Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Distortion is almost becoming familiar, with how many times Jon seems to have come through here already. He walks alone for the first time in months, his hand aching with the absence. He tries not to focus on it, to instead focus on walking, on looking for the door he needs. He can’t Know his way through this place or he’ll risk hurting Helen. All he can do is trust that she plans to let him out where he needs to go, rather than making him the Spiral’s newest victim. 

Trust. He spent so long refusing it, and where did that get him? Not like it matters now. Hopefully, it won’t matter at all. If this works… 

He spots a door towards the end of the hall. He doesn’t need to Know to realize it’s the one he’s looking for, rushing over to stop in front of it. 

Well, hopefully Jon won’t need to carry all this regret too much longer. 

He rests his hand on the handle. It’s familiar, just like that of a flat he once called home.

Sunday night usually goes to cramming for work the next morning, and tonight is no different. Jon sits in a chair in the living room of his flat, notes on the statement he plans to record tomorrow scattered around him. He's compiling all Sasha's followup onto a notecard so he can reference it as he debriefs at the end of the recording, dimly aware of the fact he should consider sleeping eventually. 

This plan dissolves the instant Jon is hit with one of the worst headaches of his life. It feels like his brain is being torn in half, like something is being driven into the back of his head and forced right through his brain. He doubles over, head in his hands, and screws his eyes shut. Somewhere in him, he thinks he should call for help. 

Call for help? Who would he even call?

Sasha? Reliable, possibly the closest thing to a friend Jon currently has. He startles himself to find he pictures two different faces when he thinks of her. It surprises him more to recognize both. Sasha, the woman he saw when he left the Institute on Friday. The other… Another woman, but not a person at all. The thing that wore a sorry excuse for Sasha’s face. There’s no hatred left in him for that thing. All he feels is guilt. Regret. 

Tim? Nowhere near as serious, but he works just as hard, in his own way. They’re sort of friends, too, almost, or at least Tim probably doesn’t hate him. The last word in that sentence is ‘Yet,’ but not for the usual reasons. There’s a memory Jon never experienced of Tim’s anger, hurt, betrayal. And then mourning. The guilt and regret return. 

Martin. Annoyance, at first. Then the fiery heat of contempt gives way to the fond warmth of— Of something, and Jon feels that undercurrent of guilt and regret cutting underneath it all. Jon doesn’t understand any of it.

The mundane familiarity of Jon’s chair beneath him is beginning to feel near-luxurious, but he feels double on that, too. He’s sitting in it right now, but he missed it. Missed it? It’s not even that great of a chair. 

Not that Jon enjoys it for long. He’s standing up, stumbling to the bathroom. He’s not sure what compels him to, but he moves anyway. He needs to see himself. He flicks the lights on, stopping in front of the mirror. 

Jon's reflection is just as he remembers. A memory of getting ready this morning, another of spotting his reflection in a car window on the walk home. The details are recent, but they feel distant. Unblemished skin. Long, mostly-black hair. Tired eyes. What else would he look like?

He leans in, looking at himself. Unblemished? No, he can see them. The ghosts of little circular scars. Worms , he thinks, though he doesn’t know where the memory comes from, From Prentiss. Prentiss? As in Jane Prentiss? When did he encounter Prentiss? Is he being haunted by the ghost of himself, eaten to death by worms? 

But no, that’s not right. This isn’t a separate voice, haunting him from the outside. He’s not being told the answers, he’s recalling them. They feel familiar, even if Jon doesn’t know why. 

He looks elsewhere on himself, hoping for an answer. His eyes move down to his neck. A thin, faint line stands out right across, like someone had tried to slit his throat. Daisy’s knife.  

He doesn’t even know who Daisy is. The back of his mind provides the information anyway. A friend with a rocky start and an... Even more rocky end. Again: guilt, regret. As the headache fades, those feelings are only becoming stronger. 

Jon holds up his hands in front of the mirror. He could just look down, he’s sure, but he’s not quite willing to see if they’re on his own body and not just the reflection. Faint circles line his left arm, and on his right hand, there’s another scar. A burn covers his entire palm and snakes around the back of his hand. Jude Perry. Boiling wax. New name, but no guilt attached to it this time. They must not have been close. Must not become close?

There’s more. He knows there should be even more. Circles all down the left side of his chest. A slash in his stomach. Burns all over his torso. Worms, Micheal, the Unknowing.  

It’s him, of course, in the mirror. But not yet. Hopefully not ever.

The headache has nearly completely faded out now, but left in its place is a question. 

Who is he?

And then Jon remembers. 

The last two years. It started with a statement that wouldn’t record on his laptop. It ended with... 

Elias. Elias? Jonah Magnus. The end of the world. Jon, a few dozen scars and bright, intense, exhausted eyes, stumbling through the Distortion. Sending his experiences back to himself. He has all his own mistakes laid out in front of him, and all he has to do is not make them again. 

His future self also made a plan. Recorded a statement, right before he stumbled off into Jon’s head. Jon doesn’t have the tape, of course, but he’s always had an excellent memory. He has a plan. The first step…

There’s a tape recorder in the other room, fresh tape already inside. He hadn’t left it there, but he isn’t really surprised to see it. It’s definitely the least worrying thing he has to deal with right this second. If Jon wants to hope to sort out the plethora of new information he’s just received, he needs to recite his future self’s statement. He’s had the courtesy to explain everything, and if Jon talks himself through it, he can start to make sense of it all. Jon would really like to make sense of it all.

He sits down and sighs. Jon presses the button, and the familiar click comforts him a bit more than it should.

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding… The sudden onset of memories from a future self. Statement recorded March 6th, 2016. Statement begins…”

The tape finishes, and Jon sighs. Even presenting it calmly to himself in a clear narrative, it’s still… A lot, to take in. 

His place of work is a temple to the Eye, an evil fear god which Elias--the servant of one such evil fear god, apparently--is trying to create a horrible, world-ending ritual in the name of. And he plans to end the world through repeatedly traumatizing Jon. This includes the loss of Jon’s life and humanity, and the traumatization and/or deaths of everyone Jon knows or becomes close to over the next two years. It then culminates with the penultimate trauma of forcing Jon to pull the trigger on the world by starting the apocalypse with his own puppetted mouth. 

If anyone else came into the Institute and gave Jon a statement containing anything close to this, Jon would laugh them out of the office. He’s sure anyone else would do the same. On the tape in front of him are the ravings of a lunatic, but it’s not like Jon has any other choice but to believe them. He’s apparently already paid the price for playing skeptic. 

No, that’s not right. Jon didn’t pay the price. Sasha paid the price.

All these monsters are just as real as Jon had also known and feared. Having reconciled with that fact once already doesn’t make it any easier, but Jon can’t afford to dig deeper into denial, no matter how desperately he wants to. The other timeline’s Sasha is dead. She was casualty of Jon not taking these threats as seriously as he should. A casualty of Jon. 

His other self couldn’t even remember her face to honor her memory. Just a horrible, pained scream, found months too late. 

Not as pathetic as your little friend when I ate her life.

Jon shudders with the memory of that thing taunting him (and Martin?) about Sasha’s death. But it won’t happen again. This time, Jon has a plan. There’s some comfort in knowing exactly what he needs to do next, in having a list he can quietly check off and keep everyone safe.

...That plan, though? Jon isn’t sure he likes the second step.

The store’s lone employee doesn’t seem happy to see Jon so close to closing, but sells Jon the laser pointer anyway. Jon turns the thing in his hands as he walks back home, shooting the little blue light onto the pavement in front of him a few times. 

5mW lasers can cause permanent damage to the eye incredibly quickly, burning patches of distortion or darkness into the center of one’s vision--Scotoma, it’s called--If they stare at the light long enough. He could buy something even stronger online to make the whole process go faster, too, but he couldn’t afford the wait.

The second step of the plan is to create a blindspot . According to his own statement, Jon and the other employees of the Institute are tied to the place by Elias. The only way to quit is to blind yourself. Other-Jon hypothesized that partially blinding himself might weaken that connection without completely losing it. Combined with whatever of his other self’s power that has trickled over into Jon, this might make Elias unable to read Jon’s mind. 

Because he can do that. Apparently. 

The less Elias knows of this plan, the more of an advantage Jon has. Given Jon is barely processing the rest of the knowledge he’s suddenly gained--He’s in shock, probably--an advantage seems very appealing.

Especially considering the fact Jon hasn’t yet been marked by any entities other than the Web, it wouldn’t be a huge loss to just... Start over, were Jon suddenly an inconvenience. Tim has also been marked already, by the Stranger. Knowing this fact feels like a breach of Tim’s privacy, but Jon supposes he may need to get used to that feeling. 

Point is, it would be easy to off yet another Head Archivist and put a new one in Jon’s place. Jon isn’t willing to do that to Tim. He’s clearly already hurt Tim enough.

So, little blue laser pointer it is. It would hurt less than stabbing his own eyes out, and it shouldn’t be immediately visible to anyone due to the fact it leaves no scars. If this does work, it could very well be the only injury Jon sustains from this whole process. At least, for a while.

Or maybe he’s doing something stupid and rash. The more things change, so on and so forth. Who is Jonathan Sims, if not a man who runs into danger with an uncertain plan and a hope it doesn’t end in disaster? 

Jon lets himself back into his flat, leaves his shoes and coat by the door, and carries his laser pointer into the bedroom. 

He can’t help but feel like this is... Anticlimactic, compared to all the other lasting damage he’s seen on his body. His other self’s first major scarring was from Prentiss. Staring into a laser pointer just doesn’t have the same excitement as being chewed to near-death by worms.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? If he does this, then none of them have to get hurt, or be traumatized, or die. 

For the sake of their lives, he’s willing to make his vision a little fuzzier in some spots.

Jon lies back in bed, setting his glasses aside. Same as putting in a contact, he holds his eyelids open on his right eye with one hand. He holds the laser just above his eye with the other, then turns it on. 

There’s no pain. Just a desperate need to blink, and an uncomfortable strain in the back of his eye. It’s not like there are many pain receptors in there, anyway. When the laser begins to burn the retina, though, and the blue in Jon’s vision starts to fade to white, he feels the rapid onset of a heavy, suffocating dread. His patron is voicing its displeasure. Jon falters, almost, but keeps his finger on the button. 

Abruptly, he knows when he’s done enough, and he stops. 

He holds his left eye open. There’s the ignored blink reflex, the strain, the burning of the center of his retina. The oppressive feeling of dread. The sudden knowledge of when to stop. Silence.

When he’s done and the flash blindness wears off, most of Jon’s central vision is gone. Whatever he’s looking directly at appears as though he’s looking at it through a dusty funhouse mirror--Distorted, indistinct, and dull. His peripheral is as clear as it ever was, at least, though that isn’t saying much. He’s worn glasses most of his life, and it’s hard to really use the edges of your vision when there are clear frames to keep your sight in. 

Well. He’ll soon get plenty of practice in watching out of the corner of his eyes, anyway. Since apparently all the monsters he’s been terrified of are all real and hate him, personally. 

Jon abruptly reaches over and turns off the light next to him, the laser pointer dropping out of his hand on the way. This is the first time he’s been in bed at a decent hour since he was promoted, but apparently his future self didn’t even sleep anymore. Or, couldn’t. Too many nightmares.

Jon can take comfort in that. He doesn’t have most of those nightmares yet.

Chapter Text

March 7th, 2016. Jon meant to figure out where that is on his mental timeline when he woke up, but his recently-damaged eyesight had caused--The irony of this not being lost on Jon--unforeseen issues. 

For one, it was disorienting. Nothing looked like anything when his alarm went off, but putting on his glasses changed less about that than it should have. There was a second of annoyance at his deeply-smudged glasses, then a realization of Oh, that’s not actually a smudge. Then panic that there was yet another thing wrong with his vision. Finally, realization that Yes, there is, but it was on purpose this time.

And then a realization of everything else, without shock to numb the brunt of it all.

A slightly hysterical snicker threatened to escape him, the weight of everything that happened the night before hitting him at once. 

Rather than have the fit of panic he desperately wanted to have, Jon instead decided to climb out of bed and get ready for work. He didn’t blind himself to make Elias suspicious of him anyway by being late to work for the first time in his career.

Getting ready presents new challenges, but he manages. Moving around his flat isn't too difficult. In a familiar spot like home, his blindspot doesn't hamper movement all that much, especially since Jon tends to keep his floors clear. "Big picture" things like room layout and large obstacles are still visible. It's the smaller details that escape him, as they're more likely to disappear when he looks at them. Jon quickly learns to hold things out of the center of his vision, look at them in the sides of his eyes.

He tries to be attentive to his appearance, to look like a polished professional. Most of his clothes are nearly identical to each other in style, though, with little variation in color. The fact he’s burned all the color vision out of the center of his eyes won’t affect his wardrobe too much, at least. He can get dressed mostly on muscle memory and feeling each article of clothing to be sure that it isn't on backwards.

Pulling his hair back into a bun is much the same, though finding a hair tie is a pain. This is not a new challenge. Little things like that tend to disappear on Jon quite often. Especially when he forgets to take his hair tie out when he goes to sleep and loses it in his bed. 

Finding his other belongings is more of a problem, though. He left all his work from the night before strewn about wherever, and when he picks up a paper to see if it’s the right statement, the words in front of him blur right out of existence.

That’s... going to make his job a little more difficult. 

A bit of trial and error, and Jon learns that he can read around the blur. Physically moving the paper around his vision seems to do the trick, though this is sure to raise questions from his assistants if they catch him. He wouldn't mind them knowing about this, he can't let Elias know what he's done. 

Well, he records with his office door closed already. The only one who’s liable to catch him is Martin barging in with tea, but thankfully, he’s out sick right now.

…No, Martin isn’t sick, is he?

Jon shoves whatever papers he has near him into his bag immediately and pulls his shoes on. The instant they’re on, he’s off.

Jon’s flat is a ten minute walk from the Institute. He’d bought the place for that reason, so he could convince himself to get a little exercise by walking to work in the mornings. Of course, he never appreciated this late at night. It’s part of what drove him to set up a cot in the Archives.

Today, Jon’s commute is significantly shorter than ten minutes, because Jon sprints on and off the entire way there. He stops outside the doors, trying to catch his breath. Nearly doubled over and leaning his hand against the Institute’s outer wall, Jon is... Having some regrets.

“Jon,” A voice behind him greets. The voice isn’t immediately familiar, but Jon does recognize it. The voice belongs to Sasha. The original Sasha, not touched by the NotThem. His other self’s holdover feelings have been clouding him since last night, and Jon imagines they will for the rest of his life. The guilt and loss are crushing in a way unlike anything else Jon has ever experienced. Hearing the voice he knows to be Sasha’s, though, the grief that’s been hanging around Jon abates, if only a little. 

He’s a little less relieved when she follows up with a question, though.

“Did you run all the way here?”

“I... Did run here, yes,” Jon admits. 

“Why?” 

“Well.” Jon starts, but he doesn’t have much of an answer. Suddenly being aware Martin is trapped in his flat by an evil fear entity’s loyal worm servant is not a good excuse for a variety of reasons. 

For one, he cannot tell anyone what he’s learned. Just because Jon has theoretically stopped Elias from reading his own mind doesn’t mean the others are in the clear. If he wants to keep Elias in the dark, he’ll have to do the same to his assistants. Building their knowledge will have to move more naturally.

Even if he could tell them, though, it’s not like they can even help Martin without being eaten themselves. Besides, he knows Martin will be fine. 

…Relatively. Prentiss will let him go eventually. 

But the idea of leaving Martin there for almost another week doesn’t sit right with Jon. He doesn’t really get an opportunity to think about why, though.

“He’s clearly just excited to get back to work.” Tim’s voice is much easier to recognize. The tone is harder, though. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s heard Tim happy. That was his own fault, of course. He let their relationship fall apart by suspecting his trusted sort-of-friend of murder for virtually no reason at all. Of course Tim had hated him by the end. Of course Tim would want to make sure Jon knew Tim never forgave him. 

And then Tim cuts into his thoughts with a “Right, Boss?” and Jon finally stands. 

“Something like that,” Jon decides. Tim and Sasha swirl in his vision, and he frowns. That will take a bit of... Adjusting. 

Jon gestures to the door, which Tim is closest to. 

“After you.”

“You think Martin will be in today?” Tim asks. The Archives are in the building’s basement, and Tim is filling the air on the walk over as best he can. “He’s been out sick for almost a week now. I’m really starting to worry about the guy.” 

“If he isn’t here today, maybe one of us should drop by and bring him soup or something,” Sasha suggests. Jon feels her pointed glance back, though only for a second. Jon’s the only one with Martin’s address, after all--It’s in Martin’s information, “I know you don’t want all your assistants sick at once, but-”  

“No,” Jon surprises himself with the force of the word, but he can’t really have either of them going there and confronting Prentiss, “No, there’s… He’d feel bad, if he got one of us sick.”

There’s a beat of silence between Tim and Sasha. Did Jon say something weird? Jon is fairly confident Martin would feel bad if someone else fell ill visiting him…  

“I guess so. I’m still worried about him,” Sasha mumbles, “It’s not the same without him bringing us tea all the time.” 

“What, tired of my tea already?” Tim laughs, though he’s trying to sound hurt. 

“Very,” Sasha deadpans. Tim scoffs as he passes through the Archives doorway, holding the door for Sasha and Jon after him. 

“Thanks, Tim,” Sasha says.

“Of course,” Tim says. Jon steps through, then stops. 

“Thank you, Tim,” he says, trying to make sure he isn’t muttering. Satisfied with that, he splits from the two of them, heading to his own office. 

Jon doesn’t see it as he hurries off, but Tim and Sasha share another look. 

“Jon seemed… Almost friendly, just now. Didn’t he?” Tim notes, “Don’t think he’s ever thanked anyone for holding the door before. I didn’t realize he knew he was supposed to do that.”

“Walking in with us, too. Even if he still won’t give us Martin’s address,” Sasha says, sitting down at her desk. Tim sits on the edge of it.

“I’ve never heard him worry about how Martin would feel before, either,” Tim says, schooling his face into a faux-seriousness, "I think something strange is afoot."

“Maybe Jon finally realized Martin’s nice to have around? Though I doubt he’d admit it,” Sasha says, “It’s not like you make any effort to bring Jon tea.”

“And I don’t plan to,” Tim says, laughing, “Hope Martin comes in today. When I tell him Jon was worried about his feelings, he’ll lose his mind.”

Martin does not come in that day. Against all Jon’s irrational hopes that Prentiss might release him early, the Archives stay Martin-less. It is, for lack of a better term, eating at Jon. 

Martin spent just short of two weeks at home the first go around, Prentiss finally releasing him on the 12th. He still has a few days left, and then she’ll let him go. All Jon has to do is wait. 

And he should wait. 

For one, it’s safer. Prentiss never harmed Martin, at least not physically. If Jon charges off to Martin’s rescue, he’s liable to kill them both. Martin would probably prefer an extra week of imprisonment to becoming a flesh hive, or bursting apart into a pile of worms, or being burrowed into as worm-meal, or whatever other awful fate Prentiss’s victims tend to face. In fact, Jon knows Martin prefers imprisonment to a half-baked escape attempt, because Martin never made such an attempt and instead waited Prentiss out. 

Besides, it’s less suspicious. It’s not like Jon can ask Tim and Sasha for help in Martin’s rescue, which Jon feels he would likely need. They’d have too many questions as to how Jon found out this information, and Jon has no answers.

Additionally, the idea that Jon would even want to rescue Martin may very well come under scrutiny. Jon had been relieved at Martin's absence the first go around! Hell, he’d been relieved earlier in the week. He’d been relieved earlier this morning, a fact which makes him almost queasy now. 

Especially because this, like everything else in all their lives, is entirely Jon’s fault. Martin had been captured by Prentiss while trying to prove to Jon that Carlos Vittery had been telling the truth. Jon, who met a monstrous spider already. Who, if nothing else, could have admitted that he believed this one statement, or at least not torn it to pieces quite so ruthlessly. If he had, Prentiss would never have trapped Martin. Maybe she wouldn’t have shown up at the Institute at all. 

But Jon brushed Vittery off with more terror-laced malice than he had any other statement, so Martin felt he needed to follow through with “due diligence” for Jon, and now Martin is in terrible danger. 

Terrible danger which Jon can do nothing about, and therefore should stop worrying about, because the fact he cannot stop thinking about Martin is eating at him, too.

He knows that his other self had… Well. He and Martin had become close. That much is clear, from what comes to mind when Jon lets himself wander to Martin in his new memories. Incredibly close. Embarrassingly close, for the sort of relationship Jon has with Martin now.

Maybe Jon can’t shut out the supernatural section of his new memories, but he’s more than happy to ignore everything he now knows about Martin. Those memories change nothing. Martin is still… 

…Martin is still occupying all Jon’s thoughts. Jon really wishes he could say it’s solely because he’s worried about the Prentiss situation. 

Elias does drop in, though. Luckily, he stops by while Jon is in the break room, so he doesn’t catch Jon staring blankly at his wall and very obviously not reading the statement on his desk. 

"Hello, Jon," Elias says, and Jon’s almost relieved to have burned his retinas, as it allows him to miss whatever banal smile he's sure Elias has on his face.

“Elias,” Jon greets, though he’s unable to summon up any enthusiasm for it.

If you had asked him yesterday, Jon might have said he liked Elias. Or, no. Liked might have been a bit strong, but he certainly wouldn't have said he hated the man. Yesterday, Elias had been a bland but decent boss--Supportive of Jon to the point of crushing Jon with near-unbearable pressure. He'd been someone Jon had considered perhaps overbearing, but only because he had high expectations. Certainly not capable of murder, or... Or anything else. 

The weight of his apparent future, however, has tipped the scales quite completely out of Elias’s favor.

“I just wanted to see how you were faring,” Elias says, pulling Jon from his mental re-evaluations, “I thought you may be having issues.”

Elias must have noticed the new blindspot and stopped by to figure out what caused it. If it worked, that is. It’s possible he looked into Jon’s head just like any other time, found all Jon’s incriminating thoughts, and came to deal with that. Maybe if two Head Archivists die within a year, people will finally realize this position is cursed.

“Martin’s absence has been somewhat of a setback.” Jon tries to meet Elias's eyes, deciding to pretend that an absent employee is what Elias means by issue. “But Tim and Sasha are plenty capable. We’re managing just fine.” 

“Oh? From what you’ve said, I would have thought you were glad for the break,” Elias says. Ah. Right.

“He’s.” Jon starts. “Been better about his work recently.”

“Of course,” Elias says, “I do hope Martin returns soon, then. I’d hate to have to let him go.”

There’s amusement in Elias’s voice, like he’s telling himself a joke, and half the fun of it rests in the fact Elias is the only one who understands the punchline. 

Hm. Actually, Jon absolutely cannot stand this man.

Even with the aid of a magnifying glass he found in his desk, Jon's been completely unable to try to work on any of the half dozen statements strewn around his desk in an effort to make himself focus. It doesn't help he knows without a shadow of a doubt that not only are these ones fake, but that there do exist real statements. And that his employee happens to be living one at this very moment. 

Maybe Jon is only worrying about Martin because doing so is easier than worrying about everything else. That’s Jon’s newest theory as to why he’s been distracted by Martin for the entire work day, at least.

Why worry about his future self’s drastic plan to stop the fast-approaching apocalypse when he can instead do something as inconsequential as worry about Martin? Martin, who will be returned safe and sound to the Archives in just a few days?

Probably, Jon realizes. Martin will probably be returned safely.

Their timeline has already changed with Jon knowing about their future, hasn’t it? So what if that changes what happens to Martin?

That’s ridiculous, of course. At most, Prentiss changes her knocking from happening at random intervals to happening at other random intervals. 

The idea is in Jon’s head anyway, burrowing into the back of Jon’s mind to eat at him like every other piece of this situation does. What if Jon’s changed things? What if Martin is already gone? What if--

What if Jon just Knew?

Jon can try to Know what’s happening to Martin right now, can’t he? That will set Jon’s mind at ease for sure. But Knowing in and of itself is dangerous. There is a cost to this power, and it’s steep. By the end of his own run, the other Jon was literally omniscient, but it had cost him his humanity. He’d at least had the excuse that he’d been tricked into it by Elias, but Jon can grant himself no such courtesy. He is fully aware of the price. 

Stewing on that doesn’t take long. He’s fairly certain his humanity was already forfeit the moment he accepted this position. If it wasn’t, Jon was doomed the moment he received his other self’s memories. Besides, if Jon follows the plan his other self left, it ultimately won’t matter whether he holds onto or loses his humanity. 

Acceptance comes much easier this time. He supposes it’s because there’s more important things at stake than his own personal struggles. Besides, Jon needs to know if Martin is… He’ll Know Martin is fine, and he can check whenever he needs--Which will not be often--and that will be that.

Jon closes his eyes and frowns, trying to… To what, exactly, he’s not sure. Visualize Martin’s flat? Neither he nor his other self ever actually saw it before, and trying to make up Martin’s living space feels… Too intimate for Jon. He’s about to write the whole thing off as a bust when the tape recorder clicks on next to him, and Jon Knows, if only a moment. 

Martin sits on his couch. His eyes are fixed on the front door a short distance away, wide not with terror but exhaustion. He’s been at this for over a week, unable to rest without feeling something crawling. Discarded on one side of him is a book, face down on the couch. It’s clear he never got very far into it. In one of his hands, white knuckle beside him, is a corkscrew. 

Jon doesn’t realize he’s describing the scene out loud until the sound of his chair clattering against the floor behind him cuts off his own voice. 

“Hey, Boss, you alright?” Tim’s voice calls from the other room.

“Fine! Just knocked something over!” Jon calls back. He picks his chair up, but he doesn’t sit back down, letting it swirl in his vision. 

 He wants to pretend he’s trying to make up his mind, but he already knows what he’s decided to do. Martin is leaving that flat tonight. As soon as possible. Now.

Jon grabs his coat, stepping out of the office. The door swings open with a smidge more force than Jon intends, slamming against the wall next to him. With how he feels, Jon can only guess how frantic he looks.

“Sasha, you were right. I’m going to check on Martin. I finished all my work early, so. I’m going to go see how he’s doing,” Jon declares. He glances to the side, catching them in his peripheral at their desks. There’s a beat of silence, which is a damning enough indictment to Jon that he appears completely off the rails. Now that he’s said it, though, he has to follow through. Better make sure neither of them warn Prentiss, though, “Don’t tell him. I’ll. I’m going to surprise him. Right now. Goodbye.” 

Jon turns and leaves without waiting for either of them to respond. He’ll worry about how suspicious and out of character that was for him to do later. 

“I think he’s going to murder Martin,” Tim decides, after a long pause. 

“He’s not going to murder Martin,” Sasha says. 

“No, I think he is. He’s finally snapped. Found some shoddy work from a week ago and lost it,” Tim says, “You heard that crash from his office a minute ago, right? He’s gone.”

“No question he’s snapped,” Sasha says, “My money’s on Martin in a fight, though.”

There’s no way Jon can stop by that store again. Between last night’s last minute laser pointer and today’s frantic fire extinguishers, Jon is going to have to find a different store. 

That’s a much easier thing to stress about as he approaches Martin’s building. It’s such a normal, human worry, the idea that the cashier is judging his purchases. They probably weren’t even the same cashier. It’s not like Jon looked at the first one or really saw the second.

Not the point, though. Jon’s going to have to deal with Prentiss, and he doesn’t imagine he can question anyone to death yet, like his other self did when Peter Lukas trapped Martin.

Hm. He’s been very pointedly ignoring that memory.

Not the point. Jon has no destructive Eye powers he can use to confront Prentiss. He won’t even really be able to see worms coming at him with his lowercase-e eyes.

This may have been a terrible idea. Admittedly, Jon isn’t sure he has any other kind. 

There are no worms in the stairwell, or anywhere else in the building. Prentiss seems to be keeping all the worms she brought near herself, so she can harass Martin without anyone calling an exterminator on her. Jon watches as best he can for the silvery little things as he heads up anyway. 

The musty smell Prentiss brings with her everywhere hits Jon just before he reaches the fourth floor. Jon grimaces, pulling part of his coat over his nose as the smell drags forth a few of his other self’s most unpleasant memories. He doesn’t need to Know to figure Martin’s floor out, at least.  

The door of the stairwell is solid, and Jon leans his back against it. His other self was practically omniscient. Surely Jon can use that to at least figure out where Prentiss and Martin are. It wouldn’t do him any good to open the stairwell and charge off in the wrong direction.

Jon closes his eyes. After a moment, the layout of the building comes to him. Martin’s building is shaped like a U, with a stairwell on either end and the elevator in the middle. By luck, Jon’s ended up in the stairwell closest to Martin’s flat. Martin’s still on his couch, eyes on his door. Prentiss is standing in the middle of the hall, feet just barely away from Martin’s door so as not to be touching it. She holds her right hand in a fist beside his door, though she does not knock. Her face hangs down, forehead and nose nearly brushing against the door. There is just enough room between her and the wood for the occasional worm to fall through her face and to the floor without getting stuck or crushed. Messy black hair hangs loose, swinging slightly to brush the wood. 

There are worms everywhere in her body, and Jon is aware of all of them. There’s one moving out of what was once her left eye and crawling toward the right, another dangling from her open mouth, half a dozen jammed down her throat, dozens hollowing out what was once her arms and squirming along paths originally laid to carry blood, writhing within the strands of her hair and the folds of her skin and of the fabric of her--

Jon shakes his head and opens his eyes, trying to snap out of it. Knowing anything about Prentiss is far too risky. There’s far too much information there, and Jon hates all of it. He’ll be here all day if he tries to use the Eye on her. All he needs to know is roughly where she’s standing, and he has that. 

He knows the fire extinguisher won’t be enough to kill her--They had to burn her to do that the first time, after all--But all he needs to do is kill enough of the worms in her that he and Martin can run. And then they need to run as fast as physically possible away from here.

He pulls the pin on the extinguisher, takes a deep (and deeply regrettable, Prentiss smells horrible ) breath to try and calm himself, and kicks open the door to the staircase. The slam grabs Prentiss’s attention, so Jon charges into the hallway, halfway between Prentiss and the stairs. He just needs to draw her far enough from the door that Martin can leave.

“Martin!” Jon yells. He shouts towards the wall, hoping Martin will hear him through it. The side of his vision rests on Prentiss, watching for any flashes of red to show she’s moving. “Get ready to run!” 

Prentiss steps towards Jon. A CO2 extinguisher only offers two and a half meters of range, which is much, much closer than Jon ever wants Prentiss to be. 

One step, and then another. The same leisurely pace as always, as though she has nowhere she needs to be, and all the time to get there. For Jon, it’s nearly unbearable. Just a little more… 

The instant he thinks she’s within range, and Jon opens fire. His depth perception isn’t what it used to be, and for a second, he’s worried he missed. Then he hears the same awful scream from when the Institute was attacked, and he knows he’s hit.

“Jon?! Is that you?! What are you doing here?!” Jon almost doesn’t hear Martin over the chaotic mess of CO2 fizzing and worm screaming. 

“Not important!” Jon yells. Prentiss is still moving towards him, but far slower than normal. Jon surprised her, and that’s about all Jon has going for him. “Get out here right now so we can run before she kills me!”

The door opens immediately. Martin stands in the doorway for all of two seconds before they simultaneously realize a very clear problem with Jon’s plan.

Prentiss is between Martin and the stairs.

The second flaw with Jon’s plan is the fact the average fire extinguisher lasts for just short of 30 seconds, and Jon’s is now fizzling out of existence in his hands. 

This may have been a terrible idea.

Fortunately, Jon specializes in those. 

“The second staircase, at the other end of the hall!” Jon’s mouth is moving without him really thinking about it. Martin goes to interrupt, but Jon cuts him off. “The worms are all with Prentiss, it’s clear! Go!” 

“Meet you at the bottom!” Martin yells, already turning to run. The instant he’s out of sight, Jon hurls the empty extinguisher at Prentiss and books it. He runs through the open door to the stairwell and down the stairs, nabbing the second fire extinguisher as he rushes by it. His body is moving almost entirely on autopilot, a mix of his future-past experience and adrenaline. 

Martin runs at about Jon’s pace, apparently, because he and Jon make it to the bottom of their respective staircases at nearly the same moment. Jon will ponder that later. Instead, he grabs Martin’s wrist in his free hand and takes off out of the building.

By the time they’ve reached the Underground, Martin is leading. His stride is longer, he can see clearly, and he actually knows the route. Jon doesn’t drop Martin’s wrist, but he does lose the fire extinguisher somewhere in the street. They won’t need it, anyway. She won’t follow them somewhere this crowded. 

It’s only when they’re actually on board and in motion that Jon feels the adrenaline start to fade. Jon’s out of breath and exhausted--Why is he doing so much running today?--and he doesn’t have energy in him to do anything other than hold numbly onto Martin so as not to fall over.

Martin’s free hand is flying all over himself in Jon’s peripheral, but Jon doesn’t comment. Feeling for worms, probably. Jon would do the same, but he already Knows he’s clear. 

“Are you alright? She didn’t-- You didn’t get bit anywhere, right?” The first thing out of Martin’s mouth is fussing. He just spent a week trapped by Prentiss and he’s worried about Jon ?

A mix of his future-past experience and adrenaline. A terrible plan. A lingering feeling of shock. A rough patch in the ride that caused Jon to lose his grip on the pole. A desire to make sure Martin is okay after his traumatic experience. 

Jon will credit his next action any number of sources when he thinks on this later. In truth, all that’s on Jon’s mind as he tugs Martin by his arm to throw his other hand around Martin’s torso is a nagging curiosity: Is this as comforting as his other self seemed to believe?

Jon does not think about the answer. Even as Martin moves one uncertain hand to Jon’s back. 

Jon pulls away a few seconds after, pointedly not saying a word for the entire ride to the Institute. To say anything would be to acknowledge what he’s done, which Jon absolutely refuses to do.

...He’s already done enough completely unexplainable things in front of his assistants today. What’s one more, really?

Chapter Text

“Hey, how do you think Martin is handling hiding Jon’s body?” Sasha asks. Jon’s been gone for a while now, and it was unclear with his sudden departure whether or not he actually planned to return. Tim and Sasha have been… Mostly focused on their work. On their occasional breaks, they’ve been debating which of their missing coworkers would win in a death match.

“I don’t think Martin can kill him. He’s got his ‘manageable crush,’ remember? He’s at a disadvantage,” Tim says, “Plus he’s sick, he’s probably asleep or something. Double disadvantage.”

“Yeah, but you’ve seen Jon. You know he’s weak with overwork and forgetting to eat, plus he’s skinny. You could probably injure his hand with a particularly strong handshake. There’s no way he could kill someone sturdy as Martin. Or anyone else. I bet I could snap him like a twig,” Sasha insists.

“You can avenge Martin, then,” Tim says. Sasha opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off by the sound of the door to the Archives crashing into the wall. Jon’s voice carries clearly over the sound of it slamming closed once more. Tim stands, looking to Sasha. She is, of course, just as confused as Tim, though she hasn’t yet moved. 

“...Jon?” Sasha calls, “Everything okay? How was Martin?”

“He wasn’t sick!” Jon calls back. He sounds out of breath. Did he run all the way here? Again?

“Playing hooky, then?” Tim asks.  

“No!” Martin calls back. Sasha stands, then, coming to Tim’s side as Jon and Martin enter the Archives. They both look awful. Jon’s sweaty from trying to run for his life in his business-casual slacks and cardigan, hair a mess and out of breath. Martin looks even worse. Just as sweaty and twice as exhausted--the latter a feat for anyone when compared to Jon. Martin also appears to be wearing pajamas. One or both of them smells awful, though not from their run over. It’s more a thick, rotted, muddy smell, which has no place in the Archives or anywhere Martin or Jon should have realistically been.

“Guess we both lose that bet,” Tim whispers.

“Probably for the best,” Sasha says.  

“You two might want to come into my office,” Jon says, “If he doesn’t mind, I believe… I believe Martin has a statement to give.”

Jon clicks the tape recorder off, pretending he’s focused on labeling it and putting it aside. Tim and Sasha take a moment to fuss over Martin’s well-being, asking if he’s hurt or hungry or wants to use Artifact Storage’s shower. Jon’s thankful Martin at least left out how Jon… How Jon ended their escape, but that still leaves plenty of other strange details which he’s sure the other two noticed.

“Hey, Boss?” Tim asks. Jon looks up, in the middle of dropping the tape into a box at the back of his office. With his assistants huddled so close together, all three of them manage to cram themselves into Jon’s blindspot.

“Yes?” 

“What made you think of bringing the fire extinguisher?”

Jon can feel all three of his assistants looking at him, their gazes filled with expectation. Apparently, the Eye makes a point of letting him know when he’s being watched. 

“Well.” Jon starts. 

“Not just one. Martin said you had two, didn’t he?” Sasha asks, “Did you know Prentiss was there?”

“She. Texted me,” Jon says. Unable to see any of their expressions, Jon just has to hope they buy that story. Given the shocked laugh that draws from Tim, though, Jon’s likely failed.

“What did she even say? ‘The worms and I have Martin, meet us at his flat for an ass kicking’?” Jon sees a blurried flash of movement from Sasha, accompanied by the sound of metal jingling and a soft thump. Sasha smacked Tim’s arm. 

“You knew I was trapped all week?” Martin asks. He sounds hurt, more so than Jon’s ever really heard from him, and Jon is relieved he didn’t wait another week for Martin to be returned.

“No! No, she’s been pretending to be you until now. She only dropped the act today. It’s why I… Ran out like I did. I suppose she lost interest in keeping Martin any longer, but thought she could draw in new prey by taunting me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Tim asks. Jon stares at Tim a moment. Unable to really see Tim’s face, Jon’s easily able to picture all the scars he knows Prentiss left the man with, up and down his face and neck. 

“I…” Jon tries. Why didn’t he tell them? How could he? “Martin was already in danger after pursuing a lead for me. I couldn’t very well put the two of you in danger as well.” 

“What if she killed you, then? How would either of us know what happened?” Sasha asks, “What stops one of us from going to see Martin the next day and being completely unprepared?”

“I hadn’t… Considered it, honestly,” Jon admits. He doesn’t need to lie about this one, at least. 

“You can’t just leave us in the dark with this kind of thing,” Tim says. 

“Plus, Martin’s our friend,” A flash of movement, and Jon hears the jingle of her bracelet again, followed by a noise from Martin. Some kind of affectionate gesture, probably, that Martin hadn't been expecting, “If he’s in danger, we want to be able to help him.” 

Jon nods. He ignores the fact Tim and Sasha don’t mention him. It’s not like they were ever friends, anyway, even before everything went wrong. Jon already knew that.

“I’ll… Make an effort not to leave you out of the loop again,” Jon says. This doesn’t have to be a lie. Jon can at least offer some information. As long as he can find an excuse as to why he has it, that is. 

“We are here to help, you know,” Sasha says, “You can trust us.” 

“Then I do have a job for the two of you. You’re going to need to do a bit of shopping,” Jon shifts his focus to Martin. It’s easier to deflect than address Sasha’s earnest declaration, even if it’s not even all that emotional, “Martin, there’s a room in the Archives I use to sleep when working late. I suggest you stay there for now. I’ll talk to Elias about whether we can get extra security, but the Archives have enough locks for now. It’s also supposed to be humidity controlled and, though it hasn’t been working for some time, it does mean it’s well-sealed. Nothing will be sneaking through any window cracks.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Martin sounds… Embarrassed, Jon realizes. Of all the skills Jon’s other self could have given him, why does an intimate knowledge of the nuances of Martin’s vocal expression have to be one of them?

“Will Elias be okay with him living here?” Sasha asks, and Jon pulls a face before he can stop himself. 

“I won’t let him give you any trouble,” Jon says. 

“Give Tim and Sasha a list of what you’ll need while you’re staying here. When you’re finished, I’ll show you to the cot. You may want to consider getting decent sheets for it, too. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, and you’ll be using it for a while,” Jon says, “I’m going to sit here a moment longer and rest. That was all far more running than I’m used to.”

Jon waits for the three of them to shuffle out of the room. When the door finally closes, he lets out a long sigh. 

That…. Could have gone. Better? Worse? Well. At least it went, and now it’s over. 

Hopefully, he won’t have to do this a third time.

“So, aside from evil worm hell, how was it?” Tim asks. Martin frowns, pausing as he notes down what size shirt he wears for Tim and Sasha’s short shopping list.

“How was what?” Martin asks. 

“How was having the man of your dreams show up in your hour of need, fire extinguisher in hand, to rescue you from Prentiss?” Tim asks. 

Martin thinks about it a moment. It was certainly something to have what he’d considered to be something in line with one of his more desperate fantasies play out in real time. He’d been halfway convinced they’d left him to die there, so having anyone come to rescue him at all, let alone having his savior be Jon , felt more unbelievable than the worm woman waiting just outside his door. He still expects to wake up in his flat at any moment, finding he’d managed to doze on his couch after keeping awake for some ungodly amount of hours. It would explain how strange the whole experience was. 

“Really weird,” Martin decides. 

“Honestly, I’m surprised he even believed it was Prentiss texting him,” Sasha says, “I would have thought he’d brush the entire idea off as a prank.”

“Now that you mention it…” Tim starts, “Think that’s why he ran to work this morning? He might’ve got that message at the start of the day and been trying to see if Martin was in or not. I remember how stressed he was about the Hodge statement. Prentiss was one of the few things he actually believed was real.”

“But believing Prentiss is real and believing Prentiss has trapped Martin in his flat for a week and is texting his ransom are different things,” Sasha says, “Especially coming from Martin. No offense, of course, but you know how he is.”

“I know how he is,” Martin echos, but he thinks better of it, “Or, I-I thought I did.”

Sasha hums at that. 

“It’s not like any of us really know him well. Or at all, really,” She notes, “Tim and I worked with him in research before this, but…”

“It’s not like he’s ever been friendly to either of us. Neither of us expected him to ask us to transfer here with him. Honestly, up until Elias told me to move my stuff to the Archives, I didn’t think Jon liked me all that much,” Tim supplies, crossing his arms, “But being prickly with people you actually like and everything he pulled today before he ran off to get you aren’t really the same.”

“What did he do today?” Martin asks. 

“Ran to the Institute. Worried about your feelings. Thanked Tim for holding a door for him. And then there was that crash in his office half-way through the day before he stormed out…” Sasha lists, counting off Jon’s transgressions on her fingers, the bracelet on her wrist jingling for a piece of dramatic flair. 

“Elias came down to talk to him while he was in the break room--Oh, he left his office in the middle of the day unprompted to go to the break room,” Tim adds, “I went in while Elias was on the way out. I didn’t hear what either of them said, but Elias seemed annoyed, and Jon looked disgusted. Kinda like how he looked when Sasha brought him up just now, actually.”

“Everyone’s disgusted after dealing with Elias, Jon’s disgusted after dealing with everyone,” Sasha says, “And walking away from Jon annoyed isn’t a surprise, either.”

“Jon usually hides it better for Elias,” Tim says, “Perks of paying Jon’s bills, I guess. Plus, I thought they mostly got along. As much as anyone gets along with Elias or Jon.”

“What was he doing in the break room?” Martin asks. Tim goes mock-serious, putting his hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“Making himself tea,” Tim says, “I think he actually missed you.”

Sasha snorts, and a smile escapes Martin despite himself. As much as he’d like to get to the bottom of whatever’s come over Jon… He spent the last week dealing with spooky worm hell nonsense. He appreciates Tim trying to raise his spirits.

“Now that’s all the proof I need something is off with him,” Sasha says. 

“Really?” Martin asks, “Because I have more. Some stuff I left out of the statement.”

Tim and Sasha turn to him, expectant.

“He wasn’t looking at Prentiss when he blasted her. O-Or at me. He was looking at the wall,” Martin says, “And the CO2 canisters. The fact he had two. It’s not like he just found one and decided to use it. They’re heavy, you’re not carrying two of them up a few flights of stairs on a hunch. It’s like he knew they would work. And he knew the layout of my building? Which, I guess he could have poked around or something, but… H-He also knew where all the worms were? Like, he knew they were all with Prentiss and not anywhere else, so it was safe for me to run.”

There’s a beat of silence while Tim and Sasha consider that information. Martin hesitates for a second before he tacks on the strangest of Jon’s actions from the day. 

“He hugged me on the ride to the Institute, even.”

Tim gasps, exaggerated, and elbows Martin. 

“Maybe you were right! He might be soft under all that pretentious bastardry after all,” Tim says, “But I still think you can do better.”

“Tim!” 

“Do you two remember Amy Patel’s statement about her weird neighbor being replaced by a guy who was nothing like him?” Sasha asks. There’s another pause.

“You don’t think Jon’s been replaced, do you?” Tim asks, though there isn’t a joking tone to the question like Martin would have expected. Sasha shakes her head before Martin can say anything, though.

“No, his behavior is weird, but I don’t think it’s… Not-Jon weird. There’s definitely something up with him, though. Something he’s not telling us,” Sasha decides. Tim nods. “Martin, you’re going to be here all the time, right? See if you can find anything up with him.”

Jon, meanwhile, has his head in his hands in his office. He refused to think about it while Martin was in the room with him, but now that he’s alone, all Jon can think about is his impulsive actions on the ride over. 

Feelings on Tim and Sasha have barely changed. His own feelings versus his other self’s feelings are pretty similar. His own familiar bit of “these people are the closest things I have to friends,” overlaid with a heavy new helping of his other self’s guilt and grief. It’s hard to really interact with them, but manageably so. It’s not like it’s ever been easy for Jon to interact with other people, even when they’re his almost-friends.

Martin, though? His other self had made a complete 180 on Martin, taking the most unimaginable, obnoxious, inconvenient direction possible. Jon is still keen to ignore it, even if his subconscious clearly has other plans. 

Funny that. Of the two plans his other self has left him, this is the one Jon is more distressed by? Maybe Jon really is worrying about Martin because doing so is easier than worrying about everything else. The end of the world, the imminent deaths of his friends (some of which he still has yet to even meet), countless injuries, pains, and traumas… All of these are so distant from Jon and his office. Martin, for better or worse, is just outside the closed door. 

And, honestly, Martin is much easier to think about. When Jon allows himself to think on what their other selves had, he finds he wouldn’t m-- 

Well. Jon doesn’t really think about it. 

For one, he has no idea what he did to win Martin over, but he’s certain that, whatever it was, he hasn’t done it yet. Jon’s been nothing but harsh to Martin, so Jon can’t imagine Martin would see anything in him. 

Even if Martin did, for some reason, love Jon as he is now? Jon shouldn’t bother. He knows his humanity is on the way out, and with how Jon’s plan ends…  To ask Martin to love him would be selfish. Cruel, even. 

But it doesn’t actually matter, because this Jon is not in love with this Martin, no matter what his other self’s feelings might be trying to convince him of. 

So Martin is a pipe dream. One which Jon doesn't even have! A non-issue, really, and one Jon no longer needs to worry about now that Martin is safely in the Archives. Instead he should be turning his attention to Michael, or to Melanie, or to Prentiss’s next attack. He could call Georgie, connect with her again on better terms than hiding from the law. 

...And, maybe, his assistants. He could stand to be better to them, even putting his feelings about Martin aside.  

“Jon?” Martin’s voice stops Jon in the middle of his thoughts, and Jon shoots to his feet at the sound of it. The chair does not clatter to the floor behind him this time. Little victories. “Tim and Sasha are heading out now, so I figured I’d come see if you were…?”

“Yes! I’m… I’m alright.” Jon cringes at the eager tinge he can hear in his own voice. He’s fairly confident Martin won’t notice, though. His assistants have basically only ever heard his voice in various registers of detached disdain. Martin has no frame of reference for anything outside of that, “I’ll show you to the cot, then.”

Pushing the door open with both hands, Jon walks off without checking to see if Martin is following him. 

Saying Jon is acting weird might seem redundant for most people, but it isn’t for Martin. Sure, Jon is always weird, but he’s a very specific, consistent brand of weird. Martin would like to think he’s familiar with most of Jon’s idiosyncrasies by now, especially with the amount of attention Martin pays Jon. 

It had started simply enough. He’d been trying to figure out how Jon liked his tea. When asked, Jon had said he “didn’t really care.” For someone so particular about virtually everything else, the answer had seemed absurd. Martin had been sure that Jon actually did have a preference, and for whatever reason, had decided not to share it. That was fine by Martin, though. He could learn by trial and error if he needed to.

For the first month or so of his job, Martin had brought in a different drink every day, and he watched. The cup sat near-untouched the first few days, and then Jon emptied half a cup. Martin tried and removed additives, returning to the office later in the day to see if Jon had finished any of it. 

Maybe it was a silly mission. Martin knew Jon would hate it if he knew Martin put this much effort into tea when it should be going to Martin’s work, but Martin wouldn’t give up. It was worth it when Jon finally emptied his drink, though. Jon had even mumbled a distracted thank you when Martin had come to collect the empty cup , and Martin had been in a good mood for the rest of the week. 

Martin hadn’t just learned about tea, though. He’d also learned which part of the desk he had to leave the tea on for Jon to actually see it and not forget it was there, and what time of day to bring it in so Jon was not yet too engrossed in his work to stop and drink the thing. Jon was a hard worker, after all, and he cared about his job. Though he said he didn’t believe a word of the statements they received, he cared about making sure each one was looked into, insisting each one receive its “due diligence” even as he brushed them off. His dedication was admirable, but also something that worried Martin. Jon was known to stay long after hours for stories he didn’t even believe in--Enough so to warrant leaving a cot here, apparently! 

Because, in the end, Jon cared. He had trouble showing it, but Martin was sure he cared a lot. He cared about the people who came in to give their statements (even if he was rude both to and about them), he cared about his assistants (even if he was rude both to and about them, too), and he cared about their work. He cared about getting answers, about doing thorough research and follow up. Martin held a private belief that Jon also cared deeply about finding a statement that was verifiably true , though he knew Jon would never admit to such a thing. 

All the more reason for Martin to figure out how to make Jon’s tea. To pay attention. To figure out the good things Jon would never admit about himself. 

And if Martin had developed a bit of a crush along the way, that’s Martin’s own business! It at least means Martin was well-versed in Jon’s… Jon-isms, and so he can say without a doubt that Jon is acting weird.

The cot isn’t the weird thing, either. Tim might say that offering it up is uncharacteristically nice, and maybe it is, but Martin doesn’t believe “not wanting his assistants to die” is out of the realm of possibilities for Jon. He’s rude, but he’s not heartless.

No, what Martin finds strangest about Jon’s behavior right now isn’t that bit of kindness. It’s not Jon’s actions, even, so much as his manner that’s strange. 

Usually, Jon carries himself with something akin to self-assurance. It’s not quite confidence in Jon’s posture--Not like the way Sasha stands tall with faith in her abilities, or the way Tim holds himself with the loose ease of someone comfortable in his own skin--But Jon’s stance is closer to confidence than anything Martin has ever carried himself with. Jon’s back is always straight and tall, even with the slight hunch in his shoulders. A stiff, stuffy stance, befitting of a chronically stressed, somewhat pretentious man who cares deeply about doing the best work possible. 

All of that is gone now, though, giving way instead to huddled shoulders and palpable stress. Whatever confidence Jon had mustered up in himself is gone, so that tension is the only thing currently keeping Jon’s body upright.

Not only that, but Jon is completely silent. He’s picked up a habit of thinking aloud since he started recording statements, due to having to theorize in their endnotes. He’ll talk out his thoughts at anyone who will listen or, failing a willing ear, the open air of the Archives. Martin has walked in on him mumbling to himself on more than one occasion. After an encounter like this, Martin would expect Jon to be saying… Something! Anything, really! 

Honestly, Martin is worried about him.

Is the change from Prentiss? Maybe the shock of seeing one of their monsters in the horrible, hole-filled flesh was too much for Jon? He’s been a staunch skeptic for a long time… Or maybe his silence is the newest bullet on a long list of Weird Jon Actions that Tim, Sasha, and himself are collecting.

Martin is forced back into reality when he nearly plows right over Jon, lost enough in his own musings that he doesn’t notice Jon stop.  

“Oh! Sorry!” Martin jumps back immediately. He’s sure he’s about to be the target for all the stress building in Jon, and he’s not looking forward to it. “I didn’t-- You stopped so suddenly, a-and--”

“Oh, no, it’s alright.” 

“--I wasn’t paying attention, but--”

“It’s fine, Martin.”

“--I’m really sorry, I-- Did you say it’s fine?”

“I-- Yes. It’s alright.” Jon isn’t looking at Martin as he speaks, arms folded in front of him. “It’s been a long day. Or, I suppose it’s been a long week for you. And…”

He seems to think twice about whatever it is he was about to say, and instead pushes open the door to a storage closet. 

“Wait there a moment, I’ll set this up,” Jon calls, allowing the door to shut behind him. Martin watches it close in silence, sure his mouth is hanging open. 

That’s the other thing about Jon that’s been weighing on Martin. How could it not? His coarse crush has suddenly found kindness in his heart for Martin, and Martin has absolutely no idea what to do with that. Martin has always suspected that Jon was secretly sweeter than he let on, but Martin had never thought he was “take on a deadly worm monster alone and virtually unarmed” nice. Martin has trouble believing he’s even “doesn’t snap when bumped into” nice, which is the baseline for not being a complete ass. Martin can barely even think about being suddenly hugged by him on the ride to the Institute, because that’s not something Martin is emotionally ready to unpack yet.

And all of this without any explanation or acknowledgement? It’s going to drive Martin up the wall. 

The door swings open again, and Jon steps out. He gestures back into the storage closet.

“It’s set up. It’s not… Exceedingly comfortable, but it will do. Better than the alternative,” Jon says. He’s folded his arms in front of himself again.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Martin says, stepping inside. Honestly, just about anything would be comfortable right now. Martin’s absolutely exhausted, a week’s worth of adrenaline making its way out of his system all at once. He’s probably going to pass out on the cot the instant Jon leaves the room. 

For now, though, he just sits down on the end. He looks back, watching Jon in the doorway.

“Do... you want to sit down?” Martin asks, patting the other end. He wouldn’t usually feel confident in asking, but Jon has been so strange recently… Plus, he’s sure Jon is tired, too. And if he can, Martin would like to talk to Jon. Maybe he can get to the bottom of whatever’s happened. Though, he’s coming more from a “concern for Jon’s wellbeing” angle, as opposed to Tim and Sasha’s “possible evil body double” thing.

“Yes, I would like that,” Jon says. 

…One point for the evil body double theory. 

Jon sits down on the other end of Martin’s cot. His shoulders are tight and stiff by his neck, his body curling in on itself. Both his hands are near white-knuckle onto the cot’s metal frame, close to his legs. He seems shorter than usual, robbed of the precious bit of height that sitting straight usually grants him.

“Jon?” Martin asks, “Are you alright?”

Jon’s head snaps up immediately. He looks at Martin’s face for only a moment, and there’s something different in this, too. 

Jon’s eyes have always been piercing. Second only to Elias in unsettling stares, Martin finds it difficult to be watched by Jon for an extended period of time. Whether he means it or not, his gaze has always been intense, scrutinizing. It feels like he’s trying to assess you, trying to know everything you want to keep secret.

It doesn’t feel quite the same. There’s the same intensity as always, but suddenly, Martin realizes he doesn’t feel as if Jon is trying anymore. It’s as if Jon already knows, like there’s nothing Martin could hide from him if Jon were to really look. Martin feels analyzed. Seen. 

And then Jon looks at the floor, and the feeling is gone. 

“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that today,” Jon notes. There’s something in his voice Martin can’t quite place, though when he continues, it’s gone, “I’m fine, Martin. You spent a week imprisoned by Prentiss. I can handle running down a few flights of stairs.” 

“That… Isn’t what I meant,” Martin says. 

“Oh,” Jon says. He says nothing more, so Martin decides to elaborate.

“I mean, seeing Prentiss and everything? I know you try to push the skeptic thing so hard it becomes ridiculous, but even you can’t ignore--” Jon laughs quietly at that. Martin has no idea what to make of it--has he even heard Jon laugh before?--but the sound stops him dead.

“Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you,” Jon sounds amused, almost, though he isn’t smiling, “I’m… Fine, though. Really. I don’t need you to worry about me.”

Martin can hear the creak of fabric against metal where Jon’s hands have tightened on the cot.

“I don’t believe you.” Jon’s head snaps up again, though he only looks at Martin a moment before moving his eyes to the wall, “You’re acting like… Really weird. Good weird, of course, because you did save my life! But I wouldn’t have… Y-you’re not exactly the type to…” He sighs, “Honestly, I thought that if I ever got out of there on my own, and I told you what happened, you would have laughed at me.” 

“Martin--” Jon starts, and there’s a slight softness to Jon’s voice that Martin’s never heard Jon speak with about anything, least of all Martin’s name. Martin’s not done, though, so he plows right over it. Something to think about later, maybe. Another point for the body double thing, definitely.

“But you didn’t! You believed Prentiss was there and you came to help and you were prepared to take her on! And you, on the way back, you hugged me.” Martin very pointedly looks away from Jon for the first time in the conversation, just in case his feelings on this show at all on his face, “And you don’t get to do all that and then come back and pretend like… L-like you can be closed off again? Like you can… Like you can brush off me being worried, or…”

Martin stops a moment, but Jon is still quiet. 

“I’ve heard the tapes, you know. We all listen to them. I know the stuff you say about my work. My competence. Me,” Martin says, “I thought I knew what you thought of me, but you still came to rescue me. So I’m not going to let you brush all that off because I know, now. You believed me, and you care more than you let on, and I refuse to let you brush all that off and go back to--”

The feeling of being seen is back, and Martin stops talking again. Martin knows Jon is looking at him, but has no idea what he’s expecting Jon to say next. If there’s anything Martin’s learned today, it’s that he clearly doesn’t know Jon anywhere near as well as he thought. 

“I was wrong about you. On the tapes. Your work is…” Jon is speaking slowly, like he’s considering his words carefully. Maybe he’s just struggling to say them. “Well, it doesn’t actually matter what the quality of your work is. Nothing would have justified the things I’ve said about you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Martin sounds a touch more surprised than he means to, looking back to Jon. Jon still won’t meet his eyes, instead watching Martin from the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” Jon says, “I was mistaken. I won’t… You’re a far better employee than I’ve given you credit for, and…” He sighs, shaking his head a little, and he tries again, “I’m lucky to have you. All three of you. I’m sorry for not acting like it sooner.”

Martin’s stunned into silence for a beat longer than he means to be, and Jon stands, visibly embarrassed. 

“I’m going to head out. I’m sure you’re tired, and I need to… Leave,” Jon says. He grabs a tape recorder off a shelf next to them (Did he bring that in here? Martin doesn’t remember seeing it), fidgeting with it as he speaks.

“Jon?” Martin asks. Jon stills, “Thank you.”

Jon only nods. A small smile springs to life on his face, and he heads out.

Martin flops back into the cot as the door shuts. Jon apologizing? Jon smiling? 

Two more points for the body double theory.

Chapter Text

Jon had promised he was going to be better about trusting his assistants. He’d told himself, and then he’d told Tim and Sasha, and then he’d told Martin. And even if he hadn’t, he knows he needs this. For his plan to work, he needs his assistants to trust him. In order to build that trust, he needs to put his trust in them first. 

The night before he’d decided on the best way to start building that trust, but that doesn’t make recording it easy. 

Jon has always been a private person. Might be the Beholding in him, but he likes to keep his cards close to his chest. He doesn’t like being known. This is an old secret, though, and easier to share than the other, bigger, shinier secrets Jon now carries. Recording it and passing the tape along is also a comfortable sort of indirect, as though he’s just giving them another story to work on. 

Besides, when he thinks of his other self, alone and miserable in his office...

I have no theories on this. No... No sudden insights. I wish I could talk it through with Martin. Or Tim. Or Sasha. But we never really did that, did we?  

Jon reaches for the tape recorder, but finds it’s already running. They’ve been doing that since his other self’s memories arrived. Must be part of the powers he’s gained.

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding a childhood encounter with a book formerly possessed by Jurgen Leitner. Statement recorded by subject, March 8th, 2017. Statement begins: I was eight years old when my grandmother gave me the book…”

Shortly after Tim and Sasha return from picking up lunch, Jon stops by their desks. He’s carrying a tape, though he’s different than usual. When Jon drops off a statement, it’s usually a hurried affair. He’s in and out in a moment, with some clipped comment about what follow up he wants and by when. There’s none of that here as Jon sets the tape down on the desk.

“There’s no research necessary for this statement. Nothing in it can be corroborated in any real form, for reasons that should become apparent,” Jon says, “But I need for all three of you to listen to it.”

With that he leaves, not waiting for Tim or Sasha to respond. Sasha glances at Tim, who shrugs.

“Should I go find Martin?” Sasha asks. 

“Nah, I’ll get him. I think I saw him in the break room when we came in,” Tim says, “Besides, I needed to bring him his takeout, anyway. Don’t start the extra special statement without us!”

“ ...For a second, there was almost the start of a scream, but the legs wrapped around him too quickly, and he disappeared into the doorway and out of sight. It slammed behind him and he was gone, taking the book with him. Statement ends … You can see, I hope, why this engendered in me something of a fascination with the supernatural, and some deep feelings regarding the name Jurgen Leitner-- ” 

Sasha reaches forward and pauses the tape before Jon can get going on his endnotes.

“I think,” Tim breaks the silence, “I owe him an apology for that time I left that huge plastic spider in his desk drawer.”

“Absolutely,” Sasha says, “Also, absolutely not the point. Why would he deny all these statements if he’s seen this?”

“Press play,” Martin says, “There was more, right? The closing remarks?”

Sasha nods, and she taps the button once more. Jon’s voice resumes right where he left off. 

“-- I spent countless hours after the fact reading about the supernatural in non-Leitner books, trying to learn anything I could about the creature I’d seen. Most of what I found was fictional, of course. But at eight years old, it was harder to figure out the fact from the fiction. The things I read about terrified me, but I still needed to know them, so I found for myself a compromise: Skepticism. Feigning ignorance. I went on as though I did not encounter Mr. Spider, or know intimately about the existence of monsters. I buried the memory so deep in the back of my mind that I even forgot the name of the man who saved me. It just felt safer, but it wasn’t.

“ Speaking this out loud, I am struck by something else. The feeling I have been living with my whole life, that if the poor idiot hadn’t gotten involved he would still be alive. A strange conviction that, if I had been able to face that thing myself, I could have saved him. Stopped it. Ridiculous, of course. I was eight. But it has made me reconsider my attitude on getting help.

“ I owe all three of you an apology. In forcing my ignorance of all the things that go bump in the night --” 

Tim stops the tape this time.

“I want to hear it from him,” Tim says. 

“What?” Martin asks, “You’re going to make him repeat that all again?”

“What? No. If he’s more comfortable delivering his childhood trauma through tape, that’s fine. Something like that is hard to talk about,” Tim says, “But an apology is the kind of thing you say face to face.”

He stands, the tape player secure in his hand, but he doesn’t move further. 

“Come on,” Tim says, “He’s apologizing to all three of us, so let’s go.” 

Sasha stands next, and Martin after her. Tim jerks his head sideways, prompting them to move. 

There’s a tape recorder already running when they open the door, though it doesn’t seem like Jon is recording anything. His desk is mostly empty, minus a statement in his hands. It’s clear he wasn’t reading it, though. When he’s reading a statement, he tends to have a… Presence. Tim had joked once that he seemed possessed, though Jon hadn’t appreciated the sentiment. His annoyance had given way to a clear discomfort, as if there was something about the idea that actually resonated with Jon, and Tim had dropped the joke completely. 

Now, though, he looks more like he grabbed the nearest paper so he could pretend he was doing his work. He looks between them now, staring at the wall or the door or their shirts rather than their faces. Tim steps forward, setting the tape recorder down on the desk. It clicks on, playing out another few words of Jon’s tape before Tim stops it.

“-- I endangered not only Martin, but all-- ”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to press that,” Tim mutters. 

“Um,” Jon says, “Is something the matter?”

When Tim opens his mouth, he feels not as though he's about to speak, but to vomit. He isn’t talking so much as allowing an exit for the words as each one is ripped from his body.

“Yes, something is the matter. You’ve spent months pushing away me, Sasha, Martin, and every statement giver who came in here. You disregarded everything we said, brushed off our experiences, and laughed every statement you read out the door. Even the one that poor woman came to give directly! She came to feel listened to, and she left the building feeling ridiculous. 

“And I understand being scared, you know! I understand wanting to pretend you’d never seen any of it, and wanting to run and hide and never think about it all again. But you chose to be here, and to look for answers, and you… You can’t half-ass that. Especially not with us. I know you didn’t ask me and Sasha to come here with you from research for no reason, just like I know you didn’t decide to throw yourself in harm’s way to save Martin for no reason. We’re a team, and-- Maybe I was wrong in this, but I’d thought we were friends. 

“So yes, there’s ‘something the matter.’ I’m not letting you throw us an impersonal apology and close the door on us again, even when you’re trying to get us to trust you. Do this right.”

“Tim?!” Martin half-squeaks, as Tim watches something storm across Jon’s face. Shock, mostly, if his just-open jaw is anything to go by, plus something else Tim doesn’t know how to place. Tim glances back to see Martin looks just short of appalled, though he doesn’t quite blame the guy. It’s way more than Tim had meant to say, and with more force than he’d intended, but he won’t apologize. At least, not first.

“No, Tim… Tim is right,” Jon cedes, “I shouldn’t be hiding behind the tapes for this. I owe you three an apology, and I owe it to you in person.”

He motions for the two chairs on the other side of his desk. Sasha takes one and Martin another. Tim considers his options a moment before deciding to sit on the sturdier-looking arm of Sasha’s chair. Jon makes no comment on this as he sits up straighter, setting the paper in his hand aside. 

“I… I’m sorry. I guess I should start with that. I’m sorry for ignoring your input for months, for burying my head in the sand and making up nonsense ‘rational’ explanations when I should have just accepted we had a few… Hm. Supernatural entities.” Jon’s looking at the desk as he speaks, but Tim doesn’t call him on it, “Brushing off Carlos Vittery because I’m… Especially sensitive to the concept of evil spiders nearly killed Martin. If I kept this up, it could have easily killed… Any of you. You’re all being earnest in your work, and I’m long overdue to follow your lead. On this, and on… On trusting in each other. I know you all get along with each other much better than you do me, which is my own doing. So I’m sorry. If you’ll let me, I’d like to try again.”

“So,” Tim starts. He was the one who demanded the apology, so he figures he should be the one to respond to it. He’s never really been one for emotional speeches--He has no idea where the last one just came from, really, but wherever that place was, Tim can’t pull from it again. He is good at dispatching tension, though. Hopefully, that’s enough. “We’d better see you at lunch with us tomorrow. No excuses.”

“Lunch?” Jon asks. 

“Well, Sasha and I have been grabbing lunch together a while, but we decided to bring takeout back with us to the Institute so Martin won't just have to eat break room leftovers all the time,” Tim explains, “So you’d better come with us tomorrow for lunch. If you want to try again, then you’ve got to join the Archival lunch dates.”

Jon’s got that look on his face again, the one Tim can’t really read. He’ll have to ask Martin about it. He’s overly well-versed in Jon’s limited emotional range.

“I’ll remind you when we’re going to leave. We usually walk to the sandwich shop a few minutes away, so it’s not too far of a walk,” Sasha says. Tim can see she’s biting back a mischievous smile, which makes sense as she continues, “It’s probably a better way to exercise than running to the Institute in the mornings.”

“You usually finish recording your statements around lunch, anyway, right?” Martin asks. 

“Yes, I do,” Jon says. Whatever’s on his mind fades, and something almost like a smile shapes itself on Jon’s face, “I’ll be there. Thank you.”

Tim grins. Tim considers this a win for himself. One of the perks of a winning sense of humor like his own.

“We’ll be holding you to that,” Tim says. Jon nods, serious once again. 

“Yes, well. Just because you three don’t need to follow up on my statement doesn’t mean you don’t have other work to do,” Jon says. Tim scoffs but stands, making a show of stretching his arms to buy himself some time as Martin and Sasha file out. Martin’s out first, Sasha holding the door after him. She looks back at Tim, but he jerks his head towards their desks. 

Tim has known Sasha for a long time, and they’ve been close for most of it. He’d told her, once, about Danny, so he hopes she can guess why he’d like a moment to speak to Jon one on one. She seems to get the memo and allows the door to close behind her, shutting Tim and Jon inside.

Tim is no motivational speaker. But something in Jon’s statement echoed words Tim has thought a thousand times, so he’s going to try. 

“Hey, Boss?” Tim asks. Jon’s head jerks up, as though he hadn’t noticed Tim didn’t actually leave. 

“Tim,” Jon says. His voice is flat, but Tim hears the question.

“That guy? From your statement?” Tim says. Jon stiffens, if only a little. “Wasn’t your fault.” 

There’s a long silence as Jon takes that in, but he nods. 

“Thank you,” Jon says. His voice is quiet, but it’s easy to hear him in the little office, “Really. Thank you.” 

“Any time.” Tim grins. He takes a step towards the door, but he stops. He doesn’t want to give Jon any shit for half-assing this and then do the same, so he steps back, sitting on the chair’s arm again. “I had an encounter of my own, you know. Took my younger brother. I thought for a long time that it was my fault, that I could have done more.” 

“It wasn’t,” Jon says. 

“You didn’t even hear my statement yet. Maybe I pushed him or something,” Tim says, though there’s not really any humor in the joke. Jon shakes his head.

“I’ve… I’ve just got a feeling,” Jon says, “You’re a lot of things, Tim, but the kind of person who throws his brother to a monster isn’t one of them.”

“Well, thanks,” Tim says, “I appreciate it. And I’ll make my own statement soon, too. Share it with the class. I want answers, too.”

“We’ll help you find them,” Jon says, “I’m sure there’s more statements somewhere in this mess of an Archive on the Circus if we look. You’ll get closure. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Tim says again. His face is more of a grimace than a smile, but he does appreciate it. “I came to the Institute for answers on Danny, you know. I’ve put off looking for a long time.” 

“I understand the feeling,” Jon nods, once. 

“Yeah, well, I guess both of us needed this,” Tim says. 

“That we did,” Jon says. He certainly looks like he needed it. It’s hard to say all the tension’s left his body, because Jon is more stress than man even on a good day, but he certainly looks more relaxed than he did when the three of them entered the room. 

“I’m here because I want to be here, same as you. So you can lean on me, just like you can lean on any of us. None of us want to see you get eaten by worms. Or to be crushed to death under the weight of all Gertrude’s unsorted statements,” Tim says, “Don’t just lean on us for life or death. We’ll find answers together, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon says, “Thank you, Tim. I’m… I spoke to Martin earlier, and I said the same to him, but I’m lucky to have you as my assistant. All three of you.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Tim is grinning again. He stands for real, walking toward the door, “I’ll go back to it, then. I’ve got work to do.”

“I won’t keep you any longer,” Jon says, “I’ll be seeing--... I’ll--… Hm. Goodbye.” 

“Later! And don’t forget about lunch!”

“I won’t.”

It’s only once Tim closes the door to Jon’s office that he realizes he never mentioned the Circus.

Tim frowns. If Jon didn't notice, then Tim won't mention it. Paranoia is only going to get him so far, so jumping to conclusions...  It won't help. He'll pretend he hadn't heard it for now.

There's clearly more Jon isn't telling them, and for now, Tim's just going to have to wait and see what that is.

Body double Jon is suddenly a lot less funny.

Jon's other self had stopped just short of barricading himself in his office, rarely returning home as the weeks went by. He’d been far too paranoid to consider leaving the Institute, especially for something as trivial as lunch.

But, no. This isn’t trivial, is it? 

He follows closely behind Sasha, relieved that both Tim and Sasha are taller than him. It’s easier to use them as guides when his pace is naturally slower. If Sasha doesn’t walk into anything, Jon won’t, as long as he notices her move to avoid it. With how intently he’s paying attention to her and Tim interacting, it would be hard to miss. 

Their first day starts somewhat stiff, because Tim and Sasha are very aware Jon is silent behind them. It doesn’t take Tim long to break that awkwardness with Sasha, though. They were friends long before meeting Jon in research, and it’s obvious in the ease in which they can dismiss any silence that falls with both of them in the same space. 

Their lighthearted ribbing stings in a way Jon doesn’t know how to manage. It feels strange to mourn something right in front of him, but Tim and Sasha’s deaths play in the back of his mind as they laugh over something Jon’s too wrapped up in his own head to hear. 

But wordlessly shadowing means that it’s possible for his assistants to forget he’s behind them. At least, that’s Jon’s guess as to why Tim abruptly broaches their newest subject: 

“Remember how Martin mentioned in his statement that Jon hurled a fire extinguisher at Prentiss vis-a-vis our death match debate? Proof Jon would win.”

“Tim.” Sasha, on the other hand, has not forgotten, if the tone of her voice is anything to go by. She’s half whispering, and it reminds Jon of a child trying to stop her friend from making trouble before their teacher can catch them.

“You ever held one of those things? They’re heavy! You could kill someone with one of those.”

“Tim.”

“No, I’ve been thinking about it. You’re right Martin’s got a physical advantage, but if Jon’s--”

“Tim! ”

“What?” 

“Um.” Jon decides to make himself known again. The flash of motion in his peripheral tells him Tim’s turned around, confirming Jon’s theory that Tim forgot he was there, “I’m not sure why you’re debating who would win in a fight between me and Martin, but…” 

“Well.” Tim starts. He doesn’t get any further than that. 

“Sorry. I was trying to stop him,” Sasha says. 

“It’s alright,” Jon says. He thinks for a moment on some of the memories his other self has given him about Martin, and he adds, “Besides, Martin is the obvious choice.”

“I told you!” Sasha drops her “reasonable favorite” act immediately.

“Okay, okay, fine. You win this one, Sash,” Tim says. There’s a smile audible in his voice, and Jon knows playing along was the right choice, even if it might not be the one he would have made a week ago. 

“I always do,” Sasha says, and Tim spins around to walk backwards and face Jon.

“Hey, Boss, who are you betting on in a fight? Me or Sasha?” 

“Sasha. Obviously.”

Sasha laughs, and there’s a flash of movement which Jon thinks might be Tim grasping at his heart. The mock-offense in his voice when he speaks again certainly supports it.

“Blatant favoritism. I’m asking Martin when we get back. He won’t betray me like this.”

Most of their conversations follow a similar pattern after that. Tim brings up something on the walk to the sandwich shop, Sasha banters with him on it, and Jon will add something towards the end. Nonsense debates are common. Jon assumes it’s because they’re easy to carry back to the Institute and rope Martin into, which Jon appreciates. Their lunch runs could easily have left Martin out, and Jon knows that’s a particularly dangerous state for Martin.

Jon hopes that their habit for frequent discussion, however silly, will make the later stages of this plan easier. He does need to convince the three of them to help him murder their boss at some point, hopefully without horrible trauma on their parts to back of his claims of the man’s apocalyptic ambitions. Jon’s just going to have to believe in the bonding power of ridiculous debates.

Chapter Text

Jon is decidedly not excited to formally meet the Distortion. 

His other self’s feelings on the Distortion are fairly straightforward. They’re a pain (literally, mentally, and figuratively). They’re also a danger to Jon. For one, Michael hates him personally. Jon still feels the ghost of a scar sometimes when he touches his stomach where Michael stabbed him. Michael also tried to kill Jon, and it’s not like Helen will be able to step in if Michael tries this time. 

There’s also the possibility of being recognized. His other self’s memories came through the Distortion, and his other self had been inside the corridors more than once. Is that something Michael will be able to tell about Jon now? It’s not like Jon has been inside the corridors, even if he remembers them. But nonsense is what Michael deals in, so Jon isn’t sure that technicalities about Jon not having actually physically roamed the corridors himself will matter. Helen literally helped him time travel, so. Nothing about this is going to make sense.

Of course, all this is dependent on whether or not Sasha decides to tell them about Michael today, or if she decides to wait until after she’s confronted him herself. This is, in part, a test of how much Jon has actually gained their trust.

It feels sort of silly to hesitate outside Jon’s office like this, but Sasha can’t help herself. Just because Jon has been better about believing them recently doesn’t mean he’ll take her monster (barely-an-)encounter seriously. 

But, she’d made up her mind to tell the others, and so she is going to tell them. Tim had made his speech about working together and not keeping secrets, so she can’t keep the distorted man to herself. She just has to start with Jon. If he laughs her out of the office, then at least there’s a strike against the presence of a Not-Jon. 

When Sasha opens the door, Jon isn’t working. He rarely is when people enter, though he still churns out plenty of recorded statements for them to look over. Tim has made something of a game of trying to surprise him, but unless he’s actively recording a statement, it’s rare to catch him in the middle of anything. And if he is in the middle of a statement, he’s very unhappy about interruptions. The more things change, et cetera. 

Not that any of that matters right this second, of course, as Sasha takes a seat across from Jon. 

“Is there something you -- Ah.” Jon cuts himself off. “You seem like you have something on your mind.” 

“I do,” Sasha says, “I encountered something on the way to work today. I don’t think it’s quite worth a statement, but maybe some further investigation.”

Jon considers this a moment. She isn’t sure what she expects him to say, but the careful consideration does not feel promising.  

“I can retrieve Martin and Tim for you, if you’d like to tell all three of us at once,” Jon decides.

“No, I’d rather tell you first,” Sasha says, “I feel like if I tell Tim he’s going to run off and confront it, and I don’t know if it’s worth pursuing yet.”

“Okay,” Jon says. His hand reaches for a tape recorder, and she doesn’t stop him, though she isn’t sure how interesting of a statement this will be, “Statement of Sasha James, assistant archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding…”

“Let’s just call it ‘a suspected supernatural encounter.’”

“Statement recorded direct from subject, 31st of March, 2016.”

“Right. Well, I’ll start with the first thing I noticed. I live up near Finsbury Park…”

“I don’t really know what I was planning to ask him. ‘Are you secretly a monster?’ probably would have been a great opener. When I got here, I realized I should probably let you know. If you think it’s worth investigating, he may still be in that cafe.”

Jon’s face is set in a frown. He drums his fingers on the table, though soft enough so as to not be picked up by the tape. He’s significantly more stressed about this than she is, though she can’t really imagine why. Worrying about her sanity, maybe? It’s not like the man she encountered was overtly monstrous. It would be easy to chalk this up to Sasha being weirdly paranoid.

“Right. Right,” Jon says, “And you think it’s worth investigating.”

It’s not a question. It doesn’t have to be.

“I do,” Sasha says, “Whatever this thing is, I think we should talk to him. I want to know what he is. What he wants.”

“I imagine you’ll go to see the thing whether I agree to investigate it or not.” 

“I’m too damned curious not to, I think,” Sasha says, That earns a faint smile from Jon, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. 

“Then we’ll investigate it together today. I doubt Elias will mind,” Jon says. The smile has changed into a full-fledged grimace, which surprises Sasha somewhat. Though, she supposes she understands. If she’d already had an encounter like Jon’s, she’d be unwilling to tag along to meet a maybe-monster, too.

Unless remembering the existence of Elias is what’s got that look on his face, which Sasha also understands.

“You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to,” Sasha offers. Jon shakes his head. 

“I think I should,” Jon says, “Just… Too damned curious.”

Sasha hums. This, she definitely understands.

“Besides,” Jon adds, “I’d like to keep the three of you from being killed, if I can help it.”

“Morbid. You think that man is really that dangerous?” Sasha asks. 

“I…” Jon starts, “We don’t know what he’s capable of. Prentiss could have easily torn Martin to shreds, had she been given the opportunity, but at least Martin knew what he was dealing with.”

“Nice pep talk,” Sasha mutters. Jon grimaces, realizing his mistake.

“Apologies,” Jon says, “I know you’re plenty capable. I’m sure you could handle this man on your own, if you needed to. But you… You don’t need to.”

Sasha nods, the start of a smile on her face. 

She thinks back to just a few minutes earlier, when she’d been fretting outside the door to Jon’s office. She’d known Jon trusts her, and yet, she hadn’t extended him the same courtesy. 

The two of them have always been on decent terms. She’s the most competent person in the Archives, and she knows Jon depends on her. However, a comfortable work relationship is different from a friendship. 

A boss that Sasha is on decent terms with might hear out her statement and let her down gently. A boss that Sasha is on decent terms with might praise her for her keen eyes, but deride her overactive imagination. A boss that Sasha is on decent terms with might recommend Sasha see a good counselor after she finished her shift.

What does that make Jon to her, then? She doesn’t really need to ask.

A friend believes her story, even if she knows it’s likely nothing. A friend promises to go with her and make sure she doesn’t have to face her horror alone. It’s what Tim would do-- Will do, when they tell him their plan. She never thought Jon would do the same, but apparently, she was wrong.

She doesn’t know when it happened, but at some point, Jon’s become her friend. It’s not as surprising as she thinks it should be.

With a desk between them, there isn’t much Sasha can do, but she decides to lean forward over Jon’s desk to squeeze Jon’s shoulder. There’s a full smile on her face as she drops her arm. 

“Thank you. It’ll be nice to have you guys with me,” She says. Jon makes a noise that might be a cough, sitting up straighter, like he’s trying to make up for the breach in professionalism. Sasha bites back a laugh as he continues.

“I, I do think it would be best if someone stayed behind, though, in case this is a trap. With Prentiss still out there, I think our best choice would be Martin,” Jon says, bowling right on into planning, “He can look into whether or not we have any statements on... Distortion men. Something tells me we do.”

“Martin is a great researcher,” Sasha agrees, “But his self preservation instincts are not the strongest. He might be better to have here. Someone to know if we go missing, at least.”

“...Should I be offended you bet on him over me, then?” Jon asks. It’s still sort of weird to have inside jokes with Jon of all people, and it throws her off a little every time he references them. But that’s the sort of thing you have with friends, so maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising, after all. 

She wonders if Jon is trying to raise her spirits before they investigate her monster, or trying to raise his own. Whoever it’s for, she’s glad to play along.

“Who would win in a fight and who would survive longest in a horror movie are two very different debates,” Sasha says, “I’d outlast all of you in both, though.”

Something about the look on Jon’s face tells Sasha that this was the wrong thing to say.

“Let’s go tell Tim and Martin about this, then. There’s no guarantee that man will stick around and wait for us.”

The man does, in fact, stick around and wait for them.

Sasha, Tim, and Jon head out after lunch. It was decided Sasha would do most of the talking, as the thing had appeared to her, and Tim and Jon were mostly there so she wouldn’t have to meet him alone. Tim and Jon had each had their own encounters, after all. They knew, even if they didn’t say it, that being alone and afraid is exactly what these things want.

Martin had wanted to come along, of course, but Jon had come as close to pleading as Jon was able to and Martin had relented. Jon had insisted that they needed someone to stay back and be their home base in case something happened, and that person should be Martin.

Martin agreed to stay back and search the Archives for statements including this man, then read them in the Library. It’s high enough in the building that it actually has service, so the three of them can update him if something happens, or if they need help.

Sasha’d wondered briefly if Jon had known what he was doing when he praised Martin and his necessity until Martin’s face had gone completely red, but she assumed not. Jon looked as though he didn’t even realize Martin was blushing, the poor sap. She can only imagine what having Jon earnestly praise him had done to Martin. But that’s something they’ll gossip about later, when they’re safely back at the Institute.

The man is in exactly the same spot he was in the morning, sitting at a corner table in the cafe. Sasha isn’t sure if she’s happy about that or not. It’s certainly not a good sign, but little about the whole encounter is. She does feel better having Tim and Jon with her, though. Even if she knows she’d definitely be the most capable person in a supernatural encounter out of the three of them, there’s something to be said for the concept of moral support.

She looks to Tim, tilting her head towards the man. He nods, face set in a frown.

When she looks to Jon, intending on pointing out their monster, Jon is already looking right at him. Jon’s eyes are wide, confusion and distress clear on his face. Whatever Jon sees, Sasha is suddenly glad she’s not privy to it, though she’ll definitely ask once this is over.

When she looks back to the man, he’s staring straight at her. He gestures at the chair in front of him, and Sasha nods.

“Come on,” Sasha says. 

Sasha sits across from the man, Tim and Jon pulling up chairs on either side of her. 

He says nothing, though he raises an eyebrow at their guests. Something about the gesture seems wrong on his face, though she gets the impression that this will not be a unique feeling in this encounter. He’s waiting for her to speak, so she decides to cut right to it.

“What are you?” Sasha asks. He laughs, but that’s off, too. It’s stilted, disjointed, and feels almost as though it echos even without anything to echo off of. She’s pretty sure Jon flinches, though she’s not really paying him mind enough to know for sure. She bumps his knee under the table with her own anyway, though she isn’t sure whether she’s doing it for his benefit or her own.

“How would a melody describe itself when asked?” the man asks. Sasha frowns.

“If you’re going to speak in cheap riddles, we’re just going to leave,” Sasha says. To her surprise, the man actually looks apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to talking about myself, so I’m not very good at it. You can call me Michael,” the man--Michael--says. The name doesn’t seem to fit, but something tells her no name would. She has a feeling Michael prefers things this way. 

Michael waits silently, glancing between her and her friends. 

Well, glancing isn’t the right word. His eyes never actually move, not really. The longer she looks at him, the harder it is to pin down where any one detail of him is.

“What do you want?” Sasha asks, finally, when the experience of trying to look at him threatens to become too much. He grins. His teeth almost look sharp, though if she looks at any one, it appears normal. She hates it.

“I want to help.”

“Help? With what?” Sasha asks, “Do you want to stop Jane Prentiss?”

He laughs again. 

“You have no idea what’s really going on,” He says. He looks definitively at Jon, then, and his smile twists into something far more sinister, “Isn’t that right, Archivist?”

 “I- I don’t-” Jon starts. He straightens, fingers tightening on the tape recorder in his hands. Michael cuts him off.

“Don’t try to lie to me,” Michael says. Despite the hostility of the phrase, he still manages to sound amused. 

Michael turns his attention back to her and Tim, and his hand is on hers before she even really sees him move. It feels horrible, less like solid flesh and more like pressure. 

Though, maybe pressure isn’t the right word. Pressure isn’t sharp. She can feel, where his fingers touch her wrist, the same points she saw through the window. It doesn't hurt, but she has no doubt he could shred skin if he wanted.

“I don’t care if you and your companions live or die, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fond of assistants. Especially when your Archivist is lying to you,” Michael says, “I want to be friends.”

Sasha yanks her hand back, standing up. She wants to get away from here. She doesn’t trust a word this thing says, and she hates the needless ambiguity. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sasha asks. Michael’s grin keeps growing wider and wider. She’s almost worried it will reach a size where it can no longer fit his face. She feels certain it absolutely can, and she absolutely does not want to see it happen. 

“What would be the fun if I told you?” Michael asks, “Your lot is all the same. All you want to do is see. Seeing doesn’t help, though, does it?”

Sasha doesn’t think the question is directed at her.

“If you aren’t going to help us, we’re going to leave,” Sasha says. Michael doesn’t stop her. Tim looks between her and Michael before deciding to stand as well, but Jon doesn’t move. His eyes are locked onto Michael, just as they have been since the moment he first entered. 

“Jon, come on,” Sasha says, and it seems to snap him out of it. He stands, pushing his chair away from himself, and she puts her hands on their backs, nearly shoving the two of them out the door.

“Sasha?” Michael calls, right as she’s about to disappear through the doorway. Sasha stops despite herself, turning back to see what the thing has to say. Michael is still grinning, his lips pushing the bounds of what should be possible. “If you’re interested in saving your lives--you, Tim, Jon, and Martin--I’ll be waiting at Hanwell Cemetery.”

Jon has somewhat adjusted to the blur that makes up his central vision over the weeks since he blinded himself. It hasn’t been perfect, but he’s picked up a few things to help him manage the more frustrating bits. 

One such habit is that Jon’s head and eyes are near constantly moving, trying to take in information around the blind spots.

When Jon walks into the cafe and glances around, he knows Michael immediately. It’s not his other self’s memories that help him recognize the man.

When Jon looks at Michael, he can see. 

Michael appears in the center of Jon’s vision sharp and defined, in full and vibrant color. Every detail of him is crystal clear, down to the wisps of blonde hair that break free from the curls that hang down his back. He looks human, completely and utterly unremarkable, except that Jon shouldn’t be able to see him at all. 

Even now, as they walk towards the Institute, Jon cannot stop thinking about Michael. Somehow, that clarity is more disconcerting than any distorted figure could have ever been. Then again, Michael generally intends to have that effect… Was it intentional on Michael’s part? Could he tell Jon is blind and react accordingly? 

Jon twists the ring on his finger as he mulls it over. If Michael could tell, can Elias?

“Jon?” Sasha asks. Jon looks up, almost comforted by the way her face blurs right out of existence the way it’s supposed to. Jon can feel they’re both looking at him, but when he says nothing, Sasha continues, “Did you hear anything either of us have been saying?”

“Ah… No, I’m sorry. I was…” Jon trails off. Tim and Sasha stop walking, forcing Jon behind them to stop. 

“Lost in thought?” Tim asks. “Care to share?”

Is there anything Jon can share? He can’t say it’s nothing. Now is the perfect time to start trying to push them towards the truth, so long as he can figure out what to tell them.

“Jon?” Sasha tries again, “You look like… Well, like you’ve seen a ghost.”

…Hm. That could work, couldn’t it? Explaining where he got the information from is going to be difficult, but it’s probably his safest bet.

“I think it may have been one of Gertrude’s assistants,” Jon asks, “Specifically one by the name of Michael Shelley.” 

“That was one of Gertrude’s assistants?” Sasha asks.

“Possibly. Used to be, at least,” Jon says, “It’s just a hunch.”

“That would explain why you looked so shocked when we walked in. I was worried you were able to see his monstery-ness,” Sasha says. “How did you recognize him?”

“There was…” Jon flounders a moment. Of course Sasha would notice him staring at Michael like that. “I found a picture in one of my desk drawers. I think someone must have missed it when clearing out her things.” 

Sasha and Tim are quiet for a moment.

“We could always ask him when we go to the cemetery,” Sasha says. 

“What?” Jon asks. 

“You really didn’t hear anything we were saying,” Tim says, “Sasha and I were talking about going to the cemetery. We’re already on a field trip for the day, we might as well go all out.”

“That… Makes sense,” Jon says. He figured they’d end up going--It’s the whole reason he made Martin stay back at the Institute. Thought Martin wouldn’t want to see Timothy Hodge, if he could avoid it. Speaking of, “We should let Martin know. Don’t want him to be left out.”

“Especially if Michael pulls anything.” Tim notes.

“Text him while we’re walking. Ask him to look into Michael Shelley, while you’re at it,” Sasha says. 

“I’ll call him. I’m sure he wants an update on how the encounter went, anyway,” Jon mumbles, already pulling out his phone. Typing Martin’s number on the large keypad is easier than finding his name in Jon’s contacts without being able to use the phone’s screen-reader, so Jon opts to do that. He’d like to say he Knows Martin’s new phone number, but in all honesty, he just remembers it from when Martin read it off to him the first time. 

It only rings once, and Jon puts it on speaker as Martin’s voice comes through.

“Jon? Is that you? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. We’re calling to fill you in on what’s happened.”

“Hey, Marto!” 

“Hi, Martin.” 

“Hi, guys.” The relief is audible in Martin’s voice, and Jon feels a little guilty for making him sit out. He remembers how annoyed the other Martin had been, forced to sit on the sidelines and wait for the rest of them to return from the Unknowing. “How was monster hunting?”

“He was unhelpful and overly cryptic,” Sasha says, “But he told us we should go to Hanwell Cemetery, so we’re heading over now. You know where to look if we disappear.”

“Not funny,” Martin mutters, “If he was so unhelpful, why bother going?”

“Boss thinks he might be one of Gertrude’s old assistants,” Tim says, “Or, might have once been. He’s clearly not that person anymore.”

“He introduced himself as Michael. Jon thought he may have been Michael Shelley,” Sasha says, “If he is, it would explain some of the stuff he said when we met, but it doesn’t explain how he became that way or what he wants.”

Something in Jon’s chest swells, listening to the three of them discuss their new mystery. He supposes those lunches paid off, if this is the result. He wonders what his other self would have thought, hearing them acting together as a team. The pang of longing and grief which cuts under the warmth of Jon’s pride gives Jon a fairly good idea.

“I didn’t even know Gertrude had assistants,” Martin says, pulling Jon back to himself.

 “You’d never be able to tell from how she kept her Archive, but she did have some in the past,” Jon says, “If you could, try to look into Shelley for us. It might help us figure out what we’re dealing with.”

“Will do,” Martin says, “I’ll text you if I find anything.”

“Use that group chat I set up. Just in case Michael likes to steal phones the way Prentiss does,” Tim says, “Though, I saw him in a car window when we were sitting there, and Sash, you weren’t kidding about those hands… Do you think he can even text with those?”

“Definitely not. You should feel lucky he didn’t touch you,” Sasha mutters, “He felt like… I don’t even know how to explain it. Definitely sharp, though.”

“He touched you? You’re not hurt, are you?” Martin asks.

“No, I’m fine. It was just uncomfortable,” Sasha says, “I’ll give you the full statement when we get back. You can trade me for whatever you figure out about Shelley.”

“It’ll probably be much easier to find something about him versus looking for ‘weird hand guy’ in the Archives,” Tim says. Martin snorts. 

“Definitely. Stay safe, you two,” Martin says, “Stay safe, Jon. ”

That also does something to Jon’s chest, which he immediately and pointedly ignores.

“Thanks!” 

“You too. Don’t need you getting buried in a landslide of poorly managed statements.”

Jon hangs up with that, thankful Sasha and Tim said something so he didn’t have to.

Michael is waiting outside the cemetery’s entrance when the three of them arrive, just as the other Sasha had once said. Jon hears Tim mutter something about Michael’s travel time, but Jon knows that is no issue for Michael. There’s a reason he’s standing next to the gate.  

Michael nods for them to follow, and starts walking down the road.

“Not a great sign when the monster wants to lead us somewhere even spookier than the cemetery,” Tim mutters, only loud enough for the three of them. Sasha makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, though Jon doesn’t react. 

The abandoned pub on Azalea Close, its open door swinging in the wind. Michael enters without a word, and Jon frowns. This should be easier than confronting Prentiss, but that doesn’t make it easy.  

Jon speeds up, overtaking Tim and Sasha for the first time. Find the fire extinguisher, deal with Timothy Hodge, hope Michael sticks around for questioning. 

“Woah! Boss coming through,” Tim says. Jon looks back, shushing Tim with a finger to his mouth, and steps into the room. It’s too dark for him to really see anything, but he doesn’t actually need to look around. He already knows what the place looks like from the statement his other self received. This is acting, so he can tell his assistants what he knows.

Tim and Sasha come up behind him. Before either of them can say a word, a groan of pain carries from a shadow at the back of the room. 

“Fire extinguisher. On the bar,” Jon breathes, hoping that it’s not loud enough for the thing that was once Timothy Hodge to hear over his own pain. 

Tim nods, going around Jon to grab the fire extinguisher. Sasha and Jon approach the sound, though Jon allows himself to lag behind. Curiosity buzzes at the back of Jon’s brain, but he doesn’t dare try to Know Timothy Hodge. Prentiss’s worms nearly overwhelmed him when he’d tried to Know her, and he’d only been fine due to the fact he’d been hidden behind a door. If he were to try to Know the horror in front of him now, he’d only leave himself open to become worm meal a few months ahead of schedule. Instead, he turns his eyes a bit to the left, at the floor in front of them. He’s watching for motion, so he knows when to run.

Sasha gasps. Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and the worms hidden within it have heard her. A surge of writhing white presses forward immediately. 

“Tim! Fire extinguisher!” Sasha yells, backing up. She throws her arm out in front of Jon's chest, pulling him with her as she moves. Jon hears her stamping on worms more than he sees the movement in his peripheral, but the disgusting popping is quickly covered by the comforting hiss of the fire extinguisher. 

Tim steps in front of them, sweeps the ground to drown every worm that approaches. Tim then moves forward to bury Timothy Hodge in a spray of white gas, sweeping over him and the many, many worms Jon knows are buried deep within his flesh. He finally dies, spluttering his last breath before the CO2 strangles him.

There’s a beat of silence after the extinguisher’s blast fizzles out.

“Is he dead?” Tim asks. 

“I believe so,” Jon mutters. Sasha steps forward. Jon knows she’s reaching into Timothy Hodge’s pocket to pull out his wallet. 

“Timothy Hodge.” She reads. Her voice is quiet, but they hear her just fine.

“You three performed admirably. I was ready to have to remove a worm or two, but you all made it just fine,” Michael says. His voice is grating in the quiet of the old house, but in Michael’s defense, Jon always finds his voice grating. Now that the shock of Michael’s clarity has worn off, Jon can add that he hates being able to see Michael’s smug smile about all this. 

“Are you Michael Shelley?” Sasha asks. She stands, walking back to Jon and Tim. Michael laughs, and looks directly at Jon.

“I was wondering, Archivist, what seemed so odd about you. I’ve never met you before, but you’ve met me, haven’t you? My corridors never forget a person who has walked them. You’ve been inside the Distortion.”

...Ah. 

“No. We’ve never met,” Jon says. If he can’t lie to ‘It Is Lies,’ then he won’t. He tries his best to sound confused, and he continues with words that are technically honest, “And I’ve never been in your… Distortion, either.”

“You’re not lying. How strange. Usually, I’m the one making others doubt,” Michael muses. He sounds pleased, almost, but Jon can hear the cut of bitterness underneath it. Having the Head Archivist pull the wool over his eyes a second time isn’t sitting well with Michael.

Michael looks to Sasha once more. 

“For that, I’ll answer you. I am not Michael Shelley. That person is gone. I am Michael. I was not always Michael. I do not want to be Michael. I became Michael when Gertrude Robinson fed Michael Shelley to the Distortion and created me.” Michael pauses to take in the shock of his audience, then grins. “If you want to live, my advice is simple: Never trust your Archivist.”

He backs toward a wall, and Jon doesn’t need to see the dark yellow wood to know that the door is there. The tell-tale creak of the Distortion only confirms what he already knows, and a moment later, Michael is gone.

“Wait!” Sasha yells. She runs forward, but Jon knows the door is gone. She stands at the shadowed wall, grabbing things at random as though looking for whatever secret lever Michael pulled to let him out. All through it, Jon can feel Tim’s eyes on him.

“We should…” Jon starts, “We should probably head back.”

Chapter Text

April 17th, 2016. There’s a knock at Jon’s office door, and he stands. 

“Come in,” Jon says. 

“I have someone here to make a statement,” Sasha says, “This is Melanie King.”

“Of Ghost Hunt UK, right? I’ve heard of your work.” Jon asks. He’s trying his absolute best not to sound condescending about her chosen profession, and he hopes it’s working. More than anything else, not insulting her job is paramount to his success. “Sasha, could I ask you to take this one?”

Jon’s plan for helping Melanie is simple. The first step is to have Sasha take Melanie’s statement. For one, he’s fairly certain that the other Melanie and Sasha had gotten along, since Melanie was the only one to recognize she’d been replaced. As Jon and Melanie had ended up in a screaming match, and Jon wants to make a decent impression, he supposes pawning her off to Sasha will probably be the best thing he can do for his image.

Additionally, as far as Jon is aware, his assistants do not have the same nightmarish effects on statement givers that Jon has, so this will protect both himself and Melanie from the Eye’s voyeurism. 

“Oh. Are you sure? Tim and Martin aren’t really quiet,” Sasha asks. Jon nods. 

“Use my office,” Jon says, walking around the desk, “There’s definitely a tape recorder around here somewhere.”

“A tape recorder?” Melanie asks. “You can’t be serious.”

Jon decides it would be best to hold his tongue on this matter, stepping towards the door. Sasha walks by him, taking his seat, and Melanie takes the cue to sit down at the chair opposite his desk. 

“I’ll step out until you’re done,” Jon says. 

“Got it,” Sasha says. There’s a note of confusion to her voice, though there is not much Jon can do about it. His assistants are just going to need to get used to the new set of strange behaviors Jon’s brought to the table. 

The door closes behind Jon, and he makes his way to the break room. He has about twenty minutes, so he’ll just float around here in the interim.

Jon stalls for about fifteen minutes before deciding to hover by the door. He waits out the end of her statement, and the moment it ends, he pushes the door open.

“Jon?” Sasha asks, “We were just finishing up. Is something wrong?”

“No, no," Jon says. “I, well. Through the door, I heard some of the… Sasha, I need to retrieve something from my desk.”

“Uh… Sure,” Sasha says. 

“Couldn’t this wait?” Melanie asks, but Jon shakes his head. Sasha wheels the chair back to allow Jon access to his desk, where he opens the uppermost drawer. Sarah Baldwin’s missing person report is at the top, right where Jon left it this morning. He drops it in front of Melanie. 

“Sarah Baldwin. Missing since August 2006. Her case was never solved,” Jon says, “Her name turned up in a statement I reviewed earlier this year, assuming that this is the same woman.”

Jon hears Melanie gasp.

“This is her,” Melanie mutters, “But that was ten years ago.”

“Was this the Old Fishmarket Close statement? Nathan Watts?” Sasha asks. She was the one who did the followup, after all. Jon nods. 

“The Anglerfish,” Jon confirms. 

“Hold on. What was the statement?” Melanie asks. 

“According to Watts, he encountered the creature while walking home from a bar. It appeared to be a human man at first glance, which stood in an alley on Old Fishmarket Close,” Jon explains, “It asked him if it could have a cigarette, and he offered one from out on the street, but it refused to come out and retrieve one. Its mouth did not move when it spoke, it floated slightly above the ground, and when he tried to shine a light on the alley it hid in, the thing vanished. The next morning, he learned that a friend of his who had also been at the bar never made it home that night. The only thing Watts found of his friend when he returned to the alley was an unsmoked Marlboro Red, the man’s brand of choice.

“We looked into other disappearances in the area afterwards, and Sarah Baldwin was among the names. She was known to have smoked before she disappeared. I’d thought the whole thing was far-fetched, but if Sarah Baldwin has appeared again…” 

“I agree that it sounds fake,” Melanie mutters, “But this is definitely her. She hasn’t aged a day.”

“I imagine not. The person you met was likely not actually Sarah Baldwin. At least, not anymore,” Jon says, “Whatever the Anglerfish did to her…”

Melanie is silent for a moment, but Jon allows her time to think. He knows the encounter with Baldwin will drive Melanie to start her own investigations into the real sort of supernatural, but he’s hoping that presenting Sarah Baldwin and the Anglerfish will keep her off the path of the Slaughter.

Turning her against the Stranger instead has its own dangers, of course, but they’ll be actively working to stop the Stranger alongside her. It’ll be easier to… For lack of a better phrase, it’ll be easier to keep an eye on her, and keep her out of trouble and/or trauma if they’re both hunting the same ghost.

“Thanks for telling me,” Melanie says, after a long pause. 

“Yes. Well. I know how important it is to know someone believes you. To… To know someone is listening to what you have to say,” Jon says. He glances to Sasha, signaling her. 

“I’ll be looking into the followup for this statement,” Sasha says, patting Jon’s shoulder as she steps forward, “I’ll be sure to let you know if we find anything notable about Baldwin, or if I can find anything in that video you left us of the encounter.”

“Thanks,” Melanie says. She talks much less than Jon remembers, but to be fair, Jon’s just given her a lot of genuinely helpful information rather than dismissed her out of hand. She’s thinking it over, rather than shouting at Jon.

“You’re more than welcome to come back, if you decide to conduct any of your own research on monsters like the Anglerfish. We’d love it if you’d share your findings,” Jon adds. 

“What makes you think I plan to look into this?” Melanie asks.

“You’re an investigator,” Don’t sound condescending. Do not sound condescending, “This is what you do. I want to be sure you’re aware you have help, if you need it.” Jon says “I’m sure you could reach out to Georgie Barker as well. I knew her in university. She’s an intelligent, reliable woman, and I’m sure she’d be happy to assist.”

“Just how long were you standing outside the door?” Sasha mumbles, only barely audible. 

Ah. Unfortunately for Jon, nothing gets by Sasha. At least this time she’s come up with her own realistic explanation, even if it makes Jon seem… Well. It’s not like making him seem odd would be wrong. Making him seem like a creep or like he’s spying isn’t even all that far off, either, unfortunately… 

“I’ll reach out,” Melanie says, standing, “Maybe she’ll know something about Baldwin.”

“If that’s all, Melanie, then Sasha can show you out,” Jon offers. 

“Yeah, that’s all. Keep me posted. I want to know what you find,” Melanie says.

“We will,” Sasha says. She stands, and Jon feels her eyes on him as she walks by, “Oh, if you don’t mind, I actually wanted to ask you about some of your work. I had some questions on haunted pubs, for one of our other statements.” 

“Yeah? What about?” Melanie asks, and the door to Jon’s office shuts behind them.

That was that, then. Direct Melanie away from the Slaughter and towards Georgie without being a prick. He thinks he did pretty well.

That only left one phone call. Jon hasn’t yet decided whether he’s more or less anxious about this one.

Martin likes to consider himself a happy person. Maybe not the happiest person, but things could be far worse for him than they are. He has a well-paying job which allows him to pay for a good home for his mother. The people at his job are fun to be around. His writing has improved, at least a little, when he’s had time to work on it recently. 

And sure, he’s literally unable to leave his place of work or go home, and all his coworkers like each other more than they like him, and his mom still refuses his visits--Visits he can’t actually even make right now--But it could be worse! 

It could be worse. 

Martin has no real right to hide away in the maze of shelves they call the Archives, sitting and moping. But when Tim, Sasha, and Jon left to pick up lunch today, he’d heard them laughing even after the door to the stairwell had swung shut, and it’d… 

It’d hurt. Just a little.

And it’s not fair. He knows it’s not fair, that he be bitter to see people be happy. It’s not their fault he’s being haunted by evil worms which still linger outside the doors of the Institute, waiting to strike if Martin ever steps foot outside. Martin can’t very well ask them not to go do fun things because he’ll feel jealous. 

So Martin hides. He finds a spot that he’s sure has been untouched since before Gertrude died, and he sits on a dusty old box of files. And he feels miserable, out of the way, where no one is going to see him.

It’s easier to feel miserable alone. When you’re miserable in front of someone, they’re obligated to worry. Everyone has their own issues to deal with, and Martin never wants to add to that for someone else. Loneliness is an especially insidious form of misery to let someone else know of, because your listener is not only obligated to worry, but obligated to act. 

If he told Tim, Sasha, and Jon how he sometimes feels like an afterthought, they’d have to make an effort to include him, even if they didn’t want to. Martin would never really know if they wanted him around, or if they simply felt obligated to help. 

Or, they wouldn’t, and he’d know.

No, it’s better to sit and wait out his mood. They’ll come back, and he’ll drop in at some point as they finish their lunches, and he’ll eat his lunch in silence under the sound of them finishing up their conversation, and they'll all go back to work, and Martin will figure out his fog by tomorrow morning. And when they all come in tomorrow he’ll be fine and great and none of them will need to worry about him. They’re already worrying about hungry spiders and evil ex-assistants and skin-stealing clowns and worm-filled women, and they don’t need to worry about Martin, too. 

Because Martin is happy, normally, if a little lonely sometimes. Which he can handle! On his own! 

He just needs a few minutes, first. 

Martin doesn’t get them, though, as the sound of footsteps carries through the shelves. Martin sits up straighter, willing whoever is passing through to do just that--To pass Martin right by, as so many others do. To let Martin disappear into the Archives for just a little longer.

“Oh, Martin.” 

Dammit. 

Jon’s standing at the end of the aisle, one hand on the bookshelf closest to him, because of course he is. Part of Jon’s Knowing Things He Shouldn’t has been, as of late, being really great at finding things. This includes Martin, who Jon seems to be able to locate every time Martin wants to disappear for a while, usually with an assignment in hand for Martin to look into. Martin had thought he’d at least be safe on his lunch break, but apparently not.

“Jon?” Martin asks. So what if Jon found him? There’s more than one way to hide. “What are you doing? It’s your lunch break, you shouldn’t be hunting for new statements to read.” 

“I’m aware. You weren’t at your desk, so I came to bring you lunch.” Jon holds up a plastic bag, which swings lightly in his hand. He hesitates, just barely leaning into the aisle, before deciding to go for whatever words he’s considering. “I would… I would like to sit here, too, if that’s alright with you.”

“I can’t-- I-It’s not like this is comfortable,” Martin says. Jon lifts one shoulder.

“Nowhere in this building is comfortable,” Jon says. Martin hums at that, so Jon walks over. 

Jon always moves slowly, picking his steps carefully, almost to the point of being overly-cautious. It’s something Martin’s noticed before, but especially now, when every step Jon moves closer feels almost like an invasion. 

He finds a box a little left of being directly across from Martin, pressing it with one hand to test whether or not it will hold him. His hand comes away covered in dust, and his nose scrunches in a way Martin suspects he would hate for anyone to think of as cute. 

“Did you already eat?” Martin asks, watching Jon sit down. Jon shakes his head.

“I thought we could eat together,” Jon says, digging into the bag to pull two wrapped sandwiches out. He holds one out to Martin, staring at the foil, “I didn’t check which one was which, so check before you bite into it that it’s the right one.”

“Oh. Oh?” Martin asks, taking the sandwich, “What about Tim and Sasha?”

“Ah, well…” Jon fidgets with the wrapper on his own sandwich, “I’m sure they’ll be fine if we eat here.”

That’s strange. The three of them have picked up lunch together every day, Martin can’t think of a single reason Jon wouldn’t want to eat with them, too. 

“Did something happen? You guys didn’t get in a fight or anything, did you?” Martin asks. That has to be it. Jon even seems down, avoiding looking at Martin and playing with his hands. Martin’s got a guess as to what caused it, too. “I swear Tim is kidding about the body double thing.”

“Body double...?” Jon mutters, before shaking his head slightly, remembering to stay on topic, “No, everything is… I’m not having any issues with either of them, no.” 

“Then why aren’t you eating lunch with them?” Martin asks.

“I just…” Jon’s voice has dropped to a deathly-quiet mutter. Compared to the sharp clarity he usually speaks with, it’s near-incomprehensible, “I thought it might, uh, it might be nice. To eat with you.”

Martin stares at him, a warmth spreading wordlessly in his chest as Jon begins to hunch over the sandwich in his hands.

“I-- I mean, it was just an idea. We can, uh, we can go eat with Tim and Sasha, if you would rather. Or, or I can head back, or--” Jon stands, uncertain, still playing with the wrapper of his sandwich. Martin’s hand shoots out without him even thinking about it, grabbing Jon’s arm. Jon’s fidgeting stops. 

“No! No, you’re fine, you can sit here. I-I don’t…” Martin says, dropping Jon’s wrist. “That’d be nice, actually. Really nice.”

“Oh?” Jon sounds sort of like he’s being strangled. Martin isn’t sure what he’s supposed to make of that.

“Yeah, it would,” Martin says. Jon drops back onto the box at a speed which causes Martin to worry the lid might buckle underneath him, but it holds firm.

“Yes. Well, then, we should…” Jon trails off, setting the sandwich on his knees.

“O-Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry to hold you up for so long,” Martin says, turning his attention to his own food. 

“It’s really nothing. I… It’s nice,” Jon mumbles.

“Nice?” Martin asks.

“Yes, uh.” Jon gestures vaguely with the hand that isn’t occupied picking at the tape keeping the wrapper from coming open, “You know. Spending time, uh, together.”

“Yeah?” Now it’s Martin’s turn to sound as though he’s being strangled.

Jon hums. Both of them finally have their food open, so they each take a bite to avoid having to say any more.

Martin makes a face immediately. In the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s brow crease. Martin dimly recalls Jon’s warning to check whether or not he’d given Martin the right sandwich, returning to Martin’s mind a moment too late.

Jon seems to be considering something a moment as he lowers his food. Whatever it is, he decides against it. He takes another bite, very intent on pretending that he does, in fact, have the correct sandwich. 

Martin figures that’s for the best and follows his lead. 

Well, this is… Sort of bonding? He knows Jon’s sandwich order, in case he ever needs that in the future.

And, in a silly way, he feels a little less lonely. Sitting with Jon in the heart of the Archives, his knees brushing Jon’s as they talk idly about anything but their mixed-up sandwiches, the fog around him starts to clear, just a little.

Though Sasha promised Melanie she would follow up on her case, convincing Sasha to let Jon handle calling Georgie Barker isn’t difficult. All it takes is the promise of at least one embarrassing university story to explain how they know each other. While Jon is definitely unwilling to part with any such stories, he can’t help but feel a bit fond knowing his coworkers actually feel friendly enough towards him to want to hear them. 

This does not mean he is excited for Tim to have any incriminating information about his university days, but such is life. 

Jon decides not to take his call during business hours, instead doing so in his own flat. This is in part due to the fact there’s no service in the Archives, but mostly so that the other three cannot eavesdrop. Making friends exclusively through a temple to the Eye makes for knowing mostly very nosy people.

He also happens to have a dangerously nosy boss, and his flat gives him the privacy to talk to Georgie where Elias cannot hear, either, due to the fact Jon’s done his best to remove any eyes that Elias could spy through from the place. He never had much in the way of photos of friends or loved ones, and he really doesn’t own any posters or anything in the way of home decor. He and his coworkers have not quite reached the “spend time in each other’s living spaces” stage yet, so he did not hesitate to scratch all the eyes out of the books on his shelf, the same way his other self had seen in Gertrude’s flat.

He’s sure Elias hates that he can’t see into Jon’s head or Jon’s home, but Elias still has yet to act, so for now, Jon lets himself feel safe.

And in the safety of his flat, Jon dials Georgie Barker’s phone number.

It rings once, twice. He knows she has no reason or incentive to answer a random number, but he hopes she will. 

“Hello? Who is this? ” Relief washes over Jon immediately. He doesn’t need his other self’s feelings to say he missed Georgie, even if he wouldn’t ever admit it. 

Jon shakes his head. He’s been doing his best to be more honest with his assistants, letting them know he cares about them. Not only do they deserve it, but he’s dealt them enough unkindness that he should really be balancing it out. He should extend that to Georgie as well.

“Hello, Georgie,” Jon says. There’s a pause.

“Jon? Is that you? ” Georgie asks. 

“Yes, it’s me.” Jon presses forward without letting her respond, “My job, ah. Someone who came into the Magnus Institute mentioned you in her statement, and I’m doing follow up on this case.” 

“Oh! I didn’t know you worked at the Magnus Institute. They do studies on ghosts and psychics and that, right? ” Georgie says. There’s a bit of teasing as she continues, “I thought you didn’t believe in all this stuff.”

“I’ve… Had a change of heart,” Jon says. Georgie snickers. 

“Clearly,” Georgie says. Jon gets the impression she might not just be talking about belief in ghosts. 

“Anyway,” Jon says, “I’d like to ask you about a woman named Sarah Baldwin.” 

“Sarah? What about her? ”

“Melanie King mentioned you recommended Baldwin to work as a stand-in sound engineer, saying you’ve worked with Baldwin before. I wanted to ask if you noticed anything strange about her.”

“I didn’t work with her often. Maybe a handful of times? She smoked constantly and was pretty unsociable, but other than that, no.” There’s genuine concern in Georgie’s voice as she continues, “Why? Did something happen to her? ”

“Yes. The original Sarah Baldwin went missing in 2006, in a yet-unsolved disappearance case,” Jon says, “You may want to ask Melanie the details of her experience with Baldwin instead, as they’re not mine to share, but we have reason to believe the person you met was neither Baldwin, nor a human being.”

“What? ” Georgie asks. “What is she, then? ”

“I’m not sure, but I have a hunch about a related creature,” Jon says, “Actually, could you pass this along to Melanie? I, uh. Misplaced her contact information.”

“Sure. What is it? ”

“I believe it’s called the NotThem,” Jon explains, “It appeared in a few of our statements. It takes over a certain person’s life, but appears nothing like their victim. However, only a single person can actually tell. Their appearance and voice are even overwritten in photographs and video, except on tape or polaroid. It will feed on the fear and discomfort of the one person who can see it for a fake. I think it could be related, as both creatures steal the faces of their victims.”

One thing Jon appreciates about Georgie not working with the Institute is that he can be more forthcoming with information on their monsters, because Georgie doesn’t have him cite his sources.

“I’ll pass it on, ” Georgie says “But is that smart? These things aren’t to mess around with, you know.”

“I had the impression when Melanie was with us that she would look into her experience no matter what the dangers were,” Jon says, “If it’s something the Institute is also looking into, she can at least rely on us if she needs to.”

There’s also the added benefit that this specific monster is currently chained to a table which Jon knows will turn up at the Institute in a few days. A wild goose chase which will keep Melanie away from the Slaughter and the Stranger.

“That sounds like her.” There’s a fondness in Georgie’s voice, and it makes Jon smile, “She’s really passionate about her work. Have you seen any of her videos? They’re really in-depth.”

“I have not, but I believe one of my assistants is a fan. I’ll have to ask,” Jon says. He pauses, then adds, “I’ll admit, I was pleasantly surprised to hear your name come up. I’d been wondering how you’d been holding up.”

“Aw, Jon,” Georgie says, “I’ve been doing good! My podcast’s really taken off recently. I’m hoping that if I sell enough merch, I won’t have to read so many god-awful ads.”

“I’m glad to hear it. So long as you don’t ‘Aw, Jon’ me again, I might consider contributing to the cause and buying a shirt,” Jon says. 

“You can’t buy a shirt just to support your friend? What about buying food for my cat? Do you want The Admiral to starve? ” Georgie teases. “Get some for your assistants, too. You can match, and I’ll be even closer to never having to recite another horrible corporate ghost pun. ”

“My assistants are already being weird about my doing follow-up on this case. They’re trying to get college stories out of me, now that they’ve realized I didn’t emerge fully-formed from the depths of the Archives. If I buy us all matching T-shirts, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Aw, Jon! It sounds like they’re fond of you,” Georgie coos, and Jon’s mouth twitches into a smile before he can stop himself.

“I wish they would be fond without detracting from work hours by trying to pry into my personal life,” Jon says.

“I’m sure,” Georgie says, in a tone that implies she doesn’t believe Jon at all, “You know, if you feel like reminiscing on some old stories to tell your assistants, you’re always welcome to join me for dinner. I have a few restaurants nearby I want to try and no one to go with me! ”

“Thank you, Georgie,” Jon says, “I may very well take you up on that.”

Chapter Text

Jon has been trying, for the most part, to record most of the same statements his other self did in much the same order. He doesn’t have to, he knows. In fact, part of him thinks maybe he shouldn’t. For one, he’s technically already read them, so they’re more stale than they otherwise would be. Of course, he’s also curious. He wants to know what lurks in the other statements that he never was able to read before the world ended.

But there’s a bit of stability in reading the ones his other self did. He knows what to expect, what direction to push his assistants in. And, usually, he knows where his other self found the most helpful ones, rather than searching the entire Archives hoping for something of use, or relying on the Eye or the Web to guide him.

So, he continues to follow in his other self’s footsteps. His memory has never been the best, but apparently, the Beholding grants him much better ability to recall information, so he’s been remembering where his other self pulled statements from. 

Up until now, that is, because Prentiss’s statement is missing.

Jon searches the entire shelf where it’s meant to be, but the statement is gone. He knows his assistant didn’t find it--They would have shared it--So where is it? Why isn’t it here?

When he reaches again into the box where Prentiss’s statement was located, question burning in his mind, the Eye decides to show him: Elias.

A few nights ago, after Jon went home and Martin fell asleep, Elias stopped by and moved Prentiss’s statement. Jon frowns, following the Eye’s gaze to the statement’s location. Elias walked it just a few feet over, hiding it down the side of another seemingly-random box as he left the Archives.

Jon follows his steps and reaches in, taking it out as he passes it on the way back to his office. Whatever Elias's goal is in moving the statement, Jon will have to figure it out later. For now, he has a statement to read.

Recording a statement for the second time does not make it easier. 

Recording this one for a second time feels especially strange. 

Jon wants to ignore the implications about her descent into being an avatar of the Corruption and what he knows about his own descent. He’ll have one crisis at a time, thank you. 

His current crisis is Prentiss’s upcoming attack, and how he’s disrupted it by saving Martin.

Though they hadn’t known it the first time around, Jon is sure now that Martin had been a battery. Prentiss had trapped him in his flat to feed on his fear, to begin building her ritual. Then she’d set him free to gift the rest of them that same fear as she and her worms lay in the tunnels waiting. Preparing. Four batteries, charging the ritual beneath their feet. 

But, this time, they’re not really scared. 

Or, no. They’re still experiencing a healthy amount of fear about the situation at hand, but Jon remembers how his other self had been. He’d rarely gone home, finding a variety of different places to sleep around the Archives where Martin couldn’t find him and scold him about still being there after hours. Highlights included the break room couch, his office floor, and a line of boxes with lids somewhere in the heart of the Archives. Tim and Sasha had fared better, but he thinks he remembers Sasha wearing taller boots in the days between her encounter with Michael and the Prentiss attack. 

It’s hard to tell with her, though. It’s not like any of the memories he has of her are real.

Jon shakes his head. The point is, their overall morale is better. This--combined with the fact Martin’s captivity was halved, and the copious amounts of CO2 Jon hit Prentiss with in their escape--means Prentiss is far weaker than she should be. When Jon finally triggers her attack, she’ll be far less prepared, which means it should be far easier to defeat her.

There’s only one problem which still remains, really: Elias.

Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

There’s not a doubt in Jon’s mind that Elias is planning something--Prentiss’s statement being relocated only confirms this--and Jon has no idea what it is.

At best, Elias is aware Jon knows more than he should, and that Jon is planning something. At worst, Elias knows everything, and every second ticks by on borrowed time. Jon has no idea which, and that scares him far more than Prentiss does.

He’s been doing everything he can to prepare for Prentiss. Tim and himself barely survived the first attack, and Sasha was murdered brutally. If Jon wants to avoid this, he needs to be ready. He hates that he’s going to have to be prepared for Elias, too, and for that, he’ll be entirely on his own.

When Dr. Lionel Elliott stops by the Institute, Jon does not take his statement. Other then talking to him briefly to ask if he’s seen any “strange worms” on his way inside, Jon doesn’t talk to Dr. Elliott at all. Instead, Jon directs him to Sasha, allowing them to take over his office for the duration of recording, just like with Melanie King. After the recording is done, Jon enters and takes his office back, having Sasha see the doctor off.  

It seems to Sasha that Jon has stopped personally taking “live statements” (his words) from the public. He cited his “lack of bedside manner” when Sasha asked, and she supposes that’s fair, even if the expression doesn’t quite apply. Sasha hadn’t even been aware that the Magnus Institute had an HR department until a complaint came in from Naomi Herne about her argument with Jon.

She doesn’t think that’s it, though. It’s just, Jon’s made an effort to be better with the three of them, why wouldn’t he extend the same to their statement givers? Especially when, with Melanie, he was clearly listening in anyway? Why not just take their statements? What is he not telling them?

Because, at this point, it’s not a question as to whether or not Jon is hiding something. What Sasha wants to know is “what?” and “why?”

She knows Tim’s theory. As funny as it is to joke Jon’s actually a body double, she highly doubts that’s the case. If he were, he’s a pretty lousy double, since all three of them noticed. Even the ever-elusive Elias stopped by once to ask her and Tim if they thought anything seemed off about Jon. Sasha feels like a good double shouldn’t be this easy to sniff out.

Which means Sasha trusts that this person, however odd, is still Jon. 

And, perhaps despite herself, Sasha still trusts Jon.

He’s definitely hiding something, and he definitely knows more about what’s going on than he’s telling them. He’s a horrible liar, so it’s impossible to miss. Michael even called him out on it, and though she puts little stock into the warning of a monster who openly declares itself to be “the one making others doubt,” Sasha can’t deny it was keen on letting them know Jon was lying to them.

Even so, Sasha doesn’t think Jon’s a… Well, he’s sort of an ass, but he’s not a monster . Secrets or not, Jon is on their side. Jon is their friend. Jon is Sasha’s friend.

Which leads her back to the same questions that've been burning in the back of Sasha’s mind for so long: What is Jon hiding? Why? 

She knows there’s something up with this Institute. She’s known since meeting Gertrude, honestly. A woman as sharp as her would have easily been able to keep her Archives in order, so Sasha knows this mess is deliberate. If it is, then there must be a reason, and it must be a good one. Gertrude Robinson wouldn’t have done anything without a good reason. 

Sasha suspects Jon knows the reason. She doesn’t know how he found it, but he must have. Jon knows the secret of what’s up with the Institute, and for some reason, he isn’t sharing. He shares things in pieces, but never gives them all that he has access to. 

There has to be a reason for Jon’s secrecy. In her limited experience, Jon only seems to keep secrets for one reason: Safety. 

They’ve already encountered a grand total of four terrors between them. It’s not like Jon doesn’t know they can handle them. Which means Jon is hiding something worse than flesh hives, worse than strange men with all the bones in their hands, worse than skin-stealing clowns or a spider’s horrible dinner party. Something worse than all the real statements they’ve read and recorded and discussed.

What could possibly be so terrible that Jon cannot tell them?

She’s stopped looking for new jobs, ever since they encountered Michael. Whatever Jon’s secret is, she needs to know. She doesn’t want to be protected or kept in the dark. Whatever the horror is, she knows she can handle it. 

If Jon won’t tell her, she’ll find it on her own. If Jon was capable of figuring out, then it shouldn’t be an issue for Sasha. No offense to Jon, of course, because she knows he does his best, but she also knows he only got the promotion due to Elias’s own biases. 

All the more reason for her to figure out Jon’s secret. He’ll need her help.

Jon doesn’t actually leave his office much during the day. Tim would know, after all. His desk faces Jon’s door. Other than their lunches, Jon doesn’t leave unless he has to find a statement or deliver work to one of them. Even then, when he needs to assign them something new, he usually waits for Martin to enter with tea and play messenger, or waves them in to collect their newest assignments themselves. 

Jon suddenly charging out of his office halfway through the afternoon with absolutely no discernible cause is strange, and Tim hates it. He pauses a moment, considering his options, and stands. 

“Gonna go see where he’s running off to,” Tim says, and though he doesn’t see it, he just knows Sasha shoots Martin a look, because he’d be the one receiving it if anyone else were getting up. He speeds up, hurrying out the door before either of them can comment. He knows they both want to, so he’s not going to give them a shot.

Tim knows he’s being paranoid. Jon is probably not… Not Circus-aligned, or a body double, or whatever else. Sure, Jon’s change in behavior is strange, but all in all, “deciding to be nicer to his coworkers after one of them was kidnapped by evil worms and almost died” is not actually out of the realm of possibilities for what happened to Jonathan Sims. Tim knows that, even if he’s made a few comments to Sasha and Martin suggesting otherwise. 

It was sort of funny to joke about at first. He liked that he got a laugh out of Martin and Sasha when he bumped into them in the break room and regaled them with his newest “evidence.” He made more than a few Jon actually did something personable, he must be a fake! comments in the days following Martin’s return, where stress was high and Tim felt the need to diffuse it. 

He knew Martin and Sasha poked fun at him and his “theory” behind his back, too, but that was fine by him. Some good old-fashioned ribbing between friends never hurt anyone, and if that made either of them feel lighter when Tim wasn’t in the room, then all the better. 

And then they met Michael. 

If you want to live, my advice is simple: Never trust your Archivist.

Tim dropped the joke. 

It’s not that Michael's convinced him Jon is a fake. Honestly, Tim believes Jon is probably still Jon. When that thing stole and wore Danny’s skin, it hadn’t… Acted the way Jon has. It barely acted like Danny at all, standing frozen on that stage. In his limited experience with imposters, Tim can say that whatever’s happened to Jon probably isn’t that.

Besides, a body double would be easy. Tim could kill the thing for what it did to Danny and Jon and avenge them, and then the situation would be over. Solved. 

The death of a monster is a quick, clean, dependable resolution. Somehow, Tim doesn’t think whatever this is will be that simple.

Tim pushes the door at the top of the stairwell open, blinking in the bright lights of the ground floor. He finds Jon in the lobby, talking to Rosie and two… Delivery men? 

They leave whatever it is they’ve brought with Jon before turning and walking out the door, not sparing so much as a glance for the rest of the building. 

Maybe Tim really is paranoid. Did he really storm up here to intercept Jon’s package retrieval? The fire in him dies out a little, though he steps forward to try to see what it is Jon’s received.

“--cover it with a tarp or something and take it to Artifact Storage. I don’t know why it’s here, but this table is incredibly dangerous. We have a few statements about it. Don’t let anyone be alone with it, or it will-- Tim?”

“Hey, Boss.” Tim waves, ignoring the jolt of shock at hearing his name. Jon never even looked in his direction. “You charged off all of a sudden, so I came to make sure you didn’t need backup. Sounds like you might, if you’ve got such a dangerous delivery.”

“I think I’ll be alright, Tim, but thank you.” Jon does his personal equivalent of a polite smile before turning back to Rosie to give directions on what to do with their package.

There it is. This is what rubs Tim the wrong way more than any of Jon’s suspicious behavior. Yeah, it’s nearly impossible for Tim to trust Jon, with his blatant secret keeping and his inexplicable knowledge. Along the way, though, it’s also become impossible for Tim to dislike him. 

Jon actually attempting to be pleasant to them has worked, and it has endeared Tim to Jon in a way Tim would not have thought possible a few months ago. He’s still a prick, sure, and a smug, grumpy bastard. But he’s a better person than Tim would have imagined.

For one, he’s been helping with each of their personal subjects of research--Statements about worms and Prentiss cross Martin’s desk first and foremost, anything related to Michael or “the Distortion” winds up on Sasha’s, and the Circus goes straight to Tim. 

Many a lunch has passed under animated discussion, the four of them trying to work out their personal pet-project monster. What it might be, what they can do to protect against it, how they could deal with it if it were to return. Jon’s dedicated to helping the three of them find information with which they can arm themselves against their specters, and through talking them out, he’s been building a feeling that they’ve got each other’s backs. 

He’s stopped being dismissive of statements, of Martin’s work, and of Tim’s humor. He has not dropped his blatant favoritism of Sasha, but it’s now a point of ribbing, rather than a vague point of tension. 

It’s actually fun to be in the Archives now, which isn’t something Tim would have considered possible. Sure, he likes his job well enough, but it’s not like he was raring to get to researching statements in the mornings during his commute.

Which, he still isn’t. But he’s excited to see his friends when he goes into work, and that’s something he’s not used to. 

It’s not like Tim’s never had friends before, but most of his friendships dissolved with Danny’s death. He’s friendly to everyone he meets, of course, but he rarely makes friends with any of them. 

Dozens of people who smile when they see Tim in the street, and only three who would attend his funeral. 

It’s a macabre thought, but one that’s been on Tim’s mind. Danny’s funeral had been full, but nowhere near as full as Tim knows it could have been. A lot of people didn’t show, and Tim realized something about the difference between being friends and being friendly in the faces which he did see. 

Even so, Danny had friends. He had people mourning him almost as much as Tim himself. But Tim?

Sasha’s been a given attendee since research, and Martin would probably pity-attend even if they weren’t friends. He’s a nice guy like that. 

Jon, though? Tim absolutely did not expect to ever be that level of close with Jon, but now that they are, it seems… Obvious, almost?

Despite everything, Jon isn’t a bad guy. Hell, Jon accompanied Sasha to confront her monster without complaint, and charged in to rescue Martin from his all by himself. 

That’s the core of Tim’s problem with Jon, though. 

Tim isn’t like Sasha, hungry to know what and why of Jon’s secrets. What Tim cares about is that Jon’s carrying them alone. He’d meant what he said before about them being a team, but Jon is still keeping them at arm’s length. 

It pisses Tim off. He can’t stand that Jon’s leaving them in the dark, especially because he knows Jon a lot better now, and he knows Jon probably thinks he’s doing it for their own good or something like that. Protecting them from some dangerous secret, so it’ll only destroy Jon when it finally blows up on them. Like that’s a fate any of them will accept. 

No, unfortunately Tim cares about Jon, which means he cares that Jon’s decided to shoulder some unknowable burden and refuses to let them help him with it. And sure, that burden is suspicious as all hell. Tim has plenty of reservations about some of the suspicious shit Jon has said, or that others have said about Jon. An actual monster went out of its way to specifically warn them Jon was full of shit! 

Somehow, fondness outweighs that.

Tim wants Jon to trust them. And until Jon does that, Tim can’t trust Jon, even if he wants to. And he really does want to. 

Despite everything, Tim would desperately like to be able to trust Jon, because he genuinely really likes the guy. He wants Jon to value him as a friend just as much as he values Jon. He wants Jon to know that, should the worst happen tomorrow, he’d attend Jon’s funeral.

And if Jon keeps this whatever-it-is to himself, Tim’s worried he might actually have to. More than anything else, Tim needs to avoid that. More than anything else, that scares him.

Unlike Sasha, Tim doesn’t want to know Jon’s precious secret. Unlike Martin, Tim doesn’t blindly trust Jon. Tim is going to catch Jon in his lie, because alone and afraid is what these things they’re facing want. Tim’s not going to another funeral.

Tim’s conviction doesn’t waver, even as he watches two people from Artifact Storage arrive and haul off a table he recognizes. How did Jon even know they brought this in? Why didn’t Jon tell any of them?

Just another damn thing Jon knows that he shouldn’t. Another damn thing he's facing alone.

In the friendliest way possible, Tim’s going to kill him.

Martin tends to find Jon’s work ethic admirable up until he doesn’t. He’s diligent and dedicated to his job and his research, sure, but this often comes at the cost of his well-being, and that drives Martin up the wall. Especially with how blatantly obvious Jon is about how little he cares to look after himself! It’s like Jon assumes no one else cares, either, whether or not Jon is okay. 

Jon’s last offense was the use of a rubber band as a hair tie, which made Martin cringe every single time he looked at it, until Sasha finally offered him one of hers to replace the thing.

Jon's current offense is far grander. Martin is pretty sure Jon’s working late into the night at his flat (as Martin has been vigilant in making him go home), squirreling away their statements and pouring over them long after the hour crawls into the single digits. He confirms this when he enters Jon’s office with tea today, Jon’s face down on his desk.

Martin knows Jon is very, very good at avoiding sleep. His perpetual sleep deprivation is a testament to that, even if it deeply upsets Martin. If Jon was tired enough to fall asleep at his desk at 3:47 in the afternoon… 

Martin reaches over to grab Jon’s wrist, checking to make sure he still has a pulse. Jon sits up the second Martin’s skin makes contact with his own, his statement stuck fast to his forehead. It obscures his vision, giving Martin a precious few seconds to yank his hand back before Jon sees it. 

“What? Martin, what are…?” Jon mumbles, as the paper falls to his desk. Martin would find it endearing if it wasn’t deeply worrying. He sets the mug down in front of Jon, and Jon stares at it blankly, “What?”

“You were asleep,” Martin says. Jon’s slow to wake up, apparently. Martin doesn’t know what he’s going to do with that information. 

“I was? I don’t remember falling asleep,” Jon says. 

“Jon?” Martin asks. Jon hums, finally reaching for the mug Martin set in front of him, “When was the last time you got a proper night’s rest?”

Jon’s hands freeze just before he touches the mug.

“Um,” Jon says. 

“The fact you have to think about it isn’t… Good,” Martin says, then frowns at his own word choice. Thank you, Martin, for the obvious. 

“No, I suppose not,” Jon mumbles. He’s abandoned reaching for the mug in favor of pushing up his glasses and rubbing the sleepiness out of one of his eyes, “I’ll get some rest when I head home. Just let me finish this statement first, my notes are almost complete.”

Martin’s frown deepens. 

“You-- You’re not seriously planning to keep working like this, are you?” Martin asks, “You literally just passed out at your desk.”

“I’m fine, Martin. You really don’t need to worry about me,” Jon says. He’s going for the mug again, “I’ll finish these notes, and then I’ll finish up the statement I brought home, and then--”

“For how long?” Martin asks.

“What?”

“For how long are you going to work until you go to sleep?”

“Um.” Jon’s looking at his mug, suddenly very attentive to the motion of grabbing it and pulling it close to him.

“Jon, how long did you work before sleeping last night?” Martin asks. 

“Um.” Martin’s starting to think Jon fumbles on a filler word not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because he knows the answer will upset Martin.

“How am I sleeping better than you while I’m living in the Archives?” Martin mutters, “This cot is nowhere near as comfortable as a bed, you know.”

“I know. I’ve used it plenty myself,” Jon says. Martin bites back a sigh, settling on another frown as Jon takes a sip of the tea in his hands. Martin’s regretting the caffeine in the drink. 

“Is there anything I can do to ensure you actually sleep tonight?” Martin asks. Jon huffs a breath which might be considered a laugh.

“Short of seeing it yourself? I doubt it,” Jon says. He starts on a tangent about their heavy workload, but Martin isn’t really listening. Half of Martin’s brain has short circuited trying to picture that, and the other half remembers an offer Tim made back when Martin moved into the Archives. With the loss of half of his mental capacity unable to stop him from opening his mouth, Martin starts talking.

“Tim’s got a sleeping bag from all the camping he does. If you need someone to make sure you get some rest, you could stay here a night.”

Jon makes a strangled sound in the middle of his sentence, and Martin realizes what he’s said. He feels his face heat up immediately, burning down to the collar of his shirt. He’s overcome with a desperate need to get out of this office by any means necessary.

“I- I don’t think--” Jon says. Everything he says has a vaguely strangled sound to it. “I don’t want to-- To impose?”

“No, no, you’re not-- You’re not imposing!” Martin says. Unable to stop himself from reassuring Jon, he's apparently doubling down on this offer.  “Tim, uh, he offered to stay overnight. I-In a sleeping bag! Back when I first moved in, in case I was scared, a-and I could ask if you could borrow it.” 

“He. He won’t mind?” Jon asks. Martin has absolutely no idea what emotion he hears in Jon’s voice. Some part of him thinks it might be hope, which is so definitely unreasonable that Martin feels disingenuous thinking about it. God, he needs to get out of this office.

“I-I’m sure he won't. He's, uh, you know. Helpful! So I’ll go ask! Right now!”

Martin turns and walks out the door without waiting for Jon to answer, letting it close behind him. He doesn’t need to look at Tim’s desk to know Tim is looking at him. He also doesn’t need to look to know Tim is absolutely beaming.

“Hey, Marto. Something happen in there? You’re looking a little flushed. You don’t need anything, do you?” Tim asks. “An aspirin? A fan? A fainting couch on which to swoon?”

“I need to fake my death,” Martin says, finally looking at Tim to glare at him. He takes a few steps towards Tim’s desk, if only so Jon won’t hear him through the door, “And, uh, Jon needs. Something.”

“Yeesh. Talking to the boss went that bad, huh?” Tim asks, “What’s he need?”

“You can’t be weird about it,” Martin pleads, “I’m literally begging you not to be weird about it.”

“I’m never weird,” Tim says. He looks to Sasha for validation, “I’m an angel. An absolute angel, and Martin is here trying to slander me.”

“If Tim’s being too weird to help you with whatever Jon needs, I’ll do it,” Sasha says. Tim gasps.

“Betrayal of the highest offense,” Tim says, “I’ve never done anything to deserve the abuse you two give me every day.”

“No, no, I-I need Tim’s help,” Martin says, “I need to… I need to borrow a sleeping bag. For Jon.”

Tim stares at him a moment before grinning impossibly wider. It reminds Martin of something Sasha mentioned in her statement about Michael, and Martin frowns. He may not have met Michael, but if his smile radiated anywhere near this much trouble, Martin completely understands her dread.

Chapter Text

The Institute officially closed about an hour ago, but all four members of the Archives staff are still inside, setting up shop in the break room. Tim helped Martin drag his cot inside and push it against the wall, leaving space for unrolled three sleeping bags on the floor. It’s not an ideal place to sleep, but it’s the only room that has carpet (however thin and worn), so it’s the best floor to sleep on in the Archives.

After Tim realized what Martin’s plan was, he immediately invited himself and Sasha along, citing it as a mandatory Archival staff bonding experience. He ran home to grab supplies, returning to the Archives about an hour later in an old band T-shirt and shorts, three sleeping bags and a tote containing tomorrow’s clothes under his arms. He also offered to grab pajamas for Jon, though Jon had been adamant about not wanting them. 

Sasha also went home to change her clothes and grab a set for tomorrow, turning back up to the Archives in pajamas not unlike the ones Tim was wearing. Jon had to stay in the Archives under Martin’s supervision to ensure he wouldn’t flee home and refuse to return. He keeps a spare set of work clothes in his office, anyway, so with his insistence he didn’t need pajamas, there was no reason for him to leave.

Martin didn’t think it was likely Jon would try to escape tonight, though. For one, he stayed put as Martin changed into his own pajamas in the supply closet, even though it would have been the perfect opening to escape. 

Additionally, despite Jon’s grumbling about having his assistants “babysit” him, Martin caught him smiling into his newly-refilled mug a few times. Each grin quickly disappeared into a scowl the instant Jon felt Martin’s gaze, but Martin still saw them. 

Now is one such time, as Martin glances to Jon on the break room couch while Tim and Sasha set up sleeping bags. 

“I call dibs on being in the middle!” Tim declares, dropping his still-rolled bag in the center of the floor beside Martin’s cot. “I’d hate to deprive any of you of quality Tim time.”

“I’m going over here, then.” Sasha sets down her bag closest to the door, on Tim’s left. “No quick escape routes for Jon. He has to go through all three of us.”

Tim drops the third bag down nearest to the cabinets, and Martin realizes what they were doing. Jon’s spot lines up with Martin’s head on the cot, because of course it does.

“What do you think, Boss? You good to sleep here, or would you like to 3-v-1 us for a chance at freedom?” Tim asks.

“If I thought I had a chance to win against you three, I would have tried it already,” Jon laments, “So I suppose I’ll be forced to stay the night here.”

“I appreciate your graceful surrender,” Tim says, kneeling down to unroll his sleeping bag. 

“Is there anything I can do to help set up?” Martin asks. Even if the cot is sort of terrible, he does feel bad he’s sleeping on it rather than on the floor with everyone else. Might as well help them settle in. 

“Unroll Jon’s sleeping bag,” Tim says.

“What? There’s no need, I can handle my own sleeping bag.” Jon says, setting aside his empty mug. Tim shakes his head, reaching into his tote.

“No, you can’t. You’ll be busy getting changed,” Tim says. He tosses a ball of fabric to Jon, revealing he did in fact bring something for Jon to sleep in despite Jon’s insistence he not, “You can’t seriously believe I’m going to let you sleep in that. Friends don’t let friends sleep in slacks.” 

“It’s-- They’re not that bad,” Jon says. 

“You know what’s also not that bad? T-shirt and shorts. I even got a pair with an elastic waistband so it’d fit you!” Tim says.

“While I appreciate the gesture,” Jon starts, “This is already… Already highly unprofessional, and--”

“We went on a coffee date with a demon together,” Tim scoffs, “Professionalism died in these Archives a while ago! Just go change!” 

Jon grumbles something indistinct and stands, taking the shirt and shorts in his hands. He glances at the front of the shirt as he does, but if he has any reaction to whatever is on it, he doesn’t show it, which means it’s definitely something very stupid.

When Jon steps out, Martin heads over to Jon’s sleeping bag. As he lays it out, he looks at Tim.

“How bad is it?” Martin asks.

“Whatever could you possibly mean?” Tim asks. 

“The shirt you gave Jon. How much is he going to regret this when he puts it on?”

“You wound me. I would never, ever give our dear boss a bad shirt. How could I betray his trust like that?” Tim says. There’s a pause, and he adds, “I will admit, though, I didn’t think he was just going to take this one.”

“If it’s the shirt I think it is, it’s bad,” Sasha adds. 

“Traitor!” Tim says.

Jon re-enters the break room in a shirt which is a few sizes too big and reads “I’M WITH SEXY” in large, capital letters, a thick arrow pointing up at the wearer. 

It’s not the worst shirt in the world, but Tim loses it immediately upon Jon’s re-entry. Jon is not helping the image, as he is very blatantly pretending he is not aware of the highly unprofessional pajamas Tim has given him. He holds himself with the exact same attempt at “self-respecting, serious academic” that he used to walk with when he was first promoted, spine rigid and straight, his hands clasped behind him. Martin assumes this is a last-ditch effort on his part to not fall victim to Tim’s tomfoolery. It does not save him.

Martin is sure that Jon is not the only intended victim of this shirt, but he absolutely refuses to give Tim any reaction. Instead he tries to project sympathy on his face instead of the embarrassment-by-implication that he’s sure Tim has intentionally forced to take root.

“If this is an attempt to exhaust me so I’ll sleep,” Jon says, once he sits down on his sleeping bag, “It’s working.”

“I took it off of the top of my drawer. Honest,” Tim says. 

“No. I know you spent several minutes looking for an acceptably stupid shirt,” Jon says. He seems surprised as he speaks, but that morphs into annoyance as he continues, “You also have another in your bag which you could have given me, but wanted to see if you could get me to take this one first.” 

“That obvious, huh? Getting wise to my tricks?” Tim asks. “You can have the other one, if you want.” 

“More trouble than it’s worth,” Jon says, “Now, I know you don’t plan on making me go to sleep at six in the afternoon. Care to share what else you have in that bag?”

Tim had apparently stuffed a deck of normal playing cards and a deck of Uno cards in his bag. He sits all four of them down on the floor, across the sleeping bags, and drops both decks so they can play. 

They only attempt one game of Uno. It quickly becomes apparent that each of them have different beliefs as to which rules to the game are and are not valid, so none of them are actually playing the same game. Neither Tim, nor Sasha, nor Jon will budge on their specific ruleset, and so the game is over before it’s ever truly started. 

Normal card games don’t go all that much better. Neither Martin nor Jon know many games at all outside of Go Fish, and Jon absolutely refuses to play Go Fish for reasons he will not disclose. With the one game all four of them know the rules of off the table, Tim and Sasha take it upon themselves to teach Martin and Jon new ones. 

Tim teaches them Spoons, stealing a few plastic ones from the cabinets. He explains it as “musical chairs, if the chairs were spoons and also playing it made you feel like you were dying.” 

It’s fun, for a while. In their final game, Sasha goes out first, too focused on trying to collect four 9s to notice her coworkers take all the spoons. Tim’s out second, because he and Sasha have been making an effort to sabotage each others’ games all night, and she pulls his attention away with a particularly stupid joke just as Martin takes the first spoon. Jon snatches the remaining one before Tim knows what’s happened.

No one wins, though, because when Martin goes for the final spoon in the last round, Jon notices. Unwilling to go down without a fight, he tries to snatch it instead. The resulting struggle is too much for the plastic spoon, and they snap the thing in half. 

So, Sasha teaches them Cheat. 

Despite not knowing how to play the game a few hours ago, Jon is surprisingly good at it. At least, sort of. 

Jon calls almost every bluff Martin makes, and by the reactions of Tim, Martin assumes that he’s having a similar rate of success. Jon’s even able to call Sasha out, despite her near-perfect poker face, which Martin can tell is driving her up the wall. 

Jon balances himself out, though. He’s still completely unable to lie, so all three of them are able to call him out on every bluff he makes.  

They end up playing what is possibly the world’s most honest game of Cheat before finally calling it quits. 

Tim checks the scoreboard he’s kept on his phone at the end, scowling. 

“Bossman managed to win most of them out of all of us, somehow, even though he learned both games today,” Tim says. For his part, Jon has the decency to look apologetic about it, “I never even saw you look at your cards.” 

“We… We must have always looked at our cards at the same time,” Jon says. Tim frowns at the obvious lie, but it’s not serious. No, Tim’s being dramatic, exaggerating a pout. 

“I think you’re secretly a card master and not telling us,” Tim says, “Playing the fool so you can rip the rug out from under us.”

“No, no. I can promise you I honestly never played either of these games before,” Jon insists.  

“I don’t know, Jon. Michael did say you were lying to us,” Sasha says. Jon’s posture tightens, just a little, but he seems intent on pretending that Michael’s comment doesn’t still bother him, “I bet you have a secret, storied, card-themed past.”

“I assure you, I do not,” Jon says.

“I think I’m with Jon here. He couldn’t have played these before,” Martin says, suppressing a smile. 

“Thank you, Ma--” Jon starts, but Martin’s grin breaks through and he presses forward. 

“Or else that’d imply he’s a good liar, and if he was, I wouldn’t have been able to call him out so much in Cheat.”

“Wh-- Hey!” Jon says, and Tim laughs. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Tim cedes. Sasha pats Jon’s shoulder next to her, fighting off a laugh at Jon’s expense.

The four of them turn in around 11. It’s clear Tim and Sasha still have energy, but the entire point of their little party is ensuring Jon sleeps at a reasonable hour. Sasha flicks out the lights, and she and Tim climb into their sleeping bags without complaint. 

Jon climbs into his own sleeping bag with plenty of complaint, but Martin suspects at least some of it is performative. Especially when Jon mumbles a Thank you, everyone a few minutes after they’ve settled into the dark. 

“It’s no problem at all,” Martin replies. 

“Of course,” Sasha says. 

“Told you that you can count on us for this stuff,” Tim says. Martin hears a quiet thump which he believes to be Tim patting Jon’s… Shoulder, probably? Hard to tell. 

Jon doesn’t respond to any of them, instead rolling onto his side to face the cabinets. Martin bites back a snicker. 

Earlier, Martin had worried about this part. He’s always been self conscious about sleeping in the same room as other people, ever since he shared a bed with his mother after a bad dream as a kid and she complained he moved too much in his sleep. All his rustling was too annoying to sleep near, she’d said, and it’d stuck with him. Martin had been concerned that he might end up keeping the rest of them up, but honestly?

That concern isn’t totally gone, but it’s outweighed right now by a deep sense of comfort. It’s nice, spending the night playing stupid card games with his friends. Because that’s what Tim, Sasha, and Jon are. Martin’s friends.

Martin’s never had many friends--Or any friends at all, really. It’s strange to think about the fact he’s suddenly got three people who don’t just tolerate him, but actively make efforts to be around him. The fact that all three of them even agreed to be here at all feels almost more supernatural than anything else he’s encountered in their line of work.

Rolling onto his side, Martin faces the three on the floor. He doesn’t think any of them are asleep yet, but he hopes they’re all pretending hard enough right now that none of them will notice him sigh. 

But, there’s still a distance. Of course. 

Tim and Sasha are much closer to one another than they ever will be to Martin, and Martin would bet money on the idea that Jon is just as unused to having friends as Martin is. He’s still keeping all three of them at arm’s length, and Martin doesn’t know that he’ll ever willingly drop that. 

Martin isn’t too worried about him, though. All of their arms are longer than Jon’s. At the very least, Tim and Sasha will get to him eventually. Sure, both of them are hung up on Jon’s oh-so-special secrets, but Martin suspects that their break room conspiracy theories are how they show they care about him. 

And how could they not? They go out to pick up lunch together every day, and they went monster hunting together, and Martin is sure Tim’s wrangled Jon into drinks after hours with him and Sasha at least once. 

And he’s happy for them! He’s happy for them and not jealous that they can leave the Institute without worrying about worms and hang out together without Martin. Because they’re always doing their best to include him anyway, and it’s not like it’s their fault Martin can’t leave, or that Martin feels like an afterthought, or like no one even notices if he’s there or not. 

Martin is pulled abruptly from his wallowing by an overwhelming feeling of being watched. He looks down to see Jon.

Though Martin can’t see Jon’s eyes, Martin can definitely feel them. Jon lies on his back, head tilted over the edge of his pillow. His hair is loose from the bun he usually wears it in, and pools everywhere around the pillow below him. Martin doesn’t think he’s ever seen it down before, so seeing it strewn about feels like such a domestic, overly-familiar thing. It does something to Martin’s heart which Martin is unwilling to address while Jon is staring like that. 

Jon says nothing, but the longer he looks, the more Martin feels seen. It feels almost like before, after he rescued Martin from Prentiss, but it’s less… Harsh, this time. 

Jon notices, Martin realizes. 

When Martin is in danger of missing lunch, it’s Jon who comes to retrieve him so the four of them can eat together. When he’s feeling down on himself and tries to hide himself in depths of the Archives to wallow in it, Jon manages to turn up and take his mind off it. 

The night after finding Prentiss’s statement, Martin shoots awake, burning in his mind a dream of an open window, burrowing worms, and dying alone and unnoticed on his kitchen floor. When he wanders into the break room to try and calm himself down, he finds Jon already there, attempting to make himself tea. He offers some to Martin, and the absolutely horrible quality is enough for Martin to forget about his nightmare so he can show Jon how to make something decent.

Jon had claimed then that he’d stayed late doing work on follow up, that he’d come to the break room to drink something and sleep on the couch. It would be easy to call that good luck. It would be easy to say that each interaction was circumstantial, or Jon’s general attempts at bettering Jon. It would be easy to say that they were never for Martin, not really. 

But the easy explanation is rarely the right one for Jon. 

Which forces Martin to ask a difficult question: Did Jon seek Martin out when he realized that Martin felt alone?

Jon knows a lot of things he shouldn’t. They’ve all noticed it, of course, but only now is Martin noticing a pattern. Jon knows things that help. Ominous as it is, none of Jon’s knowledge is malicious. Not the way Tim or Sasha seem to fear.

Because when Martin disappears, Jon comes to find him. 

After a while, Jon pulls his head back, closing his eyes, 

The feeling of being watched fades, but the feeling of being seen does not.

Get his assistants out of the Archives, get Prentiss into the Archives, and manually release the fire suppression system. Easy in theory. Terrifying in practice. 

The fire suppression system’s manual release is on one of the lower floors between the Archives and the lobby, tucked away in the boiler room. Learning its location is a late step of Jon's plan, as he can’t spend too much time on it without raising suspicion. 

He Knows the route to the boiler room, but decides to familiarize himself with it the old fashioned way. Jon walks out of the Archives under the guise of visiting research, telling his assistants he's going to follow up on one of their statements. 

It's times like this, wandering the recesses of the Institute with a hand braced on the wall, that Jon wishes he were able to get a cane. The Archives and his flat are familiar enough he doesn't really need one, and he rarely goes anywhere outside of those two places without at least one of his assistants who he can shadow, but he's surprisingly under-versed in the rest of the Institute for how long his other self spent here.  

To make up for it, Jon walks the route back and forth from the boiler room to the Archives until he’s sure he could retrace it, even pursued by Prentiss and her lot, without relying on Knowing. Just because he’s not quite so worried about losing his humanity this time doesn’t mean he’s eager to do so quickly. He also doesn’t want to accidentally overwhelm himself with her worms again, or else she will easily catch him, and he’d like to avoid being eaten this time.

On his sixth practice run of his path, Jon decides to clear every possible obstacle that could prevent his movement. Every stray box, abandoned book, or forgotten folding chair finds a new home somewhere that isn’t his path. The last thing he needs is to trip with Prentiss on his heels.

On his ninth run through, Jon catches himself counting his steps down each hallway. He knows it won’t help if he’s running, as his stride will be completely different, but it helps him feel just a little more prepared. Besides, every moment he's focusing on a number, he can't focus on what happens today. How this ended, how it will end, and how he has no idea what the difference between those will be.

On his 11th return to the Archives, Jon admits he might be stalling and heads back inside. He moves to his office without so much as a glance to his assistants. He'd love to stop by their desks and steal a few minutes where they're all safe, but he knows the gesture would make him a little too suspicious, no matter how badly he wants it. 

Back inside his office, he tidies up his desk. Don’t need any worms getting to a statement he left out on his desk. And a few extra minutes to mentally prepare himself wouldn’t hurt.

He dispatches Tim, Sasha, and Martin to other parts of the building. He doubts they'll leave the Archives in the event of an emergency without him, so he makes sure they can’t wait up for him.

First Tim to research, as he'll find Jon's less suspicious if he doesn't see the other two leave. He was well liked when they worked there, so Jon is banking on him being distracted in friendly conversation and sticking around. He heads off with a joking salute, promising to be back by lunch. 

Then Martin to the library, where he's bound to stay for a while, giving Jon plenty of time. He heads off with a smile, and Jon Knows he's thankful for an excuse to leave the Archives and stretch his legs. He offers to pick up a book from the Library for Jon, and Jon accepts. He knows Martin will take his time to pick something good.   

Finally, Sasha to research. She's pretty quick with her work, so she needs to leave last.At least, that's the excuse he gives himself. He knows that he's just hoping if she really does die today, the extra few minutes of having her outside the door will comfort him. She assures Jon that she'll get Tim back on task when she finds him, certain that Tim has already gotten distracted. 

Jon thanks each assistant as they leave, and makes a point not to look at them to find out how they respond. 

The Archives feel dead when he's the only one around. He doesn't really notice how much their comfortable chatter fills the air until he's unable to hear it. It feels more like the Archives that his other self was so familiar with, lonely and miserable.

One final reminder, then, as to why he's doing this. 

The Web opened the Institute to Prentiss’s attack the first time it happened, tricking Jon into smashing a spider stationed dutifully on a weak part of the wall. He knows now that the Web had been trying for the same thing as Elias: A day when she’s strong enough to scar, but too weak to kill. If the spider is not yet acting, then she’s still too weak for that balance. Forcing her attack before even the Web wants it will give Jon an advantage. 

…Hopefully.

Jon honestly isn’t sure if the wall is weak enough for him to destroy yet, but he doesn’t want to wait any longer. It’s not like he can check without calling her and her worms.

Mulling it over again, Jon knows he’s only stalling. He needs to act.

Jon pulls the fire alarm. It wails and Jon waits, hands over his ears, to give the Institute’s employees ample time to filter out of the building. The screeching makes each second unbearable, but he knows it’s far from the worst fate he could be facing today. 

Can’t wait forever, though. It won’t take long for them to realize there’s no fire, and Jon needs all the worms dead before the employees start filtering back in. 

Jon grabs a fire extinguisher. Hefting it up above his head, he slams it down into the wall of his office. 

Jon is not strong, nor is he capable of doing much damage. Fire extinguishers, however, are. The bottom splits the weak plasterboard of Jon’s wall, creating a small hole. He takes a few steps back, fire extinguisher in hand. 

The smell hits Jon first, quickly followed by a familiar wet squelching, almost buried under the blaring alarm. 

It worked. They’re coming. 

Jon takes another step back, then he’s out of his office, bolting across the Archive and for the stairs. He grabs the handle, slamming himself into the door in his rush, and it--

It doesn’t budge. 

Frantic, Jon twists the handle. It doesn’t move. It’s locked. It’s locked. Why is it locked?!

The answer comes unbidden into Jon’s head. He Sees Elias, grinning as the alarm blares, a key in his hand. Just like Jon, he was ready.  

Whether he Saw Jon’s plan or figured it out, Jon doesn’t know. 

What Jon does know is that this door cannot be unlocked from the inside, there is an uncountable number of worms crawling out from the wall of his office, and he only has a few moments left before they start coming after him. 

Jon drops the door handle and runs.

Chapter Text

“Sasha! I was wondering where you were,” Tim calls. He grabs Sasha’s shoulder as he comes at her from behind, slinging an arm over her. Most of the Institute’s employees are milling about on the sidewalk outside the building, waiting around for word on what’s happened. Sasha’s been looking for the Archives staff, and it amuses her to have Tim confirm her team has been doing the same. “Have you seen Jon or Martin? I’ve been looking for ‘em.”

“Not yet. Poor Jon’s probably still waking all those stairs,” Sasha laughs. Her, Tim, and Martin were elsewhere in the building when the alarm went off, meaning she’s got to find each one of her friends individually. “Or-- Wait, I see-- Martin! Over here!”

Sasha shakes Tim off to wave both her arms above her head, signaling Martin. He looks up in surprise, but smiles when he sees them. He makes his way through the crowd to reach Sasha and Tim. 

“Have either of you seen Jon?” Martin asks, “I’ve been looking for him, but he’s kind of…  Hard to find in a crowd.”

“You can just say he’s short,” Tim says. Martin splutters, and Sasha decides to jump in. 

“We haven’t seen him yet,” Sasha says. When he’s closer, though, Sasha can see the uneasy flick of his eyes darting around the crowd and the ground. She follows suit, but there’s nothing of note around them. No worms, and nothing else. All she sees is their coworkers, and a few civilians rubbernecking as they pass the Institute.

“Poor guy. Maybe he’s decided to go down with the Archives. Can’t part from any of his all-important statements.” Tim shrugs, “Bet he’s sitting down there with all the fire extinguishers we got for the worms, planning to defend them to his very last.”

“Or maybe he’s got lost in all these people,” Sasha says, still watching around them.

“Hm, maybe. I doubt he knows the names of anyone here but us three and Elias. Maybe Rosie,” Tim laughs. 

Sasha scowls as he speaks. She’s found their boss, but not the one she wanted to find. 

“Speak of the Devil,” She mumbles. Tim and Martin follow her gaze, watching Elias pick his last few steps over to them. He’s walking without clear intention, simply surveying the crowd, until his eyes come to rest on the assistants.

“Hello, you three,” Elias says, “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

“Have you seen Jon?” Martin asks, “We haven’t been able to find him out here.”

“I saw him on my way out,” Elias says. Something about his tone seems off, but that’s not unusual about him. He smiles, and Sasha finds herself leaning a little towards Tim, “I wouldn’t worry about him. Even Jon wouldn’t ignore a true emergency.”

“Right,” Sasha says, “Send him our way if you bump into him?”

“Of course,” Elias says, “I’ll be keeping an eye out for him.”

He walks off, leaving the three of them to their search. 

“I guess that means Jon’s out here somewhere? Maybe he’s closer to the entrance,” Martin says. 

“We might as well go look for him. Pretty sure this was a false alarm, anyway, so they’ll probably let us back in soon,” Tim says, “Fire alarms usually are.”

“I wish I knew where he was. I just-- I have a bad feeling about this,” Martin says. The three of them start moving back toward the entrance, glancing around for Jon as they go. Though she hasn’t said it, Sasha agrees with Martin. There aren’t that many people working at the Institute. Surely, they should have found Jon by now?

Height aside, Jon usually does stand out in a crowd, if only because he has a tendency to do everything in his power not to be lost in them. Sasha remembers the few Institute functions she’d seen Jon at, where he could reliably be found wherever the crowds were the least dense. Even knowing that, though, she’s having trouble finding him.

Not even Jon is enough of a workaholic to sit in the Archives during a fire alarm, right? 

“Oh, yeah. How’re you holding up, being out of the Institute?” Tim asks, bumping Martin with his arm, “I don’t see any worms today, at least.”

“Mm. Either everyone trampled them, or they’re all in everyone’s legs,” Martin grimaces. 

“Or they just moved,” Tim adds, “Maybe they went somewhere else when everyone came outside.”

“Where would they go, though?” Sasha asks, “Other than all our legs.”

Before Tim or Martin can think of an answer, a man in turnout gear runs out of the Institute’s front doors. He’s shouting something, frantic as he flees, and though it’s hard to make out much of what he says, the assistants can make out one word very clearly.

“I think I know where the worms went," Tim mutters.

“Hey, Martin? When you said you had a bad feeling about Jon…?” When Sasha looks over, Martin’s already pulling out his phone. Tim and Sasha crowd him as he calls Jon, only to watch as the call goes straight to voicemail without ringing even once.

A telltale sign of a phone with no service. The only spot without service anywhere near here is the Archives. 

“Oh, God,” Sasha mutters. Jon’s in the Archives. As much as she likes Jon, she also knows he’s very reckless. Hell, he already challenged Prentiss by himself once. What is he going to do if she attacks? God, Jon is going to get himself killed.

“I’m sure he’s… Just because he’s in the Archives doesn’t mean he’s for-sure been wormed. Maybe the worms are attacking the Library. Worms like books, right?” Tim says. 

“Not the time,” Martin says, with more force than Sasha expects from him. Tim puts both his hands up.

“Right, sorry,” Tim says, “Look, there’s a bunch of CO2 down there. You hid a ton of it, right, Martin? So he can hold them off a while.”

“Yeah, but not forever!” Martin says. He’s wringing his hands, and Sasha can hear the edge of fear in his voice. The panic is less obvious in Tim, but she sees the way his back has straightened. 

“Then we need to act. Now,” Sasha says. She’s not going to let them work themselves into a frenzy, not when time is of the essence, “Do either of you know if Elias actually got around to changing the fire suppression system like we asked?”

“He did. Jon told me the day of,” Martin says. Sasha nods. There’s already a plan forming in the back of her head, though it’s one that might get them… For lack of better term, fired.

“Do either of you have a lighter?” Sasha asks.

“There’s one in my desk, from lighting Jon’s birthday cake a while back,” Tim says, “I never bothered to take it home.”

“But Prentiss is probably in the Archives,” Martin laments.

“But so is the CO2. And really flammable paper,” Sasha grins despite herself. 

“What are you suggesting?” Tim asks.

“We grab some fire extinguishers, charge into the Archives, find your lighter, light some statements, and fend off Prentiss until that triggers the fire suppression system,” Sasha explains, “We don’t have a lot of time if Jon’s stuck down there, so we have to move fast.”

“That’s your plan?” Tim asks, baffled. 

“Do you have a better idea?” Sasha asks. 

“Well, no, but--”

“I’m in,” Martin says. Tim stops, mouth open, but he quickly shakes it off.

“Okay. Sure. Let’s do it,” He says, “Jon’s going to kill us for this.”

“He’ll have to be alive to do that,” Sasha says, “And if he is, he can’t be mad at us.”

Jon’s locked himself in the same sealed closet Martin’s been sleeping in for months. 

The door is sealed and sturdy. It should hold for a while, even with--

Something slams against the door, rattling it slightly. Jon winces. Even with that.

He’s avoiding Knowing anything about Prentiss, but if he had to guess, she and her worms are throwing things at the door to see what will break it. It’s only a matter of time until she realizes the wall is weaker, and her lot doesn’t need a large hole to get in. 

He’s not sure why she’s actively trying to attack him this time as opposed to waiting him out, but he can’t say it’s helping him feel confident about his odds.

His other self hid in this room with Martin and Sasha in the original attack. It was the last time he saw Sasha alive, though he hadn’t known it at the time. Today may still be the last time he sees Sasha alive, though not because something happens to Sasha.

This is an improvement, though. 

If they want, they’ll be free. With the Archives overrun with worms and the Archivist dead, Jon hopes they’ll take the opportunity and get the hell out of here. 

He knows them better than that. 

Jon kills them ignorant and can’t save them informed. Maybe without him they’ll finally be alright.

Honestly, it’ll probably be easier without him. Elias chose Jon for a reason. Be it the Archivist who ended the world, the person he was before these memories arrived, or whatever it is between them that Jon is now… 

Well, the three of them really aren’t all that different, are they?

He’s enough of his other self to die for the man’s sins. 

Jon slides down, his back against the door, and sits with his legs close to his chest. He lowers his head into his folded arms. 

Well. No point in being self-deprecating now. 

At least he made a nice team out of Tim, Sasha, and Martin. It was nice to experience that, when he could, especially knowing there was a world in which he never got any of this. If there’s something after all this, then he’ll miss them. 

Better to miss them from there than from here, though.

It’s remarkably easy to sneak past the firefighters, distracted as they are with their frantic volunteer. It’s also simple to nick a few of the fire extinguishers stationed around the ground floor of the Institute, so Tim, Sasha, and Martin arm themselves before they begin their descent. 

The upper layers are mostly free of worms, but the closer they get to the Archives, the more worms writhe in the stairwells. It’s far more worms than had ever floated around the Institute steps, and more than Martin had ever seen during his encounter. He says as much as they creep down the stairs, and it does little to make Sasha feel excited about their rescue mission.

There's a moment where Sasha wonders if this is what Jon felt, running off to Martin's flat back in March all those months ago. She knows he's never considered himself brave, but she'd have said the same thing about herself if you'd asked her this morning. 

Tim sprays the worms they pass, though it does little to cover the smell of the things. Martin holds the back of his hand over his nose, as if the lingering scent of hand soap will drown out the overwhelming worm stench.

They decided Tim should be the only one to use his extinguisher in the stairs, so Sasha and Martin have full cans when they enter the Archives, and they can cover Tim as he finds his lighter. Because of this, he leads, though Sasha and Martin are barely a full step behind him. 

When they reach the door, Sasha hesitates. The key is in the lock. 

“It’s locked,” Sasha says, “Why would it be locked?”

“What? Does it matter?” Martin asks.

“Yeah, it does. Who locked it?” Sasha asks, “Maybe it was Jon. He could have escaped and locked Prentiss inside and we’re about to release her.”

“No, he’s inside. We would have seen him on the way down if he came out,” Martin says. 

“Then who locked it?” Sasha presses.

“We can figure out who locked it later,” Tim says, pulling Sasha back on track, “Because no matter who did, Prentiss and Jon are in the Archives, and we’re on a time limit.”

“Right,” Sasha says. She sighs, “You two ready?”

“No!” Tim says, cheerful. 

“Not at all,” Martin says.

“That makes three of us, then,” Sasha mutters. Martin makes a noise that might be a laugh.

“Not excited to see Prentiss again,” Martin mutters. 

“I’m not excited to meet her,” Tim agrees. He turns the lock, but he doesn’t yet open the door. “No matter what, we can’t get separated. This isn’t going to work if we are.” 

“Right,” Sasha says. Martin hums.

“Are we stalling?” Martin asks. 

“A little,” Tim admits, “Okay! Okay. Booking it for my desk. I’m trusting you two to have my back. Opening the door now.”

With that, Tim forces the door open. There aren’t anywhere near as many worms by the door as they feared. Actually, the floor is even more clear than the stairwell. It’s disconcerting. If they’re not here, Sasha wonders, then where are they? 

Tim wastes none of his time on pondering these questions, instead charging forward towards his desk, Martin and Sasha on his heels as he drops down to his knees at his desk. He discards his empty extinguisher on the ground there, ripping open a drawer. His hands fly through each one, uncaring as he pulls out objects at random. Sasha and Martin watch the area around them, but it’s still fairly worm-free. They can deal with anything that comes their way by stepping on it, no CO2 required.

“Do you see-- Do you see Prentiss? Or Jon?” Martin asks. Sasha shakes her head.

“Don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” Sasha says. 

“Probably not,” Martin breathes. 

“If Prentiss is preoccupied with something,” Tim starts. He blatantly doesn’t note what she might be focused on, instead holding up his lighter. He’s grinning as he continues, “It’ll be easier to set a fire.”

“What’re we burning?” Martin asks. 

“Don’t know. Either of you know where the smoke alarms are?” Sasha asks, “Probably burn a box of files under one of those.”

“There’s one in the storage closet I’ve been sleeping in. Plenty of files, too,” Martin says, “And it’s sealed. If we can get in without any worms, they can’t follow us.”

“Great. Let’s go,” Tim says, “Under attack by a monster worm lady and what’s actually gonna kill us is smoke inhalation. Love that.”

“These things happen. I guess,” Sasha says, stepping back. It’s her turn to lead, Martin right beside her. Both of them are white-knuckle on their canisters. Tim stands, dropping the lighter in his pocket, and falls into line behind them. “Come on, before Prentiss figures out we’re in here.”

Somewhere on the floor to Jon’s right, a tape recorder clicks on. He frowns, glancing up to catch the thing in his peripheral. That definitely wasn’t here before.

“Hm.” Jon takes it in both hands. “I suppose this is it.”

He sighs. Is the Eye asking for his last words? Jon doesn’t really want to give them to it. He’s already given the damn thing so much. Two lives lived, ruined, and wasted for its benefit. If he’s giving last words, then they won’t be for the Eye.

“If you three find my tape…” Jon pauses. He thinks for a long moment. What does he want to say? There’s a thousand things he wants them to know. He wants to explain the horrors he knows haunt their world and how they should face them. He wants to warn them, wants to explain what’s coming next. He wants to tell them how he died, how he forced Prentiss’s attack, how Elias locked him in the building. He wants to tell them to look out for each other, for Melanie and Georgie, for Basira and Daisy. He wants to tell them to leave, to quit the Institute and never look back. 

But they can learn all that on their own. They’re intelligent, driven, competent, and they’ll be just fine. If they work together, Jon is sure they’ll be able to figure everything out. The world’s much safer in their hands than it ever was in his.

Jon can hear the wall behind him starting to splinter. Forget what he wants to tell them. What does he need them to hear?

He pulls the tape recorder closer. There’s only one thing to say.

“Tim, Sasha, Martin,” Jon says, “I’m lucky to have been your friend, and I’m… I’m sorry.”

The storage closet is inaccessible. As it turns out, that exact closet happens to be what Prentiss is preoccupied with. 

Martin freezes when he turns the corner, forcing Tim and Sasha to crash into him. They watch from behind the wall as she throws an office chair at the wall beside the door, her arms dripping with worms from the effort. It clatters to the floor, leaving a hole in the wall. Prentiss steps up to it, pressing her cheek up to the wall beside the hole. 

“Do you hear their song, Archivist?” Her voice is slow, almost melodious, and carries loud and clear. Worms crawl from the orifices of her face towards the hole, “Don’t worry. You’ll hear us soon.”

“Oh, god,” Martin whispers. Tim can see he’s paled, though it’s impossible to tell what specific horror has caused it. 

“Definitely,” Sasha whispers back, “Shit. Jon couldn’t kill her with an extinguisher. We need another smoke detector.”

“Break room,” Tim says, too loud, without fear or caution to dampen his voice. Prentiss’s head turns at the sound. 

“Oh. Assistants.” She pulls back from the wall. “Do you hear their song?”

“Break room!” Tim repeats, grabbing Sasha and Martin by the backs of their shirts to pull them bodily away from Prentiss. 

And then the door to the closet swings open, Jon standing in the entrance, a tape recorder tight in his hand. There’s a genuine fire in his expression, unlike anything Tim has seen in him before.

Jon doesn’t hesitate, slamming himself into Prentiss. 

Tim is distantly aware of Martin and Sasha reacting on either side of him, but he doesn't hear it. All he can hear is the wet noise as Jon’s right side collides with Prentiss’s, and the cacophony of popping as she hits the ground. She screams as Jon pulls back, her voice lost between fury and pain, flailing her arms wildly as she does.

When Jon looks up, Tim feels his stomach turn. There’s already worms hanging off Jon's face, wriggling as they fight their way into his skin against the pull of gravity.

“Get-- Ow, damn! ” Jon cuts himself off as a worm burrows somewhere on his body, but presses on. “Get out of here!”

And then one of Prentiss’s arms swings around to knock his arms out from underneath him, and Jon’s body crashes back into her. Another horrible pop follows, but this time Prentiss isn't the one screaming. 

What Tim hates most about Jon is his tendency to shoulder everything on his own. He didn’t even consider running to them, not even for a moment. He opened that door with the sole intent of sacrificing himself for their safety. Tim isn’t going to fucking let him.

Tim stops, wheeling around on Martin. 

“Trade me. Extinguisher for lighter,” Tim demands.

“What?” Martin asks, but Tim’s already shoving the lighter into his hand, tearing the extinguisher away before Martin can stop him.

“You two go set some files on fire,” Tim insists, “We’ll catch up.” 

“Got it.” Sasha nods, before Martin can respond. Tim knows she doesn’t want to, but she has to if Tim’s going to survive pulling Jon out of that mess. That doesn’t stop her from reaching for Tim’s free hand, squeezing it once with all the force she can muster, “Don’t you dare die, Tim, or you’re buying us all lunch for a month!” 

“Promise!” Tim says, and she drops his hand to grab Martin and pull him away. He watches them run a few steps off, then guns it for Jon.

Prentiss holds onto Jon, and Tim doesn’t look any closer than that, having no desire to see what she and her worms are doing to him. Jon’s nowhere near as bad as Timothy Hodge was, which means there’s still probably a chance to save him. That chance is all Tim needs. 

Tim plants his feet once he’s in range, pulling the pin and pointing the nozzle. He aims at Jon, mostly, hoping to kill any worms that have made their way into his body. It’s not like a button-up’s going to protect anyone from those things.

“Sorry, Boss,” Tim says, in a tone that implies he’s anything but, and he squeezes the trigger. He douses Jon for a good few seconds before he starts spraying outwards, getting Prentiss and as many of the worms around them as he can.

Prentiss screams with a hundred small voices, rage and agony thick in each and every one. It’s an ear-splitting sound, and one Tim desperately wants to stop. It doesn’t, even as the fire extinguisher empties into all the worms in his range, but Prentiss releases Jon. 

Tim drops the empty canister and reaches down, yanking Jon out from the mess of worm carcasses by his hole-filled cardigan. The worms Tim can see poking out of Jon in various places are no longer moving, so Tim at least can count on not being infected by touching him. Jon himself seems dazed, likely a mix of pain and CO2 inhalation. He’s conscious, though, if the way his eyes trail on Tim is anything to go by. Most importantly, he's alive. 

Most of Jon's injuries are concentrated on the right, so Tim pulls Jon’s left arm over his shoulder for support. He holds Jon’s hand in place on his shoulder so Jon doesn’t slip, feeling Jon’s hand tighten in the fabric of his shirt.

“You able to run?” Tim asks, wrapping his right arm behind Jon’s waist. He pulls Jon a few steps back, hearing Jon hiss in his ear as the movements stretch his injuries. Warm blood coats the inside of Tim's elbow where it folds around Jon's side. Something which feels far too unlike skin or fabric to be Jon brushes Tim's arm and falls to the floor. He can’t afford to let any of it faze him. 

Prentiss isn’t dead, and she’s beginning to stir. Tim sprayed plenty of worms, but there are so many more vying to close the distance Tim’s fire extinguisher put between them. 

“I can limp.” 

Prentiss pushes herself up. It's hard to read her expression when she's missing so much of her face, but Tim knows she's furious. A surge of worms breaks forth from the darkness of the hall behind her, cutting off the way to the break room and Tim's main escape plan. Tim grimaces. They’re going to need to find somewhere else to hide. 

“Great. Let’s go.” And Tim is running. He’s carrying Jon more than Jon is actually moving himself, but Jon isn’t heavy enough for that to be a real problem. And with two long, undamaged legs, Tim is still faster than Prentiss and her worms.

With his original plan blocked, Tim ducks into the disorganized maze of shelving which makes up the Archives, hoping he can lose her there. He's sure Jon will bemoan leading the worms there later, but it seems he's still too dazed to think about the amount of property damage Tim is inviting. 

“Know anywhere we can lie low until Sasha and Martin get the fire suppression system going?”

“There’s-- There’s tunnels, under the Institute. There’ll be less worms. They’re all out here,” Jon says, “At least. They should be.” 

”You’re just blatantly knowing stuff you’re not supposed to now, huh?” Tim asks. 

“Ah. Sorry. I’m trying to make sure we both don’t die,” Jon mutters, “Left here.”

“Right. Thanks,” Tim says, turning, “Do I want to know how you know any of that?”

“No. Turn right at the end of this, entrance’ll be back there.”

“Mm. You have some explaining to do later,” Tim says. 

“Sounds fair,” Jon says. He raises his right arm, pointing at a seemingly-random spot on the ground without looking at it. Blood drips off his forearm, and Tim bites back bile as something which might have been a worm carcass falls out of him. Jon keeps talking as if he doesn’t see or feel any of the carnage that makes up his arm. “The trapdoor is there. It’s a loose tile.”

“Right. Sure. Course it is,” Tim mutters. He bends down and rips the tile up. It comes loose easily, and the trap door comes up as well. He doesn’t hesitate before jumping down, pulling Jon with him. 

The trap door closes behind them, and Jon sighs. 

“Prentiss shouldn’t follow us back down, I think,” Jon says, “But we really shouldn’t wait under the door and find out whether or not I’m right on that.” 

“Way ahead of you,” Tim mutters. He adjusts the way he’s holding Jon’s torso, grimacing at the renewed smear of blood on the inside of his arm, “You don’t happen to have any spooky knowledge about where we should go, do you?”

“Afraid not.” 

“Doing this the old fashioned way, then,” Tim says. He picks a direction, and he starts moving.

Chapter Text

Martin knows he shouldn’t look back. He doesn’t want to look back, not really. He doesn’t want to see what’s pursuing them, not when the deafening noise of hundreds of worms already churns across the Archives behind them, wet and thick and rapidly growing louder, the sound of it snapping at his and Sasha’s heels. He’s sure if he looks back he’ll turn just in time to see it catch him, that he’ll watch the things swarm his legs and force their way up his back and his arms and his neck and his face and then inward, into every last scrap of his flesh, leaving him hollow and honeycombed like the face he’s seen every night since that basement. 

Prentiss herself is still with Jon and Tim. There’s no way for Martin to know if that’s a good thing or not. There’s no way for Martin to know whether or not Tim was able to pull Jon free from Prentiss, or if Tim and Jon were able to escape, if Prentiss is pursuing them even now. There’s no way for Martin to know if Tim failed, or if she caught them, or if both men are now being torn apart from the inside out on the Archives floor. 

He doubts he could even hear them scream, not over the sound of their pursuers. But even if their wave went silent, Martin’s had enough nightmares to convince himself that it’s impossible to scream when dozens of worms crawl and coat and choke your throat.

Tim and Jon have already disappeared behind a corner, left to fend for themselves in the heart of the infestation. Even if he looked, Martin wouldn’t see them. Just the thousands of wriggling, writhing things between them, and how thoroughly cut off Tim and Jon are from ever seeing the light of day again. But to leave Tim and Jon without even a glance seems so deeply wrong. 

His neck is turning without his input, but his eyes catch on Sasha as they pass. Her mouth is set in a grim line, her eyes hard and straight ahead. 

They won’t need one last glance, and she knows it. At least, Martin wants to believe she does, and that strengthens Martin’s resolve enough to snap his head forward. 

“I-I left a box of statements at my desk! There’s more than enough there to get a fire going!” Martin shouts. Eyes forward, and he won’t have to regret missing a look back. 

“Got it!” Sasha replies. They don’t slow as they pass their desks, can’t afford a second of hesitation. Sasha drops her hold on Martin so he can nab the box as they go. 

Focusing on the fading ring of warmth on his wrist is all Martin can do as he stoops to grab the box. If he doesn’t, he’ll start to think about the impending doom behind him, and exactly how it will feel as they dig into his face as he bends to grab the files. 

And then he has the box, and Sasha has a hand in the fabric on his shoulder, and they’re running, 

They’re inside the break room a moment later, and Sasha throws herself into the door to slam it closed. The storm outside is muffled, if only a little, and Martin runs forward to the table.

“Shove something under the door! This room isn’t sealed!” Martin says. He drops the box and lighter there, and when he turns, Sasha is already moving. “Towels, or something!”

“Tim left a sleeping bag in the cabinet,” Sasha explains, throwing the cabinet open. Martin runs over to the door as she starts to unroll it, feeling a flash of deja vu as he stamps on the worms that crawl out from underneath it.

Of course, last time this happened, Jon came to save him. This time, it’s on Martin to save Jon. 

“Incoming!” Sasha says, and Martin steps back so she can stuff the sleeping bag in the gap under the door. 

With it covered, she stands and steps back. The most immediate danger is gone, but the tension doesn’t fade.

“That should be it,” Martin says, “I-I checked most of the rooms, back when I moved in, when I couldn’t sleep. That should be the only spot they can get in.”

“They could still come in through the air con,” Sasha says, “Or the sink.” 

“We can plug the drain. Stuff something in the faucet,” Martin says. Sasha nods, already moving. As she stuffs a wad of paper towels up the faucet, Martin starts checking his legs for worms. He’s done it enough that he has the process down to a science, and it’s with no small relief he finds himself clear.

“You weren’t bit, were you?” He asks.

She looks up to Martin, then at her arms. She runs her hands over herself, quick yet deliberate, before shaking her head.

“No, I don’t think so,” she says, “You?”

“No,” Martin replies. He knows it’s true, but his skin flares up with a full-body phantom itch at the question. Still, Sasha nods, even as she watches him start to scratch under his sleeves. She points to the smoke detector. 

“Then we should start burning statements.” 

“On it,” Martin says. He heads over to the table, dragging it over to be beneath the smoke alarm. He leans most of his body weight onto the top and, deciding it can probably hold him, puts a chair up on top  The closer he is to the smoke alarm, he assumes, the easier it’ll be to set the thing off. 

Sasha grabs the fire extinguisher as Martin climbs up, “I’ll watch the vent.” 

“Thanks,” Martin says, setting the box on the chair. He takes a deep breath, trying to clear some of the panic buzzing in his head.

Martin has never once been the hero. He isn’t Sasha, intelligent, confident, quick to devise a plan. He isn’t Tim, dependable and brave. He isn’t Jon, selfless nearly to the point of self-destruction. They could all easily be heroes, be people Martin could see himself counting on any one of them to save the day, if he needed to. 

Martin, on the other hand? When Jon, Sasha, and Tim go out to face Sasha’s monster, there’s no question they’ll be leaving Martin behind. He was meant to do research from the safety and security of the Magnus Institute, to be backup if something happened, to know if the others went missing. All the statements in the Archives couldn’t have done anything, though, if Michael had turned out half as dangerous as Prentiss. Martin couldn’t have done anything, sitting in the Institute, if Michael had decided he didn’t want to play nice.

And for months, Martin has suspected that the distance that day wasn’t the biggest barrier. He’s thought--he’s known--that being there would never have helped anything. Even if he were present, he was under-qualified even when this was a normal archiving job. How could he possibly be someone worth counting on against a monster?

But Tim and Jon are counting on him. Sasha is counting on him. Their faith feels ill-fitting across his shoulders, yet there it lies. 

Click. The lighter flickers to life. The little flame seems so insignificant, but it’s the most vital thing in the building right now. 

Funny, that. 

Martin dips the lighter into the mess of paper. If this place had been properly filed, the lack of airflow in the box would have probably made it pretty impossible for this to catch. Luckily, Gertrude left this box just as much a mess as any other, so the papers inside have plenty of room to breathe. Once the first sheet catches, it spreads to the others within the box easily, and Martin has a small bonfire going. 

Martin lifts the box up to the smoke detector, hoping that bringing it closer will make it easier to detect. All he can do now is wait, and hope, and worry. 

And worry he does, now that his task is at hand is done. Did Tim and Jon make it okay? Tim only had the one extinguisher. And Jon had worms coming out of his face! They’d said they wouldn’t get separated, but they left Tim and Jon to Prentiss. How long did it take him and Sasha to run? To plug up the door? Less time than it would take for Jon and Tim to be eaten by worms, probably. 

They didn’t even stick around to see if Tim had a plan, or if that plan worked. They charged off without him, not a moment of hesitation. Abandoned him and Jon, just like that. 

“You kind of look like you’re worshiping it,” Sasha says. Martin blinks, only aware of the heavy frown on his face when Sasha disrupts it. 

Martin glances back at her, confused. She’s staring right back at him, the calm she’s forced onto her face already beginning to crack. It’s clear by the death grip on her fire extinguisher that leaving Tim and Jon is scaring her just as bad as it is Martin.  

Martin and Sasha hardly banter the way she does with Tim. Even if they did, this would hardly be the time. Is she trying to distract him? Herself? The both of them?

“What’s that weird… Fire cult we keep getting statements about?” Martin asks. 

“Cult of the… Something Flame?” Sasha suggests, half a question.

“Cult of the Something Flame,” Martin repeats, flat.

“I can’t remember the adjective, alright?” Sasha says, indignant. Martin snickers. “We’re under attack by evil worms, I’m allowed to forget an adjective.”

“Alright, alright.” Martin cedes. “I’m the newest Something Flame… priest? Do cults do priests?”

“Sometimes,” Sasha says. Martin’s hands are starting to feel warm, and he can see smoke rolling over the top of the box. 

“Being a Something Flame priest sucks. My arms are killing me,” Martin says. 

“Why did you think I opted for guarding the vents?” Sasha asks. Martin scoffs. 

“Now I see why Tim’s always talking about you being a traitor. I’m feeling very betrayed right now,” Martin says. 

“You two can start a support group,” Sasha says, but the bit of levity they’d built is gone from her voice. God, Martin’s an idiot. Of all of Tim’s stupid jokes to bring up, he picked that one? Sasha’s probably even more miserable about leaving the two of them than Martin is. Tim’s her best friend! 

Martin isn’t really close to anyone in the Archives, but out of everyone, he’s spent the least time with Sasha. He’d never really thought anything could unnerve her, as focused and driven and capable as she always is. Even now, she’s holding it together better than Martin, but that doesn’t mean she’s okay.

Martin musters up all the confidence he can. He straightens up, trying to copy the posture he’s used to seeing in her, and looks Sasha in the eyes.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Martin says, “Both of them. A-and this will go off any second, I know it. Your plan’s going to work, and they’ll be fine.”

Sasha smiles at him. It’s not the wide sort she usually wears, but right now, Martin will take what he can get.

“Thanks,” Sasha says. Martin smiles back at her, hoping that it’s not all fear.   

It’s starting to feel really hot against his hands, and he’s not sure what he’ll do if the plastic starts melting. What temperature does plastic even melt at?

Before Martin has time to worry about it, the smoke detector starts beeping. Everything going on in Martin’s head stops as he waits. Martin can’t even think to breathe, so ensnared is his attention on the smoke detector. 

One, two, three seconds, and Martin fears a thousand times over that it will click off, that it will fail to trigger the suppression system, that Martin couldn’t generate enough smoke, that Martin was too slow and it’s already too late anyway and Tim and Jon are dead. 

And then he hears the scream. 

There’s no way to accurately describe the sound. Every single creature cries out in unison, hundreds of suffering, slithering things shriveling and dying as one. It’s a horrible sound, and one Martin is sure he’ll know clearly until the day he dies.  

It’s hard to even feel relieved with that ringing in his ears.

“Oh, christ,” Sasha mumbles, and Martin knows she’s thinking the same thing. He sets the too-warm box down on the table, climbing down and stepping back. 

“Come, uh… Fire extinguisher.” Martin gestures at the box. Sasha nods, pulling the pin to douse the box. It almost seems weird to see the thing used for its intended purpose.

Once the box is done smoldering, Martin swallows. He’s starting to feel nauseous, but he’s not sure what the source is. 

That scream? CO2 inhalation? Adrenaline wearing off? Everything that happened abruptly catching up to him? Seeing Prentiss? The vivid memory of his boss/friend/crush’s face covered in worms? The uncertainty of his friends’ fates?

He can at least do something about the last one.

“We should go,” Martin mutters, “See if they… I-If we can find them.”

Sasha just nods, walking over to lean against Martin’s side.

When Tim thinks they’re far enough from the Institute to be safe, he stops. He sits Jon down against a wall, checking over Jon’s injuries now that he finally has a chance. Schooling his face into a grim frown is all he can do to keep from gagging, something he’s sure Jon wouldn’t appreciate. After all, he probably feels far worse than he looks.

Tim’s kind of worried Jon’s bleeding to death, honestly. His injuries don’t bleed that much--Especially the ones which still have dead worms poking out of them, a fact which Tim abhors having to think about--but Jon has dozens of them. 

The ones on his face and arm are shallow but extensive. There aren’t any on his neck, but the amount of blood-soaked holes in his shirt and pant leg tells Tim that there’s plenty under the fabric of his clothes. 

Jon’s right side kind of looks like a sponge. Tim decides against saying so aloud. 

Tim wants to attempt first aid, but there isn’t much he can do to help Jon, honestly. It’s not like he’s brought any bandages or gauze or anything. He could try that movie cliche and start ripping up their shirts, but Jon’s shirt and cardigan are so full of holes that he doesn’t think it’ll work, and Tim doesn’t think Jon’ll forgive him if he rips off his shirt even if it is to try to save Jon’s life.

Tim considers trying to pull out the worms he can see, but they’re blocking the bleeding from getting worse, so it might be better to leave them until Tim and Jon are out of the tunnels. Which is a horrible, horrible fact Tim hates.

Stopping and allowing Jon to rest is the best first aid Tim can offer, because it at least stops the blood from flowing quite so quickly to his wounds, and gives him a moment to breathe and clear the CO2 out of his lungs.

So Tim sits back against the opposite wall and wipes the blood off his arm and onto his shirt. It's futile, since he’ll have to carry Jon back, but it makes him feel a little less disgusting.

“How did--… You knew I was still inside.”

Tim looks up. Jon looks like a corpse, his arms and legs falling wherever they may. He’s looking at the wall next to Tim's head, but his eyes are as focused as ever, even as his head falls slightly to the side.

“We didn’t,” Tim replies, wearing something between a smile and a grimace.

“Then…?”

“We guessed. Couldn't find you outside, then some firefighter came out yelling about worms, and when Martin called, it went straight to voicemail.”

“You came back in because you guessed,” Jon repeats. There’s something in his tone Tim can’t place, “That I might be inside.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. Tim waits for Jon to reply, but he doesn’t. 

Tim thinks this is where a more clever person might say something… Something motivational, maybe. Comforting. Something that brings them closer. Something that would make Jon finally put it together that the three of them genuinely care about him. 

He can tell Jon “we’re a team!” and “friends have each other’s backs!” as many times as he likes, but even Tim knows they’re meaningless niceties. They roll easily off the tongue and into any conversation, to be forgotten there in the moment. He doesn’t fault Jon for not hearing them, not really. Not before Tim could prove he meant it.

But if this doesn’t prove it, what will? They’re too far below the earth for any shallow phrases to reach, and Jon is finally listening. Tim has the floor.

And yet, he has no idea what to say.

But he isn’t dependable like Sasha or kind like Martin. Tim is funny. He makes jokes and helps people smile, and when things get serious, he flounders. When it matters most, Tim freezes. 

So they sit in silence, save the sound of their breathing. Does Jon take as much comfort, Tim wonders, in hearing it as Tim does? 

The scream rings out clearly, even to Tim and Jon, deep in the tunnels. Tim shudders, but Jon barely reacts. 

“The worms are dead. It’s safe to go back,” Jon mutters, once their ears stop ringing with the echo. Tim nods.

“Ready to get moving, then?” Tim asks. Jon hums. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Jon replies. Tim nods, sitting on Jon’s left side once more to pull Jon’s arm around his shoulders. Without the immediate threat of Prentiss, he’s able to be a little more gentle as he stands, though Jon still winces. 

“Glad to hear it,” Tim says, wrapping his arm around Jon’s torso again, “I’ve got you.”

“But they’re not on this side. Are you sure?” Sasha asks. Martin nods. 

“They weren’t anywhere on this side of the Archives, either. I-I don’t understand, where--”

Something wooden and heavy slams somewhere nearby, and both Sasha and Martin jump.

“Hello? Sasha? Martin?” Tim’s voice calls from that direction. “Hopefully not Prentiss?”

“Tim!” Sasha calls, following the sound of his voice. They find him halfway under the floor, in the process of pulling Jon out of a trap door that Martin didn’t even know existed.

They both look awful. Blood stands stark against Tim's arm and shirt, coating everywhere Jon has touched him. Jon himself is difficult to even look at, the right side of his face something out of Martin's most guilt-ridden nightmares.  

But Tim glances up at them and smiles, and Jon makes a noise of protest as Tim's movements stretch his wounds, and Martin's heart swells with the realization that they're both alive. Injured, maybe, and traumatized, definitely, but they're alive. They're not fine, but they can be fine again. They will be.  

“Hey, you two. Everything went well on your end?” Tim asks, sounding far more chipper than he has any right to. 

“We’re both fine. No worms here,” Sasha says. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we stop being able to breathe.”

“Do you need help carrying Jon…?” Martin asks. Tim hums, as if thinking, and then grins as he looks Martin in the eyes. Sometimes, when Tim threatens him with this specific smile, Martin regrets befriending him. He can't find it in him to regret it now, though, even as a joke. 

Until Tim opens his mouth.

“I’ve been pulling him over my shoulder, but if you can actually carry him, that’d be great.” Tim says. 

Martin is pretty sure Tim is trying to lighten the mood, but what has actually happened is an attack on Martin's health. Has his heart not suffered enough in the last hour? Was being chased by worms and thinking they died not enough suffering for Martin? This attack might actually have a casualty after all, and it will be Martin, which will be entirely Tim’s fault. He hopes he conveys all of this on his face when he looks at Tim, but Tim just grins.

“What?” Jon asks.

“I can’t drag you up the stairs, Boss,” Tim says, “Martin’s a strong guy. I bet he can carry you up. Right?”

“I-I…?” Martin flounders. 

“We can’t stay in here for too much longer. Especially Jon. He’s full of worms, and he needs a hospital or something,” Tim says, “You’re fine with it, right, Jon?”

“I. I suppose. I can’t very well, ah, walk up the stairs like this,” Jon mutters, gesturing with his left hand to the mess of bloody fabric covering what’s sure to be a nightmare of holes in his right leg. 

If Martin didn’t know any better, he’d think Jon sounded embarrassed. Martin is likely projecting, though, because he’s absolutely mortified. 

“Right. Okay. I-I’ll just…” Martin walks around to Jon’s left side to reach under him, hefting him up. Jon doesn’t weigh much, though that doesn’t comfort Martin much. 

No longer holding Jon in the open trap door, Tim finally stands. He’s only on his feet for a moment before Sasha barrels into him, wrapping her arms around his chest. 

“I’m glad you guys’re okay, too,” Tim says, “I’d hug you back, but I’m covered in Jon’s blood.”

“Gross,” Sasha mutters, pulling back, "I liked this shirt."

"Yeah, I liked mine, too," Tim laments. 

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles. 

Martin doesn’t hear much of the conversation that happens as they walk up the stairs, instead very aware of where Jon’s head leans against his chest. Jon had tried valiantly to keep from leaning on Martin at first, but exhaustion quickly won out. 

Jon’s hair is a mess, having lost his hair tie somewhere in the struggle. Blood and sweat stick the strands of it to random spots on his face and forehead. Martin’s fairly certain no amount of washing is going to get Jon’s blood off his clothes, but he can’t even be annoyed, no matter how much he likes his shirt.

And then Martin is yanked forcefully out of his thoughts by the sound of a shocked, strangled laugh from Jon.

“You… You burned a box of statements,” Jon says, incredulous, “That’s how you set off the fire suppression system.”

“It was Sasha’s idea!” Tim says, already trying to deflect Jon’s ire from himself.

“Martin’s the one who actually burned them!” Sasha says.

“Wh-- I used Tim’s lighter! He kept a source of ignition in his desk for months! ” Martin says. Jon’s shoulders are shaking slightly with a laugh he’s struggling to repress, but Martin can feel it.

“Oh, no. He’s finally lost it. The blood loss and CO2 and worms have finally got to him, and we pushed him over the edge. We broke him,” Tim says, “Look at him, he’s smiling. ”

“...Jon? Are you okay?” Martin asks. Jon finally breaks, a laugh which straddles the line between hysterical and fond breaking out of him. It’s short for any normal person’s laugh, but longer than anything the three of them have ever heard from Jon.

“I’m… I’m okay. I just didn’t…” Jon tries, sobering up some. He sighs, “I didn’t think I was going to be, back there, if I’m honest.” 

“You didn’t think we would leave you, did you?” Sasha asks. 

“No, I just… I pulled the fire alarm to get everyone else out when she broke through the wall, but then I was trapped, and no one… I honestly thought that I was… that I was going to die down here.” Jon’s voice is quiet. “So… Thank you, for coming to my rescue.”

“We’ll remind you as many times as you need it. You can count on us,” Tim says.

"We'd never just leave you like that," Sasha says. Martin watches her lift her hand, but she seems to think better of it when she realizes she can't reach any worm-free part of him. If Jon hears the jingle of her bracelet as it drops, he doesn't comment.  

Martin says nothing, but he rubs his thumb against an uninjured part of Jon’s back. 

“Thank you. I'm...” Jon's voice is barely above a whisper, and he smiles as though telling himself a joke, "I’m lucky to have been your friend."

Sasha calls the paramedics as they walk up the stairs, the instant her phone has service. Once they’re outside, Tim heads straight to the first responders, trying to find somewhere he can take Jon to be treated. Tim, Sasha, and Martin hover around Jon until a hazmat crew separates them, intending to clear Jon of all his parasites and check that none of his assistants were bit. The reluctance at which they separate from Jon or from each other warms something in Jon. The relief and worry he can feel in their gaze every time they look at him is alien to him, but it’s…

In the privacy of his own thoughts, Jon can admit that it’s nice.

It’s July 29th, the day of Prentiss’s attack on the Magnus Institute, and all three of Jon’s assistants are safe and alive and completely unscathed. That feeling of relief almost makes having to be conscious for the removal of all the worms in his body worth it. 

He’d reasoned in the moment he’d already accepted his death, so if he was eaten by worms taking down Prentiss to buy his assistants time to run, that wouldn’t be all that different from being eaten in the storage closet. At least, that way, he felt a little more heroic and a little less like a sitting duck.

He doesn’t regret that he did it, but he does regret that touching Prentiss is a sure-fire way to become parasitized if one survives the encounter.

He’d promised the others that he’d wait for them at the Institute as they ran to grab their own things--Martin a change of clothes for both of them at a nearby charity shop, and Tim and Sasha from their homes--so he sits on the steps in silence. Bandages and gauze run up and down his right side, and he soaks in what he can of the late afternoon’s fading light.

Tim insisted they have another “Archives Bonding Night,” probably as a direct response to Jon admitting he fully believed no one was coming for him and he was going to die. They’ll be spending the night at Tim’s flat, whenever Sasha and Martin return for Jon so Sasha can lead them to whatever Tim’s set up. 

Jon is pretty sure he’s going to be out of it once the painkillers set in and accentuate his burnout left behind by the day’s adrenaline and blood loss, but he doesn’t doubt they’ll be happy to adapt to that. They already threw a sleepover once to make sure Jon got to bed at a decent hour, so he’s already dreading the amount of hovering and fussing he’ll be receiving as he spends the night on Tim’s couch.

None of it feels real. His other self had spent this night a paranoid, exhausted mess. Too hurt to pace, he’d scribbled furiously at his desk his plans to explore the tunnels, and what he precious little knew about his coworkers to pin Gertrude’s murder on each one. If he followed his original steps, he’d be miserable right now.

He sighs.

He’s objectively doing better, in this version of events, but it’s not like he’s doing great. He could have easily been dead by this time. 

Jon had accepted he was going to die in a storage closet in the basement of the Institute. In just a matter of moments, Jon had seen that his life could end, and he’d accepted it. 

But that’s not really surprising. If anything, being able to accept his death is a good thing. After all, that was always his plan, wasn’t it? 

The plan was simple.

The start was to blind himself partially, so Elias couldn't read his mind without Jon fully severing his connection to the Magnus Institute. 

Then he'd save his assistants from Prentiss, so Tim was never scarred and Sasha was never consumed.

He'd meet Daisy and Melanie, steer them away from the Hunt and the Slaughter, and keep them and Basira away from the Institute.

Jon would help Tim take down the Unknowing, get closure over losing Danny without Tim dying there.

As he went, he'd build support among his friends, so they could rely on one another throughout the hell that is being even tangentially involved with the Magnus Institute. With their trust, he could start to show them everything he knows. The entities, the marks, Jonah Magnus and his plan to end the world. 

Until, finally, Jon would die. He'd already done it once, in the Unknowing. He'd been offered a choice, and he'd chosen to return. This time, the Unknowing would go down, and Jon would go with it, releasing his assistants from the chains of the Archives. With one another to lean on, a full understanding of what is at stake, and their own lives no longer directly tied to Jonah's survival, they could freely kill Jonah and save the world. 

It had been stressed repeatedly in the statement Jon recorded the night his memories arrived. Jon was the perfect choice to be the lynchpin of Jonah’s ritual-- It had to be you, Jonah had told him. To prevent Jonah’s success and ensure the safety of his assistants, Jon needed to die.

The world would be better off without the man chosen to purposely to end it, after all. The statement had stressed that, too. He’d traumatized and/or killed everyone who had ever ended up anywhere close to him. Not that most of his assistants had ever ended up close to him, of course, the first go around.  

His other self hadn't doubted it for a second.

Jon takes a deep breath in, then exhales. It hurts, a little, to stretch the holes in his cheek, or to strain his chest against the dozens of injuries there. 

Up until now, Jon hadn't doubted it, either.

Somehow, being friends with his assistants has both strengthened and weakened the conviction he has in this plan. 

He’s doubled down on knowing that he needs to protect them, to save the world and all the people he cares for in it. Even the ones he’s yet to meet. Knowing Sasha and Tim better means knowing exactly what he had taken from the world when he'd taken them, and made him all the more firm in his decision to die to preserve it.

But it’s… Hard. He hadn’t considered that they’d worry about him like this. Other than Martin, maybe, somehow, he’d honestly never considered that any of them would genuinely start to care about him. It feels strange to think that anyone would.

He’s been so caught up in the memories of his other self that he hadn’t noticed, but Sasha isn’t gone. Tim doesn’t hate him. He hasn’t led any of those he cares for to their deaths. 

He might never kill them the way his other self had, but if he follows every step of this plan, they won’t escape unscathed. Jon might still hurt them. Losing Jon might hurt them. 

Jon isn’t sure what he’s meant to do with that revelation. 

Jonah needs to die. That means the Archivist needs to die. That reality hasn’t changed. 

All Jon can do is hope that, one day, they’ll forgive him for that.

Elias finds his way over to Jon while Jon is sitting on the steps. Jon’s expression hardens as he approaches, sitting up as straight as he can.

“Jonathan,” Elias greets. His voice is cold. 

“Elias,” Jon replies, “Happy to see me?”

“There’s no need for that. I believe you know the answer to that question,” Elias says. Jon can hear the clinking of keys--Elias is twirling his key ring on his finger. He stops after a few rotations. He’s made his point. 

“You locked the door,” Jon says. 

“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Elias says. Jon can hear the smugness which drips from every word, oozing out beneath the concern he's laid out to cover it, “Are you alright? I’m sure confronting Prentiss was a terrifying experience.”

“Spare me the pleasantries, Elias,” Jon says, “We both know that you figured out I was going to force Prentiss’s hand, so you tried to have her kill me.”

“You’re sharper than I expected. I’ll admit that,” Elias says, “But still not enough. Blinding yourself worked to keep me out of your head, but I See everything in my Archives. You should have been more careful with Prentiss’s statement,“ He pauses, and Jon can hear the smile in his voice when he continues, “Or with the things you said to your assistants.”

Jon narrows his eyes, staring at the ground in front of him. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That won’t work on me. You know that,” Elias says, “Unless you haven’t yet figured out how not to compel people?”

“Elias.”

“Fine, fine. Your assistants are… How should I say this…” Elias hums, “Unnecessary. No, more than that. Expendable. I only need an Archivist. You would do well not to forget that.”

Jon grits his teeth. 

“Is that a threat?” 

“You’ll have to figure that one out yourself,” Elias says, “I simply came to acknowledge that you’d done better than I expected. I figured you earned an answer or two, as compensation for the terrible day you’ve had.”

Jon scoffs. He hears Elias move, turning to leave. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and somehow, it's worse than that of the worm which had chewed through his cheek. 

“Good night, Jon. Go home, get some rest. Take all the vacation time you need to recover and regroup,” Elias calls, “You’ll need it.”

Elias’s footsteps recede into the hum of the London street.

Jon takes a deep breath in, and sighs. 

All three of Jon’s assistants are safe and alive and completely unscathed. If his and Jonah's lives are what Jon has to trade to keep that reality unchanged, then he's more than willing to pay.

Chapter Text

It’s remarkable now how loud the hinges on the trap door seem when there’s no dreadful wet worm sloshing to cover their squeak. Tim expects the familiar popping when he drops down to the tunnel floor, but thankfully, his feet collide with stone rather than worm corpses. The relief is short-lived, disappearing the instant Tim inhales the stale tunnel air. It’s faded in the days since the attack, but the tunnels still reek of that musty Prentiss stench, and Tim's face screws up into a grimace. How unfortunate is the fact he needs to breathe. 

Despite the horrid atmosphere, Tim has been itching to get down here. Jon had known about the tunnels, which made them Tim’s best lead into figuring out what Jon’s been hiding. And with what he said both during and after the attack… 

Somewhere in these tunnels, Tim had watched Jon grapple with the idea his friends liked him enough to risk their lives on the chance that, if they didn’t, they might lose him. 

Jon is one of the most intelligent people Tim has ever met. Even before the sudden onset of probably-spooky knowledge, Jon had been a wealth of information, and he loved to learn, to understand.

Tim’s known Jon for years now. He knows what it looks like on Jon’s face when something finally clicks into place, when some new mystery catches his attention which he cannot wait to unravel. Tim knows what understanding looks like when it sparks in Jon's eyes.

But Jon had just stared, blank, as Tim willed him to understand that they care.

And then, a few minutes later, Jon admitted freely that he thought he would die without anyone coming to save him. That grief, that fear, that despair? That, Jon understood without question.

Maybe it’s not fair to Jon, but honestly? It’s kind of pissing Tim off. Call him selfish, but is it really unreasonable for Tim to want his friend to believe they’re actually friends? It’s not like Jon dislikes them or doesn’t want them around. He’s sure if Jon did not appreciate their company, he’d make his stance known. And sure, there’s being a private or standoffish person, of course, but there’s also blatant, unapologetic distancing, and Tim’s certain this is the latter. 

Tim’s tried words, tried banter and pep talks and heart-to-hearts. Tim’s tried actions, tried games and lunches and life-or-death worm sprints. He’s tried words and actions both casual and catastrophic, and he's tried the spaces between. Maybe it’s made Jon appreciate their company more--it certainly seems to have helped getting him to actually smile sometimes.

Tim had thought they had gotten pretty close, but then Prentiss had happened, and then the damn thing Jon’s hiding nearly killed him. Tim had realized he'd judged them wrong. 

It leaves him wondering. What could Jon possibly be hiding that he still thinks he can't tell them? What does he still need to hide? How can Tim make him see they're there for him? What can he do?

And the answer, it seemed, was tunnels. The tunnels, Tim hopes, are his shot to stop this grasping at straws. If Jon won’t trust them enough to tell them his stupid, horrible secret, then Tim will find it out himself.

No more funerals. 

“This seems like a horrible idea,” Martin mutters, dropping to the ground after Tim. Tim hears him inhale, followed by a noise of quiet disgust, and snickers. 

“You’ve mentioned,” Tim says. Now that he’s seen Martin enter, he turns around, flicking on the light in his headlamp, “I told you that you didn’t have to come with me if you didn't want to. I know this all makes you uncomfortable.” 

“Yeah, but I’m even less comfortable letting you go explore the tunnels alone,” Martin's still muttering, “I don’t want to be the one to tell Sasha and Jon that you got lost down here.”

“I’m not going to get lost,” Tim says. He marks an X on the wall to his right in chalk, grinning, “If I mark on the right side, then we won’t get lost. Because then every time we see an X on the right, we know we’re going deeper, and every time we see an X on the left, we know we’re coming back.”

“Tim,” Martin says, “Are you genuinely using the same strategy for us not getting lost in here as you use for exploring mines in Minecraft?”

“Putting all the torches on the right side of the mine works. It’s a tried and true method. I’ve tested it in plenty of caves and abandoned mine shafts, and so I know it won’t fail me here,” Tim says, “Why do you think the three of us have been playing so much Minecraft for the last two weeks? Sasha and I’ve been preparing you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe you were trying to help take our minds off the fact we can’t go to work because they were cleaning worm corpses out of the Archives,” Martin says, “Or that it was supposed to help us unwind after moving my stuff from the Archives and my flat into your guest room--Which I still appreciate, by the way, that you’re letting me stay with you--” 

“It’s no problem. Told you, guest room’s been empty forever.” Tim says, waving Martin’s gratitude off. 

The only person who ever really used the guest room in his flat was Danny, so Tim’s been considering a roommate for a long time. When Martin realized he had nowhere to go during Archives cleanup--The storage closet being damaged and worm-ridden, and his flat laced with far too many traumatic memories--Tim had immediately offered up the spare room as permanent residence. 

“Right, yeah, so I figured we were just hanging out and doing something fun. I didn’t realize you and Sasha were training me for exploring the worm tunnels under the Institute,” Martin says, “Where is Sasha right now, anyway?”

“She’s on Boss Babysitting Duty today,” Tim says.

“I feel like I remember Jon specifically asking you not to call it that,” Martin says. Tim draws another X on the wall, a noncommittal hum on the back of his throat. 

“I’ll stop calling it that when we stop having to wrestle his work away from him and make him recover properly,” Tim says, “I told him that if I catch him recording a statement in bed one more time, I’m going to hide them.”

“Already tried that. He always finds them,” Martin says, “I swear, he has a sixth sense for this kind of thing.” 

“Course he does,” Tim mutters. After all, Jon’s “sixth sense” is what’s got them in these damn tunnels. It makes Tim all the more certain that there has to be a reason Jon knew about them, that there's something down here that will give Tim insight into his stupid secret. Whatever it is, Tim plans to find it.

He steps on a particularly large worm, grimacing as he feels it pop under his shoe. 

“God, there’s so many dead worms down here.”

“Better dead than alive,” Martin says. Tim laughs.

“I’ll give you that.” He looks to the wall, about to mark it off, until something catches his attention as he turns his head. The beam of his headlamp catches a dark spot on the wall, where the tunnel wall gives way to something. An opening.

“There’s something up there,” Tim says, nodding his chin towards it as he marks the wall. Martin steps forward, following his gaze.

“What is that?” Martin asks.

“Don’t know. Let’s go check it out.”

Tim isn’t sure what he expects to find in the tunnels underneath the Institute. A handful of scattered worms, maybe. A few well-fed spiders, possibly. Some lost idiot's corpse, suggested jokingly, with immediate retaliation from Sasha and Martin. 

When he shines his light into the doorway, he finds hundreds of dead worms. He doesn’t realize they’re dead at first, as slight bobbing of his headlight makes it look almost like they’re still writhing. They’re wrapped around each other, packed tight and thick, in a large ring. It takes up most of the room, and Tim knows that, were he to lie down in the middle, he could easily find a space without touching any worms at all. It’s big enough to be a doorway. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think a doorway was exactly what they were trying to make.

There’s a flash to Tim’s right, and Tim looks over to see Martin taking a picture on his phone. Martin glances to Tim, shrugging, a nervous half-smile on his face.

“Figured Jon’ll want to see,” Martin says, “We should get some pictures so he doesn’t try to come back and find it.”

Tim hums. 

“Good idea. Tell me where to point my light.”

“Will do,” Martin says. “...I think we should leave, after. I know we didn’t get far, but this is…” 

“I read you loud and clear, don’t worry,” Tim mutters, “One freaky tunnel thing per day.”

“We’re home!” Tim’s voice carries through the flat, and Jon’s hands fly off of the bandage he was picking at. 

“In here,” Jon calls back, sitting up in bed. It’s been… Strange, having his assistants stop by his home by so often. The three of them have taken it upon themselves to make sure Jon recovers, even if he knows he doesn’t really need it. He healed on his own once already, and besides, he's doing much better by not being a paranoid mess.

He's unable to tell them either of these things, of course, so Jon relents to their care.

This usually means dropping in to bring Jon meals, as they're unwilling to let him cook or pick up food with an arm and leg full of holes.

You didn't think you could escape our lunches that easily, did you? Tim had said, letting himself into Jon's flat for the first time. Martin and Sasha tailed him, toting takeout from a nearby restaurant. 

Jon may make his fair share of bad decisions, but even he hadn't been foolish enough to admit that yes, he actually did think he'd be missing Tim's mandatory Archival lunches. 

It rarely ends with lunch, though. All three of them have far overstayed mealtime virtually every single day. Jon's couch hasn't been empty come noon since he, as Tim and Sasha so eloquently put it, "got wormed." Jon has a suspicion that, had he the space, his staff may very well have decided to move in for his entire sick leave.

And Jon... Jon has absolutely no idea how to handle it. Having Tim, Sasha, and Martin on his couch eating leftovers? Watching a movie? Trying to convince him to play some video game with them? That would be surreal even without being able to remember all three of their deaths. 

Not once were any of his assistants--original staff or their later additions--ever in his flat in the two years he knew their other selves. He never realized how little space the place has for guests. His kitchen is cramped, his counter has only two chairs, and his living room is dull and swamped with spill-over statements. 

Even with the obstacles, though, his assistants manage to make spending time here comfortable. When Martin cooks something, the kitchen feels cozy, not cramped. When Tim and Sasha drag an armchair over to his table to share, the counter feels full, not crowded. When his assistants take over the floor around his coffee table to play some game together on their laptops, his living room lights up. 

Each and every time, an alien feeling of warmth spreads through Jon. He pretends to read a book or doze off, and he listens to them laugh with each other. How could he have ever forgotten what Sasha's laugh had sounded like? How could he ever have been the reason Tim stopped trying to make them smile? How could he have driven Martin to freeze all this out? How did Jon ever have something like this and not do everything in his power to protect it?

How did Jon have something like this? 

Honestly, he thinks it terrifies him. 

He’s almost relieved there’s a time limit on his life. It makes all this feel less like the calm before the storm, and Jon less like a hapless victim waiting for the world to realize its mistakenly gifted him these people and rip everything away from him.

Fondness and fear in equal measure. He doesn’t even know how to begin reconciling how he feels. Nor does he know how to thank them.

So he laments the loss of peace and quiet when they rib one another over lunch, and hopes they know every time they’re with him that he’s never been this happy before or since.

Two years has never seemed both so long and so short.

…There is, though, one large downside to their presence. His assistants won’t let him do any “work,” and with them confiscating any statements they find him reading, he’s starving. 

It does bother him, a little, how he’s already started gaining that dependency on reading statements the way his other self had. It had taken a few months more the first time, hadn’t it? What does that mean for Jon, seeing that his humanity is already on the way out? 

Not that it matters all that much, in the grand scheme of things. The Knowing has become routine for him, and it’s rather convenient, when it wants to be. And he won’t be around long enough for it to matter whether he’s human or not.  

In his occasional moments of weakness, he's even considered going out to take live statements, despite his personal mission not to appear in any other nightmares. His assistants are near-constantly in his living room, though, so he's not going anywhere. Protecting him even without realizing it. 

Even if they weren’t, he’s still a bit too injured to go anywhere even when they aren’t here. Walking to his kitchen and walking the streets of London are two very different tasks. 

Besides, roaming unfamiliar places on his own often requires a bit more than passive Knowing, and he’d like to avoid doing anything that would make him any hungrier. He should invest in a cane. Not for statement finding, but he’ll need one relatively soon… 

Tim knocks on the wall beside the bedroom's open door, drawing Jon out of his thoughts. 

“Hey! Still in bed?” Tim doesn’t come past the door frame. While Jon does like having them here, he’s asked them to stay out of his bedroom. He’s hiding some of his more incriminating future-past notes in here, for one, and he dreads the idea of any of them questioning the laser pointer still sitting on his nightstand.

Additionally, having Martin specifically in his bedroom feels far too intimate when he has very vivid other-self memories of them sharing a bed in the Safe house, and he’s not keen on ever confronting how those make him feel if he doesn’t have to.

"You weren’t napping or something, right?"

“No, I was awake,” Jon says. He shuffles over to the edge of his bed before pushing himself onto his feet. His leg protests, but he’d decided earlier this week that he’d had enough of having Tim, Sasha, and Martin help him get around everywhere. There’s only so much of that he can take.

He sort of suspects that having no work is boring them, which is why they’ve collectively decided to play caretaker, but that doesn’t mean they have to be overbearing about it. 

“Cool. You eaten yet? Martin and I brought lunch,” Tim says, “We also, uh… Went on an adventure this morning, which we thought you might want to know about.”

“I haven’t, but Sasha just went out to get something for the two of us. She should be back any minute, if you’d like to wait for her to return before you explain your… Adventure,” Jon says, “Though, I’ll admit, I have a guess as to what it was."

“Do you now?” Tim asks. His voice is somewhere between teasing and tight, and Jon decides not to comment.

Jon supposes he was right, though. They really are bored.

When Jon and Tim enter the kitchen, Martin’s setting up at the counter. 

“Four plates. Sasha’s getting lunch for these two,” Tim says.  

“Oh. Okay, hold on,” Martin says. Jon takes a seat at the counter, in one of the original chairs. Tim sits in the displaced arm chair, allowing Martin the other chair beside Jon. 

“You two can eat, if you’d like. So your food doesn’t get cold,” Jon says, “I doubt Sasha will mind if you don’t wait for her.”

“Sasha will absolutely give me shit if we don’t,” Tim says. Jon hums, noncommittal, as the front door opens. 

“Sasha will give you shit for what?” Sasha asks.

“Nothing!” Tim says, “We were just waiting for you to eat lunch, and tell Jon about our little adventure.”

“What? Don’t tell me you explored the tunnels without me,” Sasha asks, confirming Jon’s guess as to what the adventure was.

“Sorry. We didn’t get far, though,” Tim says, “We found something weird and decided to stick to one weird tunnel thing per visit, so we came back.”

“Something weird?” Sasha asks. 

Jon perks up, interested. There’s really only three options for what they could have found: Leitner, Gertrude, or the ritual. Because they were in the tunnels, he can’t actually See what they found.

Isn’t that novel? Jon actually has something of a mystery for once. A familiar buzzing starts up in the back of his mind; A need for answers, a need to Know.

“Wait until after you eat,” Martin says. His voice is muted, enough that Jon can still hear the gentle sounds of Martin setting out their food, “You might not be all that hungry after.” 

Well. As much as Jon dislikes the man, that probably rules out Leitner. Probably.

“Right. Right, okay,” Sasha says. She sets her takeout on the table, then passes a container to Jon. He feels her gaze as he opens the plastic lid, and so is unsurprised when she adds, “Hey, Jon. Guess who I ran into when I was out.”

The answer comes unbidden into his head. No mystery here.

“Ah… Melanie?” Jon tries to make it sound like he’s guessing as he starts eating, playing the role of a normal, non-omniscient human man for all it’s worth.

“Yeah, actually,” Sasha says. She doesn’t sound surprised. Oh, well, “She said she wanted to talk to you. Stopped by the Institute, but…”

“Worm clean out?” Tim supplies.

“Worm clean out,” Sasha repeats, “I explained we had an infestation and everyone had to clear out, and she got that, but she said she asked your friend Georgie to talk to you and you haven’t been answering your phone. Georgie’s been kind of worried about you, apparently.”

It’s at this moment Jon remembers leaving his phone in his desk so he wouldn’t lose it about an hour before slamming a CO2 canister through the wall--An action he promptly forgot about in the wake of the attack. 

It’s not like he ever actually uses the thing. Given there’s no service in the Archives, the text is much smaller than that of his laptop, and how little use he has for it, he’s fallen out of the habit. Besides, the only people he ever actually communicated with using it are near-constantly in his living room.

….Other than Georgie, of course. He’s called her a few times since doing follow-up on Melanie’s statement. They don’t talk every day, but he certainly hasn’t ghosted her for weeks at a time. Oops.

“My phone is, uh, in the Archives,” Jon admits, “I left it at my desk when I was trying not to be killed by Prentiss.”

“No wonder you’ve never once answered me when I’ve asked you for your orders,” Tim mutters, “You’re lucky Martin knew what kind of sandwich you like, because I was just going to pick stuff at random.”

“Like you’ve been doing for every other food you order,” Jon notes.

Frustration at having absolutely none of his messages answered would explain why all the meals Tim’s brought Jon have been wildly different. Jon had just assumed he was like Georgie, and happened to enjoy trying as many new tastes as possible.

“I’ll let Melanie know you lost your phone. She can tell Georgie,” Sasha says.

“When we go explore the tunnels again, we’ll grab it for you,” Tim says, “I hear your office’s just about done with repairs.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jon says, “I’ll--”

“You’re not going back when it’s done,” Martin says. Jon shuts his mouth as Tim snickers. 

“You don’t even know that’s what I was about to say,” Jon says.

“Sure, but I know you,” Martin says, “No office, no work, and no worm tunnels. Not until you’re healed.”

“Right. Right, of course.” Jon steamrolls over that declaration before he can process how it makes him feel. “The three of you will be returning soon, though.”

“Yup,” Martin says, “Tim and I saw the place today. The worms are clear already. All that’s left is fixing the walls of your office and document storage. We could probably start work again tomorrow if we wanted.”

“You going to miss us coming to visit every day?” Tim asks. Jon scoffs.

“Somehow, I doubt work is going to stop you,” Jon says, “I’ve already resigned myself to hosting dinner every day until I’m back at work myself.”

“Hm, true,” Tim says, “But we might have to miss some dinners. It’s not like we can explore the tunnels on the clock.”

“I don’t see why not,” Jon says. 

“Despite everything, I don’t really want to get fired yet,” Tim says, and Jon can't help but think of how deeply ironic of a sentence that is from Tim's mouth.

“I’m not going to fire you for exploring the tunnels,” Jon says. 

“Elias might. He seemed pretty annoyed with us about the statement burning already,” Sasha says. Jon frowns.

“I wouldn’t worry about being fired. If Elias gives any of you trouble, you’re free to send him my way. I’ll deal with him,” Jon says, “Besides, you could consider it follow-up. It’s not like I’ll be around to assign you new cases, and I’m fairly certain the statements I was working on prior to the attack are… Unusable.”

“Then we’ll explore when we go in tomorrow. I don’t want to miss the creepy worm tunnels,” Sasha cuts in, before Tim or Martin can respond, “Speaking of, I’m finished eating. Show me what you found.”

“I took some pictures. Scroll through and look,” Martin says, already digging for his phone. He holds it up to Sasha, who gasps. 

“Spooky, huh?” Tim asks. His tone isn’t really lighthearted, even though he delivers it like a joke.

“Very,” Sasha says, “What is it?”

“Don’t know,” Martin says, “But it looked like…” 

“A structure. A door,” Tim says, and Jon knows what they've found. 

It makes sense. The Corruption's ritual site hadn't been far from the Institute. It's much easier to find than Gertrude. Jon had also found it pretty easily when he'd looked before, though it had already been damaged by that point. He's never actually seen the unbroken doorway.

Speaking of, Martin chooses that exact moment to hold the phone out to Jon. On the small screen, it’s hard for Jon to really see much of it. Most of the details vanish into his blindspot, and he frowns. Not for the first time over the last few weeks does Jon remember that Elias knows he blinded himself, which means he doesn’t have to keep it a secret anymore. 

He has… Complicated feelings on telling his assistants, though. He trusts them, of course. He knows they’d be happy to help him when he needs it, and that none of them are going to think less of him. He’s thought of telling them dozens of times over the last two weeks, because he lowercase-k-knows it’s for the best.

All that’s left is wrestling with his pride. He doesn’t like asking for help in even the most mundane sense. The last few days have already been mortifying enough, having to be helped with his injuries, and he's been reluctant to add another reason he needs assistance.

And there’s something so deeply revolting about having someone else know he needs help. 

But Jon promised himself he’d be as honest as possible, that he’d accept help from his assistants when he could. Now would be an opportune time to ask, too. Martin would happily put this on a bigger screen if Jon just asked.

Jon frowns, and the movement reminds him he’s been sitting in silence too long. He needs to say something.

“Do you, ah…” Jon starts, forcing the request out of himself before he can think twice, “If you could pull these up on a bigger screen, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Martin says, “My phone camera’s not great, though. It’s going to be grainy no matter how big you make it.”

“That’s not exactly…” Jon starts, twisting the ring on his hand, “I can’t see it. A fair portion of my central vision is, ah, gone. So a bigger image allows me to see around the blindspot. I apologize for not telling you sooner, but I--”

“That’s alright.” Martin says, before anyone else can say anything, “We all know you’re a private person, Jon. I’m glad you told us, though.”

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do around the Archives to help with that.” Sasha adds. 

“No wonder you were so fearless charging at Prentiss. I would’ve been fearless, too, if I couldn’t see all the damn worms,” Tim says, “...Thanks for telling us.”

“Yes, well. I hadn’t meant to keep it from you three, there just… With everything happening, there didn’t seem to be a good time.” He isn’t technically lying, even if he’s aware they’ll assume “everything going on” is Prentiss and not Jon’s quiet plan to kill Elias. Even if they’re being supportive--or, perhaps, because they’re being supportive--He’d suddenly rather have the subject be anything but himself. “But, regardless. I’d like to know what you found.”

Martin decides to pull it up on the television, digging up an HDMI cord to plug his laptop into it. 

“I see what you mean about it being a doorway,” Jon mutters. He'd seen it after the NotThem, assumably, had passed through it, ruining the pattern. With the NotThem unable to reach Sasha, and Leitner steering clear of the area, there’s nothing to damage the doorway.

And it is a doorway. He frowns. A much simpler ritual than the Unknowing, sure, but the Corruption doesn’t have the Stranger’s theatrical flair. Not that the simplicity matters. The act of actually ending the world had been as simple as reading a short incantation into a tape recorder. Were it not for Elias’s penchant for monologuing, Jon would have ended the world before the other Martin could even leave the Safe house on his walk.

“What do you think it is?” Sasha asks, pulling Jon back to reality. 

“I thought it looked like a doorway, but what… What would it even open to?” Tim asks.

“They could be, uh… Summoning,” Martin says, and Jon reflects not for the first time on how much easier his life could have been had he just talked to his assistants, “L-Like a portal, or something. Though, I don’t know what worms would need to summon…?”

 “Worm seance for worm ghosts,” Tim suggests, though it seems that at the reminder of their strange find, he’s a little more muted in his attempts to lighten the mood. "Obviously."

“Can’t be worm ghosts, or else we’d still be cleaning them out of the Archives,” Sasha says, as seriously as she’s able to muster.

“Right, of course. Worm demons, then,” Tim says, “Wormthulhu?”

“Regardless of what Prentiss was trying to summon,” Jon jumps in, deciding to stop them before they run off course, “I’d agree with Martin. It’s clear she was trying to summon something.”

“Really?” Martin asks, and Jon nods. It’s easy to affirm when they’re on the right track when he actually knows for certain what Prentiss was up to. Even if calling the Corruption "Wormthulhu" is, admittedly, a little off the mark.

“I… Out of everything, it would hardly be the strangest thing in our Archives. We only need to figure out what they wanted to summon, and why,” Jon says, “I’m sure there’s information in one of our statements, if only we could find it.”

Sasha hums, folding her arms. 

“Don’t have any hints for us, Boss?” Tim asks. Jon looks up, watching Tim from his peripheral.

“Excuse me?” Jon asks. Tim scoffs.

“I feel like we’re past the point of pretending you don’t know more about all this than you’re telling us. At least, I am,” Tim says, “You said you had some explaining to do, so explain.”

“...Ah,” Jon says. He supposes this was a long time coming. It’s impressive they made it two weeks without Tim or Sasha bringing up something. Perhaps they were enjoying the break to pretend they’re normal people just as much as Jon was, but it couldn’t last forever. 

“Tim, he’s still hurt,” Martin says. 

“So? It’s not like I’m asking him to give us a tour of the tunnels. I’m asking him to stop being so cryptic. I don’t feel like dancing around this anymore,” Tim says. 

“Tim is right. Jon knows something we don’t and he isn’t sharing. If he’s got to be cryptic about it, he may as well answer some questions,” Sasha says, “So, any hints?”

Jon sighs. It’s no wonder Elias gave Jon the promotion. Were it either of these two, something might have actually been done properly.

“I already gave you some,” Jon says. 

“‘Look in the Archives’ isn’t a hint. It’s a punishment,” Sasha says. Jon laughs.

“I suppose,” Jon says. 

He considers for a moment what to say next. This is dangerous, of course. Anything he tells the three of them can easily go to Elias--Especially anything he tells Tim and Sasha, as Elias always had a tendency to underestimate Martin. 

Rituals are the most dangerous thing for Jon to have knowledge on. Strange omniscience is expected for the Archivist, but to know too much about rituals may beg dangerous questions. The longer he can keep Elias believing his ritual is an untested theory, the better, especially as he nurses the wounds of the most recent step towards its completion. He really needs to be more careful.

Jon also hasn’t forgotten Elias’s threat. If Elias kills any of his “expendable” assistants, then everything Jon is doing will be for nothing. 

Still, he needs to drive them towards their next step. 

“If we’re letting me pull information from nowhere now, then I have a... A suspicion. About what we should be dealing with next.”

“A suspicion?” Tim repeats. 

“A suspicion,” Jon lies, “We were already looking into the Circus for your brother, but I believe they may be preparing for something of their own.”

Jon watches Tim as he speaks. Tim’s entire posture changes immediately, sitting up straight. He even swings his legs around to be on the ground instead of on the table, so Jon knows he’s taking this seriously. 

"What makes you think they're going to try something?" Sasha asks, and of course she'd ask that. 

"I-I just..." 

"Just know?"

Jon shrugs, and he hopes the fact his shoulders are already moving covers the involuntary flinch when he hears the frustration in Tim's sigh. 

“Okay. Sure," Tim mutters, "You know... You know this is harder when you don't talk to us, right?"

Jon almost wants to laugh. He doesn't.

"I'm sorry," he says, instead. When he says nothing more, Tim sighs again.

"What should we do?” 

“Figure out what it is, when and where they’re doing it, and how to stop it,” Jon says. 

“Do you know?” Sasha asks. 

“I wish I could tell you that I did,” Jon replies. That response seems to satisfy her, at least enough to not ask any follow up questions. 

“Right,” Tim says. There's an edge to his voice which Jon finds horrifyingly familiar, and Jon wonders if perhaps he’s made the wrong choice.

Chapter Text

It’s been a week since the three of them returned to work, and almost every day, Sasha has been inside the tunnels. The three of them explore in shifts. Two go down and explore, and the third stays up top taking on the Archives in search of the Circus and it’s summoning.

Her partner this time is Martin. She’ll admit, she’s proud of him for coming down with her. Martin has not been shy about voicing how much he doesn’t want to be in the tunnels. He doesn’t have that driving curiosity or burning need to know that she and Tim have, after all. He gets nothing out of this but the horrible reminder of the worms he’s spent months seeing in his nightmares. Sasha sort of suspects he feels lonely, though, being the only one up in the Archives. 

Whatever his reasoning is, Sasha is glad to have him. As much as she loves Tim, he’s had a strange edge to him since the Prentiss attack, and especially since Jon admitted to knowing something they don’t. She’s sure if Martin didn’t live with Tim that the next time she stopped by, she’d find a cork board and red string covering every time Jon’s done or said something blatantly suspicious hung up on Tim’s wall. 

Not that she can fault him. She’s half a mind to start her own. 

In the aftermath of the attack, Sasha had nearly forgotten about the key in the door. She can tell Tim and Martin definitely have, and she wonders if Jon even knows about it at all. Given everything else about him, she assumes he does. 

In the moment, she’d voiced her theory that it may have been Jon, trapping Prentiss inside. Now she knows a far worse truth: Someone locked the Archives with Jon and Prentiss inside. 

Of course, Sasha has her suspect. There’s only a handful of people who even go near the Archives in the first place or have the keys to it: Sasha, Tim, Jon, Martin, and… Elias.

Sasha knows she herself didn’t lock it, so that takes her off her list of suspects. Jon couldn’t have locked it, given it was locked from the outside. And even if she wasn’t with them when the attack started, she’s certain Tim and Martin didn’t lock it. If they wanted Jon dead, they wouldn’t have gone back in with her to save him, and wouldn't have spent all the time after to take care of him.

Which leaves Elias.

It doesn’t make any sense, though. Sure, she dislikes Elias, but that doesn’t mean she thinks he’s the sort of person to be capable of murder, and especially so brutally. What are the alternatives?

One: It doesn’t have to be Elias. The culprit could have been another person who stole the key and locked it. But Tim had been right, even if he’d been ribbing Jon when he’d said it: Jon doesn’t really know anyone else in the building, so there’s no real reason for anyone else to try to kill him. You don’t doom someone you hate casually to die like that.

So, two: It could have been an accident. Maybe Elias (or whoever else locked it) knew Prentiss was inside without knowing she had trapped Jon in the Archives with her. That seems like the most likely conclusion, but she’s sure it’s wrong.

No, Sasha’s gut tells her it’s more than that. Well, Sasha’s gut, and Elias himself.

I saw him on my way out,  he’d said, when they’d asked him about Jon during the attack. She’d thought his tone odd, but only now does she realize just what made it so. He’d sounded like he was making a rather cruel joke.

But why? If he didn’t like Jon’s work, there are easier ways to get rid of him than killing him. Surely, Elias would think to fire Jon first?

Unless, of course, there’s some other reason? Something other than Jon’s work? Something a simple firing won’t solve?

It loops back to Jon’s secrets. Jon admits to knowing more than he lets on, and he lets on to knowing a lot. He’s garbage at keeping a secret, and terribly unsubtle. Sasha suspects the secret has something to do with the Institute, but there are plenty of questions left if that’s the case.

Why would Elias want to kill Jon for that? Is their job not meant to be dedicated to learning those exact secrets? Because, if not, what are they meant to be doing? What purpose does the Institute serve?

Sasha understands, a little, just why Jon seems to be so keen on keeping this secret to himself, however poorly he’s doing it. Whatever he knows is huge, and it’s already almost killed him. His secret is dangerous. 

Is he guarding the secret? Or is he protecting them? From what?

“Sasha?” Martin asks, snapping Sasha back to life. Sasha looks over, seeing Martin watching her. “You’ve been zoning out for a while.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Just… A lot going on, as of late.” Sasha says. Martin frowns. 

“You sound like Jon.” Martin says. “I’m warning you, if I have to listen to Tim work up a Not-Sasha theory…” 

“Sorry.” Sasha laughs, sweeping her torch beam across the floor. It catches on worms, as per usual. “No Not-Sasha’s here, promise.”

“Seriously, though. If you have something on your mind…” Martin says. Sasha hums. 

Out of everyone in the Archives, she knows Martin the least. Things have been more comfortable between them since the Prentiss attack. Joking around with and getting a pep talk from someone while you and your friends are in mortal peril really brings you together. Who knew?

“I’m not sure yet.” Sasha decides, “I’ll let you guys know if I figure out something concrete. I just have to be sure I’m not being paranoid first. Last thing we need is for Tim to get another weird thing in his head.”

Martin snickers. 

“Okay. Well, if you want to air out your theory now, I won’t tell him.” Martin says. 

“Not yet. I might take you up on that, though.” Sasha says. “Promise I won’t do anything too risky with it until I share it, though.”

“You’d better not.” Martin says. They lapse into a silence, during which Sasha returns to scanning the floor and walls. She's not really sure what they’re meant to be looking for. Tim, of course, believes Jon’s secret is somewhere down here, and ever since the mention of the Circus’s summoning, he’s been near-rabid trying to find it. Martin is just looking out for her and Tim, to make sure neither of them are lost. Sasha, though… Sasha is starting to wonder if maybe the tunnels are distracting them.

“There’s another wine bottle.” Martin mutters. “Looks kind of expensive.”

“That’s what, four?” Sasha asks. “We’ve got some refined teens drinking down here.” 

“Maybe the worms were fancier than we gave them credit for.” Martin says, “Prentiss was dressed pretty n-- Hold on. Is that a door?”

“What? I thought we were way past the worm door by now.” Sasha mutters. Martin shakes his head, pointing with his torch, and Sasha follows the light. 

It’s… A door. There’s nothing special about it beyond that, except that they’ve yet to encounter a door in the tunnels which wasn’t made of worms. 

“Right.” Sasha says. “What do you think is behind it?” 

“Don’t know. Another part of the Institute, maybe?” Martin says “Better not be worms.” 

“Only one way to find out.” Sasha says. She steps forward to pull open the doorway.

On the other side of the door is a small, square, dusty room. There are cardboard boxes all around, each containing dozens of cassette tapes. There are a few loose tapes scattered around, with enough tape recorders thrown about that Sasha can practically hear their telltale whirling. And in the middle of them… 

“Oh, my god.” Martin gasps. Sasha swallows, her hand tightening so Martin won’t see any shaking in the beam of her torch. “I-Is that…?”

“Gertrude Robinson.” Sasha mutters. 

There she sits, in the center of the room, in an olden wood chair. She’s slumped forward, slack-jawed, but still appearing sturdy even as the beginnings of rot take hold of her body. Her eyes are wide open, as if watching the door. Sasha meets them, powerful and intense even in death, and nearly misses the dried blood soaking the front of her shirt. Once Sasha notices it, though, it’s impossible to look away from. Clear is the source of the blood: Three gunshot wounds, just off from her heart.

Sasha has always known that there’s more to the Institute than meets the eye. She’s always known that Gertrude Robinson was privy to whatever it was the Institute really stands for. There was a reason for Gertrude’s madness, her disorganization. Now, Sasha knows that reason.

Gertrude Robinson was murdered. She knew, and someone killed her for it.

A question returns to Sasha’s head: What is Jon protecting? Who is Jon protecting?

“Martin,” Sasha wheels around on Martin, who’s looking pale. He kind of looks like he wants to run, and though she can’t fault him for that, she can’t leave this here. Gertrude didn’t die unprepared. The answers are here, and Sasha won’t let her watch over them be in vain. 

“Yeah?” Martin asks. It’s sort of a squeak, but she doesn’t fault him for that, either. She’d probably be panicking, too, if she hadn’t found something to set her mind to instead.

“Help me get these tapes.”

“This-- This is a crime scene!” Martin protests. 

“Which means the police will take those tapes if we don’t.” Sasha says, “Come on. She died with these tapes for a reason. We need to find what it was. They’ll be no good to anyone in a police locker. Besides, this is not the first crime either of us have committed for the Magnus Institute.”

“R-Right. Sure. Okay.” Martin says “I’ll grab some boxes, you make sure we get back properly. If we both take boxes, we won’t be able to hold a torch.”

“Got it. Try to get as many as you can carry.” Sasha says. Martin nods. ”We’ll get Tim. Two people carrying, one with a torch. We’ll have the tapes out of here in no time.” 

“Then we call the police, I guess.” Martin mutters, stepping forwards. He grabs a box and, judging its weight, stacks another box on top of it. “...Guess it didn’t matter if you told Tim about your new thing or not.”

“Guess not.” Sasha says, kneeling to retrieve a loose tape recorder. It's running--Hasn't this been down here for months?--so she frowns and clicks it off. “Dinner conversation tonight is going to be something else.”

“It hasn’t even been a month since the last time I was here.” The officer frowns, crossing her arms. She’d introduced herself to the assistants as Police Constable Basira Hussain when she’d entered earlier, and she seems… Less than enthusiastic about the circumstances. Tim can understand that. He wouldn’t want to have to be the one to investigate a months-old murder under a supernatural studies building, either. “This is everyone, then?”

“Everyone except Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist.” Elias says. Basira had asked them to gather everyone who knows of the tunnels, which basically just means the Archives staff and Elias. 

Tim sees Sasha frown at Elias when he speaks, though Tim isn’t sure if it’s due to Elias calling Jon out--Absolutely no talking to the police about the various crimes and near-crimes the archival assistants and their archivist have committed is the most sacred of the Archives’ codes, after all--or the deep offense offered by Elias’s general existence. Could go either way, really.

“Head Archivist… That’s the victim’s replacement?” Basira asks. 

“Yes. He took over shortly after her death.” Elias says. Basira looks interested to hear that, and Tim realizes what’s happening: Jon’s becoming murder suspect number one. 

It makes sense, Tim is aware, from the outside. And honestly, Tim won’t deny he’d thought about it when Sasha and Martin came back raving about finding a corpse in the tunnels which only Jon knew about. It isn't hard to divine that this could be because he’d used them to hide a body.

But Tim knows that isn’t it. If this whole thing were as simple as Jon murdering his predecessor for her position in the Institute, then Jon’s laundry list of eccentricities wouldn’t be half as long. Occam’s razor very rarely applied with that man.

“Why isn’t he here?” Basira asks. "Do you know where he is now?"

She's already building her case, then. Thinks Jon is hiding from his crimes, assuming Jon's absence is a sign of suspicion, if not admission of guilt. If Jon is already suspect number one after one question...

Except... Well, maybe Tim can work with that, actually. 

"Boss got wormed." He offers, since he knows Martin and Sasha won't say anything.

"What?" Basira asks. 

“He’s on sick leave from, uh, the... Worms.” Martin says. “He’s really not healthy enough to be here right now for questioning.”

There's a pause while Basira processes that.

“Right.” Basira decides to press on as if it doesn’t faze her. Tim thinks he likes her already. “How did you learn about the tunnels?”

“We used them to hide during the… Infestation.” Tim says. “Jon knew where they were, so we hid inside to wait for the CO2 suppression system to kick in.”

Tim is very aware of both Sasha and Martin staring at him. He’s sure Sasha and Martin are going to remind him of their number one Archival Assistant code the instant Basira leaves, but he doesn’t care.

The way Tim sees it, Basira is an opportunity. A bit of outside help for Tim to be able to get to the bottom of Jon, so long as Tim’s willing to play along with the murder investigation. 

And honestly? The fact that they have to do a murder investigation for the last Head Archivist certainly makes Tim feel a lot more cooperative than he would be otherwise. As if he didn't need another reason to be worried, Jon's predecessor has apparently been rotting under the Institute for Jon's entire tenure. He's sure Jon knew about her, because at this point, he would be surprised if Jon didn't know something.

...At least, something ominous and upsetting. He realizes now that there's plenty of things Jon doesn't know.

Such as that Tim cares about him, and cares that he's been working on top of his predecessor's corpse, and cares that he didn't deign it necessary to mention he's apparently at risk of being murdered, and cares that he might be murdered, and cares to ensure that he isn't, and cares, and--

And Basira’s brow furrows as she takes in that but of information, and Tim focuses back on the present. He’ll pay for Jon’s dinner later or something, since he’s completely throwing the man under the bus. In Tim’s defense, though, he wouldn’t have to if Jon would just be honest with them!

“Did he have any relationship with the victim?” Basira asks.

“No, I think he said they never met.” Sasha says, before Tim can say anything. 

Which, fair enough. Tim probably shouldn't completely implicate Jon in Gertrude's murder. For all his ominous idiosyncrasies, Tim is reasonably sure Jon probably didn't actually do it. For one, he struggles to picture Jon knowing how to fire a gun. Not ominous enough. 

“The three of us--Me, Sasha, and Jon--worked together in research before this, not in the Archives.” Tim decides to add. “We transferred together.”

Sasha is openly glaring at him. He’ll just have to explain himself later.

“Are you suggesting Jonathan could be the culprit?” Elias asks. Basira hums. 

“He’s got a motive. All the evidence here is circumstantial, but it is suspicious.” Basira says. Elias crosses his arms, and Tim notices Sasha’s gaze lock on Elias as Elias starts speaking. 

“It’s not impossible. Though, the idea Jon would have the capability to do such a thing within him…" Tim isn't sure what he expects to see on Sasha's face as Elias speaks, and just watches as her expression hardens, eyes burning against Elias's skull. "I would never have imagined.” 

“You never know what kind of person will turn out to be a killer.” Basira says, “Unless you have another suspect? Is there someone else with reason to have killed her?”

Tim watches Sasha’s eyes widen, just a fraction, but she schools her expression back into her frown so quickly he’s unsure he didn’t imagine it.

“She was never a very social woman, and I only took over as Head of the Institute in the last few years of her life.” Elias admits, “So no, unfortunately not. No one comes to mind.”

“I only met Gertrude Robinson a few times, but If there’s anything the three of us can do to help in your investigation, let us know.” Sasha says. Now it’s Tim’s turn to shoot her a look, though this is one of shock instead of anger. "I’d like to help bring her killer to justice."

"Yeah, same. I never met her, but I'd be happy to help." Tim adds. He doesn't know what Elias said to change Sasha's mind, but he's grateful for it. She’s smarter than the rest of the Archives staff combined, there’s no way she didn’t realize what an opportunity this was. 

“Thank you. The two of you would be a great help, actually." Basira says.

"Really? How so?" Sasha asks, and Tim can hear a switch in her voice to that reasonable, down-to-Earth assistant persona of hers and fights back a roll of his eyes.

"I need the two of you to keep an eye on Jonathan Sims for me." She pauses, considering her next move a moment, before stepping forward and holding out her phone. "If you find anything for me, don’t bother calling the station. They’re not going to want to touch a case connected to the Magnus Institute. No offense. Just update me on anything you find.”

Tim can feel Martin openly glaring at the both of them, but he pretends like he doesn’t, instead watching Sasha punch in both their numbers. 

It’s been a week since his assistants returned to work, and almost every day, Georgie has stopped by for lunch. She was forgiving of Jon’s radio silence once she learned the cause, and with the lenient schedule full-time podcast work gives, she's been more than happy to pick up on grabbing lunches in his assistants’ stead. 

Today, though, he hears a... Familiar? Does it count as familiar if only Jon's other self had been familiar with the owner? It's not like Jon has never spoken to her, but--

“Jonathan Sims, you open this door!" A pseudo-familiar voice cuts through his thoughts. "If our food gets cold again, I-- Oh. Hi, Jon.” 

“Hello, Melanie. Hello, Georgie.” Jon greets. He leans against the door to let them pass, one hand over his stomach. “It's nice to see you. Any reason for the shouting today?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Came by to see you yesterday, too, but you were asleep or something.” Melanie explains, “We stood out here for almost half an hour before we decided to just leave your food out here and go back to Georgie’s.”

“Oh. I apologize for that, I…” Jon moves the hand from his stomach to his neck, “I was on, an… Errand, yesterday. I did appreciate the food you brought, though. I ate it after I… got back.”

“I’m glad you’re not out today.” Georgie says. “What kind of errand?”

“Well…” Jon fumbles for an excuse before remembering the new cane, folded and set on the table by the couch. He’d decided to get one now that he’s able to, and that provides the perfect cover. “I’ve been learning how to use that.”

It’s not completely false. He's been using some of his sick leave to take lessons, as his leg has healed and he’s got little better to do. Plus, he did take it with him on his errand, and it did help him practice. If they happen to assume his practice was at one of his lessons, that’s on them.

“Oh. You should have told us, then. We would have come when you were free.” Georgie says. “I guess you’re finally healing up, then?”

“Yes. I’m healed up enough to return to work, too. I imagine it’ll be another few days at most.”

“If those assistants of yours let you.” Georgie snickers. “We went out for drinks with Sasha the other day, and she told us all three of them have been fighting to keep you resting.”

“Yes. They’d keep me on sick leave until my scars faded away entirely, if they could.” Jon says. He hears fondness in his own voice despite his best attempt at exhaustion, and he knows Georgie catches it.

“Some of them already look like they’re fading. You’ve got a few on your left side that look pretty old.” Melanie says. Jon opens his mouth to respond, then frowns. 

He wasn’t bit on his left side, but his other self was. Are those scars starting to show? Sure, he could see them the first night--If he looks closely, he can still trace some of the bigger ones. He’d thought that was just the phantom of his memories. His assistants never mentioned them, either, and he’s sure if he’d shown up to work heavily scarred, they would have. Did they only just appear? Why would that happen? 

Jon’s almost forgotten what it was like not to know something, but his head is buzzing with questions immediately. He feels a little more excited than he should, maybe, but he's always liked a good mystery.

“I’m glad they’re starting to fade.” Jon says, despite his thoughts. “I can’t imagine that worm holes are a particularly attractive look.”

“I think you pull them off.” Georgie says.

“It’s rather rude, lying to an injured man.” Jon scoffs.

“Yeah, yeah. Are you going to keep leaning on the door, or are you going to come eat with us?” Georgie asks. Jon sighs.

“I suppose I’ll join you.” Jon says. Georgie laughs.

“Quit being dramatic or I won’t tell you how my research is going.” Melanie says. That has Jon’s interest--It must be why she dropped by today instead of Georgie coming alone. Though he and Melanie didn't end up in a shouting match on their first meeting this time, it's not exactly like they're friends. 

He moves slowly back over to the couch, taking care to sit away from Melanie and Georgie. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be near them, of course, but Georgie has a tendency to be touchy with her friends, and Jon doesn’t quite want to be touched right now, minus his own hand draped over his stomach.

“What’re you doing all the way over there?” Georgie asks. 

“I’d like a little space today, if you don’t mind.” Jon replies. Georgie hums.

“Alright. Jon gets some space for today.” Georgie says. She sits closer to Melanie on the other end of the couch. 

“Thank you.” Jon nods. “So, Melanie, you have an update?”

“Right.” Melanie says, leaning over to set a tupperware container by Jon. Unlike his assistants, Georgie's been bringing him the occasional home-cooked meals instead of takeout. The dissolution of Melanie's youtube channel gives her some extra time, and she's been spending a lot of it at Georgie's, some of which they've passed cooking together--or so says the Eye, nosy as it is, the instant the dish ends up in his hands. “I told you before I was researching war ghosts?”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.” Jon says.

“Right. I’m still interested in those, but I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to Baldwin first.” Melanie says. “I don’t have access to all the creepy stuff in your statements, so I’ve been looking into the history of identity-stealing monsters. Reading folklore and urban legends and all that.”

“I’ve been helping with that. What The Ghost? has done a few episodes on changelings and monsters that steal peoples’ faces. I dug up some of the research I had on those.” Georgie says. “But Melanie got tired of them pretty quickly.”

“They’re just regurgitated ghost stories.” Melanie says, “I started noticing something about the paranormal investigator community as we went over those old notes. We all sort of… swap the same haunts around, repeating each other’s research and coming to the same conclusions. I thought it protected us from chasing every false spectre that any old person made up off the street, the way your lot looks into--No offense.” 

“None taken.” Jon makes an effort to say, because he knows this conversation will go poorly if he says anything else.

“But I realized that wasn’t it. We’re not looking into what’s been verified as true. We’re looking into what’s been verified as safe.” Melanie says. “I didn’t tell you, did I? Before I went to your Institute the first time, I went to the C. F. Booth scrap metal and recycling yard. I--”

“Melanie, please, if you have a statement, tell us when I’m back at work.” Jon cuts her off. His mind is buzzing with hunger, but he won’t let her continue. He doesn’t want to appear in the nightmares of a friend, not if he can help it. 

…It definitely helps that he already knows what she has to say. If her statement were new, it might be much harder to make himself stop her. 

“Really? You can’t just grab a tape recorder and do it here?” Melanie asks.

“No, I can’t. I won’t budge on this.” Jon says. 

“You’re so difficult.” Melanie mutters, “Whatever, I guess it wasn’t that relevant. I was going to look into the serial number in your library when I stopped in the first time, but you gave me the thing about Sarah Baldwin… Now I’ve exhausted everything I can with that lead, and I just don’t know where to go from here. I know all the old research I’d get from my colleagues is useless--No offense, Georgie--But where does that leave me?” 

“I… could still give you access to the library. You could still use those unedited, unabridged, unsanitized documents. These aren’t the tales verified as safe.” Jon says. “And you'd be welcome to drop down to the Archives while you’re there, if you’re willing to walk down a few extra flights of stairs. My assistants and I have also been looking into imposters, but we haven't gotten to looking in the library yet. I’d be curious as to what you find.” 

“I’d… Thanks. Seriously. That would help.” Melanie says. “Your assistants aren’t already on it?” 

“...Ah, no, they’ve been… Preoccupied.” 

“With…?” Melanie asks. 

“The, uh… Well... There's a lot of statements on it all already, and... It doesn’t matter. I’ll be trying to drive them back on task once I return.” Jon picks up his food and pulls it into his lap, focusing on that instead of admitting his assistants are too busy running amok in the tunnels, “You just have to wait for me to be allowed back into the building to talk to Diana, now that they’ve cleared out the, ah… Infestation. Wouldn’t want any... Bookworms.”

“That’s a horrible joke.” Georgie laughs, and Jon scrambles to deflect her foot before she can kick him in the side, unwilling to brave the ensuing pain however gentle she intends to be. “Besides, their bookworm is out sick.” 

“I’m hardly the only bookworm in that building.” He says. 

“You might have another infestation.” Georgie says.

“As long as this one doesn’t cover me with burrows, I can handle it.” Jon replies. 

“It might even you out, though. Almost all the worm spots are on your right, you need some on your left to match!” Georgie says. Jon makes a face, and Georgie laughs. “Sorry, I’ll stop before I ruin your appetite.” 

"Right. Thanks." Jon mutters, trying his best to look disgusted, and Georgie laughs again. 

"Maybe I won't stop by the Archives, actually." Melanie says, and Jon bites back a laugh. 

"You know, that might be for the best." 

Chapter Text

One thing Martin notices that’s changed about the Magnus Institute since the Prentiss attack is the front desk, which is now occupied by a new employee. She seems pleasant enough, though Martin hasn’t got a chance to introduce himself to her. After today, he doesn’t think he ever can. 

No, instead he, Tim, and Sasha are just going to be the weird Archival assistants who went unsupervised by their boss for two weeks and went fully off the rails, stealing statements and theorizing very loudly up and down the stairwell about how their boss might have shot an old woman in their place of work. All because Tim and Sasha decided they were unwilling to let Jon see the tapes they stole off of Gertrude’s corpse when he returned to work, forcing the three of them to spend their shift moving all her tapes to Tim and Martin’s flat.

Rosie’s replacement gave them the strangest look when she’d seen Tim bring in a shopping cart --which he stole, probably, from who even knows where --to the top of the stairs so they could drop the boxes of tapes into it. Martin walked up and down the stairs so many more times than he’d ever wanted to, bringing boxes of tapes up and then heading back down to retrieve more. They then had to make two trips back to the flat to bring all the tapes home, walking there and back due to not wanting to bring a shopping cart on the Underground. 

Somehow this was the most exhausting work day of Martin’s life, which is saying a lot as an employee at the Magnus Institute.

Now, there’s a frown on Martin’s face as he watches Tim and Sasha dig through one of the boxes of cassettes strewn about the living room. They're still talking, but Martin hasn't really been listening. He zoned out about when Tim and Sasha started discussing whether or not Jon knows how to fire a gun, or if they should look for one in the tunnels next time they're inside. 

They're probably joking, at least, in part. Martin is reasonably sure they're aware Jon didn't do it (as much as he can be "reasonably" sure about anything anymore), but that doesn't explain what they're doing now. Sure, Tim and Sasha discussing dramatic murder attempts ("Do you think Jon is the type for one-liners?" "He can't, she was too powerful. If he wasted time with a one-liner on Gertrude Robinson, she'd definitely have beat him.") is par-for-the-course stupid nonsense, and the fact they're so casual about it makes him think they're kidding. 

But, if they weren't worried, why hide the tapes where Jon can't see them? He knows Tim resents Jon's secrecy, anyone with eyes could see that. Sasha's been less open about it, but getting pensive in the tunnels can't be a good sign. Neither can helping the police, which apparently both of them feel, for reasons unknown to Martin, is worth doing.

Martin worries they’re starting to get paranoid, honestly, though he isn't sure what about. And it worries him because he wants to help, somehow, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Keeping secrets like this from Jon won't help, he's sure, especially when keeping secrets is the only crime that Jon is definitively guilty of thus far. If he brought up their hypocrisy, though, he's almost certain Tim would say something like We’re only returning the amount of trust he’s put out or something equally bitter, and Martin wouldn't really have a good answer, and he'd just have to let them keep their secrets, just like he's let Jon keep his.

(Part of Martin wonders if it's even possible to keep secrets from Jon, anyway, with how much Jon knows, even when he shouldn't, but Martin really doesn't want to think about it.)

“She actually labeled these properly.” Sasha notes, and Martin is drawn back into the present. Hm, now he's getting pensive. “Not like the Archives. Probably for the best we aren’t telling Jon. If he saw how organized these are, he might lose it.”

“Thought you two decided he already did.” Martin mutters. 

“Hm. True. Maybe that’s why he killed her.” Tim says.

“That doesn’t make any sense. If he didn’t know about these tapes, how’s he supposed to kill Gertrude Robinson over them?” Sasha asks.

“That’s the part that doesn’t make sense?” Martin says. 

“Aha!” Sasha shouts, lifting a tape out of the box closest to her, with absolutely no regard for Martin’s comment. “This one.”

“What’ve you got there?” Tim asks, amused. Sasha glances at Tim as she straightens, and Martin can see her smile isn't as genuine as it was a moment ago.

“‘Encounter with The Other Circus.” Sasha reads. The humor slides off Tim’s face, and Martin stands. Maybe he doesn't understand what they're going, but he does know what he should do now.

“I’ll… grab my tape player.”

Tim is still as stone when Martin returns a moment later, and Sasha is solemn as she hands him the cassette. Silent save the squeak of the chair underneath him, Martin sits and hits play. Gertrude drones her introduction, and the statement starts.

"As a child, I always loved the circus. I grew up in the little village of Algasovo, deep in the forest steppes..."

“...Obviously it’s a good thing the children survived, but it does pique my interest in Ivan Utkin. Unfortunately, he appears to have passed away in 1984, but he must have been something rather special.”

The tape clicks off after Gertrude finishes her notes, and there’s silence. Tim knows both Martin and Sasha staring at him, even as he stares at his own hands. They're waiting for him to speak, to react. What is he supposed to say? To do? 

Tim had come to terms with the fact there was nothing he could have done to save Danny, that there was no chance they could have left together. He'd come to that conclusion because he'd had to, because if he didn't, he'd never stop thinking about what he could have done. Because if he never stopped thinking about what he could have changed, he'd never be able to think about what he could do now, do next, do to retaliate. If he'd never realized that was how it was always going to go, then he'd never be able to go forward, because he'd never, ever leave that stage, frozen in time like any of the thousand stone watchers who had witnessed the end of Tim's life as he knew it right alongside him.

But so much of that statement had seemed the same. A younger brother running ahead, his enthusiasm getting the better of him. A dutiful older brother, following after. The horror of the eldest, seeing his brother take to a dangerous stage on which he didn’t belong. 

Tim had thought this was going to end the same. Maybe there would be a flourish of skin, a reveal that the boy on the tightrope wasn’t who he appeared to be. Maybe there's be some new fucked up horror, worse than anything Tim cared to try to imagine. Maybe the kid’d just fall, brutal but effective, cold but human, and smash his head open on the sand. No matter the demise, Tim was certain he was about to hear another person grapple with becoming an only child.

But he didn’t. 

“Tim?” 

Tim looks up. It’s Martin who spoke, though they’re both still looking at him. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s clenching his jaw until he tries to force a smile, and just hopes the effort doesn’t show in his expression.

“Sorry, I’m alright. I just… Sash, you sure weren’t kidding about Gertrude, huh? ‘Only significant mental trauma. A decidedly tame result...’ 'Stone cold bitch' for sure.” Tim tries for levity with a bad Gertrude Robinson impression, but they’re both frowning at him. He sighs. “...Not buying that, huh?”

“Not for a second.” Sasha says.

“Right.” Tim mutters. “It’s… A lot. But I still want to see what we can get from this.”

“We can worry about that later.” Martin says, standing. Tim blinks, and he can see Sasha looks surprised as well. He’s not really sure what to make of Martin’s expression--Determination, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s offset by the uncertainty in his voice as he continues, “I’m going to put on a pot, and you’re… We can listen, if you want us to.”

Tim watches Martin fidget. He’s not really sure what Martin is worried about when the focus is on Tim, except, maybe Tim does know. Wasn't he just on the other side of this exchange just a few weeks ago, staring down a stubborn fool and hoping he'd take the hand he'd been extended?

Tim finds that he nods. 

“Okay. Sure, it’ll… Thanks.” Tim says. “Really.”

“Any time.” Martin says. He smiles, and some of the nerves in him disappear as he turns around to enter the kitchen. 

“We can talk about what all this means later.” Sasha adds, putting a hand on Tim’s knee. “If it makes you feel any better, it’ll probably be easier if we can look at the Archives when we talk about this, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Tim repeats, but he scrounges up a bit of amusement. It’s not really comforting, exactly, but he knows Sasha has a tendency to get sucked in when something grabs her attention like this. It’s the thought that counts, and for Tim, this one does. 

She smiles, taking her hand off him and sinking back into the couch. Tim takes the cue to follow her, leaning his head on her shoulder. The back cushion sighs and Tim sighs with it, and all the meager humor he'd built out of Sasha's endearing ambition evaporates in his breath.

“If you want to start talking, I’ll listen.” Sasha says. Her voice is quiet, with Tim’s ear right next to her, and like that she's flipped from driven assistant to concerned best friend. “I doubt Martin’s going to mind if we don’t wait.”

Tim hums to acknowledge her, but he doesn't speak. Now that he's settled and they're doing this, he falters. What is he even going to say?

He knows his feelings are irrational. He knows the fact these kids left together doesn’t mean anything, but at the same time, how could it not? How could anything else mean more?

At his silence, Sasha rests her chin on Tim’s head. A simple reminder not to get trapped in there, Tim divines. Or maybe he just hopes she knows him well enough to catch that he'd been about to start spiraling before they were properly ready to handle it. He takes comfort in the gesture anyway, and decides to let it ground him back into the couch before he can be pulled back into that auditorium.

Tim watches Martin in the kitchen, hovering by the kettle, shooting unsubtle concern in his glances back to Tim and Sasha. Tim’s always had trouble reading the faces of people he doesn’t know well, but he’s been figuring Martin out lately. It helps Martin wears his heart on his sleeve, his worry palpable even from the other room. 

He waits for Martin to return, and when he does, Tim watches steam curl off the cup Martin sets down. The couch sags some under Martin as he takes the other end, but no one says a word. They're waiting for him, he knows.

Tim sighs again. He feels Sasha turn her head to rest her cheek in his hair, and leans forward to grab Tim’s drink off the table and push it into his hands. He allows the gestures to warm him, to remind him of the people on either side of him, and he opens his mouth. 

“It’s just not… It’s not fair.” Tim mutters. “And I know that’s not how these things work, and that fair is the last thing on the minds of these… Whatever-they-are. I know that. They take whatever they want, and they kill whatever they want, and there’s probably no reason that kid lived and Danny--... And they did whatever it was they did to Danny.

“You both heard my… My statement. What happened. The scene was the same. The… The characters, I guess. The plot, the bloody stage. It was all the same. I watched my little brother run off and get roped into an act in the Circus, but where that kid got his brother back, I left without mine. 

“I knew that dancer must not have been Danny, but that kid was… He was seven, did he really even walk on that tightrope? He said he remembered being in a sack, when he dreamt about it. Was it something wearing his skin, just like that dancer wore Danny’s? Was Danny just backstage the whole time? Could I have--”

Tim stops himself, forces himself to drink the tea he’s holding. He doesn't even know if the damn drink is cool enough, but he can't taste it over the cutting bitterness building in his mouth. He almost hopes the liquid will burn away the words now cold on the tip of his tongue, wash down the ashes and help him swallow them. He doesn't think he'll ever leave his place among those stone faces if he finishes that sentence. 

“I don’t mean I wish the kid had died or anything," Tim pushes forward, keeps moving, onto the next awful thought, "But if someone had to, why’d it have to be Danny? If all he needed was to be ‘something rather special,’ then why couldn’t Danny come home? He was… He should have. He was special enough. It’s just… It’s not fucking fair. I want my brother back.”

Tim finishes there, downing the rest of his cup to try to wash down and away the newfound guilt and grief and everything else sticking up and down his esophagus. There’s a beat of silence after Tim drips the cup back into his lap, but Tim’s said all he needs to, so he doesn’t bother to fill it. He can’t find it in him to try for a joke.

First to act is Sasha. She doesn’t say a word, instead turning herself to bring Tim’s face into her shoulder, pulling him into a hug. One of her arms finds Tim’s back immediately, but the other does not, and Tim listens to its melodious rattle as it stretches past him. Tim wonders on where it's going only until he feels Martin on his back, brought into him by Sasha.

It’s not comfortable, exactly. Tim’s turned at a weird angle, his face awkward against the bone of Sasha’s shoulder. Martin’s clearly unsure what to do with himself, putting almost no weight onto Tim, his arms hovering by Tim and Sasha. Tim has a cup with the last few drops of tea in one of his hands, and he’ll spill the last of it onto his leg if he moves wrong. 

But Sasha presses her face into Tim’s hair again, and Martin rests one of his arms definitively around them, and Tim isn’t really comfortable, exactly, but that doesn’t matter. 

There isn’t anything Martin or Sasha could really say to ease the hurt Tim’s feeling. There’s nothing they can say to make things fair, or clear away the horrible new theories that tape has left Tim with. There’s nothing they can say to make any of it make sense. There’s nothing they can do to bring Danny back.

Tim closes his eyes. As the bitterness washes away, it leaves behind a wet burning in the back of his eyes. 

“Thanks, guys.” Tim mumbles. His voice sounds more watery than he expects it to, but Sasha and Martin have the grace not to comment. 

“Of course.” Sasha whispers. Her voice is soft, but he still feels the way her breath ruffles his hair. 

Martin doesn’t say anything, instead sitting up to pull Tim and Sasha closer. Tim turns more towards Martin, though he doesn’t pull his head from Sasha’s shoulder. It’s less Tim leaning into Sasha with Martin behind him, then, and more Tim sandwiched between them, wrapped snug in four comforting arms. 

Tim exhales, grabbing onto Martin’s arm in front of him, and pushes his face into Sasha’s neck. 

And maybe it’s not the most comfortable position in the world, but he won’t mind holding it a while.

“Okay, everyone. I think we need to stop messing around and go over what we know.” Sasha says, wheeling out a whiteboard she found in storage. Tim and Martin look up from their desks in shock--Martin over the whiteboard, Tim at the fact he’s been caught red-handed playing a game on his phone. “Jon comes back this week, so we only have a little longer to figure this out.” 

“Right.” Tim stands up, setting his phone aside. “Do you have an extra marker?”

“Depends. Are you going to write something relevant, or are you going to draw something stupid?” Sasha asks. Tim gasps, mocking offense. 

“I would never.” Tim says. Sasha knows for sure he’s going to draw something stupid now, but she hands him the marker anyway. She thought the whiteboard would be a more fun way of talking about this, and after last night, she knows they need something lighthearted. It's why they hadn't been exploring the tunnels today, but she knows the leisure was making them restless.

“I’ve got a marker for you, too.” Sasha says, waving it at Martin. Martin frowns.

“Am I helping you for the sake of mystery solving, or am I helping you convict Jon of murder?” Martin asks. Tim snorts. 

“We’re not actually trying to convict Jon of murder. Least, I’m not. I know he didn’t do it.” Tim says. Sasha nods. 

“I doubt he did it, either.” Sasha says, “For one, I was supposed to get the promotion based on Gertrude’s recommendation, so if he really did kill for her job, I’m pretty sure I’d have also been on the list. And that’s only the most normal reason he didn’t do it.”

“But!” Tim starts. He pulls back from the whiteboard, and Sasha sees he’s been drawing little worms along the edge. She smacks his shoulder. “Wh-- Ow! Hey?!”

“No worms.” Sasha says.

“If neither of you actually think he killed her, why are you helping that cop?” Martin asks. 

“I’m just hoping that Basira can help us figure out what Jon’s actual secret is.” Tim mutters, erasing the worms with part of his shirt as he talks, and oh, maybe she shouldn't have given him the bright red marker. “Murder’d be too normal for whatever’s going on with him. Even if he definitely knew about the body.”

“Poor guy. You could tell he remembered he was supposed to be surprised when we mentioned her a few seconds too late, too.” Sasha says.

“Yeah, I’m glad we told him without Basira. That five second delay alone could have convicted him. I doubt she would have believed us if we told her ‘Oh, no need to worry, Officer! Jon’s just a little omniscient!’” Tim laughs. Sasha smiles before rounding on the whiteboard, uncapping her marker. 

“Speaking of!” Sasha says. She begins writing at the top. “What’re your theories as to why Jon knows about the tunnels and the body if he didn’t kill Gertrude? Discuss.”

Martin finally stands, walking over to the board. Sasha pulls back so he can access it if he wants, hearing him snort at her title. Across the top of the board (in her best imitation of Tim’s handwriting, for when Jon inevitably finds this), she’s scrawled “WHAT IS UP WITH JON?”

She glances at Tim as she hands Martin his marker, noticing he’s drawing again. This time, it’s a stick figure with large hands and long hair. 

“Tim! Stop drawing monsters on the board!”

“No fun at all.” Tim mutters, bitterly erasing stick-Michael. 

“I’m plenty fun.” Sasha says. “C’mon, theorize with me.” 

“Fine, okay.” Tim straightens up, “Shouldn’t we be writing our evidence on the board first, before we do any theories?” 

“Right, of course, good thinking. Okay. Let’s compile what we know, then.” Sasha says, and she starts writing on the side of the board that Tim isn’t occupying. “First, he knows a bunch of stuff he shouldn’t.”

Knowing things. Spooky? Or just nosy? Is written as the first bullet point. 

“I’ve got a not-spooky theory for this one.” Tim says, writing as he talks, “There’s a lot of information in those tapes. Jon might’ve found that room and listened to some of them. Explains why he knew about the room, and some of the stuff he knows.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us, though?” Martin asks. 

“Found something too dangerous to share.” Sasha says. “I mean, Gertrude died with those tapes for a reason. There’s something on them worth dying for.”

“Worth killing for, maybe, to whoever shot her. But no one’s dying for any of this.” Tim corrects. His tone is sober, but even so, Sasha notices him writing DANGER!! next to his own tape theory. The whiteboard is working, at least. 

“It doesn’t explain everything, though.” Tim continues, “He says stuff I know isn’t on the tapes. They could have been the beginning, maybe, but there's definitely more to all the stuff he keeps just knowing than that. And then there's the other weird stuff. Like, how about the complete personality change?” 

Sasha nods, turning to jot down a new bullet point. 

Thinks Tim is funny sometimes. Sign of supernatural influence?

“No one appreciates my genius. I’m an artist, undiscovered in my time.”  

“I’m sure that once you die your unpublished jokes will sell for millions. We'll all huddle around a tape player, bemoaning not listening to your horrible impressions when we could for the rest of our lives.” Sasha says. He scoffs, miming being stabbed in the heart with his marker. She hums, unimpressed. “Anyway…”

“Right, right. I mean, we both know he’s not a bad guy, if a little rough around the edges. Or around Martin.” Tim says “But he softened up a lot at once. Left work a grumpy prick and came back a battle-worm hero.”

“Terrible pun, that.” Sasha says. Tim ignores her, looking back to Martin. 

“What do you think about this? We were at least friends with him before. He’s changed the most around you.” Tim says. Martin hums.

“I think that you’re maybe not giving him enough credit for trying to be better?” Martin says. Sasha snickers. “It’s not like he was… Okay, yeah, he was pretty terrible before, but it’s not like he’s become a completely different person. He just seems a lot less… G-Guarded, maybe? At least, with his feelings.”

“Okay, so realizing Martin almost got wormed is probably why he changed.” Tim says. “Some good old fashioned character development.”

She nods, adding a note underneath their last bullet. 

Probably not!

“Do you think his blindness has anything to do with this?” Tim asks, watching her write.

“Being blind isn’t supernatural.” Martin frowns.

“I know, but he didn’t used to be. We’ve known him for years.” Tim gestures at Sasha with his uncapped marker, just barely missing her shirt. She smacks him away. “I’m sure he had… Okay, his vision has always been bad--Have you seen how thick his glasses are?--But the blindspot is new. And all of this at the same time, you know. The blindspot, the personality change, the omniscience… All of it coming at the same time is weird. It has to mean something.”

“Not everything about Jon has to be spooky. ” Martin says. 

“I’m actually with Martin on this one.” Sasha says, “I was helping him do research for a cane--There's lots of different kinds of canes for different needs, you know?--So I did some looking of my own. The condition he has can set in later. It’s not impossible to have developed completely unrelated to any weird things he’s been up to.”

Tim frowns, then sighs. 

“Okay, yeah. I just… When are things ever that simple with him? I get they all make sense alone, but none of those changes happened without the other. I don’t think it’s a coincidence, is all I’m saying.” Tim insists. Sasha laughs.

“For Jon, I won’t rule out spooky blindness,” Sasha says, “But until we have real reason to believe it’s spooky blindness, we should probably just assume it’s normal human blindness.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Tim huffs, “I just… Wish he’d told us sooner. If it wasn’t spooky blindness, why hide it from us?” 

“It took Martin almost dying and then all three of us scolding him for him to admit to us, his own assistants, that he believes in the supernatural, despite the fact we work at the Magnus Institute.” Sasha says, “Jon having issues with opening up isn’t spooky, it’s the most normal Jon thing we’ve talked about today.”

Martin laughs as Tim sighs again.

“Alright, alright. I’ll drop it.” Tim says, “Focus on Jon’s weird supernatural secrets and not his emotional honesty issues, got it.”

Tim folds his arms, frowning, and Sasha knows he isn’t going to drop it. There isn’t much she can do about that, but whatever. It probably won’t hurt to let Tim focus on what’s changed with Jon. That allows her to throw her focus completely into Elias and the Institute. 

That leaves their next bullet. There isn’t really a way to make this one light-hearted, even with the whiteboard. Time to head into proper concern territory, then. 

Never trust your Archivist

Tim stares at it, leaning over to edit what she’s written.

~~ Never trust your Archivist ~~

“Now you have to read it in a spooky voice.” Tim explains, but his voice is mostly humorless. Sasha nods.

“I don’t know if there’s anything worth doing with this one.” Sasha says. “He’s a monster with a grudge about being a monster. If I thought he could hold a gun with those hands of his, I’d think he was a suspect for Gertrude’s murder.” 

“But… I do think he’s right.” Tim admits, “I don’t think we can trust Jon.” 

“Why not?” Martin asks. 

“Jon doesn’t trust us.” Tim says. He crosses his arms, taking a respite from his doodling. “What do you think the odds are Prentiss would attack when all three of us were out of the Archives? I mean, you’d think if she was building up for a purposeful attack on the Archives, she’d have wanted to do it when all four of us were there, right? And if it were random, she’d almost definitely catch at least most of us. We’re very rarely not there. Unless she attacks at night, of course, in which case…”

She follows Tim’s gaze to Martin, who grimaces. 

“What are you saying?” Sasha moves the conversation along before Martin can think too deeply about a night attack.

“I’m saying I think Jon knew something was happening that day. I don’t know what exactly he knew, but I think it was enough that him being alone when Prentiss attacked wasn’t an accident.” Tim says. “Jon himself admitted that Prentiss’s attack started in his office. I don’t think that was an accident, either. Not with how much weird shit he knows.”

The key in the door returns to Sasha’s mind immediately, and she frowns. What does that mean for their possible attempted murderer, then? If Jon knew, did Elias? 

It could mean Jon thought to tell Elias, but didn’t tell them. It could mean that Elias knew on his own, possibly from some separate source. It could mean that Elias was… What, directing Jon? That they were working together, maybe? But what would either of them gain from purposely calling Prentiss? If they were collaborating, why would Elias lock the door on Jon? Sasha has no idea what it means. One answer, a dozen more questions. 

She watches Tim and Martin, waiting to see if one of them will mention the key, but neither of them say anything. It seems she was right, they did forget.

She won’t remind them, not when she still has no proof, nor motive.

“I agree.” Is what Sasha settles on saying. “He’s hiding stuff from us. If he knows we’re onto him, I doubt he’ll be happy about it. And that’s why…” 

Sasha turns back to the board, scrawling Top Secret Investigation! Assistants Only! under the header. 

“No telling anyone. Not Jon, not anyone else.” Sasha says. “Except Basira, I guess, but just the parts she could actually help with. We don’t need to tell her about Jon’s omniscience or anything. I don’t know how much of this she’s even going to believe.”

And Basira! Tim adds to Sasha’s subtitle. 

“Speaking of Basira,” Martin wonders, "If you don’t think Jon did it, then who did?" 

“No idea.” Sasha lies. With nothing concrete and everything to lose, there’s no need to tell them her guess yet. If she’s wrong, they might end up making an enemy out of their boss, which won’t be great for their paychecks. If she’s right… 

She shouldn’t show her hand, not yet. Secrecy can be valuable. And she has no idea what Elias’s motives might be, or whether he’s working with or against Jon and/or them. He’s completely up in the air, so she’s not going to say anything at all.

Especially if Elias really did kill Gertrude. What would he do to them if he figured out they were onto him? 

“I… do have an interest in finding who Gertrude’s real killer is, though.” Sasha adds.

“Especially if the Boss really did find that room before us.” Tim says. “Because then he’s got a target on his back for learning whatever got Gertrude killed, and all three of us are on borrowed time. Her killer’s still out there, and we have no leads.”

“You think Jon’s life is in danger, and you don’t want to tell him?” Martin's tone shifts from annoyed-but-humoring to a snapping demand, and Sasha puts her hands up.

“Not yet. We’ll tell him once we’re closer.” Sasha insists. She’s sure Jon will want to keep his secret a secret, and she doesn’t want him to drive them off the path of discovery. As much as she trusts Jon on most things, she can’t trust him with this. “He already knows, I’m sure of it. He knows about all of this, so I’m sure he knows about the danger.” 

“That’s why he’s hiding it. He wants to do all this himself, and I know you don’t want him to die any more than either of us do.” Tim turns around, facing Martin. “He’s trying to protect us from whatever this is, and we’re not going to let him. We look into this in secret, and we can protect him instead.”

Martin shifts, and Sasha can see he’s folding. It was smart of Tim to hit Martin with a line about protecting Jon. Not everyone is as enticed by a mystery for the sake of solving it. Some people just want to see the ones they love safe.

“I still think we should be telling him.” Martin crosses his arms. “You’re just doing the same thing you’re mad at him for.”

“I will when he starts being honest with us.” Tim mutters, turning back to the board, “The way I see it, we’re only returning the amount of trust he’s put out.”

Sasha notices a heavy eye-roll from Martin, but she decides not to comment.

“Aren’t you guys being kind of… paranoid?” Martin asks. Tim scoffs. He’s doodling in the corner again, but Sasha can’t see it, as he’s hiding it with his hand.

“A woman is dead, and we could easily be next. It’s caution, not paranoia.” Tim says. Sasha nods. 

“If Jon’s made such an effort to hide whatever this is, he’s not going to just tell us or let us find it.” Sasha explains.

“Honestly, what it is doesn’t matter. We just need to figure it out so it doesn’t kill one of us because we don’t know what we’re up against.” Tim says. He pulls back from the whiteboard then, nodding to himself about his newest doodle. Sasha looks over at it. It’s another stick figure with long hair, and in its hand is… 

“What’s it holding? A flag?” Sasha asks. “What kind of monster is that?”

“What? No. It’s a gun.” Tim says. “I drew Jon about to go murder Gertrude.” 

“Hm.” Is all Sasha says. 

“What? I think it’s pretty good.” Tim says. “You said no monsters.”

“I guess you’ve officially thrown in the towel on the Not-Jon thing, then?” Sasha asks. 

“Yeah, I’m… giving up the ghost.” Tim grins. Sasha smacks his arm.

“Awful. That’s not even what that means! But…” Sasha leans over, drawing a frown and some dots on the stick figure’s face. “There. Grumpy with worm scars. Now he’s perfect.”

“Thank you, Sash. Truly, what would I do without your artistic expertise?” Tim says. 

“You’d be lost without me.” Sasha says. She sees Martin roll his eyes again in her peripheral, but it's more fond than annoyed. She smiles and turns to him, hoping she can count on Tim’s levity to pull him back into the discussion. “So, Martin, do you have any theories?”

“I have one.” Martin says. “Making up a conspiracy board about your friend isn’t great for strengthening that friendship.” 

“Nothing brings people together like sharing a secret. Think about how much closer we’ll be when we’re in on it.” Sasha says. “It’s not like we’re talking shit about him behind his back. Gun Jon drawing notwithstanding.”

“Hey, this is art.” Tim says. 

“Neither of you see a problem with this at all?” Martin asks. Sasha frowns. It’s not like they’re conspiring against Jon. “Like, what if there’s a reason he isn’t telling us?”

“Nope.” Tim says. Martin sighs. “If it’s because it’s too dangerous for us to know, then that’s all the more reason to figure it out. Jon shouldn’t be the only one carrying this.”

“Fine, okay. I won’t rat you two and your conspiracy board out to Jon, but don’t forget about the actual Jon while you’re investigating him.” Martin says, “Like, if you start stalking him to ‘learn his secret,’ I’m going to tell him. And if we learn of an actual impending threat on his life, I’m definitely going to tell him.”

“Fine. Now that we’re all sworn to secrecy--” Tim starts, but he’s cut off by the creak of the Archives’ door. All three of their heads snap in the direction of the entrance, waiting.

“Hello?” A voice calls. Sasha recognizes it immediately: Jon. 

“You two go see why he’s here, I’ll hide the board.” Sasha says. Tim and Martin both nod--Though they may have their differences on the validity of a conspiracy board, getting to the bottom of why Jon decided to cut his sick leave short is a mission Sasha knows Tim and Martin can both get behind.

Sasha hurries the whiteboard away, rejoining her friends to see Jon visibly regretting the choices which led him to have both Tim and Martin worrying loudly at him. 

“Being bored is not a good reason to end your sick leave early.” Martin insists, clearly in the middle of scolding. Tim nods, his arms folded in front of him. Jon stands between them, holding his hands near his chest as though they will put aid in getting distance between him and his annoyed assistants. All they do is show off his new injuries, just barely scabbed over.

“I assure you, I’m fine. Everything has already healed. A few days will make no real difference.” Jon insists anyway, futile. Sasha catches in his peripheral, so he steps towards her in an attempt to escape the other two. “Sasha! You understand. I’m healed, and a few more days of bedrest aren’t going to help anything. I’m interested in making progress in our work.” 

Sasha nods as Jon stops in front of her, listening to Jon’s defense as Martin and Tim loom behind him. She puts a hand on Jon’s left shoulder, smiling. 

“Jon. Have you had some kind of supernatural encounter over the last few days?” Sasha asks. 

“...Um.” Jon says, “...No.”

“Are you here to make a statement?” Sasha asks.

“No.” Jon says. He seems to be coming to the realization he’s surrounded from all sides as he answers, glancing behind him to catch Tim and Martin on either side of him.

“Is there any reason you absolutely need to be back a few days early?” Sasha asks. 

“Not exactly, but--”

“Then, Jon,” She squeezes his shoulder, cutting him off, “Rest.”

“We won’t send you back home after you walked all the way here, but you’re not doing any work. All our desks face your office, so you’re not sneaking in there.” Tim says, “Come on, you’re spending the day on the break room couch. You can do plenty of resting from there.”

Jon looks sheepish as Sasha drops his shoulder, letting Tim lead him away. She glances over to Martin, smiling when she catches his eye. She gives him a thumbs up.

“See? Still friends with Jon.” Sasha says, “Neither of us are going to lose sight of that.” 

But Martin only frowns at her a moment before turning and going after Jon.

Chapter Text

Jon makes three more attempts to return to work early, but soon enough, his true return date rolls around. Finally being allowed back into the Archives and being able to record a statement without being scolded seems to improve his mood, though Martin cannot even begin to fathom how that could be the case. He’s recorded a few in Jon’s absence, and all he ever feels after reading one is horrifically uncomfortable.

But, whatever. The strange reading habits of Jonathan Sims are not a concern of Martin’s. What is a concern of Martin’s, however, is their visitor. 

The man looks so comically like a stereotypical sea captain that Martin believes it has to be a costume. There’s no way the guy isn’t doing some kind of bit, right? People don’t just dress like that. White hat, heavy blue coat, thick grey beard. Martin can practically see the ocean spray rolling off the man as he steps into the Archives. Sasha gets up with a glance to Tim and Martin, suppressing a smile as she walks over to take what Martin is sure will be a very funny joke statement to share over lunch. 

“Excuse me? Do you work here?” The man asks. He sounds pleasant enough, though he seems somewhat uncomfortable. Lost a bet, maybe?

For her part, Sasha nods. She's pulled on a perfect mask of a sincere, helpful assistant smile. 

“Yes, I do. Are you here to make a statement?” Sasha asks. 

“Oh, no. I’m looking for Elias Bouchard?” he asks. “I have an appointment, but it’s really been so long since I’ve been here. Do you know where his office might be?”

Yeah, I can show you.” Sasha says. “You are…?”

“Peter Lukas.” Comes the reply, but not from the man himself. At some point during the exchange, Jon stepped out of his office, though Martin didn't hear the door open. He makes his way over to Peter and Sasha, putting himself bodily between them. Both Sasha and Peter are taller than him, though, and look right over his head at each other. 

Martin glances at Tim, who looks less than happy. Clearly, he noticed Jon’s attempt at distancing as well. Martin leans over, trying not to make a sound even as the wheels of his chair squeaks under him. 

“Does the name Peter Lukas ring any bells?” Martin whispers. He knows he's heard it before himself, but he can't place where. Tim nods, his eyes never leaving the three in front of them.

“Talk about it once he leaves.” Tim says. 

“Please, call me Peter.” Peter says, “Have we met? You seem familiar.” 

“We have not.” Jon says, his disdain audible, even as he tries to hide it with a forced friendliness. “If you need someone to show you to Elias’s office, you need not distract any of my assistants. I’d be happy to show you.” 

“You’re the Archivist, then? Elias has told me a great deal about you.” Peter says. He sounds cheerful, but Jon stiffens as he continues, “You know, now that I’ve met you, I imagine we’d get along.”

Peter Lukas seems unfalteringly pleasant, but all that radiates off Jon is cautious defense. Martin can see the way he leans backwards, the slightest tell in his posture as to his true feelings on Peter. He holds a tape recorder in both hands between himself and Peter, giving himself that illusion of a barrier. Was he recording? How important is intercepting this walking stock photo that Jon stopped during a statement?

“Then allow me to take you to see Elias.” Jon says. 

“Yes, I would appreciate it. It’s far too crowded in here. Besides, I think he wanted to introduce us, anyway.” Peter says. Jon grimaces, if only for a second.

“Hey, Jon, you sure?” Martin calls, “One of us can take him up, if you’re busy.”

When Peter turns his attention to Martin, Martin’s entire body feels cold. Peter offers a smile which would seem warm on any other face, but it does nothing for the chill that’s suddenly found its way to Martin’s bones. Tim, just out of arm’s reach, suddenly feels far in the distance, obscured by more than just existing in Martin’s peripheral. Even Peter himself feels like he may as well be miles away, and Martin feels like Peter isn't really even looking at him at all.

“What helpful assistants you have here.” Peter praises. He takes a few steps towards Martin’s desk, and Martin becomes aware, suddenly, that this chill is familiar. Where has he felt this before? “Martin, isn’t it? Elias mentioned--”

“Peter, if you could,” Jon cuts him off both verbally and physically, speeding up to once again to plant himself in Peter’s path, between Peter and Martin. The instant Jon's back is in front of him, the cold recedes, and Tim snaps back into place by Martin’s side. The forced politeness is completely gone from Jon’s voice, venom dripping free off of every word. “Please refrain from distracting my assistants anymore than you already have and do not take another step.”

Peter is silent a moment, then nods. 

“Of course. I’d hate to keep Elias waiting. Please lead the way.” Peter says. His voice is warm with geniality, but Martin doesn’t feel comfortable again until the Archives door closes behind him.

There’s a beat of silence as the three of them listen to footsteps retreat up the stairs, and then Sasha rushes over to Tim and Martin’s desks. 

“What just happened.” Sasha’s tone suggests a flabbergasted statement more than an actual question, but Martin knows she wants the answer no matter how it’s delivered.

“I recognize the name Peter Lukas.” Tim says, standing. “We did a-- There was a statement, right before the Prentiss attack. We weren’t allowed to look into it after Jon recorded it because the Lukas’s are keeping our lights on, but I swear I looked over the written statement and Peter Lukas’s name came up. I know it’s--”

“I know where it is.” Sasha says, and she runs off. 

“And she’s gone.” Tim drops back into his chair, spinning it to face Martin. “Boss was pretty insistent about that guy not getting anywhere near you or Sasha. You saw the look on his face, right? It was like…”

“Like how he looked at Prentiss, before he tackled her.” Martin mutters, rubbing his arm idly. “That guy didn’t look dangerous, but you felt it when he looked at us, right?”

“Felt what?” Tim asks, frowning. 

“Th-The cold?” Martin asks “You really didn’t feel that?”

“No, I didn’t feel anything...? Hold on,” Tim says. He leans down, opening a drawer to riffle through it, “I think I have a spare jacket around here somewhere, if you want it.”

“That’s alright. I’ll be fine.” Martin says. He doesn’t think a jacket would help, though he doesn’t mention it. Sasha stops at Tim’s desk, setting a tape down. 

“Here. Do either of you have a tape player?” Sasha asks. 

“I’ve got one.” Tim says. He pulls it out of the already-open drawer, and Sasha takes it out of his hand before he can put it down. Tim gives Martin an amused smile, watching Sasha put the tape in. She drops it on the desk in front of Tim, then.

“Alright. Give me a second to pull my chair around.” Sasha says. As she turns her back to retrieve her chair, Tim passes Martin a jacket. 

“I really don’t--” Martin starts, but Tim waves him off. 

“Just throw it on the back of your chair if you really don’t want it,” Tim says, “But I’m not taking it back.” 

Martin relents, though he can't say Tim's insistence doesn't tug some of that chill away all on its own. The jacket is sized for Tim, so rather than try to put it on, he pulls the jacket over his shoulders. Tim gives him a thumbs up and a smile, and he has to admit, even half on, the jacket does work.

When he looks up from Tim, it's in time to watch as Sasha jumps on her chair to roll over to their desks. 

“Alright, press play.” Sasha says. Tim obliges, and Jon’s voice fills the air.

“I was expecting him to step in any minute now, but he hasn’t… I suppose that makes sense. I had to re-record those statements, after all, just like the other one had wanted me to. Might as well get them right this time, right? But that’s beside the point. 

“Statement of Carlita Sloan, regarding her work on a container ship travelling to Southampton from Porto do Itaqui. Original statement given January the 2nd, 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.”

“Welcome, Peter, Jonathan. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’d like to have the both of you present for this.” Elias says. Jon stays in the doorway, and Peter hovers between the door and the desk. Elias revels in how little Jon or Peter want to be in the room for a moment, then smiles. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation, Peter. I wanted to talk to you about your research. I have a proposition for you.”

“I kept to myself the rest of the way, and left the ship as soon as we landed in Southampton. I didn’t even think about my pay until it came through a couple of days later: twenty-five thousand pounds. For barely two weeks work. I don’t mind telling you, it was almost enough to tempt me back. Almost.

“Statement ends. 

“I decided to do most of the follow-up on this one myself. The Tundra is a currently-active cargo ship operating for Solus Shipping PLC, a company founded and majority-owned by Nathaniel Lukas. Hopefully, it stays that way, so I never have to see Peter Lukas. Even with his vested interest in the Magnus Institute. I’m hoping he’ll--… Ha. I’m hoping he’ll leave us alone. 

“Hm. That’s probably too much distaste for a man I’ve never… Well, they’re going to say I’m being ominous again. I’ll… I’ll tell them to leave this tape be. Funding is a convenient excuse. I see why Elias uses it. End recording.”

The tape clicks off.

“If you’ll allow me the honors,” Tim says, “He’s being ominous again.”

Sasha snickers, and Tim flashes her half a smile, trying to force an air of humor. It’s becoming harder to do that with every tape, and this one tapers off once Sasha’s laughter fades.  

“Nothing new there.” Sasha says. She leans her elbows on the desk, allowing herself a frown. “So, what do we make of that statement?”

“I don’t know. Lukas absolutely did something to that Sean Kelly… Fed him to something, maybe?” Tim says, “Banished him…?”

“Was it safe to let Jon go off with Peter Lukas?” Martin asks. “I know they’re going to Elias’s office, but Lukas is clearly…”

“Banned from the whiteboard?” Tim offers. It’s easier than admitting the truth of what they let their friend run off with. 

“Banned from the whiteboard.” Martin agrees. Tim watches him tug at the jacket on his shoulders, though he doesn’t seem to really be aware of the action. “I don’t like him. He really didn’t make either of you feel cold?”

“No.” Sasha says. “He’s kind of creepy, I guess, but…?”

“But neither of us felt whatever he did to you.” Tim shrugs, finishing her sentence. Martin glances to the door, and Tim frowns. He doesn’t know what Peter did, but it’s got him really on edge. The jacket’s helping, if the amount of tugging it closer is anything to go by, but it’s not enough. 

“Maybe he doesn’t have an effect on Jon, either.” Sasha says, a statement Tim suspects is more a gesture of comfort more than an actual theory. Martin nods, appreciating the idea nonetheless.

Tim does not. All the exchange achieves is to convince Tim that there’d better be a damn good reason for Peter’s presence. Something tells him that no explanation would satisfy him, though. Not as he watches Martin pull the jacket yet again, or Sasha roll her chair a little closer to his side.

“I still think he’s dangerous.” Martin says. “Just as much as any of the other things we’ve met.”

“Not disagreeing with you. If he pulls out a boatswain, I’ll deck him.” Tim says. He’s trying to reassure Martin, hoping that the anger starting to bubble up in his chest doesn’t show. “Hopefully he isn’t full of worms.”

The door to the Archives opens before Martin can respond, and all three assistants look over to watch Jon cross the threshold. He heads over to their desks with practiced ease, stopping at arm’s length. 

“I’m going to guess the three of you aren’t working.” Jon says. 

“We aren’t.” Tim replies. Jon exhales, a noise that Tim knows is meant to be a laugh. 

“Where’d Peter Lukas go? He didn’t come back?” Sasha asks. 

“No. Elias dismissed me, but asked Peter to hang back a moment to speak with him.” Jon says. Tim frowns. “Peter will be back. He’ll… be stopping by from time to time for a bit of research. He shouldn’t bother any of you three, though. Just send him my way if you see him.”

“We can handle him if you don’t want to, Boss,” Tim says. He’s trying to offer Jon an out, a hand, a chance to prove he still trusts them. "It's pretty obvious you're not a fan of him. We'd be more than happy to help, you know."

“No. Absolutely not.” Jon stresses, “Besides, I already agreed to assist him when he comes by.” 

“Why?” Tim asks. Jon has to know Peter is trouble, if the way Jon keeps his eyes trained on Martin’s desk--on Martin--is anything to go by. Tim has a hard time believing he’d so blatantly disregard Martin’s safety--Or any of theirs, for that matter--So why let Peter Lukas return? Why help him?  

“He funds the Institute.” Jon says, and it explains nothing. Tim frowns. “Don’t worry. It’s likely the three of you won’t see him again.”

“All three of us can see the door from our desks. And I know you hate being interrupted. The three of us can field him for you.” Tim says, a last-ditch attempt at getting Jon to give them something, anything to work with him on. Jon frowns. 

“No. Peter is…” Jon seems to be considering his words a moment, “Not very sociable.”

Jon leaves it at that, as if it explains anything at all about what he’s just said. Tim bites back a sigh. 

After a pause, Jon turns to head back to his office. Martin and Sasha both sit up.

“He’s like Prentiss, isn’t he? Or Michael?” Sasha asks. “A monster?”

“Not… Quite like Prentiss. Or Michael.” Jon hums without turning around. His voice is dripping with something foul as he continues, “But you could definitely call him a monster.” 

“He’s dangerous?” Martin asks. Jon considers that one a moment, taking half a step back to glance back at the three of them. When he looks away to his door again, Tim thinks he might be smiling, though Tim has no idea why.  

“Shouldn’t be. Not for me. I’d prefer if you three stayed away from him, though.”

With that, Jon retreats into his office. The door closes, just like always, and Tim starts to wonder if the deep frown Jon keeps leaving him with is going to get stuck. Ominous.  

Both Sasha and Martin deflate once he’s gone. 

“Why does he have to use so many words and mean nothing with any of them?” Sasha mutters. 

”Why wouldn’t Peter be dangerous for Jon?” Martin asks.

“Because Jon is helping him.” Tim says. 

Martin and Sasha turn to look at Tim, which allows Tim front-row seats as they think that over. Sasha’s eyebrows pinch together, and it’s clear that she’s mulling over a puzzle. The stiff set of Martin’s expression tells Tim he’s lost in thoughts of his own. Tim’s sure their expressions match his, and he leans forward on his elbows to let himself think for a moment. 

There’s no doubt in his mind that Jon doesn’t trust them. He’s known it since… God, he’s known it since even before the Institute got wormed, but how long has this been a problem? It’s easy, now, to look back at all the lies Jon has fumbled around, all the statements he shares with no source, all the monsters he faces alone. Each of them another strike against Tim’s attempts to close that distance Jon has oh-so valiantly imposed upon them.

Tim is starting to wonder if maybe he should consider why Jon feels the need to hold them so far off. If it was due to concern about their skills or their dedication, they’ve proven they’re just as serious about this as Jon is. If it was to keep them safe from harm, they’ve long since found it anyway. Jon seemed shaken enough about facing his own death that Tim doesn’t think he’s in any rush to meet it, so it probably isn’t some martyr thing.

A sigh escapes him before he really notices, pushing him off his elbows and further into his chair. He’s exhausted all the options where he gives Jon benefit of the doubt, and he doesn’t know where he’s meant to go from there. 

Jon’s been a constant since Tim took a job at the Institute, sitting just a desk away back on Tim’s first day in research. It’d been a personal project of his to endear his prickly neighbor to him, if only because he thought Jon might be the only person in the building lonelier than Tim himself. 

To anyone else who saw them back then, Tim is sure it probably looked like Jon hated him, or that Tim was wasting his time. Jon certainly never gave off any indication he wanted anything to do with Tim, or that he even liked Tim’s company. It was more than likely Tim’s joking or banter would only result in curt replies, rolling eyes, or heavy sighs. Jon had been very fond of reminding Tim they had work to do, even before his promotion. 

But Tim knew better. At least, he liked to think so. Jon was more than happy to ignore or avoid people he wanted gone, but he always humored Tim, no matter how deeply inconvenienced he acted about it, and how much time Tim spent bothering him. 

Sure, they’d never been close the same way Tim and Sasha had been--Jon wasn’t joining them for lunches or meeting them after work, no matter how many invitations Tim sent his way--but Jon could have easily allowed himself to fade out of Tim’s life, if he’d wanted. Instead, Jon stuck around, hovering in Tim’s periphery. Never quite friends, but always nearby. That was fine, though. Tim just thought Jon didn’t do close. 

And then Jon asked Tim and Sasha to come with him to the Archives. And then Jon promised to be better, kinder, more open. And then Jon had said he trusted them.

And then Jon had lied. 

Maybe Tim had been right the first time. Maybe Jon didn’t do close. Jon hovered in Tim’s periphery. Always nearby, but never quite in reach. It never mattered how desperately Tim reached for him, because Jon refused to reach back. For the first time, Tim thinks he might understand the same buzzing need to know the what and the why that seems to eat at Sasha. 

Tim has said it before, at least to himself. Jon means a lot to him. For the first time, he considers that maybe Jon really doesn’t return the sentiment. Despite everything, maybe Jon doesn’t actually care about the rest of them in the way Tim thought he did. 

Even before today, Tim was angry. Maybe he’s just a bit too sensitive to the idea of people not being who he expects them to be, but hell, is it so much to want to know what Jon’s deal is? Is it so much to want to know what they are to Jon, if not people Jon can trust? Is it so much to want to know why they aren’t? Why what they’ve done hasn’t been enough? 

Tim bites back a sigh, unsure what emotion Sasha and Martin will hear in it if he lets it go, and looks down at his hands. 

Who is Jon to Tim?

His longest-standing friend, a man whose funeral Tim almost had to attend, and maybe a complete stranger. 

That ugly theory from before nibbles at the back of Tim’s mind, but he doesn’t want to think in any serious capacity that Jon was actually replaced. He’s known Jon longer than just about anyone else he’s in contact with these days, there’s no way he wouldn’t notice if Jon was… Not-Jon’d. 

But getting Not-Whatever’d isn’t the only way a person can be lost, is it? Their Archives are full of people who have… Changed. Prentiss, for one! Prentiss had been a normal human woman, by her own admission! For Christ’s sake, at one point she’d been enough of her own person to leave them a statement!  

Prentiss was far from the only one. Michael had admitted to having once been human, and Tim knows his own skin-stealing spectre had previously been Victorian London’s most famous clown. All three of the horrible things Tim had met had started out as people, and he could think of a dozen names from a dozen statements which might fit the bill.

Tim turns his head towards the sprawling shelves of unsorted statements, thinking of box after box arranged arbitrarily across the Archives. How many of the monsters locked within their walls had been born human? How many had lived human lives, gone to school and got jobs and went out with friends or clearly didn't know them at all? 

Would Jon be one of them?

“I’ll… Give me a second.” Tim mutters, standing. He pays no mind to Martin or Sasha as he leaves. He knows what they’ll think if he tells them. Martin will declare that seriously considering Jon might be a monster is definitely within the range of things that damage friendship. Sasha might understand, but she’s more likely to think Danny has him jumping to conclusions, or think he’s joking. He’s already cried Not-Jon too many times.

They’re both going to think he’s being paranoid, though. He knows he’s not being paranoid. He’s onto something, even if he doesn’t yet know what.

He heads over to the small section of statements they’ve successfully sorted. There’s only a few real ones, set together in a box of cassettes not unlike those sitting in his living room. He drops down to the ground with the box between his legs and begins to sift through it.

He usually remembers the case serial numbers, but he knows Jon gives all the real ones silly little names because Jon has trouble remembering them otherwise. He’s thankful for those labels now, no matter how melodramatic he thinks they are, because his heart and mind are rushing far too fast to remember what numbers go to what statements. A few statements stand out to him immediately, labeled The Boneturner’s Tale and Cheating Death in Jon’s best attempt at neat writing. 

Jared Hopworth found a Leitner and it changed him, gave him the ability to manipulate flesh and bone like clay. Nathaniel Thorp played a game with Death and won, making him a collector of souls and granting him immortality. Two concrete examples from their statements of human beings becoming something… Distinctly not.

With Prentiss, Michael, and Grimaldi, that brought Tim’s count up to five. Five proven examples of people who became… Became something else. Became monsters. He sets those tapes aside to his left, then digs through the box to add more tapes to his pile. Prentiss’s statement about her change, Martin’s statement about encountering her, their joint statement about Michael, his own statement. He throws in Amy Patel’s statement about Graham and the thing that replaced him. He mentally designates this pile to be confirmed used-to-be's, and dives back into the box for suspects. 

Mike Crew has come up in a few of their statements. He showed up most recently in a tape Tim notes is labeled Literary Heights--

Hold on, is that a pun? Jon must think he's hilarious, and Tim feels something like annoyed, begrudging fondness in him over the stupid title. Fondness for this piece of proof for the existence of the man Tim knows is--thinks is, hopes is, wants to be?--his friend.

Tim shakes his head to clear it. Mike Crew, Literary Heights. That's what Tim was thinking. 

So Mike Crew has shown up a few times. The man with the lightning scars, flirting with one Leitner after another. The Boneturner's Tale, then Ex Altiora. That book had ended with him throwing himself off a building, only to vanish before hitting the ground. Was Mike Crew a monster, or just unlucky?

Those weren't the only statements Mike Crew came up in. The third--or first, Tim supposes--had a much more prominent horror. The statement about Mary Keay, bound to another Leitner, yet able to walk around her book store with enough lucidity to talk to her guest. What did that make her?

The two of them starts a new pile, tapes of maybe-monsters on Tim's right. He knows he shouldn't just stick to Leitners, though, so he shuffles through the box, pulling out a few more tapes that might match either of his piles. 

Naomi Herne had talked of her late fiance, Evan Lukas. He lived and died just like any human. Had Peter Lukas once been human, too, like Evan was? Sasha and Martin still have Peter's tape, but it's fine. The fact that a human Lukas exists proves that Peter would probably go in the pile to the left, anyway. 

There was also "Antonio Blake" (though his name had, apparently, been fake), whose bad luck seemed to turn him into some kind of death prophet, foretelling an imprecise method and date of death for anyone he dreamed about. Did that indicate a loss in humanity? Possibly. He joins the pile to Tim's right, too. 

What about Sarah Baldwin, from Melanie’s statement? Was she a victim, or had she become something? Tim moves to set her tape down, too, but stops.

Melanie King was doing some follow-up of her own, wasn’t she? Looking into people like Sarah? People who changed? 

Sasha’d stayed in contact with Melanie after her statement. Tim has her number from when they passed Jon babysitting duty onto Georgie Barker, because Georgie had brought Melanie along to visit him once or twice. Tim feels a rush of adrenaline wash over him, the excitement of realization. Both Melanie and Georgie are absolutely invaluable to this new theory. Melanie is researching people who’ve changed, Georgie’s known Jon for years longer than Tim. Neither of them are Martin or Sasha. They can help him figure this out so he can present his findings to Martin and Sasha, and then they’ll know he isn’t just being paranoid.

Tim’s hand goes for his phone immediately, but he stops himself. He doesn’t have service in the depths of the Archives, and they’ll think it strange if he runs out now to get it somewhere else in the building. But he can’t call after work, since Martin lives with him…

Tim isn’t sure when he’ll be able to get into contact with Melanie and Georgie, but at least now he knows he needs to. 

Tim is still plenty worried about Jon. He’s hiding something terrible, something dangerous; a secret with claws and teeth. Though worrying about Jon is unavoidable to Tim by now, Tim is starting to wonder. 

Should he be afraid?

Who for?

When Rosie calls Sasha to the reception desk to retrieve a woman from the lobby, Sasha isn’t surprised. She takes the statement giver to Jon’s office not to pass her off to Jon, but to kick him out for her own recording.

Sasha raps her knuckles on the office door. 

“Jon? It’s me. We have someone here to give a statement, so I need your office.” Sasha calls. There’s no response. “...Jon?”

“He stepped out a little after you went up. I think he was headed towards document storage.” Tim calls. There's a bit of bite in his voice as he continues, “I’ll tell him you’re using his office, if he comes back. Doubt he’ll mind.”

Martin gives Tim a look, but Sasha smiles before he can decide whether or not he wants to comment. Though it's only been about a week, Jon’s been more scarce ever since Peter Lukas’s appearance. He's been vanishing, assumably to help with whatever secret task he’s been assigned. This is the first time Jon’s retreated somewhere other than his office, though. No wonder Tim seems tetchy.

Well, Sasha’s not bothering with that right now. Not in front of a statement giver.

“Thanks!” Sasha calls. She opens the door, holding it open for her guest. As she does, Sasha glances inside, her eye catching a tape already running. Did Jon leave that on? Was he recording something? Why would he run off without even shutting it down?

Sasha shakes her head to clear that line of questioning and returns her focus to the woman standing behind her. 

“After you, Miss Richardson.”

“Helen is fine.” Helen replies, and Sasha smiles. 

“Take a seat, then, Helen. We’ll start once you’re ready.”

The man with the long, blond hair and the too-wide smile came at the end of the viewings. Everything about him unnerved her. When she looked at him, standing as he was in the open front door, his body seemed to shift. At first she thought it was the simple movement of fabric that accompanies the act of breathing, but that didn’t seem right. There was no rise and fall, no gentle in and out. Just a change, directionless and everywhere and subtly off, in a way that nearly hurt to try and pin down. 

When she greeted him, he laughed. It sounded like it came from anywhere else in the house but from him. At the same time, the sound did not reverberate anywhere in the halls behind her, trapped as it was slamming around the inside of her head. It hurt just as much as looking at him did.

Helen showed him around the house anyway, in the hopes he’d leave once she finished the tour. He processed none of what she said, staring at her far more than he did any part of the building. 

He didn’t enter the bedroom on the top floor, instead hesitating on the landing. When she stepped out to see what held him up, he stood by a new door. 

“What’s behind this door?” He asked. He was smiling. Helen couldn’t do anything but stare. She’d walked by this spot countless times in the last few hours, and there had never been a door there. There couldn’t be a door there. It rested on an exterior wall on the second floor. If she opened it, it would drop her into the garden. It hadn’t existed a few minutes ago, and shouldn’t exist at all. 

The door was dark yellow with a matte black handle. It made her sick to look at it. She stepped towards it. 

“What’s inside?” He asked again. Helen swallowed, trying to decide what she was going to do. She already knew, though. She was going to reach for the handle. She was going to open it.

The handle radiated a warmth, but she never touched it to know exactly how hot it really was. As she reached for it, another voice stopped her. 

“You don’t want to open that.” Helen’s head snapped over at the sound of a deep voice. It belonged to a short man with long, dark hair. It was beginning to grey in random streaks, and he kept it in a messy bun. His face was covered in strange, circular scars, fresh and randomly bandaged. In one of his hands he held a white cane, and the other brushed against his pocket. Helen could see a tape recorder sticking out of it, though she had no idea what he needed to be recording any of this for. He didn’t actually look at her, but she still felt overwhelmingly like she was being watched.

The first strange man from Helen’s viewing must have known the new one, because his face changed. When the newcomer stepped forward, the man’s face rippled into a smile, almost predatory in its intensity. Helen took a step back, away from him and his door.

“Archivist." He said. The other man--The Archivist, apparently--seemed unfazed. 

“Michael.” The Archivist greeted in return, with pleasantry which sounded notably forced. The name didn’t really fit him, but nothing about him seemed to fit anywhere. He was just as discordant with the world as his door-which-shouldn’t-have-been.  

“I was wondering if you were going to show up. No assistants this time?” Michael asked, and the Archivist’s eyes widened. He covered it quickly enough, but she was sure Michael saw it as clearly as she did. 

“You were expecting me.” He said. For all his audible confusion, it wasn’t a question, and Michael only grinned wider. 

“Of course. And I’m glad to get a chance to talk one-on-one, Archivist. It’s always nice to catch up with an old friend.” Michael said.

“You remember, then.” Again, not a question, but the Archivist sounded less confused this time. 

“Oh, bits and pieces, and not in any order. Those sorts of things have always been difficult for me, you know. Certainly nothing with the, ah… Clarity you have. I have thousands of years of memory, you know. I hardly even noticed them until you and your assistants met me for coffee,” Michael replied. He waved one of his hands dismissively as he spoke, and it seemed to shimmer in the light rather than pass through the air. “But bringing him to you brought her to me just the same.” 

“Surely you remember enough to know I am not your friend.” The Archivist replied, his words acidic. 

“Are you sure? You lied with perfect honesty before, distorting the truth just as well as I can. I’d venture to call us kindred spirits.” Michael said. “Especially now that I’m the only creature out there which truly understands you.” 

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” The Archivist said. Michael rolled his eyes, and they seemed almost as if they were swiveling around his whole face rather than just his eye sockets. 

“Yet you trusted me enough to help you reach this point.” Michael said.

“If you’ll forgive me this cliche," The Archivist said, "I had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”

Helen flinched, then, as Michael laughed. 

“Is that so? How is Sasha, by the way? I did always like her.” Michael said, folding his arms. His hands didn’t seem to rest quite right on his arms--The proportions were off, though she had no idea whether it was due to his arms being too short or his hands too long.

“For all the good that did her.” The Archivist muttered, and it sounded pointed.

“My, my, Archivist. You sure know how to hold a grudge.” Michael said. 

“Pot, kettle.” The Archivist said, and Michael laughed again. It almost sounded genuine, as much as any sound that Michael could make would be. “And, well, my memory is rather good.”

“Don’t I know.” Michael said. He almost sounded comfortable, like joking with a friend over lunch, rather than whatever this was. “Is it lonely, I wonder? Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

“I don’t suppose you plan to offer your help in lightening that burden,” The Archivist said. Michael only smiled, and the Archivist sighed. “Fine. Figured as much. I doubt I would enjoy your definition of help, anyway.”

“Already feeling ungrateful, are we?” Michael asked. The Archivist ignored him. 

“There is something I don’t understand, though, and I was hoping you might enlighten me.”

“Surely you know that’s not in my nature.” Michael said, but the Archivist waved him off.

“She-- You liked the Change. Why help me try to unmake it?”

Though the question wasn’t directed at her, Helen felt sick hearing it. Her head buzzed, slightly, with the echo of the question. Michael clearly felt it, too, because his face shifted into a grimace.

“Do not try to compel me.” Michael snapped, and any semblance of camaraderie the two had was gone. 

“I know you’re not going to answer me otherwise.” The Archivist said. That hostility was clear in him, too--In the way his back straightened, or the way he stepped forward. It was like something in him, too, had changed. He seemed powerful, suddenly. “ What do you gain from helping me? What are you planning?”

The air itself felt heavier, buzzing audibly with the Archivist’s words, with whatever power they carried. The tape recorder in his pocket whirred loud enough Helen could hear it, and she stepped back away from the both of them until her back hit the wall. Whatever he was doing seemed to have its intended effect on Michael, whose mouth seemed to be both open and closed, whose tongue she could see struggling to form words despite the fact it was trapped behind his teeth. He shoved his hands over his mouth, and his eyes focused on the Archivist, and he glared. 

Like a curtain frenzied by a window open to a storm, Michael changed. So much of Michael was sharp and twisted. The ringlets of his hair spiraled off into daggers, though she couldn’t follow a single point back to his head. His body distorted, the formerly dull colors of his shirt painfully bright and no longer confined to his body, or to any color wheel designed by a human being. When he pulled his hands off his face, Helen could see his grimace bent down below his chin, stretching off his face at horrid angles. Helen’s eyes were pulled to Michael’s hands, however, only to see they were much, much larger than they had been moments before. His fingers stretched longer than his torso, and curled into points.

“I’m done talking.” Michael said, and he stepped forward. The Archivist faltered, his static receding as he seemed to realize what was about to happen. Even as he backed off, Michael did not walk. He shifted, rippled, twisted, distorted. He did not move so much as find that the distance between Michael and the Archivist bent out of existence. The Archivist cried out in pain as Michael removed two sharp, dripping fingers from his stomach--

“Sorry, hold on! Michael stabbed him?” Sasha asks. She has plenty more questions, but this is the first one she feels the need to cut Helen off for.

“What?” Helen asks.

“The Archivist. Michael stabbed him?” Sasha repeats. Helen nods.

“Yeah, right in the stomach.” Helen repeats, gesturing to her own stomach at about the spot where Jon had apparently been stabbed. “Michael said he would leave me alone and left immediately after. Went through his door and they both vanished. Like they’d never even been there.”

“What about the Archivist? What happened to him?” Sasha asks. 

“Well, he seemed to have saved my life, so I... Dropped him off at the hospital.” Helen says. “I didn’t know what else to do, and he was bleeding… That was almost weirder than anything else. He spoke to that thing like they knew each other and put on that huge... Display, but he still bled and asked to go to A&E.”

“And then?” Sasha asks.

“He told me not to wait for him, so after that, I just left. It’s been a few days, and I haven’t seen either of them since. I didn’t know who to tell about what happened, but it was just so strange… I thought I might tell your Institute.” Helen explains. Sasha nods. 

“Thank you, Helen. Really.” Sasha says. “This… Isn’t the first time the Institute has heard about either of them.”

“You know them?” Helen asks. 

“Unfortunately.” Sasha mutters. 

“Can you tell the Archivist ‘Thank you’ for me?” Helen asks. “I saw the other side of the door when Michael was leaving. It was... I’m really relieved I didn’t open it.”

“I’ll… I’ll pass it along next time I see him.” Sasha says. She reaches over, clicking off the tape recorder, and sighs. She considers the tape a moment before popping it out and pocketing it. “...Come on. Let me show you out.”

Sasha walks Helen up the stairs, making friendly conversation as they go. She’s a pleasant enough woman, and Sasha waves her off with a smile. It’s not the conversation that she’s glad for, though. No, Helen’s gifted her is a lead, and that’s valuable.

Sasha greets Rosie as she passes her before heading back over to the staircase, heading back down to the Archives. She just has one question: What’s her next move?

She knows she should tell Tim and Martin. This is a huge break for their investigation, and she knows they’ll both want to hear it. 

By the same token, though, she knows that as soon as she tells Martin, their investigation is over. This probably breaks Martin’s “no hiding threats against Jon’s life from Jon,” thing (even if, technically, this one isn’t actually hidden from Jon, and Jon’s the one who sought it out). 

Which, yes, okay, Jon got stabbed, and that obviously isn’t ideal. But this is bigger than a stab wound! This is bigger than Jon, or the Institute, or… God, Sasha doesn’t even know where this trail ends. 

But she does know that this investigation will end with Martin, if she tells him. 

And, honestly, it might end with Tim, too.

Sure, Tim tries to act like it isn’t true, but she swears he’s just as bad as Martin. If he gets it in his head that Jon is running off and facing monsters all on his own, he’ll… Actually, Sasha has no idea what he’ll do, either, up to his eyes in survivor’s guilt and desperate not to lose anyone else. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s off trying to fight monsters on his own, honestly, just like Jon. 

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. At least Tim doesn’t know where to find any. Her bracelet catches her eye as she drops her hand down, and she lifts her arm to spin it once around her wrist. 

It draws to her mind a birthday just a few short years ago. It had only been the three of them, then, back in research, in the first out-of-work function she and Tim had been able to convince Jon to join them on. She hadn’t known it at the time, but it was one of the first times Tim had convinced Jon to do literally anything outside of work with him, despite the fact they’d worked together in research for about two years before meeting her. The particulars of the night are lost to her now, but she does remember bits and pieces. 

Pulling the bracelet out of the bag while Tim beamed with pride, joking and laughing as she slipped it on and showed it off. Jon looking ready to throttle Tim, complaining when he thought Sasha was out of earshot that Tim hadn’t told him it was Sasha’s birthday, and Tim, I don’t have a gift! You didn’t tell me to bring a gift! while Tim just laughed at him. Spending the night talking shit about their work; Sasha telling stories about her more harrowing experiences in Artifact Storage before her transfer, Jon complaining about any other researcher who had the gall to talk to him, and Tim offering moral support to the both of them (though what he offered to Sasha happened to be significantly more sincere than what he offered Jon). 

Jon headed out early, but Sasha and Tim stayed late into the night. When they left, Tim had insisted on walking her at least as far as the Underground, and she’d accepted, if only to get to hear him laugh a few more minutes. Tim whispered conspiratorially about how, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Jon was worried he’d upset her by coming empty-handed. She whispered back that it seemed uncharacteristically friendly of him, and Tim, are you really trying to lie to me on my birthday?

They’d laughed at Jon’s expense and, when Tim walked directly into a pole along the sidewalk, they’d laughed at Tim’s expense as well. Half of her had thought he might have done it on purpose, just to make her smile, but he’d whined so much after doing it that she couldn’t ever be sure. 

They’d barely been friends for more than a few weeks, but suddenly, she’d known they would be friends for a long, long time. 

She’s still wearing the bracelet, even now. Every time she finds herself reaching for answers, the light of it catches her eye. That’s what she’s doing this investigation for, after all. 

So she can’t tell them about Michael, because this is bigger than a stab wound. Jon will recover from this, but if her friends interfere, her search will not. And if it doesn’t, she has no idea what might happen next. Jon got gutted and none of them even noticed he was hurt. What other injuries could he hide--Could he be hiding, now, at this moment?

So if they--If she doesn’t figure this out? She’s worried those secrets will bury him.

The only person she knows would understand her is Jon. She may not know his secret, but that drive to find it, and to protect it? That, she understands. 

Too bad he’s the one under investigation. 

Sasha sits down at her desk, sparing a glance for Tim as she does. He’s immersed in his own work, flicking a pen in his hand as he reads through something troubling. Martin is in much the same state, though he's instead hunched over a file. He smiles when Sasha meets his eyes, which she returns easily before turning to her desk to pretend to do her own work.

It's time to review, then. What information did Helen give her?

It’s only now Sasha notices that Jon never, ever asks them questions. The last time she can think of him doing so was with Tim, back when Jon had shared his own statement. With everything that happened before and after, she’d forgotten, but when Helen described how it felt to hear one of Jon’s questions… The static, the buzzing, the weight each word carried? She’d felt it all. It’s no wonder he never asks them anything, always rephrasing to avoid it. Compelling, Michael had called it? 

He’s had the ability to do this for months, apparently, and he’s just been sitting on it. Their weird friend has magic (???!!), apparently, possibly powerful magic at that. Because sure, honestly! Why not, at this point? 

She feels like this should worry her more, but she still trusts Jon. Sure, he’s absolutely lying to them, and she doesn't really trust the information he gives. However, she trusts that there are good intentions behind it. He's their friend, and she trusts that, at his core, he's trying to do good. That's clear enough in the fact that he's making a conscious effort not to compel any of them--And, she realizes, he's not compelling any statement givers, either, if that happens to be why Sasha’s taking all their live statements these days. 

She trusts Jon is still a good person, if a little… Off putting. 

Honestly, as far as compelling goes, she’s a little jealous, if anything. She scoffs to herself under her breath, unable to avoid thinking about how much easier this whole thing would be if she could just ask Jon what’s going on. But when has anything been that easy for them?

So, back to puzzling out their statement. Compelling isn’t the only thing she’s learned about. Both Jon and Michael alluded to a whole host of absolute nonsense. More things Jon should have no way of knowing, and yet knows anyway.

The fact Jon knew to go to help Helen at all, for starters, is just another drop in a well of knowledge Jon apparently has access to which Sasha is starting to feel may be bottomless. Where is he getting all of it? 

“You remember,” Jon had said, and Sasha really doesn’t know where to begin to unpack that. 

Apparently Michael and Jon had a history, despite the fact Michael himself had conceded to everything Jon had said about never meeting Michael prior to their joint encounter being true. 

Maybe he’d met Michael Shelley? Did Michael and Shelley count as different beings? Would that be the past encounter Michael needed to remember? That could almost be plausible, but, as with most theories about Jon, it failed to cover everything.  

There were those comments about a “change,” and “unmaking” it, and Jon trusting Michael’s help despite not trusting Michael. Sasha didn’t know what those referred to at all, except that she was certain they meant something very important. It was important enough Jon confronted a monster for answers on it, after all. There was something in that which even Jon didn't know. 

There was also the incredibly ominous comment about Sasha herself, alluding to… To what? They spoke like something had happened to her, despite the fact she’s clearly fine. If he said he had “nothing to lose and everything to gain,” what did that make her? Something gained? Something lost?

So… What? What does that even say about Jon? He’s clairvoyant? No, he spoke as if he’d personally experienced it, not just foretold it. Besides, they both said they remembered whatever happened, implying it was more tangible than a simple vision. 

Time travel? No, she’s pretty sure she would have noticed if Jon was suddenly replaced by an older version of himself or something. Besides, she’s known him for years, and this change is recent. Furthermore, she’s pretty sure time travel is- Well, okay, it’s not like she has any right to call anything “impossible” anymore, but surely there has to be a line.  

Did something happen to the rest of them which they forgot? She can’t immediately recall any glaring gaps in her memory. If that were the case, why would Jon and some monster she met maybe twice remember it and not her?

She’s already long since ruled out the body double theory (if only on principle, for Tim making it sound far-fetched), so it isn’t that. 

So, what? What do Jon and Michael know? Whatever this mystery is, she’s certain it links back to the Institute, and that big secret this place is hiding. Michael Shelley was once staffed here, so the Institute is all that links them. Perhaps he, too, learned whatever it is Jon is protecting, the secret this building may very well have been erected to guard. 

Her only lead is as it ever was: The tapes. 

They belonged to Gertrude, and Sasha has long-since concluded she knew what was up with this place. The fact her former assistant seems to be privy to it only supports this theory. Could the tapes contain their findings? Could they be the spring from which everything Jon has learned welled up? A step-by-step guide on receiving spooky knowledge and/or powers would probably be too convenient, but Sasha isn’t above hoping for something like it. 

She’ll just have to go through them and see what she can find. If the key to Jon’s bullshit is on those tapes, she will find it. 

...The tapes, though, pose another issue: She’s currently storing them in Tim and Martin’s living room, because of course she is. She’s pretty sure breaking-and-entering would definitely fall in Martin’s range of “too far,” but in her defense, he only specified not to pull that on Jon. Technically, Tim and Martin are fair game.

And really, is it actually stealing if the tapes don’t even belong to Tim and Martin? They're Gertrude's! Stealing something stolen isn't even really stealing. And she’ll only take two or three at a time, so they won’t even notice any tapes are gone. 

Sasha looks up, seeing Martin and Tim immersed in their work again. Tim taps his pen gently against the side of his own head, and Martin scribbles on a bright green sticky-note. Both of them notice her staring, Martin with a small wave, and Tim with a smile.

Sasha returns their greetings, the perfect mask of innocence, then turns to the work sitting in front of her. She’ll just... She'll buy them lunch or something.

Chapter Text

Martin and Sasha are out when Basira turns up at the Institute again, with only Tim there to receive her. He hasn't actually been in touch with her all that much since her initial investigation, so Tim isn’t surprised to see her arrive. She’s still got a murder to look into, after all. 

Tim waves, despite knowing there isn’t anything or anyone else for her to look at. 

“Hey, officer. What brings you down to the depths?” Tim asks, smiling easily. Basira does not return his smile, simply stopping in front of his desk. She seems uncomfortable, eyes drifting around the Archives around them. She never settles on one thing, but instead tries to take in as much as possible. It’s not unlike the way Jon or Sasha take in their world, but there’s an edge to the way Basira surveys the area which neither Jon nor Sasha have. “Didn’t happen to visit so you could make a statement, did you?”

“I still haven’t met your Head Archivist. I was hoping he’d been in today,” Basira says, and she finally looks down to Tim, “Don’t suppose he’d be behind the door with his name on it, do you?” 

“We could always go check.”

Jon is, in fact, not in his office. Tim isn’t really sure how he managed that, given Tim has been sitting at his own desk all day. Unless Jon timed an escape to one of the moments Tim stole away to the break room or document storage…? Is he using his spooky knowing stuff to escape the cops now?

Actually, that’s fair. 

“Hm,” is all Basira has to say about the empty office. She looks at Tim, who shrugs. 

“Guess he’s out right now,” Tim says, “Unless you want to check under his desk.”

Tim watches her eyes slide towards the floor, to where he knows there’s a gap under the desk. He doesn’t follow, because if Jon really is curled up under there, he does not want to know.

“When do you think he’ll be back?” She asks. Tim shrugs again. 

“He doesn’t usually stray from his office that long,” Tim says, “If it weren’t for us making sure he got home, he’d probably live in here.”

“The four of you are close, then?” Basira asks, and boy, what a loaded question that is right now. Even so, Tim realizes he might’ve misstepped. If she thinks he’s close with Jon, she might be less willing to help him.  

“Yeah, something like that,” Tim says, and he decides not to elaborate, “So, what? Are you going to wait until he returns? He isn’t usually gone long.” 

“I do need to talk to him,” She says, “And I don’t really feel like heading out just to come back later.”

“Mind if I ask you some questions in the meantime?” 

Basira’s eyebrow ticks up, but she shrugs. Tim gestures to the chair on the opposite end of the desk, deciding to take over Jon’s. He glances in the space underneath as he sticks his legs under, and he’s unsure if he’s surprised to find it empty when his knees hit the wood. 

“What, is this like one of your statements?” Basira asks. 

“Could be, I guess,” Tim says, “Do you have one to give?”

Somewhere to his left, lost in a stack of papers, Tim thinks he hears something click. Basira’s head goes towards the sound immediately.

“What was that?” she asks. Tim shrugs, leaning back in his chair. This chair kind of sucks, and when Tim leans his hand on the arm rest, he realizes the fraying fabric has been picked at to the point of complete obliteration on the right side. Jesus, what did Jon do to this thing?

“Sounded like a tape recorder,” Tim mutters, watching her lean over to push Jon’s papers aside. Oh, he’s not going to be happy about that. He’s very much an “organized mess,” sort of person (or, he pretends to be. Tim suspects he’s just a mess), and Basira’s definitely throwing off whatever organization he had. Maybe Jon should consider not hiding ominous tape recorders in his things if he doesn’t want people going through them.

Basira fishes the offending instrument from a stack of statements, frowning. 

“Some papers must have knocked onto the button when we sat down.” Tim offers, “But we usually record statements, anyway, so that works.”

“Assuming I’m giving a statement?” Basira asks. Tim shrugs again. Honestly, he hopes she will. He doesn’t know what she might have, but he’s sure there’s something. 

Someone has to deal with monsters out in the real world, right? Tim knows he’d considered calling the police after Danny’s disappearance, so people with less… Obviously closed cases must call, and those calls have to go to someone. Tim has a suspicion that this “someone” could very well be Basira. Their one and only officer on their case, and the one and only officer he saw after the attack. She even mentioned that no one at the station but her would care about this case--It’s the whole reason she gave Tim and Sasha her phone number, and likely the whole reason she’s back now.

So Tim leans his elbow on the desk and grins, setting his chin in his hand.

“Unless you have something better to do while we wait for Big Boss Sims to return,” he says, “Come on, it’ll be fun! I bet you’ve got some exciting stories from working in the force. You’ve got to share some front line spooky with me!”

“I really shouldn’t be talking about it on tape,” Basira says. 

“So you do have something to share! Now you have to tell me. You can’t just leave me hanging like that,” Tim insists, “I promise, no one outside of me and maybe the other assistants and Jon are gonna hear it, but we’ve been busy so I doubt it’ll go to anyone but me. I’ll file it under ‘internal use only,’ so no one outside of the Archives’ll know about it.”

“That’s the best you can offer?” Basira asks.

“You said yourself the police aren’t really interested in the Institute, if you’re worried about it getting to them.” Tim says, “So… Unless you’d like to sit around in silence while we wait for Jon to turn up…?”

“Alright. Fine. I’ll give you my statement,” Basira relents, and Tim grins again. 

“Great! Statement of Police Constable Basira Hussain, regarding…?”

Basira thinks for a moment. 

“Are you familiar with Section 31?” Tim shakes his head, “Right. Well, it’s not like a unit or a division within the police force or anything like that…”

The statement is interesting, sure, but not exactly what Tim is looking for. Diego Molina and his probably-Leitner aren’t used-to-be humans, as far as Tim can tell. Even so, it confirms his suspicions about who deals with monsters in the real world. This case wasn’t what he was looking for, but Basira may very well have others. 

So, he nods along, even as he tries to decide how best to steer the next statement towards what he wants to know.  

“...Official story was he’d somehow done it using a kettle, which… That- That’s just about the weakest cover-up I’ve ever heard.” Basira draws her statement to a close. She’s scowling with the memory, but she shakes it off. “Anyway, after that happened, and I’d explained my burnt fingers, they gave me my very first section 31.” 

“So do you get a lot of calls about this kind of stuff?” Tim asks, “Weird books and spooky monsters?”

Basira hums. 

“No one calls them ‘spooky,’” Basira explains, “No ‘supernatural,’ no ‘paranormal,’ and definitely not ‘spooky.’ ‘Weird,’ ‘odd,’ ‘strange,’ those are the words you look out for. If you hear someone say ‘I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at,’ then yeah, you’re not getting much back-up. They’re almost always false alarms. Bad drug trips, animal attacks, and folks with genuine mental health issues. Those are the ones that have the potential to sound weirdest during initial contact.”

“But…?” Tim asks.

“I’ve got more than just that one call, yeah,” Basira admits, “The next was... You could call him a monster, I guess. I don’t think he was human, at least… If he had been human, he definitely wasn’t anymore.”

And that has Tim’s full attention immediately.

“July 18th, 2014. I remember because it was the hottest day of the year, and the air con was out, so we were really suffering. It was me and Alice Tonner, who… Everyone calls her ‘Daisy,’ but I can never get her to tell me why. Anyway, Daisy was sectioned years before I was even on the force. She’s never been that forthcoming about any of her own experience; takes Section 31 very seriously. The most I could get out of her was that she was originally sectioned for something she referred to as ‘spider husks.’ The way she described it, it sounded like she’d found a bunch of shells, the sort crabs leave behind when they grow, but I could never figure out if it was meant to be the husks of people-sized spiders, or the spider-like husks of people. And Daisy never seemed like she wanted to clarify. I’m sure she mentioned vampires once as well, but… I think she was joking. Probably. Maybe. 

“Anyway, we were headed towards Kensington...”

Basira goes on to explain her encounter with the man with the gun who shot himself in the face, but still lived, moved, and cried, even after several bullets. Tim nods along, and even though he’s listening--how could he not?--his mind is elsewhere. She’s seen a monster of her own, a thing that very possibly had been a person once but wasn’t anymore. 

If Tim had to guess based on what she said, it sounds like the man could have been Nathaniel Thorp, or something like him. Something which played a game with Death and won--The “old-looking domino sets in glass cases” she mentioned lent themselves to this theory--but this creature regretted victory. A man who became a monster.

And then there’s the partner, Daisy.

“You said Daisy’s seen a lot more of these things?” Tim asks, “These monsters?”

“If you believe her about the vampires, maybe,” Basira nods, a bit of false humor bleeding into her voice, “It’s not like everyone goes to you guys about your monster stories. Some of them come to us. Daisy usually deals with those, though. Alone.”

Tim nods. He reaches over, trying to be casual about it as he clicks the tape recorder off.

“Can… Would I be able to talk to her, you think? It doesn’t have to be a statement, I’m…” Tim says, “It’s kind of a personal project I’ve been working on. Monsters that used to be people. I’ve been looking into it for, uh… A while. If she has anything she could tell me…?”

“I doubt she’ll want to. She’d pretty tight-lipped about the whole deal. We’ve been partners a long time, and she doesn’t really talk to me about it,” Basira says. She pauses, as if considering, before something passes over her face that he can’t place, “But I’ll mention it to her. She’ll probably be interested to hear what you have to say. If you’ve found anything on this investigation of yours.”

“Great. You have my number. Give it to her if she wants it,” Tim says, “Tell her to--”

“Tim?” The door opens, and Basira turns around to see Jon standing in the doorway, “Oh. I didn’t realize you were… Am I interrupting? It’s just, uh, this is... I need my office.”

“No, you’re not interrupting. Constable Hussain here was waiting to meet you, actually,” Tim says, gesturing across the desk. Jon’s eyes snap down immediately, just to the right of the woman across from Tim, and his eyes widen noticeably. 

“Jonathan Sims?” Basira asks. Jon just nods. He’s trying to force down whatever shock he feels from seeing her, straightening his stance a bit with that mask of dedicated academic he favors. Even so, Tim can see he’s got a tight grip on the folder he’s carrying, holding it close to his chest.

“Hello, then. I see you’ve met Tim,” Jon says, “And become acquainted with my office…?”

“She came looking for you and you weren’t in here, so we were waiting for you to come back,” Tim offers. Jon nods. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, then. I wasn’t able to talk to you when you stopped by the Institute before, due to the, uh. Worms,” Jon says, “But it’s nice to meet you, Basira.” 

Tim wonders idly if he should bother trying to recall whether or not he mentioned Basira’s first name to Jon.

“Right,” Basira says, and she turns back to Tim, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Jonathan alone.” 

“Oh. Jon is fine,” Jon says as Tim stands. 

“Chair’s all yours, Boss,” Tim says, giving him a two-finger salute. Jon nods back. 

Tim steps out of the office, letting the door swing closed behind him.

It’s really nothing to step out early for “follow-up” and pay Tim and Martin’s place a visit. She’s there in no time at all, even if she had to stop and help Rosie out on the way out (Rosie's been having some issue with her computer--something with authentication--but it was nothing Sasha couldn’t take a stab at and help sort out). 

Sasha is going to have to talk to Tim about home security. Really, keeping a key under his welcome mat is just asking to have his place broken into. He practically left the door open! And with Tim and Martin are both at work all day… Well, it’s really not hard to let herself in and poke around. 

“Right,” Sasha mutters, flicking the light switch on. She slips her jacket off, but her eyes are on the tapes in front of her, even as she kneels down to drop her shoes beside the door. “Let’s get to it, then.”

All of Gertrude’s tapes are labelled. The labels mostly don’t mean anything to her, though. “The Unknowing,” is scrawled on one, and “The Risen War,” is scribbled on another, “The Last Feast,” a third. Whatever those are, they don’t really relate in any clear way to Sasha’s current mission, so she keeps shifting past them, hands roaming over the tops of the various boxes. “Changelings,” “Interview with Mary Keay,” “Interview with Arthur Nolan,” more things Sasha doesn’t really care about (at least, not right now). 

With a sigh, Sasha pushes another tape aside. If only she could just know things the way Jon seems to. Wouldn’t that be nice, to just know where the tapes she wants are? Unfortunately, Gertrude has no tape labeled “What is up with Jon,” and Sasha isn’t even sure what the tape she needs might be labelled. She just hopes she’ll know it when she sees it. Thus far, she hasn’t. 

Wrapped in her own head and elbows-deep in a box, Sasha shoves a precariously-balanced tape over the edge. She snaps back to attention so she can catch it before it clatters to the ground, and in her hands she snatches up a tape labeled “Serapeum of Alexandria.”

Nothing about the label suggests that it has any more to do with what she’s looking for than any of the other vague, nonsense names, but something makes her slip it into her bag regardless. Call it a hunch, but she just knows this one has a clue. 

Satisfied, Sasha grabs two more tapes at random from the nearest box to stuff into her bag, heads over to the door, and pulls her shoes and jacket back on. She only barely remembers to stick the key back under the mat before she heads out.

The tape doesn’t have any concrete answers for Sasha. Most of it is the rambles of an old soldier on how he was injured in a battle, and thus not all-that relevant to the encounter he was meant to be detailing. Her hand hovers over the stop button more than once, but she can’t seem to bring herself to press it. It’s not until the last few minutes that she finds herself grateful for the hesitation.

Below the streets of Alexandria is a serapeum, and in it is a guardian. The ancient figure draped in what was left of a robe, bearing one lidless, piercing eye. Gertrude suggested it could have been an Archivist, its serapeum an Archive. 

Gertrude mulls over her need for follow-up into the tape, and Sasha takes that as her cue to begin a search of her own. For a few minutes, Sasha wonders what “follow-up” looks like for Gertrude--Are there files somewhere in the Archives with her research? Another room in the tunnels with more tapes?--Until a news article from 1998 catches her eye. 

Six months after Heller’s statement, an explosion rocked Pompey’s Pillar, destroying several buildings and killing 17 people.

And, okay, yeah, Sasha doesn’t know that Gertrude blew the place up. There’s nothing linking the explosion with anything related to Gertrude or the serapeum. 

But then there’s the way Gertrude had insisted on taking Heller’s statement off-the-record, and asked him not to share that he’d given one at all. Statements are what the Institute does! There’d be no reason to hide one, not unless you were planning to blow up the Institute’s spiritual successor.  

Because that’s what the serapeum was, wasn’t it? A piece of something bigger, the same something as the Institute, as the Archivist. Something Sasha knows now to be ancient, dangerous. Something which Gertrude stood in opposition of. Opposition is the mantle Jon’s taken up in her stead, a mantle which has already nearly killed him.

Or, no. Jon’s would-be killer wasn’t anything as abstract as a mantle, was it? She already knows it was Elias who attempted to kill Jon. Up until tonight, she had no motive. She still doesn’t, not really. Though she may not yet understand the battle, she at least knows where each side has drawn their lines. On one side of this fight is Jon and Gertrude, and on the other is Elias, the Institute, and anything that came before them. 

Sasha reaches into her bag, pulling out her phone. She may not have answers, but she does have an idea of what to do next. 

The phone only rings once before the call picks up.

“Basira Hussain speaking. ”

“Hey. It’s Sasha. From the Magnus Institute?” Sasha replies. 

“I know. I did put your contact information in, ” Basira says.

“Says the person who answered with ‘Basira Hussain speaking,’ like I wouldn’t have noticed that when I called you on purpose,” Sasha says, and Basira snorts. Sasha’s only spoken to Basira a few times since finding Gertrude, but they’ve gotten along well. At least, well enough to tease each other, just a little. 

“Fair enough, ” Basira says, “ What did you call for? ”

Sasha has also gotten to know Basira enough to be unsurprised by the push back onto track. Very goal-oriented, she is. Sasha can respect that. 

“I’m just… I’m worried about Elias,” Sasha says. Some vague discontentment tugs at the back of her neck, and she rubs it away with her free hand. “You think Jon might have killed Gertrude for the promotion, right? Wouldn’t that mean Elias is in danger?”

“What, do you think he’d kill for a second promotion? Even while he’s under investigation for Gertrude’s murder? That wouldn’t be too bold? ”

“I don’t think anyone who works at the Magnus Institute can be trusted to act rationally or with good decision-making skills,” Sasha says.

“Wouldn't this include you? ”

Sasha glances to the stolen tape on the table beside her, and thinks of the dozen job alerts sitting unopened in her email’s trash. 

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Sasha admits, which earns her another small laugh from Basira. The warmth at the sound only barely covers the rising itch at the top of her spine. “But I do think it’s worth keeping an eye on Elias, if you can.”

“It’s just me in this case, you know, and this isn’t the only case I have. I don’t think I can watch out for him, ” Basira says, “ Not unless you can prove anything. ”

“I’m just worried,” Sasha insists. Basira pauses, then, the turning of gears audible even from the other end of the phone.

“Because he might be a victim, ” Basira asks, “ Or a suspect? ”

Sasha hesitates. The air only hangs empty for a second before that prickling feeling at the base of her neck begins to burn. She glances towards the window, but her curtains are shut. She thinks of Jon’s bookshelf, with the eyes scratched out of every cover and book jacket, and wonders for one paranoid moment if she should do the same. 

“Right, ” Basira says, taking her silence as an answer. 

“I don’t have anything concrete,” Sasha says, and she’s surprised to realize how quiet her voice is, “But I… Watch out for him. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” 

 “Got it, ” Basira says, “ I’ll see what I can do. I can probably make up some reason to pay him a visit or two. ”

“Be careful, if you do,” Sasha says.

“Thanks. You, too, ” Basira says, "Oh, and tell Ti--"

Sasha cringes as she hears Basira's voice cut out, her clearly-overeager finger over the ghost of the End Call button. Oops. 

Whatever it is Basira wanted to say, she doesn't seem to find it important enough to call back, so Sasha lets it go.