Chapter Text
John was used to being alone. He’d gotten good at it after a lifetime of practice, from being rejected by peers to being unwanted in his own childhood home. But somehow this was different, this was worse. This came with a physical misery that left him doubled over on the floor of his office, sure an open wound would have been less painful.
It was ridiculous, he had no right to complain. It was completely reasonable that he was here by himself, that no one could really stand to be in the same room as him. Well, Daisy didn’t mind, but she just wanted others around, it didn’t matter who. He didn’t matter.
When it came down to it, John was a monster. He was just as bad as every creature that had stalked the victims in the statements he’d spent the last few years reading. And there was a statement about him now too.
Georgie and Martin had been on his side for so long, he’d thought they would continue to be. But even they had seen the monster he was becoming and realized he wasn’t worth all this pain. And it was pain, that was all he could offer. Sasha and Tim were dead because of him, and he was likely to do worse. He didn’t want to hurt his friends, but it kept happening anyway.
Basira had said she would put him down if necessary, and he honestly wasn’t sure why she hadn’t yet. Because the truth was he didn’t want to stop taking live statements. He hated the gnawing hunger that made him feel like he was going to wither away and die, and he’d liked how satisfied he’d felt after taking them. What did that say about him? What was he now that he could feel like that after scarring someone so deeply?
Was the guilt now that everyone knew the only thing stopping him? Had he really become that callous? He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but that didn’t change the fact that he had done just that. He felt like he was the same person he always had been, but maybe that was just an excuse. He wasn’t Jonathan Sims anymore. He was some sort of monster wearing his skin, and every selfish monstrous act was just more evidence of that.
As they so often did these days, his thoughts drifted to Martin once again. He must have been so relieved that he’d cut him off when he did, especially once he found out about the live statements. John was a little relieved about that, too. He didn’t want to see how disappointed Martin was with him. But then, if he could see Martin one more time, just to make sure he was okay, that he was holding up under Peter Lukas, it would be worth it. Anything would be worth that.
But Martin couldn’t stand to be in his presence any longer. And he had no one to blame but himself. He shouldn’t have woken up. He should have died in that explosion along with Tim. Or instead of Tim. He thought he could still do some good, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. It seemed like his continued presence was just causing more friction, more suffering. Nothing he did helped, and he wasn’t even sure Melanie and Daisy were any better off than they had been before he’d tried to help.
They would all be so much better off without him.
He’d tried so hard to make up for it all, to make up for being himself, but he’d failed. There was nothing he could do to mend the connections he’d once had. Maybe it would be better to just— disappear. Then he couldn’t hurt anyone else.
As he lay there, unshed tears in his eyes because he refused to cry for himself, he could see tendrils of fog reaching under his door, stretching towards him, and he knew it was right. Thanks to the Eye, he could recognize it for what it was, but it didn’t matter. It was the Forsaken, and he of all people deserved to be consumed by it, to be smothered and devoured, to be forgotten. It didn’t even need to sing to him about the numbness, because he didn’t deserve that relief. He simply deserved to be left to obscurity.
He was afraid, of course he was. He wouldn’t die in there, he would simply exist to suffer. He would lose himself, he would know so completely how useless and unwanted he was, and he would feel that numbing pain until there was nothing left of him but a whisper, and that was if he was lucky. He had never been lucky.
People often thought the Lonely was a gentle pain, and maybe it was for some, but there was nothing gentle about the bone-deep agony and despair John felt as the fog washed over him. It smothered him, choked him as it filled his lungs, and he knew he deserved so much worse. He didn’t struggle, he let it happen, echoes of people he cared about condemning him, turning away from him. He remembered how everyone had reacted after the coma, how Melanie had blamed him for Tim’s death, for all of this. And she was right to. How many lives had he ruined?
He felt all of the horror and despair the Lonely had to give him, and it crushed him. It broke him and left him in that grey world, with nothing left but the knowledge that he was unwanted. He was alone because no one could stand to even look at him. He was nothing, no one cared for him. He had been forgotten. So he stayed there, drowning in that misery, with no hope, no end in sight. There was a sort of numbness, but only in that it obscured the horrible things he had done so he didn’t have to remember, but it still left him with that crushing guilt. He couldn’t even remember the names of the people he had hurt. He couldn’t even remember his own name.
-
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, because time wasn’t something he was aware of anymore. He was simply meant to remain there and feel all of those terrible things, to know he deserved this. But eventually he became aware of someone calling a name. It made sense. Maybe there were people here that were still missed, but he ignored it, because that wasn’t him. He was the worst of them, he deserved to be here so much more, and no one would risk coming here for him. The idea was too absurd to even entertain.
He thought he felt something catch on his sleeve, like someone was trying to get his attention. But he wasn’t a person anymore, he was barely a concept, so he just slipped through their fingers.
But suddenly the fog was torn away from him and he was left standing there, a person again, and he couldn’t help the anguished sob that escaped him. With his personhood came the knowledge that all of his greatest fears had been proven true, and he felt like he had been gutted all over again. He fell to his knees, no idea where he was or what was happening, just that the only way he knew to repent had been ripped away from him. He had nothing left. He would never atone.
“John!” He heard someone cry out, and he felt hands on him and they burned his too-cold skin. “John, can you hear me?”
“Please,” John sobbed into his hands, shielding his face because no one should have to look at him. “Please put me back.”
“I’m not losing you,” the person said, and he felt a hand on his cheek, trying to lift his chin. “Can you look at me, John? Please?”
He wasn’t sure if he was John, but he looked up and—
Martin. It was Martin.
That was the first clear thought he had had in what felt like a lifetime. But that wasn’t right, Martin didn’t want to see him, he didn’t want anything to do with him. A fresh wave of anguish washed over him because he’d messed up again, he couldn’t even do this right, he’d forced Martin to be here, to come for him.
“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he sobbed, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough.
“It’s okay, I’m going to get you out of here,” Martin said, and he felt such a rush of affection for the determination he saw in his expression. But it wasn’t right. None of this was.
“Leave me,” he said, barely able to get the words out between the tears. “I belong here.”
“No, you don’t,” Martin said, and he looked furious. Was that his fault too? “You deserve to be safe and happy. I’m not going to let you die here.”
He couldn’t tell him that he felt like he already had. He wasn’t sure how he could make him see that he deserved this. But the fog wasn’t touching him any longer, and maybe that was because he deserved something far worse. He didn’t have the strength to fight him as Martin pulled his arm across his shoulder and began leading him away, supporting him, the fog continuing to retreat from them.