Chapter Text
This was it. Jonathan Sims had found absolute proof that this all really was his fault. He’d blamed himself, sure, but he never could have guessed just how true that was, how deep all of this really went.
That knowledge sat heavy in John’s chest as he stared down at the tape recorder, and the guilt ached like his chest might break open. Every horrible thing that had happened to all of them might as well have been his doing. He might as well have been the one that trapped them all here, forcing them to go through so many horrors with no escape. He killed Sasha. He killed Tim.
He’d found the tape in another hidden compartment in his office. He was pretty sure Gertrude had done something, to hide this from more than just the Eye. Maybe even the Web. He wasn’t meant to hear this, he knew with how hard it had been to even hit play. If only he’d heard it so much earlier, before it was too late.
They were all bound to the Archives, through the Archivist. He existed as the teather that trapped them all here, preventing them from leaving as the Eye slowly fed off them. They lacked that direct connection to the Eye, which meant the solution here was incredibly simple. If he was removed from the picture, it would no longer be able to reach them. They would be free.
He just needed to die.
If he died, they would all be released. Martin, Melanie, Basira, Daisy; they would finally be free from this nightmare. They wouldn’t be trapped in this misery, constantly in danger, with nightmares seeking their death. They wouldn’t be targets anymore. They would be safe and out of harm's way.
It was a good thing Martin had turned him down like he had. He still felt a wash of shame at the memory, that he’d tried to ask Martin to gouge out his eyes and run away with him. Of course he’d turned him down. Of course he wouldn’t want that. There was no way being with John could be worth that risk. But it wasn’t necessary now anyway.
No one else needed to get hurt. And all it would cost was his own life. He wasn’t really human anymore, not since the coma. It would just be one less monster in the world, and that had to be a good thing. It was practically no price at all for their lives and their freedom. He shouldn’t have come back, he should have stayed dead, and they all knew it. This was just— correcting a mistake.
And yet, selfish bastard that he was, he still didn’t want to die. He had hurt all of them so much, destroyed their lives, but he still hesitated because he just didn’t want to die. That self loathing sat heavy in his gut, weighing him down, crushing him. All he had to do was die, but he was still too much of a coward.
He realized he’d started crying at some point and he scrubbed viciously at his face, frustrated with himself. He didn’t have a right to feel sorry for himself after everything he’d done. He put his head in his hands, but as he leaned over his desk, he spotted a second tape recorder that he hadn’t put there. It was recording. He snatched it up and hurled it across the room.
Time was running out, especially if whoever was listening through the tapes had heard all that. Besides, Martin was being drawn further and further into the Lonely, and he needed him to be okay. He didn’t want to mess up Martin’s plans, but maybe it would be easier for him to escape once he was done if the Eye didn’t have a stranglehold on him any longer. John would do anything if it might give him some edge, some way out of the danger he was in.
He was breathing heavily now, trying to swallow down the terror. He had to do this. Maybe— maybe he could start with blinding himself. Maybe he could do that first, see if everyone could quit after that. And if not, he could always kill himself after. Assuming gouging out his own eyes didn’t kill him outright, of course. What was a creature of the Eye without eyes?
It was an easy solution. An easy choice to make. He even still had the knife he’d used to try to cut off his finger. Although, that had been a fairly pointless endeavor. Every time he’d cut the finger off, it had simply re-absorbed the blood and fused back together. Maybe he wouldn’t even be able to blind himself. He could find Jerod Hopworth again, but he doubted he’d be interested in letting him walk away a second time. He’d been lucky enough for the first, and he did not want to imagine what he might do with his body.
He took several steadying breaths. No, if he was going to try this, he had to do it now, before he lost his nerve, before Elias and the Eye could interfere. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, the fear and uncertainty drowned out by the horrible guilt and his need to atone, to save these people he cared so much about. He’d done nothing but fail them, but he couldn’t fail them now.
He brought the knife up and stared down at the tip of the blade. He took another steadying breath, trying to figure out how to get the angle right, if he should hold his eyelid out of the way, but then, he supposed that hardly mattered. He took a deep breath and pushed—
And nothing happened. There was no splitting pain, no agony, he simply continued to stare down at the knife tip. He gripped the blade with both hands and tried again, tried to lean forward, but it was like his body wouldn’t let him no matter how hard he strained.
Shit. It was the Eye, it was fighting against him. It wouldn’t let him gouge out his own eyes. What was he supposed to do? Maybe death really was his only option. Feeling a swell of defiance, he angled the blade down, and plunged it into his chest without a second thought.
He’d been aiming for his heart, but struck a rib, the vibrations of the impact sending a shock of pain through the nerves. He gasped in pain and doubled over, eyes closed tightly as he tried to recover. It took him a moment, then he managed to change the angle and try again, the blade scraping along bone causing him to cry out, agony lancing through his torso, down his arms, almost making him drop the knife. But then he’d done it, and the blade finally pierced through, past his ribs.
It was only then that he realized that the angle had been too high, and Knew he’d managed to miss any vital organs. With a distressed whimper, he wrenched the blade free and that white hot pain was just as bad coming out. He sat there gasping as blood soaked through his shirt. His hands were trembling as he set the knife on the table, heedless of the pool of blood he left there.
He leaned forward, resting his head on his desk as he tried to catch his breath, riding out the agony. He needed to get himself together, he needed to try again. He forced himself to straighten, but froze in shock when there wasn’t the pain he’d been expecting. Reaching up, he realized the wound had completely healed already. Shit.
He supposed he should have expected this. Maybe he couldn’t even be killed by normal means. But then, maybe he could still die from blood loss, even if the Eye made it difficult to hit anything vital. It was worth a try. And if that didn’t work, he’d have to get creative.
He staggered to his feet and made his way to the break room, leaning heavily against the wall as he went. He was glad no one was likely to be in for some time. He was sure he made for a disturbing sight. Once in the break room, he grabbed every knife he could find. If taking the knife out caused him to heal, he’d just have to leave them in.
By the end, he had two knives in his chest, and one in his side, but it was still taking too long. He set his left hand out on the counter, palm up, and sliced along his wrist, hoping to hit a vein. He supposed he could have gone for his throat, but he really didn’t want to have to do that. He didn’t want to do anything that might make him relive that night when Daisy had almost killed him. If only Basira hadn’t stopped her.
He looked around and realized how much blood was on the floor and winced. Maybe he should have thought more about this. Maybe he should have found a bathtub or something. Too late now, though. He was finally starting to feel woozy with the blood loss, but it wasn’t enough. He was desperately wracking his brain for what to try next when the break room door opened and Melanie froze in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Melanie, good!” John exclaimed. “Quickly, I need your help. Can I borrow your knife?”
“What the fuck?” Melanie said, her voice somewhere between horror and fury. “What the fuck.”
“It’s fine, it’s okay,” John tried to assure her. “I think I know how to set everyone free. I just need—“
“No, nope, I don’t think so, I am not dealing with this,” Melanie said, and she turned and stormed back out.
John tried to call after her, desperation gripping him suddenly, but she ignored him. Shit. He didn’t think he could do this alone anymore. Maybe Hopworth really had been a better choice. Or any other entity, so many wanted him dead these days. Or maybe he could throw himself off the top of the building? He just wasn’t sure how he’d get there now in the state he was in.
“Fuck.” He looked up to see Basira in the doorway now, and he thought maybe not all hope was lost. “Thought Melanie was exaggerating.”
“Basira,” John said quickly. “I know how to get everyone free of the Eye, but I need—“
“You need to, what, kill yourself?” Basira demanded, and he couldn’t understand why she looked so disapproving and angry.
John didn’t answer, he couldn’t think of what to say, what might come close to fixing this. If only he’d been quicker, then it would be over and they’d be free.
“Are you serious?” Basira demanded.
“No,” Daisy said as she entered behind her, voice so final that he fell silent out of reflex. She moved forward and grabbed John by his good arm. “Brace.”
That was the only warning he had before Daisy grabbed one of the knives in his chest and ripped it out and there was no way he could stop his scream as his vision dimmed.