#once his discord friends left he stopped yawning completely????? and thank god because i was getting very triggered

[iceeckos12]

ouch oof i am sad

remember the scene that @pitviperofdoom was talking about in this post? well this was something she mentioned in the discord server and because i am always a sucker for a good angst, i wrote an entire Thing for it. content warnings under the cut

basically: assistant archivist au where gerry did die. mentions of past character death

Jon’s quiet as Julia explains how to pull Gerard Keay from the page. This is not unusual in and of itself. Jon is not the type of person to fill spaces with endless chatter, or to make small talk for the sake of it. Martin and Jon’s friendship has been characterized by long, comfortable silences and the conversation they make between each one.

This is different, though. Martin can’t tell if it’s because of his connection with the Beholding that he knows, or if he’s just gotten better at reading Jon, but this is - wrong. The last conversation that they had, if you could call it a conversation at all, was Jon quietly asking if they could stop by Pittsburgh to visit the hospital where Gerard Keay died. Since then, he’s been mostly lost in thought.

Martin knows that Jon and Gerard worked together with Gertrude. He’s inferred that they were friends, because Martin has learned to read the quiet grief that crosses Jon’s face whenever Gerard is mentioned. Now he’s wondering if they were closer than he realized.

He doesn’t dare ask though, not in front of Julia. And he’s not even sure that Jon would tell him if he did ask. So he sets aside his worry, turns to the Hunter, and says, “Thank you, Julia.”

Her smile is full of teeth. “Give the door a knock when you’re done.”

Martin watches her go, unwilling to take his eyes off of her for more than a moment. When the door finally clicks shut, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief and looks down to find Jon holding the book in his hands, staring at it, perfectly still.

“...Jon?”

Jon jumps and looks up, his lips pressed into a thin, bitten line, his eyes slightly wild.

Martin knows how to handle Jon when he’s scared, when he’s cruel. He knows how to handle Jon when he’s simmering with anger, when he’s exhausted and frayed about the edges. This is completely new, and he shifts at the unwelcome, familiar feeling of uncertainty. “Do you...want me to do it?”

Jon immediately shakes his head, so quick it looks painful. “No. No, I should…” he takes a deep breath, scrubs his hand through his hair. He takes a few quick steps forward, then turns around, the book pressed to his stomach. “I’ll do it.”

Martin opens his mouth to question the wisdom of that idea, but then Jon is flipping open the book to the last page. He clears his throat once, twice, and then, “His consciousness faded in and out like the tide.”

Jon’s voice breaks on the last word, and he stops.

“...Jon?”

Martin watches the gentle bob of Jon’s throat as he swallows. Then he shakes his head and says in a voice much stronger and clearer than before, “His consciousness faded in and out like the tide. He tried to refuse their drugs…”

He continues talking, his voice rising and falling with every word, like he’s reading just another statement. He slows as he reaches the last few sentences.

“...And his only thought was to cry out for the one he loved. He could feel small, familiar hands gripping his, the soft rise and fall of a voice, hushed like a prayer. The name fell from his lips, but he couldn’t be sure whether or not he had been heard. He hoped that he had been heard. And so Gerard Keay ended.”

Gerard Keay stands in the center of the room. He’s wearing all black, which Martin had expected. Black trench coat, black trousers, black boots, eyes made sharp with makeup. He looks like he just raided the shelves of a Hot Topic, only he makes it work.

Gerard’s gaze flickers from Martin to Jon, and for a moment there is no recognition, no comprehension. He opens his mouth - and then he stills, his eyebrows coming together in vague confusion. His jaw slackens, and his eyes widen, and his expression is cracked open like an egg, revealing the vulnerable yolk beneath.

Jon makes a sound. Martin could not characterize that sound even if he wanted to. It sounds like - like all of Jon’s insides have been scooped out of him, like he’s surrounded by air but he can’t get a breath, like - grief. It sounds like pure, mortal grief.

Just like that, Martin understands.

“Jon,” Gerard Keay says.

And then Jon bursts into tears.

“Gerry,” Jon gasps, but when he reaches out his hand goes right through Gerry’s sleeve. “Gerry, I - “

“Jon,” Gerry steps in close, his hands framing Jon’s face, staring at him the way a drowning man stares at a life raft.

“I’m sorry,” Jon manages. “Gerry I’m so - I promise, I didn’t know, I - “

“It’s okay,” Gerry reaches for Jon’s hair reflexively, but freezes when his fingertips disappear into Jon’s forehead. His expression crumples. “It’s fine, I know. I know. Jon, Jon - ”

And then they’re both crying, tears dripping down. Jon’s face is buried in his hands, and he’s weeping, keening, and Gerry keeps reaching for him, but there’s no way to connect, no way to touch. There’s no relief. It’s just shared grief, endless and pervasive and shattering.

Martin turns away and frantically scrubs his hands across his face. Oh, God. He feels so guilty, but he doesn’t want to be here right now. There is a Shakespearean tragedy playing out before his eyes, the kind that’s brimming with heartache and things left unsaid, and he is powerless against it.

Finally, mercifully, the sound of crying dies away into exhausted silence, except for thick, heavy breathing. Martin keeps his back to them, wanting to give them some semblance of privacy for a conversation that they obviously need to have.

“...so where is she?”

Jon huffs out a quiet laugh, lacking humor, edged with hurt. “Dead. Shot to the chest.”

“Figures.” A meaningful pause. “So are you...”

“Oh, no. No, it’s...oh. Martin?”

Martin sniffs hard and drags his hands over his cheeks before turning around, forcing a smile on his face. Jon and Gerry are standing as close to each other as they can without touching, twin tracks of silver tears on their cheeks.  “Hi, sorry. Just...wanted to give you two a bit of privacy. Martin Blackwood, Head Archivist.”

Gerry dips his chin in acknowledgement, before turning his confused gaze back to Jon. “I thought…?”

“He knows,” Jon says quickly. “I’m...well. It’s complicated. Gertrude hid a lot more from us than we knew.” There’s still a raw hurt in Jon’s voice when he says that, mixed with a lingering sort of nostalgia.

Gerry grimaces. “Did she know about…”

Martin doesn’t realize what he’s asking about until he gestures toward his head, a helpless, reluctant sort of gesture.

“I - maybe?” Jon shakes his head, for the first time turning out of Gerry’s orbit, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’d like to think not, but...it doesn’t matter now. She’s gone. We’ll never know.”

There is a moment of silence. Martin bites his lip, then forces himself to stop when he realizes that he’s already chewed it bloody. It’s hard to watch Jon draw back into himself, put the pain where it can only hurt himself.

“Hey,” Gerry reaches for Jon’s chin, frowns when his hand sinks into the skin. He shakes his head and walks around so he can insert himself into Jon’s field of vision. “Stop. I can feel you blaming yourself, okay? Just...stop. It’s not your fault.”

“...but I should’ve -”

“I am not letting you use this as another stick you beat yourself with,” Gerry interrupts firmly. “You read my page, didn’t you? I didn’t die alone. I’m sorry that you had to go through that, but you don’t understand how much I -”

He breaks off. Jon’s breath rattles dangerously again.

“I always thought that I was going to die alone,” Gerry finishes.

There’s another moment of silence. Jon puts his head in his hands again, and Martin aches at the way Gerry’s face crumples with the desire to reach out, to comfort. They’re in the same room, but there’s a yawning, uncrossable distance between them.

Then Jon lowers his hands. There’s a spark in his eyes that Martin recognizes: the scarce moments before an inferno, before manic determination sets Jon’s whole being ablaze. “Gerry, I’m getting you out of here. I can - you and me, we can figure it out. We can -”

“No.”

Jon pauses. The spark jolts, catches on the cool wave of his confusion. “...what?”

“I’m dead, Jon,” Gerry reaches out for Jon again, then stops. Lets his arm fall to his side, clenches his fists. “I can’t live like this.”

Breathless hurt snatches across Jon’s face. “No, Gerry. I can’t - not when I’ve just found you, I -”

“It hurts, Jon,” Gerry interrupts, and he does not seem like the type to beg, but his voice dips at the end with a desperate plea. “It...it hurts, all the time, and...I just want to rest. Please, just let me rest.”

Jon swallows once. Twice, and his face crumples with sympathy, with empathy, with that awful exhaustion that they’ve all been wearing since what feels like forever. After a moment, he nods.

Gerry lets out a low, quiet sigh of relief, tension draining from his broad shoulders. He smiles faintly, ghosting his knuckles against Jon’s cheek. Jon leans into the touch even though he must not be able to feel it, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth drawn.

“I wish you were here,” Jon whispers.

“Yeah,” Gerry steps back, hiding his expression behind his long curtain of black hair. “Me too.”

There’s a moment of silence. A rearranging of expressions, a folding of hurt and pain back where it can no longer be seen. Jon is once again himself, his expression distant, and Gerry is wry and so very, very dead.

Gerry turns to Martin and smiles. “I wish we had met under better circumstances, Martin.”

Martin swallows, trying to unearth his voice. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then Gerry turns back to Jon. “You know what to do.”

Jon nods again, sharp and short. “I...I dismiss you.”

Gerry closes his eyes, and the whole room sighs as he dissipates into nothing.

Jon stands alone in the middle of the room, spine so straight there may as well be an iron rod put up the back of it. Martin doesn’t even know what the hell he is supposed to say. There is nothing he can do to make this better. How the hell is he supposed to make this better?

The moment passes. Jon’s shoulders slump, and when he turns back to Martin, his eyes are empty.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says monotonously.

Martin cannot do this. Martin cannot just stand there while Jon apologizes and looks at him like that, and -

“Don’t apologize,” he steps forward. “Can I hug you? Please?”

Jon thinks about that for a moment. When he eventually nods, Martin crosses the short distance between them and folds Jon into his arms, trying to ease the sharpness of the pain he surely must be feeling. He can’t make it better, but he can make sure that Jon knows that he isn’t alone. He can do this.

Jon doesn’t move for a moment, his face pressed into Martin’s shoulder, his arms loose at his sides. But just when Martin is about to pull away, he slowly reaches up, curls his hands in the fabric of Martin’s shirt. Lowers his head so he is half-buried in Martin’s embrace. He was already small, but he tries to make himself smaller, like he’s trying to hide himself in the folds of Martin’s pullover.

Eventually, he lets go. Eventually he steps back, letting his bangs hide his eyes, and goes to pick up the book. Martin watches his painful, slow movements, as though he’s filled with bruises from the inside out. He’s so distracted that Jon’s voice almost makes him jump.

“You should…you should do it.”

Martin shakes himself. “Sorry?”

“Burn his page,” Jon elaborates, holding the book out to Martin.

Martin gapes at him, stunned, because - “Um. No? Jon, why -”

“I can’t be the only person who’s ever done right by him.”

Oh. Well, when he puts it like that.

Martin swallows and takes the book gingerly, like he’s holding something precious. He flips to the last page and carefully tears it out, ignoring the way Jon’s breath catches at the soft ripping sound. Then he folds the page and puts it into his pocket, trying not to let on how nervous he is about having this precious page on his person. Trying not to let on how nervous Jon’s complete and utter trust makes him.

He is painfully aware of how many times that trust has been broken.

“Are you ready?” Martin asks.

Jon finally looks away from Martin’s pocket. “Yes. Let’s go.”

[innittowinit]

Can you pick me up my uni burnt down?

Relationships: Sleepy bois inc (all fics i write are platonic)

Summary:  In which Techno goes to England for University, his building catches fire in the night, and he isn't prepared for the difference in climate between England and California. SBI fluff ensues 

Words: 1785

Language: English 

Ao3 Link

3:30am was when the alarms went off, pulling all of the students out of their dorms and into the bitterness of the night. Techno had barely had enough time to get himself looking decent before someone was pounding on his door and telling him to hurry up, that it wasn’t a drill, and so he pulled on some socks, not even bothering with finding his shoes, and rushed out towards the hallway to see a very distraught looking girl, they had a few classes together but he’d never bothered to learn het name. She was probably going door to door and grabbing all the people who the alarm hadn’t woken, that was sweet, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty that she felt she had to stay to wait for him though.

And so now he was standing outside, wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt, some shorts and a pair of socks. Being from california, he hadn’t really been prepared for just how bad nights in the UK could get and now he was paying the price as the icy wind numbed his skin and the snow pelted down like there was no tomorrow. He looked back at the school as an administrator read off names from a register, there were larger than life flames bursting out of windows in the west building.

“Techno Blade? Is Mr Blade here?” “Present!”

After getting himself marked in he was left to himself, sitting on a bench that was wet with newly brushed off snow. Most of the other Students were calling parents or family members to come collect them, which only really filled him with dread. It was just now setting in that the school wasn’t just going to let them back indoors once the firemen handled the fire, he’d have to find somewhere else to stay for the night. It wasn’t exactly as if he could just call his parents to pick him up when he was in a different country completely.

With a sigh, he scrolled through his contact list. He had a lot of friends in the UK but which ones lived the closest and which ones would still be awake at this hour of the night. Tommy was probably the closest but he was not about to ask a 16 year old if he could spend the night at his place. Next was Wilbur, he was about a 30 minute drive away and while he felt absolutely horrible about having to get his friend’s help, he didn’t really have a choice. Hesitantly, he pressed the call button. He wasn’t sure what it was but phone calls gave him so much more anxiety than discord ones, even when he was calling his friend.

After 3 rings, he got an answer.

“Techno!” The brunette’s ever enthusiastic voice chirped, it sounded warm and happy, a stark contrast to the oppressing chill that Techno was enduring right now. “Hellooo..you busy right now?” “Not insanely, I’ve got Phil here helping me with recording the new song though. You good man? Shouldn’t you be asleep? class in the morning and all that” “Yeah about that.. I kinda,, need a place to stay for the night?” he sucked in his breath, anticipating rejection, he hated asking for help like this, it made him feel so weak. “The school is sorta up in flames” “Say the line Techno, it’ll be funny. Say it and i'll come get you” “...wow i wonder if it’s a baby boy or a baby girl”

With a hearty laugh he heard some rustling on the other side of the phone, he heard Phil's voice too but it wasn’t clear. He guessed Will was telling him what had happened anyway. After a while Wilbur spoke to him again. “Phil’s gonna drive out to get you since his car’s heating actually works, you better fit into the same clothes as me since I'm sending him with a change for you. Maybe see if you can wait inside a shop or something while he’s driving; because of the snow, i’d say maybe like 45 minutes till he’s there”

Techno nodded, taking a few seconds to realise that his friends couldn’t actually see him. “Yeah, thanks Will, i’ll let you get back to your song now”

He took his phone away from his ear but he really wished he hadn't, without his friends keeping him company the only thing he had to focus on was how painstakingly cold it was. His arms and legs were both bright red, aching to move them at all, god he regretted his pyjama choice. Pulling his knees up to his chest, feet rested on the bench, then wrapped his arms around his legs, desperate for any kind of warmth as he shivered endlessly. Techno wasn’t quite sure what it was about the cold but it always made him feel very sleepy, that mixed with it being so late at night wasn’t really helping at all

Head pounding, he looked back down to his phone, it was hard to move his fingers and the snow kept wetting his screen, but at least it was a distraction, something he could keep his mind on for at least some of the long 45 minute wait.

======================== ========================

Techno hadn’t even realised it when Phil arrived, he was glad the School administrators were on top of things because he would have just left him sitting there had it not been for a woman that came over to tell him his ‘dad’ was here to get him. Opening his mouth, he intended to spout off about how he wasn’t related to Phil but decided against it. He didn’t want to pick up a fuss and plus, the warm car was right there!

He got up off the bench, only really having his phone with him, and made his way to his friend’s car, his face made an expression of discomfort as he had to walk through the snow in wet socks but at least he’d be warm soon.

Phil had already laid a towel out on the seat, sighing in relief, Techno collapsed into the car. Only now realising this was the first time he was meeting his friends in real life. “I’m guessing i got the right guy then?” Phil chuckled, passing Techno a towel to dry off his hair with. “God you must be freezing with that outfit. We can sit here for a bit while you get comfortable”

Though he wasn’t talking an awful lot, Techno was incredibly grateful, here and back meant Phil had to drive over an hour. He’d have to remember to pay him back for gas. “Thanks Phil” he sighed, ruffling his hair with a towel, it felt so much better to be able to dry off and warm up again.

Next he was given a hoodie and some joggers, which Phil promised to close his eyes as he changed into them. The hoodie was fine, it was about the size he would usually buy for himself, but he had to admit the bottoms were a bit long; he’d always thought of himself as tall but didn’t Wilbur claim to be 6’5? Yeah he was sure he wasn’t going to be the tallest there by a couple inches.

The drive back to Wilbur’s was peaceful, they stopped in the Starbucks drive-through to grab them both a warm drink, and while Techno wasn’t really the kind of person to frequent Starbucks, he wasn’t in any position to deny warmth right now. He ended up just getting a hot chocolate, bundling himself up in the seat with the blanket Wilbur had sent with Phil, and finally feeling content. He had imagined meeting his friends so many times, he always imagined he’d end up getting overwhelmed and needing to step out but right now he just felt genuinely happy, he felt cared for. He knew if he was back at home right now, while his parents would have still come for him, they would have complained the entire time about how he was old enough to figure it out for himself, he certainly wouldn’t have been given dry clothes and a blanket.

“You’re really nice Phil” Mumbled a very very sleepy Techno, eyes glazed over as he tried his hardest to stay awake for the entire ride.

Phil just chuckled, the GPS said they were nearly at will’s, he was sure he’d want to see Will before falling asleep anyway, plus he didn't think he’d be strong enough to carry him in. “You gotta stay up a little longer for me mate, we’re almost there, i know you’d usually be sleeping at this time”

Arriving at Wilbur's house felt a little weird, opening the car door hit him with a strong breeze that only seemed to make him even more delirious as he tried to figure out how to stand up without dropping his blanket on the floor. Eventually he got it, bundling it up in his arms he gave a big yawn, becoming a little more awake as he tried to push the sleep away. No matter how much he wanted to just go straight to bed he knew he’d need to talk to his friend first, it would be a little rude to come to his home and not even speak to him.

Since Techno’s hands were full with the blanket that had been wrapped around him, Phil grabbed his towel and wet clothes before locking the car and leading the way inside; by this time it was past 4 in the morning and he was sure they were all just exhausted.

Honestly he wasn’t sure what he had expected Wilbur’s house to look like, it was clean he supposed. Listen, he was an English major, not some kind of house furniture major, he didn't really care what Wilbur had in his home.

“Hey mate, got Tech’” Phil stated as he flopped down on the sofa, leaving Techno to sit on the other side of Will, who had been watching some kind of movie, it looked like maybe it could be one of those sappy musical lovey dovey ones but he really didn’t care that much.

“How you doing Techno Blade?” Will yawned, laying his legs over Techno’s lap and his head on Phil's shoulder.

“Not too bad Wilbur Soot, what are you watching?” Another yawn, he ran a hand through his pink hair, chucking his crown onto the floor as he unfolded the blanket he had been snuggled into during the car ride, spreading it out across the three men.

“No clue, just wanted to wait up for you” The brunette closed his eyes, still awake but barely

“You're an idiot”