sleepy (✨chronic✨)

Martin felt the soft pressure of a hand on his shoulder and looked up. The woman, Mina, was looking at him with unbearable sympathy clear in her dark eyes, like he was something fragile; a cracked vase full of water that could fall apart at any moment. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes and was sure he looked utterly pathetic. He closed his eyes for a moment and held his breath, trying to gain some semblance of control. Then he looked resolutely at the strange doctor, Van- something or other, and spoke: “I need to see him”, then choked out a soft “please?”.

The doctor nodded and gestured toward that cursed door that had stood there mocking him for hours as it stood in between him and the man he loved. (Never had anyone hated an inanimate object as much as he had hated that door… well maybe except for Jon with that poor umbrella). He steeled himself for a moment before following him in. The air was thick and oppressive, the odor of herbs and something heavier permeating his every sense. The room was decorated in that same strangely cluttered gothic vintage style as everything around here: a so-called “oriental rug” on the floor and patterned wallpaper adorned the walls, partly hidden behind an abundance of paintings hanging in gilded frames. A lot of very strange nick-nacks and decorative items adorned crowded shelves and cabinets. Martin thought he saw a pair of taxidermied frogs frozen in the middle of a bloody sword fight inside of a glass dome, and a rough looking taxidermied hare with large and slightly traumatized eyes staring straight down at him from atop the shelves. He shuddered slightly and turned away. He had more important things to worry about.

There, lying in a stranger's bed, was the unconscious and sickly form of Jonathan Sims, his torso wrapped like a mummy in white bandages and hair laying in a halo around his head. His skin was pallid and ashen; the scars adorning him only added to the fact that he looked more like a corpse than a man. An almost unnatural stillness lay over him, and Martin´s mind flickered uncomfortably back to the hare on the shelf. The cloud of dread returned to him full force, filling his throat and lungs and leaving his hands cold and numb. He sat gingerly on the bed beside Jon, trying not to rustle him too badly as he did so. He brought a hand up to his lover´s face, just shy of touching it, and tried as he could to steady his racing heart. “Jon?”, he choked out. It sounded more like a sob than anything. The man beneath him said nothing; did nothing. Still as a tomb.

Martin looked back at the trio huddled in the doorframe, trying their best to look as if they had not been staring at him. He didn’t really care that they were. He didn’t really care about anything at that moment, except for his lover lying motionless beside him. He looked pleadingly at the doctor. “Is… Is he…”. He couldn’t get the word out; it clung to his tongue and caught against his teeth as he tried to spit it out. If he said it, it would become real. A real possibility. If he said it, it might be true.

The doctor stepped forward, his bushy brows creasing as he looked down at Jon. When he spoke, Martin noticed absently that he had a very distinctive accent, though he could not quite place it. “You are asking if this man is dead, correct? He is not. Even though he probably should be, considering all things. He lost a lot of the blood, and I am not quite sure that he is completely out of the woods as of yet, but he seems to be stable at least. If he gets worse, I would suggest that we perform what we call transfusion of blood, that is to transfer the blood from full veins of one to the empty veins of another. It hopefully will not come to that, but if it does, I think it best you give the blood, as you seem to be the most closest to him-“.

“What? No!” Martin could not believe what he was hearing from this ´doctor´.

The man looked surprised at the interruption. “What do you mean, my good man? I assure you; it is the latest the technologies has to offer. I have done this before with great success”.

Martin let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “You can't just mix blood between people based on how ´close´ they are. Me and Jon don’t have even remotely compatible blood types. And even if we did, there are so many other factors at play than just the broad categories, so it would be way too risky. Are you even a doctor?” He knew he was getting worked up, but he couldn't help it. He had trusted this man to take care of Jon, for some godforsaken reason. He had trusted the kindness of those two strangers, and their unquestionable faith in this man. It felt a little too close to betrayal in this sleep deprived and stressed-out state.

The couple in the doorway looked a bit baffled at the situation. The man, Jonathan, stepped into the room. “Now see here, sir. I understand that you are upset, but that does not give you the right to disrespect Van Helsing. He is a brilliant doctor and professor, and doubtlessly one of the wisest men of our time!”

Time. Right. Because based on what he had seen so far, they were most definitely in a different time than they had started in. He had very little knowledge of architecture and clothing styles, but with what he had seen so far he would guess they were sometime in the 1800s, maybe? And whether they had only travelled through time, or if they were in some sort of alternative world, he had no idea. But either way, it would not really be fair of him to judge these people based on his own knowledge from a different time far in their future. This probably was the latest and greatest contemporary medical knowledge had to offer, even if it was oversimplified and dangerous nonsense. He sighed. Oh, how he wished Jon was awake. He would know what to do.

“I´m sorry, I didn’t mean any offence”, he said as he looked back at the doctor, Van Helsing, but he did not look offended in the slightest. He looked more intrigued than anything, looking at Martin with a dark and strangely knowing stare that reminded Martin vaguely of Jon. God, Jon. Please be ok.

As quickly as a cloud passing over the sun, his expression changed and was replaced by a polite smile. “You have no need to apologize. I am afraid Jonathan here has tendencies to be very protective over those he considers his friends, and I find myself so lucky as to be counted among them”. He did not ask any questions, though Martin could clearly see he wanted to. “We will speak more at a later time. For now, I must insist that my patient gets the rest he needs without the interruptions. The three of you look exhausted as well after this night’s misadventures. I suggest you get some of sleep as well. You are of course welcome to stay here. Friend Jonathan, if you could show our guest to a spare room?”

“I won't leave him.”

“I do believe it would be in both of your best interests. I will keep a vigil eye on him and wake you if there are any changes” Van Helsing insisted. Martin was already shaking his head.

“No. I won’t leave him. I´m sorry, I just can´t.” The mere thought of leaving his side, of not knowing if he was ok, sent a cold wave of panic through him. He also didn’t completely trust these people, especially the doctor. Their kindness seemed genuine enough, but there was something in the doctor's eyes that set Martin's teeth on edge. It seemed that he did not trust Martin and Jon either; none of them did. They had the same weary nervousness about them as he had become so accustomed to, both in himself and the people around him, after starting his work at the Archives. It was not the naïve and blind terror of victimhood that he had seen in many of those who flocked to the Institute in a desperate attempt to gain some semblance of control over the horrors that clung to them like a malicious shadow. No, this was different. More familiar. It was the paranoia of one who has faced the shadows of the world, unblinking; of someone who has dealt with monsters and come out triumphant, but in the process realized just how dangerous the world really is.

Which could only mean one thing: whether these were the Fears in some form, or different dangers; they were not free yet.

---