Chapter Text
Jonathan Sims sits on a train, idly chewing on his fingernails as he looks out the window. In his possession are three items: a bag of supernatural trinkets, all packed very carefully to avoid any unfortunate activations, a bag of spare clothes, and an old flip phone containing the spirit of the late Gerard Keay.
The clothes would be dropped off at the nearest Bed and Breakfast, as well as a few of the artefacts. He’d mostly brought them as bribes, so it wasn’t like he was planning on using all of them, anyway. Some of these belonged to Artefact Storage. Sonja would kill him if he gave them away without following the proper procedures, and he was already on thin ice with her entire team. Apparently, they didn’t like it when someone used their artefacts to try and bring back the dead. Who knew?
The phone, of course, was Gerry’s old burner phone while he was alive, which Jon had found on his trip to America and used to hide his page from the hunters. The details of that weren’t really important. What was important is that Gerry’s new position as a haunted cellphone had led to him sticking around long enough to help with the Unknowing which meant, now that the day was saved and everyone’s injuries had healed, it was time to focus on the important things: getting Gerry a new physical form. Either Jon would find someone to make him a new body—or find a way to do it himself—or he’d find a spell to reattach Gerry’s soul to his body and fly back to America and dig up what was left of him. According to Gerry, bodies take a fair amount of time to decompose, especially if they’d been treated with chemicals, which meant it was “overall, probably fine.”
Martin hadn’t liked the idea of the two of them going alone, but Gerry insisted that if they did run into trouble, Mike Crew, who Tim had dug up a few weeks before the Unknowing (Thank you Tim. Sorry Tim), was only a phone call away. Jon wasn’t exactly sure what Gerry and Mike’s relationship was, other than that they found each other looking for Leitners, but after spending some time with the two of them, Jon thinks he’s content to let sleeping dogs lie.
Mike, of course, thought they were on a fool’s errand. The world had never given him anything without taking something away first, and while Jon might not understand what that meant, at the very least, he knew Gerry did. If they truly managed to find a way to bring him back, it would require sacrifice. Mike didn’t think either of them had the heart for that.
Still, though, he wished them all the best.
By this point, Jon had already tried a few methods of reanimation with what he’d found at the Institute, but so far, there’d been no success. Even if he desperately wanted to blame the artefacts he’d found as simply being not powerful enough, he knew that pinball machine worked. It just didn’t work in a way that helped them. Mike was right. There were very few cases of an actual return to life, and none of them were any more comfortable than the book Jon had rescued Gerry from. It was incredibly likely that the only thing Jon was sure to find on his quest was the absolute frustration of being surrounded by his mounting failures. But even with all the odds stacked against them, Jon still wanted to try.
Also, Daisy was still in the Archives, which kind of made it hard to want to go back. Especially if he wanted them to find any useful information on how to quit, or at the very least, get rid of Elias permanently which was probably something they should be looking into. Melanie could only be so productive while also being prepared to tackle Daisy if she got too close to Jon’s office door.
Also, if Jon’s being honest with himself, spending all his time talking on the phone with Gerry had made him feel incredibly touch-starved. It’d been a month since the Unknowing. Jon’s broken leg had mended itself in record time and he was tired of sitting around at a job that hated him. If all it took to get a hug from his former supernatural celebrity crush/new ghost friend was blood magic, he would do it in a heartbeat.
“Melanie’s looking for Gertrude’s tapes,” Gerry says, voice tinny and warped through his phone speaker. “They’re in Elias’ office, yeah?”
“Unless she wants to break into the police station,” Jon replies. “They took quite a bit of them as evidence. Basira would know more, of course.”
“Of course,” Gerry says, voice short. Jon bites his lip. He knows Gerry’s not fond of either of the ex-cops working in the Archives. It wasn’t surprising, considering they buried—well, Buried, really—his friend, but, well… so had Jon. He knows the difference between his inaction and Basira’s, but that doesn’t save him from the guilt.
“Tim might know more about breaking in, though,” Jon offers. “He’s gotten quite good about getting information from them they’d rather keep quiet.”
Gerry laughs. The static in the sound breaks Jon’s heart. One day, he’s going to find a way to hear his voice unfiltered.
“Clever man,” Gerry says. “Figured out your plan for that Frankenstein guy yet? Anything you need to do to prepare in case he tries to snatch your bones?”
“No one wants my bones,” Jon snorts. He pauses for a moment to crack his fingers, then clip’s Gerry’s phone onto his shirt. It’s not the most normal sight in the world, Jon knows, but it’s easier for him to talk hands-free, and he’s been working on caring less about the opinions of strangers. As long as the phone was at least slightly open, Gerry voice always came out clear, and placing him so close made him feel almost present. If Jon closed his eyes, he might even pretend that Gerry was resting on the seat beside him. Maybe that was pathetic, but Jon wasn’t taking criticisms on his daydreams.
“That’s something we have in common.” Gerry laughs. “You think if I ask nicely, they’ll give me a body that doesn’t dislocate?”
“Depends on who’s offer we end up taking,” Jon replies. “I don’t know how much Angela cares about comfort.”
“Probably not,” Gerry agrees. “She bought a book from my mum, once. Seemed much more interested in tearing bodies than putting them back together. Probably best you’re not looking for her.”
“I don’t think we’re that desperate yet,” Jon says.
The plan was simple: going through statements had given Jon a few leads on various supernatural artefacts meant to regrow flesh. Hopefully, that’d give them enough to go on that they wouldn’t have to resort to bribing avatars. But if that’s what they had to do, Jon was prepared for that as well. Whatever the case may be, Jon had vowed to do everything in his power to get Gerry a body.
All he needed now was to figure out where to find one.
The first shop looks fairly normal, which feels like a bad sign. Allegedly, a teenage girl named Caity had found some off-brand magical grow toy here, the kind that expands in water. This one had promised to grow her a boyfriend that would look exactly like the man of her dreams. Unfortunately, it hadn’t really grown a personality with it—well, not a good one, at least. Gerry thought with a bit of finagling, the two could manage to grow something that might resemble his former self. Not a perfect solution, but an acceptable one, provided they actually found it first.
“Do you have any, uh,” Jon asks the cashier, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Toys that expand in water? Preferably ones that… look like men.”
The cashier raises an eyebrow, unamused.
“It’s a gift,” Jon lies, unconvincingly. “A friend bought one around here and I thought it’d be humorous if one was gifted to them. As a joke. I believe the brand was Magic Grow Soulmates?”
Gerry’s phone buzzes. On the screen is a text that reads, “You’re really bad at this, aren’t you?” Jon rolls his eyes. Immediately, another text pops up. “Tell him a girlfriend’s fine, too. I’m pretty fluid about these things.”
“I’m accepting women as well,” Jon adds. The cashier stares at him. “Of the—of the toys I mean.”
“We don’t really sell those outside of Valentine’s Day,” The cashier says. “But I mean… we might have one in clearance?”
“Thank you for your help,” Jon says, because he can only imagine the kind of day he is making this cashier have now, then heads towards clearance as fast as his cane will take him, then quickly slows his pace. It's a good day for him, but his leg’s still weak from the break, and he’s still got a long day ahead of him. He couldn’t overdo it just yet.
G-d, recovery was so annoying. Outrageous how not using a limb for an entire month could lead to more issues. Fucked up that things couldn’t heal instantly.
Gerry’s phone buzzes again. Jon refuses to answer it. He knows Gerry’s just laughing at him, and refuses to be made a fool out of by someone who hadn’t spoken to a retail worker in a good few years.
It wouldn’t be so annoying if Gerry was with him physically. Jon would have made a poor researcher if he had a problem talking to strangers, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel nice to have back-up when approaching someone to ask if they had some kind of magic child’s toy. Surely, a lifetime of searching for magic artefacts had given Gerry a better script to work with than this. Or, at the very least, was cute enough to make Jon feel better about it. Gerry was charming, and probably had some cute little quirk to his smile that Jon would fall absolutely in love with. Or, Jon would hear him laugh, and every moment of awkwardness would have been worth it, because it had allowed him to hear a sound that made his heart soar. Unfortunately, being teased by a phone didn’t always have the same effect.
It’s times like this that Jon can’t help but imagine how Gerry might be, fully present in the moment. He’d offer Jon a smile to bring up the mood, and nudge him gently in a gesture of camaraderie. He’d link their arms together and drag Jon towards the clearance with the excitement of someone about to examine every terrible nicknack in sight. He’d run his hands through his long hair, turn to Jon, and—
Sometimes, Jon wishes his frustration was sexual. That, at least, had an easy solution, even if it was temporary. Jon would love for even just a moment’s peace from his overwhelming desire to have ghost braid his hair. No one understood just how much he was suffering.
He wishes he could complain to Tim about it. Mainly because Tim would find it hilarious, and Jon is a good enough friend to know he deserves something to laugh about after the year they’ve all had, but, unfortunately, Gerry is currently Jon’s only phone, since he threw his last one into the Thames in a fit of paranoia during the whole “being wanted for murder” thing.
Phones had GPS. He was just making sure he couldn’t be tracked, which was a perfectly logical decision and he refused to have anyone tell him otherwise. If they wanted him to go to a therapist, they could schedule the appointment themself.
In any case, the artefact they’re looking for doesn’t seem to be in the store. The clearance aisle consists mainly of chipped cups, a few journals with covers so ugly Jon hopes to never encounter in the wild, and a charm bracelet with a bat on it that makes Gerry buzz energetically when Jon picks it up.
“We don’t need it,” Jon says, knowing full well he's going to buy it anyway. A loud note rings out as Gerry’s ringtone begins to play. Jon presses the call button before they can get too many weird looks. Jon promises he’s not a weirdo who sets his ringtone as heavy metal, but unfortunately, he is in love with one.
“You’re disturbing the peace,” Jon hisses into the phone.
“For a very important cause!” Gerry insists. Jon lets out a loud sigh.
“Well,” he concedes. “I suppose we might as well have something to show for our efforts.”
Jon picks up another cup and frowns at the bathbomb behind it. Closer, but not quite.
“I think you’d be able to sense something if it was here,” Gerry notes. “The supernatural has a way of making itself known.”
Jon frowns harder, concentrating on the wall of baubles in front of him, then sighs.
“It just looks like a shelf to me,” he admits. “You?”
“Bit hard for me to sense anything like this,” Gerry says. “I was never that powerful while I was alive. And things feel a bit… muddled now.”
“Not powerful?” Jon repeats. “But you always seemed so sure of yourself.”
“And that’s why I never got too powerful,” Gerry replies. “It’s not that I didn’t want it, but I wanted my descent to be slow. Or at the very least, intentional. Anyway, things are different now. It’s not a matter of strength, really, it’s just I don’t know how to direct what I’ve got to help you now that I’m like this.”
“But…” Jon frowns. “Before… all this. You could know things. You could spot marks.”
“Nothing that much more than the rest of my family, honestly,” Gerry replies. “I guess I was a bit stronger then Mum, but that’s only because she never really fostered it. She knew enough to draw Leitners to her, and to feel when something was important, but if the Eye told her anything else, I don’t think she listened. Perks of being a Von Closen, I suppose.”
“But you don’t feel that now?”
“It feels… farther away.” There’s a thoughtful pause in Gerry’s typing. “We’ve always been good at finding connections. Grandma had the threads she sewed together, Mum had the lines she cast out, and I—”
“And you had collagen in your bones?” Jon guesses.
“Well, I certainly hope I did,” Gerry replies. “But what I’m saying is, it’s a bit like breadcrumbs on a trail. Only now, I look in front of me and see that birds have eaten everything that tells me where to go. It’s not impossible to get back on the right path, but it is harder. At least until I figure out the habits of the crows.”
Jon nods slowly, absorbing the metaphor.
“Sorry,” Gerry says, a bit bashfully. “Bet you expected me to be more useful than this.”
“The only thing I expected from you is good company,” Jon reassures him. “I’ve definitely felt the… the pull you’ve mentioned. Sometimes, certain statements will stick out as more important, or more real, but really, the only thing I’ve been able to get a sense of is if someone has a story. Looking for potential danger doesn’t really seem my specialty.”
“Maybe we should have asked Sonja to come along,” Gerry muses. Jon laughs. They both know she’d never agree to it. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about finding new artefacts. It was just that she cared too much about her job to spend time coaching an amateur through her process. Also, to be honest, she just didn't like Jon.
“It’s alright,” Jon says. “I suppose we’ll just have to fumble through this together, then.”
He gives the clearance aisle one last glance and frowns, then walks up to the front to pay for the bat. Once he does, Jon does his best to try and attach it to Gerry like a charm. It doesn’t work as well as he’d hope, but Gerry seems to appreciate it all the same.
“The actual store the…” Jon says as they exit the shop. “The Magic Grow Soulmate artefact is from is actually up for debate. Judging by the description given in the statement, and in the follow-up, it was definitely in this shopping district, but we couldn’t pin down an exact location. Which means we’ll need to go to a few more locations to confirm it’s not here.”
“So this is a date, then,” Gerry says, amused.
“What?” Jon does not shriek or drop the phone in his hand. He gets really, really close though.
“I mean, we’re going out, just the two of us, and you’re buying me gifts, keeping me close…”
“I have to keep you close!” Jon insists. “You’re—you’re a phone! You can’t walk!”
“Don’t see you arguing,” Gerry says. “It’s alright, if you wanted to get me alone, you just had to ask.”
Jon drops his cane.
“Woah, are you alright?” Gerry asks as Jon scrambles to pick it back up. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought it’d upset you, I just thought—”
“The dates I’ve been on,” Jon says awkwardly. “Usually involves a bit more hand-holding and infodumping. So you’ll—you’ll have to forgive me for not noticing right away.”
“That’s alright,” Gerry says, pleased. “Do you want to hear about the history of baseball trading cards?”
“Wh—when did you learn about baseball cards?” Jon asks as he steps into another store.
“Found a cursed one when I was… sixteen, I think? The face of the player kept changing, but it didn’t really do much. Weird as hell, though. If you looked at it for long enough, it’d erase your name for about an hour. Useful if you needed a fake ID. Wonder if it’s still in my room somewhere.”
“Tomorrow, we might be closer to Morden,” Jon offers. “If you want to stop by—”
“No.” There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “I mean, if you want to stop by, by all means. Someone should do something with the books still in there. You can steal a shirt while you’re at it, if you want. But—I don’t know. Doesn’t feel worth it.”
Jon nods slowly. The shop he’s entered doesn’t seem to have much in terms of novelty items. It doesn’t really feel haunted, either. Maybe he should—
A cashier makes eye contact with him. Jon turns around and exits the store.
“Tell me about it?” Jon asks. “I can’t imagine anyone realizing that a baseball card of all things was supernatural.”
Gerry laughs.
“Yeah, definitely took a while, let me tell you that,” he says. “But after you’ve seen enough Leitners, you get a sense of what to look for. And it gets a sense of you.”
“So you think that baseball card might’ve willingly put itself in your way?” Jon asks.
“I wish it did,” Gerry grumbles. “Then maybe I would have actually found the rest of the set.”
By the time Jon stops for lunch, his feet hurt, and he has absolutely no idea where to go next.
“I’m starting to get the sense that this place isn’t very haunted,” Jon informs Gerry, eating his kebab as miserably as one can when they’re having something that’s actually very good. He’s glad he took their takeaway menu, because Jon will definitely be ordering from there again.
“Bound to happen one day,” Gerry says. Jon scowls.
“It’s not as though this is our only hope,” he says, more to himself than Gerry. “Even if this place is horribly normal, there are others.”
“And thank heavens for that.”
“How is everyone else, by the way?” Jon asks. “Any conversation in the group chat?”
“How do you always manage to make that word sound so weird? Never mind,” Gerry says. “Nothing about actual work. Melanie said she thinks it’s funny that she has to go through me to talk to you now. Says it’s like I’m your receptionist now. Made a bunch of jokes about it, till we got distracted talking about skirts. Think she might take me shopping if I get back.”
“Well, as my receptionist, it sounds like you’re overdue for a paycheque,” Jon says, amused. “I’ll make sure to have it ready for you once we get back to the office.”
“Good of you,” Gerry says. “Wouldn’t want to get the union involved.”
Jon snorts and takes another bite of his kebab.
“You told me to take the woman’s version of it,” he notes.
“Oh,” Gerry says, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I mean, haven’t been a girlfriend before. Thought I might give it a go.”
“It’s not an accusation,” Jon reassures him. “It just occurred to me that we hadn’t really talked about what you would look like after. If I had the opportunity to remake my body, I’m sure there’s things I’d want to change. Though, admittedly, if we’re talking gender, I’d rather it be how others reacted to me than my body itself.”
“I get that,” Gerry says. “I don’t really mind the stares, but I can’t fault anyone who does. I…”
There’s a pause. For a second, Jon’s worried he’s pushed too much. He knows Gerry’s nonbinary, just as Gerry knows he is as well, but this isn’t some light hearted complaining about dysphoria amongst friends. It’s a conversation about a wish that might never get granted. Jon knows how unlikely it is they’ll succeed. Asking Gerry to imagine a body he could love knowing their odds was just plain cruel.
“Think I’d like a softer chin,” Gerry admits eventually. “Be nice if I didn’t have to worry about stubble so much. It took too much out of me to shave every day, but I never felt much like myself with a beard. Hips might be nice. I don’t know. I don’t think I’d trust asking for too much. Feels like I’m promising too much of myself to them, you know? I can handle not having tits if it means not giving dark forces permission to enter my body.”
“Are you—are you worried about something haunting your breasts?” Jon asks before he can stop himself. Gerry bursts out laughing.
“Well, that’s an issue, too,” he jokes. “I don’t want to grow boobs if there’s going to be ghosts in them. There’s no Ghostbusters for that.”
“I thought you knew about Ghost Hunt UK?” Jon replies. Gerry laughs.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, I’ve thought about it. As much as I can think about things like that. It’s hard to think of the positives while I’m like this. In the book… It felt like I was constantly living my worst day. It sort of traps you, you know? In the moment. I mean, I literally didn’t exist when I wasn’t being summoned, so it’s not like I had that much free time in the first place, but I could feel like… I don’t know. An echo of it, I guess. My death. Felt like no matter where they took me, I could still smell the hospital. Kind of made it hard to think about what I actually want. Easier to think about what I'd give away. Mainly, I’ve just been wondering about my scars.”
“You’d get rid of them?”
“Probably not.” Gerry lets out a frustrated sigh. “After a while, these things become a part of you. Especially when it’s from the fears. Might not come back with that scar I got trying to impress a boy in some skatepark as a kid, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do to bring me back without my burns.”
Jon winces and looks down at his own burnt hand.
“That’s the one thing I’d change, honestly,” he admits. “I don’t—sometimes, when I look at myself, I remember how little control I’ve had over my appearance. Not just my scars, but the situation around it. I don’t like short hair, but after dealing with the Corruption, I couldn’t stand having another part of myself I had to clean. I wouldn’t say I hate my scars, but I definitely resent them.”
Gerry barks a laugh.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s a good way to put it. Sometimes, I got really angry at my body for leaving me helpless in a house with her.”
Jon nods slowly, raising a hand to his neck and grazing the area with a few fingers. It’s like he said, it’s not hatred. At this point, it’s barely even shame. But some things, Jon thinks, he’d change in a heartbeat.
“The, uh, thing is though,” Gerry adds awkwardly. “Some of the worst of it—I mean, it didn’t have to scar like it did. It wouldn’t have, if I cared for it right. Some doctor told me that, too. Second degree usually doesn’t last, even when it’s as bad as I had it. Some of it was probably always going to scar—sensitive skin, you know? But her telling me that… didn’t exactly help. All I heard was this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me and that I’d have no way of proving it. I think I resented them for that. Not the doctors. The scars. And then she came to get me and… Dunno. I’ve always worried what she does when I’m asleep. And if I couldn’t sleep through the pain…”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Jon says softly. “I’ve heard a lot of bad days. I don’t want yours if it’s too much to bear.”
“I don’t know if it’s too much,” Gerry says. “For me, at least. Might just be the fact that I’m dead, though. Emotions still feel pretty far away. Am I bumming you out? Sorry.”
“You’re fine,” Jon insists. “I… whatever you’re comfortable saying, I want to hear.”
“Never really told anyone how scared I was,” Gerry says, more to himself than Jon. “Guess that’s not anything new, though. I just mean, I never talked to anyone about it. Feels weird. But I’ve lived with the marks of what I’ve done long enough to miss them if they go. Doesn’t make it any easier to look at my arms and remember how much of the pain was from my own decisions. Doesn’t make it any easier to remember how I used to bleed. Didn’t keep me conscious as long as I’d hoped, either, now that I think about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Jon says, because he doesn’t know what other words for this kind of situation.
“Nothing you could have saved me from,” Gerry says, in a tone that conveys as much a shrug as one can through voice alone.
“I would have tried,” Jon says. “If I’d known you then, I mean. I’d—I’d find a way. I’d bring you lotion. Make some food, so you wouldn’t have to struggle with it yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have let you in,” Gerry says. “Not if she was still around.”
“Then I’d keep track of her schedule,” Jon insists. “Wait for her to fade. We’d make some kind of signal, and you’d let me know when it was safe to come inside. I’d—I’d find a way. If it was you, I’d find a way.”
There’s a moment where neither of them speak, and Jon curses himself for having the most obvious crush anyone’s ever had in the history of London.
“You’re really determined to save me, aren’t you?” Gerry says, amused. “Guess I can’t stop you, then.”
“Good,” Jon replies stubbornly. He points his kebab towards the phone. “Because like it or not, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
They end the day looking for a Mr. Potatohead toy that changes your body when you adjust the features. Jon feels very bad for every retail employee who brought him to what should have been the exact thing he was looking for only to have him go, “Oh, no, not that one.” It was extremely difficult to try and explain why this was the wrong toy without saying “Well, it’s not haunted enough.” Unfortunately, Jon doesn’t think anyone here’s being paid enough to put up with that. Including him.
“I think I’ve lied more today than I have in the past three years,” Jon moans as he makes his way back to his hotel room.
“Didn’t you say you broke into Gertrude’s flat, once?” Gerry asks.
“Yes, but I didn’t lie about it,” Jon grumbles. Gerry laughs. Jon gently sets the phone on the bedside table and then flops down on the bed.
“It’s only been a day,” Gerry reassures him. “Give it some time. I’m sure you’ll get one of them.”
“I’m usually so good at wandering into trouble,” Jon says. “Perhaps I’ve lost my touch.”
“Might be,” Gerry agrees. “Only way I can understand how you actually managed to avoid getting hurt while your leg was broken.”
Jon groans into his pillow.
“Could have just been Peter, though,” Gerry muses. “Elias might’ve asked him to look out for you. Probably should wear off by tomorrow or so.”
Jon lifts up his head and frowns.
“Elias wants me safe?” he asks.
“He killed Gertrude with a gun,” Gerry says. “If he wanted you dead, it probably would have happened by now.”
“Ah,” Jon says. “How reassuring.”
“No use worrying about it now,” Gerry says. “Just appreciate that that’s one less murderous asshole after your blood.”
“I thought the vampires were the only ones after my blood.”
“Get some rest, Jon.”
Three hours later, Jon wakes up to what sounded like someone trying to recreate a horror soundtrack with natural sounds. He sighs, turns on a light, and then heads to the bathroom, where the Dark chalice he had so lovingly stolen from Artefact Storage was filling the bathtub with a black slime. Jon looks at it, unamused, and turns on the bathroom light, and watches it disintegrate before his eyes. He closes the door, making sure to leave the light on.
“Wake me if something tries to kill me,” Jon tells Gerry. He yawns. “I’m going back to bed.”