Chapter Text
Martin rushed to the hospital, Gerry in tow. He was shocked they didn’t get pulled over, with how he was driving, but they made it in record time. The two of them took the elevator (Martin would’ve loved to run up the stairs, but Gerry was still prone to bouts of dizziness and they did not need to have an incident), Martin slamming the button for the sixth floor. It ascended painfully slowly. It eventually dinged and the doors slid open, and they quickly made the familiar journey to Jon’s room. It was more crowded than it had been in a while- since the last time the entire library staff had visited, at the very least. Doctors and nurses were active, doing who knows what. Dr. Avery noticed their arrival, and gestured to the hallway. Martin wanted to charge in there, but something in their face stopped him.
“Something’s wrong,” he guessed, heart plummeting at terminal velocity.
“It’s too soon to be sure,” Avery said, though their expression was troubled. “He’s awake, yes, but unresponsive. He won’t respond to any stimulus, and he doesn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings.”
“Can we see him?” Gerry asked hesitantly, leaning heavily on his crutches. Avery nodded.
“Yes, it’ll be good for him to have family here, even if he doesn’t seem aware. We can also discuss the next steps, but that can wait.” That was all the permission Martin needed, and they entered the room. He immediately inhaled sharply. Jon was awake. His eyes were open, and he was sitting up, supported by pillows. His eyes were unfocused and brown. They looked wrong in his face- Martin had been so used to the vibrant green.
“Jon?” He asked, making sure to stay out of the way of the nurse measuring his vital signs. “Are you- can you hear me?” Jon continued to stare blankly in front of him. There was no indication that he’d even heard him. Slow dread began to creep through his body like ice. So much of Jon had been inexorably tied to the entities. The Archivist, the Pupil, the Extinction. With them gone, what remained of Jonathan Sims?
-
Gerry sat calmly in the chair next to Jon’s bed, slowly working his way through his knitting project. Martin had taught him the basics to give him something to do while he was at home under forced bed rest for six weeks. He had quickly become obsessed. The click of the needles and the formation of patterns was soothing in a way he hadn’t expected. He was working on a sweater for Jon, in the shade of green that he always seemed to wear. It was slightly lumpy in places, but that was fine. He hummed along to the quietly playing song, one of Martin’s picks for the playlist. It took him a moment to realize that Jon was mouthing something. He stood up and paused the music.
“I can’t see, I can’t see, I can’t see,” Jon was muttering frantically.
“Jon?” Gerry asked, returning to his bedside. “Can you hear me?” Jon looked at him, then, and something fluttered in Gerry’s chest despite the worry that his words brought.
“Why can’t I see?” Jon asked again, panic clear in his voice. “Who are you? What- what happened?” Gerry’s heart sank. Of course Jon wouldn’t recognize him- not without his black hair, makeup, and piercings. He had a blonde buzzcut, he didn’t know what he was expecting. And he hadn’t put his piercings back after his last MRI, not to mention he was wearing one of Martin’s sweaters over a pair of old jeans. Then the rest of what he said caught up.
“I’m Gerry…you don’t remember?” He asked urgently. Jon’s brown eyes widened.
“Gerry? But I- I burned the page, I swear- why- why are you here? What’s going on?” He babbled, looking around wildly. “Why don’t I Know what’s going on?”
“You’re in the hospital,” Gerry said calmly, though he reached for the Call button and pressed it. “I need to let the doctors know you’re awake. Everything is fine-“
“No, no,” Jon insisted, “you’re dead.” Gerry’s heart felt like it was frozen, and he stood up as the doctors entered the room. Dr. Avery looked pleased, though slightly pained.
“Why don’t you step outside, Gerry?” They suggested gently. “We can discuss this later, but we need to see what his mental state is like.” Gerry nodded, and vacated the room. He sat blankly in the waiting area, hands limp on his knitting needles. Jon didn’t remember him- at all? Why did he think he was dead? Numbly, he realized he should probably call Martin. He dialed the number, and it picked up after one ring.
“Jon’s talking,” Gerry said. He heard Martin inhale sharply. “He- he doesn’t seem to remember me,” he added miserably. “He’s a bit incoherent, but the Doctors are with him now. You should get here. He’ll probably be glad to see you.” He tried not to be bitter at that. He knew Jon and Martin had a bond that he could never come close to, but it still stung. He sat there unmoving and waited for his partner to arrive.
-
Jon was looking at him. There was no pressing weight behind the gaze, no flaying intensity of the ceaseless watcher. Just a regular gaze. But Jon could see him, and he recognized him. Martin was frozen.
“…Martin?” Jon asked quietly. Martin could’ve sobbed in relief.
“Jon. It’s good to see you,” he said, feeling choked up. Jon looked at him, searching for something.
“It worked, then?” He asked, sounding relieved.
“Yes,” Martin confirmed. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
“And you’re… okay?” Jon added hesitantly. “That’s- that’s really good.” He leaned back on his pillows, already looking exhausted. “What about Tim? Is he- is- did he make it out?” Martin’s stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?” He asked slowly. Jon frowned.
“The- the Unknowing? We stopped it?” He sounded unsure, and Martin felt sick. Did he not remember anything? Nothing from after the first coma?
“We did,” Martin said, not sure what else to say. What was he supposed to do in this situation? “You don’t remember anything after that?”
“I don’t- I don’t know,” Jon said quietly. “It’s- my thoughts are- they feel like… why can’t I remember?” He sounded upset, and Martin regretted his question.
“It’s okay to not remember,” he said quickly. “You’ve been through a traumatic event, it’s okay. Do you want to call Tim? He and Daisy and Basira are all fine. We’re okay.” Jon nodded quickly, and Martin took out his phone, dialing Tim.
“Marto? Are you alright?” Tim asked, and Martin abruptly remembered it was the middle of the work day.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he replied. Jon was looking at him with interest, and he put the phone on speaker mode. “I’m with Jon right now, actually, and he’s lucid. He was asking about you.”
“Hi, Tim,” Jon said hoarsely. There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone. Jon wore an expression of concern, and Martin suddenly recalled how bad of terms they had been on before the Unknowing.
“ Jon!” Tim exclaimed. “ It’s so good to hear from you, how are you feeling?” Jon looked at Martin, baffled.
“Tired,” He replied carefully, clearly unsure why Tim was so cheerful and happy to talk to him. It was a bit sad. “And you’re- you’re alright?”
“ Yeah, I am,” Tim said, and Martin could hear the confusion in his voice. “Why?” Jon looked increasingly baffled and slightly dazed.
“Well, ah, the- Martin, how long have I been here?” he asked suddenly.
“Just over ten months,” Martin replied quietly. “Tim, we’ll talk to you later.” He hung up. Jon was looking slightly panicked.
“Ten months?” he demanded hoarsely. “But- what- I’m-” he struggled for words. Martin took his hand, and Jon flinched. Martin dropped it as if he’d been burned. Jon raised his hand to look at it, eyes widening. “What the fuck?” he muttered, as if noticing- right. No burn scar. If Jon thought this was the first coma, which was becoming more and more likely, then the lack of all scars was probably a source of distress. He began to breathe quickly, heart rate spiking. Dr. Avery appeared as if summoned, and Martin found himself shuffled out of the room. Gerry waited on one of the chairs, staring at him morosely.
“The same, huh?” he asked. Martin sat heavily next to him.
“He thinks he’s just woken up after the Unknowing.” He said listlessly.
“Shit,” Gerry muttered. “That’s- that’s bad.” Understatement of the year. Understatement of the entire Anthropocene era, even. What were they supposed to do with that?
-
Jon was- Jon didn’t know what he was. He didn’t have a word for how he was feeling, apart from maybe empty. And everything hurt, a bone deep ache that he had never felt before. His arms trembled as the Doctors lifted them to do their tests, and his heart pounded at the minimum amount of exertion. Not to mention, his head felt fuzzy. He tried to remember something, anything from before, but was usually rewarded with a sharp stabbing pain behind the eyes. Had Martin been there? He thought he might have talked to him. It was good to see a familiar face, at least. It was all he could do to try and stay conscious, though the hours seemed to drift and slip by without his consent.
He vaguely heard someone say his name, though it sounded like it had come from a great distance. He stared up at the ceiling of the hospital room, feeling too drained to even blink. How long had he been laying like that? How much time had passed since he had spoken to Martin? He didn’t know. The silence he spent most of his time in was overpowering, and he half expected to drift away entirely. Sometimes, he heard a familiar tune. Was someone playing music? He didn’t know. And he found that he didn’t much care to. With enormous effort, he closed his eyes.
-
Jon woke to find Georgie sitting next to his bed. He blinked once, twice, and a third time for good measure. She was still there. His mind felt a bit clearer, though, which he took as a sign he wasn’t hallucinating. Maybe. He was undecided on whether or not this whole thing was real.
“Hi,” he said, wincing at how dry and unused his voice still sounded.
“Hey, Jon,” she said, smiling. He was slightly confused- hadn’t she been upset with him before they parted ways? A lance of pain struck through his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Are you okay?” she asked, concern clear in her voice.
“I’m fine,” Jon said, wincing as the pain subsided. “I sometimes get these migraines or flashes- lots of weird symptoms, to be honest.” She nodded.
“Let me know if you need anything from me,” she said. “I’m kind of mad at you, but Martin told me it can wait.”
“You talked to Martin?” he asked hopefully. He felt terrible about distressing his… friend so much, but he had been extremely overwhelmed. Honestly, he was still in a bit of shock. He had missed out on ten months of his life, his scars were inexplicably gone, and the door in his mind that the Eye occupied wasn’t just shut- the door was gone entirely. He kept getting flashes of memories or dreams, but he couldn’t make sense of them. His body ached, his brain hurt, and something was missing. Maybe the memories, but he felt like there was a gaping void in the center of him where everything that made him ‘Jon’ should be. He remembered his name, his job, all that, but not his favorite color, nor his favorite song. Not necessarily important things, but it left him unsettled. Unsure of who he was. Not sure if he even was.
“I did,” Georgie said. “He and Gerry are worried about you.” That was another source of his confusion. How did Gerry- Gerard Keay play into this?
“How did that happen?” Jon asked, not able to hide his concern. “I don’t- I don’t remember.” Georgie grimaced.
“The Doctors said that we shouldn’t overwhelm you by explaining the things you’ve forgotten, that we should let the memories come back naturally. But I know how much you hate not knowing things, so-“ she sighed. “I don’t see the harm, honestly. Gerry and Martin are both your partners, you live with them. You met- through work, I think? You have two cats, one named the Commodore and one named Captain Polly, which I obviously think are fantastic names, and all of you work for the Magnus Institute. You’re on medical leave and so is Gerry. Brain tumor,” she added at his expression. “He’s recovering well.”
“Oh,” Jon said quietly. Then- “do you have a picture of the cats?”
“Of course that’s the first thing you ask,” Georgie said fondly. She turned her phone to him, and he squinted at the screen, vision still swimming slightly. That was probably nothing to worry about, anyway. There was a photo of Georgie holding an extremely fluffy orange cat, sitting next to someone on what Jon thought might have been his couch. The other person's legs were visible, and a smaller, but equally fluffy black cat with extra toes was perched on the legs. She flipped to the next one, which was a photo of the same orange cat loafing on the floor. She was adorable. They were both adorable and perfect. Jon looked at Georgie.
“They're perfect,” he said genuinely. “How’s the Admiral?” Georgie smiled.
“He’s great. I think he misses you.” Jon missed that cat too. He’d had to leave suddenly, and remembered wishing he could’ve reconnected with both Georgie and the Admiral under better circumstances. Maybe she’d be willing to give him another chance? It’s not like he was a murder suspect anymore. She was looking at him a bit sadly.
“What is it?” Jon asked.
“I just- you really scared me, that’s all.” She admitted. Jon frowned. That didn’t sound right. “We had agreed to meet up for the first time in, too long, honestly, and then I didn't hear from you for months? And when I got a call from Gerry, who I’d met once in the store, saying you were in the hospital? Jon, I hadn’t felt fear like that in a long time. Since- well, that doesn’t matter now.” She said quietly, looking at her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Jon said, not knowing exactly what he was apologizing for, but knowing that he meant it.
“It’s- well, it’s not okay, but I forgive you. It’s not like you did it on purpose.” She sighed. “I’m glad you’re awake.”
“I don’t think I expected to be,” Jon confessed quietly. “I don’t remember anything, but I feel… out of place.” Which was a massive understatement. He knew something was cosmically, horribly wrong, but no one would tell him and he didn’t Know. Every time he tried, or when he thought about it too hard, it was like trying to grab something slippery in his hands. He could feel the shape of it for a moment, then it was gone.
“How much do you remember?” Georgie asked gently. If he had the energy, he might’ve glared at her.
“I remember- I remember-“ He frowned. “I don’t know, exactly. What’s today’s date?”
“The 20th of April. Oh, 2013, obviously. It’s been- well, you don’t need me to tell you how long it’s been.” Georgie replied. Jon didn’t know how to respond to that- it- that couldn’t be right. Georgie wouldn’t lie about something like that, would she? No. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t like her- this person wasn’t like her at all, if she was lying. Was this even really Georgie? Was there anyone even there?
Maybe he was hallucinating, he thought grimly as the world began to grow distant. That would make sense. Or even worse, perhaps he wasn’t even awake at all, and this was what his mind could come up with. He felt distinctly like he was being punished for something. He thought frantically back to the conversation they’d been having, but it was like- well, it was like trying to remember a dream. That solidified the conclusion in his mind, as much as anything could be. He didn’t remember being able to speak in his dreams, but that was probably because he didn’t realize he was dreaming. Once he knew the truth, he couldn’t force his mouth to open, much less form words. He watched with vague interest from a distance, like he was supposed to do.
-
Georgie trailed off mid sentence, and sighed. Jon had just- blanked out completely. There was no recognition in his gaze, vision focused on some point beyond her. She knew he hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said. The worst part was, she wasn’t even sure what had set him off- maybe telling him the date? Jon never liked to be short on information, she thought she’d be doing him a little favor. She stood slowly, leaving one of the Polaroids she’d brought of the two of them and the Admiral. She was going to give it to him, but, well. He’d get it next time he was lucid, though hopefully she’d be there next time. She left the hospital room and made her way to the small waiting area. Martin was there, also staring off into space, though his eyes focused on her immediately.
“How did it go?” He asked quietly. He didn’t sound at all hopeful.
“He was fine for almost a whole conversation, then he checked out,” Georgie replied. “Didn’t even realize I was still there.” Martin didn’t seem surprised. Miserable, yes, but that was nothing new.
“The Doctors said that might be the case.” He said. “We don’t even really know how much he remembers, how much- how much he’ll be like he was before. We have no idea.”
“I’m so sorry,” Georgie said a bit awkwardly. How do you comfort your ex's current partner? “He’s- he’s alive, though. And he has people who love him even if he doesn’t know it.” Martin didn’t reply. Georgie went home soon after that.
-
Jon had another visitor, and it was someone he knew, but didn’t recall ever meeting. Because she was supposed to be dead. Though, he supposed, if it truly was 2013, of course Gertrude Robinson was alive. The question was, why was she visiting him? And was it really Gertrude? Maybe he was hallucinating again. He’d already imagined a whole conversation with Georgie, it couldn’t get much stranger than that. He still felt a bit- detached, maybe. Like he was watching through a long tunnel, or maybe through a cloud of static. Gertrude watched him. He watched back.
“They say you don’t remember anything,” she said, voice exactly like he had heard… where had he heard her voice before? He tried to reply, but words stuck in his throat. He coughed slightly, and tried again.
“Yeah,” he rasped after a moment, wincing at how much his throat hurt. Had he been screaming?
“That’s unfortunate,” Gertrude continued. “You did a great service to all of us. I owe you my thanks, but I suppose it won’t mean anything to you.” She wanted to thank him? Why? It was immensely frustrating that he didn’t know. He didn’t say anything. She was still looking at him, not with pity, but with- was that respect? It was odd. Being respected by Gertrude Robinson was not something he thought his dream-hazy mind would’ve come up with. His mind worked frantically to rationalize its own creation, and he lost track of what she was saying, if it was anything at all.
The next time he became aware of his surroundings, Gertrude was gone. He doubted whether she had ever been there at all.
-
Gerry was sure of a great many things. One, he was not going to die from cancer. His treatments had ended months previously, and recovery was going… well, it was going. He still had to use crutches and got dizzy more often than he’d like, but it was better than having a tumor. Two, he loved Martin. Three, he loved Jon. He also loved the Commodore and Captain Polly and a good cup of peppermint tea, but that wasn’t really the point. The point was, he loved Jon, and therefore found himself spending most of his nights in the hospital on the uncomfortable chair next to his bed. Martin visited in the afternoons, Gerry in the evenings. It became routine quickly, and after Jon returned to consciousness, he was there even more.
That night found him in his usual chair, putting the finishing touches on the sweater he’d been working on for the past two weeks. (He’d be done faster, but his hands shook now. It made it harder, but not impossible). He hoped Jon would like it- he’d chosen the softest yarn the shop had. There was a slight sound from the bed, and Gerry saw Jon looking at him. Not quite blankly, but with an odd expression he couldn’t quite place.
“You’re really here, then.” Jon said hesitantly. “That makes sense.” He said, and appeared to relax. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. The- you look different than I expected.” Oh. Gerry felt his face warm slightly, and he fumbled with the needles.
“It’s okay,” he said, because it was. “I do look quite different. Not really goth at the moment, unfortunately.” A small smile flashed across Jon’s face. It was a hesitant thing, but Gerry thought that it could be real.
“What are you- you’re knitting?” He asked, squinting at the sweater.
“Yeah,” Gerry replied, holding it up. “It’s for you. You always liked to wear green, and it’s soft. Here, feel.” Gerry said, holding out the end of the finished sleeve. Jon reached for it, hand trembling with the effort. Gerry knew the feeling. His bony fingers brushed across the material, and he gave that small smile again.
“It is,” he said, arm collapsing back down to his side. His heart rate had picked up at the mild exertion. “Is- did you say I like green?” Jon asked hesitantly. Gerry tried not to let his dismay show on his face.
“You like wearing it, at least. And you’ve said ‘sage’” Gerry drew air quotes around the word, “was the best color. I’m more of a black fan, myself.” The look Jon gave him was distinctly unimpressed.
“I figured,” Jon huffed. “It’s just- I don’t remember things about myself? I don’t know what my favorite color was, or- or what I like. If I like anything at all.” He looked away, up to the ceiling. His face looked even gaunter under the shadows of the room’s dim lighting. He didn’t say anything else.
“Well, I can answer some of those,” Gerry said cautiously, not wanting to trigger another dissociative episode. “You like shitty American drama television, and nature documentaries. You adore cats more than anyone else I know, and you drunkenly rescued the wet rat of a creature we call the Commodore. You’re so much kinder than you let on, and you might be my favorite person. You make terrible jokes and terrible tea. You taught me how to cook and how to survive when my whole world came crashing down. You took me in when I had nothing, and accepted every part of me, even the ugly bits. I’m going to do the same for you, because I love you, and because you did the same for me.” He said, voice trailing off to a whisper at the last part. To his horror, he felt tears begin to prickle at the corners of his vision. Jon reached out a hand again, and laid in on Gerry’s knee.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he whispered. “I thought it would all come back, after. I thought it would be easier.”
“Life’s never easy, huh.” Gerry sniffed. Jon’s hand twitched.
“No, I suspect it wasn’t.” Jon replied. “Was…” he hesitated. “Was dying easier? For you?” Gerry took a moment to process the question. Oh. Oh. Jon thought they were both dead. That’s why he could rationalize his presence. Because- did he think they were trapped in limbo, like he was with the skin book? Gerry decided a bit selfishly not to shatter the tenuous progress they’d made.
“The book hurt,” He confessed. He did remember the feeling of being bound, and it was one of his slightly less frequent nightmares. “It felt like I was being forced to exist when really, I was supposed to be nothing.” Jon nodded.
“That’s what this is, then,” he said. “How did you escape? Or are you still- you know-”
“Trapped?” Gerry finished. “I’m not. I woke up from that nightmare.” Jon was silent for a moment.
“I need to wake up, then. Will you help me?” He asked, expression so hopeful that Gerry was helpless to do anything but acquiesce.
-
“I feel really shitty,” Gerry said to Martin as he slid into their bed.
“Huh?” The other man asked drowsily from the other pillow. “Why?”
“I just got back from seeing Jon,” Gerry confessed, picking up the Commodore from her claim on his pillow and setting her down on his chest. She began to purr immediately. The other cat was nowhere to be found. “He was awake enough for a conversation.” Suddenly, Martin seemed more awake.
“What did he say?” he asked urgently. Gerry hesitated.
“I don’t think he thinks that any of this is real,” he replied after a beat of silence. “He seems to be under the impression that he’s dead, or at least in a state of limbo and everything has been happening in his mind. He thought I was still dead, that’s why he was talking to me even slightly calmly. It- I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want to freak him out again, so I went along with it. Now he wants to wake up. Whatever that means.” Martin’s face was pale even in the darkness.
“I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means,” Martin said shakily. “He always used to talk about dream logic- how do you wake up from a dream?”
“If you- oh. Yeah.” Gerry said a bit numbly. “What should we do?”
“Make sure he’s not alone, probably. Get a mental health professional? This isn’t something I know how to deal with,” Martin said miserably. “I don’t even think he can be convinced against it if he’s already made up his mind.” He sat up, reaching for his phone. “I’m calling Dr. Avery. This- I’m not losing him. Not now.” Martin extricated himself from the bed, and soon Gerry could hear the hushed tones of the Doctor. He laid back, staring at the ceiling, and sank his hands into the Commodore’s fluff. A cold knot of anxiety sat heavy in his stomach. Jon was awake, but that hadn’t made things better. Honestly, things had probably gotten worse. And he was afraid.
Funnily enough, the absence of the Fears didn’t take away the cold dread of a loved one being in danger, or the icy panic that came when Martin returned.
“It’s taken care of,” He whispered. “They’ve got someone there at all hours, and they’ll be starting physical and mental therapy on Monday. It’s- it’s progress, I suppose.” He didn’t sound reassured, and Gerry quietly folded him into his arms, dislodging the cat. Martin wept quietly, his tears soaking the front of Gerry’s shirt.
No, it wasn’t funny at all. And the panic didn’t go away.