Chapter Text
The trunk of the car was cramped and warm. Arthur could feel every bump and bend in the road as it sent him bouncing across the floor and colliding with something else. His hands were bound with something thin and stiff that had been tightened uncomfortably around his wrists, pressing his hand into John’s, which gripped his firmly. He attempted to shift his legs and was met with resistance. He whimpered in fear.
“ Arthur, stay with me .”
He whined from the other side of the gag. As calming as John’s voice was, it did little to stave away the press of the tight space. Anytime he moved he butted up against another wall, sending his breath running fast once again. His lungs were already aching from hyperventilating and the wadded up fabric that had been shoved into his mouth and bound with his own tie as a makeshift gag was soaked and uncomfortable against his cheeks. The sensation of the car moving was disorientating without John’s eyes to tell him where they were going, but apparently it was too dark for John to make anything out beyond what little he had taken in as they were shoved into the trunk by the woman that had caught him. She had overpowered him easily, her strength winning out against his still malnourished body. He had fought back at first until he had felt the blade of her knife pressed against his cheek, threateningly close to John’s eyes and had finally gone limp. She had bound him and thrown him into the car, growling at him to stop when he struggled as the realisation of where he was about to be kept dawned on him and his claustrophobia had won out against his terror at what the woman might do to him. She had struck him across the face and slammed the trunk closed before he could recover enough to keep begging through the gag.
“ Arthur, ” John cooed in his ear. “ Deep breath now. You’re okay. ”
John was right, of course, as he had been the last five times he told Arthur to take a deep breath. The little ridiculous part of his brain kept telling him that breathing deeply was a mistake, that he couldn’t risk it if they had limited oxygen, but John had gently pointed out that when Arthur didn’t breathe properly it sent their vision swimming. They couldn’t risk being at such a disadvantage.
The car pulled to a stop suddenly, sending Arthur crashing against the wall again. There were still the sounds of traffic around them, too loud for a town. It was almost impossible that they had reached New York so quickly, but Arthur didn’t know where else they could possibly be that had so many honking horns and turning wheels.
“ Arthur, listen to me, ” John purred. “ She left our legs free. When the trunk opens again, we can kick her and try to get away. She has a knife but if we aim for her wrist or her throat we might be able to slow her down. We are going to get out of this. ” John’s hand tightened on his, his thumb rubbing against Arthur’s soothingly. “ These are just more people threatening us, we have done this before. You will be okay. We will be okay.”
Arthur made a small noise of agreement, trying desperately to convey that he trusted John. As futile as their efforts to escape had been before, they might have more luck. With their hands bound in front of them, they couldn’t reach the knot at the back of their neck keeping their gag on their face, but if they managed to get out of the car they might be able to run until they found someone to help them.
The hum of traffic quietened as they turned around a bend and crawled to a stop. There was a small pause as the car turned off and then the sound of the door slamming and heavy footsteps walking around and past the car. Someone called a greeting and was met with a grunt of acknowledgement.
“ Ready, Arthur? ” John asked.
Arthur twisted himself around until his feet were towards where the trunk would be opened, pressing his body close to the wall so that he could haul himself out.
Outside, the sound of voices were approaching.
“ Let’s fucking do this. ”
Arthur hummed and braced, ready to run.
The trunk was opened and Arthur took deep, gasping breaths through the gag as he felt the cool outside air hit his face. He thrashed, trying to kick out, but the woman was alarmingly fast. Perhaps Arthur was more sluggish than he thought, but his ankle was grabbed with ease and he was dragged a few inches before being shoved back and held there with one steady hand. John swore aggressively in Arthur’s head.
“Stop,” she snarled at him, dangerously close to his face. She moved away from them. “There. Found him in the woods.
"What the- Daisy, what is this?" It was a male voice, cracking with incredulity. “Why is there a man in the boot of your car?!”
“I found him in the woods talking to himself. Kept saying your name. Do you know him?”
“N-no I don’t. There’s more than one person called Jon, Daisy.”
Arthur tried again to grab at the trunk and haul himself out, but his collar was snatched at by a strong hand. “I said stop.”
“Daisy, Daisy, wait- Explain what’s going on? Why did you bring him here?”
She snarled and dropped Arthur again. “Elias had a job for me. I went and did it, and on my way back I found him.”
“So why-”
"Something is off about him."
"What?"
"He smells wrong." She snapped sharply.
The other voice sighed. "Daisy, you just threw a homeless man in the back of your car, that's all this-"
"No," she said, a hint of something more desperate in her voice. "Not wrong. He smells- He smells not human. But- Not not human."
"What do you mean?"
"He's human but it's like he's... not all there. Like some of him isn't human. But not in the same way as other monsters I've hunted, with those you can tell. This one just smells wrong. I didn't just want to kill him like the others. The urge wasn't there." Her voice was muddied with anger.
"So you bought him back here ?"
"Figured if anyone had answers about what he is, it would be you freaks."
There was a noise of vague distress and shuffling feet.
“ He looks like he is trying to decide between running and helping us. ” John said. “ His eyes keep flicking to us and then to the open door into the building we are parked next to. We are in an alleyway, I can't see much else. ”
The woman - Daisy - made a frustrated noise. “And there's that. Sometimes he just- It's like he is talking to himself, but different.”
" Arthur, we- "
"There!" Daisy said. "It happened again."
" Can she hear me? " John said in a faint wonder.
“What is it?” The other man asked.
“It's like he's speaking but I can't actually hear it. Like it's too quiet or too far away or coming from another room. You can't hear it?”
“N-no. Huh.” His voice was quiet, contemplative. “That's, uhh…”
Arthur tried to shuffle so that his weight was no longer on his arm, which he started to tingle painfully. His wrist already ached from it being tied to John’s, and being jostled about so much had twinged his shoulder, sending pain throbbing down his muscles.
“Well we should- We should take him inside at least.”
“Fine,” Daisy said.
“Elias doesn't know about him?”
“Not yet.”
There was a thoughtful hum from the man. “Let’s keep it that way for now.”
“Finally found your backbone, Jon?”
He scoffed. “He’s going to find out eventually anyway. I’d like to have a headstart on him if this turns out to be anything.”
" She is reaching into the trunk. " Hands grabbed Arthur's bound forearms and hauled him up until his knees were almost under him. The angle gave him no leverage to push up and out of the trunk, leaving his feet scrabbling against the carpet.
"Listen to me," her voice was much closer, breath warm against his face. The thin, cold blade of her knife pressed onto his throat. "Whatever is up with you, I don't like it. Run and I will catch you. Do I make myself clear?"
Arthur whimpered and nodded.
“Good.”
She moved and the man made an unhappy noise.
“ Arthur, he is eyeing her knife uncomfortably. Judging from the healing scar on his neck, he may have had an encounter with it before. ” He was pulled out of the trunk and deposited on his feet. “ She is walking us towards the open door of the building. It is dark inside, there is a weak lightbulb casting harsh shadows over the interior.”
The sound of the trunk slamming made Arthur flinch so hard he nearly fell. With his hands bound, his balance was off, unable to steady himself as his feet caught. He hit a body shorter than his own and from the huff he was able to identify it as Jon. He garbled something to him, platitudes and requests for forgiveness, but he was quickly yanked back towards Daisy and through the door out of the alley. The sound of the city fell away into an eerie stillness.
“ Stairs ,” was all the warning Arthur got before they were descending. He stumbled but was caught by Daisy who muttered in annoyance before shoving him ahead of her, grabbing his shoulder and dragging him down the rest of the stairs before pushing him down to the floor.
"What the fuck is that?" It was a voice that Arthur didn't recognise, male and angry.
"Daisy found him." Jon said curtly.
"And bought him here? Doesn't she normally just kill them and bury them in the woods? When did she progress to dragging back live mice to spit at Elias' feet?" There was the shuffle of someone crouching in front of them and then the voice came from much closer. "The fuck happened to this guy?"
"I found him like that." Daisy said.
" We are in an office. It is dark and dusty in here, there are tall shelves full of boxes and- "
A foot connected with his side.
"Stop fucking doing that." Daisy growled, stalking past him with heavy steps.
John made a small, angry noise but said nothing else. Arthur was faintly grateful that he wouldn't get beaten again, but he longed for John to describe more of where they were, anything to give them a small fraction of an advantage. Daisy had taken his bag, and with it any of the things that might have been useful to them with this situation, leaving him helpless and tied up. He hated whatever was around his wrists; it cut into the flesh there in harsh lines that refused to budge as he tugged at it angrily.
As if noticing his struggling, one of the people spoke up. “Are we going to let him go?”
“I, ah,” Jon said slowly, “I don’t think that's…”
“Sorry, what? You can't be serious?” His voice was high and panicked. “You're just okay with this?”
“Not really, Martin, but-”
Arthur could feel the eyes on him, staring intently. His shoulders tensed.
With a sigh, Martin said. “Tea?”
“Yes, thank you, Martin,” Jon said, a little breathy, like he was exhausted. Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to be sympathetic.
There was a scoff from the person crouched by Arthur, then the sound of him standing and throwing himself into a chair that creaked and groaned under the force. Arthur tried to count the people around him; Jon seemed to be in charge, however begrudgingly, and Daisy was almost certainly their trained pack dog, sent to do tasks for them. He had very little to go on for the angry man, though risking turning that temper on himself was undoubtedly a bad idea. Martin was the most reasonable, and Arthur wondered if he could somehow get him on their side. Getting him alone was going to be tricky, but perhaps not impossible, though the offer of tea and the sound of the door swinging shut likely heralded his departure and with it, Arthur’s only imagined ally.
“The walking police brutality lawsuit brings some guy back here and we are all fine with it?” The angry man asked. “Good to know we are on the same page.”
Daisy growled.
“Don’t act like I’m wrong, Detective.” He rebutted.
“ Detective? ” John muttered. Arthur grunted. If they had somehow found their way into the hands of some corrupt police, it would certainly be a problem for them both. If any of them put two and two together and realised his connection to Parker then they would almost certainly be behind bars before they could think of any reasonable excuse.
“You didn’t see him in those woods. He was- He was in the mud talking to himself, just hunched over and shouting at nothing. Look at him, you’re telling me that he is normal?” Arthur grunted. “He is part of this somehow, he has to be.”
When John next spoke it was to angrily growl at the people around them. “ Look at us, Detective. You can hear me. Let me make something clear; fuck with us and you will regret it. ”
“Fucking stop.” Daisy said, the accent that Arthur now identified as Welsh catching with a frantic energy.
“Daisy,” Jon said. “Stop. He's doing it to get a rise out of you.
“Doing what?” A new woman asked, a little bitterly. Arthur added her into his headcount.
"Daisy thinks he's a, uh- Daisy thinks he is something. She hasn't been wrong before."
"Yeah, that's why she decided to cut your fucking throat." The angry man spoke again.
Arthur made a small noise of startled distress. In his mind, John swore aggressively, his arm pulling at where they were bound in a way that pulled on the marks on Arthur’s wrist painfully, sending him whimpering again.
“Jon?” The new woman asked.
“Just… give me a minute, alright? I need to think. Don’t-” Jon said faintly. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Arthur wanted to snidely spit that he could hardly go far, but it just came out as an angry, wet grumble. As Jon’s light footsteps retreated, he was left kneeling, wrists aching and mouth dry, furious at the people around them.
“ Arthur ,” John said darkly. “ We are going to get out of this. We are going to survive. ”
Arthur squeezed his hand and tried to believe him. New York was feeling further and further away by the second.
---
Jon had been pacing his office for a while, eyeing Daisy's prisoner through the open door. He was alarmingly thin, frail in a way that didn't suit his height, like he had been starved of food for weeks if not longer. Where his body seemed to be content to curl up in fear, survival instincts drawing him down to protect any soft parts prone to injury, his eyes were dazzlingly bright, examining the space around him intently as if hungrily drinking in details. Daisy had grunted in frustration and left a few moments ago, slamming the door behind her. Their guest had flinched so hard at the sound that he had nearly fallen and Jon had to stop his heart from breaking slightly before he remembered the very real possibility that this stranger was a threat to their lives.
He seemed so different to all of the other things that had threatened his life that it felt almost comical to think that this person could do the same. He was hardly as imposing as Daisy, or as horrifying as Prentiss, but looks could be deceiving; who knew what was hiding under his terrified demeanour. If Elias was capable of murder, surely this man was as well.
Jon took a deep, steadying breath. He was trying to not immediately jump to the worst. That was a habit that needed breaking.
Martin appeared in the doorway with a mug of tea, examining Jon with a dissatisfied purse of his lips. He handed the mug over when Jon held out his hands gratefully, but stayed hovering close by, peering down at him down his nose.
“Martin,” Jon breathed after taking a deep sip of the tea. “Do you- I am trying to decide what to do about him.”
“I mean, we don't actually have any proof that he's dangerous, or- Or not human, do we? Not beyond what Daisy has said.”
“I feel being cautious is a wise choice, but…” He shook his head. “Better safe than sorry can only get us so far. If he really is nothing then we run the risk of him going to the police, or- Or doing something that would hinder our efforts with the Unknowing.”
Martin crossed his arms. “Tying a potentially innocent man up and keeping him prisoner isn't what we do.”
Jon closed his eyes. “I know. Christ, Martin, this is…”
“I know, Jon.”
When he opened his eyes again, he saw the man staring intently at him from where he was curled on the floor. Repressing a shudder, Jon breathed out slowly. “When did it stop being terrifying that there was something probably inhuman in the middle of the Archive?”
View of their- Jon was hesitant to call him a prisoner, and yet that was exactly what he was- their prisoner was blocked by Tim leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“You're serious about this?”
Jon lifted his chin. “Yes, Tim, I am.”
Tim glowered. “This is fucked up, even for you.”
Nodding uncomfortably, Jon took a deep breath. “I am reluctant to reveal all our cards to him too early, but…”
“You’re going to do that thing, aren't you?” Martin asked.
“I think I have to.” He straightened, trying to find some small fragment of the persona he had adopted when he was first promoted down to the archives. The gruffness had been an armour that had faded in the wash like a well loved shirt worn so often it became soft despite its purpose. He moved towards the door. Tim didn’t move out of the way, so Jon slipped past him and out into the bullpen. "I'm taking his gag out."
"Are you sure about that?" Melanie asked, spinning around on the desk she had perched on.
"I don't see what other options we have. We aren't exactly getting any answers with him like this, and he isn't like anything else we have ever faced, Daisy can tell that. We need to be able to talk to him and get a response, so I'm taking it out and solving this goddamn mystery before it gets us killed."
Kneeling in front of him, Jon pulled at the knot holding the tie against his skin. It was tight, pressing uncomfortably into his flesh, denting it and leaving harsh red marks behind in its wake as he peeled it back. The wadded up fabric was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor with a wet slap as the man started to spit fibres from his mouth, glaring at Jon with fury.
“Hello, um…” Jon cleared his throat. “My name is Jonathan Sims. I am the Archivist.”
“Fuck you,” the man spat. Tim laughed harshly in the corner.
“I- Yes, well, I understand your anger at this matter, but-”
"Let us go or you'll fucking regret it." The man growled. It was strange to be threatened by someone so frail it looked like he could barely stand on his own.
Melanie laughed mirthlessly. “Is he serious?”
“We are-” His eyes flicked to her. “ I am not messing around. You're playing with dangerous stuff here, I’m warning you.”
“You're the one tied up,” she said. “Big talk for a guy on the floor.”
He made an angry noise and pulled at his bindings harshly. “Untie u- Me. Untie me.”
Jon took a deep breath and set his shoulders, then met the man's eyes. This close, he could see the way his scar wrapped around the gaunt right cheek and handsome bone structure, disappearing under the stubble that grew slightly patchy on that side. His forehead, furrowed deeply, sat proud above the strong nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. His eyes were sunken and the irises were reflecting a bright, unnerving yellow colour and the bags under them were heavy and dark. The skin around his well-shaped lips was pulling with his disgusted scowl, and the rough chapped surface was red and splotchy from where it had been bitten repeatedly.
Jon leant forward and put all of the power he had been struggling with into his voice as he Asked; “Who are you?”
The man's eyes widened. “Arthur Lester,” he choked out, wincing in pain. “I’m a private investigator from Arkham, Massachusetts.” He crumpled in on himself, hissing. “Shut up, Christ.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I- I don't know. I was brought here by Daisy.” Arthur scowled at the closed door where she had left a moment before. “She did not tell me why.”
Jon frowned. “What were you doing in the woods?”
“I am trying to get to New York,” Arthur raised his bound hands to his head as if trying to stave off a migraine. “We got lost and I fell and-” He hissed a breath inwards. When he spoke again, it was much slower and more deliberate. “I was trying to find my way.”
“She said you were talking to someone. Who was it?”
Arthur’s eyes met his once again. The light had shifted, and the yellow haze was stronger. Under it was roiling, burning rage. “John. My friend.”
Melanie made a noise halfway between amusement and annoyance.
Arthur’s gaze snapped to her. “Who are you people? Police? Are you looking for some sort of bribe?”
“This is the Magnus Institute.” Jon said.
He simply continued to stare, unsettling yellow eyes unregistering and furious.
“We- We research the esoteric and… The esoteric and the unexplained. The paranormal.”
Arthur let out a laugh that seemed to surprise himself. “Paranormal investigators? What, do you use ululometers and conduct seances?”
“Who the hell is this guy?” Tim asked, seemingly to himself.
“Do many of your investigations involve tying a man up, or am I just special? Just my luck to end up in the clutches of some fucking ghost hunters. What’s next, some spirit photography?” He spat. “Tell me where I need to sit for the picture and I’ll fucking pose for you.”
“What-”
The door to the archives crashed open and Daisy stalked in, holding a duffle bag in her hand. She threw the duffle down on the floor next to where Jon was kneeling. “His bag. He had it on him when I found him.”
Jon eyed it, weighing the options of opening it, before sighing heavily. “No. No, we… I’m sorry, Arthur. This isn’t right. I’m putting an end to this.”
He stood, ignoring the aching in his left leg, and grabbed a pair of scissors off of Martin’s desk. When Arthur saw what he had, his eyes widened and after a second he tipped backwards from Jon and tried to shuffle away from him. “Wait-”
“Wh- Oh! Oh, no, it's- Here.” Jon knelt in front of him and reached slowly for his bound wrists. Arthur hesitated, tensing all over before slowly holding out his hands. Slipping the blade of the scissors under the zip ties he snipped firmly, cutting through the plastic and freeing him.
Arthur made a relieved gasp and rubbed the wrist of his right arm, wringing out the muscle gratefully. “I- thank you.” He closed his eyes and nodded a few times. “We- I… Whatever you want from me, I’ll-”
“Mr Lester,” Jon cut him off. “I… I am sorry for the way we treated you here. We… We should not have done this, I am… I’m sorry.”
Arthur frowned deeply in confusion. “Are you… letting me go?”
“Yes,” Jon breathed.
“Oh for fucks-” Daisy growled.
“I agree with Jon,” Martin spoke over her, definitely. “This is wrong.”
“But he’s-”
“He’s what? Potentially evil? We have too much going on to chase down every little lead. We should stay on the Circus, this is just a distraction.” Martin gestured wildly at Arthur. “We have no proof of anything!”
She snarled at him, but Jon sighed. “He’s right.” He held out a hand for Arthur. After a beat, Arthur took it, fumbling slightly until he caught onto it and let himself be pulled upright. When standing, Jon was surprised to see how much of a beanpole the man truly was. “Allow me to show you out?”
Arthur inclined his chin defiantly. “What if I walk straight out of here to the police?”
“You could,” Jon nodded. “But something tells me you wont.”
They stared each other down for a long minute before Arthur smiled slowly. It was a cold, dangerous sort of smile, all teeth and no humour. Jon finally saw the promise behind the threat of making them regret. He gestured to the door and followed Arthur out, sending a glance over his shoulder to the others. Their walk was quiet, punctuated by a soft curse from Arthur when he nearly missed a step on the climb out of the archive. Jon, walking too quickly behind him to keep up with the man's much longer legs, stumbled and bumped into his shoulder. Something clattered to the floor, and Arthur bent down to snatch it up, letting Jon only see a glint of strangely familiar gold before it was squirrelled away into Arthur’s pocket.
When they reached the front door of the Institute, Jon faced him.
“Arthur-”
“Goodbye, Mr Sims.” Arthur said coldly. “And sincerely, fuck you. Good luck hunting your ghosts.”
With that, he swept out of the front door of the Institute and down the stairs before disappearing into the late afternoon London crowd. Jon watched him go for as long as he could before turning and retreating back to the archives.
“Arthur Lester.” He said to the others when he found his way back into the bullpen. They were where he had left them, sprawled in their various seats and corners. Someone had picked up the cut zip tie and thrown it onto the pile of rubbish overflowing from Tim’s bin. “Check the statements, find anything you can. I somehow doubt we are lucky enough for him to have ever come up, but… He doesn't seem the kind to stay out of trouble. I imagine this isn't the last we have seen of him.”
