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It’s freezing, but Xisuma doesn’t want to go get another jumper, to risk disturbing his brother. There’s really no point; he doesn’t even know if he has a spare anymore. Gosh, it’s probably been thrown in the bin.
Instead, he curls a little tighter in on himself, trying to keep himself warm that way as he answers his brother’s emails. He must have redrafted this last one at least three times by now, but he cannot figure out for the life of him to make it sound polite - it’s a complaint, for goodness sake! Really, he should be good at this by now, this routine secretarial work, but he’s not. Better, certainly, but a year and a half of anything will do that. He’d been planning on going to uni for computers, really, not marketing or english or whatever this was. This shouldn’t be his job.
But it is, and the inbox needs emptying before tomorrow morning, and no-one else is going to do it. The laptop pings (25%) as he sends the latest email off, and he tenses for a second; his brother’s just across the room, but thankfully he doesn’t appear to be annoyed, or even to have heard. Gosh, Xisuma hates this laptop. His brother had given it to him two months ago, and it was incredible - it must have cost thousands. Xavier had told him that he’d deserved the present, that he wouldn’t be able to do anything without him, that how else could he reward someone so incredible except with a top of the line laptop?
Using it feels like a countdown until he breaks it. After all, he’s useless, and careless, and he’s going to break it and it’s going to be all his fault and his brother’s going to be so, so angry when it finally happens.
On the other side of the study, his brother’s also on his computer, trying to finish the latest coding commission before midnight. Xavier has been in a good mood all day, but that doesn’t mean X doesn’t startle when he stretches. “Fuck, I’m tired. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” X replies, and his brother just rolls his eyes. “You’re always okay! Bloody hell, ‘Suma, learn to complain for once.”
Xisuma smiles, and says nothing. He doesn’t bring up the normal consequences for complaining. There’s no point. Xavier continues, with a somewhat theatrical yawn, “What I’d give for a coffee.”
Understanding his cue, X puts his laptop to one side, “Do you- I can grab some for you, if you want?”
“You don’t have to do that!” Xavier says, the same odd dance they always do.
“I insist.” X says, because that’s how this works.
Xavier turns, and pulls some cash from his pocket, “Grab yourself some tea whilst you’re there, would you? You deserve it.”
That’s when Xisuma remembers his phone’s out of battery, and oh. Dear God. This might be it.
“My phone’s dead,” is what he says aloud, praying that his brother won’t care -
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Xavier dismisses, and Xisuma almost collapses in relief. The only coffee shop his brother accepts is almost a fifteen minute walk; combined with any queue, that’s thirty minutes. He can do this with thirty minutes.
Grabbing his bag from the doorway, X mentally runs through explanations in his head as he ties his shoes; his brother doesn’t even bring it up until he’s almost out of the door, “Why the backpack?”
Xisuma stops, forcing levity into his voice, “We need a few other things - eggs, and such. I don’t want to buy a plastic bag.”
“You and your precious environment,” his brother laughs, but lets it go, “See you soon,” and then adds, suddenly serious, “Stay safe, okay?”
Xisuma nods, “I’ll be back soon,” he replies, and it’s the first time in so long he’s told a blatant lie and it's terrifying, but his brother just turns back to his work, and leaves X to walk out of the door alone. It’s cold enough that the grass is stiff with frost, but he forces himself to walk at a reasonable pace, pulling his jumper tighter around him as he does. Gosh, he wishes he had a coat - the one his brother bought him is apparently too expensive to wear outdoors - but there’s no helping it now.
He doesn’t speed up until he knows he's out of sight, until the moment he's turned the corner, and then breaks into a sprint. Thirty minutes.
Please let the bus arrive soon.
Ten minutes later, and he’s boarding the bus with his hands shaking; he can’t tell if it’s fear or cold, at this point. He’s expecting someone to stop him at any moment, to shout at him, to order him off; every station, he has to push down the urge to get off the bus and just walk back, pretend this never happened. But the next time he gets a chance like this, to leave the house alone, without the tracker his phone’s find function has become… this might be the only chance he ever gets.
It’s an hour-long journey, and every minute he sits there only serves to build his fear; by now Xavier will have noticed he’s not back, right? Surely? Will he have started looking? The thought makes him shiver, and he moves to sit next to the heater, pulling the hood of his jumper up. It probably accomplishes nothing, but it makes him feel better - until, that is, he has to get off the bus at the hospital and is immediately hit by how cold it is outside. It’s mid January, for goodness sake, and his jumper is thin; it doesn’t help that he only has the faintest idea of what direction Doc’s house is from here.
God, please not let Doc have moved house. Please.
By the time he makes it, arrives at what he thinks might be the right place, Xisuma feels frozen to the bone; it’s reached a point where he’s thankful his hands are numb, because at least it stops them hurting quite so much. He’s been wandering around for the last twenty minutes, trying desperately to remember whether the house is number 17 or 77. Every house looks near identical, so when he finally sees number 77 (please let that be the right one) he almost walks past it at first, and has to backtrack.
God, he’s lost. And cold. And frightened; it takes him another five, frozen minutes to build up the courage he needs to knock on the door.
Please, Doc.
Please.
Martyn’s expecting a package, and has been all day - but not, like, at 11pm. Do postmen even work that late? Still, better safe than sorry, so when the doorbell rings he goes to open the door anyway and almost swears in shock, because he thinks for a moment the man on his doorstep is a ghost.
He looks ill, almost, he’s so thin; his skin is purple, his knuckles white. He doesn’t have a coat or even gloves, just a threadbare pink jumper that’s clearly unsuitable. Shit, he looks bloody hypothermic..
The stranger looks up, and Martyn watches, shellshocked, as the last of a thin hope vanishes from his eyes,
“Oh- I’m so sorry, I must have gotten the wrong house.” He smiles sadly, and Martyn doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t really want to invite this half-dead stranger into his house but he’s kinda scared this guy’s going to keel over in the garden. By the time Martyn has found his voice, the man’s gotten almost halfway down the path; still he turns back when Martyn calls out, “Who are you looking for? If you’ve got the right neighbourhood I might be able to at least point you in the right direction.”
It’s not quite a lie, but like, he doesn’t know that many people. He wants to think he’s trying to help; the optimistic part of him figures he’s buying himself time whilst he figures out how. The rest of him, cynical as it is, is pretty sure he’s just trying to make himself feel better.
“Oh, um. Doc? Doc M?”
That makes Martyn stop in his tracks, at least, because that means this slightly horrifying wraith hasn’t got the wrong house at all. “No, um, Doc lives here! You’ve got the right house.”
“I do? Is he in?”
“Not right now, but,” Martyn stops, checking his watch, “but he should be pretty soon. Twenty minutes, if the traffic's good. Why don’t you -” oh, fuck, he’s got to invite this man into the house, and neither Ren or Doc are home - “Why don’t you come in?”
“Oh, no, I can wait. It’s okay.”
Martyn almost laughs, at that, at this half dead stranger with no coat who thinks he can just stand outside in the middle of January. Because, fuck no. For a second he wonders if he’d let his hesitation show on his face, if that was why this guy didn’t want to come inside, but somehow he doesn’t think so. It feels more like he’s so desperate not to mess anything up that standing outside in the dark for twenty minutes was a perfectly logical train of thought.
“Come in or Doc will kill me,” Martyn eventually lands on, and that does seem to finally get him inside.
When Martyn manages to get the man settled in an armchair, he turns the heating up about five degrees and goes to put the kettle on. As he walks back, he sees Ren’s thick jumper on the back of a chair, and grabs it. He’s pretty sure asking if he wants a jumper isn’t going to work, so he simply shoves it at the guy and tells him to put it on, making sure his voice is sharp enough that it sounds non-optional. Clearly it works, because he does so with no argument - or, well, he wraps it around himself, rather than puts it on - but hey. Close enough.
Awkwardly, Martyn sits down in the armchair opposite, trying to figure out what to say. He’d ask if he wants food, but he’s kind of terrified he’ll scare this guy out of the house before Doc gets here, so he settles on what he’s pretty sure is a safer option, “So…what’s your name?”
He looks up, like he’s checking he’s the one being talked to, and then again to make sure he’s meant to speak. “Oh, um. Xisuma.”
Martyn blinks, because. He’s heard Doc and Ren talk about Xisuma before. He was an old friend of theirs, who’d basically stopped talking to them and dropped off the map two or so years back, who they still worried about and wondered about every so often. The way they’d described him, though, he was. A person. Not this…ghost. A computer nerd, a perfectionist and protective friend; who’d adored animals, who was always making silly mistakes, who was always up for a joke.
And Martyn’s next thought is what the fuck happened.
Xisuma tilts his head, and quietly, like he’s not sure he’s meant to be talking, “Are you okay?”
“Sorry,” says Martyn, startled out of his thoughts. “Yeah. Sorry, just wasn’t expecting that. I’ve heard Doc and Ren mention you before.”
“You…have? Ren? Does Ren still live here?”
“Oh yeah. He’s away right now with family” - and was he imagining it, or did X flinch when he’d said family - “but he’ll be back in a few days.”
“Okay.”
They drift from there into an awkward silence, and Martyn thanks whatever God exists when he hears the front door open, Doc’s voice echoing through the hallway at the same time as the click of the key does, “Home!” . Martyn doesn’t answer as he normally would, since he doesn’t quite know how, but thankfully he’s spared from the embarrassment by Doc walking into the living room and stopping in his tracks at the wraith curled awkwardly in his armchair; he stumbles to a halt, staring at him like he’s seen a ghost.
“X?” he asks, eventually, like he’s not 100% sure that’s who he’s addressing. Like the person in front of him has changed that much.
Xisuma bursts into tears.
“I’m sorry, I’m- I’m so, so sorry- I-”
Doc crosses the room in two strides to crouch down by his friend, and Martyn thanks fuck that Xisuma had waited until Doc was home. He does not know how to comfort people. Though. Thinking about it. Doc also isn’t great at comforting people.
Oh dear.
Still, when Doc does speak, it’s in an inhumanely soft voice. “X? Hey, man, listen to me, okay? It’s okay. What are you sorry for?”
“For- for showing up!! I- Your’s was the only house I thought I could find without a phone, I’m so, so sorry- I just got a bus to the hospital and walked from there and I-I’m sorry.”
“...What happened to your phone?”
X looks away, clearly trying to avoid eye contact, “I left it behind.”
And even Doc can figure out that’s probably as far down that line of questioning as he should go, right now, so he gets to his feet instead. “Okay. Okay, let’s, let’s get you some tissues and dinner, okay?”
“I ate this morning,” X says, and Doc promptly gives up his search for the fucking tissues to stare at him, “‘Suma. That’s, yeah. That’s how food works. You eat multiple times a day.”
Xisuma doesn’t say anything to that, just shrugs, and given that Doc appears to have given up looking for the tissue box in favour of staring at his friend, Martyn gets up and hands him them instead. “I’m- I’m going to go make some dinner,” he says, and leaves Doc to deal with whatever the fuck that is.
Dinner, thankfully, is a little less awkward. Probably because the moment they get food in front of Xisuma he stops literally everything in favour of inhaling it, and Martyn doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone eat so quickly with such perfect table manners. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so worrying.
Unfortunately, that does mean that Doc starts asking questions again. “What did you bring?”
“Whatever was in my backpack already. I didn’t really plan. Just. Said I would be back soon and then got on the bus. Shit, Doc, I- I should be back by now.”
Doc looks at him, shocked, and Martyn thinks he remembers Ren telling him an anecdote about how Xisuma doesn’t swear but he’s not sure in the slightest if that’s why Doc is taken aback or if that’s because of the clearly abusive context of whatever X was running from.
“You aren’t going anywhere you don’t want to go, man, I- Fuck, is that Ren’s jumper? Did you even bring a jumper?”
X nods, but unsatisfied, Doc reaches for the fabric of Xisma’s sleeve where it pokes out beneath Ren’s jacket. He flinches away, but Doc’s already got the fabric between his fingers, so the only real result is the fabric riding up, and even from where Martyn is sat he can see the discolouration at the wrist underneath.
All three of them go dead silent, for a second; Doc, of course, breaks it. “Xisuma. X. Take off your jumper.”
“...no.”
“Xisuma. Take off your fucking jumper.”
The fear in X’s eyes makes Martyn want to intervene, say something, because X looks on the verge of running from the room, but he doesn’t get the chance before Doc says it again, and Xisuma…obeys? Is that the right word? It certainly seems more like following an order than anything else, but Martyn doesn’t have time to follow that train of thought to its conclusion because when X pulls off his jumper, both of them see the bruises running up and down his arms, his wrists. The scars.
Doc swears. Doc swears at the top of his voice.
“…Xisuma,” he manages, horrified.
“It’s not- as bad as it looks.”
“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT, X!! WHAT HAPPENED??”
“It’s not his fault! I just- I kept messing up, and I-”
“His? Wait, your brother?”
Xisuma curls in on himself, seemingly getting even smaller in his chair, “It’s not his fault.”
“I don’t care, X. You’re not going back.”
That gets Xisuma to glance up, finally, something akin to hope blazing across his face, “I-what? I don’t- You mean it? I don’t have to…go back?”
“Over my dead body. Fuck, ‘Suma, you should have called me. I’d have come picked you up!”
“I didn’t have your number.”
“What? What are you on about? You have my number?”
“He- he deleted my contacts. Said he needed my password to check on me and then deleted it all. Everything. I’m sorry.”
Doc swears again, increasingly horrified, “It’s not your fault. In no world is it your fucking fault. Shit, X. I’m so sorry this happened.” Caught in the middle of wiping his eyes, Xisuma just stares at him, until cautiously Doc repeats what he’d just said, “It’s not your fault?”
There’s a moment where Xisuma doesn’t move, and then he lunges forward, almost knocking over the chair behind him as he grabs him; Doc, who’s never been a massive fan of hugs, doesn’t even hesitate as he pulls him closer. “It’s okay, man, okay? I’ve got you. No-one’s gonna hurt you. I swear.”
When they finally manage to get him to bed, some hours later, Doc is emotionally and physically exhausted; he’d had a long day even without…this. In contrast, Martyn doesn’t know what to do with himself, so when X falls asleep he’s sat in the perfect place to see Doc’s expression change. And it’s Doc, who keeps himself so, so reserved, all the time; who prides himself on not showing his emotions, and the moment Xisuma falls asleep Martyn thinks he watches his heart break.
“You good?”
“Holy. Holy fuck. I- I need to call Ren. I need to call Ren now.
“Do you want me there?”
Doc nods fervently, then hesitates, “He… told me not to leave. I don’t want him waking up alone.”
“I can stay, Doc,” Martyn says gently, “Go. You’ll only be two seconds.”
“...Maybe I stay? And you call Ren?” It’s not a serious suggestion, but Martyn treats it as if it anyway; he knows Doc appreciates the logic, “I don’t know him, Doc. You need to be the one talking to Ren. I’ll yell if he wakes up, okay?”
“Okay,” Doc manages, aware he’s right but still annoyed at the necessity. “I’ll call him now.”
Ren’s clearly in the middle of something when Doc rings him; he ignores the phone at first, and only picks up when Doc sends an SOS text through. “Hey, are you okay?? What’s wrong?”
There’s a second where Doc doesn’t reply, trying to formulate his thoughts the way he probably should have done before he called Ren, and the silence only seems to concern Ren more. “Are you okay? Is Martyn okay?!”
“We’re- we’re both fine, Ren. Don’t panic.”
“You sent an SOS! Of course I’m panicking!”
“‘Suma showed up.”
Ren pauses; of all the directions he was expecting this to take that doesn’t appear to be one of them, “Xisuma?”
“Yep. And, Ren. It’s bad. He doesn’t look like he’s eaten in days and he’s covered in bruises and whenever he talks about his brother…Jesus Christ, Ren.”
“Oh. Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah. I don’t. I don’t know what to do, Ren. He’s asleep now, but like - he looks like he’s seconds away from breaking. I’m so scared for him.”
“Do you want me back?” Ren asks, because even if Doc didn’t sound like he needed him, holy shit. Xisuma.
“I- I don’t know. You’re so much better at all this emotion stuff, but like, I don’t want to overwhelm him, Ren. I just don’t wanna fuck it up.”
“You won’t, Doc. He’s asleep, right? So he probably feels safe. Just keep him calm and I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t you dare drive back down at this time of night,” Doc snaps. “There’s no point; he won’t be awake until tomorrow. Get some sleep, spend the evening with your family. Come back up tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Ren concedes, because Doc’s right and he’s going to be of no help to anyone if he gets in a car accident. “I’ll come down tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Doc says, and before Ren can continue - because he’d really like to know if Doc and Martyn are alright - Doc hangs up. Because. Of course he does. Ren sighs, and then goes to sit back down next to his sister.
On the other side of the phone, Doc is lost. Should he… call the police? Is that what you do in this situation? For fucks sake, surely beating someone up is illegal. But calling the police…would they really help? In this situation? Would they just make things worse; telegraph Xisuma’s location to his brother? Does his brother know where he is? That’s probably one of those questions he should have asked before X fell asleep, but too late now. Shit, he doesn’t know what to do. Fuck.
Eventually he manages to pull himself together long enough to go back upstairs, duck into the spare bedroom they’ve assigned X, tell Martyn he should go to sleep. Martyn just looks at him, knowing full well Doc has no plans to follow his own advice, but gives up. One of the first things Doc had realised he liked about Martyn - if he doesn’t think he can make you do something, he doesn’t bother wasting words on trying. If he does think he can convince you, that’s another matter, but not one for tonight.
Tonight is for putting his headphones on, and pulling the armchair up next to the bed, because Xisuma had asked him, in the seconds before falling asleep, not to leave. For seating himself as comfortably as possible, for finding a box of chocolate in the bedside table behind him and emptying half of it onto his lap. For breathing as deeply as he can in an attempt not to cry; for crying anyway, because that’s his friend and he’s hurt.
And fucking hell, if Doc has to eviscerate the entire world to prevent this happening again, he will.