Chapter Text
It was a usual day in the archives. Jon was holed up in his office, being paranoid. Tim…well, he wasn't slacking, necessarily. He'd get his work done. Just not right now. No, right now, he was meandering around the stacks and glaring at them as he went. Martin was making tea. And Sasha was angrily banging the side of the computer screen, annoyed that it was still malfunctioning.
Upstairs, on the ground floor, Rosie was examining a mysterious yellow envelope that contained what she thought might be a book. The envelope was being held together with clear tape in various areas and had stamps from all over the world. While Rosie tried to find out who it was addressed to, she silently grumbled that this envelope was somehow more well-traveled than her. Seemed unfair.
Finally, through the mess, she made out the name of the addressee. Sort of. A lot of it had been lost to the stamps and smudges and layers of tape.
Regardless, she tucked the package underneath her arm carefully before putting up a sign to inform anyone that might come in that she'd be right back, and quickly made her way to the basement. She didn't stop or pause in her purposeful stride, as she made her way through the common workspace for the archival staff. When she arrived at the door to the head archivist's office, she gave three sharp raps and waited for the, "Come in." before opening the door and stepping inside, then closed the door behind her.
Jon was surprised to see her, since she rarely visited the archives. Not that people often visited the archives, in general.
Rosie gently took the package from underneath her arm and held it out, toward Jon, setting it on his desk as she said, "This came for—" she broke off and thought for a moment before continuing with, "…well, it's been addressed to the archives."
Jon looked up at her skeptically before his eyes strayed down to the package. "What does that mean? Who left it? What it is?"
Rosie waited until Jon looked back up at her to answer his first question, "I, unfortunately, couldn't make out who it was addressed to specifically, but I could make out the word, archives. I don't know who delivered it. I was taking a phone call, looked at my computer for a moment, and when I looked back it was just sitting there. I didn't even hear anyone approach or come in." She paused. "I think it's a book."
Jon took a moment before looking back up at Rosie and giving her a polite smile. "Thank you, Rosie."
Rosie nodded back before briskly exiting Jon's office and the archives.
Due to Jon's paranoia, and his tendency to over-think many things, he sat in his office for a while, thinking about what to do with it. He'd tried to see if he could make out who the specific addressee was but no such luck. After, he tried to determine if one of the archival staff had ordered something and had it sent to the archives for some reason. But that would require asking them and he wasn't sure he wanted to do that, because paranoia due to the state of the envelope. At the same time, if they found out he'd been hiding something from them, he was sure that wouldn't go over well, either. Especially if this was something one of them was waiting for. But why have it sent to the archives, of all places?
Jon mussed up his hair and let out a heavy sigh in frustration. He was only going in circles now. Either he opened it in the comfort of his office or he asked the others about it.
Straightening up, he pulled the package closer to him and went to grab a pair of scissors…and then changed his mind at the last second. Grumbling, Jon returned his scissors to the proper desk drawer before grabbing his forearm crutches, which were leaning in a corner of where a bookshelf met the wall behind his chair, and stood. When he'd gotten around his desk, he stopped and looked at the package on his desk.
He was still getting used to using crutches. (Two months sounded like a long time, but it really wasn't.) Still getting used to a lot of things related to why he was using crutches—such as how much feeling he'd lost in on the inside of his right leg from the knee down, the feeling he had left being mostly pain, his balance being completely throw off because of the loss of feeling. His left leg had also lost feeling, just not as much and that, thankfully, also meant he had less pain in his left leg, too. When he used his crutches, he mostly kept his right leg completely off the ground. It was just easier and helped him move faster.
Anyway, he was getting used to using crutches and still being relatively independent.
Jon tried to hold the package with his first two fingers and thumb, balancing the heel of his palm on the handle of his crutch and wrap his last two fingers around it. But the worms had also gotten to his arms and hands. Not nearly as bad as his leg, but enough for him to experience chronic pain. He probably could have done it had he had the grip strength, since he was traveling a short distance. Unfortunately, he didn't have the grip strength yet.
Leaning against his desk, he tucked the package under his arm and carefully made his way to the door. Checking his balance and his grip on the package, he opened his office door and walked out into the common work space, leaving his door ajar.
Everyone was at their computers, following up on leads. Or in Sasha's case, still struggling to get her computer to even work for her.
Jon cleared his throat to get their attention. They all turned to him. Making sure he had his balance, but staying close to the wall so he could lean on it if he began to lose his balance, he showed them the envelope.
"Did any of you order something and have it sent to the archives?" he asked. They all gave him blank looks. "Alright." He turned, tucked the package back under his arm and began to head back into his office but Tim stopped him.
"Hold on," he said. "You can't just ask us that and then not elaborate."
Jon silently cursed—exactly what he was afraid of. He turned to face the assistants again.
"Just a package addressed the archives," Jon said. "I can't read the name of who it is specifically addressed to." Jon turned again but was stopped by Tim again.
"What is it?"
Jon threw Tim a glare over his shoulder, who glared right back. "I don't know. I haven't opened it yet."
"Why don't we open it together, then," Tim suggested before Jon could even take a step toward his office. "You've made me curious. I'm sure my coworkers are curious, too." Tim looked at Sasha, then Martin, who nodded and sheepishly shrugged, respectfully. Tim looked back at Jon and gave him a shit-eating grin.
Jon tried not to roll his eyes as he turned to face them again. "Do any of you have a pair of scissors handy?"
Martin produced a pair of scissors and stood, holding them out as Jon approached his desk. He leaned up against one of the empty desks near Martin's, setting the package onto the table before leaning his crutches up against the table as well. He pulled the extra chair from the empty desk and took a seat before he took the scissors from Martin.
Jon cut open the top—or what he thought was the top—of the envelope as Tim and Sasha moved closer. He peeked inside as he set the scissors back down on the table.
"Looks to be a book," he muttered before carefully reaching inside. As soon as his hand made contact, the book leapt from his grasp and flew open on its own accord, ripping the envelope to shreds as it did so, and a pure black horse—an Ardennes Draft Horse, in fact—jumped out from the pages.
Tim, Martin, and Sasha stumbled back, away from the book and the horse. Jon stood on instinct but immediately lost his balance and, with a yelp, took a spill, knocking on his crutches over on the way down for good measure. He let out a frustrated sigh but quickly looked back where the horse was, since that was the more pressing issue at the current moment.
The horse whinnied and reared up on its hind legs. Jon blinked and the horse was gone. All that remained was the open book lying on the ground several feet away and the shredded pieces of the envelope.
It was quiet for a long moment.
"You saw that right?" Martin finally asked, bringing one of his hands to his forehead, eyes wide with something along the lines of panic. "It was a horse, right? A huge, pure black horse. I wasn't imagining things?" No one answered, still too in shock. "I'm not crazy, am I?"
Season 1 Jon would've thought, That's debatable, but after Jane Prentiss, anything was possible. Not to mention his own trauma-filled childhood experience with a certain book.
Tim was the one who finally answered in a small voice, "No. No that was definitely a horse."
"Where did it go?" Sasha asked. "I blinked and it was gone."
Jon finally found the wherewithal to stand up (and close his mouth): he grabbed his crutches and carefully got to his feet. The others were still too stunned to ask if he needed help. (Not that he would've told them, if he'd had. One part due to, yes, his paranoia, another part due to his stubbornness, and a third part, his desire to remain independent.) One he go this balance back, he readjusted his glasses and pulled at the front of his shirt to smooth the wrinkles.
"I think that book is a Leitner," he said
The three archival assistants looked at him.
"What." Tim said flatly as Martin said, "That would explain a lot."
"The horse seems to have come from the book," Jon said, making his way over to it.
"You sure it's okay to touch again?" Martin asked, staying behind with Tim and Sasha.
Jon slowly and carefully (so as to not jostle his right leg too much) knelt down next to it, setting one crutch down on the ground and using the other as a brace. He scanned the pages. Nothing familiar—he didn't know the book right off the top of his head, anyway.
"I'm honestly not sure," Jon finally responded. "Can someone hand me a pen?"
Sasha quickly grabbed one from a nearby desk and handed it over to him. Jon nodded his thanks and turned back to the book, carefully pushing the book closed to show the title. "Black Beauty," Jon read. He turned to look at the others over his shoulder. "Could one of you—?"
Martin nodded. "On it." He sat back down at his computer and began typing. "Who's the author?"
Jon turned back to the book—nothing on the cover. He carefully opened it again with the pen. It didn't take long to find the author: "Anna Sewell." That set off a lightbulb in his head but he kept it to himself as Martin searched. Instead, he closed the book again with the pen and carefully stood back up (rationally, he knew this would get easier and go faster once he got used to using crutches, but emotionally he wished he was already at that point in time), going over to where Tim and Sasha hovered next to Martin. They were all reading the Wikipedia page about the book.
"It looks like the main plot of the story focuses on a horse named Black Beauty," Martin said as he scanned the plot summary.
"Explains why the horse was all black, then," Tim muttered.
"It's about the horrors of animal cruelty and abuse," Jon said. "I'd forgotten about it until now. Something I read when I was younger."
Tim snorted and Jon felt his face heat up.
"It was a popular book!" Jon tried to defend.
"Yeah, in the nineteenth century," Tim retorted.
"Well, what should we do with it?" Martin quickly asked. They all turned to look at the book again. "We can't touch it."
"Maybe we could wrap it in a piece of fabric," Sasha suggested. "Jon seemed fine handling it in the envelope."
"We should burn it," Jon said in a monotone.
"Burn a Leitner? Is that safe?" Martin asked.
Tim tutted. "As safe as anything else we've encountered."
"What about the horse?" Sasha asked.
Jon glanced back at the book. "Not sure there's anything to be done about it. We don't know where it went or what its agenda is. Reading the book may prove to be fatal in one way or another."
"If we burn the book, will the horse disappear, then?" Martin asked.
"I'm unsure." Jon frowned, not liking this whole situation. And that was on top of the fact that Rosie had no idea who'd delivered it. "In any case, I'll take the book and burn it in the courtyard at the end of the day when there's less chance of being seen."
"Shouldn't we try to burn it sooner?" Tim asked. "Get rid of the horse before it wreaks too much havoc." Jon was doubtful, not wanting to get caught. Tim noticed and snorted. "Even if someone made a complaint or reported you, what is Elias going to do? Fire you? Hell, I'd burn the book on Elias's office desk if I thought he'd fire me for it."
Fair point, Jon thought. Out loud he looked down at his watch (so he could keep holding both his crutches). "Half-one. Everyone should be in a food coma. I could burn it now, I suppose."
Martin blinked. "You know what a food coma is?"
Jon scoffed. "I know some slang." To that he got three faces of amused skepticism. "I…I don't have time— I'm going to go burn the book." Without waiting for a response, he stomped brusquely walked past his coworkers, back to his office to grab the extra cardigan he carried around in his messenger bag, to wrap the book in, and the lighter with the web design on it.
It was quick and easy work to then wrap the book up and carry it out to the courtyard, with the book tucked under Jon's arm again. As much as he was hesitant to burn a book in broad daylight (and at his place of work, no less), it was far more satisfying to burn a Leitner. Jon would never admit it, but he was looking forward to watching it go up in smoke.
So, of course, the universe (or what have you) wasn't going to let him have it.
He'd sat down on one of the benches, crutches leaning up against it and his left leg. He was just about unwrap the book when Martin burst through the door behind him, out of breath and looking frantic.
Jon instinctively looked up.
"We need you in here!" Martin gasped, gripping the door handle, eyes wide.
A sense of panic shot through Jon and he lowered the book, still wrapped in his cardigan. "What? What's going on?" he asked. He felt silly asking it but he still needed to ask, "I-is it the horse?"
Martin shook his head. "You'll never believe me if I told you. You have to come see for yourself."
Jon gestured to the book in front of him. "I was just about to—"
"I think it can wait just a little bit longer," Martin interrupted. Jon wanted to object but Martin's expression looked pretty on edge. With a small, quiet, frustrated grunt, Jon grabbed his crutches, tucked the book underneath his arm, and stood, following Martin back into the Institute.
Martin's stride was swift but Jon was able to keep pace with him. (He wasn't sure if it was because Martin had subconsciously slowed or the crutches actually made it easier for him. Could've easily been both.) They were headed back toward the archives. Jon nodded to Rosie as they passed her desk. Martin began to lead him down the stairs but Jon froze when he got close enough to see the body lying at the bottom of the stairs. (As a side-note: Stairs were the worst right now and Jon always silently cursed Elias the whole way down, or up, for not having an elevator in the Institute.)
"What's going on?" Jon asked.
Martin, who was half-way from Jon and the body, stopped and turned to look back at Jon.
"We're not sure," he said. "Tim just found him like this."
Tim was standing next to the body, looking down at it, but looked up when Martin said his name. Jon ventured closer, silently cursing Elias (and struggling to keep the book tucked under his arm; the cardigan helped, bulked it up so he didn't have to hold his arm so close to his body), then both he and Martin slowly made their way down the rest of the stairs, stopping on the step above where the body of their boss and head of the Institute, Elias Bouchard, laid prone and unconscious at the bottom of the staircase.
The three of them stared down at their boss in silent confusion.
"Is he still breathing?" Jon finally asked quietly, leaning up against the wall, to take pressure off his arms and gently rest his right leg on the ground (but making sure not to put any pressure on it). He also removed the book from underneath his arm, haphazardly dropping it on the step above him so he wouldn't have to hold it for now (but wouldn't forget it later, either).
"Yeah," Tim answered, in the same quiet voice.
"Think we should move him? Or phone for an ambulance?" Martin asked, matching the others' soft tones.
"That might be prudent," Jon said. "We don't know if he's broken anything or has a concussion. How long has he been here?"
"No long," Martin said. "Tim and I heard crashing noises. When we came to investigate, we found Elias here."
Jon's eyebrows furrowed and he looked up at them. "And Sasha?"
Tim shrugged. "She'd gone off to go look up something in the stacks."
Jon frowned but said nothing more of it. "I guess someone should phone—"
"Wait, he's…he's waking up," Tim whispered. They all exchanged glances before looking back down at their boss as he stirred. His eyes fluttered a few times before they finally opened. It took another few moments for his eyes to adjust and a moment longer for his eyes to focus on the three faces staring down at him.
What he said next shocked Tim, Martin, and Jon so much, all they could do was stare down at their boss in shocked confusion: "Duuuuude."