What if I headcanon that one of the things Jon’s bully stole from him was something that had belonged to one of his parents. What if I add to the immeasurable pain I feel over baby Jon.
His grandmother passes and his tiny London flat has no room for all her things and the memories they bring. It’s okay, didn’t need it much anyway.
He goes on the run with no time to even go home to grab a spare change of clothes. Who knows what was lost or broken as the police search his flat and his lease expires.
He wakes up from his coma, and even the change of clothes he kept in his office is thrown away. It’s okay, he’s used to this now. What’s losing everything he owns when he’s already lost his life and humanity?
He flees to Scotland, barely glancing at what he leaves behind as he stuffs a bag with bare essentials. For once, his hands aren’t empty, because Martin’s is gripped in his.
He hasn’t bothered to collect keepsakes for years; it’s only a matter of time before he loses it all again. But Martin gifted him a teacup with a cat on it after he caught Jon smiling at it. Jon leaves it behind when they set out to save the world.
At the end, he hopes for Somewhere Else, knowing that even that fragile thread of hope will leave their bloodied hands empty. It’s alright. It’s alright. He’s come to expect to lose everything he touches.
