Imagine a zukka selkie au where sokka is a selkie. he drops his coat/pelt and zuko, a complete stranger, picks it up and gave it to him, which in selkie language is the equivalent of marrying someone or something and he just stands there like “…what am i supposed to do? ask him out?”
summary: Or 5 separate times Bruce is rudely forced to be soft. a/n: To the people who just found this, this is a side story to my Sealing the Deal fic. I highly recommend reading that first. So for the end of mermay, I decided to post this because why not. This video is the only reason I finished this fic (yanno, aside from my usual partner in crime). I legit just had a screenshot pasted to my doc. warning: Minor character death
1:
Padding through the beach in your father’s over-sized workman’s boots, you run excitedly to the shore with the pup pressed against your stomach. He wriggles and flaps his flippers in protest as your feet sink into the hot sand. You laugh and the pup rumbles unhappily when you squeeze him. He snuggles up to you anyway.
“You’re going to trip!” Your papa shouts over the splash of waves.
You turn around, jumping out of your boots. “I won’t!” You whine. The pup rumbles again– vibrations rippling against your chest. His large, liquid eyes bulge out of his little face as you start to fall. You crash into the hot sand.
You’re on your back with the pup on your stomach, his delicate white coat dusted with sand. You laugh and the pup huffs. He looks like he’s glaring at you. You squeeze him tight knowing this might be the last time you get to cuddle him. The pup snuffs more.
Your father sighs above you, shaking his head. “I told you you would trip.”
The pup snorts in agreement.
You scramble to your feet with the pup in your arms and run towards the shore like a little maniac. The pup squeals in terror. Or maybe that was your father.
Saltwater splashes in your face as you rush into the water; it laps at your ankles– cool and crisp. It sings to you, calling to you. The pup wriggles and reaches for the water. You wade deeper into the water until you’re waist-deep. The fibers of your chunky sweater fill up with water, chilling you to the bone.
You loosen your hold on the pup. The sense of loss when he slips your grasp is devastating in a way. There’s a moment where you think to keep holding on to him but when you see how happy he is in the water, you keep your arms to yourself.
He floats towards a large dark seal. The large seal nuzzles the pup, pulling him closer and squishing him to the larger seal’s blubber. He rumbles affectionately. The pup huffs in embarrassment. You try to move closer but the large seal turns his attention to you. You think he’s glaring at you. It’s really kind of spooky.
2:
Dick is smitten.
Dick is definitely smitten.
There are no two ways about it. All Bruce can do is sigh as he watches Dick plop after you. You crouch above Dick and smile indulgently, patting his head with a gentle hand, basin resting on your hip. Dick boops his face against your hand in answer. His round snoot is soft and warm against your hand. You press him back into his squishy body.
You giggle and Dick looks like he’s gonna jump over the moon.
Bruce is worried to say the least. He needs to do something about it.
You’re washing clothes by the shore when Bruce approaches you. He towers over you even in his seal form. You jolt then settle on giving him a quizzical look.
“Hey Spooky,” you say with a quirk of your lip.
He replies by staring you down.
He bares teeth at you.
“Oh,” you say. "Are you hungry?“ You ask, holding up a fish.
Bruce frowns then snarls.
You shush him, wiggling the fish in Bruce’s face.
Dick trills on your lap, squeaking happily in his sleep. The pup snuggles into your lap and you plant a kiss on his forehead.
Bruce stops snarling and just stoops because what else is he supposed to do.
Dick turns in his sleep.
3:
Bruce doesn’t usually come to this side of the island but he needed to think [read: brood]. His noisy pod of pups just weren’t having it, especially not Damian. So, here he was staring into the distance, blubber flat against the cold cove floor. It wasn’t all that comfortable but at least, he’s at peace.
He was.
That went right out the window as soon as an angry scream cuts through the calm lapping of waves.
For the love of– What did Jason do this time?
Bruce cranes his neck, scanning the shore for his pup. Nothing. That’s concerning. Usually, they would have pounced by now.
Another cry rips through the air– this time high, wounded, and frail. In a muggy way, he recognizes it. The voice is distorted by grief but it’s still the angry sobbing of a human.
Bruce lowers his head contemplating whether he should check on you.
He sighs. He should. So much for his peace and quiet.
Bruce plops towards you, his body sounding like wet dough against stone. He wonders mildly if this is a good idea. The last time he approached you he threatened to tear your face off but as he reaches you, he realizes he should have hopped slower.
You’re curled in front of the shore, eyes cold with anger. It was the kind of anger used to carve grief out of your chest. You rub your face raw, hoping that if there was nothing left of your face you would stop crying. Bruce sometimes forgets how small humans are.
He bounces towards you and the smell of ash wicks off of you in ribbons. He knows you’d burned something earlier, something important, because the fire had burned on until it couldn’t anymore.
You look up at him and fold into yourself.
Bruce can guess what happened. He rests his head on yours, rumbling comfortingly. Underneath him, you unfold, wrapping your arms around him. You start to sob more softly this time. Sniffling into his fur, you begin to whisper things. Bruce lets you cry, puffing breath into your hair and rumbling every once in a while.
4:
Dick spins you around, his foot catching with his own, and you both go down on the sand with a thud and a laugh.
"Dick!” You giggle, coughing up sand.
Dick nuzzles his face against yours, fingers tickling your sides.
“Dick!” You screech, lightly pushing at his chest but his body is heavy. Seal or human, Dick is a big lug. “Dick, I’m getting sand all over me, you dork.”
He kisses your jaw and then turns you both over. He holds you against his chest, kissing your chin. “Stop flailing then,” he chuckles.
“Then stop tickling me!”
“Never.”
You tussle a little more until a great shadow hangs over the both of you.
Dick beams at the great big elephant seal above you. You recognize him by the scar on his chest. “Hey B,” Dick says with a big soft grin that makes your heart melt.
“Spooky?” Your face twists a little.
The giant seal gives you a look. The dad look and you understand immediately. “Oh,” you breathe and your face heats with embarrassment. “You’re Bruce.”
You’ve been calling your father-in-law ‘spooky’ this whole time. Someone end you now.
“Spooky?” Dick bites his lip to stifle a laugh, his blue eyes shining bright with glee.
You bury your face in his chest. “Shut up.” You whine.
“Make me.” He says into your hair.
You look back Dick and pinch his cheek.
“Nnnnnnnn.” Dick whines. He reaches down to tickle your sides again and you begin to tussel.
Bruce huffs, nudging you two apart then laying on top of Dick, booping your husband’s nose menacingly.
Dick pushes at Bruce lightly. “B, B, relax. I was going to introduce the two of you but it seems like you two know each other.” Dick flicks his eyes to you.
You glance at Bruce and he glances back at you. Bruce snuffs, grumpily plunking his head on Dick.
+1:
Rapid clumsy foot tack tack tack against the footpath towards the beach. Bruce pretends to remain calm. He’s remained calm since yesterday why wouldn’t he be calm now? Several reasons really–most of which involve Dick running.
The footsteps become muffled by the sand. They’re hurried and the rhythm of them ratchets up his heart. His mouth is starting to go dry.
“B!” Dick chirps and it’s a happy sound with no ounce of panic.
Bruce cranes his neck, slowly opening his liquid eyes. Shoved in his face is another pair of liquid eyes that takes up most of the pup’s face. They snuff in his face with a little breath. Small flippers slap his snout. He snuffs a large breath in response.
Looking away from the child, he looks up at Dick who is beaming as if the sun wasn’t bright enough. “I take it labor went swimmingly,” Bruce says with a wry smile.
Dick shakes his head with an airy laugh. “Selina says she hates you for suckering her into help” is what Dick manages between laughter. The pup trills at the sound and Bruce understands it perfectly because Dick has one of those laughs that just makes happiness a solid concept.
Bruce flicks his tail. “I’ll get her a present. She won’t be mad for long.”
“Good luck with that,” Dick says setting the baby down. It wiggles confused. It registers in Bruce’s brain that this is the first time the pup is touching sand. His heart clenches and a scream burning in his chest.
The pup stupidly digs their face into the sand making them sneeze quite loudly in a loud, shrill squeak.
Jason and Tim hop quietly towards them with soft plops.
Jason tilts his head. “Huh, what’s wrong with it?” He asks poking the pup’s side with his snout.
Dick makes an affronted sound which Bruce wasn’t sure Dick could make in his human form.
Tim pokes the pup on their other side. “They look fine but then again Dick seemed fine too.”
Jason chokes out a laugh, “You tellin’ me Dick was fine before Bruce.”
Bruce makes a hurt noise which Jason just rolls his eyes at.
Tim snorts doubtful. “Dick’s brand of crazy is genetic. Don’t even.”
“Ye, but Bruce didn’t help,” Jason says with a tap of his fin. This makes Tim tilt his head again. It looks like he’s going to agree.
Bruce clears his throat. “What’s the pup’s name?” He asks placing a flipper on the fluff ball who is trying to shove him out of the way.
Dick strokes the pup’s fur making them turn their attention to him. The little one nuzzles their face into Dick’s hand, a low purring sound rumbling from their small chest. Dick hunches, sitting on the sand. He ruffles the fur on the sides of the child’s face. “Her name is Mary.”
The child trills in response to her name, snorting into Dick’s hand and leaving little bits of sand on it.
Jason stops poking Mary only to look up and give Dick an incredulous look. “Did you bully (Y/n) into naming her that? Did you even ask?”
Dick rolls his eyes and lets out a breath. “Should I have done that before or after she screamed ‘get that fucking thing out of me’?” He asks with an exaggerated wave of his hand. Bruce thinks Dick is starting to become just as expressive in his human form as his seal form. It’s not unpleasant. Far from it. It’s just a weird thing to observe.
Jason gets that look on his face that makes Dick want to smack him. Jason hums, “Definitely after, she’ll be too tired to argue.” He claps his fins as if to salute how brilliant of an evil mastermind Dick is.
“You’re terrible,” Dick says flatly, “You’re awful. Don’t infect my child.” Dick moves Mary away from Jason, placing her on Bruce’s other side.
Jason, somehow, gives Dick one of those innocent cat-like smiles Selina makes. “Hey, I’m not the one who put a baby in her.”
Bruce patiently looks to the heavens while Tim snickers and Dick looks appropriately horrified.
“What?!” Jason asks as if he needed to.
Dick’s face is flushed and scrunched. His shoulders hunch and he lets himself plop down on to the sand. “We planned it,” he says almost inaudibly. His cheeks flush even more.
Jason chokes out laughter and rolls over. "Ok, so you willingly made her suffer?! You’re a terrible husband. Even worse than Bruce.“
Bruce quietly defends himself by not dignifying that.
Dick side-eyes him. "See? This is why I didn’t want little brothers. B, how could you do this to me?”
Bruce only answers with a noise. He feels like his nerves are popping. He caves and gives Dick a sympathetic look, patting his boy’s leg. The little pup takes the opportunity to waddle away from him.
Dick and Jason continue to bicker while Tim throws some unhelpful comments with nothing helpful at all.
Mary, the rambunctious little pup that she is, wanders over to the shore, dipping her face into the tide pools. The salt water fills her little snout. She exhales the water in tiny displeased spouts out her snout. She cries panicked and tries to flail away from the water.
Dick shoots up, his heart leaping with him. He shoots towards the flailing pup with his family following behind him. It’s funny how fast he can move on his legs now. He even manages not to trip.
“She’ll be fine,” Tim calls out.
Dick pulls his pup close to his chest. His breath steadies now that she’s safe. Bruce can sympathize more than he’d like to. Turning her around, Dick nuzzles his face against hers in a calming gesture. She reciprocates without hesitation, seeking comfort after the frightening experience. Bruce attempts to soothe her further by nuzzling her back and it works as her breathing evens out, following the slow rhythm of Dick’s breaths.
The pup snorts water onto Dick’s sweater.
A look of panic crosses Dick’s face as he looks at Bruce. “B, what do I do?”
Bruce goes quiet (not that he was anything else to begin with). He nudges Dick’s leg, trying to usher the pup back onto the beach but Dick continues to keep her close. He sighs through his nose. “Chum, put her down and she’ll sort herself out.”
Dick’s panic doesn’t subside.
“She’ll be fine I promise.”
“What if–”
“She’ll be fine, trust me,” he tries in his most reassuring fatherly voice.
Tim snickers at that, “Hearing Bruce tell someone to trust him is kinda funny.”
“You’ve all turned out fine,” Bruce defends because they did. All his boys have turned out… functional is a stretch.
“Barely,” Jason scoffs.
“You really want to take credit for these two AND Damian?” Tim laughs. “Good luck with that Bruce.”
Bruce suspects their habit of bullying him comes primarily from Alfred. He loves the man but he is mean when he wants to be. It may also come from Selina. And Talia. And Vicky. And Clark. And Diana.
Does he know anyone who doesn’t bully him?
The familiar banter makes Dick settle and he loosens his grip on Mary. The little pup hops towards the tide pools again despite her earlier panic. Dick follows her, keeping his hands at a reassuring distance as she dips back into the ocean. She flails a little but eventually, she takes to it–like she knows in some part of her little body that she belongs to the sea. She swims around chirping happily and rumbling affectionately when she reunites with her father. Dick beams proudly, playfully pushing Mary back into the waves only for her to swim back to him.
Bruce squishes against the warm sand, content to just watch the scene.
summary: Or 5 separate times Bruce is rudely forced to be soft. a/n: To the people who just found this, this is a side story to my Sealing the Deal fic. I highly recommend reading that first. So for the end of mermay, I decided to post this because why not. This video is the only reason I finished this fic (yanno, aside from my usual partner in crime). I legit just had a screenshot pasted to my doc. warning: Minor character death
summary: Hal gives Kyle the brilliant idea of proposing to you with his pelt. This is actually a good idea if A) it didn’t come from Hal; B) it wasn’t half-baked; C) Kyle remembered a very crucial detail. a/n: I am back with my Selkie bullshit. Happy mermay folks! Selkie husbands are very cute and if you do not know the lore for selkies, here is a quick read. If you are new here, yes, I do in fact give my readers homework for a lot of my fics. warnings: I write Kyle like a shojo protag, he is kind of dumb in this, Reader kind of has a defined personality and work. Misunderstandings.
You know how selkidomus scales are used to create a Grimwalker?
I thought it would be interesting if there was an AU where Hunter was revealed to be a Selkie instead of a Grimwalker. After all, Eda did say that many of the myths that exist in the human realm are thanks to the Boiling Isles.
The following AU details are points that I discussed in a discord server with my friends.
Belos stole Hunter’s seal skin when he was a baby and raised him as a “magicless witch”
The seal skin is the reason that Hunter is so loyal to Belos and unwavering in his resolve towards his uncle– even if Hunter doesn’t realize the grip that this item has on his psyche
Belos outright abused Hunter so badly that he completely and utterly convinced him into believing that he is the true owner of the seal skin– not Hunter
Hunter doesn’t even come in contact with his seal skin because he doesn’t believe himself to be a selkie; Belos has convinced him that he’s just a witch with an unfortunate “curse”
Hunter’s own human skin is super sensitive to touch because he is not wearing his skin seal which is why he often wears a lot of layers of clothing and recoils at touch
Also when in seal form, Hunter takes the form of a selkidomus.
I couldn’t not doodle this
Check out this absolutely amazing art that my friend drew! Please give the artist all your love and compliments!
Surprise! Selkies part 2: electric boogaloo!! for the 2021 @ravencyclebigbang
Here’s the second, frankly stunningfic created around this prompt, this time by @adverbialstarlight!!! you know you need to see how this introduction pans out. you know you need to read about those seals!
The Lynch family are selkies who have lost their pelts. Adam Parrish is a marine biologist just trying to collect some samples and stop hooligans (read: Ronan Lynch) from harassing seals (read: getting his brother to do homework). But maybe he can help their search too.
SO psyched to show off the art I did for this year’s @ravencyclebigbang!! And its Selkies, baby!!
This installment features the absolutely gorgeous story written by @cheeeryos and beta’d by @quitelikearthurdent; they been such a good team and the final product will blow your socks off.
Adam was looking forward to his year of fieldwork in Ireland. He had a small cottage to himself, a job rehabilitating seals at the Wildlife Rescue, and time and space to conduct his own research. What he definitely hadn’t signed up for was babysitting the mysterious man who never seemed to leave the beach.
Who was Ronan Lynch, anyways? What exactly was his obsession with the seals? And why did his sharp grin make Adam feel like he had been struck by lightning?
[Image Description: A colored digital drawing of Jonathan Sims, a thin, dark-skinned man with short brown hair wearing a t-shirt and sitting under a checkered blanket, and Martin Blackwood, a tall, fat man with pale skin and blonde hair tied back into a loose ponytail wearing a long-sleeved blue shirt. They are sitting on a couch. Jon has his hands on his stomach, and his head turned toward Martin though his eyes are turned away. Martin has one arm over the top of the couch. Jon is speaking, and a small speech bubble has a cartoonish grey seal imagining an equally cartoonish blue shark. End ID]
With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.”
“Great white sharks?”
“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”
A clatter of ice on window panes had broken through their quiet breakfast. Heavy sleet battered the house in waves, assisting the wind in its quest to tear the building from its foundations. Based on previous experience Martin wasn’t concerned. The house would see far worse once winter truly rolled in.
After breakfast Jon had returned to his side of the couch, hunched over the laptop and ready to work in spite of the noise. On the nearest side table, he had replaced his cold empty mug with a fresh cup of tea.
It hadn’t been a particularly cozy scene in the moment, the laptop casting Jon’s thin face in a cold, pale light. But as Martin made it to the top of the hill with his head bent forward to avoid the ice, it seemed downright cheery. He wouldn’t have minded joining Jon on the other side of the couch. But he’d have bolted at the first opportunity.
While not a full day of work, this was one more Saturday indoors that he’d willingly sacrificed when signing that contract. When was the last time he’d stayed inside and enjoyed the gloomy weather from a nice, warm distance?
Had he ever done that? He had had days off with past jobs, but then-
At least his work day would be short. He just needed to complete his evil button-pushing and get back without twisting his ankle in the mudslide that would be his way home.
Keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, Martin walked down the empty sidewalk. Not a soul passed him by or blocked his path, and he wondered if the other side of the street was just as barren. He didn’t bother to look up.
It made things easier, not having anyone to run into while he kept his head down and dry. And knowing the way meant not needing to think. One step after the other. Light from above blocked out by the stiff hood of his jacket as he turned away from the elements. The pattering sound of ice against plastic. Nothing to do but walk and breathe and consider other things.
Maybe he would pick up lunch. At least once during their time in town the others had grabbed food from a local sandwich shop that Martin was quite familiar with. What was it Jon had ordered? Something off the basic menu. Sasha went for a soup combo. Tim had a very specific order that Martin couldn’t quite pick apart just by looking. He was positive Jon had gotten the turkey sandwich at the bottom of the board.
A weird point of pride, but he’d been very good at this sort of thing when he still had coworkers. That and birthdays. Sure, he could call and ask Jon, but doing so would make it seem like there was an emergency. Before he left Jon had even asked him to call if anything happened, weird or otherwise. So calling withoutsomething happening would only give the man an unnecessary heart attack.
It was a nice gesture even if Jon couldn’t really be on call for emergencies, what with the distance from home to the cliffs and, well, what could Jon do? If Martin came against something he couldn’t handle alone, he would tell Jon to leave as soon as possible, no arguments. Morbid, but practical.
All too soon came the lighthouse steps and he submitted himself to its empty walls. The storm raged on against its sides, and he was glad for the sound as he walked up the spiral steps. Eventually, though, it gave way to a silence that filled his ears to the point of popping.
He opened his mouth to speak, then coughed into his sleeve.
It was a boring affair. Checking his pockets every so often, he made it to the top. The work began without much thought, hands already moving in the new pattern as easily as they had for the old one. He knew deep down that if he tried for one experimental twist of a knob, Peter would manage to appear over his shoulder and catch him in the act.
Peter. Martin had assumed the man was back on his boating trip, continuing to desperately avoid Simon Fairchild. But he’d returned just to, what, revel in Martin’s bad mood and then leave? There must’ve been something else to bring Peter back to land that Martin couldn’t see.
Still, he wasn’t a fool. Elias knew about Jon and what he was. He likely sent Jon to this town with the knowledge that another selkie was around, to keep Jon busy or flush him out. And he would’ve had to learn that from someone.
Maybe Jon was sidestepping that part because it didn’t matter anymore, what with Martin’s mother… out of the picture. But Peter didn’t seem distraught the last time Martin saw him, as if some grand plan had been foiled. In fact, he had seemed downright cheerful. If Elias’ goal had been to flush Jon out using another selkie, it hadn’t been Peter’s ultimate goal. Jon had been gone for weeks when Peter appeared to tell Martin howlucky he was.
So… what? Did they thinkhe was one? If so, he looked forward to being another disappointment.
It didn’t make his house the best hiding place, though, did it?
He sighed, finishing his task and heading back down the stairs. It wouldn’t be a fun conversation. He didn’t intend to kick Jon out after weeks lost at sea, but they needed to talk about it, right? Jon needed to be safe, and as much ashe’d needed someone else to fill the silence Martin wasn’t going to put that above doing the right thing.
Something loosened in his chest. Yes, while Jon wanted to help with the Evan situation, it made much more sense to think about the bigger picture. Martin had seen enough weird shit from one of Peter’s fellows to believe the man himself capable of anything.
Jon might argue at first. It was that damned earnestness, and not a little guilt if Martin had to guess. Of course he would want to help, to throw himself into Martin’s problems and keep his promises. He was at the house right now, scrabbling for anything that could make him useful, putting his own goals to the side to do so.
The most wistful sigh escaped him and he wanted to bang his head on the side of the stairwell.
He would talk to Jon about it later, before he lost his nerve and got too used to the company. But what would hesay? That Jon needed to prioritise his safety? He’d seen enough to know that line of reasoning would only work on Tim. That whatever Elias and Peter wanted wasn’t worth the risk? He didn’t have proof of what either was planning, but Simon had put him so on edge with cryptic nonsense and casual kidnapping that he expected the worst.
That it was only a matter of time before it got weird to be around each other all the time? Well, no, that wasn’t something to bring up with Jon. But it wasareason.
He went back and forth with himself like this for a while, taking the long way back through town to let himself think. The drumming of sleet blocked out everything, a wonderful white noise that no one around would break, and it was a good deal later when he came around to the sandwich shop.
Stopping at the front of the building, he focused on the door and tried to be present. He knew his order and what he would get for Jon. Nothing special or difficult to remember. A quick stop, in and out.
The place was empty, more or less. A single employee sat on a stool behind the front counter, eyes trained on her phone. The storm seem d to have discouraged people from bothering the place, as the floor was almost completely dry. His shoulders dropped in relief at the lack of a line. It would be even faster than he’d hoped. He wiped his feet on the front mat and walked across the room, ready to get this over with, but about halfway across the woman looked up and jumped in her seat. He jumped in response, stopping in place.
The woman looked at him fully, her brows scrunching together, and he quickly looked away under the scrutiny. His eyes landed on the menu directly behind her, as if he hadn’t rehearsed the order in his head.
Shaking her head, she smiled and said with a small amount of forced customer service geniality, “Hi, what can I get you?”
It took him a bit to remember what he meant to say. What did he want for himself? Shit. He continued to look at the menu over her shoulder, avoiding her eyes. “Give me a minute.”
“Okay, no rush,” she said. From the corner of his eye he saw her shudder. “It’s, um. It’s awful out there, huh?”
Just say the order. Don’t make her stand there and wait. He’d ordered there a hundred times for himself, and Jon’s sandwich was just a number on the board. “Sure.”
After a moment her mouth twitched. She looked over her shoulder and said, “Well, um. Take whatever time you need. I just need to check something in the back?” And she nearly sprinted through the door to some sort of back room, leaving Martin alone and entirely dumbfounded.
The hell was that about?
He shouldn’t stay. Somehow he’d managed to bungle a simple lunch order before he’d gotten started and she was clearly weirded out or going through some things. She didn’t need to deal with him as he remembered how to talk to people in shops. He was usuallybetter at this sort of thing. She had given him the easiest thing to fill the silence. Anyone could talk about the weather!
But it was later than he’d expected and he’d told himself he would get a sandwich for his temporary housemate, so… he waited. The woman came out and took his order without issue, her eyes on the till and his on the menu, and he exited the sandwich shop with a plastic bag tucked inside his jacket and no intention of ever entering that sandwich shop again.
From that point on he’d put all his focus into getting home and not slipping to his death on the way back down the cliffs. What a horrible location for a house. No wonder it ended up in his hands.
Before opening the door, he checked the time and frowned. If Jon had already eaten it was Martin’s fault for wandering around in his own thoughts, but that meant Martin could have lunch to himself to think about what he would say.
He wouldn’t be bringing up any hard topics with Jon that day, for both their sakes.
But he was done stalling outside his own house and walked inside, shedding the jacket and mud-stained boots.
“Jon? I’m back,” he said just below a shout and walked toward the kitchen. “Grabbed some lunch if you want it.”
After a moment he heard from the hall bathroom, “Be there in a minute.”
So he probably hadn’t eaten yet. That made it all feel a bit more worth the trouble. All that was left was to see if his memory served and Jon liked it enough.
Nodding to himself, Martin turned into the doorway and stopped.
Resting over the top of one of the kitchen chairs, dripping wet, was Jon’s coat. Martin let out a tiny strangled sound and nearly dropped the food bag in his haste to back out of the room.
To his right, the bathroom door opened. “Is everything all right?” Jon asked, his dark hair wet and brushed back from his face.
Martin just looked at him and then at the kitchen, waiting for something to click in Jon’s expression.
Jon’s shoulders relaxed, and he walked toward Martin. He said with a kind of forced levity, “Yes, sorry, I left it there.” Then he stopped short a few feet and looked at Martin as if waiting for something.
“Um… why?”
Scratching the back of his neck, Jon said, “Well, I needed to take a shower and it needed to hang dry for a bit.”
“You, um… You took it out then? For a…”
“A swim, yes. I knew you’d be gone for a bit and needed some time outside of the house.”
Beneath the matter-of-fact tone something was off, but the day had already been so much in such a short amount of time, and Martin was just about ready to keel over. But he didn’t. Jon’s coat rested in front of him, and he could not move, and he could not speak for the bile that rose in his throat.
Seeingsomething in Martin’s expression, Jon quickly walked past and picked up the coat. “I’ll go ahead and hang this up in the shower. Don’t want to, um. Don’t want to warp the wood.” He tapped the chair and walked back down the hall in what Martin interpreted as a hurry.
Martin slumped in one of the chairs, setting the sandwiches in front of himself and the chair that Jon normally sat in.
Before long Jon returned and looked at the food in front of him with recognition. “Ah, right, this is the shop not too far from the lighthouse, isn’t it? Thanks for picking it up.”
“It’s no problem,” Martin responded, finally pushing the heart out of his throat. “Hope it’s something you like.”
Not needing further encouragement, Jon took a bite and after a moment nodded in approval.
In spite of everything, pride swelled in Martin’s chest. Incredibly silly and a bit pathetic, but it was something. He had remembered what Jon liked, and it had made Jon happy. It didn’t dislodge the image of the look that woman had given him from his mind, but it pushed the memory aside for the moment. It didn’t do anything about his concerns, but those could be brought up later.
Jon’s grip stayed firm on Martin’s arm up until they’d reached the stairs to the next floor, his words as scattered as Martin’s thoughts. Martin caught some of his mutterings, things like hospitalandunnaturalandshit shit shit, but he couldn’t quite follow with how sharp the light stung his eyes and kept him squinting. Without Jon’s guiding hand he would’ve careened right into a wall on his way to wherever he was going.
That hand released him, slow and hesitant, ready to grab onto him if necessary. Did Martin look like he was about to fall over? Despite his muddled senses he stood firm, solid. The cold placed its own sort of ache in his bones, but his eyes didn’t fall shut from exhaustion. If the bloody lights weren’t so bright he would’ve been able to see just fine. He was a normal amount of tired from a long day, the kind of tired that made it hard to focus unless he tried very hard. Whatever Jon was saying, he could piece together later when he wasn’t so cold-
Bathroom. That was where he was supposed to go next. Take a shower, warm up. That would clear his head. Without support he managed to walk up the stairs into the blessed darkness of the upper floor.
Before he made the turn towards the upstairs toilet he glanced down at Jon, but the lights flooded his senses and blocked out whatever movement or expression Jon could’ve been making. Probably the same one he’d had since he found Martin on the steps, a tight sort of concern that Martin didn’t need to see again lest his stomach flip from the guilt.
He almost didn’t turn the light on. There wasn’t yet a migraine, but the potential of one pushed behind his eyes. Recognizing the hazard he settled on looking away from direct sources of light while stumbling to the shower, shedding his wet clothes. Then hot water hit his back, battering the cold out of his skin. After a time the dim light filtering through the shower curtain ceased to sting, and once dry he dressed in the warmest pyjamas he had on hand.
In the dark of his bedroom Martin felt that he should cry. Embarrassment alone should’ve done him in. Or fear.
Instead he sifted through his closet for a relatively dust-free duvet and folded it under his arm. He wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt like the right thing to take with him.
When he wandered downstairs, still dazed but able to feel the passage of time, the sound of tap water cut off sharply to his left. Jon burst through the door of the downstairs toilet with wet hair slicked back from his forehead.
It was a good look, all things considered. If Martin was less exhausted he might’ve reprimanded himself for the thought, but he could look around without getting a splitting headache and would take the win.
They stood there for a moment, Jon’s hand still on the door knob. “You… How are you feeling?” His voice pitched up just a little too high at the end, as if to ask Is this a stupid thing to say?
“Um. Fine, I guess,” Martin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tired, mostly.”
“Tired.” Jon pressed his fingers into his cheek, dragging down the skin under his eye. With a sigh, he said, “Go wait on the couch. I made something quick since clearly neither of us have eaten.”
“Er-”
“And don’t apologize for not making anything. I promise I’m putting in the least amount of effort. Uni level stuff.” Jon walked past him into the kitchen.
“I wasn’t- Right. Okay.”
Martin did what he was told, settling into his side of the couch and resting the duvet squarely in the middle. In a few minutes he was holding a plate of rice and beans with leftover veggies, simple as promised but still good to fill up the stomach. On the other side, Jon set his own plate on the side table and ignored it completely.
“Martin?”
“Hm?” he said, mouth full of food.
“I think your town is cursed.”
Martin choked on some broccoli and reached for the glass of water Jon had set out for him. “That- That seems like a bit of a reach? I know I zoned out a bit, but-”
“One, I would not consider that ‘zoning out’.” Jon looked at him, then frowned and looked ahead as if in embarrassment. “Two, this is definitely bigger than a single building. Case in point, I just spent several hours swimming in circles, past sundown, and only got back through a wall of fog through pure luck.”
Martin’s brows shot up. “Wait, you got lost?”
All at once Jon came into focus. The heavy bags under his eyes, the way he pressed into the back of the couch like all the world’s gravity weight on his limbs, his fingers digging into the fabric underneath like a lifeline. And one of his arms wrapped tight around him in a desperate bid against the cold.
“When did you leave to- to go out today?” Martin set his plate on his own side table and shoved the duvet closer to Jon. “And throw this on, before you get yourself sick.”
Jon looked to protest, then shut his mouth and reached for the offering. With a languid effort he dragged the duvet across his lap. “Thank you. And sometime after lunch. I’d prepared for a moderate swim, but then the fog rolled in and there was no way to tell which way was which.”
“Fuck.”
A smile managed to slip its way onto Jon’s face. “Agreed.”
“Well…I appreciate dinner, but it would make me feel better if you ate some of it yourself,” Martin said.
“I think I’ve looped back to not feeling hungry, but I get your point.” He grabbed the plate and poked at his own meal. Glancing sidelong at Martin, he said “Hope it didn’t seem like I was kidnapped.”
“Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind? But, no, things were too neat and I saw the footprints. It’s not like you have a curfew,” Martin said. He tried to smile, to laugh a little, but it rang hollow. The frown lines only grew deeper on Jon’s face. Martin’s stomach twisted. “Are you… do you want to talk about it?”
“What else is there to say? I got lost in the fog, then found my way back,” Jon said. With a hard look, turned toward Martin. “I could ask you the same thing. Do you want to talk about what it was you were doing out there? If it wasn’t for everything else I’d have assumed a stroke.”
Wincing, Martin said, “Sorry.”
“That’s not-” Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose, then pinned him with a sincere look. “Okay. What do you remember from your… experience?”
This felt familiar. He could almost hear the tape recorder whirring. “I… I remember coming home. You were gone, so I checked outside and saw the footprints. Then I sat down and just… thought about stuff.” No need to explain further. “Next thing I knew I was sopping wet and you were there shaking me out of it.”
“And you didn’t notice the freezing rain? Without a coat?”
“No,” he said, heat creeping up his neck. He tried a laugh again, with more success. “Guess I can’t bother you about wearing a jacket anymore?”
“I’m sure you’ll slip up and do it anyway.” Jon placed his plate back on the side table, ignoring Martin’s look of disapproval. “But the matter at hand. Your town, something is wrong with it. Or, if the lighthouse is the root cause, it’s not confined to that space.”
“Or to the top of the cliffs.” As if that was a meaningful distinction. Why would some unknowable force stop at a legal boundary? Yet he’d felt safer with the distance. “What can we do, then? I can’t say for certain what happened, but you-”
“Returned in spite of the weather making a hard case against me. Might have to let it win the argument and stay inside for the time being.” Jon squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head drop against the back of the couch.
Something sank in Martin’s chest. “I don’t think- I mean, wouldn’t it be the other way around?”
Jon’s brows scrunched together, eyes still closed. “How so?”
Shit. Okay, well, he was doing this now, notes be damned. Taking a break and staring hard at the wall ahead, he began, “I mean… Well, if there’s weird stuff going on, wouldn’t it make more sense to get ahead of it rather than-”
Jon warned, “Martin-”
“I mean it!” Martin said rather forcefully. He sighed and lowered his voice. “If there’s some sort of weird line of fog that makes it hard to get into town from the sea, maybe it works the other way and could stop you from leaving. You’d end up stuck, right? Stuck where someone like Peter could find you, where he might be looking for you under Elias’ orders right now.”
There, opening arguments. It hadn’t been too difficult. But when he finally chanced a look, he was met with such a look of stubborn indignation that he recoiled.
With some great amount of restraint, Jon breathed out and said stiffly, “The concern is appreciated, but I’m not going anywhere.”
He tried to choke out a “But-”
“That’s the end of it. If I have to avoid the water for a while longer it’ll honestly be a blessing. Besides, the way I found you-”
“You shouldn’t force yourself to stay here for my sake. Or anyone else. I know, I know, you promised, but that was before Elias tried to- It’s not fair for you to be stuck here when-”
A hand landed firmly on Martin’s arm, gripping him just below the elbow and stopping his tongue. With an insistent tug Jon spat, “I’m not stuckhere.”
Despite all of the reasons Jon was horribly wrong, Martin wanted to forfeit then and there. Of course Jon was stuck there. No one could want to be in that house, in that bleak little town with nowhere to go. Jon was either lying to himself or trying to make Martin feel better or both, and Martin wanted it to work.
So he kept his mouth shut and let Jon talk.
“I’m also not the only person putting himself at risk being here,” Jon continued, relaxing his grip and bringing his voice down to that softer register that made Martin squirm. “I hope you understand that by now.”
“Of course I do,” Martin muttered. “Even if I’m a bystander in some weird scheme, something’s… happening. To me. Has been, I think, for a while now.”
A sudden rush of pain ran up his chest and throat, but he greeted it only with a clench to his jaw. Saying it aloud was no great relief.
Martin kept on, swallowing hard. “But it’s not your responsibility to fix it.”
“I…” Jon removed his hand, leaving a cold space on Martin’s skin. He threaded his fingers together. “I’m not going to lie to you, or make more promises I can’t keep. Whatever is happening in this place, I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Then why not go?”
“Because I’m not dying to wander around in the abyss?” Jon said, clearly more spiteful than he’d intended. He breathed in through his nose, a calm, centering act, but something cracked in his expression. “Martin, I… don’t have a good answer for you. I want to believe I can be of more use here, but if I’m being honest, the research side of things has not been going well.”
Martin frowned. “That’s not your fault? I mean, you… you don’t have a lot to work with.”
“But with years of experience I should be able to come up with something.” Jon gestured in front of him sharply, empty air between his hands. “But all I found were useless documentaries better suited for- for social time than facing down a supernatural threat. And now that I’ve decided to use my one remaining ability, that’s blocked off as well.”
“What, swimming?” Martin asked. “I mean, you cando that still-”
“But I can’t make my way back freely, not for sure. What’s the point of any of it if I get lost?”
Wherever the thread was, Martin had certainly lost it. “Isn’t the point to be out there? You know, in the sea? Get out of the house?”
“Not if I can’t keep track of where I’ve been.” Jon clenched his jaw as if holding words back, but it didn’t last long. “I’m not just swimming for the fun of it. I have a purpose.”
Deep down in Martin’s chest a hollow pit opened, and he refused to ask the obvious question for fear of it being answered. But Jon was very good at filling the space.
“It wasn’t something I wanted to bring up until I had concrete results, but I thought… I thought since it hadn’t been long since she departed, that I could find your mother and- and speak with her. Like I’d planned to.”
Martin deflated then. He slumped against his armrest and muttered, “My mum?”
Jon put his hands in front of himself in a placating gesture. “I thought if I could speak to her, that maybe she could help me- help usunderstand-”
Hands shaking, Martin folded them on his lap. “So that’s still the plan?” he asked, pushing through the pain in his throat.
“Yes, I… I’m sorry. I know what you said, family business, but you can’t go out there and I can, so I thought…”
A wave of calm came over Martin, soothing the panicked buzzing of his mind. “Jon.”
Like a child caught in the act of stealing from the kitchen, Jon shrunk back. “Martin?”
“Jon, she’s been gone for days. You’re not going to find her if you end up looping back here after a few hours.”
Jon’s shoulders sank. “But if she-”
“I know my mum, Jon,” Martin said, folding his arms and sliding down a little in his seat. “If you’re looking for answers or information on where she’s gone off to, you won’t find it by staying here.”
With no response from his right, Martin sighed. He looked ahead at the television and felt a pang of petty satisfaction above the disappointment. Jon had come there looking to speak to Martin’s mother, and that goal hadn’t changed. The argument was won.
And then he heard Jon laugh, humorless and muffled. Martin glanced over and saw Jon, running his hands up and down his face. Too tired to question the fit, Martin sat and waited for the other man to concede.
“Then what else can I do?” He asked. The word lost again came to mind. “If I can’t find her, then how do I fix this?”
With a renewed confusion Martin looked to the side and was met with eyes that begged for an answer. But there was nothing he could give.
Jon looked at him sharply, jaw clenched as if keeping words at bay. “Don’t give me that look. You know what I mean. It’s been written all over your face since you found my coat in that closet.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stumbled through the lie and knew it couldn’t be saved.
“Yes you do, Martin.” A wet lock of hair swung down onto his forehead as he spoke. “At first I thought it was in response to me, my behavior, my squirreling it away. I thought that if I could keep my coat around more often, try to push past my own anxieties about it being seen, that I could prove my trust in you. But I know now that it’s not enough, so I’ve been swimming out to the middle of nowhere to- to fix things. To get answers, understanding, closure. To get us back to where we were before everything went to absolute shit.”
For the first time that evening, Martin heard the rain tapping on the window panes as it filled the thick, awful silence. He wanted to be angry, to spit out nonsense about privacy and family business, but instead in front of him sat a good guy who desperately wanted to help and kept being blocked off at every turn.
He thought he had done the bare minimum of keeping up appearances, keeping his stupid emotions contained. He was supposed to be better at lying. And all Jon got was a housemate who plotted to get him out of his hair as soon as possible. Jon had been going out on his account all because he thought Martin… hated him? Resented him?
Did he?
“I-I didn’t realize.” He should’ve known better than to open his mouth, but there had to be a way to turn things around. “You… shouldn’t go looking for her, unless it’s for yourself. Anything she had for me, she left behind. It’s done.”
His voice didn’t crack once under the strain on his throat. In the moment he was proud of himself for not flinching.
Another laugh, sudden and full of relief. “Okay.”
Here it was, after all this talking in circles. After his hours of pointless plotting, this was the part he knew he could handle.
“I won’t, then.”
And in his utter lack of preparation for this, Martin could only sputter out another ridiculous, “But-”
Jon gripped Martin’s shoulder, and for the first time that night he looked awake. “Listen to me. Your mother… she had every right to do what she did. And you, you did everything right, and you didn’t deserve to get hurt, but you did get hurt and I’m sorry.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit-
“And you’re right. I won’t find her if I stay here. She’s out there, the one person who might be able to give me a sense of direction about myself, and here I am going out for a few hours each day and then running back here to sleep on your couch. I take up space, trying and failing to make myself useful but unwilling to do the hard part.” Near the end was an almost hysterical lilt to his speech, laughter bubbling up through his words. He leaned forward and butted the top of his head into Martin’s shoulder. “In all respects I’ve failed to make things better.”
Frozen, confused, and unable to voice his disagreement, Martin begged that by some grace Jon wouldn’t feel the thundering of his heart.
Jon sat up and snatched Martin’s gaze, speaking faster as he went on. “I’ve been flailing about trying to keep my promises when I can’t, and I threw myself into the sea hoping that maybe I could find something to give you closure, to make things hurt less, to salvage whatever goodwill you had for me before I left you to deal with things on your own. At this point I’m banking on Sasha and Tim to swoop in with a plan because I certainly don’t have one.”
All this man did was try and try and try-
“So with all avenues of being helpful closed off, the only argument I have left for staying is that I wantto.”
Mouth twitching at the corners, up or down Martin couldn’t tell, Jon lifted a shaking hand toward Martin’s face. Martin leaned into it without thinking, without saying a thing through the fire in his ribs. Why bother when one sentence beat him so thoroughly?
So he melted into the hand that held him, dipping his head forward, and Jon met him in the motion, pressing his mouth to Martin’s and eliciting an embarrassing squeak. Pulling back, Jon looked for something in Martin’s face with such a painfully hopeful expression that Martin was ready to toss his whole book of notes into the sea, all evidence of his crime destroyed in the spray.
Whatever Jon was looking for he found and surged forward to take. He pressed Martin into the armrest, threading fingers through still-wet hair and bracing an elbow against the couch cushion while he made himself familiar with Martin’s mouth. It was already enough to make Martin dizzy, and he placed a hand on the back of Jon’s neck to regain some semblance of control, of balance, brushing his fingers against the soft ends of his hair.
For a moment Jon broke off the kiss, adjusting his bony legs so they weren’t digging right into Martin’s thighs, and then diving back down to resume his business of driving Martin absolutely mad. He grabbed Martin’s free arm and dragged it behind him until Martin got the hint and wrapped it around Jon’s waist, then pressed kisses to the corner of his mouth, brushing his way up the line of stubble right to his ear and finally pausing against Martin’s cheek.
“So I, ah-” Jon’s voice was giddiness laced with nerves, breath hot against Martin’s skin. “I hope this is a good enough excuse?”
Unable to get a single word out of his stupid throat, Martin nodded.
“Good,” and he took Martin’s lips again, slower this time, lifting both hands to hold Martin’s face nice and still. A sigh of satisfaction escaped him, slipping into Martin’s mouth and down into his ribcage.
It was unfair, seeing up close how long Jon’s lashes were, how deep and dark his eyes. It was unfair for this to happen now of all times, when things already felt so temporary. Unfair, unfair, his mind cried as the rest of him happily surrendered all of his arguments of safety and sense. He was being kissed, and kissed well, by someone who knew better than he did.
Jon pulled away again after a few minutes of deliberately slow kisses that had Martin close to whining. “I mean this in the most innocent way possible, but would you mind if we moved from the couch to your room? For my back’s sake?”
“W-what?” Martin said, breathlessly. He laughed without thinking. “Was that the plan, kiss me into submission and then steal my bed?”
With a paper-thin glare Jon kissed him again and bumped their foreheads together. “It’s not stealing if we’re both there.”
Martin opened his mouth to reply and found nothing at all. He simply couldn’t keep up and had lost grip of the situation several minutes ago. “Um-”
“Sorry, too much?’
Jon pulled back and Martin could look at him properly. The man looked a mess, an incredibly endearing mess with a worried forehead that Martin wanted to smooth out as soon as possible.
Oh. Oh, fuck it. “No, no, that’s… fine. If you want? It’s not that big.”
That got a smile. Jon went limp against Martin’s chest, squeezing him around his middle. “As long as you’re fine with my bony elbows getting in the way.”
Martin leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, chest burning, dizzy and confused. His tongue moved on its own with the familiar eb-and-flow of their evenings. “And all of my warmth being stolen?”
“Naturally. As everyone loves to remind me, I need to be better equipped for the cold.” As Jon leaned in again, his stomach loudly protested and he froze. “Hm.”
Martin forced them both upright, half-heartedly untangling their limbs. “You also need to eat something.” And he needed time for his face to regain its normal color.
Rolling his eyes, Jon reached for his plate while moving as little as possible from his new spot on the couch. “Trading one scolding for another, then?” He was clearly going for deadpan but was too tired to stop the grin from spreading across his face.
“Shut up and eat your beans.”
He did, quite comfortably in his newly-acquired space against Martin’s side. Quickly, too, as both found their appetites much easier to wrangle after that unprecedented level of emotional honesty. Perhaps too quickly. Once they were both fed Martin stood up and stretched without much thought at all, then turned to see Jon reaching out a hand.
So he pulled Jon up, letting out a small ‘oof’ when Jon leaned into him like it was wholly normal for him to do so. And he supposed it was if he chose to see it that way.
Martin could’ve felt something more like embarrassment, or bashfulness, but he was tired, and 29 years old, and it was easy to follow Jon’s lead in skipping to the part where they’d always been like this.
By the time they collapsed onto the bed, run ragged from forces unknowable, it was no surprise when Jon threw a skinny arm around Martin’s torso and immediately fell asleep, Martin not far behind.
After lunch Martin collapsed onto his bed, muscles complaining from the long walk he’d taken around town. They didn’t ache; he’d made the walk up and down those cliffs enough to have built up some stamina. But he was tired, tired enough to place his glasses on the side table and try for a lie down.
Jon had gone out to sea.
It was good news. A few days of rest and Jon was comfortable going back in the water. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to bring up safety concerns if Jon was diving back in of his own accord. Maybe it wouldn’t take much convincing for Jon to find a safer place to hide.
Then there would be no need for Jon to worry about the skin or pretend he was ok with Martin seeing it.
Martin frowned, rubbing small circles into his forehead and cheeks. It would’ve been nice to pretend that Jon was genuinely all right with his coat lying around for Martin to see, but there was no getting around the tightness around the man’s mouth as he’d taken the skin out of the room.
Not that Martin had made the situation any better, freezing up at the sight of the thing. He’d managed to calm down enough for polite conversation during lunch, but there he was, holed up in his room in the hopes that sleep would carry everything away. It wasn’t pleasant, but there was nothing else to do in his agitated state but retreat upstairs and try to relax.
So he lay there, turning from one side to the other, unable to stop himself from peeking at his phone and confirming that it had only been minutes since the last time he’d checked. For several hours he did this, groaning each time the clock refused to tick forward more than a quarter of an hour. All he wanted was for time to pass while he wasn’t looking. Why couldn’t it play along for once?
It was while reaching for his phone yet again that there was a knock on his door.
“Martin?
The phone dropped to the floor, and Martin cursed. “Yeah? Sorry, give me a minute.” He reached down after it, squinting into the shadows between his bed and the side table.
From the other side of the door, Jon said, “If this is a bad time-”
“No, no, it’s-” Martin sighed and finally grabbed his glasses from the end table. Tightening his ponytail back to a presentable state, he pushed himself off of the bed and opened the door. “It’s fine. What’s going on?”
Jon looked up at him, fingers lacing together. Then he looked back down, warm light from the hall casting his face in shadow. “Nothing. The trip outside left me more tired than I’d expected, so I’ve given up on research for the night.”
“Oh. Okay.” He wasn’t sure if it was the sudden brightness or his failure of a nap, but Martin found himself slow to respond. “Glad you’re taking some time to rest?”
“That’s the idea. I hope I didn’t interrupt you.” He looked through the doorway into the dark.
“You did? Sort of. Wasn’t going well, though.” Martin said, running a hand along his forehead and combing a bit of his bangs that had flipped up against his pillow. “Can I… Do you need something?”
Jon scratched his head. “Er… not really. It’s getting a bit late and I thought we could eat and continue that show we started yesterday. The one with the old house?”
Late. He had started his nap with some light through his window and when he dropped his phone he couldn’t see a damned thing. Of all the rude things.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten-” Martin walked past him and down the stairs. “I should be able to get something made up.”
With a placating gesture, Jon said, “Martin, you don’t have to-”
“It’s fine! You’re a guest and yesterday…” At a sudden new smell Martin trailed off, following the scent to its source. “Oh.”
It was rice and chicken with fried vegetables. Two bowls were set on the kitchen counter, ready to be filled from the large pan on the stove. Simple enough, anything would have to be with Martin’s grocery choices, but there had been a clear increase in effort from the night before.
Damn it, he’d slept too late. He should’ve been up an hour ago, not wallowing in bed while Jon made dinner again. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of Jon eating his cooking, but it would’ve been less embarrassing. Absent-mindedly he tried to smooth a different area of his hair.
Coming back to himself, Martin glanced at Jon who had already started filling up his own bowl.
He would not make another meal weird. Not for the third time in a row. He stood back and waited for his turn. “It looks great. Thanks for cooking, again. I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
“You grabbed lunch. Fair is fair.” Jon turned with his food and gestured toward the living room with his elbow.
Dinner and drink acquired, they walked past the empty kitchen tabled into the living room and settled into their respective sides. Because that was how things were, with Jon on the right and Martin to the left. Routine. Or Jon preferred having a side table to his right.
Not much was said as they resumed their watch, Jon clearly trying to keep stone faced at the strange yelling man they’d left off from in the young girl’s dream. It was too early to let himself laugh at something that silly, apparently. The adventures of the younger sister continued with empty halls and one incredibly mean older brother. Not in a particularly intense way, but the way siblings could be in shows. Martin hadn’t had any experience in that vein, but he hoped actual siblings weren’t actually that awful to each other.
Nevertheless, the girl went on exploring the house and the surrounding grounds, this time with a proper coat and boots. From over a hedge, a child from a neighboring house told her of local superstitions related to her family’s new home and then was called home by a woman off screen.
“I wonder if that’s all he was for,” Jon said, taking another bite of chicken. “Walk on-screen, say something cryptic, and then disappear forever.”
Martin thought for a moment, swallowing his current mouthful. “Don’t remember him, honestly.”
With a sigh, Jon raised an eyebrow at Martin and said, “Well, there are worse ways of getting information across I suppose.” Then he turned back to the television.
This would happen every once in a while, Jon making some comment or other with the tiniest of nit-picks and looking at Martin not for agreement but just to have someone to say it to. He wondered if Jon would say it out loud with no one else in the room. It was easygoing, though, and with Jon happy enough to fill the space, Martin didn’t have to use much of his brain to enjoy himself.
At one point the girl made her way into an attic space. Jon wondered aloud if the strange man from before would ever come back or if it was just another one-off character when suddenly the camera turned with the man’s face in the window.
Both men jumped in their seats, Jon with a startled yelp. His fork fell to the ground and he scowled at it. “Shit.”
Martin smiled sheepishly and said, “I do remember being a bit scared of this show now that I think about it.”
Clearing his throat, Jon scooped up his fork and strode over to the kitchen. “A cheap jump scare, that’s all. It would startle anyone.”
He didn’t mean to laugh, but a little one slipped out as Jon left the room. Hopefully Jon hadn’t heard him. The man was already bad enough at hiding his own embarrassment, and he didn’t want to come off as mocking. Even if he was, a bit.
It didn’t seem like Jon took teasing too badly, though, if past conversations were any proof. He huffed and did his best to explain himself, sure, but he wasn’t the type to linger too long before moving onto other topics. Given the opportunity he might even tease Martin back.
This was stupid. This was a stupid thing to think about and Martin’s ears were starting to burn.
He rubbed his forehead and let out a breath through his nose. It was all right. With the limited time Jon would be staying, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy his evening and be a bit easier on himself. What did it matter if he had the tiniest, softest feelings as long as he kept quiet about them?
Jon returned after a minute or so with a clean fork and a suspicious glance at the television set.
Not having bothered to pause the show, Martin said, “The man’s face disappeared when-”
“When she looked again, I heard,” Jon replied, waving a hand.
“Sure you want to keep watching?” Martin asked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
Nodding gravely, Jon glared at the screen. “Yes. Next time he appears I’ll be ready for him.”
Unable to stop himself, Martin snorted and then kept his face down towards his dinner bowl until the scene was over. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jon relax into the back of the couch. Maybe he even smiled a little. From that angle it was hard to tell, and at that point Martin was incapable of looking directly at him without exposing the absolutely gone look on his own face.
It only took him weeks of knowing the guy and several days of living with him, but Martin had finally noticed that Jon often tried to be funny in a flat sort of way. Pity he had to deal with someone who didn’t pick up on the joke half the time.
Jon was trying. Trying to be a good house guest, to fix the mess they both had found themselves in, to help people he barely knew. To make their cohabitation bearable.
So Martin laughed a little through his scorched throat, hoping it was enough.
–
When Martin returned from his walk to town the next day the skin was hanging up in the downstairs shower, dripping wet. A better place to see it, for certain. Martin had the hall to himself when he jumped at the sight and could scurry up to his room to let his stomach untie itself before Jon noticed he was home.
Once his breathing had caught up with him he had the space to wonder if the trips out to sea had been happening this whole time. Maybe Jon’s trepidation was all in Martin’s head, another baseless excuse to put off the inevitable.
–
He tried to bring his concerns up that night at dinner (whipped up by Martin at his own insistence, unfortunately), but Jon really got going on the topic of irregular hauntings and it seemed a shame to-
–
He’d taken notes on what to say.
Once lunch came around on Monday he sat himself down and started to write in his notebook. The notes were scattered, barely legible with how fast he scribbled, but the pen chased his thoughts as best they could. The notes weren’t a letter or speech and couldn’t be relied on as such. Pros and cons, the numerous risks Jon was taking, that sort of thing.
Hewasn’t kicking Jon out. He wasn’t exactly inviting him to stay either. He was asking Jon to break a promise not just with Martin but with Evan as well. He was asking Jon to let Tim and Sasha handle things, not because Jon wasn’t capable-
God, what was he writing, a notice of termination?
Jon could leave. Should. Absolutely, Jon needed to think ahead and not assume his own personal selkie hunter’s colleague wouldn’t sniff him out eventually. If he was lucky Jon would be on board with the idea. Not so lucky, though. He didn’t need Jon running out the door.
Martin had already asked Jon to let him make dinner again, and this time he would plan something better than his usual, easy meals. Nothing fantastic, but more effort than he’d bother to put in for himself. When he got back Jon would be tapping away at the laptop, where Martin could, well… corner him, basically. They would have the conversation, and once things were settled he could cook for Jon and assuage his own overwhelming dread by keeping his hands busy.
He looked at the winding steps and was halfway out of his chair when he saw his break was over. Nothing for him to do but work.
–
The walk down the cliffs was unbearable, and he wished he could go right back up and up and up to the lighthouse and up once more.
No one was making him do this. The conversation didn’t have to happen that evening, or any evening. Jon was an adult who wouldn’t appreciate someone nagging about safety. Probably.
But that just meant Martin had to be stubborn about it. Plant himself firm and make his case for why Jon needed to leave forever, immediately, for both their sakes. Because it was dangerous. Because the situation had changed since Jon made those promises. Because Martin couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have someone watching while he waited for the worst to come.
So Martin was going to kick Jon out of his house before he had the chance to break down and embarrass himself. Could he be more of a selfish arse?
Jon’s safety was the priority. Not his pride, or Martin’s helplessness, or how the house wasn’t so painfully quiet while Jon was there.
Jon’s safety. That and ripping the rug out from under Elias’ plans. That would feel good, even if he was never going to meet the man.
Breathing in sharply, Martin slapped his cheeks and brought life back to cold-numbed skin. He squinted at his house through the rolling fog. Light shone through only the living room window, fuzzy through the mist on Martin’s glasses. His hair had begun to stick to his forehead unpleasantly, so he stalked towards the house and left his stupid arguments behind.
“Jon?” he said, a little too loud for the empty front hall. He hung up his heavier jacket on the hook. “I’m back. It’s nasty today, isn’t it?”
The silence he’d tried to break stood firm, the tiniest reverberations of his voice hitting him like a brick.
So he walked lightly, gently, down the hall, passing the living room to peek inside the dark toilet. Nothing hung from the shower rod.
Something rose like panic in his chest, and he shoved it down. Backtracking, he reached the living room and found it empty. No long-forgotten mug on the side table, the blanket once crumpled now folded politely, and the laptop sitting closed on what had become Martin’s side of the couch.
He backed into the hallway and turned his head towards the front door, careful not to look into the kitchen. His wet tracks formed a path outside for him to follow.
Starting at the base of the front steps were footprints, smaller than his own and faded to almost nothing. And they went straight towards the water. Martin couldn’t see where exactly they ended with his field of vision limited to ten, maybe fifteen feet at most. So Jon wasn’t kidnapped. That was something.
Right. He should go make dinner.
It wasn’t the plan, but they could eat first. Jon would probably be back soon, and he imagined swimming was physically taxing no matter what form the man took.
Air filled his nostrils and his shoulders went slack. A few minutes to breathe and let himself calm down in the night air would do him good after all the pointless worrying he accomplished that day. He sat on the top step, damp seeping through his clothes from the wooden porch. It wasn’t as cold as he expected it to be, especially after the walk down. It was almost pleasant.
He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his legs and tried looking up at the overcast sky and saw nothing at all. He breathed in, and out, and the remaining panic seeped out of him on the exhale.
Jon wasn’t in the living room, waiting to listen to Martin’s slapdash presentation on why he would be better off anywhere else. Why would he be where Martin expected? What reason did the universe have to follow Martin’s stupid little notes?
What plans could he possibly put into motion? The world moved without him, and as he looked up, time didn’t seem to move at all. The clouds didn’t move across the sky, backlit by the moon. It was just the grey, the mist, the fog. Not the kind that pushed him to Simon’s house of threats and mockery. This was Martin’s home, where the air burned his lungs until he was clean.
He wondered idly whether he would be entirely smoothed out from the inside if he stayed there long enough. He didn’t think so. His mother had come out so often for so long and, well, he didn’t know what was in her head. He didn’t know her at all. But she never became smooth and calm from sitting in the night. The cold was too much and she had been so sensitive to it.
But he was younger, and stronger, and she had run off somewhere he couldn’t. Wherever Jon had run off to. How much later was it? Certainly late enough to assume the best. Now he didn’t have to put effort into dinner, or argue with himself. Jon made the right choice, thankfully. He was a smart man, a smart and funny man who was nice enough to keep Martin company in the days after his mother left.
When did the breaths stop burning? He wanted to be angry about her being right, but it wouldn’t do anything. It wasn’t as if he was going to shout, or get up and stomp around like a child.
How much would it take to skip ahead and find out if Tim or Sasha could save the day? Could he sit there until the time came? Would they come to see him? To say goodbye? Would Jon go to them when it was safe? He hoped so. They must’ve been so worried about Jon those long weeks while Martin assumed the worst in his well of self-pity. And Tim didn’t need another missing person in Jon.
His shoulders began to shake. He wasn’t laughing, or crying, all the moisture on his face coming from the air and sticking to him like dust. It clung to his glasses now, and dark shapes slipped away from focus beyond the lenses. It was disorienting, and he frowned, trying to blink away the images.
They refused, coming just a bit more into focus and merging together into one mass, moving his shoulders with a force that threatened to push him onto his back if they let loose their grip-
“-k at me, okay? Did something happen? Can you- no, he can’t, of course he can’t, shit-” Something cold rested on Martin’s face. “Okay, since you’re sitting up you might be able to stand? No, that’s stupid, I’m not nearly strong enough to pull him onto his feet. Um-”
Martin blinked hard, a droplet of water slipping into his eye at the wrong time. Instinctively, he reached up to rub it and bumped against a bony hand that had been pressed against his cheek. Before him, Jon jumped at the sudden movement and released Martin, bag and seal skin nearly slipping from their place around his shoulders.
Looking around, Martin found himself completely soaked and surrounded by new puddles on the ground. His loose ponytail sagged under its new weight, hair tie pulling double-duty to keep things together. Above him, clouds drifted past a thin sliver of moon.
His mouth felt oddly dry as he tried to speak. “What’s going on-”
“I’d like to know the same thing, but first-” Jon stood from his kneeling position and tugged Martin up by the elbow. “-we need to get you inside. For once I’m better equipped for the weather.”
Martin looked down at his jumper that worked wonders for layering and not much else. A shiver ran through him like a breath released. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”
Keeping a hand on Martin’s arm, Jon led him out of the cold.
I’m weak for a Good Omens selkie AU, so here’s mine!
Anthony Crowley is a fisherman in a small village who comes across a friendly white seal while swimming one day. Seven years later, he is saved from drowning by an oddly familiar creature in the sea. Afterwards, Crowley is nursed back to health by an unusual man with white hair who wears a white, speckled cloak. Crowley and his saviour, who calls himself Aziraphale, strike up a rapport, and just as Crowley starts to piece everything together, Aziraphale vanishes. Seven years after that, Aziraphale appears in the village again – but this time, he’s the one who needs Crowley’s help…
