Writing, mostly

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John was being burned alive. He couldn’t remember where he was or what was happening, all he knew was that there was a searing pain across his chest, weighing him down, pinning him in place. He flailed in his desperation to get away, wondering if Jude Perry had returned to finish the job. The weight lifted as he cried out and he scrambled away only for the surface he was on to give out under him and he fell, colliding with the hard floor.

He barely had a grasp on his surroundings but had enough to realize he was on the floor of a room. He felt weak and exhausted, he knew there was no hope of him getting away so he dragged himself forward into the corner, huddling there as he covered his face, knees up to protect his chest, awaiting whatever violence would befall him. 

“John, hey, are you okay?”

John flinched violently at the voice only to realize it was Martin. He was here. It had been so long, but he was here kneeling before him, so close he could reach out and touch. He felt tears well up in his eyes as the rush of emotion overwhelmed him, he was just so relieved, so glad he could see him again, that he appeared unharmed. And he was talking to him, he wasn’t looking for a reason to escape, he was staring right at him. 

Martin made a distressed noise and reached a hand out towards his face, and John recoiled violently. He hadn’t meant to, he didn’t want to if it was Martin, but he couldn’t help it. Touch had become synonymous with pain, the only people who had been willing to get that close to him lately had intended him harm. And he knew Martin, he would trust him with anything, and he desperately didn’t want to do anything else to push him away. 

It was too late, though, because Martin was withdrawing his hand, and John had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything, because it wasn’t like he deserved the comfort. He wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing, otherwise he might surge forward and grab him like he might disappear. And maybe he would, maybe that was a legitimate fear, he did it so often. But he couldn’t let Martin see how weak he’d become, not after he’d abandoned everything for him. He must already be so disappointed, to find him like this after everything he had done to save him from the Lonely. His chest ached at the thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Martin said, and John might have laughed if he wasn’t so close to tears. 

He had so much to apologize for, and no idea how he was supposed to atone. And he was only making things so much more difficult for Martin. How long had he wanted Martin to reach out to him? And now that he was, he couldn’t stand to be touched. John had so little to give, and it seemed there was less of him every day. He never should have gotten out of the Lonely. He could never be worth all this. 

“Hey,” Martin said, urgency in his voice.  “Stay with me, okay?”

“Why did you pull me out?” John asked, threading his fingers through his hair, gripping until it tugged painfully at his scalp. “I don’t deserve—“

“You do,” Martin exclaimed, interrupting him.

He reached a hand out, and he knew he was trying to distract him, to get him to stop hurting himself without being the one to initiate the touch, and John could feel tears welling up at how thoughtful he was. How kind. It was too much. He relented and reached out, but the moment their hands came in contact, they both gasped in pain, recoiling. It was that scalding heat again, and John thought for sure his hand had to be blistering from it. No real loss there, one of his hands was already twisted with scar tissue. It would just mean they’d match. But his hand was fine and so was Martin’s. 

“You’re freezing,” Martin said in concern. 

Was he? He supposed he did feel cold, but more than anything there was just a numbness in him, down to the bone. If he was so freezing cold, he wouldn’t be able to tell. But Martin had felt burning hot in comparison, so it made sense. 

“It’s the Lonely, isn’t it?” John asked. 

He didn't really need to. He could feel its call in the space between words, in the silence. Behind his ribs. He could feel it in the guilt, in the hatred and disgust and disappointment he had for himself, that he always waited to see reflected in the eyes of those around him. 

He wasn’t entirely sure how he expected Martin to react to his words, but he definitely didn’t expect to see his face shift into one of pure determination even after everything he’d done for him. 

“It won’t come here,” Martin said. “I won’t let it. Can you stand up?”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to just sink into the floor and disappear. But Martin was looking at him, and he could never deny him anything. He dragged himself to his feet and followed him into the main room. There was a fire burning brightly in the wood stove, Martin must have lit it when they’d first arrived, and he felt guilty yet again for leaving him to do all of this on his own. 

He must have been staring at it for longer than intended, because a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he turned to find Martin at his side. He ushered him to the couch where he draped another blanket over him, practically tucking him in before handing him tea. It felt impossibly hot, he couldn’t touch the mug directly, but he still cradled it close, smelling the aroma. He had missed Martin’s tea so much, he hadn’t thought he’d ever have it again. 

“Y-you don’t have to do all this,” John said, suddenly choking up at the overwhelming swell of emotion, the nostalgia. He wished he could go back to the days when they got lunch together almost every day, when Martin might choose to be with him, because he knew he wouldn’t be here if he had any other choice. If John wasn’t such a failure. 

“What, make you tea?” Martin said much too casually, no doubt trying to lighten the mood, to joke. 

And then John was crying. He hated himself so much for it, it was just going to make Martin feel even more obligated. He didn’t remember what happened to the tea, Martin must have taken it from him before he spilled it all over himself, because the next thing he knew he was doubled over, clinging tightly to the blanket, apologizing over and over. 

It took him a bit to come back to himself completely. Martin was kneeling close beside him, too afraid to touch him, whispering reassurance, and John just berated himself all over again for forcing Martin to do even more for him. 

“Hey,” Martin said, once he’d managed to fall silent. “You’re safe. And you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I made you give up everything,” John said, so close to devolving into tears again. He didn’t want to say it, to see Martin’s frustration and rejection directly, he’d been so gentle with him and he wanted to live in that for as long as he could. But he had to ruin everything. He couldn’t let anything go. 

“What are you talking about?” Martin asked. 

“Your plans, everything you were working towards with Peter Lukas—“

“John,” Martin interrupted him. “You are the only thing I care about. I was only working for Peter to try to protect you. Nothing else matters.”

“I-I-I don’t—“ John stuttered out. “You shouldn’t—“

“I love you,” Martin said. 

John’s mind came to a screeching halt. He didn’t know what to do with that, he thought he’d missed his chance, he thought he’d ruined everything. And somehow this only made him feel even worse, because he’d tricked him into still caring, even after everything. 

“You can’t—“ he tried, but words failed him. 

“I know how it looks,” Martin said. “I’m sorry I stayed away for as long as I did, but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” John said, shaking his head, unable to meet his eyes. “You were right to stay away. I’m not— I’m not me anymore.”

“I know the Lonely can make you feel like that, but—“

“I’m just the thing that woke up after Jonathan Sims died.”

He heard the horrified little intake of breath from Martin even if he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes, and he felt so horrible for causing it. But Martin needed to know. He should know already, really, but maybe he needed to put it into words so he would stop holding onto false hope. He wasn’t sure if there was even anything of himself left. What was him and what was just impulses from the Eye? Every action he took was selfish and self serving. But then, he had been selfish and cruel before as well. It was probably a good thing Jonathan Sims was dead. He couldn’t hurt anyone else. 

“Don’t say that,” Martin said, voice suddenly hard and it took him by surprise. “You’re not. You’re still you.”

John shuddered. If he couldn’t see it now, he was so afraid what would happen when he did realize. Maybe then Martin would finally give up on him like he should. He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt him too much. He’d said it himself, Martin had already grieved for him, so there was no point in doing it again. He was just so tired of hurting the people he cared about most. The people he was trying to protect. 

“You had to have suspected it after you learned about the live statements,” John all but whispered, hating having to remind him.  

“Will you look at me?” Martin asked, voice unbearably soft, and how was he supposed to refuse that? “I know you. I can still see all the things I’ve grown to care about in you.”

“You haven’t been there,” John said. “You haven’t seen how far I’ve fallen, the terrible things I’ve done. I’ve changed too much.”

“We all have.” Martin said with far too much understanding. “You’re still you. Let me prove it to you.”

“How?”

“Just stay with me and live. I’ll show you.”

And then John was crying again, how could he not? He couldn’t understand why Martin was so stubbornly holding onto him. No one had ever wanted to do that before. 

“Why are you doing this?” John begged, needing to understand. “I’m not worth it.”

“You are. I’m not going to give up on you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just going to let you down. You had the right idea before, you should have stayed away.”

“The only reason I did that was to try to protect you,” Martin said. “I never wanted to stay away.”

“I’m scared,” John admitted. “I love you, but you deserve so much better.”

“You— what?” Martin said, suddenly caught off guard. 

“What?” John said, looking up at his confusion. “Did you think I wasn’t scared? It feels like I’m scared all the time.”

“No, you idiot, the other thing,” Martin gave a laugh that was nearly hysterical. 

“I love you,” John repeated. “Did you not know?” 

“Of course I didn’t know,” Martin said. 

“I— I didn’t really have time to tell you, I guess,” John said miserably. “You had your own plans, I didn’t want to put that on you. Especially if you’d moved on.”

“I still love you,” Martin said. “I never stopped loving you. There is nowhere else I want to be.” 

John couldn’t help but give his own little hysterical laugh. Not happy exactly, but at least he didn’t feel like he was going to start crying again. 

“Are you sure about that?” John asked, trying to joke but knowing it was much too serious a question. “I’m too broken, and I might not be me. After everything you’ve seen over the last day, you really want to stay?”

“Yes,” Martin said with such finality. 

John let himself slump sideways, pressing his blanket-wrapped shoulder against Martin’s. And Martin brought up a tentative hand to rub carefully across his back. Thankfully the blanket was enough to protect him from the burning heat because that touch was the only thing he wanted. 

“Is this okay?” Martin whispered, like he was afraid of breaking the moment. 

“More than,” John managed to reply. 

He was still so afraid that he was too broken, that he could never make Martin happy. But he’d asked him to live, to try. And so he would. He would try to find his way back to being a person, and he would try to be worthy of his love.