Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jonah Magnus was peacefully sitting down at his desk, in his office, a large, circular room at the top of the building hosting the Magnus Institute, in central London. The structure of the place wasn’t without being reminiscent of the top of a Panopticon prison, similar to the one hosting the body of the fondator of that Institute. 

The mind of that man, of course, was hosted inside a new, better, younger body, like it had for the past two hundred years. 

Said mind was actually occupied with Watching over his Institute, an activity he took a non negligible amount of pleasure from. After all, that was his cue under the Watcher, wasn’t it ? 

However, the peace of this activity was quickly and unexpectedly interrupted by some unexpected and unfortunate event. 

For some reason, the Ceaseless Watcher, a God which Jonah was proud to be the favourite, had for some reason decided – or something close to it, given its limited decision making skills – to make the Archives, stronghold of its power, impossible to look upon. 

—

Jon was having a shit day. Well, what day wasn’t a shit day, he would say, because everyday was a shit day ever since he started working in the archives. 

It was about ten in the morning, and even though it was probably too early for that, he decided to go to the break room, grab some paracetamol, and then go lie down on the cot in document storage until the headache currently splitting his brain in half died down. 

On the way there, he saw Tim, who gave him a supporting smile and let him go rest. A few weeks ago, Jon would never interrupt his work for a headache, as bad as it was, but after a few of those occurrences – always after reading one of those ‘difficult statements’ – he’d learned to swallow his pride and get out of his office. 

If his boss tried to reprimand him about it, well, he could try recording them, and enjoy the pain for himself. 

Strangely enough, these problems seemed to affect everyone, but only if they were recorded on tape. Read them out loud or try to record them on a laptop, and there wouldn’t be any problem, except maybe a corrupted file. 

The assistants had all tried, and all had agreed to take turns on them, only to alleviate the charge between more people. But since ‘double boss’ – as nicknamed by Tim – had decided that ‘ audio recordings were the task of the Archivist ’, everyone had collectively decided to let Jon go rest every time he had to endure the headache. 

Sasha had suggested to stop recording them entirely, but Jon, insecure as ever about keeping his position, had vehemently refused, and begrudgingly accepted to space out the recordings a bit. And besides, it wasn’t as there were many of them. They rarely showed up, and everyone was grateful for that. 

So that was why Jon wasn’t in his office when it happened. Instead, Sasha had the pleasure of witnessing the – quite loud, mind you – arrival of the strange figure with unnervingly green eyes. 

She didn’t notice them at first. She was busy in the bullpen, typing furiously her report on the last statement encountered – discredited in only a few hours of investigation, but academia was strict, and she had to type it even if she considered it useless. 

Tim was somewhere in the stacks, probably looking for an old and yellowed piece of paper to cross reference, or maybe slacking off and upgrading his ‘classification system’ – a bunch of sticky notes doodles he slapped on the files to indicate the contents. They had almost four boxes full of werewolf statements, and she was starting to wonder if he would ever run out of inappropriate jokes to put besides the drawings. 

So, Sasha was the only one in the Archives that was in capacity of finding the half passed out, heavily scarred and very much bloody person wetly coughing up their guts on the floor. 

Strangely enough, it was the metallic sound the knife made when it slid out of their chest that made her jump, and finally notice there was someone in Jon’s office. 

She scrambled up to go there, afraid there was someone- someone what ? What was she afraid of ? That someone was dead ? Hurt ? That there was even someone ? She wasn’t sure, but she visibly paled when her eyes fell on the figure on the floor. 

They had stopped coughing, which… she wasn’t sure was a great sign. Probably not. Shit, what could she do ? This was clearly an emergency situation, but what was she going to do when there was a now passed out person on the floor, that apparently wasn’t breathing, and had seemingly been stabbed in the heart ? Was there anything she could do ? CPR definitely seemed like something that would damage their lungs even more, so it probably wasn’t and option, so what- 

The figure suddenly inhaled and got up, coughing some more blood and holding a torn spot in their sweater – probably the wound. 

In mute horror, she stared at the figure there. 

She couldn’t see their face, obscured by a thick curtain of silver and dark brown hair, slick with sweat. They had red tinted sweater that showed some black underneath the half dried blood, and old battered jeans that looked like they’d known better days. 

One of the things that caught her attention – and it was difficult to ignore – was the scars . Countless, littering the poor person’s skin. The hand holding the hole in their chest was red and the skin warped, like an angry burn, but somehow – impossibly – in the shape of a handprint. The rest of the skin was littered with pale pockmarks clashing with their brown skin, and they seemed like the kind of person that had aged too much, too fast. 

Then, finally, they coughed up something solid, round and caked in blood – a ball of sorts ? What the hell –, and stopped, still sat on the floor and panting. Sasha gasped, and they finally seemed to notice her. 

“Who-” they started, their voice raspy and broken – not unexpectedly given the present situation. They looked like they were about to continue, hadn’t Tim interrupted by barging in. 

“Sasha ? Sash, you alright ? I heard something, I-” 

He stopped suddenly and he saw what was happening. The person still on the floor catched this momentary silence to let out a strangled cry. “Tim ?! A-And S- Sasha ?” 

They moved their hair out of their face, and Sasha finally had a clear look of what they looked like. 

Somehow, the stranger that had just sort of appeared in Jon’s office, covered in blood and scars, has the exact same face as their friend. 

“What,” slowly enunciated Tim, “the fuck . Who are you.” 

That sounded more like an order than a question. The – person ? impostor ? weird-Jon ? – gulped, and hesitated. 

“I- T- The Archivist. Uh, I, uh. I’m Jon. Sort of ? I-” 

“What. The hell ? Who are you really. Don’t lie. Why do you look like Jon. How did y-” 

Sasha didn’t hear the rest, as she rushed into document storage to check on her boss. What if he’d been hurt ? What if- What if what or whoever this person was, what if their arrival had somehow hurt Jon ? What if they had replaced Jon ? What if- 

Sasha arrived to document storage, ready to burst in when her boss opened the door instead, still clutching his head and very disgruntled. He had traded his formal button up shirt to a plain white tee shirt, as he had started doing when he was resting – ‘ if our boss is unhappy with my work ethic, then he can tell me himself ’ – and frowned as he saw Sasha approaching. 

“What’s happening ?” he asked. 

Jon had no idea what the hell was happening, but there was something. 

“Jon ?” exclaimed Sasha upon seeing him. Then she suddenly looked suspicious. “What are you doing up ? You should be resting.” 

As if you weren’t about to wake me up , he thought, but didn’t say. His assistants always told him how harsh and kind of an asshole he was when he had migraines – be it spooky or regular – and he was trying to improve on that. So he held his tongue. 

“Heard a noise. What’s happening ?” he lied. He didn’t hear anything. Document storage was soundproofed, which was the prime reason why he had set up his cot there. Climate control hadn’t worked for at least two decades, but he didn’t need that. 

So no, he hadn’t heard anything. But he had felt it. Something, like a tensed up string finally snapping, one that had been like that for so long that he hadn’t noticed until the strain was gone. 

But he wasn’t about to say anything about it. He was keeping his sceptic reputation by denying the statements like his life was depending on it, and perhaps it was, so he wasn’t about to admit that something strange, or, god forbid, supernatural , just happened to him. 

“I think you should come and see for yourself,” simply declared Sasha before fleeing towards- wait, was that his office ? What happened in his office ? What was happening in his office ?! 

Well, whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t whatever was in front of him. There was a long moment of silence where Tim and the strange person stared at each other, while Sasha trembled slightly next to him and Jon stood motionless in the doorway. 

“Guys ?” he asked. That should probably be the first sign that something was wrong. He never used a word as casual as ‘guys’ to address his coworkers in a professional setting. “Why is there an eye on my floor ?” 

And there it was. It was small, caked in now dried blood and thankfully not twitching, but it was definitely an eyeball. The optic nerve didn’t seem to have been cut, or at least not cleanly. It looked more like the eye had been torn out of the socket, like someone had yanked very hard to tear it out. 

“You- You aren’t going to ask about me ?” said the stranger in a voice that wanted to be quiet, but couldn’t be, probably because of the amount of blood in their lungs. 

No I’m not asking about you , Jon thought, because right now I’m trying very hard not to think about you, or why you look like me, or why you even sound like me, neither am I trying to think about how you got here, who could have fucking stabbed you, or the absolutely gratuitous amounts of blood in my office . 

Jon didn’t say that, because that probably would have sounded like he was having a mental breakdown, which he totally wasn’t. He was just experiencing a stress reaction. A very strong stress reaction, but that wasn’t something he wanted to worry about. 

He swallowed. “Why,” he repeated, trying very hard and failing to keep his voice from trembling, “is there an eye on my floor.” 

There was again a long moment of silence before anyone else talked, and that only happened when the stranger tried to get up from the floor taking support on Jon’s desk – and staining the papers there, though that was the least of anyone’s worries. 

“Don’t move,” declared Tim. Strangely enough, the stranger obeid. They probably weren’t in any position not to. “Who are you. And I want the truth.” 

“I told you. I’m The Archivist I- I’m Jonathan Sims !” 

“Bullshit,” he said, his expression hardening. He grabbed something on the desk – was it a paperweight ? Jon probably had one of those on his desk – and looked right about to murder the person on the spot. 

But somehow, impossibly – but maybe not so impossibly given the sheer number of impossible things that had happened just that day – Jon knew they had said the truth. That this- Archivist, was him. They were him, but they also weren’t. 

He swallowed at the implications of that, but also at how foreign that thought seemed. Had he really thought that ? Or was it this Archivist that had made him think that ? He wasn’t sure, both seemed impossible, but it didn’t matter. He Knew that was true. 

He lifted his arm, and slowly, made Tim lower his arm. He looked at the Archivist right in the eyes – they were green, so green there was no way they were natural, yet they were there, and they looked like they belonged on his face as much as his actual, dark brown ones – and simply said : 

“Alright. I believe you.” 

They sighed with relief, and tried again to get up from the floor while Tim looked at Jon like he just ate a cactus – which, fair enough, he did say something weird. 

“Look, I don’t-” he tried to justify himself, before sighing. “I know that sounds insane, but I Know they said the truth. I just- I just Know it.” 

Tim looked suspiciously at him. “You know how insane that is, boss.” At least he was still calling him boss. When he didn’t, that was when he really fucked up things. “How do we know they- it didn’t like, put that in your head. Like, freaky mind powers.” 

Hah. So Tim had had the same idea. “We don’t. But I trust them.” Then, he turned back to them. “Alright, Archivist. How did you end up here ?” 

Jon was actually surprised with himself on how well he was handling the situation. Sure, he had half a mental breakdown not two minutes earlier, and the headache from the statement he had previously read was still there despite the paracetamol he’d taken, but honestly, he could just as well be huddling in a corner with a panic attack, so he considered he was holding things together well enough for now. …All things considered, he would probably have that panic attack later down the line. 

“Er, Archie,” said the Archivist. At Jon’s raised eyebrow, they continued. “Y-You called me Archivist. I- I would prefer if you called me Archie instead. O-Or, well, Jon, b-but you’re already Jon, a-and we can’t exactly have two of us – o-or we can , but that wouldn’t be great for communication – so, uh, call me Archie. It’s- It’s less weird like that.” 

Yes, that man was definitely like Jon, if Jon had years of trauma and pain dumped onto him, which, sure enough, the scars seemed to confirm. “And about how you got here ?” asked Sasha. 

“Well, I don’t exactly know. Or rather, I’m not sure about how.” 

And that was how ‘Archie’ was launched into a very long, very interesting in Jon’s opinion, and probably totally unnecessary tangent on the differences of time travel, dimensional travel, and the likelihood of each of them happening given the recent events they had experienced. 

The fact that Jon was even listening and nodding along to those insanities would be very telling of his current state of mind, but it wasn’t like his stress levels were low enough for him to care. Maybe later. 

“-and I would rather tend to the alternate dimension theory, given that my presence here hadn’t caused any paradoxes yet – or maybe I would need to touch you ? Let's avoid that for now – and also because The Web’s plan involved something related to it and-” 

“Wait, what’s that ?” interrupted Sasha. 

“What’s… what ?” they shot back. 

“That, the… The Web. What’s that ? And what’s its plan, as you mentioned ?” 

“Oh, right. That’s… probably in the category of the big and importants things I should tell you about quickly. But before that, where is Martin ? I- Haven’t seen him.” 

There was something strange in their voice, like something they couldn’t quite place, but sounded like sadness. Maybe grief ? Did something happen to Martin in their future, or whatever it was that had led to whatever the hell was happening in Jon’s office at the moment ? 

“He’s sick,” said Tim. Jon was remarkably impressed by how fast Tim had calmed down from his initial outburst. Maybe he had realised the stranger said the truth ? No, that was unlikely. Maybe he just trusted Jon’s judgement. 

Jon didn’t have the time to think further about it, because Archie suddenly went very still. They swallowed thickly, and asked : “What day is it ?” 

“Tuesday ? Why ?” 

“N-No, I meant the date. What’s today’s date ?” 

“First of March. What does this have to do with Mar-”

Tim was interrupted by Archie standing up, grunting loudly and legs trembling, probably because no one in their state should try to stand up and walk after having lost such amounts of blood, and Sasha rushing to them to prevent them from trying. 

“Hey, l-look, you shouldn’t-” 

“No,” they grunted, “M-Martin’s in danger !” 

“What ?” exclaimed Tim. “How do you know that ?” 

“I-” they hesitated. Maybe they were finally about to reveal something useful ? “I come from the future. O-Or something close enough. I’m correct that this is 2016, right ?” 

Everyone looked at each other and nodded. “Well, the- The last date I remember is in 2018. S-So, whether it is dimensional o-or time travel, I’m pretty confident in what I’m saying.” 

They took support on Sasha and tried to limp their way out of the office. “I-In early March 2016, m- my Martin was trapped in his flat for two weeks by something called a Flesh Hive – a sort of monster. Jane Prentiss – t-the monster – had his phone, and texted us that he was sick – heh, said he had a- a stomach bug for some reason, had a bit of humour,” they chuckled, as if it was funny. Which it maybe was, for all they knew ‘Jane Prentiss’ could perfectly be a bug monster. 

Cold sweat began to run down their face from the effort that was walking. “A-Anyway, we have to help him,” they concluded, and grit their teeth when they stopped taking support on Sasha to lean on the wall, catching their breath. 

“Alright,” said Jon. “Tim, can we take your car ?” 

Tim nodded, and Archie gaped. “N-No, you don’t have to-” 

Tim sighed and took their arm, indicating them to take support on him. “And how were you going to go there ? Even if you had- weird teleportation powers, I don’t think you’d be able to use them in your state.” 

“I- I don’t. Have teleportation powers, I mean.” 

“Right. Then, how ? The tube ? Or worse, a cab ? I doubt anyone would take you in, given the amounts of blood that are on you and your clothes, and even if they did, they’d send you straight to the hospital, which, mind you, we’re sending you there immediately after this is over. And you won’t be able to handle a tube ride. So, my car it is.” 

“R- Right.” They looked like they were about to ask more questions, but didn’t. 

Tim gestured to Sasha. “Can you take my keys ? They’re in the inside pocket of my jacket.” 

She nodded, and the group headed to the fire exit. ‘ Not the main one ,’ Jon remarked, because carrying a visibly bloody and Jon shaped stranger would have attracted much more attention. They’d clean the blood in the office – and the eyeball Archie had somehow coughed up – later. 

—

The ambiance inside Tim’s car was… a lot less friendly than in the Archives. The shock of Archie’s arrival had worn off, and everyone was slowly starting to realise that there probably existed a much more rational explanation to their presence than interdimensional travel. 

Tim was driving, with Jon biting his nails in the passenger seat and Sasha sorta bandaging Archie in the backseat. Thanks to Tim’s first aid kit – he always kept one in the glovebox – they got a bit patched up, and despite the blood on their clothes, they were looking a bit better. 

They would still probably need a Statement after, but that wasn’t to worry about until some time. For some reason, the energy that they had received during the brief moments during which they had been the Pupil of The Eye had subsided, and they could feel the wound in their chest slowly stitching itself back up. 

Tim was clutching the wheel with white knuckles, chewing on his lips. Archie couldn’t read his mind – their powers were much less than they used to be – but they were certain that he was thinking about how similar the situation was to Danny’s. That was it, right ? A doppelganger of sorts, sent there to torment him and replace his friend. 

Jon was clearly unnerved, and honestly they couldn’t blame him. After what they had lived through, very few things could surprise them, but this was the Jon of 2016. This one hadn’t even had a dent made into his strong sceptical façade he’d built over the years, and his only encounter had been Mr Spider all those years ago, which he was still firmly denying as a nightmare or a fabrication of his mind at this stage. 

Sasha was… handling this well. Too well. After the initial shock, she adopted back that attitude of asking questions, wanting answers. She would have been such a good fit for Beholding , they thought, immediately guilty about it. 

Either way, all had that wary look lingering in their eyes, and all thought it without saying it out loud. Monster . 

Was Archie a monster ? They certainly felt like one, some times. The fact that they had tried to act against it didn’t change the fact that hurting people felt good, and going against one’s nature would only lead to more problems. 

What was it that Michael had said ? Is one really a monster for acting accordingly to their nature ? Or something close enough. They frowned as they realised The Eye was silent. Normally it would be all too eager to supply the exact quote but… right now, it didn’t. 

They tried to reach for it, and there it was. Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature ? Was Archie evil ? They certainly had hurt enough people for it. But if The Eye wasn’t as constantly present as it had been during the apocalypse anymore, that was a good thing, right ? 

They would have to test the extent of their powers. For now, they weren’t sure of anything, not even if their newfound enhanced regeneration powers would last. It was likely that not, and it was probably a side effect of… everything that had happened near the end. God, it hurt just to think about. 

Tim finally pulled up in front of Martin’s apartment building. 

“We’re here.” 

—

Somehow, Martin’s apartment building was exactly as Jon was expecting it to be. 

Old, kind of shitty, located far enough from central London that the rent prices had significantly dropped. He didn’t blame the man; he may not be privy of Martin’s financial situation, but even though working in the Archives offered a raise, Jon hadn’t gone flat hunting right away, choosing to stay in his old flat and use the pay for other, better things – namely, getting a cat – and he supposed his assistant had done the same – though maybe he didn’t got a cat of his own. 

As the motley crew entered and started to climb up the stairs, the smell hit, and they had to pause a moment to avoid emptying the contents of their stomachs. How had the other residents never noticed, and called ECDC or something ? 

The only one who didn’t flinch was Archie, instead bracing themself and steadying their step. If that was just a premise of what Jane Prentiss was, Jon couldn’t help but admire their determination to confront something as dreadful as this creature. 

So they went. All five of them, some more sure than others, all with dread pooling in their guts. They couldn’t even take a deep breath in that acrid, rotten smell without choking on the practically tastable horror. Like a rotten animal, about to get devoured by worms.

But even that couldn’t have really prepared Jon as what laid upon the stairs. 

Whatever that was, it could not be qualified in any other way than disgusting . There must have been a door there, at some point, now unrecognisable beneath the layers of pulsing and oozing flesh over it, bleeding all over the plaster of the wall. 

There must have been tons of it, and Jon would have maybe wondered on how exactly the floor was supporting the weight had he not been gagging at the sight. The amalgame looked fresh, still bleeding and shifting, everything in it screaming alive in the wrong, terrifying way of something that should not exist . 

In the corner of his eye, Jon saw Tim palling at the sight of something up, and immediately regretted following his companion’s gaze as he saw what was there. 

Suspended, dangling on the ceiling, was a nest . A fleshy, horrible thing, leaking fluids and encased in as much bone as skin, it looked like it would have contained insects, and for some reason Jon’s brain produced the image of a wasp, except it was twisted in some kind of meat based horror. 

The silence of the unspoken horror of the archival crew was broken by Archie.

“That… That’s not Jane Prentiss.”

They swallowed thickly, not turning their unblinking green eyes from the thing suspended on the ceiling.  

“This… This is the Boneturner.”

Chapter Text

“That… That’s not Jane Prentiss. This… This is the Boneturner.” 

Jon snapped out of his morbid contemplation of the nest and turned to Archie, whose eyes were still fixated on it. “What ?” 

They visibly swallowed, their breathing ragged and their hands shaking, clutching the still blood stained fabric of their sweatshirt. “J- Jane Prentiss is- She’s supposed to be a Hive.” 

They paused, their eyes somehow widening like at some realisation, as if saying it out loud made it somehow more real that the exposition of gore in front of the group. “That’s the Flesh. It’s not- It’s not supposed to be The Flesh.” 

“What ?” breathed Jon, his own ears ringing. He wanted to ask more questions, and judging by the look on Sasha’s face, she was about to as well – he couldn’t see Tim, but he was probably still looking at the suspended nest, given that he was the first one to gasp as the bulbous mass ripped open. 

Jon didn’t take long to notice it; the sickening ripping of the skin and cracking of the bones enough to make him gag almost instantly. Whatever was inside the nest fell with a wet thump , and the four of them gazed upon it, fighting their urge to vomit at it. 

Inside the cocoon – because it was obvious now that it wasn’t a nest, but a cocoon, one that served to bring to maturity some horribly meaty larvae – was something that might have once been shaped like a woman. 

She still looked pretty much like one, if you ignore the fleshy horror her lower body had become. Her dress might have been a beautiful one, before, but it was now stained in the maroon and sticky colour of gore. Her black hair was cascading on her shoulders and clinging to her forehead, soaked in blood, and her eyes were wild, crazy, and she grinned as her gaze fell upon Archie. 

She had a second set of arms that had ripped through the dress, and one of the appendages – so foreign looking, exempted of skin and exposing the bare muscles and nerves – was clutching a thick, leather bound volume, the cover somehow left unstained by the gore. 

Jon immediately understood what Archie had meant when he read the title – The Boneturner’s Tale – and he was hit by a realisation. S he’s like Mr Spider , he thought, the words echoing in his head in a deafening cacophony of terror. She wasn’t, but he didn’t have the time to reform his world's conception about monsters just now. 

Her grin widened when her eyes went from Archie to the rest of the crew, and she let out a giggle . Like it was funny. Or, rather, some sound Jon assumed to be a giggle, as the sound was so distorted and alien yet uncannily similar to something a human would make. 

“Archivist !” she exclaimed, giddy, as if this was some reunion with an old friend. Archie didn’t answer, still petrified. Jane – as it was her, surely, an abomination trapping Martin inside – and their apparent terror made her smile. “No ? Not the Archivist ? So sad, and here I thought I might have been accorded this honour.” 

She didn’t look sad at all. Then her eyes fell upon Jon, and he felt his breath itch inside his throat as a hint of madness glinted in her eyes. “ You’re the Archivist !” she cackled, and Jon’s brain short circuited because yes, he was an archivist, rather he was head archivist , but what did his job have to do with that ? Was it his fault that Martin had been targeted ? Because he had accepted this stupid promotion ? He didn’t even want Martin on his team, why try to get him instead of Tim or Sasha, or even more directly, Jon himself ? Not that he desired them, or himself, to be hurt, but it made no sense ! 

“Jane Prentiss,” stifled Archie, visibly exhausted – and why wouldn’t they be, they’d been allegedly stabbed, thrown between dimensions and drove here to confront the apparent personification of body horror. 

“Oh, I see, little Watcher,” Prentiss said, not bothering to look at them and instead focusing on Jon. “You want this one back, hm ? It’s fine, I understand. The little Eye can be possessive, hm ?” She giggled again. Archie clenched their teeth. 

“Leave,” they commanded. 

She giggled again. “Keep him. I don’t care for him anymore. He’s not that suited to Us, in the end.” 

Without adding anything more, she turned and left, clutching and cradling her book between her hands like a mother would hold an infant, horrendous fleshy and meaty sounds in lieu of a soothing lullaby. 

Jon didn’t know for how long he stayed frozen, heart still beating in his eardrums before he heard movement from the other side of Martin’s door and remembered the reason why they came there in the first place. Muttering a curse, Tim scrambled over to the door, still covered in gore, and started to remove a bit of the meat against the wooden panel. 

Sasha, Archie and Jon joined soon enough, trying to talk to the poor man while they removed the mess Prentiss had done. It had taken maybe more than half an hour, but how glad they were once it was done. Martin almost leapt into their arms once he could open his door, and was only stopped at the blood covering them all. Instead he just took the nearest person’s – Sasha’s – hands and sobbed, finally, finally relieved. Only then, after he had finished thanking them all, he spotted Archie. 

The look of utter shock on his face at the view of what he could only interpret as an hallucination or a weird sort of doppelganger of Jon was… to expect, honestly. He stared for a long moment, seeing them squirm uncomfortably under his gaze – they weren’t sure how to tell him about them yet – until he snapped out of it and ushered everyone inside. 

He sat everyone down on the couch, the blood be damned, and, without taking his eyes off Archie, simply asked : “What.” 

It wasn’t even a question, more of an acknowledgement of the insanity of the situation. Martin was more than half sure that everything was a sort of slightly lucid dream, which was weird, since he never had a lucid dream and that he didn’t seem all that much in control of his environment. 

Archie pressed their lips together, shoulders hunched in discomfort. They let out a deep sigh and passed a hand in their hair. Martin noted that they were very long and streaked of white, which was weird since there wasn’t any grey to make the transition, like Jon’s, and that, oh, maybe this stranger-who-look-exactly-like-my-boss ’s hair isn’t the most relevant thing right now , he thought slightly hysterically. 

“Right,” they began. “Right.” 

They sighed profoundly and looked down before continuing. “I- I suppose you all have questions. I- Uh… Well, to start with, I think it’s best to say I’m Jonathan Sims.” They held out a hand to shut Jon as he opened his mouth. “P- Please don’t interrupt me for now. So. Jonathan Sims. To… To prevent any confusion, I think it’s best if you could call me Archie. They/Them pronouns, too.” 

They visibly swallowed and let out a breath, steadying themself. “I- I don’t come from the future. Or at least, not exactly. I don’t want to go on all the kinds of paradoxes my presence here would cause if this was really the case, hah. I think it’s most accurate to say I come from an… alternate dimension, of sorts.” 

Sasha raised a brow, but Jon was faster. “How can you be sure of that ?” he asked. 

Archie squirmed. “I- Erm, aside from… events that happened in my original timeline, the… Well, the affiliation of Jane Prentiss in this universe was enough proof for me.” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“I- In my universe, Jane Prentiss was what I call a-” 

They were cut mid-sentence by Tim’s phone ringing. Jon glared at the offending item on the coffee table as Tim examined the number. “Oh, wait, I gotta pick up this one,” he said. 

“Who is it ?” inquired Sasha.

“Michael.”

Archie’s eyes widened slightly, but they didn’t raise whatever the issue was.

“Hey, Michael. How are you buddy ?”

“Hi Tim ! I’ve been fine, don’t worry. I was trying to reach Martin actually, but he didn’t pick up ? I- I was a bit worried.”

“Oh, right, we, uh, we got a little problem on that. What did you need ?”

“Hum, well, I- I’m in the Archives right now ? And the, uh, there’s blood ? In Jon’s office ? Like, a- a lot of blood, and it’s kinda freaking me out.”

The five of them exchanged looks. Right. There was still the unresolved issue of the mess caused by Archie’s arrival.

Chapter Text

Michael Shelley was scratching anxiously his cheek, waiting for Tim to arrive. His had said that it wouldn’t take too long, and he wasn’t waiting for more than twenty minutes, but it already felt like a lot longer.

He forced himself to rest his hand on the table. His boyfriend hated it when he did that. He said it made his cheeks rough. Shame he wasn’t present with Michael in the archives. It would undoubtedly have made the situation a whole lot more bearable.

He was waiting in the hallway of the Magnus Institute. Angela, the receptionist, was typing on her computer quietly. Michael bit his lower lip. He was probably disturbing her. He knew he should be in the archives, but the thought of being down here, alone with the smell of blood, made him feel sick. 

When Tim finally arrived, he was accompanied by four others, which was odd – though Michael didn’t say anything until he took a closer look at them. 

All seemed a bit shaken, and wore clothes that were clearly too big – Maybe Martin’s ? Tim himself wasn't aboarding his usual catchy smile, aboarding instead a more sombre mine, though he brightened slightly when he saw Michael. 

Martin was standing at his side. That was the first weird occurrence, because Tim had said he was sick, as the reason why he hadn't come visit in the hospital the previous day. 

Sasha was looking as usual, except maybe for the skirt she was wearing and the oversized jumper, far from her usual style, with faded colours and wrinkled fabric, instead of the bright clothing she usually aboarded. She was glancing nervously towards the fourth person besides her. 

Michael did not recognise them, unsurprisingly, given the effort that had been done to hide their face. It was buried behind a face mask, a bright red cap and a pair of large aviator sunglasses that Michael remembered having seen on Tim multiple times. Quite honestly, it did not fit the stranger’s face. 

Tim greeted him with a brief wave, and indicated to follow him in the archives. 

—

“Sorry for taking that much time. We had to change clothes before coming here,” apologised Tim. 

“Oh ! Hum, no, no problem, I understand !” he answered. “I, uh, I called about the, well, the blood in Jon’s office. I was worried, really.” He was glancing nervously towards the now dried brown-ish liquid spilled on the floor.

Jon sighed.

“Well, as you can see, the blood is not mine. It's… a very, very long story.” He then turned to the stranger. “And you still owe us a bit of explanation.”

The stranger sighed as well, and huffed “I suppose so.” Their tone was weary, and reminded Michael a bit of Jon, for some reason. 

They looked around, making sure that no one else than the small team was in view before proceeding to lift the mask off their face. They kept the cap and sunglasses on, but it was enough for Michael to recognise them.

“Jon ?” he said, incredulous, looking alternatively to Jon - the… original one ? - then to Jon - the other one. 

“Erm… Yes and no, I guess ? I’m from the future. Sort of. A- a different one. It’s hard to explain ? It’s a bit of an insane situation,” they laughed. 

“They were going to give us some explanation when we received your call.” intervened Sasha.

And so here they were, the six of them, in the breakroom. Some were sitting on the couch, others on the chairs or standing. Martin was making tea. It had almost become a reflex at this point. All had silently agreed to put the blood-cleaning duty on later. They were all too worried to put their minds to it. 

The newcomer has introduced themselves as Archie, which was already making it easier for Michael to separate them from Jon. They were holding a cup of Martin’s tea in their hands. 

They breathed in. 

On the other side of the room, no one noticed the soft click, nor the quiet humming of a tape recorder as it started.

—

“Alright.” simply said Archie. “Here we go I guess. This will take a fairly long amount of time, so I will ask you to not interrupt me.” When they spoke again, their tone had strangely shifted. Tim thought about how odd it was that they sounded like this, the exact same as Jon when he was recording a statement. Well, this shouldn’t be surprising, after all, they were Jon. This fact wasn’t helping to alleviate the weirdness of the situation, but it sure helped accept some aspects.

“I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t dreading this conversation. To put this in the most simple way… I come from the future, or that is what I thought when I first arrived.

“In my world, during a fourteen day timespan, from February 29th to March 13th, Martin was trapped inside his apartment by an entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss. When I arrived here, and briefly analysed the situation, I made rescuing him my top priority.” 

Tim snorted, and mouthed ‘ analysed ’ while rolling his eyes. Archie glared. 

“But when we arrived at his flat, I quickly realised that saying I was from ‘the future’ wasn’t as exact as I thought. It would be more accurate to say I was from an alternate dimension. 

“From where I come from, Jane Prentiss was what is called a Hive, a creature of the Corruption. Her mind and body had been converted into a home for what is best described as a supernatural species of parasitic worms. Here, she is the Boneturner. 

“The Boneturner is a servant of the Flesh. They serve it through a book, The Boneturner’s Tale, and are, in a way, an incarnation of body horror and meat.” 

Michael’s stomach churned as he imagined what kind of thing that Jane Prentiss must be. 

“The Boneturner is a role that was fulfilled in my world by a man of the name Jared Hopworth after acquiring the book in a library. Most Leitners are unfortunately found like that, by accident, and picked up by innocent people. I don’t know how Jane acquired the book, but it might be worth it to research that. 

“I had the occasion to meet him once, and by that time he had been occupying the function for almost twenty years. Comparing their states of transformation, I would say that she got the book only recently, but that is just me speculating. 

“But seeing this version of Jane Prentiss had… Shaken me, to say the least, and I…

“This part is going to be tough to explain. 

“So. During the few years I occupied the position of Archivist, I met a lot of what are qualified ‘monsters’ in the statements. Jane Prentiss, both my version and yours, fall in this category. But due to… many complex factors, I came to acquire such powers that made me as well fall in this category. 

“These powers come with a… a certain cost, and I admit that I did a lot of things that I am not proud of. As much as I would like to erase all of my wrong doings, I can’t. 

“As for the powers I was… ‘gifted’, one is the incredibly useful ability to Know things, whatever their nature. Sometimes I wish for them, sometimes it just… is. I just Know without reason. 

“The thing is… When I tried to Know about Prentiss, I… didn’t. I just couldn’t Know why she was the Boneturner instead of a Flesh Hive, or what else was wrong that way in this universe. The Eye was silent, and-” they grimaced “- showed me the eldritch equivalent of an error message. 

“And that’s when I understood that the Eye was displaying me information exclusively from my world. It was as new, here, than I am. I could very much be mistaken, but for now, this is the most reasonable theory I have. It is possible that it will learn about ‘here’ the longer it stays, but for now nothing can be certain. 

“You know as much as me on the rest. I have no clue about what Prentiss said, and Martin is safe, so we can at least consider this a win.

“But I am sure that the explanation you were expecting was regarding my… presence, ah, in this world. 

“This is… Part of an even longer story. To put it shortly, in my world, the… well, the apocalypse happened. I am sure that said like that, this sounds utterly ridiculous, but it is true.

“This apocalypse was decleched by… a man. I won’t name him, mostly to keep you safe. He can read minds, and I don’t want him to be suspicious. But know that this person is close to all of you, to a certain extent. It’s not any of you, but you do know him. 

“I’m going to spare you the details, just know that I want at all costs to avoid this to happen again. When this apocalypse was unclenched in our world, my… well, I suppose you could call him my husband, even though we could never officially marry, and myself tried to undo that. It ended up with me… Dying, in order to fix everything.” 

Jon made a strangled sound that Michael wasn’t sure was due to the mention of Archie dying or the mysterious ‘husband’. 

“In the end, I’m not even sure it worked. All that I know is that after spending my last moments with him at my side, I awoke here, with all of you around.”

Archie took another deep breath, seeming… almost reinvigorated to have finally put their feelings on the table, but Jon noticed a small tear in the corner of their eye.

“That… That sums up what you need to know for now.  That… Yeah.”

For a moment, everyone was too stunned to speak. The first to manage a question was Tim. “Hold on. Did I hear that right ? Your husband ?? You were married ?!”

Archie chuckled. “Out of everything I just said, the thing that concerns you the most is my love life ?” 

Tim gasped in false offence, Sasha laughing next to him. That was her real laugh, not like those empty and wrong chuckles the impostor did. God, they had missed this. 

Jon coughed.

“As… interesting as my future love life would be, I do not believe this is the most concerning matter.”

He straightened up.

“You mentioned Leitner earlier, when you talked about that book, ah, the Boneturner Tale. What exactly does Jurgen have to do with… all of this ? I mean, I get that his position had him dealing with all sorts of…”

“Spooky things ?” interrupted Tim.

“I was going to say ‘abnormal’, but, I guess you could”, he huffed, “use this term.”

Michael chuckled, and Jon casted him an annoyed glance before turning his attention to Archie again. 

“Jokes aside, I don’t recall him possessing such books. We do have some from the Library of Mary Keay in artefact storage, but Gerry never talked to me about Jurgen himself having those, so…”

Archie’s eyes widened.

“Ge- Gerry ? Gerard Keay ? He- Is he alive ? Is he alright ? How- How do you know him ?”

“Keay ? No ! I am talking about Gerard Delano ! The son of Eric ! Both him and his father worked with Jurgen, and-”

Archie’s eyeballs looked like they were going to jump out of his orbits.

“He worked with- What ? He would never work with Leitner ! He hated the damn man’s guts !”

“Hey,” intervened Tim, “Why did you ask if he was alive ? Did he not… Made it out ? I- I thought- The doctors had told us that everything seemed fine !”

“Ye- Yes !” said Michael. “And- And I saw him this morning, he was doing great ! That’s why I came here, by the way ! I wanted to update you !”

Archie’s brain felt like it was overheating. 

They did not understand what was happening. How was Gerry alive ? Is it for the same reasons that Michael - Michael Shelley, whom he had yet to fully digest the presence - had not merged with the Distortion ? 

And why were the books in storage from the Library with Mary Keay ? She was obsessed with Leitner’s books in her time, but to stick her own name onto the darn books to steal his place ? 

Nothing made any sense . 

Archie looked up. Everyone around seemed just as confused as they themselves were, but it somehow reassured them. 

“Okay,” they began. “I think it would be better if we pooled our knowledge right now.” They took a deep breath, already feeling a bit better. “I… I believe that this universe is both very close, and very far away from mine. As far as I’ve… witnessed, I think we share the same laws of physics, and common things.

“But, I think one of the fundamental differences between our universes is the… ahem, roles each person plays. So let’s start with that. Who is – was – Jurgen Leitner, to all of you ?”

Martin was the quickest to answer. 

“He- he was the Head Archivist, right before Jon. He… We don’t know if he died, we just know that he disappeared with a lot of blood on his desk.”

Archie inspired deeply. 

“Okay. Have any of you ever heard the name of… Gertrude Robinson ?”

All five heads shook in negation. 

“O- Okay.” They closed their eyes, leaning on to rest their arms on their knees, putting their head into their cupped hands. “What about Mary Keay ?”

“She… collects books into her Library. All of hers are labelled ‘from the Library of Mary Keay’. They…” Jon hesitated. “I encountered one myself, a long time ago.”

Archie nodded. 

“And Gerry…?”

“He works here,” said Sasha. “With all of us. His dad used to as well, with Jurgen, but quitted after becoming blind because of an accident.”

The faint glimmer of hope flickered in Archie’s chest.  “And right now, where is-”

“In the hospital.” she cut. “Just had surgery. He had a brain tumour, and he got an operation a couple months ago. He’ll be back soon, a few days at most.”

“He will,” confirmed Michael. “I went to see him this morning, he will be back on Thursday, if everything goes smoothly.”

Archie leaned back on the couch, finally deciding to address the elephant in the room. “And- and what about you, Michael ? What are you doing here ? Are you… Working here, too ?”

The man seemed rather surprised by this assumption.

“Me ? Oh, no ! I’m far from having any of the required qualifications ! I’m Gerry’s boyfriend ! Was I working here, in your world ?” 

They smiled sadly. “Yes. You did.” 

“Oh.” Michael didn’t really need an explanation to know that he probably didn’t have it as good as he had it there. 

Archie pressed their lips together, unsure about their next question. “And do you know… Do you know about Georgie Barker ?” 

Jon shook his head, and Archie sighed. They didn’t really hope to see Georgie where she should be, at her home, doing her podcasts, but they couldn’t deny the pain that being confronted with her loss so upfrontly was causing them. 

They felt a pinch of guilt at that thought, because after all the bad things they had done, Georgie had chosen to take some distance, and yet the egoist voice inside them wanted to go find her. But maybe that meant that her life was better. Maybe she simply had never met Jon, and she was better off. 

They shut the voice that said that maybe she hadn't survived her encounter with the End . But even if Georgie was dead, and she probably wasn’t , Michael and Gerry weren’t. They were here, and they were probably happy, or at least happier than they had been in their world.

And here, Archie was offered a new chance. An opportunity to fix everything. They would have to learn how to navigate through this unknown world, and overcome different dangers, but they would do it. They would not allow The Watcher’s Crown to be accomplished. The world would not fall a second time . 

At the same moment, they also made a decision. They could not avoid anything if they didn’t recover their power. So, in order to do so, they would reclaim their position as an Archivist. 

This would require a lot of effort, but it would also be tricky to go through the process a second time with leaving the least amount of people involved. They also would have to be careful, and try to keep the others in the dark the longest time possible, to avoid making Elias too much on his guard and-

Hold on. 

Something was wrong. There was this… sound. In the background. Almost imperceptible, but there. If only they could grasp it.

Archie must have been doing an awfully worried face, judging on the look Tim gave them.

“Uh, are you okay Boss Two ? You’ve been… Awfully quiet for like, five minutes.”

Their silence finished carving worry into Tim’s furrowed brows.

“Archie ?”

They got up without a word. If their assumptions were correct, then they refused to speak another word into this goddamn thing .

“Archie, what’s the matter ?” pressed Sasha.

As much as they hated the idea of putting more of their voice into the wretched device probably spying on them, they knew they had to reassure their assistants. Not talking to anyone had been their downfall, last time.

“Shh. Hold on.”

Archie took slow, measured footsteps, trying to be as quiet as possible while crossing the room.

“Oh. Oh no, this is bad .”

“Wha- What is happening ?” asked Martin, unnerved. 

“They followed me here.”

Jon looked at Archie, who held a tape recorder clutched in their hand. Since when has it been there ?

“What followed you ?”

“That…” for an instant, they looked like they were trying to fight to prevent whatever they were saying from coming out of their mouth. “These tape recorders are the manifestation of… Some spooky thing. It followed me in my universe as well, but apparently even in another goddamn reality I can’t get rid of it.” They breathed, looking angrily at the device. They could almost see Annabelle’s smug taunting them.

“And we can't… Turn it off ?” asked Michael, confused.

“Believe me when I say I tried. It records no matter what, even without the batteries, and repairs if you smash it. Hell, even if you throw it in the Thames, another reappears next to you !”

“So getting rid of it by conventional means is useless.” observed Sasha.

“What does it need to go away ?” asked Jon.

Archie sighed, scratching their head. 

“Usually, I need to feed it a statement. Live statements worked better, and I am not sure it will go away with only a written one. But I think-”

Archie interrupted themselves when they heard the sound of footsteps. Slow, measured, calculated footsteps that they recognised, and dreaded gradually more.

The tension in the room was very much palpable by the time the newcomer was in view.

A newcomer that was not Elias.

—

Jonah Magnus was aware of the effect he had on people. He knew he was rich and important, and always did everything to make it transpire in himself. 

But even he could not repress the brief apparition of surprise on his face when he was met with the utter disappearance of his Sight when he put his foot in the archives.

Fortunately, the archival staff was apparently in the breakroom, and no one saw the expression he made. He quietly kept walking, his smug growing larger at the clacking sound of his heels on the wooden floor.

When he arrived in the room, everyone was silent. Everything was normal. Michael was visiting, which was not unusual. He had started to come more often to give the archival staff some updates on their coworker. 

Everything was like it should have been on a tuesday.

Except it was not. 

Except there was this vaguely human shape made out of static sitting on the couch.

Except Jonah couldn’t See the Archives anymore, and that his Sight has completely disappeared. 

Except something was wrong. Except too many things were wrong.

“Hello.” started Jonah. “Jonathan, I would like to ask you something in private, but first, could you tell me who your… I assume friend, is ?”

Tim and Sasha looked at each other as if they didn’t believe the situation. 

“Oh ! Of- of course !” blurted out Jon. “It is, hum, hum, ah, it’s-”

“Archie.”

Jonah could barely make out the words, distorted by a static so strong that it almost gave him a headache. 

“Archie erm… Rutter. Yes. Archie Rutter”

Jonah didn’t need to see the expression of whoever was hiding under this parody of a disguise to know this name was fake. He didn’t need to, either, to know he should just go along with whatever they wanted if he didn’t want to be exposed. It wasn’t his first dance, after all. 

The strange thing handed out a vaguely hand-shaped limb for him to shake.

“Right.” Jonah did his best to hide the discomfort that the contact with pure static was providing him. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“The sentiment is shared.”

It was like touching… Jonah didn’t know, the sensation was too different from anything natural to even have a proper comparison to begin with.

“Maxwell Rayner. Head of the Magnus Institute.”

Chapter Text

Jon dropped on the couch of the breakroom with an exaggerated huff. No one had moved since he’d departed to discuss with Maxwell in private, except Michael, who excused himself, not wanting to bother, and claiming that he wanted to see Gerry at the hospital. To Archie’s opinion, he probably went because of their disturbing presence, or the sheer amount of information that they had just dumped on him and the others. Either way, Archie couldn’t exactly blame the poor man; this had been a tough day for them as well.

Jon took the mug in front of him, still full of a tea long gone cold. What a waste , thought Martin, biting lightly on his lower lip. 

“What did he want ?” inquired Archie, worried. Even though Martin didn’t exactly grasp why they were so unnerved by Maxwell, he could not deny that he was as curious as them. Maxwell rarely came down to the archives, often preferring people to directly come to his office. 

“To know who you really were. And also how was my work going”. Jon took a sip of his tea before making a displeased face and putting the mug down. “He asked me not to bring you in the Archives anymore.”

“And what did you say ?”

“That you were a friend from university, the same way Michael is for Tim. And that you were here to help us with some research for an old case. I tried to avoid being too specific, but he kept pushing it, so I told him it was case 0070107.”

“Ah, yes, I recall this one. I encountered it as well. About a young woman who was observing her neighbour and claimed he was replaced by something else, am I right ?”

“What ? No, not at all ! The case we encountered was about a man, Graham Folger I think his name was, who had a fairly normal boyfriend until he started a sculpture class, and became obsessed with fractals, and a door of sorts, before saying goodbye, and went to ‘join the man inside the corridors’. Some nonsense of this taste.”

Martin would have smiled at the incredulous face Archie was doing, if not for the matter of the situation. They passed a heavy hand on their face.

“Right.” they said, elonging the word for several seconds before letting out a huff. “‘Parallel universe shit. I get it. Either way, I think I know which corridors the guy was talking about. It wouldn’t be the first time. Did the statement name this ‘man inside the corridors’ ?”

“Uh, yes, actually. I think his name was Michael.”

“Great.” huffed Archie. “So I have a whole lot of people to investigate. The Distortion couldn’t choose anyone with a less common name, I suppose. I guess Leitner didn’t have any assistants named like this to make the task easier ?”

“No”, answered Tim. “Did it ? In your universe, I mean.”

“Yes. An assistant of Gertrude Robinson, my Archivist, ended up merging with The Distortion in… unknown circumstances.” Archie decided to hide the truth of their Michael’s death. There was no need to alarm the assistants more than they already were.

“Oh…” Tim seemed both horrified and sad for the unnamed assistant, which made Archie only approve further their decision of hiding Michael’s identity as well. Tim was probably already suffering from having lost Danny in this universe as well, he would probably be emotionally unstable. There was no need of suggesting to him the thought of him losing another close person in another universe.

The silence fell on the room, and lasted for a few seconds before Sasha decided to interrupt it.

“Did Maxwell see the blood ?”

“Ah !” exclaimed Jon, dragged out from his reverie. “Erm, n- no, I don’t think so. If he did, he didn’t say anything.”

“Well… That’s good, right ?” said Martin. “I mean, we can still clean up everything and never have to talk about it again, right ?”

“That’s… Not that simple. If anything, it just adds to the already too long list of questions I have about this mess.” sighed Archie.

“Yeah. I have to agree on this point.” Jon thought wise not to push the issue. He would ask Archie who was Maxwell in their world later. “That being said, I believe we have a lot of cleaning to do.”

The general groan that followed answered him just right.

—

The blood was not easily removed, but after two hours, their stomach was groaning so much that they all collectively decided that a lunch was mandatory before anything else. 

And so, at almost 2:30 in the afternoon, the archival crew came out of the basement. 

And, at almost 2:30 in the afternoon, Archie could, for the first time in a while, stand up, and appreciate the beauty of a clear blue sky, a sky that had a few clouds on its edges, a sky that was not looking back at them .

After some time, their vision was blurred out by tears, but it did not change the sheer beauty of the vast, empty sky.

They must have been standing here for a while, because they were dragged out of their contemplation by Tim, who had the decency of not asking questions.

---

Archie was woken up by the sound of pans clanging and butter sizzling. 

They emerged with difficulty, their mind blurry and their joints aching. God I feel like I’m a thousand years old , they thought. Which could have been right, after all. They had no way of knowing exactly how much time they had spent in that twisted world. Why were their joints aching already ? Right, Jon’s couch. Their couch ? No, this wasn’t right.

They winced when the memory of the past day came back into place.

“Urgh” they mumbled. “This is the last time I’m going out with Tim.”

In the kitchen, their counterpart, who was still making breakfast, spoke up.

“I’d think that’s the result of more than a couple drinks with Tim. You’ve been sleeping for a good two days, you know.”

“That much ?"

“Yes. Did you know that you sleep with your eyes open ?”

“Well, at least that didn’t change.”

“I guess not. Breakfast ?”

Archie got up from the couch with several groans, their muscles sore from sleeping in a bad position. And I’m barely thirty .

They took a chair at the small table in the kitchen. Judging by the smell, this version of themselves surely had better cooking skills than them. Jon took two plates from the cabinet on top of the oven and placed them in front of Archie and the empty chair that would be destined to him. He turned around and took the still sizzling pan, gently deposing two perfectly done eggs on each plate.

Taking the fork and knife that their counterpart was handing them, they took a bite of the eggs. They smiled. Oh yes, he’s definitely a better cook than I will ever be . They complimented their host, before going back to devour the content of their plate.

“Thank you. I didn’t realise I was so hungry before.” said Archie between two bites.

“Don’t worry. I suppose it must be hard to eat properly in the apocalypse.” smiled Jon. “Or sleep, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes. We couldn’t.”

“What ? You mean, you couldn’t eat well, or sleep well ?” asked Jon, a mix of surprise and curiosity on his face.

“We couldn’t. At all. The Eye wouldn’t let us sleep. Or eat, for that matter.”

“The… Eye ?”

Archie grimaced. “The evil eldritch god that was in charge of the apocalypse.”

“Oh. That… Sounds horrible.”

“Oh, believe me, it was .” Having finished, Archie put down their cutlery, and pushed their plate. “But fortunately, I’m here to stop that from happening here.”

Jon stayed mute, not really knowing what to say to that statement. Sensing that unease, Archie was prompt to change the subject.

“You surprised me. By making breakfast. I never did, not until I moved in with… my spouse.” 

“Hm ? Ah, I didn’t until recently. I have to say, Gerry kind of forced me when he learned that I never ate anything before work.”

“Hah. I’d say typical of him, but… I never really knew him personally. But from what I’ve heard, he seemed like a very caring person to those he held close. Kind, but not enough of a fool to trust anyone.”

“Yeah.”

Glancing at the clock suspended on the opposite wall, Jon realised the time.

“Well. I have to go, I don’t exactly want Angela to lecture me on the importance of punctuality, ‘especially for a head of department’ again.”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “Angela ?”

“The receptionist. Are you coming, or do you think you could rest a bit more ?”

“My receptionist was named Rosie. A kind woman, but she never was more than you could expect from her position.” hummed Archie. “I’m going to stay home today. Oh, and don’t worry about the dishes, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you. If you’re hungry, I have some leftovers in the fridge.” informed Jon, grabbing his coat.

“I appreciate it. Now go, I’d hate for you to be late because of me.”

Jon smiled, and closed the door.

Archie stayed still for a bit, face neutral facing the wall. Then they got up, put the plates in the sink, and sat back at the table. They took a long breath to steady themselves, then glanced at the tape recorder that had just appeared to their left.

“Alright then. Statement of Jonathan Sims, or I guess Achilles Rutter since I introduced myself like that to Eli- Maxwell. Or was it Archibald ? I- No, let’s do this again.”

“Statement of Jonathan ‘Archie’ Sims, The Archivist, regarding… Well-” they chuckled, “Regarding the completion of The Watcher's Crown, and the subsequent end of the world. Statement given-” they glanced to the calendar on their right, “March 4th, 2016. Statement begins.”

---

It was not by pleasure that Archie had come back to the Archives that day, but by necessity.

As fulfilling as had been Jon’s eggs and leftovers, they had recorded three statements this morning, and were still in need of at least one, if not more, others. They paused for a brief moment to question if nourishing on their own fear counted as cannibalism or autophagia, but decided that it did not really matter.

They would have walked straight into the Archives, if not for the receptionist – Angela, had she been called by Jon – that stopped them, and asked them what they’d intended to do.

Archie had quickly responded with the same premade answer Jon had given Maxwell two days earlier, that they were a friend of Jon that had come to give their expertise for some delicate research. She had been very understanding, and handed them a visitor badge, to which they had to suppress a laugh.

That interaction taken care of, they headed to the basement, finding Jon, Martin, Tim and Sasha working. 

Archie had texted Jon of their arrival earlier – no clue to why their phone number was still valid, or working, for that matter – so none of them was really surprised of their coming. 

Still, Tim greeted them with an ‘Ah ! You’re finally awake !’ that made Sasha burst out laughing and Martin smile, leaving Archie and Jon to wonder if this was some kind of inside joke between them all.

They smiled, and went to sit on the free desk in front of Martin's. The rest of the staff gathered around.

“Right.” they muttered, before speaking up. “I believe we have… quite a lot of things to discuss..”

“I thought so as well.” agreed Sasha. “Actually, I made a list of things we should deepen before anything else.” She went to her desk to grab a small piece of paper covered in scribbles.

“Yeah, I had questions as well.” declared Tim. “Didn’t say anything last time, but now that I’ve processed a bit of it – if I can even really process all of the shit you dumped on us – I have several questions.”

“I suppose it is fair.” huffed Archie. “I will admit that I have interrogations as well, and-”

“And before you ask anything, can we go back to the time when you mentionned the fucking apocalypse ? And also, can you explain the specificities of becoming one of those monsters we hear about in the statements ? And this man that can read minds is mysterious too. And you mentioned Jared Hopworth, as your version of ‘The Boneturner’. He turned in some statements, you will have to deepen that. And the whole ‘Boneturner’ thing too, it wasn’t very clear. Oh, and–”

“Sasha ? Sasha. I think this is already a lot of questions, so please wait for a second. Yes, what you can qualify as an ‘apocalypse’ happened in my world, and that is why I will do everything in my power to avoid that at all costs. Becoming a monster requires a lot of things, and I am going to make sure that none of you ever meet those criterias, so you don’t have to worry about that. As for the man that tricked me into that, his name is…Elias Bouchard. But that is useless now, his role is fulfilled by someone else.” 

Archie sighed, a resolved look on their face.

“No. I won’t go into details, mostly for your safety, and I will demand you do not ask me to go further in. I apologise, but this is serious. Jared Hopworth on the other hand ? I am eager to learn what he has become in this world, if Prentiss took possession of the book. The Boneturner is just a function, a servant of a power with a title and different abilities, similarly to The Archivist, though I do not believe it to be as central. Was that all your questions ?”

No one talked for a few moments.

“... No. I… I have another one.” enounced Jon, breaking the silence. “I- This… ‘Archivist’ role… Is… Is it…”

“The position of Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.It- Yes. It is.”

“Oh.”

Tim, Sasha and Martin looked to Jon and Archie successively, horrified.

“Yes, I- I know. And… That’s why I will take this position.” 

Jon looked up in disbelief.

“What ? No, you-”

“Have done horrible things. Trust me, you don’t deserve anything that will happen to you if you continue down that path.”

“Yes, but-”

“No but. I’ve done it before.” And this time, hopefully I will be able to stop The Watcher’s Crown to be accomplished , they continued for themselves.

“But Maxwell will never name you Head Archivist in place of me ! How will you manage that if you aren’t named in my place ? You’re not even an employee !”

“It’s… You see, being the Archivist is not really about the title itself, no, it’s just a bonus. And the paycheck too, I guess. To be an Archivist, you just need to fulfil the role. Take statements, do research. The recordings too.”

“Oh. And if you do that…”

“I’ll take your place. I guess.”

“Oh. Right.”

The silence following this exchange was elonging. No one was really processing all of this. Growing more and more uncomfortable, Archie spoke up again.

“I- Erm, actually, I- I came here for… another reason. I, uh, I needed to… er, feed, you could say.”

“Feed ?”

That question was from Martin. He still seemed shaken by the revelation, but above that was his worry about Archie. After all, weren’t they an older, a bit different version of his boss ? They were still the same person, right ? 

“I, uh… Yes, feed. I, ah, I was for a time, an Av… a monster. And the thing with monsters is that… They don’t exactly… need food, but they do need sustenance. And they find it in… Well, they… They find it in nourishing from the fear of humans.”

They’d declared that last sentence faster, the way one would rip off a bandaid. The only thing Martin could find to respond was “Oh.” A reaction that Archie had anticipated. That was a lot of information already, but the truth about their lack of humanity surely was the last straw. The assistants would all point at them, accusatory, realising that they were nothing like Jon, merely another monster down the list, just one that seemed a bit more human, but that this was a lie that would eventually fall and they would become that monster again, ripping secrets off from innocent people and everyone would reject them and-

Archie forced themselves out of the spiral. No. Not this time. They would limit themselves, and stop everything from happening. This time, they would succeed.

“...ments ?”

Lost in their thoughts, they hadn’t realised that Tim was asking them something, so they asked him to repeat.

“I asked if you meant you needed statements.”

“Oh ! Y- Yes, it is. I- To feed the Eye, I need… Well, I need knowledge. And knowledge of fear… the statements, reading them is-”

“Okay. I get it. I’ll go find you some spooky story in this mess. This will do, right ?”

“It… will probably do… but… Ah, wait ! Most statements here aren’t… real, so, I- I- I’ll go find one myself, you… You don’t have to worry about me.”

Sasha put a hand on their shoulder and looked them in the eyes. 

“Archie. Of course we have to worry about you. You are different from Jon, but you are still Jonathan Sims.”

“I- I- I mean, yes but-”

“No buts, bossman” interrupted Tim. 

“I was a monster ! I ruined people’s lives !”

“You said you were tricked to do it, didn’t you ?”

“Y- Yes, but that hardly matters-”

“It does matter, because even when you were a monster, you went back to fix this.”

“I-” They huffed. “Thank you. I… I mean it.”

They would not allow themselves the comfort of thinking that this was alright, that they were pardoned. But this time, just once… It was nice to feel accepted. To see these faces that had so harshly judged them before smile at them, trying to make it up to them, to give them a bit of comfort.

It was nice to be back.

After a pause, Jon broke the silence with a light cough.

“Hum. If we are done with this, I think we should get back to work.”

Archie couldn’t help but break down in laughter. After all that, their past self wasn’t different from what they have been. Keeping it as professional as possible. 

They excused themselves, but were still giggling when they announced “Well, you all heard the boss. You should go back to sorting out spooky statements, since we are ‘done with this’."

Tim snickered, and Martin was holding back his laughter so hard his face was red.

“That is hardly how I sound !” scoffed Jon, horrified.

“Jon, that is exactly how you sound.” gushed Sasha, laughing too, thought less loudly than Archie. 

Their amusement at Jon’s mortified expression lasted again for several minutes before Tim and Sasha finally went back to their desks, still glancing at each other while smiling from time to time. 

It was nice being back.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Martin to come to Archie. Well. Come was a bit of a stretch, since the arrangement the archival staff had come to happened to put Archie in the vacant desk right in front of Martin’s. Said desk apparently belonged to Gerry, but was unoccupied until his comeback, in just three days if everything went well.

Still, Martin had come to Archie, lifting himself up from the chair and going to stand right beside them. They turned their chair to face him, and asked him what was wrong, keeping a gentle smile on their face.

“Um, Archie, I, I wanted to ask you… You said… You said that reading statements was… Feeding you, right ?”

“Yes, I did ? Why ? Did you find a statement that could be real ?” Their tone was calm, and reassuring.

“I, I, I mean, yes, but… But not exactly ? I mean it is a statement, and it is genuine, but, I, I, I’m not sure that-”

“Martin. Calm down. What is-” They took a pause to stop the compulsion. “Would you mind telling me what is preoccupying you ?”

“I, uh… What… What about live statements ? When people come a-a-and tell you their story, does it… Does it count like reading one ?”

“Oh ! Um, yes, it does. Actually, it is more sustainable ? But it does come with a price, one that I would like to avoid, so I’d prefer to take them written. Why ?”

“Ah. It’s because I wanted to give you mine, about… y’know, the whole… Jane Prentiss thing.”

“Oh. That explains the recorder I guess.” They gestured towards the small device quietly whirring beside them.

 “I wasn't sure why it appeared. Well, thank you, that’s… very considerate of you. I… I admit that I am eager to hear what happened, but…”

“But ?”

“Well… Since you are an employee of the Institute, you are… sort of protected, but giving me your statement will mean that you will relive this… rather unpleasant experience.”

“Oh. That's… that's bad.”

“Yes. I apologise. I am not forcing you to do that if you don't want to. I can do perfectly fine with the statements written down here.”

Martin nodded.

“Well, I mean, if it’s more sustainable, it’s worth it, right ? A-a-and you said last time that the recorder wouldn't go away if it doesn't hear what it wants, so… There isn’t much of an option.  And I have to tell you anyway.”

“I see. Well, sit down.”

Martin obeid.

“Right. Are you sure you want to do this ?”

“I… Yes, I do.”

“So. Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding…”

Archie arched an eyebrow in question.

“A- A close encounter with Jane Prentiss, the… you called her Boneturner, right ?”

“Yes. Statement taken from subject, March 4th, 2016. Audio recording by The Archivist.

Statement begins.”

Martin inhaled, and started talking. He felt the words flow out of his mouth without being able to stop them.

“So, uh, it started five days ago ? On February 29. Jon sent me to do some follow up on a statement, case 0150409 if I’m not mistaken. 

“I don’t remember the statement in its exact details, but it was about a construction worker, Ivo Lensik, who took a job in the Surrey research centre. 

“The facility was conducting a really weird experiment on arachnophobia at that time, and the guy kept finding cobwebs everywhere, even though he worked on an area far from the part of the building where the experiment took place. And one day, he opened a broom closet that revealed to be the nest of a giant spider, at least seven feet tall according to him.

“Of course, for Jon, it was all bullshit, and the guy was lying. But we still had to do the follow up.

“The centre had been shut down and scheduled for demolition after the incident, but we still had a few weeks left before that. Since I was the least bothered with spiders out of the five of us, I volunteered. I was supposed to have someone coming with me, but Tim and Sasha were too busy organising the already too-vast discredited section, and Gerry just had his surgery. You probably feel the same as Jon about spiders, so you can guess he wasn’t going to go, and I went alone.

Archie nodded, a chill parkouring their spine to the thought of facing another giant spider in their life.

“Without any surprise, the centre was a restricted area, with the whole demolition buisness. But it had become a popular urbex place, so sneaking in – or I guess breaking in – wasn’t too much of a problem. Tim had warned me that it was going to be dark, so luckily I had thought about bringing a torch. 

“The inside was exactly what you could expect from an abandoned research centre, with maybe a bit more cobwebs than it should. The offices had been emptied, and I was honestly kind of freaked out by the whole… Liminal space would be the right term. You know, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been in this place before, because of how generic it is. It is very… uncanny to see a place like that, because they should be inhabited, buzzing with activity, but they aren’t.

“Finally, I made my way to the broom closet Mr Lensik had described. 

“Nothing inside indicated that it had once been the nest of a giant spider, but I did find an unfathomable amount of cobwebs. There was an old wooden broom lying on the floor, so I picked it up and used the handle to navigate without getting covered in silk. The fact that I like spiders doesn’t mean that I like their sticky strings, especially after what happened to Mr Lensik in the end.

“It was way deeper than I expected, more of a corridor, really. And I recall that I never actually saw any spiders inside. 

“Eventually, I found the remaining traces of the spider. There wasn’t much, and someone could totally have made them here to add to the legend, but I felt like they were real. But no matter, it still counted as evidence, so I photographed it.

“When I exited the facility, it was already dark outside, and I realised how hungry I was. Pulling out my phone, I saw that it was almost seven PM. This alone was strange, because I thought I had spent like two or three hours inside the centre. But no matter, that meant that I hadn’t eaten for the whole day, except for a quick breakfast that was already long gone. 

“I recalled having seen a small restaurant on the way, so I decided to give it a try. 

“Looking back, I don’t know why I went there, I mean, I had no real reasons to. I couldn’t recall the location right, I had no guarantee it would be good, and it was actually a detour to pass there ! I should’ve just- go back to my place and- and order some takeout !

“I can’t help but think that all of this is my fault for the most part, because there were just so many times I could have just turned around and walked away ! And despite everything, I didn’t !

“Regardless, after many wrong turns and fumbling with my terrible sense of direction, I found myself in front of the restaurant. 

“It was nothing like I recalled having seen, and I think I just… fucked up with my directions and never found the right place. 

“It was an old concrete building. Many windows were broken on the upper floors, and the colours of the façade were faded. I should not have walked in . And yet, I did . 

“I took some dreadful steps towards the entrance. I- I tried to stop myself from walking forward, but I couldn’t. I wanted to stop, to turn around and flee the further away possible from that damned building that felt so wrong, but my legs wouldn’t obey, and instead firmly planted my feet into the ground, making me take one more step towards that horrendous place. I wanted to scream, but my mouth stayed shut. I wanted to close my eyes, to turn my gaze, to stop looking ! But my eyes stayed open, firmly locked on the dirty glass of the front door.

“I remembered Ivo Lensik’s words, from the moment he discovered that spider in the broom closet. ‘ I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything , but instead, my arm moved without my impulse and touched the hairy, disgusting mandibules of the creature .’

“It felt exactly like he had described. 

“And, without any control on myself, I entered the restaurant. 

“The inside was, as you could expect, not relishing, but it was mostly dust and grease stains. No cobwebs this time. But I did not stop at the main room. I was driven to the kitchen. 

“As I approached, the sounds from there became more intense. The slow, methodical, regular sound of a knife dropping on a wooden surface. The rattle of fabric as the wielder of the blade lifted their arm to go for it again. And of course, the squirming sound of blood filled flesh, dripping quietly on the floor as the butcher perpetrated the slaughter.

“And in a matter of seconds, still internally screaming, I was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“There was blood everywhere. Dark red stained the walls, and on the opposite wall, just facing Jane herself, was written in the same colour ‘ Silk will not stitch the Butcher’s meat ’. Whatever the hell that means. Right now, I wanted to get out as fast as possible. 

“The second I regained control over my body, I jumped backwards, and ran as fast as possible. I dropped my phone in my escape, but I do remember an odd detail. 

“The knife she used to cut that meat… It was… Made out of bone. I guess that’s not as unexpected as you could think given the scene I just described, but I very clearly see the bone in her hand and… It wasn’t carved. It was perfectly smooth, as if a perfectly normal bone had grown in the shape of a razor sharp knife.

“Now, you could just put that detail away on account that, for starters, I was busy running for my life at that moment, and also that a very skilled artisan could have crafted it that way. But, when I looked at it, I knew it was a whole bone, with nothing cut off from it.

“I- I’m getting carried away, sorry. 

“The point is that suddenly I could move again, and I ran away as fast as possible. I dropped my phone without noticing, and got home. When I arrived, I immediately collapsed on the couch. 

“She must have followed me, because when I woke up, I had no phone, and she was outside my door. I had left my laptop at the Institute, so I had no way of communicating.

“I spent about half a day in there, before you guys came to rescue me.  A- anyway, you know the rest.”

“Statement Ends.” declared Archie after a short pause.

Martin exhaled. “That… That wasn’t great. Like you said.”

“Yes, I apologise. Are you okay ?”

“Y-yes. I think so. Yes. Did it… Made you feel any better ?”

“Oh ! Yes. It did. Thank you.” They murmured softly.

After an awkward silence, Martin got up and sat back at his desk.

Archie looked at him. They felt miserable.

The tape recorder on the desk clicked off.

---

The rest of the afternoon passed rather quietly. 

Since Gerry would be back in the matter of a few days, Tim and Jon had retrieved a desk from storage.

Archie would have gone themselves, but it was rapidly decided that their resemblance with Jon – and their overall scary appearance, with the bright green eyes and the numerous scars – would not be well received by the rest of the Institute. It was already a miracle in itself that Maxwell hadn’t noticed – or made any comments on – their uncanny resemblance, but it was certain that it would not stay that way if he started hearing rumours on ‘Jon’s weird twin’, as Tim has called them.

When five PM rolled around, the building started to rapidly empty. Tim was the first in the archives to go, quickly followed by Martin, then Sasha. It wasn’t a surprise for anyone that Jon stayed late, but to Archie, it was a bit of an inconvenience, as they had one last thing to do down there, and would have preferred their counterpart to be unaware of it for the moment.

They knew that keeping Jon in the dark wasn’t exactly the best thing to do, especially since that was exactly how Elias had succeeded in his plan, but they really had to do it this evening, and could reveal everything the next morning with most of the work already out of the way. They just had to ensure there was no danger before telling the rest of the staff.

Archie held back a sigh. They knew this was exactly the type of reasoning that had led to this kind of situation in the first place. Had they not learned anything ?

No, they hadn’t. But it was for the greater good, right ?

This time, they did not hold back the sigh. They opened their mouth, and addressed their counterpart, sat in his office, having for once opened his door.

“Hum, Jon ?”

“Yes ?”

“I, uh, I have something to tell you, about-”

Archie could unfortunately not carry on, as a newcomer interrupted them with his clacking heels. Shit. Here he is . 

And here he was. Maxwell Rayner, head of the Magnus Institute, was here to give Jon his performance review.

He walked by the four - now five - desks of the assistants, throwing to Archie a smile that only hardly hid his displeasure to see them.

“Excuse me, Mr Rutter, was it ? Would you happen to know where Jonathan would be ?”

“I think he is in his office, but he is busy. Maybe you should come back later ?” answered Archie, doing their best to hide their face from the man. 

“Ah, thank you. I just want to have a word with him, I won’t be long.”

Archie bit their lip. Whatever Maxwell wanted, it surely wasn’t anything good.

They powerlessly watched Maxwell go towards Jon’s office. They couldn’t do anything, it would be too dangerous. The old door to the dusty office opened with an elongating creak that almost sounded sinister. Maxwell was very careful to close the door behind him as he interpelled Jon.

“Hello Jon. Do you have a moment ?”

Jon, sat at his desk, lifted his head from the papers he was buried into and looked at his boss with a mildly confused expression.

“Oh ! Maxwell, I-I-I didn’t hear you come in ! Yes, O-of course ! Please, uh, take a seat !”

Jon hated how nervous he sounded. 

“That won’t be necessary.” hummed the other man. “I just wanted to give you some information regarding updates on the general policy of the Archives.”

“Oh, uh, I see. Couldn’t… Couldn’t this have been done by email ?”

“Maybe, but I preferred to talk about it in person. Now, about your… friend, Archibald.”

“What about them ?”

“I thought that I advised against further visits from… Them.”

“Oh. Hum. I-I see, yes.” Jon’s thoughts were racing to try to find an excuse to allow Archie to stay. After what they had revealed, it was sure that he would need them, so he decided to go for the best thing he could think of at that time. “But, hum, the thing is, hum, I, uh, we, really need their expertise in supernatural phenomenons.”

Maxwell lifted his eyebrows. Shit , thought Jon.

“Hm. And, tell me, Jonathan. Since when do you believe in the supernatural ?”

The pleasant and familiar feeling of the compulsion on his tongue made Maxwell almost shiver in ecstasy.

“Since- Since I was eight years old.”

Jon swallowed, visibly uncomfortable. Maxwell retained his smile, and decided to push his luck for a bit.

“And why ?”

“I- I encountered a monster.”

Jon was now straight out panicking, memories of a cursed book flashing before his eyes. He wanted to retreat, flee to the back of the office. Maxwell observed him, Watched him, prying his secrets, tearing down the walls of scepticism the man had built for years with his merciless Gaze. He could not contain his smile when he asked a new question.

“Then why deny the statements ?”

“Be- Because I’m scared.”

Jon was almost crying.

Of course, Maxwell had already Looked enough into Jon to know all that he had just pried out of him, but he would lie if he said that he didn’t enjoy tormenting his employee. Not wanting to push it so far that Jon would ask too many questions, He decided to end the conversation.

“Well. I expected better from an Archivist. I will consider the option of your… friend collaborating with the Institute for an extended period of time. Now, if you will excuse me. I have duties that I intend on fulfilling.”

“Y-Yes.” Jon was so frightened that his voice was almost a whisper. 

Satisfied, hiding his smug behind a neutral expression, Jonah Magnus walked calmly towards the door. He opened it, but turned around a last time to look at the Head Archivist, barely standing, still stunned, in the centre of his office.

“Have a good rest of your day Jon. Though I would advise on not staying too late.”

Jonah closed the door and walked out of the Archives. He climbed the stairs leading to the lobby without any rush, not paying any mind to the figure of static that was standing at a desk. He glanced over to Angela, who was quietly typing on her keyboard. She lifted her head to look at her boss. He simply turned away, emotionless, before taking the stairs leading to his own office. 

Once inside, he closed the door, and sat at his desk. He shot a quick look at his agenda, confirming that he had nothing planned for the next half hour.

Good. He had business to take care of.

Jonah dialled up the number on his personal phone.

The tonality vibrating in his ear reminded him once again of how much the world had changed during those centuries he was around. He had to admit, as unreliable as modern technology was when dealing with the beings he did, it sure was a useful invention. Years ago he had found himself using one of the first models of Graham Bell’s telephone, linking him to only one person, and now, a single device was giving him access to the whole world in the blink of an eye.

Humanity and its creations had evolved so fast, he was prided by the fact that he had managed to stay in touch. When sometimes he saw some of his acquaintances struggling with this ‘modern nonsense’ as they called it, or even younger, more isolated people encountering the same problems, he realised how lucky he was to have a patron that cared so much about these sorts of things.

Speaking of which. 

The tonality abruptly stopped when the person he was trying to reach picked up.

“ Yes ? ”

“Hello Peter. How are you ?”

“ ‘M fine. What do you want ? ” The tone of the other man was harsh and matter-of-fact.

“Oh, what is it with being rude ? Perhaps I simply wanted to have a word of sympathy with you.”

“ We both know that this isn’t true, Maxwell. So I am asking again. What do you want ? ”

“Well. I know you dislike being deranged, but I wanted to inform you that I happen to have found a rather… interesting asset. And that I would like to make a bet.” His smug was almost audible as he spoke.

—

Archie was resisting the urge to jump inside Jon’s office as Maxwell came out of it. Instead, they patiently waited for the man to disappear in the staircase, his heels infuriatingly clacking to signify he was not far.

As soon as Maxwell was out of sight, Archie bolted up, so fast that they nearly knocked out the chair on which they were standing.

If the real identity of the man was not yet certain, it sure as hell was now that Archie could witness the state in which he had left Jon.

Maxwell had quitted the space of the office for already a full minute, but Jon was still standing, shaking like a leaf. He did not respond, nor did he protest when Archie took him to the breakroom, and laid him to sit on the couch. 

They stayed with their counterpart for a little while, not wanting to leave him alone. They left for a brief moment to fetch him a probably much needed glass of water, and when they came back, Jon was curled up, tucked against the left armrest of the couch. 

He looked up when Archie arrived, and took the glass without a word. Archie knew they weren’t the best with feelings, or other people in general, even a version of themselves, so they waited for him to talk.

After a long, stretching silence, Jon spoke up with a hoarse voice. 

“Did… Did you… Were you aware that he could just… do that ?”

“I… I’m not sure of what exactly he did to you but… I was aware that he had certain… capabilities.”

Jon nodded, and let his gaze drift off a bit. 

“You… You’re going to say it’s weird but… Heh, I don’t think I can say anything really weird after what happened in the recent days but I… since you arrived, I’ve been feeling… A little different. Not better, but… You know, that feeling that you have when someone is watching ? Well, before, I constantly felt that, especially when… Especially when I read statements. But now ? I feel like… I feel like there’s still someone watching, but… not me directly, if you see what I mean.”

Archie nodded, and looked away. As cut off from the Eye as they were, they still held a bit of power, which apparently was enough to lessen Maxwell’s. Maybe that was what he wanted them out of the way so bad. They stopped thinking too much about it to focus on Jon’s words. 

“A-and what Maxwell did to me, it was… It was like that sensation of being observed, but ten times harder. Like the one observing was digging in my brain with sharp and dirty nails. I know he didn’t literally do that, but when he asked a question I felt…”

“Compelled to answer.” finished Archie. 

“Y-yes… How… Did your version of Maxwell do that too ?”

“Not exactly.” they said, holding their chin. “Well, I guess he did, but by the time I was fully experiencing it, I was already strong enough to resist at least a little bit, so…”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Jon curled up tighter on the couch, holding his legs with his arms to rest his chin on his knees. Archie didn’t need their powers to know that Jon would have never shown such weakness if he didn’t trust them at least a little bit, or was in a very bad state of emotional distress.

They sighed. They had spent a little less than twenty-four hours conscious in this universe and they were already hating being so Blind. One would have thought that they would have felt better without the weight of being as much of a monster as they were, but the fact that their body lacked visible signs of monstrosity didn’t change the reality of their past actions. Now that they were here, the only thing they desired was to prevent all that had happened to their world, but everything was too different, and they were too blind, too weak, and had to face a version of Jonah Magnus that didn’t care anymore to show what happened when he was crossed.  If anything, they feared they had done everything much worse already. 

The contrast between their Sight and this reality was so disorientating. They weren’t even sure that they were Seeing things, because it could just be memories that they reviewed with the Knowledge of their now dead world that they had destroyed.

When they thought of Sasha, they saw the face of the impostor that had taken her place, when they thought of Tim, they saw the charred remains of his corpse that were found in the fuming ruins of the House of Wax, when they thought of Gerard Keay, they saw the cover of this damned book that had trapped him for so long, when they thought of Michael, they saw the screaming face of the Distortion, hand on the handle of its door that wouldn’t open, expression so twisted that it was impossible to tell if it was the Spiral or the pain of being remade, a pain that Archie now knew and hated, and when they thought of Martin…

When they thought of Martin, they saw the crying, pained face of their love, hunched over their corpse whose life was slowly drifting away, not having enough energy left to lift their hand to brush the discoloured hair of the man they wished they could spend the rest of their life with. They wanted to reassure him, to tell him that they loved him at least a thousand more times, to tell him that he would not be left alone in this dying husk of a world.

But they couldn’t. Because they had failed.

They had failed, because when they thought of Georgie,  they saw the disappointed and disgusted face of someone they considered their friend realising what they had become. They had failed, because when they thought of Melanie, they saw her eyeless face, waking up screaming from a nightmare they knew to have been part of. They had failed, because when they thought of Daisy, they saw a face that was no longer human, jaw dripping with blood, begging for her love to join her in the madness. They had failed, because when they thought of Basira, they saw a face worn with tears, imprinted with grief, a terrible grief that they had caused.

They had failed. But they would not fail a second time.

Archie took a deep breath, and put their hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“I- Jon, I wanted to tell you that… God, I’venever been good at this.”

“Guess that makes two of us.”

“Heh. Yes, I suppose so. But I wanted to tell you that… I don’t know why, or how I’m here. But I know that I’m going to make the most of it, and avoid everything that happened to me from happening to you.”

Jon knew Archie was telling him a lie, but it didn’t really matter. It was a pretty one. He lightly smiled. 

“So. Where do we start to save the world ?”

“Well.” They grinned, a new light of determination shining in their eyes. “We might need some help. And I think I know where to find it.”

—

The trapdoor was easier to find if you knew where to look. 

Archie almost expected it to be in an entirely different spot than they remembered it, but it was apparently one of the few things that hadn’t changed.

They opened the wooden panel, accompanied with a creak from the rusted hinges. 

Now, they just had to find the Librarian. 

Chapter Text

The exploration of the tunnels did not go well.

While it was without incidents, it was also without any significant discovery. 

Archie had already anticipated that Mary Keay would be even harder to find in the tunnels than Leitner had, but now, they were doubting she was even there in the first place !

She had left no traces, not the slightest hint of her presence. The only thing keeping Archie from utter despair regarding their probably pointless quest was that they hadn’t found Jurgen’s corpse either.

There was still the possibility of Jonah having hidden the body somewhere else, but it stayed highly unlikely. The man hated getting his hands dirty, and Archie could not imagine Maxwell digging a hole in the woods and ditching the body there.

But as weak and cut off from their patron as they were in the present situation, the tunnels somehow still managed to be disorientating.

After one hour of unfructuous research through the tortuous stone corridors, both Archie and Jon decided that it was getting far too late, especially in the still short days of early march. They emerged from underground to find the Institute completely still, except for Angela, who was about to leave as well. 

They exchanged a few cordial words before heading out to Jon’s flat. 

The evening could be called overall uneventful. 

Jon was obviously exhausted after a long day of work, a brief confrontation with supernatural powers and an hour of trudging through narrow tunnels.

Archie offered to make dinner, which Jon gladly accepted.

He went to doze off a bit in his bed, leaving Archie alone with their thoughts. It was welcome. They hadn’t really got the chance to reflect on the situation. 

They were in a flat that was theirs but not, in a world that had little to do with the one that birthed them, with people he recognised but weren’t the ones they used to know. 

They sighed. At least cooking will keep them somewhat occupied. It was strange to find almost everything in the place they expected it to be, even without their ability to Know. It was like the flat was their own instead of being the home of a stranger. 

Rummaging through the cabinets and gathering the supplies, they decided to go for a quiche. A recipe simple enough, without requiring that much ingredients. Their gran had taught them how to cook, and even though they rarely cooked only for themself, considering it too much of a time investment, they were glad to do it when there was another person. And it was the least they could do for Jon after bringing that much chaos in his life.

When was the last time they had cooked for another person ? Probably in Daisy’s safehouse with Martin. What had they cooked back then ? It seemed so far away, they couldn’t even remember. There was a pinch of grief in their heart when they thought of the man they loved. 

Deposing on the counter the ingredients gathered, they got down at the task of cooking a somewhat decent dinner out of it. Seriously, even when they were a student at Oxford their fridge was more filled. 

As they were mixing some cream and eggs, their mind drifted to the first time they had done that. In their grandmother's kitchen. Her stern face and bitter comments about how their technique could improve. Another sigh. They’d never been close, barely tolerating each other, but deep down, they missed her. They wondered what was this world’s Jon’s relation to her. They hoped that it was better than theirs, but they knew at the same time that it was unlikely. 

They shook their head, pushing away the thoughts. No use in dwelling . 

They poured the mix of eggs and cream on the dough. They fetched some mint in the cabinet, washed it and started cutting it. They must have been careless, as a sharp pain erupted in their thumb, and suddenly there was blood everywhere. 

They slightly panicked at the important blood flow that they hadn’t expected, and rushed to the bathroom to get the emergency supplies. They fumbled a bit in the drawers, panic increasing when they found they couldn’t localise the first aid kit.

After a minute or two, they settled with a single tissue around the wound. It was certainly far from ideal, but it was all they could do. 

They got back to preparing the quiche. 

Once the meal was in the oven, slowly rising in the heat, they sat down at the kitchen table, and fiddled with their phone. It was still a wonder that it worked, after an apocalypse and a jump through a dimensional rift. It was maybe even more impressive that it still had some battery, albeit a little. They should put it in charge. 

They put the device back in their pocket, and it was at this moment that Jon emerged from his room. 

“I thought that you wanted to go to sleep for a bit ?”

“Yeah but…” sighed Jon. “Sleep doesn’t come so easily these days.”

“Do you want to talk about it ?”

“I- Maybe later.”

Jon retrieved two plates from the cabinet on top of the oven and put them down on the small table. Archie took a look at the quiche and, deciding that it was good enough, proceeded to open the oven and take it out, before putting it on the table. 

“Smells nice” commented Jon.

Archie thanked him and cut the meal in parts, before putting one in theirs and Jon’s plate. Jon took a tentative bite, smiled and complimented Archie on the quality of their cooking.

“Thank you. It’s a recipe from my grandmother, though I doubt I will ever be able to make it taste as good as hers.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s really good.” Jon paused to take another bite. “It must be nice. Having to know her, I mean.”

“I’m… not sure. My childhood with her was… not the greatest. But she took on herself to raise me and I am grateful for that.”

“What was it like ? I’m curious.”

“How so ?”

“Well, I didn’t grow up with her, so I want to know how she was. Especially since our worlds are so different.”

Archie stayed silent for a bit, chewing thoughtfully on their bite of the quiche. “Alright. You’ll tell me about your childhood after, heh ?”

“Okay.” At least it’ll fill the silence , thought Jon. It was strange, how much he hated silence these days. 

“Well” started Archie. “I don’t remember the first years, much like everyone else. Both my parents died when I was very young and it was my grandmother who took upon the task of educating me. That said, trying to educate me. I was far from the easiest child. She was a very strict woman, and while she took good care of me, I could tell she didn’t really want to raise me. I- I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, she’d already raised my dad, and she didn’t neglect me ! Honestly, I’m glad she didn’t give me up for adoption, especially since I always seemed to be unable to stay out of trouble.”

Jon gave them a tired smile. “You’ve not learned a lot from your mistakes.”

They looked up at him from their plate, and gently smiled. “Yes, I guess you can say that.”

Jon waited a bit before talking. 

“My grandmother was already dead when my parents joined her, and I had no other family, so I was sent to adoption. I stayed the rest of my life in the orphanage, until I was old enough to go pursue my studies, but… It was… a strange time there, to say the least.”

“How so ?”

“I think… Well, I’d lie if I said I hadn’t seen some definitely weird things there. I think… Those things are part of the reason why I decided to go work in the Institute, though by that time I had already built up so much scepticism that I almost believed myself when I dismissed the statements. But there are some… encounters I made there that I can’t dismiss. Denial is just… easier.”

Archie smiled. “I know the feeling.” They paused. “Do you think it would be worth investigating ?”

“What ?”

“Well, I won’t force you to reveal to me what you saw if you don’t want to, but would you like me to investigate ?”

“I…” Jon hesitated. On one hand, he didn’t want to dig up all that, all of these horrible memories that he had spent years carefully tucking inside a neat little box closed by a heavy padlock and buried within his mind, under layers and layers of lies he’d told himself to try and rationalise all that. But on the other hand ? There was this burning desire for answers that consumed him, that need to know why, who, how !

“I think so, yes,” he said distractedly. “Yes, that would be a good idea. It’s… Wright Orphanage, in Bournemouth. Maybe you’ll find something there.”

“Wright, hm ? Yes, that’ll do. Thank you Jon. Really.”

Jon offered them a strained smile and went back to his meal. After a few more bites, he looked back at Archie to compliment them a bit more - they truly were an amazing cook - but stopped by seeing their thumb wrapped in a paper tissue soaked in a red-ish brown liquid.

“What happened to your hand ?”

“My…?” they trailed off, following Jon’s gaze, gasping slightly at the colour of their improvised bandage. With jerky movements, they fumbled with the tissue - the dried blood made it difficult to undo, especially with only one hand - and ripped it to reveal the pristine, unscathed skin of their thumb. Jon was incredulous, but Archie groaned.

“I cut my thumb earlier while cooking. I should have expected that, I guess.” they sighed.

“I- Is it normal ?” 

“Yes, unfortunately.” they muttered. Jon could think of how this- regenerative ability could probably come in handy in many cases, but decided not to push the issue. It probably came with a price that he was not sure he was keen on learning the nature.

Both finished the meal in silence. Jon put away the dishes while Archie made some tea, before grabbing his book and settling on the couch. Archie joined him with two freshly made cups moments later, and sat next to him on the couch.

They glanced at him briefly. “You should go to sleep. The last few days must have been exhausting, and I doubt it’s going to get any better.”

“Hm. Maybe.” he answered distractedly, not lifting his eyes from the thick volume they were glued on. The silence stretched on for a while, with Archie quietly sipping his tea and Jon turning the pages of the book resting on his lap. 

“What are you reading ?” asked Archie while Jon was fumbling with a particularly difficult passage.

“House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. I’ve never been much for fiction, but it is a very good book, despite the fact that it is extremely confusing. Tim gave it to me after I mentioned I needed something new to read.”

Archie gently smiled. Jon put down the book, defeated, and removed his glasses to rub his strained eyes. 

“Why don’t you go rest ?” Archie inquired.

“I… To be fair, I don’t really want to. It’s been a few weeks since sleep has… stopped giving me much rest.”

Archie’s mine darkened. “How so ?”

“I’ve… I’ve had nightmares. Recurrently.”

If Archie wasn’t already worried, now their expression had jumped to straight out afraid, not of Jon but for him. He hesitated to keep going, but knew that he would have to tell someone eventually, and it was best to explain it to someone that had more experience dealing with these… particular problems ( he still refused to admit it was supernatural, even though he had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind. No it was just regular nightmares from regular scary stories made by liars. No matter the things he had seen ).

“I’ve… I’ve always had some variation of these, ever since the orphanage. I… I know you’ll want to know what these are about but… I- I don’t think I’m ready to tell anyone about them.”

He looked up, seeking approval in Archie’s gentle face. The scars and eye colour were still unnerving - he didn’t think he would ever really get accustomed to them, nor to the resemblance to the face he saw in the mirror - but their expression was a gentle, somewhat a bit strained, smile, encouraging him to keep going. They reminded him of Leon, one of the oldest in the orphanage. Always trying to cheer him up, to chase the clouds away. Like a brother. 

He pushed the memory away and focused on the much more unpleasant one about what haunted his nights. 

“The new ones started about… two months ago ? Maybe a bit more. E- Ever since I started recording statements. I think that, consciously or not, I knew the nightmares came from them, and that’s why I believed you so quickly when you said the position of Head Archivist transformed you into some sort of monster, or at least had to do with the supernatural. Though it didn't exactly make the shock easier to endure.

“The first dream was about… the ocean. A vast ocean, but what was scary wasn't the ocean itself, it was… It was the fact that I knew the ocean wasn’t empty. That if I just lowered my gaze, I could see the cadavers of humanity’s now dead civilisation, the remnants of our hubris, now buried beneath the immensity of the sea.

“The second one came some weeks later. It started right after recording the case I mentioned to you, with the boyfriend and the sculpture class. I just… found myself in the room, with these horrid, shifting statues of clay and, and, they were alive, but not alive, and the clay twisted in impossible shapes that made my head hurt so much !

“Strangely enough, I didn’t dream of the one Gerry recorded. I was in a bit of a rush that day, and asked Gerry to do it instead. It was just a week after the first one. I had read the statement of course, and tried to record it digitally on my laptop. But since it needed to be on tape and that I didn’t have time, Gerry did it. Nothing else changed, just the recording on tape.

“Then there’s the coffin. I- don’t want to talk about this one. I really, really don’t want to. It’s… unpleasant, and made me wake up screaming and gasping for air more times than I’d like to admit. At this point, I was already pretty suspicious that something was up with the statements, and that I was the only one affected. Both Gerry and Sasha had recorded one each, and showed no signs of changes in their sleep schedule, while mine was rapidly deteriorating. So I decided to try it with Tim.

“I was right of course. Nothing.

“The next one was… trickier.

“It was one I had to record directly from the subject. Jurgen had a pretty strict policy about live statements, they had to be transcripted by the assistants and committed to tape later by the Head Archivist. But for some reason, that I can now only assume to be malicious, Maxwell lifted it when I came in function.

“The man was… very kind. His name was Edwin Burroughs. He gave me his story, one about a- a spider that lurked in the halls of his diocese. and departed shortly after. Said that the place was making him uncomfortable. Feeling watched.”

Jon shuddered at the reminder of what haunted the edges of his consciousness after he had heard the statement of the man.

“My dreams have been long and too many-legged ever since. They’re just a bit… different. Instead… Instead of simply… sort of visiting the place, this time, I’m not alone. And I’m…” his voice broke.

“I’m watching . I’m looking at Mr Burroughs, trapped with all those spiders, all those webs , and he’s so scared , and I can’t move and I’m terrified .”

He swallowed, doing his best to retain tears he knew would break out eventually.

“I made Martin record the next, and planned on tasking the assistants with this duty, since it didn’t do anything to them. I decided that at least, that way I could keep the little sleep I had at night. But that’s when Maxwell started pressuring me into doing the recordings myself.

“You- You know the rest. I did one more recording before Lensik’s, and then you arrived.”

Jon breathed deeply. “I- I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you- I-”

It took all of his strength not to flinch when Archie gently pressed his arm on his shoulder. “Jon. It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.”

He didn’t have the will to do anything more than nodding. 

It was impossible for him to tell how much time had passed when he finally gathered the strength to get up from the couch and slowly trail to the bedroom. 

“I’m going to sleep. Try, at least. Good night, I guess ?” he said with a strained smile. 

Archie sent him an equally exhausted smile.

—

Jon woke up in cold sweat in the middle of the night. A few weeks ago he would have furrowed his brow, grumbled some mild curse under his breath and gone back to sleep, but after many tries he now knew how useless it was.

He sighed with resignation and grabbed his glasses on the nightstand before turning on the small lamp beside him. He rubbed his eyes and pushed aside his blankets to get up and make something out of the rest of his night. Maybe starting with some tea. 

The ground was cold beneath his bare feet, but it was reassuring to feel it steady instead of slipping away. He breathed slowly.

The dream had been about the fall. In some sort of irony, those nightmares that terrified him over the years now had a strange sort of familiarity, and maybe he would dare call them reassuring. At least he knew this one was his own, and he knew what to expect, though it was nonetheless terrifying.

Making his way to the kitchen, he noticed the two glowing emeralds of Archie’s open eyes. He jumped, unnerved at the sight, especially since nothing else was hinting of his guest’s presence.

Not even a faint breathing.

—

The woman is watching. 

What is she looking at ? No one but her Knows.

She watches, and watches, and watches even more.

She likes to watch. It is fulfilling. 

When has it become that way ?

Looking back, she doesn’t know how she got here, not really. She could Know of course, but does she really want to ? 

She was just curious, She had questions, and she found the answers in the research for power. And what a great power.

But now, there is a prickling feeling at the back of her neck. 

Now she is the one being watched.

It is familiar, but she doesn’t like it. She appreciates watching, but being watched is deeply unpleasant. She snickers at the hypocrisy. Is it how the victims of her scrutiny feel ?

An Eye cannot Watch itself. But an Eye can Watch another.

She smiles with relief at the finally fading feeling. 

—

As it turned out, a very stressed, desperate looking and panicked version of yourself was sure a sight, especially in the early hours of morning. Or the late hours of night, depending on who you asked.

“Archie ? Archie !” screamed Jon, shaking his counterpart in distress. Tim was there too, a large glass of water in his hand.

Archie blinked and opened their eyes, right in time to receive the previously held by Tim water in the face. The cold liquid surprised them and managed to remove all fatigue from their mind, foggy with sleep. 

“Uh ?” was all they managed to say in their confusion.

Relief and distress mixed on both Tim and Jon’s faces as Archie moved to sit up, grunting at the pain in their joints, their hair dripping with water.

“We thought you were dead.”

The previous scare mostly passed, Tim looked angry.

“What ? Why ? I- I mean I was just asleep !” they blurted out.

To them, it was maybe a bit more concerning that they didn’t remember what they had dreamed about, when they Knew for a fact that they did. Maybe Martin ? God, they hoped they hadn’t haunted his dreams because of the statement. They had told him that he was safe since he worked in the Institute, but now that they thought about it, they weren’t sure it would work if they themself weren’t employed by Jonah.

“You weren’t breathing. Y- You were dead !” Jon was shaking badly. 

“What ?”

“There was nothing. No pulse, no breath. Dead.” Tim’s voice was cold, with anger being the sole emotion transparent on his face. 

Archie didn’t understand either. How could they-

“Oh.” 

Realisation hit them hard. Sure, it was like this for a long time already, but it didn’t make the thought easier to process.

“Oh. I- I’m dead. Still dead. Apparently.” they grumbled, shifting position to lie back on the couch, a hand on their eyes to mute a bit of the harsh ceiling lights.

They could only imagine the incredulous faces of Jon and Tim when they realised that it probably wasn’t the most reassuring - nor rational sounding - thing to say, especially after such an incident.

“You’re what now ?!” screamed Tim. Archie winced, the loud sound erupting a sharp pain in their ears. 

“I, uh, well. I, uh, I did die. A- a while ago. In an explosion.” God, that hurts to say. “I’m sorry ?”

“So- you’re basically a zombie, that’s… Great, I ’ll become a zombie.” Jon sighed, looking more exhausted than ever.

“No ? I mean, if you refer strictly to the terminology of a zombie, I would tend a bit more to be ah, a lich, as zombies are mindless and- and eat humans. Liches are- Well, liches are undead and powerful, and revived through rituals, and if you count all that had happened to me as such, then I, theoretically speaking, am a lich. Though the ritual to form a lich often includes sacrifices of other people, and are, ah, wanted by said lich, while most of everything was involuntary on my part, and I-”

“Stop, stop, stop. We get it. You’re a lich not a zombie.” interrupted Tim. “How are you walking around and all… this ? Actually, scratch that, I’m more concerned about why you know all that about… liches and zombies.” He was surprisingly calm for someone who was seemingly woken up at an ungodly hour to solve a ‘supernatural dead body on the couch’ problem.

“Oh ! Haha. That’s a fun one actually. There was this woman, Daisy, who joined the Archives at some point, and we sort of became friends ! And apparently she had a, ah, rather extensive knowledge of that topic and we had some quite interesting conversations.” 

They gave a strained smile at the two men facing them, whose faces were growing somehow more and more incredulous with each of their words, and kept going. “As for why I’m, as you put it, ‘walking around and all this’, I, uh, I don’t exactly know ? I mean, I Know that I'm alive because of a sort of… eldritch evil eyeball god - don’t worry, I’ll explain that one - but I don’t exactly Know how it works, o-or the specifics, I mean these things are relying more on dream logic rather than physics so…”

Jon found nothing to say other than a sigh.

“I… okay, I get it. Mostly. Just… warn me about these kinds of things, right ?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I did tell you I sleep like the dead.”

Tim snorted. “I don’t think you said it was literal.”

“Right. I- I’m sorry, I had a lot of things in my mind and… I forgot.”

“You forgot.” scoffed Tim. “You forgot that you were dead .”

“I- It’s been like this for… for quite some time already. It’s been… at least a year since I haven’t needed breathing o-or haven’t had a pulse. It… Actually we found out sometime after I woke up. I- heh, I fell asleep on my desk and Daisy panicked for a bit. Honestly I’m… rather glad that it was her and not Melanie or Basira - though our relationship was already a bit better - because I would likely have ended up with… more than a slap.”

They shivered at the memories. Melanie’s face when she looked at them like they were a monster, no longer human - the worst in that being that it wasn’t even a lie. Basira threatening to put them down if they became too much of a problem. Georgie leaving after understanding what they could do in their newfound inhumanity, and the pain of knowing that she had all the rights to. They wondered if Tim, Sasha, Jon and Martin would do the same ? They had all the rights to, after all, they were still human. It was of their responsibility to instruct all of them of the dangers, but in now way did they have the right to demand from the assistants to accept their own monstrosity.

“Alright, it’s… it’s not your fault. You’re only human, we all make mistakes.”

Archie winced, as Jon’s statement wasn’t exactly right. They weren’t really human anymore. Sure, they had recovered their human appearance they had lost since the apocalypse, but it didn’t exactly change their nature. 

“How come we haven’t noticed that yet ?”

Both Jon and Archie turned to Tim. “What do you mean ?” they said in unison.

“Well, Archie’s been asleep for what, two days ? And they were on your couch the whole time. Hell, we even visited to make sure they were all right. So, how come none of us have noticed ?”

The awkward silence that followed stretched on for long minutes, or maybe it was just a perception. Actually just a perception , supplied the Beholding in the Archivist’s mind, reminding them of its presence there. Archie broke it by a light cough.

“Well…” they began. “I suppose none of us is planning to go back to sleep…”

The two others shook their heads.

“And I believe we have a great deal of things to discuss…” Both nodded. “And also a few hours before work actually starts. So I believe it would be wise to use this time to… discuss those matters.”

“Go on,” said Tim, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, erm, Jon, you… You wouldn’t happen to have a white board, would you ?”

Chapter Text

When Sasha arrived in the Archives this morning, she was surprised to find the basement lit and apparently animated with chatter. 

She was usually the first to arrive after Jon, and he never bothered to flick on the lights. She smirked. Maybe Archie had managed to smack some sense in the man.

Sasha wasn’t exactly prepared, either, for, upon entering the room, finding an exhausted Tim arguing with an equally exhausted Jon while Archie sat down near them, pinching the bridge of their nose in apparent desperation.

“...but how could a book cause all that ?! That’s just paper and ink, it shouldn’t be possible !”

“They said it worked on dream logic ! Dream ! Logic ! Of course it doesn’t make sense ! But because Mr Skeptic here insists on keeping his facade , we can’t go forward and-”

“I’m not a sceptic alright ?! It is just rather difficult for me to toss everything I know about the way the real world works !”

“Is it that difficult considering we got a living proof ! And you’ve read the stuff about the Keays ! Who knows what else these books are capable of !”

“Uh… guys ? What are you doing ?” hesitantly interrupted Sasha, announcing herself.

If a few days ago, the neatly kept office Jon occupied prevented the archives from being called a complete and utter mess yet thanks to the newly appointed Head Archivist’s apparent obsession with a clean workspace, that was certainly not the case anymore. 

Among the three clearly sleep-deprived persons were scattered a number of empty mugs, some having contained coffee, some others tea. Various papers and manilla folders were tossed around carelessly, and behind all of those stood a large white board, covered in frantic writings of different colours as well as post-its and papers pinned everywhere seemingly at random. 

Archie lifted their head and smiled at Sasha, an attempt at a warm grin that turned more scary than intended due to the large and dark circles under their eyes. “Oh, hello Sasha. How are you ?”

“Uh… I’m fine ?” She sounded like she wasn’t sure. “What are all of you doing ? I thought I was the first to arrive.”

“Oh !” they exclaimed. “Oh, yes, we are here since-”

“Three in the morning.” cut in Tim, interrupting his argument with Jon - of which Sasha didn’t understand all the contents. “Roughly. And since, we’ve had this exact same conversation thrice .” He emphasised heavily on the word, earning a glare from Jon.

Archie sighed and raised their hand to get everyone’s attention.

“Please, can we not ? This is pointless, and we have more important things to talk about.” They stood up from their chair in a grunt, their joints audibly popping, causing them to wince. “Where, ah, where is Martin ?”

“He’s been staying with me since Prentiss, because he - understandably - didn’t want to go back to his flat and I was the only one of us to have a spare room. He should be on his way, I think he was catching up with Rosie” she said with a matter of fact tone. Archie visibly relaxed at this.

“Ah, great. We should… probably move this mess to the breakroom, we’ll be less…” they looked around the room, slightly wincing at the apparent disorder. “...cramped.”

A few minutes later, Martin was here, and everyone was settled in the breakroom with a freshly made mug of tea, all waiting for the explanation to come. Sasha had her notebook open and hand twitching with her pen, itching to know what the trio had found. 

“So,” began Archie, “where do I start ?”

“What happened last night might be a good idea.” proposed Tim. 

“Right. Last night. Well, it might come off as sort of a surprise, but I am… dead.”

“So you’re a zombie ?” supplied Martin, causing Tim to burst in a fit of giggles and Jon to cough slightly trying to hold back his own laughter.

“I- we’ve already had this conversation. The, erm, the short answer is no. But, the thing is, uh, I-”

“Basically, they forgot to tell Jon, and he called me completely panicked at three in the morning.”

Archie shot Tim a brief glare. “Thank you Tim.” they sighed. “So, it, err, it was very early, and none of us was going to sleep. So we went to the Archives with the intention of… researching, and have at least the beginning of an answer regarding the differences between our world.”

“Initially,” cut in Jon, “we went because we needed to find out what exactly were Archie’s abilities, and figured it would be better to do it in a place where we would have space, ressources and decent material to take notes on.”

“And a red string conspiracy board !” added Tim cheerfully. “Though there wasn’t any red string, so we went for green instead.”

There was indeed a lime green thread running across the board behind the trio. Sasha would have asked where they found it, or who would there be something like that in the Archives, but decided that it was less relevant than the ongoing explanation. 

“Right. And what did you find ?” she asked. 

“About the worlds first.” precised Martin before Archie could open their mouth. “Seems more important,” he shrugged. 

“... r-right. So, about the differences between our worlds. Well, the first person I researched-” they gestured to a drawing of a spiral on the board “-was Michael. No- Not your Michael, or I guess you could say Gerry’s Michael, but, ah, the ‘man inside the corridors’ Michael, as Oliver put it.

“I can’t say I’m a fan of the Distortion’s special brand of horror, but it seemed like a good start. I admit the thought of researching Gerry or Michael - Shelley I mean - did cross my mind, but I didn’t want to invade their privacy. So. Michael.”

They began to pace around the room. 

“Of course, a manifestation of unreality such as it was difficult to track down, if not impossible, so I instead relied on my somewhat limited knowledge of Oliver Banks - Graham Folger’s boyfriend.

“He had just quit his job after what appeared to be a mental breakdown, and his boyfriend encouraged him to take a sculpture class. That’s our divergence.

“See, in my world, Oliver did not, in fact, quit his job. He continued until being completely burnt out, broke up with Graham and went on to Become an Avatar of the End. Graham himself suffered a tragic fate afterwards.

“Do you see where I am going ?” they asked, stopping their pace and jerking their head towards the assistants. 

Sasha shuddered a bit at Archie’s somewhat manic expression, though the sleep deprivation and unsettling eyes surely weren’t helping. “...not really, no.” she hesitated, not lifting her pen from her page in her frantic writing. 

Tim snickered. “Don’t worry Sash, we didn’t understand either at first.”

“Right, well, where I’m going is that it makes sense .” they stammered. “It’s not just a- a random change, a divergence occurred and it made the difference !”

The excitement visible in their eyes reminded Sasha of Jon during the days in Research. One time he’d showed up at work with a haggard look, unshaved and hair wild, clashing with his usual – if not a bit sleep deprived – well kept academic appearance. Tim had asked what was going on and he’d snapped, eyes wild, a somewhat mad grin sprawled on his face. A bit scary, especially since Sasha was pretty sure it was the first time she’d seen his teeth in something resembling a smile. 

He had then started ranting, borderline nonsensical, about this obscure music band of which Sasha didn’t remember the name of, and claiming that their second album was the best they’d ever produced, and started analysing in detail every lyric, before passing out shortly after.

Apparently, he hadn’t slept for days, and hadn’t properly eaten – or drank anything but caffeine – in the meantime. David, the Head of Research and their boss at the time, had even admitted Jon looked so caught up in his interest – and admittedly a bit scary – that he hadn’t interrupted. Said incident had also led to Tim trying to reproduce the effect on himself in hopes of having the day off, but David had stayed inflexible. 

Sasha stopped the track of thoughts and went back to taking notes about Archie’s present rant. 

“And so I dug up a bit more, and found that Thomas Pritchard, who died because the Web needed Oliver to fully Become an Avatar, was in fact still alive, because Oliver was now of the Spiral, and he even gave a statement about that research trip to point Nemo he was supposed to participate in !

“And so I found more changes, more divergence, which explains everything !” At this point, Archie was gesturing wildly at the board full of awfully coloured strings, photos and drawings, strands of hair falling from their messy bun on their face and emerald green eyes glowing. 

“Hang on-” interrupted Martin, “What are those things ? The- The End, the Web, the Spiral- What are those ? You’ve already mentioned them, but never explained.”

“Yeah, and a thing called the Eye too. What are those ?” asked Sasha. 

Archie pinched their lips and looked down. They had slowed their pacing and avoided looking at the assistants, instead fidgeting with the border of their jumper. “Right, so, this one is a bit more complicated to explain, and I’d prefer to do it with everyone to avoid having that conversation twice. That includes Gerry, so I’d rather wait for him to get back tomorrow. For now, all you need to be aware of is that those things are evil.” Archie rubbed their face with their scarred hand.

“Do they have a rapport with the monsters, the- You called them Avatars, right ?”

“Yes, they do.” 

Sasha nodded, writing it down. Tim clapped his hand to call for attention. “So that’s basically all we found about our worlds for now. Ready to go over Archie’s abilities ?”

“If I might add,” interrupted Jon, talking for the first time since Archie began their presentation, “we’ll need to research more about those ‘divergences’, but our resources are limited for now. That means we will employ your computer skills, Sasha.”

She smiled and nodded.

“Right.” continued Tim. “But right now, we’re talking about our new Spooky Resident.” Said Spooky Resident groaned at the nickname, making the rest of the people in the room smile a bit. 

“Is that really necessary ?” they pleaded. 

“Yup !” exclaimed Tim, popping the ‘p’. “But don’t you worry, I’ve got a ton of nicknames for you.”

Tim’s smirk and joyful tone made Archie throw their arms in the air in faked desperation, trying to hide their smile despite everything.

“I regret having told you about anything.” they whined.

The brief interruption had lifted the tension in the room, and when Tim started again, it was with a light-hearted and enthusiastic tone. 

“So, Spooky Boss. Are we going over the powers or do you want to expose your tragic backstory first ?”

Archie sputtered, and Tim was worried he’d say the wrong thing for a moment. He put a hand on their shoulder. “Hey, relax, I was joking. You’ll tell us when you’re ready,” he said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. They nodded with a strained smile, and gestured to Tim to get going. 

He then proceeded to sit on the table and lean over, his hands folded and elbows on his laps, a conspicuous grin on his face. 

“The first thing we found out was obviously that they didn’t need to breathe, nor did they have a pulse, though they still had some body heat for some reason.”

Behind him, Jon dramatically flipped the board to show what looked like two lists, the one on the left titled ‘Good Spooky’ and the other ‘Bad Spooky’.

“Here, we wrote down everything,” he said in a neutral tone.

Tim took on an expression of dramatic faux betrayal, before gasping and gesturing like a damsel in a theatre play. “Treason ! My effect ! Ruined !”

Jon sighed and Sasha smiled as she made her way to the board along Martin to take a closer look at what was inscribed on the white surface. 

“Now- Hold up, what does ‘regeneration’ mean ?!”

“I, err, I can heal faster.”

“How did you even discover that ?!”

“I- cut myself a bit when I was cooking yesterday and after some time, it had healed like there was nothing in the first place.” They held up their pristine thumb to show as proof. “I’d still say it’s less than it used to be, I doubt my finger would reattach itself if I were to cut it out.”

Martin’s eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his skull. “Why- Why does everything you ever say ends up being somehow gradually more concerning ?” he said with an alarmed tone. The Archivist looked away, not knowing how to answer. 

Sasha’s remark provided a salvaging distraction. “Why is ‘dead’ under both columns ?”

“Well, we had a hard time placing this one,” answered Tim, “but it’s bad because the lack of breath might tip off people that there’s something wrong, and good because it means they probably can’t die.”

“Also bad because I miss being able to breathe without thinking consciously of it. You don’t realise how good these little details are until you don’t have them anymore.”

Sasha nodded. “Makes sense.” Now that she was paying attention, she could hear Archie’s steady breath.

They rapidly passed over the two other things that were written down – ‘not sprouting off extra eyeballs’ on the left and ‘glowy eyes’ on the right – and went on to start their workday. 

Archie gave Jon a pile of false statements to record, and took with them some of the real ones, along with the few tapes that had already been recorded by the small team.

“Wait, do we really have to work ? I mean, Archie practically said that the Institute was evil, and that Maxwell couldn’t fire us, so, why are we working ?” asked Sasha. That was, as she estimated, a legitimate question, because who knew if their work wasn’t serving evil to some extent ? She’d rather not work for whatever was in control.

Jon sighed heavily. “Yes, I have to agree with you on this point. The Institute is evil. But,” he pointedly said, “Maxwell is evil too. And I’d rather keep the extent of our knowledge from him. So, it seems wiser to at least pretend, just to keep him out. His attention is,” he shuddered, “not something I want,” he concluded before closing the door of his office to record alone.

Sasha turned to Tim, who shrugged and gestured to her to drop it. “Apparently he had a run-in with Maxwell yesterday. Don’t know the details, but, apparently it was… bad. Like really.”

—

Since it would have hinted Maxwell - Jonah - of something if Archie was recording statements in Jon’s office, they went to document storage. The room was soundproofed, and they wouldn’t bother anyone with their presence. 

They still didn’t felt a hundred percent comfortable with the assistants yet, the familiar faces bringing back memories they’d rather not think about, but it was nice to know that this Jon was opening up a bit more than they had back then. Maybe it was Gerry’s presence ? 

They had yet to meet the man, he was apparently out of the hospital, but still on medical leave until Thursday. They wondered how he would react to them. They winced. Probably not well. 

They took out the recorder stuffed in their pocket – courtesy of the Mother of Puppets – and slumped down on the only chair free of the numerous stacks of papers that crowded the room. 

On the table next to them, they deposited the pile of files and tapes, and took the first recording. Case 0140507. They pressed play.

The familiar hum of the tape rose as the room was filled with the sound of a voice that was theirs but not.

“1,2,1,2. Test, test. ( quiet ) Right. That seems to work.

The Jon in the recording cleared his throat.

“If you are listening to this, it means that I have managed to finally record these… difficult statements. 

“But first, I suppose I should introduce myself.

“My name is Jonathan Sims, I am the newly appointed Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, in London.

“Despite being vast, and charged with nearly two centuries of documents, the archival department should not be hard to maintain in order, should the Head Archivist in place be organised and willing to work.

“My predecessor, a man of the name Jurgen Leitner, was not meeting these criterias.

“Being named at this position shortly after his disappearance, I am now left with more than forty years of disorganised filing, and a rather terrible classification system.

“I might add, my duty will be to ‘digitalise’ the archives, so to speak, transcript digitally and record audio versions of the statements here, added on top of organising the mess.

“Fortunately, Maxwell Rayner, the Head of the Institute, has accepted to grant me three assistants to help me accomplish this herculean task before I probably pass away from old age. 

“Well.

“Technically four, but I highly doubt of Gerard's use anyway. 

“Timothy Stoker has worked in the research department for a few years already. His academic background and aparrents… skills in recovering information unavailable online are… impressive. 

“Sasha James has worked in research as well after a short trip to Artefact Storage. She has proven being very resourceful when given a computer and will be valued here.

“Martin Black wood was among the staff of the library. I did not request his presence, but given the current situation, his help will be more than welcome. I simply hope that he will show himself more competent in the future compared to what was previously. 

“And then there is Gerard.

“Gerard Delano has been Jurgen’s assistant for the last ten years, despite having no qualifications whatsoever. The only reason Jurgen could have had to hire him was that he knew his father, Eric, who was his assistant as well, and quit after becoming blind after an unspecified incident. When I asked Gerard about his qualifications on the job, he simply answered me that ‘he survived’. Which, given Jurgen’s terrible management skills, does count as a victory. 

“Still, he does have what could be considered as a decent amount of experience on the job, and Maxwell advised against firing him. 

“Well, I think this is enough dwelling on the sheer amount of work that is now incumbent upon me. However, during the last few days, the archival staff has encountered a number of statements that appeared… reluctant, in the matter of audio recording. 

“The file corrupts every time, no matter the device used. I have found an old tape recorder in document storage, and hope dearly this will finally work. 

“I have brought one such statement with me here. This is utter nonsense, but hopefully will do for a test. 

“Now. Shall we.

“Statement of Thomas Pritchard, regarding a trip to point Nemo for research purposes. Statement given July 5th, 2014.

“Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

“Statement begins.

“I am a scientist. A marine biologist. Well, not exactly, some derivation of that. Most people do a face when I say the whole thing, so I simply stop at ‘Marine Biologist’. Sometimes, I even go as far as ‘Biochemist’, but outside of interviews or meetings with fellow academics, I stick to the simple term. 

“I take some pride in it, on the rare occasions I have to say the full thing. I’ve worked years of my life to earn it, after all. We like to think of ourselves as better than that, refined creatures above simple ego pleasures, but in reality we’re all the same. We can’t help that little pinch of pride when we can look important, impressive in our overall insignificance. 

“Not like any of that matters anyway. 

“When I say scientist though, people sometimes think of a guy in a lab coat and various tubes filled with colourful liquids. Not you of course, you seem like someone who has at least some frame of reference in what scientists are supposed to look like, but children do, especially, having only their cartoons as frames of reference. 

“I do mostly field work. I have colleagues who satisfy themselves in the simple analysis of samples collected by others, but not me. A lab is too cramped for me. I guess that is why I chose a field such as mine. Easier to study outdoors. 

“Because of that, most of my time is spent on the seas, trying to figure out a solution to the latest mystery I found. It is pleasant. Rewarding. Obviously not a job for most people, but family never was my thing, and I was all too pleased to think of myself as useful while running away from my parent’s disappointed look when I told them they shouldn’t expect grandchildren from me. It is a very lonely life, but also a peaceful one. 

“Now, my last trip was a bit different. 

“About a year ago, I heard about a trip to point nemo being in preparation. The place is one of the most interesting ever, in my opinion. The further away from human civilization; the closest being the astronauts on the ISS when they sometimes pass overheads. 

“I applied, of course. It was a childhood dream fulfilled. 

“We had to measure the levels of pollution, plastic and other things, and compile everything in one big paper to quantify the impact of human activity in the most retreated places of the globe. 

“It was promising. So, in May 2013, I embarked for a long, long voyage. 

“Getting there was the easy part. The journey was long, but I got along pretty well with the rest of the scientific team. I was the only biochemist, but there were people whom I read the works of, and I was all too happy to exchange with them. 

“It was when we arrived that things started to become… unusual.

“Have you ever taken a trip overseas ?

“It is wonderful, peaceful and quiet like you don’t expect it to be. The sound of quiet waves becomes soothing, and the gentle rocking of the boat helps you sleep. 

“The first night, I had a dream. Or at least, it had to be a dream.

“I woke up on the ship. I was thirsty, and went up to fetch a glass of water. But once I was on the stairs, I noticed something… off. 

“The boat was completely still. And that wasn’t normal.

“See, when you spend that much time off the land, you pick up a bit of knowledge on boats, by curiosity or simply by overhearing people talk. And I know there are only two instances where a boat is as still as it was that night.

“When it’s on the land for repairs… Or when it is encased in ice. 

“Of course, both were impossible. Land was too far away, and it was September at this point, so ice in this place at this time was more than unlikely. 

“I rushed to the main deck to see what was up. And there I saw it. Around the boat was no water. Nothing.

“Instead, the boat was encased in what looked like dirt. I approached the railing to get closer and distinguish what it really was and…

“They were corpses.

"Made of plastic, metal, blood like oil and flesh like steel. Remnants of our hubris taking a form to imitate us, to mock us. To show us what would become of our misplaced pride.

"I wanted to vomit.

“Instead, I approached the ladder and slowly, slowly, one step at a time, descended. And I put my bare foot on that discarded corpse of a land. 

“I wandered there for hours, days maybe. All in the blinking light of extinguishing stars. Surrounded by what was left of the dead humanity to come.

“And then I woke up. I was in my bed, covered in cold sweat. The small clock beside me indicated nearly three in the morning. It was like it never happened. A dream. A dream that was imprinted in my memory, it’s content ever chasing me in the back of my retina. 

“I rushed to the deck, but there was nothing. It was gone. Nothing remained, except the calm ocean and gentle rocking of waves. 

“I was quick to dismiss what I had seen as a fabrication of my exhausted mind, and went back to a welcomed dreamless slumber.

“The next day, I couldn’t forget what I had seen. But I could try to distract myself enough. So I got to work. The first week, we had to take samples, do some analysis to read later. That night, I went to bed exhausted, welcoming sleep.

“That night, I had the same dream. And the next. And the next again. Every. Night. 

“Then came the time to compile the readings. I couldn’t. I couldn’t fathom what we had collected. 

“There were no numbers. Just words.

“Death. End. No more. 

“ Extinction . 

“Then I blinked, and the numbers were back to normal. 

“It went on for the whole trip. Sleep, dream, wake, see the readings. Repeat.

“I've been back on land since mid May now. The dreams have stopped. The report will be published in a few months. 

“I doubt I’ll be going on a trip anymore.

“Statement Ends.

“Well. This is, as I was saying, a pile of nonsense. 

“The Institute has a strict policy regarding dreams, and the visions on the readings could be attributed to a lack of sleep and a bit of paranoia. 

“The report has yet to be published, but Dr Pritchard did go on that trip. 

“The only thing preventing me from putting it on the newly created discredited section of the archives, which, if I might add, will host the majority of the statements, is the reason why the report hasn’t been published yet.

“Apparently, the scientists are encountering difficulties with the readings. There is, reportedly, ‘no numbers’. No further details are available. 

“End Recording.”

Archie looked at the recorder, stunned. Then the record button was hit by an invisible hand, and they Knew they had to say something.

“S- Supplemental recorded by The Archivist.

“I- This- This is the Extinction. 

“I- I mean, I should have expected it after Jon’s explanation about his nightmare but… Hearing it… Like that… I- I don’t-” 

They sighed heavily. 

“I don’t know what to do. Is it fully fledged, is it still at the same state that it was in my world is it-'' 

Another sigh, longer this time.

“I really, really hope that it’s not there, else… 

“Well, if the Extinction is here, it means the countdown has started. I’ve yet to encounter an Avatar, because I doubt Dr Pritchard is one, at least yet, but I have to research this. It’s been… a long time since I’ve done it the… old fashioned way, without relying on this goddamn eyeball that elected residence in my mind. 

“Parasite.” they muttered. 

“Anyway, on that matter, it doesn’t exactly seem to be any more cooperative. I feel like it is more… Well, I feel like it is as new to this world as I am. Heh. Bet it’s enjoying itself, drinking all in the- the forbidden Knowledge of another world. 

“Is that why I’ve been sent here ? To satisfy the soulless desire of a voyeur god ? I hope not. Regardless, I will try everything to help Jon and the others, but there might be a complication if I am not this world’s Archivist. 

“I… I can feel it. I’m The Archivist, but I’m also An Archivist at the same time. And I don’t Know if I’ll be able to save them without being this world’s Archivist as well. 

“At least, they have Gerry. Given that he’s been Leitner’s assistant for ten years, he’s at least somewhat familiar with the supernatural. I wonder if he is the reason why this Jon is more open to his assistants ?

“Lord, it's weird to refer to yourself in the third person. Even if he isn’t exactly me.

“I…”

They put a hand on their eyes.

“Enough existential questioning for now. I’m going to update the… conspiracy board, as Tim put it.

“End supplemental.”

The recorder clicked off, and Archie was left alone with their thoughts.

Chapter Text

Strangely enough, listening to the statements was both fulfilling and exhausting, way more so than they should.

It was second hand fear consumption, Archie knew that well enough. But they made the nagging hunger in the back of their mind go away. At the same time, the rest of their body was overcome by a fatigue they couldn’t quite explain, leaving them with a throbbing headache. 

It was a strange sensation, one they hadn’t experienced since… Well, in fact, since they started their job as Head Archivist. Huh. That was probably good news then, right ?

If they were exhausted by the statements, maybe it meant that this world’s version of The Eye was accepting them in some way. Yes. Maybe it was a very optimistic take, but this time, Archie chose to believe. They ignored the little voice in the back of their head that screamed it was stupid, and that they would fail. 

They spent a moment collecting their thoughts. 

Putting their hands on their knees to get up, they grunted as the joints of their back popped audibly from what was probably a very bad sitting position. 

Old man , would have teased Martin if he was here.

I’m not that old ! would have sputtered Archie. 

And then both of them would have laughed. And maybe, Martin would have pressed a light kiss on their cheek, and they would have blushed, and smiled, and thought about how lucky they were to have such a wonderful partner. 

…

But Martin wasn’t here. No, he wasn’t. When they tried to Know about him, they found only the sight of a terrified, younger version of their love, prisoner of Jane Prentiss’ worms, or lonely, Lonely fog.

They wanted him here. They wanted him with them, at their side. 

‘ One way or another. Together. ’

But they weren’t together. 

The Archivist was here. 

They were alone. 

They were afraid. 

They wanted to cry.

And so, they allowed themself to slide down the wall of Document Storage, to curl onto themself and to cry. 

They cried, lip wobbling, nose sniffling. Ugly crying , they thought.

They didn’t try to hold it back. They cried it all out. 

And then, finally, as if with the last of their sadness went the last of their energy, they passed out from exhaustion. 

— 

Archie was taken out from their benevolently dreamless slumber by a hand gently squeezing their shoulder. 

The hand moved, and shook them slightly. Whoever possessed this hand clearly wanted to wake them up. 

They didn’t want to. They didn’t want to wake up, to get out of the merciful darkness and fuzz that numbed their pain. 

The world was bad, and they were alone. 

At least here, they could forget. 

No. 

No, they shouldn’t forget. 

If they forgot, that meant forgetting Martin, and they simply couldn’t do that. They couldn’t forget him, not when they had promised not to.

‘ I see you. ’

They had to remember Martin, what they had gone through, their journey, and their love. They had to stay, to remember, because he couldn’t. 

So they opened their eyes with effort. They were puffy and red from the tears that still stained their cheeks. 

“Archie ?” said a voice. They didn’t recognise it, not really. 

They bit their lip. Of course they recognised it. It was Sasha’s voice. Sasha, the real one, not the impostor. Here, she was still alive. That’s why they were going to remember, for Martin, and for all of them, to save them in this world when they couldn’t before. 

“Sasha ?” they croaked hesitantly.

“Hey, bud, you alright ?”

That was Tim. Yes, Tim didn’t hate them now. It was another Tim, one with whom they hadn’t messed up. Yet , said the voice in their mind. They shut it.

“Yes Tim, I’m… I’m fine.”

Their strained voice and red eyes probably said the contrary. They ignored it and tried to get on their feets. Their joints hurt from being sat on the floor. They decided not to think about how Martin would have helped them if he was here. 

“Archie, you’re clearly not,” said Sasha. Archie didn’t even try to protest.

“Hey, c’mere. Just… Do you want tea ? I think Martin made some.”

Tim helped them to get to their feets correctly. Their leg hurt, phantom pain from the long since healed wounds that littered their body.

“Yes, that… Yes, I would like tea.”

They painfully made their way to the breakroom with the two assistants. They were thankful that there were only these two. They didn’t know how they would have reacted if they saw Martin, even if it was the younger, different version of him. They probably would have cried. 

Tim and Sasha sat them down, and handed them a mug of tea. 

“This one was probably for Jon, but he will have to do without. You look like you need it more.”

They let out a dry and joyless chuckle. God they must look like a mess. 

“Thanks.” They sipped a bit of the lukewarm beverage. It felt like home. They didn’t think about how this home wasn’t theirs. “What, ah, what time is it ?”

“Nearly noon. Actually, we wanted to see if you would join us to get lunch ?”

“Oh.” they exclaimed, eyebrows raising. In their world, Tim had long since given up on bringing them to lunch.

“Well, not exactly,” clarified Sasha. “Today is a busy day, and we won’t be eating out, but would you like to accompany us to go fetch something to eat ?”

“Don’t you usually pack something before going to work ?” asked back Archie.

“Me, yes, but Tim forgot today.”

Tim gasped in offence. “I did not ! I was working instead !”

Right, Tim and Jon were busy with them and the conspiracy board during the whole morning. Archie was about to apologise again for it when they realised that it would probably lead to another huff, and another ‘it’s fine’, like when they had apologised the five last times. Or was it six ? They weren’t sure. 

“I- Well, since it’s a busy day, maybe I can go buy something for you, if you’d prefer.”

Tim and Sasha looked at each other in a way that showed they weren’t sure about their idea. They held back a huff. They weren’t a toddler needing constant supervision ! They just… Well, for now, they just needed to get out of that basement. 

“Look, that’s the least I can do. A-and besides, you know Jon. He didn’t pack anything this morning, and you know how he is. He will never just stop working and go to eat. And I already know what he likes, so I’m in the best position to do it, right ?”

Tim seemed thoughtful about it. 

“I- I just need to be alone for a bit, a-and at least I can be useful,” they offered. 

Sasha at least seemed mildly convinced. She turned to Tim for approval, who sighed deeply. 

“Right. Go on. But don’t be too long. We wouldn’t want you to be kidnapped or something.”

Archie laughed bitterly. “Don’t you say.”

—

Maxwell observed the figure of static leaving the building through the eyes of his receptionist. He immediately tried to look through the cameras in the Archives, only to find them obscured. 

He Knew they weren’t, though, but for some reason, the influence of the creature lingered in the basement. He wasn’t sure if this applied only to himself, or to others Avatars of The Eye. 

He sighed. The matter of that enemy foreigner calling itself ‘Archie’ – a nice nickname, if it wasn’t also infuriatingly taunting – was becoming increasingly pressing. It had to be dealt with soon. 

He glanced at the open notebook on his desk. Now that was an idea. He dialled his receptionist. Two rings, and she picked up.

“Yes ?”

“Ah, Angela. Could you please inform Jonathan that I am requesting a meeting with his friend, that ‘Archie’, on the tenth ? At 10:30, just before the one with Conrad Lukas.”

She acquiesced. Maxwell felt the smile on his lips widen.

“That will be all, thank you.”

—

Gerry gave a light peck on Michael’s cheek. “Thanks for the ride, luv. I think I’ll ask Tim to drive me back so that you don’t have to wait for me.”

Michael smiled. “It’s no trouble, you know. I’ll leave you here ? I doubt Ben will like it if I’m late.”

Gerry smiled back. “I’ll be alright. I see you tonight ?”

“Yes. Bye, love.”

Gerry stepped out of the car, fumbling briefly with his crutches to regain his balance. If there was one bad thing with brain surgery, it was the amount of time it took to be able to walk without help afterwards. Actually, there were many bad things with brain surgery, but he decided not to think about it.

He waved again at Michael as he drove away, before painstakingly taking upon the arduous task of climbing the few steps to the massive door of the Institute. He was lucky not to have taken his wheelchair.

Seriously, with how much Maxwell refused to create handicapped accesses, you'd think it'd kill the man to spend some funds on something other than his precious research. And besides, it wasn't like he lacked funding – the Lukases were apparently generous for reasons that Gerry refused to know about – or that he paid a lot his employees. 

He saluted Angela when he passed in front of her desk. She was surprised to see him, but wished him a good recovery nonetheless. 

He smiled, and began the long and painful process of going down the stairs that led to the Archives in crutches, all the while cursing at Maxwell for being so damn cheap. 

Finally, he reached the bottom and made his way to the bullpen. Tim was in a conversation with Martin about a statement they'd found and someone named… Archie ? That was new. 

Sasha emerged from the stacked shelves behind to talk to them, before stopping and grinning largely when she saw Gerry. 

“Gerry ! You're back !”

Tim and Martin interrupted their talk to turn to him.

“The one and only !” he grinned back. 

—

Archie was using their time alone to think a bit. The last few days had been a lot, and the reality was still a bit weird to reflect on. 

It was a little worrying how easily they had slipped into the identity of ‘Archie’. If you’d asked them before how they would have felt to give away their name like they just did, they’d have looked at you in offence and vehemently defended that ‘Jonathan Sims was who they were’, and that ‘it was crazy to even suggest they embrace another identity’. 

Now ? They weren’t as sure. They had carefully avoided how disconnected from their own name they felt ever since waking up as ‘The Archivist’. ‘Jonathan Sims’ hadn’t felt quite right since. 

Back then, they were still clinging at the last remnants of their identity and humanity, but it was most definitely not a good time for self discovery either.

But in Daisy’s safehouse, in Scotland ? It felt so much easier. 

They had Martin to their side, doing everything to comfort them the same way they did everything to comfort him, not constantly minding and questioning their degree of humanity. 

They remembered when they had discussed their pronouns, how being a ‘he’ wasn’t quite right, and had never truly been. Questioning their uncomfortability with manhood had never occurred to them before, they just thought they were picky and difficult, like with everything else, encased in their education and afraid of others’ judgement. 

But back then, they were comfortable. Safe. They remembered him, his reaction when they’d told him. He talked to them about how gender was more than two, a spectrum, and how they didn’t need to be man or woman, but could stay at a comfortable in-between, being none. 

It was nice while it lasted. 

Then the Change happened, and they’d lost even more humanity. The looks they had gotten had contributed to encase them even more in their name, in Jonathan Sims, instead of fully giving to The Archivist. 

They had denied it, when they appreciated the way the other Avatars addressed them. And yet, when they ended up here, in this new world, they’d called themself ‘Archie’. 

They sighed. In the end, the disconnection they felt to their name wasn’t good nor bad; it simply was. 

And even though their companions called them Archie, a soft and familiar nickname, to the face of this world – to say, only Maxwell for now – they were Archibald Rutter. 

More stern, serious. Strict. Not unlike the academic persona they’d kept plastered onto themself for so long. Not quite fitting. A fake, a disguise, with its last name stolen from the last statement they’d read. 

They never quite did, in the end. Statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist . They shuddered and shook their head, quickly climbing up the stairs to the large oak doors to the Institute. 

They certainly dated from when the Institute was moved to London, at least they did in their world. Not quite sure about this one. 

Angela saluted them on their way down to the basement, informing them that Maxwell had requested a meeting. Damn. That was just their luck. Catching the attention of the sole man they wished to avoid. They would have preferred Jude Perry. … Was Jude Perry alive in this world ? God, they hoped not.

Getting down the stairs, they finally met someone they did not expect to until at least the next day. 

Gerry looked… different. Very different, in fact, compared to the last – and only – time they’d seen him. 

This Gerry looked better. Someone had been taking care of him. His dye job was no longer botched, though the roots were still showing, and he adorned light blue streaks that matched Michael’s. Both sides of his head were shaven, which made his scar from the brain surgery a bit less noticeable. The rest of his long hair had been pulled in a ponytail. 

His skin tone was less ashen, his eyebags somehow smaller, and his clothes less rumpled, more fitting. 

The most noticeable difference though, was the absence of the eye tattoos on each of his joints. That, and the fact that he was currently launched at Archie, his tightened fist inches away from their face.

Ouch.

—

It had taken fifteen minutes of shouting, two more punches thrown at Archie’s nose, and ten minutes of awkward and menacing glaring while Sasha was patching up Archie for Gerry to calm down and at least try to listen. 

Well. It could have been worse. 

“Look, Gerry-” they tried.

“Gerard.”

Right. Of course they weren’t friends. Archie bit their lip. “Look, Gerard, I- I understand why you acted like this, but-”

“Do you, now.” 

He glared again and they did everything they could to not flinch under the judgemental gaze. Somehow it hurt as much as Basira’s, back then. They took a deep breath and tried again.

“Listen, as you can see, Jon is fine, I, I didn’t take his skin or anything and I- I’m not a threat, I’m just-”

“Why would you take his skin ?” squeaked Martin, horrified. Understandably. 

“... Right. Do you remember when I said I would tell you about, ah, The End, The Spiral, and others ?”

“Does this mean you’re going to take our skins ?”

“What ? No !  No, Martin, I don’t want your skin. But, err, some supernatural beings do. A-and the… the things are a sort of classification system for it. I said I’d was for Gerard but-”

“I already know about the fourteen.” cut Gerard.

“... Of course.” they sigh. “I should have assumed from working with Leitner, but still. I hadn’t exactly had the time to finish, but if you would follow me, I’ll explain everything.”

They got up, and led the archival team to a small office near the document storage. 

Out of the many things everyone had expected Archie to do, turning on a video projector with a powerpoint presentation was probably the last.

“Right. So, to begin with, it might be good to start with the definition of ‘fear’...”

—

Tim didn't know how to react to the bombshell Archie had just dropped on all of them. Sasha was scribbling furiously in her notebook, as always, Martin was silent, eyes large like saucers, and Jon had just put his head in his hands and groaned ‘Fine. You know what ? Evil Fear Gods aren't even the craziest thing I heard this week’, though Tim could practically hear the gears turning inside the other man's head, putting everything together to puzzle an answer.

But Tim had no idea how to cope with that. Nothing, really, except his usual anger. 

Anger was simple to deal with. Ever since Danny, it was always easier to find someone to fault and blame everything on them. You yell, you punch if necessary, but at least you get it out of your system. 

In other circumstances, he would have wondered when the need for violence had started (or perhaps it had always been here, just more prominent now ?), but right now, he was too overwhelmed to think about it. 

Tim wasn’t going to blame Archie, they already seemed to go through enough, and telling everything had clearly taken a toll on them. Maybe an effect of that… Eye ? He should ask them later. 

But Gerry on the other hand…

Well, Gerry clearly knew. He barely blinked in the face of what were life shattering revelations for the rest of them. And the way he had reacted when Archie showed up… ‘Fucking Stranger’ he had said. That didn’t make sense then, but now it did. 

Tim’s fist tightened, but he tried to keep his voice as low as possible when he asked his question. “Why didn’t you say something ?”

Gerry stared at him, unimpressed. “What do you mean ?”

“This. You didn’t react to anything they said. Not at all,” continued the younger man, not breaking eye contact but not elevating his voice either. “And you worked with Jurgen all those years. He must have told you something.”

Gerry breathed out. “Yes. I knew about all this.”

And Tim exploded, his face morphing with anger. “Then why didn’t you say anything ! If Archie hadn’t told us, ignorance would have put us in danger !”

“ Because ,” stammered Gerry in an equally loud tone, “we are working in a place where curiosity and knowledge are dangerous !”

“Knowledge could save us !”

“ Look what Knowledge did to them !”

The sentence echoed in the room, sharp and brief, leaving an uncomfortable silence. It did not escape to Tim that the ‘K’ felt capitalised.

“Look what Knowledge did to them,” continued Gerry. “Look at them, look at their scars. Hell, I almost died more times than I would admit because of curiosity and knowledge, it got Jurgen , of all restless and determined people, Jurgen got killed because of that ! Curiosity got you all trapped here, and now you’re in danger.”

Anger died in Tim’s throat as quickly as it had started. “What do you mean, ‘trapped’ ?” he repeated slowly.

“You can’t quit.”

Tim immediately turned to Archie, but it was Jon who had spoken. He cleared his throat. “You can’t quit, and I can’t fire you. I tried.”

“Excuse me, you tried ?!” squeaked Martin.

“It wasn’t you,” reassured Jon. “It was Gerry.”

“I dared him to, to show him,” explained the goth. “I already suspected you faked your scepticism, but I needed something to really get you to question the nature of this place. Denial only gets you so far.”

“The Institute, does it… Does it belong to one of those… ‘Entities’ ?” timidly asked Martin.

Archie pinched their lips and sighed profoundly. “Yes, I… This place, as a whole, is a temple of The Eye.”

“It’s the knowledge one, right ?” added Sasha, still nose-deep inside her notes. Archie knew she was preparing questions to ask them later. They really needed to warn her more about the dangers of Beholding. 

They nodded, and shoved the thought aside.

“Yes, knowledge, secrets, being observed, all of those are The Eye. And because of that, curiosity, here, is dangerous. It made… well, it made me an Avatar, and everything that happened, to me, to everyone else, was because I was too damn curious for my own good.”

There was a weariness in their deep emerald green eyes that Gerry hadn’t noticed before. These weren’t the eyes of a monster. These were the eyes of a person that had seen too much, lived too much, went through hell and dived back to pick up the scraps. He suddenly felt very guilty of the way he’d treated them.

“But… I agree with Tim. I understand why you kept it quiet, but right now, not knowing is a danger.I’m not sure yet, but there is every possibility that El- Maxwell managed to piss off every Avatar in London and sent them after us. It was what happened in my timeline, and this is likely to be the case here too.”

They absentmindedly picked at the pockmarks scars on the back of their hand. “I trust you to have revealed everything at some point, but now, we don’t have that time. I think Maxwell will try to deal with me soon. He asked for a meeting. I’m… not sure what he wants yet.

“But anyway, the problem is, we’re in danger. You all saw that with Prentiss, and I also assume Leitner didn’t make a lot of friends either, right ?”

Gerry nodded. “Jurgen wasn’t exactly the type for allies. He had only three assistants, once, and never rehired anyone except me after.”

“Right. Well, at least, this is consistent. In my world, Gertrude Robinson, the previous Archivist, was one of the most infamous, if not the most. Many held a grudge against the Institute because of her and El- Maxwell.”

“So Gerry shouldn’t have held back such information,” argued Tim.

“No it's-” Archie sighed. Why was the situation so complicated ? “What I'm trying to say is that I get Gerry's reasoning. Knowledge is dangerous, especially here. But in the present situation, it's a necessary evil. I- I don't blame you for choosing not to tell them.”

Gerry nodded. Archie finally slumped down on the chair next to them, rubbing their face with their scarred hand.

They tried not to think too much about what had just happened. Focus on what they would soon need to do, how to stop Maxwell – Jonah –'s plans to keep everyone safe.

They tried not to think about everyone's evident relation to what they just said, to not pay attention to the slight twitch in Tim's eyelid when they'd mentioned The Slaughter, Martin itching at his skin when they described The Corruption, or his downright flinch when it came to The Flesh. The way Jon had fidgeted when they introduced The Vast, or how he shivered when they mentioned The Web. The split second of hesitation in Sasha's notes when they talked of The Dark.

Gerry was much more practised with keeping a stone face, but even he couldn't hide his reaction – somewhere between anger and fear – when Archie had explained The Stranger.

They shook their head. No. Focus. What next ? First, they probably should-

“But now that you told us, and that we're involved, we're sort of stuck here, now. Like, we can't just leave and ignore everything. And we can't quit. How exactly does that work ?”

Archie shot Sasha an apologetic glance.

“Well, the Institute is sort of cursed, by being a temple of The Eye and all, and so are your employment contracts. The only way for you to quit would be to... Well, either to blind yourselves by gouging out your eyes, or wait until the Archivist dies.”

Jon's stomach churned. Looking at everyone's faces, all of their guts did the exact same. Tim violently shook his head. “No. No, we're not doing that.”

Archie nodded.

“But, huh, Gerry, why did you try to have Jon fire you ?” asked Martin, keeping his voice low and trying not to add to the already too high tension in the cramped room.

“Honestly ?” scoffed the goth, “I was sick of the scepticism. I knew it was fake, but it would have been problematic to stay in denial for too long. And on top of all that, he was being horrible with all of you.”

Jon sighed “I’m so-”

“Don’t apologise. I understand why you acted like that.”

“Um, excuse me-” hopped in Tim, “I would very much like an apology. And an explanation. And a box of chocolates, too,” he declared with a gleam of malice in his eyes.

Jon smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry I was that much of an arse. I’ll see what I can do about the chocolates.”

“Since we are apologising,” declared Gerry after a short pause, “Archie. I’m sorry for my comportment earlier. I acted without thinking. I apologise.”

He held out a hand for Archie to shake, who took it and hesitantly shook it. “Don’t worry, I thought you were warned of my presence. Any particular reason why you seemed to recognise me, apart from the whole… ‘looks exactly like Jon’ thing ?”

Gerry pinched his lips and looked away, before sighing. 

“A couple of years ago, before I worked with Jurgen, a friend of mine, Thomas, was replaced by an agent of The Stranger. The thing took his skin, and wore it for months , pretending to be him. Not like the NotThem, but close enough. I wasn’t familiar with the Entities then, so I discovered it too late. I- I was afraid it was back again, and had done the same thing to Jon.”

“And the scars ?” asked Tim. “Why would there be scars ?”

“Sometimes, when a Stranger does a bad job when… peeling someone’s skin, scars can appear. But I admit I didn’t exactly think at the time. I just saw Jon’s face and I Knew it wasn’t him, so I just attacked them.”

“How ? How did you know ?” said Sasha, back with her usual curiosity. “I mean, you’ve been gone for some time, and while we visited, we didn’t always . He could have had the scars in the meantime.” She paused for a bit. “No, you’re right, he couldn’t. But you could have waited before immediately assuming it was a monster, right ?”

She didn’t see the way Archie barely suppressed a flinch when she said the word ‘monster’. Gerry did, but didn’t make any comments, instead rubbing his face with his hand and answering. “I get what you mean. But after so long working here, you’re tied to The Eye, willingly or not. You don’t have to worry about that for at least a few years. I tried to limit the effects, especially after what happened to my father, but sometimes you can’t help it.”

That explained Gerry’s distinctive lack of tattoos. Archie wondered briefly what could have happened to Eric, but decided not to push the issue. It would come up eventually if Gerry was comfortable. 

Silence fell on the room. It was understandable, of course, the assistants needed time to digest the sheer amount of information that had just been dumped on them, both by Archie and Gerry, and the fact that they would probably lose their humanity in a couple years if nothing was done about it. But that didn’t mean that the silence was less heavy. Apparently, Archie wasn’t the only one uncomfortable as Martin stood up and nervously clapped his hands.

“W- Well, I. I think I'm going to make some tea ?”

The nervousness in his voice made it almost sound like a question.

“Thank you Martin, that would be lovely,” smiled Archie.

Chapter Text

The break room smelled of long abandoned cupboards, old linoleum and twenty years old chewing-gums stuck under fifty years old tables. Given all the unpleasant smells Jon had had the occasion to smell in his life, this could be worse. 

It was almost homey, he thought, nursing a lukewarm cup of black tea between his hands. The cup was of course a courtesy of Martin, who was sitting across from him, eyeing him warily when he thought Jon wasn’t paying attention. He bit back an acid remark about not being a toddler needing constant surveillance.

It was rare to find Jon there, as he usually preferred to be left alone in his office. But after what he’d learned during the past few days, the room felt too cramped, invaded by the feeling of being watched and the malevolent aura that seemed to seep through the stacks of statements piled on the shelves. 

So no, he hadn’t returned to his office since Gerry came back. 

He knew he would have to eventually, if not to be less suspicious to Maxwell, to at least stop taking space in the breakroom with his papers. He was actually trying to work, because he had found it was an almost decent distraction from his dark reality. 

He was re-reading the hand-written statement in front of him for the god-knows-how-many time, the words blurring on his retina. God, he needed a cigarette. And a good night of sleep. Actually, scratch that, he needed a lifetime of sleep. 

His eyes were drifting from the page again when Tim entered, dropping on the nearest chair with a loud groan, startling Martin and Jon.

“Fuck, I need a drink.”

As much as he wanted to take on that offer, Jon lifted his eyes from the yellowed paper and stared at Tim with what the other man would call ‘his signature bossman look’.

“It’s Wednesday,” he pointed. Looking at his watch, he continued. “And it’s two and a half in the afternoon.”

“Fuck off Jon, I know you need one too.”

That wasn’t wrong. Jon sighed and put down his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s hardly the point, Tim.”

“What’s the point of what, then ?” asked Sasha, barging in alongside Martin and dropping on the worn couch.

“We don’t know. And that’s exactly the problem,” groaned Tim.

“Well, the answer is certainly not at the bottom of a bottle,” huffed Jon.

“How d’you know ? You looked ?”

“No, but-”

“But what, Jon ? What do we do ? What can we do ? You’ve heard them ! We’re trapped. And we’re working for evil.”

Jon averted his gaze, clutching his jaw shut. He knew they wouldn’t be there hadn't he insisted on having them here as assistants. 

Looking back, accepting this job as a whole had been a mistake. If it wasn’t for his damned ego, his need for validation, his desire to be taken seriously, none of them would be here in the first place. 

Or perhaps they would have. He remembered, back in research, how everyone had agreed on how good of an Archivist Sasha would have been, himself included. But then he was in Maxwell’s office, shrinking under the piercing steel gaze of the man, unable to say no as he was asked to take the position. 

A position he’d known how much he was underqualified for, but that he’d taken still. 

The first few weeks after hadn’t been much better. He was snappish, disgruntled and overall unpleasant. Had he been like that in Research ? He couldn’t tell. Maybe, maybe not. His behaviour certainly wasn’t helped by the creeping paranoia that had settled in. 

That constant, almost unbearable weight of a gaze over his shoulder, the fear creeping through him whenever he readed a Statement, and that constant terror of being discovered, of someone clicking their tongue in disappointment and shaking their head at the deception he was. 

How had he not noticed it before Archie pointed out it was a likely consequence of Becoming the Archivist ? Granted, he had always been prone to it, and his trust wasn’t easily gained before, but to this extent ? 

“Well,” intervened Sasha, interrupting his reflection. “A good start would be to try to stop that evil, right ?And for that, we need a plan.”

“And what would it be ? Kill Maxwell, destroy the contracts, and flee into the night while some epic guitar solo plays ?” bit back Tim, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes !” she exclaimed with exasperation. “It’s at least something !”

“It might not be that simple,” interrupted Gerry, entering the room. “Don't you think Jurgen would have tried in that case ?”

Jon frowned. “You're right. Is there a reason then ?”

“‘Course there is. The contracts don't just impeach you to quit, they bind you to the Institute as a whole. And to him by extension. In brief, if he dies, you and all of the Institute's employees die as well. Or end up blind. I don't know. He formulated it as ‘a tragic fate’, but the bastard is good at threatening.”

“Great. So we’re stuck here with a fucking eldritch megalomaniac monster as our boss, we’re serving a sort of awful voyeur god, oh and did I mention that the eldritch asshole is trying to take away my friend’s humanity ?” growled Tim. “Great. Just- Great.” He pretended not to notice Jon flinching at the reminder of his humanity now set on a countdown. He felt slightly bad about it. 

“Look, it could be worse. I've talked a bit with Archie. Right now, we have at least a starting point.”

Sasha’s eyes lit up with attention, and she looked like she was resisting the urge to take out her notebook.

“We need to find a way to dispose of Maxwell. The first step to deal with the bastard would be in the tunnels.”

“What-” started Tim.

“The tunnels below the Institute,” answered Archie before the question was even asked, entering the room. “There is every likelihood that Leitner’s body will be there.  And with that, maybe a lead to the objective.”

—

The tunnels were dark, damp, narrow and filled with cobwebs. As Tim has put it, spooky murder tunnels. But Archie had already spent enough time down here in their world to be used to them, and could almost appreciate them, if not for the discomfort of being cut off from The Eye.

The assistants, on the other hand, weren’t as numb to the properly unsettling atmosphere of the place.

It was decided that the archival crew would be divided in two teams, led by Gerry and Archie, the only two who knew how to navigate the tunnels to some degree.

Archie was with Sasha and Tim, the former because she had more questions, and the latter because he had some mischievous idea stuck in his head.

That left Gerry with Martin and Jon, Martin carrying Gerry on his back, something decided to parry the impracticality of crutches inside the tunnels.

Of course, Archie had understood why Tim had suggested Jon to be with Martin and Gerry. They could perfectly imagine the discomfort their double would have to be in such a place, with them, of all people. Truly, it must be uncomfortable to constantly see a tired and scarred version of your face with unnervingly green eyes. Tim had suggested that for the comfort of his friend. Nothing else.

They were lying to themself, but at least the lie was a bit more comfortable than what was probably the reality. Another one of his bets.

“Come on,” they declared. “I'm going to explain a few more things as we go.”

—

About an hour before the archival stuff was set to go down in the tunnels, Archie took Gerry apart.

The goth was a bit surprised. It wasn't all days that a person he had just beaten up not only forgave him, but also tried to be his friend. Regardless, even if he didn't entirely trust Archie, he knew how to recognize danger, and the poor guy was far from it.

“Gerard, I- I get that you don't really know me, o-or want to be my friend…” they started, before adding “a-and that's totally fine, I mean, you have all the rights to, but…” they trailed off, before taking a deep breath and starting again.

“Look, we can't trust each other if you know nothing about me.” They probably hadn't needed to read his mind to understand that. “So…” they sighed and retrieved something from their pocket. Something small, rectangular, black and flat.

“Here. This tape is… This tape is my statement. About everything. Just to be clear, I don't… I'm not asking you to do the same for me. A-and I trust you not to reveal the contents of this to the others, I'm not… I'm not ready yet. But I’d like you to hear it.”

Gerry huffed and took the cassette. 

“You can call me Gerry, too.”

Archie lifted their head. “What ?”

“Earlier, you called me Gerry. I assume that… your version of me, in your world, asked you to call him like that. If he considered you a friend then… I trust him to have made the right decision.”

 Archie’s eyes lit up “Thank you,” they breathed.

 Gerry smiled. 

—

Gerry was growing rapidly tired of his constant need of help to walk. Sure, Martin’s back wasn’t uncomfortable, at least it was far less than the rough aluminium crutches – they always gave him calluses on his hands – but he’d like to have at least some autonomy. 

He sighed and went back to examining the surroundings. 

Jon wasn’t much help – he jumped every time he saw even the tiniest cobweb – and neither was Martin – fussing over the other man at each tiny scare (God the two of them were blind. Sasha was about to win her bet at this rate).

“What did you discuss, earlier, with Archie ?” asked the smaller man when they walked through a thankfully spider-free tunnel.

Gerry thought wise to keep the tape they’d given him for himself. Fortunately, it was far from the only thing they’d talked about. 

“Well, right now, Maxwell is far from our only problem. It’s the most immediate, sure, but it’s also likely to be the easiest to deal with. And we’re talking about a man Jurgen was actively working against for decades, so certainly not a piece of cake. Wait, turn here,” he indicated to Martin. 

“Who could be so dangerous as to overpower him ?” nervously asked Martin, glancing at the passenger on his back. 

“What, not who,” corrected Gerry. “The Extinction.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “An Entity ? Archie didn’t mention that one when they- AH !” he interrupted himself, jumping at a spider running across the stone floor, before blushing and trying – failing – to regain his composure. If he saw Martin’s fond smile – an unlikely occurrence in the darkness – he acted like he didn’t. 

“It’s because we aren’t sure yet. You remember the first statement you recorded ?”

“Anita Sedhif, regarding her werewolf roomate ?”

“No, the first real one.”

“There aren’t any-” he started, before abandoning and sighing. “0140507, Thomas Pritchard, regarding a trip to point Nemo.”

“Yes, that one. What did it feel like ?”

“It felt like…” Jon breathed deeply before continuing, his voice somewhat deeper. “Like an End. With a capital E. Like humanity as a whole was insignificant, and that our autodestruction would be nothing but a split second in the universe’s lifespan.” He shivered. “If I had to classify it, knowing what I now know, I’d say… The End, because it implied the death of humanity as a species, and The Vast, because of the fair amount of existential dread ? But that wouldn’t explain why the readings were corrupted.”

Martin smiled dreamily at Jon’s face. Gerry held back a laugh. The man had it bad . It was honestly a surprise Jon hadn’t picked up on that. 

“Well, that was The Extinction. Archie’s theory is that it emerged mostly from The End, but they admitted they didn’t study it for very long. Personally, I think it has aspects from all the Fourteen.”

“That’s… bad, right ?” said Martin.

“Very much. Remember when Archie said that The End was the most passive Entity ?”

“Because everything will die eventually and inevitably, so it doesn’t even need to try.”

“Well, The Extinction is the polar opposite to that. The End doesn’t have a ritual because bringing it closer to the world would mean effectively killing the world, and thus creating a world devoid of Fear, leading it to starve. But The Extinction actively tries to end the world.”

“That’s… That’s stupid. Why would it do that ? The End understands it’s stupid, so why not The Extinction, especially if it’s a derivative ?”

“See, that’s the catch : they don’t think. You’re still envisaging them as close to the human conception of Gods : evil Gods, yes, but Gods still. You should try to view them more as… parasites. Big eldritch parasites that feed on fear. They don’t think past the point of what nourishes them. As far as I’m aware, the sole exceptions are The Web, because of its nature : you need to be able to plan for the manipulation to make sense; and The End, though it’s only aware of the downsides of a dead world.”

“Yes but… how do they choose their victims then ? A-and how do they part between canon fodder and future Avatars ? It doesn’t make sense !”

Gerry shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. We don’t know much about the Entities. I think the Avatars are a consequence of some sort of evolution : it’s easier to rely on transformed humans than solely on manifestations.” 

Jon furrowed his brow even further, and started chewing on his thumb like he often did when trying to organise his thoughts. 

“How does it manifest ?” asked Martin after a few minutes of silence and footsteps. “The Extinction, I mean.”

Gerry hummed. “Turn left, the other way is a dead end. I’m not aware yet of all the ways it manifests, but I have collected a few examples. So far, technology, doomsday messages, human waste, and existential dread. Maybe a bit of radioactivity.”

“So we’ll need to add that on the conspiracy board,” sighed Jon, still glancing around for any eight-legged intruders.

—

Jonah Magnus, still occupying the body of Maxwell Rayner, sat in his office, thinking. He’d Seen Gerard Delano entering the Archives hours ago, and decided that now was a good time to be an annoyance. He lifted himself up from his chair swiftly – it wasn’t because no one was watching that he shouldn’t have some tenue – and approached the door of his office. 

The corridor to the stairs was deserted, as always, save from the different portraits of the different bodies he’d occupied. A shame, really. Employees tended to avoid this part of the Institute, finding it rather… oppressing, with the feeling of being watched. 

He smiled lightly to himself and descended the three flights of stairs to the lobby.  

Not even sparing a glance to his receptionist, he made a beeline to the basement and the Archives. 

Only to find it concerningly empty. 

Alarmed, but showing none of it, he checked the bullpen, Jon’s office, roamed the stacks for a bit, and finally found what he was looking for. 

The trapdoor to the tunnels below the Institute – where the corpse of the annoyance that had been Jurgen Leitner stayed – was open . 

He went back up to his office with rage boiling in his veins. That ‘Archie’ was perturbing his plans more than it was acceptable, and he would not tolerate that any longer.

—

“Why didn’t you tell us about that earlier ? Like, when you were explaining the fourteen others ? It would have made sense, right ?” 

Tim’s question was denied of anger, and, though Sasha wouldn’t say it out loud, she was relieved by that. She knew she would eventually have to address Tim’s more and more frequent angry bursts, but for now she was happy they were brieve enough to be deflected as normal.

“Mostly because of Maxwell, honestly,” answered Archie, also imperceptibly relieved. 

“What’s his deal, exactly ? I mean, we know he’s evil, but what does he do ?”

“He…” They paused, somehow unsure of how they should continue. “Well, to begin with, he isn’t really Maxwell. If this situation is anything like it was in my world, which I suspect it is, Maxwell Rayner has been dead for a long time. The man you all know as the Head of the Institute is in reality Jonah Magnus, the foundator of this Institute.” 

Tim’s mouth gaped at the revelation, and, a surprising fit, gaped even more when Sasha exclaimed “I knew it !”

Seeing her friends’ faces, she quickly added “Tim, remember when I was mad I got passed over for the promotion ?” 

He nodded, prompting her to continue. “Well, I did some research, back then. Try to find anything compromising on Maxw- Jonah.”

“Hold on, are you- are you telling me that you tried to blackmail our boss ?! Is that what I’m getting ? Archie, did you hear that ?”

“I- yes, I heard that. I- I want to say it’s typical of her but…” Sasha didn’t miss the strange expression of sadness in their eyes, quickly replaced by something she couldn’t quite place. “Let’s just say I had no idea you tried that.”

“Oh. Well, I did. And I did find a few things. Well nothing like ‘Eldritch Identity-Stealing Monster’, but at least enough to raise my suspicions.”

“Like what ?”

“Well, for example, the website states that Rayner joined the Institute in the late seventies as a filing clerk, then accessed his current position in the mid nineties, after the – and I quote – ‘ sudden and tragic passing of his predecessor, Joseph Von Karma ’.

“But,” she leaned forward to her companions, a conspiratorial grin stretched on her lips, “If you dig deeper, you discover that, in fact, Maxwell Rayner was never employed in the Institute before, and was instead involved in several cult-like activities during that time, and was even said to be the leader of one such cult, named The People’s Church of the Divine Host.

“Those activities, several of which were criminal, culminated in 1994, the year of which Maxwell accessed the position, after disappearing for several months. Von Karma had, in the meantime, spent a lot of time and money to seal all criminal records, and essentially erase all traces of illegality and cults in his past.

“But the suspicious stuff doesn’t stop here ! You see, with what I just said, this could pass as a very weird and very shady arrangement between two old bastards to direct the Institute – though Maxwell wasn’t that old at the time, and why Von Karma would go to such lengths to have Rayner instead of anybody else, no idea – but there is nothing supernatural yet. 

“However, Maxwell Rayner, according to the rare medical records I managed to find, was blind for most of his life, and suddenly stopped being at an undefined date in 1994, probably shortly before he accessed the position.”

Tim audibly whistled, the sound echoing through the narrow stone tunnels. “Spooky. And impressive. I hope to never upset you enough for you to try to dig up dirt on me.” 

“Ha ! Too late, Stoker, I know everything about you.”

Tim grinned and turned to Archie.

“So, Great Holder of Wisdom,” he started, ignoring the frown of the other person at the nickname, “What happened to Maxwell ? Because from the information I have available, I understand that Jigsaw McGee-”

“Jonah Magnus,” they corrected.

“Whatever, Jiggly Mint, whose expiration date is well past 200 years, is shadow- ruling the Institute through generations of very fuckable, inexperienced and dubious  office twinks to hold the front façade, in exchange of cleaning them to the police and using his spooky God to give them a 20/20 vision, am I right ?” 

Sasha snorted, while Archie held a very confused face and babbled “I- um, no, that’s… no. But how did you jump to that conclusion ?”

“Archie. That was a joke.”

Their face brightened with embarrassment, and they emitted a very forced laugh. “Haha. Very… very funny ?” 

Sasha and Tim exchanged a look that communicated their shared thought : So that’s what Jon is like when he drops the professional bullshit ?  

“Anyway,” cut Sasha, saving them many minutes of embarrassment. “Explain to us the real deal.” 

“Well, in all honesty, Tim wasn’t that far – except for the fuckable office twink part, perhaps. Jonah Magnus is ruling the Institute by… body-hopping through the different Heads throughout the ages. He replaces their eyes, and takes control of them.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. “I think the worst part of what you just said was that Tim was right.”

“Except for the fuckable office twink part,” grinned the man.

“Except for the fuckable office twink part,” repeated Sasha, smiling at Archie’s bemused expression. 

“So, what are his powers ?” asked Sasha, changing subjects.

“Oh ! Right. The first thing is that he can See through every existing eye, be it a real one or a simple representation. The only exceptions, to my knowledge, are the tunnels.” 

“Why ?”

“I’m… not sure. They were built by Robert Smirke, and have a relation to The Buried, so that might be a thing. The second possibility is that it is where the Panopticon, his main place of power, is located, along with his original body.”

“His original body ? You mean the two hundred years old – I assume eyeless – corpse of Jonah Magnus is somewhere down here ?”

“I- Yes.” 

There was a long beat of silence punctuated only by the sound of their footsteps reverberating through the corridors. 

“Is that why you brought us here ?” finally asked Tim. “So he can’t See us ?” 

“Er… Partially. Gerry and I… we’re not sure if he can See the Archives. As you might have guessed, the Institute is a stronghold of the Watcher, and his place of power. I’m sure you’ve all felt… watched, there. Especially in the Archives.” 

They waited for the other two to nod. 

“But since my… you could say, arrival, Gerry said he felt a… change, in that feeling. Still watching, but different. I… It’s not me, doing that. Or maybe it is, but I’m not receiving any information from there. Either way, the tunnels are a place where the lot of you risk spending a certain amount of time, so best you familiarise with them.” 

“What other powers does he have ?” questioned Sasha. 

“I’m.. not so sure about the rest. My version of Maxwell, Elias Bouchard, could See inside people’s minds, memories, thoughts and the lot, and could also insert things in there. Maxwell on the other hand… At first, I assumed it was the same, but yesterday, he… he compelled an answer out of Jon. Compulsion… that’s a power of the Archivist, but not the Head. I think he can still read minds, but that’s something to be wary of.”

—

It was no less than one and a half hour later than finally, both trio emerged from the trapdoor hidden within the large – and wildly disorganised – stacks of the Archives. 

Gerry, Jon and Martin arrived a bit later than Archie, Tim and Sasha, though for a reason they all perfectly understood given the greenish tint Martin’s face had taken. 

“You found him,” simply said Archie, eyes wide and tint turning a bit livid despite them. 

“Martin did,” rasped Gerry, pointedly looking at the floor. There was no doubt that this wasn’t his first cadaver, but seeing the corpse of someone he knew – and appreciated, to some degree – was getting to him, understandably. 

“Should I-” started Tim, before getting interrupted by Archie. “Call the police, yes.”

Then, they turned back to Gerry, helping him get down from Martin’s back and taking support on his crutches – the larger man looked like he was about to collapse. “How did he die ?”

“Shot. Five times. Four in the stomach, one in the leg.” 

“Good Lord.” 

Gerry snorted. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

“Were… Were there any tapes around his body ? Or anything that might be useful ? Evidence, o-or something ?”

“No. Nothing but an empty recorder and cobwebs. It’s possible Maxwell took the tape, but I doubt he was the one to put the body there. I think Jurgen might have been shot, then had tried to run, before ultimately recording one last statement before dying.”

“Running ? With five bullets in him ? How ?” sounded Jon, still a bit in shock but having apparently recovered enough to be his usual self (or not. He was just maintaining a façade about to crumble, in the hope that it would help him regain an impression of control on a situation that was far above him. It didn’t matter, he was good at lying to himself). 

“Jurgen leaned far more into the Eye than me,” responded Gerry. “Never Became a full Avatar, but enough to be a bit more than human.” He winced as he took support on his crutches, the hard plastic leaving an uncomfortable feeling on his palms.

“Anyway. The police will be here soon. Best to get it together. Martin,” he called, startling the poor man. “You should sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

He paused, and Archie sighed. “I’m going to make everyone some tea.”

—

Surprisingly enough – as it was still a call from the Magnus Institute – the police wound up less than fifteen minutes later, in the form of a single police car, from which emerged a single officer. 

He talked with Rosie and Maxwell in the lobby for a bit – the bastard played ignorance and concern – he entered the Archives with a steady and assured step. 

He was rail thin, and, despite being barely taller than Jon or Archie, his presence was imposing. His piercing gaze brushed across the room, finally landing on Gerry – he had likely dealt with him in the past. He had dark skin, grey hair, and an even greyer beard. When he announced himself, his voice was low yet echoed through the Archives. 

“Police Constable Adelard Dekker. You said you found the corpse of Jurgen Leitner ?”

Chapter Text

When they re-entered Jon’s office, this time in the company of the Police Constable Adelard Dekker – something they still couldn’t quite wrap their head around – Archie noticed the quiet whirring of a tape recorder somewhere, imperceptibly filling the otherwise silent room. 

They didn’t Know where exactly it was located, probably hidden in a place where the Mother could listen without being deranged. If Dekker noticed it, he did nothing that showed it. 

“Um, take a seat, officer,” they said, cursing their nervousness. Had they been so nervous last time, with Basira ?

No, they hadn’t. But last time, they weren’t an outsider – a distant cousin of Jon, they had said, came to help with another unrelated investigation – that looked uncannily similar to the new Head Archivist. 

Neither had they discovered the corpse of the previous one in an ‘unfortunate hike in the tunnels below the building’. 

They held back a sigh. They were practically sold to be the murderer, at least in the eyes of the police. A brown person, covered in scars, appeared from nowhere. And technically, there weren’t any records of their existence. 

And why Adelard Dekker of all people ? How did he become a police officer ? Did that mean that Gertrude was still around, doing God knows what ? Archie realised how little they knew about the woman. What had pushed her to become the Archivist, and clinging onto humanity for so long ? Granted, she didn’t want to be Archivist, but she had to have applied for a job in the Institute at some point, right ? And she met Dekker shortly after. How did both of them end up in the paranormal ?

Focus, Archie !  

The current matter was the murder of Jurgen Leitner, recently discovered in the tunnels below the Institute. 

“ Can you …” they stopped as soon as they felt the static coating the words rolling on their tongue. The goal was to clear themself of suspicions, not get a statement out of Dekker, goddammit !

…But the recorder was running, right ? This conversation as a whole would count as a statement no matter their opinions on it. And there were every chances that the recorder itself, along with the presence of The Eye’s gaze weighing on both Dekker and themself would act as a form of compulsion. 

Still. That meant compelling Dekker was unnecessary, and rude. He was going to have nightmares about it for most of the rest of his life – at least until Beholding got bored (did it even have enough consciousness to be bored ?) – so they could at least be courteous about it. 

Courtesy would probably matter very little in the end, and they were baffled to realise they were thinking about something like that at such a moment. Maybe Martin had managed to smack some sense in them, in the end. 

“I’ve already told you all I know about Leitner, but, um, could I … I’d like to know if I can ask you a few questions.” 

God, avoiding asking direct questions was going to be a pain. Dekker hesitated a moment, seemingly gauging Archie, before shrugging. “Sure.” 

Archie was a bit taken aback by this answer – he seemed to know Gerry, surely he must be aware of the side effects of giving a live statement, right ? Maybe they weren’t explicit enough. 

“I, uh, I want to be clear that this might count as giving a statement to the Institute.”

“Alright,” simply said Dekker.

What ? Was he really unaware of the effects, of the nightmares ? He shouldn’t want that, he shouldn’t agree ! They couldn't bear to have another innocent victim to their already too heavy count.

“Be- Before giving me your statement, you must know that… Well, live statement givers have reported having… frequent and recurring night terrors, more so than those simply handing them on paper.” 

They felt really bad for saying it out loud. Part of it was The Eye, even more unhelpful than it’d been before, the hungry parasite unhappy with the prospect of losing another potential – and innocent – victim. 

The second part of their discomfort came evidently from the fact that they’d just partially admitted to being a monster out loud, to someone they didn’t trust and that they might harm. 

How would Basira have reacted if they had told her that when she wound up at the Institute the first time to investigate Gertrude’s murder, what felt like lifetimes ago ?

They were once again interrupted in their thoughts by Dekker crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair. “It wouldn’t be the first time my experiences with the supernatural give me nightmares. I’m sure my brain is more creative in his fashion to make me relieve terrible events than whatever giving you a statement will do.” 

He leaned forward, maintaining eye contact with Archie. “I don’t care about it. You’ll answer my questions after I tell you, right ? Then I’ll just talk.” 

“A- Alright,” they responded, still hesitating. “Are you-” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he huffed. “Go ahead.” 

“Statement of Adelard Dekker, regarding his time as a sectioned officer. Statement taken from subject, March 7th 2016. Audio recording by The Archivist.” 

Archie took a deep breath – completely unnecessary, their lack of heartbeat reminded them – and looked Adelard in the eyes.

“ Statement Begins. ”

The static on their tongue was overwhelming as the words started to pour from Officer Dekker’s mouth.

“My first sectioned case happened about forty years ago, on October 29th 1977. I remember the exact date, because everyone at the office was joking that it would be the perfect day to have a Section. Right before Halloween. 

“They didn’t joke as much when they learned what happened. 

“My partner at the time, Matthew Resthan, and I were called in Harrow for a case of noise disturbance. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more. Just go in and come back. 

“We knew a bit about the place. An old warehouse, practically abandoned. The youth fancied it particularly, using it for concerts, parties and the like. All that is to say, we weren’t unfamiliar with what we could have found there.

“When we arrived, the first thing that was wrong was the silence. It wasn’t just the silence, otherwise we’d have thought that the partygoers had just finished and gone. That silence wasn’t right, it wasn’t natural . It was a deafness that couldn’t be natural. 

“The tires of our service car didn’t make a sound on the gravel that littered the concrete floor outside the warehouse. Maybe they did, but then I couldn’t hear it. I had stopped hearing the heavy and shallow breath of Matthew – he was a heavy smoker, and his voice was always kind of raspy because of that. 

“Even my own breathing was utterly absent. If it wasn’t for my chest rising in an increasingly less steady fashion, or the blood I felt pumping around my ears, I’d have thought time had stopped. 

“I looked at Matthew, and I knew he was hearing – or not – the exact same thing. 

“I’m not sure why we went. In insight of course, it was stupid, and reckless, and both of us knew this place felt wrong. And, well, there wasn't exactly any noise to complain about. 

“But we went. And I never regretted a decision more in my whole life. 

“Inside the warehouse, there were musicians, and a public. Not the kind of people we expected, because instead of the screaming teenagers and the roaring of electric guitars, it was an orchestra. The atmosphere was still perfectly silent, though I could witness the fingers of the violinist flying over the strings of their instrument in a hypnotising motion. 

“You see, I am not a tall man. I've been told my presence is imposing, but the fact remains that I’m 5'5. Matthew, on the other hand, was a solid 6’1, and easily overlooked the crowd.

“He stayed frozen, eyes fixated on something only he could see. And I knew I had to see it too.

“I had to struggle and make my way through the compact mass of people but, well, it didn't stop me did it ? I have always been too curious for my own good.

“At the centre of the silent crowd stood a man. He was dancing, his limbs moving to a music only he could hear. The bow kept striking the chords of the violin, and the violinist's fingers still flew over the strings in a harmonic frenzy.

“And then finally there was the first sound since Matthew and I arrived on site.

“The horrible, stomach churning sound of a bone snapping. When I looked again at the dancer, his right arm had broken, the pristine white bone puncturing the skin. You'd expect that, after the crack, it would be back to the deafening silence but no.

“No, instead of the nothing that hurt my ears, the sound continued, morphed into the steady drip of blood on the floor.

“Then finally I noticed that the dancer’s limbs weren’t quite right. The skin was punctured in only one place, but the jaw wasn’t set in its hinges. The kneecaps were threatening to fall. The left shoulder was moving, but the arm was clearly dislocated and didn't follow, hanging limply, the skin around the joint sagging and red.

“That man was broken.

“I remember a sectioned case that one of my colleagues had told me about. One with mannequins draped in human skin that sang to a calliope organ. I wished that man was a mannequin. But the glint of terror in his eyes was far too human for that.

“Finally the violinist did something. My lack of hearing of their music, and very limited knowledge of this instrument, makes me think it was a jeté, but I probably am mistaken. But they did it, and suddenly the man in the centre collapsed, the rest of his blood spreading on the floor in a crimson pool.

“I was sick, and despite it not being my first corpse, I couldn't help my gagging reflex at the scenery.

“After the violin had stopped the concert wasn’t over.

“The drummer started beating a steady rhythm, and someone walked over from the crowd and the dance macabre started again.

“I don't know for how long I stood there. I watched them, those people, walking and dancing to the death, over and over. Their faces were screaming in pain, everything was a blur.

“But I very clearly remember the explosion.

“I was far enough from the stage where the musicians – I think there might have been six of them ? Well, I was far enough that the blast didn't reach me, although the sound of it very much did. 

“The warehouse was destroyed, and Matthew and I were reconducted to the police station to make our report. We both signed our first section 31, and the affair was covered up. 

“He left the force shortly after the incident. He was old, and not far from retirement anyway. I got assigned a new partner since. 

“I met Jurgen shortly after, when I was working on another case, about a sinkhole opening in the middle of Central London. He insisted that it was supernatural. 

“We talked for a bit, and I ended up being his contact in the police. He was very cagey about ‘what’s out there’, but he helped me on a few cases, while I helped him dispose of some monsters. I have a very efficient method for that.

“I never told anyone that he was the one that destroyed that warehouse, but know that I honestly think it was for the best. 

“I won’t extend my partnership with Jurgen with the new Archivist. I’m not stupid. I’m old, only a few months away from retirement myself and in a position of power. I won’t stack the odds against me any more than they already are.”

“Statement Ends.” declared Archie. 

“Good. I’ve talked. Now, you can turn off your recorder and answer my questions,” the older man said in a flat tone, though his glare very much said that it wasn’t a suggestion.

Archie gulped. “R-Right,” they said, and prayed for the device to actually turn off when they pressed the button. They almost sighed with relief when it did. Maybe the Web had less influence here than it did in the other world. 

They received the answer to their silent question almost instantly when they heard the quiet hum of another recorder turning on, right on top of one of the filing cabinets, just out of Dekker’s view. 

“Right. Now that we aren’t listened to-” started the officer, and Archie didn’t point out the irony of that statement, “-I can ask you my questions. Were you acquainted with Jurgen Leitner ?”

“No.”

“Did you kill him ?”

“No.” 

“How do you know Jonathan Sims ?” 

“I’m his cousin.” That was the lie they’d settled on to explain their resemblance.

“Do you think Jonathan Sims killed Jurgen ?”

“No.” And why would he do that anyway ? the thought. Though, the reasoning wasn’t exactly unexpected. After all, Archie had been a suspect too, back in their timeline. Though, the circumstances were much, much different. 

“Alright.” 

The statement was so plain and unexpected that Archie found themself dumbfounded for a bit. “…Is that it ?”

“Yes.” 

“You- You aren’t going to ask me anything more ?”

“No.” 

“A-And you believe me ? Just like that ?”

“Yes.”

He leaned on the desk, his elbows firmly planted on the wood. “Look, I’m not stupid. I’m not far away from retirement, and I want out of this bullshit. So no, I don’t think you killed Leitner. Even if you did, I have very little power to stop you. This is an investigation at the Magnus Institute. No one is going to take it seriously, and it will be covered up anyway. I don’t need to accuse anyone.” 

“But… It’s your job, right ? Wasn’t- Wasn’t it why you joined the force ?”

Dekker snorted, like it was funny in some sort of internal joke. “Yes. It was. But things don’t work like that.” 

He lifted himself up from the chair and rolled his shoulders. He walked up to the door, before stopping and turning back to Archie.

“Also, know that I’m not oblivious. I know you aren’t human. Jurgen wasn’t either, but I have the feeling that you don’t like hurting people. However, I’m probably the only one in the police to think that.”

He opened the door, and, keeping eye contact with them, opened his mouth.

“Don’t ask your questions to Gertrude Robinson.”

He closed the door on his way out, leaving Archie alone in the office, with more questions than before.

The tape recorder on top of the filing cabinet clicked off.

Chapter Text

After Adelard’s visit at the Institute, things pretty much settled into routine. 

Sasha had made her research, but had only managed to find very little on Gertrude Robinson, except for an old LinkedIn profile that indicated that she had worked in the police for the last forty years or so, and was likely sectioned. Apart from that, she didn’t have a very large presence online. 

Gerry had spent hours scouting the stacks of piled statements given in the last four decades – with the help of Jon – but didn’t find anything indicating that she ever gave her story to the Institute. 

However, he did report finding Jane Prentiss’ statement regarding The Boneturner’s Tale, which was enlightening about her Becoming, and also brought valuable information about Jared Hopworth’s potential whereabouts. 

How in the name of the Lord he became a dealer in supernatural Artefacts, Archie had not the slightest idea, but it was unlikely that he ever gave any Statement. 

Finding him had thus been added to the steadily growing list of leads for The Extinction. Tim had suggested that he may have encountered Artefacts related to the new Entity, and this was something that would bring great insight about its emergence. 

A discussion with Rosie from Artefact Storage had confirmed that he was in contact with the Institute up until seven years ago – and that his name had been cursed almost as much as Mary Keay’s in that dreaded department – but Jon confirmed finding a more recent statement mentioning a man who could match the description. 

All for saying, everything was as good as it could be in the Archives, until the tenth of March rolled around and Archie was called upstairs in Maxwell’s – Jonah’s – office. 

Now, Archie had never really been what one could call a ‘people person’. 

Even before, when they were still Jon, they were considered rude, snappish and off-putting. But if that meant people left them to their own devices, then they were happy with it. Sure, sometimes there were glances and whispers, but one well placed glare or spiky remark sufficed to shut it. 

But as they were walking through the corridors of the Magnus Institute – the building still looking as old even through time and space, with the same horrendously green wallpaper decorated with eyes that made the hairs on their neck stand on end – things weren’t as simple. 

Here, they weren’t Jon anymore, and that was all the problem. 

Jon was an established constant, something stable, ever present, that rude and workaholic coworker that only a few appreciated and clearly needed friends. 

Archie was an unknown, a rogue element, new to the Institute. People whispered about ‘ Jon Sims’ weird twin, I heard that they were cousins apparently, weren’t they the one that found old Jurgen’s body, and oh good Lord did you see all those scars ! ’. All that attention was unwanted, stressful, and they couldn’t do anything about it. 

‘ Let them talk ,’ would have said their grandmother, but in the present time, attention was dangerous. Jon would glare, but Archie couldn’t, what if they scared people off, with their unnervingly green eyes ? 

Well, it wasn’t like they risked getting Maxwell’s attention anymore, as they were literally on their way to his office . 

The best outcome they could hope for right now was for Maxwell – Jonah – to be unable to read their mind, and pray that Gerry’s theory about his recent inability to See the Archives was right. 

The odds were slim, but they could hope. 

A shiver ran down their spine as they stepped in the last corridor on the path to Maxwell’s office. At least that hadn’t changed either. The faces of the previous Heads hung on the wall were different, but the sentiment of scrutiny in the ‘creepy corridor’ was all the same. 

Their eyes lingered on the names engraved on golden plates. A Fairchild, hm ? 

‘ Well, Fairchild’s just a name, they’re not really family. ’

It made sense. After all, Simon Fairchild was just a name the old Avatar of the Vast had borrowed, so this man probably knew nothing about the Entities prior to being possessed by Jonah. That is, of course, assuming the highly unlikely possibility that his consciousness survived the process. 

Or perhaps this Jonah was even more hubristic than the one they had known, and had made a habit of possessing Avatars. 

Speaking of. 

The old oak door stood before them, menacing, and they raised their hand to knock three times on the panel. They never could shake the habit, three fast knocks. Otherwise it brought unpleasant memories back. 

Surprisingly, they had to knock for Jonah to tell them to come in, which was strange. In their world, Jonah never let down an occasion to unsettle anyone he could by acting like he expected them – which, granted, he was.

Still, as they walked in the office, incapable of shaking off the impression that they were walking to their death, nothing except the face of the man in the chair had changed. 

“Hello. Archie, was it ? Take a seat.” Somehow, his voice was even more sickeningly sweet than Elias’. Somehow, hearing their name in his mouth made them want to break some of his teeth. Maybe all of them. Somehow, they took a hold of themself and resisted that urge. 

They grit their teeth and drew the chair in front of them to sit – and of course Jonah hadn’t bothered to buy comfortable ones. Actually, they were half convinced that he had intentionally messed with it to make it especially hard to sit on for too long, and their spine was already stiff after just a few seconds. 

“So, Mr Rutter,” he began, and Archie grit their teeth, because of course, there it was . At least that part of the Victorian piece of shit that was Jonah Magnus hadn’t changed.  

“I’ve noticed that you’ve been spending a lot of time in the Archives recently. I’d like to inform you that this area is off limits to the public.”

“I was under the impression that Jon had approved my presence,” they said, trying to keep their voice as level as possible. Jonah just smiled. God they wanted to punch him. 

“Yes, Jonathan did approve your stay. However, I wanted to offer you a more… definitive option, so to say.” 

Huh. That was unexpected. 

—

While Archie was having their meeting with Maxwell – Jonah – the assistants were all assembled in the breakroom with Jon, staring at the conspiracy board. 

Said board had considerably grown over the course of the last few days, now occupying an entire wall of the thankfully large breakroom. Most of the Archive’s staff’s nine to five was rather spent there than the rest of the stacks, since they had collectively decided to take advantage of the best job security ever that was forced of them. 

Jon had been less hard to convince than any of the assistants would have thought, once he’d assimilated that his humanity was on the line. Archie was rather convincing on that point. 

Now, most of the five – six with the yet unemployed addition – employees of the Archives were hanging out all day in the breakroom drinking tea, reading books and doing various activities including taking extensively long lunch breaks. 

What was Maxwell going to do anyway ? Fire them ?

Speaking of the man, his lack of intervention during the recent days had all but formally proved Gerry’s theory of his vision being shrouded – or downright obscured – in the basement. If he could See what was happening, no doubt that he’d have stormed there and yelled a piece of his mind. 

Or maybe it was calculated, to see what they were about to do, how they were planning to dispose of him, then laugh at their faces as they failed. 

Either way, the current situation was keeping the status quo, and it was good enough. 

“Alright ! The father in The Shining ?” asked Tim. This was his new hobby. Assigning Fears to various things, picked seemingly at random. At least it kept him from pacing. 

“You mean Jack Torrance ? Hm, not sure,” piped Sasha. “The descent into madness is clearly Spiral induced, with maybe a bit of The Slaughter's influence at the end ? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that movie. You can add that to the Sleepover Movies List.” 

They had too many lists, really. How on Earth they managed to keep track was a mystery. 

“Yeah, that checks. How about The Thing ?”

“The Stranger. The whole movie is about stealing appearances, distrust, paranoia and stranger-danger,” she answered matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, but lies and deceit are also Spiral.” 

“You’re right,” she conceded. 

“It depends on the aspect of the Fear,” sounded Gerry. “In The Thing, the fear is more Stranger than Spiral. But , again-” he emphasised, “-the Entities aren’t entirely distinct, so it can be both.” 

He wasn’t due to be back for full time work before the end of the week, but still spent his days there. Often, he left to have lunch with Michael, but the rest of his time was spent doing various things that more often than not included drawing. 

Sasha was playing games with Tim, but when she was bored, she had set on creating a new, actually functional classification system for the mess cluttering the basement. 

Without Maxwell breathing down Jon’s neck to ‘digitalise the Archives’ – a stupid thing, wanting to create an accessible digital Archive while the physical one wasn’t – she could focus on doing at least some work as the only qualified person. Jon was less than reluctant to let her do good work. He was almost a decent person, when he wasn’t overstressed by responsibilities. 

Martin helped sometimes – despite never going to university, he did work in the library for several years – but preferred to write poetry during his ‘freetime’ – company time used wisely to slack off. 

What he wrote or what – who – it was about, nobody was sure, but Sasha and Tim had a bet running on whether or not it had anything to do with a certain man sitting across the room. Tim, of course, was winning. 

Jon had decided to spend less time in his office. The first day had been spent reading, bundled in a blanket on the couch – who thought the grump was capable of smiling – and pacing. After finding himself growing restless, but still too nervous to go back to his office – and it wasn’t like any assistant was about to let him go back to recordings – he resolved to work in the breakroom. 

Because of that, a large chunk of the table was cluttered with a mess that would invite lots of pestering and yelling were anybody to touch it or, God forbid, organise it. Sometimes, Sasha said he was worse than Jurgen.

Everyone had formally forbidden him from recording any Statements – those were for Archie anyway – or to touch any of the real ones, to eliminate any risks, so he had resorted to type and file the discredited accounts. 

He of course hated it, and complained a lot, but at least he could work, and he was pleased enough to be able to. 

When he didn’t, though, and that he had nothing to ease the boredom, he observed Archie. 

That wasn’t without irony, of course, and they would probably sigh and declare it was the influence of The Eye, but you couldn’t blame him for being curious, especially about someone that was a version of his future. 

How different had their life been ? They had lived with their grandmother, so they didn’t go to the orphanage, but given their aversion of spiders, they certainly had the same experience with that book. Who had it eaten this time ? 

They had said they were called ‘Leitners’ in their world. How strange. What had caused Jurgen to be the Librarian ? Or maybe he should ask, how did Mary Keay become that ? And why was there a difference ? 

Another thing Jon had noticed about Archie was how sad they were. They were very cagey regarding what had happened to them to be sent here, save from a few remarks about their scars – what the hell did ‘worms’ mean anyway ? 

But apart from the dubious origin of the scars, they had something in their eyes, the way they looked at people, that was telling of a history. 

They looked at Gerry like they did of an old friend, yet kept a certain distance. Around Tim, they acted careful, guilty and reserved. They were weirdly protective with Martin, yet it was Sasha who earned the oddest looks. Archie looked at her with a mix of sadness, yet insistence, like they were trying to carve everything she was in their memory. 

Jon wasn’t sure what had happened, but something definitely did. 

“And Valentine, the bad guy in Kingsman ?” 

How did Tim go from horror movie creatures to Kingsman villains in the few minutes Jon was thinking ? 

“Extinction, for sure.” 

—

“Yes, Jonathan did approve your stay. However, I wanted to offer you a more… definitive option, so to say.” 

The figure of static sat in front of Jonah stayed silent for a bit, unmoving save from a bad imitation of breathing that made its chest rise and fall in a way that was almost natural. Whatever Stranger was hiding under it was clearly trying to appear human. 

It was probably an ancient one, maybe a powerful Avatar that had obtained its powers from a failed ritual, in the same fashion than Jonah himself. He hadn’t heard of any survivors from the ritual that had happened in the late eighteenth century, but it was a possibility. 

And it was the sole explanation as to how a Stranger could obscure a Stronghold like the Archives from his view. 

“What do you mean ?” it finally asked. 

Whatever disguise it was using was starting to wear off ever so slightly. Its voice was imperceptibly clearer of the heavy static than last time. 

“I am offering you a job, Mr Rutter. The Archives look like they could use someone like you.”

With a Stranger in the Archives, the next mark was assured. And even if it belonged to The Dark, another possibility not to neglect, as The People’s Church had something of a grudge against Jonah and his Institute, the opportunity was too good to throw out the window. 

If played right, ‘Archie’ – a nickname as ironic as it was infuriatingly taunting – would bring mistrust and paranoia, which would serve to drive the assistants further away from his Archivist. 

And besides, whether it belonged to The Stranger or The Dark, there weren’t any risks that it would reveal anything about the truth of the world – after all, its kind despised Knowledge and relished in Secrets. Maybe the Ringmaster or the Great Priestess had sent it here to ensure that the new Archivist was nothing like Jurgen. 

“A job ?” 

Jonah smiled. It was so confused. It would be so easy to manipulate. 

“I would like to hire you as an Archival Assistant. I trust you’re already familiar with the Archivist and the rest of the staff there, aren’t you ?” 

“I… Yes, I am.” 

“Then, what do you think ?” 

“I…” Jonah would love to see the look on the face hidden beneath the disguise. “Alright. I will take you on that offer then.” 

Jonah made an effort to look only mildly pleased. There it was. The trap was closing its maw on the thing, trapping the rest of the Archives with it. 

“Excellent.” 

He retrieved a contract from his drawer in one smooth movement, careful to take one of the non-binding ones he had made for that express purpose. Just enough to weaken the creature if it was to rebel against him, but also enough to get rid of it easily. 

He put it in front of it, along with a pen – not a fancy one, of course. The Stranger – or the Cultist, because either could be true at this point – signed in one swift motion. 

“Archie is a bit of an odd name, isn’t it ?” 

Immediately, a spike of Fear erupted from the thing. 

“Yes. My parents had some sense of humour, I suppose.” 

Jonah’s eyes narrowed in a judgemental and suspecting look, lingering just enough on what was probably its face to cause it to squirm in discomfort, before smiling. 

“Of course. Well, Mr Rutter, I’m looking forward to our collaboration. You will officially start on Monday, but I’m guessing you are going to head back to the Archives, correct ?” 

It did a movement that was probably meant to be a nod – if it wasn’t so tense, that is – and headed out of the office, probably incapable of handling Jonah’s scrutiny any longer. 

He was pleased. This intruder might be an unexpected liability, but at the moment, it was perfect to accelerate his plans. 

Hopefully, its influence would be enough to arrange the Mark of either The Stranger or The Dark, and the induced paranoia would drive the assistants further away from his Archivist. 

Maybe it would even be enough to dispose of Gerard Delano – the most likely to reveal too much too soon. Cultivating the anger inside Timothy would probably also help facilitate the obtention of The Slaughter’s Mark later down the line. 

Yes. It’s all coming together. 

“Angela ?” he asked through his interphone. “Please, could you inform Human Resources that we have a new hire for the Archives ? And tell IT to set up a new session for him before Monday.”

Chapter Text

The ‘work’ in the Archives was going perfectly well. That is to say, everyone had had all the time they wanted to slack off nicely for the last two weeks since Archie had been officially hired, and Maxwell had come to check on them only once, in the morning, before everyone had the time to come to the breakroom. Basically, they weren’t in danger of being dislodged before a long time. 

Archie could only imagine how infuriating it probably was for Jonah to be deprived of his favourite activity – creepily micromanaging – on a not insignificant portion of his precious Institute. 

Martin’s housing situation had been relatively solved in the meantime, and all the staff of the Archives had helped him move into the flat of one of Sasha’s cousins. Since the woman herself was gone for at least a year – to France, to study art there for a year in Paris – she’d been glad to lend his flat to Martin, as long as he kept her plants watered and didn’t make a mess. 

Everyone was glad that this particular issue had been resolved, since Martin’s flat was still not deemed as safe with Prentiss running around. Archie didn’t have the slightest idea on how to deal with her at the moment. In their timeline, they’d only met the Boneturner once, and Jared had been far more passive than she was – to a certain extent at least. 

They hadn’t been present during the attack, and from what they’d been told, Melanie, Basira and Martin had barely been able to resist him, and would most likely be dead without Helen’s intervention. It had taken the willingness of the manifestation of The Spiral and a still drunk on rage Melanie to only semi-handle the power of The Flesh, and right now, Archie had neither. 

They sighed and ran a hand along their face, dislodging the pair of glasses perched on their nose. They’d been a recent purchase, more for the comfortable and grounding weight they provided than out of a real necessity. 

Archie was about to get back at filing Statements – Sasha’s organisation system really did wonders – when Jon approached, with what they Knew to be a question burning on the tip of his tongue. Archie folded their glasses and put them on the desk before landing their gaze on him. 

“Did you need something ?” 

Their Knowing had been steadily getting better in the recent days. It still wasn’t back to the levels it was before the Apocalypse, not even really to what it was right before the Unknowing, but it was there. Better than constantly fumbling in the dark. 

Jon took a chair and dragged it to the desk, facing Archie, looking at them without really meeting their eyes. He sat down and opened his mouth, then closed it and looked like he was thinking about how to aboard the subject. 

“I Know you have a question,” Archie said, trying to make it easier for Jon. 

He looked slightly embarrassed. “O-Oh. Is it getting better then ? The- Knowing stuff.” 

Archie smiled. “A bit. So what is it ?” 

“Right.” Jon cleared his throat. “I was just- curious, I suppose. Not in the-” he mimed air quotes “- ‘Evil, trauma devouring Eldritch Entity’ way,” he nervously chuckled. Was that really how they would have sounded, being themself at work before enduring all that trauma ? 

God, he looked so young without the scars. Still slightly too uptight, a tone a bit too sharp for all the casualness he tried to have, but it was there. “And, I was simply curious about- well, you. You are me, or at least a version of me, and I wanted to know more about you.” 

Oh. Oh, no . No, that was a bad idea. It wasn’t as much as they didn’t trust Jon with the knowledge of what had happened. They were perfectly conscious that Jon wouldn’t be repeating that to anyone. And besides, they’d given the tape to Gerry. Gerry knew about it, everything, their struggles and their mistakes. They could handle Gerry knowing how little humanity they had left. How much of the Archivist instead of Jonathan Sims they were. 

But Jon ? They’d seen how he looked at them. To Jon, they were someone . Someone good . Someone that had seen horrors, and came back Marked, but ready to set it right. Someone that could protect everyone, someone that he could look up to. They couldn’t- They couldn’t tell him. They couldn’t kill that look in his eyes. 

They weren’t ready for it. They weren’t ready for yet another person to look at them and see the monster again. They had another chance, and they couldn’t stand to have it shattered. 

Whatever they were feeling, because they didn’t have a name for it except an intense dread , and that simply wasn’t that because they were perfectly fine thank you , it must have shown on their face, because Jon rapidly backed up. 

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But- You mentioned a husband, didn’t you ?” 

Jon knew he had said the right thing when Archie’s face immediately softened in a gentle, nostalgic smile. “Yes. Did you want to know something specific ?” 

Jon frowned briefly. “No. I suppose it’s best if I don’t know anything about him.” 

His counterpart raised an eyebrow, leaning back in their chair. “We hate surprises.” 

“True. We do. But I’d prefer to decide for myself, you know ? I don’t want to pressure myself into a relationship just because you and him ended up matching in your universe.” 

They nodded, putting a hand up their cheek and rubbing the small circular scar that sat there. It was one of their most common mannerisms. Always fidgeting, touching their scars. Jon could only imagine how that hadn’t helped the healing process. The ones on their wrists and hands were larger and deeper than the others, as if they had continuously picked at the scabs. 

“Is it someone I know ?” asked Jon after a few seconds of silence. Even though he knew he shouldn’t pry, he would lie if he said he wasn’t curious. There existed someone, in a universe, that Archie – a version of him, that had lived a childhood similar in some events – had judged necessary to spend the rest of their life with ! Someone that had accepted Archie, scars, trauma, everything. He still wanted to know a bit about the man. 

“Yes,” they chuckled, looking away.

“We weren’t really married, in fact,” added Archie, trying to divert attention from their partner’s identity. 

“Really ? Is it illegal, where you’re from ? It’s only been a recent developpement, here, only possible since 2013 – and still, it’s very frowned upon.” 

They shook their head. “No, it is. 2013 as well for us, but we can. But we didn’t really have time before…” they trailed off, grimacing. 

“Apocalypse. Right.” 

“Yes. It wasn't a great time, obviously. We’d promised we would marry once this was all over and that’s- well, we found the rings right after,” they smiled, waving their hand wearing a battered silver band on their ring finger. 

“They were tangled in spiderweb, suspended to a lamp-post between two domains. We suspect it was Annabelle Cane – an Avatar of the Web, the one I warned you about – trying to gain our favours. She probably knew we wouldn’t be able to- to solve everything the way we wanted to but… It was nice while it lasted.” 

Jon lightly nodded, looking away. He imagined it must have been. “Which brings me to my next question,” he began, looking back at Archie. “How old are you ?” 

His counterpart blinked owlishly at him, before letting out a snort that rapidly devolved into laughter. 

“Wha- That’s not funny !” exclaimed Jon, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. “It’s just that you look so much older !” 

“How old do you even think I am ?” they asked between fits of laughter. 

“I- I don’t know ! Tim is betting on fifty, Sasha on forty. I bet that you were closer to mid-thirties, and Gerry and Martin didn’t want to join.” 

Archie snorted again. “You win. I’m thirty-one.” 

Jon looked at them incredulously. “No you’re not.” 

“I am. Unfortunately.”

“There is absolutely no way that you are actually younger than forty.” 

“I thought your money was on thirty five ! Did you not even believe in your own bet ? ” As soon as the compulsion left their lips, their expression shifted into one of horror, instantly snapping their jaw shut with an audible click and putting a hand in front of their sealed lips.

“I said that because I didn’t want to give Tim the satisfaction of betting on the same thing as him.” The answer was rapid, mechanical and involuntary. “I-” tried Jon, but was immediately cut by Archie profusely apologising. 

“Look, I am so sorry I- This wasn’t supposed to happen, really, I’m sorry, I should- I should have been more careful- Oh God I-” 

Jon held up his hands to calm them down. “Archie. It’s- It’s fine. Really. No harm done, a- and besides, this isn’t something you- something you have a lot of control on.” 

“No I-” 

“I said it’s fine . I- We all know you’re actually trying, and even though I don’t really like being forced to answer I- This wasn’t anything secret . I would probably have told you something along those lines even without the compulsion.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay -” 

“Archie,” Jon interrupted, his tone more firm this time. “I said I forgave you. I understand that you didn’t want it to happen, you apologised, and it’s fine . Now, we should just- move on from that. It’s done. So. You said you were only thirty-one ?” 

“I-” Archie looked like they wanted to protest more, but resigned with a light sigh. “Yes. But forty , really ?” 

Jon smiled, relieved that they accepted the change of subject. “Tim had his money on fifty.” 

“Yes, but it’s- it’s Tim . He believed that I was thirty-eight back in Research. That means nothing.” 

“Did he, now ?” 

“Yes.” A faint nostalgic smile made its way on their lips. “To be fair, I was still lying about my age at the time, so I can hardly blame him. I thought people would take me more seriously if they believed I was an older researcher with more experience instead of a simple graduate fresh out of uni without having done anything similar before.” 

“Hm. I understand the feeling. I tried to do the same, but Sasha called me out on it almost immediately. She said I was intimidating poor Martin, and should at least try to seem nicer,” replied Jon, rolling his eyes. 

Archie’s eyebrows shot to their hairline. “You knew Martin back in research ?” 

“Yes ? Didn’t you ?” 

They shook their head. “He was working at the Library. I might have met him once or twice when I was looking for ressources there, but that’s as far as I knew him before. Elias transferred him to the Archives without consulting me. I… Well, to say I didn’t take it well would be an understatement,” they chuckled. 

Jon looked pensive for a moment, seemingly taking in the information. “Well, I recall him saying he was transferred from the Library to Research, then I asked for him to come with me in the Archives alongside Tim and Sasha when I was promoted.” 

“Hm. It’s… Well, I suppose it’s a bit strange seeing the differences between universes.” 

Jon smiled. “Yes. I agree.” 

There was a bit of silence, during which Archie fiddled a bit with their hair, tangling a curl around their finger. Observing their mannerisms was interesting, for Jon. Some were the exact same as he had, a perfect mirror of his reactions facing some situations. Others were just slightly different, like when they touched their hair. The length of it was significantly bigger than Jon’s, and where he preferred to just pass a hand through it to avoid it falling in front of his eyes, or rubbing the shorter, rougher hairs at the back of his neck, Archie had their own habit of detangling it by passing their fingers through it, or, just as they did now, turning them around a finger. 

“So what was Martin like in Research ?” 

Jon snorted. “A complete incompetent. No that I was much better myself. I was too scared that since he was older than me, and had worked in the Library for a few years, he would make me look like an idiot. It didn’t help that I was assigned to train him. I was utterly awful to him the first few weeks, until at some point he couldn’t take it. He told me he didn’t really have a Master’s degree, and that he lied on his CV. 

“No idea why, but I was- less awful to him, after that. I tried to train him a bit better, and I stopped taking for granted that he should know what to do. In the end, he ended up making a more than half-decent researcher. That’s why I took him to the Archives, too. He technically was the most competent of us, given his background at the Library, and even though he was a bit rusty, he really did help, once his capacities were used as they should.” 

Archie hummed. “The same thing happened to me, though it took much more time and stress from both parties. I was stressed from the promotion, and he was the only one who had an actual background in Library science. I thought if I showed I was less competent than him, I would be fired or- or no one would respect me again. It took almost a year and a half for him to finally tell me that he had lied, and for me to be slightly more pleasant to him.” 

They shook their head and stood up. “I really wasn’t a great boss.” They started walking away, Jon standing up and following them. 

“Where are you going ?” 

“Smoking” 

“You smoke ?” 

“Yes. I- stopped a while ago, but nowadays I find it… comforting. And besides,” they huffed as they took their coat from where it was hanging, “I’m almost certain it can’t kill me or damage my lungs significantly anymore.” 

Jon took his own coat from the hanger and followed them through the stacks, to the fire exit. He’d noticed them taking this path frequently, in the recent days. Not smoking, usually he’d just assume that they’d go for some fresh air outside. The early April air was cool, not yet charged with the heat it would carry in just a few months. 

Jon had just assumed this was Archie acting normally, but he couldn’t help but notice how they generally did their best to avoid the rest of the Institute, or even the streets outside. Almost as if they were… scared. Scared of other people, other humans . 

Deep down, Jon knew Archie wasn’t human. He wouldn’t go to call them a monster , but it was undeniable that they were something else. The lack of a pulse or breath – though they did their best to imitate the latter, Jon suspected for both their comfort and the assistants – and the abnormal capacity to recover from all types of injuries, including a rather deep stab wound, their too intense gaze and the odd glowing of their eyes was enough to tell. 

 Were they avoiding people out of fear of being discovered ? Of being hurt ? Or were they afraid of hurting those humans ? Afraid of being discovered, exposed and treated like a monster. Jon couldn’t blame them for wanting to be alone most of the time if this was the case. 

Did they have a run with the Lonely ? Or did it have any sort of influence over them, besides the already overwhelming one of the Eye ? They seemed to loathe the Entity at least as much as the others, if not more, and this one probably wouldn’t physically scar as much as the others. Perhaps they’d lost someone to that vicious fog they’d described ? 

Or maybe the explanation was simpler than that. Occam’s Razor, right ? They’d lost everything, from their lover to their entire world, and for the latter they’d seen it so thoroughly destroyed and warped that almost nothing was left. They were the sole survivor, unique in their despair and guilt. 

Alone, yet surrounded by people. 

Worse, even, people with the same faces as those they’d lost. 

…

There was a fire escape in the Archives. It looked different from the rest of the department, like it wasn’t supposed to be there. Jon supposed it was true, in a sense. Jonah Magnus certainly didn’t think of installing a fire exit when he built this in the 1800s. 

If anything, it was there because later, as Maxwell Rayner or perhaps before as Joseph Von Karma, Jonah had been pestered by the HSE’s safety guidelines, and forced to put it there. He probably hadn’t been happy about it, and would have complained about the cost if the government hadn’t specifically provided him funding to do this exact thing. He probably had complained to the Institute’s donors anyway. 

The door wasn’t really maintained in any way, mostly just being there. From the inside of the Archives, the door looked correct, with just some bits of the paint chipped at the edges, and the metal rusted just enough to show it was old. 

From the outside, the staircase was rusted and dingy, shaking with every foot you put on it, clearly threatening to give out. 

Jon used to go there, sometimes, after he got the promotion. Get a bit of air and stretch his abused back muscles. He’d sit on the steps for a moment, head on his knees to relieve the throbbing pain the Statements inflicted like needles in his skull. 

“I stopped when I was in uni,” he said as he watched Archie light up a cigarette, fiddling with a pretty golden zippo lighter. 

They raised an eyebrow as they inhaled the smoke, before breathing out. “Really ?” 

“Yeah. My boyfriend at the time didn’t like the smell, so I stopped.” 

They hummed. “You had a boyfriend ?” The question strangely sounded like those that could be asked to a teenager by a family member at a dinner, embarrassing and intrusive. Not that Jon would know – it wasn’t like he really had any family to speak of. But he remembered seeing that in fiction. He found that he didn’t mind it too much. Archie had the right to ask, and they wouldn’t pressure him if he chose not to say anything. 

He nodded. “Didn’t you ?” 

“A girlfriend. I was still desperately trying to prove myself that I was straight back then. Figured my grandmother wouldn’t be happy if I dated a man.” 

“I suppose you two didn’t really work out.” 

“We were better off as friends. I don’t- Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m bisexual, so I don’t mind either. But we weren’t great as a couple and I was too stubborn to see that. The break up was-” they grimaced, shaking their head “-not pretty. I didn’t talk to her for a whole six years until I showed up on her doorstep after- until I showed up on her doorstep.” 

Jon took the hint and didn’t ask. “I’m bi too. What’s her name ?” 

“Georgie. Barker. You know her ?” 

Jon winced. “No. Sorry.” The almost hopeful spark in Archie’s eyes died almost instantly, and they sighed. 

“It’s probably for the best. At least I won’t have the temptation to try to see her, right ? It’s- better that way.” Not that they would have looked for her in the first place , thought Jon. They went back to fiddling with their lighter, opening and closing it in a soothing rhythm, dragging on their cigarette. 

There was a long silence after that. Jon let it be. He let Archie briefly grieve that friend a second time, a friend Jon never knew but could guess would have been a good companion if he had. 

Archie broke the silence when they reached for another cigarette in their pocket. “What’s your ex’s name ?” 

“Ivan. Heitz.” 

“Tell me about him.” 

—

Archie had told all of them about the Distortion. Of course they had. They knew it was going to be an immediate danger soon, and there was no use endangering everyone by keeping their ignorance intact like Jonah wanted. They had already heard of it in a Statement, which was more warning that they had had in their world, and at least knew Michael was its name. Though it was different from the very much still alive Michael Shelley, who was still occasionally taking lunches with Gerry and the others. 

They hadn’t offered any descriptions, as they had no idea what it might look like – Graham Folger’s Statement was confusing (confused ?) on that part – but it apparently was enough for Sasha to come running to them one morning to give a statement. 

They were… conflicted. About whether or not to take that Statement. Or, at the very least, the human part inside of them was. Or was it ? What was it that Annabelle had said in her own recounting ? Decisions are made subconsciously long before we even think of it. The illusion of free will. Bloody spiders. 

Did they want to take her Statement ? Yes. Yes, overwhelmingly yes . That part, they couldn’t deny. But was it worth it ? They had found themself asking that question more and more during the past infernal year of their life. Were the consequences worth it ? Was the guilt, the looks, the nightmares and the horrendous imprint on their mind worth that tiny sliver of satisfaction coming from consuming that fear ? 

They took the Statement. 

It was unfulfilling. Stale. Like chewing on cardboard; tasteless and mushy, leaving nothing but a horrendous feeling of hollow . 

Some part of them was relieved that it was the case. Happy, even. Sasha wouldn’t have had the nightmares anyway, but at least she didn’t have to relieve a trauma because of them. It was… it was like they had managed to catch a Statement in its embryonary state. Undeniably there, unsettling and supernatural, but not yet bad enough that the fear was fulfilling. 

The gnawing at their stomach, phantom reflex of hunger, was still there to remind them of the nature of their diet. They would have to seek a Statement soon. But for now, they were determined to ignore it. 

“So, what do you think ? What does- Michael want ?” she asked after she’d finished recounting the events. 

“If we follow the events that happened in my own reality, it likely was truthful when it told you it wanted to help. Could you- Could you describe what it looked like ? We better do some research on who Michael was before becoming the Distortion.” 

“I’d say… average height. Kind of. Its hair was pale blond ? There was also what looked like a tattoo on the side of its face, branching up in spirals and twists. It went down its neck and probably continued on its body. Is it familiar ? I remember the tattoo moving when I looked at its reflection.” 

“It’s… sort of familiar,” they trailed off. “Sasha, could you… If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like you to look up a man named Michael Crew. Went by Mike, if that helps.” 

She nodded. “Did you know him ?” 

“Not really, I'm afraid. But I took his Statement, and given the events he told me, it would make some sense. I could retranscribe it to you, if necessary, but the information might be outdated by a long shot.” 

“That will be enough. What about his proposal ? I admit meeting with a monster in a cemetery clearly is a decision that would get anyone killed in a horror movie but you said he was truthful on that, so… What do we do ?” 

Archie rubbed their neck. “Don’t go alone. That still is a bad idea. We’ll see what we can find about Crew, and I’ll ask Jon and the others to be on the lookout if he left a Statement here. If there is anything useful, we’ll go tomorrow night. It might give us information to counter Prentiss.”