Chapter Text
It is remarkable how a little change can completely change the course of one's life.
A little change, such as 8-year-old Jonathan Sims sitting too close to Tony Gerrings in class on a Friday.
Accidentally catching the cold that little snuffly Tony had been desperately hiding so he would be able to go to a sleepover with his friend that weekend, could’ve entirely prevented Jon’s childhood trauma and eventual descent into monsterhood and ending of the world.
This could’ve resulted in Jon being too snuffly to go to the charity shop with his grandmother that weekend, resulting in him not buying a book that ate his childhood bully. If Jonathan Sims had known this, of course, he would not have been crying and screaming between coughs as his Grandmother told him he would have to spend another weekend sitting about the house with nothing to do but wallow in self-pity and boredom.
When Jon was well enough to go to the shop again, it had already been bought by an unsuspecting sleepless single mother whose toddler went missing just a few days after buying the inconspicuous book. They never did find the toddler’s body.
This Jon gained an interest in the supernatural not because of a book that caused an impossible door to open and drag a child into the gaping maws of a hungry spider, but because his girlfriend and closest friend in uni was in love with ghosts, monsters, and mysteries.
Jon ended up taking several classes on parapsychology on top of his degree, simply so he would have classes with her and could keep up with her rants about hauntings.
That Jon joined the Magnus Institute not to research and find answers about the library that ruined his life, but because he was dirt poor and had to find somewhere to work, and he had a cursory enough knowledge of the supernatural that working there would be manageable.
Another thing that could’ve happened was a statement that was never given by Sasha James regarding a small, worn toy rabbit she found on the side of the road at the age of 14.
The rabbit had been grimy, understuffed, and beaten, and Sasha had shrugged and put it on her shelf, where it watched with beady black eyes.
Coincidentally, the very next day, the antique jewelry box she had inherited from her beloved late grandmother broke. And the next, the painting of a sunset her best friend had done for her fell off of her wall and fell into a box of art supplies, where it got covered in acrylic paint and marker and was thoroughly ruined.
Despite this pattern repeating until a complete tragedy happened, resulting in the death of her baby brother, Sasha James remained adamant that it was a complete coincidence. The rabbit had most certainly not been growing larger and cleaner looking with each tragedy, and its beady eyes had not started growing more intelligent and daring when she looked into them.
She even convinced herself that when she burned the rabbit in her backyard, and her bad luck stopped was just a simple correlation v. causation.
When Sasha James burned the most likely completely harmless toy rabbit, she stood a little too close to the flame. This resulted in an ash flying out and landing on her arm, leaving a small
flame-shaped scar on her left forearm. It looked like a simple birthmark to anyone who didn’t know of the story of the greedy rabbit. It was a story that Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute, shouldn’t have known. Unfortunately for this Sasha James, Elias Bouchard was very good at Knowing things he shouldn’t.
When choosing the new Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, the Elias of that universe hesitated only the tiniest bit before choosing Sasha James.
She was nearly a perfect option. She had the qualifications, she had a mark of the Desolation, and she was driven and career-oriented. For a second he considered the woman may be far too clever to be head archivist, as he had learned with Gertrude that cunning was not always a good thing.
But, he had little excuse to himself or anyone else to choose anyone different, so Sasha received the promotion she had been working so hard for and rightly deserved. Sasha James became the Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute, London.
Sasha’s first day in her new position started terribly. Glaring at the old computer in front of her, as though it had wronged her personally, she played the audio file for the statement she had just recorded. It started with a hiss of static and the rapid startup of the fans as the computer struggled to play the file.
The recording was garbled, the only words she could make out were “Statement of-” (static garble) “-Regarding an encounter-” (whining sound like the computer screaming for mercy) “-Original statement given April 22nd, 2012. Audio by Sasha Ja-”. The static then got so bad it nearly deafened her.
She slammed the computer shut, shutting off the noise, and sighed. Normally she was good with computers, but despite her best efforts, she couldn’t find out why the computer refused to record this statement in particular. She put her head in her hands, already nursing a headache, and cursed the cruel world for making her well-fought-for promotion already a nightmare.
“I’m sorry, you haven’t seen a dog, have you?”
Sasha raised her head, hearing the question being said somewhere in the hallway outside her office.
That was... Alarming. She knew she probably shouldn’t eavesdrop, but it was technically her Archives. And if there was a dog there, she had the liberty to do something about it. She blinked, getting up and hesitantly peeking out the door.
She figured out who the question was directed at when she heard Jon’s voice respond. “I-I’m sorry, What?”
going deeper into the hallway she saw the familiar face of Jon, carrying a box of office supplies to his desk, and a tall man who she didn’t recognize.
“A, uh, a dog? A spaniel I think." The man shifted nervously, seeming uncomfortable with the conversation. It probably didn’t help that the guy was a good foot taller than Jon, and had to crane his neck to look down on him.
“Like in general, or...?” Jon asked the man tentatively.
Sasha snorted, and the two of them turned towards her as she stepped out.
“What’s this about a dog in the archives?”
The taller man gaped at her as she took a few steps towards them. Sasha rubbed her temples and laughed at the situation. The taller man ran a hand through his curly hair and laughed too, though he was considerably more nervous sounding.
“Well, we were outside, y’know making friends and-and then, I had to come in, but my hands were full, and y’know, the door is really heavy? So I had to use my foot, and he just sort of-”
Jon interrupted, attempting to glower (he did it remarkably well considering he didn’t clear 5”6).
“Why were you coming into the archives?” Sasha found the attempt at intimidation somewhat funny, but it seemed to scare the nervous man, as he laughed again, glancing at Jon and taking a step back.
Sasha cut in, giving Jon a look she hoped came across as an I can handle this, you don’t need to do my job for me.
“What he means to say is, the archives aren’t open to the public unless you’re here to give a statement.'' Sasha crossed her arms. “In which you need to speak to me, Head Archivist.”
The man sputtered some more and rubbed his neck, and Sasha was beginning to get the vibe the man was less anxious about the specific situation than he was just generally a ball of nerves.
“I, uhm. I’m not really ‘the public?’”
The man managed to get out, swiping a hand through sweaty red hair. Sasha groaned internally. The man didn’t really look like a pompous YouTuber, but she had to deal with enough shitty ghost vloggers trying to break in that she knew the whole schtick and routine. She leveled a glare but tried to keep her tone cordial and polite.
“Look, if you're some ‘paranormal influencer’, feel free to get access to our resources through our website or by talking to the research department. Otherwise, I’m going to have to tell you to get out.” The man straightened up at her tired but stern demand.
“Oh, uhm, no. Martin Blackwood? Mr. Bouchard said I’d be working in the archives.” The man, Martin, held out his hand for her to shake. She frowned curiously but did shake his, admittedly very sweaty, hand.
“Elias didn’t tell me you would be working here. Sasha James, Head Archivist. And your boss, I guess.” she stated, letting go of his hand.
“I think he said he sent an email? Maybe he forgot about it, he’s a, uh, little bad with technology." Martin said, then turned towards Jon, extending his hand to him as well. “You're... Timothy Stoker, right?”
Jon blinked at him and put the box he had been holding down on the floor so he could put his hands on his hips. “What? No. Jonathan Sims.” Martin’s eyes widened, some sort of realization coming to him before he laughed nervously.
“Oh, uhm, right. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.” he left his hand extended for a second longer, and Jon glanced at it, before looking back at Martin, eyebrows raised in purposeful defiance. Martin took the cue and just wiped the hand on the leg of his pants.
A crashing sound came from inside the archives, and Martin flinched guiltily. Oh right, the dog. Sasha thought idly. How had Martin managed to get a dog into the archives? Sasha cursed. Her first day in the archives, and she was going to get fired. Because of a dog.
She started walking towards the door, prepared to fling it open and find whatever mess the dog had made in there before she heard an obnoxious and familiar voice call out from the stairs.
“Doggy Delivery Service!”
Tim clambered down, holding a slightly wriggling Springer Spaniel in his arms. He smiled broadly, his bright red Hawaiian shirt covered in dog fur, as he displayed the dog proudly. Sasha grinned and the group moved towards him.
“Found this little bugger trying to make his way upstairs! Caught him on his way up, though I'm regretting not letting him storm his way up and ruin Douchard’s office.” he laughed as the dog licked his face. Tim noticed Martin and readjusted the dog so it sat with its paws on his right shoulder.
“Oh! Bossman didn’t mention another assistant. You're Martin, from Library, right?”
Martin nodded and Tim tipped his non-existent hat to him. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tim. This-” he gestured to Sasha as much as he was able with a wiggling ball of fluff in his arms. “Is our lovely Boss-Lady tasked with the holy duty of organizing this mess. And this-'' He readjusted again and gestured to Jon.
“Is Lord Grumpypants, tasked with the holy duty of being a massive party pooper,” Jon answered with a scowl that Sasha felt just proved Tim’s point.
Tim grinned back at him and leaned over, pressing the dog up to Jon’s face where it lovingly drooled all over his glasses. Jon leaned back slightly but accepted his fate with a sigh and gave the energetic puppy a scratch behind the ears, much to the beast’s delight. Tim carried the dog to Sasha and Martin as well, each giving the dog a scratch on the head before Tim took it to the door and released it back outside.
Sasha watched as he went, turning back around as she heard a creak as the door to the archives opened. She saw Jon peering in curiously.
Sasha frowned and headed over to him, peeking in as well.
It was a disorganized mess of boxes and shelves filled with loose pieces of paper. It looked like half of the papers had just been thrown on the floor or into piles without a second thought. Sasha groaned when she saw one of the shelves in the back had gotten knocked over, presumably being the source of the crashing noise earlier. “Eurgh, this place is a mess.” Martin declared, wrinkling his nose.
Sasha felt Tim peek his head through her shoulder as they all gazed in. Jon let out a little disbelieving laugh. “You can say that again. But what knocked over that shelf?”
Tim smirked. “Maybe it was Joe Spooky, the legendary ghost of the last Archivist who disappeared under mysterious circumstances and has come back to haunt the archives.” Sasha batted at his head and he laughed as she stepped back and closed the door.
“You do realize the last Head Archivist did disappear under mysterious circumstances, right?” Martin said with an amused smile. Jon stiffened and immediately looked at Martin.
“Excuse me, what?” Jon’s surprise was mirrored by Sasha and Tim, and they both gaped at him slightly.
Martin furrowed his brow. “Did you guys not know that?” He was met with a chorus of concerned denials.
“Well, the last Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson, apparently was declared missing when her desk was found empty but covered in blood. No body was ever found, but there was enough blood on the desk that if it was all hers, she wouldn’t have been able to survive. She didn’t have any assistants at the time, and apparently, nobody was seen entering or leaving the archives besides her.” He chuckled.
“Bit of a fun mystery. They closed the case a few weeks ago, which is why I guess they finally got a new Head Archivist.”
The crew stayed silent for a few seconds, looking at Martin with varying degrees of horror, concern, and fascination. Martin rubbed his neck, looking away from the people staring at him. Sasha let out a breath of air and rubbed her eyes underneath her round glasses.
“Well, good to know, I guess? Honestly, it makes sense this place has some ‘horror story disappearance’. Can’t get too comfortable, can we?”
Tim grabbed her shoulder and shook it. “Don’t worry, boss-lady! We’ll be sure to protect you from The Horrors. We’ll be the best ghost-hunting team you can ask for!” He smiled at her, and Sasha could tell he was trying to lighten the mood after that grim discovery.
It seemed to work, as Jon let out an aggravated snort and went to pick up his box again. “We are not ghost hunters, we are paranormal researchers. We do not hunt, we research.” he huffed, before putting the box on his desk, opening it to find the package of plastic spiders Tim had snuck into the archives.
The annoyed face Jon gave Tim at the discovery made him look like an incredulous cat, and Sasha laughed at the expression. Martin joined in, laughing quietly, as the crew continued down the hallway to put the supplies they had brought down away. Jon stopped as everyone else continued to steal another glance at the steel archives door, before hurrying down to set up his desk with the rest of his coworkers.
When Jonathan Sims woke up, that in itself was a miracle.
Jon had hoped he would be able to survive the destruction of the panopticon, but it was certainly surprising it had actually worked.
What was that phrase, “Hope for the best, expect the worst, then you’ll never be disappointed,”? Jon had expected the worst when he felt himself die after Martin plunged the knife into his chest, but he couldn’t really take that as confirmation of anything, as it was not the first time he had died.
The pain that was wracking its way through Jon’s body almost made him wish he hadn’t woken up at all. His muscles were sore and his head was filled with blinding pain. He could feel his head resting on cold concrete, his body curled in on itself. He could feel Martin’s warm presence and soft breath next to him as he slowly pushed himself up off of the floor, muscles screaming. He blinked and wiped the bleariness from his eyes as his surroundings came into focus.
He audibly sighed when he saw that they had emerged in the familiar eyesore known as the Archives of the Magnus Institute. It looked significantly different than how it had looked the last time he had seen it. It was messy and disorganized, with papers strewn everywhere. He even seemed to be lying in a few of them as he twisted himself into a sitting position and rubbed his face. It almost looked like...
Ah, shit.
It looked exactly the way it had when they had first started organizing the Archives, right after Gertrude had died. He could even spot some of the old statement piles he had spent hours going through before he had gone on the run.
The part of his mind that was still an academic huffed about how all of the hard work he had put into organizing the place seemed to have been completely undone. The other, much more sensible part of his brain, began panicking at being directly in the heart of the institute.
The Institute that was supposed to be destroyed.
He took a few deep breaths and looked over to Martin beside him. He was still unconscious, his face peaceful as he breathed out small puffs of mist steadily, his hand gripping the bloody knife that he had put into Jon's heart just a few minutes before.
Oh right, Jon remembered idly, his brain too hazy to process the real importance of the thought. That did happen.
He looked down at his chest, expecting to find a gory stab wound oozing blood, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t. His shirt was covered in blood and did have a fairly large hole right by his heart, but he could see that the wound over his heart had healed completely. Paid to be an eldritch monster sometimes.
Jon leaned back against a shelf right behind him, taking a few breaths in and out and running his hand through Martin’s hair beside him. He looked around, trying to gather information on his surroundings, when he heard the muffled voices coming from the offices right outside the archives.
“I’m sorry, you haven’t seen a dog around here, have you?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Jon tensed at the sound of his and Martin’s voices coming from the other side of the door. He attempted to slow his breathing and strain his ears so he could listen to the conversation, and leaned towards the wall. He remembered this conversation and had it practically memorized like it was a script.
“Uh, a dog? A spaniel, I think.”
“Like in general, or...?”
Jon internally groaned from reliving the stupid comment. It seemed that every version of him was cursed with the social skills of a turtle. Since it seemed like it was an exact reenactment of his and Martin’s first day in the archives, he gathered that they had gotten sucked into some alternate dimension that had lagged time-wise somehow.
“I’m sorry, what’s this about a dog in the archives?”
The unfamiliar female voice started Jon, and at his movement, Martin groaned next to him and curled in a bit. Seemed like even if the beginning of the conversation was familiar, there was someone else there, who hadn’t been there in their universe.
Jon repositioned and began to gently shake Martin awake, leading him to groan more and bat Jon’s hand away as he pushed himself up. He ran a hand up his face and into his white curls, pushing it back and wrinkling his nose. It was evident by the cloudy look in his eyes he had the same pounding headache Jon did.
“Jon, where are we?” Martin asked before Jon pressed a silent finger to his lips. Martin fell quiet and Jon gestured to his ear, trying to signal him to be quiet and listen. Martin tilted his head but seemed to be able to hear the voices coming from the hall.
“Well, we were outside, y’know making friends and-and then, I had to come in, but my hands were full, and y’know, the door is really heavy? So I had to use my foot, and he just sort of-”
The voice was soft, but Jon could see Martin recognized it as his own immediately and let out a silent curse.
“Why were you coming into the Archives?”
The Past-Jon’s no-nonsense voice rang out, clearer than Past-Martin’s quiet stutter.
Jon’s Martin let out a quiet scoff. “Time travel, Really?” Jon gestured again for Martin to listen when the female voice started again.
“What he means to say is, the Archives aren’t open to the public unless you’re here to give a statement.'' Martin tilted his head in confusion and Jon shrugged.
The voice sounded barely familiar, the memory just brushing on the edge of his mind. Frustrated, he tried to recall the information and was met with the familiar but overwhelming force of the Beholding force feeding him the information.
The voice belongs to Sasha James.
Fuck. He had only heard her voice over tape recording, but as soon as he came to the realization The Heholding began to push more information into his brain.
The floor is made of Live Oak wood
The man who cut down the tree to make the wooden floor is dead.
His only surviving descendant is currently living in New York, attempting a career as a Broadway star.
New Zealand was the last country in the world to be discovered and settled by humankind.
The alcohol content of vodka is around 40%
He almost fell back down onto the floor from the flood of information, but he felt Martin’s warm hands catch him.
“What was that?” Martin hissed. Jon laughed softly. “I guess we know the Beholding is still plenty strong in this universe as well.” Martin looked over at him with concern, and Jon clarified the statement.
“I don’t think we came through at the same time as the fears. They’re still plenty strong here, but they’re still the ones from our universe. We just entered at different times I guess? We’re still bonded to them at least. The bond still feels... different, but it's there.”
Jon scratched his head. His connection to the beholding felt more natural than it had before, less of an oppressive force. He couldn’t focus on the stream of knowledge going through his head, but it didn’t hurt.
Jon squeaked as Martin gathered him up in his arms and pulled him close into a smothering hug. Martin buried his face into Jon's shoulder and Jon wrapped his arms around him in turn.
“You are such an idiot.” Martin’s voice was muffled from Jon’s shoulder, and Jon felt himself smile from the massive understatement.
“I know. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But, we have to get out of here.” Jon whispered, and Martin unburied his head and held him at arm's length. His face was twisted in a mixture of sorrow and relief, and Jon bit his lip and went to stand.
His legs were much wobblier than he thought they were going to be, and as he and Martin helped each other up off the floor his legs gave out. There was a crash as the shelf he had leaned up against fell over. He heard the chattering voices outside fall silent, and the two men froze.
Jon really did not want to answer questions from the alternate versions of themselves, and considering his paranoia spiral after Gertrude’s body was discovered, he would’ve bet money his past self would have tried to kill him immediately, even with the others there to possibly prevent it.
Especially with the others there. Jon thought with a grimace, remembering Tim’s less-than-positive past experience with The Circus. He would be lucky if it was his past self who tried to kill him, he most likely would immediately get his throat slit by Tim if he thought he was a member of The Stranger.
“Doggy Delivery!”
The silence was broken by the potentially violent man himself, and Jon silently thanked the man for preventing them from having to answer far too many questions far too soon. With the cover of the Archival crew chatting and introducing themselves, the two crept to where they knew the trapdoor into the tunnels was located. They moved slowly and deliberately, not wanting to alert the others of their presence.
When they heard the door creak open and the Alternate Archival Crew peeked their heads inside, the two ducked behind a shelf and tried desperately to quiet their breathing.
“Eurgh, this place is a mess.” The Martin by the door declared. Jon pushed himself into the shadows a bit more, silently cursing the Beholding for not giving him any kind of stealthing abilities.
He only let himself relax when the door closed, and he and Martin stayed quiet for a few seconds, the only sound of their muffled breathing and the slowly growing quieter voices muffled through the door before they rushed to the trapdoor. He barely even noticed the fact that he had quite obviously been trailing blood to the trapdoor, ruining several statements.
Eh, it's fine. Jon told himself
They may not have had a key, but Martin was able to relatively easily break the lock. As Jon stepped into the tunnels, he felt the sensation of his connection to the beholding being muffled, though it was much more manageable than how it had been during the apocalypse. It was a bit like squeezing into tight jeans or getting water in your ears, uncomfortable and disorienting, but not painful.
As soon as they both got down from the ladder, Martin immediately turned to Jon, his pale blue eyes alight.
“Alright, what do you Know about what’s happening? We need to put everything with the panopticon- which I am still mad at you about, by the way -aside until we have a game plan and at least a basic grip on what’s happening.” He whispered.
Jon dusted his pants off and explained “Well, we are in an alternate reality. It seems like the time is a bit off between realities, so we entered on the first day in the archives.”
“Well, I can guess that much. Seems almost exactly like our first day,” Martin huffed. “Except it was different. Who was that woman we heard?” Jon made a sharp inhale.
“That was... That was Sasha. The real one.”
“Oh.”
Martin fell silent. Jon laced their hands together and rubbed a few circles into his palm, and he let out a weak laugh. “I’ve only ever heard her voice on the tape... no wonder I didn’t recognize it.” He let out another weak laugh. “I feel bad. We worked together for a year, but I don’t even remember what she looked like.” Jon nodded and Martin leaned into him.
He still felt guilty for not noticing Sasha was replaced sooner, even though he knew it was directly in the Not-Them’s nature to trick. He at least felt like he should have noticed something was off, and maybe if he had actually been a good boss and paid attention he could have even done something. He knew it was stupid to linger on past regrets, but it was so tempting to fall down the rabbit hole of what-ifs and I could’ves.
Maybe there was an alternate universe where Sasha hadn’t gotten stuck in Artefact Storage and eaten, maybe there was an Alternate Universe where nothing bad ever happened to them all and they all got a happy ending. But they weren’t there right now, and they had to do something. Jon breathed in shakily.
“We’re in a different universe. I can’t See what the exact changes are right now, but when we get out of the tunnels I should be able to Find it. For now, we should focus on getting out of the tunnels and to somewhere safe. There are a few exits on the upper levels, we should be able to find one if we keep walking.”
Martin nodded and they began walking through the tunnels. They had to lean on each other for support, the travel between realities having left them both sore and tired. Jon could feel the waves of tiredness trying to pull him into unconsciousness, but he fought against them.
“What about our game plan in general? I think we should try and get back to our reality, but I’m not sure how we can do that. I mean, there’s Hilltop Road, but I don’t know if going through
there is particularly... safe? I mean, there's no guarantee we don’t just get thrown into a random reality or stuck somewhere in between here and there. Not to mention, we don’t know if our being here is going to cause any sort of repercussions.”
Jon blinked. “Repercussions?”
“Oh yeah,” Martin explained. “You know how in a lot of sci-fi stories the time travel is always sort of unstable? Maybe our being here might cause some sort of weird interference with the universe. It’s been a bit, but did you watch Mr. Peabody and Sherman?”
“I sincerely doubt Mr. Peabody and Sherman is an accurate portrayal of time travel.” Jon laughed, raising his eyebrows playfully at Martin.
Martin pouted. “Well, it’s been a bit since I watched it, but didn’t they have some sort of weirdo-combining thing happen when the two Shermans got close? I’m just saying that if we interact with our alternate selves...”
“It might cause some sort of anomaly.” Jon finished for him. Martin gave him a triumphant look and he sighed. “Yes, I guess you're right. We should avoid interacting with our doppelgangers until we Know more.”
They walked in silence for a bit longer, before Martin spoke up again. “You said that this place has the same Entities we did, but they emerged before we got here. Do you know any more about that?”
“Out of what I was able to get from when I connected to the Eye in the archives, they emerged a few hundred years ago, right about Jonah’s time.” Martin frowned at the mention of the asshole who had ruined their lives.
“I think the Magnus Institute in this universe was made to research their emergence just as much as their behaviors. If the Entities were different, our connection to the Eye and yours to the Lonely would’ve been severed. They seem to have been... molded to fit this world, but they remember us.”
“Yeah, but if they emerged a few hundred years ago, why didn’t we come here at the same time?” Martin asked. Jon rubbed his brow, trying to push on his muffled connection to the Ceaseless Watcher and Know, but it just flared up his headache again.
“My best guess is that we had some sort of... Delay? Maybe a human is more complicated to transport than a being that is barely more than a concept. Maybe something happened that summoned us here. Maybe we got stuck in interdimensional traffic. I’m not sure, and I doubt the Eye has any more insight to give on it. It seems to be a bit less reliable coming to any sort of reality-focused topic.”
Martin grunted thoughtfully in response, and they walked in silence for a bit longer. Jon directed him down one of the corridors, recognizing it vaguely as being the way to the exit from his attempts to map it.
“I figure since we’re still connected to the eye we’re still bound to Jonah as well?” Martin observed. Jon grimaced and nodded in response, and Martin sighed. “Figures. Kill him and stop the end of the world and we’re still bound to the bastard. Wish I could go up and stab him myself if I didn’t know it’d kill us both and everyone else in the Institute to do so.”
Jon chuckled. “Trust me, it was not as satisfying as you may think.”
Martin raised his eyebrows. “Really?” they continued down the tunnel like that, making remarks
and bantering through exhaustion.