. 

Elias staggered back and John let him, turning instead to cling to Martin, to help him stand. There were tears running down Martin’s face, but now that he was free, he looked like he was pulling himself together. 

“I will not be killed so easily,” Elias snapped as he pulled the dagger out of his stomach and let it fall where it hit the ground with a dull thud. 

“Then disappear,” Martin said, voice still trembling slightly. 

And then the fog was rushing in again, the Lonely drowning them in oblivion. For the first time, John could see terror in Elias’ eyes, a horrified cry muffled and cut off before it had hardly begun. 

John turned to Martin, but whatever relief he felt vanished when he saw his unfocused eyes. It had been too much. John hadn't been the direct target, and he had been so full of Knowing that he still had a grasp on himself, but Elias was gone, and Martin would be soon to follow. 

“Martin, look at me! I need you to stay with me.”

“No,” Martin said, and it chilled him to the bone how hollow he sounded. He wasn’t trembling anymore, but there was something unnatural in his voice, making it echo. “This is where I belong.”

“No, no, Martin, please,” John said frantically, clinging to him, trying anything to stop him from slipping away. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“But I am,” Martin said. ”I have been for a long time. I don’t know if I can be anything else.”

“I know it’s hard,” John said, desperately. “And I know it hurts. But this? This isn’t an escape. Please just— don’t push me away. I can’t lose you, not like this.”

“You… want me to stay.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and Martin’s voice lost some of that echoing quality.

“Yes,” John said urgently. “Yes, I want you to stay with me. If— if that’s what you want, too. Just— please.”

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed it sooner, but now a light emanating from underneath Martin’s shirt finally grew bright enough that it drew John’s attention. And as he watched, he saw the grey in Martin’s eyes slowly dissipate. It didn’t vanish completely, it simply hid out of sight, but that was probably how things were going to be for him, now. Just as it was for John. The temptations of their patrons would always be there. 

John fumbled with the twine around Martin’s neck, pulling out the necklace with the teardrop that he had given him what felt like a lifetime ago, and he laughed a little manically as he studied the gently glowing glass. Martin brought his hand up to cup John’s, looking down at it in wonder.

“Oh,” John said. “I didn’t know it did that.”

“You didn’t—“ Martin began, and then he burst out laughing. It was a little manic as well, but it was so much better than the numbness. “How did you not know?”

“Well, I’ve never used it before, have I?” John snapped, but there was no real anger there, mostly just a frantic kind of relief. “I thought it would be more symbolic than literal.”

“Right,” Martin said, getting a hold of his laughter, looking grim once again. “What about Elias?”

“I don’t know,” John said. “I think we’ve done everything we can.”

“And the crown?” 

They both looked down at the crown, lying there broken. Neither of them moved to approach. Neither of them let go of each other. 

“I honestly don’t know,” said John. “But if it was as easy as that, I imagine Gertrude would have destroyed it already. Followers of the various entities don’t usually work together. Leaving it here might be our best option.”

“Good,” Martin said. “Let’s just get out of here.”

They clung to each other, both unsteady on their feet, exhausted and drained. As the fog dissipated, they found themselves standing in the forest, a stone’s throw away from the clearing, so it was easy to see the fire that was well on its way to consuming the cabin. They couldn’t hear the monsters anymore and John could only watch what had once been his home, his sanctuary, as the roof caved in. 

Martin wrapped his arm more securely around his back, the touch a gentle comfort, and John reminded himself that it had just been a building. He didn’t know what they would do now, but it could be replaced. He felt safer at Martin’s side than he ever had before, and he didn’t grieve quite as much as he thought he would as they turned to leave. 

Chapter Text

There was blood on his hands. John was surprised how long he had gone before he noticed. He’d had blood on his hands before, of course. He knew basic first aid and had patched up plenty of people. He’d even slaughtered chickens for his dinner when necessary. 

This was different. 

It didn’t seem to matter that it was Elias’ blood, or the fact that that probably hadn’t even been what ended him. He could still be out there, looking for revenge. No, none of that mattered. It just seemed right that his hands would be stained with blood and it made his chest ache, his breathing becoming a little more difficult. He’d never inflicted violence on someone quite so viscerally as this, but he’d still hurt people. Killed people. 

His legs had given out at some point as they fled through the darkened forest. Even Martin couldn’t carry him forever and they’d had to stop to rest. John was collapsed against a tree, staring down at the blood flaking off his hand, not moving. He supposed he finally looked like the monster he was inside. 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Martin was saying as he returned from washing at the river. His shirt was off and he looked beautiful in the early morning light. He didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like John. “Maybe they’ll assume we were in the house. Or they’ll just decide traipsing around in the forest isn’t worth it.”

John didn’t answer. He let his eyes fall back to his hand, lacking the strength to even lift his head. Another flake of blood fell away. 

“Hey, talk to me,” Martin said, kneeling next to him, concern evident, because John couldn’t do anything right. 

“I killed someone. Again.” The words felt so heavy leaving his mouth. 

“First of all,” Martin began. “I’m not entirely certain you can call Elias a person.”

He meant it as a joke, clearly, but John still couldn’t help the pang of guilt and pain he felt at the words. He wasn’t implying anything about John. They were both tied up in this, he wasn’t saying that the two of them were monstrous now as well. It didn’t help. Martin seemed to realize his joke had fallen flat and continued quickly. 

“Second, I think I’m actually the one who gets to say I killed him. Team effort, yes, but I still want the credit for the whole Lonely thing.”

“I am not sorry Elias is dead,” John said. “I’d do it again. It’s just— I keep hurting people. I hurt you.”

“You haven’t hurt me,” Martin said, taking his hand, oblivious to the dried blood. 

“I’ve trapped you in this world of magic,” John said. 

“We talked about this,” Martin sighed. “It was my choice. And I don’t regret it.”

Neither of them said anything. In their silence, Martin seemed to notice the blood and began brushing flakes off. John couldn’t look away, enraptured by the movements. Martin shouldn’t have to touch him, his bloody hands. He didn’t want to make him dirty. 

“I’m not sure it’ll all come off,” John said absently. 

“Okay,” Martin said, and there was a small fond smile slipping through the concern. “I think you’re a little delirious. Let’s get you down to the water and cleaned up, then you can sleep.”

”No,” John said, finally forcing himself to sit up. “What if they’re still coming? We can’t stop!”

“They’ll have to stop to rest too,” Martin said. “I think we’re safe enough for now.”

It was difficult, getting down to the river. His muscles were stiff and sore, the bruising blossoming out now into purples and yellows. Martin helped him every step of the way. John couldn’t quite read his expression as it was carefully neutral, but as John pulled his shirt off, a small, distressed noise escaped Martin. 

John decided that was probably an appropriate reaction. His dark skin was pockmarked with the same circular scarring as his face and arms, and there were other scars as well, including a dark mass of scar tissue at the bottom of his pronounced ribcage. And, now, bruising was slowly spreading over most of him in an unpleasant way. 

He half expected Martin to pull away in his shock, not wanting to touch him further, but he didn’t. Instead, he readjusted his hold to better support him without pressing on any bruises. And then he helped wash the blood off John’s hands. 

“See?” Martin said when they were finished. “No more blood.”

For some reason, that was finally the thing that pushed John over the edge. When Martin saw the tears, he looked horrified before he pulled him into a hug and let him sob against his chest. John felt like a fool, but he was helpless to stop it and could only sit there and listen to Martin’s kind words as he rubbed his back. 

“I’m sorry,” John said. “You’re the one I dragged into this, and yet I—“

“Hey,” Martin interrupted him. “I think this is a perfectly reasonable reaction to everything that happened last night. I’ll have my own cry later and then we can call it even.”

“Why?” John managed to ask. “Why do you keep coming back for me? I’m not worth it.”

“You are,” Martin said. “I’m good at reading people. I could tell right away that you were someone worth knowing. And— I care about you.”

 “I care about you too,” John managed despite the words strangled by emotion.

“We should probably have this conversation later, after you get some rest,” Martin said with a smile, but it seemed sad. “But I need you to know— whatever happens, I’m not your responsibility. Yes, I’ve been touched by the Lonely, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep me around because you feel obligated—“ 

“No!” John exclaimed so forcefully it made him dizzy. “I don’t feel obligated. I want you here because— I want you here.”

“Okay,” Martin said with a small chuckle. “Come on, let’s find somewhere to rest.”

-

They didn’t even have their cloaks with them, and the meager shelter Martin was able to set up protected them from wind, but not much else. So, they curled close, sharing body heat. For once, John forgot to feel self conscious. He was doing that around Martin a lot. Either he was growing used to him, or so much time away from other people had just made him forget to be self conscious. 

Once morning arrived, John couldn’t bring himself to move. His entire body ached, his bad leg in particular, the cold making him stiff and uncomfortable. He stayed where he was, though. He wanted to look after Martin. He’d already done so much for him. When he finally woke, he greeted John with a fond smile. 

“Morning,” Martin said sleepily. 

John knew he was looking at him much too intently. He’d been told on more than one occasion that he made people uncomfortable with the way he would stare, and after everything with Elias, he was worried it might unsettle Martin. Despite that, Martin didn’t look uncomfortable. He simply held his gaze, looking more pleased than anything. 

“How are you feeling?” John asked and then scolded himself. He hadn’t even given him time to wake up. 

“I think I’m okay,” Martin said. “Just a little stiff. You?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” John said dismissively. There didn’t seem much point in bringing up the pain in his battered body. He’d survive. 

“What’s going on?” Martin asked. “You seem very intense this morning.”

“I just—“ he sighed, frustrated with himself, trying to get his thoughts in order. “What we talked about before— I do want you here. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay because you have no other options. My help isn’t predicated on anything. Whatever your feelings for me, if you want to leave, I will still do whatever I can to help you adjust to the magic.” 

“That’s good to know,” Martin nodded along. It very much looked like that wasn’t something he had even worried about, that this was more for John’s sake.

“Right,” John said, and now he suddenly was feeling awkward. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this while they were still pressed so close together. “Well, I suppose we should get moving again. I don’t actually know where we’re going to go. If we’re quick, we can probably go into a nearby town and get some supplies before anyone notices the magic but—“

“John?”  

“Hmm?” 

“I am also staying because I want to be here.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Martin said with a smile. “It’s good, talking about boundaries and expectations, though. Which— I’m not expecting anything from you. I know our situation has changed quite a bit, so if you’re no longer comfortable with what we have been doing—“

“No! No, I am. I mean, I like it. What we have. You should know, though; any relationship with me isn’t exactly going to be normal.”

“Relationship?” Martin turned bright red at that and it was adorable. 

“Well, yes, usually relations refer to all sorts of interpersonal connections, but— not important. What I mean is— Sex.”

“Oh,” and somehow Martin found a way to turn even more crimson. ”Oh! I think it’s a bit soon for that, John.”

“No, no, I mean, I don’t do it. I don’t have sex. Its never been something I want or enjoy. Whatever relationship we do end up developing, that can never be a part of it. I just— I just need you to know that, now. So you won’t be disappointed later.”

“How could I possibly be disappointed?”

“With me? Very easily.”

”No, don’t do that,” Martin said as this self deprecation. “But if that’s what you’re comfortable with, then that’s exactly the kind of relationship I want.”

“I— really?”

“Yeah. I want you to be happy. And I would never want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You know you could have all of it, with someone else, right?” John pressed, terrified he might be pushing him to end it, but needing to make sure. “You’re good with people, and you’ve barely been touched by magic. You don’t have to live the way I have been, with Elias gone. Anyone would be incredibly lucky to have you. I just— I don’t want you to settle.”

“I’m not settling, I want this. I want you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Everything was just so much. He was terrified of not being enough for Martin. He was afraid that one day he’d see John the way he saw himself. But, through all of his fears and anxieties, he trusted Martin. He could hold onto that at the very least. 

John’s heart was beating so fast. Maybe Martin could feel it too, because he reached up to touch his cheek, smiling at him so softly. He moved his hand slightly, resting his palm across his neck so he could rub his thumb across the stubble at his jaw. 

But the moment he came in contact with his neck, John flinched. There were too many memories there, of knives held, of slicing, of rope or fingers squeezing the life from him. It wasn’t a place anyone had ever touched softly. His scars weren’t something anyone had ever been gentle with. And some days he felt like he was all scar tissue. 

But here Martin was, doing just that, being so patient. He drew back to give him space as he got a handle on his panic. but John grabbed him and stopped him from going far. It scared him. It scared him so much, but he never wanted him to stop. 

It had been a long time since John bothered to think about the future. He thought he could now, though. There were things he wanted, things he could strive for. He had hope for the first time in a long time. And he thought he might be falling in love. 

Chapter Text

John kept glancing over at Martin as they walked, a dangerous pastime since it meant he wasn’t watching his feet carefully enough and almost tripped several times. There was no way Martin could have missed it, but he seemed to be content to wait for him to speak up. 

“Are you all right?” John asked eventually, unable to bite his tongue any longer. 

“I swear, John, if you ask me that one more time—“ Martin said, looking amused despite his exasperation. 

“Ah, right,” John said. “My apologies.” He hadn’t realized how often he’d been asking. 

“Is there something you actually wanted to ask?” Martin pressed. 

“I suppose, yes. I was just— wondering how you are adjusting.”

“I really am okay,” Martin said, and he sent him such a soft smile. “I mean, yeah, not knowing what we’re going to do when winter hits isn’t great, but that isn’t actually a new feeling for me. And being with you helps.”

“Oh,” John said, and he could feel his face burning at that. He hadn’t expected that answer, and he certainly never expected his presence to help anyone in any way. 

“What about you?” Martin asked. “You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard. How’s your leg?”

“Yes, it seems I’ve gotten rather soft over the years,” John huffed in annoyance. 

“You’re not soft, you’re injured,” Martin said. 

“I don’t have time to be injured.”

“You have to pace yourself, we don’t know how long we’ll be traveling.”

“This isn’t actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” John said, waving a hand impatiently. 

“Oh, of course,” Martin said, amused. “God forbid we talk about your feelings, time to change the subject.”

“There just isn’t anything to talk about!” John said in indignation. 

“Uh huh,” Martin replied, eyebrow raised skeptically. 

“Look,” John huffed. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing with the whole Lonely patron thing.”

“Oh,” Martin said, and his smile slipped away. John almost wished he hadn’t pushed. He’d rather the teasing if it at least amused him and kept him from looking so sad. “I don’t really know. I think I’m okay, it just makes everything— muffled, I guess, if I’m not careful.”

“I’m here for you,” John said, before he could think too hard about it, trying to ignore the way his face flared with heat in embarrassment. “Whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Martin said with that same soft smile again. “I know. Now,” he continued in a more normal tone, signaling the end of the conversation. “How about we set up camp here?”

“A bit early in the day, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, but there’s a lake and I’d like to try my hand at fishing.”

John was fairly certain the real reason he was suggesting they stop was because he was limping more than usual. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue, so he decided to take the offer to spare his dignity and agreed. 

Martin tried to hide his concern, but it was hard to miss. Maybe John had agreed too quickly, usually he argued more if he thought the insistence on a break had anything to do with his leg. He really did need it, though, so he chose a relatively clear spot for them that was out of sight from the road and sank down to sit against a tree with a heavy sigh. When Martin started gathering twigs and sticks, John waved him off. 

“Go do your fishing thing,” John said. “I’ll take care of that.”

“Okay, okay, just don’t burn yourself again.”

John wanted to be annoyed, but had difficulty when he saw Martin’s smile. Instead, he turned his attention to making the fire. 

-

John wasn’t entirely sure if the nights were actually getting colder, or if he was simply struggling more than anticipated with sleeping outside on the ground. Usually, with a low-burning fire on one side, and Martin on the other, he was doing well enough. But tonight he woke up shivering violently. 

They’d managed to steal some supplies. John tried not to feel too guilty about it, and right now he was exceedingly grateful as he pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. He reached a hand out to pat the spot next to him, to find Martin and pull him closer, but there was only open air. 

Sitting up in confusion, he cast about, looking for where he might have gone. There were plenty of reasons for someone to get up in the middle of the night, he reminded himself, trying to choke down the panic. It didn’t necessarily mean danger, that Elias or angry townspeople had found them. But then he spotted Martin standing on the shore of the lake and he sighed in relief. 

The longer he looked at Martin, though, the more unsettled he became. He was only wearing his sleep clothes and, while he wasn’t as bothered by the cold as John was, he thought a jacket was at least advisable. And it looked like he hadn’t bothered to put his boots on. And then John saw the fog on the lake slowly reaching tendrils towards the shore, towards Martin, and his blood ran cold. It was the Lonely, trying to claim him again.

John scrambled to his feet, frustrated with his stiff and sore muscles. He almost fell and grudgingly grabbed his cane. Everything was so still that he found he was afraid to raise his voice too much as he called out to Martin. He didn’t respond, didn’t even react. When he was close enough, he grabbed his hand and gave it a tentative pull. 

“Martin, are you with me? Can you step away from the lake?”

Still nothing. That was bad, there was no way he’d be able to forcefully drag him back. He moved to stand in front of Martin, between him and the encroaching mist, and put his hands on his shoulders. He looked even farther away than he had in the Lonely and he wasn’t sure the same method would work here. 

“Martin? Martin, please.”

John was always so afraid to use his magic, it was too dangerous. But if Martin’s life was on the line, he would. He focused, on his patron, on knowledge, on the memory of everything he and Martin had been through together. He had never attempted something like this before, but somehow he knew it would work as he slowly, carefully, brushed that knowledge against Martin; an invitation. 

Immediately, Martin’s eyes snapped to his, properly focused and wide, as a soft, “oh,” escaped his lips. He reached a hand up to touch John’s cheek, being so careful. “I didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t realize what?” John asked, still apprehensive, unsure if the danger was over. 

“Nothing,” Martin said, shook his head, as if to clear it. “I just— thank you. For letting me in, despite how terrifying it must have been.”

“Oh,” John said, as realization crept in. He’d just shared everything he felt for Martin, how much he cared about him, how lost he’d felt when he’d sent him away, everything. His face burned as he turned away, embarrassed, and he cleared his throat to try to regain some composure. “Yes, well, if you’re back with me, can we perhaps step away from the lake?”

“Oh!” Martin said, looking around for the first time. “Right, yes.”

“Do you remember what happened?” John asked. He threw a glare towards the lake, but thankfully the fog looked normal again. 

“Yeah,” Martin said. “I had an unpleasant dream, thought I’d take a walk to clear my head. I guess it didn’t go so well. I was already feeling kind of out of it, I should have seen this coming.”

“Did the dream have anything to do with—“ John began, trying to find the right words. 

“Loneliness?” Martin asked with a small sad smile. “Yeah. But it was just a dream. I’ll be sure to wake you up next time.”

“Oh good,” John said with a heavy sight and leaned against Martin. 

“Come on,” Martin said. “Let’s get back to bed.”

“With pleasure.”

His muscles were aching even more and they had to walk painfully slowly. It was with much relief that he was able to sink down onto their makeshift bed before resting his head on Martin’s chest. 

“So,” John began, hesitantly. “Exactly how much did I show you?”

“A lot,” Martin replied. 

“Oh no,” John groaned as he hid his face against Martin’s chest. 

“No, it was sweet.”

“I am not sweet!”

“Sure,” Martin chuckled, rubbing a hand along John’s back. “Still, thank you. That’s the second time you’ve had to pull me out of the Lonely.”

“I’m happy to keep doing it, but if this is your way to force me to talk about my feelings, I’m going to be very upset with you.”

“I haven’t resorted to life-threatening situations for that just yet,” Martin chuckled. “I need you to know something, though.”

“What?” John asked, sitting up so he could look at him, unable to stop the ball of anxiety from forming in his stomach. 

“I love you.”

John felt like his heart skipped a beat at that, his entire body going shaky, feeling sick with nerves. He never thought anyone in their right mind would say that to him. He certainly didn’t deserve it. He’d spent much of his life pushing people away because it was easier than facing rejection. But now, here he was with Martin, who had just seen the mess that was his own mind and had somehow not been turned away. 

“I—“ John began, but Martin silenced him with a soft kiss. 

“It’s okay,” Martin said, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back.” 

“No, I know,” John said, taking a deep breath. “I want you to know.”

“I do.”

“I want to be able to say it myself, then,” John said, stubbornly. “I love you.”

It was terrifying to admit it out loud, like it made it real, made it something he could lose. But it already was both of those things. He was embarrassed by everything Martin may have learned about him when he shared his memories, but he deserved to know. John wanted him to know how completely he was in love with him. 

The smile Martin gave him was radiant, and there were tears in his eyes that John wiped away, kissing him again and lingering close, not wanting the moment to end. He was loved, and he was in love, and while that didn’t fix their situation, it was a wonder all on its own. John pulled the blankets more securely around them both to block out the chill, to block out the world, so it was just the two of them. 

Chapter Text

While it was a relief to put another small town, and the dangers it contained, behind them, John had to admit that he was a bit disappointed to pass up another opportunity to sleep in a proper bed. They were still managing to keep their spirits up, though. They’d managed to stop at the market and stock up on fresh ingredients without any trouble, and Martin was excitedly discussing what he could make with it all, and it was making John so damned hungry. 

“You’d better stop,” John said. “Otherwise I might insist we set up camp right here in the middle of the road so you can start cooking immediately.”

“I wouldn’t be able to make half of this without the pots and pans I picked up at the last town. Any more jabs you’d like to make about that?” Martin asked teasingly. “I believe you said I was practically carrying an entire kitchen on my back.”

“I still think it’s a bit excessive, but I’m certainly happy to take advantage now that we have all of it.”

“I have all it,” Martin corrected, looking smug. “What is this ‘we?’”

“Does this mean you aren’t going to share dinner?” John asked in mock horror. 

“We’ll see.”

“This is torture,” John laughed. “You are literally torturing me right now.”

“It’s nice to know you enjoy my cooking, at least,” Martin said, giving in, his smile going soft. John nearly tripped at the sight, feeling his face burning, and he quickly turned away, failing to hide his own fond smile as he gazed out over the road ahead of them. 

One thing they didn’t see often were guards patrolling the roads. Other travelers, sure, but very rarely guards. So when they spotted one up ahead on the road, they both fell silent in mutual discomfort. John tried to speed up so they could pass him as quickly as possible, but he was still recovering from his injuries and his sore leg was slowing him down.

“Evening,” the guard said the moment he was within earshot and John and Martin both sighed. It appeared they weren’t going to be getting out of this as quickly as they’d hoped. “We’ve heard reports of magic users in the area.”

“Well, thank you for keeping the roads safe for us,” Martin said cheerily.

John was a bit envious, he was bad at lying at the best of times, but particularly so now that there were additional reasons the guard might be looking for them. They hadn’t actually had any money and had had to rely on Martin’s ability to turn invisible to acquire rations so they wouldn’t starve. He just did his best not to look guilty. 

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I search your belongings,” the guard said, stopping before them in the middle of the road, looking casual despite blocking the path. “Standard procedure, you understand.”

“Of course, of course.” 

Surely the guard couldn’t have heard about their petty thievery already. They’d just left town and the guard was coming in the opposite direction. But then, if they were looking for evidence of witchcraft, John had no idea what that would even look like. A note that said, ‘I can cast dangerous magics,’ written on it perhaps? 

He felt Martin take his arm, squeezing gently, and he realized there must be something else going on that he’d failed to notice. The guard didn’t exactly seem in a hurry to get on with his request and continued to stand there even as Martin removed his pack. 

“You know, your friend here isn’t looking so good.” The guard smacked John on the shoulder just a little too hard to be a friendly pat, causing him to stumble slightly. He felt Martin tense beside him. 

“Well, it has been one hell of a week,” John replied, not sure what else he was supposed to say at that. He needed to say something, though, because he could see the tight outline of Martin’s jaw, but this really wasn’t worth making a scene over. 

“My point is,” the guard continued. “I’m sure you’re both in a hurry to get where you’re going. Perhaps you have something to donate to show you are both upstanding citizens so we can all move on with our days.”

Ah, there it was. He was trying to extort them. 

“No,” Martin said indignantly as he stepped forward and John could see the moment the guard’s false smile fell away to annoyance. “We don’t have any money, and we certainly aren’t paying to be allowed to walk down the road in peace. What do you think—“

It happened so quickly. With Martin stepping into the guard’s space, probably to block him from taking another swing at John, the guard’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword with a sneer and John— panicked. 

Had he been thinking rationally, he would have reasoned that a proper fight was unlikely to break out. This guard was likely looking for easy money, not an outright battle. Besides, Martin could take care of himself. He was strong, and if necessary, he could simply vanish the two of them to escape. But there was no logic in John’s visceral reaction. 

Acute fear spiked through him like a lance as he was overwhelmed with memories of every other time someone had looked at John with such contempt. Sometimes it was simply followed by the pain of rejection, that was fine, he was used to it, but too often it was followed by a deep visceral fear for his life as they took their rage and their hatred out of his flesh. The physical injuries weren’t even the worst of it, and the realization that Martin was in real danger of being a victim of it, too, did something to John. 

He had let himself go through unimaginable pain, because he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t risk lashing out with his magic and hurting or killing someone. But Martin? He couldn’t see him go through that same pain, he would do anything to spare him that, so he reached deep, and the first thing he thought of was something Elias had done. He shouldn’t have, he knew he shouldn’t, but it was already too late. 

“Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing—“ 

The words reverberated through the air, and John had hardly registered what he was doing before it was done. The words were foul as they clawed their way up his throat, burning his tongue and turning his stomach in disgust, but there was no stopping it as he turned the full force of the Eye on the man, raked it through his mind and flayed him apart from the inside. His scream was strangled, cut off before it had hardly begun, and he was dead before he even hit the ground. 

John’s ears were ringing, everything narrowing down to this horrible moment, all of his focus on what he had just done. He couldn’t look away or move, he could barely think. It took him a moment to remember Martin was there, let alone register that he was speaking to him and his stomach dropped, because he had witnessed all of that. 

“John? John, I need you to look at me,” Martin said, trying to turn his face away from the gruesome sight, to get his focus so he’d stop looking at the blood pouring from the dead guard’s eyes. 

“I-I-I killed him,” John stuttered, his entire body now filling with pure panic, the kind that had nowhere to go, because there was no going back, there was no fixing this. He had just caused this man unimaginable pain before he had ended his life. 

Martin had to place himself squarely between John and the form on the ground, holding his face in his hands so he could only look at him. 

“I need you to breathe, okay?” Martin said. 

“No, no, I can’t— I didn’t—“ 

John flinched back from the touch, from Martin, before turning and sprinting away into the forest. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he thought he might be sick. He didn’t want to be seen, shame and revulsion didn’t come close to describing how he felt in this moment and he didn’t want to see it reflected in anyone else’s eyes. Especially not Martin‘s. 

Martin shouldn’t have to touch him, and certainly shouldn’t have to comfort him. He truly was becoming a monster. He had done the one thing that Elias had done that had always disturbed him beyond belief, and now he was no better than him. 

He remembered back to when he thought everything was so simple, a clear divide between human and monster, good and evil. He’d been so sure Jurgen Leitner, the man he blamed for his first run-in with the supernatural, was a source of evil. Then he had been forced to accept the fact that he had just been a sad old man. 

Elias had killed him in front of John, murdered him to send a message. Leitner’s death was on both of their hands, and John had to confront the realization that even he hadn’t deserved what had happened to him. No one did. 

What made someone evil? What made someone monstrous and no longer human? He was fairly sure Elias was too far gone, but what about himself? At what point did he become deserving of such a horrific death? Was he already there, now that he had crossed this line? 

He tripped on a root and fell, remaining where he’d fallen, unable to muster the strength to stand again as he trembled, curling in on himself. Honestly, he was surprised he’d made it this far. He’d hardly been using his cane and his leg burned in agony, but that hardly mattered.  

Had Elias enjoyed killing Leitner? Had he started off telling himself he was doing what he had to in order to survive, to protect himself and those he cared about? Would telling himself that now lead to John eventually becoming like him? He didn’t know, but he was afraid. He was always so afraid. And the worst part was he felt invigorated from the murder.

He had started all of this by surviving off of the suffering of others. He had gone on doing it for far too long. It was so easy to make excuses, to turn a blind eye. But when he finally reached the point where he couldn’t be blind any longer, he’d made his choice. He didn’t want to be like Elias. 

But maybe it had already been too late. Maybe he was already too far gone. He thought losing his humanity would be a sudden thing, a shift where he stopped caring about anyone and anything, a tether being snapped that would unleash his violence and his magic on the world, but maybe it had happened so gradually he’d never noticed.

And what about Martin? Would this be the thing that made him realize how truly terrible magic could be? The thing that made him realize John wasn’t worth any of this? Would he hate him for dragging him into this world of horror and death? 

“John?” He heard Martin calling his name, but shuddered as the tone shifted to relief as he spotted him. “John!”

He trusted Martin, of course he did, but for a wild moment he wondered if he was going to die, if he had proven himself to be so far gone that even Martin might think he deserved death, and he flinched in on himself, curling tighter into the fetal position. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I am so sorry,” he said, begged. As if he deserved to beg. But for what? Forgiveness? For Martin not to hate him? He certainly wouldn’t beg for his life. 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Martin said, dropping to his knees beside him, and somehow his gentle understanding hurt so much more. Couldn’t he see that nothing would ever be okay again?

“Please don’t touch me,” he said, because he didn’t want to stain Martin anymore than he already had. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Martin said, his voice still so soft it made his chest ache. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t touch.”

John wanted to cry because even Martin knew he couldn’t stand the possibility of being hurt again, even though Martin had never done anything to make him think he would. He didn’t deserve this. 

“No! I— you saw what I did to him. I killed him— I tore him apart. It was horrible.”

”John, slow down, breathe.”

“I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

“He was threatening us,” Martin said, and John didn’t understand why he was defending him. 

“It doesn’t matter! He was a person, and I just—“

“Hey, breathe, okay? Just try to breathe.”

“I’m a monster,” John said, and he wanted to laugh at Martin’s concern if he only had the strength. “Surely you can see that now.”

“Are you calling me a monster then, too?” Martin asked, and how could he say that and remain so calm?

“No, of course not,” John said quickly, finally turning to look at him. “But you didn’t do— that to anyone.”

“I did, to Elias. And I’m going to be honest, if someone had pulled a sword on you, I probably would have done it again.”

“I’m just—“ John began. He wanted to point out that Elias hardly counted, but he didn’t think Martin would accept that. ”What if, what if I’m already too far gone?“

“The fact that you’re worrying about it proves that you’re not.”

“Why?” John asked, almost desperately. “Why are you so determined to reassure me?”

“Because I know you,” Martin said, and he sounded so sure, John desperately wished he was right. 

A horrible thought struck him. Had he manipulated Martin in some way? By showing him everything he felt for Martin when the Lonely tried to take him, everything he’d been through, had he tainted his opinion? Had he forced him to see humanity where there was none? 

Suddenly, Martin surged forward and John simply closed his eyes, going limp. He knew Martin, trusted him completely, and, even in his fear-stricken state, knew he would never hurt him. Even if Martin had wanted to, John would never, could never, bring himself to lash out against him, even if he thought he was doing it in self defense. If he had lost his humanity, at least there was enough of him left to know that he would never hurt Martin.

He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t for Martin to cover him with his body, one arm wrapping protectively over his head, using himself as a shield, eyes screwed up tight as he concentrated. Even though Martin was doing his best not to crush him, the weight still caused a horrible panic to bubble up inside him at being restrained. He did his best to choke it down, reminding himself over and over that this was Martin. 

He looked around in confusion, trying to figure out what was going on, when he heard it— footsteps. Someone was approaching. The world around him shimmered and it was as if the air around them was thickening, and he knew no one could see them. 

“No sign of anyone over here,” the figure yelled, voice distorted through whatever Martin was doing to hide them, and then they were alone in the woods again. 

They were quiet for a long moment, making sure there was no one in earshot, before Martin quickly moved off of him. John was breathing heavily, trying to smother his panic, but he knew he had to be trembling, looking up at Martin with big eyes. And he hated it, because he saw how heartbroken it made Martin. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “It’s okay, we’re safe. We can stay here as long as you need.”

John nodded distantly and just tied to breath, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his arms. Despite everything, Martin had protected him. More than that, he had shielded him with his body. John had never done anything to deserve that kind of devotion. 

“What do I do?” he asked, because maybe Martin could at least tell him how to earn back his approval. It felt like he needed to, but he knew Martin would disagree.

“Nothing,” Martin said, simply, and John finally lifted his head to look at him in disbelief. “Sure, I’d rather neither of us have to kill, but I would still do it to protect you. My opinion of you hasn’t changed, if that’s what you’re worried about. But it seems like your opinion of yourself has.” 

Martin was obviously looking at him in concern, but not because he feared for his own life, as if John might finally lose it. No, he was simply worried for John. And John didn’t know what to do. It didn’t feel right to believe it was all as simple as that. And he was so frustrated, because he knew Martin could tell his attempt to protect him had increased his panic, but that shouldn’t have been what Martin was worried about. 

John didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of this. 

“You’re not afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Martin replied, as if it really was that simple

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” John said, and he hoped it was true, hoped it would always be true, but not wanting to and not doing it were two very different things. His entire life existed as an example of how poorly he handled temptation. 

“I know,” Martin said, and there was just so much trust there.

John nodded, feeling pathetic. He shouldn’t be asking for reassurances from Martin, it wasn’t fair of him. He buried his face in his arms once again, wishing he could disappear, wishing he could rewrite time, make different choices, but it was far too late for that. He was vaguely aware of Martin moving around and felt a blanket drape over his shoulders, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.

Chapter Text

It was dark out. John couldn’t remember falling asleep, but the moment wakefulness reminded him of the previous day’s events, he immediately wished he could fall asleep again, fall back into blissful nothingness, where he didn’t have to confront any of this. He was still curled tightly in on himself, he was definitely going to be in a great deal of pain from that, but it hardly felt like that mattered. 

Carefully, he untangled himself and took stock of his surroundings. It looked like any blankets or cloaks or jackets they had were piled on top of him, and there was a brightly burning fire nearby. He thought he should probably feel warm, but he didn’t. There was just a cold, sick dread in the pit of his stomach, and it was hard to think or feel anything pleasant at the moment. 

While their packs were nearby, there was no sign of Martin. A deeper, more acute panic gripped him and he wondered if he had finally abandoned him. It wasn’t fair to doubt him, and there were signs he couldn’t have left for good, or for long given the fresh logs on the fire. Still, Martin leaving would be one of the few things in John’s life that he would actually understand. He didn’t deserve him. 

He closed his eyes again, burying his face in his arm, and just tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest. He didn’t want to think about any of this, he didn’t want to deal with it. But that wasn’t fair, he needed to take responsibility for what he had done. He just didn’t know how. 

He caught the sound of footsteps approaching and scrambled to his feet, relief that Martin was here, that he hadn’t left him, overriding everything else. But when their eyes actually met, he froze, uncertainty winning out. He didn’t deserve to get to touch Martin. Maybe Martin wouldn’t even want him to, anymore. 

For his part, Martin hesitated for only a moment, surprised by John’s sudden movement. He smiled at him, even if it was fragile, like he didn’t know what to make of John’s reaction. He approached to sit by the fire, enough space between them that he wasn’t crowding him, even if John sorely wished he would. 

“It’s safe,” Martin assured him. “There’s no one in the area.”

“Oh,” John said lamely as he settled back into his nest of blankets. “Good.”

They were silent for a time, both of them pretending to stare into the fire instead of stealing glances. John was filled with a nervous energy he didn’t know what to do with. He’d already apologized so many times, but apologizing hardly fixed the fact that he had murdered someone. He just didn’t know what to say. He was scared. If he said the wrong thing, would Martin leave?

“What are you thinking?” Martin asked, finally breaking the silence. 

“Huh?” John’s head snapped up in surprise and he hated how guilty he sounded. 

“I know you have a tendency to overthink,” Martin said, keeping his voice soft. “I think we both do. Maybe it’ll be easier if you do it out loud.”

John was silent again, staring into the fire, trying not to shrink under his gaze. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than he’d intended, nearly drowned out by the crackling of the fire.

“You stayed.”

“Of course I did,” Martin said, and he sounded hurt. 

“It’s not that I expected you to leave,” John said quickly. “I just— I feel like I’ve only given you reasons to leave.”

“That’s not true,” Martin said. “Even if you can’t see it, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve given me— so much. You make me happy.”

“Even now?” John asked, a bit of teasing in his voice even if it fell flat. 

“Right now I’m just worried about you,” Martin said. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

“Really?” John laughed bitterly. “Even after I killed that man?”

He winced at his own words, wishing he hadn’t said it. It was easier, to not think about it, to leave it unnamed. But that didn’t really help anything. He had murdered someone, and there was no denying it.

“Do you—“ Martin began, thinking carefully over his words before he continued. “Do you think the lives of others weigh more than yours?”

“I mean,” John said, looking back towards the fire. “I’m not exactly sure how human I am anymore, so...”

“John,” Martin said, looking pained. 

“I don’t have a death wish, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You’re important to me,” Martin said with so much feeling in his words it left John breathless. ”I wish you’d take that into account before you try to throw your life away. You’re allowed to protect yourself. You still deserve to be happy.”

“It’s—“ John hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt Martin anymore, but he had asked. “It’s hard to believe I deserve much of anything. Especially at the expense of anyone else.”

“What you did, you did for me,” Martin said. “To protect me. How do you think I feel, seeing you tearing yourself up over it?”

John didn’t know what to say to that. He looked away again, too guilty to look him in the eye. 

”You very likely saved my life,” Martin pressed. 

“No, I don’t think I did. I overreacted,” John said, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before forcing himself to continue. ”What I did— it’s something I saw Elias do, once.”

“Ah. I think I’m beginning to understand why it disturbed you so much. But you’re nothing like him.”

“What if I’m becoming like him?”

“I don’t think you are,” Martin said with so much conviction. “Did he also do it to protect someone?”

“No,” John admitted. 

“There you have it, then,” Martin said. At John’s skeptical look, he continued. “Would it help if I promised to tell you if you’re going too far?”

“I— I think so.”

“Can I— can I touch you?” Martin asked. 

“Why?” John asked before he could stop himself, because he couldn’t think of a reason why Martin would want to. 

“Because— because I want to,” Martin said. “Because it helps me, and because I hope it helps you.”

“Oh.”

And how could he say no to that? He nodded and Martin scooted closer, putting his arm carefully around his shoulders. John stiffened, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. He just desperately didn’t want to hurt him, even though he didn’t know how he might. He didn’t want to mess this up anymore than he already had. 

But as soon as the comforting weight was against him, as soon as he felt Martin, warm and soft against his side, he practically melted into the touch. He leaned into him, letting Martin hold him close, feeling like he couldn’t get close enough. 

“I’m— afraid,” John admitted, eyes still on the fire, not Martin.  

“I know. Me too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m not afraid of you,” Martin hurried to say. “And I’m not afraid because of you. I’m just— I’m afraid you’re going to push me away. Or that you’re going to tear yourself apart. I’m scared for you.”

John didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like he deserved to. It felt like he deserved suffering. But he knew it would only hurt Martin, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the pain-stricken face of the guard as he died, and there was no erasing that. But punishing himself was only going to hurt Martin. He could take precautions, avoid magic even more in the future, but was that truly enough?

“I had an idea,” Martin said eventually, voice soft. “We need a place to go, and I don’t think my mum actually ever sold our old house. I think she’d always hoped to go back to it, but she was too sick. It’s been empty for years, but— it would be safe.”

“You— would take me to your old home?” John asked in disbelief. The fact that Martin would be willing to share something so personal— he didn’t know what to say. 

“It’s not like it has much sentimental value,” Martin began, but then he saw his expression and something in it caused him to stop. “John, you’re my home,” he said, emphasizing his words with a squeeze of his shoulders. “I don’t care where we go, I just want you to be okay. I just want to be with you. 

John could feel his eyes burning, his vision swimming, and Martin made a wounded noise as he quickly pulled him into a hug. John buried his face against his neck as Martin rubbed soothing circles onto his back. 

It felt like he was beginning to thaw under Martin’s touch. He still felt so numb, a disconnect between himself and his body. But here, with Martin, there were actually things he wanted to feel. He wanted to be present in his body, for a change. He wanted to be with Martin. And that helped. 

He wasn’t sure he could agree with Martin, he didn’t feel like he mattered. But he certainly felt like he mattered to Martin, and maybe that was enough right now. Maybe it would be a long time before he could forgive himself. Maybe he never would. But maybe he could start to atone, here, with Martin. 

Martin brought his hand up to the back of John’s neck, cradling him against him, and John couldn’t help but shudder. So gentle, always so gentle, and still John was sure he would never get used to this. He could still hardly believe anyone would want to touch him like this. 

It was easy to believe he deserved the violence when that was the only form of touch he was used to, but now he struggled to let Martin treat him like this, touch him like this. He could seek out this warmth and this tenderness because it was given so freely, to generously, and he thought he might weep for it. 

He didn’t know how Martin always reduced him to this. He didn’t know how to give it back, so he just tried to mirror him, to give just as tenderly as he received. He couldn’t find the words right know, so he just hoped Martin understood how much he loved him. 

He took his hand and threaded their fingers together as he kissed him. Perhaps Martin remembered earlier, how he had panicked at being trapped, he was so thoughtful like that, because instead of leaning forward, into John, he leaned back, pulled John down on top of him. And of course John went with him, chasing that warmth, feeling Martin pressed against the length of him. 

He kissed him like there was nothing else in the world he would rather be doing, and John believed it, because he felt exactly the same. When they finally drew apart for breath, John simply lay there, trembling in his arms. For his part, Martin pulled a blanket up over the both of them and wrapped his arms securely around him, whispering comfort and admiration into the space between them, and finally, finally, John found some rest. 

Chapter Text

Apparently the road they were on didn’t lead to much other than the old Blackwood home, so it was in poor shape, with deep ruts carved into the mud and overgrown as nature crept back in. This made it difficult to traverse, even more so with a cane. Martin offered his arm on multiple occasions, but John could never bring himself to lean on him for long if he could help it. 

He knew it was ridiculous, no one was judging him, but he hated how weak he felt. He tried to remind himself that they'd spent so long on the road that anyone would be worn out, and his injuries still hadn’t had time to properly heal, aggravated by the constant movement. And yet, he still felt like he should be able to do this, so he pushed himself harder.

Straining himself more would just make his body give out sooner, he was supposed to have gotten better at gauging how much energy he had left before he found himself unable to move, but his damned stubbornness came back in full with his irritation at the situation. 

It was irrational, yes, but at least it meant arriving sooner, which meant fewer days spent sleeping on the cold hard ground. Assuming the building was still standing, of course. He supposed it was possible that they’d arrive and discover that the roof had collapsed in. 

“John?” Martin called, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“What?” he snapped, and immediately regretted it. He shouldn’t be taking his bad mood out on anyone else, especially Martin. Doubling down was juvenile, but the alternative was not being annoyed and he wasn’t sure that was possible right now. 

“We’re not in a hurry, we can take a break,” Martin pointed out. 

“You can take a break,” John said pointedly. “But I’m going to keep going. You said we were close.”

“And you look even closer to falling over,” Martin said in amused exasperation. John wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at having Martin rub it in, or relieved he wasn’t taking his foul mood personally. “I’m not going to carry you if you collapse.”

“I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, thank you,” John said, leveling a glare at him, even though he wasn’t sure how long that would continue to be true. There was no disguising how petulant he sounded, though. “I just want to get there and be done with all this walking.”

“Suit yourself,” Martin shrugged, not bothering to hide it as he rolled his eyes. 

It was a relief to both of them when the path turned sharply around a copse of trees and the little house finally came into view. As luck would have it, the roof did seem to be mostly intact, although the building was definitely showing its age. Not that John was a very good judge, he’d had to learn home repair the hard way while living in Gertrude’s cabin, and he still wasn’t sure he’d done it right even with all of the books on the subject he’d gotten his hands on. 

He glanced over at Martin, hoping he might have a better idea, and caught his wistful expression as he took stock. It was only then that John realized it might be hard for him to see his childhood home in such a state. His expression was already smoothing over, though, and then it was impossible for him to tell. John wasn’t the best at reading expressions anyway.  

“We’ll have a lot of work to do to make sure we won’t freeze to death come winter,” was all he said. 

“Right,” John said, not wanting to push. He wondered if he was reliving any memories. He hoped they were pleasant. He worried they weren’t. 

It looked like there was a small barn on the far side of the house and suddenly John needed to know what kind of animals Martin might have grown up with. He set that aside for now, planning to ask once things were more settled and it seemed like Martin wasn’t so preoccupied. 

The front door creaked open with a gentle push and John stood apprehensively in the entryway of the old empty house as Martin ventured inside, moving slowly as he reacquainted himself with his old home. 

Most of the furniture was missing, and John wondered if the Blackwood family had relocated it, or if someone had run off with it when it seemed like no one was coming back. There were plenty of leaves and debris, no doubt blown in through the boards over the windows, though John wasn’t entirely sure why there was no glass. Maybe it had just broken with time. Or young vandals. 

“Martin?” John called at last when he was beginning to worry at his prolonged silence. He didn’t want to insert himself into this private moment, but he didn’t want to leave him alone, either. 

“Hmm?” Martin said, turning to face him as he came back to himself. “Sorry, lost in thought.”

“How are you— feeling?” John asked awkwardly. He had no idea what to do or say about this entire situation. This was rather outside his experience. He’d never really had a home to go back to. 

“I’m okay,” he said. “It will need a lot of repairs, but it’s kind of like a fresh start, isn’t it?” 

“I certainly hope you know where to begin,” John said with a weak laugh.  

“I have some ideas,” Martin assured him. “We should probably get the wood stove going before the sun sets.”

John nodded and watched him leave. He thought about following to help, but decided there were other things he could do, like rolling out their blankets. Instead of looking for a bedroom, he laid them out right there on the living room floor, as close to the stove as possible while still remaining somewhat safe. He was cold, but he didn’t exactly want to wake up on fire. 

His legs were shaking, his battered body screaming in agony with every movement, so he knelt as he spread out the blankets. He was breathing hard and sweating much more than was warranted by such a simple task. Wiping his forehead, he thought it would be all right to lay down for just a moment to catch his breath and wait for at least some of the pain to pass, but once he was down, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leverage himself back up onto his feet without help. And even if he did, his bad leg probably wouldn’t hold him up any longer. 

And then the temptation won out and he curled up under the blankets, his bruised muscles finally getting a break and he sighed. He was just so so exhausted. And the relief at finally arriving, maybe even being safe for a change, was such a weight off of him. They could finally stop running for at least a little while. And it was so nice to have walls around him again, keeping out the cold and the dangers of the world. 

When he heard Martin return, he automatically started dragging himself back out without even thinking, just wanting to help. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Martin laughed. “You take it easy, I’ll join you as soon as I get the fire going. No offense, but you’re not exactly great at it anyway.”

That was certainly true, but John still made a noise of indignation, unable to formulate a more coherent reply. He wanted to watch Martin, to stay awake and keep him company until he finished, but he could hardly keep his eyes open. He didn’t really have a choice when he finally dropped off to sleep. 

-

Something was holding him down, restraining him, and John’s body seized up in terror. But a moment later, he thrashed in desperation as his heart pounded in his chest and he gasped for air. He couldn’t think of anything except the need to get free, to escape. 

His entire body screamed in pain at the movement and he was reminded of the beating he had taken, reliving the sharp kicks that had knocked him to the ground and kept him there, beating the consciousness from him. 

The helpless panic was all-consuming; he couldn’t process anything else. It gripped at his chest and crushed him harder than whatever he was tangled in and he sobbed with the terror of it. 

Despite everything he did to try to protect himself, he always ended up stripped of his dignity and personhood, if he even had any humanity left that could fall under that. Maybe that justified this happening to him. Maybe he deserved this horrible drowning, the way the terror seeped into every part of him. 

There was a sharp movement and suddenly he was free, staring up into the darkness, breathing hard, but blessedly free. It couldn’t be that easy, though, it never was, and he quickly curled tightly in on himself, waiting for the pain that had to be coming. He knew he was shaking hard, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the pathetic image he likely made. He’d given up on dignity a long time ago. 

It took him a moment to process the sound of his own name being called through the rushing of blood in his ears. But when it did, his heart sank. That was Martin’s voice. A distressed noise ripped out of him as he looked around frantically. What if they had Martin? What if they hurt him? He would beg, he would do anything, but he couldn’t see anyone hurt Martin. 

But there, close beside him, face illuminated by dying embers, was Martin. His expression looked so thoroughly broken, but he was okay, he was unhurt, and there was no one else nearby. Trembling, John reached out in his relief and grabbed his hand tightly where it lay, gripping a blanket, and suddenly everything fit back into place and he remembered. 

They were safe. They were in Martin’s childhood home, and no one knew they were here. It had simply been a dream, and John had just gotten himself tangled up in the blanket if the way Martin was clinging to it was any indication. He deflated in humiliation. The helplessness was still there. He wasn’t sure it would ever really go away. He always felt like a trapped animal, shaking and afraid. 

Honestly, he should have seen this coming. He’d been running on adrenaline, afraid for his life as they searched for a place to stay after he’d lost his home. And then he’d killed someone in front of Martin and he was terrified all over again that he would hate him for it. But now that they had finally arrived somewhere they could stop and think and just rest, all of it was catching up to him.  

He tried to breathe through it, keeping his eyes on Martin. He wondered if he would ever stop feeling like this. And if it never stopped, would Martin eventually grow tired of comforting him? He just didn’t want to always be such a burden. Martin’s voice shook as he whispered comforting words, gently running a hand through his hair, and John felt so guilty. 

”You’re burning up,” Martin said, voice soft in the silence of the house, brushing sweat-slicked hair back out of John’s face, placing his palm to his forehead. 

Martin stood and John tried not to let out the desperate sound that tried to escape at the loss of his presence. Everything ached and, without Martin to ground him, he worried he might slip back into memories. But he couldn’t be more of a burden than he already was. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, drifting in and out of consciousness, when he felt a cool cloth pressed against his forehead and he sighed in relief. 

“That okay?” he heard Martin ask, and it took all his energy just to open his eyes again. 

Martin was sitting cross legged on the floor beside him, firelight flickering across his face. He must have added another log on the fire. He reached up to rest his hand against Martin’s wrist where he was still holding the wet cloth to his forehead, rubbing his thumb there. The movement strained the bruised muscle, but he tried not to let the wince show. 

“You should sleep,” John managed. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Martin said with a soft smile. “I will, in a bit. I want to do this first.”

And John thought he might be tearing up at his words. Martin still managed to completely blindside him with his kindness despite everything. John wasn’t used to anyone being around to take care of him, to even want to. Being treated like this— it made him feel precious, but that wasn’t right, he couldn’t be, so it instead left him feeling like a burden, like a hindrance. That was what he should have been, at least. 

“I’m okay,” John said, trying to pull himself together. “You don’t have to take care of me.” It came out harsher than he meant it to. He really was a trapped animal, lashing out at the one person who still cared about him. 

“You’ve been injured and I haven’t been able to do anything to help,” Martin said, not rising to his attempt to push him away. “Just let me have this.”

“Oh.”

When he put it that way, he didn’t know what to say. It seemed absurd that he’d want to take care of him in any sense, and yet here he was, doing exactly that. John had spent so long alone, not wanting to be a bother to anyone, but he always did have a knack for causing problems. 

“You were crying out in your sleep,” Martin said, not quite meeting eyes. 

“Shit,” John said, releasing Martin’s wrist to rub at his face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Martin said softly. “You can’t help it if you have a nightmare. I’m just sorry I couldn’t wake you.”

John just shook his head slightly, because he didn’t know how to reply to that, and there was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t quite get past. 

“Can I look at your bruises?” Martin asked after a moment. 

John nodded, then shivered violently as he pushed the blankets aside. He hiked his shirt up enough to expose his stomach and chest, and heard the sharp intake of breath from Martin. Looking down, he saw the same purple and yellow spreading across his ribs and side. 

“It’s actually looking a bit better,” John said, pulling the shirt back down, and Martin helped pull the blankets back over him. 

“I know,” Martin said with a heavy sigh. “I just wish I could have done something. I keep going over it in my mind—“

“Don’t,”John said, reaching out to him, and Martin took his hand.  “There was nothing you could have done. Don’t do that to yourself.” 

“I still need you to know,” Martin said, leaning closer. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you if anything like that happens again.”

“No,” John said, squeezing his hand. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“Tough!” Martin said, jaw set, and John knew it was pointless to argue. They could both be equally stubborn, but John was so tired. “I’m not just going to sit by and watch you get hurt. That was— brutal.”

Martin choked on the last word, quickly covering his mouth and rubbing at his eyes, trying to regain his composure, and oh. He was this upset because he was worried about him. John could barely wrap his mind around it, and he felt tears stinging his own eyes again. 

His mind screamed that he didn’t deserve this, and as much as he trusted Martin, experience had taught him that kindness only extended so far and he was so afraid of pushing that boundary with Martin. He tried to push that thought out of his mind, because he knew it would upset Martin, and just tried to focus on this moment. They were here together, and he didn’t want to waste it lost in his own anxieties. 

John tugged Martin down towards him. He followed the movement, not quite sure what he was doing. As soon as he grasped his intention, though, he pressed his face into the crook of John’s shoulder, finally close enough for John to wrap his arms around his neck. He winced again at the movement, but just held Martin there for as long as he needed 

“I’m okay,” John said, and he hoped he sounded reassuring. “We’re okay.”

Replacing the wet cloth on John’s forehead one more time, Martin laid down beside him and wrapped him in his arms, holding him close, hugging him to his chest, and John thought he could finally feel warm again, instead of the relentless chill, and his trembling finally subsided. Martin wasn’t wearing a shirt, which made it easy for John to place a kiss to his chest, above his beating heart. 

Chapter Text

John felt exhausted just watching as Martin rushed around, making quick work of cleaning the kitchen at whatever ungodly hour in the morning it was. He knew he was being childish, but he wished Martin would just come back to their little nest of blankets, it had been so nice, having him so close, his presence a comfort. Maybe it was okay if he was a little dramatic, still aching from injuries as well as fever as he was. 

He thought helping would be the quickest way to get Martin to come back, but a few stern words had been enough to make him give up on that plan. It was strange, being the one resting while someone else worked around him. He wasn’t used to this at all. He wasn’t used to someone insisting he take it easy. As flattering as it was, it felt like it went against his nature. 

He managed to doze on and off through the rest of the morning, once he was sure Martin would save the bigger repairs and tearing out rotten furniture for when they could do it together so he hopefully wouldn’t push himself too hard. When Martin’s voice pulled him back to consciousness, he glanced over to see him staring into an empty cabinet. 

“We’re almost out of food. I’m thinking about going into town,” he said, the casualness in his voice forced even to John’s ears.

“What?” John flinched, suddenly wide awake and alert, feeling numb with cold despite the brightly burning fire.  

“Look,” Martin said, turning to face him with a determined set to his jaw that shook John. He’d probably been preparing for this conversation for a while. “We’re running out of food, and this place isn’t exactly hidden. Better to let them know I’m back than wait for someone to stumble across us and think we’re trespassing.”

“You can’t just— tell them we’re here, that’s suicide!” John exclaimed in horror, forcing himself to sit up despite his sore muscles. 

“Not necessarily,” Martin said, as calmly as he could. “The Blackwoods are already considered recluses. They’d leave groceries and supplies out by the road for us so I didn’t have to go into town all the time and leave mum alone when she was too sick to leave the house. We could do the same thing. Stealing is just going to draw attention to us. That’s the danger of staying in one place for too long.”

“I just need to get the magical defenses back up,” John said desperately. “Then we won’t have to worry about anyone stumbling across us.”

”You said it would be a while before you could duplicate Gertrude’s work, if you even can now without your books.”

”Damn it,” John said in frustration, feeling frantic and terrified because Martin was making too much sense. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“We don’t have many options, here,” Martin sighed. “I’ll be careful. Worst case scenario, we’re back on the road again.”

“That is not the worst case, and you know it,” John snapped. He knew he didn’t need to remind him, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was all falling out of his control and he knew he couldn’t protect him. 

“I’m not an idiot, John,” Martin huffed in frustration. “Do you really think I’m not going to be careful?”

”It’s not about how careful you are!“

“There’s always going to be a risk, but we can’t keep running, and we don’t have a secret house in the middle of the forest. We have to try this. Surely you had to risk something similar all those years at Gertrude’s.”

“Yes, which is why I know it’s a bad idea! Especially when we have a perfectly good alternative.“

“What, my magic?” Martin asked. “Because with how you talk about yours, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to rely on mine so much.”

John blanched, a cold dread settling deep inside him. He’d been such an idiot. Every time Martin used his magic, he was likely giving himself over more and more to the Lonely. While John was in danger of becoming some sort of monster, he wondered if the Lonely would instead simply consume Martin once it had enough of him, and he’d just— let it happen. Because it was convenient. 

“Shit,” John said, horrified with himself, wanting to reach out, to apologize, to do something, but it seemed he could only make things worse. “I didn’t even think— are-are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Martin said quickly, raising a hand to placate. He moved to sit beside John, voice softening, obviously surprised his words had affected him so much and wanting to provide some comfort. “I don’t feel any different, I just want to be careful.”

“Good, that’s good,” John said, letting out a breath to calm the panic rising in him as he scrubbed a hand across his face. He was okay, Martin was okay, he just had to remind himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Martin said, placing his hand over John’s. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m not going to disappear on you.”

“No, no, you’re right, of course,” John sighed. “This isn’t sustainable. But this shouldn’t all be on you, either. Just— let me be the one to go.”

“You’re in no state,” Martin said. 

“I’m fine,” John insisted, an edge to this voice despite his best efforts. 

“You really aren’t,” Martin exclaimed, like he couldn’t believe they were arguing about this. “Besides, I can go invisible if need. You can barely walk, you’re being ridiculous.“

John put his face in his hands and took a deep breath, it wouldn’t help to panic, he needed to think about this logically. There was no doubt in his mind that if he went himself, he’d be found out immediately. But Martin was good with people, if anyone could do it, it would be him. 

One thing John was beginning to realize was that Martin’s magic was much subtler, or maybe Martin himself just was. Perhaps the problem was with John himself; he never had been a subtle person, so maybe he did a poor job hiding his nature. After all, Elias had existed in public knowledge, and they had the same patron, the same kind of magic. He might have been left alone due to fear and blackmail, though. 

Still, he hated the idea of Martin taking this risk. There were some cruel lessons he’d learned that he didn’t want Martin to have to go through, and if he could spare him, he would. But maybe he was right, maybe it wouldn’t happen here, and Martin would be able to escape if anything went wrong. He still hated putting Martin in any potential danger, though. 

“Please don’t do this,” he said, because he knew there was no winning this argument. It was the smart thing to do, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

“Trust me,” Martin said, and he did, he did. There was nothing he could say to that. “I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.”

”It’s you I’m worried about,” John said, exasperated again, because the last thing he wanted was for Martin to do something foolish because of him and get hurt. 

“Then trust that I’ll do everything in my power to come home to you,” Martin said, voice so soft. 

“Fighting dirty, I see,” John said, trying at a smile. He gave a shaky exhale, trying to get himself under control. This was happening whether he wanted it to or not, and he wasn’t strong enough.

”I’ll be back before dinner,” Martin said, and he was too good at reassuring, his smile looked too genuine. “Do you need anything before I go?”

“No,” John said in defeat, but then a thought occurred to him. “Wait, yes.”

He reached out to loop a finger in the collar of Martin’s shirt, tugging gently so he could place a kiss to his lips. He stayed close, eyes still closed for another moment as he inhaled another shaky breath. 

“Just come back safe.”

“I will,” Martin said, and his smile was so smitten, John wasn’t sure if it made it harder or easier to let him go. 

-

Being too sore and weak to move while filled with a nervous energy was a miserable way to spend the day. John couldn’t sleep despite how exhausted he was. Not that he wanted to. Yes, it would make the day go by quicker, but he couldn’t let his guard down. The moment the sun began its descent, the moment Martin could be considered late, he planned to go out there and look for him in case he was in danger. It didn’t matter how weak John was feeling, he’d drag himself all the way into town if it might save him. 

When he heard voices and the crunch of gravel underfoot, John scrambled to grab his cane before dragging himself to his feet, hissing in pain as he did so. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to be found completely defenseless. He staggered over to the table and leaned on it heavily, bracing himself for whatever happened next. 

Despite anticipating this, every approaching footstep he heard caused a thrill of terror to shoot through him. He wished he could have at least appeared composed, but instead his panicked breaths filled the room as his racing mind provided him with all sorts of horrible possibilities. 

It definitely sounded like Martin’s gait, but someone had been with him. Had they forced him to get John? Did they bring him here so they could make him watch while they killed Martin in front of him? What if—

The door swung open and he flinched back violently, too lost in his own terror of imagined possibilities, but then he saw Martin standing there, his smile faltering into concern when he saw John standing there. 

“Martin,” he said, the single word filled with so much relief as he sagged against the table, tension cut like a string. 

“What are you doing up?” Martin demanded. He put his pack, now full supplies, down on the floor before hurrying over to him. 

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” John assured him, waving him off. He did reach his hand out to take Martin’s, giving it a squeeze before releasing him. He wasn’t sure which one of them he’d done it for. 

“Very convincing,” Martin said, rolling his eyes, but he obliged, returning to unpacking. 

“Sorry,” John said with a heavy sigh, putting his face in his hand, feeling embarrassed. “I guess I worked myself up a bit. You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Less has changed than I thought. The same family owns the general store and I was able to set up the same deal as before.“

“Oh?”

“The less we have to go into town and risk our secret getting found out, the better,” Martin said. “I told them we were ill, so they’re going to leave groceries up the road every week. They were very obliging, their grandson even walked me back to discuss details, cute kid.”

“Y-you’re sure they don’t suspect anything?” John asked, unwilling to let down his guard so soon. 

“I think we’re okay. We have the benefit of them knowing my family, so I just let them fill in the blanks on their own. We’ll be careful. We’ll be okay. 

John nodded, slumping into a chair. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, still plagued by a constant chill. He felt foolish, for panicking over nothing, for trying to talk Martin out of going. Yes, he had seen some horrible things, but that didn’t mean Martin would have the same experience. John could admit that Martin was much smarter than he was, it only made sense that he’d fare better here. 

“John,” Martin said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Go back to bed, you look exhausted. 

“I’m sorry,” John said quickly, before he could back out and say nothing at all. “I know I overreacted before.”

“It’s okay,” Martin reassured him. He paused in his unpacking to turn his attention to him fully at the gravity of his words. 

“No, it’s not. I’m just— scared. All the time. I don’t want you to go through what I did. Not that our situations are the same. I spent months doing Elias’ bidding, hurting so many people. You haven’t given these people any reason to turn on you like I did.”

“I don’t think you being manipulated by Elias should be considered a reason,” Martin said, moving to stand before him. “I understand why you’re so worried about this, though. I promise I’ll be careful.”

”I know,” John sighed, looking up at him fondly. 

“You’re not in this alone anymore,” Martin ran his fingers through his hair, and John couldn’t help but lean into the touch. 

“I know. I love you.”

“And I love you. Now go sleep! I’ll make us something to eat, but you need rest.”

Chapter Text

“How was it?” John asked as he huddled under the blankets, leaning up against Martin who was reading through a book he’d picked up earlier. “Going into town I mean. How has it been seeing— all of this, again?“

Martin absently ran his fingers through John’s hair, staring into the middle distance as he gathered his thoughts. It felt wonderful, but as John watched him, it was obvious all of the memories stirred up weren’t exactly good and he wished he could do something to soothe him instead. Martin always did so much for him. 

“I don’t know,” Martin admitted. “This place doesn’t exactly have many happy memories. 

“We’ll have to fix that,” John said, before he really had time to realize what he was saying. It felt arrogant, to think he could help with something so huge. The warmth in Martin’s surprised smile was worth it, though. 

“Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For saying that,” Martin said, his hand moving to brush his fingers against his cheek and John couldn’t help the slight shiver. “For being here. For everything.”

“I haven’t really done anything,” John objected. 

“You have,” Martin assured him. “This was a lonely place to grow up, but it doesn’t feel that way anymore. With you.”

Relief probably shouldn’t have been how that made John feel, but it did. He wished he was better at this. He never wanted Martin to feel that way, but he knew eventually he would mess up or say something hurtful. He just hoped he could make him feel loved, 

“When we confronted Elias,” Martin began, letting his eyes wander. “He— showed me things. I’d been trying not to think about it, but it’s hard, being back here, around so many memories.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“From what you’ve said, your patron— it’s all about knowledge and revealed truths, right? So I guess it has to be true.”

“It’s— likely,” John said, wishing he could say otherwise. But lies and deceit belonged to a different patron. 

“I know it is, as much as I wish I didn’t. It makes too much sense.”

“We don’t have to stay here,” John said. “We could go somewhere else.”

“No, it’s okay. This place, it’s mine, now. Ours. I’d like to reclaim the good parts of my past, if I can. I don’t want my mother to be a shadow over everything in my life.”

“I get it, I think,” John said. 

“She may not have been able to see me for who I was, who I am, but I don’t feel like that now. With you.”

There was an intensity in Martin’s eyes, when he looked back down at him. It wasn’t anything like Beholding, or being under the scrutiny of anyone else. No, this was just Martin, seeing him, loving him. And it filled him with such love and affection, chasing away the chill of the night. 

Martin leaned down and placed a kiss to his forehead, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes fall closed at the touch, just drinking it in. Martin offered this so willingly, he wondered if there would ever be a time when he didn’t want to fall into it, treasure it like the desperate man he was. He couldn’t imagine it, even if he could live in the moment for the rest of his life. 

-

John had always been a light sleeper, but when something woke him before the early morning sun had even risen, he had to stay still and quiet, trying to determine what it had been this time. His entire body still ached, that dull weakness in his limbs from an illness as well as the pain in his muscles from the bruising. And, of course, the agony in his bad leg from the strain he had put it through for so long without rest. With all that added up, he thought the general misery he was in might have been the cause of his wakefulness, but then he heard a quiet sniffle nearby. 

John rolled over, very gently placing his hand on Martin’s back. He heard his breath hitch in surprise, before sniffling again, no doubt trying to get the tears under control. It made John ache, knowing he would sit here in the dark, alone, with his grief. He wished he’d woken him up. 

John placed a kiss to the back of Martin’s shoulder, rubbing a hand along his arm. The tender gesture seemed to take Martin by surprise, which broke his heart too. He wished he would turn around, but at least Martin wasn’t trying to hide it anymore as he cried into his pillow. All John could do was try to comfort him, make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, hoping it wasn’t too much. 

When Martin finally rolled over, he had shed all his tears. He still looked wrecked, though, and when John caressed the side of his face, Martin leaned forward and let John pull him against his chest, wrapping their arms around each other. 

John didn’t know what to say to fix this. All he could do was whisper reassurances that he was there for him, he wasn’t alone, running a hand through his hair as Martin slowly began to relax, the trembling finally subsiding. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You're in pain, you almost died,” Martin said, putting emphasis on the word. “I have no right to be—“

“You’ve been through a lot,” John countered. “You’ve suffered too. It’s not a competition. 

Martin studied his face, running his fingers along the lines and scars, silent for a long moment, deep in thought. 

“I love you,” Martin said, finally breaking the silence.

John still wasn’t used to hearing those words directed at him, and he was struck with such an overwhelming mix of emotions it brought tears to his eyes. 

“I love you too,” he managed to say, despite it all. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Martin said, the words hitting John hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs all over again. 

“Me too,” was all he managed. 

He was supposed to be the one comforting Martin, but here he was, falling apart all over again. He tried to ignore his shaking arms, or the way any movement caused pain to lance through his bruised body, to hold Martin closer, kissing the top of his head. 

When Martin pulled away, it was with reluctance that John loosened his grip. He didn’t go far, though, and instead of disentangling himself entirely, he simply shifted to kiss his lips. It started off slow, but the desperation was obvious and it was all John could do to match it. John wasn’t used to this, and he found himself trembling at the intensity. It was so much, and he could drown in the intensity if he wasn’t careful. 

“Sorry,” Martin whispered against his lips when he finally drew away for air. “Too much?”

All John could do was shake his head, dazed. It took him a moment to remember how to form words. 

“You’re going to get sick too,” he managed. 

“Worth it,” Martin chuckled. “Although I probably would have anyway, sleeping so close.”

John wanted to thank him for staying, for holding him through all of this, but he didn’t. He knew how stifling his attentions could be. He didn’t want Martin to feel obliged in any way. John was just happy to have whatever Martin was willing to give. 

Chapter Text

John was sure he’d seen something outside through the window, movement out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he was still just too paranoid, jumping at every shadow, but that paranoia had kept him alive this long, so he decided to check. Just in case. Besides, without any magical protections setup, even just a nosy neighbor could spell their end. 

Martin’s boots were too big, but that meant they were quick and easy to slip into before he went stomping off towards the barn. Everything seemed normal as he approached, no one was obviously loitering about, so he checked inside as well. The barn was just as empty as it had always been, but at least this had served as a good reminder that they should really get to repairing it before it collapsed in on itself. 

Satisfied, he turned around, and froze. Someone was standing, silhouetted in the open doorway. It wasn’t Martin, he was broad and fat, a pleasant sight under any circumstance. This person, though, was tall and thin, standing with the confidence of someone who was used to being in control no matter the situation. And John recognized him. 

“Hello, Jonathan.”

John’s breath stopped in his chest and he stumbled backwards, as far away as he could get in the confined space. There was nowhere else to go, and yet there wasn’t nearly enough distance between them. 

“Elias,” John whispered in disbelief, unable to look away. He cringed back as Elias stepped inside fully, until he could make out the cruel smile on his face. 

“Oh,” Elias said, pityingly, mockingly. “You didn’t really think you’d seen the last of me, did you?

“How— what—“ John began, but his mind was too overwhelmed with fear and confusion and he didn’t even know where to begin. 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Elias said with a chuckle. “Unfortunately for you, I do in fact have a contact who serves the Lonely. It was easy enough for me to get out.”

John’s stomach dropped at that, his blood running cold. He felt unsteady, like he was falling. How could he be so stupid as to think he had actually escaped? When would he learn that there was no getting away from this man? Elias shifted and it was enough to startle John back into himself and he flinched as if struck. 

“Stay back!” John exclaimed. As if he had any hope of defending himself if he chose to disregard his demand. “Are you here to kill me?”

“Oh, relax,” Elias said, so casually, as if he didn’t terrify him. As if they were just having a casual chat. “You are much too entertaining for that. The amount of fear you produce for our patron all on your own is truly delicious. And I’ve enjoyed watching you attempt to hide from a god that is, by its very nature, all-seeing.”

“So, what then?” John demanded, bristling as he realized Elias had never stopped playing with him. He’d been doomed from the very start. 

“While that knife did hurt my feelings, I am willing to let bygones be,” Elias said, and John stared in horror as he ran a hand across his abdomen in a way that would have hurt had he still had any injuries. How could he have healed so quickly? Had they really done so little to hinder him? ”I wanted to extend an olive branch, as it were. See if I can convince you to return to your old job.”

“What?” John said, in complete disbelief, sure he had to have heard wrong. 

“Well, you see,” Elias continued, pacing a little. “Since the crown is currently lost to the Lonely, it’s back to hunting down artifacts and recording statements from victims of the Patrons, and you were so very good at it. I was never suited to doing the legwork myself.”

“You can’t be serious?” 

“Yes, I know, I tried to unleash countless horrors into the world, but that’s in the past,” Elias said, dismissively. “I swear I won’t be doing that again. At least not in your lifetime.”

“I will never go back there with you,” John spat with as much venom as he could muster. 

“Oh, come now, we had some good times,” Elias said, as if he’d hurt his feelings. As if those hadn’t been the worst years of John’s life, spent in terror and misery.

“I wasn’t there for any of those good times,” John snapped. “And there is nothing you can do to convince me to return.”

“Not even if I promise you will have much more freedom and control over the details of our arrangement? Now that you know enough about our Patron, we could be partners in this.”

“Partners?” John said, incredulous. “After everything you did to me?”

“Come now, if this is about the more— intimate moments we shared, I promise to behave myself. If that’s really what you want, of course.” He grinned at him, and John shuddered in disgust. 

“Intimate?” John all but spluttered, fury overriding the terror that tried to tell him to run, to get out of there before it was too late. He always did have a terrible sense of self preservation. “Is that what you’d call it? Go to hell!”

The moment John was too wrapped up in everything to escape, Elias had revealed his claws, his magic. And with John completely at his mercy, with no one to turn to for help, it hadn’t taken long for him to push past any boundaries John had, taking his magic as well as his body for himself. 

Having his magic sapped had hurt, but that was nothing compared to the helplessness and the horror, knowing there was no escape, no mercy. John had never enjoyed sex, but it hardly mattered what he wanted. Elias had told him that he would like it, eventually. Maybe he just needed to get used to it, they would just have to keep trying. 

But John wasn’t trapped there anymore. And he couldn’t go back to that. He knew he wouldn’t survive, being forced back into that situation, under Elias’ thumb. And he certainly didn’t believe that Elias would honor any promises he was making now. No, John would rather die than go back. His first escape had been pure luck, there was no chance he would get away a second time. 

“Very well. Seems a bit extreme, but it's your choice,” Elias said, raising his hands in surrender. “In that case, I suppose I’ll take my leave.”

“That’s it? Really?” John asked, because there was no way this was what he was here for. This entire thing had to be a ploy. 

“Well, yes. I am rather bored of this entire ordeal. It’s put me quite far behind on paperwork.” He made to turn, but stopped, raising a hand as if he just remembered something. “I am curious, though. Have you told him yet? Or are you having too much fun playing house to spoil it?”

“I—What?” John asked, confused. 

“Well,” Elias said, that self important grin that made his skin crawl back on his lips. “How do you think he’s going to feel, when he finds out I’ve had the one thing he desires most?“

“I-I don’t— uh—” 

John could feel that pit in his stomach again, sensing the direction this conversation was going, feeling lightheaded from the fear, looking around for any way out, any way to get away from Elias, because he couldn’t go through this again. He couldn’t. Injured as he was, there was no way he could fight back if he closed the distance, forced himself on him again. He was beginning to realize how bad of a decision he had made, coming out here alone. 

“Oh, surely even you aren’t this dense,” Elias rolled his eyes. “I had you in ways he could never dream of.”

John flinched back so hard he hit the wall of the barn, unable to get any farther away. He was trembling so hard now, he could barely hold his cane to keep himself upright. He’d tried so hard to put all of that behind him, it was supposed to be over, but now he was flooded with the helplessness, the fear and disgust, the self loathing and the heavy resignation that had worn him down. 

He shuddered as he was overwhelmed with unwanted memories, of what it had felt like when Elias laid a hand on him and he wanted to wretch. He had been so relieved when he ran away, so sure he would never have to go through this again, but it had all been a lie. He was just as much at Elias’ mercy as he had been before. And he had so little mercy. 

“And I know I’m not the only one. There have been others since, haven't there?”

“No, I didn’t—“ John began, but what was he supposed to say to that? He brought a hand up to his mouth, worried he really was going to be sick. 

He had experienced all forms of violence directed at him. Sometimes, they weren’t satisfied with a beating, and more than once he had been held down, completely at the mercy of those who wanted him to truly suffer, and he wasn’t sure he could ever erase the feeling entirely no matter how hard he tried, the feeling of hands on him as he was pressed into the ground, as people took their pleasure from him. 

”All those people who touched you, tasted you, ravished you,” Elias said, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, playing it up. ”How do you think that Martin of yours will feel when he finds out? You say you love him, but it seems like he’s the only one you haven’t let touch you, that you haven’t fucked.”

“That—that’s not,” John stumbled over his words. He hated himself and how he was reacting, the fear so deep in him there was no hope of thinking clearly to get out of this mess. “He wouldn’t—“ He was pretty sure he was crying, tears flowing down his face, but apparently the rest of him hadn’t realized as there were no sobs to accompany them. 

“Are you so sure?” Elias asked. “Perhaps I should go tell him.”

That sent a chill down his spine, but the idea of Elias going anywhere near Martin, threatening him, caused his anger and hatred to win out. “Stay away from him,” he said, relieved that his voice was as steady as it was.  

“I could even place the memories in his mind,” Elias continued, that sick grin on his face as he saw the way John’s expression collapsed in despair. “Let him experience it second hand if he’ll never get the real thing. He’ll see how much you actually did enjoy yourself. How much you wanted it.”

“Please,” John whispered, sounding so pathetic. He wanted to trust Martin, but when faced with Elias, knowing the sadistic glee he would gain from tearing John away from the one good thing in his life— it was hard to believe in anything. John had spent a very long time under Elias, losing faith in everything. 

“Very well,” Elias said with a shrug, voice almost sounding cruelly playful. “As I said, I’ve wasted enough time here. Good luck.”

And then he was gone. John desperately called upon the Eye for the first time in so long, making sure Elias actually had left, that this wasn’t a trap, that he wasn’t going after Martin next. But no, he was gone, and John collapsed to the ground, shaking too badly to hold himself up any longer, feeling so weak and helpless. 

Elias had been this overbearing presence in his life for so long, seemingly impossible to escape, and he was still out there. He could decide to return at any time. The memory of hands on him, pressing against him, holding him down, the violence and disregard, washed over him again, and this time he did retch. 

After he’d emptied his stomach, he slumped over, breathing hard, forehead pressed against the cool wood of the barn. He knew he was on the verge of a panic attack, feeling like a trapped animal. He wanted to scream and cry and lash out, but that wouldn’t save him. Nothing would. Elias might be gone now, but the threat wasn’t. And his words sat heavy inside his chest. 

Martin wasn’t like that, he reminded himself. He wasn’t. When they’d talked about this, he’d understood. Right? But how would he feel knowing that he’d been with someone like Elias, and yet wouldn’t sleep with him? Technically, in the end, John had consented, even if he’d only done so because the alternative was worse. Would Martin see it that way? Or would he just feel like the exception? The one he was denying? 

He hadn’t wanted it, had he? He’d hated every moment of it, and he hated and feared Elias so much, he never wanted to be touched by him again. But even then, had there been moments when it had felt good? 

Logically he knew that his body reacting to stimuli didn’t necessarily override the revulsion, but did a fleeting moment of pleasure before the horror returned make him guilty? If Elias placed one such memory into Martin’s mind, made it look like he really had wanted it, had enjoyed it, what would Martin think of him then? 

John didn’t have any answers. All he could do was stare numbly down at his trembling hands, wondering if he could ever feel safe again. He just tried to get his breathing under control, waiting until his body wasn’t trembling so violently, until he had no more tears left to shed. Until he was sure Elias was far away and showed no sign of turning around. 

Chapter Text

“Elias is alive.”

The words were out of John’s mouth the moment he entered the room. He was still shaky on his feet, and maybe Martin feared the worst, because he immediately dropped the book he was holding and stormed outside. As worn out as he was with the fear, he nearly let out a manic laugh, wondering if Martin planned to fistfight him. 

“He—he’s gone now,” John said instead, following behind. 

“You’re sure?” Martin asked, turning his full attention on John now, looking so concerned as he placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” John said, a little numbly, trying not to recoil from the touch. His own skin felt too hot, too confined, and any touch, even from his own clothing, made him feel like he needed to tear out of himself. 

“Even though your magic is a bit weird on him? You’re sure he isn’t trying to trick you?”

“No, I think he’s actually gone.”

“Good,” Martin sighed heavily. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” John said, relieved he was able to keep his voice so convincingly even. 

“What did he want?”

“I’m not entirely sure. To make us constantly afraid he’ll come back? To ensure we can never really let our guard down? He didn’t seem to have the crown and said he wouldn’t be trying again in my lifetime,” John said, trying to remember everything. It was all a bit of a blur. 

“That definitely sounds like a threat,” Martin noted. 

“He— also asked me to come back and work for him.”

“Seriously?”

“I guess? It’s hard to tell when he’s being serious or not.”

“What did you say?”

“‘No,’ of course!”

“Okay, okay,” Martin said, raising a hand. “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes, but knowing how the conversation went could be useful. Come on, let’s get back inside.”

“All right,” John said, and suddenly he felt so tired. He slumped down into a chair in the kitchen and stared down at his hands, feeling too numb to do anything. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You seem really shaken up.”

“No, no, I just— he scares me,” John said, and it certainly wasn’t a lie, even if he didn’t exactly want to divulge their entire conversation. “I guess I forgot how much.“

“What can I do?” Martin asked, and John’s heart ached. He loved him so much, and hated the thought of how it might hurt him if he ever found out. 

“Some tea?” he said, because he didn’t know what he needed. Maybe he just wanted to sit near Martin, and at least this would accomplish that. 

“I can definitely do that,” Martin said with such a fond smile it felt like it burned. John didn’t deserve it. 

-

Martin enveloped him as he slept, pressed against his back on their bed, arms wrapped securely around him. John closed his eyes, soaking it all in. When the crushing anxiety in his chest wasn’t as strong, he loved this feeling. He felt safe, he felt loved. 

This was everything he had ever wanted. Maybe it was selfish of him, to withhold anything from Martin that might let him feel this as well. He’d said he understood, that he didn’t want sex if it was something John also didn’t want. But John wanted him to be happy, and maybe that was all that should matter. A little discomfort to make sure he was as happy shouldn’t matter, right? 

He tried to hold onto that feeling as he made his choice. Better to do this now than wait for Elias to ruin everything. He’d tried to avoid his problems by ignoring them before and that only made them worse. He pushed back into Martin, rubbing against him. As afraid as he was of what he was doing, he was endeared by the surprised and sleepy noise that it drew from Martin. 

He loved Martin. That was all he needed to think about. Even if he didn’t enjoy any of this, he could focus on that. This wasn’t violence directed against him, this was him sharing something so intimate, wanting Martin to be happy, to be satisfied. He could do this. 

Maybe he could even find a way to enjoy it, he lied to himself. It wasn’t like he hated every aspect of this. There was an intimacy and warmth, there could be a gentleness; maybe that would be enough for him to tolerate the rest. 

John turned in his arms and kissed him, hard, letting his hands wander over the curves of Martin. This, he could do. This, he enjoyed. They had explored each other before, and John was glad to be allowed to feel his softness, his sturdy weight against him. He loved every part of him. 

Still half asleep, Martin tried to keep up, his hands settling at John’s hips as John pushed him onto his back and straddled him. He just focused on making Martin feel good. That was all he needed to focus on. 

“John? Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

Shit. He couldn’t do anything right. He winced and re-doubled his efforts, rolling his hips down against Martin, drawing a surprised gasp from him. Elias had told him once that he couldn’t stop, no matter how much he begged. He said it was his own fault, for feeling so good. If there had been any truth in that, maybe he could use his body to distract Martin, to stop him from asking too many questions until it broke him.

Not that Martin would ever say something like that to him. He would never want to do anything to hurt him, and that helped John considerably as he felt Martin tighten his grip in surprise. John took advantage of this to slip his hands lower, under his waistband. Martin wasn’t nearly as distracted as he thought, though, because he quickly grasped his wrist, stopping him, and John couldn’t help the frustrated noise that escaped him. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Martin asked, breathing heavily. “I thought you didn’t like doing this sort of thing.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind,” John said, much too defensively. 

”Of course you are, but we should probably talk about it first,” Martin said, frustratingly reasonable. 

“There’s nothing to talk about. I want to have sex with you.”

I-I-I’m flattered,” Martin said, eyes going wide as he turned crimson, but he didn’t let him go. “But— did something happen? Where did this come from, all of a sudden?”

“Nowhere,” John snapped, and Martin let him go when he tried to twist out of his grasp. Not that he knew what to do, anymore. It was obvious his attempts to distract him had failed. “I just want this.”

“When we talked about this before, you made it pretty clear this would never happen,” Martin said. “What changed?”

“I don't know! Do you want to have sex or not?” 

“I’m not really in the mood, right now,” Martin said, still looking like he was trying to figure this all out.

John groaned in frustration and climbed off of him. He didn’t know what to do, now. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the courage up to try another time, and his face was burning in shame. Why wouldn’t Martin just go along with this? 

”Do you want to have sex with me?” Martin asked. 

“Yes!,” John said, throwing his arms out in frustration. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“But do you actually want to have sex? In general. Will you enjoy it?” Martin pressed. 

John hesitated, only for a moment, and he knew he’d given it away. He saw how Martin noticed, how he took it all in, and he was so frustrated with himself. Why couldn’t he just do this? Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why did he have to make everything so difficult? 

“I thought you wanted this?” he said instead, because most people did, and he didn’t understand why Martin wouldn’t just go for it, if it was so important, like everyone seemed to think it was. Why did Martin have to be so damned considerate?

”No, I don’t,” Martin said, and he looked a little bit horrified. “Not if you aren’t going to enjoy it. What is going on? Does this have anything to do with Elias?”

“No!” John said, too quickly, because he didn’t want to think about that. “I just— I thought it might be different, I thought I’d enjoy it with you.“

”John?” Martin said, very carefully, like he was beginning to put the pieces together and he did not like what he was seeing. “I need you to talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I—” John hesitated, looking anywhere but at Martin, suddenly desperate for a way out of this conversation. He’d gotten himself trapped, though. Maybe he should just come clean. Better he hear it from him first, he supposed. ”Back when I was working for Elias— I did other things for him, too. I had sex with him. I didn’t really feel like I could tell him no.”

Rage flashed behind Martin’s eyes for a moment, hot and violent, but John saw as he carefully packed that away for later. Right now, it was obvious he wanted to be there for him. He hesitantly took his hand, all the while moving slow enough that John could withdraw if he wanted. It was good, better than the alternative, because John was fairly certain that if he tried to hug him now, he would lose it completely, too many memories trying to break through. 

“I’m sorry that happened, and I can’t imagine telling me was easy. What happened wasn’t your fault, and if that’s the reason you don’t want to have sex, that’s fine. 

“No, I’ve never really enjoyed it, even before. I just— he could make you see it.”

“What?” Martin went white at that, he looked queasy, like he was going to be ill at the thought, and John felt rather the same. 

“He could force those memories into you, and if I didn’t hate it, if there was any part I got some enjoyment from— he could make it look like—“

“Hold on, hold on,” Martin interrupted, and John knew from his tone that he’d messed up. ”You thought— he assaulted you, and you thought, what, that I’d be jealous?” 

“No,” John said quickly, before stumbling over his words, because he didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know how or what to do now. All he could do was brace for whatever was about to happen. “I-I-I don’t know—“

“Fuck, John,” Martin let out a harsh breath, rubbing at his face, looking absolutely horrified. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “I-I need a minute. Just give me a second.”

He got up and left the room, leaving John alone on the bed, trying hard not to hyperventilate. He’d messed everything up. He’d just made it seem like he didn’t know Martin at all, that he thought the worst of him. All because he let Elias get into his head. He was such an idiot. 

He knew most people weren’t like him, that they considered romance and sex to be one and the same. He should have just buried that part of himself so that none of this would have happened. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. All he knew was that he wanted Martin, here with him. He didn’t want to lose him.  

He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He wanted to go after Martin, to apologize, to try again, but he was likely to just make all of this worse. If he waited, maybe Martin would come back and tell him what he could do to fix all of this. 

Eventually, he heard the whistling of the kettle and was terrified that meant Martin would need even more time. Thankfully, he returned to the bedroom with two mugs. He handed one to John before gesturing for him to stand up. 

“Okay,” Martin said with a heavy sigh. “We’re going to get some tea in you and then we’re going to talk about this properly. Come on.”

John followed dejectedly into the living room and sat beside Martin on the small couch. He was relieved to see he’d stoked the fire again, so it wasn’t completely freezing. And then Martin took him by surprise by draping a blanket around his shoulders. They were silent for a long moment, John staring down into his tea, reluctant to meet his eyes. 

“Did I do something to make you think I was unhappy with our relationship?” Martin started, voice carefully neutral, like he hadn’t been upset. 

“What? No,” John exclaimed, looking up at Martin despite himself. “No, you didn’t. I’m sorry, I’m saying all of this wrong.”

“It’s okay,” Martin said with too much patience. “Take your time. I want to understand.”

“I don’t— I think there were times when it had felt good, when I had enjoyed it. If I could, with someone I hate as much as Elias, that should mean it would be better with you, right? I love you.” He sounded desperate even to his own ears, and it was clear Martin was struggling with how to respond. 

“What Elias did— was monstrous. It wasn’t your fault. Whatever you felt, it isn’t a failing on your part. You don’t have to answer to anyone.”

“But— I’d always been told that I’d meet the right person, or eventually it would feel good enough that I’d change my mind.”

”That’s horrible,” Martin exclaimed, but he’d heard it so many times, John tried not to shrug his concern away. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m glad you want to share so much with me, I feel the same, but that doesn’t mean I want you to disregard your own boundaries. Are you doing this because you feel like you should want to, or do you genuinely think you’d enjoy it? Because you said you never had before.”

And then John was crying, because there was no lying, to himself or Martin. “No,” he managed between sobs. “I wanted it to be different, with you, but I don’t—“

“Hey, it’s okay,” Martin said. He made to move forward, but paused. Instead of pulling him into a hug, he reached out and offered his hand, palm up, and John thought he might cry even harder with how much he loved him. He surged forward and took his hand in both of his own. 

”What about you?” John pressed, because he needed to know. “What about what you want?”

“What I want doesn’t override what you want. I can take care of myself. Relationships are all about finding a balance, being together and happy while remaining two people with their own preferences and interests.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, because he felt like he should, because he knew Martin would have enjoyed it. 

“Don’t,” Martin said, soft and tender. “I want you to have boundaries, and I want to be able to respect them.”

And, oh. It wasn’t that he thought this would be anything like with Elias. Of course it wouldn’t be, this was Martin. But still, having proof like this, that he could say no, that he could make a demand he’d been told was impossible before, and have him react as if it was the easiest thing in the world for him to agree— 

He turned to wrap his arms around his neck, burying his face against his shoulder, holding him so tightly. He knew he was shaking even more now, but it was for a completely different reason. He had so much emotion trapped inside, from grief at all the years he’d spent so afraid, not realizing that this was what love was, and oh, how he loved Martin. 

There was no way to put it all into words. So he kept it simple. As the tears began to fall anew, he whispered his love to him. It was all he was capable of. And Martin just held him, so patient, always so patient. John knew he could be so much, so demanding, so few could put up with him, but Martin made loving him look easy. 

“I don’t think it feels how it does for most other people,” John said eventually, because he wanted him to know. 

“All right,” Martin said, stroking his hair, being so patient. 

“I don’t like the feeling, it’s— it’s too much. It’s overwhelming and uncomfortable. Even if I could stand it long enough to find some pleasure in it, it wouldn’t be worth how upsetting it feels.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Martin said, but he wasn’t done. 

”Please don’t think it’s because I don’t think you’re attractive, you are, I love you in every way I’m able, I just— I’m sorry, I wanted it to be different, with you. I wanted to be able to like it, but this is just how I am.”

“Please don’t apologize. I told you, you don’t owe me anything. I get that this isn’t about me, you aren’t going to hurt my feelings.” 

“Okay.”

“I need you to understand,” Martin said, and John tried not to stiffen up at that, anxiety getting the better of him. “I don’t want you to force yourself to do things you don’t enjoy. I want you to be happy. If there’s anything else we’ve been doing that you don’t—“

“No,” John said quickly. “No, I like what we have. I’m sorry I almost ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Martin said, turning enough to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for talking to me about this. Just do me a favor and talk to me next time.”

“Sorry,” John said. “I guess Elias did get in my head.”

“I’m gonna kill that bastard,” Martin muttered darkly, his arms around John tightening protectively ever so slightly, even as he quickly tried to relax his grip.  

“He might have been genuine, when he said he was done. This might have just been his last attempt to get me back, or just ruin my life. He never was big on doing anything that required actual work. He’d rather someone else do the dirty work, even if it’s me and my own anxieties.” 

“Still doesn’t hurt to take precautions,” Martin said. 

He laid back, with John on top of him, and brushed his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, and John all but melted against him. It was hard to remember that he could trust someone, rely on them, but he tried to remind himself that Martin had so much more than earned it. 

“I’m scared,” he said eventually. 

“Me too,” Martin replied. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin this or push you away.”

“Me too,” Martin said again, then after a beat, he chuckled. “No, that came out wrong, sorry, I didn’t mean you as well. I’m worried I’ll do the same. We’ll just have to keep being stubborn assholes. And ignoring anything Elias says.”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

“This is a bad idea,” John muttered. He had a scarf pulled up over his nose as he trudged behind Martin, his cane clacking against stones on the path. It wasn’t even that cold, but he didn't exactly blend in with his myriad of scars, and having something to hide behind helped put him at least a little more at ease. 

He wouldn't be anxious at all if he could have just stayed home. Being out in the open, so exposed, had him on edge, constantly looking over his shoulder. But having Martin beside him certainly helped. He’d made several trips into town, by now, and John would be lying if he said he didn’t feel guilty making him constantly do this on his own. 

Yes, it was courteous of the owners of the general store to deliver basic supplies for them after an advance in payment so they didn’t have to constantly make the trip into town. But there were other supplies they still needed to get on occasion, and it wasn’t always possible for Martin to simply go in with a list. In this case, the herbs John needed were very specialized and he didn’t always know the common name for them. 

“It’ll be fine,” Martin said, slowing down enough to put his arm around his shoulders. It was difficult, but John did his best to not lean into the touch as the comfort it was. He was supposed to be annoyed. “They know it’s not just me living in that house, and they’re getting curious. They want to meet you.”

“I highly doubt anyone actually wants to meet me, they’re just being nosey,” John sniffed.

“And if they are, I’m sure you’ll put them right,” Martin snickered. 

“Damn right,” John said darkly, barely managing to stop himself from laughing as well. 

“Yes, John, you’re very scary and intimidating,” Martin said, a little bit patronizing, but still good naturedly.  

“What if someone recognized me?” John asked, and now he did break character, chewing on the nails of his free hand absently. There were just too many variables, too many ways this could all go horribly wrong. Yes, Martin had proven that he himself could make this trip safely enough, but John had been too afraid to leave the house most days. 

“Who?” Martin asked, and John wished he could feel as relaxed and confident as Martin looked. “Who could possibly recognize you? It’s not like you had an active social life before we met.”

“I suppose,” John grumbled. 

“Would it help if I said I had a surprise for you?” Martin asked coily. 

“What?” John slowed down at that, nearly tripping. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Don’t worry, you'll like this one,” Martin assured him. 

“No,” John said, not entirely joking. He really did hate surprises. The anxiety of the uncertainty always ruined even enjoyable surprises. “I think maybe I should head home after all.”

“No, no, it’s fine, really,” Martin said, gently urging him to continue walking, and John gave in with a huff. “Fine, I’ll tell you, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“You’d better,” John muttered. 

“Remember the farm I’ve been working on? The older couple who own it have cats to keep mice away, and one of them just had kittens. I thought it would be nice to stop there first and see them before going to get your herbs.”

“Oh,” John said, and he felt like an arse for forcing him to tell him. “That is— very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“So I did good, then?” Martin asked, looking smug. 

“Yes, yes, ruin the moment, why don’t you,” John said, but he did lean in and kiss him on the cheek as they walked. He almost stumbled and missed, but Martin steadied him. 

“Maybe one day we can even get a kitten of our own,” Martin said with a giddy smile. 

John’s cheeks darkened at that. He would have felt silly, blushing over such a simple statement, but Martin was also bright red. There was just something so— long term, something like commitment, in getting a pet together. And while they were already fairly committed to each other, this would be a significant representation of that. 

“I think I would like that,” John said, and he hoped he didn’t sound too dreamy about it. 

“But first, the herbs,” Martin said. 

“Yes, and I fear we may use most of our savings,” John said. “The jars and other equipment I need to make tonics and the like can be quite expensive.”

“That’s fine,” Martin said. “It’s an investment. I’m sure we’ll earn it back selling them.”

“I’m just sorry you’ve had to earn everything on your own, so far.”

“You make it sound like you were out having a good time while I labored in the fields,” Martin joked. “It’s fine, John, really. You were healing. Well, mostly. Don’t think I didn’t see all the cleaning you did in the attic.”

“Yes, okay, fine,” John said. “I get restless. And I didn’t want to feel like a freeloader.”

“I kind of wish you were,” Martin nudged his elbow. “Then you wouldn’t keep re-bruising your ribs.”

“I’m fine,” John griped. 

Honestly, relying on someone for help was something they were both struggling with. They kept trying to do everything on their own, forgetting they didn’t have to do that anymore. Martin was learning much more quickly than he was. 

“You know,” Martin said. “If this goes well, there’ll be a book seller in town in a few weeks. We could come back then, if you want.”

John knew his eyes likely lit up at that. He had sorely been missing his library, mourning what was likely a pile of ashes, now. Such a waste. Getting access to new knowledge, though, was an incredibly appealing prospect. He hoped he’d be able to rebuild a decent collection, something that didn’t include the terrible serial novels that seemed to be all the town sold. 

That did mean he had to get through today, however. He increased his pace with a determined set of his jaw, which drew a delighted laugh from Martin. And there was no way he could prevent the fond smile he returned at the sound. 

-

All-in-all, the trip went well. The kittens were adorable, of course, and Martin struck up a friendly conversation with the owners, which gave John plenty of time to indulge. He wished he could have had a cat while living at Gertrude’s, but maybe it was best he hadn’t. Safer for the animal. At least he could make up for it in the future. With Martin. 

However, he did not enjoy the looks of pity he received from many of the townsfolk, but John was beginning to suspect Martin had implied he’d been the victim of some terrible magics, which he supposed wasn’t completely untrue. This had the added benefit that those nosy enough to bring up his scars were often shushed and John was mostly left alone. Apparently letting them fill in the blanks was surprisingly effective.

They were able to get a lot of the herbs and supplies they needed by the end. Martin did disappear at one point when John was arguing over the absolutely ridiculous price of mint. If he hadn’t known him so well, he might not have noticed how agitated Martin seemed when he came back. He didn’t say anything, though, so John left it be. Martin would bring it up when he needed to. 

As nice as it had been to get some fresh air, it was a relief when they finally returned home. He hadn’t felt like he could truly relax all day, all nerves and overly jumpy. It was nice, though; having a place to come back to. A home. With Martin. 

For his part, Martin just seemed to get even more agitated once they were back. Or maybe he just wasn’t bothering to hide it any longer. Regardless, John wasn’t all that surprised when he finally came up to him and took a deep steadying breath before he spoke.

“I disappeared someone in town,” Martin said all in a rush, cringing once all the words were out. 

“What?” John said, head shooting up to look at him where he sat at the kitchen table. Of all the things he might have said, he hadn’t been expecting that. 

“It was someone from—“ Martin cut himself off, but it was clear he was talking about their previous home, where they had gone through so much trauma. “He recognized me, followed me outside of town. Well, I guess I kind of led him out. It was clear he still thought you were controlling me, he kept saying awful things, and I just— I snapped. The fog was quick.”

“Oh,” John said as the devastation hit him. He felt so guilty, this was all his fault. As usual, he had put Martin in such an awful situation, forced to make terrible decisions. He’d already given himself over to the Lonely, and now this. “I’m so sorry, Martin.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Martin asked, looking absolutely baffled. 

“If you weren’t with me, you wouldn’t still be tied up in this,” John said with a sigh. 

“What? No, none of this is your fault,” Martin began. “Why aren’t you upset with me?”

“Why would I be?”

“You were so upset when you killed that guard on the road,” Martin began, wincing like he regretted having to bring it up. “I thought you might feel similarly about this.”

“What? No, of course not. You were trying to protect me, why would I be upset with you?”

“John,” Martin began, clearly frustrated. “You have some bizzare double standards. I kill someone, and you’re sorry I had to do it. You kill someone, and you act like you’re some sort of monster. Not everything is your fault.”

You’re—“ John began, trying to put it into words. “It's different. I’m the one who was so easily tempted into hurting people with my magic. I’m not worried about that happening to you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I don’t know. I just know you. And I know myself,” John said. “And besides, the Lonely works differently than Beholding, doesn’t it? I think you’re in more danger of being lost to it than becoming a danger to others.“

“I’m not so sure,” Martin said carefully. “Given how it made me feel, I think my Patron also wants me to feed it.”

“I’m sorry,” John said solemnly, reaching out to take his hand. 

“There you go again,” Martin exclaimed, pulling away and throwing his hands up in the air in his frustration. “Stop apologizing, you make it sound like I’m not capable of making my own decisions.”

“I didn’t mean—“ John began, but fell silent, because all he could think of saying were more apologies. 

“I know, I know you didn’t,” Martin sighed. “I’m sorry too. I just— let me have this one okay? If anyone is going to feel guilty for it, it should be me.”

“Okay,” John said, even though he didn’t mean it. He didn’t know how to give up the guilt, and he certainly couldn’t blame Martin. Maybe that wasn’t fair of him either, he didn’t know. 

“I guess I’m glad you don’t suspect me of becoming a monster,” Martin tried at some levity, even if it wasn’t very convincing. 

“No, I don’t,” John agreed.

“Even if I told you I don’t regret it?” Martin asked. 

“Honestly, I think that’s a good thing,” John said. “You probably do a better job not blaming yourself for everything. And I’m glad for that.”

“Right,” Martin huffed an attempt at a laugh. “At least you can admit it.”

“What are we going to do?” John asked. 

“Nothing,” Martin said. “As far as I could tell, he was just passing through on his own. And no one saw us together.”

“Okay,” John nodded. 

“We’ll be careful,” Martin said. “It was just bad luck.”

“I know.”

“You’re not going to come into town with me next time, are you?”

“Probably not,” John said. “Eventually I will.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Martin said. 

And this time he reached out for John. Because he was standing, all John could do was wrap his arms around his waist, face pressed against his stomach, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. For his part, Martin wrapped one arm around his shoulders, threading his fingers into his hair. 

“I told you,” Martin said. “We’re going to be okay.”

“I believe you,” John said, and, for once, he actually did believe they could be okay. It felt so much easier with Martin at his side. He was beginning to believe in hope again, even if everything was still so terrifying. He just wished it didn’t feel so precarious. 

Chapter Text

It was just the porch. The front porch, yes, with a clear view of the road, but it wasn’t like anyone really came down this far. It was all perfectly safe. Martin was even nearby tending the small vegetable garden he was attempting to cultivate, so there was no chance of him getting cornered by someone while alone again. And yet, standing in the shade of the doorway, John couldn’t get himself to take that last step past the threshold. 

The problem was, the longer he kept himself inside, locked away from the outside world, the more afraid he became of the idea of even attempting to leave. It all just got harder and harder, the anxieties all twisted up inside as he imagined the worst case scenarios. He reminded himself he had very understandable reasons to be afraid, but not of their own damned front yard. 

But he still hadn’t managed to put up any magical protections, and Elias was still out there somewhere, and he knew how dangerous the world could be. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself that the Eye wasn’t going to smite him, and the town wasn’t waiting just out of sight with torches and pitchforks. The house wasn’t even actually protecting him from any of those things.

It was just that, he and Martin had made the house feel somewhat like a sanctuary, where they were safe and together, wrapped up in all that warmth and comfort, and it made him feel protected from the outside world. Yes, it made no sense, yes, it was unreasonable. Tragically, it seemed his emotions didn’t care much for reason, and he hated it. 

Martin hadn’t said anything, but he seemed concerned and John imagined it was only a matter of time until he commented on it. The last time he’d been out was when Martin disappeared a man, trapping him in the Lonely, and John was worried he’d blame himself if this went on too long. He wanted to work on it, and he wanted to get better. And he didn’t want to worry Martin more than he already was. 

John closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. It was time for something to change. Keeping his eyes shut, he forced himself to take a step forward, onto the porch. Then, he stayed like that for a moment, bracing himself, unwilling to open his eyes just yet. 

As expected, nothing changed, and a cool breeze continued to carry along birdsong and what he thought was Martin whistling. He realized he wasn’t whistling a tune, and instead was singing along with the birds, mimicking their chirps and cadences, and John was flooded with such a rush of affection, it almost distracted from his racing heart. 

Finally, he forced his eyes open and began to walk forward, up the path, trying to tell himself that this was good, the fresh air was helping. He definitely wasn’t careening towards a panic attack. He could do this. 

He wasn’t very convincing on any of those fronts. 

“John!” 

He turned to see Martin, wiping his brow on his forearm as he pulled off dirt-covered gloves. He looked gorgeous under the sun, his shirt riding up enough to expose a strip of stomach as he raised his arm. John tried to focus on him, on how overjoyed he looked at seeing him here, instead of literally everything else weighing on him, trying to stop his eyes from darting around looking for threats. 

“Everything okay?” Martin asked, an easy smile on his face. “You look a bit peaky.” 

“Yes, yes, fine,” John snapped. “Just thought I could do with a little fresh air. You know, relieve some stress.”

“How’s that going for you?” Martin asked with a quirk of his lips, taking in his rigid posture and reading him as easily as a book. As usual. 

“Absolutely fantastic,” John said, the words dripping with venom.

“Glad to hear,” Martin chuckled, offering a hand.

“I’m not a child,” John snapped, but he still took it. 

“You chose a nice day for it, at least,” Martin said, ignoring the comment in favor of tipping his adorable sun hat back so he could look up at the clear sky.  

“Hmm,” was the only response John could muster, his cane tapping out a steady rhythm against the hard packed earth of the path as they walked.  

With the wide, clear sky, everything felt too open, leaving him too exposed. Being able to see so far should have put him at ease, evidence that there was nothing lurking nearby ready to pounce. Instead, it just made him feel even more vulnerable. 

But there wasn’t anything trying to sneak up on him, he reminded himself in frustration. With Martin at his side, he was as safe as he could be. He needed to focus on the present, not uncertainties and the horrors of the past. So he focused on Martin’s palm, sweaty from working so long under the sun, on their feet crunching on gravel, and the smell of rain on the wind. 

“How is the garden going?” John asked, because maybe talking would help. 

“Oh, you know,” Martin said with a chuckle. “I could use your expertise if you want to take a look some time. I haven’t done anything like this since I was a kid.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it an expertise,” John said. “It was mostly trial and error and too many books.”

“Still,” Martin said, not letting him completely downplay his achievements. John supposed keeping himself alive and fed for several years probably counted for something.  

“I’ll try,” John said, because he really wanted to, he wanted to help, even if it meant going outside more. Martin had been doing so much for them while John was busy being ill or having a near-constant panic attack and he hated how much of a burden he was being. 

Not that Martin would ever put it that way. He hadn’t complained, and even now it was only gentle encouragement instead of a demand he pull his own weight. That didn’t change the part of John that needed to feel useful. Another thing about himself that probably wasn’t healthy that he should work on. Sometimes it felt like that was all he was. 

“Well,” John sighed with a rush of air, as if he’d actually worked as hard as he felt like he had, when in reality he hadn’t even made it to the road. “I suppose that’s enough for one day.”

“How about a cup of tea, then?” Martin asked. “I could certainly use a break.”

John nodded as they turned to head back. To his absolute mortification, he realized he was trembling slightly. Martin said nothing, but it was unlikely he hadn’t noticed, still holding his hand as he was. John gripped his cane more tightly and perhaps jabbed it into the ground with a little more force than necessary, so frustrated as he tried to get a hold of himself. 

-

They still didn’t have much in the way of furniture, but they’d made a little nest of cushions in front of the wood stove. Once they had their tea, they curled up together, John laying with his head in Martin’s lap.

“Look,” John was saying, gesticulating wildly. “From all the books I’ve read, that is definitely not how you’re supposed to plant and care for vegetables.”

“Well, that’s how all the locals told me to do it,” Martin laughed. 

“Well, they’re all wrong,” John fumed. 

“Yes, clearly the experts actively using this method must be wrong,” Martin said, rolling his eyes even as he ran his fingers through John’s hair. 

“Yes, exactly!” John said, even though he knew Martin was being sarcastic. 

“So do you want to set up two competing gardens and see whose fairs better?”

“That depends,” John said, looking up at him suspiciously. “Are you above sabotage?” 

“You’ll never know either way,” Martin replied. 

“I can’t believe this,” John said, crossing his arms, and he knew he looked petulant, but he didn’t care, he was enjoying himself. 

“I don’t think I want your help in the garden after all,” Martin joked. 

“Oh, shut up,” John griped. “Now I definitely have to. Either to correct your mistakes, or write a whole new book that’s actually accurate.”

“Correct my mistakes? That’s just rude! At least you can admit that you could be wrong,” Martin said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. 

“I admit nothing yet,” John insisted. 

“Right, of course,” Martin said indulgently. 

It was nice, having things to talk about that didn’t involve magic or patrons or any of the people who wanted them dead. He liked being able to talk with Martin, even if he didn’t particularly have anything to say, or if one of them wanted to gripe. Martin could be scathing, and it was such a contrast between his gentleness, he loved to get to see new sides to him. 

He glanced up at him and his breath caught in his throat at the look of fondness on Martin’s face. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to his lips, and John leaned into it, bringing a hand up to thread into Martin’s hair. It was an odd angle, but that was fine. 

The fact that Martin wanted this, wanted to kiss him, never ceased to cut through him to his core. People didn’t look at him the way Martin did, especially not after the magic, that was just how it was supposed to be. He wanted to ask him why, what it was about him that he liked, but he didn’t think he was ready for a conversation like that. He didn’t see much in him worth liking. 

It scared him, made him want to lash out first before anyone could hurt him. But Martin didn’t deserve that and he was trying so hard to be better for him. He desperately wanted to be the person Martin saw when he looked at him. 

“I,” John began, but he stopped, suddenly feeling so foolish. He didn’t have the words to express any of this, none of them came close to the bone-deep ache, the longing. But he was so afraid Martin would never understand everything he meant to him. “I don’t want this to end.”

“I’m sure we can find something else to argue about,” Martin said, but his smile was soft, like maybe he understood what he meant. 

“I don’t doubt it,” John couldn’t help but chuckle at that. 

He sat up, so they could rearrange into a more comfortable position, so he could wrap his arms securely around Martin, so he could kiss him more deeply. It was such a relief, knowing he could do this, knowing Martin wouldn’t ask for more than he was able to give, wouldn’t be disappointed. He never thought he could feel so safe with another person. He never thought he’d feel safety again, really, but he did, he did. 

“I love you,” he whispered into the space between them, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to repeat it until the end of time, then it might be close. 

“I love you too,” Martin said it so easily. 

That wasn’t fair, he didn’t know if it came easier to him or not. He made it look easy, though. He made it look like John could deserve this. John had been afraid for so long, he didn’t know how to be anything else, and he was trying to keep up, he was trying to make sure Martin knew he was loved, but he didn’t know how to do any of this. 

So he just followed Martin’s lead and kissed him back. 

Chapter Text

The early mornings tended to find Martin going through the practiced motions of making tea automatically before staring vacantly into space as he drank, waiting for the grogginess to pass and proper wakefulness to arrive. It was incredibly endearing to say the least, and John enjoyed getting to witness it, and sometimes it was enough to dampen the foul mood he tended to wake up in. 

Today, however, he was feeling restless. Since it would likely be a bit until Martin was properly awake, he decided now would be as good a time as any to attempt another walk. It was early enough that no sane person would be out there, and it was light enough that it would be a dreadful time for a surprise attack. 

He was overthinking this again, he knew he was. He should just go, before he talked himself out of it. He put a hand on Martin’s arm and leaned in to place a kiss to his cheek, earning a pleased hum in response. 

“Going for a walk,” he said softly, and Martin yawned as he nodded. 

As he pulled away, Martin leaned towards him, chasing the touch, and John was so tempted to drop the idea altogether so he could return to that physical contact. He shouldn’t, though. He knew he could be too much, and he didn’t want to always crowd Martin. Besides, John really did need to try to go outside more. So he just tried to keep the image in his mind as he headed outside. 

He paused on the porch, deliberating. After a moment, he made up his mind and walked into the forest behind the barn. He reasoned that it was incredibly unlikely anyone would be out there, and he’d rather run into a wild animal anyway. At least he wouldn’t feel as guilty if he had to defend himself, and it wasn’t like an animal would be able to tell anyone if he did use magic. 

As soon as he stepped under the canopy of leaves, he knew something was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he shivered involuntarily. He could sense— something, out there, and he found his feet drawn to it before he even realized. He hadn’t sensed any activity from the Fears since arriving here, and he wondered if that was about to change. What would it be? A monster, or another warlock perhaps?

As foolish as it was to go alone, it would be better to find out now, rather than wait for it to discover him. His skin itched and he absently ran his hands along the small circular scars that covered him, and shuddered. He’d had a run in with a warlock of the Crawling Rot and had paid dearly for it, barely escaping with his life. No, it would be better to know what he was up against now, on his own terms. 

As he walked, he realized he could no longer hear birdsong. He tried to walk as quietly as he could, every snapped twig sounding deafening in the eerie silence. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on much of anything, but better to attempt it than come crashing in instead. 

One insidious aspect of the fears was how they let their victims do most of the work for themselves. The Lonely was the best at this, clinging to a person’s deep seated insecurities and doubts, leading them to isolate themselves all on their own. 

Similarly, there was I Do Not Know You. Strangers, the unknown, the knowledge that something wasn't quite right. It seemed to take particular joy in the discomfort it instilled, and it could drive its victims towards or away from others, confusing them and even taking their identities. It was quite fond of taking their victim’s skin as well. 

So John wasn’t completely surprised when he stepped into a little clearing to find something that wasn’t altogether human luring a man closer. The man was young, maybe early 20s. John supposed most might note the athletic build, broad shoulders, and handsome face. But all that really told John was that he could be a potential threat. 

It didn’t matter how likely the person actually was to resort to violence. He was bigger and stronger than John with his scrawny frame and bad leg, which was enough to make him wary. None of that really mattered, in the end, though. He knew he was going to help regardless of the personal danger. 

John was lucky, as it wasn’t a warlock he was up against. The monster appeared almost human, like a poorly done taxidermy. A human taxidermy was a disturbing enough thought all on its own. But it held something worse, hidden skin deep, waiting to strike. It was preying on the man’s sense of self, luring him in, making him doubt, making him forget. 

John knew he had very little time, so he quickly grabbed a rock off the ground and lobbed it. It struck the man in the back and John winced sympathetically. It wasn’t a particularly big rock, but it would bruise. He supposed better that than dead. The man staggered at the sudden blow, breaking whatever trance the thing had on him, and John saw the exact moment he looked up and saw the thing in front of him. He cried out and fell backwards, scrambling away from it. 

“What are you waiting for?” John yelled. “Run!”

“But--” the man began, seeing him for the first time.

“It’s not after me, I’ll be fine. Now go!”

It wasn’t true, that wasn't how this worked, but he didn’t need to know that. The man still looked doubtful, but when the thing emitted a low guttural growl, bearing its teeth to reveal its jaw had been wired shut and the skin began to peel away, suddenly too tight to contain what was bulging beneath, the terror finally won out and he ran. That was a relief, John had no idea what he would have done if he’d insisted on staying. 

Despite how it looked, there was nothing human in the thing that shambled towards him. It was a manifestation of one of the patrons, it’s fear distilled into a form that wanted nothing more than to terrorize and consume. John supposed it was rather fitting that the things that serve I Do Not Know You hated those under the Eye. After all, simply Seeing it, Knowing it down to its core would be enough to destroy it. 

“You must be joking,” John said as the thing began sprinting at him, and he was surprised how calm and confident he felt. “I serve the Eye. And I See you.”

There were no words for what it did next. He supposed the closest would be to say it unfolded itself, a shadow bursting out from inside, jagged and sharp. It lashed out more quickly than John could gather his magic, crossing the distance between them much more quickly than he thought possible. It slammed into him, sending him sprawling. 

John scrambled to face it again, barely on his knees when he managed to call up whatever magic he had. It screamed in a voice that was almost human but not quite as he turned the focus of the Eye on it, unmaking it as its very nature was betrayed, and the Unknown was Known. It didn’t leave any evidence of its existence behind. 

John sighed heavily as the echos faded away. He leaned on his cane, suddenly feeling completely drained. His vision blurred and he wondered if he should sit down for a moment. Magic always did take it out of him. Glancing around, he didn’t see the person from before. Still, he decided he shouldn’t push his luck any farther than he already had and turned to leave. He could rest once he got home. 

-

He’d gone much farther than he’d intended, and by the time the house finally came into view, he was aching all over and completely exhausted. He stumbled inside and the moment Martin saw him, he stood up, his smile falling away. 

“I’m fine, Martin,” John sighed upon seeing his expression. 

“Right, because you certainly look it,” Martin said, quickly moving to take his arm and help him to a seat. ”Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

“No, no, it’s just exertion, just give me a moment,” John said as he gratefully sank into a chair, his back aching. “And maybe a few bruises.”

Martin didn’t let go of him, he continued to give him a once over for any injuries. John let him, the touch was appreciated, to be completely honest. He screwed his eyes up tightly for a long moment as he waited for the wave of pain to die down before he tried to continue. 

“There was something in the woods, but I destroyed it.”

“Oh!” Martin said in surprise, kneeling next to him. “That’s a good thing, right? You’re destroying monsters. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I got lucky, it wasn’t particularly powerful,” John said. “But— there was someone from town there. I don’t think they saw anything, they were too busy running away.”

“Hmm,” Martin said, deep in thought. “That’s something to keep an eye on, then.”

“You’re awfully calm about this,” John said. 

“If you don’t think they saw anything, we should be fine.”

“So you don’t think we should go back on the run again?”

“I don't think we need to be quite so hasty.”

“Martin,” John groaned. 

“John,” Martin said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t— I can’t go through that again.”

“What do you mean? We made it here all right, in the end.”

“Barely!” Martin exclaimed. 

“Oh, come on, that’s an exaggeration,” John said, waving a hand, and he knew he was getting defensive. 

”Is it?” Martin said, voice raised as his distress became more apparent. “Because you were nearly beaten half to death and didn’t even get a chance to rest before we were on the run.”

“I’m fine, now,” John snapped, meeting his volume. 

“Are you? The bruises are fading, but you haven’t been able to walk nearly as much.“

“I—“ John began, but Martin continued before he could. 

“And what happens if we get caught out there when winter hits? Because I had to travel through it with my mum, watching her health deteriorate the whole time, and I can’t—“ 

Martin cut himself off abruptly as the emotions got to be too much and John realized his mistake. Martin wasn’t making a jab at John, he wasn’t trying to say he was weak. But he’d had to watch John suffer that entire time, unable to do anything. And if he’d already been through something so traumatic with his mother—

“Oh,” John said as the guilt settled in. 

“And that was temporary!“ Martin continued. ”If something happens and one of us gets sick or injured, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. We’re not survivalists, we don’t know the first thing about weathering out the snow and the cold.“

”I’m sorry, Martin,” John said, any anger and defensiveness falling away. ”I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine, I never said,” Martin rubbed at his face, trying to get a hold of himself. “It’s just— staying here is a risk, I know, but leaving feels like an even bigger one. At least if you get your magic defenses back up, we stand a chance against an angry town, and maybe I can help this time so Elias can’t take it down so quickly. I don’t think our magic will do much against the cold.”

“You’re right, you’re right. We’ll stay. We’ll stay,” he said, squeezing Martin’s arm. 

“Okay,” Martin said, nodding, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“Can I— can I hug you?” John asked, because he wasn’t sure it would be welcome right now, after everything. 

But he wanted to. He wanted to so badly, for both their sakes. To comfort Martin, as well as reassure himself that he was still allowed to, he was still wanted despite the argument. Martin smiled and enveloped him in his arms and he signed, leaning into the embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” John whispered into his shoulder. “I know we don’t have many options, right now. And you just got your home back. I don’t want to ruin that for you.”

“I don’t care about that,” Martin said. 

He took John’s hand, his right, and brought it up to his lips. John felt like his face was on fire at the gesture, helpless to do anything but watch. He was so gentle, rubbing his thumb against the burn that wrapped around his palm. He finally met his eyes again, not looking away through every step. It made John feel like he had no breath in his lungs, so overwhelmed by his attentions. 

“I get it,” Martin said after a moment. “I know how terrifying this has to be. I’m not trying to dismiss your fears, and I’m not willfully putting either of us in danger. That night we went on the run was the most terrified I’d ever been.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” John said. 

“I’m sorry you did too, but I don’t regret being there for you.”

“Oh,” was all John could manage, and his vision blurred with tears. He didn’t understand how Martin could still feel this way after everything. 

“I know your main concern is the town,” he continued. “If you really want to leave, we’ll leave. We’ll figure something out.”

“No, you’re right,” John sighed. He brought his hand up to Martin’s cheek, caressing with his thumb. “We don’t even know if we’re in danger yet. It would be foolish to give this all up to freeze to death in the woods over nothing.”

Martin pulled him in for another hug and he pressed his face against his chest, squeezing his eyes tightly. He was so scared all the time, but it was going to get him killed if he kept being so rash. If it was just him, that would be one thing, but he couldn’t drag Martin into it. They needed to be smart about this, he needed to protect him. He needed to protect Martin.

He took a shuddering breath and Martin rubbed a hand across his back. Finally, he pulled back so he could look at him properly, resting his hands on Martin’s arms. 

“All right,” he said. “We can do this. We should go into town, get a feel for how people are behaving.”

It was a risk, but Martin was right, everything was. They’d be walking directly into the middle of a group of people who may wish them harm, but he tried to remind himself that he wouldn’t be alone. Martin would be there. They could get out of it together. 

“I was planning to go tomorrow,” Martin said. 

“Good,” John said. “Tomorrow, then.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Martin said with a fond smile. “But you’re not exactly the best at reading people.”

“Which is why you’re coming. I’m just the distraction.”

“Oh god, you aren’t going to do something drastic, are you?” Martin groaned. 

“No, no, with luck I won’t have to do anything at all.”

“But you’re still the bait?”

“Do you have any better suggestions?” John asked, voice accusatory.

“No, it’s a good plan” Martin gave in with a sigh. “As long as you promise to be careful.”

“You have to as well,” John chuckled. 

John took his face in his hands and pulled him into a kiss, savoring it for a long moment. He felt Martin’s hands cradling the back of his neck. When they finally drew apart, John nodded, feeling more steady, determination settling in. Today, he would work more on setting up those runes, any protections for their home. Then, tomorrow, they would risk everything and go to town. 

Chapter Text

The bruises John received from his confrontation the previous day ached, and his limp was worse than usual, but he refused to stay home. He wouldn’t be able to rest until they knew for sure if rumors about them were spreading, and there was no way he was letting Martin go into town alone. 

It took them longer than usual with their slower pace, and the waiting was agonizing. Martin tried to strike up a conversation to distract them both, but John was having a hard time paying attention, too focused on all the ways this could end terribly. He knew it wasn’t helpful, but he couldn’t seem to stop. At least when they finally did arrive, they weren’t greeted with an angry mob. 

“John, calm down,” Martin whispered to him, and at least there was amusement in his voice.  “You’re staring. You’re going to start freaking people out.”

“Sorry, sorry,” John said, quickly looking down at the ground instead of studying every person they passed. “I think some people are staring at me, though.”

“No more than usual,” Martin said. “It’s just people being nosy, they did the same thing the last time you came with me.”

“Oh,” John said, feeling a bit silly. 

He supposed he knew they had stared on some level, but had managed to block it out and did his best to ignore it. Now that he was looking for it, it at least didn’t seem openly malicious. So, perhaps they were safe. Perhaps the man he’d encountered the day before hadn’t been telling everyone he was a witch. 

They spent their time in town mostly outside, wandering the streets and perusing the market. John hated it, he didn’t like being in the open like this surrounded by noisy crowds. He would have much rather been able to keep to himself, duck into a few shops when things got to be too much, but he had a job to do here, and he was determined to do it. He needed to remain visible. 

He was impressed by the number of people that Martin seemed to know as many greeted him warmly and some even wanted to stop to talk. John knew he was coming across as distracted and rude, but Martin covered for him which he was infinitely grateful for. 

Eventually, Martin stopped to haggle at one of the market stalls. They did still need to resupply after all. John wandered nearby as he waited, always remaining close enough that they could get to each other quickly enough if something went wrong. Or if someone tried to engage John in small talk. He wasn’t sure he could be trusted to not offend people on his own. 

It was as he was pretending to peruse that he spotted him; the man from the day before was there, standing at the edge of the market, watching him. 

John broke out in a cold sweat and, in his terror, he had the sudden impulse to flee. But then, when the man gestured him over, he realized he had an opportunity. Martin would hate him for it, if he slipped away to face the consequences of his actions alone, while he was preoccupied. They were supposed to be doing this together. But if there was any chance he could spare him and ensure people still thought Martin was a victim in this, he had to take it. 

He tried to take a deep breath as he began heading towards the man, but he was finding it hard to breathe. He couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d felt like this, like he was walking to his doom. He just wished he wasn’t trembling so much. When had that become such a common reaction to the fear? Why did every part of him always insist on betraying him like this? 

“Hey,” the man said as he approached, and he made no move to try to corner him or threaten. Instead, he leaned casually back against the wall of a building, smiling easily. “You really saved me the other day, thanks for that. Glad you made it too.”

John shook his head slowly in disbelief, tried to dismiss his thanks, because he’d only done what he thought he should. Was he thanking him so he could kill him with a clear conscience? Or was he just trying to get him to lower his guard? What would be the point? And why would he be glad that John had made it? 

“I won’t ask what you did,” the man continued. “Just know your secret’s safe with me.”

“I— what?” John managed to croak out, his throat much too dry. 

“I’ve never seen anyone stand up to one of those things and walk away,” he said, and was there something like awe in his voice? ”I owe you, really.”

“But I’m—“ John faltered, unsure what he was about to say. That he was a monster too, an abomination that shouldn’t be trusted? Why was he so set on telling everyone his guilt? 

“John? Everything okay?”

John winced, feeling guilty for the worry in Martin’s voice as he came up behind him. He was moving fast, like he wanted to sprint over but knew that would just draw more attention and make things worse. 

Martin’s posture was taut as a bowstring, ready to snap into action. The fact that he could be so protective, that he was willing to throw himself into harm's way to save him— it made him want to cry. He still didn’t know how to process someone thinking his life meant something, but it also made him so afraid for Martin. 

“Yes, yes, fine,” John said, a bit dazed from the whiplash of emotions he’d been through already. 

“Danny,” Martin greeted the stranger with a wary nod. 

“Martin, good to see you,” he, Danny apparently, replied with that same smile, like he was genuinely happy to see him. “I was just saying— if you guys ever need anything, if anyone gives you any trouble, just let me know. Or my brother. We’ll have your backs.”

“It’s fine, you don’t owe me anything,” John said. 

“It’s been years, it’s good to have Martin back,” Danny said, and Martin looked genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t even considered someone might miss him. “And we want to make sure any newcomers feel welcome, it’s the least we can do.”

John recoiled at the idea of dragging even more people into this. Or was this some kind of trap? It could be that he was just trying to get close to them, to find proof of his corruption. But there was a small chance he was genuine, and somehow that scared him more. 

“As much as I appreciate this, you probably shouldn’t be seen associating with me.”

“If anything, that’s more reason why I should,” Danny countered with a confident grin. 

“You don’t understand,” John said, somewhere between horrified and angry and so scared, and he felt Martin’s steadying hand on his back. “You don’t know what we just went through, we lost everything, you can’t just risk yourself—“

He stopped, realizing that this wasn’t working at all. Danny looked angry, and with another thrill of panic, he wondered if he’d gone too far, turned him against them, except now Martin would be in danger too. But it was only there for a moment, melting into concern, and John realized he wasn’t angry at him, he was angry for him. It was too much like how Martin reacted when he talked about his past. 

Somehow it frightened him more than if Danny simply turned on him. How many people was he going to endanger by dragging them into this life? He wasn’t sure what he ever did to deserve this kindness. And Danny, Martin; these kind people didn’t deserve to be tangled up in this. They deserved so much better, but there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. 

“You both should join us at the pub sometime,” Danny said, completely ignoring his pleas, and he smiled so brightly again, like he wasn’t putting his life in danger. “We’re there most nights, it’s a grand time. Tuesdays are trivia night.”

And then he was turning and walking away, and John couldn’t help but despair. He didn’t understand, he wasn’t worth all this. Before, it had been so much easier. He could simply hide from any kindness anyone extended towards him, he could slink back into the shadows and disappear, alienating himself from everyone, keeping them safe.

But now, he had nowhere to hide. They knew his name, knew where he lived, knew who he loved. And that put them all in so much danger, and it was all his fault. He couldn’t help but wonder how long until they regretted it, until they would curse his name too. 

No, that wasn’t fair. Somehow, he’d managed to meet people who seemed so genuinely kind, but that just made it worse. They should curse his name, if he brought them harm. Martin shouldn’t still be at his side after everything he put him through. They didn't deserve to be caught up in John’s idiocy. But they would probably stick by him until the bitter end, until he got them killed as thanks for their loyalty, and they would never even think to blame him for it. 

“Are you all right?” Martin asked as soon as Danny was completely out of sight. 

He placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, but John flinched at the touch. He’d been so expecting the violence that for a moment he’d forgotten a touch could be gentle, kind, that he could want it. And he so desperately did, this was Martin after all, so he twisted his hand in his shirt, preventing him from pulling away, from thinking he didn’t want this. 

“F-fine,” he said, unconvincingly. The hand on his shoulder was grounding and he leaned into it, relieved when Martin didn’t let go. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Martin said dismissively, as if he hadn’t been here through it with him. 

“You knew him. Do you think we can trust him?” John asked, and he didn’t know if he wanted the answer to be yes or no. The impulse to pack up and run, go back on the road no matter how unsuited to it he was, was still strong. He knew he couldn’t keep surviving that way, though. 

“I don’t know,” Martin said. “I think so? I don’t know Danny that well, but I knew his brother. It’s been years, though, obviously. Maybe we should go to the pub some time and test the waters.”

“I-I guess,” John said reluctantly. He doubted he would be able to get anything out of that sort of situation, he was liable to be too distracted by the loud noises and crowd of people. He wasn’t looking forward to it to say the least.

”Danny didn’t have to come talk to you,” Martin pointed out. “He could have already told everyone in town about us, but he didn’t. I think we’re fine.”

“Okay,” John sighed. “I trust your judgement.”

“We’ll be careful,” Martin said with a reassuring smile. “Want to get out of here?”

“Very much so,” John said, and he was suddenly so tired, drained from the adrenaline. He was still unsteady on his legs, though, and the trembling hadn’t completely subsided. “I just— need a moment, I think.”

“Sure,” Martin said. 

He led John back out into the market, under the warm sun, and found a bench for them to rest. With Martin’s arm around him, he leaned against his side, into his warmth, closing his eyes as he rested his head on his shoulder. 

There was no chance of him being able to actually sleep, here surrounded by so many people and so much noise. He couldn’t let his guard down that easily. Still, Martin’s presence was enough to calm him down, for the shaking to subside. When he felt steady enough, they rose and began the long trek home. 

“So,” Martin said as they left the bustling streets behind and were finally alone. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

“What?” John said, unsure why he sounded so guilty, he didn’t even know what he’d done, if anything. 

“How you went off alone even though we specifically talked about not doing that.”

“I-I hadn’t really intended to, it just sort of happened,” John said, and it wasn’t a complete lie. 

“Hmm,” was Martin’s skeptical reply. 

“I’m sorry,” John said with a sigh. “You’re right, it was reckless. I’ll try to be more careful next time.”

“Not everything is on your shoulders,” Martin said earnestly. “Just let me help.”

“Okay,” John said, even if he didn’t agree. 

Everything really was on him, all of it was his fault after all. He couldn’t leave well enough alone, he had to push and push until everything fell apart around him. It’s what got him into the mess with magic to begin with. He deserves every terrible thing that had happened to him, he would accept the consequences, but he couldn’t let good people suffer because of him. He couldn’t watch Martin suffer. 

Maybe Martin knew what he was thinking, because he put his arm around him, stayed close as they walked. They didn’t talk the rest of the way, even as John tried frantically to come up with a lighter topic. He gave up and just stared at the ground sullenly. He wasn’t sure they solved anything today, somehow he felt even more anxious and uncertain. 

He shivered, looking forward to sitting by the fire next to Martin once they got home, away from the world outside and all the dangers it held. 

Chapter Text

Logically, John knew it wasn’t real. He was in Martin’s home, curled on the floor of the shower while the warm water beat down on him. And yet it felt so real, as he remembered what it had felt like to be held down, restrained, kicked and beaten. He’d been completely at the mercy of others that meant him harm, and it wracked his body now, feeling so visceral and real. He was back, reliving every moment, and he couldn’t stop shaking. 

He felt sick to his stomach as he lay there, unable to move and feeling so cold despite the warm water. And he felt foolish for not being able to control this, for letting it still bother him after so much time. It had been years since some of them, and yet they were still just as vivid.

He had felt helplessness on such a deep level that it had seeped into his very being and he didn’t think he’d ever be free of it or the memories. It would haunt him to his grave. Not that he thought his life expectancy was particularly long, so maybe it wasn’t such a feat after all. 

He heard Martin’s voice nearby and tried to sit up, to reply, but he couldn’t. Instead, he lay there uselessly, a pathetic whimper escaping him. He heard the sound of the door opening and was grateful he had long since gotten out of the habit of locking doors or he might have broken it down. He knew he was safe, he knew it was just Martin, but he still flinched when he heard him say his name so much closer. 

“Cold,” was all John managed to get out as he curled more tightly in on himself. 

The water shut off, and he almost started crying at the loss of warmth and stimuli. It had helped to ground him, remind him he wasn’t lost in those memories, and he was so so cold. He flinched again when he felt something touch him; a towel he realized. 

“Sorry,” he heard Martin say, and he wanted to tell him it was fine, he knew he was helping, but he still couldn’t get his mouth to move, to form the words. 

He was shivering violently as Martin lifted him out of the tub, wrapping him in a second towel as he pulled him into his lap. John wanted to tell him to stop, that he was going to get his shirt all wet, but instead he just slumped against him, the guilt crushing him, because why did Martin always have to comfort him? He shouldn’t have to keep doing this. 

Pressed against Martin like this, wrapped in the towels, he slowly warmed until he stopped shivering. It was easier to remember where he was, that he was safe, with the warm body against him, the gentle hands cradling him close, and eventually the trembling subsided as well. 

He extricated himself from Martin’s arms with a mumbled thanks and went to get dressed, unable to shake the embarrassment. He pulled on one of Martin’s heavier jumpers and by the time he left the room, he found Martin making tea as always. 

“Sorry,” John said as he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. 

“Don’t apologize,” Martin said, setting his tea before him and taking a seat at his side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” John said. “Just— you know, flashbacks, I guess. You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

“I want to,” Martin said. “You’d do the same for me.”

Martin deserved that comfort, but John wasn’t sure he himself did. Especially when it kept happening and he didn’t seem to be getting any better. He hated this. 

“Do you know what caused it?” Martin asked. 

“I think it was bound to happen ever since yesterday morning,” John said. 

“Since using magic around Danny?”

“Yeah,” John said, and he slumped over to lean his head against Martin’s shoulder. 

“It makes sense that being put in a similar situation would bring you back to those moments,” Martin said. “I’m sorry.”

”You keep doing that, being kind and understanding even when I’m making everything so much worse for you,” John said miserably. 

“Someone has to,” Martin said, hesitantly putting his arm around him, ready to pull away if it was unwelcome. “And you’re not making anything worse for me.”

“If you say so,” John said, suppressing a shudder at the touch. He wanted it, needed it, the feeling keeping him grounded, and he didn’t want him to pull away. He placed his own hand over Martin’s, holding him tightly. 

“I know all of this is terrifying,” Martin said. “But you’re doing really well.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You’re really brave.”

That got a bark of bitter laughter from John. He had never been brave in his life. A stubborn bastard, sure, and sometimes that was enough to override the fear for a bit, but he always ended up curled on the floor crying eventually. It was pathetic. 

“You are.” Without even looking at Martin, he knew the disapproving look on his face just from his voice. 

“I just hate this,” John said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I just want it to stop.”

“Be gentle with yourself,” Martin said, voice pleading. “For me. I know it doesn’t feel like progress, but it takes time.”

He didn’t understand why Martin wasn’t getting tired of this. He didn’t understand how he could be so patient. John reached for his tea and took a sip so he didn’t have to reply. 

-

John was pacing. He couldn’t help it, he was filled with so much nervous energy. Other than his little breakdown in the shower, he’d managed to keep it together for most of the day which he thought he deserved some credit for. It was only now at the prospect of having to settle down to sleep that it had grown to be too much, too stifling. 

His leg ached after their walk into town followed by laying curled on the floor of the shower and he knew he should be resting it, especially if they were going back the next day, but he just couldn’t. Every time he sat still, he would start imagining all the horrible things that could happen and he’d feel so trapped. At least moving reminded him that he still had options, he still had a chance. 

”What if this is the trap?” John asked as his pacing took him to the bedroom where Martin was. “This Danny couldn’t have known we’d be in town today, but if he knows we’re going to the pub tomorrow, the entire town could be waiting to ambush us!”

“Or,” Martin said, not looking up from the journal he was writing in. He’d climbed into bed a while ago and was sitting against the headboard looking perfectly relaxed and much too patient. “This could be a completely normal invitation for a completely normal evening of drinking.”

“But you admit it’s a possibility,” John said. 

“I guess,” Martin said, and now he finally looked up. “Look, given how you were feeling earlier, we don’t have to go back tomorrow. We could put it off. If this is somehow an incredibly stupid trap setup by the town, they can’t wait around forever. Maybe they’ll have given up by the time we actually go.”

“No,” John said with a heavy sigh. “I think the waiting would be worse. I’d just work myself up even more.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m planning on bringing a dagger, and I’m fairly certain between the two of us, our magic will get us out if anything goes wrong. Now will you please come to bed?”

John opened and closed his mouth several times, but he couldn’t actually think of anything to say that hadn’t already been said. Honestly, it did make him feel better to know Martin had thought about it and was making plans. 

He sighed in defeat and sulked over to the bed before climbing in. For his part, Martin looked incredibly pleased at this decision. He set his book aside and blew out the candle before scooting closer, laying his head on John’s shoulder, his hand on his chest, over his heart. 

“I hate the waiting,” John grumbled, but he wrapped his arms around Martin, resting his cheek against the top of his head. “How are you so calm?”

“You’re doing more than enough worrying for the both of us,” Martin said, teasing. “You know, I actually am an incredibly nervous person, but you make it easier to stay calm. One of us has to keep a level head.”

John huffed a sigh and just tried to focus on the comfort and warmth emanating from Martin. It did help, somehow. His presence chased away any chill in him and he wondered if he would ever stop being terrified that this could be taken away at any moment. It made him want to savor every second, but it also left a part of him too distracted when he wanted to be completely here, with Martin. 

“Are you sure about this?” John asked into the darkness. 

“About sleeping?” Martin asked, and he could hear the grin in his voice. “Very much so.”

“I’m sorry,” John sighed. “We haven’t been here long, and I’ve already messed everything up.”

“You didn’t,” Martin said. “You saved someone’s life. That’s a good thing.”

“Hmm,” was John’s only reply. 

He didn’t want to think about any of this, because if he did, if he tried to plan for the worst, he’d have to face what he was capable of doing. It was amazing what he could live with, if he had to. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but— he wouldn’t stand by and watch any harm come to Martin, either. 

“I need you to know,” John said after a pause. “Whatever happens, I’m not going to let them lay a hand on you.”

His voice broke, and he wasn’t sure if it was the fear of what could happen to Martin, what he could go through, or of how many people he was willing to hurt to prevent it. He’d already killed one man to protect him. That fear wouldn’t stop him, though. He’d hate himself so much more, but he would still do it. 

Martin sat up then, looking down at him with such a soft, thoughtful expression. He didn’t know what to do with that, he didn’t know what it meant. It didn’t look like the judgement he deserves. Could he be so lucky as for it to mean acceptance? And then Martin was kissing him, and the relief he felt left him almost as breathless. 

“I don’t think you should feel guilty for protecting yourself,” Martin said. “But maybe you won’t have to. If I can help.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that,” John said. 

“This isn’t all on you,” Martin said, a bit exasperated. How many times had he told him that now? “Just— let me help you.”

He wanted to say that he already did help him, more than he could possibly know. He wanted to list everything he had done for him, to show him how much better he was for having met Martin. He didn’t need to do anything else.

He still didn’t want Martin to have to live with the consequences if he was the one who protected them with his magic. John had already done it, he would keep that responsibility. Martin didn’t need that weighing on him, and he certainly didn’t want the Lonely to come for him because of it. John just wanted him to be able to be happy. He just hoped Martin could still look at him the same after, if he called on the Eye again. 

There was still the fear that, if he lashed out with his magic, especially at so many people, that he might lose himself to his patron completely. He knew Martin disagreed, he didn’t understand the allure the magic held for him, the temptation he had always been so awful at resisting. 

Whatever Martin thought, he wanted to ask him, if he ever did lose himself, if he became a monster of fear who only knew how to lash out and harm others— he wanted Martin to kill him. But that was a horrible thing to put on someone he loved. 

He couldn't do it, he couldn’t put Martin through that. He needed to hang onto this, hang onto what they had, the humanity in it, the love. He needed to hold onto that desire to be a better person, for Martin. Then maybe he would be okay. Maybe he wouldn’t lose himself. 

-

The moment John stepped inside the pub, he knew he’d made a mistake. He almost would have preferred an angry mob. Instead, he was greeted with too many bodies in a stuffy room that smelled of beer and tobacco and deafened him with overlapping conversations he couldn’t hope to parse. It had been so long since he’d been in one, he’d forgotten what they could be like, and it was miserable. 

He winced, repressing the urge to turn around and walk right back out again. Instead, he took Martin’s hand for comfort and began leading the way to an empty table against a wall, where he wouldn’t have to sit with his back to the crowded room. 

Instead of sitting across from him, Martin sat beside him so he could keep a hold of his hand. He seemed fidgety and restless, but not nearly as bad as John. He looked like he could be comfortable in a place like this, under different circumstances and maybe with a few less people. No doubt he’d been to one much more recently than John. 

“I’ll go get us drinks,” Martin said, but he had to lean close and nearly yell to be heard over the din. 

He went to stand, then looked down quizzically at their still-linked hands. John followed his gaze, and felt his face burn when he realized the death grip he had on him. He scoffed at himself and extricated his hand, pretending like he didn’t care even as he ached at the loss. Martin rewarded him with a kiss pressed to his temple before leaving. 

From his vantage point, John watched him go and began scanning the bar as if it was his job to be lookout on a perilous mission. No one really seemed to be paying them any mind, thankfully. At least, not until Martin was on his way back. 

There was a man with black hair that looked somewhat familiar, his face open and expressive as he talked animatedly to his companion, gesturing in their direction a few times. Sitting across from him was a sharp looking woman, skin darker than John’s, her locs tied back out of her face. When she waved to the bartender, he couldn’t help but notice she had a smudge of ink on her hand. 

“You okay?” Martin asked as he passed in front of him and sat down. 

In the moment he lost eye contact with them, John realized with a start that they had stood and were approaching. He reached out and grabbed Martin’s hand. For his part, Martin followed his gaze, but he didn’t freeze when he saw the pair. They didn’t have time to speak, but Martin did squeeze his hand reassuringly. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Blackwoods!” the man exclaimed, arms thrown wide. 

He was tall and broad, making John feel even smaller sitting down. When he noted his handsome face, he realized why he looked so familiar. This had to be Danny’s brother, they looked so much alike. 

The man threw himself down into an empty chair and scooted it over to their table to sit with them. He used his foot to hook the leg of another chair and dragged it over, offering it to his companion who joined him, carrying a drink for herself and two more that she passed to John and Martin. 

“We really should have been better neighbors and introduced ourselves sooner,” the woman explained. “We wanted to make sure you felt welcome and all that.”

“Quite,” John said, unable to stop himself from sounding annoyed like he always did when he was feeling defensive. 

“Although I already know one of you; it’s good to have you back, Martin,” the man said, and his smile seemed genuine. 

“Oh, um, thank you, Tim,” Martin said, and again he looked completely surprised by the idea that he had been missed. 

“Yeah, so, I’m Tim,” the man said, turning to address John. “And this is Sasha.”

“Hello,” Sasha said cheerily. 

“This is John,” Martin filled in for him. “It’s good to see you both, it’s been a long time.”

“Sorry to hear about your mum,” Tim said soberly, the cheer giving way to genuine sympathy in a way that took John by surprise. 

“Thank you,” Martin said, also looking a touch surprised. 

“Danny said you helped him out of a tight spot,” Tim said, addressing John again, and he couldn’t help but stiffen. “Thanks for that, I owe you. My little brother is always getting himself into the most bizarre scrapes. He was hoping to buy you a drink, but had to work late. Next time?”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” John said, feeling incredibly uncomfortable at the attention. 

“Too bad,” Tim said with a grin. “You’re not buying your own drinks while the Stokers are around.”

The entire night was incredibly strange. Tim talked more than enough for all of them, but he somehow always made John feel like a part of the conversation despite how sullen and quiet he was. Tim and Sasha joked quite a bit, and John liked it a lot when they talked to Martin about their past, reliving fond memories. 

John wondered if this was what it felt like to have friends. He immediately berated himself for that thought, he couldn’t afford to be so sentimental. Trusting the wrong person could get him killed. Even if Danny suspected the magic, John had no idea what he’d actually shared with Tim. It was completely possible that, if he or Sasha found out, they would turn on him. 

That didn’t stop John from having a nice time despite himself and his determination to remain on high alert. And when they were finally leaving for the night, he found he didn’t actually mind it when Tim threw his arm around his shoulder for a quick friendly squeeze. 

“You both should come over for game night some time,” Tim said, moving to give Martin the same half-hug. “I can make a mean casserole, and Sasha always brings the good wine.”

“It is awfully fun destroying him at cards,” Sasha told him conspiratorially. 

“You take care of yourself now,” Tim said with a wink. “And reach out if you need anything, anything at all.”

“Thank you,” Martin said with a wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” Sasha waved, and then they were gone, vanishing into the darkened streets while they turned towards the road out of town. 

“How are you doing?” Martin asked, bumping John’s shoulder gently with his own. 

“I have a headache from the noise and the smoke, but— I think that actually might have gone well,” John said hesitantly. 

“I agree,” Martin said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“How are you feeling?” John asked. 

“Really good, actually,” Martin said with a smile. “I didn’t know Sasha very well, she moved here shortly before I left, but Tim was the closest thing I had to a friend growing up. It’s nice, hanging out with him again.”

John couldn’t help but smile at him. He was just so incredibly happy to get to see him like this, to know he was able to reclaim more of his past, some of the few good parts surfacing through all of the pain. Martin saw his expression and blushed crimson, ducking his head to avoid his gaze. 

“What?” Martin demanded in mock indignation. “What’s with that look?”

“I’m just glad, that’s all,” John said, letting his gaze fall to watch the rhythmic tapping of his cane as he walked. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t correct them,” Martin said suddenly. 

“What?” 

“He called us the Blackwoods,” Martin said, blushing deeply. 

“I-I didn’t mind,” John said, and he could feel his own blush burning his face. “It was— nice.”

“O-oh,” was Martin’s only reply, but he couldn’t stop smiling the entire way back home. 

Chapter Text

This was absurd. John had been into town a few times without incident, he thought he should be perfectly capable of doing so on his own now. But instead, once he’d found himself in the middle of a crowd, he’d wedged himself in a corner at the edge of the market, unable to move as he tried to choke down a panic attack. 

He knew he was more or less safe here, and yet the press of people all around him was getting the better of him without Martin to ground him and remind him he was still in this moment. No one was touching him, grabbing him, but he‘d had too many encounters with crowds that had left him broken and bleeding, and that apparently wasn’t a fear he could easily unlearn.

He no doubt made for an odd sight, standing braced against the wall of a building, trying to focus on what he could feel here and now, and not the phantom pains and injuries from the past. He took deep breaths, staring down at the ground because the surging crowd was overwhelming, too much to see and process all at once. 

Maybe this had been a mistake, maybe he shouldn’t have risked it. But Martin was working at a farm on the outskirts today and John had thought it would be a good chance to surprise him. He desperately wanted to get him something to show he cared, that he appreciated how much Martin had done for him. 

Not that he’d be able to get much of anything with how little money he had. He needed to try, though. Martin had worked so hard, put up with so much, and John could tell the strain he was under. If John could at least get him to smile, maybe that would be a start. That motivation had only gotten him to the edge of town, though. He supposed he could come back another day, but what would be the point? It wasn’t like he’d be anymore prepared tomorrow than he was right now. 

He knew he was getting a lot of strange looks, standing there with his arms wrapped around himself as he tried to motivate himself to move. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of reputation he had at this point. He didn't really mind either way, he’d had worse and at least it might make people less likely to come up and talk to him if they thought he was strange. He wasn’t really sure he could handle that without the buffer Martin usually provided. Somehow the prospect of interacting with anyone felt insurmountable. 

“Hey, John!”

John winced. It was as if the universe had read his mind and decided to spite him specifically. The voice was all the warning he had before he felt an arm around his shoulders, around his neck. It wasn’t even particularly restrictive, but it was enough to make him feel restrained, caught, and he panicked. He jerked back violently and the arm fell away, but he hit the wall of the building behind him and couldn’t escape any further, arms flying up reflexively to block if needed.  

He was sure his eyes were wide and terrified even as he registered the voice as Tim’s. He scolded himself for the dramatic reaction, trying to calm down and catch his breath. Why did he always have to do this? It was going to get him into trouble eventually. 

“Woah, sorry,” Tim said, and he quickly raised his hands as if demonstrating he wouldn’t be doing that again. 

“Fine, it’s fine,” John said with as much authority as he could as he straightened his clothes. “You just surprised me is all.”

His heart was still pounding as he leaned heavily on his cane, wishing he didn’t show every emotion so clearly, even in his body language. He didn’t need even more people knowing he was always so on edge.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked, his voice light and playful as always. Either he wasn’t particularly phased by his reaction, or he was very good at pretending. “I'm just doing a little grocery shopping myself. You ever just wander the market looking for the perfect thing to inspire a great dinner? Sometimes you just gotta see what’s out there, you know?”

“Quite,” John said, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to say to all that. “If you must know, I’m just here to buy a gift.”

He was being rude again. He always did this when he was upset, trying to regain the upper hand by pushing everyone away. Except Martin wasn’t here to soften things. Maybe this was a bad idea. He wondered how long he could go before he pissed someone off enough that he had to flee. 

“Oh! Is this for Martin?” Tim asked with a knowing grin, and John was surprised that he seemed unbothered by his terseness. 

“Um, yes,” John said, feeling his face burning in embarrassment. 

“Good on you,” Tim said with too much enthusiasm. “You got any ideas? You can’t go wrong with flowers.”

“Flowers, fine,” John said. It wasn’t like he had any better ideas. He just wanted to get this over with. 

“Great, I know just the place, come with me!”

As they began to walk, John noticed a change in Tim’s behavior that he’d never noticed before. Sure, they had only hung out a few times, but he thought he would have noticed this before. Tim was maneuvering himself to stand between John and the bulk of the crowd, providing him with that bit more room so he didn’t have to risk getting jostled. Was he doing that because Martin often did? Or did this have something to do with his startled reaction earlier? 

Regardless, his actions seemed almost protective in a way, and John didn’t know how to feel. Even more embarrassed, mostly, although a part of him really did appreciate it. Being startled or surprised these days tended to send him into a panic and he was still recovering from the one Tim had given him. He really didn’t want to go through that again. And being crushed in between a crowd sounded like a nightmare. 

The florist greeted them cheerily and thankfully Tim replied in kind while John kept his eyes downcast, hoping not to draw more attention than he already did. He was prepared to grab the first bouquet he came across, but the next thing he knew, Tim was giving his input, asking for advice from the florist, flirting all the while, and John was left lost and barely following any of it. 

He supposed he was grateful for Tim’s help in the end. He handled most of the talking so hopefully he didn’t come off as rude as he usually did. Being polite took energy he did not have. He was beginning to feel incredibly foolish, he was just so out of his depth. 

And apparently Tim seemed intent on walking him all the way to the edge of town, rambling the whole time, leaving him feeling at even more of a loss. Was this a favor? What was he supposed to do with any of this? He gave a mumbled thanks as they parted ways, Tim calling after him to meet them for drinks soon, and he didn’t know how to respond. 

He clutched the bouquet to his chest as he hurried home, feeling more and more foolish as he went. What was Martin supposed to do with some flowers that were simply going to die in a few days? Why hadn’t he at least gotten him something more practical or at least original?  

Instead of the relief he thought he’d feel as he finally got home, he just felt a dull pit of disappointment and embarrassment in his stomach. Should he even still give them to Martin? He couldn’t imagine he’d like it, but he didn’t know what else to do with them and it would be a waste to simply throw them out. 

With nothing else to do with them, he put the flowers in some water and left them on the kitchen table. He felt like an idiot every time he caught sight of them, though, so he started avoiding the area as he went about his chores. 

In the evening, he practically winced when he heard the front door open and Martin’s voice announcing his return. He sighed and went to greet him, preparing to face the teasing he would no doubt receive. He saw the moment Martin spotted the flowers, freezing in his tracks, smile replaced by a look of surprise. 

“What's this?” Martin asked, voice carefully neutral. 

“Oh,” John said, trying to sound casual but knowing his face was burning with shame again. “Just— something I picked up. For you. I know it isn’t much, but—“

“You got these? For me?” Martin asked in disbelief. 

“Look, I know it’s silly,” John said, waving a hand in annoyance. “But I wanted to do something for you, and our options are a little limited here and—“

And then Martin was crying, hand flying up to cover his mouth. The tears slid down his cheeks unhindered even if he didn’t choke out any sobs, and John reached out in horror, as if he might be able to stop this, to take back his words. 

“Oh, no,” John said, horrified. “You don’t have to like it— I mean, it’s just flowers. We can toss them out, forget they were even here. I’m sorry, I should have—“

“No!” Martin exclaimed when he reached for the offending flowers and John froze. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“Oh,” John said, unsure what to do, just standing there stupidly, wanting to comfort, but he didn’t exactly know what was wrong. “I-I-I don’t—”

“I love them,” Martin managed to choke out, and then he was pulling John into a crushing hug.

“O-oh,” John said. This certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. 

“Sorry,” Martin said with a little self deprecating laugh as he pulled away and quickly wiped the tears from his face. “Just took me by surprise, I guess.”

“It’s all right, I’m— glad you like them,” John said, still a bit dazed and unsure of all of this. 

“They’re lovely,” Martin said, turning his attention back to the flowers, gently running a finger along a petal, a look of wonder on his face. 

“Um, good,” John said and cursed himself for not having anything better to say. “That’s good.”

“Wait, you went into town?” Martin asked, turning back to him. 

“Yes, I am capable of going on my own, thank you very much,” John replied. 

“Knew you had it in you,” Martin said, a joke to make light, to make it easier on John, even though he looked genuinely proud of him. 

Martin ran his fingers across his jaw before leaning in, placing a kiss to his lips, soft and tender. It was brief, but the smile he gave him after was bright and fond before he turned to the kitchen to make them tea. 

John stood there for a moment, a bit stunned. He glanced at the flowers, thinking over Martin’s reaction. If he truly liked them, and wasn’t used to receiving them, that just made John want to get him more. The prospect of going into town again so soon was too much right now, but perhaps next week—

He turned away, going to join Martin in the kitchen to start dinner. He could think more on it later. He wanted to get him flowers every day. Maybe eventually he could. 

-

It was so cold. Even piled under all the blankets they had, John shivered himself awake late at night. He was so tired, he didn’t think he had the strength or energy to go light the fire again. His leg ached worse than usual which wasn’t helping. It was always worse in the cold. 

He needed to see if Martin was also cold, maybe that would be the motivation he needed to get himself up and out of bed. Or maybe he could curl closer so they could share some of their body heat. Or maybe he just longed to feel his arms around him, to settle his nerves, and these were all just excuses. He was self aware enough now he could admit that.

Rolling over, he found Martin’s spot on the bed was empty. Maybe he was already lighting the fire? John sighed, he didn’t want him to have to do it all alone, he was the one who had to go into town and work the next day, after all. Reluctantly, John slipped out of bed and shivered violently. Wrapping his arms around himself, he headed for the door, limping slightly. He spotted Martin immediately, staring out of the window on the other side of the room, and his presence put him at ease.

“Hi,” John said, stifling a yawn as he went to the wood stove. 

As he expected, the flame had completely died at some point. It felt cold to the touch, though, which seemed a bit odd. How long ago had it gone out? They had left the same number of logs in that they usually did. And as he exhaled, he realized he could see his breath; it wasn’t so late in the year that it should be quite that cold. 

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he sensed magic in the air, and he spun around. Martin was still standing there, but now that he really looked, sleep no longer clouding his vision, he realized how still he was. There were tendrils of mist curling in under the front door and swirling around his feet, like it was caging him in. 

John was on his feet in an instant, launching himself towards Martin. He went right through him, crashing into a low shelf, knocking things onto the floor as he frantically tried to regain his footing, his bad leg barely able to hold him. He couldn’t breathe, this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose Martin!

He spun around, unsure what he was going to do. Maybe he could give him his memories again, show him he wasn’t alone, remind him he was wanted so desperately here. Before he could do anything, though, he watched in horror as he simply— faded into nothing. Martin was simply gone.

The Lonely had taken him. 

The sound that tore its way out of John’s throat as he fell to his knees was completely foreign to him. It was a deep agony, despair like he’d never felt before, a wordless cry. He’d been in pain, he’d been so certain he was going to die, but this was so much worse. This was a complete loss of hope. He couldn’t lose Martin, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do without him. This was all his fault, he’d dragged Martin into this, and he’d led him to a fate worse than death. 

He sat there on the floor where he’d collapsed, staring down at his hands numbly for a long moment, then the despair hit him all at once and he sobbed openly, curling up on the cold hard floor. He’d failed him. He’d failed Martin so utterly, how could he do that to him? To the one person he wanted so desperately to protect? Martin was supposed to live, to be happy. How could it have ended like this?

Martin had been his hope, his future. He had given him purpose. John had been alone for so long, but he didn’t think he could go back to that. He’d lost everything in only a moment, and he knew he’d never be whole again. 

No. No, he couldn’t let it end like this. He wouldn’t. No matter the cost. 

He put everything he had into his magic, every scrap, every fiber of his being. It tore at him from the inside, ripping through and out of him as he forced the Eye to See, to pierce through the fog of the Lonely, to find Martin. To get him back. He couldn’t leave him there, in that terrible place. He’d find a way to get there himself, if he had to. He’d spend whatever was left of his life clawing his way to him. 

It was agony. It was clear his magic and the Lonely were too opposed. In a way, the Lonely was the complete opposite of his abilities and it was like slamming against a brick wall and trying to push forward anyway. He couldn’t think about failing. He couldn’t think about the splitting headache that made spots explode before his eyes, and he couldn’t think of the despair as his vision began to fade along with his consciousness. 

“John? John, can you hear me?”

It was as if the voice was suddenly fading into existence and John flinched, snapping his head up to look around frantically for the source. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, if it had been only a moment or hours, but kneeling beside him was Martin looking concerned and horrified. 

John didn’t even stop to take in what was happening, he immediately launched himself forward, managing to wrap his arms around Martin’s neck, pulling him into a desperate hug. He knew he was trembling, and there were no words for how relieved he was that he could actually touch him, feel him, instead of passing right through him again. Martin held him just as tight, whispering reassurances, but John should have been the one reassuring him. 

He could barely catch his breath between the sobs of relief let alone compose himself enough to speak. All he could do was hold him tightly, so afraid he might disappear again at any moment. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” John managed eventually. 

“What?” Martin said, completely bewildered. 

“I should have done more, you never should have felt so alone, I’m sorry—“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Martin tried to reassure, but the only reason John fell silent was because he was on the verge of crying again and he could no longer be trusted to form words. “This isn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything—“ 

“Exactly,” John said, and then he really was crying again. 

“No,” Martin said, voice pleading, and he pulled back to look him in the eyes, hand coming up to frame his face, to caress his cheek. “Look.”

Martin held his hand out to reveal the necklace he’d given him what felt like a lifetime ago. The little glass teardrop had a slight glow to it that was rapidly fading away. Apparently it had worked to save him again, to help him find his way out again.  

“See? So you can’t blame yourself,” Martin said.

“I thought it had taken you for good.”

“Not a chance. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I would never want to,” John said, much too seriously, and Martin blushed at that. 

“I know I should have come to talk to you,” Martin continued after a moment. “But it felt like— it held some sort of revelation. Like if I looked at my own loneliness hard enough, eventually I’d understand.” 

“It can feel like they have the answers,” John said, and he held onto Martin’s hand, turning his face into his palm to place a kiss there. “But it isn’t true. It can feel familiar, more comfortable and easy than change, but it’s always a trap. Maybe it would even offer you powers and abilities.”

“I— imagine that’s a bad thing,” Martin said carefully. 

“It does require payment— sacrifices,” John said, his eyes falling to the side, feeling guilty. He had paid that price several times, by giving people nightmares, forcing them to relive their worst moments of terror— the people whose deaths he’d caused. 

“Right,” Martin said. “It’s probably good you snapped me out of it.”

“This is something you need to choose for yourself,” John said. “I’m here for you, whatever your choice.”

“John,” Martin said, sounding frustrated. 

But it was the truth. John would support him no matter what he wanted. He trusted him so completely, he knew he’d make the right choice. But even beyond that, he was sure he would call whatever choice he made the correct one. Apparently Martin disagreed with this sentiment, but instead of pursuing what would most likely be an argument, he apparently decided to change the subject.

”You’re freezing. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Martin had to support him, helping him walk the whole way. At least it meant he stayed close. John didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want to let him out of his sight. Even once they were buried under the covers, John was afraid to close his eyes. 

Relief didn’t come close to describing how he felt. He’d felt so broken and lost without him, he never wanted to feel like that again. He didn’t understand how someone so good, so wonderful, would want to be here with him, but he would be eternally grateful. John had always been living on stolen time, there was very little he deserved that was good. 

He wanted to pour out reassurances, to tell Martin he’d do better, he’d be better, for him. He’d tell him every waking moment he was loved if that might help. But he knew that was his own insecurities talking. He tried to bite his tongue and just focus on what Martin might actually need. 

“Do you still feel it?” John asked eventually, once they were settled. “The Forsaken.”

“Kind of,” Martin said. “But I’d rather be here. With you.”

“Whatever you need,” John said. “Whatever might help, I’ll do it.”

“I know,” Martin said, and he placed a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t done anything, he didn’t deserve to be thanked. He took Martin’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss to his knuckles. This won an embarrassed but pleased smile from Martin, so he just held him close. 

Martin hid his face against his chest, and John let his fingers brush through his hair. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep again tonight, but at least he could watch over Martin for the rest of the night. He wasn’t going to let the Lonely have him. 

Chapter Text

John was smoking again. He knew it was a bad habit, but he’d started it up again anyway. The stress he was under due to all of the recent changes was getting to him, and it felt like it was either this, or he'd lose his mind completely. He did his best to keep the smoke away from Martin, doing it far from the house. Or, like now, doing it on the edge of town while Martin was buying groceries. 

John had intended to accompany him, but he’d gotten overwhelmed again by the crowds and been forced to excuse himself. Another failure on his part. Martin had assured him that it wasn’t, that he was allowed to have bad days, but John was having a hard time accepting it. It just felt like he was continuously backsliding.  

He paced back and forth, under the shade of some trees outside of town. He felt better, not being in direct line of sight of anyone who might glance in this direction. Even if it wasn’t necessarily hostile, he wanted to escape their constant staring. He was so tired of having eyes on him. 

He leaned back against the trunk of a sturdy tree and looked up into its branches as he exhaled the smoke, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment. It was quiet out here. He tried to enjoy it after the noise of the town, but it seemed he was able to find something to be nervous about no matter the situation. Now he was focusing too much on the silence, on every little sound from the wind in the leaves— 

A twig snapped nearby and he spun in that direction, looking around wildly. There was a woman standing there, and it seemed he’d surprised her nearly as much as she had surprised him. 

She was average height, skinny, but there was something about the way she held herself that left him sure she was more than capable in a fight. He felt that familiar spike of fear at the knowledge, even if she wasn’t being actively hostile. 

But then something caught his eye and he looked down to see— an arrow, sticking out of the woman’s thigh. There was something about it that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but he was so surprised to see someone injured out here, standing and walking as if it was nothing, he thought that was the reason. 

“Your leg,” John said in horror. “Are you—“

His inquiry into her wellbeing was cut short as her eyes narrowed, and he knew he’d somehow made a mistake. Suddenly, there was a dagger in her hand and she charged forward with startling speed, hatred in her eyes. She moved fluidly, seemingly experiencing no pain or discomfort from her wound. 

John barely managed to get his cane up in time to block with a wild swing, causing the knife to glance away from him harmlessly, but the sudden jolt forced him to drop his only defense. He stumbled back with a cry of surprise, unable to react fast enough when the woman delivered a kick to his stomach, sending him sprawling. 

As she stepped back to regroup and brandish her weapon, John realized that the arrow in her leg— wasn’t there anymore. It was an echo, a mark that had been imparted on her by one of the Patrons. The physical arrow had been long since removed, but the remnant was much more difficult to be rid of. It had tried to claim her, but as a victim or warlock, he wasn’t sure. 

She didn’t know him, but she knew he was a warlock, maybe even knew which patron he was aligned with given how easily he’d Seen her mark, and there was no doubt she wanted him dead. There was so much rage in her, it was overwhelming in its intensity and he could do nothing but stare up at her in horror at being the focus of all of that fury. 

It was the Slaughter, he realized, and his blood ran cold. It was relentless in its need for violence, and he didn’t have the first idea how to fight against it. Knowledge wouldn’t help him, she knew what she wanted, and in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to end his life. 

“John!”

Both John and the woman spun to see Martin running towards them, but before the woman could attack either of them again, a thick fog materialized around them, blocking her from view, pulling them into the Lonely. He’d never seen fog gather so quickly. The last thing John heard was her enraged scream before it was silenced by the fog.  

“Are you okay?” Martin asked, the fear evident in his voice as he dropped to his knees beside him, comforting hand on his back to help him sit up.

“I’m fine,” John sighed, even though there was no hiding the wince or the trembling in his frame. It was rapidly becoming from the cold instead of a reaction to seeing someone so intent on his death yet again. 

“What happened?” Martin asked. “Who was that?”

“I have no idea,” John said. “One more to the list of individuals who want me dead, I suppose.”

“I know you don’t make the greatest first impression, but when we met, I didn’t think it was that bad,” Martin joked despite the nerves in his voice. 

“Apparently I instill a murderous rage upon introduction. You must just be more tolerant than most.” Maybe that was a little too close to the truth because neither of them even bothered to pretend it was funny. John lifted his cane, preparing to use it to leverage himself to his feet, only to discover it had been broken in two. “Ah. And after you’d just replaced it.”

“We’ll get you a new one,” Martin assured him. “Have you ever broken one for normal reasons, or is it always in a fight? Maybe we should get you something stronger than wood.”

John could barely muster up the energy to chuckle. He was too busy trying and failing not to think about the woman’s eyes. There had been such hatred in them. It hadn’t been that long since he’d nearly been killed and had his home destroyed by people who wanted him dead just as much, but maybe he’d been getting too comfortable here because it shook him more than he felt it should. 

He should be used to it, but here, in this place, things had mostly been different. Every time he thought he’d pushed his luck too far, he had been met with kindness that he didn’t understand. But it had finally happened, the world was rebalancing and someone was out for his death once again. 

He shivered and Martin wrapped his coat around his shoulders before helping him stand. Once they were on their feet, he folded him into a hug and John went willingly, greedily accepting the comfort. 

“You’re okay,” Martin said, but John wasn’t sure which of them he was reassuring. He kept his arm around him even as they began to walk. 

With the fading of the Lonely came the emotions it had muffled and he felt like he was going to be sick. Whoever that woman was, she might have been able to tell that it was Martin who had used magic, and that frightened him so much more. 

“Is she—“ John began, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

“She’s still out there,” Martin said grimly. “She didn’t get caught in the fog, I was too busy trying to get us away from her.”

“Okay,” John said, because he didn’t know if that was good or not. 

She might have been like Martin, in the wrong place at the wrong time, with enough fear to draw the attention of something that served the Patrons. Or she might have been like Elias, craving this power and manipulating and killing anyone who stood in his way. Had she wanted this, sought it out? 

Regardless, she was still out there and she knew his face. And she wanted him dead. 

“What are we going to do?” Martin said. 

“I don’t know,” John said. “I don’t really know what the Slaughter is capable of.”

“That’s who she serves?” Martin asked. 

“It’s what marked her. I don’t know for sure that she’s a warlock. If she is and she uses magic, I should be able to feel it at least. Until then, I don’t really know what to do.”

“Will she be able to find us if we use magic?” Martin asked. 

“I don’t actually know. Can you feel it through the Lonely?”

“No, not really,” Martin shrugged. “Hopefully it’s the same for her. But then, maybe we don’t need to figure anything out. Maybe, if we finish getting your wards up around the house, we won’t have to worry about her finding us.”

“The real question is, do we have time?” John said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I do kind of stick out. It won’t take her long to get a name to go with my description.”

“It’s better than trying to fight her,” Martin said, and John could only nod reluctantly. “If you want, I could always go into town, see if anyone knows her.”

“I’m not letting you do that alone,” John said. 

“I’m fine, it’s you she was after,” Martin pointed out. 

“Unless she sees you and realizes it was you who was controlling the fog to protect me. How are you doing, by the way? You haven’t used it in a while. Not since—“ John stopped, not wanting to think about his most recent brush with the Forsaken. 

“I’m fine,” Martin assured him.

“Just fine?”

“Yes,” Martin replied, and he sounded exasperated. “I’m completely fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“What else am I going to worry about?” John joked.

“I can think of a few things,” Martin grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. 

When the fog cleared, they were back on the road to town. A wave of exhaustion washed over John and he desperately wanted to go home and rest, but the latter wasn’t exactly an option. 

“I guess it’s time I show you a bit more magic,” John sighed. “If you think you’re okay for it. It’s fine if you want a break.”

“I don’t think we really have a choice, not if she might find us at any moment.”

“Very well.”

-

It was finally done, and John breathed a sigh of relief knowing that they had magic protections now. Even Elias might have trouble coming back, considering Martin‘s assistance. He wouldn’t be able to simply walk through magic from the Lonely like he did with magic from the Eye. He let himself believe that they might actually be safe, as hard as that was to accept. 

He was a little surprised that they’d managed to get it working in the end. He knew he was an awful teacher, especially when he himself barely knew what he was doing. He was too prone to getting frustrated and snapping, but Martin didn’t seem to take his temper personally, or even particularly seriously, so long as he wasn’t actively rude, which John was grateful for. 

Despite all that, doing magic with Martin had been— nice. 

He knew he shouldn’t do anything like this again, not when the magic represented such a temptation and threat to them. But still, there was an intimacy in letting their magic mingle, finding how they fit together like the first time Martin wrapped him in his strong arms. It was late, now, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t the only one still thinking about it. 

Martin was lying in the bed beside him, propped up on his elbow as he looked down at him. There was something like awe in his eyes, something that said he enjoyed looking at him, even if John couldn’t begin to guess why. Then Martin reached out, tracing his cheek, his jaw, with the back of his fingers. He continued down over his neck and John shivered. 

It was such a strange feeling. For the longest time, any touch near his neck had sent him into a panic. Even a too-tight shirt bringing to mind the violence he had been through, visceral memories of some of the closest times he’d come to death.  But this was such a contrast to it; the gentleness, the love as Martin traced every scar. 

He shouldn't want anyone anywhere near his throat, and yet he wanted Martin to touch him, because it was real, because it was evidence that what he’d been through wasn’t all there was. He could be whole, he could experience gentleness. And he’d found someone he could trust with that, someone who could make him feel like he was finally living instead of just surviving. The complete opposite of everything those scars represented. 

John took a shuddering breath, wishing he had the words to explain all of that to Martin, but he didn’t. Instead, he just watched him as Martin’s hand continued lower, his broad palm coming to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. 

John rolled over, hiding his face against Martin as he brought his own hand up to rest against his stomach. Martin chuckled and buried his face in John’s hair, breathing him in. 

“Not fair,” John said, voice muffled against him. “You can‘t just look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Martin asked, his grin evident just from his voice. 

“You know.”

“I really don’t,” Martin chuckled. 

“Shut up. 

“Right, yes, very helpful, thank you.”

“I can tell you’re still doing it,” John grumbled. 

“How am I supposed to stop if you won’t even tell me what I’m doing?” Martin laughed, and John was jostled by the movement, but he certainly didn’t mind. 

He didn’t know it could be this nice. Every time he thought he was getting used to Martin, to what they had, it was like he would discover all over again how happy it could make him, how treasured Martin could make him feel. It made his chest ache, but in the best way possible. He just wished he was better at loving him back. 

“You’re impossible,” John said. 

“And you’re insufferable,” Martin said. ”I love you.”

“I love you too.”

John’s face was burning with the attention, blushing hard, but he pulled away so he could reach up and pull him into a kiss. It was unhurried, but deep, as they took their time, simply enjoying each other. 

The world was still terrifying, and they still had a lot of difficulties to get through, but they had each other too. They had this moment, and many more like it. And that made John sure they could get through it. Together. 

He would do anything for Martin, just to make him smile. And Martin kept making him smile in return. He moved to press a kiss to Martin’s jaw, his neck, and he earned a pleased hum from him. So he continued the attention, especially when he felt Martin’s hand begin to run up and down his back, and they both melted into the touches. 

While John still had a bruise where he’d been kicked, it was easy to forget their earlier fears when they were together like this. It was a new experience for John, not letting those fears consume days of his life as he agonized over every possible horrible outcome. But now, the only thing he wanted to think about was Martin and all of the ways he might make him smile. 

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?” 

Martin’s exasperated voice startled John out of his concentration. He turned from where he was sitting on the floor by the front door to see Martin standing there, hair still mussed from sleep and wearing pajamas. He looked groggy and utterly adorable. 

“I’m focusing,” John snapped, turning back to stare at the door. 

“Right, of course, how could I not realize,” Martin said sarcastically as he went to the kitchen. John could hear him getting the kettle ready for tea. “What else would you be doing sitting on the floor at the crack of dawn.”

“I’m not very good at this,” John said. “Sitting on the floor helps me concentrate.”

“And what exactly is ‘this’ supposed to be?”

“I’m trying to See if there’s any evidence of that Slaughter warlock around,” John said. 

“Why couldn’t you just say that?” Martin asked, and now he just sounded thoroughly amused. 

“Because I’m trying to concentrate!”

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Poorly.”

“Well,” Martin said, sitting on the ground beside him, close enough that their knees touched. He leaned over to place a kiss to his temple, nuzzling against him. “I woke up in bed all alone. I’d hoped you’d still be there.”

“O-oh,” John said, completely dropping his spell to turn his attention to Martin, flustered and a little guilty. “I-I see. I apologize, I shouldn’t have just—“

“It’s fine,” Martin said with a laugh, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to make up for it later.”

“Ah,” John smiled before leaning in and placing a quick kiss to his lips. “Since you’re already down here.”

“Right,” Martin agreed, leaning in for another kiss. “Only because I’m already down here.”

“Well, it isn’t like I’m making much progress here,” John said. “I can be persuaded to focus on something else for a time.”

“Oh?” Martin asked innocently. “What did you have in mind?”

John knew he wasn’t very good at teasing, or flirting, or whatever this might count as. So instead of continuing their game, he gave up all pretense and turned to sit in Martin’s lap. This made it much easier to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him properly. He pulled back after a moment, staring at Martin, just taking him in. 

“You really are beautiful, you know that?” John said. He hadn’t really meant to say anything, the words just slipped out. They were so true, it just felt right to say. 

“O-oh,” Martin said, looking pleased if bashful as he blushed bright red, and it just made the statement even more true. “I don’t know about that—“

“I do,” John said in a voice that would accept no argument. 

Martin stared at him for a long moment, looking like he was mustering up the courage to say something, or maybe he had no idea what to say and was trying to think of something, anything. The kettle on the stove began to whistle then and caused them both to jump. 

“Right,” Martin said. “I suppose I should get that. 

John took pity on him and let him get up. He followed and watched as he began to make their tea. But then he decided it was taking too long so he simply wrapped his arms around Martin from behind. He pressed his face against his shoulder blade and signed contentedly. Martin chuckled, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze before returning to their tea. 

“So, what’s the plan, then?” Martin asked once he was finished, holding one mug up for him to take. 

“Well,” John said, releasing him to take the mug with both hands, enjoying the warmth it emanated. “We don’t exactly have much to go on, so I don’t know how helpful it would be to go into town and ask around for the woman from yesterday. Average height, build, her hair cut in a short bob which isn’t exactly a unique cut.”

“And I suppose if she isn’t running around doing anything Slaughter-y, there won’t really be any leads to follow.”

“Indeed. We may want to lay low for a few days, see if she comes snooping around.”

“Fine be me,” Martin nodded. “Maybe she’ll get bored and move on. Maybe she already has.”

“One can hope, but we seem to rarely be that lucky.”

“If we’re staying in,” Martin said with a coy smile. “What do you say to some breakfast in bed?”  

“That does sound nice,” John said, and he could feel himself blushing now. 

He’d gotten up early because he couldn’t get himself to properly rest, but if Martin wanted to have a lazy day in bed, he certainly wasn’t going to complain. Besides, he was certain they could find something to do to entertain themselves. 

As they set about preparing breakfast, John once again found himself marveling at what he had here. He could remember previous relationships, the anxiety that often went with lying in bed beside someone, and the expectations that usually went alongside such situations. 

There was no such anxiety here. He knew Martin, trusted him completely. He’d told him so many things he’d been terrified to tell anyone else, and he still hadn’t pushed him away. There were no expectations, no demands to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t have to pretend, and he didn’t have to compromise his boundaries. 

He could just— be. He hoped Martin felt the same. The entire thing made him a little giddy. He couldn’t help but pause in his preparations as they made breakfast to lean over and give Martin a kiss, to touch his hand or his arm. He just wanted to be close, all the time. 

He worried he might be pushing too much. He knew he could be a lot, he would often demand too much and get on peoples’ nerves. It didn’t seem like he was getting there for Martin yet, at least. Maybe he could indulge a bit more before he had to force himself to give Martin his space. 

-

It had been a couple days with no threats, no one snooping around their home. Maybe it truly was fine and the presence of the Slaughter had moved on. They couldn’t exactly remain completely isolated forever, they needed to buy food and John could tell that Martin was beginning to grow restless, trapped here unable to leave. 

John almost hadn’t noticed. Martin was very good at hiding his agitation, and walks around their property helped relieve some of that tension. But when John did notice, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. They were only stuck here because of him, after all. 

In the end, he suggested they go into town. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but he wanted Martin to have this. He didn’t want him isolated and lonely. His own anxiety was a small price to pay for it. And, he supposed he might feel better knowing for sure if the threat of the Slaughter had moved on or not. 

John was, of course, full of nerves as they headed into town. Martin was as well, but once they arrived, he did a good job of hiding it. He kept a running dialog going, and splitting his attention between trying to follow what he was saying and trying to keep an eye on the crowds around them was actually working to distract John. He even had to try to bite back a laugh when Martin dropped one of the terrible serial novels at the back of the general store into his basket. 

“You have got to be joking,” John said, and he knew he had to be grinning as he picked up and examined the book. 

“Look, they really aren’t that bad,” Martin insisted, snatching it from him. 

“Really?” John asked. “Care to read me a section?”

“Not if you’re going to be like that,” Martin sniffed. He didn’t seem legitimately annoyed and was trying to hide his own smile. John wondered if he’d done this on purpose. 

“Ridiculous. I can’t believe—“ 

“John?” 

John froze in place at the sound of his own name, an icy terror taking him over. He knew that voice, hadn’t heard it since— since he first started working under Elias, as everything was beginning to go so wrong. 

It was too late to run, so he simply turned to see Georgie standing there, looking at him in shock. He supposed that was better than rage or disgust. Given that they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, he considered himself lucky. 

She looked just like she had back then, from her wild curly hair to the freckles that covered her dark skin. He imagined he was quite a contrast, considering his own scars and greying hair. He could barely remember the person he’d been back then, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she hadn’t recognized him at all. 

To his absolute bafflement, she threw herself at him, pulling him into a tight hug. He nearly toppled over, and it was only thanks to his cane that he managed to remain upright. She released him immediately when she realized, looking rather breathless. 

“Oh, sorry,” she said quickly. “But how are you here? Are you all right? I’d heard you died!” 

“Ah,” John said. “I suppose that makes sense. Almost everyone back home probably assumed I’d gotten myself killed.”

“After I left, I never thought—” she said, looking pained.

“It’s fine,” John interrupted quickly. He didn’t want her to feel like she had anything to apologize for. “I got myself into that mess. I’m sure you heard the rumors, then. More are true than I think either of us would like.”

“I just wish I’d stayed, is all. I should have helped.”

“No, you were right about everything,” John sighed. “I was just too much of a stubborn arse to admit it.”

“What’s this?” She teased, trying to hold onto a moment of levity. “Jonathan Sims? Admitting he was wrong?”

“Yes, well, don’t get used to it,” John said. Then he remembered himself, realizing he’d left Martin completely baffled. “I apologize. Martin, this is Georgie. We knew each other, back before, well, everything. Georgie, this is Martin, my-my boyfriend.”

It was only when he said the word that he realized they hadn’t actually talked about what they were to each other. No word really felt right, it didn’t feel like it truly encompassed what Martin was to him, but it would have to do. For his part, Martin had a look of wonder on his face, like he didn’t know, hadn’t realized how important he was to him. He recovered quickly, however, and extended a hand out to Georgie. 

“It’s a pleasure,” Martin said with a smile. 

“It’s so good to meet you,” Georgie said with a bright ecstatic grin that was just a bit too mischievous for John’s liking. She even gave Martin a big hug as well. 

“You’re doing well, then?” Georgie asked, turning back to John. She had concern in her eyes as she studied him, taking in all of the new scars. He wondered what he must look like to her, what sort of stories she was reading into all of the violence inflicted upon him. 

“Yes,” John said. He couldn’t help but glance at Martin. “Things are— better.”

“I’m glad,” Georgie said, before brightening. “We won’t be here much longer, we’re only passing through, but I’d love to introduce you to my girlfriend. We should have dinner together!”

“Oh, uh,” John said, unsure what to say. He looked to Martin. 

“We’d love to,” he said, and John suddenly realized letting his ex and his current boyfriend talk might be a huge mistake. 

“Great!” Georgie exclaimed. “Go ahead and finish your shopping, we’ll meet you later. I can’t wait for you to meet Melanie.”

“Well, that was unexpected,” John said as Georgie left. 

“I’m glad to see someone friendly from your past,” Martin said, bumping his shoulder with his own. 

“I’m rather surprised, to be honest,” he replied. “We were— together at the time, when I decided to go work for Elias. She disapproved, and we got into a bit of a row.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Martin said. 

“No, it’s fine, things were already falling apart between us. She moved shortly after, so she wasn’t there when everything got— bad. Probably for the best. She might have tried to help me, which might have gone poorly for her.”

Martin didn’t really answer that. John knew he and Georgie both probably would have wanted to be there for him, they were kind like that. But John never would have forgiven himself if any harm came to them because of him. This way was better. But now wasn’t the time to get into another argument about that. Instead, they made their purchases and headed outside.

They walked hand-in-hand as they stepped out under the bright sun. It was a warm day, the wind blowing gently, and John felt surprisingly okay for once. It had been strange seeing Georgie again. He’d long since written her off as someone who would ever want to talk to him again. That was a lonely feeling, he did miss her at times, but knowing that wasn’t the case— it was nice. 

She’d been a good friend, and he’d always regretted pushing her away. They hadn’t really been romantically compatible, he knew that, but friendships had been hard for him to come by. He hoped she and Martin might be able to get along. He thought they might, they were fairly similar. 

“So,” Martin said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, was that wrong?” John said, feeling his face burning in embarrassment. 

“No, I-I like it,” Martin said, and it looked like he was blushing too. “I guess I thought— I don’t know what I thought.”

“I love you,” John said, voice serious, because he needed to make sure Martin knew. “Did you think I didn’t? Or that I wasn’t serious?”

“No, no, of course not,” Martin said quickly. “I guess it’s just— I’m not used to being anyone’s first choice. Hearing it just reminded me that this is real.”

“Then let me make myself perfectly clear,” John stopped, tugging on Martin’s arm so he would turn to face him properly. “You are my first choice, I love you very much, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And I’ll keep telling you if I have to.”

“I feel the same,” Martin said, voice strained with emotion as he pulled him into a hug. “I love you.”

John closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Martin, holding him. He indulged in the warmth and the closeness. Even though they’d spent the last few days in a similar closeness, reading together, always touching in some way, he still wasn’t used to this. He still treasured every new moment. 

But then he remembered where they were, standing out in public and he cleared his throat, reluctantly pulling away. He took Martin’s hand again, though. 

“Right,” John said, trying to compose himself. “Now that that’s out of the way, shall we go?”

Chapter Text

To John’s great relief, they managed to buy him a new cane. Martin had found him a sturdy enough walking stick he could use in the interim, but it didn’t provide the proper support and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t beginning to struggle. He would no doubt have a bad few days after this, but at least the main problem was solved. 

With their last errand taken care of, they headed to where Georgie had agreed to meet. They found her loading crates into a cart and Martin jogged over to help. John couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty as he fell behind. Not that he’d really be that much help with the manual labor, he wasn’t all that strong, after all, and with his leg as sore as it was— 

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a woman walking towards him down a side alley, and as their eyes met, all other thoughts left him. It was the woman who had tried to kill him the other day, and his blood ran cold. She’d had a slight smile on her face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that deep hatred, a rage burning much more deeply than anything human could, touched and twisted by one of the patrons. 

“You,” the woman exclaimed with so much vitriol in her voice it felt like he’d been slapped. 

She sprang into action immediately, whipping out her dagger in one fluid motion as she leapt at him. The blade sunk into his shoulder and he cried out as she landed on him, dragging him to the ground. He’d managed to grab her arm, stopping the blade from piercing any deeper, but his arms were trembling with the effort of holding her back.  

With a frustrated grunt, the woman redoubled her efforts, gritting her teeth as she put her weight behind the knife. She was overpowering him, of course she was, and he cried out in pain again as it slowly, agonizingly, sliced deeper into him, a little bit at a time. There was nothing he could do, no way he could defend himself. Any moment now his arms were going to give out and she would be able to stab down into him as she pleased. 

The thought crossed his mind that it would be so easy to just— drop his arms. He could let them go slack, give up, and it would all be over. It would hurt, he knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with a single stab. She would drive the blade into him again and again, slicing and hacking, but at least, eventually, the relentless terror and pain would finally be over. He wouldn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder. He could finally rest—

Suddenly, she was being lifted off of him and he cried out yet again as the dagger was ripped from him. He grabbed his shoulder to stop the flow of blood and sat up to see Martin bodily dragging the woman back as she screamed her rage. But then she brought the dagger down in a wild swing and sliced into Martin’s arm, causing him to drop her and she leapt out of his reach. 

“Martin!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking in his desperation. 

John scrambled to his feet and ran to Martin’s side as he staggered back, but he wouldn’t let John get in front of him. Martin was stronger and much bigger than he was, there was no way he would be able to maneuver him if he didn’t want to be. John couldn’t help the desperate and frustrated sound that escaped him. He just wanted to protect Martin but he couldn’t even do that properly. 

And then he realized Georgie was there, too, putting herself in harm's way, blocking the woman from approaching, and it felt like everything in John was screaming. Martin, Georgie, they shouldn’t be risking their lives for him, he wasn’t worth this. He couldn’t watch as all the people he cared about were cut down because he was too weak, because he kept on living even though he shouldn’t. A dozen times or more, he should have died, but others kept paying the price in his stead. 

“You know what he is and you’re protecting him?” the woman demanded, but she was looking at Martin, mostly ignoring Georgie as she got up close, holding her back with hands on her shoulders. It didn’t seem like Georgie felt threatened at all. 

“Let’s all just calm down a moment,” Martin said, frantic, trying to mediate despite the pain he was obviously in.

“Melanie, what are you doing?” Georgie demanded, and John flinched. 

This was Melanie. This was Georgie’s partner, the one she’d wanted to introduce him to. And she wanted him dead. He had once again ruined everything. 

“He’s a monster,” Melanie spat. “He uses their magic. He needs to die.”

“I do too,” Martin said, but his voice wasn’t as high with panic, anger winning out. 

“No!” John exclaimed, but Martin just continued to speak over him. 

“So you’ll have to kill me first.”

Melanie’s eyes narrowed at that, and John felt so cold from the fear. 

“Please, don’t do this,” John begged, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Melanie or Martin or both.

He was shaking with his terror, clinging to Martin. He barely noticed his own injury any longer, he was just so terrified, hating himself for putting them all in danger. He couldn’t use his magic, the idea made him feel sick, and he didn’t want to hurt someone important to Georgie. But he couldn’t let her hurt Martin either, he’d kill himself before he let him die. But he didn’t have a weapon he could turn on himself, and he knew Martin would never let him surrender himself over. 

“Melanie,” Georgie said again, forcing her to meet her gaze. 

“What?” she snapped, but then she seemed to remember herself and softened as she turned her full attention to Georgie. 

“I know him, he’s a good person,” Georgie said. 

“It’s been years,” Melanie spat. “How can you be so sure he hasn’t changed?”

“Because we both know how easy it is to get caught up in this. Right?” 

“Bullshit!”

“Look at him,” Georgie persisted. “Does he look like a threat?”

Melanie stared at them both for a very long time before she gave in and let Georgie take her dagger from her. She looked like it took a great effort to do so, every part of her still coiled tightly, ready to spring into action. 

“Fine,” she said. “But if I see either of you use any magic on us or anyone else, I will kill you.”

Martin sagged in relief and John quickly slipped out from behind him so he could look at his arm. He probably wasn’t all that subtle when he positioned himself to shield him from Melanie.

Martin was trying to get a look at John’s wound as well, until Georgie demanded they both sit on the edge of the cart so she could patch them up properly. Despite John’s protests, she tended to him first because his was supposedly more severe. John couldn’t help but continually glance at Martin’s the entire time. At least worrying about Martin distracted from the pain as he required stitches. 

“I’m so sorry,” Georgie said as she worked, shooting a meaningful glance towards Melanie. 

“Sorry,” Melanie said, refusing to meet any of their eyes. She didn’t seem particularly sorry at all. 

Martin didn’t reply, probably biting his tongue, not wanting to say anything that might break the tentative truice they’d come to. As angry as John was with her hurting Martin, he thought it best to swallow his own emotions and say something.

”The Slaughter,” John began. 

“Is that what it’s called?” Melanie asked, hostility back in her voice. 

“Yes. I imagine it takes a great deal of effort to put it aside. Thank you.” 

“Don’t push it,” she snapped.

“Melanie,” Georgie sighed. 

”I’m just doing this for Georgie,” Melanie continued. 

“Right.”

“I’m sorry,” Georgie said again before looking over her shoulder at her girlfriend. “Melanie, take a walk.”

“Like hell!” She snapped. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone with them. They have magic. They chose this!”

That cut through John to his core. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, the weight of that statement crushing him from the sheer number of times he’d been told it. This was his fault. Every bit of violence inflicted on him wasn’t nearly as much as he deserved. Every time he’d been left, bleeding out and barely conscious, had been a blessing, because he deserved so much worse. 

He had to close his eyes. That wasn’t any better, though, because then there was nothing but the blackness and his own memories, of pain and violence and hopelessness. There was the burning cabin, the sanctuary that had saved his life gone in an instant. Then there was Martin, the tears streaming down his face, and it was John’s fault, he’d done that to him. He opened his eyes again. 

Martin grabbed his arm, grounding him as he tried to get his breathing under control before he turned to silently thank him. Martin just smiled at him in response, equal parts sad and encouraging. He hated how fragile he felt, because Melanie was right. He might not have known exactly where this road would lead, but he had chosen this. 

“John?” Georgie said tentatively. 

“He’s clearly faking it,” Melanie scoffed. 

“Shut up,” Martin snapped, and John wasn’t sure he’d ever heard that much barely-contained fury in his voice before. “You don’t know what he’s been through.”

Georgie glared at Melanie who scoffed again, but she looked more uncertain now. Regardless, she turned to pace a bit farther away, where it would be slightly harder for her to hear. Only then did Geoegie turn back to them. 

“You said it was called the Slaughter?” Georgie said, voice soft, encouraging. 

“It’s one of them, yes,” John said, relieved when his voice came out mostly steady. “It isn’t the patron I— serve though.” He hesitated, unsure what else to call it. He had given it fear, and he had received magic, power, in return, so he supposed ‘serve’ was more or less accurate. 

“You don’t really serve it anymore,” Martin said, speaking up, no doubt still preferring any hostility be directed at him instead. “And if anything, I’m the one who chose this. You didn’t have a choice.”

“No,” John said, pleaded. “You only did that because of me.”

“They were going to kill you, John. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

Georgie looked a little horrified at that. She knew him better than most, she had seen how it started if not how it ended, she should know he didn’t know how to stop. She should see how this was his fault. But maybe it was just because of their past friendship that she hadn’t turned against him, and he felt guilty for that too. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and John could only shake his head, looking away. After a moment, she asked, “These patrons; is there one that’s, like, death?”

-

“Well, that was— disastrous,” John said as they made their way back home.

It was distressing, knowing Georgie had also had a run-in with something that served the End. It had happened before they‘d even met, and yet John had never been able to see the mark on her, had never been able to help. 

They shared their stories and their experiences, but Martin kept trying to defend him and he felt so guilty for that. By the end even Melanie’s apology sounded a bit more sincere, and he wasn’t sure if that was a relief or just a source of even more guilt. They’d offered to give them a ride home, but Martin had wanted to get away from them as quickly as possible and refused. 

“I’m sorry,” Martin said suddenly. 

“What?” John said in surprise. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I know this wasn’t exactly the reunion you wanted. You seemed so excited to get to talk to Georgie.”

“Not if her girlfriend was going to be looming the entire time,” John said. “I’m— I just hate that you got dragged into the middle of it too.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll find I deliberately placed myself in the middle,” Martin said, sounding a little offended having his role in things diminished. 

“Right.” John said, and then his voice hitched with emotion as he continued. “Don’t— please don’t do that again.”

“Are you serious?” Martin demanded, and now he sounded properly angry. 

“Yes!” John said, raising his voice as well, because it was easier than the terror. 

“Oh my god,” Martin said, throwing his head back. “Are we seriously going to argue about this every time one of us is in danger?”  

“Apparently,” John said, and just like that the anger was draining away and he was so, so tired. 

He still didn’t understand why Martin was so set on trying to protect him. He didn’t know how to make him understand that he wasn’t worth it. He didn’t know how to tell him that Martin was the important one, the one he wanted to protect above all else. 

Then again, Martin had been the one to accept a patron in order to protect John. Maybe they were both just as bad, And he hated that thought. They’d said this all before, and apparently they were both going to continue being reckless in an attempt to protect the other.

He sighed and took Martin’s arm, leaning against him as they walked, wishing he could fold himself into his arms, to hold him until he felt nothing but warmth. So he could feel his beating heart, proof that he was alive overwhelming all of his senses. 

“Let’s just get home,” he said, and Martin adjusted to support him better, and he didn’t deserve this care. 

But he had it anyway. He could feel the frustrated tears burning his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall until they were safely home. He hadn’t planned on reliving so much of the past either, and he just wanted to get home before he let himself feel all of the emotions bubbling just under his skin. 

Chapter Text

John sat on the edge of the couch leaning forward, practically doubled over. Usually this position helped with nausea, and while he didn’t have that, he wasn’t sure what else to do to settle his nerves, desperate for anything that might ease his misery. 

He felt like his skin was crawling, burning, and all of him ached, reliving his past through phantom feelings and pains. He didn’t want to close his eyes because every time he did, it made the memories even more vivid. 

Actually, maybe he was going to be nauseous after all, because they were plenty vivid with his eyes open as well. After recounting so much of his past, it felt like he was back there again, in those moments, as if they had just happened, recalling every detail, and he was doing his best to not lose himself to them. 

“How are you feeling?” Martin asked form somewhere nearby. 

John made an indistinct noise against his knees. He heard Martin set two mugs of tea down on the little makeshift table they’d set up. Then, he sat down beside him, the cushions dipping slightly from his weight and causing John to lean into him. He went willingly, and some of the tension left him when Martin placed a hand on his back and began rubbing soothing circles there. 

“I'm sorry,” John managed eventually.

“What? What for?”

Reluctantly, John sat up just enough to turn his head to look at him, his elbows resting against his knees. He was definitely due for a haircut as his hair hung down over his face. Combined with his most-likely red and puffy eyes from his poor attempts to control his emotions probably made for an incredibly pathetic look, but Martin didn’t avoid his gaze or move away. 

“It’s my fault,” John said. “We never should have gone to meet Georgie. Then none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“No,” Martin said. “She was a friend, of course you wanted to talk to her again. It isn’t your fault you were attacked.”

“I beg to differ,” John said, slumping forward again, staring at the floor. 

“There is no way you could have possibly known,” Martin said. And then he reached out to brush the hair from his face. When John turned to look at him, he ran his fingers across his cheek. “If anything, I should be the one to apologize.”

“Why?” 

“You— keep getting hurt,” Martin said, his voice breaking. “You keep getting hurt, and I haven’t been able to do anything.”

“What are you talking about?” John said, incredulous. “You’ve saved my life countless times.”

“I know it’s useless to say it’s too cruel, but— you’ve been through enough. Too much.” 

John didn’t really know what to say to that. At least, he didn’t have anything that wasn’t self deprecating, which he was sure Martin wouldn’t appreciate. Instead, he averted his eyes. Martin very gently urged him to lean over until he was lying across his lap, mindful of his injured shoulder. His hand moved up to tangle in his hair, and John couldn’t help but lean into the touch.  

“I just—“ Martin began, and John had the horrible realization that he might be crying. “I want you to know that you don’t deserve the pain. I want you to be able to live your life without expecting it to catch up with you eventually. I just want you to be able to be happy.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “I didn’t even think how this must feel to you.”

“That’s not the point,” Martin exclaimed with something he might have called an exasperated laugh if he didn’t sound so sad. 

John sat up so that he could look at Martin, so he could look at this amazing, beautiful man, full of so much kindness, that he could never deserve. There wasn’t really anything to say, for either of them. They were at an impasse, neither able to convince the other. Probably for the best, or John would be alone again. Or dead. And he couldn’t try to convince Martin without causing him to look so sad again, and he didn’t want that. 

He didn’t know what to do, didn't know how to express the torrent of emotions inside him. He wanted to pull him into a hug, but it wouldn’t be enough. And he wasn’t sure he could get his aching body to move. Before he could come to a decision, Martin leaned in to place a kiss to his forehead. 

“I know. It’s okay. Just rest.”

And John realized that he really was exhausted. He did as instructed, head pillowed under his good arm, and felt Martin begin to massage his scalp, his shoulders, his back, always careful around his injury. It was too much. He always did too much for him and this was what finally pushed John over the edge.  

Once tears began to flow and he was silently crying, there was no way to stop it. All he could do was lay there, trembling in Martin’s arms, helpless and unable to hide this from him. He didn’t want to cry, he was so tired of it. 

And did he even really have a reason to? Sure, getting stabbed had hurt and seeing Martin injured was horrible. But simply recounting his past shouldn’t leave him so shaken. He’d already been through it, had already dealt with it. 

But it seemed none of that mattered. He was back in those moments, and apparently having to deal with the fallout all over again. Except this time, Martin was here. His comfort was a great relief, but it seemed like he had to comfort him every other day. If he could just keep it together for a week for Martin’s sake— was that too much to ask of his frayed nerves? 

Martin kept giving and giving and his chest ached for him. And he still couldn’t understand why he did it. John owed him so much, and he knew he’d never be able to fill that debt. No, Martin would hate having him think of this as a debt, he didn’t want to do that to him, he didn’t want to undermine his generosity, his love. 

John hated the idea that he was continuously putting him in danger just by being around him. But if harm continued to seek him out, John could take it. He would gladly take it all to spare Martin. He hated how much that seemed to hurt Martin, but he didn’t know what else to do for him. 

Martin was so concerned with his happiness, but somehow didn’t know that he was the one who made him happy. It was because of him that, for the first time in his life, he felt like he had a purpose. He didn’t want to die, but that didn’t mean he knew how to live. But he felt like he was learning, with Martin. 

He felt Martin place a kiss to the top of his head and John reached up to catch his hand, to squeeze it gently. Martin squeezed his hand back and didn’t draw away. It felt like he was leaning over him, like he could protect John, shield him from the world, and it made him want to cry even more. He just didn’t want this fear to be all they were. Especially not to each other. 

Chapter Text

As John stared up at the ceiling, he realized that he could just— stay in bed. There was nothing saying he always had to get up early all the time. Other than his insomnia, of course. But then, Martin wasn’t here anymore, and as grumpy and irritable as John was first thing, he decided it was too boring to stay alone. 

He slipped out of bed and wandered blearily into the kitchen. It looked like Martin was just beginning to cook them breakfast. Instead of announcing himself, he shuffled forward and bumped into Martin’s back, burying his face in his sweater. 

“Oh, good morning,” Martin exclaimed, much too chipper for the time. 

John attempted to grumble a reply to ask what was supposed to be so good about it, but it was mostly muffled by the sweater. Martin laughed, and he supposed that that was a pretty good answer. 

“We should probably change our bandages,” Martin said, turning around to wrap him in a hug, leaving the pot to boil. 

John made a non-committal noise against his chest as he wrapped his arms around him. He felt more than heard Martin laugh again before pressing a kiss to his temple. John thought about trying to convince him to come back to bed, but decided against it. 

Instead, he followed when Martin disentangled himself and took a seat on the couch. John slumped down beside him, and cursed quietly as he tried to pull his shirt off one-handed, grateful when Martin assisted. 

Martin’s hands were always gentle, when he replaced his bandages, tended to his latest injury. John liked it when he did it for him, it made him feel things he wasn’t used to. He knew he had to be blushing as Martin worked, just listening to him gripe about women with knives. It gave him plenty of time to think, to examine his feelings. 

When tending his own injuries, John was usually quick and methodical. Sometimes it hurt, but that hardly mattered. It was how his grandmother had done it. Any care and carefulness was reserved for his patients. He found himself bracing for the pain or roughness, but it never came, no matter how many times Martin did this for him. 

It would have been completely reasonable for Martin to be annoyed at having to do this yet again, but if anything, he seemed to be even more insistent that John let him do this for him. It made his chest ache, but not in a bad way. 

It left John trembling slightly, and he felt so ridiculous. He wasn’t scared or upset, it didn’t make sense that he would react this way. He was just filled with so much care and love it felt like he could barely contain it. Not that he really knew how to let it out. 

Why did gentleness feel so much closer to breaking him than violence? How was it Martin could simultaneously dismantle every wall he’d put up to protect himself, while making him feel the safest he’d ever been? 

Despite how fragile he felt, he knew he was okay, he knew he could place his heart in Martin’s hands and he would never regret it. No matter how many times his past came up, reminding him how things were supposed to be, how he was supposed to hurt, Martin was able to show him a better way. He still doubted he could possibly deserve this, but Martin had chosen to give it to him, and he could never refuse him anything. 

He thought he might have been holding his breath, staring much too intently at Martin’s face. He just wanted to memorize every detail, every wrinkle in the corner of his eyes when he smiled. He had to remind himself to relax, that it was okay to savor this. He wasn’t a bad person for being here with Martin, for wanting this so badly. 

“There, done,” Martin said as he finished wrapping his shoulder and took in his slight tremor. “Are you cold?”

He nodded because he wasn’t sure he could really explain any of the things racing through his mind. Martin took his sweater off, leaving him in his undershirt, and helped pull it over John’s head. It was big and heavy and John absolutely loved it. He couldn’t relax in it yet, though, as much as he wanted to sink into it. 

“Your turn,” John said, holding his hand out for the medical kit. 

“It’s fine, I can do it,” Martin said with a little laugh. 

John didn’t budge. He simply raised one eyebrow as he stared at him until he finally gave in and handed it over. John still had no idea how to convey how much he loved him, and he didn’t know how to make Martin feel loved. But he could at least return the favor, try to mirror the things Martin did for him that made his heart beat faster, that made him feel safe and warm and content. 

John took his time, changing the bandage on Martin’s arm. He was slow and gentle, but it had nothing to do with his decreased mobility. He was avoiding pain whenever possible, cradling his arm as he worked, like it was something precious, because it was. 

When he finished and tied off the bandage, he clasped Martin’s hand in his own. He placed kisses to his knuckles, his wrist, his touches tender, trying to put as much care and love into the gesture as he could. It just felt right, like a small way he could show him he loved him. 

But then he glanced up to see Martin staring at him, and maybe he had succeeded because his face was red and he was watching him with an expression of surprise and want. He was about to say something, maybe make a joke, when Martin surged forward and kissed him and all thought left him. 

Martin didn’t break their clasped hands apart, instead bringing his other hand up to frame his jaw, to guide the kiss into something deeper. There was a desperation there, no doubt fueled by the repeated threats and close calls recently, and John hated that he was to blame for it, for the fear, but at least he felt the same and could match him in this. 

Martin shifted, urging John to lay back as he leaned over him. He only released his hand so he could wrap his arms around Martin’s neck, burying one hand in his hair. For Martin’s part, he was careful not to lean his full weight down on him, but for once John wouldn’t have minded. Maybe it would stop him from breaking apart. Martin was a heavy, solid weight against him, and he was warm and here and real and it made his head spin. 

He wasn’t sure how long they lay there, sharing breath, just holding each other. John wasn’t shaking anymore, but he still didn’t exactly want to move. Eventually, Martin shifted and it was like a spell had been broken, reality setting in once again. 

“The soup’s gonna burn,” Martin said with a heavy sigh, voice quiet. 

“Mm,” John agreed. “My leg fell asleep.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Martin asked with a huff of breath that was almost a laugh. 

“I was comfortable,” John said, but it was too late, Martin was already climbing off him and the couch. 

John made the most put-upon sound he could manage before sitting up, watching Martin make his way to the kitchen. He was glad to see he was smiling, looking generally pleased. That was good. John would do his best to find everything that made him look like that. For now, he supposed he was rather hungry. 

Chapter Text

Strangely enough, it was when John was making dinner, Martin washing the dishes beside him, sharing in the chores, that he realized he could do this forever. The future had always been a nebulous concept to him, he never knew where he’d be or if he’d even be alive for it. Or if he even wanted to be alive for it. Now, he did. 

It was just an incredibly mundane moment that made him realize. It wasn’t in a moment of passion, or anything dramatic like that. It was just two people, working together, sharing space. John had never known any sort of companionship on this level. He’d even doubted for most of his life that he was capable of opening himself enough to truly share his life with another person. 

He always thought it would be a struggle. He knew he had strange habits that others usually found aggravating. He would likely have to contort himself, to force down the need to have certain things a certain way. That was a small part of why he’d assumed relationships weren’t for him, even before the magic.

The closest he has gotten was with Georgie, but he’d managed to ruin that as well. But with Martin, there were conversations that still needed to be had, compromises they had to work out, but they managed to just— fit. 

They were two people who were used to being alone, who had strong opinions on how things should be. It could be hard at times, but so long as they actually communicated, it was almost easy. Because they knew the other would listen, because they knew they both cared. 

Every time John thought it would be on him to change himself, they instead managed to just— work it out. They were still working on the communication. It didn’t really seem to come naturally to either of them, but they were trying which was what mattered. 

It was overwhelming, how truly grateful he was, how happy Martin made him. He paused in his cooking to put a hand on Martin’s shoulder, to get his attention. Then he kissed him and pulled him into a tight hug. 

“I love you,” John said, voice reverent, and he knew this was coming out of nowhere, it had to seem strange, but he needed to make sure he knew. 

“I love you too, but my hands are covered in soap,” Martin laughed, leaving his head on John’s shoulder as he attempted to keep his arms up out of the way so he wouldn’t drip on him. 

“Looks like you’re stuck then,” John replied, and he didn’t let go.

He could tell Martin was blindly grasping for a towel, and when he found it, he gave a triumphant, “ah hah,” before wiping his hands so he could finally hug him back. 

“Can I ask what brought this on?” Martin asked at last. 

“I don’t know,” John said, because it was hard to explain. “I think I’m just happy.”

“I’m glad,” Martin said. “Me too.”

And his voice was so gentle John had to close his eyes and just held him even tighter. He knew his stubble had to be scratchy on Martin’s neck, but he didn’t complain. 

Martin opened his mouth to speak, but they both flinched at the same time, a magical pressure suddenly washing over them as they felt someone or something approaching the barrier, pushing against the boundaries. 

“What the hell was that?” Martin asked in alarm, clinging to him more tightly at the foreign feeling. 

“The barrier,” John began. 

“Is that what it feels like to you?” Martin asked. 

“It’s— a bit different now,” John said. “But more or less. “

“What’s— what’s going on, I can’t really see—“ Martin began, wincing as he scrunched up his face in concentration. 

“I-it’s Georgie,” John said in surprise, able to see her driving her cart down the road so clearly. 

“What? Why?” Martin asked, still looking uncomfortable. “What’s she doing?”

“Nothing, nothing, she’s just— heading here. We should drop the barrier or she won’t be able to get in.”

“Okay, yeah,” Martin said. “Good, I’d like to stop having to feel it. That is— really weird. Just walk me through how.”

-

John was pacing, and he knew he was making Martin anxious, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure why Georgie was on her way, so he had no idea what to expect, what to prepare for. It was probably nothing serious. It was probably fine. But somehow that didn’t exactly ease his nerves. He couldn’t help but notice she was alone. There was no sign of Melanie. 

As the cart came into view, he finally stopped and turned to face her, realizing belatedly that it was probably unsettling having him and Martin just standing on the porch, staring at her slow approach. Once again John was all too aware of how unsettling many found his relentless gaze and he dropped his eyes to the side, half turning to look back at Martin.  

Martin looked grim, but very quickly shifted to his usual welcoming smile as he moved to stand at his side. He was too good at that, at putting on a friendly face. John just hoped he didn’t feel the need to do that around him. 

“You okay?” Martin asked as he took his hand. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

He took a deep breath, trying to focus before turning back and going to meet Georgie. The moment Georgie brought the cart to a halt, she hopped off and immediately pulled John into a hug. 

“H-hi Georgie,” John said, wishing he didn’t sound so nervous. 

She then pulled Martin into a hug as well, which startled him a little, but he indulged her. Then, she turned back to John. 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re both doing okay,” Georgie said. “We’re heading home today and won’t be back this way until next week.”

“O-oh, yeah, we’re fine,” John said quickly, but Georgie looked doubtful. 

“I’m sorry again, for the other day,” Georgie said. “I didn’t mean to put you on trial like that.”

“I-it’s fine really,” John said again. “It isn’t often you meet a warlock that’s, you know, not murderous, so it’s understandable. Besides, I’m good at getting myself into these types of situations.”

“John,” Georgie said in a too-serious tone that told him his attempt to make light of it had failed. “What you went through wasn’t your fault.”

“I think you’ve seen me get into enough scrapes to know that’s not entirely sure,” John said, still trying to brush it off, too uncomfortable with the line of conversation. “I never could leave well enough alone.”

“What was his name, Bouchard?” Georgie said, and John couldn’t help the involuntary shudder. “He’s been manipulating everyone for as long as I can remember, and anyone he couldn’t fool, he bought off or blackmailed. There was nothing you could have done.”

“You tried to warn me off,” John persisted.

“That’s different, I just thought he was a rich arsehole,” she said. 

“She’s right,” Martin joined in. 

“C-can we— not do this?” John said. He knew they were trying to help, but he suddenly felt trapped, like he needed to run, to hide, and it took everything in him to stay there. They were just trying to reassure him, to comfort him, but it just felt like he was tricking them somehow and he hated it. “I-I can’t— I don’t—“

“Yeah, it’s okay, John,” Georgie said quickly

Martin didn’t say anything, he just stepped closer to him, offering him support if he wanted. John took his hand quickly, his presence and steady warmth giving him something to focus on, to remind himself he wasn’t in danger. It was fine. Georgie smiled at Martin before speaking again. 

”I‘d like to treat you both to dinner, or drinks, or something, the next time we visit. To make it up to you both. Melanie too.”

“Yes, I would like that,” John said, and he was surprised how much he meant it. “I know this can be— difficult. Please tell Melanie that I’d be happy to answer any questions she might have. The patrons can be— persistent.”

Georgie smiled so brightly again, giving them both another warm hug. John had to admit that it was a relief, to know where they stood now. And to know he hadn’t completely ruined things between them. Again. 

When she finally left, after some tea of course, John felt more drained and exhausted than he’d expected. It was embarrassing to admit, even just to himself, that the adrenaline was probably wearing off. He was too good at working himself up. 

“That was kind of you,” Martin said as they washed the dishes together, accepting a cup from John and drying it before putting it away. “Offering to help Melanie with all the patron stuff.”

“It’s the least I can do,” John said, scrubbing at the next cup.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Martin said. 

“I suppose,” John said. “I guess I just wanted to offer. I didn’t have anyone to really explain it to me properly. Someone that wasn’t trying to manipulate me with half truths, that is.”

“And that’s why it’s good of you,” Martin said, kissing his temple. “I’ll try to keep things civil too.”

“Oh, god, I didn’t even ask,” John said in realization. “Are you— I mean, you obviously don’t have to be there, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Martin said. “I still can’t help but be angry that she hurt you, but I can put that aside.”

“Okay,” John said, handing him the last dish before drying his hands. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to take a nap.”

“Good,” Martin said, squeezing his hand before letting him go. “I can wake you for dinner.”

“I love you,” John said, and he wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt uncertain. Maybe he just wanted to hear Martin say it back. Not that he expected him to have suddenly changed his mind. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was thinking. Maybe he just wanted a reminder. 

“I love you too,” Martin said and the warm smile that spread across his face was more than the reassurance he’d been hoping for. 

-

For John, night had always been when he had the most to fear. It was when the monsters came out, when good people reached the end of their sympathy, and their pity. Even when he had a home and didn’t have to run and hide in the darkness, he often kept a close eye on the windows and doors, terrified someone would find him, force their way inside. He had spent many an all-night vigil in Gertrude’s cabin, the room lit only by the moonlight, eyes glued to the doorknob, waiting. 

Those were still things that sat in the forefront of his mind, especially now that he had someone he wanted to protect. It was easier, though, sharing that burden. He knew that, when the exhaustion won out, Martin would have his back. And as he lay, curled in his arms, he actually could find it in himself to feel safe in a way he wasn’t used to. 

He could feel Martin pressed against his back, arm wrapped securely around him, and he knew no one would be able to sneak up on him. He tried to let that certainty sink into him and win out, finally letting him rest after the stressful events of the day. 

So he wasn’t expecting it when he was woken by Martin, arms tensing around him. He made a sleepy sound, hoping it functioned as a question because it was all he could really muster. Martin was quiet for a moment longer, before he finally whispered, lips pressed close to his ear. 

“Someone’s in the house.”

Now it was John’s turn to stiffen as the terror gripped him. They’d forgotten to put the barrier back up after Georgie had left. He’s gone directly to bed and it had slipped his mind entirely. How could he be so stupid?

Martin’s arms released him as he slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, and John followed. Martin grabbed a candlestick off the nightstand and wielded it like a sword, and John wished they kept an actual weapon in here. 

They stalked the halls as silently as possible, but by the time they made it to the kitchen, they hadn’t found anyone. Martin lowered the candlestick in his confusion, going to check the lock on the front door, while John glanced into the living room— and froze. 

There was a woman he knew very well sitting on the couch, watching them intently. Her posture was relaxed, but John knew that that was deliberate and mostly an illusion. Daisy was always coiled tightly, a weapon ready to spring into action at any moment. She wasn’t tall, but she was stocky and so strong, even after everything she’d been through. 

He knew he should have been afraid, and he was, but the first thought John had was one of relief. She had looked so emaciated the last time he’d seen her, her eyes hollow and haunted. It was good to see her looking healthier and stronger now. She’d never be the same as when they’d first met, that was a level of power beyond her now.That in no way made her weak, though. 

She’d always looked like a predator, her atrophied muscles never changed that. No matter how they had left things, how it felt like they were maybe even becoming friends, she had come the closest out of everyone to killing him and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at her without that shiver of fear. 

John had many reasons to be afraid, he had been threatened and beaten and nearly killed more times than he could count. But he had never been as sure of his death as he had been while under her knife. That terror had been the deepest, the most acute he had ever felt, and he took an involuntary step back, bumping into Martin. 

He could still feel the way her knife had sliced across his throat, the look in her eyes as she prepared to take his life. No one, no matter how much they hated him, how much they wanted him dead, had ever managed to look at him the way she had. Maybe it was because she already was a killer, maybe it was her connection to the patron of the Everchase, maybe it was just her. 

Martin turned in surprise when he bumped into him, following his gaze. When he saw Daisy sitting there, he tried to step forward, between the two, but John grabbed his arm to stop him. There was no way he was going to let Martin stand in her way. If she wanted him dead, no one was going to be able to stop her. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” Martin demanded.

“Daisy,” John said, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you here to kill me?”

Martin looked ready to spring into action at that, arm on John’s shoulder like he was prepared to haul or throw him to safety if need be. 

“I’d be pretty shit at my job if this was how I went about it,” Daisy said. 

John breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against Martin. He could take her at her word, she wasn’t one to mess around like that. She had no reason to lie.  

“How did you get in here?” Martin demanded, voice sharp. 

“I have my ways,” Daisy said, and that predatory grin was back. John was pretty sure her eyes flashed briefly, like a wolf’s reflecting light. At least he could tell she was joking, although Martin probably couldn’t. 

“You’re not helping, Daisy,” a new voice said, causing both John and Martin to jump. 

“Basira!” John said he spotted her where she was reclining against the wall in the shadows. 

She was bigger than her partner, her clothes and headscarf as neat and controlled as her temperament. Her casual posture was at least more believably casual. If she wanted someone dead, she wanted them to know it. “Told you they’d freak out.”

“They should know how shitty their defenses are,” Daisy said. 

“Sorry about her,” Basira said to them, rolling her eyes. 

“Who are you?” Martin demanded, no doubt feeling more than a bit lost. 

“Sorry, sorry,” John said. “Martin, this is Daisy and Basira. We met a while back when—“

“When I tried to kill him,” Daisy filled in, completely calm, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say. 

“It’s—it’s not like that anymore,” John was quick to clarify. “We’re on the same side. Right?” He directed the question to Daisy and Basira, perhaps a bit more desperation in his voice than intended. 

“Yeah,” Daisy said.

“So, to what do we owe this pleasure?” John said, and he knew he was failing to hide how nervous he was. 

“Right,” Basira said, grim as ever, and this time she addressed Martin specifically. “There’s no way to put this that won’t sound alarming. We hunt warlocks.”

“Oh,” Martin said, and that of course didn’t put him anymore at ease. 

“Don’t worry,” Daisy said. “We’ve come to an agreement with your boyfriend, here. He doesn’t start killing townspeople, and we leave him alone. This extends to you too.”

She gave Martin a look, making it clear that this was, in a way, a threat. John quickly stepped between them, waving his hands, voice a bit too high. 

“We’re not, we won’t.”

“Right,” Basira said, no doubt trying to get things back on track. “We have a— common enemy. It seems he’s been extending resources out this way. Thought you should know.”

John couldn’t quite get his mouth working. He knew who they had to be talking about and he couldn’t help the way he went pale and cold, that creeping dread back in full force. 

“Is this that Elias guy?” Martin asked, voice harder than John thought he’d ever sounded. “If he’s a common enemy, why didn’t you help sooner?”

“Weren’t here,” Daisy said simply. 

“Didn’t hear about his little stunt burning down your cabin until well after. Glad you didn’t die.”

“Th-thanks,” John said, and he never could really tell if she was being genuine or not. 

“Elias Bouchard is fairly untouchable without a man on the inside,” Basira continued, and here she couldn’t help but glance at John, probably making it obvious to Martin that that was a conversation they’d had more than once. But he couldn’t go back, even if it might give him the opportunity to get rid of Elias for good. He just couldn’t. “So we keep tabs on him, but we have other jobs. He was already back by the time we learned he’d vanished for a bit.”

“And by ‘extending resources’, you mean—?” Martin prompted. 

“Hired a few warlocks of the Stranger, pointed a monster or two out this way as well,” Basira said. “We lost track of one we’d been tracking, don’t know where the rest are yet or what they’re planning.”

“Ah,” John said, remembering the monster he'd saved Danny from. “I fear I may have, um, destroyed your lead, as it were.”

“I see,” Basira said, in a calculating way that always put him on edge. Like she was adding that bit of information to a complex equation, weighing his use against his potential as a threat. He couldn’t help but worry he’d one day push the scale too far the other way, but ever since he’d saved Daisy, she seemed much more protective of him than anything. “In that case, we’ll have to try a different approach. We just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“I-I see,” John said. “Th-thank you, for that.”

“It would be great if you could do it in a slightly less threatening way, next time,” Martin said testily, and to John’s surprise, Daisy actually laughed. 

“Roger that,” she said. 

“So long as you actually do something about your defenses here,” Basira said. 

“We have them, I just— forgot,” John protested. 

“Right,” was all Basira said in response. “Well, we should go. Nice seeing you again, and good to meet you, Martin.”

Daisy stood and followed as Basira headed for the door. As she passed him, she actually touched his arm in a surprisingly soft gesture. 

“Take care of yourselves,” she said, and then they were gone. 

“Can we— can we trust them?” Martin asked, still looking confused by the entire jarring encounter. 

“Yeah,” John said, dropping down into a chair. Martin immediately set about making them some tea, to his infinite gratitude. “Basira saved me from Daisy when she was a bit more— murdery, because of her patron.”

“She’s a warlock too?” Martin asked. “That seems a bit hypocritical. Is it the Slaughter again?”

“No,” John said. “I’ve heard it called the Everchase. It tends to take over people who are a bit too into a hunt, metaphorical or literal. Ironically, I’ve heard of it corrupting people who hunt and kill monsters and warlocks the most. I suppose it’s something about the fear of being hunted, being turned on by your fellows, wrapping back around in a feedback loop that is particularly appealing to the patron.” 

“Taken over?” Martin asked. “That doesn’t sound good. Doesn’t that make her a danger?”

“Not so much anymore,” John said. “She had a run-in with The Burried, got trapped and would have died if I hadn’t managed to go in after her and get her out. It let her regain a lot of herself, though, being cut off from her patron for so long.”

“She tried to kill you and you still risked your life to save her?”

“I-I guess. It wasn’t that big of a deal,” John said, looking away. 

“Right,” Martin said in a tone that said he didn’t believe him at all and thought it was actually a very big deal. He took his hand and held it in his own as they continued to talk. 

“The point is, they’ve been reliable since. Kind, even. It was good of Basira to give me a chance when she had no reason to believe I wasn’t another Elias. And I think they both feel like they owe me for getting Daisy out. That’s probably why they’re here.”

“Or they just genuinely want to help you,” Martin pointed out. 

John just stared at him blankly. It was true he had considered them something like friends once, but he very much doubted they could feel the same. It seemed absurd. It seemed Martin had mercy on him, because he changed the subject. 

“What do we do?” Martin asked, looking grim now. “If Elias might be back.”

“I don’t know,” John said with a sigh, and that shiver was back, the fear that always lurked in the depths of him. “I have no idea what he stands to gain from working with the Stranger. Maybe he just wants to make the town more wary of warlocks, try to turn them on us again?”

“Maybe,” Martin said, but he sounded doubtful. 

“I do feel better, knowing Basira and Daisy are here at least,” John admitted. “They’re good at what they do. Maybe they’ll solve it all and we won’t have to do anything.”

“Hopefully,” Martin said. “What do you say we put the barrier back up and try to get a few more hours of sleep?”

“I suppose that would be wise,” John said with a heavy sigh. He couldn’t help but wonder if the dangers would ever end, if the days would ever pass without incident. Things just never seemed to stop. 

Chapter Text

John supposed it was understandable that he ended up unable to sleep. Home invasions would probably have that effect on anyone, even someone who didn’t share his level of paranoia. He had his arms around Martin, his nose pressed into his hair at the back of his neck, but he couldn’t bring himself to savor that comfort or warmth. It didn’t feel earned, holding Martin in his arms. If he was going to keep vigil over their home, it shouldn’t be from here. 

He disentangled himself as carefully and quietly as he could and slipped out of bed. It was dark and cold as he returned to the kitchen and he slumped down into one of the chairs. He wanted tea, but it felt like too much work to make. Instead, he just leaned forward onto his elbows and put his face in his hands.

There was too much going on and it was all so terrifying. He didn’t want to even think about Elias, but he didn’t exactly have a choice. John really should have known he’d been lying when he’d said he was done with him. And he just felt so terrible, bringing all this danger around Martin. It felt like they’d actually been handling things for a time, but now it was all slipping through his fingers. 

He didn’t know how to keep Martin safe. He only seemed to be dragging him deeper and deeper into the dangers of the magical world and he hated himself so much for it. Martin had given him so much, even brought him here, into his home, and what had John done for him? Hid behind him like a coward? Put him at risk because he was too selfish to lose him?

He was startled out of his thoughts by a creaking floorboard. He flinched as he sat up, half expecting it to be Elias himself, but it was only Martin, stepping on that creaky board in the kitchen as he approached. 

“Sorry. Only me,” Martin said, and there was no mistaking the concern in his eyes. 

“Martin,” John whispered in relief, and even he could tell how reverany he said his name. “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” Martin asked. 

“I keep putting you in danger. If Daisy hadn’t been an ally—“

“John,” Martin said, striding to him in only a few fast steps, sitting in the chair beside him, reaching out to comfort. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Elias, Melanie, Daisy— there is a bit of a pattern emerging and I am the common thread. Stands to reason.” 

Martin gathered him up in his arms and he couldn’t help but lean into the touch, even as the guilt settled deep inside him. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of this. He should be the one comforting Martin, but he couldn’t do anything right. 

“I’m sorry,” John said again. “People just keep coming, I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Martin said, as if their lives weren’t constantly in danger because of him. 

“There is, though,” John insisted, pulling away enough to see his face, but he couldn’t let go of him. “If anything were to happen to you—“

”Your safety is important to me too,” Martin said, desperation in his voice. “Please don’t do anything reckless. We aren’t in this alone, remember?”

“Yeah,” was all John could manage, because he didn’t know what to say. 

He knew there were technically people who could help, but he didn’t want them in danger either. He should have remembered, death had followed him since his childhood, it seemed like everyone close to him got caught in the crossfire. He was the one who deserved the bad luck, the pain, the inevitable death. It wasn’t fair that everyone around him got caught up in it as well.  

“You trust them a lot, don’t you?” Martin continued. “The B&E duo, even though one of them tried to kill you.”

“I know how it sounds, but Daisy was a different person back then,” John said. Yes, it has been traumatic and was a pain he’d carried with him ever since, but he didn’t want to color Martin’s opinion of her. “We can trust her. And Basira’s saved my life more times than I can count.”

“Okay,” Martin said with a sigh. 

“Just okay?“ John asked, chewing on his lip nervously. He would understand if Martin didn’t want anything to do with them, but how would he feel if they needed their protection?

“I won’t lie, it’s kinda hard to look past the whole ‘almost killed you,’ thing. With Melanie too.”

”I’m sorry,” John said, glancing away, because that was his fault too.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Martin repeated with too much compassion. 

But he did. It was his fault they’d been attacked, it was his fault Martin wasn’t sure he could trust their allies. He wished he was a different person, that he didn’t push people to violence so often. He didn’t exactly know how to stop it. He’d always been like this, too curious, too annoying, just— too much. 

“I can’t— I can’t possibly be worth this,” John said, eyes burning. 

“John,” Martin said, part exasperation and part overwhelming affection. “You are— everything. You’re short tempered and rude and loyal and beautiful and brilliant and I wouldn’t give you up for the world. I’ve never felt so— seen, understood. You touch me like you want to, like I mean something and deserve to be loved.”

“You do,” John said, but that was all he could get out before his throat closed up. It was so hard to believe that Martin was holding onto what they had with as much of a death grip as he was. He shouldn’t. John really didn’t deserve it. 

Maybe everything had just been too much, he’d broken down sobbing just the other day, but here he was again, crying into Martin’s shoulder. Everything outside himself felt so fragile, so temporary; always one mistake, one stupid comment away from leaving him. He’d perfected the art of pushing people away. But Martin was still here. He had to keep reminding himself. 

He felt so pathetic, so wrung out. He wanted to stop crying, he wanted to be stronger. He didn’t want to let Martin down but felt like it was inevitable. It had been easier before, to force himself not to feel, to live alone with the fear and simply exist, endure. He didn’t want to be that anymore, but being this, being here, hurt so much, and was so terrifying. Life felt worth living for the first time in perhaps his entire life, but that came with the fear that he could lose it all too. 

It seemed impossible that this could be real, that there wasn’t some fragile strand barely tying them together, that Martin might want this just as strongly as him. Even after Martin had seen him at his lowest, and seen everything he’d done in his past. After all that, he still somehow didn’t condemn him. 

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to make it up to him. He wanted to tell him he loved him, but he couldn’t form the words. And Martin stayed well after the tears had finally subsided, just holding him, and letting John hold him back. 

Martin deserved to be safe and happy. He deserved to be far away from all of these dangers and it was cruel that he was stuck here, with him. It just solidified his determination to do anything for him to make sure he felt as loved as he deserved. When he had quieted completely, Martin offered to make him tea and he almost started crying all over again. All he could do was kiss him. 

“We should get sheep,” Martin said suddenly as he sat back down beside him, offering him his tea. 

“I don’t know anything about sheep,” John said, incredulous and baffled at the extreme change in tone to the conversation. 

“I’ll teach you,” Martin said, the words tumbling out in a rush now. “Besides, selling the wool will help us with some income. Or we could make something out of it and sell that. That would mean dying the wool too, though. I don’t know much about that, but I’m sure we could figure it out. It would be a long term investment, though, I don’t know when we’ll have enough to even think about selling—“

“Is it really the time to be planning this?” John asked, feeling baffled and out of his depth. 

“Why not?” Martin replied. “I didn’t realize you were so busy.”

“I-I suppose not,” John said. He didn’t think agonizing over everything was an answer Martin would accept. Avoiding doing just that was probably what motivated him to bring this up in the first place. 

“We should go into town tomorrow too,” Martin said, apparently deciding a distraction was exactly what they both needed. “Remember I mentioned the bookseller who comes into town? He should be there.”

“I-I would like to take a look,” John admitted. He was silent for a moment, considering, before he finally looked back up at him and asked the question he’d been wondering on since they arrived. “Did you grow up with sheep here? Is that what the barn was for?”

“Yeah, among other things,” Martin admitted. 

“Will you tell me about it?” John asked, and the smile Martin gave him was so pleased it made his chest ache.

-

The cart wasn’t particularly big, but it was absolutely jam packed with books, shoved into any nook and cranny possible. It made it nearly impossible for John to find anything specific and left him to sift through everything one book at a time. The vendor had wandered off to hawk his wares to anyone else who would listen, no doubt tired of listening to John’s griping. 

“John!” 

John was startled out of his thoughts and looked up to see Sasha approaching. She smiled brightly and climbed up onto the cart beside him, gazing down at the trove before them. 

“Ah, Sasha, hello,” he said, making room for her. 

“Find any hidden gems yet?” 

“Not as such,” John said, setting aside the tacky novel he had just extricated in mild disappointment. 

“I know it’s a mess, but I love looking through for the good ones,” she said, her nimble fingers tracing several spines as she began her own search. “Too bad he only comes through once a month.”

“I can’t see how you can find anything in this mess,” John wrinkled his nose. 

“It’s like a scavenger hunt,” Sasha said, much too cheerily. 

“Hmm,” John said, not exactly sure if he agreed. 

“So, what are you looking for?” Sasha asked. 

“I’m not entirely sure myself,” John admitted. “Any obscure reference material. Religion, politics, economy, e-even the occult.”

He winced inwardly, wishing he hadn’t slipped that last one in there. He still wasn’t sure how much Danny might have told his brother, let alone Sasha, his brother’s best friend. Even an interest in the occult could be considered suspect. And if she did know about his magic, maybe they would decide it meant he was beyond hope and simply a monster. Thankfully, she didn’t seem put off by it in the least and replied immediately. 

“Oh, me too,” she said with a laugh. “Honestly, you should borrow some of mine if nothing here catches your fancy.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” John said in surprise. “Do-do you by any chance have anything on, um, sheep?”

“Oh? Thinking about getting livestock?” She asked. 

“Y-yes, perhaps,” John said, feeling his face burn in embarrassment. He couldn’t help but glance over to where Martin was purchasing some groceries, thinking on their earlier conversation. If he truly did want to do this, John was determined to become an expert if it might help him. “And, um, processing wool and dying too, perhaps.”

“Oh, wonderful! Hang on.” Sasha jumped up to lean precariously far over the railing and snatched up a book that would have otherwise been well out of his reach. “How about this?”

“Ah, thank you,” John said, quickly holding the book against his chest. He didn’t know why she was helping him, but it still made him feel warm in an entirely unfamiliar way, just like it had when Tim had helped him during his solo visit to town not too long ago. “I used to have an impressive collection, I’m afraid I’m sorely missing having access to it.”

“You’re definitely coming over to borrow some books, then,” Sasha said, giving him another smile before turning her attention back to the books. “I can’t even imagine losing my collection, I’d be distraught. We don’t even have a good library in town, it’s disgraceful. Hopefully you can find something to get you by until you build yours back up.”

“O-oh, thank you.”

John didn’t really know what else to say to that. It seemed beyond kind. She had no obligation to do this, and yet she still had offered. It made a warmth bloom throughout his chest as he stared down at the book in his hands. It appeared to be about wool quality and processing. Thankfully, Sasha didn’t seem to notice as he just stood there, too preoccupied with his own thoughts. 

-

The fresh night air was cool on his face, and John couldn’t help but take in a lungful, trying to wake himself up. It was late, but they still had to walk home. He was in surprisingly good spirits. Usually he felt drained after a night out. Sasha had managed to talk him and Martin into staying later than they usually would once they’d finished purchasing their books. 

Honestly, John wasn’t entirely sure he should be invited to these get-togethers considering he usually just sat there in silence, observing more than contributing to the conversation. He used to be much more talkative, bulldozing the conversation to rant about whatever had captivated his interest, but he was so out of practice, on high alert around everyone except Martin. It made it difficult to talk, to have all eyes on him, but maybe that was for the best, he knew many people found him annoying in the best of days. 

Honestly, he was probably only invited along because Martin was. Despite that, it was strangely nice. He was surrounded by people who didn’t mind his company, and he could chime in now and then if he had something to say, but they still somehow managed to make him feel included. Wanted. An altogether unfamiliar experience. 

Martin seemed to have had a good time as well, and his cheeks were red from drink. He looked adorable like this, so relaxed and at ease. And it was nice seeing him talking and laughing with friends. John went to his side, pressing close against him as he took his hand, savoring the warmth that emanated from him, a contrast to the cool night air.

“Did you have a good night?” Martin asked. “You didn’t seem nearly as grumpy or irritable as usual.”

“That can always change,” John said, but they both knew it was an empty threat. “But yes, I rather think I did. You?”

“Yeah, it was nice.”

“I think they’re going to try to talk us into going to trivia night,” John said with a grin. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Martin said, and there was no denying it. 

“Yes, I know I’m a bit of a know it all,” John said. 

“No, it’s good! You can show off if you want.”

“Oh, shut up,” John said, rolling his eyes. 

“Wait, speaking of being a know it all, didn’t you have books with you?” Martin asked. 

“Shit,” John muttered, glancing around as if they might be there outside somewhere. “Give me a moment, I’ll go back and grab them.”

“I’ll be here,” Martin said with fondness in his voice. 

Thankfully, Sasha had been guarding his books, keeping them out of an incredibly drunk Tim’s hands. John collected them with a quick, ‘Thank you,’ and was outside again in only a couple minutes. Martin wasn’t where he’d left him standing, though. That was odd. He wasn’t usually one to go wandering off. 

John glanced back down the street towards the bar, but there was no way he could have passed him. Maybe he’d followed him inside to use the restroom and he just hadn’t noticed? Or maybe he’d wanted to stretch his legs and was walking nearby. Making a decision, he started heading towards the edge of town. If he didn’t encounter him along the way, he could just turn around and go back to the bar, no big deal. 

Except, it felt like it was a big deal. It was nothing, it had to be nothing, but his always-frayed nerves made his heart pound in his chest, terrified of what he might find at every bend in the road. He found himself walking as quietly and quickly as possible, listening for any noise in the silence that wasn’t drunken party goers. 

When he spotted the figure crumpled in the road, he felt like he couldn’t breathe and his steps faltered. His ears were ringing as he broke into a sprint, his cane loud on the cobbled streets in the dead of night. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. 

It was Martin, of course it was. He was lying on his side, eyes closed and blood trickling down from his hairline, and John nearly sobbed as he threw himself down beside him. He couldn't break down now, not when Martin needed him. He couldn’t lose Martin, he had to be okay. He had to. 

Even though he could see the steady rise and fall of Martin’s chest, he still took his pulse and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief when he found it strong and steady. He then quickly took off his own coat, anything to staunch the bleeding and cushion his head. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do, if he should call for help, or go back to the bar—

Movement out of the corner of his eye got his attention and he was on his feet in a flash, so quickly his injured leg nearly gave out. He was aware he probably looked like a wild animal, near to growling as he used his body to shield Martin. 

Instead of startling some random townsperson, two huge men stepped out of the darkened sidestreet and stopped in front of him, expressions completely blank. 

“‘Scuse us,” one of them said. 

“Jonathan Sims?” the second one followed up, like he was finishing the other’s sentence. 

Something about them was very wrong. Uncanny. And it was as he had this thought that he realized they had to be the ones hired by Elias. His blood ran cold as he realized how alone he was, standing before what had to be two incredibly powerful warlocks. He could practically see the Otherness enveloping them, and he knew he had no chance against them. 

It was with a flash of pride that he realized one of them had a broken nose. Martin must have done that before he went down. Martin, who was currently lying helpless behind him. Something in him snapped at that thought, and he lunged forward. He didn’t think he could take them in a fight, but they’d hurt Martin and he couldn’t let them near him again. 

John reacted instinctively, swinging his cane like a club, glad Martin had gotten him one made of sturdier stuff. He struck the first one in the side, but he barely reacted and the vibrations it sent up the length of the cane hurt his hand enough that he was forced to drop it, and it felt like any hope of getting Martin out of this alive went with it. 

“Now Mr. Sims,” the first one said, moving impossibly fast as he grabbed him by the neck. 

“Wouldn’t want anyone else to get hurt,” the second said, and John froze in his terror. 

He stopped struggling, simply gripping the wrist of the hand holding him up. It wasn’t tight enough to strangle, but he had to hold himself up to get any air in. The threat in their words was obvious and he glanced over his shoulder at Martin’s fallen form. The hand on him loosened enough for him to speak now that he wasn’t struggling. 

“Promise me you’ll leave him out of this,”

“We were hired to bring you to Elias.”

“Not him.”

John shuddered. He should have known. There was a hollow acceptance settling within him. If it would spare Martin, John would of course let himself be dragged back to Elias. It was a death sentence, he knew. And it would be returning to the worst time of his life, subjecting himself to so much horror and fear. But if it would save Martin—

“Okay,” John said with a nod. “If you’ll leave him out of this, I won’t fight.”

He knew he was beginning to tremble in its grip and he hated it. He didn’t want them to know how afraid he was, of them or of Elias. But he was more afraid of losing Martin than anything else. 

There was a finality to it as he surrendered. He looked back over his shoulder at Martin and knew he would never feel his warmth again, never hear his laugh. He didn’t think he’d ever feel warm again, without him. He had been reminded what it was, to feel a kind touch, to feel completely safe when wrapped in Martin’s arms. To feel loved. What it was like to know that someone cared about him, someone didn’t want him to hurt. 

And now that was all gone, and he felt hollow. He almost wished he could forget. Maybe that would make it easier, going back to this life. His life, now, would always be violence and fear. 

He was terrified of what Elias would make him do, if he would craft him into a weapon. And he was terrified of how good the magic could feel. Maybe he’d even want to hurt people, eventually, to feel something that wasn’t the misery. 

But he didn’t want to become that, and he wouldn’t, as long as he was himself. He’d rather die the man that Martin had loved. It didn’t matter what Elias did to him. He didn’t want to stop looking back, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Martin’s unconscious form, and his chest ached. He didn’t turn when there was movement from one of the strangers, and he didn’t feel the blow before everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

John woke slowly, the pounding in his skull making it hard to think, to concentrate. He felt awful, bruised and battered and desperately thirsty, so it took him longer than it should have to realize that the sheet he was wrapped in didn’t feel how he expected. It was smooth and cool like silk, and he wasn’t sure why that instilled such an uneasy terror in him, like it reminded him of something else, somewhere else. The ones Martin had picked out were soft cotton, so it didn’t make sense that these were different. Where—

At the thought of Martin, the memory of him lying unconscious on the ground, blood in his hair and dripping down his face, returned to him and his eyes flew open. He scrambled out of bed before even taking stock of his surroundings, because Martin was hurt. He was hurt and he needed to get to him immediately and that was the only thing he knew, the only thing that was important. 

His sore leg nearly gave out and he slammed into a bedside table, grabbing at it to keep his feet as he swore under his breath. And then he finally looked around and he nearly lost his footing for an entirely different reason as they went weak in fear. He was standing in the room he’d stayed in so long ago, while working under Elias. That was why the sheets had felt so sickeningly familiar. Apparently it had been left more or less untouched for all these years, old clothes still draped over a chair, books he’d been studying left open on the desk. 

He was back there, trapped in his worst nightmare, in Elias’ home, and a whimper escaped him as the full hopelessness of the situation settled over him, a sickening dread settling in the pit of his stomach. All he could do was hope Martin was okay, that the others would help him, because John would never see him again. It was as if a part of him snapped inside, breaking completely, because he would never have hope again. He supposed he had always been fated to die here, alone. 

“Ah, good, you’re awake.”

He didn’t want to turn towards the voice, but he seemed powerless to stop himself, and sure enough, he saw Elias standing there, and he felt so cold and empty. 

“You really should clean up after yourself,” Elias said so casually as he stalked towards him, eyeing a messy stack of old notes that had tipped onto the floor with distaste, as if the cleanliness of the room held any importance right now. 

John tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go, just a hard unforgiving wall as his mind screamed a cacophony of, No, no, no, no— He couldn’t breathe. It was all happening again and he shuddered in his horror. He looked around desperately, but it wasn’t like there was anywhere he could run or hide. There was no hiding from someone like Elias, he knew that now. 

He knew he was being pathetic. Elias was rich, the room was comfortable, did he have any right to be so miserable while Martin was still out there, injured and alone? The memory of him lying there so still, blood matted in his hair, was one that would haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. He had to be alive, he had to be. If he wasn’t, then none of this mattered anyway. But if he was, what would he think? What must he be going through? Would he be able to move on, or would he try something foolish like trying to rescue him?

He would, wouldn’t he? Martin was good, too good for the likes of him, and he was reckless enough to try to protect him from threats he had no hope against. If he got himself killed here, John didn’t know what he’d do. With a cold dread, he realized that he might not even know. Martin could come here and get himself killed and John would be none the wiser. Unless Elias wanted to torment him with his death, of course.

“W-w-why?” was all he could think to gasp out, because surely he wasn’t worth all this. It wasn’t like he was uniquely good at his job, and it wasn’t like Elias held actual affection for him. Did he? “Why me?”

“Convenience, really,” Elias said with a shrug. “And you can be oh so very entertaining.”

Everything inside John went cold and still as the reality of that statement settled inside of him. He knew Elias enjoyed toying with him, tormenting him, but he also knew that he preferred actions that took very little effort. As a true warlock of the Eye, he preferred watching and waiting. John doubted that would be true now that he had slighted him and ran away. Would he take a more active role in his torment now that he was his prisoner once again? Would he feel the desire to punish? Elias laughed, startling him out of his thoughts and he felt sick to his stomach, nauseous with the terror and dread. 

“And there, that is exactly what I was referring to,” Elias said, gesturing to whatever expression he was making. “Truthfully, though, I've simply invested too much time on your tutelage to simply let it go to waste. Not when you could be my next vessel.”

“Vessel?” John asked, wishing he could will his body to stop shaking, knowing he had to be ashen and pale. 

“Have you really not figured it out?” Elias sighed. “Come now, John, you need to keep up. I’ve been alive for a very long time. How do you think I’ve been managing that?”

The information jumped unbidden to John’s mind. He wasn’t sure if it was Elias or the Eye, but he saw a younger Elias, sobbing on the floor as a man John didn’t recognize pinned him, kept him still. Elias begged, but the man only cooed in mock sympathy as he drove a scalpel into his eye. Elias screamed and John staggered, the acute terror and pain suddenly his own and he cried out as well. His hand shot up to cover his damaged eye— only to find it perfectly functional and in-tact. He looked up at Elias and realized the eyes looking out from his skull were those of the man in the vision, not whoever Elias had been before he got to him. 

“You stole his body,” John said numbly. 

“I suppose proper introductions are in order,” the man in Elias’ body said with a self-satisfied grin. “Jonah Magnus. Although I have had many names since, such as James Wright.”

These were names John knew, people who had held high standing, who had power and knowledge, who always seemed to meet their end after some catastrophic event that had ended hundreds of lives. He wondered if that had been his plan all along. Use the Watcher’s Crown to unleash death on as many as possible, then steal John’s body and slip away as if nothing had happened to repeat the process. 

“W-why?” John asked again, because it still made no sense. “I mean, look at me.” He didn’t think it needed to be said that he wasn’t an ideal choice. He’d never been the strongest, neglecting his physical needs through most of his life, and that was to say nothing of the violence his body had seen since. 

“Your physical body holds little interest to me, it’s your abilities I want,” Jonah said. “You do have a talent for wielding our patron’s magic. Besides, Beholding offers many gifts for those who serve it. The scars will remain, but otherwise your body will heal. You should thank me, really. You’ll live more comfortably for the rest of your life here, unbothered by chronic pain.”

“What-what are you going to make me do?” John asked, because he never could keep his mouth shut. Because he always had to know even if the knowledge would break him. 

“Everything,” Jonah said with a grin that made him flinch away, feeling sick to his stomach again. “You are going to become very powerful indeed. We just have to get you over your little hangups regarding taking lives.”

This was it. This was where it all ended for him. He was spiraling, feeling numb as his breathing picked up in speed, practically hyperventilating. This was how he would die, manipulated and used by Jonah until the very end. How could he be so stupid as to let himself end up back here again? He was so useless, so weak, he couldn’t even stop this from happening, and now he was probably going to be the cause of so much devastation and violence, used to extend this monster’s life. 

“Stop acting like a child and stand up straight, Jonathan,” Jonah rolled his eyes impatiently. “You know I can make this very unpleasant for you if I wish.”

That sent a spike of terror through John and he couldn’t help but scrabble at the desk to force himself to stand up straighter without the support despite the pain. He hated that he was apparently so well trained. It made him sick, that self loathing complete and heavy behind his ribcage. 

Everything he had suffered here, the things Jonah had taken from him, had broken him down. And it was all going to happen again. And maybe he’d been telling the truth before, maybe he had no desire to make anymore sexual advances towards him. But that could have just as easily been one more lie. And he knew Jonah would use that fear and uncertainty to torment him further. 

Not that he needed the extra threat of assault, not when Jonah was already so skilled in breaking him. He was sadistic and cruel, and honestly inventive given his preference to act as little as possible. Whether through his own abilities or their patron, he seemed to be able to see into the very core of his victims, to prey on all his fears and insecurities, making him see and do things that would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

He hadn’t realized how thoroughly Jonah had broken him and he felt a wave of hot shame flood through him. Apparently that desperation to avoid further punishment, to fall into line to spare himself, was still there, even after years of being free. He’d hoped he was stronger now, but it was so obvious that he wasn’t. If anything, he felt weaker. He couldn’t help but be grateful that at least Martin wasn’t here to see him so pathetic. 

“That’s better,” Jonah said. “Now, come along, we have work to do.”

John’s cane was nowhere to be seen, and he wondered if it was still lying on the street where he’d dropped it. Jonah apparently had no sympathy for his plight and he was forced to hobble after him with as much dignity as he could muster. He was already in so much pain and wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d last before he collapsed but he knew Jonah wouldn’t accept that as an excuse. All John could do was follow, eyes down, desperately trying to numb himself against it all. 

He wasn’t going to survive this, he knew that. And he knew the torture and abuse that likely awaited him, and there was no escaping a second time. All he could do to protect himself was to bury himself so deeply that Jonah couldn’t reach him, couldn’t taint him. Not that he was sure anything would be deep enough. Jonah could reach inside and take him apart so completely. And he knew his weakness now, he knew about Martin, and John knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use him against him. If anything were to happen to Martin—

That was it, then. He couldn’t give Jonah any reason to go after Martin, to punish him in his stead. No, he needed to accept that his sense of self, his identity, wasn’t his own anymore. Even more than he had before, he belonged to Jonah. Whatever he wanted, he would get. And if he wanted to kill him and take his identity, he would. There was no way he could stop this from happening and his chest ached, his eyes burned, knowing what that might do to Martin if he ever found out. 

He didn’t know how, or if it was even possible, but John needed to end this. Even if it meant killing himself, ending his own life to deprive Jonah of his future, he would do it. He doubted he could kill Jonah, but he would bide his time as much as possible, stay alive long enough to thwart as many of his plans as possible. He was so, so terrified, but he had to do this. For Martin, and for all the people Jonah planned to torment. 

He felt a tear slide down his cheek and he wiped it away quickly. He’d never been good at controlling and hiding his emotions, but he had to try now. Then again, his terror and despair would likely satisfy Jonah, it was what he wanted. maybe it could even distract him, if he thought he was winning. 

But he could never let him suspect his rebellion. That probably wouldn’t be too hard either. It wasn’t as if it was a hopeful decision to fight against him. John’s fate was sealed either way. But he couldn’t become a monster, and he couldn’t become Jonah’s next vessel. He had to do this. He didn’t have a choice, no matter the torment he faced before then. He would succeed. 

Chapter Text

As he followed Elias - Jonah - deeper into the building, it occurred to John that he hadn’t done nearly enough exploring when he’d been trapped here all those years ago. He hadn’t ventured down these corridors before and he had no idea where Jonah was leading him. Had he just been too preoccupied before? Or had he been afraid of what he would find? Well, it wasn’t like he had a choice, now. 

He was terrified as he trailed reluctantly behind, his mind racing as he looked for anything he could use to get space, to defend himself. He was at a complete loss, he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t help but wonder what Jonah was going to do to him, and he wondered how he might betray Martin when he failed to fight back. He had come here willingly after all, so in a way he supposed he had consented to anything that happened to him now. 

He could remember all too vividly what Jonah’s hands had felt like on him, the way he had dug into his mind and taken his magic, the way it had felt to use the abilities granted by their patron to strip the secrets from a person’s mind. There was so much pain and suffering waiting for him here, and too much of it would feel good, and somehow that frightened him the most. 

He desperately needed to fight against him, but what if he went to punish Martin in his stead? What was he supposed to do then? Maybe it would be better to simply kill himself, take away Jonah’s options immediately, but that just made it even more likely that he’d seek out Martin for revenge. And then John wouldn’t even be there to try to protect him.  

“We’ll start with something easy,” Jonah said, breaking the silence between them as he opened a door and held it for him. 

John looked at him warily, but didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t like he could run, so he stepped inside. He didn’t expect Jonah to shove him, and it sent him sprawling into the unlit room. He had some retort prepared as he righted himself, but before he could say anything, he heard it— the squirming. 

He would never forget that sound. He could remember vividly what it had felt like, to be covered in the tiny writhing forms as they burrowed into his flesh. It had been agony, and he would carry those scars for the rest of his life. And now, here it was again and he doubted he’d be walking away alive a second time. Something laughed in the darkness. At least, he thought it might have been a laugh, so raspy and harsh and wet it was nearly unrecognizable. He remembered that voice at least. 

“Can you hear their song?” the voice asked, and every word sounded like it took a great deal of effort to choke out. 

John was so frozen in terror, he’d barely moved from his position on the floor. He wished he had when he saw movement and something lurched out of the darkness at him. Into the light from the open doorway came the stumbling form of Jane Prentiss, still wearing the same tattered red dress John remembered, flesh covered in holes where the silver worms crawled and tumbled out of her, a wave of that relentless hunger washing over his senses and he wanted to wretch. 

John recoiled, but there was no way he could get away in time. He braced for the impact that was sure to follow, but before she reached him, chains he hadn’t noticed around her wrists jerked her to a stop and she simply stood there, straining to pull that little bit more forward. She cackled, and her mouth was a black void that spilled forth even more worms. John scrambled back until he hit the wall, kicking at the writhing forms as they wriggled their way towards him. 

“Now then,” Jonah said, so calm, like this wasn’t happening, like there wasn’t a woman half-devoured by worms that desperately wanted to do the same to him. “I’m sure you two remember each other. It should be an easy enough task to kill her.”

“What?” John demanded, near hysterics, his terrified mind barely keeping up with what was happening. “You want me to—what? And how am I supposed to do that?” 

“Use the power of the Eye,” Jonah said, like it should have been obvious. “She was the first to scar you, yes? Use that. Take your revenge, destroy her for good.”

Prentiss cackled again. John wasn’t entirely sure if she was following the conversation or not. Maybe she just thought the idea that he could kill her was funny. John wanted to laugh too, but he was too afraid he would cry instead. What Jonah had said wasn’t entirely true. The scars might not have been physical, but it was Jonah who had scarred him first. Or maybe it had been the Spider. No, that wasn’t right, it had taken another boy. It didn’t seem fair to claim he walked away with a scar when someone else hadn’t walked away at all. 

“No,” John said as he slowly climbed to his feet. He tried to stand where he could see both Prentiss and Jonah, not wanting to leave his back to either of them. There were still worms crawling towards him and he had to frantically stamp them down every so often.  

“What?” Jonah demanded. 

“I don’t want to kill her.”

That was just it. He’d met her when he’d felt trapped between worlds. On one side, warlocks, the other, humanity, and it seemed John didn’t entirely fit into either. She was the first warlock he’d encountered that wasn’t Jonah, and he’d held such hope that he might finally get some answers considering how tight-lipped Jonah was. He’d been wrong, and she’d nearly killed him for his hubris.  

He’d been terrified, so sure he was going to die in the most horrible way he could imagine at the time. If he wanted the moral high ground here, he could kill her simply because of the threat she posed to every living thing she came in contact with. Prentiss had killed so many so gleefully. But— somehow, John still didn’t want to kill her. 

She’d been right, he could hear the song of the Corruption, her patron. It was different from his own, but he could still understand why she accepted it. It— loved her, in a way. A destructive kind of love that left her this husk, and she’d been so afraid in the beginning, before she gave into it fully. And it was that fear that made John sympathize with her. If there was one thing he understood, it was that desperation for anything that would ease the fear, that would make it all make sense, make it worth it. Make life hurt a little less. 

Yes, she’d let it turn her into— this. John was all too aware that he could easily end up the same. Maybe he was too busy reserving that hatred for himself and didn’t have any left over for her. But all of the warlocks he’d met— he didn’t want to become that. He didn’t want to hurt people, and he certainly didn’t want to enjoy it. And maybe that started with not hurting them too. He wasn’t exactly a pacifist, if he could kill Jonah he would, but he didn’t want to be someone who sought revenge. And he certainly didn’t want to do anything Jonah wanted of him. 

“Hmm,” Jonah studied him for a moment, crossing his arms in disapproval. “Yes, I suppose I should have seen this coming given your fondness for beasts. What was its name again? Daisy?”

“Shut up,” John said, doing his best to keep his temper. He wasn’t great at it, but he didn’t want to let himself be manipulated. 

“Do you seriously think you can defy me? Perhaps I should throw you back outside, leave you at the mercy of the people you betrayed.”

“People you made me betray!” John said, his fury winning out. He knew the hatred the town held for him, and he hated himself for what he’d done to them, but maybe it was okay to put some of that blame back on Jonah for the way he’d manipulated him. 

“Hardly. You didn’t even need to be pushed, you started using your powers of your own volition. 

Maybe you can lie to your little friends, but not to me. I know how much you wanted it. You wanted the power, you wanted the answers, no matter the danger. Why deny yourself now? You can’t tell me that want ever went away.”

Of course it hadn’t. He wasn’t such a fool that he could lie to himself about that. He wanted this, he wanted that knowledge, he needed to know, and it had felt so good to finally have any sort of power when he’d felt so powerless for all his life. But that didn’t mean it was right. He hated himself for it, fought against it with every fiber of his being. And it made him so angry, how freely he’d used it in the beginning. He wouldn’t let himself do that again. 

“What’s the point?” John demanded. “Why does it matter? Just so you can reap the benefits when you kill me?”

“I suppose you could always kill me first,” Jonah challenged, and he knew he was trying to manipulate him. It was obvious. “Just get strong enough to actually pose a threat.”

John knew he was impulsive and quick to anger. He had long since abandoned his attempt at calm professionalism. But for once, he saw this for what it was. He was trying to get a rise out of him, trying to get him to react the way he wanted. And John hated how close it was to working. He wanted him to lash out, to take hold of the anger and give in, devote himself to their patron and unlock all that power just so he might actually have the chance to hurt this monster after everything he’d done to him, to make him sorry. 

But Jonah had had lifetimes to grow his strength. He would never really stand a chance against him. Stabbing him was the closest he’d ever gotten to hurting him, and that had hardly done anything. It wouldn’t work, and if he did what Jonah wanted now, it would only make him more powerful, more terrifying, when he took his body. Then there would just be even more blame on him for the suffering he would cause. 

And besides, John knew everything that had happened to him had been his own fault. He wanted to blame Jonah, but he’d simply set him on the path. Every step he’d taken had been his own choice, every person he’d hurt along the way had been his own doing. He was a monster, and he despised himself so much for it. Which was why he needed to fight against it now. 

He knew the harm he was capable of inflicting, and he so desperately wanted to be the kind of person who wouldn’t. He wanted to be the kind of person Martin saw when he looked at him. He wanted to be someone he could be proud of. Too little too late, he knew. His life was over, anyway, it hardly mattered what he did with what was left of it. But if he could reject that part of himself, and spite Jonah alongside it, he had to. He didn’t want his last acts to be that of a monster. 

He wasn’t used to seeing any strong emotions on Jonah. He was always calm and collected, his actions and words carefully chosen. Right now, though, he saw the rage hidden behind his eyes. In a flash, Jonah grabbed him and slammed him against the wall and pinned him there, pain knocking the breath from his lungs as panic spiked through him. Before he could recover, Jonah dug his thumb into the knife wound in his shoulder, grinding against it and drawing an agonized cry out of John, and he didn’t know what to do, what to expect. 

“Don’t be a fool, Jonathan,” Jonah snarled. “If you fight me on this, I will make sure you suffer before the end.”

John knew he wasn’t brave, he never had been. He hated pain and usually would gladly take the blow to his dignity if it meant escaping it. So it wasn’t bravery that made him grit his teeth through the blinding pain, because he could see it now. He could see the frustration and the rage. He could see this for what it was, Jonah’s demeanor slipping as he lost his patience. And if there was one thing John was, it was stubborn and petty. 

Was this what happened with Gertrude? She’d clearly ruined his plans one too many times, made herself enough of a nuisance that he lost his composure, fury driving him to act for a change. Had she gotten to see this too? If so, maybe her death wasn’t such a tragic thing after all, because John knew now that there was a satisfaction in thwarting Jonah, denying him so completely that he let his frustration show. Maybe it was worth whatever consequences were sure to follow. 

Maybe Jonah was realizing that he couldn’t win here. Not that that meant John would win instead. No, this was both of them losing. If John was going to die, he was going to make this as difficult for Jonah and his carefully laid plans as he could. He wasn’t strong and he wasn’t clever. Every part of him was terrified as he looked into those eyes, but he held onto that stubborn satisfaction and refused to look away. 

Jonah sneered as he released him, and John’s legs gave out immediately. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, breathing heavily as he tried to regain himself. The wound in his shoulder was definitely bleeding again, but thankfully the bandage was still intact. He was aware he was trembling again, his racing mind wondering what would happen to him next as what he’d just done finally caught up with him. There were so many things Jonah could do to him, especially if he didn’t care to keep him alive when he was done with him, and he would be helpless to fight against it. 

“Fine,” Jonah said, and he was so relieved when he stepped away. That relief only lasted a moment. “Let’s see how you fair after a night in here. Maybe you’ll be more amenable come morning.”

Terror gripped John as he glanced towards Prentiss. He scrambled forward, tried to throw himself at the door before Jonah could get it latched behind him, but he heard the deadbolt slide into place as he rammed his shoulder against it uselessly. 

“Jonah,” he yelled as he slammed his fist against the door, but he could hear him whistling as he headed back down the corridor. 

He was trapped. He was trapped in here with a being that wished to consume him body and soul, to burrow into him until his sense of self was replaced with the song of the hive. It would make him want it, need it, until there was nothing left of the person he had been. He would become a different kind of monster than the one he thought he’d end up as, but one just as capable of hurting Martin if he stumbled across him in such a state. 

He covered his mouth to stop the strangled sob from escaping as he stared at Prentiss, her hollow eye sockets turned in his direction as if she could still see. And maybe she could. Maybe the worms did the seeing for her now. He shivered, clutching his injured arm as he waited for something to happen. He was more alone than he’s ever felt before and he hated how much he wanted to beg Jonah to come back, to agree to anything he might demand of him. 

But he couldn’t. Jonah had left him in here in an attempt to force him to use the magic their patron granted them and he couldn’t use it. He doubted he truly had the strength to kill someone like Prentiss, but he didn’t want to try either. So what could he do? Could he take his fate back into his own hands, ensure he died under his own terms before he could be turned fully into a monster that would serve either the Watcher or the Corruption? The room was empty and he had nothing to hand to kill himself if it came to it. 

Maybe he’d get lucky and the Corruption would only be able to kill him instead of turn him and take him over. He didn’t think a person could be claimed by more than one patron. Not that he had any evidence one way or the other. He didn’t want to risk it, he didn’t want to find out. All he could do was watch and wait and hope she wouldn’t get the drop on him. 

Chapter Text

John was all too aware that he was having a staring contest with a woman who had no eyes. It was incredibly unsettling, but he couldn’t afford to take his gaze off her except to scan the room for any wriggling forms attempting to make their way towards him. And worst of all, she was smiling. She had to be planning something, but he had no idea what. It didn’t help that his pain levels were inching towards intolerable, making it incredibly difficult to think. It was only a matter of time until he slipped up as his reflexes suffered or his body gave out entirely. 

The pain was really nothing new, he had always struggled with letting his body rest when required, which led to overextending himself. He was all too aware that his life had left him unable to do nearly as much as he could before and it was frustrating, constantly testing his patience with himself. Sitting on the stone floor wasn’t helping, but he could only stand for so long, his bad leg was barely holding his weight as it was. He kept discovering bruises he couldn’t remember getting as well, which made him wonder how the two Strangers had gotten him here. None too gently seemed to be the answer to that. 

He was so focused that he didn’t immediately realize the problem heralded by the lengthening of shadows. It grew a little dimmer as the sun began its descent behind the horizon and John realized it would only be a matter of time until he couldn’t see properly in the dark. There didn’t seem to be any lanterns or torches and he felt a cold dread down his back as he realized he wouldn’t be able to properly defend himself. Had this been Prentiss’ plan all along? Just bide her time until he wouldn’t be able to see her worms coming? 

He shook his head, as if that could banish the memory of worms burrowing into his body and the terror of having to go through that again. He forced himself to stagger back up to his feet so he could look out of the window to assess his options. To his relief, there was a narrow ledge continuing on past the windowsill that he should be able to edge along to the next window if he was very careful. As long as the window wasn’t locked, of course. He decided he’d worry about that when he got there. For now, it seemed this was his only avenue of escape and he had to take it while he still had light enough to see. He glanced back over at Prentiss and considered his options.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to come to some sort of truce given we’re both prisoners here,” John offered hopefully. “If you back up a bit, I could see about getting those chains off you. So long as you promise not to, um, finish the job.” 

He scratched idly at a cluster of circular holes on his forearm. Prentiss simply continued to stare in his direction. It was unsettling having her follow his movements even without eyes. 

“No, I suppose not,” he sighed heavily.

As if in response, he heard a horrible popping sound and he realized with mounting horror that— she was straining so hard against the chains that something in her arms was giving way. Was she going to tear her own arms off? Or her hands? He really wasn’t sure, but it was possible the worms had damaged her limbs so completely that she really was going to rip her way to freedom. And John had no doubt that she could kill him just as easily without them. She smiled horribly, more worms tumbling out of her open mouth and empty eye sockets, and suddenly the ledge didn’t seem like the riskier option. 

He climbed up onto the windowsill and glanced back one last time before he began edging along the side of the building. Worms began making their way out after him much faster than he had anticipated and he panicked. He did his best to cling to the smooth stone of the wall and stomp and kick out at the worms, but he misjudged and slipped, barely regaining his balance before he could tumble to his death. He carefully smeared the last few worms with his boot and grimaced, but at least that was taken care of for the moment. 

He took a deep breath to steady his frayed nerves and looked down at the courtyard below. As his heartbeat calmed to a frantic panic instead of full terror, he wondered if it really would be such a bad thing if he fell. A fitting anticlimactic end, he supposed. Although, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely sure the height was such that the impact would actually kill him. It could leave him horribly injured, and then what was he supposed to do? He would be helpless against the worms, and that was not a fate he was interested in risking. 

He took a deep breath and looked out over the darkening landscape instead. He could see the road in the distance and felt an unjustified pang of disappointment that there was no one on it. Idiotic, what had he hoped to see? The others riding to his rescue? No, there was no way John could be worth that. The others were likely safe at home where they belonged. They shouldn’t be risking themselves for someone like him. 

It was good that he was out of their lives. He was a monster and he never should have let it go as far as it did. At least they were safe from him. Hurting people was the only thing he’d ever been good at. Everyone around him died horribly, after all. It started with his parents and it had never really stopped and he only had himself to blame. No, it was better this way. It had been selfish and cruel to put Martin and the others at risk by being near them. Being here, captured by Jonah and in peral once again, was what he deserved. 

He took a deep breath and turned his eyes to the sky as he began scooting along the ledge again. No, Martin and the others were far better off without him there. He knew he was short tempered and rude, hardly the ideal partner. He knew he had made Martin’s life so much more difficult, he’d probably left him feeling trapped and alone during their time together. He just hoped that Martin could find true happiness now, without him getting in the way. He deserved to be with someone far better. 

He was trying so hard not to think about his precarious situation that the relief he felt when his hand touched window instead of wall took him by surprise and he scrabbled at it frantically. For a horrible moment, he thought it might actually be locked after all and he’d have to stay out here all night or risk going back, but he finally managed to slide it open and he all but fell inside. 

He hit the solid floor and just let himself lay there for a moment, catching his breath. He felt shaky from the adrenaline and could hardly believe he’d made it. But now what was he supposed to do? Going to his room didn’t feel like an option, but he doubted escape would actually be possible. Jonah had to be watching him, surely. But then, he had to try, didn’t he?

He had to lean heavily against the wall as he made his way, dragging his injured leg along. He could feel warmth trickling down his arm and was fairly certain the reopened stab wound in his shoulder had bled completely through the bandage. He didn’t have time to deal with any of that, though. He felt more exhausted and hungry and thirsty than he could remember being in recent memory but he just had to keep pushing on, unsure if he’d ever get another chance like this. 

He didn’t entirely know where he was going and took the first stairs down that he found. He knew the general trajectory he should take, but all he could really do was hope he could blunder his way through. When he turned a corner and realized some of the rooms he was passing looked familiar, he felt a surge of hope verging on desperation. Maybe this actually was possible.  

He turned a corner and ducked into a sitting room, fairly certain that if he crossed to the other side, it would be a shortcut— when something collided with his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him tumbling to the floor. Pain spiked through his back where he’d landed and he worried he wouldn’t have the strength to climb back to his feet. He felt weak and miserable, shaky from exertion and fear. 

When he was finally able to get his eyes to focus again, he found Jonah standing over him, studying him. He didn’t even look surprised or angry, and John realized he’d never stood a chance. He could feel himself trembling and he hated it so much. He couldn’t block it out, every fiber of his being filled with terror for what was to come. Maybe jumping out of the window and attempting to make the fall lethal had been the better option. 

“You can’t even learn a simple lesson,” Jonah said with a disapproving click of his tongue. “I don’t think you quite appreciate the situation you are in. I think it’s time I demonstrate.”

Jonah stomped down on his injured shoulder, grinding his heel into the wound, and John cried out in pain as he grabbed at his boot. There was no way he had the strength to push him off, and all he could do was gasp, unable to form the words to beg, with no hope of defending himself from this. 

And then he made the mistake of looking directly into Jonah’s eyes. 

It felt like he was falling into them, the scrutiny of it was so intense as he realized how incredibly powerful Jonah was. Every time he’d used his magic on him before, he’d been holding back. He’d never thought it necessary to put much effort into his attacks, and that just made the terror that much worse. He could destroy him with so little effort. His magic felt immense, so much bigger than John could wrap his mind around, and he was drowning in it, every secret completely exposed to him. 

It was like Jonah was perusing a scrapbook of his life, examining intimate moments as if he had any right to them. John tried to push back, to summon up magic around himself, but it was far too late, already trapped in the depths of it like this, and Jonah easily brushed his efforts aside before he could muster any strength. A whimper escaped him at his own helplessness, unable to get any sort of leverage from his prone position. 

Jonah looked into him and saw Martin, he saw everything he felt for him, the affection and love, how safe he had made him feel. He saw the friends he had made, and the steps he had taken towards finally letting himself exist around other people, to be somewhat comfortable with them, and Jonah simply looked smug, because he’d taken all of that away from him, proved how fruitless such feelings were, because he’d still ended up back here in the end. It wasn’t like anyone would be coming to save him. 

No, he was alone, now. It was simply him and Jonah, and he was going to die here. No one would care, no one should care. He’d known from the beginning that he was an outsider, that he had no right to that happiness and safety. He could only imagine the number of people who would celebrate his death. They saw him for what he truly was, the monster he had become the moment he started tapping into his patron’s magic. He deserved this suffering. 

As if confirming that thought, John felt like he was being plunged into an icy river as he was thrust into a different memory, one in which someone had tried to drown him. He tried to gasp, and even though his lungs filled with air here in the present, he remembered too vividly what it had felt like to breathe in water. He was drowning, and he could feel himself thrashing in his panic, unsure if the lack of oxygen was still happening or if it was only in the memory. Could he drown here, like this?

In the memory, someone pulled him back above the surface and he coughed up water, trying desperately to replace it with air. He could hear curses thrown at him, reassurances that they would drown the evil out of him. And then he was being held under again, his begging cut short. They felt justified in their violence, because why should anyone have sympathy for someone like him? When had he ever shown mercy to those he had hurt? It was too little too late, his regret and guilt hadn’t saved them, so why should it save him now?

“This can end,” Jonah said, voice cutting through the water that muffled everything else. “Or I can simply kill you. You just have to fight back. Use that power, I know you can.”

John knew he wasn’t likely to kill him, not when he had a use for him. But that just meant that this torture would continue indefinitely if he didn’t give him what he wanted. But John had to endure it. He couldn’t let him win, no matter how much he just wanted this all to stop. 

“No,” John managed to snarl out at the first opportunity. “Just kill me and get it over with already, coward.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jonah said, and he grinned at him. “I am not going to make this easy for you. I offered you everything, I made you, gave you power you couldn’t imagine. I was even going to help you get revenge on Prentiss and all the others. Ungrateful.“

And then John was back in the present, lying on the floor, hacking and coughing even though there was no water in his lungs. 

“Maybe I’m going about this all wrong,” Jonah mused, grinding his heel down into him again. “If pain isn’t working, maybe I should bring your friends here, let them see you like this, pathetic and crying.”

John hadn’t realized he was crying. He was clutching Jonah’s boot like it might relent, like it might give him some form of comfort, but that was far beyond him now. He would never know comfort again. And at the mention of his friends, he felt that terror in him grow. He deserved this, he deserved to be here, but he couldn’t stand the thought of them getting dragged into this and suffering alongside him. 

“Maybe I’ll kill them after,” Jonah said, like he was making casual conversation. “Make you watch as I rip their secrets from them and leave them husks. 

“No,” John sobbed, practically choking on his breath, unable to breathe deeply or properly enough speakD more. He thought he’d been afraid before, but he realized it was nothing compared to this. 

Where was the line? What was he willing to do, if he did bring Martin here? He couldn’t watch him die, he just couldn’t. But he so desperately didn’t want to become the monster Jonah was trying to make him become. It was an impossible choice, far too cruel, and it was his own fault. He had let himself get close to Martin, and now Martin was going to be pulled into it, tortured and killed all because of him. He was too weak, too pathetic. This was all his fault. Everything was his fault and there was no fixing it. Hadn’t he ruined their lives enough? Why did he keep doing this to the people he cared about, dragging them into horrible situations?

“I wonder what that man of yours is up to now?” Jonah said. “Maybe he’s already moved on from you. Maybe—“ 

Jonah’s vision went unfocused for a moment, then was suddenly replaced with a look of fury. He spun around and John followed his gaze to see fog swirling in under the door, gathering on the far side of the room. Dazed, John couldn’t help but note how odd it was. Fog wasn’t supposed to behave like that. But then Jonah removed his foot and grabbed him, hauling him up to hold in front of him like a shield. 

“John!” 

John flinched at the sound of his name as it echoed into the room. He didn’t think he could feel anymore hopeless, but he did. He’d left Martin and the others behind to protect them, but now he watched in despair as Martin stepped out of the fog, an actual sword in one hand, holding aloft the glowing necklace he’d made for him in the other. And then the others were stepping out behind him— Tim, Sasha, Danny, Basira, Daisy, Georgie and even Melanie. 

This couldn’t be happening. He’d tried to isolate himself for so long, but he‘d given in, had allowed himself to care about people again. And he was putting them all in danger. He thought he’d have time, to try to divert Jonah’s attention, maybe he wouldn’t feel the need to bring them here after all, but they’d come to him stead. They were going to die and it was all John’s fault. 

Chapter Text

Jonah grabbed John by the hair, causing a pained noise that was half a sob to escape him as he jerked his head back. He might have felt humiliated, having his friends see him like this, but the terror was choking out anything else. He wanted to tell them to run, to get as far away from here as they could, but he couldn’t make himself speak. 

“John!” Martin cried, like he loved him, like he needed him to be okay, and John wanted to scream, because didn’t he know that was how he felt about him? Didn’t he know he’d done all this to try to keep him safe? Why did he have to throw himself back into danger? Martin was the one who was good, who deserved to be safe. 

“Let him go,” Tim snarled in a voice John hadn’t imagined him capable of, especially not in defense of him of all people. He wasn’t worth this. 

“Interesting,” Jonah said, studying them. “You all realize I could make this very unpleasant for all parties. Or I could make it worth your while to turn around and leave.”

“No!” Martin exclaimed, fury in his voice. 

“We’re not leaving without our friend,” Georgie said.  

John shook his head frantically, because Jonah was right, there was no possible way he could be worth this. They were supposed to stay away, to stay safe, and now they were here, risking their lives, all because of him and John’s chest clenched painfully at the thought of anything happening to them. He could feel the tears streaming down his face and he thought he might be sick from the pure terror and anxiety of it all. He couldn’t protect them, and this was all his fault. Martin made eye contact with him and John sobbed openly, knowing but so terrified of what he was going to say next, silently begging him to just go so he would be safe. 

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave him here,” Martin said. “He means everything to me. I won’t abandon him.”  

A strangled sound escaped John as he felt like he was shattering to pieces inside. There were no words to describe how all that made him feel. There was appreciation and relief, guilt along with the terror of the situation and the real possibility of losing Martin for good. And seeing the others standing at Martin’s side, all willing to fight for him— he had never done anything in his life to warrant such loyalty. 

“While I’m sure this is all very touching, I really don’t have the time for such saccharine displays.” 

Jonah raised a hand towards them and John could feel the building of power as he prepared to unleash death on everyone in his life that he cared about. With a terrified cry, he grabbed his arm, funneling every bit of magic he had inside of him through that connection. He hadn’t thought to try this before, to use this to his benefit, but he let their magic collide and nullify and it seemed to actually be working. Jonah was powerful, so much more powerful than he was, but maybe if he had to surpass that threshold, maybe it would buy the others the precious few seconds they would need to get away. 

“Run,” John screamed at them as he held on.  

“Impressive, but now really isn’t the time,” Jonah said, giving another yank to his hair. 

John could feel Jonah tense beside him before summoning up more magic, and John gave everything he had to counter it, his hands tingling and going numb from it. He’d never done anything like this, certainly not at this scale and it hurt, an ache spreading through his body, feeling almost like it did when Jonah had destroyed his barrier. All energy was being sapped from him, and he realized with a start that he could die, if he kept pushing. He didn’t hesitate. It didn’t matter what happened to him, so long as Jonah couldn’t hurt anyone else. He couldn’t lose these people. 

He saw surprise and pain flash across Jonah’s face, a drop of blood dripping down his cheek from his eye, like a tear. He was confused for a moment before he realized he’d done that. He’d actually managed to hurt Jonah with his magic. With an enraged cry, Jonah slammed John’s head to the side, into the wall, and he felt himself crumple to the floor, somewhat detached from the sensation. 

He heard Martin yell his name, and realized he’d taken advantage of the precious few seconds of a distraction he had won him to enter the Lonely again, stepping out of a swirl of mist directly behind Jonah. He drove the sword into Jonah’s back with so much force he lifted him off the ground for a moment. Jonah waved a hand and an invisible wall of force slammed into Martin, sending him sprawling and John stopped breathing entirely. 

In his desperation, John grabbed at Jonah’s ankle. He was relieved to see Martin scrambling to his feet, he was okay, but then Jonah’s foot impacted John’s head, knocking him back. Something hit Jonah squarely in the chest, crossbow bolts from Sasha he realized, which gave the rest of them an opening to descend upon him, Martin and Daisy the quickest, and the flurry of movement was too much for John to follow. 

He was fairly certain he was hyperventilating, trying desperately to pull himself to his feet, unable to properly hear anything through the pounding of blood in his ears. His head was aching and he could feel blood dripping down the side of his skull, but he didn’t have time to worry about that, he needed to get to them, to protect them! 

He didn’t realize someone was in front of him until a hand touched his shoulder and he flinched away, recoiling, expecting violence and pain, but it didn’t come. Instead, it was a gentle touch, warm and kind, and he looked up to see Georgie. It took him a moment to remember how to speak.

“Run,” he said urgently, voice hoarse. 

“Not a chance,” Georgie replied. 

The commotion behind him suddenly stopped and John shuddered, expecting to hear Jonah’s triumphant voice, to know for a fact that everyone he had ever cared about was dead and it was all his fault. But he didn’t. 

“It’s okay, it’s over,” Georgie said. 

“It’s okay,” Martin said, kneeling beside Georgie. “We’re all okay. We’re safe.”

John threw himself at Martin and held him tightly, as if he might get ripped away again at any moment. Martin let out a ragged breath, like he was just as overwhelmed with relief as he was. They might have both been crying, but all John wanted was to stay in this moment forever, to never let go, to know for a fact Martin truly was here. He never thought he’d have this again. He never thought he’d get to feel a kind touch, any sort of comfort, let alone that it would be Martin offering it, and he buried his face in his jumper.  

“You won’t have any more trouble from that asshole,” Tim said, and John hadn’t even heard him approach. 

“No,” John shook his head urgently, only pulling away enough to look back at Tim. “He— we tried to kill him before, but he came back.”

“Don’t worry,” Basira assured him. “We have it under control.”

John squinted, trying to see through the dizziness and his swimming vision, and saw Jonah, sprawled on the ground, unmoving, and was just in time to see Melanie pull a knife out of what he was pretty sure was Jonah’s eye socket and he turned away quickly, feeling like he was going to be sick. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny experimentally kick Jonah’s foot, as if making sure he really wasn’t about to get back up. He didn’t, thankfully. For their part, Basira and Daisy seemed to be preparing well-practiced steps of body disposal, laying out a shovel and other things he didn’t want to look at too closely. 

“Where did she even get a knife?” Tim asked, gesturing to Melanie as she came to join them. 

“She always has a knife,” Georgie assured him, and she sounded so fond. 

John let himself sink back into Martin, but he felt a wet patch on his arm and he recoiled violently, terror gripping him again. “You’re hurt!” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Martin assured him, placing his hand over John’s. “It’s not my blood.”

“Oh,” John said, deflating in his relief, dizzy from the sudden movement and suddenly so incredibly drained. 

“Budge up a bit,” Georgie said from beside Martin, pulling out a bandage.

It was all so surreal. All he could do was sit back and allow Georgie to patch him up. “Everyone’s really okay?” he asked, probably more than once, so afraid that this was an illusion. Any moment, he was sure Jonah would get back up and everyone else would fall down dead, revealing that this was all just a sick trick. But that didn’t happen. 

“Everyone’s fine,” Georgie told him, more patient than she should have been. 

But something was wrong. The only thing John wanted was to be close to Martin, but he had moved to the edge of the room, hovering, but not approaching. John kept trying to catch his eye, but he seemed to very carefully be looking anywhere else. Thankfully, Georgie was still there, holding his hand. He was so grateful for that human contact. But then, she didn’t know what Martin knew.

It would make sense, if Martin thought he’d taken more steps towards becoming a monster. Or if he’d been taken advantage of here once again. John had told him everything that had happened here, there was no reason to assume Jonah might show any sort of restraint or mercy. As far as Martin was concerned, he’d once again been used, tainted. Corrupted and probably that much closer to becoming a monster. 

Maybe it had finally gotten to be too much. It was almost funny how often things seemed to go wrong for John, it only made sense that Martin would want to be done with all this. Maybe he even suspected John might have gone willingly. That, on some level, he’d wanted this. And he had gone willingly in the end, hadn’t he? Why should Martin think that every part of this repulsed him? Why should he believe John when he said he never wanted to kill anyone, when he’d gone with the man who would make him do just that? Especially not when he’d killed right in front of Martin. He hadn’t changed, he hadn’t gotten better, so there was no reason anyone should believe him. 

He could tell Georgie was watching him with some concern, and John felt so stupid for letting this get to him. He kept his gaze on the ground and now he was the one avoiding eye contact. He understood, he really did. Just because he was still trembling, wishing to feel Martin’s arms around him, to know everything was okay— it was selfish. It was idiotic. Martin didn’t owe him anything, and now that the threat was over, he should be perfectly capable of moving on, not practically weeping like a child. He’d managed to handle all this on his own before. 

The last thing he wanted was for Martin to think he couldn’t handle this, that he had to stay with him when the idea of looking at him or even touching him was too much. He needed to pull himself together, to just get through this and assure everyone he was fine. Yes, he had no dignity, yes, everyone knew how pathetic and broken he was. But he didn’t want them sticking around because they felt sorry for him. 

He cleared his throat and stood up, and it was like everyone turned to look at him at the same moment, and he tried not to recoil at all of the attention. 

“John?” Georgie stood as well, looking like she was debating taking his hand again, if only because there was the real possibility of him collapsing. 

“I’m fine,” he said, voice harsher than he meant, trying to remain standing straight despite the wave of nausea and dizziness. “I’m going to steal from the library.”

“Good!” Tim barked out a laugh. “We should definitely rob the place.”

“We should probably leave soon,” Sasha said, looking around like the place creeped her out and he couldn’t blame her. 

“After the books,” John insisted, because suddenly that had all of his focus. It was the only thing he had to hang onto, something to think about that wasn’t his life falling apart around him. 

Thankfully, while everyone followed, they dispersed once they reached the library. Most seemed to stay in the hall, only Sasha, Georgie, and Tim came in to peruse. Martin was still lingering at the edges, always within eyesight, but still not looking at him. Maybe he wasn’t being convincing enough, maybe Martin still felt like he had to do something, and the thought made a sharp, bitter part of him twinge and he hated it. He didn’t want to be pitied, especially not by Martin. He didn’t want everything he’d felt for him to be replaced with nothing more than pity.

Daisy had handed him her bag before she went to deal with the body, and he started searching for books that stood out in his mind, favorites he wanted to revisit, ancient ones that it would be a shame to lose, and the like. In the past, he’d felt the need to gather any of the more dangerous volumes in order to lock them away for safekeeping, but he was so tired and he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Chances were good the town would torch the building if they didn’t, so those books would be taken care of regardless. He didn’t need to put himself at risk like that. 

Tim wandered over to him as nonchalantly as he could and gave a low impressed whistle as he looked around. It was enough to pull John from his thoughts and he glanced over at him. He was unwilling to let his eyes stay on anyone for too long, afraid of what they might see in him. He was fine, he was definitely fine, and he didn’t need anything. 

“Quite the collection,” Tim said conversationally. 

“Yes, well, he did have several lifetimes to work on it,” John said, unwilling to give Jonah any credit, even though he knew he’d only said that as a way to start the conversation. 

“Oh,” Tim said, and John felt a bit guilty, remembering how out of his depth Tim was here and how little context he likely had. He didn’t mean to rub it in. Had they explained anything to him on the way over? 

“Take what you want, it would be a shame for it all to go to waste,” John said, because he didn’t know how to apologize. 

“Actually, I wanted to check to see how you’re doing,” Tim said, apparently deciding on the direct approach since the casual opener had failed. 

“I’m fine,” John said, keeping his eyes glued on the books, hoping Tim wouldn’t notice that he’d stopped searching and was just staring at one spine specifically, not truly seeing it. Too much of his focus was going to keeping his face blank, trying not to think, trying to keep every part of himself from trembling apart. 

“You’re staying at my place, when we get back,” Tim said, and that was enough to get his full attention. 

John looked over at him with wide eyes, a crushing weight suddenly crashing into him as the reality of the situation hit him. Of course. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. And if Martin didn’t want him in his home anymore, if he didn’t want to be alone with him, he’d have to find somewhere else to live. 

“Right,” John said, turning away again quickly when he felt his eyes burning. “Thank you.”

It was suddenly very hard to breathe. Martin didn’t want him anymore. He was going to be alone again. That wasn’t a fair assessment, it felt like he actually had friends again, they wouldn’t just abandon him. Even if they were more Martin’s friends, Martin was kind. He wouldn’t just throw him out on the streets, he’d make sure there were options. But then, maybe it wasn’t safe for any of them to be alone with him, maybe none of them trusted him anymore. 

He bit his cheek hard enough to taste copper. He was staring at the book again, trying to ignore the emptiness in his chest. He couldn’t feel his fingers, like his body didn’t really belong to him. Jonah was gone, he was finally free, and yet he didn’t think he’d ever felt so broken and alone. The only thing he’d ever wanted for himself was to be with Martin, and now that he’d lost that, he didn’t know what to do. He was shaking again and he tried to grip the bag more tightly to hide it. 

“Good,” Tim replied. “I’ll probably need your help talking Martin into it. I honestly thought I’d have to twist both your arms. I know you guys can take care of yourselves, so it’s mostly for my benefit so I don’t have to worry about you both.”

“Both?” John said, confused now. “I-I don’t know if he’ll want that.” If Martin didn’t want him in his home, why would he want to stay somewhere else with him? 

“I’m sure he’ll go wherever you go, so if I’ve got you on my side—“

Tim smiled expectantly, but John didn’t know what he wanted, or what he was getting at. Or maybe he just didn’t understand that Martin didn’t want him anymore. Or, John supposed it was possible that Martin might still care about him on some level, even if he didn’t want to be with him. Maybe he’d be okay to stay close for now. Maybe John wouldn’t lose him all at once. Would it hurt more or less, to have him so close but constantly reminded of the rejection?

Tim seemed a bit put out by his lack of reaction. After a moment he muttered his farewells and headed towards Martin. John tried not to listen, he really did, but it was impossible not to notice when it became some sort of argument, hissing quietly back and forth. He was just glad he couldn’t make out any actual words. 

John realized too late that he was too far away from everyone else when Martin approached. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to do this right now, he needed more time to compose himself. The last thing he wanted to do was break down in front of Martin and make him feel like he couldn’t leave him. That wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to manipulate him like that. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” Martin asked with a wince, like that hadn’t been the way he wanted to start this conversation, because of course none of them were okay after the day’s events. 

“Fine,” John said, grabbing a random book and shoving it into the bag. “Almost done.”

“Slow down,” Martin said. “Just stop for a second. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine,” John said, and he could see the hurt flash across Martin’s face at the cold distance in his voice. 

“Tim wants us to stay with him for a night or two,” Martin said after a pause, almost conversationally. 

“He mentioned,” John said, hoping he was keeping his expression neutral. 

“How do you feel about that?” Martin promoted, and why did he have to be watching so closely?

“I don’t care, you can do what you want.”

“I— oh, of course,” Martin said, taking a step back, and John felt that acute pain in his chest again, something screaming that he was losing him, but what was he supposed to do to stop it? “I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I won’t be,” John said, because it felt like what he was supposed to say. And he didn’t want to push Martin away from Tim and his other friends. Martin was probably the actual person Tim wanted to keep close, after all. 

“Look,” Martin said, frustration finally winning out. “If you don’t want anything to do with me after today, I get it—“

“Me?” John exclaimed, whirling on him, because there was no way he was putting this on him. The least he could do was admit the real reason behind this, a bitter part of him insisted. “You’re the one who can’t stand to look at me.” 

As soon as the words were out, he wished he could take them back. Because he wasn’t sure he could stand hearing the words from Martin. The only person who had ever believed in him, finally giving up on him.  

“What? No, that’s not—“ Martin began, floundering for words and looking absolutely horrified. “I know you have this image of me, that I’m all tea and sweetness, and I want to be that for you. But I’m not. I’m a pessimist and I’m vindictive and I enjoyed killing Elias. I’d do it again if I could, the same for anyone that came to hurt us. But I want people to like me, I tend to go out of my way to try to make people happy—“

“So, what are you telling me?” John interrupted him, feeling ill, even worse than before. “That this was all an act? Just, you being kind to me was a reflex?”

What? No, no!” Martin exclaimed, and there was pleading in his voice. “I love you, but I would understand if you didn’t want to be around me now that you have seen how easily I killed someone. I can’t regret it, not after everything he’s done, but I understand if it was frightening.”

“Why— what does that have to do with anything? You saved my life, you all did. He got what he deserved, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You pulled away so quickly earlier,” Martin said. 

“I thought you were hurt!”

“You just—“ Martin began, looking frustrated as he searched for the right words. “You react so strongly when you hurt anyone with your magic, but I do anything and it’s fine? You had a breakdown after stabbing him not that long ago!“

“That was different,” John objected. 

“Was it?” Martin asked incredulously. 

“I’m—“ John began, biting his lip. But Martin deserved to know. He needed to know. “I’m afraid of how good it can feel. Using magic, hurting people. I’m afraid of ending up just like Elias.“ Jonah, he internally corrected himself. He’d have to explain that later. “But you’re nothing like him.”

“Neither are you!” Martin exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. “Do you just think I’m not capable of being angry or violent?“

”No, of course not,” John said. “Just— I trust you. Much more than I trust myself. You’ve protected me so many times, I know you’re not a pushover, but you’ve also never done anything to make me afraid of you.”

“Oh,” Martin said, and he looked so relieved that he wasn’t afraid of him. “Good. I’m glad.”

“But—“ John said, because he couldn’t just leave it there, as much as he wanted to. “I don’t want you to try to be someone you’re not. If you’re only with me because you feel like you have to—“

“No! No, that isn’t at all what I meant, god, I’m so bad at this,” Martin said, and he reached out and took his hand, the physical contact nearly enough to bring John to tears again, if only from the relief, to know Martin wasn’t disgusted at the thought of this. “Yes, I tend to people please, but everything I’ve done for you, I’ve done because I wanted to. I don't feel like I have to pretend around you. I love you”

“I—okay. Okay,” John repeated, wrapping his arms around himself with a shiver. 

“A-are you okay?” Martin asked. 

“I just— I thought— I don’t know,” he said, because his mind was swirling now, going so quickly from thinking Martin was going to leave him for two completely different reasons. And apparently one of them he’d made up. It seemed that even dead, Jonah was trying to poison everything in his life. 

“What?” Martin prompted, because apparently now that they were laying it all out, he wasn’t going to let John get away with it. 

“I need you to know—” John said all in a rush, because he thought he might be sick if he didn’t get it out. Even if this hadn’t been why Martin was acting so strange, he couldn’t keep it in. “Nothing happened. I mean, clearly things happened, but I didn’t kill anyone, and I didn’t sleep with him.”

“John,” Martin said so earnestly. “I’m glad, obviously, I don’t want you to have to go through any of that again. But you don’t have to defend yourself, to anyone, and certainly not to me.”

“Okay,” John said, taking a shaky breath. 

“But?” Martin prompted. 

“I’m sorry, I just—“ he wiped his eyes, trying to get a hold of himself. “I was afraid that that was why you wouldn’t look at me before.”

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like that,” and Martin looked so devastated he wished he hadn’t brought it up at all. 

“No, you didn’t, it’s not your fault,” John said quickly. “I know this is just me. I feel tainted just being back here.”

“John, you’re not,” Martin said with so much feeling. “None of this is your fault. And I certainly don’t think less of you because some evil piece of shit kidnapped you.”

“Even if I went willingly?” John asked, because he couldn’t stop fixating no matter how much he wanted to. 

“I don’t— what? Did you want to be here?” Martin asked, confused now. 

“No, of course not. But I couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt, so I gave up. I should have found a way, I should have—“

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Martin interrupted. “You did everything right. Obviously I wish you hadn’t been kidnapped at all, but you were protecting people, you were protecting me. It was a brave thing to do. You have to know how much I admire you.”

”C-can I—“ John tried, voice weak and stuttery as he reached out and tugged at the hem of Martin’s sleeve. 

He didn’t hesitate. Immediately, Martin pulled him into an enveloping hug, nearly crushing him against his chest. John closed his eyes tightly so his senses were overwhelmed with nothing but him. He didn’t want to think or feel anything else, he only wanted to be in this moment, wrapped in Martin’s embrace. 

“What he did to you,” Martin whispered in his ear. “It only says something bad about him, not you. Who you are despite everything you’ve been through— that just proves how amazing you are. I can’t not love you. 

“Even though I was terrified?”

“I was too.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Me too. But it’s over now.”

“It doesn’t feel real,” John admitted, and held him a little tighter. 

“You know what doesn’t feel real?“ Martin said, shifting tone to something lighter, probably trying to distract him from his anxieties. “Melanie and I are getting along better now. It helped that she was willing to come with to find you. Still having trouble breaking through Daisy’s walls though.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t really like tea,” John said, and that won a little laugh from Martin, and even with how watery and unsteady it sounded, he felt like he had won. 

“Oh, shut up.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle. After a long silence, though, it felt like all the adrenaline left his body and he swayed slightly on his feet. 

“I’m… really tired,” he admitted. 

“I know,” Martin said, and he took him over to a sofa, sinking down onto it and pulling John onto his lap, supporting him completely so he could keep lanky form in his arms. “I think we have some time, just try to rest, okay? The others will take care of everything.”

Glancing around, John realized the others had left the room and he felt another rush of gratitude towards them all, because he was crying again. He hated how often he seemed to fall apart these days. But at least it was mostly from the relief now, because Martin was okay. Everyone was okay. 

“I saw you,” he managed to choke out eventually. “You were unconscious in the street, I thought—“

“I’m here, I’m okay. Everything’s okay now. We’re safe.” But it seemed like the statement broke something in Martin because he burst into tears as well. “When I woke up and couldn’t find you,” Martin began, but was cut off by a sob, and then he was crying in earnest too, burying his face against John’s neck.

John didn’t know what else to do, so he just held the back of his head securely, petting against his hair. He was pretty sure he was saying something, but it was all just rambling reassurances that he forgot the moment they left his mouth. It seemed impossible that Martin was so upset, worrying about him. He shouldn’t. But he did. 

Being here, together, even as they both sobbed against each other until their lungs hurt and their heads throbbed, it felt like everything would be okay. There was a relief in it, a release of tension that they’d been forced to hold onto, terrified of what might happen in the end. But it was over, now, and they’d found their way back to each other. They would leave this terrible place together, and they wouldn’t be separated like this again. They could hold each other in their arms again and, for the moment at least, didn’t have to worry about anyone tearing them apart again. 

-

They couldn’t stay in the nearby town. Even if they found out Elias Bouchard, Jonah Magnus, was dead, it wouldn’t change how they felt about John. And he hated that this was all his fault. He hated that his friends would be in danger if anyone found out he was associated with them. All they could do was get as far from here as possible and start the long journey home. They didn’t get too far, and the sun was still up, maybe they could see how worn out he was, because it didn’t take them long before they were setting up camp. 

John was too grateful for the rest to complain. He was dizzy and his head ached so much from all the emotions and crying after taking two blows to the head. Thankfully he didn’t seem to have a concussion, but he was still miserable. And that was saying nothing about the rest of him. Martin had brought his cane thankfully, but he was already too sore to remain on his feet for long. They all set about setting things up while Martin pulled him down to sit beside him, neither of them willing to release the other. He didn’t realize how long he’d been sitting there when the sky was suddenly dark. At least they had a fire to keep the darkness at bay. 

“I’m so sorry,” John said, staring into the fire. “I put you all in so much danger.”

“None of that,” Daisy said, cutting him off. 

“Of course we came to help,” Danny said. 

Martin, who had his arm around him, squeezed him just a little tighter, perhaps in agreement with them, or perhaps as a way to say, ‘I told you so.’ Maybe both. Either way, John leaned more completely into Martin, mumbling a, “Thank you,” to these people he cared so much about, that he’d never be able to repay. 

He could finally believe that there were people he could trust, who could trust him, even knowing about the magic and the terrible things he was capable of. He could feel safe, and he could be with the man he loved. Somehow, that was the hardest part to wrap his mind around. He didn’t deserve to feel so happy, to see a future unfolding before him with possibility. But he did. And he wouldn’t take it for granted. He would love him with everything he had. 

Jonah being dead and out of his life for good didn’t feel entirely real, but maybe it would in time. Safety was a thing hard fought for, but he knew now that he had so many people who would know, would look for him if he went missing. There were people who would miss him. He felt real, like he existed in the world instead of lurking on the outskirts. 

It still felt scary, how much he had to lose. But it was worth it. Martin pressed a kiss to his temple and it was so worth it, it made him so happy he thought he might burst with it. He turned to pull him into a proper kiss, brief and tender, before pressing his forehead against his, just basking in the closeness, in the warmth. He felt so warm, inside and out, and he just let himself love, and be loved. He let himself be happy. 

Chapter Text

John surveyed their little vegetable garden with a satisfied nod. Despite his pride, he could admit that he had been wrong about best practices for planting certain kinds of squash, but that just meant he had to write a better guide than the one he’d had. Martin set aside his rake and leaned over to kiss his cheek, but the brims of their sun hats bumped and he chuckled. 

“Are you regretting getting me one too, now?” John asked. He tipped his hat back in the hopes he’d try again, but didn’t take it off entirely. 

“And miss out on this adorable sight?” Martin said. “Never.”

“How dare you, I am anything but adorable,” John objected, only partially faking the indignation. 

“Yeah, you kind of are,” Martin grinned. 

“Perhaps I should brood more, then,” John said, turning away in mock offense, but his heart was doing something in his chest and he felt a bit giddy. Being called adorable wasn’t exactly something he strove for, but any compliment from Martin tended to do that to him.  

“Sorry to break it to you,” Martin said with another laugh. It was fond, not mocking at all. “But that just makes you look even more adorable.”

John scoffed, but all was forgiven when Martin took his sun hat off so he could duck under John’s to place a quick kiss to his cheek. It was soft and sweet, but John decided they deserved more than just that after all their hard work. He put a hand on his arm to stop him from pulling away and kissed him properly. 

It had been a few weeks since everything with Jonah Magnus. It was surreal in a way. He had felt like he was being watched for so much of his life, and he’d thought it was just a side effect of his patron. But now that Jonah was gone, it had lessened considerably. The Eye was still there of course, as well as all of the concerns and anxieties that came with it, but it wasn’t quite so overbearing now. He felt like he could breathe. 

At least, he could when Martin wasn’t kissing him like this. It was an altogether more enjoyable form of breathlessness, though. His hat fell off at some point, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He could still scarcely believe that he had this, that Martin wanted it with him of all people. Sometimes it was still a struggle to let himself have it, but he knew Martin often struggled with it too, and it was easier to work on it together. They were far from perfect, but that was okay. 

John thought he had known what happiness was, but what he had now overshadowed it completely. And when their kisses became more languid, and eventually stilling, they stayed in each other’s arms for another long moment. He could feel Martin’s pounding heart where their chests were pressed together, he could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, and he was all too happy to get lost in the intricacies of Martin Blackwood. 

Unfortunately, Martin did pull away eventually, retrieving his hat with an apologetic grin, and John was all too tempted to kiss him again just to show him how little he needed that apology. They really did need to begin cooking dinner, though, so he resisted for the time being. 

“What time did everyone say they were coming over?” John asked. 

“We’ve got about two hours,” Martin said, collecting his rake.

“I suppose we should get cleaned up, then,” John sighed, brushing some dirt off of his skirt. 

He had a lover, he had a partner in life, he had friends who wanted to be around him, who knew about the magic that cursed him and hadn’t fled. And he had a home, he had safety. All things he thought far out of his reach. And with his work in publishing, Tim had even talked to him about publishing some of his manuscripts. 

He was having to start from scratch of course, everything lost in the fire, but now it felt more like an opportunity. He’d only written for himself, scattered directionless notes, corrections to inaccurate knowledge, information that had helped him survive alone for as long as he did, even transcribing rare texts to preserve their content. Now he could put it all into something more coherent, and maybe even have some sort of income to help support him and Martin. He was still trying to talk Martin into publishing some of his poetry too. Maybe one day. 

He was perhaps too excited to work on it more, but first he had to survive game night. After nearly getting them thrown out of the bar on trivia night, they’d thought it wise to go elsewhere. Now they took turns hosting, although John liked it best when Sasha hosted since he could steal some of her books and argue about them with her and Basira. 

They’d probably want to borrow some of his books to retaliate, but that was fine. They’d been the ones to help him with the beginnings of rebuilding his own collection, after all. He couldn’t help but look forward to it, and he felt so light as he followed Martin inside, feeling the sun on his face and the wind in his hair. He’d never felt so much, so alive. He could actually feel it all, without being smothered by the fear and the nightmares. And he had people he wanted to pour that happiness into. Martin especially, he wanted to make sure could always feel just as joyful.