Jon could feel so much, too much, and it was all agony. He could feel the tower as if it were his own body, shattering and burning, and he could feel the knife in his side, in his actual body, as his consciousness began to slip.
He was dying.
But, through the pain and the thunder of the tower as it fell, he could feel Martin, holding him tightly, the sound of his sobs hurting so much more than anything else ever could. It brought Jon back to himself, and he knew he couldn't die, not yet. He needed to protect Martin. That was all that mattered.
He wrapped them in whatever power he had left, trying to shield him from the fire and the falling glass. He knew he wouldn't last long, that his powers would die out as he did, but he needed to hang on just long enough for them to end up somewhere else.
He was distantly aware of Martin holding him, trying to protect him as well, shield him with his own body, and his heart wrenched painfully. Apparently they both were going to try to protect the other until the very end.
Jon cried out involuntarily as a piece of the tower shattered directly above them, somehow managing to divert the falling debris, and he felt Martin flinch at the sound, holding him even more tightly. And, with a horrendous crash, suddenly they were falling. When they should have hit the ground, buried in rubble, instead they were swepped away, along with the other Powers, drawn inexorably forward like the current of a rushing river. And like a river, it felt like they were drowning, suffocating.
Jon felt like he was being shaken apart, a little less left of him with every moment, sure that once it all stopped, there would be nothing left at all. That was fine, as long as Martin made it. He wouldn't lose him. He couldn't. He needed him to be okay.
And then, just like that, they were out of that horrible in-between, and they were falling again. He noted it as if it were a curiosity, with a detached sort of confusion through his hazy mind. He felt hollow and exhausted and he wasn't sure what any of it meant. He just wanted the oblivion of sleep, of unconsciousness, of death. Anything to end the pain.
Instead, what he got was an impact, his entire world exploding into pain once more. As he lay there, something hit him in the face, something small and hard and plastic and thankfully light. A tape? He heard a few more land nearby and realized that the sharp edges that dug into his back under him were likely more tapes. He'd landed on a pile of them.
Arms wrapped around him again and he found himself being dragged, scraping along the pile uncomfortably. Everything was coming in and out of focus, his consciousness wavering, and when the darkness next cleared, he felt cool grass under him instead.
"Jon? Jon, can you hear me?"
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, stunned, but the voice and the hand on his cheek brought him back to himself and he couldn't help but groan as he was reminded of the pain.
"Oh, thank god," Martin sighed, his voice shaking as he slumped over him in his relief. The hand on Jon's cheek was shaking too.
Jon wanted to reach out, to hold him. Had they made it? Was Martin really okay? But his body felt so heavy, and any movement caused that pain to flair through him again from his side, his head, his back.
"Hang on, okay? Just hang on."
And then Martin was pulling away and everything went dark again. He was brought back to himself by that stabbing pain in his side.
"Jon? Stay with me, okay?"
Opening his eyes, he found Martin leaning over him again, staunching the blood flow. Right, he had been stabbed. It felt like an inconsequential thought, too distracted by the orange flames silhouetting Martin. What was burning? Was it the tower?
He didn't know what was happening and it was so hard to think, to understand anything. And then he saw the blood on Martin's face, the burns; he was hurt after all.
Panicked, afraid it wasn't over yet, that the threat was still there, Jon tried to reach out, tried to wrap them in whatever power the Eye might lend him once again, but he was too weak, and it felt like there was nothing there to answer. And then he felt like he was falling again. Falling into himself this time, the world blurring.
"Jon, no," Martin said urgently, and Jon could hear the fear creeping into his voice again. "You have to stay awake, okay? You have to stay with me, you promised."
That was all Jon wanted as well. The rest of the world could fall away, but not Martin. But he was just so tired.
"Martin, I—"
"No, don't you dare—"
And then everything was darkness once again.
When Jon woke to pain, it felt right. He couldn't think, his mind felt sluggish and hazy, but he knew he deserved the pain, and so much worse. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember anything else.
As he settled into the pain, he realized he could feel something else as well. There was a hand in his, holding him tightly, and the quiet sound of someone sniffing, speaking quietly, voice unsteady.
He recognized that voice. He didn't know how, but he knew it meant everything to him. He wanted to reach out, to latch onto it and never let it go, but he couldn't focus enough to make out any of the words, not really.
"—which hurt like hell, so you'd better hurry up and wake up, because I do not appreciate being kept waiting after ev—"
The voice stopped and he very much wished it hadn't. He tried to turn towards the sound, working out what was his body and how it could move despite the pain.
"Jon?" There was a harsh scraping sound that sent a sharp pain through his head and he felt someone touching— was it his face? "Jon, can you hear me?"
He remembered to open his eyes, then, and it took him a slow, sluggish moment to even piece together what he was seeing. There was recognition there, of course, but it took him a painfully long time to drudge up the name that went along with that fondness that gripped his chest painfully.
"Martin." His voice was weak and hoarse, but it was loud enough to be heard.
"Oh thank god," Martin sighed, voice wavering dangerously as he rested his forehead against Jon's shoulder for a moment. "Don't you dare scare me like that again."
"You're hurt," Jon tried to raise his hand, to touch the bandage on Martin's forehead, his neck.
"And you have literally been unconscious for a day and a half," Martin sighed in exasperation, taking his other hand, stopping his searching touches. "I was worried it might be months again. You can worry about me when I end up in a coma, okay?"
"What happened— Where—?" Jon tried, but his voice gave out and he just didn't have the energy to continue.
"I'm not really sure," Martin said, leaning close, voice low. "The tower was falling apart, and you were—were dying, and then we landed near Hilltop Road on a pile of tapes. I burned them, just in case, and I guess someone saw and called it in. I guess this means we made it through." He laughed a little bit hysterically. "We made it."
"Oh."
Jon felt tears stinging his eyes and it was all he could do to close them, to try to stop the grief and horror and guilt that threatened to crush him. He wanted to turn away so Martin didn't have to see, but it wouldn't have helped.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, we're alive" Martin said, wiping away a tear as it escaped and rolled down his cheek. "We might even actually be safe, for once."
"I'm sorry I put you through this," Jon said, sure he would never be able to erase the sound of Martin sobbing after he'd had to stab him.
It had been such a cruel thing to ask of him, something that never should have happened, if he hadn't tried to take it all on himself, if he hadn't tried to make a decision for the world. He still didn't think this was the right choice, but he was selfish and, in the end, he could never do anything that meant losing Martin.
"Don't think I'm letting you off the hook for lying to me, I'm still angry, but that isn't important right now. How are you feeling? Do you still— Know everything?"
"No," Jon said. "It's like the tunnels, or Salesa's, maybe. I— can hardly think." It didn't help that he was afraid to probe too far. He was afraid of what he would find.
"That's okay, take it slow," Martin said. He settled back into his chair, keeping a tight grip on Jon's hand, reaching up to brush his fingers through Jon's hair.
"I'm just so tired," Jon said, leaning into the touch.
"I know. Get some rest. It'll be okay."
The next time Jon woke, it was dark. He tried to remember where he was, what was happening. When his mind supplied him with memories of the collapsing tower, he sat up, ignoring the pain that flared in his side. He needed to find Martin, that was all that mattered.
He gritted his teeth through a wave of nausea and tried to get up, only to collapse, hitting the ground hard, the world spinning violently. He cursed the Eye and everything else that had ever put Martin in danger, but mostly he cursed himself, for bringing this all about, for not being stronger. He'd crawl across the floor until he found him, if necessary.
"Jon!"
Looking up, he saw Martin rushing into the room, a styrofoam cup of tea in hand. He nearly spilled it in his haste to get to him.
"Martin," Jon sighed in relief, suddenly whatever strength he had mustered was gone, and he sagged to the ground. "You're okay."
"And you're not, stop trying to move!"
Martin carefully supported him and Jon took advantage of the closeness to pull him into a hug, hanging onto him weakly. He was vaguely aware of the tears running down his cheeks, but he couldn't be embarrassed, not right now, not when Martin was here and alive despite everything.
Martin's hands ghosted over Jon like he wanted to touch him, check his injuries, make sure he was okay, but they hovered over his abdomen where they both knew the knife wound was and he withdrew like he was afraid of being burned, simply wrapping him in a hug instead.
Jon held onto Martin like a lifeline. He was okay. They'd made it. He repeated that over and over again in his mind. Whatever else he had done, at least Martin was okay. That was all that mattered right now.
"Are you though?" Jon said eventually, when everything had stopped spinning. "Actually okay, I mean."
"A few scrapes, a few burns, but I'm fine," Martin said with a weak smile. "You, on the other hand— they weren't sure you were going to pull though."
"Sorry," was all Jon could think to say.
"You know what? You're not allowed to get hurt anymore. For a while at the very least. I think you've put me through more than enough stress, thank you very much."
"I'm afraid that isn't really up to me," Jon said into Martin's sweater.
"It is, though! Just stop running into danger at every opportunity."
They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, until Jon's silent tears finally stopped. Feeling Martin's fingers combing through his hair certainly helped. It was soothing.
"Can I get you back up onto the bed?" Martin asked eventually.
Jon just nodded. It was comforting how easily Martin was able to lift him. It meant he really hadn't been seriously hurt. With the relief, though, the fear made room for the guilt again, overwhelming his hazy mind, and the tears started again.
"Jon?" Martin made a distressed noise and brushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand tightly, clearly at a loss for what to do.
"I did it again, didn't I?"Jon whispered. "Doomed another world."
"No, you saved a world," Martin said, with more certainty and determination than Jon had ever felt about anything.
"I'm pretty sure it doesn't count as saving if it was all my fault to begin with."
"It wasn't your fault, and I'll keep reminding you until you believe it."
Jon didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve Martin. He didn't know what he was supposed to do to atone, he didn't think he ever could, not really. But at least Martin was okay. He could focus on that for now, change the subject away from his self loathing.
"I'm glad you're here," Jon said. "I was afraid you hadn't made it."
"Can't get rid of me that easily," Martin said with a smile, but there were tears in his eyes threatening to spill over as well. He brought Jon's hand up to his lips, holding it there for a long moment. "Do you need anything?"
Jon shook his head. "Just you."
"That's sweet, but you really should drink some more water. Maybe eat something."
"Tea would be nice," Jon admitted with a small smile.
"Right!" Martin exclaimed, turning to get the styrofoam cup of tea that was already growing cold where he'd left it on the floor behind him. "Best I can do right now, I'm afraid."
He helped support Jon so he could drink and, while it didn't fix anything, not really, it was still a kind of comfort he hadn't had in so long. Finally, it was something that wasn't ruined by the apocalypse. Martin leaned forward and placed a kiss to his forehead once he'd taken a drink, and that felt wonderful too.
He didn't know what he was supposed to do, now. He didn't know anything, except that he loved Martin. So he held onto that.
"I love you."
"I love you too," Martin replied, his voice unsteady. "We'll get through this. Together."
Jon nodded even though he wasn't entirely sure he believed him.
