Chapter Text
A ragged gasp rattled his lungs as Jonathan lurched forward. The putrid air caught in his throat and he fell back choking. Throat raw and lungs burning with the agony of suffocating. Torso twisted to the side, desperate to ease his breathing, only to recoil as his forearm pressed into something wet and yielding. Jonathan shoved himself away from the dessicated corpse his arm had squashed. The soft, wet press against his back did nothing to quell his horror.
No, no, no.
Around him was a sea of bodies. Glistening white bones peaked out from lumps of grey flesh. Maggots shifted the surface of skin and flies rose like smoke as he moved.
Jonathan flipped over, hands and knees clawing at the dirt and flesh below him. He scrambled over the bodies, fingers in mouths and knees breaking ribs, anything to get away. Instinct brought him toward the embankment. For up is the only way out of a grave.
Wooden boards creaked beneath his weight as he emerged from the pit. His limbs shook uncontrollably and he pressed his face against the rough wood. Unable to move he rested for a moment as his gasps and cries of horror gradually quieted.
Jonathan stumbled to his feet as soon as he was able. The world dimmed around him and he swayed, the barral next to him the only thing keeping him standing.
A muffled voice accompanied by pounding footsteps persuaded him to lift his head to the person approaching him.
“We've got a live one!”
Not a person.
The pulsating light before him was the only color in his world. A delicious bright crimson against the grey landscape. It caught his attention like a scream on a silent night and Jonathan swayed into the figure’s arms.
The muffled voice rose in pitch but curiously not in volume. Hands caught his shoulders, shaking him. In response he pressed his weight into the smaller figure. His teeth found where the scent was the strongest as they hit the ground.
Hunched over his prey like a hissing cat Jonathan drank deeply. He was so thirsty.
Only when the fluttering red light faded did he jerk back with a gasp. Eyes wide and clear, the world back in color, Jonathan stared at the man below him.
“What have I done?” He breathed. Shaking fingers tore at his shirt, frantically pressing the strip of cloth to the man's marred throat.
The man was already dead.
“No.” Jonathan pressed his fingers to the man's throat to feel for a pulse that wasn't there.
Feeling numb he dropped the cloth and stumbled back from the body. Gaze shifted to take in the mass grave and Jonathan grasped his elbows.
“What is this nightmare?” He muttered.
Voices caught Jonathan's attention from the other side of the pit. Light and feminine, a voice that tugged his heart clear into his throat. It couldn’t be.
He surged to his feet and hurried across the wooden planks. The debris, machinery, and bodies slowed his frantic pace but soon she was in his view.
Mary stood with her back to him, bent forward and peering down at the face of a corpse. Rows of bodies lay before her, discreetly shrouded in dirty white fabric.
A man was with her, pulling back the cloth from faces and urging her to stay back.
Jonathan froze, uncertain now that she was before him. He had just murdered a man, killed him with his teeth like some beast. He couldn't hurt Mary.
“Look, lady, you should leave.” The man said as he dropped the cloth and brushed his hands on his pants. “It ain't safe and you've gone and looked at every corpse here. Go home.” He raised an arm and waved it vaguely in what was the presumably the direction of the road.
“I can’t!” Mary’s exclamation seemed to surprise even herself, her hand lifted to her lips as her shoulders shook. Her whole body shuddered with the force of her sobs. “I have gone everywhere. He wasn’t there. He has to be here!” She was crying now, gloved hands pressed over her eyes. “He has to be here. I can’t. I can’t. I’m so tired, Johnny.”
Inhaling deeply, Jonathan squeezed his eyes closed. Oh, Mary. Unable to resist his sister's tears he strode forward. Boots clicking against the wooden platforms the undertaker who noticed him first. The man froze, the blood draining for his face leaving him pale and shaking. He tried to take a step back only to trod on the corpse behind him.
“Mary…” he called, hesitantly reaching a hand out toward her.
She tensed at his voice. Slowly her arms lowered and her eyes found him. For a moment all she did was stare at him, face slack with incomprehension. Then she flew into his arms, not caring about the blood and decay that covered him. She sobbed against his chest, continuously speaking. The words were smothered and too fast to be understood, though his name was used more than once. Jonathan raised his arms, hesitated, then finally wrapped Mary into his embrace. Gently he stroked her hair and swayed with her. His eyes shifted from Mary’s hair to the man when he moved.
“You- We threw you into the grave! Three nights ago!” The man pointed at him, arm quivering.
Mary tore herself away from him before he could retort.
“You threw him in there? Without even checking that he was alive!” Her pitch was high with emotion, hand flung out to gesture toward the scene of horror that was the pit filled with bodies.
He held his hands up, palms forward in surrender. “Not a doctor ma’am, thought he was dead enough. Seen enough corpses by now to tell the difference.”
Mary seemed to deflate and said softly. “I’m sure you have sir, these are dark times indeed.”
The man nodded. “Aye, and worse we’ll see yet. Between the war and the plague London’s not short of corpses. Well, I’ve to get back to work.”
He ran a shaking hand through his hair. His gaze never left the siblings as he skirted widely around them.
Jonathan watched him as he began to walk away. The man was headed toward where the remains of what must have been his coworker were. The remains which he would undoubtedly find. Jonathan did not want to be here when that happened. They needed to leave and now.
He placed a hand on the small of her back and said. “Mary, we need to go home.”
She had turned toward him with a smile but at his words it dropped from her face. “Of course, brother. You must be tired. Oh, to think that you’ve been here for three days. In that grave. How dreadful!”
She took his arm, still not seeming to care about the grime that he himself was very much aware of, and led him away from this hellscape.
This all seemed so surreal. The warmth of her body against his, the sound thumping of her heartbeat that he definitely should not be hearing. Jonathan couldn't tear his gaze from her. He hadn't seen Mary in almost four years. His chest ached that she was draped in the black of mourning. Surely she was not wearing that for him?
It wasn’t until they were about a block away from the open area that was being utilized as a mass grave that Jonathan began to examine the world around him rather than the profile of Mary's visage.
Buildings stood tall and impossibly large around them. Vast emptiness stared out of the gaping open maws of the doors creaking in the wind. Sheet metal and steel beams looming dark against only slightly paler sky.
The industrial warehouse district of Southwark stood dark and empty. The droning hum of a faulty street up above was the only noise aside from their own. Distantly Jonathan could hear the clanking and hiss of a foundry and the grating rhythm of a train even more distant that that. These things were far away he knew, far enough that he shouldn't even be able to hear them.
Much like the beating heart of the woman next to him.
Soon Mary began to speak, telling him about how frantic the past three days had been for her. Her voice intentionally low but still painfully loud as it echoed in the stillness of the night around them.
“I searched everywhere, Jonny. Your letter arrived and we were all overjoyed! Our Jon was coming home! When several days passed without you I knew something was wrong. Mother wasn't… well, she has not been in the best state of mind since you left for France, brother. It will be good for her to see you.” Mary paused to brush her hair out of her face, her bun coming loose in the drizzle of London rain that was beginning. Always, perpetually beginning.
“You were not at the Pembroke Hospital, nor any of the Red Cross dispensaries. That nearly broke my heart. Where else could you be if not in any of the hospitals? None of the vicars or priests had buried you. I searched all the cemeteries I could think of. It was probably more likely to find you here, in the mass graves of Southwark. I knew that. After searching the hospitals I knew that that was the most likely scenario. The most likely place to find your body. I just couldn't fathom you being thrown into a pit like piece of rubbish.” Mary spoke calmly, voice only breaking for the last half of her last sentence.
His brave, kind Mary stopped walking and turned to face him. Jonathan stepped a pace in front of her before noticing her pause and turning to face her. Though the rain covered her face he knew if was tears that were making her blue eyes so reflective in the pale flickering yellow street light.
“It's a bloody miracle that you're alive Jonathan.” Mary stared at him, barely blinking her intense gaze. “I know you're not religious, brother, despite mother's efforts, but I prayed for this.”
“Oh Mary.” Jonathan murmured as he wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders. He coaxed her into walking again. Something told him deep in his gut that it was imperative to get home as soon as possible. He wasn’t yet ready to explain what had happened to him and it seemed that Mary wasn’t ready to ask either for the two stayed quiet as they carefully picked their way towards the Southwark bridge.
…
Avery and mother were at the door almost as soon as Mary had ushered him inside. The two had taken in his bedraggled form and surged forward with concerned cries.
“Mr. Jonathan! Are you injured?”
“Oh, Jonathan!” Mother embraced him with as much force as Mary had at their reunion. With a sigh he enfolded her in his arms. It had been a long three years and they were rather used to seeing him stained with blood, he supposed.
It took him another moment to realize the quivering woman in his arms was crying.
He let out a long breath. “Hush mother, it's alright. I'm alright. I'm here now.” Jonathan murmured and began to rub small circles into his mother's back. He gave his mother a slight squeeze, eyes meeting Mary's who had just finished locking the door.
Luckily Mary took mercy on him and stepped over to coax their mother away.
“Jonathan needs to rest, mother. He's had a long… week. What with the journey back from France. Let's prepare him something to eat.”
The women left the entryway but Avery took their place and Jonathan soon found himself bathed, freshly clothed, and seated at the dinner table with the wonderful women in his life to keep him company.
Avery placed a bowl of broth and a glass of water before Jonathan and then wondered out of the room. Presumably to rid the washroom of his bloodied and ruined clothing. Or some other chore. Or even perhaps to eat his own meal. He wasn't even sure why he was extrapolating on the actions of his butler.
He looked down to the bowl in front of him. The murky yellow broth was unappealing. Its scent wafted upwards in gentle waves of steam that rolled Jonathan's stomach. It wasn't something that he wanted to put into his mouth in the slightest but he diligently raised the spoon under the watchful eyes of his family.
If what the undertaker said was true then he hadn't eaten in three days. A bit of broth would do him good especially with the lack of appetite.
“What happened to you, Jonny?” Mary asked of him quietly once he had eaten a few spoonfuls.
He looked up at the pair of them and placed the spoon solidly on the table before answering. “I was… attacked. On my way here from the train station. From behind. I could not see them. I assume they stole my valuables.”
Jonathan placed a hand on the left side of his neck. The wounds that he had swore were there had vanished as if he'd imagined the punctures. Perhaps he had.
“I thought that my assailant had severed the common carotid artery. There was so much blood. I…” Jonathan trailed off, failing to find words to describe the fear he had for his life. There was no way to live with all the blood he had lost, even with transfusions it was touch and go.
His mother was sobbing again, a gray handkerchief pressed against her eyes. Mary had a hand pressed to her mouth but there were no more tears in her eyes.
Unable to watch their pain Jonathan turned his attention back to the broth.
Mary had begun to speak but he didn't pay attention to her words. Something was wrong.
He surged to his feet and fled the room. He fumbled his way into the loo, hands only just caressing the porcelain before he violently expelled his guts into the toilet.
Jonathan rocked back onto his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breath labored. Distastefully he noted that there was no trace of red anywhere. Perhaps he had hallucinated attacking that man? Sudden nausea was indicative of a concussion and the hallucinations were likely from dehydration. Except he had felt steady on his feet the whole way back from Southwark.
A hand on his back alerted him to Mary's presence. He realized that he had been ignoring her repeated expressions of concern.
“I'm fine, Mary. I just… I just need to rest.” Jonathan tried to reassure her with a weak smile. He climbed to his feet, flushed the toilet, and all but fled the room.
Mother was in the hall when he stepped out. He wrapped her into another hug immediately.
“It is alright. I only need to sleep, mother.” Jonathan reassured as he took his leave.
He made his way up to the second floor to his childhood room. The bed was already prepared, bless Avery, the man needed a raise, and he collapsed onto it in a dead sleep.