Work Text:
It’s been a tough few months for Jonathon Sims. The new, better-paying job turned out to be a death-trap littered with carnivorous worms, a creepy boss who can See literally everything, and on his first day, the ghost of his predecessor dumping the knowledge of eldritch fear gods into his brain. Christ, the headache he had after that. That’s not even counting the upcoming apocalypse that he knows won’t work but still has to pretend to try and stop. He’s been kidnapped by an evil clown mannequin and it’s all a bit much.
Jon’s constant terror at all these strange, awful happenings has faded over time, though. He’s dealing with it, and his hands no longer shake when he thinks too hard about the horror story his life has become. Except when he thinks about Elias.
For all that Gertrude Robinson- or, the echo of Gertrude Robinson, stern yet vaguely comforting in her briskness- told him about Elias, she didn’t seem very afraid of the man. Even though he killed her.
Elias is possibly the scariest person Jon’s ever met, and the oily, possessive way he looks at him puts a sick, greasy taste in Jon’s mouth. It’s all Jon can do to not recoil from the man when he touches a gentle hand to Jon’s cheek, brushing against the hollows made by those awful worms with a smile almost fanatic in its joy. But he has to keep up the act, so he leans into Elias’ touches and keeps his mind blank of hatred and disgust and the terror that tries so hard to bubble up and overflow.
He pretends to belong to Elias, but Jon knows he’s really a plaything of the Beholding. A servant of the watcher, an avatar of the Dark spits in disgust, and Jon wishes it wasn’t so true. The Beholding shows him things. Jon knows not to treat the push of knowledge in the door in his mind as an ally or a gift- he doesn’t know if it has desires or plans like a human does, but he’s sure as hell it wouldn’t be the biggest fan of him planning to destroy the institute.
The cobwebs seem to like Jon, though. He’s not sure what to make of it.
All in all, Jon’s getting good at this whole supernatural subterfuge business. Martin and Tim and Melanie make things… difficult.
Not difficult. Different. He’d seen Tim and Martin around the institute before he took on the role of archivist, once or twice, but Jon had never been a social man. He’d also taken a statement from Melanie, before she was employed, and they’d clashed violently enough for him to avoid her in the halls for the next month.
And then their attempts to murder Elias six times in four days after discovering the Not-Them posing as their co-worker changed things. Jon’s still not sure how much he believes Elias’ claims that his death would lead to the death of the Institute’s employees- it’s not a piece of information his patron will gift him, and Gertrude was never sure herself. He can’t risk their lives, though, and tell the others as much when he lets them in on his Master Plan to Defeat Elias and Destroy the Magnus Institute.
It’s not a great master plan. It can be summed up in three dot points, and Jon really wishes he had a little more than:
- Fire everyone in the Magnus Institute that can be fired.
- Help Martin, Tim and Melanie gouge out their eyes.
- Set fire to the Institute, kill Elias, and hope he’s powerful enough to survive whatever the fall-out is.
There’s a few variables Jon and the others would like to investigate first, which he approaches with a sick, scientific curiosity- would gouging out Elias’ eyes destroy Jonah Magnus as entirely as destroying either of his bodies would? Is devoting themselves to another entity a better fate than violently gouging out their eyes? Jon’s firmly against the idea, the tremors in his hands and the emptiness in the eyes of every avatar he’s ever met haunting sleep already full of nightmares, but Tim thinks being an avatar of the Devastation would be, exact quote, “kind of sexy.” Jon’s really not sure how much he’s joking.
There’s a strange, uncomfortable feeling coating the back of his throat that tastes almost like longing as he watches Tim and Martin and Melanie and absent-mindedly imagines what it would be like to slot in among their messy, loyal family. Jon thinks of Melanie’s fierce protection of Tim and Martin encompassing him instead of fighting against him, and he sees the casual arm Tim slings around the shoulders of his friends, and aches with it. And then Martin makes things even more complicated.
Martin looks at Jon like he’s a hero. Sure, he fakes fear and disgust as well as the other two, but Jon catches him staring sometimes, a softness in his eyes and a half-smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.
Jon hates the role he’s been forced into, the distant, controlling boss who sees his employees as means to an end. He hates it and it’s as he’s stewing in his hatred one evening, barely taking in the book he’s trying to get through, that he hears a knock on his door. He could See and Know who it is, but he pushes back that impulse and clears his throat instead.
“Come in.”
He keeps his voice level and disinterested, vaguely aware of Elias’ lazy gaze on him. It’s a near-constant scrutiny Jon’s grown to live with. The door opens slowly, hesitantly, and Martin stands in the doorway, holding a cup of tea. It’s all Jon can do to stop his mouth from falling open.
“Uh, hi. Jon. Hello.”
They stare at each other for a few moments, before Jon recovers and beckons Martin in with an impatient hand. Martin shuffles in, movements careful to keep the tea from spilling, and Jon aches with something he can’t quite place. A though strikes him- does Martin want something from him? Jon briefly considers that this could be a ploy for another memory, perhaps, but pushes the thought aside and offers Martin a cold stare.
“What is it, Martin?”
“I, I thought you might like some tea.”
His words are hesitant, with a glimmer of fear Jon’s not entirely sure is fake. He wants to smile and thank Martin, invite him to sit, maybe even reach out and brush hands with the other man as he takes the steaming mug, but he can’t. He reaches for an annoyance he doesn’t feel and clears a space on the messy desk for the mug, gesturing sharply for Martin to place the mug there.
“I’ve asked you not to bother me unless absolutely necessary.”
Thank you for this.
Martin’s face goes from dismayed to surprised to blank in a matter of seconds. Jon forces himself to keep going.
“I don’t appreciate distractions.”
I’d just about fallen asleep over this stuffy old tome.
Martin bites back a small, persistent smile.
“Please refrain from disturbing me in the future.”
I… truly appreciate it.
Martin nods.
“Of course, Jon. Sorry.”
He turns to go, picking his way through stacks of books and papers, and Jon feels simple, soft gratitude well up in his chest. Martin closes the door softly behind him. Jon considers the mug of tea in front of him.
The mug is chipped and well worn; a faint yellow flower pattern faded to almost nothing. It’s warm in his cold hands, and as Jon works the night away in his lonely office, there’s a warmth in his chest too.