Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

***

“Are you sure about this?” 

“... No.” Jon admitted. “But I love you.”

“... I love you too.” Martin said, readying the blade. 

For what could very well be the last words the two may exchange, Jon felt they were … far more than adequate. They were more than he could hope for. It was indisputably and quite literally, the most beautiful thing Jon could hear in all the world at that moment with his All Seeing Gaze. 

For Martin, they were the words he’d been hoping to hear a long, long time. He was ready. They both were. 

The knife stuck true and the tether snapped- and ricocheted across space and time. 

In the chaos between now and then, with a laugh, a spider tugged a few threads and changed their trajectory. 

***

From one blink to the next Jon was standing in the Panopticon at the End of the World, and then sitting at a large desk in a familiar office he didn’t immediately recognize due to the startling incongruity of location. From looking at Martin’s resolute face, to staring down an open Excel Spreadsheet. From Seeing All, to narrowing to seeing what was right in front of him - though he could still sense that Watchful presence that would allow him to send his Sight elsewhere or tug out Knowledge should he Ask. 

The blink between the states seemed to have lasted both a paradoxical instant and unyielding infinity. A timeless feeling that was not unfamiliar in the Apocalypse but never so pronounced or overt in its presentation of time is not real. Which made it all the more jarring for time to get back on its regularly scheduled … schedule. 

For the first time since the words that had damned the world were spoken, time ticked on.

Jon needed a moment to recover from tonal whiplash. He was prepared to die. Had expected it, even. 

Theorizing they might land Somewhere Else before being stabbed, and holding out hope for it were two entirely different beasts. Conjecture did not necessarily equate to belief. 

If this really was Somewhere Else, he needed to Know. ‘… where am I?’ He Asked in habit before he could focus too deeply on his surroundings to figure it out himself. Beholding answers. 

The Magnus Institute, Head Office, London.  

Jon goes still, now placing the familiarity of the room and feeling nervous. He wasn’t used to seeing it from this side - aside from the few times he had broken in to snoop through the drawers for incriminating evidence, or stolen the key to the tunnels that he made a copy of - so he hadn’t placed it immediately. Even then, he had never sat in Jonah’s chair before - there was no reason to … even if it looked comfortable. Which, he now knows his assessment was correct. 

‘… Why am I sitting at Jonah’s desk?’ Jon Asked, not able to figure it out even after a few seconds of staring at spreadsheets. Or maybe it was a full minute. Time was hard. 

The Archivist is Jonah’s Eye’s. 

Jon flinched at the Knowledge as if someone had been aiming to clock him in the nose. 

‘What does that mean?’ Jon practically whines in his head at Beholding. Already Knowing exactly what it meant, but not wanting to believe it. Beholdings Knowledge going deeper than a mere five words, yet delivered just as succinctly.

The Archivist is Jonah’s Eye’s. 

His hand slowly went up to his - Jonah’s - eyes but fell short of obstructing his view completely; whether to cover them in despair or poke them in morbid curiosity, he didn't know. The repeated Answer continued to feed the crawling dread of something being profoundly wrong that settled somewhere between his stomach and large intestine. Instead he gripped his hair which was not the right length, with a hand that wasn’t scared and not filled with desolate phantom pain. The dread did a flip.

‘Literally …?’ He Asked again.

Even his internal voice went up a notch, trying once more for denial that he was somehow possessing Jonah Magnus’s fucking eyeballs and situated in Elias Bouchards sockets pupeting Elias's body . 

The Archivist is literally Jonah’s Eye’s. 

… Fuck. ‘Is Jonah alive…? In here?’ He Asked with trepidation.

‘In here’ referred to Elia’s head because oh god Jon’s not in his own body. It is slowly sinking in. It was not a good feeling. Hello dysphoria, you were not invited, go away; it didn’t. 

Jon was trying not to, heh, spiral , and still not quite processing it all. Sure, Jon had just stabbed Jonah at the Panopticon, but he was now apparently the man's eyeballs he felt a need to double check and Know. His impulse to a situation in which he was out of control or overwhelmed had always been to ask well before he could Ask. 

And it seemed pertinent information to have. He really did not want to be sharing a headspace with a 200 year old body hoping, evil eldritch eyeball entity serving manipulative bastard hell bent on world domination. 

Jonah’s consciousness is dead. Jonah’s Eye’s live. Jonah’s memories are accessible as Statements for Archiving. 

Jon was almost surprised the Beholding was willing to part with good news. Then again, Beholding only withheld relieving information when it's (and by extension Jon’s) need for Fear was left unsatisfied and Jon had just come from the Apocalypse. 

And now that he Knew they were there, he could feel the Statements right there, like loose leafs of paper scattered upon the floor if he looked for them. Uncategorized. That small craving whispering at the back of his head to put it to paper, speak them to words, put them in their place. But Jon held off. He didn't need it. Hopefully never will. 

Even if it was annoying. Like a single book being a different size right in the middle of an organized shelf. Eye catching and an eyesore all the same. Paradoxically there and not there. 

He also would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about the contents of the Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding - … he gently shoved the thought away, like turning down a smoke. He’s never exactly had the best track record with addiction, but he managed it. Not that addiction was entirely accurate when fear sustained him after he made the choice to wake up from that coma. 

Jon remembered when it was typical of pre-apocalypse Eye to withhold information to make him anxious. Feed your Patron or it will feed on you and all that. All too eager to provide unsettling information without context, and withholding Answers when not Knowing would be more upsetting. Both the Fear of knowing too much and the Fear of not knowing enough. 

The new control was … admittedly nice. Not unpredictable like before, yet not the constant increasing info dump of terror of the Apocalypse - that in itself was enough to confirm to Jon that they had done … something; that they were not in the Apocalypse. It was exciting even, having that choice. He could choose not to Know. Let him figure things out in satisfying steps. Because when one is All Knowing there is no more joy in solving a mystery, as all mysteries come presolved. It was sad.

Very sad. 

Personally, and generally, and intrinsically sad . Knowing All, and Knowing that all was Fear, quite literally. Without the words to explain, nor a positive reprieve or solution in Sight for anyone. Not himself, not for Martin, not his acquaintances, no one . It was all just so … very sad. He couldn’t even keep his memories of Upton House, and he suspected more of his life than he cares to think about. Had his life always been so full of fear? Of Fear? He couldn’t remember what he wanted to do with his life before becoming the Archivist long before the Apocalypse. 

And now … here he was. Jonah's office. Sat in front of Jonah's precious spreadsheets. Jon debated messing with them out of petty vengeance. Jonah wasn't Watching, he was dead - Jon replaced him. However, did that mean he would need to act as Institute Head and he would have need for the spreadsheets? But why would he need to act the part with no one Watching, aside from himself, and the Eye? Would it be necessary to keep up an act or could he just … do whatever? He wasn't qualified to run the Archives, let alone the Institute as a whole. 

Beholding left Jon's hypotheticals on read. Jon wasn't a quality planner and neither was the Eye. Mainly he just really really wanted something to take his mind off the serious ramifications of what he is right now for just a little longer. It was quite the shock. And it was very hard not letting it take up all of his thoughts and leave him panicking. 

So Jon focused on his debate for and against spreadsheet sabotage long enough for the box of a computer's screen to darken. A face that was not his own stared back, with Eyes that belonged to neither body, nor resident. 

He scowled at it, that face he hated, and the reflection scowled back - because that's what a reflection is meant to do when not influenced by Fear. Even still, it was a new expression on Jonah- Elias's face. Jonah had never quite conveyed such a level of disdain for Jon before. Not openly to his face that is. Seeing the expression on the reflection was unnerving and upsetting. 

He scowled harder. 

‘Who pissed in your cheerios?’ Came a bitter and darkly amused voice, startling Jon. ‘ I'd like to give them a medal.’

Jon's expression of surprise was glimpsed for just a moment on the screen before his eyes were roving the office for a threat. He knew that voice, but that was impossible - he was dead - Beholding had told him he was dead . 

Jonah. was. dead.

“Who are you?” Jon Asked, practically demanded. Though the room was empty, there came an Answer. 

‘Elias Bouchard.’ The voice, Elias said simply. Confused and cautious he added quietly. ‘ What the fuck…’  

Jon turned slowly back to the monitor, bafflement on the face as clear as in Elias's tone. Though the expression was all Jon's - minus the face it's packaged on. He shuddered. This was very Stranger territory and he was, to put it mildly, not a fan. 

“... Elias?” Jon asked, disquieted. 

Jon mentally poked around his brain. He felt his connection to the Eye, felt the edges between him and it, the unarchived Statements of Jonah Magnus still rattling around, being a nuisance even after death, and moved on looking for what he both fears and suspects he will find. 

He Knew the moment he found him. It was like with Beholding, only much much smaller, as if trying to hide. Where Beholding was a grand door willing to fly open at the slightest jostle and flood his head with Knowledge, this door was not only trying to weld itself shut, but was shrunk to the size of a cat door. 

Jon gave a tentative, curious poke. The cat door held firm, but Jon wasn't trying to break in. Continuing with the cat door analogy, it practically hissed at him to go away. 

‘Back off, dickwad .’ It was Elias’s voice. The real Elias and not Jonah speaking in his voice. 

Jon could hear the fear behind the scathing demand. Like he knew it was only a matter of time before his defenses broke. Like he expected it. And by the sounds of it, he did not expect what would happen next to be pleasant. 

Jon winced. The dread knot in his gut tightening at the implications. Jon did not apply more pressure to the little door, but he did not leave it. 

‘… Elias? Is that uh … you?’

There was a tense, confused pause as Jon's inner voice did not match that of Jonah, though it kept the low latent static quality he was used to hearing from the tapes. 

‘What. The fuck.’ Elias said again, more emphatically. 

Jon leaned back in Jonah’s chair in surprised contemplation. He couldn't agree more with Elias. What the fuck, indeed. That summed things up quite succinctly. He was also very glad he did not need to resort to verbally communicating with the voice in his head. His mouth was rather dry suddenly. 

‘Took the words right out of my mouth. Er, your mouth?’ Jon sighed. In an endeavor to get foot out of said mouth Jon tried to give the good news. His tired reflection stared back. ‘ At least Jonah is dead? I'm just … here now instead. An unexpected development I very much did not account for, being as I expected to be dead. I never knew you were still alive.’  

The following silence continues to be tense and Jon's mouth continues to be dry. Or, technically speaking, Elias's mouth. Yeah, no . Jon's just gonna call it his own from now on so he isn't glaringly reminded that it is, in fact not. A self soothing lie for simplicity and sanity. But an acknowledged lie, nonetheless. 

There was a glass of water on Jonah's desk, and Jon took a nervous drink, not looking at his unscarred hands that are not his. Also not thinking about how Jonah could have very well already drank from the cup. It was the same mouth, but Jon would still rather not know. 

One thing is for sure, the silence has dragged out and Jon wants to scream. He settles for dying a little inside, as per his usual alternative. Jon also refrained from continually mentally poking Elias' mental door like road kill in the hopes of gleaming what the previously thought dead man was thinking. He almost thought he had imagined the encounter had the mental door not still been there. 

Finally, Elias speaks. 

‘Well since you aren't Jonah and are presumably a really nice guy and not evil at all … ‘ He said something sarcastic. ‘ do you mind giving me back my fucking body!?’

‘…Can I even give him control back?’ Jon Asks the other presence in his head. 

Beholding is silent. 

‘… I uh … wouldn't Know how. The Beholding didn't give confirmation or denial so I would solidly say it falls under Unknown.’

‘Fucking hell you're another Eye Guy. Should have known.’ He practically sneered. ‘ Well if you can't or won't give me my body back and you aren't gonna scramble my psych, I'm going back to hanging out silently in my corner and trying not to think about a new driver behind the wheels of my body meat mech who still isn't me . Goodbye Eye Guy.’ He then carefully delivered the next lines for maximum levels of ominous and displeasure. ‘ I will be watching, and I will be judging.’  

Well, Elias certainly has already metaphorically stabbed Jon right in the social anxiety he used to mask behind anger. And using unsettling phrasing. Meat mech? Jon shudders. Already Jon has no idea what to do with his hands and is feeling self conscious of every little move in the comfy chair, shoulders tense. 

The sass on this man is impressive as it is grating. Jon can already tell Elias is probably going to be a menace. And Jon can't exactly fault it considering his previous … headmate? If Jon had Jonah living in his head, he probably would have ended up spiteful and feral. The image of Elias doing the same to Jonah was, admittedly, amusing; until he remembered the reaction to finding Elias’s mental door. Jon’s shoulders dropped. 

Jon has come to the conclusion that Elias is valid in what little expression of freedom he can manage as a voice trapped in his own head. Even if it is choosing to be an annoying asshole. Jon had experience with annoying assholes - namely, himself. 

And so, despite his nerves, anger and disquiet, Jon introduces himself. He really didn’t want to be referred to as Eye Guy forever. 

‘… Jon.’  

‘What?’ Elias asked in a cautious annoyed tone.

‘My name. Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Whether or not you use it … or not… you deserve to know the name of the person you're stuck with.’ 

‘… Noted, Eye Guy .’  

Jon tisked, but decided to leave it, burying his head in his arms with a sigh, eyes half lidded. Now what? Jon is categorically terrible at plans. Martin always was the better planner. He wished he could just ask Martin- 

“Wait- Martin!” Jon stood suddenly, hands pressed to the desk. 

He was just with him at the Panopticon. Surely, he came back too?

‘Where is my Martin?’  

Martin is in the Archives.  

Oh thank the Admiral.

***

One second Martin is stabbing his omniscient boyfriend to expel the Fear Apocalypse from the world, the next he’s in said boyfriend's basement office in the Archives at the Magnus Institute. Another blink and Martin processes that his finger is depressing the stop button on a recorder. His other hand is holding the pages of a Statement and its follow up. 

That was not his hands. Scarred and tanned, Martin was familiar with the hands, but they were not his. He had spent most of the Apocalypse wanting to hold them. Maybe he wouldn’t have been left behind in so many Lonely domains had he had that courage. Still, the hands were not as scarred as he remembered from mere moments ago. No burn in the shape of a hand print courtesy of Jude. And the ones from Prentiss’s worms there were not as old. 

It wasn’t only the hand that wasn’t his. Martin shifted, uncomfortable, and felt a twinge of pain in his shoulder. He looked to see bandages. They covered where Jon had been stabbed by Micheal. Though when it had happened, Jon had claimed - unconvincingly - to have gotten himself with a bread knife. 

O… kay. If this was a domain, it was a weird one. Though Martin wasn’t sure what kind of niche fear ending up in your boyfriend's body was. Wasn’t there even bodyswap soulmate fanfiction tropes about that? Martin blushed and shoved the thought of soulmates away. But if Martin was in Jon’s body, the reverse could be true, right? It would be logical. Otherwise if Jon wasn’t here …

Martin's expression hardened as the image from a moment before flashed across his brain. 

He needed to figure out what happened and where he was. 

Martin tentatively leafed through the pages to see what was just supposedly recorded - he didn’t trust it wouldn’t spontaneously turn into snakes or something. He couldn’t trust anything ever since the Apocalypse; not even tea. 

Stabbing Jon was meant to end it, but he wasn’t here at the moment to just Know that and tell Martin if it worked. For all he knew they were sent to different domains or … regardless, Martin needed to be proactive. Investigate. And on the off chance this was Somewhere Else, he should try to blend in. 

Martin put the papers in order and read.

Case #0100325 Statement of Andrea Nunis, regarding a series of encounters in the streets of Genoa, Italy. 

He remembered this one from the follow up. It was concerning how many people went missing when traveling alone all the time - and now that he knew what he did, he had an idea why. Lonely travelers, Lonelier fog. 

Martin looked at Jons unburnt hand and flexed it, remembering the fresh stab wound as well. A thought crossed his mind and he booted up Jons work laptop. He didn’t know the password but he didn’t need to - the information he wanted showed even on the locked screen. 

12:57 pm. 9th October 2016. 

Martin hadn’t just moved in space and body - but in time . After Prentiss and Micheal, but before Jude - before Jurgans murder, as Jon was at work. Right in the middle of when Jon had been stalking them in paranoia. After Sasha … shit, Sasha. Not -Sasha. 

He now definitely needed to be cautious. Sure, this could be an alternate dimension where things are similar but different, or a Fear Domain messing with him, but Martin has decided to act on the assumption that what he’s seeing is real, and similar enough to his memories. He needed to tread very, very carefully. 

Jonah bloody Magnus wasn’t dead. And until he is, the threat of another apocalypse was possible. 

‘Would stabbing Jonah’s eyes out work?’ He wondered. Get the jump on him, as it were. 

Walking into Jonah’s office with a pointy object wouldn’t exactly be subtle. Martin shook his head and decided to hold out on his murder plan. For now. Just until he had a better one. Martin took steadying breaths. Besides, he needed to confirm whether or not Jon was here first, whether the Apocalypse really ended in time travel, all without alerting Jonah.

Fuck. 

He didn’t want to do this alone. 

***

Chapter Text

***

Martin listened to the tail end of the just recorded tape, hoping for there to be one of Jon’s supplementals to get a better idea of his headspace. It was weird Jon wouldn’t just use separate tapes - they were basically diary entries if Martin thought about it. 

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to listen.

It confirmed Jon was in fact, stalking his coworkers at this point. Elias had called Jon to his office and Jon had recorded the meeting about it. Past Martin, Tim and Sasha gave a complaint which … he couldn’t recall if Not-Sasha put in a complaint. The Not-Them being something that ate peoples identities and replaced them, maybe it didn’t care. It was one of the reasons the paranoia got so bad after all, feeding off the fear it caused. 

And then recording Jon went on to complain that a new Artifact Storage hire kept bugging him for any Statements that might be about cursed Artifacts for research, despite the lack of Archive organization. Jon, predictably, complained about the lack of organization and Gertrude letting the place get so bad.  

Martin didn’t remember anyone like that. So either things were a little different, or Martin and Nathan Sanders from Artifact Storage just kept missing each other. 

Martin's eyebrows rose when Jon got to the part where he mentioned Michael hinted not to trust Nathan. Jon dismissed the warning about Nathan as just being an overly curious conspiracy nut with a boring past, and not even having been around when Gertrude was murdered. 

Even though it came from It Is Lies, Martin decided to make a mental note of Michaels warning. Maybe it was nothing and Nathan would quit - Artifact Storage did have a high turnover (and death) rate - and that’s why he never heard of this the first time, or maybe not. Maybe there were more or different threats in this timeline. Something to think on later. He needed to focus on what he could confirm first. 

Martin took a few minutes organizing Jon’s desk, trying to think of a way to discreetly ask his younger self if he was possessed by his boyfriend. Preferably a way that wouldn’t be awkward should that not be the case. 

Unfortunately, past Jon never really went out of his way to talk to Martin without being at least minorly grouchy and condescending. Then again, doing something slightly out of character would be the fastest way to get the other to admit it if he was also displaced; it just came with greater risk. 

So, something slightly out there but not overt as asking outright. Hmm. 

Finished with the meager paper pushing, he studied the office. Large desk facing directly to the closed door he knew if left open would allow direct line of sight to the four cubicles in the shared office bullpen - and direct sight back in should they decide to look back. An antique looking guest chair for statement givers with it's back to the door. Filing cabinets, shelves and stacked old cardboard boxes full of paper and encyclopedic books. Paint the color of green glass that had been touched up after Prentiss broke in through one of the walls, since fixed. 

Martin's gaze fell on an empty mug as he finished putting papers in arbitrary piles. He knew what he needed to do. Grabbing the mug and standing, Martin only rose a few inches higher.

Huh. Martin hasn’t been this short since he was a kid hitting his teen years. He shook off the stray thought and headed to the door. Taking a breath, Martin prepared to face young Martin and be a dick about it. Schooling his face into the annoyed one Jon thought was professional Martin opened the door. 

Seeing them at their desks was hard. Not to mention the tense awkward atmosphere of people falling apart. 

A younger Martin leaned in too close to the monitor working on a report to try and meet a younger Jon’s impossible standards of perfection toward someone who lied on their CV.  

Tim, still alive and fiddling with a pen. Tim, scarred and pockmarked, who turned to give Martin - looking like Jon - a measured, masked look of neutrality, barely hiding his annoyance when he heard the door open. 

“And here we have the bossman, emerging from his lair to slink among the common folk.” Tim said, words light, but tone not quite matching. “To what do we owe the honors?” 

And then there was Not-Sasha who leaned over to pat Tim on the shoulder, giving a quietly admonishing, with a tight smirk. “Tim.”

“Sasha.” Tim returned in a teasing tone, an eyebrow raised. 

Tim’s mood marginally improved with the hand's presence. 

Or … it was supposed to be Not-Sasha. But Martin didn’t recognize her. Not-Sasha was short, white, blonde hair in a bob cut. The woman in the cubicle beside Tim - In Sasha’s cubicle - was tall, dark skinned, wore purple glasses and business casual clothes. 

Martin remembered those glasses. They had found the after … well. He had wondered if they had been hers. But it wasn't as if he could remember the real Sasha. The voice matched the cassettes he had heard Jon obsessively replaying in the safe house of her real voice. 

Martin tried to choke down the feeling welling in his throat as the moment lengthened. He couldn’t break. She wasn’t dead either. He still couldn’t remember what the Not-Them had deleted of her, but here she was, herself and alive. 

He needed to leave the room. But he also needed to go with the plan. 

“Martin.” Martin said to younger Martin with Jons voice, holding up the empty mug. He tried for a disinterested, slightly demanding tone. “Mind making me a fresh cup?” 

Young Martin gave him an odd look. Pleasantly surprised, slightly suspicious and trying to hide it giving overall awkward vibes. Understandable, as Jon never really went out of his way to ask for more tea. Jon would rather Martin focus on the job he was paid to do. 

But it was also well known Jon couldn’t make a good cup of tea to save his life. Which is what Martin was betting on. 

Martin, still trying for a Jon persona, turned toward the basement break room without waiting for an answer. He clenched his jaw thinking of the expression. Jon wasn’t a very good actor, but there was still the possibility. The tea would tell him. He needed to be certain. 

“O-ok …?” Past Martin got out as Jon-Martin was leaving the room. 

Martin was just going to start internally referring to his past self as Blackwood. If he was going to let the archive crew in on what happened, they’d need a way to separate themselves and Martin wasn’t about to start going by Jon - that would be too much for him to handle. 

Though, he wasn’t sure if he should, or even could convince them of what happened. 

Martin placed the used mug by the kettle and refrained last second from turning it on and making the tea himself. He looked in the fridge to see if past Jon had eaten lunch to give him an excuse to linger. Judging by his stomach, probably not. Judging by the fridge, he probably didn’t even bring anything. Martin scowled at past Jons chronic bad habit of working through lunch. 

Awkward lingering it is. 

Blackwood entered just as Martin was closing the fridge door. He received a concerned look.

“E-everything ok?” Blackwood asked tentatively. 

Martin took a breath trying to think of how Jon would reply. 

“Perfectly alright, Martin.” 

Martin leaned against the counter and, unsure what to do with his arms, crossed them over his chest. The stabbed shoulder only mildly twinged at the movement. 

“And how is the case coming along?” Martin continued. Not that he knew what case was being worked on, but it was something Jon would be interested in. 

Martin’s soul sank a little as the kettle was turned on by Blackwood. Never before was he so crestfallen over non-microwaved tea. 

“It’s coming along … fine?” Blackwood said, nervously. 

Martin gave a noncommittal hum, mind elsewhere. The two fell into awkward silence as the kettle boiled. 

Had Martin really been the only one to show up? Was he really alone in this? He hunched his shoulders a little at the thought. At the very least, why couldn’t it have been his own body? Jonah underestimated Martin. But he had a vested interest in keeping an Eye on Jon for his plans for the apocalypse. 

Oh god Jonah was going to try and traumatize Martin to end the world. It was bad enough he had done that to Jon , but now Martin knew what was coming and it didn’t make it any less scary. 

Maybe killing Jonah wasn’t such a bad plan after all. The world versus an institute? If Jonah hadn’t just lied about everyone under contract dying with him. It was a very Gertrude method, if without explosives or arson, but it might just be worth it. He didn’t want to do all this alone. Tell the others? There was no way they would believe him. They’d lock him up. Hate him more than they already hate Jon. 

Jon who was gone. And it was Martin's fault. 

“J-Jon?” Blackwood squeaked. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You’re … crying.” 

Shit. Martin wiped away the traitorous few tears that had leaked during his spiral.

“Fine.” Martin rebuked, lying poorly enough to give Jon a run for his money. “And I’m not. Allergies.” 

‘Allergic to emotional vulnerability?’ Martin would have joked with his Jon. 

“Okay …” Blackwood relented, mug out held. The spoon used to stir it was discarded in the nearby sink. “Here’s your, ah, tea.” 

Martin took the mug, and despite it still being too warm, he took a small sip. He let the pain bring him to the present. It didn’t turn into spiders or snakes or any other Fear conjured horror Not-Tea would bring. It was real. This was real. 

And the tea was just how Jon liked it. Just like how he’d never get to have it again. Another silent tear escaped. The apocalypse was no more … and Jon went with it. 

Fuck it. 

“Thank you.” Martin said quietly to his younger self. 

Lord knows he hasn’t heard those words enough. Especially from this face. 

Blackwood awkwardly stammered, ending in a vocal uptick, “You are welcome?” 

Someone cleared their throat and Martin's blood froze even as his head turned in horror to see who had made the sound. 

 In the doorway to the break room stood Elias Bouchard. Jonah Magnus was here. 

Their eyes met. 

“Martin-” Jonah began.

He Knew oh god he Knew of course he Knew. Jonah Knew and he was going to end the world again only Martin would be alone because Jon was dead, Martin killed Jon, and he was alone -

The dreaded man got no further before Martin lept into action. 

Martin grabbed the spoon and charged.

***

Jon put the whole, Elias is still alive and being Jonah Magnus’s eyeball meltdown, to the side. 

He stood from Jonah’s desk and began speed walking to the door, destination firmly in mind. 

Martin was alive. His Martin in the Archives. And like him, he was mixed up in the wrong body - Jon’s. Which was odd to think about, but it could have been worse. Should it worry Jon he didn’t particularly mind that it was his past self that got overwritten? Perhaps, but the disregard for himself isn’t particularly new. At least his past self wouldn’t be left a mystery if he could help it. 

Jon passed Rosie trying to keep his pace measured on the way to the basement. He didn’t want to deal with getting stared at on top of everything. 

Passing Artifact Storage on the main floor, Jon spotted a worker in the hall coming out of the mens that gave him a bad feeling. 

Not-Them is posing as Nathan Sanders.  

Jon nearly tripped over his feet and stared a few seconds longer than would be considered polite before moving on. 

Later. He couldn’t very well smite them in the middle of broad daylight. Or, well, he could, but Martin is the more important priority as of this moment. 

Could Jon even still smite Avatars? Something to find out. 

The Not-Them was unnerved by Jons gaze, he could sense it. Also the way it picked up the pace toward Artifact Storage was unsubtle and a dead give away. Its shadow seemed to deteriorate and distort as he watched, something he would have attributed as a trick of the light had he still been acting sceptical. A being of the I Do Not Know You being known by Jon must be very uncomfortable. He still had its Statement from the future after all. 

Jon gave the phantom of a smile. ‘Did this mean Sasha was still alive?’  

Sasha is Alive.  

And she would stay that way this time, if Jon had anything to do about it. Seems Jonah didn't have to be alone in the being killed twice club for long. And what's more, unlike in the apocalypse it would make a difference. 

The two passed by without a word, but it was clear who held the power here between the two of them. 

There were no further incidents on the way to the Archives. People even seemed to be going out of their way to avoid his attention, for which Jon was thankful for. Jon would have no idea what to do if someone needed to talk to Elias- Jonah. 

It was in the Archives that the problem arose. Jon was a shit actor. And there, sat at Sasha's desk, was Sasha. Because obviously if she wasn't dead, she was still here. Autonomously existing. Doing Sasha things. One of which is work. 

As such, Jon was left standing in stupefied surprise and staring. With the thought of getting to Martin at the forefront of his mind he hadn't even put together Sasha, the real Sasha, would be here. 

And she was subtly trying to steal one of Tim's pens. 

Tim caught the movement, reading Sasha's intentions and turned, drawing back an elastic - then froze, catching sight of Jon - to them, Elias, their boss - hovering. To Tim's horror the elastic slipped free and passed Sasha to hit Jon squarely in the chest, bouncing off harmlessly. 

“Double-boss!” Tim said, cheerily. As if he hadn't been fooling around. “What brought you here to visit us humble plebs?” 

Sasha nudged him. “You already used that joke.”

“Still works though.” Tom pointed out. 

Jon decided not to acknowledge the tomfoolery and get straight to the point.

“I'm just here to have a word with Mar- with Jon.” Jon caught himself. 

“He's in the break room with Martin.” Sasha informed. 

Jon nodded his thanks, already headed there once he got the location. He didn't trust his words right now. Not that it mattered if they were onto him. It was just that he wanted Martin to be the first to know. He was probably scared not knowing where Jon was - or if Jon even made it. 

Standing in the doorway to the break room, his heart sank seeing tears on his own pockmarked face - Martin was crying. 

Past Martin had already given him a mug of tea, bless his heart. 

Clearing his throat, he hoped he wouldn't startle him too badly. He just needed to let Martin know and then they could come up with a plan. 

“Martin-” Jon tried. 

In retrospect, Jon should have expected Martin to see Jonah and choose violence. 

*** 

Sasha’s day was turning out to be a normal one. As normal as it could be working at the Magnus Institute these days. 

It's been three months since the Worm Incident, and Gertrude's body was discovered in the creepy secret tunnels hidden under the Institute. Sasha got off fairly lightly, considering. Sure she had ended up needing to hide in Artifact Storage, hating every second of it, until Elias got to the fire suppressant system, but at least she hadn’t been alone. Nathan had gotten stuck and left behind when a door to one of the storage rooms got jammed with cobwebs of all things. And then the worms were there by the time he got out and so was stuck in a bigger room when Sasha got stuck with him. 

Nathan was an … interesting guy, she found out as they chatted to pass the time. They both swapped theories on some of the Artifacts, trying to guess which one might have been the cause of the spontaneous web. He didn’t seem as scared about the supernatural stuff as Sasha was, but maybe he had just been putting on a brave front. He was very convinced of his theory of the Artifacts being alien technology. A bit of an oddball, but you don’t apply to a paranormal research institute by being normal.

Ever since then he’d swing by the Archives to see if he could look more into cursed objects. Impatient to get the latest scoop, not even waiting for the digital archive to update. 

Which … really wasn’t helping the whole Jon situation. 

Her boss was pretty much having a paranoid mental break learning his predecessor was murdered. Which, not a fan of the stalking and what she thinks he thinks are subtle accusations. It was getting ridiculous. 

Sasha had even threatened to start looking into him back, as “it would only be fair.” 

Not that she hadn’t. Most interesting thing had been the trespassing arrest from his time in university and record for a child psychiatrist when he was eight through twelve about a spider monster he claimed ate his bully. Sasha had not, and will not bring it up, but she suspected that's what brought him to the Institute in the first place. And where his arachnophobia stemmed from. 

She just wanted to see if he had any history of paranoia and if there was someone, a professional, she could contact about a relapse. Not that Jon seemed particularly receptive to the idea of therapy. The fact that his therapy ended when the place he was going was caught doing shady stuff, she assumed he had a bad experience with it. 

So when Jon exited his office a little after lunch and asked Martin for more tea - practically unheard of - it's a different kind of weird, but he has been weird for a while. Just last week he got a mysterious injury. No one believed it was a bread knife. 

“Think Martin’s in trouble for tea crime?” Tim joked, as the two left. “Is Jon going to break his heart and tell him, yes, microwave tea is better?”

“Oh, dear Tim. Timothy. Tim-Tom. Stoker the Joker, you beautiful man.” Sasha said, meeting his joking tone. “He's clearly making sure Martin isn't spiking the tea with the wrong whiskey,” a pause. “ And to get him to microwave it.” 

They shared a look. Shsha giggled and Tim snickered as the two turned back to their computer monitors. 

The return to actual work only lasted a few minutes before Sasha decided to covertly rescue one of Tim’s pens. Alas, not covert enough as Tim has spotted her and prepared a counter attack in the form of an elastic band - and it goes wide! Pen successfully snagged however. Mission accomplished, ladies. 

It was when she saw his surprised gaze fixed on a point behind her she realized they weren’t alone anymore. She turned to see Elias standing there. He had an odd lost expression. Sad, even. 

“Double-boss!” Tim said, cheerily. “What brought you here to visit us humble plebs?” 

Sasha nudged him. “You already used that joke.”

“Still works though.” Tom pointed out. 

Odder still, Elias didn’t mention the lack of professionalism. Sasha decided to just be glad he’s seemingly in a forgiving mood today. 

“I'm just here to have a word with Mar- with Jon.” he informed them.

“He's in the break room with Martin.” 

Sasha let him know, happy to be out of Elias’s scrutinizing gaze. Enough to not point out the stumble of mixing up who he was there for. He’d been staring at her and she was beginning to get uncomfortable. It had always been a little like being looked at under a microscope, but today it felt like being visually dissected. 

It was a relief when he immediately B-lined to said break room. She let out a relieved sigh she didn’t even think she had been holding. 

“Is it just me or has everyone been acting …” Tim paused, brow furrowed. “Off?” 

Sasha didn’t even have a moment to replay as a shout of shock from Martin and following sounds of a thump and a smash. 

The two exchanged a look and headed to the break room. 

In the doorway, Jon straddled a startled Elias, wielding a spoon above his eyes as Elias fought to keep his eyeballs from being scooped with a white knuckle grip on Jons wrists. Hot tea puddling on the ground away from a broken mug. 

“Martin-!” Elias called and Martin moved toward the scuffle began the process of hauling Jon off their boss. 

But it was too late - Jons hands slipped free and one of Elias’s eyes was in the process of being scooped. Elias’s scream is haunting and high pitched. 

It's official. Jon’s having a mental break and they were all getting sued and fired. 

It just got worse from there. 

So much for a normal day.

Chapter Text

***

Jon had Known pain. But there was a difference between Knowing pain and experiencing it. Right now, he was experiencing it. 

All it took was a momentary slip and the spoon was in. He was filled with terror and screamed. 

His Martin was pulled off by past Martin with a sickening pop as his left eyeball was removed. It landed with a wet plop and he could still see out of it. His right side had gone partially numb and he couldn’t move it. 

There was something wrong with the Eye - his Eye - Jonah’s Eye. Eyes were only meant to have one optic nerve. This one had enough it was as if it was trying to do an octopus impression and - oh god Jon could move them . 

Jon was Jonah’s Eye’s. 

He wanted to throw up. ‘Was this how Jonah swapped host’s?’ Jon accidentally Asked. Unfortunately, Beholding provided the Answer he wished he could scrub from his mind. 

A fucking parasite . Eye’s that eat eyes. An Eye with teeth hidden in a mess of nerves. Ocular nerves like twisted tentacles snaking through brain tissue and activating nerves like a piano. 

Jon was going to throw up. He propped himself, sitting against the doorframe with a body that only partially responded to his wants - because it isn’t his body - and covered his mouth with his fully functioning left hand. His right hand twitched without his input, but couldn’t do much else. 

Fun facts with Beholding: the left half of the brain contains the motor function for the right half of the body, and vice versa. 

Which shouldn’t really apply considering how little was left of Elias’s physical brain. But dream logic was a strange thing with the Fears. 

The right hand continued to twitch and Jon thought he heard a distant disgruntled ‘Dammit …’ from Elias, but couldn’t be sure. 

He might be in shock. 

Past Martin and Tim were restraining Martin, and Sasha had gone to get the first aid kit. Luckily, the two much stronger men were more than enough to hold back Jon’s body. 

“What the fuck , Jon.” Tim said, horrified and angry at Martin. 

Martin tried to explain his eye gouging decision. “Listen, I’m trying to save us-” 

Jon stared at the removed Eye. The Eye stared back. 

Sasha returned with the first aid kit. 

“Hey, hey can you look at me?” Sasha prompted Jon. 

Jon did. She was holding gauze. 

“I’m- I’m going to need you to hold still.” Sasha said, bringing the gauze closer to his empty socket. 

Jon raised his hand from his grimacing mouth, shaking his head weakly and stopping her from covering the injury. As much as the idea wasn’t a pleasant one … the Eye needed to go back in; or Elias and Jon would slowly die. He was not ready for that. Not in the slightest. The dying or the Eye reinsertion. 

Fighting the nausea he ‘walked’ for lack of a better word, the Eye closer to himself. The others haven’t noticed yet. 

“Should we call the police?” Young Martin asked, voice pitched up in panic. 

Please don’t call the cops and get even more people to try and kill me in this room. Daisy would not hesitate. 

“-just look at the fucking eye for gods sake, Tim - that isn’t human! ” Martin begged. 

And Tim did. And so did Sasha. And past Martin. 

And the Eye was still moving like an octopus on land. He tried to move faster. It was close now. Close enough to reach out. 

Past Martin covered his mouth. 

“... what the fuck , Jon,” said Tim again, the tone a quieter kind of horrified. 

Sasha grabbed the first aid kit and was about to crush it. Jon was quicker and grabbed it with his left hand and held it protectively against his chest, shuddering at hand to Eyeball feeling; not to mention the nerves. Being in darkness long was not comfortable and he had the Eye poke out over the top of his hand so it could continue to see. His gaze landed on Sasha, the closest current threat. 

If it weren’t an eldritch Eyeball but, say, a kitten, the action might have been considered cute. As it was not, in fact, a kitten, Sasha stood and backed up in fear, still wielding her impromptu weapon, but now like a shield. Good on her for having survival instincts. 

“That’s disgusting .” Sasha said with a tone of morbid curiosity. 

“Very.” Jon slurred back in agreement, half his face paralyzed. 

He couldn’t leave the Eye in the open or they were going to squish it, and then he would die with Elias’s brain unless he extracted his other Eye on purpose . Hesitating only a moment, Jon brought the Eye up to his empty socket and it - he - began to squirm back in. He shuddered again and the numbness in his right started to fade, but also felt every bit of pain. It only took a few seconds, but they were some of the least pleasant seconds of his life. There were some lingering pins and needle feelings he hoped would disappear over time. 

He stood on unsteady feet, still leaning on the door frame and looked toward the three terrified Assistants and an angry boyfriend. He was very tired all of a sudden, wiping away blood from under his Eye. 

The absolute horror show helped speed the healing process as the fear permeated the room the longer the silence drew out. 

“... we should talk.” Jon said. 

Understatement. 

“Nah, I think Jon had the right idea.” Tim said, suddenly letting go of Martin and returning the confiscated bloody spoon. “Sick ‘em.” 

Right. Perhaps Tim’s trauma of having his brother replaced by a skin stealer isn’t the most conductive for listening to body stealing monstrosities. 

“Oh fuck-” Jon said. 

Jon was quick to turn, running out of the break room to get a cuticle between them. With more experience being kidnapped by monsters in comparison to running from them, he was very glad Martin was not his usual hulking stature. As is, the odds were not entirely out of his favour for an escape for once. 

Martin was still armed, dangerous, and hot on his heels. 

So the odds were only mostly out of his favour if this dragged out. 

“Martin- Martin -” Jon tried to appeal in a voice that wasn’t his, keeping furniture between the two of them as the others watched. “-It’s Jon! I ended up in the wrong body and time when the tether was cut too.” 

Martin hesitated only a moment before redoubling his efforts. “Nice try, but no way in hell am I trusting the words of a manipulative mind reader! It would be just like you to give me false hope.” He tossed a pen holder in Jons direction. 

“That-! Is a valid point I didn’t think about!” Jon relented the point, only dodging most of the pens as they scattered, the plastic cup bouncing off the wall. “But consider, there has been weirder!” 

“Have you considered; fuck you!” Martin quipped back. 

“Now that’s just childish.” Jon muttered. He dodged a stapler. “Do you really think if I was Jonah fucking Magnus I’d let myself get anywhere near you considering your promurder campaign during the apocalypse?” 

“I don’t know!” Martin said. “I’m sure you have a plan! You always have a plan.” 

“Well I don’t!” Jon countered, running out of breath. “Because I’m Jon and all I was thinking was getting to the man I love as soon as possible!” 

The two came to a stop on either side of an unused cubicle, Jon could see the other three whispering among themselves. Martin was breathing hard, face going red in anger. 

“You don’t get to pull that card.” His voice was low and held the threat of murder. 

The two stare, and heave heavy breaths. They were both out of stamina, Martin worse off than Jon. Jon was wary of more office supplies. 

Jon runs a hand through his hair, distraught. “It's not a card I'm playing, it's the truth . Where you go, I go, and here I am.” 

“Stop!” Martin screamed. “Stop reading my bloody mind you manipulative prick!” 

Martin started climbing over the desk. Eyes boggled at the sight, Jon fled. 

Rather than out of the Archives, his feet carried him around the counter to the storage room with the cot. The room he and Martin had hid in during the Prentice siege. He slammed the door shut behind him, just barely remembering to lock it and Martin tried the handle. His mind was practically whirring to figure out what he could say or do to get Martin to listen to him. 

‘What can I say to convince Martin I am who I say I am?’ He Asked, on the off chance Beholding had any ideas. 

Beholding was predictably silent. It didn’t Know the future. Couldn’t plan or make abstract connections. It just gave facts. Jon would need to figure out the right facts to Ask for to get out of this, without being able to Ask what he should Ask. At least he could hear himself think here as the room was sound proofed. 

He did wonder why Gertrude would need a soundproof storage room for papers. It's not like books could scream. Not unless there’s a very specific Leitner hell bent on proving him wrong. But with a soundproof room in a basement where the Department Head’s go to solution for the supernatural is a healthy helping of C4 and arson, Jon would prefer not to Know. Jon did use the room to sleep from time to time. 

Jon exhaled in relief with a locked door between him and Martin offering him time to plan. He looked out the small window on the door to see an angry Martin glaring with a younger Jon’s face. Jon winced as he saw him walk a bit further away, and leaned against a wall, and turned to look back at Jon with a raised eyebrow. He said something, but Jon couldn’t hear it beyond the door. 

Right. He looked around the room he was now stuck in, the cot for late nights, packed away spare clothes among the boxes of papers, and an old case of mostly undrank water bottles. Jon may be safe here but unless he broke down the repaired wall and risked getting lost in the murder tunnels, he would stay trapped. And he knew Martin was patient - he stuck by Jon, after all. 

Okay, so. Jon needed to convince Martin he was himself. He couldn’t use words, because Jonah could just Know anything that Jon could, or that Martin knew Jon knew. That left actions. However, Jonah was also a 200 year old body stealer, so had plenty of time for practicing acting … or, lying at least. He didn’t particularly act like Elias after he possessed him, as the few who still worked here from that time knew Elias as a pothead with little ambition. 

It’s amazing what people will ignore when they’ve decided it isn’t their business. Perhaps it was Jonah just enjoying making others uncomfortable. 

Regardless, it left Jon with very few options. Talent? Something Jon could do that Jonah couldn’t. He hadn't the foggiest idea. And it also had to be something that Martin would know Jon could do that Jonah couldn’t, so something like singing was out. 

Well, no point having a cheat sheet if he didn’t use it. 

‘What is something I can do that Jonah couldn’t?’ Jon Asked. 

Jonathan Sims is The Archivist.  

Of course … Jon would have thought that was as brilliant as it was self-serving of Beholding, if the fear god could think. But facts were facts, and Beholding had provided the information Jon needed. 

Jonah couldn’t be The Archivist, Jon was The Archivist. Thus, all the abilities that come with it. And if Knowing was off the table there was one thing left. 

Jons hand went back to the door handle. 

‘Well wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but eh, that’d be a lie.’ Elias spoke up. ‘15 minutes and already an attempt on your life and now walking straight toward your tiny demise? Gotta say, last guy lasted much longer. 3 stars for entertainment, though.’  

‘Har har.’ Jon thought back dryly. ‘I have a plan. Sort of.’  

‘How reassuring.’ If sarcasm was a weapon, Elias was its master. 

Looking back through the window, he could see a past Martin had reluctantly joined Martin and were talking. No Tim or Sasha though. Martin kept his gaze on the door, practically ready to pounce. 

It was almost funny. But it wasn’t. One would almost suspect Martin to have been marked by the Hunt or Slaughter rather than the Lonely. And then there was the Web literally offering an invitation during the apocalypse … he loved Martin, but he should stop metaphorically flirting with the dread powers. 

Jon took one last steadying breath before unlocking cracking open the door. Martin had already started moving. 

“Who is The Archivist?” Jon felt the power and static build behind his words, the compulsion flowing easily.  

Martin Answered, his steps pausing. 

“Jonathan Sims.”  His expression was one of baffled surprise. 

Already Jon could see Martin working out what the Compulsion meant 

Past Martin Answered the same, also caught in the compulsion. Though he likely thought he meant as Head Archivist, his job. He looked confused at having answered. 

“And is compelling Answers one of the abilities Jonah has, or The Archivist?”  

“Answer compulsion is one of The Archivist’s abilities.” Martin Answered again, posture going less defensive. “Jonah’s a mind reader.” 

Past Martin gave a simple, confused, “I don’t know.”

“Who are you?”  

“Martin K Blackwood.” They answered simultaneously, to the distressed confusion of younger Martin. 

“Who am I?” Jon Asked, now only focusing on his own Martin.

“Jon.” he started to tear up. “You’re Jon … Jon The Archivist bloody Sims. You’re alive .” 

“Yes, it’s me.” Jon said relaxing marginally. “I said so.”

“You did,” he wiped away tears. “But you know why I couldn’t just believe that.” 

“I do.” Jon agreed, still half hiding behind the door. “Now, can I come out without anyone trying to murder me immediately?” The compulsion slipped out this time.

“I don’t even want to be here anymore.” Past Martin said, clearly creeped out for a number of reasons. “But I have a knife for self defense.” 

“Yes you can come out.” Martin said. “But I sent Tim through the tunnels to corner you.” 

Just then, there came a pounding from the wall as Tim once again broke down the wall into the storage room - this time not high off of CO2 fighting worms. This time not to save Jon, but to murder him. 

“... oh.” Jon said. 

***

Martin’s blood practically boiled as he glared at the locked door. How dare he, how dare he pretend to be Jon to try and lower Martin's guard. 

But what if it is? A small part of him mulled over regardless, It was only an assumption that he would land in my body.  

Martin cursed Jonah for the sliver of doubt he was no doubt enjoying tormenting Martin with. 

And so Martin went into ‘plan mode.’ What could he do to bring Jonah down, practically gift wrapped and locked up in front of him? Really, Jonah had made it too easy for Martin - so much so he feared a trap somehow. 

“Hey Tim,” Martin called. “Remember how you broke through the wall during Prentice?” 

Tim poked his head around the corner to see the situation, expression darkening. “Ah. Gotcha boss. I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to leave but paused. “... you are going to explain all that weird stuff you were shouting at each other earlier, right?” 

“Yep.” Martin confirmed. “One thing at a time though. And Tim.” Martin turned to meet his eyes. “I’d prefer him alive for questioning about what he’s planning this time, but if not … aim for the eyes.” 

“Got it.” 

He bumped into Sasha as he turned to leave for the trap door. 

“Here.” Sasha handed him something small with a coy smile. “This should work.” 

Martin couldn’t see what it was but from the short laugh Tim gave it was good. 

“Sash you little devil,” Tim said amused. “I'm not even going to ask where you got this.” 

“A woman never reveals her secrets.” She said with a wink as Tim went on his way. 

“Sasha?” Martin ordered next. “Your job is to break into J- Elias’s office for incriminating evidence.” He handed her the recorder in his pocket without looking from the door. “There should be a tape with Gertrudes murder on it somewhere. He did it.” 

Sasha blinked owlishly behind purple frames as she accepted the recorder. 

“That’s uh, quite the info and deductive leap.” Sasha said. “How do you know?” 

Martin for simplicity sake answered. “I’ve heard the tape.” 

“And you'll be ok without …?” she shook the recorder. 

Considering Jon’s fear of ending up a mystery, it would be very, very out of character to give that up. He literally walked back through those worms in front of her to keep one on him.

“Already covered.” Martin answered. 

He pulled a second one out of his pocket, already running and listening in. The perks of magic stalking recorders, always one handy when shit got real. 

For better or worse.

… though Martin still couldn’t find himself to hate the things. They helped him get through a lot. Great listeners. It's who else is listening in that bothers him. What must she think of all this, he wonders. 

Sasha’s eyebrows raised in surprise but headed off to her task. He hopes real Sasha is good at that kind of thing. Not-Sasha barely did her job, so it stands to reason that real Sasha would be good at work. He hopes. Jon had requested her personally so it would make sense. 

Martin now had a bloody spoon in one hand and a running recorder in the other. One brought comfort. Helped him feel a little less lonely. 

“And Martin!” Martin raised his voice, knowing Blackwood was probably still in the breakroom, alone, and trying to stay out of the way. 

It took a couple of seconds for Blackwood to round the bend, but he did. 

“Y-yes, Jon?” Blackwood said, nervously fiddling with his fingers. 

“I just need you here in view of the window to further dissuade him from escaping this way.” Martin said, not wanting to leave Blackwood feeling useless and alone. “Numbers.” 

“Then why not have Sasha stay too?” 

Martin was about to answer when the door opened. 

“Who is The Archivist?”  

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. 

Martin Answered the Question

***

Martin K Blackwood missed a time when the worst he had to worry about was his boss Jon finding out he had lied on his CV. When weird days were finding a strange shaped stain in the ceiling, or traffic delays. 

No worm ladies. No knife hand guys. No worrying about what else from the Statements might decide to crawl out of the wall paper. 

This whole day had been weird and it had escalated very quickly. 

Firstly, Jon asking for more tea? Martin had almost had a heart attack thinking his CV had been found out and Jon just wanted one last cup before firing him. And wouldn’t that be something; get Martin to provide the drinks to his own dismissal. Not that Martin knew if Jon even liked the tea, but he had started drinking more of it when an extra scoop of sugar had been added.

Regardless, the tea was one thing, the crying another. Jon wasn’t a ‘cry in front of people’ person. And though he’d been desmissing it as his mind playing tricks on him, back in that break room, he could have sworn the temperature had dropped unnaturally. Maybe the heating had malfunctioned. It had been noticeable enough to get him to look over and mention it to Jon rather than stare anywhere but as the kettle boiled. That was when he had seen the tears and it had. 

And still, the unnatural chill seemed to cling to Jon as if he had stuffed his pockets with ice.it wasn’t the break room heating, Martin had been in there without Jon. The others hadn’t mentioned it so Martin hasn’t either. Jon himself didn’t even seem to notice. 

And it was getting steadily colder. Not enough to see breath, yet, but Martin wished he had his jacket over his knit sweater. It was already October so he was prepared for the chill weather. 

The next weird thing to happen that day, as if to outdo all others, was when Jon suddenly went on a warpath against their boss Elias … who seems to be some kind of eyeball monster. This is their life now, he supposed. Worms and Eyeballs and weirdness. 

Which brings him to the current weirdness. Elias in the storage room poking his head out and Asking Questions Martin can’t help but feel the need to Answer. 

Jon seemed to know more about what was going on if his Answers were any indicator. 

Already, Martin was stressed and confused. When Elias Asked who they were, he felt his world tilt and tinnitus set in. 

There was no way Jon had just said that. That was Martin's name, and last he checked, there was only one him. One more than needed, his Mom might think. He must have misheard.

But then Elias asked who he was and … and Jon gave his own name and Martin is just. Wow. He needs to process this. They seemed to have been under some kind of truth effect whenever Elias … Jon(?) … had asked a question. So either they really were another Martin K Blackwood and a mixed up Jonathan Sims, or they believed they were. Or at least some variation, because Martin cannot picture Jon ever looking at any Martin with an expression like that. 

Martin was going to ask Sonja if either had been in Artifact Storage recently, or if something was missing. Because this was that level of strange. He had heard a couple stories from Sasha when she was willing to part with them. 

Speaking of strange, that odd chill seemed to have cleared up. Maybe that bit really had been just in Martin’s head. 

“Now,” Maybe-Elias said, “ can I come out without anyone trying to murder me immediately?”  

Elias/Jon was still clearly a monster of some kind with the Eyes and Questions. It was confusing and Martin would really like someone, anyone at this point, to clear things up. Martin was feeling out of his depths. He just wanted to go home. 

“I don’t even want to be here anymore.” Martin Answeed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “But I have a knife for self defense.” 

“Yes you can come out.” Maybe-Jon said. “But I sent Tim through the tunnels to corner you.” 

As if summoned, the banging began as Tim started breaking in. 

“... oh.” Maybe-Elias said, opening the door more and looking back to the quickly breaking drywall. “What- what do we say?” 

“Tim’s a loose cannon about this kind of stuff.” Maybe-Jon pursed his lips. “Which was fine when I thought I was aiming him at Jonah. I think-”

The wall falls and Tim is outlined by the darkness of the tunnel beyond. He zero’s in on Maybe-Elias. In his hands, a fire extinguisher, plaster dust covering him and settling around his demo job. 

“-you might want to take the hit.” 

Maybe-Elias turns to Maybe-Jon with an incredulous expression. “I’m sorry- you want me too-”

Tim knocked him out with a fire extinguisher. 

“Great!” Tim said. “Didn’t even need to use Sasha's secret weapon. Anyone got some rope? I’ll provide the blindfold.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Why do you have a-?” Martin asked. 

“Let's just bring him to the break room for now.” Maybe-Jon interrupting. “Martin, can you go get Sasha and bring what she found back? This won’t be her only chance to snoop the institute.”

“You got it bossman.” Tim said, dragging Maybe-Elias by the feet toward the break room. 

Martin hesitated about leaving Tim alone with not one, but two who are something other than they appear. But at the same time, Tim can take care of himself. 

“Just ah, just one thing.” Martin began low so only Maybe-Jon could hear, nervous. “Do either of you mean us harm?” 

Maybe-Jon blinked then shook his head. “No. This is all a misunderstanding and an accident. We’ll explain everything when he wakes up.” 

Martin studied the other, looking for any tells of a lie and finding none. Be they Jon’s or … his own. He just looked tired at that moment. Tired but happy. 

“... okay.” Martin said, leaving for Sasha. 

This definitely made Martin’s top five weirdest days. And it wasn’t even over yet.

Chapter Text

***

Tim contemplated the strange events of the day that led him to dragging double boss Elias by the ankles towards the break room. Only, it wasn’t Elias, not really . That much was clear with the Eye’s. Tim didn’t know how Jon had found out and he wanted answers, especially if it meant they’d be able to hunt down others like it. This eyeball creature was reminiscent of the thing that had killed and skinned his brother and made Tim’s skin crawl. 

Danny had certainly (hopefully) been dead as it pranced around in his skin. He hoped even more that Danny had been killed before they had started skinning. People could live  hours without their skin before dying of hypothermia. Tim had made the poor decision to research that after the incident, and the uncertainty of whether he left his brother in that opera house alive haunted him to the present. It had only fueled his burning fury, need for revenge and self loathing he hid behind jokes and flirting and one night stands … and furthered his dread over the unknown fate his brother must have endured at the hands of the Ringmaster. 

Tim should have been there to protect his little brother the moment he felt something could have been wrong. Should have gone with him. It should have been Tim . Not Danny. But he wasn’t there and Danny was dead. 

Like hell he was going to lose anyone else to these … things that just replace people. 

Initially, Tim was all on board with the immediate disposal of this imposter; Jon had clearly seemed to know something and had been handling it fine before Tim had interrupted what he had assumed was an in-progress workplace murder. But now, Tim had realized this was his first real tangible lead to getting his revenge. Provided a little interrogative … encouragement , Tim might actually find his brother's killers. The reason he quit his publishing job and applied to the The Magnus Institute in the first place. 

However, there was a complication other than how he would need to explain his past to explain why they shouldn’t hold back on the interrogation if it was being difficult. 

Elias, unlike Danny, hadn’t lost his skin, but his eyes. People can survive without their eyes. Elias might still be in there, watching this thing parade himself around pretending to be him. The thought was sickening. But it wasn’t as if he knew if he was or wasn’t. Tim wasn’t sure if that was a fate worse than death and if it wouldn’t be best to just put him to rest, taking out the abomination with what’s left of Elias. He decided to cancel that train of thought in favour of focusing on restraining it for information. 

If this thing was part of the group that had killed Danny, Tim wanted to know where he could track down every last one of their group and wipe their existence from the planet. Preferably in a suitably devastatingly dramatic and poetic fashion. He wasn’t sure if plastic mannequins could be skinned, but for Orsinov, he was willing to try. Probably better to just melt it in a vat of molten metal like in Terminator. Dead was dead in the end - get it over with so no one has to suffer through what he did. 

He doesn’t know where he’d get a vat of molten metal, but he’s sure he could flirt his way into gaining access to a manufacturing factory or something. Until then, Sasha’s secret weapon should hopefully provide enough intimidation for this particular monster.

Tim scowled down at the pretender and dropped Elias’s feet, having made it to the breakroom. He dragged one of the chairs away from the break room table and set it near the wall furthest from the exit. 

Hauling Elias’s body up from under his armpits, Tim managed to maneuver him into position on the chair. It took a couple tries to make sure he didn’t fall over. Next, he needed to make sure the eye … thing … wouldn’t get loose. He started undoing Elias’s green tie, setting the eye themed tie pin aside. The irony, or perhaps choice, of the style not being lost on Tim.

He wondered how long Elias had been possessed for the thing to have decided to invest in adding to his wardrobe. Maybe longer than Tim had even worked there. Maybe he had never even met Elias. He would have noticed the change right …? He remembered how wrong the thing in Danny’s skin had been. Tim shuddered at the unknowns; there were just so many. 

And if Elias had been replaced … who else could be an imposter? Who the hell could he trust?

Tim was glaring absently as he pulled the green tie away with the intent of using it as an impromptu blindfold. Hopefully trapping whatever those eyeball things are inside Elias’s head. Tim didn’t know how it worked, but he’d rather not become the next victim. Nor would he want that fate to befall any of his friends and coworkers. Even Jon. Insufferable ass he may be, but he was their insufferable ass. 

Jon walked in as Tim was finishing the knot on the tie, Martin having left to fetch Sasha upon Jon’s request. Tim made sure to glare less, tossing Jon a lopsided smile as he finished the knot. 

“Tah-dah!” Tim said with a flourish. “One captured eye monster, go team! Handled much better than the worm monster encounter.” 

The scars still hadn’t faded. Tim doubted they ever would. At least he pulled them off, so he had been told. 

“So that’s what you meant by providing the blindfold.” Jon said, sitting down at the table to observe, giving Elias a grimace. 

He seemed significantly less vengeful than earlier, what with no longer using a spoon as an impromptu weapon. Instead it was set onto the breakroom table with a clatter, as well as a running tape recorder. Naturally. He seemed to encapsulate the word “tired” with the bags under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. Tim might even go so far as to say “weary.” Whether it was the overall situation, an adrenaline crash or a mix, Tim couldn’t say. 

If this was what brought on Jon's sudden stint of stalking, Tim couldn’t say he blamed him. Tim could almost forgive him if that was the case. Seeing the almost defeated expression on Jon’s face, Tim couldn’t help but try to lighten the mood for both their sake, if only marginally. They were still friends … sort of. There wasn’t much one could do to combat the awkward vibes of tying a monster-possessed-man to a chair, but Tim decided to give it a go regardless. 

“Yep.” Tim popped the p, as he sauntered over to lean on the table next to Jon. He examined his nails in faux interest. “Sadly left my personal blindfold in my more adventurous trouser pockets. Riiiight next to the gag ball and paddle.” 

“T- Tim! ” Jon whispered, scandalized. 

Tim glanced at Jon and snorted at his flustered expression. Getting his amusement under control Tim pointed at Jons bowtie. 

“Mind donating to the cause?” Tim wiggled his eyebrows. “Still got his hands to tie up.” 

This was one of the rare instances Tim found he wished he didn’t ignore the unofficial work casual dress code so vehemently. But what can he say, Hawaiian shirts and fashionably faded jeans are a staple to fun guy fashion. 

After groaning at the horrendous pun, Jon blinked, raising his hand to said object as if remembering he was even wearing one. He only hesitated for a moment before he allowed Tim to commandeer his tie for the cause. 

“We managed to talk a bit while you were in the tunnel,” Jon informed, as Tim turned back to their captive. “I doubt he’ll put up much of a fight, but small comforts.” 

“Oh I’ll bet.” Tim said, amused yet slightly confused. He made sure to tie Elias’s wrists to the actual chair itself. “You really went feral on him. Didn’t know you had it in you, bossman.” 

Tim stood and gave the knot a once over. Not his best work, as bowties are shorter than ties. He only briefly considered swapping them but decided to trust Jon’s judgment. The odds of Jon being replaced were lower than the others as he had been the one to out Elias’s eye problem. 

Tim turned to Jon with a head tilt before hesitantly asking, “How’d you know, by the way? About the Eye thing.” 

Whatever the answer was to be, Tim doubted it was anything less than traumatic. 

“That …” Jon began, pausing to think hard. “Is a very long complicated story that should wait for everyone.” 

“Oh yeah?” Tim said, plopping down on the chair across Jon at the table again, chin on hand. “Cliff notes me, then.” Tim wiggled his fingers dramatically. “If you dare~” 

Rather than giving his usual long suffering sigh of general discontent, Jon pursed his lips before answering. It kind of reminded Tim of Martin's nervous tick when knowing what he’s about to say might get him in trouble or make things awkward and reluctant to say it. The silence stretched on as Jon looked to the door, either hoping the others would return soon, or debating an escape from answering. 

“Whatever it might be,” Tim reassured, “I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I’ve seen and heard plenty.” He traced a finger into an x over his heart. “Boy scouts honor.”

“... Cliff notes then.” Jon relented, tension draining in defeat. He spread his hands out as if to flourish the next statement in a rainbow. “Botched accidental time travel.” 

Tim raised an unamused eyebrow. If this was a joke, Tim isn’t laughing. It wasn't said in Jon's usual tone of dry sarcasm. And Tim did just say he would give him the benefit of the doubt. And yet …

“... seriously?” Tim asked, brows furrowed.

Monster eyeballs? Sure. Worm women? Been there. Time travel …? That was stretching it for Tim. 

“Seriously.” Jon echoed flatly. “Assuming I’m not having some kind of mental break. But, well …” He trailed off looking at tied up Elias. 

The same Elias with some kind of tentacle eyes Jon had half succeeded in scooping. Of which Jon somehow knew. Seems like a compelling argument for time travel. As for Jon's mental state, Tim had literally just had to pull him off of Elias - sure he knew now why Jon had done it, but previously Tim wouldn’t have suspected Jon capable of such violence. Even against a monster. More likely to stare them down and lecture them about disturbing the workflow during business hours. Or run, more realistically, but eh, who cares about realism when there're freaky monsters in the world. But there was no telling what kind of future Jon had come from - if that is what happened, which Tim is surprising himself by humaring to such a level. Maybe Jane wasn’t the only supernatural encounter the team goes through with the research they’re doing and they all needed to start taking self defense. 

If things are about to go even further down Spooky Town, Tim would like the forewarning of an inexplicably time traveling boss. He would still like more proof though. But he could roll with it for now. 

“No reason it can’t be both!” Tim quipped cheerily, breaking an increasingly awkward extended pause. 

Humor was his coping mechanism, sue him. Kept the anger and fear at bay, or at least masked it enough people didn’t dislike him. People were a lot more willing to open up with the laid back guy cracking jokes. 

Rather than take the sentiment as a throw away joke line, Jon seemed to actually consider the statement before nodding in agreement. 

The two fell back into silence as they gazed at their captive. This was not how Tim expected to have his day go. But life, lately, has been writing the Archives a personalized ‘fuck you lot in particular’ on vibes alone. Especially where Jon was concerned.

“Not to be … alarming but,” Jon said, in a timid start before practically word vomiting. “I really did mean that ‘botched’ part of the accidental time travel.” 

Tim looked him up and down. He looked uncomfortable, as if he was still holding something back. Aside from being more fidgety and hunched in on himself, like Jon wished he would disappear, nothing overt stood out. That stuff could easily be explained by whatever Elias’s deal is and stress. 

“...oh?” Tim prompted, trying to hide how tense he was with a lopsided smile. 

He swore if Jon was bleeding internally and dying and had waited till now to say anything, he was calling him an ambulance whether he wanted it or not. Jon could give any dire messages of a doomed future or what ever after he wasn’t actively dying. Dying in the middle of important lore drops was just too cliche, even for a dramatic prick like Jonathan Sims. 

Jon met Tim’s gaze head on, resolved deep in his eyes. It was a little unnerving with its intensity. His hands fidgeted in a familiar way, yet not one Tim associated with Jon. 

“Tim, I’m not Jon.” He said, expression tight. “I’m Martin .” 

The smile slipped off Tim's face and he stopped breathing for a second. 

Sasha and Martin choose that time to walk in, Sasha in the lead. She blinked behind purple glasses catching only the last sentence. 

“Um … what?” Sasha asked, confused. 

Martin shifted from foot to foot holding a box of assorted goodies Sasha must have pilfered from Elias’s office. He looked generally uncomfortable with Elias tied up, though it likely had less to do with it being Elias than with how anyone was tied up in their place of work. 

Tim was only half processing what he was saying as he said it. 

“... I know you’ve said you ‘wanted to get closer to Jon but didn’t know how,’ but this is ridiculous.” 

Jon - Future Martin? - gave Tim an unimpressed look.

The confession did add up with what Tim knew of Martin's body language. And now that he was looking for it, the more he saw. 

“As much as this-” Future Martin gestured to himself up and down. “-isn’t exactly a good thing … it could have been worse.” 

Tim didn’t miss how future Martins eyes landed on Elias, yet couldn’t yet understand the meaning behind it. 

“What …” Martin - their Martin, Present Martin - they were going to need to come up with nicknames weren't they - began to ask, nervously. “What happened to Jon …? I-If you’re here, is he ..?” 

Future Martin paled, face blanking. “I … I don’t know.” He said in horrified realization. “I don’t know . He- I didn’t -”

When there was a groan and whimper from the one restrained, everyone froze. 

***

Jon was slow to come back into awareness, each observation more upsetting than the next. Firstly - he couldn’t see. So “observation” may be a bit of a misnomer. Trying to move his hands to his face to see what was obstructing his vision revealed his hands were tied. 

Kidnapped. Again. Was his first thought. 

For a moment his mind went back to when he was kidnapped by Nikola Orsinov, but he had been gagged then, not blindfolded. The circus had been sure to let him see what he had in store for himself in the dimly lit room, capitalizing on every ounce of fear they could get from him. The Circus was not his only experience with being kidnapped, but it was the first to come to mind with there being a chair. 

As he was not gagged, his first instinct was to Ask, “Where am I?” before even fully coming into consciousness. 

Three familiar voices and one he recognized from cassettes responded as one from various points of the room. 

““Archive break room.””

Sasha, Tim, Martin  … his own. 

The silence that followed was awkward and confused. At least, Jon assumed so, as he was still blindfolded so had no expressions to go off of. Trying to See resulted in a headache and only a blurry depiction of the room via a work motivation poster. Finding the headache not worth what little he could See in return, Jon went back to uncomfortable darkness. Besides, he wasn’t practiced with it, as it was one of Jonah’s abilities he had just … picked up in the transition. 

Martin was here and Martin knew he was Jon now, so hopefully Jon would be safe. There must be a reason he had let the others tie him up. Martin hadn’t changed his mind … right? If he wasn’t stabbed or murdered yet, Jon counted it as a win. 

“... ah.” Jon said, trying to hide his nerves. “Better than the murder tunnels. Just so long as no one starts bringing out lotion.” 

“Really?” Martin deadpanned, understanding the reference. 

“Kinky.” Tim joked. 

“Wh- not like that .” Jon said, grimacing in disgust, immediately regretting trying to make a joke only one would get. 

“Who or what are you?” Sasha asked, diving right into the interrogation. 

She sounded more curious than scared. Leave it to Sasha to casually talk to the monsters. Maybe he would ask her to meet alone in a secondary location, har har. Not. 

“I will answer, but I would like this blindfold removed first.” Jon negotiated. “It's very uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Tim countered. 

“Yeah, gotta agree there.” Sasha said. “What's to stop you crawling out of Elias and going for one of us?” 

Jon deadpanned as best he could in the direction he Knew Sasha was in. 

“I really would rather not.” Jon said, nose wrinkling. “All it would take is a sizable enough shoe for you to take me out. Besides, it was very disturbing the first time and I am not keen on making a repeat.” 

“... he makes a point with the shoe?” Blackwood siad, uncertainly. 

Martin pointedly coughed, gaining the room's attention. 

“Maybe I should update from cliff notes to summary and then we can decide?” 

Jon relaxed a little at Martin stepping in. He needed to trust Martin would be able to explain where Jon might stumble over his words. 

“Fair enough.” Tim said, unsure. 

“Cliff notes?” Sasha asked. 

Tim answered. “He said he’s from the future. Also that he’s not Jon but Martin.” 

“Botched accidental time travel.” Martin corrected. “If we were going to pick a time, I think it would have been for before the worms.” 

“How do you time travel by accident? ” Sasha asked. 

“Well,” Tim said, amused. “Maybe it’s easier than trying on purpose, hmm?”

“... you also said ‘we.’” Blackwood was the one to point out. “Who is ‘we’?”

There was some silence as Jon, even with the blindfold, could feel as their gazes turned to him, first by Martin then followed by the others copied. An annoying ability that would be useful if it were to have been activated for his kidnappings while he actually worked in the Archives. But no, he could only tell when he’s being gazed at judgmentally, not when being stalked or targeted back then; that would be too convenient . 

“... I did say it could be worse.” Martin pointed out. 

“... no way.” Tim said. “Who the hell has luck bad enough to land in an Eyeball monster? Tell me it wasn't me. Even I can’t pull off Eye tentacles.” 

“Believe me.” Jon said, wryly. “This would not have been my first choice of … destination for lack of a better descriptor. But at least the biggest current threat Jonah Magnus is functionally dead. It’s not everyday you can say you’ve killed the same person twice in the same day. For whatever definition of day might apply.” 

“Jonah Magnus?” Sasha asked. “The Institute founder?”

“Wait, don't get distracted.” Tim pointed out, before turning back to Jon. “That didn’t answer who you are.” 

“Ah.” Jon realized. “Jon. Now if one of you could remove the blindfold at the very least?” 

Shsha spoke up, an inquiry not directed at Jon. “Didn’t you say something about a manipulative mind reader when you were running around before?” 

Jon gave a long suffering sigh. 

“Well, he’s got the sigh down?” Tim said, nervous uncertainty bleeding through the remark. 

Blackwood hummed in assent. 

“I am ninety-nine percent sure this is Jonathan Sims as I know him from the future.” Martin answered. “A little dinged up here and there from trauma, but they didn’t have refunds on asshole bosses. I’m sure therapy’ll buff it right out.”

“Har har.” Jon said, unamused.

“Alright.” Sasha, agreed. “But if he goes spooky, we’ll have to use the secret weapon.”

“The-” Tim said, before his tone turned mischievous. “Ah yes. Still got it in my pocket.” 

‘What is their secret weapon?’ Jon asked as he gulped. 

The Answer wasn't as clear as usual, but it was clear enough. 

Pepper spray. 

Jon winced at the idea of that being used on him, trying not to shudder. The blindfold was already disorienting and constricting as it was. He did not want to find out how bad a reaction he would have to their no-longer-secret-weapon. At least the blindfold could come off any time. 

Beholing also informed him that pepper spray had been illegal in the UK since the Firearms Act 1968. 

Jon, after an internal debate and fight against his curiosity, decided not to Ask where they had got it. Not unless they suddenly became in need of illegal supplies. Which one could never truly Know what the future holds.

Judging by the chair scrape from Martin's direction and resulting footsteps, Martin was on his way to untie Jon. 

“And the one percent?” Jon Asked Martin, his anxiety elevating it from casual query, as Martin began untying the blind fold. 

“This is all a hallucination while I'm lying in rubble, dying.” Martin answered casually. “But that’s seeming less and less likely as time goes on.” 

“That makes about as much sense as any of this.” Jon relented. 

The blindfold was pulled free and Jon's eyes adjusted quickly to the light as he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tim was sitting at the table, head propped up on a hand, observing, judging his threat level but playing at nonchalant. Sasha leaned next to the door, arms crossed and expression in thought, but still focused on the present. Blackwood was hovering awkwardly in the door, fidgeting with a box he had yet to set down. 

“Um.” Blackwood said. “Did you say dying?” 

“y-yeah.” Martin confirmed. “Long story. Also complicated. Does anyone object to untying his hands as well?” 

“Kinda.” Tim said. “What if he’s got, like, monster impulses and is overcome with the desire to burrow into one of our heads?” 

Jon wrinkled his nose in disgust. One excursion outside Elias’ eye sockets was enough for several lifetimes. 

“Th-that’s a good point.” Blackwood agreed. 

“Well, do you have any sudden strange impulses?” Sasha asked, looking Jon over.

“Not in regards to skull burrowing .” Jon said, offended. 

Sasha clicked her fingers in a ‘gotcha’ way, pointing at Jon. “But you do feel something different.” 

Not so different from Jon’s usual monster impulses from the future. A need for witnessing, causing and consuming fear. But that would go over about as well as a lead balloon. 

Jon sighed. “It’s complicated. Can we go over it later?” 

Tim stated, “I vote he stays tied up until we get a clear answer on that.” 

“Yes, yes, sure.” Jon said, sarcasm dry, as all humor should be. “Leave me tied up. It’s not like I have a month's worth of trauma related to being kidnapped and tied to a chair so I could be moisturized for my skin.” 

A look of horror briefly broke through Tim’s facade before it took on a more neutral one. The other two were predictably also disturbed. 

“Are you, like … actually fine like this?” Martin asked, his tone going up a few octaves in uncertainty. He stepped to Jon’s side, letting Jon turn to see the worry written on his face. “With all this going on I kinda … forgot about that. Or, well, no.” He pursed his lips. “I just figured you were less likely to be murdered this way.” Martin’s eyes widened as he seemed to have a sudden realization. “Oh my god I nearly killed you.” 

Jon sighed. He's been doing that alot. 

“Add it to the list of near death and actual death experiences.” He said, trying to give a reassuring smile that ended up more of a grimace.

He was not going to admit to Martin it was one of the most traumatic instances Jon had gone through. Right up there with when Daisy had taken him out into the woods at gunpoint to dig his own grave. Afraid he would die a mystery that no one would solve. 

When Martin didn’t calm down at Jon’s attempt at levity, Jon changed tactics. 

“Martin, it’s … it's fine.” 

Was not the right thing to say. 

“It is not fine.” Martin snapped. “I could have killed you! And I wouldn’t have even known.” He covered his mouth looking into the middle distance and eyes glassy. “... I would have been Alone again.” 

When an unateral chill began to permeate the room and Martin started to become the barest bit transparent, Jon nearly panicked. 

“Martin, Martin .” Jon said sternly, frantically trying to get his attention. Martin looked at him in confusion and it was like he was being looked through. “Martin, you are not alone. Remember? I’m here a-and Tim and Sasha and… other … you. You- you’re not alone.” 

Martin moved his hand from his mouth to reveal a confused frown before noticing his hand. 

“Oh shit.” Martin said in a small voice before taking a deep breath, arms hugging himself. “Right. Right it’s- right. Didn’t happen. Not Alone anymore.” After a few moments the room temperature returned to normal, as did Martin’s opacity. “That … hasn’t happened for a while. Fuck.” He gave a harsh sigh. “Thought I was over that.” 

Martin hadn’t gone translucent since the first week of being at the safe house. Sure, he had needed more time recharging his social battery than usual, even after, but he hadn’t been at risk of falling back into The Lonely, with the exception of the Lonely Domains he had been separated in. Including Martin’s own. 

“What the hell was that?” Tim asked, having stood and gripping the side of the table. “Are you- what the fuck are you?” 

Jon scowled at Tim as Martin answered. 

“I-I’m still human , it’s just,” Martin said, in tired frustration. “Lingering effect of being tossed into a literal depression dimension triggered by-” he took a shuddered breath. “-triggered by the fear of being forever alone. We’ve-” He roughly rubbed his face. “We’ve been through a lot.” 

“Occupational hazard of this particular Archive job.” Jon said, holding the scowl. “Something woefully and purposely omitted from the job description and contract. ‘Caution, job may include becoming a target to other supernatural entities and may cause lasting negative effects.’” 

Martin gave a startled, somewhat hysterical laugh. 

“Now,” Jon got back to what was important … after giving Martin a moment. “Can we untie me on the chance someone comes in to give a Statement and is left questioning why a man is tied up in the basement?” 

“Aren't you from the future?” Tim countered. “Shouldn't you know if someone's coming?” 

“Do you remember every specific day for years at a time?” Martin countered the counter. 

If it had to do with a Statement, Jon could probably manage.

“Plus,” Jon added. “This may be a similar parallel world instead of an exact copy of our timeline. There's already a … glaring difference.” He looked at Sasha. 

“What does that have to do with me?” 

“Well, in our timeline you uh …” Martin figgetted, not meeting her eyes. “there's not exactly a delicate way to break this but you … Died in the Prentice attack, but not to Prentice? It was a … whole thing.” 

“... How?” Sasha asked.

Jon answered. “You were killed by a being called the Not-Them that had been bound to a table in Artifact Storage. It … replaced our memories of you with itself. It pretended to be you after. We … didn't know for almost a year. You look and act nothing alike, and it's frankly insulting it got away with it for so long.” 

“Do you think you could kill it again?” Martin asked. “Here?” 

Jon hummed in thought, considering. He remembered how his Gaze alone could hurt it - not outright kill, but certainly make it uncomfortable. He had its Statement, something quite … antithesis to its being. 

“Not in the same way, but I can think of something that might work if we can get it in one place long enough. Now, I believe you were all about to untie me?” Jon raised an eyebrow. 

There was a crash outside the room and everyone froze for a second before those not tied to a chair - everyone else - went to poke their head out the door to see what it was. 

“Oh! Nathan.” Sasha exclaimed, surprised. “What are you, uh, up to? Wait-!” 

“... Nathan Sanders?” Martin asked, quietly.

Jon was still tied up and could only See so much as the individual bolted for the exit. Jon's breath hitches in fear. The Not-Them had appeared to be backing away before bumping into a desk, knocking over one of Sasha’s binders. They were now bolting out of the Archives. 

How much had they heard?

“I got him.” Tim said, about to run after. 

Tim didn’t know. 

“Wait- no!” Jon tried to warn. 

Sasha and Blackwood looked confused at Jon’s warning not to catch the seemingly person that had witnessed them with their boss tied up. 

Jon tried to free himself, but only managed in getting the chair to fall onto its side. Martin hesitated only a moment, looking between a still tied up Jon and a Tim still running directly toward danger. 

If Martin left Tim to his fate, he could free Jon who had the highest chance of defeating Not-Them. If he went after Tim, he might be able to save him, but lose the Not-Them in the process, but he would save Tim, possibly getting hurt in the process. 

Martin went after Tim and the Not-Them. 

As he was, Jon could only Watch. 

***

Chapter Text

*** 

Tim was really struggling to know what and who to trust. Jon and Elias were both someone else - assuming they were who they said they were and weren’t trying to gain their trust to backstab later. He only had confirmation from them that Sasha hadn’t been replaced and that there was a Not-Them somewhere wearing someone else's face. 

Regardless, he couldn’t let Nathan run and call the police about Maybe Future Jon being tied up and looking like their boss Elias. Who had been previously possessed by Jonah Magnus, Institute Founder. 

Tim was not okay. With any of it. And he leapt at a chance at leaving the rooms craziness behind for a break. 

Fucking supernatural body doubles.  

Things were already complicated enough without involving the police. With their luck, it would be the scary Officer Tonner chick that would show up. Her partner PC Hussien was much more pleasant in comparison. 

As is, Tim’s thoughts were a mess and had he not been so distracted by all the revelations, he might have noticed how smooth and uncanny Nathan's movements were. He was already uneasy and dismissed the little feeling that something was wrong. 

Tim may be athletic, but Nathen was practically acrobatic in his quick turns, weaving through stacks of paper with ease. Tim was just about certain that he was going to get away and he was filled with dread with having to explain this to the police. 

However, when Tim turned a corner he discovered Nathan had stopped some distance from the turn, back to Tim. The sight pulled Tim to a halt, the feeling of wrong further setting his fear on edge. Nathan was still. It didn’t even look like he was breathing. 

Thoughts about the Not-Them and Jon’s attempt to tell him to wait flashed through his mind as Tim realized he had just made a huge mistake. His fear rooting him to the spot. 

Nathan - no, Not-Them - turned in a move too smooth to be human, features wavering to expose inhuman shadow and warped its form like a heat haze, stretching in ways that strained Tim's eyes and mind. The light above began to flicker. 

As fear invoking as it's appearance was, Tim blanked in horror when it spoke, pepper spray all but forgotten. It practically cooed at Tim as it's head tilted at an unnatural angle … and that smile with too many teeth . Its voice distorted more as it spoke.

“Have I ever told you how nice your skin looks~? ” 

Fucking Jesus fucking shit Christ-!  

He desperately wished his empty hand had a weapon of some kind. A fire extinguisher, an axe, something - he remembered his secret weapon and scrambled for his jean pocket, wide eyes not leaving the thing in front of him, but it was too late. The things long, impossible fingers - nails - claws - swiped at Tim with sadistic glee. The same type of glee as the thing that stole his brother away from him and danced in his skin. 

There wasn’t a moment of his life flashing before his eyes or anything like that. Just pure. Unadulterated. Terror . 

Tim was roughly yanked backwards and down by the collar of his Hawaiian shirt and the creature only grazed his chest rather than him being disemboweled and ripped to ribbons. It was shallow, but held an agony like no other. Tim didn’t know if it was possible for identity itself to be in pain, but that’s what it felt like as he landed on his ass staring up at the incomprehensible creature that towered above him. 

Was he Tim, the fun office joker and flirty researcher? Or was he Tim, the bitter and angry man on a mission to avenge his brother? Who was Tim really? Did he even know himself enough to answer? Or had he always just been … putting on an act and pretending he did? 

This really wasn’t the time to have an existential crisis as he was still in very real, very present danger.

Tim shook his head to try and banish the confusion, pressing a hand to his chest wound as someone placed themself between him and the thing that was Not-Nathan . He recognized Jon’s silhouette, but it wasn’t Jon. 

“H-He isn’t yours to take!” Future Martin squared up against the thing without identity. 

But Tim could hear the uncertainty and fear in Jon's voice, though his pitch going up in nerves was all Future Martin. Jon’s small frame wasn’t the most intimidating to work with, but maybe if he glared hard enough it would feel really bad about hurting Tim- Tim shook his head again. He needed to be serious Tim right now. Joking the monster away wasn’t going to work. 

It was so hard to know how to act when he was having trouble figuring out who he was meant to be . And it was terrifying. 

“Then why is he so afraid~?” Not-Nathan laughed, seeing Tim’s fear for what it was. “He is Marked. He is OuRs.”

Tim’s stomach dropped and pressed his lacerations harder. Marked …?  

Future Martin clenched his fists and squared his shoulders. Angry on Tim’s behalf - risking more than his life for him. His very identity. 

In a surprisingly level voice, Future Martin spoke. “Are you sure you should be wasting time on his fear when the one who Knows you is so close?” His voice went low with a threat that Tim didn’t understand. 

And yet, the monster hesitated. 

“In fact, if it’s fear you want …” Future Martin took a step forward. “Why don’t you stay and leave your Statement behind and try out your own? ” 

Tim could barely believe his eyes. It looked as if it was Future Martin who was intimidating the monster with his words alone. 

“Martin!” Elias’s voice called with far more concern than the two had ever heard from that particular voice. “Tim!” 

The shout was accompanied by frantic footfall. Someone had released The Archivist and he was coming to their rescue. The thing flinched and made a sound that hurt to think about. 

Tim could see tension not noticed in Future Martin's shoulders relax a fraction. So he was scared too. Tim wouldn’t admit, but the way Not-Nathan had been reacting to Martin’s words had been starting to intimidate Tim as well. 

“Well?” Future Martin challenged a final time. 

The thing hissed, its form beginning to take on the more human guise of Nathan Sanders. The sounds it made as it did made Tim shudder. It felt like spiders were crawling up his spine. 

“ Don’t think this is over. I’ll be back and I promise you …” It said, trying to stir up what last fear it could and met Tim’s eye with its own. “You won’t know as who.”

It ran. 

Future Jon rounded the corner, eyes wild, before tripping over Tim and sprawling quite spectacularly across the tile floor, just as Not-Nathan went out of sight. 

“I-” Future Jon Asked, rubbing his chin and pushing himself up. “Are you okay?”  

“No,” Tim immediately blurted. “I’m having a minor identity crisis. I think the thing did something when it cut me.” Tim slapped a hand over his mouth and glared at Future Jon. 

“Yeah,” Future Martin also Answered. “I'm just glad I distracted it long enough to save Tim. Even things like that have some kind of self preservation regarding threats.” 

“Fuck you.” Tim said to Future Jon. “Don’t just pull out answers from me. Maybe I don’t think you should know how I am.” 

Future Jon winced at Tim’s injury, two parallel streaks of red that probably weren't going to wash out of his shirt. Blood was notorious for staining. He doubted the existence of a laundromat advertising work good enough for bloodstains; it would probably attract too many murderers for customers. 

Tim slightly smiled at his own joke, despite this not being the time or place for smiling. 

Sasha and Present Martin showed up as he was finished talking, having moved at a slower pace. But when Sasha saw him she went right up to him to place a grounding hand on his shoulder. He could see the worry on her face. 

“You okay? Sasha asked, gently. “You said it … did something?”

“Oh, y’know.” Tim said, his levity loosening his lips even without being compelled to answer. “Left a parting gift of an identity crisis leaving me to ponder what ‘self’ even is and wonder who I am as a person on an intrinsic level. If I wanted deep introspection I would have gone to therapy.” The anger started to creep back in. “Not have a monster literally try to shred my identity apart. ” 

By the end it sounded like it was Tim who wanted to shred something apart, which he did , as this situation was immensely frustrating . He was not enjoying these supernatural mood swings and they left him worried about saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Foot in mouth syndrome was a Jon and Martin thing. He’d always been the charismatic one, had relied on that skill for … practically everything. He was scared of who he was without that. 

Sasha offered him a hand up which he took, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. 

“Maybe … maybe try to calm down?” Sasha suggested, worried for Tim. “It’s gone for now. Right?” She turned to the time travelers. 

“Y-yes, it's gone.” Future Jon said. “It’s hard to track it without Seeing it in person, but it shouldn’t go far. It's still bound to the table in Artifact Storage and it can’t move it by its own power.” 

“Sasha. Sash. My dearest friend.” Tim said jovially, giving her a quick hug, stealing a moment of comfort among the chaos, making her freeze in surprise. “I feel like those theater masks right now.” he let her go and pointed to the corners of his mouth to smile, before it fell off into a scowl. “And I don’t know which one is the real me. I know you said you don’t think there's such thing, but I don’t like this” 

He went back to putting pressure on the wound like he should have been. Though the wound didn’t look as bad as it felt, it had not been smart to remove the hand to commit to the comedy before he got checked out. He winced at the returned pressure. 

He also realized that by hugging Sasha he had unintentionally spread his blood onto her. Not a lot but the majority of people don’t tend to enjoy being covered in blood. God he really was overwhelmed. He opened his mouth to apologize but was tripped up by deciding on how. Whether he should lean into lividity or curse himself for his oversight. His eyelid twitched. 

Was there a middle ground? If there was, it would make sense that that’s who Tim was. Both. Somehow. He just needed to remember how. But it was like the more he panicked over it, the greater the divide. 

“Sorry.” He said, frustrated, then joking. “I plead bi-polar on supernatural steroids?” He turned to the time travelers to demand answers. “ Tell me this isn’t permanent .” 

Tim was giving himself tonal whiplash, but it’s not like he could choose one . They both simultaneously felt right and a little off at the same time. He ran an anxious non-bloody hand through his hair. If he committed to one, would he get stuck like that? Feeling like he was a performance of a person? 

Even if the information came from two maybe-people he wasn’t entirely trusting of, Tim would take what he could if it meant answers. 

***

Sasha blinked down at the tied up man formerly perceived as Elias.  

When people learn that they were meant to have died months prior, not everyone's first reaction would be to ask for details. At least, not if they believed it might be true. Which she wouldn’t know without more information, but wasn’t going to out right deny the possibility. She had seen some crazy things in Artifact Storage and again in the last half hour. 

Sasha was both overwhelmed with the information she already received, and desperate for more; She wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery of the two men from a version of the future that may or may not be imminent. Even when each new bit of knowledge a piece of the puzzle that slotted into place revealed the picture was bigger and more bleak than her initial observation. 

Monster eyeballs. Murder attempts. Mentions of an apocalypse. Love confessions. Evidence of Gertrude’s murder. Depression dimension side effects. Dubious time travel. Timeline divergence because of Sasha's death . 

If they were telling the truth, it painted a pretty straightforward narrative from what she put together so far. If a bit … unbelievable. 

After a near death after some kind of apocalypse involving a collapsing building, Alternate Martin and Jon somehow time travel into the wrong body. Both decide to look for the other, or were getting their bearings about where and when they were, leaving their offices for the Archive breakroom. Alt Martin sees “Jonah” and decides to take him out because of something he’s done or will do or simply because he’s a monster, not knowing “Jonah” is Alt Jon. Alt Martin, who she thought was Jon, sent Sasha to grab evidence of Gertrude murder and other information that was being withheld in Elias’s - Jonah’s? - office while Alt Jon was trapped in Document Storage. When she was away, the miscommunication regarding Alt Jon was resolved somehow, but he still ended up tied up in the breakroom, knocked out by Tim (Martin let her know when he fetched her). They then tell the Archive Crew that their job, “this particular Archiving job,” came with a lot of undisclosed supernatural baggage beyond researching it and that it might not be time travel, but an alternate universe because she was still alive. 

If they were lying, what would they gain from it? Especially with such a convoluted cover story and introduction. What would be so important that the two would orchestrate eye removal to gain credibility? They had already infiltrated if it was information or an Artifact they were after, regardless of if they were or weren’t who they claimed. They didn’t need to tell the Assistants they were there, not unless they needed the Assistants themselves for something. 

Honestly, the chaos made sense if there was no plan. She remembered the look on his face when “Elias” held his own eyeball. That look of horror and disgust and reluctance before shoving it back in his face . As well as “Jon’s” fear of when he started to disappear from being depressed at nearly killing Jon. 

It was … a lot. At this point, she debated grabbing a notebook. Or an entire conspiracy board; for the aesthetic and convenience. She was scared not just of the option that they were lying … but that they weren’t. Both had bad implications. But she needed to know and that required more information, wherever and whenever she could get it. 

And so, hearing she had died in a different time, she asked. 

“... How?”

As she looked into the eye’s of the man tied to a chair in their Archive breakroom, it was like she was looking into a fathomless well of knowledge, and she knew they were only scraping the beginning of what they could tell them. Like he had so much information behind those old eyes that if she were to receive it all at once, she’d drown. And when those eyes looked back … well. It was as if she knew she could never hide from that which watched through them, an impartial and critical gaze, regardless of the expression the face they were set into donned. 

They left her tense and self conscious. She breathed easier when they were no longer directly on her. Yet, she could still feel him watching. A feeling that had always seemed to linger in their place of work. 

“You were killed,” Alt Jon answered, “by a being called the Not-Them that had been bound to a table in Artifact Storage. It … replaced our memories of you with itself. It pretended to be you after.” He fought to stay composed. “We … didn't know for almost a year. You look and act nothing alike, and it's frankly insulting it got away with it for so long.” 

Well then. That was … something. She could have not just been dead by now, but forgotten and replaced. A fate that very possibly already occurred to an Alternate Sasha. And unfortunately, Sasha was leaning toward believing a lot of what they were saying - not to say they couldn’t be withholding anything or giving half truths. The reveal had shaken her, but she wasn’t going to let it show. She wasn’t new to the idea of multiverse theory, but it was one thing to think of it as a fun Sci-fi concept and quite another to have possible proof of it staring her in the face. The idea of infinite realities left her feeling … small. 

“Do you think you could kill it again?” Alt Martin asked Alt Jon while Sasha tried not to spiral into her own thoughts. “Here?” 

She had to wonder why ask Jon to do it. Martin had already shown himself able and willing to commit monster murder personally.  

Jon hummed. “Not in the same way, but I can think of something that might work if we can get it in one place long enough.” 

The way they discussed it, made it sound like the Not-Them needed a specific method to kill which … didn’t inspire confidence. Even without all the parts, she continued to try to stitch together what crumbs they were getting. To put it in magic 8-ball terms, “Outlook not so good.” 

“Now,” Alt Jon continued. “I believe you were all about to untie me?” an eyebrow raised. 

She respected the bold directness of the request. 

Sasha jumped when there came a clatter from outside the break room. Sounded like something was knocked over. Yet, everyone was present. 

Oh god, had someone seen “Elias” tied up? Had someone actually come to give a Statement at the worst possible time?

Everyone went quiet as she and the others - minus Alt Jon still tied to a chair in a very incriminating way - looked to see what had fallen with anxiety. 

She saw the researcher she had come to tentatively call a friend and relaxed minutely. Jean jacket and alien pins just as usual, yet with an inscrutable expression. Had he seen? It would look like they had tied up the boss - though technically Jon was their boss, not that it was their Jon - this was needlessly complicated and something Sasha didn’t want to get into. 

“Oh! Nathan.” Sasha exclaimed, surprised. She hoped they could talk it out. “What are you, uh, up to?” He turned and ran. “Wait-!” 

“... Nathan Sanders?” Alt Martin asked, quietly.

Something about how he said the name bothered Sasha. Yet, she couldn’t quite place why, leaving her to confusedly ponder. 

“I got him.” Tim said, about to run after. 

If Alt Martin's tone worried her, Alt Jon invoked dread. However, her confusion and worry left her rooted and it appeared much the same for Martin. 

“Wait- no!” Alt Jon called. 

Tim had already gone and Alt Jon had managed to topple the chair he was on. Alt Martin looked between his fallen … partner in time (she absolutely needed to tell the pun to Tim) and back to a quickly receding Tim, before following Tim and Nathan at a speedy pace. 

“Why, what's wrong?” Sasha was quick to question Alt Jon. 

“That's- that’s it ,” he looked at her with fear in his unfathomably deep eyes. “That's the Not-Them.” 

It was then she remembered who she spent her time in Artifact Storage with. The day she was meant to be replaced. But hadn’t been. 

The day she met Nathan Sanders. 

“Oh…” Martin mumbled, shoulders tensing. 

“... shit.” Sasha said at the dawning realization, already taking a step out of the door. 

“Wait!” Jon spoke with urgency and speed. “It’s not something you can hurt in a traditional sense - please , Sasha, listen to me when I say that I have the highest chance of being able to fight it.” 

Sasha’s hand gripped the doorframe, hesitating on the boundary. A look to Martin was all it took to know he was also at a loss on what to do. So, Sasha made a choice. Her jaw tightened and she moved toward Jon and began untying him. 

“Fine.” Sasha agreed. 

“Thank you, Sasha, I-”

“If you even think about running,” Sasha threatened. “I will track you down and you will not like what happens when I do . Thank me by saving them . I’m trusting you here.” 

The final knot came loose. 

“... right.” He got to his feet, already heading toward the door and picking up speed. “Guess I better hurry this rescue along, then.” 

She could have sworn she saw a green light shine off the wall as he passed, his back to them and quickly receding. 

Sasha and Martin hesitated to follow, suddenly left alone together in the break room. 

“... was that a good idea?” Martin asked, shifting anxiously. “I mean, there’s just so much we don’t know. What if they’re wrong about Nathan?” 

Sasha looked back to the door the others disappeared through, before squaring her shoulders. She started walking after, her pace, a steady march. Not wanting to be part of the action, but not wanting to miss it either.

“I don’t know …” Sasha admitted. “But I’m not waiting here to find out.”

She heard Martin let out a wine from behind before following. 

“Well don’t leave me here alone .”

When the two got close enough to hear their voices clearly, the first they heard was Alt Jon Asking, “Are you okay?”  

“No,” Tim’s voice was panicked. “I’m having a minor identity crisis. I think the thing did something when it cut me.” 

“Yeah,” Future Martin also Answered. “I'm just glad I distracted it long enough to save Tim. Even things like that have some kind of self preservation regarding threats.” 

“Fuck you.” Tim said, assumedly to Jon. “Don’t just pull out answers from me. Maybe I don’t think you should know how I am.” 

He sounded angry, like this was the last straw and he was taking out his lingering anxiety on Alt Jon. Sasha couldn’t help a sympathetic wince. But if Tim was alive enough to complain then he was alive in the first place.

Sasha and Martin rounded the corner as Tim’s sentence ended. 

Immediately she noted Tim was on the ground and clutching his chest. There was a little bit of red indicating he was injured. She went to his side and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He gave her a glance, relaxing marginally before Jon’s voice got their attention again. 

“You okay?” Sasha asked, gently. “You said it … did something?”

“Oh, y’know.” Tim said, thick with sarcasm and with a tone lighter than the situation called for. It was quite the 180 from the anger he had directed at Jon and she blinked in surprise. “Left a parting gift of an identity crisis leaving me to ponder what ‘self’ even is and wonder who I am as a person on an intrinsic level. If I wanted deep introspection I would have gone to therapy.” The anger started to creep back in. “Not have a monster literally try to shred my identity apart. ” 

Sasha was worried and the news left her with a frown as she tried to understand what that even meant. She knew how Tim could work himself up when he was scared. She stood up fully and offered him a hand up which he took. 

“Maybe … maybe try to calm down?” Sasha suggested, worried for Tim. He gave her a frown, which, fair; telling someone to calm down doesn’t exactly work most of the time. Instead, she tried to offer reassuring facts. “It’s gone for now. Right?” 

She turned to the two who knew more about the Not-Them than anyone else in the room for confirmation. She still held Tims hand. 

“Y-yes, it's gone.” Jon said. “It’s hard to track it without Seeing it in person, but it shouldn’t go far. It's still bound to the table in Artifact Storage and it can’t move it by its own power.” 

She didn’t know what he meant when he said that, but she was willing to set aside her questions for now to priorities Tim. 

“Sasha. Sash. My dearest friend.” Tim said, giving her a quick hug, making her freeze as his mood shifted again. “I feel like those theater masks right now.” He let go of her hand and let go of his injury to point to the corners of his mouth to smile, before it fell off into a scowl. “And I don’t know which one is the real me.” He seemed to get lost in thought. “I know you said you don’t think there's such a thing but I don’t like this.” 

The blood on his hand made the display rather uncanny. Sasha didn’t want to admit it, but he was scaring her a little. 

He winced as he started putting pressure on what like two claw marks. They were, thankfully, shallow looking, but Sasha would be more relieved if she could get a closer look to treat it. His gaze landed on her shirt and she briefly followed the gaze to see his blood from the hug. 

He opened his mouth. Shut it. His eyelid twitched. 

Sasha reached out to place her hand on his shoulder to tell him she didn’t care about the bloody shirt, it was him she cared about. He pulled away. 

“Sorry.” He said, frustrated, then not. “I plead bi-polar on supernatural steroids?” He turned to Alt Jon with a glare. “ Tell me this isn’t permanent .” 

Sasha decided to stay cautious in the face of such an unstable Tim. But she wasn’t leaving him either. If this was what a scratch could do, she feared how much worse it could have been. Would Tim … would Tim have been replaced? 

Future Martin looked lost, but Future Jon looked thoughtful. 

“It’s …” Future Jon began tentatively. “I can’t Know for sure, I can’t see the future, but it is very likely it will wear off. The Not-Them eats identity, so to speak. It must have been trying to cut you into more manageable … bites.” 

“Not. Comforting.” Tim informed. 

“No, not much involving the effects these things have is.” Jon agreed. “Worst case, it may linger in more subdued ways and … flare up on occasion, like with Martin- uh, my Martin.” 

“That’s it!” Tim pointed at the two, tone still fluctuating. “You’re getting nicknames. I have reached my limit with identity issues this day, thank you very much .” Tim pointed at Future Martin. “I dub-thee Jmart!” 

“What?” Present Martin asked, baffled. 

Future Martin tilted his head, not outright turning it down and curious about the choice. 

“Y’know.” Tim said, amused. “Jon, Martin,” Tim linked his fingers together, once again neglecting his injury for a moment. “ Jmart! And he-” he pointed to Jon, “-can be-”

“Jon.” Jon cut in, yet Tim continued on.

“-Spooky Boss~”

“ No .” Jon refused to be called Spooky anything . 

“Jonah-than?” Was the next suggestion. “Like- like Jonathan? But with Jonah?”

“Yes, I got it.” Jon said. “ Extra no.”

“Fine.” Tim scowled. “Jon, then. Not worth the effort arguing.” An eye roll. “Being as our Jon is ‘out of commission’ and not exactly in a position to protest.” 

Jmart made a pained noise at the reminder. Jon stood a few steps closer to Jmart. 

“Um, if it’s all the same to me,” Sasha interrupted sternly. “Can we treat Tim’s wounds rather than stand around talking about nicknames.” She put a reassuring hand on his arm. 

Tim stopped smiling. “Yeah that’s smart. No idea if some other monster’s going to show up and we need to be in fighting shape.” 

Sasha gave Tim a look as she started leading him away by the elbow. “... I think maybe we should avoid throwing ourselves at any more monsters in the immediate future.” 

“Right.” Tim replied to Sasha in the tone she recognized as not entirely genuine. 

“Tim.” Sasha chastised.

“Sasha.” Tim replied. 

The exchange was short, but familiar and seemed to put Tim less on edge. 

He gave a big sigh, walking back toward the break room. 

“Fiiine,” Tim relented. “You may have a point.” 

They all made their way back to the break room where the first aid had remained. It was Present Martin who broke the silence. 

“... are we really going to use a ship name for future me?” Martin asked, voice pitched up. 

Jmart practically choked on nothing, similarly speaking in a higher pitch that Jon wouldn’t have typically used. “Oh I didn’t even think of it like that.” 

Tim gave a pleased chuckle at the minor distress. 

“I don’t know about you,” Tim explained, “but I distinctly remember that confession from when they went all looney toons in the bullpen.” 

Martin blushed, Jmart sighed and Sasha hummed. 

Jon looked between the others, confused before leaning over to Jmart. 

“What is a ship name?” Jon Asked. 

“It’s a name, mainly from combining two peoples' names who are in, or you think would be cute in a relationship.” Jmart Answered, before exclaiming mildly annoyed. “Jon!”

Martin was mortified with second hand embarrassment. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Jon harrumphed as they all made it to the break room. “Avoiding questions isn’t exactly easy when I'm curious.” 

“Your attempts are going over just swell so far.” Tim quipped, taking a seat. 

Sasha was quick to recover the first aid and gesture for him to remove his shirt so she could work. He winced as he did. 

The injury didn’t look like much, and it had already stopped bleeding. Getting a closer look, there didn’t seem to be as much blood as initially thought. Honestly, he could probably say it was a particularly bad cat scratch and get away with it. 

Tim scowled at the injury, “This hurts way more than it looks and it's so unfair.” 

“Aw, it’s okay Tim.” Sasha said. “I still think you're a big tough manly man. You’ll be out and kayaking in no time.” 

“Thanks Sash.” Tim said, surprisingly heart filled. “What would I do without you?” 

Sasha opened the med kit and pulled another chair next to him for herself, pulling out disinfectant. 

“Probably go to the hospital and hit on a nurse.” she replied. 

He gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Oh definitely.” 

Both Jmart and Martin went to turn on the kettle and gave each other apologetic looks as they got in each other's ways. Jmart relented first, stepping aside for Martin to make the tea. Jmart uncomfortably leaned against an unused section of counter next to Jon and crossed his arms to prevent his hands from fidgeting. 

Jon, oddly enough, chose to right the chair he had been tied to before to use, still a distance from the table. He watched the room with a critical, yet weary eye. 

“Doesn’t look like it needs any stitches.” She announced. “Let's just disinfect and wrap it. Physically at least, it should be fine.”

Maybe by fixing up the injury causing his situation, it would go away. It was a nice thought and Tim decided to be hopeful. 

“And the spooky diagnosis?” Tim inquired, arching a weary eyebrow at Jon.

Jon spoke up hesitantly. “Talking through it with someone you trust, and who knows you should help with the identity part.” 

“... isn’t that just therapy?” Tim scoffed. When Sasha lightly dabbed the stinging disinfectant to his chest Tim gave an exaggerated, “Kyah!” earning him a smack to the arm. 

She gave an exasperated eyeroll and fought a fond smile. Tim himself was beaming a lopsided smile that looked more natural than it has since the injury. Jon may be onto something and if prescribed hangouts were what it took to help her friend, it wasn’t a high price to pay. 

“Well … not necessarily therapy.” Jon said, beginning to ramble. “In this case, I believe it's more important that whoever you talk to, you have a history with, be it platonic or otherwise. These things from the real Statements, they thrive off fear and work off dream logic. Beings of The Stranger, like the Not-Them, thrive off the unknown, lack of identity and uncanny. Being surrounded by those who know you should help counter it.” 

“Gee,” Sasha said, looking at Tim and finishing with the bandages. “I wonder where we’ll find someone that fits that description.” 

“No clue.” Tim said, matching her energy. “I don’t have friends. Not one.” 

“Yes, quite” Jon said, dryly. “Now, if we’re done with the interruptions, me and … Jmart .” he reluctantly accepted the nickname. “Have a number of things we should inform you all about regarding our experience with the supernatural. We may not have come here on purpose and certainly not in such a condition, but we might as well make the most of it. Afterwards I would like to look into fixing-” He gestured to himself. “- this somehow.” 

“Gotta agree there.” Jmart said. “It's super weird being, well, you . And I really don’t like how you look like him . It’s … unnerving.” 

“Really.” Jon deadpanned. “Hadn’t noticed. I’ll admit, having another consciousness in my head is not all that pleasant, either.” 

“Wait- you don’t mean-”

Jon winced. “Yes, the real Elias is alive.”

Everyone, especially Tim, looked horrified at the realization. 

Chapter Text

***

Jon really wanted to just get the critical information about the paranormal out there. The sooner it was, the sooner they could make a plan. Especially regarding the body situation. 

“Gotta agree there.” Jmart said. “It's super weird being, well, you . And I really don’t like how you look like him . It’s … unnerving.” 

‘Wow. Rude.’ Elias complained. ‘That’s my face by copyright law. Not my fault you got beef with the knock-off.’  

Jon was not enjoying how Elias had been getting steadily more chatty since trying to save Tim. Or according to his unwilling headmate, ‘falling flat on his face tripping over Tim in the most embarrassing rescue attempt Elias had ever seen.’ 

It was understandably making it hard to concentrate. 

“Really.” Jon deadpanned, annoyed at the Elias commentary. “Hadn’t noticed. I’ll admit, having another consciousness in my head is not all that pleasant, either.” 

Honestly, it was a surprise he hadn’t complained sooner. 

‘Screw you, man. I'm a delight .’  

“Wait- you don’t mean-” 

Jon winced, now realizing the error of his slip up. “Yes, the real Elias is alive.” 

Everyone, especially Tim, looked horrified at the realization. Leave it to Jon to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

‘Alive sure,’ Elias said, nervously as all the eyes in the room turned their way, ‘but I would be a lot better with my body back … just saying .’  

“He’s … fine.” Jon settled on, stiffly. “Not happy, but who could be under the circumstances.” 

‘... Why are you letting them know?’ Elias asked with suspicion. ‘To feed on their despair of not being able to help? Or am I a hostage so they don't off you in the night? Cuz news flash, ’ he said bitterly, 'they don’t know me and have no reason to care.’  

Jon rubbed his temples with a sigh as if he had a particularly stubborn headache. A headache called Elias Bouchard. Jon had his own emotional hang ups and feelings of inadequacy to deal with without Elias tossing his own around in addition. Jon didn’t even bother countering the allegations as Elias wasn’t likely to believe him regardless. He had to keep reminding himself that Elias was well within his rights for such hostility and mockery. 

Martin said in shock, “... God, poor Elias. The whole time, with Jonah …?” 

‘First he insults my face, now he's trying to pity me?’ Elias said, uncomfortable with the attention after so long without. ‘What a bitch.’ 

‘What happened to judging silently?’ Jon complained silently back. ‘And don’t be mean to Martin.’  

Somehow, Elias mentally conveyed flipping Jon off. ‘Get me some Mary Jane and then we can negotiate quiet time, Eye Guy.’  

Was … was Elias asking him what he thought he was asking?

“I'm not sure who was tormenting who, at this point.” Jon muttered. 

“What’s uh …” Martin asked. “What's he saying?” 

Jon keeped his expression level. “He’s negotiating to be quiet for narcotics. Mary Jane for quiet time, he put it.” 

Tim choked on his spit as he was startled into a wheezing coughing fit of laughter. 

“O-oh?” Martin and Jmart said at the same time. 

The two Martin’s made brief eye contact before looking away from each other awkwardly. The kettle came to a boil and Martin started pouring out tea for everyone with intense focus. 

“I haven’t checked how serious he is on principle.” Jon stated, but was mostly ignored. 

Sashsa raised her eyebrows. “No way. Elias wants you to smoke a blunt ?” 

‘Yeah way!’ Elias said with a genuine liveliness and passion he hasn’t shown before. ‘ It's been 20 years of evil eye balls, man, I could use a fucking mellow day.’  

Jon sighed before relaying what was said, making Tim laugh worse, though his eyes betrayed how much the time span bothered him. 

It seemed to surprise Elias how willing Jon was being a middle man. Elias’s next thought was quiet, as if it had slipped through the mental defenses, and was impossibly nostalgic in tone. 

‘... the first interaction with another human being in 20 years and it's about weed. That … tracks.’ Even quieter to the point Jon almost missed it, Elias added.  ‘… fuck I miss people.’  

All but Jon were unaware of the turbulent emotions the small interaction had caused for Elias. Jon, not being very good with emotions, pretended he hadn’t heard it either. Jon … didn’t like how guilty it made him feel about being an obstacle in Elias’s life that was previously Jonah. Jon could empathize but he knew, or rather, assumed, he was probably not welcome. 

“Good god.” Tim said finally breathing well enough to speak. “I was not prepared. I know there were rumors he was a pothead back in the day but, seriously? ” 

Tim finally replaced his shirt, despite the two cuts in the fabric now offering small slitted windows to the bandages beneath.

“Is there …anything else he wants to say to the rest of us?” Jmart said, having accepted this as his new reality. 

The Assistants eagerly looked to Jon for an answer. 

Elias fell silent at that. Jon could feel the walls going back up as anxiety had Elias retreat. 

“... he’s quiet now.” Jon noted. “I uh, I think you might have intimidated him. It’s been … a long time.” 

“Oh,” Jmart said, understanding. “Right. I get it. Go long enough without talking to anyone and you almost forget how.” he gave an awkward laugh that trailed off. 

Jon gave a vague hum in agreement. 

‘What the hell would he know about that.’ Elias grumbled.

“Well he didn’t get attached to by The Lonely for nothing.” Jon scolded. “And then in the Fear apocalypse, conversational partners were quite slim pickings.”

Elias did not have a rebuttal for that. 

“Tea’s ready!” Martin said, a bit more enthusiastically than necessary. Trying to banish the plummeting and awkward atmosphere and before the temperature could plummet with Jmarts mood. 

There was a moment of quiet as Martin handed out the tea for everyone. And even though his hands shook a little when Jon received his, he was grateful for it. 

Jon looked into the drink as if it held the answers to the universe and was being stubborn about spilling the metaphorical tea, as it would be blasphemous to spill the actual tea. He glanced at the pile of broken mug shards and tea Jmart had dropped earlier that no one thought was a priority to clean and made an exception. It was just a shame it had been Jon’s favorite mug. 

‘T-Tell them, uh …” Elias bagan nervous, his first intentionally vulnerable moment of asking Jon to pass a message, before realizing he couldn’t think of a conversation topic. He sighed. “Just tell them ‘hi’’  

“He says ‘hi.’” Jon relayed to Jmart. 

Jmart blinked up from sipping tea with his eyes closed in an almost reverent expression before what Jon was saying clicked before returning the greeting with a warm smile on the face he was (hopefully) borrowing. Jon couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled like that. 

“Hello Elias.” Jmart said. “Nice to, uh, meet you? I’m Martin, er, Jmart.”

‘... I know who you are, dingus.’ Elias huffed without any real bite, before retreating to his mental corner once more.

“He doesn’t seem up for more conversation.” Jon informed. 

“Fair.” Jmart nodded. 

“... so If we could get back to pressing matters?” Jon hazarded with a pointed eyebrow raise after a much appreciated sip of heavenly tea. “We’re running short on time.” 

“Probably best with that thing running around.” Tim agreed. “It made it sound like it was going to steal someone else's identity and come back.” 

“Yes, that is a worry.” Martin agreed. “Shouldn't we be going after it as soon as possible?” 

“The sooner the better, yes.” Jon admitted. “However, it is vital we face this thing prepared. It should still take a while before it finds someone under the right conditions to replace.”

“So what’s the plan?” Sasha asked. “You said you can’t kill it in the ‘traditional sense.’ Ominous, but not exactly helpful information.” 

Jon cleared his throat. “Where to start …” 

Jmart cut in “Actually, I’ve been thinking. Do you think you could call Rosie and have her put out an announcement about Nathan having taken a knife from Artifact Storage and to stick in groups of two or more as they evacuate? Lessen the chance of people getting caught in a big group and buy us some time.” 

“I- yes I suppose that is wise.” Jon said, conflicted. “But would she listen to m-?” 

“Jon.” Jmart interrupted. “You’re Elias right now. You’re the boss she’s terrified of. Of course she’ll listen.” 

“... ah. Right. That’s … something.” Jon got up and headed to the nearest landline, as the signal was spotty at best in the Archive. “I’ll do that now.” 

“Great!” Tim said, “I’ll go with you.” 

Jon was about to give a rebuttal that he didn’t need a baby sister, before sighing in defeat. If following Jon was what it took to get cooperation, then it was a small price to pay. Also serving as some sort of karmic justice as a watcher and watched inverted, Jon’s stalking spree catching up. 

“Alright.” Jon agreed reluctantly to Tim’s surprise, who hastily got up to make sure Jon did as was said. 

The two headed off. 

However, not wanting to miss out, Jon doubled his sight through use of the same poster he had before, resolving to allow Tim to follow him around like an angry duckling. 

“Why a knife?” Sasha asked Jmart. “Why not any Artifact? I mean, I get why not the truth, it’s a bit … out there.” 

“Well,” Jmart explained, “Likely, not everyone working here believes in the supernatural or has experience with it.” he shrugged. “Whether they believe the knife is cursed or not, it’s still a knife and a knife is small enough to be concealed so it won’t be too odd to not actually see it if anyone gets close enough.” 

“Huh.” Sasha said. “Fair enough.” 

“So.” Tim said, bringing Jon back to his actual surroundings as they made his way to the Head Archivist office. “What do you think you’ll do as double-boss, then?” he couldn’t hide the trace of bitterness and distrust that was in his voice. Less than it was, but still present. 

“I have no idea.” Jon admitted. “I haven’t even been here an hour, it hasn’t really crossed my mind.” 

They reached the office. 

“Intatute pizza party?” Tim suggested, startling a laugh out of Jon. 

“I can imagine the confusion of the donors now.” Jon said amused at the idea. The idea of indirectly inconveniencing the Lukas Family financially was tempting. “Maybe.” 

Jon dialed the front desk on speaker. 

“You’ve reached Rosie at reception,” Rosie answered professionally. “What is this call regarding, Mr. Sims?” 

Rosie had seen the caller ID coming from the Head Archivists Office and assumed it was Jon, he Knew. Well, younger Jon, as she was technically right it was Jon calling. 

Jon took a moment to Know how Jonah would talk to her. 

“Mrs. Zampano.” Jon began. “Please put out a temporary evacuation to the Institute. Nathan Sanders has removed a knife from Artifact Storage and assaulted the Archival team before fleeing with the weapon. It is highly likely he will attack whomever he comes across, especially those he catches alone. Make sure people evacuate in groups.” 

“I understand, Mr. Bouchard.” Rosie said. “Is there anything else?”

Tim said in a convincingly disturbed voice, adding to the cover. “He just- he tried to stab Jon’s eye’s out . He was fine one second but then he just- he snapped . I chased him off after he got a couple of swipes in on me, but he still has the knife and from the look in his eyes he was still out for murder. I don’t think he liked that his ambush didn’t work. Don’t think I need an ambulance, Sasha patched me up.” 

Jon Knew Rosie was eating up the gossip, but decided to prevent Tim from adding anything outlandish to the tale.

“Yes, Tim, I was there.” Jon said. “That will be all, Rosie, I suggest you get on that.” before he hung up. 

Too late he realized he had used her first name causing her chronic paranoia to flare up about her boss’s motive’s. It would be fine. Probably. She was too scared of Elias to gossip about him or not do as told. 

It wasn’t long before Rosies voice came on over the intercom for the rest of the Institute. However, the Archives speakers were always broken and gave nothing but a slight pop to indicate the attempt before falling back to silence. 

“Shoddy technology.” Jon muttered under his breath before heading back towards the break room with Tim trailing behind. The others had started making small talk about horror movies and their tropes and which apply to the situation and Jon decided he wouldn’t miss anything important if he turned his Gaze away. 

The unexpected - but really should have been expected - increase in fear about someone running around with a knife made it harder to focus on the Not-Them. It kept slipping out of his view, especially because Sonja was internally panicking about an Artifact on the loose from her Department Storage. She and others in Artifact Storage were having the worst of it, drawing his Gaze. 

Jon rationalized it as making sure they got out okay, when Watching the Not-Nathan directly was proving difficult. But he doubted the feeling of being Watched helped with the paranoia of turning and finding someone wielding a knife. 

Tim walked in a deceptively easy-going manner. “Add ‘tech update’ to the list of things to improve now that you’re head, monster-boss.” 

“Please don’t start with the nicknames, you’re almost as bad as Elias.” 

‘Oi.’ Elias said in a simple warning. ‘Careful there or I'll think of something better than ‘Eye Guy,’ Eye Guy.’  

Tim’s steps faltered almost imperceptibly, but Jon Saw. “Is he really fine in there or have you just been saying that so we don’t get mad?” 

Jon sighed. “As much as anyone could be after two decades of mental torture. Honestly he is far more sane than I would have expected.” 

‘Why, thank you.’ Elias gave the impression of an eyeroll and curtsy in one. 

“If he gets his body back,” Jon went on, “I fear whatever mischief the two of you would get up to should you team up.” 

“And how likely is that?” Tim asked, mirroring Elias’s own question. 

Jon shrugged. “I have no idea, but nothing is impossible regarding these things, given the right circumstances. Depends what you want and what you’re willing to do for it.” 

They heard laughter from the breakroom ahead. Sasha’s laughter. Jon noted that this was the first time he’s heard it. 

“That is somehow reassuring and nonreassuring at the same time.” Tim said, rubbing over his covered bandage. “And yet still 100% ominous.” 

They finally made it to their destination. 

Jon gave a small forced smile to Tim. “Ominously helpful seems to be the best I can offer these days.” 

“Tim, help,” Sasha said amused and still partially laughing. “Please tell these two that Doctor Who doesn’t count as a horror series.” 

Jmart rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to admit the Silence and Weeping Angels are very horror coded though.”

Martin nodded in enthusiastic agreement with his older self. “Those episodes gave me nightmares .” 

Jon sighed and a bit of his old boss persona slipped in, “As nice as it is that you’re all getting along, now that we’ve bought more time, I think it’s best we use it on actually resolving the problem?” 

The three looked away, realizing he had a point. His supernatural heavy Gaze likely also a contributor. Along with having Elias’s face. He made quite the intimidating figure, which he couldn’t say he entirely disliked. He waited till they were all back in their seats again before beginning, taking a deep drink of the tea Martin had made for him. He hadn’t set it down when he made the call. 

“As I mentioned,” Jon began, “Beings of The Stranger thrive off the unknown. Their antithesis, being known and understood, takes away a certain level of sway they have but not entirely … the powers aren’t always consistent so it's best not to make assumptions. Though sometimes assumption is all we have. 

“Luckily in this specific case, and unluckily in many other respects, the Institute is connected to an antithetical entity. The Ceaseless Watcher, or just the Eye for simplicity. It is the fear of someone knowing too much, terrible knowledge, and the fear of being watched and surveilled.” 

“Is that why Jon started stalking us?” Tim asked bitterly. “He joined a stalker cult?” 

“ I did not do so knowingly.” Jon protested. “All I did was do my job as the Archivist and over time … the effects of working for a malevolent metaphysical being began to manifest.” 

“He’s a literal know it all now.” Jmart added. “Basically post-apocalyptic Google.” 

“Not anymore .” Jon corrected. “There isn’t exactly an apocalypse of fear feeding the entities nigh on unlimited power . I can only Know most things. If I wanted to.” 

Martin made a kettle impression.

“ Spooky google, then.” Jmart corrected, with a small smirk. 

Jon made a face as if he had bitten into a lemon. 

“Oh only! ” Tim said, pitch a tad higher than his normal tone. “Sorry guys, he’s only almost omniscient. Did you also become a freaky eyeball thing like Elias, then?” slipping up with the names. 

‘I’m not Jonah.’ Elias grumbled.

Jon sighed. “No, the ‘freaky eyeball thing’ is what Jonah became. I stayed human in appearance, though my eyes did change into an ungodly lime green.” Jon could tell from Tim’s expression he was not helping his case. “Would it make you feel better if I said unless I think of the information I want, I generally don’t know it?” 

“But you could, say,” Sasha asked.  “Know what I had for breakfast?” 

“Yes.”

“And?” She prompted. 

Jon sighed. “A chocolate croissant, breakfast wrap and coffee from the cafe down the way. However Tim stole the croissant you were saving when you got in so you raided his stash of biscuits in return.” 

She looked surprised. “Well I’m convinced.” 

“Great.” Tim said sarcastic, yet also serious. The mix was a good sign, Jon decided. “Bad enough when you were stalking us through normal means.” 

“I’m currently trying not to know anything about any of you that I don't already.” Jon said with a withering gaze. “Which is admittedly hard when I do not have memories of the real Sasha, and you’re being quite hostile, but easier than it has been.” 

“And me?” Martin asked, worried. 

“I’ve had practice.” Jon answered. “Me and … Jmart made a deal where I avoid Knowing anything about him and I think that would expand to a younger version.” 

Martin appeared to relax at the information. 

“Oh it so does.” Jmart interjected. “If you had used that as a loophole I would be very cross with you.” 

“I know that.” Jon said before correcting his phrasing. ”Well, not Know know, but I could assume that much.” he cleared his throat pointedly. “We’re getting off topic-” 

“Maybe stop going off topic then.” Tim quipped, before giving a wide, borderline sassy gesture indicating all of Jmart and Jon. “But we are absolutely circling back to whatever other spooky bullshit powers you’ve got going on.” 

“Quite.” Jon gave an unimpressed look. “You can test my abilities later, but we need to be focused on stopping the Not-Them-” 

Jon’s phone rang before Jon could try and track the Not-Them back down. Most everyone had evacuated so far and yet he was still having trouble locating it. It had slipped out of his view at his lack of concentration and it didn't bode well. Jon gave a heavy sigh at the interruption.

Jmart was the one to jump and fumble with the device was in his pocket. 

The default ringtone was unexpected as, one; who would be calling Jon, and two; The Archives were more often than not out of cell range. The Assistants and Timetravelers exchanged confused looks. 

“U-uh, um?” Martin stuttered in concern. “Not to state the obvious, but I don’t think we should answer this.” 

He turned the screen to the others. Instead of where it would show the caller number, there was nothing but static. 

Sasha gave a nervous smile. “That is such a horror genre cliche I don’t know if I should be impressed or offended. Too bad I don’t have things set up for a call trace at the moment.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to recognize the number?” Tim teased Jon and Jmart. “Friend of yours?” 

“I don’t particularly make a habit of phoning anyone without a phone number.” Jon dead panned. 

Jon knew something was wrong beyond the obvious when he couldn’t Know the caller. 

“I … I don’t Know who’s calling.” Jon stated, worried. “They’re shielded from my sight.” 

“That can happen?” Sasha asked. “How?” 

Tim sat up, attentive to a possible weakness and method for privacy. 

“... Yes.” Jon said, only half focused as he continued to try and glean information. “Some of the other powers have means of interference, but I don’t Know who or what or why I am being blocked from Seeing, just that I am.” 

“Like when Annebelle was hiding out with Selasa’s camera?” Jmart asked. 

“Well obviously I can’t Know that.” Jon said. “But there is one way to find out.” 

Jon gave the device a pointed look. Jmart followed his gaze to the device in his hand and then back to Jon with an expression that can be summed up as conveying ‘really?’

“... you want to answer the creepy phone call that spooky powers aren’t cooperating with?” Tim asked, leaned back and arms crossed. 

“Fuck it.” Jmart decided. “As long as it doesn’t eat me.” his hand paused just before answering before asking Jon. “It, uh, it can’t do that, right?” 

Jon remained silent. 

“... okay then.” Jmart said, steeling himself before answering on speaker phone and dropping it on the counter and backing up as if it might explode. 

“My my.” a familiar feminine voice said, amused. “You sure took your time answering, but I suppose curiosity has alway been your fatal flaw, hasn’t it? Don’t you know it’s rude to leave your friends waiting.” 

“ Annabelle ,” Jon accused, as Jmart said, “We aren’t friends.” both clear with their animosity toward the caller. 

The Assistants eagerly eaves dropped.

Annabelle gave a mock gasp. “ Archivist ,” She said in amusement. “With such a warm welcome you might give a girl the wrong idea. Been some time. Well, some semblance of time, that is. Don’t you want to catch up?” 

A sinking realization began to settle. 

“... we weren’t the only ones to come back.” Jon said in growing horror. 

“Ding ding ding.” Annebele continued to mock in a tone that suggested she wasn’t taking this conversation seriously. “Very good Archivist. How observant . Or should I call you Jonah now?” Annabelle asked with a hum. “Names and identities are such fickle things, and you know what they say about walking a mile in someone else's shoes.” 

Tim shifted uncomfortably at the comment. 

“How many came back?” Jon Asked, increasingly incensed with Annabelles tone, which was probably her intention but made it no less effective. 

“Just me and you two.” She Answered, before sounding less than pleased. “You’re being rude, Archivist. And here I was calling out of my endlessly charitable goodwill.” 

Jon scoffed and rebuked. “I doubt you have it in your capacity for ‘good.’” 

“Is this your doing?” Jmart asked. “Was this part of your plan?” 

“You think too highly of me, Martin.” Annabelle said fondly. “To attribute this mess of a web to one individual is giving me far too much credit. This is as much my mess as it is yours. You are the one who stabbed Jon in the end. That was your choice.” 

The Assistants were exchanging looks at the lore drop. 

“ You’re the one who manipulated that into being the best option to save everyone.” Martin said, also getting annoyed. “And it didn’t even do what you said! So what’s your plan? End the world again.”

“Oh Martin,” Annabelle said, “Already trying to manipulate me into taking all the credit as puppet master, but I have no need of a new apocalypse, I have nearly everything I want thanks to you. Are you sure you don’t want to join the web? The offer is still open. Consider it a favour.” 

“If my answer was no when you were dangling me over the void between worlds, what do you think?” Jmart asked rhetorically, “ No , Annabelle.”

“A shame,” She said, unsurprised. “Those spiders were just getting comfortable in your hair, too.” 

Jmarts face blanked for a full second before violently shaking out his hair to see Annabelle had not been bluffing. There were less than a dozen small jumping spiders that were knocked loose before skittering away. But that was still more than the normal number of spiders a person should have, which is zero. 

Jon couldn’t help but shudder as that was technically his hair. 

“Jon, Jon, tell me I got them all.” Jmart said, still shaking out his hair in mild panic. 

Jon used his Knowing to find out, “You got them, all eight-” “-Eight!?” “-dendryphantinae jumping spiders.” 

“Is that a fucking spider pun on dandrift!?” Jmart accused.

Annabelle gave an amused laugh from the receiver. 

“Maybe I'll have better luck with baby Martin.” she mused. “Mr. Blackwood,” she addressed directly, as if she were a saleswomen trying to sell a car, “How would you like to be filled with spiders?” 

“Um.” Martin said, high pitch. “No?” 

“Perhaps something other than spiders. Cobwebs?” 

“Stop picking on younger me.” Jmart complained, finally fixing his hair from removing the spiders. 

“Oh, but it’s so fun.” Annabelle said. “He could be traumatized in so many more unique ways than you were.” 

Jon wondered how long they had been there and learned they had been there ever since this Jon had gone to bed that night. Which was horrifying for more than one reason.

“... You got here earlier than us.” Jon stated. 

The realization seemingly formed from nothing to the others. 

“Yes, I did.” Annabelle confirmed. “I even saved that little Assistant of yours because I'm so very nice.”

“Sasha?” Jon said, incredulous. “You saved Sasha? You’re the reason Nathan was eaten instead? That was months ago.” 

“A lot can change in a few months.” Annabelle said cryptically. “And I’ve nearly completed all the set up for what one might call a ‘master plan.’ And you’re going to help.” 

“I should hang up.” Jon reasoned with himself. But he couldn’t. He needed to Know what she was planning.

“But you won’t.” Annabelle predicted. “You’re far too curious, aren’t you? It’s your nature. What you are. And that's not something easily fought. Try not to strain anything trying to Know, I am using Selasa’s camera again and it will not be pleasant for you.” 

“Jon!” Jmart exclaimed, looking from the phone to him.

Jon had been glaring daggers at the phone and had nearly done just that, giving himself a nosebleed. He grabbed a paper towel from the counter to clean it off, the bleeding halting with his attempts. He hated how predictable he was being and he knew she knew, and he knew she knew that he knew she knew. Probably. He couldn’t Know . 

“Fuck you.” Jon cursed. 

“Hmm.” Annabelle said as if making a realization, or at least pretending to. “Maybe I should call back after you’ve killed the Not-Them. You might be in a better mood.” 

“Or y’know.” Jmart said. “Don’t call back at all.” 

“I haven’t even gotten around to telling you why I called.” Annabelle pointed out. “You’ve all been so hostile and untrusting. We spiders are good for the environment, you know.” 

“As if this wasn’t just to mess with us and waste time.” Jon accused. 

“While that’s a fun bonus, it wasn’t my reason.” she admitted. “But I'll leave you to go monster hunting. Rosie came back when she realized you guys hadn’t evacuated, and the Not-Them is about to realize. Have fun boys and girl~” 

The call disconnected and Jon cast his Sight around and realized Annabelle was right. 

“Shit!”

Chapter Text

***

Rosie forgot her phone. 

This wasn’t ideal, as she was left to worry outside with the rest of those evacuating as a man was on the loose with a knife inside the Institute with nothing to distract her but her own worry and paranoia. Her gaze turned to the people around her and leaving the Institute. None gave her a second look, as was usually the case for many secretaries. 

The fact that the perpetrator was Nathan Sanders did not sit well with Rosie. On the morning of the Worm Incident, one Nathan Sanders had entered, and in the afternoon a different Nathan Sanders had walked out. The only reason she had noticed was because the old Nathan had a habit of trying to flirt with her, regardless of her time-honed business service smile being more impenetrable than a brick wall - the guy could not take a hint. This new Nathan, if that was even the case, had a craving for gossip and conspiracy theories. The knowing look or smile he gave her when no one else was looking made her think he knew what he was doing, but Rosie could never be sure if it was really the case or her mind playing tricks on herself. 

A part of her tried to convince herself that it was just another Nathan, that the old one had quit and it was a silly little coincidence with the timing. Something to laugh about with the unlikely odds of two Nathan Sanders in the same department. But Rosie couldn’t laugh it off. Not when the records only show one Nathan Sanders ever having been hired before, and when everyone was treating this Nathan as if he was the other. She hadn’t snooped, per se, but she had been curious about the sudden disappearance. It wasn’t unheard of for those in Artifact Storage to quit suddenly, however that did not seem the case with Nathan. 

Rosie has said nothing of this to anyone. Especially not Nathan. If this had been an elaborate prank, someone would have cracked by now, as it had been months. 

Rosie didn’t know what to do about it, so Rosie did what she normally did; nothing. 

A part of her wanted to see where it went. Another worried that it was just her paranoia acting up again, which was almost enough to convince her she was the one who was wrong; that Nathan had never been any different. 

And now, she was without a phone, waiting for the police to show up to handle Nathan. Only … the police weren’t showing up. Had Mr. Bouchard expected her to make the call? Had those in the Archive already called them? They must have. People were still coming out of the building and it hadn’t been that long. They must still be on the way, surely. 

Rosie's attention returned to the people around her and those still exiting. Those with nothing to do with the Institute and just walking by were understandably confused but moved on with their lives. Those from the institute were in their department groups to make sure they had everyone, much like a fire drill. Or The Day of Worms, with less panic. And less worms. 

Sonya and her department employees came out looking understandably frazzled. Nathan was one of their hires and it was also their department where he acquired the weapon. They were the closest to Nathan. Sonya was nervously biting her thumb nail, likely worrying about a very possibly imminent job review from Mr. Bouchard and a lecture. 

When Sonya spotted Rosie and came over for more information. She was one of the only people who gave her any kind of casual conversation. Sonya was hoping for more details about the situation, of which Rosie had scarce much to offer aside from what Mr. Stoker had said about saving Mr. Sims. She thanked Rosie and walked back to her employees and began discussion of trying to figure out which cursed knife Nathan might be using and just how screwed they all were based on the information. She also noticed their group was furthest from the institute, either intentionally or unintentionally, putting a wall of researchers between them and the threat. 

Still without a phone, she listened to random snippets of conversations, as was her typical pass time during work. She tried not to fidget. She still felt as if someone was watching her, but saw no one. 

“At least it's not a cursed book?” 

“Or worms. Again.” 

“Fuck! I forgot to save my document.” 

“Do you think we’ll get the rest of the day off?” 

Most of the crowd were watching the doors while they chatted with a vague tenseness for the situation, but not all. No one else had exited during the last minute. 

Library staff from both the public and private half, here. Researchers of various sub departments, here. Artifact Storage, here. There were also a number of students and teachers that had been inside the library looking for research material as well. Even the newest Custodian had made it out. But no Archive’s crew. 

Or Mr. Bouchard. 

Even more concerning, there still wasn’t any response from the police. No one seemed to have called, the few people milling about on phones mostly scrolling through social media or making social calls. 

Had no one seriously called the police? Was Rosie witnessing the bystander effect in full force? 

… had Mr. Bouchard actually expected Rosie to make that call? Ice ran down her spine. She needed this job, and being the reason for Nathan evading the cops was a big reason to get fired. Plus, someone could get hurt. The longer Rosie’s indecision lasted, the higher her stress levels rose. Should she call the police? What if someone already had? The longer it went without a response of sirens the closer Rosie was to losing her hard crafted composure. 

She didn’t know what to do, what the right choice was. Her fear and paranoia led her to inaction as it often did. If only Mr. Bouchard or someone could tell her what she needed to do. 

But Mr. Bouchard and the Archive crew had also still not exited. 

And her phone was still inside. 

In a moment, her decision was made. She needed to make that call. Or, she must have made that choice as she found herself stepping toward the The Magnus Institute doors as if they had a mind of their own. Had she been thinking clearer, she would have asked to borrow a phone. And perhaps she would have also noticed how the crowd were no longer giving the door the attention they had as she slipped back inside a building with a Nathan that wasn’t Nathan who had a knife. 

A silk threaded net drifted through the air above the crowd before dissipating, its purpose fulfilled. 

The door closed behind Rosie with a sense of finality. 

What was she doing …? This was dangerous and stupid, more so than anything Rosie had ever done in her life. Oh god please don’t let this be how she dies. But she was in this now, and she shouldn’t stand here until Nathan found her, she needed to act and she had come this far. The thought shook her out of her fear paralysis. She hurriedly scurried toward her desk. She was making damn sure that phone call got made. There was no guarantee she would even run into Nathan anyway. The thought was a small comfort. A very small one. 

She found her phone with its purple bedazzled phone case and let out a breath. In her relief she didn’t spot the web it had been caught in. She was reaching for it just as she heard the most soul wrenching and haunting voice speak in a voice that was not Nathan’s. 

“Roooossssie~ how about those drinks noooow~?” 

She couldn’t help it. Hand on a phone that showed no bars, she screamed … but she did not look away. 

And for that reason, she didn’t miss what happened next. 

“Ceasless Watcher,” A voice boomed with power, yet did not increase beyond a speaking volume. Elias Bouchard had turned the corner and was slightly out of breath. He was not alone.

The thing that was not Nathan reeled back and let loose a haunting screech, as if the words themself were a physical blow. 

The hair on Rosie's neck stood up as she felt as though she were on center stage, all lines forgotten. She couldn’t comprehend what she was witnessing. 

***

After the call disconnected, Jon got that distant look in his eyes that Jmart knew all too well. That faint shimmer of green that could nearly be dismissed as a trick of the light. He Knew something. And judging by what happened next, Jmart could only assume it was a confirmation of what Annabelle had already claimed. 

“Shit!”

And like that, Jon was already running. Because of course he was.

“Wait- Jon we need a plan!” Jmart called, the first to run after him. 

“There isn’t time!” Jon shouted back. “We improvise!” 

“You suck at improv!” Jmart exclaimed. 

Jon did not have a comeback for that, but did not stop running.

There was a smash from behind and looking back they saw Tim had broken into a glass box where a fireman's axe was stored, before catching up. Sasha and Martin were also following. 

“If we’re charging a monster with no plan,” Tim shouted, “You better believe I’m doing it fucking armed this time!” 

“Does it have any weaknesses aside from the Eye thing?” Sasha asked. 

“I don’t Know!” Jon said. “It was trapped underground for a while in our timeline before the apocalypse set it free again.”

Jmart’s mind was racing. A plan, a plan, they needed a plan and fast. 

“Fine. Fine!” Jmart shouted. “Jon, you do the Ceaseless Watcher thing, Tim, Sasha, you keep it distracted, Martin, get Rosie out of there. We’ll find a way to keep it pinned and Jon, you finish it off!” 

“I can try.” Jon said, determined but unsure. “But I don’t even Know if it will work!” 

“Well, we’re about to find out! Nobody take your eyes off it, it’ll make it harder for it to replace any of us!” 

Easier said than done. He was already getting out of breath! Jon should have worked out more. Maybe he wouldn’t have been kidnapped so easily. How is old man Elias more physically fit than Jon? 

But it was too late to think of anything else, they were already turning the final corner. 

“Ceasless Watcher,” Jon intoned with power of Beholding and the very air seemed to charge. “Turn your gaze upon this wretched thing.” 

But it wasn’t enough. The Eye could stare but it didn’t have the full power of the world behind it enough to destroy it in a single sentence. 

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. The scream made that very clear. 

It tried to turn, to flee, to run, but one Timothy Stocker was ready a blow from the axe. Just as Not-Nathan was going to strike Tim, Sasha knocked Tim out of the way, barely avoiding a hit herself. Out of her pocket fell the recording device Jmart had given her earlier, clattering a skidding across the floor to Jmart.

Martin had gotten to Rosie and they were both hiding behind the front desk. Both poked their head out over top to observe. 

Jmart was frantically scanning his environment for something to pin or tie or delay it with. His eyes fell onto the recorder. He had an idea. 

Jon continued his chant, slightly different from the one Jmart had heard before.

“Let it Know that it is Known and that it is found lacking.” 

It screeched yet again, beginning to smoke and swiped at Tim and Sasha with long distorted claws. They wouldn’t dodge in time. 

Jmart, armed with the tape recorder's unspooled tape, leapt onto Not-Nathans back and wrapped the lengthy film around its long and wrong neck, pulling back, forcing it to miss Tim and Sasha once more. He wouldn’t even attempt to describe the texture of its false skin. 

This was the worst … bucking bronco ride … ever. 

Jon's chant got even more intense. 

“Lacking the anonymity and secrecy that it thrives upon.” 

The effects of the chant continued to increase with each line, its skin beginning to blot and bleach and flake.

The black plastic proved to be very strong. Stronger than one would expect. He should know, having been tangled up in it before in a different time. However, the Not-Them proved to be more flexible than thought, twisting its head around to glare directly into Jmart’s eyes even as the skin peeled and flaked from its false face to reveal nothing but shadowed fog underneath. Its long and gangly limbs twisted and warped, and Jmart was its target. 

Its attack was deflected by Tim’s axe, which itself came a little close for comfort. Sasha had a knife out - where she had got it, Jmart had no clue - and was tracking its moves carefully. The knife shook in her hand. 

She was facing down the creature that had killed her in another time. 

One that was right in front of him and had nearly stabbed him. 

“Nope nope nope!” Brain in panicked autopilot, Jmart raised his hands still holding the tape trying to tangle it as much as possible so that Jon could kill it. He used what he knew from years of knitting sweaters and tying knots. Not that it would be the prettiest thing, cassette tape isn’t exactly known for its knitting reviews, but he wasn’t exactly in the business of knitting sweaters for every monster he came across, not that he was exactly aiming for a sweater. 

… would Jon wear a sweater if he made one for him? He certainly stole his enough that it might be likely. 

The Not-Them’s jaw began to dislocate and stretch, giving Jmart a look into a maw that was and wasn’t teeth. Jmart felt his breathing stop with fear, remembering Tim’s split personality shift when he got injured by it. 

“Oh fuck no!”

The knife in Sasha’s hand stopped shaking, a fire in her eyes that had nothing to do with a crazy arson cult ignited as she dove the knife's tip into the Not-Thems head. It hissed at her. 

Jmart tried to back away but his fingers had gotten caught in the tangled tape.

“Let it Know that it is Seen and that it is remembered!” 

It howled in pain, a large portion of its stolen identity flaking off. 

“I-I’m stuck!” Jmart said, pulling as hard as he could and using a foot on Not-Nathan's back for leverage, tightening the bondage on both of them. “Jon, now would be a pretty good time to wrap things up!”

“Was that a pun?” Tim muttered, amused. 

“No.” Jmart answered Tim, exasperated. 

“Let it Know that it is Archived forever more.” 

Its false skin was shed in a pale cloud of identity. It turned to the closest target with rage. Jmart. 

“Sasha?” Jmarts voice went high.

Luckily, she got the message. With a well placed slice between Jmart and the identity stealing shadow, Sasha cut Jmart free. 

However it loosened just enough for the Not-Them to snake free, contorting far beyond what it had before. The hateful wrath took metaphorical flight toward Artifact Storage, the place of its binding, the web table, and its last sought out defense against the Eye. It needed to get past the secretary desk to get there. 

“Let it Know that it is Known!” 

Tim threw the axe with expert precision at its back however the axe phased through, barely distorting its figure and falling to the ground. Were physical attacks no longer affecting it? Strange, because the cassette tape still seemed to be tangled round it. 

Jmart ran after it. He couldn’t let it get away when they were so close. 

The others seemed to believe the same thing. Tim, Sasha, even younger Martin all ran forward with him to grab the strands of cassette tape, surrounding it. Together, they pulled, trapping the Not-Them. 

Jon finished his chant. 

“Ceaseless Watcher, I offer the Statement of Not-Them, extracted from subject, October 9th, 2016, and supplemental regarding its demise in another time!” 

It dissolved with a scream that echoed before that too fell silent. It didn’t look like it had when he had smited - smote? - it in the apocalypse, but the effect seemed to be the same. The Not-Them was dead. 

Tim, Sasha, Jmart and Martin collapse backward, the tension from the Not-Them disappearing slackening their makeshift trap. 

“Ha ha!” Tim couldn’t contain the laughter of victory. “Take that you fucking imposter!” He looked at Jon. “Chant got a lot less mystical at the end there buuuut it’s not like I can complain. Weirdest exorcism ever.” 

“Technichlaly, that was a complaint.” Sasha pointed out. 

“That was terrifying.” Martin stated. “Never again.”

Jmart snorted, a goofy grin sported on his face. Nothing like paperwork to make even monsters seem less magical. He looked at the spot where the Not-Them ceased to exist and the smile fell. 

The cassette tape that they had all been using to hold the Not-Them had gone slake. It was shaped vaguely like a spider web, connecting them all. 

Jmart looked to see if Jon had noticed. Judging by the scowl directed right at it Jmart would hazard to say, yes. However, there was also another familiar expression on his face. And a recorder in hand. A kind of pained, kind of constipated look. 

Jon needed to make a Statement. Or more accurately, start the Statement he had offered to the dread god. 

“... um,” Came a voice that Jmart had nearly forgotten was there. Rosie. “Can anyone explain … any of that?”

The two time travelers met eyes. Even now Jmart was not immune to the feeling of being watched, but he had come to associate it not with the dread powers, but Jon. Jmart nodded and waved him away to do his thing, Jmart would handle things here. 

“That,” Jmart began, “Is a very long story. In fact, let's send out an email about letting everyone have the rest of the day off. You too, after you get some answers.” 

Rosie looked to Jon who was leaving. Jon who was for better or worse, the acting Head of the Institute.

“Hmm?” He turned to Rosie, then waved it off. “Whatever he says.” 

Rosie was unsurprisingly, shocked with the cavalier behaviour of her boss, and very very confused. 

“... of course, Mr. Bouchard.” 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Tim asked accusatively at Jon. 

Jon gave a tight lipped smile. “I have promised the statement of the Not-Them and would rather not befall the consequences of not following through.” 

“... what would happen if you didn’t?” Sasha asked, curious, “Would it come back?” 

“I don’t Know,” Jon said tightly, turning to leave, “And I think we would all rather not find out.”