I would love an AU where maybe-monstrous-maybe-not-but-shockingly-hard-to-kill Jon is blind before becoming employed for the Magnus Institute, and still accidentally get hired by Elias to be the Archivist. Just Jon living his best life while Elias slams his head into his desk repeatedly at his textbook fuckup.
Martin, I’m not going to listen to you when you’re like this.
MARTIN
You are utterly infuriating and I cannot stand you
ARCHIVIST
But you love me
MARTIN
(exasperated) I do, and I hate myself.
ARCHIVIST
(amused) So we can agree that I’m not in the wrong for drinking microwave tea?
MARTIN
No. No, you are absolutely evil and-
[The Archivist shushes him]
MARTIN
(increasingly infuriated) No! No, I will not-
ARCHIVIST
Mar- Martin, Martin, listen.
MARTIN
To what? Insanity?
ARCHIVIST
No, it’s.. It sounds like whirring tape.
MARTIN
(confused) What?
ARCHIVIST
Whirring tape, like-
MARTIN
Like a tape recorder, I know- but what do you mean it sounds like a tape recorder? Do we.. (introspective) do we own any anymore?
ARCHIVIST
I wouldn’t know. But it definitely sounds like one.
[They both fall silent for a moment]
MARTIN
You’re right, it does..
ARCHIVIST
It’s coming from over.. there.
MARTIN
That’s the fireplace.
[Footsteps approach and wood is moved aside, clearing the audio]
MARTIN
Yeah.. yeah, that’s a tape recorder.
ARCHIVIST
(sarcastically drawn out) Wonderful.
MARTIN
I thought that these would stop- they did stop, didn’t they?
ARCHIVIST
I have no idea what’s going on any more than you do, Martin. As far as I know, the Eye isn’t here. That or it wouldn’t notify me anyway, now that I’m useless.
MARTIN
(empathically) You are not useless
ARCHIVIST
Try convincing the Eye of that. A blind Archivist can See no fear.
MARTIN (legally)
Fair, fair.. What do we do with this?
ARCHIVIST
Smash it, I guess?
MARTIN
(jokingly) We could pour concrete on it
ARCHIVIST
(Laughs)
MARTIN
(Also laughing) Pull a bit of an Adelard Dekkar
ARCHIVIST
(calming down, but still amused) God, if he were the Archivist..
MARTIN
Yeah.. Anyway, where’s the hammer?
ARCHIVIST
(audibly smiling like a little shit) I have no idea.
MARTIN
(Snorts) Right, you go back to your Devil tea, I’ll go look in the garage.
[Footsteps, followed by indistinct whispering]
MARTIN
(panicked) What the hell!?
ARCHIVIST
(distantly) Are you alright?
MARTIN
(confused) I.. I think the tape recorder said something to me?
ARCHIVIST
(coming closer) What?
MARTIN
I don’t know! I was about to open the door, and it just- asked me a question!
ARCHIVIST
(mildly concerned) did it ask or did it Ask?
MARTIN
It just.. asked.
ARCHIVIST
Huh. Well.. what did it say?
MARTIN
It said..
ARCHIVIST
(annoyed) This is not Devil tea! This is Darjeeling!
MARTIN
Well apparently the mysterious voice agrees with me about microwaving tea!
ARCHIVIST
(like a petulant kitten) It’s quick, it’s easy, and it doesn’t even taste that bad!
MARTIN
(triumphantly) So it does taste bad!
[The Archivist and Martin are open for questioning]
Martin averts the Eyepocalypse, Jon is a mess. Cuddling and blind!Jon.
This has been a ride my friends! Last chapter! Guys, I am overwhelmed with the responses, I can't even begin to explain how much this means to me. You are all amazing, and I think I'll stay in this fandom for a while? If that's alright, of couse. Again, thank all of you so much!
Martin’s hands tremble. He isn’t used to this, he is not a brave person in his opinion, he is not someone to act like this. Burning statements as a distraction for Elias? The whole business with Peter? Desperation, not more, still not as desperate as he is now. There is not a doubt in his mind that he acted right, there is no way he could have let Jon read the statement, there is no way he could have let it continue. He knew something was wrong when the cold brush of the Lonely made him shiver outside, all thoughts of giving Jon privacy be damned, he knew something was wrong. The day had been clear and the wind and rain only picked up when he left. The strangeness of their job made him suspicious of even this, even a weather change couldn’t be just that, and if it was, it didn’t matter. Better safe than sorry, right? So he turned around and hurried back inside, quietly as to not disturb Jon, and Jon-
He saw him sitting there, the recorder in front of him, his fingers gripping the sheets of paper so tightly his fingers bled, while silent tears dripped onto his shirt. Even if Martin had been wrong, even if nothing was supernatural about this, he couldn’t let Jon continue. Not if it hurt him like this, not if he tried to stop and just couldn’t.
And Martin is not brave, he is not a brave person, he is not a hero and he is no savior. But he protects Jon. Jon needs someone to protect him with all the mess he gets into, and Martin would do anything to stop it. He is not brave and he feels dizzy and sick when he rips the papers out of Jon’s hand, quick enough to get them before he can grip even tighter, quick enough to not even spare a glance before throwing them into the fireplace. Not quick enough to catch Jon, who falls to the side like a puppet cut off its strings, the tape recorder falling with him, but he is next to him in an instant, kneeling on the floor, tapping his cheek.
“Come on” he mumbles but gets no reaction. Panic prickles along his neck, over his shoulders and down his back, but for a whole minute, Martin is not panicking, for a whole minute, he acts like he should. Jon’s eyes are half open, a milky green, unmoving and unblinking. Martin presses them closed and then gets a towel and wraps it around Jon’s head to keep him from seeing, keeps Elias from using Jon to See, switches off the damn recorder. It’s not good, but enough for now. He can switch the towel for some gauze later, if necessary. Jon doesn’t react to any of it. His face is clammy and wet from tears, his hands don’t stop bleeding like they should and Martin’s hands start to tremble. He’s seen Jon like this before, months ago, when he visited him in hospital he saw him like this. Unmoving, so still, and not sleeping. Jon looks different when he is sleeping than when he is unconscious, and yes, Martin knows. He is-
Oh my god I killed Jon
No, he did not. He is breathing, shallow but he is, what if-
“Jon, wake up” he shakes his shoulders, and now his minute is over, the umbrella keeping him safe is gone, “Jon wake up, please wake up” He knows he is breathing, shallow but breathing, there is a pulse even if Martin has not the slightest idea if it’s too slow, too fast, anything aside from there, and it distracts him from his own breathing, how it’s too fast, how he can’t really breathe because his chest is too tight. The feeling is so familiar. He’s had anxiety attacks before, he knows how they feel different from panic attacks because he can work it out, he can't work out panic attacks, but he’s had plenty of experience with anxiety. He got them as a child, as a teenager, of course they got worse in the Institute. Nobody had been there then. Jon is here now, but Jon needs him. “Focus, Martin” he pants and presses his hands to his chest, his heart beating too fast, but he can do it. He’s done it before, Focus is his key, “Focus. You can’t help Jon like this, he’s alive. You did… You did nothing wrong” His breathing starts up again then, because what if he did? What if he did something terrible? Wrong key, different key, “It’s okay, you’ll figure it out. You’ll figure it out” Him and Jon, together. Because Jon is alive, all that matters is that Jon is alive. He is alive. It’s the bare minimum he can work with. He needs to focus, hears the wind that’s slowing down, the old wood of the house creaking. He hears himself breathe and Jon too, “It’s alright. We can do this” Jon’s hand, pulse, he can feel it, grounding enough, not ideal, but he needs to calm down now. He opens his eyes and swallows, takes a slow breath in and a normal one out.
“We can do this” He looks at his still trembling hands, knows they won’t magically stop now,
“Okay Jon, talk to me” he gently pats his cheeks without getting a reaction and only now notices his bleeding hands. Talking is good, if Jon can hear him he’ll know he is alright, if not, it at least keeps Martin calm. Having something to do is good, and he winces in sympathy when he expects the cuts. They are not healed when they should be by now.
“I’ll get the first aid kit then, but…” He bites his lip and looks around. He can’t just… He can’t just leave him here.
“Okay, I’ll… I’ll pick you up now, okay? If it’s not, say something” Jon doesn’t answer, doesn’t even move and Martin takes that as a yes, “It’ll be much more comfortable when you wake up in a bed, you know?” Jon is concerningly light when he puts one arm behind his back and one under his knees, cradling him against his chest. His head lolls to the side and Martin stays put for a second, waiting for a reaction, only getting up when none comes. He is light and his body holds no tension at all, he doesn’t react when Martin cleans the cuts and wraps his hands in gauze. He exchanges the towel for a bandage too, just to be safe, even when Jon’s eyes stay closed.
It’s almost two hours until something happens. Martin hasn’t left Jon alone for more than two minutes the whole time. He’s laying on top of the sheets, ghostly pale, but otherwise fine. As fine as he can be, of course, he is not really fine when he just almost… Martin doesn’t even know what almost happened. He only knows it hurt Jon. The weather calmed down again and the cold afternoon-sun peaks through the windows of the bedroom, illuminating the bed in front of it. Martin keeps his hand over Jon’s, stroking over it with his thumb every so often. He isn’t in the mood to read or listen to anything, too deep in thoughts. The papers are burned to ashes, whatever had been written on them lost forever now. He hopes so, at least. He also hopes that whatever is happening to Jon will let him wake up at some point soon, Martin can’t just take him to a hospital, let alone that he doesn’t know where one would be out here. He doubts either of them have any papers with them, the whole point of running away had been to disappear. Whose statement was it that Jon was forced to read? Whose statement was it, that hurt him like this, that he desperately wanted to stop reading and couldn’t? Since the weather calmed down, who sent it? What was it supposed to do? And what did Martin do in burning it?
Jon’s fingers twitch in his and he looks up to see him turning his head in Martin’s direction.
“Jon, it’s alright” he whispers as Jon grabs his hand tighter, “It’s Martin, I’m right here” Immediately Jon’s breathing picks up, gets faster and Martin catches his hand when he tries to rip the blindfold off, he isn’t sure
“I can’t see” he whispers hoarsely and Martin sits down on the bed, “I- I- I can’t see, Martin”
“I know, I wrapped your eyes because-” But Jon shakes his head and he can see him blink against the cloth over his eyes, exaggerated movements as if to...
“No, you don’t- don’t understand, I can’t see anything” Martin feels cold washing over him. He remembers the milky-green, the way Jon’s eyes didn’t move.
“I’ll help you sit up and then take it off now, okay?” Jon nods and clings to Martin’s sleeve when he gets him upright. He is shaking with the effort but maybe it’s not only that. Martin carefully pulls the blindfold off and Jon’s eyes stay closed for a second before he blinks, and this is the moment Martin knows it’s wrong, that the cold feeling is right. Jon stares at him, unseeing. His eyes are no longer tinted green, but still milky instead of his usual brown. Milky-white and blind.
“I can’t- I- I-” His fingers shake hard when he inspects his own face with them, touches his eyes and flinches back when it hurts, “p-p-put it- put it back- p-please, Martin, put it-” His breathing gets faster, more like panting and Martin just puts the bandage back without asking why.
“Jon, it’s okay. Breathe with me, okay? We’ll figure it out” Jon’s hands turn to fists in Martins sleeves,
“Elias, Jonah, he- He tried to end the world. I’m- I’m just- I am just his-”
“Jon, breathe, alright? With me”
“No! He tried to end the world, Martin” Jon shouts it so sudden that Martin flinches back, “I’m a tool, you too, we all were, from the beginning. He made me his ritual, he made me his tool to end the world, Martin, he found a way to end it all through me, I ended the world-” He chokes on a sob and his hands fly to his mouth, “Martin, I ended the world, Elias made- I ended the world for Elias, I couldn’t stop, I tried but I couldn’t, I tried, but now-” Martin only catches his wrist the second time it hits the bedframe with force,
“You didn’t!” he interrupts him, now loud himself, “you didn’t! The world is. It’s not fine, never was, but nothing’s happened! You didn’t do anything!”
“What? But the storm, I heard it, I couldn’t stop”
“I came home early and burned the pages. You passed out, for almost two hours now. The world hasn’t ended” Jon stops hyperventilating and his hand goes slack
“You- You- '' Martin takes his hand and presses it to his own chest when he notices that instead of breathing too fast, Jon now stopped breathing alltogether.
“Breathe, Jon. Breathe, it’s okay” No, nothing is okay, Jon is blind, their boss tried to end the world, maybe he is still trying, maybe he is on his way to make Jon do anything, but that doesn’t matter right now.
He expects Jon to break. He expects him to shatter to a million pieces and is prepared to pick all of them up, to put him back together even if it takes years. He is fully prepared to do whatever it takes to keep him safe, to keep him away from Elias and Elias away from him.
He is not prepared for Jon to laugh. It sounds mad, high and hitching even higher in between, but before Martin can react more than with a puzzled look no-one can see, the laughing turns to sobs. For a moment it’s the same, then it changes to crying that shakes Jon’s entire body and Martin catches him when he falls forward.
“I got you” he whispers into his hair and Jon cries even more, no words, just tears wetting the blindfold and making his entire body tremble. Martin turns them so he can hold Jon, really hold him in his arms, if he breaks he’ll hold him together, when he breaks, Martin is there. His sobbing only gets louder, he shakes more violently until his cheeks are a feverish pink and his nose runs, but then he starts to scream. His hands, formerly pressed against Martin as if to make sure he still has a heartbeat now lash out in the opposite direction, to find anything solid to hit against. Martin presses his eyes closed in a futile attempt to stop his own tears from falling. It’s not physical agony, he knows it’s not, it’s a whole different level of pain, simple as that. He screams in Martin’s jumper and Martin holds his wrists in an iron grip to keep him from hitting anything. He doesn’t know for how long they sit there, until Jon is exhausted and falls back against Martin, still hiding his face but too exhausted for anything. His hands started bleeding again, but Martin doesn’t need to keep them still anymore, he has both arms around his Jon, holding him as tight as possible, rocking back and forth. His screams have succumbed to quiet sobbing, he is almost as limp in Martin’s arms as when he was unconscious.
“I can’t do this anymore” he whispers at one point, his voice hoarse and scratchy, sounding painful. He’s screamed his voice out, Martin thinks, and strangely, hopes it helped.
“You don’t have to” Martin quietly reassures him, “We’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it all out, you’re not alone in this”
“I almost-” his breath hitches again and Martin presses a kiss to his head,
“Almost. It didn’t happen. You didn’t do anything, you are not responsible for anything. Elias tried, but he didn’t succeed” The blindfold is completely wet from tears when Jon’s hand touches it, he feels along it until his hand finds Martin’s jumper again.
“Maybe we should… If Elias-” Martin shakes his head. Even if Jon can’t see him, he seems to feel it because he doesn’t finish his sentence. They are not leaving. After two weeks here it’s become more of a home than any place Martin ever lived at, including where he grew up with his mother. It’s not just the place, it’s Jon and their screwed-up lives, it’s the cows outside and it’s them in here. The house is not even theirs and still it is.
“Elias can choke on his silken ties for all I care, Jon. We’re not leaving here, and I don’t think you are in any state to travel” Martin still has hope things can be alright again, some way, he hopes and hopes and hopes because that is what he can do, and he can do it enough for both of them. So he hopes, and he holds onto that hope that they’ll have something after all of this. That there will be some way for both of them to survive without… Without running away the whole time. Jon doesn’t answer, just nods weakly and reaches up with a shaking hand to touch Martin’s face. He helps him, carefully, lets him run his fingers over his eyes and nose and lips, tries to smile so Jon can at least feel it. But he also feels the tears on Martin’s own cheeks, and wipes them away before curling into himself, into Martin.
“We should get some fresh wrappings for your hands” Martin mumbles into Jon’s hair after some time. He isn’t asleep, too exhausted to talk, too exhausted to hold himself upright but not asleep, Martin knows the difference “and your eyes”
“Don’t… don’t go” Jon grips his cardigan tighter, slurring his words and trying to sit up, his breath hitching again. His nose is still stuffed from crying, his whole face a mess.
“I’m not going anywhere” Martin promises and adjusts his grip, “but your hands are not healing, and they technically should have by now. I don’t want them to get infected” Neither of them wants to think about what it means that Jon’s hands are not healing at all.
“I’ll sit you down here, and keep talking, alright?” He waits until Jon is ready and lets go, presses another kiss to his hair before helping him lie down. His breath quickens again and Martin just holds his hand, strokes over his wrist until he’s calmer.
“I’ll let go now” he warns, but shrugs off his cardigan before getting up, gently draping it over him instead of a blanket.
“So, we ran out of tea this morning, but Daisy has coffee, though I know your opinion on that. I still have some herbal tea, of course” He gets a few rags from the bathroom and soaks them in water before returning. The kit is still next to the bed, messily put back together. Jon didn’t answer, but his fingers twitch in Martin’s direction. “Can you sit up?” he asks and Jon just shakes his head,
“No, I don’t think so” he whispers and bites his lip. Admitting that hurts, of course. It’s not really Jon’s strong suit. He stays quiet when Martin re-wraps his hands and then his eyes, only asking him to keep them covered for now. He keeps quiet when he cleans his face. He stays quiet for the rest of the afternoon, when he is curled against Martin, until he falls asleep, exhaustion finally winning over him. It’s not until later that evening he says something. Martin didn’t even think him awake.
“Martin, what do we do?” It’s still hoarse and sounds utterly hopeless
“We’ll figure it out” He simply answers and lays down next to him, carefully caressing his cheek. Jon brings his fingers up to feel Martin’s face again and he smiles at that, “We’re home, and we’ll figure it out. That’s all that matters”
“But… nothing is right. Nothing is okay” Martin knows he is right. The Institute, Elias, Georgie, Daisy, Basira, Melanie, the deaths of Tim and Sasha, the freshly averted Apocalypse - nothing is alright, nothing is even close to okay. Jon is blind and they don’t even know why. They can’t change anything about it at the moment, though.
“No, it’s not. And maybe it will never be, but…” he leans closer, “I got you, and you got me. We’ll figure it out, even if it is the end of the world. You brought me out of the Lonely. Given our record, we can do anything” There is the hint of a smile on his face when Martin says it like that - it’s too optimistic. But it’s a start.
