Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Elias flexed his hand before wrapping it around the handle to a cup of steaming coffee. He noted the red string that dangled from his pinky finger. It lay strewn across his desk and the floor, disappearing under the crack of his office door. 

He could always see this red string - the red string of fate, some people liked to call it. They believed the other end was attached to one of your soulmate's fingers. Elias scoffed at the thought, his nose twitching minutely in disgust. He had better things to do - better things to worry about than some fate bound string that simply would not disappear. Elias has been around for a long, long time. The string wasn't always there, no, but some thirty years ago it showed up, and Elias simply brushed it off. He could see other people's strings if he so wished, and he did abuse the power once or twice for his own personal gain, but he never really cared for who or what was on the other end of his string. He's been spending copious amounts of years to create the Magnus Institute in its glory - and yet he still hasn't perfected it. His last Archivist was… inadequate. An ill fit for the job. Horribly unorganized. 

Elias remained utterly indifferent towards the string until one day a stammering researcher with nicely colored green eyes bumps into him. 

"S-Sorry, Mr. Bouchard - sir!" The researcher apologizes quickly, his arms fumbling around some loose sheets of paper that tried to escape his grasp. 

Elias' eyes fall to the researcher's left hand and he feels his heart sputter with a new found curiosity and excitement. "That's quite alright." Elias looked at the shorter man. He had a small touch of gray in his hair, which was a bit messy and fluffed up in impossible ways as his eyes stared up at Elias. " Jonathan ." Elias felt his lips curl up slightly as Jon shuffled the papers into a neat stack.

"O-Okay - well, I best - best be getting back to work then," Jon said, his head dipping in a curt nod before he shuffled past Elias.

Elias turned to watch him slip through the door. His eyes trained on the red string that slipped through the crack, lengthening as Jon got further away.

---

Elias kept a close eye on Jon then. He Watched over him closely and after a couple months of careful consideration and the… disposal of his last Archivist, he had a plan brewing.

Elias was bending over some paperwork when he felt the temperature of the room drop considerably. "Peter," He sighed boredly. Just what he needed, another annoying visit from his ex-husband who was just at the institute last week. 

"Hi there Elias," Peter Lukas smiled from in front of Elias' desk. 

Elias frowned and looked up at the pale man. "Why are you here, Peter?" 

"Oh you know," Peter said as he traced a finger across the stitching of one of the chairs that sat in front of Elias' desk. "This and that." 

Elias' frown grew deeper with annoyance. "Peter." Peter just shrugged and Elias brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he mumbled, "If you're going to pester me, can you at least do it quietly? I'm trying to run an institute here." 

"Oh, I see. Did you kill off more of your staff again?" Peter asked as if he already knew the answer

Elias dropped his hand with a sharp glare as he spat, "I had to. There was no other way." 

Peter held up his hands defensively, "Alright, if you say so Elias." 

Elias felt his nose twitch up with a snarl. "I do . Besides," Elias hissed. "If anything were to happen to me, I need the Institute to be in top shape for when you take over, and it certainly isn't with the current status of things." 

Peter hummed boredly, but he did hold a mild interest as he asked, "So what are you going to do?" 

"I'm appointing Jonathan Sims as head Archivist, along with some of his fellow researchers as assistants. I'm thinking of hiring this other young gentleman I met the other day," Elias explained as his hands settled on his desk. 

Peter squinted at Elias for a moment as he asked, "Why this Jonathan Sims character, hm?"

"Oh, well," Elias felt the tiniest smile tug at his lips. "He just seems to be the right fit for the position."

"Wait," Peter said, his eyes narrowing as he leaned onto Elias' desk. "This isn't something to do with that blasted red string, is it?"

Elias felt his eyebrows crunch together as he scoffed, " No , Peter. He would just make a good Archivist. That is all." Peter has always been insistent that Elias ignore the string, and he did, for a long while at least.

Peter shook his head. "You're lying - I know you're lying. Elias, we've been through this so many times. That red string of fate stuff is a waste of time and it only causes trouble for everyone involved." Peter sounded exasperated as he gestured vaguely.

Elias huffed, smoothing down the front of his jacket. "It is of none of your concern who my soulmate is and how I decide to deal with it. I need a good Archivist. He will be a good Archivist. I Know."

Peter scowled, his face twisted up like a preschooler about to have a temper tantrum, " Of course you Know." Peter grumbles to himself as he makes his way towards the door. He rests his cold hand on the doorknob while he murmurs, “I’ll be gone awhile." 

"Another adventure capturing mermaids?" Elias asks with mild disinterest, straightening the pens resting on his desk. 

"Something like that…" Peter’s voice is quiet, soft as it usually is when he turns to face the smaller man. His voice grows sharp as he peers at Elias. "I won't be here to bail you out when you screw up. Goodbye, Elias." With that Peter takes his leave. 

Elias pinches the bridge of his nose as he feels the temperature begin to rise back to normal. 

---

Elias held the phone to his ear as he Watched his researchers bumble about. An odd feeling pooled in his stomach as the phone rang. Excitement? Maybe.

"Front desk speaking, this is Rosie," Rosie greeted cheerfully.

"Hello Rosie. Would you be a dear and send Jonathan Sims up to my office?" 

"Of course Mr. Bouchard. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Elias smiled into the phone, "No, thank you." He hung up and placed the phone back in its holder as he found himself Watching his researchers again.

Rosie peeked her head into the lounge, noting Tim, Sasha, and Jon. "Hi guys!" She chirped.

All heads turned to her as she heard a unison of warm welcomes.

"Rosie!"

"Hiya Rosie!" 

"Hello, Rosie."

She grinned, her cheeks a warm red as she waved a bashful hand, "You guys, it's just me. No need to get so excited."

Tim scoffed from his spot on the couch. "Don't talk about my favorite front desk lady like that!"

Rosie let out a soft chuckle, her hand coming up over her mouth for a moment before she glanced at Jon. "Mr. Bouchard wants to see you in his office, Jon." 

Jon stiffened. "M-Me? Why?" 

"Didn't say," Rosie shrugged before dipping out the door.

Tim and Sasha both let out a teasing, "Ooooo, Jon's in troubllle."

Jon frowned at them as he murmured, "This is not funny." He stood stiffly as anxiety bubbled in his stomach. What did he do? Did he do something wrong?  

He shook his head as he stepped out of the room. He glanced back through the lounge door window to see Tim and Sasha giggling amongst themselves and he frowned. He stepped slowly towards the stairs, his body feeling restless.

On one hand he just wanted to get this over with, and on the other hand he'd rather lick the pavement outside the bar down the road than be in Elias' office. Elias' office. Oh god. 

Jon could feel his pulse, his heart thudding up against his ribcage nervously as he ascended those steps. He blinked once and he was standing outside Elias' door, his hand hovering to knock. He shifted awkwardly and felt like a fool when suddenly -

"Come in, Jonathan." 

Jon's eyes widened and he adjusted himself, smoothing the wrinkles from his button up as he pushed into the room hesitantly. "M-" Jon began. He swallowed as he stepped into the large office. He's never even been in here - never even talked to Elias until that day he bumped into him by accident - was this about that? "Mr. Bouchard! H- Hello," Jon greeted, his voice too loud. 

Elias chuckled and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. "Sit."

Jon licked his lips and shuffled further into the room, slipping stiffly onto the chair. He couldn't help his knee that jerked up and down nervously as he folded his hands in his lap. "Uhm…" Jon began, readying an apology.

"I asked you up here today because I want to promote you, Jonathan." Elias explained, his face taught with a business-like smile. 

"Oh?" Jon breathed, his body relaxing slightly as his eyes flicked on and around Elias' desk. So many pens , thought Jon as his fingers twitched to pick at the seam of his pants.

Elias hummed. "Hmm, yes. My previous Archivist she - well. She… disappeared , which is a great shame, but quite frankly she wasn't a good fit for the job," Elias began. He sat up straight in his chair as he noted Jon's anxiety riddled leg. He watched as Jon looked up at him with curiosity, those green eyes gleaming. "That's why I'm selecting you to be the new Archivist. Your duties will include but are not limited to organizing and filing statements, taking statements, doing research, and so on." Jon listened intently and in this moment Elias knew Jon would be perfect. He'd make a perfect Archivist - his Archivist. How lovely. 

"I am allowing you to pick your assistants, but I assume you will want to take," Elias pauses for a moment, pretending to glance at a paper on his desk. "Sasha James and Timothy Stoker. As long as they agree to the job, of course."

Jon's lips twitched as he spoke cautiously, "Th-Thank you so much sir. I just…" Jon trailed off, his eyebrows curling together with worry as he mumbles, "I'm not sure I'm quite fit for this job either."

Elias hummed Knowingly before he assured, "Jonathan. I've been keeping a close eye on you and your work. You are more than cut out for this. I'm sure you can make the archives a lovely, well organized place. And please, call me Elias."

Jon swallowed, a grin pulling at his lips as he murmured, "Really?"

Elias nodded, a brief moment of fondness settling in his stomach as he glanced down to the red string. He looked up to Jon and smiled, "Really."

---

Tim, Sasha, and Jon all walked down into the archives with curiosity. Sasha flicked on the light at the end of the stairs and they all bit back a grimace as it flickered on with great defiance.

"Spooky," Tim murmured slowly as they entered the hallway. The end was an eerie pitch black, not being illuminated by the warm yellow light bulb at the bottom of the stairs. 

Jon hummed as they all walked into the darkness, their palms patting at the wall in an attempt to find the light switches. 

"Aha!" Sasha grinned as she flipped up the master light switch. The whole basement blinked to life as warm yellow bulbs cast a gentle glow throughout the archives. 

They piled into the main office and Tim leant on a table, but he jerked his hand back with a grimace. "Eww," He drawled as he traced his forefinger through the thick dust that settled on the table. 

"Yes well, Elias did say the archives are in a bit of a mess," Jon said with mild amusement. He glanced at what he presumed to be his office. The title on the door read Head Archivist in black lettering. Jon turned to his former coworkers, now turned assistants and smiled softly, "This is our home now."

Chapter Text

Jon clears his throat before pressing the record button.

"Statement of Rebecca White regarding her experience with the Red String of Fate and a sinister door. Original statement given June 27, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathon Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London." Jon rolled up the sleeves of his blazer as he mentally prepared for this statement. "Statement begins."

---

"I really don't know how else to explain it. I followed the red string through this door and before I knew what was happening I was standing on a mountain side. It was pouring and it didn't take long for me to be drenched and shivering. The air was thinner, which made it more difficult to breathe."

Jon was several minutes into the statement. He hadn't realized he had taken off his blazer. He was sitting up straight with his legs crossed.

"However, I couldn't stop myself from following the string… It felt like hours of shimming around the mountain side before I found it. There lying in front of me was a climber. It had… it had looked like he had fallen. His limbs contorted in an unhuman way… it was like something out of a horror movie. I noticed blood mixing into the puddles from the rain. It was then that I noticed the red string tied around his pinky. It… it was the same string connected to mine… I immediately rushed over to the body hoping for a sign of life. He was alive… the poor thing… I screamed for help but I knew no one could hear me. There was nothing I could do… I just work in a convenience store. I have no medical knowledge."

"I began crying for a man I didn't even know as he lay dying. I tried to comfort his cries as best as I could. I told him he wasn't alone. I held his hand as he died in the pouring rain. When he gave his last breath I felt something rip inside me. It was this awful pain… I had my appendix removed when I was younger but this was more painful. While I cried in agony I watched as the red string that tied us together disappeared. The thing is… the moment the string was gone… so was the pain. The next thing I remember is being pulled back through that door and back onto the busy streets of London. I was sopping wet in the middle of a sunny day... No one believes me… my friends just think I had a nervous breakdown… I-I just… I just wish I knew his name…"

Jon rubs his face and sighs.

"Statement ends."

He slouches back in his chair. "There's not much to go off of from this. A woman claiming a string and a door led her to some random mountain side where she found a dying man. Sounds like a crappy film to me. However, I had Tim do some digging. He looked into climber deaths that year and was able to narrow it down. Jeffery Chase. He was a mountain climbing instructor. He had gone off on a solo climb in the Appalachian mountains where he allegedly fell and they found his dead body mangled on the side of a cliff back in late May of 2012. It's a strange coincidence but I'm not buying it. We’ve gotten a couple statements with this... red string,” Jon pauses before muttering, “People claiming it was leading them to their soulmate. This whole soulmates thing is load of-"

"A load of what?"

Jon looks up from his recorder. Sasha James is standing at his office door with a box full of files.

"Oh it's nothing," Jon murmurs dismissively. He clicks off the tape recorder.

Sasha fully steps into this office now. She deposits the box on the empty chair in front of his desk. She is smirking at him as she wipes away the sweat that built above her brow. “No, what were you saying about soulmates Jon?”

Jon clears his throat again. “O-Oh I was just gonna say they are a load of garbage.”

“What’s a load of garbage?” Tim asks as he and Martin step into the office carrying similar boxes. Martin is struggling with his one box while Tim walks towards Jon’s desk with two boxes in his arms with ease.

“Jon is just saying that soulmates are a load of garbage.” Sasha says, her hands firmly on her hips. Jon rolls his eyes when Martin drops the box he was carrying. A few files scatter on the office floor. Martin squeaks and squats down them and gathers them up.

“R-Really Jon?” Martin asks, hiding his shame behind a file.

“Yes really.” He stands up and feels his knees crack. “It’s just another term for lovers to use to make single people jealous. There’s nobody out there that accepts you for exactly who you are. It just doesn’t exist. It's just another lovers' fairytale.”

“Oh…” Martin stands back up as Tim sets the boxes next to Jon’s desk. He sees Sasha lean over to Tim and whisper something in his ear and Tim snickers.

“Care to share with the class Sasha?” Jon is glaring at her now.

Sasha’s eyes go wide. “O-Oh uhm well…”

Tim interrupts her flashing a toothy grin at Jon. “She just says it's because you've probably never been in love before.”

“I have,” Jon snaps coldly.

The room goes quiet for a moment before Martin breaks the silence. “I think it's sweet. The whole soulmate thing. Knowing there's someone out there looking for you.” He smiles fiddling with the ends of his ratty jumper.

“I agree Martin!” Sasha throws an arm over his shoulder. “Just imagine walking the streets one day and you make eye contact and you just know…” Sasha squeals in excitement. “God I hope that happens to me someday.” She trails off with a hopeful look in her eyes.

Tim laughs. “I think you two read too much fanfiction.”

Sasha gasps and playfully glares at Tim. “I sent you fanfiction one time Timothy! Once!”

“One time too many I think.” Tim says towards Jon.

“D-Does Jon even know what fanfiction is?” Martin asks through a fit of giggles.

Jon puts his face in his hands. He sighs. Why did Elias give me these idiots? Wait… these are my idiots. “Yes, I know what fanfiction is, Martin. I do have access to the internet.”

“Tim you don't get to have an opinion on the matter of soulmates!” Sasha pulls her arm away from Martin, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jon’s eyebrow twitches up in confusion as he looks at Tim. “Tim you’re not married?”

Tim lets out another laugh. “No Jon, I'm not married. I'm aro.” Jon tilts his head in confusion.

“Tim’s aromantic Jon.” Martin answers his question before he asks. “It means he doesn’t fall in love.”

Jon frowns. “Oh...”

“Yeah so this robot isn’t allowed an opinion.” Sasha is pointing at Tim now. She has a playful grin on her face. Tim puts a hand to his heart pretending to be offended.

“Just because I'm a robot doesn’t mean I don’t understand the concept of soulmates Sash. Now when I plan world domination, I’m killing you first.” He winks at Jon and he feels the tips of his ears go warm.

Jon clears his throat for a final time. “W-Well this definitely has been an interesting conversation. Now… how about we all get back to work?”

Tim lets out a groan as he heads towards the door. “You’re no fun boss.” With Tim being the tallest of the three he put the arms around both Martin and Sasha’s shoulder pulling them with him. He could hear Sasha and Martin begin their discussion on the Red String of Fate trope when he shuts his office door. He walks back over to his desk and sits back in his chair with a huff. He sits there for a moment enjoying the silence while drumming his fingers on the mahogany desk. He looks down at his hand and tries to imagine a red string tied to his pinky finger. He’s not surprised when he sees nothing. He goes back to work.

---

Elias sipped his black coffee enjoying the quiet morning the institute had to offer as he answered emails. His long slender fingers typed away an email to the Lukas family. He thanked them for their generous donation to the institute after the Jane Prentiss attack. Speaking of Jane Prentiss, it had only been about two weeks since the worms infested the archives damaging his Archivist. Elias frowned just thinking about the whole situation. He quickly sent the email and pushed away from his desk. He leaned back in his chair clutching his warm coffee mug in his hand. He could hear the sound of rain pelting against the large windows in his office. He wondered briefly if it was raining at Sea.

“Mr. Bouchard?”

Elias shook the thought from his head as he looked over to the voice. Rosie was standing at the entrance of his office looking a bit nervous.

"Rosie?” He smiles at her trying to ease her nervousness.

“I’m sorry Mr. Bouchard. I tried calling you on the phone but you didn’t pick up.”

"Oh… My apologies.” He looks over at his blinking phone. His voicemail was full of messages. He pulls himself back towards his desk, setting his mug down. “Seems that I was lost in thought. What is it?”

Rosie steps closer to his desk. “It’s Jo- Mr. Sims.”

Elias narrows his eyes looking at his secretary. “What about Jon?”

“He’s here… Not outside the office, but he’s in the archives. I thought you gave him and his team time off?”

“I did.” Elias sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for informing me Rosie. I will go speak with him.” He rises to his feet straightening his suit jacket.

"Th-They've been through alot lately… Be gentle with him.” Rosie smiles softly as she holds the door for him.

He returns the smile to her. “Of course.” He walks through the door and makes his way down towards the archives following the red string. As soon as he starts descending the stairs, he can smell the lingering, harsh chemicals that the hazmat team used to clean the archives.

He finally reaches the archives. The assistant office and breakroom is empty, and he hears shuffling from inside the Head Archivists office. He walks up to the door giving it a quick three knocks before walking in.

Jon jumps at the sudden noise from his door. He drops the tape recorder in his hand causing the tape inside to go scattering under his desk. He thinks for a split moment that the worms are back again and his breath catches in his throat. He looks over expecting to see Jane Prentiss or Tim covered in bleeding worm holes high on CO2 gas, but it was just Elias.

Just Elias.

Jon sighes in a brief moment of relief before he asks with a stutter, "E-Elias what are you doing here?" He squats down to pick up the tape recorder and his still injured leg screams in agony.

"I was going to ask you the same question." Elias says, a frown on his lips as he closes the door behind him. He steps into the room, his gaze settled on Jon and his drooping, tired shoulders as he reaches under his desk.

Jon shifts on his feet as he grips at the escaped tape recorder while murmuring, "Just trying to get some work done… Don't want to fall even more behind." He snatches the thing off the ground and goes to stand, but his leg trembles in protest and he stumbles forward. Before he falls onto the ground, Elias quickly catches him in his arms. Jon feels his eyes flutter shut and for a brief moment Elias holds onto Jon and lets him catch his breath. Jon’s head rested Elias’s shoulder as he gained his bearings back. Jon thinks he smells a faint aroma of coffee and expensive cologne - was that sandalwood?

"Jon, you are in no shape to be working." Elias says sternly, though his voice is unusually soft as he breaks the silence while he helps Jon straighten himself up. He keeps his palms wrapped around Jon’s elbows, just in case.

Jon feels his cheeks flush slightly as he tries to come up with an excuse, but suddenly he just feels too exhausted. He deflates a little and looks up into Elias's cool grey eyes. "I'm sorry…It's just…” Jon trails off as his gaze falls to their shoes. “I don't know what to do."

"I get it, a lot of things have happened in a very short amount of time, and I know finding Gertrude’s body has shaken you quite a bit." Jon doesn't realize Elias's hands are still on his arms until he feels Elias give them a gentle squeeze. "But working yourself to death won't do anybody any good. Besides I'd rather not have to find another Head Archivist right now." Elias winks at him playfully as he pulls his hands away and Jon has to bite back a stutter. Jon would never admit he missed the feeling of Elias' hands on his shoulder as his stomach did flips and his heart thudded up against his ribcage as if to press him closer to Elias - back into his arms - "So go home Jon," Elias murmurs earnestly.

Jon sighs in defeat. "You're right… I should get more rest." Jon steps back towards his desk and starts gathering his things with shaky bandaged hands.

Elias starts to make his way towards the door, but stops with his hand on the doorknob. "Jon, if you need anything… reach out. Being lonely is… It’s never fun." Elias feels himself smile softly as he opens the office door. "Oh, if you need something to occupy your time, there are wonderful documentaries about sailing on Netflix." With that being said, Elias quietly made his exit, leaving Jon alone in his office.

Jon smiled to himself as he finished gathering up his things.

Chapter Text

Jon sighed heavily, his body tired and aching. Those worm wounds sting and burn with every tiny movement, and his leg throbs in place. He shudders at the thought - worms burrowing into his flesh and the corkscrew twisting them out - 

Jon swallows in an attempt to not gag, his stomach churning as he tries to not think about those squirmy little things. Instead his mind wanders as he slumps deeper into his chair. Melanie… She had said something - about - about Sasha? Being Not Sasha. Not his - their Sasha. And it made… sense, in a way. When he had found the tapes with Sasha’s real voice on them he was utterly confused but now - now it all made sense. Where is the real Sasha? Is she dead? Is she - even worse? And, where has Not Sasha gone? Is she lurking outside his door, waiting to pounce and kill him? Is she scheming with - with - who knows? Jon’s heart palpitates in his chest. Is she lurking in the tunnels? 

His eyes widened. That would be the perfect spot to hide - to hide and wait and plan and - 

Jon’s eyes landed on his shaking hands and he jumped in surprise. “What?” Jon breathed out in shock as his eyes trailed over the red string tied to his pinky. He didn’t put that there - he didn’t - who could have - Not Sasha? Michael? But he would have seen something - he would have noticed - 

He grabs at it with a scowl and tries to pull it off but it’s - it won’t - it’s stuck - 

Anxiety pools heavily in his gut and his pulse throbs in his neck. Where did it come from?

Jon snaps his head up to see the red string draped across his desk. He jumps from his chair and peers over it, seeing it - was it Tim? Playing horrible jokes on him? No , that didn’t make sense. It flopped over and off his desk, laying on the floor loosely as it trails under the door to the archive hallway. Martin? No - he - he doesn’t have the guts to pull a prank on Jon - right? 

A manic giggle falls from his lips as he throws his desk drawer open. “No, no,” Jon muttered to himself as he swiped reckless hands around the insides of the drawer. He scowled and slammed the drawer shut before pulling another one open while he continued to mutter to himself, “Where… where have you gone -” Jon felt the cool tip of the blades and pulled the scissors out of his desk with a triumphant “Aha!” He yanked his hand up to his view, that red string dangling menacingly - comfortingly - No , No, Nononono - 

Jon snapped the scissors closed around the string, a focused scowl on his face before he hesitantly pulled away. The red string remains intact, flitting slightly with Jon’s confused movements as he peers at the thing. “Impossible ,” Jon breathes, his mind unable to comprehend what he is seeing as he drops the scissors to his desk with a gentle thud. He reaches out, taking the thing string between his fingers curiously before yanking on it - it was incredibly slack. It seemed to be endless as he fiddled with it. Jon scrunches up his nose with disgust before squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head almost violently before hesitantly peeking back at his hand.

The string was gone. 

Jon let out a relieved sigh as he glanced down at the statement on his desk. He blinked, his mind muddled. What was he doing again?

---

Jon almost gets lost in that table. That dark thing with the web-like swirls and patterns sweeping over it and leading to the center. The dark thing that called to him, whispered sweetly in his ears as it wrapped him up with far too many arms. His eyes almost get lost as they follow the thin, jagged lines down and around and up and down and side to side -

Jon jerks his head to the side with a pressed huff from his nose, his fingers flexing around the handle of the axe as his mind swims and his eyes ache beneath his skull. He shudders out a breath, his arms trembling as he lifts the axe above his head. Anger boiled inside him and for a moment all he felt was rage as he slammed the axe down into the table with a loud, splintering crack .

He coughed and recoiled back as it split in two, revealing the table to be full of cobwebs and dust. Jon shuddered at the thought of spiders crawling in and out - weaving that delicate pattern that descended into what used to be a hole in the center of the table. But it was destroyed. It was over - 

Jon jumped when a distorted laugh echoed through the artefact room, his axe slipping from his palms and landing with a hazardous clink. 

"That was very stupid, Archivist," Michael's voice rings out and Jon's eyes flick around the room frantically until they settle on a yellow door that shouldn't be on the wall in front of him. 

Jon can barely process Michael's words - the words that explain he just released the NotThem rather than killing it - 

"No, no no no," Jon mutters to himself as he turns to make a run for it. 

"J̵̡̢̤͂͛͘͘ọ̶̧̩̍̄̓o̷̲̩͂̑̊͘o̶͖͉̔o̸͓̙̗̳͛o̷̧̧͖͈͌n̶̞̫̠̼̂̽̍n̸̫͗̒̏͝n̴̻̰͂n̷̞̙͎͗."

Jon jumps at the sound of Not Sasha's voice echoing in his ears, their voice dripping with a playfully murderous tone. 

"Oh, No - I - I need -" Jon stammers as that yellow door creaks open. He peers into the endless hallway within, his eyes unable to see the end as darkness creeps up the walls and across the floor. He can hear Michael's damming smile as he speaks, those pointy teeth glistening.

"You need a door."

Jon shudders at the thought, but the Not Sasha’s voice grows closer as it calls, “Jon? I just want tŏ̷͖ ̶̤̒t̵̜͋ä̶̺́l̷͙̂k̷̥̅.̶͍̕"

He knows Michael is grinning impossibly as Jon leaps through the door, slamming it behind him and falling against it as his chest heaves up and down.

---

Jon wiped at the sweat on his forehead. How long had he been running down here in the tunnels? His heart thuds loudly in his ears and his legs are aching and nothing makes sense as one hallway twists into a completely different one. Was it this way - No - he came from that way -

"Oḧ̴̺́̏͝ͅ Jooo̵̲̓̄n̸̥̻̿," Not Sasha calls and Jon's head snaps to his left - or was it on his right? He grips at the metal pipe he had picked up, clutching it to his chest with white knuckles while his hands tremble as he looks around the damp tunnels. "Ǐ̸̢ ̶̃ͅa̶͑ͅm̴̫̈ ̸̙͐g̶̼̎o̴̡͐ḯ̶͜n̶͍̽g̵̗̐ ̸͍̾ṭ̷̚o̸̪͝ ̷̫͘f̸͇̂ĩ̷̖n̷͍̚d̶̂ͅ ̷͚͑y̷͇̐ȯ̸͔ụ̶͗,̸̺̂ ̴͂͜a̶̱͘n̵̤̄d̵̖̽ ̸̮̈́ẅ̷̠́h̴̛͉ě̷̝n̶̡̓ ̷̜̐I̵͕̔ ̸̮̚d̷̮̂o̸̼͠,̵̧͌ ̴̥͐I̷͕͋'̴͓̾m̶͙̃ ̶̹̓g̷̜̍o̶̹͌i̵͈̔n̵̨͋g̶̹ ̴̻͆t̴͈̾o̵͇͆ ̸̦͐w̵̼̌e̸̦͆a̸̳̎r̵̳ ̷̩y̵̺̎ò̶̡ù̵̫.̵̥̿ ̷͖͘'' Not Sasha taunts, it's voice echoing in all the wrong ways as it grows nearer. "Ą̷̆ǹ̶̜d̵͎͗ ̷͙͘n̴̻͑o̷̰͗ ̵̠͝o̸͇n̸͖̈e̶̘͂ ̵̢͆w̷͙͛ī̴̻ḽ̶͝l̷̹̈́ ̴̞̈́e̴̙̕v̷̡̚ê̷̱n̷̝ ̴̖̎n̷̲͘ȯ̶̝ṭ̸̍i̶͈͌c̶̣̿e̶̻̚ ̶͕̇y̷̖͋o̷̤͐u̵̠̕'̷̻̿r̶̦͝e̶̞̎ ̷̨͠g̷̬͠o̸̤̕n̴̗̿e̵͎͗.̷͍̈́ '' It sneers and Jon whimpers before clasping a hand to his mouth as it laughs.

Jon can't help the anger that bubbles in his throat before yells, "Shut up!"

"Found you, " It teases in a singsong voice - in Sasha's voice - and Jon feels himself shake uncontrollably as he turns and nearly bumps into a wall. His breath catches in his throat as his eyes scan the dark hallway before he books it into the blinding darkness. 

He doesn't know how long he's been running, but his legs and feet ache and there's sweat in his hairline and his lungs are burning. The walls and floors all merge and mix in impossible ways and Jon has a fleeting thought: What if I'm stuck down here?

But he runs and runs and his legs wobble and his knees feel weak until suddenly there's a loud shifting of brick and the wretched screaming of Not Sasha is cut out completely. 

Jon turns with confusion, his eyes scanning the ever changing walls of the tunnels until he spots a figure not too far from him. A short, portly old man with a white scraggly beard looks at him assumingly as he speaks, "Mr. Sims?"

Jon tightens his hands around that pipe. It was once cool to touch, but now it was warm where his palms gripped at it. "Yes," Jon answered as he looked at the old man, his brows drawn with sudden curiosity and defense.

The mysterious old man nodded, his expression grim as he gestured vaguely, “I think it’s time we had a talk.”

---

I believe it was Elias.

I believe it was Elias.

I believe it was Elias.

Those words echoed around his brain, bouncing off the walls of his skull. Elias killed Gertrude? Why - why would he do such a thing? Jon could barely think. There was too much information going into his brain for him to process it - too many emotions for him to compartmentalize, and his body still ached and trembled. His Elias - His boss killed someone. It didn’t make sense, it made not sense at all - sure she was a shitty Archivist but did that warrant murder?

Jon’s grip slowly loosened around the pipe as he and Leitner spoke, and it now rested in his lap as he stared at Jurgen Leitner.

Jurgen Leitner .

The man whose name was on the book that scarred him as a child.

The man whose name was on books that’s killed hundred, thousands -

Jon swallowed, his brows furrowed as he mumbled, “I… Uh… I… I think I need some air.” He set the pipe on his desk before fumbling around the drawer of his desk. 

Leitner rolled his eyes as he grumbled, “We don’t have time for you to have a breakdown, Archivist.”

Jon’s fingers brush against that smooth, small box and he grabs at it before suddenly standing from his chair. “I’m going to have a cigarette. Don’t…” Jon trails off with his hand on the door handle, his face still twisted with confusion as he murmurs, “Don’t.” He slips from his office and hurries up the steps from the Archives. He shuffles down the hallway to the door on the side of the building and pushes it open. 

The sun is nearly blinding as he stumbles out of the building, his knees weak and his fingers trembling as he pulls the cigarette carton from his pocket. He flips it open and pulls a cigarette out, placing it between his lips before shoving the carton back into his pocket, crumpling it slightly. He fishes for his zippo lighter - and when his fingers brush against the cool metal of it he sighs inwardly before pulling it out and flipping it open and on. He lights the cigarette before taking a long inhaled drag from the thing, his fingers still shaking as he reaches up to grab it. He lets out a shuddered sigh, smoke falling from his lips and dissipating around him as he presses a palm to his forehead, a strained chuckle falling from his lips as he murmurs, “So much for my five year streak.” The nicotine soothes him though, his lungs filling with that toxic smoke as he takes another drag from the cigarette before leaning against the wall of the building. His knees wobble, and he slowly slides to the ground before flicking some ashes off to the side. He rests his arm against the knees he’s drawn up to his chest, and he watches as the end of the cigarette smolders. 

He sits there for a while, and he has nearly calmed down as he twists the butt of the cigarette into the cement before tossing it in the designated cigarette bin. He looks up to the sky, to that blinding sun, and relishes in the gentle warmth it provides for just a moment before slipping back through the door. He makes his way back down into the Archives, his footsteps echoing. He opened the door to his office while he apologized. “Sorry, I’ve been quit for five years now, but th-” His eyes landed on Elias, who was looming over a bloody and limp and - oh - oh God - 

“Oh. Oh god… I need to… Uh… I need to, um…” Jon trails off as Elias looks at him with pity.

“Oh dear, you weren't supposed to see this.”

Chapter Text

“Oh dear, you weren't supposed to see this.” Elias says with a click to his teeth as he sets the bloody pipe on Jon’s desk. He was distracted, and damn him for being so. He’d rather his little Archivist not see such a sight, having been so shaken from the past events. 

Jon swallows as he stands there in shock, his eyes falling to the dripping sound of blood. He blinks, confused as Elias shuffles around Leitner’s body and in front of him. Jon blinks at Elias’ chest, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion as Elias blocks the scene from his view. “Jonathan?” 

Jon turns his gaze up to meet Elias’ with a noncommittal hum. He peers up at him, at his slightly disheveled hair and the specks of blood on his cheek. Elias looks - he looks tired - no that isn’t right, Elias shouldn’t look tired - he never looks tired - 

“Jon,” Elias breathes and his hands are suddenly encased around Jon’s arms. Jon’s eyes flick down to his rolled up sleeves, and he swallows again, his mouth so dry as he notes the blood soaked cuffs. Blood freckled Elias’ arms and shirt - Elias would have to throw that away - surely it wouldn’t wash out without staining -

“Jon.” Elias said more sternly.

Jon’s gaze flicked back up to Elias’ as he echoed, “Elias.” His eyes were not Seeing, only clouded over with confusion.

Elais hums as reaches up to brush a strand of hair from Jon’s eyes, “Hm, seems you're in shock. It’s to be expected, come along, my little Archivist, you don’t need to see any more of this.” Jon’s eyes catch a glimpse of red - red dangling from Elias’ pinky and his breath hitches in his throat before he squeezes his eyes shut, his heart hammering away in his chest. “There there,” Elias nearly coos as his hand drops to Jon’s shoulder. Jon blinks his eyes back open and looks down at it and oh - it was just blood.

Jon lets himself be guided out of his office. Elias’ hands are so kind and gentle as he murmurs oddly soft directions, “This way now.”

Jon is quiet as he let’s Elias steer him towards the stairs. Elias is limping, why is he limping? Jon swallows and his brows furrowed as he scans his memories and - “You knew.” Jon said abruptly, stocking dead in his tracts.

“Yes,” Elias simply said as he stopped next to Jon. He tilted his head ever so slightly as Jon slowly turned to look up at him.

“You Knew,” Jon hissed as his hands balled up into fists at his side. “You knew about Sasha - about the Not Them - about - a-about it all, and you just kept it to yourself?” Jon accused loudly, his voice rising with each word as anger and a bit of disappointment shook in his bones.

“Mmm, yes well,” Elias began, his eyes watching Jon carefully, peering into his mind and reading his thoughts. The disappointment hurt, and Elias felt a brief flash of guilt, but he needed Jon to grow and get more powerful on his own. He couldn’t just hand him everything on a silver platter. 

Jon's face twisted into a scowl of disbelief, “Y-You’re a fucking bastard! All this time that thing,” Jon spat, his words venomous as he glowers underneath Elias’ gaze, “has been haunting the archives - haunting me - and Martin and Tim - hurting people - and you just let it happen?”

Upstairs in the lobby, Rosie was nervously holding the phone to her ear as dispatch spoke in a calm tone, instructing her to wait until the police arrive to do anything. She could hear them - screaming. There’s so much screaming. It echoes through the vents and pieces her ears and she must know what is going on but Mr. Bouchard has her nearly chained to her desk. She hear’s the archivist - Jonathan Sims - shouting down the stairs. His words are incoherent, but he sounds terribly upset as two police women burst through the door. 

A tall woman with a hijab comes in first, her eyes stern and focused as she spots Roise behind the desk. “Ma’am, I need you to stay calm,” the woman starts, and Rosie’s eyes drift to her badge. 

Basira Hussain.

Basira’s hand is on her hip, the other one waving in someone from outside as she asks, “Where did you hear the screaming?”

Rosie points a finger towards the doors leading to the stairs of the archives, “The basement - in the archives.”

Basira nods, and another woman enters, this one stocky and thick muscled as Basira talks to her with a level tone, “Daisy, basement. Potential weapon threat.”

Daisy gives a curt nod as she leads the way, “On it.”

The two women draw their guns, aiming them at the ready as they push through the doors to the basement. They share a look as they hear the voice of an angry man shouting accusatory profanities. They lower down the steps slowly and they both immediately spot the head of the Magnus Institute covered in blood and… a shorter man with disheveled hair and shaking shoulders. 

“To think I almost trusted you,” Jon scoffs, his body still shaking with rage and fear as he tries - tries so hard to ignore the blood on Elias’ shirt. 

Elilas hums some more, nodding. “I understand Jon, I really do, and for that I am sorry -”

“Elias Bouchard!” Basira suddenly shouts, and the two men jerk their heads towards the two policewomen.

Jon’s hands are up in an instant as he breathes a sharp gasp through his nose. 

“Ah, hello Basira, Daisy,” Elias greets as his hands slowly reach above his head.

“Shut up,” Daisy sneers.

Basira looks to Jon, and quickly assesses the situation before pointing at Jon, “Sims, get behind us.”

Jon obeys immediately, his eyes wide and his heart thumping as he shuffles behind the police woman with dark eyes and short blonde hair. The woman eyes him before whispering sharply, “You can put your hands down, Sims.”

Jon drops his hands to his sides, fidgeting with his jumper as he watches Basira step towards Elias. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Basira said evenly.

Elias shrugged, “I’m wholly prepared for this situation. Do what you must.” 

Daisy tilts her head with a jerk as she growls, “Cuff him.”

“With pleasure,” Basira mumbled as she stepped towards Elias, gun still drawn. “On the ground, hands behind your head.”

“Oh Basira, is there really a need for all this?” Elias said, his eyebrows twitching.

“Ground. Now,” Basira demands with a gesture of her gun, and Elias sighs as his eyes travel to Jon’s frightened ones. Elias complies, kneeling and shifting onto his stomach, his cheek pressed against the dusty floor with his hands pressed against his head open palm up. 

Basia quickly cuffs him before instructing, “Stand up.” Elias complies, easily bringing himself to his feet. Basira is at eye level with him, and she only scowls at the blood on his collar. “You’re going away for a long time.”

Elias chuckles, “You don’t even know what I’ve done.”

“You’ve done enough,” Daisy snapped.

---

“Bouchard you have a visitor!” A harsh voice comes from down the gloomy hallway. Elias frowns and sits up from the cot he was laying down on. He didn’t need to use his Eldritch powers to know who was here. He attempts to slick back his hair and smooth any wrinkles on his uniform as the metal door to his prison cell slides open. 

He thinks he sees a faint fog creep into his room as the temperature drops sending a wave of gooseflesh down his arms.

“Orange is such a good color on you Elias.” Elias can hear the smirk in Peter’s voice as he turns his head towards the broader man. Peter stands there in his beige trench coat with his favorite navy blue turtleneck underneath. His captain’s hat hides his ruffled white hair. 

“Peter,” Elias spits out at him. “What are you doing here?” 

Peter chuckles in front of him taking his captain hat off. “Can’t a man visit his ex-husband in prison?” 

“Are you here to gloat?” Elias asks, glaring at him from his cot. 

“Something like that…” Peter approaches Elias, sitting next to him on his cot. “I did tell you this would only cause trouble.” 

Elias turns away from Peter staring at the cement wall. He crosses his arms while he murmurs “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You know exactly what I am talking about. I told you to stay away from the string because it only causes trouble. Now look at you… spending your time in this filthy prison cell.” Peter tuts. 

Elias frowns but doesn’t break eye contact with the wall. “It’s not as filthy as the other cells. Guess I have you to thank?” 

“Only the best for you my dear Jonah,” Peter says smoothly. This finally causes Elias to break eye contact with the wall to give Peter a look that could kill. Peter only laughs in response. “That's the same look you gave me when you asked for a divorce.” 

Elias feels his eyebrow twitch with annoyance. “I should have killed you instead. Now if you’re done gloating I suggest you take your leave Peter. I have planning I need to do.” 

Elias’ eyes widen in surprise as Peter suddenly pins him down on the cot hovering above him. “Planning to escape?” Peter is smirking down at him.

“Obviously.” Elias rolls his eyes. “I don’t intend for you to run the institute forever. I have plans for my Archivist.” 

Peter frowns. “Your Archivist? Oh come on Elias you’re still on that red string shit? I figured this would have at least taught you your lesson.” 

“Sorry to disappoint, Peter.” Elias clenches the scratchy blanket in his manicured hands. 

Peter leans closer, taking Elias' chin possessively in his hand. “Why don’t you just come back to me?”

Elias scowls back up at him and pushes Peter away from him as he nearly growls, “You know why Peter.” Peter finally pulls away and stands up in front of the cot as Elias sits back up. Elias sees a pool of fog curling around Peter’s feet in a protective manner. 

Peter hums in acknowledgment avoiding eye contact with him. “Guess you’re right…” Peter lets out a breathy, sardonic laugh. “Cursed by the Lonely. Well it was good seeing you, Elias.” Peter puts back on his captain’s hat in an attempt to hide his eyes. 

Peter makes his way towards the cell door when Elias reaches out for his hand, stopping him. He is still not looking at Elias while he mumbles, “Peter… I’m sorry.” Elias looks at Peter’s hand, noting the stringless pinky. He sighs sadly. 

Peter pulls his hand out of Elias’ grasp. “No you’re not.” The cell door slides openly loudly and Peter disappears through the door leaving him alone. 

Elias smirks half heartedly. “You know me so well Peter…” 

Chapter Text

"Wh-What do you want?" Jon's hands tremble as he clenches and unclenches his fists. His office in the archives was dark besides the faint glowing light from his sleeping computer monitor. He knew staying this late was a bad idea.

Nikola Orsinov stands over him with a plastic smile. "You remember that old piece of skin you were talking about? We'd like it back." Orsinov tiptoes closer to Jon. "We thought that mean old Gertrude had destroyed it. But then you went looking, and now we think maybe she was just very good at hiding."

"I'm sorry, are you asking me to find it for you?" Jon's heart is beating in his chest. He knew if Orsinov killed him no one would find his body until morning.

Orsinov nods their head excitedly. "That would be lovely. And a lot nicer for you than our other ideas."

Jon swallows hard and tries to summon whatever courage he has. "What is so important about some ancient bit of taxidermy?"

"I want to wear it when I dance the world new!" Their soprano voice echoes off the underground walls as they do a little ballerina twirl.

"But… But wh-" Jon doesn't finish his question as he feels a strike to his abdomen, stealing all the air from his lungs.

"Question time is over, Little Archivist. Find the skin for us. You have until… well, until I change my mind." Jon drops to his knees gasping for air. He feels cold plastic fingers caress his cheek. "Shhh… save your energy for the dance." Orsinov pulls their hand away and walks out of Jon's office.

The moment the door swings shut the lights in his office flicker back on. Jon, still on his knees, reaches for the tape recorder on his desk, promptly turning it off.

---

Jon doesn't sleep well the following nights. He hasn't slept well since he had taken the position of Head Archivist. Tonight however, was different. Jon woke up with a start. He could feel his pounding heart and labored breathing as he lies in a cold sweat in his empty flat. The worst of it all was the sharp shooting pain in his head. It felt like the morning after those parties Georgie always dragged him out to back in his days at Uni. He sits up in bed rubbing his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pain. After a few minutes with no success, Jon stumbles to his feet and makes his way to his bathroom. He grabs the bottle of paratramol from his medicine cabinet when he's hit with a blinding pain. He hisses in pain, grabbing his head as images flash through his head.

Detective Daisy Tonner shooting Calvin Benchley.

Gertrude Robinson storing bombs inside a locker.

Martin Blackwood crying over his dead mother.

Tim Stoker standing in the Covent Garden Theatre.

Jon drops to his knees in agony and empties the contents of his stomach into the nearby toilet. He's not sure how long he rests his head on the porcelain lid of the toilet seat, but when he decides that it's safe enough to sit up, he does. He sighs rubbing his face with his hands when he feels something tickle his cheek. He pulls his hand away to see the red string tied perfectly around his pinky. His stomach drops.

No…nonononono not again.

His breath came out in short painful gasps as he shook his hand furiously. "GO AWAY!" He cried out as tears blurred his vision. He goes to grab the damn string but it disappears before he can touch it. Jon doubles over and hugs himself tightly as he tells himself over and over again that he isn't going crazy.

Jon does this until the sun comes up.

---

Jon clicks off the tape recorder that was laid on his desk. He had just finished listening to Gertrude Robinson recording the statement of one Abraham Janssen and his experience at the Court Theater of Buda. This confirmed Orsinov's theory that Gertrude did in fact not destroy the gorilla skin and the Circus was part of this Unknowing ritual.

He frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose as the dull ache of a headache forms in the back of his skull. When he walked into the Archives this morning the tape lay on top of his desk along with an address to the House of Wax museum in Great Yarmouth. He had no idea who left it for him.

Maybe this Peter Lukas guy who's taken over for Elias? Basira did recover some of Gertrude's tapes… It's possible she dropped it off before heading into work. Maybe… Maybe Elias broke out of prison and left it for him?

He chuckled at the last one.

Jon could hear a faint conversation from outside his office and decided to investigate. He thought maybe Martin had finally made a special appearance in the archives since he had been too busy being Peter Lukas' personal assistant. But when he walked out into the archive assistant office, he saw Tim talking with Basira and Daisy. A flash of the detective pulling the trigger of a gun surfaces in his mind and he swallows down the bile that threatens to rise up from his stomach. Jon clears his throat.

Tim, who was leaning against his desk, straightens himself out. “Oh… Hey boss.” Tim looks down at his coffee mug nervously and then back at Jon.

“Everything all right?” Jon’s eyebrow twitches up in confusion.

“Yes.” Basira cuts in. “Just doing some final follow ups with the Bouchard case.”

“Ah… R-Right.” Jon mindlessly fidgets with his pinky.

“We were supposed to be gone by now.” Daisy says, crossing her arms. “But these two wouldn’t shut up about that one architect Robert Smith or something.”

“Smirke.” Basira and Tim both correct Daisy. She just rolls her eyes.

Jon lets out a forced chuckle. “Right…” He approaches Tim cautiously. “Tim… There's a book I was after, The Marvellous Spiritualism and the Circus in the 19th Century? I asked in the Library, but Tom said you had it checked out?”

Tim’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Yeah. Why?”

Jon swallows hard, shifting on his feet. “I’m doing some research.”

“On what?” Tim presses and Jon notices Tim’s hand tightening around his coffee mug.

“Tim… I’m…” Jon sighs. “I don’t know where to start?”

“The beginning is always good.” Basira chimes in. He had forgotten her and Daisy were still there.

“Yes…Thank you Basira.” He closed his eyes for a moment, the headache had finally spread and was being quite bothersome now. “Tim… I know why you joined the institute.”

“What do you mean Jon?” Tim was looking hard at him. Jon could see confusion and a bit of fear swirling in Tim’s brown irises.

“I’m researching the Unknowing and the Russian Circus. I Know… I know about your brother Danny, and what happened to him at the Theatre. I know-”

The sound of glass shattering interrupts them. Tim had dropped the coffee mug in his hand and it had shattered into tiny pieces and a puddle of coffee pooled next to his feet. They’ll need a mop.

“How do you know about Danny?” Tim snaps. If looks could kill, Jon would be dead where he stood. Tim towered over Jon, his fist clenched at his side and his eyes dripping with spite.

Jon stumbles back a step. He feels a presence behind and quickly turns his head expecting someone but there was no one behind him. When he turned back Tim was back in his face.

“Answer me Jon,” Tim demands.

“I-I can’t explain how I know… I just know. That thing that took you brother… Grimaldi and the dance… Tim I’m-'' Jon isn’t able to finish his explanation before his vision goes black. When it comes back he is on the ground with blood gushing from his nose. He looks up to see Daisy holding back a murderous Tim with a bloodied fist. Basira crouches next to him offering tissues. He takes them and quickly applies pressure to his hopefully not broken nose.

“Fucking let go of me!” Tim cries out before he finally breaks from Daisy’s grip. She steps back from him, her hands up in a mock surrender.

Jon stands back up with the help of Basira and looks over to Tim who is breathing heavily. “Tim… I don’t think you were a coward…”

“Fuck you Jon,” Tim spits out before storming out of the archives.

“Well… that was something. Care to explain Sims?” Basira asks as she reaches for more tissues.

Jon waves a hand at them as he sits down at Martin’s desk. “Once I get this bleeding under control…” He sees Daisy reach into her jacket pocket pulling out a small plastic package handing it to him. He looks at the object in his hand and feels his ears go warm. “I-Is this a T-Tampon?” He’s blinking widely at Daisy and she just shrugs nonchalantly.

“I mean they were originally used for gunshot wounds.” Basira says through a tiny grin.

“I think tissues will do just fine...” Jon mumbles awkwardly, handing the pink package back to Daisy.

“So what was that all about?” Daisy nods her head towards the door Tim stormed out of moments ago.

Jon sighs as he presses fresh tissues to his swollen nose. “It's complicated.”

We’ve got time.” Basira says as she squats down to clean up the broken glass on the ground.

Jon turns in his chair to look at Basira. “Basira, did you leave a tape on my desk?”

“No. Why?” She disposes the shards of glass into the trash that Daisy brought over to her.

“It seems that I have gained access to knowledge I shouldn’t have access to.” Jon leans his head into his hand that rests on the desk.

“Are you a super spy now or something?” Daisy asks half amused.

“That would explain things easier, but no… It’s like some Eldritch power or something. I didn’t know about Tim and his brother until… I needed to know about it. It came to me. I don't know how to explain.” Jon frowns and looks at Daisy. “I know about Calvin Benchley.”

Daisy’s eye twitches and she reaches for her gun holster. Basira places a warning hand on her shoulder. “How do you know about that Jon?” Basira questions, her eyes narrowing.

“It’s just like with Tim… I… I just know. I don’t know what's happening to me.” He lets out a sad chuckle. “Maybe I’m going mad... Don’t worry Daisy, I don't plan on telling anybody if you help me.”

Daisy’s eyebrows furrow deeper. “Are you blackmailing me Sims?” Daisy growls out.

“Kinda?” Jon stands back up. He disposes the dried bloodied tissues. “Listen there’s so much more going on that we realize and I could use all the help I could get.” He takes a deep breath. “ I need help killing a monster.” Daisy and Basria look at each other. It's as if they're having a silent conversation between them before they both look back at Jon and nod. Jon suppresses a surprised shrug before asking slowly, “Great… How much do you know about explosives?”

Chapter Text

Daisy lets out an exasperated huff as she sets a large black duffle bag onto Jon’s desk. “I'm not your errand dog, Sims.” 

Jon stands from his desk and peers into the bag. He looks up nervously at the blonde woman. “Did you get it all?” 

“Of course I got it all. Can’t really miss explosives shoved into a locker.” Daisy looks over to Basira and Martin who just walked into the Head Archivist office. “Any luck?” She asks towards the two. 

Martin holds up a large rolled up sheet of paper with a triumphant grin. “Yep! Wasn’t too difficult to obtain the blueprint for the museum.” 

“I had to flirt with James…” Basira shivers in disgust. 

Daisy lets out a loud laugh as she bounces over like a golden retriever to the other woman. “Awh, poor Basira. I bet it was the best day of his life.” She pats Basira lightly on the head. 

Jon smiles to himself watching the two detectives interact. He does a double take when he sees the familiar red string wrapped around them, tying them together. When he blinks the string is gone. 

“Jon, is everything okay?” Martin asks from where he's standing besides Jon. 

“Oh...Yes. We should begin to plan-” Jon is interrupted to the sound of someone knocking on his office door. The four of them eye the door nervously before the door is opened to reveal Tim. 

“Uhhh Hi.” The taller man awkwardly waves from the other side of the door. The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence.

Jon straightens himself out and walks over to Tim. “What do you want Tim?” 

“I… came to apologize for the other day.” Tim confesses. Jon notes the exhaustion on the man's face. 

He smiles sadly at Tim. “I should be the one to apologize… I'm glad you're here."

"I want to help. I owe it to Danny." Revenge colors Tim's eyes. 

"Do I need to be worried about you?" Jon asks. 

Tim's eyebrow twitches up in annoyance. "You reading my mind again, boss?" 

Jon crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm watching your face. Do you - are you going to be able to keep it together?" 

Tim rolls his eyes before speaking. "Look. If you're worried I'm gonna go all… red rum and start hacking up random waxworks, don't be. I'm not gonna give us away. I want this to work." 

"Thank you." 

"But I don't think it will. So I'm gonna take that axe of yours, and when it all goes wrong. I'm going down swinging. And when I do, you'd better take the chance and stay out of my way." Tim huffs out, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. 

"Okay. I'm just…" Jon sighs. "Okay." 

They soon file out of the room one by one, leaving Jon alone in his office with only his thoughts. His mind wanders as picks up a loose statement on his desk before a sudden burst of pain blooms beneath his eyelids and he lets out a pained, “ Gah .” The paper slips from his hands and floats to his desk as he jerks his fingers up to press them against his eyes. 

He inhales sharply as his eyes split open and skirt around the room, not seeing the contents of the bookshelves and the old chair but Sasha screaming in the tunnels and that - that Thing  wearing her face while Elias sits up in his office with an amused grin. 

Jon’s body twitches with a jerk as anger surges through his veins and suddenly he was moving with little thought. 

---

Jon shifts, his heart thudding in his chest as his fingers slide over the slim blades of the scissors in his pockets. He swallows, his eyes skirting from guard to guard. He didn't know what he was doing - he wasn't compelled - no, but - Elias. Elias . The bastard. He Knew about Sasha, he probably Knows about the Unknowing. 

He Knows too much.

The scissors were the first thing he yanked off his desk with hasty indignation. He'd kill him. Jon is going to kill Elias. Elias is a monster - an all Knowing being, wrong and wretched. He's just like a monster from the statements Jon reads, or worse. He leeches off the innocent, feeding off fear voyeuristically. He enjoys the suffering of people around him, of people he doesn't know, and he won't do a damn thing to stop it.

Now as Jon stands in the cold prison, guards and inmates alike eyeing him as he is led to the cell at the end of the block, he's not so sure. Elias is a monster… but isn't Jon himself a monster? Does that mean Jon should take his own life? It would be a righteous suicide, and he'd be doing the world a favor by ridding it of another being who only causes harm for others. Jon has thought about this for days as things he never knew before suddenly flooded into his brain. And the statements - oh, the statements. His body had the audacity to feel well fed after a particularly terrible one and it made him sick.

Jon jumps when a guard shouts, "Bouchard, you have a visitor!"

Jon straightens, and he tries his best to not look like a man who was plotting murder from the moment he stepped inside the prison. Jon wondered briefly how he was able to even slip the instrument past the guards, but then he remembered Elias is a very popular man; A very popular man with people upstairs who like him, at least, just a little. This Peter Lukas - Jon's nose curls up in annoyance at the thought of the man he still hasn't met running the institute. Sitting in Elias' office, in Elias' chair, using Elias' things. 

The barred metal doors creak open loudly, and the guard who had escorted him through the prison motioned silently at the open cell door. 

Elias smiled when Jon stepped into the room. "Jonathan," Elias greets, his voice almost as sweet as his smile while he tilts his head just a bit. He notes the frantic look in Jon's eyes, his hair that stuck out in all directions, the deep, dark eyebags, and the string that was tied around the pinky of a hand that was wielding scissors in his pocket. 

Jon stepped into the cell, and the stark whiteness of it made him squint slightly. It felt wrong. It was too - clean . Too nice. Too nice for a man - a murderer . "Elias," Jon gritted out through his teeth as he stepped in closer. Elias was smiling at him, and it made Jon's stomach fill with butterflies that he very much wanted to shred. Elias still looked nice even with his hair not styled up in his usual old-fashioned way. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Elias asks as he crosses his legs, folding his hands neatly in his lap, his posture impeccable.

"I -" Jon's words get caught in his throat as his eyes fall to Elias’ lap. He blinks. And he blinks and blinks and blinks as he shuddered out in disbelief, " No ." 

"Oh, oh dear," Elias muttered before glancing down at his hands. He lifts up his tethered one slightly, his pinky finger poking up in the air as he asks, "You can See it?" 

"Yes, I can - I can See it," Jon hisses as his blood boils and his skin crawls. Panic grabs at his ankles, nipping at the exposed skin where his socks slipped down and sneaking up his pant leg, curling around his knees and twisting up to rest over his heart. He shakes his head, a broken, " No ," falling from his lips as he jerks his hand away from himself, watching the metaphysical string extend at will. "This can't be," Jon murmurs to himself. He runs his other shaking hand through his hair, his eyebrows twisted up in utter confusion as his eyes dart back and forth between his hand and Elias'.

"Jon," Elias starts, and he's reaching out that hand and Jon jumps backwards, his chest heaving as he scrambles to the wall.

"D-Don't - Don't f-fucking touch me," Jon stutters out. His heart hammers in his chest with something more than fear - excitement? Thrill? How could he? How could he feel such yearning for someone so dastardly? He gasps as he remembers, and he jams his hand in his pocket before ripping the scissors out, nearly piercing his own skin along the way. His trembling fingers grip at their base.

Elias stands, his hands held out defensively as he starts, "Jon - You -" Jon snarls, his nose scrunching up as he opens the scissors and brings the red string through them. Even just passing over the blade makes Elias' insides burn as he bites back a gasp. "You can't -" 

Jon closes them with a hysterical laugh, and opens them to find the string still intact. He whimpers, his eyes clouded with hazy confusion as he mumbles, "Why?" He tries to cut the string again, and again, and again as he mutters out broken huffs of a laugh. "Why? Why why why -" Elias visibly winces, his body lurching over in pain as he grips at the small table in the room, a gasp falling from his lips as his heart swells with the utmost searing pain. It was as if hot coils wrapped around his beating heart, constricting and only growing hotter with each snip of the scissors.

" Stop ," Elias pleads, his own body trembling as pain bends his body. "Please," he wheezes and Jon's gaze finally meets Elias'. Jon has never seen such agony. He has never seen so much hurt on another being's face. He has never inflicted such pain until now as he drops the scissors with shaking hands. He swallows, a dark pit of guilt forming in his gut as sweat beads on Elias’ forehead. Elias breathes through his nose, his brows furrowed as he grits his teeth before grunting through them, "Gah - I wish you - ahg - h-hadn't done that." 

The pit in Jon's stomach grows and seeps through his veins as an odd surge of empathy floods his veins. He shakes his head, his hands gripping at the roots of his hair. This can't be? This surely can't be. Oh but it does make some sense that Elias should be his and he should be Elias'. Jon makes an aggravated noise, fighting his battle internally before turning a sharp eye to Elias’ crumpled form. "E-Explain, now!" Jon demands, his pulse still throbbing painfully in his neck as disoriented tears brim his eye.

"O-Okay," Elias stammers, and it catches Jon off guard as he stumbles back to his bed. Elias sits heavily before wheezing, "Don't - Don't do that again." 

Jon's lips twitch as he studies Elias. The dip of his frown, the crease of his forehead, the broadness of his shoulders, and he swallows before scrubbing at his eyes harshly. He shakes his head again, his head spinning before he seethes, "Why shouldn't I?" He should be plunging those scissors in Elias’ neck, twisting until his vision only sees red, but instead he steps a tiny bit closer to Elias, a hungry curiosity washing over him as Elias clutches his chest. 

"It. Hurts ." Elias shudders, his jaw set as he tries to regulate the pain burning his insides. He manages to cast his gaze to meet Jon's eyes, and feels almost flattered at the dangerously curious look on his face. "But, it won't kill me. The string won't go away unless one of us dies," Elias explains. His voice is nearly level as he shifts on the cot. 

Jon feels a twitchiness under his skin as he tries to process the red string tying him and Elias together. A string - a stupid fucking string that meant love and foreverness and destiny. His nose crinkles as he stares into Elias' eyes as he demands, "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Elias feels a strange tingling through his body while his brain is ravaged for knowledge and it feels … it feels good at the hands of Jon as he compels the answer from Elias. "I Knew you would hate me for it, and I didn't want that. I don't… I didn't want you to hate me. I tried to stay away, I tried to stay uninvolved, but somehow you managed to find yourself at my institute and I just grew… curious. I've heard plenty of stories of the Red String of Fate. I've even played with other's lives, ending and severing what could have been, but I couldn't kill you, Jon, I won't kill you, because I'm just…" Elias struggles on the last part of the forced admission, "Fond of you." 

Jon scoffs at the fact. His brain could hardly process Elias' words. His brain felt wrong in his skull as the room spun and dipped in unlikely circles. "I -'' Jon starts, but his words are lost in the air as he falls to his knees, his hands gripping at his hair as painful knowledge breaks through the gates all at once. He groans as explosions of harsh migraines stab at the back of his eyeballs. He feels a hand on his back, and he hears muffled words but he can't make them out. 

Elias' eyebrows were curled up with worry. If he knew this would have broken the gates in Jon's mind, he would have tried harder to resist. He would have done something . He rubs at Jon's back, his fingers heating from the friction of the delicate circles Elias presses into Jon's shaking shoulders. He's murmuring soft words of encouragement as Jon's eyes stare down at the floor with an uncomfortable haze to them. 

"Jon, Jonathan, you can make it stop, you just have to focus," Elias mumbles through his pain. Crouching on the floor next to Jon was nothing but agonizing as his insides twisted with a subtle terror because Jon is dying . 

Jon gasps loudly, his eyes wide as he jerks backwards. He's Seeing so much, and he is so full. He can not take anymore as a gentle hand grips at his chin and he's staring into Elias' eyes yet somehow seeing right through him, through everything, and his body trembles as hands curl under his chin and across his cheeks.

"Jon!" Elias shouts as he grips at either side of Jon's face, his fingers tucked against Jon's ears. Jon doesn't blink and Elias feels his own panic anchor him to the ground because Jon is still dying and he can feel nothing but debilitating pain saw through his flesh. Elias' hands tremble as he mutters, "Alright, It's -" he swallows as he drops his hands to wrap himself around Jon, a broken shudder falling from his lips as he drops his head on Jon's shoulder, " Come back to me ." 

And suddenly Jon is weeping, tears stinging his eyes and his head throbbing. His heart is bumping against his chest, and he can feel Elias’ heartbeat too, fast and panicked as he presses close to Jon, holding him together as Jon nearly slips from this world's grasp. Jon gasps as his eyes focus on the cot in front of him and the warmth of Elias’ cheek pressed to his, the gentle prod of Elias' fingers in his sides while his arms cross over his back. 

Elias sucks in a sharp breath as he pulls away to peer in Jon's eyes. He softens visibly as he breathes in relief, "You're back." 

Jon makes a noise, his eyebrows curling up as a whimper bubbles in his throat. Elias is petting at his messy hair now, his fingers card up and through the tangles effortlessly as Jon whispers, "I - I don't understand why." He can't possibly fathom why some unnamed deity or fate god or whatever would tie him and Elias together. 

Elias’ face twists with sympathy as his fingers travel down to brush a tear from Jon's cheek. "I Know," Elias murmurs softly, "It's not your fault, Jonathan." 

Jon squeaks a pitiful noise, leaning into the touch slightly before he realizes what he's doing. He jerks out of Elias' grasp, backing up as he gasps, "I -" His eyes flick around the walls and he can't take it as they start to shrink in on him. He scrambles to his feet, looking at Elias who was still crouched on the floor, his face wearing an unusual expression of worry. "I can't - I shouldn't - I-I need to go," Jon stammers before slipping back through the door he doesn't remember being open.

Elias sighs, and falls back onto the floor. His body aches, but a small, soft warmth gently soothes his pains. His eyes wander over to the scissors Jon dropped earlier and a small, sly smile crept onto his face. 

Chapter Text

The sound of medical machines fills the quiet sterile hospital room. Martin sniffles from where he sits next to the bed as he wipes his wet face with the sleeve of his jumper for the millionth time that morning. 

Jon is in a coma.

Martin choked back a sob as he looked over Jon lying practically lifeless on the stiff bed. The only things that signalled he was still alive was the steady beep of the heart monitor and the slow rise and fall of his chest. The doctors are unsure if he'll ever wake up and Martin feels his heart tear at the thought. 

A soft gentle knock alerts Martin and he looks over to see Basira walking in. She looks like she hasn't slept since before the wax museum as dark bags hang under her eyes. Martin spots a few bandages and bruises peppering her hands and face. 

"B-Basira?" Another sniffle escapes from Martin as he forces a small smile. "H-How are you doing?" 

The woman in question just shrugs. "No news?" She asks, eyeing the comatosed man. 

His smile drops and he looks back over at Jon taking his bony hand in his own. "N-No…" Basira hums in acknowledgement. "Wh-What about Tim and Daisy?" He turns his head to look back up at the woman. 

"Dead." Basira replies coldly. 

"Did they find their b-bodies?" He gently squeezes Jon's hand. 

"No." She huffs out. 

"Th-Then maybe they are still-" 

"They're dead Martin." Basira snaps. Martin flinches at the sudden roughness from Basira.

"They are dead. Tim is dead. D-Daisy… is dead. We just have to accept it and move on." Basira takes in a shaky breath before placing a comforting hand on Martin's shoulder. "I-I have somewhere I need to be… Stay safe Martin…" 

"You too…" Martin says as she makes her way out leaving him alone with Jon. Martin sighs sadly and strokes the top of Jon's hand with his thumb. "Jon… It's me, Martin. I really need you to wake up…" Warm tears fall from his abused eyes and he lays his head on the bed besides Jon's body. "Please Jon… I need you… I-I lov-" a ripple of gooseflesh rips through Martin and he sits up ramrod straight. Martin notices he can see his breath.  "How long have you been standing there?" 

"Long enough." 

Martin frowns at the cool voice and turns his head towards the noise. "Show yourself Peter." 

Peter appears before him. He stands on the other side of Jon's bed. He has an amused smile half hidden by his beard on his face. "Hello Martin."

"What do you want Peter?" Martin pulls his hand away from Jon's. 

"Oh I've just come to visit our head archivist. It's a shame really." Peter moves to pick up the clipboard at the end of the bed, looking through the papers.

"You don't sound upset." Martin mutters. 

"Oh I'm very pleased with the archivist's current situation." Peter's eyes are focused on the charts in front of him. Martin glares up at him. "It's a shame about you Martin." He sets the clipboard back. "You're just like me." 

Martin stands up from his seat. "What does that mean?" He huffs out angrily. 

All amusement leaves Peter's face as he looks Martin in the eyes, his words cold and slow, "We both love someone we can't be with." Martin is about to speak when Peter cuts him off. "Elias has broken out of prison." 

"Wh-What!?" Martin's eyes widened in horror. "Do you think he'll come for Jon?" He asks nervously as he glances down at the man in question. 

"Oh most definitely." Peter smirks.

"We should let the police know. Jon needs protection!" Martin begins to panic at the idea of Elias breaking into the hospital and doing only God knows what - 

"I wouldn't worry about Elias killing your precious Archivist." The last word spits out like venom from Peter's cold lips. 

"H-How do you know that?" Martin asks nervously. 

"Because I know my Elias." The Captain declares before disappearing from sight. 

Martin stares where Peter once stood, his heart racing. He looks back down to Jon, a whimper bubbling in his throat as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth before his eyes dart to the door. “I’ll - I’ll be right back Jon,” Martin murmurs into his hand as he slips from the room. He pesters the nurses station about looking out for a tall man with Elias Bouchard’s description, and they all look at him sympathetically as he slinks back into the hospital room with wet eyes.

He sits in the chair next to Jon’s bed, his body tense as he turns his gaze to the door, waiting. 

He waits and waits and waits.

He waits days, weeks, months.

Elias never comes, and Jon never wakes up. 

---

It’s been six months.

Six months of sitting up in a penthouse on the outskirts of Manchester under a false identity. It’s one of his many names, but still, Elias has a preference and he huffs at the thought of the doorman greeting him every day. Elias was inconveniently on the run from some lazy police dogs that kept trying to sniff him out. He Knows where they are, at all times, and he’s really only needed to evade them once or twice.

He sighs bordely, his mind wandering to the institute. He sees his little ants working like diligent obedient employees, but frowns as he catches just the briefest glimpse of Peter sitting at his desk looking way too happy for a man encompassed by the Lonely. Elias’ nose twitches with irritance as he draws his fingers over the pattern of the chair, his nails scratching against the surface gently. His brows furrow while he Looks, and suddenly his heart jumps to his throat. 

They were going to pull the plug on Jon. 

Elias squeezed his eyes shut, his brow furrowing deeply as the chatter of doctors and nurses filled his mind, and the image of a hesitant, worn out Martin nodding slowly, like it was even his decision, with Peter's hand on his shoulder, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. 

Elias growled, his nose scrunching up in a snarl as he fished his phone from his pocket. It rang sharply in his ear as he tapped his foot impatiently.

"Elias ," Peter greeted, his voice tugging with an amused smile.

"What the hell are you doing?" Elias spat as he stood. He twirled his pinky in the air, looping it around the string and fiddling with it subconsciously.

"Oh, just taking care of things while you're away. You did appoint me head of the institute, after all," Peter said matter of factly. 

Elias rolled his eyes as his lip twitched. "You have no right to decide whether or not Jon should be taken off life support."

Peter shrugged, his smile growing with cruelty, "He's clinically dead. He's gone, Elias." 

Elias blew a puff of air through his nose. Peter wasn't right. He wasn't right even if Elias couldn't See Jon anymore. Even if he had to use those around him - nurses and doctors and sometimes Martin. Even if he couldn't - " You're wrong ," Elias hissed as his palm curled into a fist. The feeling of the string grounded him only slightly as he pretended it wasn't only a dull red now. 

Peter hummed, "I don't think so." His tone was patronizing and Elias couldn't fight the shiver crawling up his spine as Peter murmured in a sickly, soft voice, "You could come back, you know?" 

"What?" Elias' words curled around a sneer as he shot daggers into the nothingness across from him. "To you? " He spat, fury coursing through his blood as a vein in his neck bulged. He let out a bark of harsh laughter. It was mocking and disgusted before he gritted out through a clenched jaw, " Never ." 

Peter's face twitched in annoyance as he threatened offhandedly, "I should kill him myself." 

"Don't you dare touch him," Elias hissed as he started to plan his trip back to London. "I will eradicate you and your entire bloodline if you so much as breathe in the same room as him, do you understand?" 

The threat was hardly empty, and despite Peter's lack of care for his blood relatives, his skin still ran cool and a shudder ran up his spine. Elias’ words always had a way to get under his skin, to persuade and control him. " Yes ," Peter hissed back through his teeth. "Dear." 

Elias straightened. "Good. I will be back in London shortly. I hope to not see you," Elias said, his tone flat. He ended the call shortly after, slipping the phone back into his pants.

He looked out the window and took in a deep breath through his nose before allowing a sigh to escape his lips. "Don't worry Jon," Elias murmured to himself as he Glanced at him through a nurse's eyes, "I'll be there soon."

--- 

Getting into the London Bridge Hospital was surprisingly easy for Elias despite his current status as a fugitive. He supposes, on a passing thought as his heels click down the hallway, that making generous donations has its benefits. Not all of the staff know him by name or face, but the ones that do kindly look away as he gives them a tight-lipped business smile. Elias Knows exactly where he's going as he steps confidently through the halls. People seemed to part in waves before him, and a mild smile pulled at his lips. He was hardly anything like Jesus Christ, but he'd allow it. 

As he stepped near Jon's door, a doctor's hand flew into his view as he spoke quickly, "Sorry Sir, you can't -" His eyes met Elias’ and he visibly stiffened with a stutter, "M-Mr. Bouchard, what a pleasure to have you, um - this patient -"

"Yes, thank you Dr. Grant, but I will be seeing him now," Elias said, his voice smooth and cool as the doctor stared up at him with wide brown eyes. 

Dr. Grant swallowed and his eyes shifted to the notification board next to Jon's room, a weary feeling in his gut as he mumbles, "We're not supposed to let anyone in before -"

"Anthony," Elias smiles, and Dr. Grant stiffens. How'd he know his name? "There will be none of that. Mr. Sims is to stay on life support, do you understand? I am taking over as his sole medical power of attorney, thank you. Martin Blackwood and Peter Lukas have no business making these decisions." Dr. Grant swallows and Elias feels the nurses waving hastily at him from behind, ushering him back to the counter. Elias tilts his head, his eyes crinkling with his fake smile. "Will that be all, Dr. Grant?" 

Dr. Grant glances behind Elias before nodding too quickly, "Y-Yes, Mr. Bouchard - Sir. I'll have the orders changed immediately." He then turns and rips a sheet of paper from the notification board.

"Thank you, now if you don't mind," Elias gestures and the doctor jumps slightly from his position in front of the door.

"Oh - my apologies Sir," he mutters out and skuttles off to the nurses station. 

Elias nods, and smooths hand over his jacket almost nervously. He presses into the room, and the stark coolness of it makes him frown. His Jon shouldn't be kept in such an ice box, not when he's prone to being cold. He catches sight of the man on the bed, and his demeanor crumples slightly as he follows the trail of the red string to his bedside.

Jon looked… frail. His cheeks were sunken with permanent, deep eyebags. He looked too thin, and Elias was sure Jon's ribs and hip bones protrude almost in a ghastly manor. He frowned as he ran his hand over the sheet, his fingers mere inches from Jon's where he stopped. "Oh Jon," Elias breathed out, finally allowing his breath to shudder out of his lungs. His body felt… ragged at the sight of Jon.

Admittedly this whole ordeal has him quite exhausted as Jon wastes away in a hospital bed. Elias wears his own eye bags and strands of his hair tickle his eyes as it falls there. He sets his jaw, his nose curling as a burst of anger surges through him.

How dare the universe tie him to Jonathan Sims but simultaneously try to take him away? How dare it.  

Elias scowled, his throat dry and his tongue swelling in his mouth as he jerked his gaze to the far wall. He breathes hard through his nose as his heart beats at his ribcage, surely bruising his insides as it pushes towards Jon with a great sense of need. He turns his gaze back to Jon, and dares to allow his fingers to trail over Jon's slim hand. His fingers run over the divets of Jon's knuckles and over the smooth back of his hand. Elias stops as his pointer finger lands on a small freckle, and he sighs before reaching behind him and tugging the chair next to the bed closer. He sits on the edge of it, though his shoulders slump as the coolness of Jon's skin pricks his fingers. "Jon," Elias mumbles as he places his palm atop Jon's hand, curling his fingers around it as he looks at Jon's comatosed face. He Looks, and strains with a groan. He still can't See him, yet that string that has bound them eternally still rests against the bed sheets, tangled up in an impossible knot next to their joint hands. "Where…" Elias swallows, a shudder falling from his lips as his eyes slip close, "Where have you gone?" 

The silence is deafening, and Elias wants to scream. He wants to punish that doctor - he wants to kill the entirety of the Stranger. He wants to decimate this city and everyone in it as long as Jon lies here, motionless. His mechanical breaths did nothing to sooth Elias as his grip tightened, and for a brief moment he wanted to harm himself. He wanted to rip his own hair out, to scratch at his skin and chew at his lips because he did this. Elias is the reason for Jon's slumber. 

Elias squeezes his eyes, dipping his chin to his chest and he presses another pained breath through his nose. His shoulders shake with the action, his whole body aching as he murmurs, "I thought -" A chuckle falls from his lips as he looks up to Jon’s face. His hair was fanned against the pillow unruly in rough waves. Elias reaches out with his other hand, and he gently dips his fingers into the strands, brushing them out and smoothing them over the pillow. Elias hums thoughtfully as his fingers brush over a smooth patch of grey in Jon’s hair. Elias had always… liked Jon’s greys. “I am not one for… emotional speeches, Jonathan. I have been alive for nearly two centuries and yet emotions still … they can be quite difficult, but you understand, correct?”  Elias ignores the silence as his eyes travel to the tip of Jon’s nose. “Your … hmm, how to put it? Interaction - with the Stranger. That was - well,” A soft laugh falls from Elias’ mouth as his lips twist grimly. “That was supposed to make you stronger. Maybe you are, maybe I just can’t See it, can’t See you .” Elias feels the Eye’s strain in the back of his mind. He knows the Eye has grown fond of Jon. He feels the empty ache within the being and himself so deeply. “But it almost seems unfair. I’ve done nothing but prep you, you must understand, to try and help you grow stronger, and yet here you are -” Elias cuts himself off as he clamps his jaw. 

Now is not the time to blame Jon.

Elias swallows, thick and nearly choking while his Adam's apple struggles against his throat. He’s quiet for a moment before he mumbles with unfocused eyes, “I do wish you’d come back. If not for me, at least for yourself, my dear Jon. Unfortunately I don’t Know where you are or who or what you are dealing with, so I cannot help you, but please,” Elias breathes in sharply through his teeth as he hears himself plead. It feels so wrong against his tongue yet so right as he squeezes at Jon’s hand. He breaks away from Jon for a mere moment before Elias finds his fingers trail to the gruff on Jon's jaw. He allows himself to feel his way across the bone before his fingers slide past Jon’s ear as he stands. He peers down at Jon and at his own hand with a frown. He rubs a gentle thumb under Jon's eye, his brows furrowing as a deep guilt shackles his ankles. He feels detached from himself as gravity pulls him closer to Jon, his lips ghosting over Jon’s forehead as he murmurs, “ Do come back, Jon. ” 

He pulls away, his lashes damp as a tear drips from the corner of his eye to Jon's cheek, and he brushes it away quickly when there is a sharp gasp behind him.

"G-Get away from him!" Martin shouts, his shoulders squared and shaking as Elias turns to him with a quirked up eyebrow. 

"Martin," Elias says, his voice weaker than he intended. His intimidating nature is nearly dampened by his wet eyes and curled up eyebrows. 

Martin eyes him, an accusing look in his eyes as he steps closer, "I said - get away from him." 

Elias sighs, and turns his gaze back to Jon's face. He runs his thumb across Jon's cheek as he whispers, "I'll visit again soon," and pulls his hand away. The string stretches with the movement, lengthening itself. Elias does not notice the renewed redness to it.  

Martin's eyes were wide and scared as he jabbed at his phone. "I'm calling 999, don't -"

"Go anywhere?" Elias breathes, and goosebumps flower on Martin's arms as Elias steps closer. "Martin," Elias sighs with pity, "My dearest Martin, you should give it a rest." Martin's blood turned to ice as Elias’ eyes narrowed directly into his as he murmured, "You do have a dead mother to worry about, yes?" 

"H - How -" Martin sputtered with fear, his mouth opening and closing as Elias steps next to him. 

Elias dips his head down next to Martin's ear before he whispers, "If you try to end Jon's life again, I won't be pleased." 

Martin gapes at the empty air in front of him as Elias slips out of the room. His hand shook as he pressed at his screen, his brows furrowing deeply as he called Basira.

Elias left with a sigh, slipping into a taxi and police flooded the hospital. His picture was up everywhere in the United Kingdom now. With great irritance he spoke to the driver, "Heathrow airport please." 

---

"What do you mean he just disappeared?" Basira asked, her hand braced on her hip.

"I-I don't know!" Martin yelped as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. He shouldn't even be here as he cast a pleading look at Basira. "One moment he was all over Jon and the next he was gone!" Martin's mind flashes images of Elias, bloody Elias , kissing Jon’s forehead. 

Basira hummed quizzically. "Well, the doctor said he's fine. Still brain dead, but fine," Basira spoke casually. She glanced at Jon, but quickly averted her gaze back to Martin's twisted up face.

"Basira ," Martin hissed, "You can't just -"

"What? He's dead, technically. I have no idea why Elias even wants him alive."

"Even so!" Martin whisper-yells. "I-I mean I was ready to -" 

A sharp choking sound erupts through the room and all eyes turn to Jon, who is now wide eyed and gasping around the tube in his throat. 

Basira tilts her head, her lips curling with mild interest, "Huh , spoke too soon. I'll grab the doc." 

Chapter Text

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?"

The words echo so softly in the black, endless distance as Jon stares up at what he thought might be the sky, or was it the ceiling? He hasn’t been able to tell. He’s standing… or maybe he’s laying down? He can’t tell - there doesn’t seem to be an up or down here. He can’t tell which hand is his as he tries to look at his fingers, and only sees blood shot eyes looking up at him with a great intensity. Yet they… cannot see, and he Knows this. He does not know how he Knows this. His brain is muddy. His thoughts… they twist and wrap around each other and when he tries to speak nothing comes out and blackness drips in. It drips down his throat and he can feel it pool in his stomach, rancid and deadly. Yet he doesn’t die, no matter how much he wishes to die. He swims and he runs and he falls and falls and falls and he can’t tell how long it’s been since he shut his eyes. 

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?"

Time here… it makes no sense. He tries and tries and tries and yet - he simply cannot wrap his mind around how the blackness pools at his feet with an inky emptiness that swirls inside his brain making his vision blurry and glitch so impossibly. 

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?"

Jon looks at what he imagined to be a fixed point, his eyes buining as  those words shake him to his very core before he mumbles helplessly, “I don’t know.” 

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?"

The words get louder each time, and Jon scowls now, irritance warming his veins as he jerks a leg in the sludge of nothingness. 

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 - 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 - 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦? " 

A growl boils under Jon’s lungs as he lurches forward and suddenly his foot breaks free. 

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?"

Jon feels it now, he can feel it. The soft, worried undertones.

Who is that?

Who is that - who is calling out to him so softly?

“Hello?” Jon calls back as he pulls his other foot from the dark. There is no answer as Jon hesitantly steps on the gloomy surface. It rippled around his feet as if he stepped in water, but he did not sink as he followed the gentle echo of the voice through the vast nothingness. He strained his eyes and his ears to listen, and more words circled around him as they grew louder.

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

“Who are you?” Jon calls as his skin starts to warm with color. He can feel his own pulse now, thrumming excitedly in his ears as he steps closer and closer. His words bounce off nothing and for a long time there is… nothing. No echoed words of worry, no soft whispers. He gesticulates to himself, expectant, and he spots a flash of thin red. His eyes trail in front of him and he sees a string. That string disappears in the distance and Jon finds curiosity bubbling within him as he glances down at his hand. Attached to his pinky finger is that red string, and Jon hums curiously as he reaches out to touch it. It is surprisingly smooth for such a thin thing. Delicate and dainty - yet as he tugs on it, it does not waver and only encourages him to step forward. 

“𝘋𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘑𝘰𝘯.”

Jon looks up again into the nothing, his eyes desperately trying to focus as he steps forward some more. The string magically shortens, and Jon feels himself being pulled in the direction of the other end. He must find the end. 

---

Jon lurches awake, his throat burning as his eyes water and - Good Lord , what is in his mouth and his throat and -

He wheezes as medical blues blur his vision and there are voices - someone is talking to him - Where is he? He can’t remember - He coughs violently as the tube is slipped from his throat and his lungs fill with sterile air as his eyes leak. 

“Jon? Jonathan? Can you hear me?” There is a doctor hovering over him, a kind and rather curious look in his eyes.

Jon opens his mouth to speak, his voice hoarse as he shudders out, “I -” His lungs are aching and his body is sore. 

“Good, good! No need for more talking, here,” the doctor smiles and Jon Knows it’s Dr. Anthony Grant as a cup of water is pressed into his hand.

Jon tips his gaze down to it, to the ripples in the water and he catches a spot of red. His brows furrowed and he lifted his hands up, aware that Dr. Grant, Martin, Basira and multiple nurses were all staring at him as if he were the most peculiar specimen. The red string flutters happily with Jon’s movements, and Jon feels his heart thud happily as he looks at it. He hums and then murmurs, “Thank you,” speaking to the string and no one else as he finally sips at the water. 

Martin stares with wide, incredulous eyes. His cheeks were pale and his posture was that of a man who had seen a ghost. Basira’s eyebrows are curled with curiosity while doctors and nurses pamper the man who woke from a six month slumber. A man who was scheduled to die this afternoon. 

“Alright Jon, we’re going to run some tests, you’re, well - to put it simply -  we did not expect you to wake up,” Dr. Grant mused as he noted some things on his clipboard. 

“Oh,” Jon breathed out quietly. He felt almost shy as they all peered at him quizzically, and he squirmed in the bed slightly. Then his eyes fell back to his own hand and he felt himself twirl a finger around the string as a source of comfort. It soothed him gently, despite the person on the other end. 

The doctor offered him a smile, wide and toothy and Jon didn’t listen to what he said. He… he felt like he needed to be somewhere. Somewhere… not here. Something - someone needed him. His mind trailed back to the prison and he felt himself gulp at the thought of Elias’s arms wrapped around his back and how comfortable he had been. Jon's heart yearned to be there again, to be in the same room as Elias, breathing the same air and seeing the same things - 

“Jon? Jon!” Martin shouted and Jon let out a yelp as he flinched. Water sloshed in his cup, nearly spilling as he curled into himself. His gaze swept up to meet Martin’s and Jon’s eyebrows drew up in confusion. 

“M… Martin?” Jon asked slowly, and his eyes traveled to Basira. She stood tall behind Martin, but Jon could See the pain that swept around her shoulders like a too tight sweater

Martin let out an exasperated sigh before launching himself at Jon, encasing him in a hug as he cries, “I’m so happy you’re awake!” 

Jon stiffens slightly as his arms hang loosely at his side. Martin is squeezing him and it would feel nice if it weren’t for the sense of wrongness. He shouldn't be here. He shifts uncomfortably, patting an awkward hand on Martin’s back as he hears Basira speak, “You were out for quite a while.” 

Martin finally pulls back with a sniffle, his eyes red and misty as he falls back to the chair. “Yeah," Martin sniffed, "A whole six months.” 

Jon’s head tilts as he echoes, “Six months?” 

Basira nods sharply, “Yes. A lot’s happened.”

“I see,” Jon mumbled. Why did he feel like he was being lectured? He had just woken up from a six month coma and Basira is scowling at him like he’s done something to personally wrong her. “Um,” Jon starts, and he swallows as he turns his gaze to Martin. Martin also looked… different. Had he disappointed him too? He drops his gaze to his lap and fiddles with the string tied to his pinky. The simple touch calms his rising heartbeat slightly, and he lets out a sigh.

Wait.

This string? This -

“Where’s Elias?” Jon hears himself ask before he can stop the words from escaping his lips.

Martin's eyebrows curl together and he and Basira share a look of confusion. It was not Tim nor Daisy Jon first asked about, but Elias . Elias of all people. Martin's eyes flick back to Jon's distant ones and he heaves out a sigh. "Um, H-He broke out of prison the day of the ritual. He was -” Martin stops himself as he sees the image of Elias looming over Jon with such… longing eyes. It disgusted him. “He’s hard to find.”

“The bastard is slippery. We’ve been close, but he always gets away,” Basira adds on. "It's like he knows something we don't," She spits as her fingers curl into fists as her sides.  

“Ah, I… see. Um," Jon blinked as he tried to think of where Elias would go. Elias has money. He could be anywhere, but where? "Tim?” Jon’s speaking again, but he feels detached from his own voice as he Looks. His eyes skirt across the room as he mumbles, “Did he -" He cuts himself off with a press of air through his nose. 

Martin's face falls and Jon frowns. That's a shame. Tim was a good man - he was Jon's friend before all this.

"What about Daisy?” Jon asks quietly as he hesitantly turns his gaze to Basira. She tenses, her jaw flexing as she looks away. The silence speaks more than a thousand words as Jon frowns. “Oh, that’s… I'm sorry, Basira. Did," Jon licks his lips, "Did we at least -”

“Stop the ritual?” Basira cuts in. Jon nods as her eyes meet his. Her nose is scrunched up in a scowl as she nods sharply. 

“Ah, that’s um, that’s good… then,” Jon murmurs, his brows pulling closer and he Knows she is telling the truth. He can’t… feel Tim or Daisy anymore. He used to somehow be able to tell where they were and now he just - he can’t See them anymore. 

"Yeah," Martin breathes and scratches at the back of his neck. "Peter Lukas runs the institute now."

"Peter… Lukas," Jon says slowly and a drop of information blooms in the back of his brain. He needed to be somewhere else. Jon blinks as his eyes lose focus. He hears talking but… it’s muffled like the voices are underwater. His head tilts slightly as his brows furrow. His mind is searching, straining, as his Eyes look all around and suddenly he Knows. 

Elias is in America.

“Jon!” Martin shouts, his hands gripping at Jon’s shoulders. Jon startles in his grasp as lets out a sharp gasp. “Sorry - Sorry," Martin apologises as he pats at Jon's shoulders. Jon stares up into Martin's brown eyes as he asks, "Are you feeling okay? You spaced out for a second there.” Martin slowly pulled away and the movement caught Jon's eyes. None of Martin's fingers were adorned with an impossible red string. Jon hums curiously and looks to Basira. That string he swore he saw was there but… it was wrong. It hung loosely at Basira’s side and it was severed as if… 

"Jon," Basira says, her voice laced with the tiniest bit of worry. 

“Oh - Ah, yes, I’m okay. Just a bit," Jon gestures with his hand as a false smile grabs his lips, "Tired. Trying to take everything in." 

Martin and Basira share a look before Martin stands with the clap of his hands. “Right. I’m gonna go grab the doctor, I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he walks backwards to the door. 

"Oh that's..." Jon trailed off as Martin quickly slipped through the door. Basira blew a sigh through her nose as she shifted her weight, jutting her hip out to the side slightly as she looked at Jon.

Jon swallowed, a nervous laugh falling from his lips as he breathed, "Um."

"Mmhm." Basira hummed sharply, her lips twisting as she said, "Let's let the doctors determine if you're fine or not, Jon." 

Jon squirms under her gaze and nods. He sips at his forgotten water quietly and for a moment he swears he can feel the string tugging on his wrist. 

“I need help getting to America,” Jon says suddenly. 

Basira  eyes him as she crosses her arms, “Why do you need to go to America?” Her head is tilted, her face twisted with accusation as she stares at him.

“To find Elias," Jon says simply.

Basira's brows furrow deeper as she reiterates, "To find… Elias?" 

Jon nods, "Yes. He's there. I Know it."  

"Okay and how do you," Basira points at him, "the man who just woke up from a six month coma, know where Elias Dou chard is." 

Jon opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. His lips seal shut for a moment. How did he Know? He had been Knowing all sorts of things he shouldn't. 

Jon shifts in the bed, setting the cup on the table as he mutters, "I just do."  

"Right. And when you find him, because you most certainly will, what are you going to do?" 

Jon stills in his movements. He wanted nothing more than to curl his arms around Elias’ torso - to bury his face in his shoulder and apologize for being so unaware -

“Oh, to kill him, right?” Basira breaks him from his thoughts.

A chill runs up Jon's spine as he remembers his intent to end Elias completely. His joints feel stiff as he pulls his legs from the sheet on the bed. He looks at the floor as he lies through his teeth, “To kill him, yes. He’s too much of a threat to be out there."

"And you want to go alone?"

"Yes," Jon murmurs as he looks up to find Basira staring right back at him. "He'll… he'll know I'm coming. I don't -" Jon shudders with the truth, "I don't want any of you to get hurt anymore." 

"Hm," Basira hums. She looks at Jon for a moment. She analyzes him before asking, “Are you sure you don't want back up?”

“No," Jon starts as he presses his feet to the floor. The chill of the linoleum creeps up through his socks. "I have to - I have to do it. I have to be the one."  Basira sighs, long and deep as she peers at Jon with her dark eyes. Jon can see right through her as he mumbles, "Please look after Martin while I’m gone.”

Chapter Text

Jon forces his way through the crowds inside the airport. He couldn’t think straight with the loud conversations swimming around his ears on top of the major jet lag. He could not catch a wink of sleep as anxiety and anticipation bubbled and grew in his stomach the whole flight. The only thing Jon could focus on was the vibrant red string that guided him through the giant airport, weaving him in and around the crowds of travelers reuniting with their loved ones. His jumbled thoughts were interrupted when he roughly bumped into someone. He stumbled back on his feet nearly falling over. 

“Watch where you’re going you idiot!” A deep raspy voice with an American accent yelled through the mass of people.  

“S-Sorry!” Jon squeaks as he looks around to try and find the source but he realizes the people around are constantly moving and the man must've already moved on. He quickly pushes his way through an opening and finds sanctuary against a wall. He leans heavily on it as he sighs with exhaustion. He rubs the fatigue from his eyes before straightening out his blazer. He looks up and sees a bright colorful sign. “Welcome to San Francisco” it reads. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall before taking a big, calming breath. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, turning it on. It wasn’t long before several notifications were popping up on his screen. Mostly all missed calls and texts from a presumably worried Martin. He stares at his phone for a moment before he quickly sends a text to Basira. Once he knows the text went through he shuts his phone off again and tosses it into a nearby bin before continuing his way out of the airport following their string. 

---

Jon couldn’t stop twirling the string around his finger in an attempt to calm his anxiety as he stood at a busy street corner. Across the street he could see the string guiding him towards a small cafe. He is in there - Elias. This is where he himself needed to be, but something was preventing him from moving his feet any further. Is it fear? Jon ran a hand through his unruly hair and let out a painful laugh. He flew across the world and yet he couldn’t even walk across the damn street. 

“Excuse me sir.” A small voice came from behind him and he turned around. In front of him stood a short elderly lady. “Would you be a dear and help this poor old woman cross the street?” She asked with a warm smile. 

Jon shook his head in an attempt to sober himself up. His hair was a mess and he blinked down at the lady before offering his arm with a startled smile. “O-Oh yes of course.” 

She hobbled over and snaked her arm around his and they stood together as they waited for the light to change. “My goodness,” The older woman crooned, “What a wonderful accent. Are you visiting from overseas?” 

“Yes ma’am, I am.” Jon says as the light changes signalling for them to begin their cross. He begins leading the way in short small steps. 

“First time in the states?” She hums out. Jon just nods to her. “What brings you to San Francisco sweetheart?” 

Jon hesitates over his next words. “Oh uh… uhm… visiting… someone.” 

“I bet they’re someone special if you flew all the way over here.” She smiles up at him.

Jon can feel warmth spread from his cheeks to his ears. “Yeah… I guess so.” They finally reach the other side of the street and he lets go of the elderly women. 

The woman takes his hand in hers and gives them a good shake. “Thank you dear. May I confess something?” 

“Sure?” Jon says nervously. 

“I actually didn’t need to go this way.” She admits with a playful grin. 

“Wh-What? Then why ask?” He stutters, astonished. He’s been in America for less than two hours and he’s already getting tricked by an elderly woman?

“I saw you standing there for a bit and I thought maybe you could use some encouragement. Now go get them.” She gives him a thumbs up before making her way down the street. 

A breathy laugh escapes from Jon’s lips before he realizes he’s standing in front of the cafe. He swallows hard and looks down at his tied pinky. He gives it a gentle tug and his heart flutters when he feels it tug back. He takes a deep breath and follows the string the last few meters to his fate. It leads him to the side of the building where there is outdoor seating. It doesn’t take long before Jon’s eyes land on Elias. He is sitting there in his normal three piece suit lazily sipping at a mug of tea in his hands. He’s not looking at Jon. Instead his eyes are cast out into the San Francisco Bay. Jon stands there for a moment as the sun kisses his skin and the wind whips through his hair. The breeze from the bay feels nice against Jon’s cheeks as he breathes out a sigh before slowly approaching the table. He notices another mug of tea sitting across from Elias and his heart flutters excitedly in his chest. 

“Jonathan.” A voice smooth as silk greets him. Elia is now looking up at Jon from where he sits with a pleased smile. “How was your flight?” 

“Elias.” Jon mutters back, his tone disbelieving as he shifts on his feet. 

“Have a seat. I ordered tea for you.” Elias merely gestures to the seat across from him. “It’s still warm.”

Jon’s face twists with some resistance, some twisted hatred mixed with the deepest feelings of love. Love, for Christ’s sake. His Elias, sitting here so proudly and posh and perfectly imperfect. His Elias who has murdered a man. His Elias who has watched Jon, who has Known about him without his permission. Yet, now as he stands here, his fingers shaking against the sleeves of his sweater, he can feel none of the hate. He can not find it in his mind or in his gut or anywhere else. His heart is only jumping for joy - jumping towards the man in the chair at the table by the water at this small bay-side cafe. 

Elias’ smile softens as he murmurs, “Please Jon, you flew all this way. I know you’re tired.” Elias didn’t need his special powers to know this as Jon sways on his feet.

Jon eyes the chair, metal and fancy but somehow so alluring. He hesitantly places his hand on the back of it, and the coolness of it seeps into his palm as he drags it out before sitting down quietly. His back is stiff as he scoots it in before he glances down at the cup of tea. The steam tickled the tip of his nose gently. Elias watches as Jon carefully cups the mug between his fingers. What once was coolness seeping into his skin is now a delicate warmth. He sips at it carefully and relishes in the immediate comfort it brings his bones.

“Good?” Elias askes with a smirk.

Jon nods slowly before setting the cup back down in its saucer and oh - how lovely. How very lovely that this cup has its counterpart. The red of the string catches his eye again and he follows it to Elias’ hand. It sits neatly tied to Elias’ pinky and Jon has to suppress a soft huff. Elias’s gaze falls to the string, short in its length - no longer a great distant barrier between him and Jon. “Is something amusing?” Elias asks as he leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand as he rests against the table. 

Jon’s gaze jerks up to meet Elias’. Jon’s eyes search those cool grays for a moment before he asked instead, “How long have you Known?

Elias takes in a breath as he straightens himself out. He lets out a sigh and looks out to the water. He wouldn’t tell Jon everything, but just enough. Just enough to kindly feed him. “That,” Elias begins, a smile tugging at his lips, “My dear Jonathan, is such a wonderful question.” Jon looks at him expectantly. “I’ve known about our, hm, fate, since the moment you walked into my institute. It is true I did not care at first who wore the end of this,” Elias muses as he gestured with his tethered hand, “Until I ventured into the research department that day. You were so clumsy.” 

Jon scoffs at this, his cheeks redding slightly. 

“Don’t worry, it’s endearing,” Elias reassures with a smile. 

Jon swallows. “I-Is-” He stutters out, “Is that why you chose me to be the Archivist?"

Elias hums thoughtfully, “Partly. I was… curious. I wanted to see how much you’d grow. And might I say, you’ve grown quite a bit. Then I simply became fond of you.”

Jon scoffs again, his lips turning up bemused as he chuckles, “Fond? Really - You? Fond of me?” 

“Yes, quite.” Elias replies. He studies Jon as his brows knit together and a soft ‘Oh’ falls from his lips.

Jon goes quiet for a long moment before breathing out, “Uhm,” Jon's heart is thrumming in his ears and his knees are bouncing nervously under the table. “Okay,” He says and nods to himself, his eyes slipping shut as he repeats, “Okay.” The wave of emotions behind his eyelids were overwhelming. His chest was flooding with sweet endearment, pooling up in his throat and clouding his mind. He jumps suddenly when fingers brush the back of his hand. 

“Jon? It’s,” Elias sighs heavily, as painful as it is, he must say these words. “It’s alright if you… don’t - don’t feel the same. Not all soulmates are together. There are plenty of happy people in the world without them. It is as simple as walking away, and I would not hold it against you if you were to stand up and leave.” 

Jon swallows as he peeks up into Elias’ eyes. There are so many and they are All Seeing, but they are so honest and true. The malicious intent that once coated them has melted away into nothing but admiration. Admiration for him, for Jon. He Knows this as his fingers curl into his palms on the table and a pressed breath escapes his chest, "No."

Elias is silent save for the slight rise of his brows, and Jon revels as sunlight casts an odd glow about him.

It was almost… Godly. 

Jon resists a snort as Elias' lips slowly turn up into a grin. 

Elias hums, “Alright then."