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Staring wide-eyed up at an unfamiliar ceiling, Jon felt a kind of fear for he’d not experienced in a while having gotten sadistically used to being the most powerful being in a hellscape of his own making. He forced himself to hold still, unconsciously reaching out for abilities he no longer possessed in an effort to create a sense of safety.
Upton House.
Blindspot.
Right.
Right.
Martin was beside him, deeply asleep, and with considerable effort, Jon matched his slow, even breathing, the fingers of his scarred hand twisted into the filthy shirt he’d been traveling in above where his heart was doing its level best to painfully beat straight through his breastbone. Ever since his various kidnappings, waking up in strange places with no memory of how he came to be there inspired absolute panic until he could parse out the information. But he was here. In this realm buried in another realm where he couldn’t See. And Martin was here. Exhaustion rolled over him, a heavy, turbulent surf dragging him back out into the deep, and Jon turned onto his side to press against Martin’s soft warmth.
“Jon, Jon! What’s wrong?” This time it took solid minutes, scrabbling both for and against Martin, remembering that he was here, somewhere and that meant he was safe, desperate for his solid comfort and reassurance, terrified of the same hands keeping him in the bed. Keeping him from clawing at his own skin in his attempt to get out, out, out, away, away, away. Keeping him from escape! “Jon!” Back arching off the mattress, Jon attempted to twist out of grasping fingers trying to hold him down.
Wrists caught, held together in one hand, another brushing back sweaty curls. Soft words, soft touch, soft noise, soft. All soft.
All Martin.
Filling up his vision. Filling every sense up with him. With Martin. Only Martin.
“I, I...where. Where are we...?” He went lax, exhausted. Confused. Concerned when a crease appeared between Martin’s brows.
“You don’t remember?” A thumb traced his cheek, almost absently.
“N’n’no? Have. Are.”
“Hush, take a breath.”
Upton House.
Blindspot.
“I can’t See here.” Concrete thought was slippery, like trying to hold a handful of the fog that spread over the heath in the early mornings at the safe house.
Jon didn’t recognize this place. A strange light filtering through the windows illuminated Martin’s unconscious form next to him and his throat closed in panic and fear. How did they get here? Who had them? With more effort than it should have taken (had they been drugged? Is that why everything was so loose?) Jon forced himself up on trembling arms, trying not to wake Martin until he was certain of what was going on. Quietly, he slid from beneath clean silk sheets, reaching for the information needed to fill in all the empty spaces as he made his way across the lavish room.
None of this made any sense. But when he tried to dig deeper, to reach for the threads drifting further and further out of his reach, pain lanced through his head. It didn’t stop him from reaching again, probing, worrying at the blank like one would tongue at a loose tooth. It hurt. He had to. He needed to get Martin out of here before--
“Jon-love?”
“Martin...I, I.”
“What’s wrong?” Nothing? Was there nothing wrong? Martin didn’t seem worried but maybe he didn’t know how insidious the entities could be. Had they been tricked?
“Wh’where are we?” An emotion he couldn’t identify flickered over Martin’s face and distantly Jon wondered if they’d had this conversation before. It felt familiar? Like a faded dream or nightmare or memory. “Are we safe?”
“We’re safe.” Placating. So something was wrong. Was this even Martin? Was this a trick? Again, Jon reached for the bank of knowledge just out of his reach, dropping to his knees with the effort and the agony boring into his very self. Not?Martin stepped forward and Jon threw out a palm.
“No! NO! Stay back!”
“Jon?”
“I don’t. I can’t remember. I can’t See.” Shaking, wrapping himself up in cold, bony arms, he wanted Martin. “I. How do I know it’s you?” Voice quivering, tears dripped hot and fast from his chin.
“Oh, oh darling.”
“Who took me? Us. Us?” Martin? made no attempt to move forward or convince him, just lowered himself to the floor, patient. “Are we. Am I?”
“We’re safe.” And how could he believe that when he couldn’t Know? How could he trust his eyes when he knew the Stranger could take people and make them theirs. Take like it took Sasha.
“Who took me, u’us?? Who?”
“No one, love.”
“But I. I.” Jon crept forward, almost subconsciously zeroing in on what he needed more than anything, small and slight in his oversized clothes, Martin’s clothes. “Why don’t I remember?” His voice broke around a sob.
“I don’t know. Come here, darling, come here.” Jon let himself fall into a familiar embrace. This had to be Martin. It had to be. He wouldn’t be able to handle anything else.
“Love, you’re human here, or at least have human needs. Please, have a lie down with me.” Shaking his head, Jon let his entire aching self lean against Martin. They were in the garden, a peaceful spot that quelled the claustrophobia, and he hadn’t slept in days preferring to wander the corridors the whole night long wondering if the glimpses of Annabelle were real or imagined and not really sure it mattered. Anything to escape that sliver of time between waking and awake where he forgot how they came to be here and why.
“I. I don’t...I forget. It’s. Martin.” With a helpless whine, Jon rubbed his face against the clean wool of his well-worn jumper, eyes burning with the lack of proper rest. “Don’feel well.”
“I know,” Martin pressed a short series of lingering kisses among his curls “Come on, let’s have a bit of a kip, hm?”
“No. Stay here.” Pulling up his legs, Jon tucked his bare feet beneath him, pushing his way under Martin’s arm, dragging it around him and hoping to pin them both there. “Stay.”
“Okay, okay.”
Jon woke alone.
With lashes heavy and lined with lead, stomach churning, head pounding, pounding, pounding in his temples to the cadence of his hammering pulse. Swallowing, it was through force of will that he kept quiet when he stood, stumbling over uneven, quicksand tile to press an ear to the door, closing his eyes to listen over the rush of blood sighing through his veins. Despite hearing nothing beyond the room, Jon was too much a coward to try the ornate handle, deciding instead to sequester himself in the bathroom. The porcelain of the tub was cold through the thin fabric of the clothes he found himself in, where it pressed against his bare skin as he curled up close and covered his face with both hands.
It was then he let the tears come, shaking fit to fly apart and relying on that age old belief that if he couldn’t see the monsters then they couldn’t see him either. He would hide here, safe and small and no one would find him. No one could hurt him or touch him or take his skin or burn or cut or hit or slice or yell or blame him if he was here alone with only his muffled and keening cries for company.
“Jon?” He froze, naked toes curling, biting down hard on his thumb and ignoring the sharp hot pain in his hip where he was forcing the joint far past what it wanted. “Jon?” It was a trick. It had to be. They, they wanted him to let down his guard so he’d offer himself up like he’d offered himself to Magnus but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of beguiling him again. The knob turned and he held his breath. Waiting. Martin’s voice louder now for its proximity. “You don’t have to be afraid, love.” The gilded shower curtain was drawn. Jon tasted blood, like old flatware, metallic and bitter and flooding his tongue. With care, Martin climbed into the tub to sit across from him, leaning forward to cup his face in his palms before lowering Jon’s hands with his own, thumbs tracing little circles over the backs of each. It wasn’t long before his cheek was pillowed on Martin’s soft stomach, sore fingers tucked up under his chin.
“I didn’t r’remember.” Murmuring in response to Martin burying kisses in his curls.
“That’s alright.”
Inconsolable, Jon let Martin hold him, so off balance he couldn’t help but let the tears slip in silence over his skin. He didn’t understand why he was so afraid, even with Martin right here. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being kept here even though there was little evidence other than his poor muddled memory.
“It’s alright, love. It’s alright. I’m here. We’re safe. Remember?” Maybe he would. He did sometimes after a while and would flush with embarrassment and shame at his ridiculous behavior.
“No, no, I, where are we, Martin?” He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to be like this.
“Together, darling.” He tugged him closer until the whole room narrowed to only him. “We’re together.”