Chapter Text
“We are not stuck.”
“Mate, you know I hate having to give up on a case as much as you do, but I really think we’ve hit a dead end with this one. We’re allowed to admit defeat. It’s fine.”
“ No. Hand me that green book. The answer’s in there, it must be.”
Charles made a face at Edwin, but passed over the requested book. This had been going on for the better part of an hour.
They were stuck. They’d searched the scenes top to bottom ten times through. None of the witnesses could give them any more information about the locket they were after. They had examined the case every which way. No leads. Nada. Nothing.
As stubborn as Charles could be, even he knew when he was ready to throw in the towel.
“Edwin?”
“...Mhmmm?” he vocalised, turning the page.
…On the other hand, seeing Edwin so focused and absorbed in a case was always amusing.
“Nah, nevermind. Don’t worry about it.” He could let Edwin think about it a bit longer. More of a break for him, he wouldn't complain.
“Hmm.”
Charles gave Edwin a fond smile, and left him to his reading. They could wait a bit more before taking another case. If Edwin was really so invested in this one, Charles would let him give it another go.
He settled down into the chair next to Edwin, content to sit and watch as Edwin tried to rework the clues into something that made some semblance of sense. He was resting criss-cross on the floor, several large tomes strewn around him in a semi-circle. Charles barely recognized any of them. He’d read Cursed Artefacts of the 20th Century , but the rest were mysteries to him.
Outside of the strange ‘murderous death locket’ they were looking into, things had been going pretty well, Charles thought. They’d finally finished moving their stuff into the new office, rain was falling gently on the windows behind them, and the glow of the lamps gave everything a soft glow. Slowly, Charles closed his eyes. He might not’ve been able to sleep, but he enjoyed taking a moment to rest his eyes every now and then anyways.
“ CHARLES!”
“Oh, bloody- ” Charles fell sideways out of his chair with a small thud. “What? Edwin, mate, you can’t fucking scare me like that!”
Edwin at least had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Apologies. That was not my intention.”
Charles sighed and dusted himself off. “Nah, it’s alright. What’s got you so excited?”
Edwin perked back up instantly.
“I believe I may have found us a lead- or at least a way to get our hands on one!” he exclaimed. He marked a page, and shut the book with a gentle thud , and held it out for Charles to see.
The History of Supernatural Institutions and Research, it read.
“Seriously? Mate, that’s brills! What’d you find?” Charles turned the book over in his hands, examining it, before handing it back to Edwin.
“A location. I do admit, we may be stuck, but if this summary is correct, I may have found an academic institute that has been collecting information on these sorts of- happenings- for hundreds of years. If there’s more information to be uncovered to give us a lead, we will likely find it here!”
“Aces, what’s it called? We might be able to swing by tonight.”
“The-” Edwin flipped his book back open to the marked page. “-Magnus Institute.”
Charles froze. “What?”
“...The Magnus Institute?” Edwin repeated.
Charles stood, snatching the book from Edwin’s hand. He shoved it back into the bookshelf- perhaps a little harder than he actually needed to. Edwin flinched at the noise.
“No. Nah. No way. We’re not going there.”
“ Wh- Charles, you’re being quite unreasonable! This may be exactly what we need to crack this case wide open.” Edwin tried to step around Charles to retrieve his book, only for Charles to mirror his movement and block him.
Edwin sighed, crossing his arms. “Charles. Please. You’re being childish. Why are you so against the idea?”
Charles threw up his hands. “Listen, I just don’t like the place, is that such a crime? Bad vibes. Rancid vibes.”
“We are not throwing away the most promising lead we’ve gotten yet because of vibes ,” Edwin looked unimpressed. “and if you don’t like the place, I am more than willing to go alone. I would appreciate your company, but I do not need it- much like I do not need your permission. Good day, Charles.”
Edwin sharply turned on his heel and exited the room. Logically, Charles knew he was probably just headed to his desk to sulk- neither of them liked to be out and away from the other for too long.
Still, his threat of going alone lingered in the air.
Christ.
On one hand, Charles really didn’t like the Magnus Institute.
He remembered when he’d been a kid living in London- he’d been maybe eight at the time. His mother had gone out with friends. She’d come back, hours and hours later, shaken. She looked awful. Like she’d just seen- well, a ghost. She had left again shortly, and returned the same night.
Charles’ father had gotten home from work by then. He’d wanted to know where she was, why she was out so late, and she’d cried, told him he was at the Magnus Institute, she wasn’t seeing anyone, she-
Charles cut off the memory there.
Nothing good came out of the Magnus Institute. Nothing at all.
On the other hand, this was Edwin. Edwin didn’t have a habit of making empty threats.
Sure, maybe he’d wait a day or two to see if Charles would give in and agree, but if he didn’t, he would make good on the whole ‘going alone’ thing.
Charles really didn’t want Edwin to go alone.
He might be overprotective. Sue him! He is rightfully overprotective.
Edwin’s just…. Special. Unique. He needs Charles to protect him. He’s clever, he’s smart, but he doesn’t understand so much of the world around him. Edwin’s a bit clueless. He just doesn’t know things that most people should. He’s not great with other people. Charles doesn’t know whether it’s because of his upbringing, Hell trauma, or something more Edwin than that, but it doesn’t matter.
They’re both running from Death, but Edwin is running from so much more. He’s intelligent, but he’s not strong- Charles really should start keeping a running tally for every time Edwin’s gotten nabbed during a case. That’s what Charles is there for. That’s what he does. He protects Edwin.
He doesn’t know what to do if he’s not protecting someone.
(Charles tries not to think about his mother. He really does.)
(He doesn’t succeed.)
Charles stood up with a sigh, dusted himself off, and started towards the main office.
“Oi, mate,” he called, phasing through the door. “Where are you?”
Edwin was perched at his desk, looking regal as ever. Charles got the feeling he’d been waiting.
“Here. What do you need, Charles?” He folded his hands in front of him.
Of course he wasn’t gonna make this easy. Just brills .
Slowly, Charles stepped to the seat across from him, and sat down. A tense silence filled the air.
“....Sorry for snapping at you. I’m okay with it. We can head to the Magnus Institute, if you really think we need to.”
“I feel the need to repeat my earlier statement about not requiring your permission, ” Edwin said, “But I appreciate the sentiment nevertheless. Thank you for apologizing. Now, I was planning on heading there tonight. Will you be alright here by yourself for the next few hours? I am unsure how long locating our file will take.”
“Wh- Mate, I agreed ! Who said you’re going alone?” Charles stood quickly, and grabbed his bag from where it was leaning on the ground. “Nah. You’re taking me with you.”
Edwin hesitated. “Charles, are you sure? If this place truly makes you so uncomfortable, I would not dream of insisting you come with me. I do not mind the company- far from it when it comes to you- but I would be just fine alone.”
“Nah, nah. That place does freak me out, it really does, but I’d feel better being freaked where I can see you if something happens, instead of hanging back and worrying the whole time. Searching would go faster too. I’m tagging along, but you're not allowed to give me shit for being on edge.”
Edwin beamed- properly this time, instead of the tense half-smiles he’d been doing since the Institute was brought up, and stood to collect his things. “Lovely.”
“Do you have any kind of game plan?”
Edwin took a moment to contemplate. “Not in particular. If we leave right now, the place should be completely empty, and we would have hours until anyone arrives to look through. According to the sources I’ve been reading through, the….” He adjusted the papers on his desk to look at one in particular. “...Archives are where we want to go. That’s where they store past recollections of events. In addition, any self-respecting archive has some kind of sorting system, so finding what we need should be a breeze.”
“Wait, so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves? That’s brills!”
“Indeed. Nevertheless, the sooner we start, the better. Shall we?”
“We shall ,” Charles mocked, phasing through the door.
“Oh, come off it. I do not sound like that!”
Martin woke up to a loud THUMP.
Oh, lovely.
It’s not abnormal, per se, for him to sleep through his alarm. But to sleep for long enough that his coworkers had time to come in and get started on their workdays?
He was not looking forward to hearing Tim’s teasing.
Blearily, Martin reached underneath his cot for his glasses and phone. No one had come to wake him up, meaning he couldn’t have slept in for too long, but he still wanted to see the damage. He slipped his glasses on, clicked the power button on his phone, and-
1:33 AM , it read.
Martin’s blood ran cold.
It was the middle of the night. No one should’ve been there.
What the hell had woken him up?
Jon, maybe? Had he stayed far too late, and dropped something, creating the noise? It wouldn’t be the first time Martin had caught Jon working through the early hours of the morning.
No. Martin had seen him leave before he’d gone to sleep. Jon was a deep sleeper. If he made it home, he wouldn’t have come back until the workday started.
…Could the worms be back?
A pang of fear ran through Martin. He held his breath, staying as still as possible. He listened.
Nothing.
Martin let out a sigh of relief. No squirming. No wretched squelching noises. No wriggling.
No worms, but ever so faintly, Martin swore he could hear talking. Not quite yelling and not quite arguing, but definitely tense. He couldn’t make out the words.
Shit. Was the institute being robbed?
After a moment of deliberation, Martin settled back down into his cot. He’d already risked his life once in the past week for the archives, and it had done nothing for him. There was no way in hell he was putting himself in danger like that again, especially so soon. The intruders could take whatever they wanted, and leave. No skin off of his back.
After another moment of consideration, he got back up to properly lock the door. Better to not take any risks.
The voices got ever-so-slightly clearer as he inched closer and closer to the door. Martin reached out to the handle, ready to flip the lock and be done with it-
“ GOOD LORD , Charles! Get down from there! This isn’t a playground!”
Martin froze.
Oh.
That didn’t sound like a robber.
That sounded like a kid.
A second voice piped up. “You said I couldn’t help you look, what else can I do? You do your little searching thing, I’ll keep an eye out. There's a better view from up here anyways. Cheers!”
Maybe not kids. But absolutely not adults.
Christ. The institute was being robbed by a couple of teenagers.
Martin sighed, and turned back to his cot.
Either way, it wasn’t any of his concern. He’d just stay there, nice and toasty and bundled up in his blankets until they left, and in the morning, he’d tell Jon he’d heard someone in the archives. Elias could check the security footage, maybe send it to the police, and everything would be all set to go. There was absolutely no reason for him to involve himself in this situation in any way, shape, or form. Not at all.
Nope. He’s gonna go back to sleep.
He closed his eyes. He pulled the blanket over himself.
He turned over.
(Martin couldn’t help but wonder. He’d done some stupid shit as a kid. Lying on his CV and getting a job at the fucking Magnus Institute, for one. He’d stolen a few things. He’d gotten in trouble a few times. Serious trouble. What if someone had intervened? What if someone had stepped up and set him on the right track? If someone had spoken up, would he have turned out better? Less of a mess?)
(Probably.)
No. Even if he's sympathetic, a couple of kids making bad decisions was not his responsibility. He's not their parent. He's not their caretaker.
……Maybe taking a little peek into the archives wouldn't hurt. Just a little peek. Only to make sure they weren't destroying anything. Nothing else.
He’s only going to scope out the situation. Just scope it out.
Nothing else at all.
Slowly, as silently as possible, Martin slipped on a shirt, stuffed his phone into his pocket, and grabbed a torch from beside his cot. The kids continued chattering, their voices fading in and out as they got closer and further again from document storage.
Christ, they weren’t even trying to be quiet. Martin winced slightly as a brief screech and slamming noise rattled his skull.
Silence again, and more furious whispering he couldn’t make out.
Martin undid the lock, and slowly eased his door open.
Stepping out into the hall, he listened for the intruders again. More inaudible conversation- from the stacks this time.
Martin flipped off his torch. He was only going to observe. He was going to sneak in, check to make sure they weren’t damaging anything, and leave. Anything else wasn’t his responsibility. He’d already learned his lesson about ‘due diligence.” He was perfectly happy with doing the bare minimum, thank you very much.
As he inched closer and closer to the stacks, the voices grew in volume.
“...what her deal was. Not the kinda case we get too often, innit?”
Martin hugged the sides of the doorway as he went through, trying to make his silhouette as small as possible.
“No, I suppose not. Help me put this box back up?”
“Right.”
The second voice sounds a little like Jon. Martin couldn’t help a small smile at the thought. Peering through a small gap between shelved boxes, Martin had a nearly perfect view of the scene in front of him.
Part of Martin questioned what they were doing there. Some students were allowed to source research from the Institute. If they were after something academic, stealing was unnecessary. Something more personal, then. Were they looking into their own encounter? A close friend? Someone’s death?
He wouldn’t get any answers from sitting there and wondering.
They had their own light- an odd, older-style lantern, casting a warm glow on the two teens and the shelving around them.
One had curly hair, cropped close to his head on the sides and longer on top. His back was turned to Martin, but he could see a black jacket and a worn backpack draped on his shoulders. As he moved his head back and forth- to keep an eye out on the other teen, maybe?- Martin could see a glint of metal from his ears. Earrings.
After a moment, he stepped out of the way to survey a different area, giving Martin a more direct view of the other intruder.
It took everything in him not to let out a small laugh at the sight. It wasn’t that the kid looked particularly funny- Martin admired his commitment to the image, really. The combination of how natural he looked in the dusty stacks- an old-timey lantern next to him, flipping through files as if he’d emerged straight from a period piece or Sherlock adaptation, a vest with a matching bow tie tucked into knickerbockers tucked into socks- with how Martin imagined he’d look on the street in the middle of the day- surrounded by friends in T-shirts or school uniforms, normal trendy things kids wore- it was a little bit ridiculous. It was a little funny to him.
“Oi, mate, are you sure it’s even here? This is taking forever, ” groaned Backpack-and-Jacket.
“Yes, quite sure. Your compass of finding pointed directly to this shelf, did it not?” responded Bowtie.
“Are you sure you don’t want me helping?” Backpack sauntered over to Bowtie, laying himself dramatically over the box and draping his arms over Bowtie’s back. “We could basically cut the time we're in this wretched place in half. Half, mate! Half as much time that we have to spend in these dusty-ass rooms. It’s not right here , I’m telling you!”
Bowtie sighed and slowly pushed Backpack until he was standing again, but didn't remove the arm from his shoulders. “ Patience, Charles. Only a bit longer. There isn’t exactly a catalogue I can look up ‘mysterious death locket’ in, is there? I'm more familiar with this case than you, I'd rather do the searching myself than risk you overlooking something and me having to go through again. It's more time-efficient.”
“More time efficient ,” mocked Backpack- Charles? Nevertheless, he moved his arm and resumed his pacing. “Why’s this place in such a state anyways? Aren't spots like this meant to have like- librarians or something, to keep ‘em in shape?” he observed.
“An archivist. And usually, yes. If we had the time, I would just love to have a word with this institute's archivists regarding the filing system- or lack thereof. It’s horrible , I could do a better job in my sleep .” Bowtie, now unhindered, resumed his rummaging. “Not this box. Pass me that one?”
Martin couldn't help it. The image of this kid, so similar to Jon in terms of speech and mannerisms and aesthetic- although he doubted Jon would be caught dead in pants like those- going up to Jonathan Sims and giving him a piece of his mind? He pictured Jon’s hypothetical bewildered expression at Bowtie’s angry ranting. It was enough to make him laugh.
Two heads whipped up at the noise, scanning their surroundings suspiciously.
Shit . He’d gotten too caught up in observing. Martin had completely forgotten the stealth part.
He hunkered down lower behind the bookshelf, hoping Bowtie and Backpack-Charles didn't look too closely.
His eyes were narrowed as removed the bag from his shoulder, reached inside, and brought out-
A cricket bat?
How the fuck had a cricket bat fit into there?
“Oi, mate,” he harshly whispered, “Have you got what you needed yet?”
“Not yet, but it has to be either in this box, or the next.”
Backpack-Charles nodded. “Keep looking, but be ready to run . You hear me? I say the word, you book it. Alright?”
Bowtie seemed to snap out of a trance, returning to thumbing through files with renewed vigour. “Right.”
Backpack-Charles hefted his bat to his shoulder, and started slowly stalking towards the source of the noise- right where Martin happened to be hidden.
He held his breath, crouched as low as he could, closed his eyes, and prayed. Why couldn’t he have just stayed in bed? Why had he felt the need to look into this? It was dark, Backpack had left his lantern with Bowtie, if he just stayed low and quiet, there was a good chance Backpack wouldn’t notice him-
He was getting closer. And closer.
Shit , he thought. Oh shit oh shit oh shit-
Jesus christ . Martin blinked.
What was he doing?
Martin glanced down at himself.
He was twenty-nine years old. A tall twenty-nine year old. Not even two days ago Tim had used the phrase ‘brick shithouse’ to describe him. Sure, he might not have been able to head to the gym in months at that point, probably, but Martin was still built enough to take on two scrawny teens with ease- even one with a cricket bat. If things were gonna go south, they were gonna go south on his own terms.
He waited, and waited, until Backpack was right next to Martin’s shelf- then he moved.
Before Backpack had a chance to react, Martin stood, lunging towards him, and grabbed the wide side of his cricket bat.
Backpack-Charles jumped back with a shout, doubling up his grip on the bat. He began to thrash back and forth, trying to dislodge Martin from it. Martin held strong.
Back to the ‘be a good influence’ plan, then. He didn’t really have any other options anymore. Calm. He needed to stay calm and gentle. He could do this. Teens were famous for being logical and reasonable, right?
“Hey, Charles, right? Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you,” said Martin, trying to keep his voice even. “I’m just making sure nothing’s getting stolen, okay?”
Charles froze. His narrowed eyes flickered between Martin and his friend by the table- who stood still, torn between searching and helping- so quickly that Martin nearly missed it. Both of their grips on the bat remained firm. When Charles finally spoke, it was the lowest Martin had heard it yet.
“Keep looking for the file, mate. I’ll distract the big guy.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bowtie nodded. “Alright. And Charles, he already knows your name. Whatever you do, do not tell him mine. Names have power. We do not know his abilities, he could be dangerous, we-”
Charles cut him off, still staring directly into Martin’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Edwin. I’m not telling him a thing. I’ll handle this, you focus on finding what we need to get out of here.”
Edwin turned from his box to stare incredulously at his partner. “ CHARLES!”
Charles sighed with exasperation. “Oi, WHAT?” He turned his head to look back at Edwin.
"I literally just said-"
Martin saw his chance. He took it.
Before Charles had a chance to return his attention to the man in front of him, Martin wrenched the bat away from him -” Oi! ” “Charles!” - and threw it towards the stack’s door. He heard it clatter to the ground. Holy shit. Martin had not thought that would work.
Charles steps back, glancing between Martin and the bat on the floor as if planning on diving for it. Martin takes a step to the side, planting himself between Charles and the bat. Attempt number two at talking. Right.
Martin raised his hands. He’d probably already failed at the whole ‘ nonthreatening’ thing, but it was worth a shot anyways. “Hey, deep breath, alright? I’m not gonna hurt you or call anyone to get you in trouble, but you also can’t just take our files. Let’s just all calm down and have a chat about this, yeah?”
Charles simply raised his fists in response.
Martin felt like crying. He did not want to fight a kid.
He took half a step back.
“I get that the two of you might be going through something rough. I get that! But stealing’s not gonna help. There are foundations, people who can help, support systems-”
Charles took another step forward. Goddammit. Honestly, Martin wasn’t terribly shocked. This speech wouldn’t have worked too well on him as a teenager either.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re looking into, but there are better ways to go about this, yeah? If you want, you can make a statement, and we’ll be able to- CHRIST!” Martin was only barely able to dodge as a fist came swinging towards his head. “Will you listen to me?”
Charles’ fists came back up. That was a no, then.
Martin glanced over at Edwin, still furiously rifling through a box. If Charles wasn’t willing to talk, maybe he would…?
Charles noticed Martin’s attention straying. He followed Martin’s line of sight, tracing it to where Edwin was quickly working.
His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed.
Martin’s attention returned to Charles just in time to notice his fist swinging directly into his face- connecting with his jaw with a sickening crunch.
Martin stumbled backwards. What the hell? Genuinely? He met eyes with Charles. Charles looked like he was seeing red.
“Nah. No way. Attention on me, big guy. You ain’t going anywhere near him. You gotta go through me first,” he growled.
This was getting very far out of hand, Martin thought. Still, he raised his hands to match Charles'. His jaw ached where he’d been punched. As Charles stepped forwards to swing again, Martin caught him by the arm.
“Oi!” he shouted, struggling to no avail. “Lemme go, you bastard!”
Martin didn’t know what to do now. Talking hadn’t worked. He couldn’t exactly phone the police with no reception and a handful of angry teenager.
Before he had a chance to consider any longer, Edwin piped up from his table.
“ CHARLES! I’ve got it!” he shouted, waving a manila file in the air and madly gesturing to Charles. “ Let’s go! Please!”
Martin’s head whirled back to Edwin.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Charles wrenched himself out of Martin’s grip and ducked around him to dive for his cricket bat, sitting forgotten by the door. He grabbed it with one hand, and used the other to give Martin a cheeky wave as he ran back towards Edwin. He took Edwin by the hand as they ran further into the stacks, the lantern extinguishing as they disappeared into darkness.
Martin fumbled around for his torch, the sharp beam of light momentarily blinding him.
Martin went shelf to shelf, doing a rough sweep of the whole room. Nothing. They must’ve gotten out some other way, he supposed.
He poked at his tender jaw.
He sighed. He was confused- so confused, what had just happened?- but he was exhausted. Answers could wait until tomorrow.
Martin flipped off his flashlight, and started back towards document storage.
…He really wasn’t looking forward to having to report all this to Jon.