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The first time it happened Jon had brushed it off as phantom pains, maybe some mild PTSD. He’d had worms burrowing into him for gods sake, it was only logical for there to be some lingering trauma. And when that trauma kept coming back to haunt him in his sleep, or on the tube to work, or in the quiet hours when no one else was left in the archives and he swore he could hear something scuttling in the walls and his skin itched where the scars dotted his flesh- well. It just made sense didn’t it? With everything they were learning about gods and fears and their place in the whole mess of horrors. And if each new scar after that throbbed and itched and burned . Well. It was just more trauma on the pile wasn’t it? More issues he could deal with later when the end of the world was less of an immediate threat. Except...
Except.
The first time he really accepted that it wasn’t just phantom pains or PTSD, or some awful mix of the two, was shortly before they were going to stop the Unknowing. Jon was fairly sure he was the last one in the archives, working too late as always trying to make sure they knew as much as they could before they ran off to try to save the world. At first he thought he’d just moved his hand wrong as he was cleaning up his desk for the night. That set it off sometimes, twisting or grabbing wrong causing it to cramp up for a few hours until Jon could coax the muscles into relaxing again.
Maybe that was what set it off, but that certainly wasn’t the end of it this time when the sharp pain in his hand settled into a slowly growing heat, the ghost of waxy fingers settled over his own and the burn started to spread, seeping into his flesh slowly at first until all at once his hand felt like it was shoved deep into hot coals. Jon doubled over, a small cry of pain startled out of him before he could bite firmly on his bottom lip to keep any more noise in.
Hand tucked close to his chest he tried to focus on breathing, on waiting out the worst of it, but god did it hurt. A few moments of heavy breathing and the scent of burnt flesh in his nose, Jon realized it was only getting worse. Breathing was getting harder, the air he sucked in felt like too much and not enough all at once. His lungs were burning, he was getting dizzy and Jon swore he smelt ozone beneath the burning scent. The hand not currently on fire shot out to brace against his desk from fear of collapsing to the floor. Jon had the unnerving feeling he might just fall through the floor, like it wouldn’t stop his descent once he started.
Next he started to get the cloying sensation of hands on his skin, smooth plastic fingers rubbing all across his flesh, pushing and pulling until his own skin felt foreign on his bones. Jon expected the worm scars to start itching next, but there was throbbing in his arm instead and the room started spinning even more, like everything had tilted just a bit to the left. Jon couldn’t tell if he was still in his office or not at this point, briefly thinking about yellow doors and twisting hallways before the next pain started.
His pulse was pounding in his ears now and he swore he felt blood trickling down his neck. The urge to run and get away fighting against the nausea of the still spinning room, but something was there, something was after him and he needed to run. Jon collapsed then, his legs moving for the door, but the vertigo hadn’t stopped and he was falling and oh god he was going to keep falling wasn’t he- - but the ground was there and he yelped when his hands shot out to brace himself and a fresh flare of fire ate at his fingers before his arms gave out and he was left heaving breathes into the filthy rug on his office floor.
The worms took their time then. The itching crawling feeling of maggots burrowing into his flesh started in his legs and slowly worked its way up until each and every pockmark scar was singing with the sensation of tiny teeth ripping away bits of his flesh. His whole body was itching and burning and throbbing with it all. He needed to run and hide and scream, but he was frozen, trembling on the floor, tears streaming down his face while his mouth hung open with no air to scream, and his eyes stinging and wide for fear of what might be waiting behind his eyelids should he shut them.
It felt like hours trapped in that state of pain and terror, curled up on the floor before Jon could take in enough air to breath properly again. Of course once he could breath there was no holding back the heaving sobs and trembling whimpers as he waited for it all to subside, as he waited for some foothold he could take to begin putting himself back together.
Jon wasn’t sure when he managed to sit up, but he leveraged himself carefully with his left hand to lean against his desk as he focused on getting his breathing under control. His whole body ached and Jon feared if he moved too fast or in just the wrong way he’d set everything off again.
Slowly he worked his phone free of his pocket and checked the time. Apparently it had been hours of being a useless mess curled up on the floor after all. With a slow and heavy exhale Jon tried to decide if it was worth it to move to his cot or if he should try to find some statement or other to distract himself with since it wasn’t likely sleep would be feasible after...whatever that was. A shaky inhale had his mind wandering to his scars again. Jon had suspected for a while now that the scars left by other Avatars had left more behind than just bad memories. The feeling of worms in his skin or fire on his hand just a little too real sometimes. He had hopped it was just his mind supplying the memories of the pain and the fear, but after this? It had felt like every one of his scars had been wrenched open, fresh and new, every horrible memory of his encounters with the entities bubbling up to the surface. Like his suffering was just another statement to be recorded and replayed for the Eye to consume.
Jon decided he didn’t want to risk whatever fresh hell his nightmares would give him tonight and resigned himself to another sleepless night of work and coffee.
-------
Jon had managed to avoid setting off his scars in any significant manner for a while now. He had one annoying breakdown shortly after he woke from his coma, the End coming back in a rush as he tried to fall asleep, trapping him with sleep paralysis as all his other scars had jumped at the chance to make him hurt all over again. But that had been a few months back, since then he’d mostly only had the usual issues with his hand, and maybe a few twinging pains where his ribs used to be if he turned or bent wrong, and just a couple sleepless nights of not being able to breath when the blankets wrapped just a bit too tightly around his chest. Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with quietly while he was alone.
Jon wasn’t alone now though, Daisy had come to sit in his office while he worked. He’d just finished recording the statement and was making a few notes when it started. It was stupid really, he should have been more careful, he knew he couldn’t twist too quickly anymore. He’d moved to grab a fresh sticky note and had knocked a few folders off his desk in the process. Without thinking past the thought of stopping any papers from scattering and adding to his workload when he’d have to sort them back into proper order Jon had practically lunged half out of his chair, arm outstretched and torso twisting just a bit too far. He realized what he’d done immediately as the pain flared bright and sharp where ribs should be and with a hard gasp it quickly began spreading like a bruise across his chest. The arm of the chair ate into his stomach and he swore it was digging further into his flesh, pressing deeper and deeper like a hand reaching in to pluck his ribs from his chest. It was hardly a momoent before the whole chair toppled over with him as he failed to re-balance himself in his idiotic lunge.
Once again acquainted with the rug in his office, Jon took in several gasping breaths as the pressure in his chest tightened, the bruising pain and digging hands becoming heavy behind the pinch of his ribs.
“-on?”
His breath was coming shorter and shorter and he could feel dirt rubbing into his check, threatening to spill down his throat and into his lungs. The panic was building far too quickly to stop and Jon found himself clawing blindly at the ground trying to dig his way out, he had to get out he couldn't breath he couldn’t movehecouldn’tbreath.
“Jon!”
Arms grasped his own and hauled him up into a sitting position, marginally lessening the pressure on his chest. His missing ribs twinged in protest and for a second he thought there were more hands, too many hands, but no it was just the two locked tight around his forearms, thankfully not sinking into his skin and down to bone.
“Jon. Breath. In. And out. Nice and slow yeah?”
Someone was talking, there was a face in front of him and it took far too long for his vision to orient so he could recognize Daisy was there. She was gripping his arms, holding him steady and breathing loud and even. Jon tried to mimic her, breathing in, out. They were still too short, still too fast, and the walls were still to close, the ground still threatening to open up below him.
“That’s it. Keep breathing. Let’s get off the floor yeah? Come on.” Daisy tugged on Jon’s arms, pulling him up til he could get his legs under him, nearly stumbling over the fallen chair, and walked him carefully towards the center of the room. Something lessened then, the weight on his chest slipping ever so slightly and Jon took in one gulping breath before catching on to the slow rhythm Daisy was still keeping with her own breathing.
“There you go. Just breath, Jon. We’re safe here. You got us out, remember?”
“I-I…yes” Jon swallowed hard, trying not to wince at the taste of fresh dirt coating his tongue, “I...I’m fine. Thank you. Daisy. I...I’m fine now.” The trembling lie was out before he’d even begun to assess if he was, in fact, fine or not and Daisy quirked an eyebrow at him.
“You’re really not.”
“I am. I’m-” Before he could finish whatever weak excuse his mouth was running with Daisy let go one of his arms and he nearly collapsed back to the floor, efficiently proving her point. Jon cleared his throat, disturbing another layer of dirt in his throat, “I...right...”
They stood there for a while longer, Daisy keeping up her steady inhale and exhale of air until Jon managed to wrangle enough strength back in his legs to stand on his own.
“It’s okay to not be okay, you know?” Daisy’s voice was quiet, not quite hesitant, but close. She was always so quiet these days.
Jon laughed a quiet breath, “I could say the same to you.”
Daisy gave him a small smile, “Yeah well, easier to follow someone else’s advice than your own.”
“True enough.” Jon returned the smile. The pain in his chest had dulled significantly, and none of his other scars had acted up, which he was always thankful for. Small mercies and all that. Jon was also grateful that Daisy had yet to release his arms, her grip wasn’t firm, exactly, but it was grounding. It gave him something to focus on besides the pain and the fear. They spent a few more moments in silence, keeping each other steady.
Jon frowned when he noticed the papers still scattered on the floor, “Ah, the files…” He almost moved to pick them up, silently chastising himself for making the mess in the first place, but Daisy held him still.
“I’ll clean them up later.” Daisy huffed, “You want to get out of this dusty office for a bit? Go get some coffee or something?” Daisy finally asked, returning them to some semblance of normal, “I think it’s almost lunch anyway.”
Jon considered it a moment, trying to judge if he could manage walking that far, but the walls of his office were still just a bit too close. Being outside and above ground for a bit would be worth whatever soreness he’d suffer later. “Yes. That...that sounds good.”
“Good. Come on then.” Daisy looped one arm around his to pull him to the door and again he was quietly thankful for the extra support. Jon was thankful he hadn’t been alone this time.
-------
It was odd, at first, living together, sharing space with each other, learning each other's quirks and habits, but it was also nice. Having someone there, close by, someone Jon trusted, someone he felt safe with and hoped -- god he hoped -- felt safe with him. They still had their bad days of course, days when Jon’s thoughts lingered too long on some secret the worker at the shop held and the hunger throbbed behind his eyes and in his throat, or days when Martin was a bit too quiet, too absent, and the fog rolled from his shoulders and nearly filled the tiny cabin with it’s deafening silence. But they were there for each other now. There to pull the other back and keep each other steady with fingers intertwined and quiet murmurs of assurance and affection.
Jon didn’t think he’d ever stop being grateful to Martin for staying with him, despite everything.
It was one of the better days when it happened. They’d gone out for a walk, the country side was beautiful and they’d been taking regular walks together to simply enjoy it, pointing and cooing about any cows they spotted. There were a few regulars they’d given nicknames too by now and they’d always ask how each of them was when they saw them.
“And how’s Sherri doing today?” Martin grinned at one of the red-brown cows happily munching away on grass. “Found some tasty greens have you?”
Jon couldn’t help the fond smile that crept across his face as he joined Martin in greeting the other cows.
A mist was rolling in across the hills, and they decided to cut their walk short rather than risk getting caught in it. It caught up with them just as they got back to the safe house, rolling gently over the dirt road and obscuring the landscape around them, the condensation quickly clinging to their clothes before they ducked inside.
Shrugging out of their coats they left their shoes by the door and Martin headed to the kitchen intent on fixing some tea to stave off the chill settling into air. Jon shuffled over to the fireplace, piling a couple logs in and stuffing old newspaper under it for kindling. A cold draft washed across him when he opened the flu sending a shiver all down his back. Jon turned to grab the lighter, but his hand was trembling and he stared at it a moment. The cold seemed to seep into him then, the wet drops of condensation still clinging to his hands turning to frozen points speckled across his skin. Jon took in a breath, his mind trying to urge his hand forward to grab the lighter and start the damn fire so he could warm up, but that just allowed the cold into his lungs. Another moment had the panic squeezing in his chest as he realized what was happening and he lunged for the lighter intent on keeping the chill at bay. He was not going to ruin this lovely day they’d been having with another one of his fits.
The cool hard plastic of the lighter was in his hand now and he desperately tried to steady his fingers long enough to flick it on. He tried once. Twice.
“Fuck,” He spat the curse at his hands. Again. There! The spark ignited and he thrust the lighter towards the kindling, the flame barely managing to survive his shaking long enough to catch. Allowing himself a brief sigh of relief he tossed the lighter aside as he watched the fire spread slowly through the newspaper and up to lick at the logs.
“Come on, come on,” Jon huffed, willing it to light faster as he held his hands up trying to catch any warmth before his fingers went numb. The first log finally caught and there was a burst of warmth that broke through the cold and set off pins and needles in his hands. Eyes squeezing shut, Jon heaved out a breath and willed his hands to warm faster. However frustratingly slow, it seemed to be working, the fire at his front gradually chasing away the chill resting heavy on his back.
“Not today,” Jon breathed, the trembling in his hands dying down, “not today.”
He took a moment to just breath, waiting for the last of the chill to leave, the heat creeping further up his arms. It took too long to notice when the heat stopped spreading and simply sunk itself beneath his skin, his right hand slowly growing warmer, and it was too late when he snatched it back from the fire with a hiss. The muscles were already locked up, his fingers stuck in a gnarled hook as the waxy burn quickly coated his flesh. Jon tried to take a steadying breath, hoping to brace himself against the pain, but the cold was back and it bit at his lungs harshly and he was alone and in pain and freezing and burning and it hurt it hurtithurt.
With a whimper Jon curled into himself, clutching his hand desperately to his chest as it burned anew. The cold was squeezing tight in his chest and the hole in his ribs gave an amiable twing alongside it.
“No no no no,” Jon was muttering, his voice was already turning hoarse and he coughed against the dirt trying to join the cold in his lungs. He was freezing and burning and suffocating all at once, and the darkness behind his eyelids was seeping into his skull. A pathetic sob broke through and Jon tried desperately to keep the rest in, he knew if he started it would just be harder to breath and this was going to be bad enough already. Somewhere a door creaked open, and Jon could hear the skittering of tiny legs across the wood floor, strands of silk soon tangling into his hair and across his bare skin. A fresh wave of panic wrenched another strangled sob from him and he tried hard not to think of everything hiding in the dark, if he could just open his eyes.
“--n? A-- -ou --ri--t?”
The blood was rushing in his ears now as cold steel pressed at his neck, the crackling of the fire sounding muffled and distant as the feeling of something at his back made him want to run and hide.
“Jo-?!”
A hand was on his back then, so many hands , pushing and prodding and pulling his flesh and molding it into something new, something not his own and he could barely remember his own name. His back was screaming now with cold, and hurt, and hands, and dirt, and he didn’t know if he was laughing or crying or screaming silent in the dark.
The hands pulled him up then, a sharp gasp breaking through the dirt in his throat as his bones grinded against one another with the movement.
“Jon!”
His eyes snapped open then and he saw nothing and everything at once, blinded by too much and too little. There were eyes watching and staring and cataloging his suffering. And then…
“Martin?” Jon wasn’t sure if he actually said it or if his mouth just made a motion to, but it didn’t matter because Martin was there, looking at him with such fear, but he was there. Jon wasn’t alone, and that was something.
“Jon, can you hear me?” Martin’s voice sounded so far away, trembling with panic, and his eyes filling with tears. Jon tried to breath, tried to respond but the dirt was thick in his throat again and he barely managed a croak. The cold at least, had retreated some at Martin’s presence, a warmer tingling settling over his skin like skittering legs crawling over his flesh eager to burrow. Jon tried to ignore it, tried to focus on Martin, on breathing, on anything but the pain and fear clawing into him.
Jon tried speaking again, he thought he managed some noise then, quiet and barely recognizable, but still, he hoped, in some semblance of Martin’s name. Martin sucked in a breath then, reminding Jon that he should probably take one himself, even if it still hurt.
“Y-you’re okay. Jon. You’re safe here. We’re safe” Martin sounded like he was half trying to convince himself, “Just...just breath. You’re okay.”
Breathing was still a struggle, but he tried. Martin wasn’t keeping as steady a rhythm as Daisy tended to whenever she had helped him, but it was still better than his own shaking mess of gasping for air. Jon desperately hoped that the worst of it was over with, that he could start clawing his way back to functional. He nearly sagged back to the floor with the oncoming exhaustion, but Martin managed to catch him before he got far. Something sharp was suddenly digging into his shoulder then and he cried out, flinching away from the threat of violence and pain surging to the front of his mind.
“Oh god, sorry! I-I’m so sorry!” Martin ripped his hands away, his voice ebbing back into panic. Jon was listing sideways without the support, and he was falling and falling and- oh god this was never going to end was it? Martin managed to catch him again, avoiding his shoulders this time and saving his head from cracking against the floor, though that may have been a mercy at this point. The room was spinning now, the walls twisting and bending and curling in around them as nausea curled in Jon’s gut threatening to bring up whatever breakfast they’d had that morning.
“Breath, Jon,” Martin was talking again, his hands hesitantly holding Jon up, ghosting over his arms like he was afraid to hurt him again, “You...you’ve got to breath. It’s going to be okay. God, please be okay.” Martin sounded so scared and Jon did try to breath then, opened his mouth to suck in whatever meager air he could get, but his throat was clogged and he couldn’t get anything into his lungs. Black was creeping into his vision now, sluggishly cloying it’s way out from behind his eyes. His rapid pulse was slowing and the cold was crawling up his limbs again, he could barely feel his fingers. Everything was quickly going cold and numb and he was dying. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t see, couldn’t move, he was dying- stop please, no not like this notlikethis.
A warm pressure settled against his forehead and for a moment he had the wild notion that an eye had opened there, but nothing else came of it other than a quiet murmuring just in front of him and he strained to hear it through the pain and terror coursing through him.
“Please. Look at me, Jon. Y-You’re okay. Come back to me. Please, Jon .” Someone was chanting quiet words like a prayer but his mind couldn’t quite get the shape of them to understand what any of it meant. Feeling was slowly coming back to his arms and legs, the warmth returning with the itching, crawling, writhing of worms on his flesh, and at least that was familiar, something he had spent years with now. Jerkily his arms moved, almost hugging himself a moment before his fingers dug into the circular scars on either arm, racking across them with his nails to help dull the biting sensations. Large hands quickly stopped the scratching, his own hands engulfed briefly as they were moved aside and those larger ones traced back up his arms, rubbing more warmth into him and brushing away the worms.
“Come on, Jon. Open your eyes. Look at me, please.” Martin was mumbling, his voice quiet and warbling in the space between them. Those were Martin’s hands, Jon realized finally. Martin was still there. Of course he was. Martin wouldn’t have just left.
Gradually, with an effort, Jon managed to open his eyes, he couldn’t remember closing them. It felt like the darkness wanted to cling to his sight, but he quickly blinked it away, his gaze settling with no small amount of relief onto Martin. Those warm hands were still gliding up and down his arms, soothing away the tremors wracking Jon’s slight frame and grounding him back into his own skin again. Their foreheads were pressed together and Jon’s gaze darted across the map of freckles that was Martin’s face before settling firmly on those red rimmed, blue-grey eyes. Martin’s face was flushed from crying and Jon tried to reach up, to wipe the tears away, but his arms weren’t quite listening to him yet and it was hardly more than a twitch.
“Jon,” Martin breathed his name with a small smile, “there you are.” He said it with such relief and such hope that Jon couldn’t stop the helpless gasp of breath that he knew was about to send him into a fit of sobbing.
With a valiant effort he held it back long enough to gasp out a quiet, “ Martin ,” before his chest tightened and he was incoherent, his sobs coming quick and loud. Everything felt like it was crashing down and through him and his whole body throbbed with the scars. Breathing was hard again, but each one he managed it felt like a bit more of the terror and hurt was leaving him until little by little he could pull himself out of it completely again.
Martin was quick to pull him closer, tucking Jon’s head neatly under his chin as his arms circled Jon and rubbed soothing circles into his back.
“You’re alright now, you’re alright. I’m here, I’ve got you.” Martin was rambling comforts into Jon’s hair, holding him close but trying to keep it loose in case it was too much, but Jon just pressed closer, finally pulling his own shaking arms up to cling desperately to the other man. Martin tightened his hold then, pulling Jon impossibly closer and continued his mumbled comforts as Jon’s tears soaked into his chest. They sat like that on the floor until Jon’s shoulders gradually slowed their heaving, his sobbing tapering off into the occasional hiccup. Even once his breathing had finally evened out they stayed wrapped around each other, the fire quietly crackling, the heat of it having long since blanketed the room.
Martin had stopped his rambling comforts, but occasionally pressed kisses to Jon’s head while his fingers gently combed through Jon’s hair. Jon spent a moment soaking in the attention, his ear pressed to Martin’s chest so he could hear the steady beat of his heart there, a reminder that he was alive, that they were alive. Alive and safe and together.
The scars still hummed with the memory of fear, but it was quiet now, easy to ignore. A growing numbness in his legs was less easily ignored and Jon tried to roll his ankles, hissing at the static tingling up his legs.
“Uh...Martin…” Jon sounded like he’d been shouting for hours, hell he probably had started screaming at some point now that he thought about it. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little clearer, “Can we...that is, would you mind if,” Jon had to clear his throat again, it felt terribly dry, “mind moving to the sofa? My legs are, ah, falling asleep…”
Martin started a bit when he finished, “Oh! Yes of course!” Martin’s voice was rough from his own bout of crying and he pulled back slowly, his hands resting gently on Jon’s arms. “Are you...can you stand?”
Jon considered it a moment, trying to take stock of himself, “I...maybe? I think so. Let me just...” He extricated himself the rest of the way from Martin’s hold, shaking his legs a bit to wake them up more before he tried pushing himself up. Martin kept his hands close, steadying Jon when he stumbled before he was half way upright. They both managed to get themselves upright and standing with minimal fumbling despite Jon’s shaky legs and carefully made their way over to the worn green sofa. Jon collapsed onto it, earning a horrid groan from the thing. Martin hovered a moment, his hands up, looking like he wanted to curl back against Jon as they had been on the floor.
“I’m going to fetch some water. I’m sure the tea’s gone cold by now but, do you...will you be alright on your own for a bit? I’ll be right back of course, I just want to make sure you’re-”
“I’ll be fine, Martin,” Jon croaked out before Martin could truly start rambling. “Water sounds...lovely right now.”
“Right. Yes. I’ll...I’ll be right back then.” Martin straightened and hurried back towards the kitchen, disappearing behind the door, but leaving it well open this time. Jon took the few minutes alone to take a proper assessment of himself. The heat from the fireplace was comfortable now, no hint of the burning heat in his hand other than the dull throbbing that was still hanging around. The rest of his scars seemed to be in a similar state, which meant his whole body was one giant ache at the moment. His face felt tacky and gross, and Jon frowned a bit rubbing his sleeve across it to try to wipe any snot and tears. A throbbing was building in his head he was half tempted to shout for Martin to bring some pain killers, but he didn’t think he could get his voice loud enough at the moment. It was manageable now at least. Certainly better than that all consuming tidal wave of pain he’d been stuck in barely ten minutes ago. Anything seemed better than that.
Martin shuffled back in then and quickly made his way over to the sofa. He held out a glass for Jon who took it carefully in his left hand, sighing at the coolness of it against his skin.
“Thank you.” Jon took a sip, an ounce of tension bleeding out of him as the cold water soothed his throat. Martin joined him on the sofa then, setting his own glass on the coffee table he dug into his pocket a moment to pull out a bottle of pills.
“Here, these should help,” Martin fought with the cap a moment before getting two pills out of it, “hopefully.”
“Hm.” Jon grunted, downing the pills with the rest of his water. Martin took the empty glass from him, then brushed some stray hair behind Jon’s ear, his hand easily following the curve of it to cup Jon’s cheek. A pleased hum left Jon and he leaned into the touch, the warmth of Martin’s hands a balm against his skin.
“Better?”
“Mm,” Jon turned, pulling himself back into Martin’s lap, “much.” Martin curled his arms around Jon once more, pulling him close and Jon leaned in to plant a kiss to the smile just beginning to tug at Martin’s lips. Martin turned his head and returned the gesture in kind, trailing more kissing across Jon’s cheeks and up his nose to his forehead.
“Anything you need?” Martin asked, soft and quiet and Jon couldn’t resist planting another kiss on whatever skin he could find.
“Just you. Just this.” Jon rested his head against Martin’s shoulder with a contented sigh. He reached a hand out for one of Martin’s and quickly twined their fingers together, squeezing lightly. Martin squeezed back, leaving another kiss on Jon’s temple. Jon let his eyes fall closed then, pressing circles into Martin’s hand with his thumb as he breathed against the other’s neck.
They sat like that for a long while, shifting eventually to lay across the sofa, Jon on top of Martin with his head against Martin’s chest, letting the thumping of his heart lull Jon into a doze. The painkillers seemed to have done the trick to chase off the last of the pain and Jon was quite content to just lay with Martin for the rest of the afternoon. Evening? He wasn’t sure how long it had actually been since their walk that morning, but he didn’t particularly care at the moment.
Eventually Martin came to a decision and broke the peaceful silence, “Jon?”
“Mmhm?”
“Are you up for talking about it?” The question sent a stone of dread sinking into Jon’s stomach and Martin continued with a hand rubbing slow circles on Jon’s back, “We can wait, if you want, but I think...I think it’d be good if we talked about it. At some point.”
“I…” Jon almost wanted to put it off, avoid it as long as he could, but he made himself genuinely consider the question, Martin deserved that, “I...yes. I think...I think I’d be up for that now.” He knew if he waited til later he’d just be more inclined to avoid the conversation entirely.
“Good. That’s good.” Martin cleared his throat, his hand never stopping in it’s path across Jon’s back. “Can you explain it to me? What exactly happened?”
Jon hummed, trying to gather his thoughts into something that would make sense out loud, “Well...I suppose it’s a bit like...like they’re fresh- the scars I mean- like they’re happening over again. Like I’m reliving them again.”
Jon could tell Martin was holding in a breath at that, could feel the tension in Martin’s chest as he processed the information before slowly, gradually letting the breath out.
“Right...okay. And how...how often does this happen? Exactly?”
“Well...not...not too often really. It’s usually- I can usually manage it myself. It’s not always this...this much . I don’t think I’ve ever had a uh...a fit, quite this bad before.” Jon paused for a breath before barreling on, the words tumbling out now that he’d gotten started, “Really it’s usually just one or two at a time, my hand, most often. Just. Just gripping too tightly or...or grabbing something that’s a little too warm might set it off. But, like I said, I can usually manage it on my own. If I catch it soon enough I can...I can interrupt it, I suppose. Before it really gets started. Before it...well…”
“Before it gets how it was today?” Martin questioned softly.
“Yes,” Jon’s quiet after that, not sure what else to add. His left hand has grabbed a handful of Martin’s shirt at some point and he rubs the soft material between his fingers.
“What...what set it off this time?” Martin’s keeping quiet, determined to keep this as calm as he can.
“I...I think it was a few things really. It’s...some of it’s a bit fuzzy…” Jon tries to find that moment, wary of falling into the memory of it all again as he thinks back on when the pain had crept up on him. “I...I think the chill might have started it? It’s...I remember being cold, at first, and...and getting the fire started. I thought I’d stopped it then. Stupid,” He muttered the last word, annoyed with himself briefly before Martin shushed him. Jon huffed quietly before continuing, “I...the fire helped with the cold, but I...I didn’t notice before it set off my hand. After...after that it just, well...it all just went a bit downhill from there.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement.”
“Just...just a bit, yeah.”
They’re quiet again for a while, Jon not sure what else to add and Martin simply processing what’s been said. Jon’s still rubbing Martin’s shirt between his fingers, the silence pulling anxieties back up in his chest.
“Martin I…” Jon starts hesitantly, “I’m...sorry. We’d been having such a lovely morning and I...I couldn’t keep it together long enough to even have tea.”
“Oh hush, I don’t want to hear it,” Martin interrupts him firmly before Jon can spiral into more apologies. “It wasn’t your fault. You’ve been mostly fine since we got here, there’s no way you could have known that today of all days something was going to...to trigger you like that.” Martin huffed, taking a steadying breath, “I just wish you’d told me about this sooner. Then maybe I could have helped stop it somehow.”
“I…” Jon manages to stop himself before he apologizes again, “You’re right. I...I should have warned you this might happen. Although I doubt there’s much you could do to stop it once it’s...once it gets going. But you still helped. In the end.” Jon cranes his neck so he can look Martin in the eyes, “Just you being here helped tremendously.”
Martin offered a small smile then, “I’m glad to hear that. I…” He hesitated a moment, “I won’t lie, I felt rather helpless seeing you like that. I’ve...I’ve got a bit of practice dealing with panic attacks and the like, but that was...it was…”
“A lot,” Jon offered, when Martin couldn’t seem to find the right words.
“Yes,” Martin huffed a small laugh, “It was a lot. And-well...it scared me. Seeing you like that.” Martin took a breath to help collect his thoughts, “At first I thought you’d burned yourself lighting the fire, but then you...you wouldn’t respond at all and I thought you were hurt, that-that something hurt you, that something had found us and- well I supposed that’s not too far off really, but I didn’t know what to do, how to help.” Jon could see the tears starting to form again in Martin’s eyes, hear the tightness building in his voice and he twisted around til he could grab one of Martin’s hands in both of his and hold it close.
Martin swallowed before starting again, “Everything I did seemed to just make it worse for a bit, and I was so scared I was losing you again and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” The tears finally spilled over, the wet trails shining over his freckled cheeks and Jon reached a hand up to wipe them away. Martin leaned into the touch, turning his head to kiss into Jon’s palm.
“I’m so sorry, Martin. I...I never wanted to scare you like that again…”
“I know,” Martin sighed, “I know. It’s okay. Well, no. It’s not really, but...it will be. We’ll both be okay. One day.”
“Yes,” Jon agreed, “I think we will.”