Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CW: monsters, blood and piss, violent compulsions, desiccated corpses and webs, mundane physical injuries (that are still quite nasty), canon-typical beholding content, nightmare scapes, brief canon-typical fears content general

1

Martin Blackwood made plenty of mistakes. On a daily basis actually, if his new boss in the Archives was to be believed. But he had never made a mistake so catastrophic as the one he made today.

He was going to die.

There wasn't actually a question to it either. It was fact. Irrefutable and traceable clearly through every choice he made back until his very first error, on volunteering to handle the forms Jon needed signed by Elias.

Running up a packet for examination and hopefully approval, was supposed to be an easy job.

‘So easy I suppose even Martin can't mess it up.’ Jon had sighed, and Martin had laughed uncomfortably because he knew it was a defense mechanism. His mom was like that all the time, it meant she was overwhelmed and insecure about something. He was completely sure Jon was the same. This was probably a very hard job to get dropped on top of you.

Martin knew his clumsiness and fretful nature didn't help either, so being a gopher for a few hours hardly seemed an unfair trade for Jon's patience.

But that wasn't really that important now, was it? That had been purely the first of his mistakes, and by far the least foolish of them.

When Martin finally reached the top floor of the institute (an exhausting activity, with a lift that only worked two weeks out of the year, and a good 6 floors of grand and imposing staircase) he was panting, leaning on the railing for support before composing himself again for an interaction with his boss of the highest tier. Or well, more likely his assistant Rosie, who would keep him in stilted but friendly company until he was either called in, or returned the files with their potential acceptance or rejection scrawled across it without an actual word from Elias himself.

He was a busy man. Martin had only seen him stop to chat with Jon himself a few times since they started their work here, and even then it was Jon, the department head. Never an assistant.

Not that Martin minded. Elias Bouchard had for whatever godforsaken reason, interviewed Martin personally when he applied for a position here, and seemed just on the edge of suspicion every time they came face to face. He really didn't want to spend enough time in the man's sight to remind him he wanted to check Martin's references.

Why had he volunteered to do this again? Hell. He really was an idiot, wasn't he?

Too late now. He was already up at the top floor that had no purpose outside of Elias related tasks. And Rosie had clearly spotted him through the glass window leading to her office.

Turning around now was not an option for so many reasons.

He smiled back at her on instinct, and waved towards her with file in hand. She giggled out of his earshot and waved him inside.

Martin did so obediently.

“Hello Martin. Mr Bouchard is in a meeting at the moment, so you can leave that here with me or take a seat till he's free.” She told him with a perfect mix of friendly and professional tone. When he sat down she smiled sympathetically.

“The head Archivist wants it done right this minute again then. I'm glad he sent you, when he does it himself he paces in here the entire time and mutters about his time.” She giggled, then glanced at the wall awkwardly. “I much prefer it if it's you or Tim.”

This was not Martin knew, a knock on anyone but Jon, as Sasha was simply too busy between archival work, her personal paper, and the left over work she needed to complete herself in Research, to ever take the role of errand runner. Really, Jon shouldn't have been doing it himself in the first place, but it had taken a solid three months of settling in before he felt comfortable leaving anything he saw as important to one of his underlings.

“He's very stresses.” Martin supplied in apology. “The archives are in worse condition than anyone would have guessed- I'm not sure Miss Robinson was… well… up for her job by the end.” He trailed off awkwardly as he realized he was speaking ill of the former head of the archives and cleared his throat. “...Well. Anyway, I'm here this time.” He finished lamely.

Rosie giggled as politely as she could manage. “And so you are.” She agreed. They spent a moment smiling at each other.

“So… how long is the meeting scheduled for?” He asked after a moment too long of silence.

“Oh, it's actually some reporter. It wasn't scheduled, Mr Bouchard's missed his entire lunch to speak to him. Honestly I don't know why he even let him through.” She glanced around a few times, as if to make sure their boss wasn't hiding behind the monstera in the corner. “I've heard yelling on and off. Not from Mr Bouchard obviously, but I don't think he's here for a friendly article.”

Martin grimaced. “Maybe I should come back later.” He offered weakly. “I think this is a budget request– it might not help his bad mood.”

“No, you're fine.” Rosie waved her hand dismissively before tucking a frizzy lock of dark hair behind an ear. “I say I don't know why he takes the meetings, but I think he finds them funny. He's always smiling after."

Martin smiled as he tended to, but in a confused way this time. “O-oh. Okay. Well, I suppose I'll wait then.”

He shouldn't have waited. He was an idiot for waiting.

Jon would have criticized him for not managing to get the simplest task done, but he could have not been there, when the reporter came out. He could have not seen the bloodless pale face and dilated pupils of a man who… god, he had pissed himself.

When Martin did see this, because he didn't leave, it was with a jump as a man stumbled back out of the rooms leading to Elias's private offices, flailing before hitting the ground with a wet thud, and backing further.

Rosie had stilled, face frozen in a strained smile that Martin realized with no small amount of shock, was familiarity. This wasn't the first time this had happened.

What the fuck.

The man didn't stay. He stammered a frantic promise that this wasn't over, and bolted so fast from the room that he'd only manage to leave a small disgusting smudge on the marble where he'd fallen.

Martin jumped as a loud sigh escaped in a familiar voice, and Elias Bouchard stepped casually out, straightening his lapels with a tiny smirk playing on his lips. “Call a custodian for that, would you Rosie?” He asked without much care. “Ah, Martin how… good to see you. I take it our Archivist has another request about the storage facilities. Give it here, I'll let you get back to work in a mere moment.”

Martin offered the papers stiffly, eyes wide and confused. Elias took them with a chuckle, and did not bother to address it. Rosie was looking anywhere but at him, quickly picking up her office phone and dialing an extension for the cleaning team.

Elias did not return to his office, so Martin could see into the room through the ajar door as he looked over the paperwork.

A heavy wooden chair upholstered tastefully in dark forest green and gold was knocked on its side in the middle of the room, and papers had been scattered across the floor. Another door behind his desk, presumably leading to more of his offices, stood slightly open as well behind his desk, but it was too dark to see further into it. Elias casually shut his door with his foot, smiling knowingly at Martin like he'd been caught being naughty but was being overlooked, just this once.

“There you are Martin. Try not to let him take it out on you, we simply don't have the extra resources at this time.” He chuckled to himself, and added after a pause, “Tell him the tape recorders will have to do for the time being.”

The papers, now marred by an elegant cross and signature, were suddenly in front of his nose. Martin did not know what else to do but smile, and took them with a soft "Thank you sir, I will.” Before fleeing the office.

He heard Elias laughing softly to himself or Rosie before they were out of earshot.

“No rest for the wicked, Rosie. When is Mr Fairechild scheduled to arrive?”

God, if only it had ended there. He would have been ok, probably if it ended there.

But he was just so stupid.

Jon had been very displeased, unsurprisingly, and went on a miniature tirade about how there wasn't anything else in the budget to cut back, it was the bare minimum equipment required to get the Archive's digital systems in working condition. Martin hadn't relayed Elias's message about the tape recorders. Jon seemed to blame him for the rejection regardless, and holed himself up in his office for the remainder of the day ‘to record the statement manually then. Again.’

Sasha and Tim had been nice about it, Tim comparing Jon to a stray cat, and Sasha assuring Martin that it wasn't his fault, she'd been watching them wrestling over this budget issue for the last three weeks.

He appreciated them, but resolved to work late to make it up to Jon anyway.

Like an idiot.

The actual process of working late wasn't actually a problem. In fact, Jon was also working late and seemed impassive but approving of his attempted dedication. It made his stomach do backflips, and he couldn't actually bring himself to leave first, lest the look be replaced with one of annoyance again.

“Martin I need to catch the train. If you're staying later, you'll need to lock up.” Jon had said tiredly, and Martin had felt for a moment like he was floating at the display of… trust? Sort of?

So much so that he'd said he would stay just a bit longer to finish scanning his box of old statements, and Jon had actually left him with the keys.

Then he had left Martin in the dark archives, alone for the night.

Martin had been sort of on cloud nine.

He only stayed a little longer- enough to finish the work he had claimed he was doing- before carefully locking up the Archives after him, like it was some sacred duty.

Without anything else to do, Martin pocketed the keys, and started his walk home with a firm resolution to get in very very early so Jon would not be locked out in the morning.

The man from that afternoon was outside.

He was lurking in the darkness, just outside a streetlight, but Martin instantly recognized him and jumped near out of his skin when the guy darted forward and grasped his wrist.

“Do you work here?!” He snarled, and it was with equal parts relief and trepidation Martin realized he did not remember Martin being in the office when he left.

He tried to smile, but those almost crazed eyes, rimmed red and palms still wet with sweat, left him grimacing awkwardly instead. “Y-yes? Sorry, I actually have to catch the tube-” he tried, and when he tried to pull his arm away the man snarled and gripped him tighter.

“You're one of them then, because if you're not you better get the hell out before the getting's gone.” Martin's expression shifted into an all-out frown, and he slowly pulled his arm, easily overpowering the man without need for sudden movements as he extricated himself.

“Sir, I think you might need to talk to someone. Stress can make you do… things you regret.” His words were careful, and the man looked shocked by how easily he'd been overpowered, before wheezing out a sinister laugh.

“You got that right, so watch out” he had snarled, then stormed off.

Martin had a good deal of trouble sleeping that night.

It was not the only day he struggled from it either, as it seemed to be a regular occurrence after that to see that man lurking outside the institute at all hours.

He'd tried calling the Met, but they had dismissed him when he said the man was staying off the property (just barely) and not doing any damage or disturbing the peace. That's what they said at least. In reality their interest in checking out a possible stalker had all but melted into nothing the moment Martin said he worked for the Magnus institute.

They'd told him to contact them if he did anything violent, and Martin hadn't tried to call them again.

It was a week of this, before Martin saw him sneaking into the building.

He'd taken to staying late daily. It had been a choice made in no small part because Jon seemed to approve highly of it, but also a good bit because he wanted to keep an eye on the weirdo stalking the institute.

And as such, it was nearly 2 am when he finished locking up the Archives. (He hadn't really noticed at first when he started taking on more and more of the menial and time consuming tasks, but he hadn't really known how to say no once it became an expectation, and Jon seemed to get more sleep if Martin was the last to home for some reason, so his overtime workload had been steadily increasing by the day). He had been fully expecting an empty, lonely building when he stepped onto the main floor, with a weirdo lurking outside of course, so he was shocked to realize the man was in the building, sneaking silently up the stairs.

Martin's mouth fell open in shock.

He should have called the police again. He should have called literally anyone.

But he hadn't.

He had, like the predictable idiot he was, followed the man silently through the darkened building to find out what he was doing there instead.

And it wasn't really surprising to find out the man (who looked like a full on tramp by this point, clothes stained and disheveled and hair a matted mess of sweat and oil) had been aiming for Elias's offices.

They were locked of course.

Martin watched as quiet as he could as the man rattled the doorknob violently a few times before cursing and getting on his knees.

He had… a credit card, and a hair pin.

He was picking the lock.

Martin's mouth fell open in thankfully silent surprise, but continued to watch as the door clicked and he shoved it open roughly before marching in.

It was at this point that Martin had begun wondering what the bloody blazes he was expecting to do here. Yes, Martin was a very large man, naturally strong and because of many manual labor jobs over the years before managing his position at the institute, knew very well how to use that strength.

But he didn't… want to hurt him. And more than that, the man was clearly unstable. He might have a knife. Or worse.

He should have called the police.

He should have called Tim even, just someone who could help him overpower the lunatic breaking into their boss's boss's office.

But he didn't correct his mistake. No, he saw the door slowly creeping shut and realized he needed to go now if he was going to get inside without alerting him he'd been followed. And so he did. The doors were well taken care of, and did not make a sound as they swung, nor did they betray his entry when he carefully pulled it back open and slipped into Rosie's reception room.

The man was already unlocking the next door in with a shaky fervor of a man who thought he could get what he wanted if he just worked fast enough now.

He slammed this door open as he ran inside the nicely decorated office space behind, the frame rattling with the force and easily disguising the sound of Martin rushing after. It might not have even been a necessary distraction really. Martin caught a glimpse of the man's eyes in a photo frame on the way in and he didn't just look crazed now. He looked delirious. Eyes glazed over and far away, seeming to concentrate on nothing but his hurried progress forward to the next door, behind Elias's desk.

Martin felt a flash of worry despite himself, but couldn't catch the man fast enough before he flung this door open too, exclaiming in triumph as it was unlocked this time.

He rushed right through.

Martin had never been back here. He knew there was nothing on this floor aside from Elias's offices, but that didn't really register simply from being out front with Rosie.

The space behind the office was a long hallway, lined with a smattering of doors, as well as grand portraits he could only assume were previous heads of the institute. There must have been meeting rooms, maybe even storage behind some of the doors, hell, Elias might have a small apartment set up for overnight staying if he really felt like it. There were more than enough rooms.

The man didn't check any of them. He seemed to be- in a trance of some sort? As he made his way down that hallway in a rush of panting breaths.

There was a lift at the end of the hall.

It was a very different lift from the one Martin recognized from the institute proper. That one was elegant but modern, out of order more than not but hardly looking out of date in any way. This lift felt the opposite. It was heavy, sturdy looking iron grates inlaid with gold, and an old fashioned lever rather than buttons. It looked like the grandest expense one could imagine from the earliest iteration of a lift Martin had ever seen.

The man was headed straight for it. It was clear simply from the fact that they were on the top floor that this lift went down, but it was with a cold jolt of dread that he realized it had to go down right through artifact storage, if his sense of space was at all reliable. (And it was, he had worked in construction a good number of times.)

Martin didn't know he was aiming for a secret entrance to artifact storage that Elias kept to bypass all the red tape of airlocks and passkeys, but the panic that it might be the case sped him forward still. He'd never been in artifact storage personally. You needed clearances to be in artifact storage. But he could tell from security the stuff inside was valuable and likely priceless, but he also knew Sasha who talked about the place as if it was legitimately dangerous. Jon hadn't even acted skeptical when she mentioned it in front of him, just nodded slightly, and wandered off to do his work.

This man was either going to hurt the institute badly, or he would hurt himself badly instead.

Martin took off after him, full tilt, and just managed to reach him before he got his hands on the iron lever. He groaned as he got a fist in the man's clothes and tried to yank, confident he couldn't get it to move without closing the grate, because that's how old lifts worked. There were safety mechanisms or something that only released if the doors closed fully.

Except this one, apparently, did not. Martin was in the process of struggling with him to drag him bodily out of the lift when he abandoned his coat and dove for the controls. Martin stumbled, half in half out of the hallway as he felt the mechanism come to life with a rumbling shudder. Slowly, slowly enough to give Martin a moment to panic as his foot began to sink down with the platform, Martin wobbled, trying to catch his mind up with his situation.

He needed to step out. He needed to get the man out. He did not have enough time to organize his limbs into action, and dipped forward painfully into the clean and decadent iron death trap.

The man hardly seemed to notice now that Martin wasn't man handling him. He was soaked through with sweat, eyes twitching and trembling so much Martin worried he was having some kind of aneurysm. And he was whispering under hurried breath, voice choking out of him like the worlds were being extracted violently from his throat. He was choking on them even, mouth starting to foam but not stopping, never stopping.

“And I was so scared, not just for me but for my little girl, she had never seen anything like this in her years in my care I couldn't let her see, I tried to cover her eyes but she was already screaming, already sobbing and clawing at her own face and I realized the only reason I wasn't trying to claw my own eyes from my skull was my desperate need to save hers before she did damage beyond repair-”

It was spilling from him in waves of never ending sentences and dripping with terror that sounded like blood in his throat.

Martin couldn't move, frozen in his own horrified paralysis as they sank lower, lower, so low they must have been dipping deep beneath the earth.

When the lift jolted to a stop it wasn't too jarring as it had been quite a slow descent, but Martin was still knocked completely off kilter by it, still unsure what to do when the man started moving. He had not stopped talking, and now there was blood leaking from the corners of his mouth and Martin was frozen, terrified, knowing absolutely without doubt that something from artifact storage had very much already taken this man.

It was… artifact storage, he thought. It was too far down, but he saw the familiar sign in equipment and heavy duty doors with a disturbingly mundane plaque beside it saying simply ‘stairs’.

That wasn't where the man was headed and for a fraction of a second Martin was relieved by this fact, before realizing the man had dropped to his knees, and was scrambling at the ground, feeling around in the darkness until he found the handle of a large, sturdy looking trap door.

Martin wobbled to his feet, realizing with renewed urgency that the man was clawing at it, trying to force it open.

“Wait-” he started, fighting past the cotton in his throat and the treacle clogging up his veins. It did nothing. The trap door swung open with a loud and resounding screech of old hinges, and the man sighed in relief, and fell forward into it.

Head first.

Martin heard the sloppy crunch of meat hitting stone quite far below and gasped as he hovered at the edge of the passage.

He had just registered a large iron latch on the inner edge of the door, which seemed to connect to a release to a matching metal ladder, that would drop heavily down if he just twisted it loose.

Was the man even alive down there?

Should he climb down and check? That sounded literally idiotic, even to him after every stupid choice he had made to get to this moment, and he had just convinced himself to get out and call the police, when something very hard smashed into his back, sending him flying forward into the darkness beneath.

And everything was black.

And he was an idiot.

The first thing Martin noticed when he came to his senses was the pain. There was a nasty bruise across his back, but more than that it was his head and arm that truly struck him first. The second, as he blinked rapidly in an attempt at regaining cognitive function, was the darkness. The third was the cold, so very cold stone beneath his cheek.

He took in a rasping breath and coughed in the musty air. There was dust everywhere.

Martin forced himself to sit up, hissing in pain at the sudden sensation of his shoulder being torn clean from its socket. It hadn't been, he realized with trembling breath, it was just badly banged up and raw from the fall, and Martin suspected he might have fractured something at the very least. He could see next to nothing in the darkness, but it did not take a genius to realize he'd somehow been… pushed into the trap door.

At that moment he heard a sound.

It was an odd sound, sort of familiar but off in such a way he couldn't pinpoint it past ‘some kind of clicking’. Martin looked towards the sound weakly, trying to squint into the darkness to see if the other man had survived the fall, and maybe needed help. Hell- definitely needed help if he was still alive.

He needn't have squinted.

Somehow, the thing in the darkness was perfectly visible, like it was layered on top of the world with just enough distance from the reality around it, that it almost… shimmered with a darkness deeper than the darkness around it.

And it was massive.

It was like a dragon. Sort of. Its wings were enormous and almost feathery, if the feathers were made from fibers of constantly shifting newspaper. The effect was as if a twinkling manuscript was constantly rippling through its plumage, never quite in a language you could understand, and never quite there long enough to commit any one piece to memory for later clarification. But like a dragon it was sleek and long in the body, distinctly defined musculature squeezed in place by tight skin that looked like glistening black ink, iridescent in the complete lack of light. It had limbs like long birdish legs, four pairs of them, running along its thin flank in spindly almost spider-like formation that left Martin's heart pounding in something very reminiscent of fear, if fear were captivating and resplendent.

And its mane, its horns, its everything somehow seemed to be made of eyes. The exact placement and size of each eye wasn't static, rippling across the ink of its skin like leaves floating in a pond. But they did see. Each pupil shifted and stared individually from the others, none pointing in exactly the same direction as they took in far too much at once for a human brain to keep track of at once.

There was no mouth immediately in sight, but Martin could almost feel the way its skin could tear open if it truly wanted it to, ink dripping and splattering to reveal thin needle-like teeth in rows like a shark disappearing deep inside. And he didn't know how he knew it, but he knew also that each of those teeth were not made of bone, but of eyes as well, sharp and solid shards of eyes that couldn't be eyes because that's not what eyes did, but they were none the less, promising if you ever had the misfortune of being swallowed by that maw, it would be watching you at every moment, even as it tore you to pieces from inside.

It was terrifying. It was beautiful. Maybe a few dozen of its eyes were locked right on him, pupils practically slits of glowing green as they waited for him to move.

Before he had a chance to make any rational decisions, Martin was moving, stepping closer and reaching his hand towards the massive predator with no regard for the pain and a dazed smile playing on his features.

He didn't know why, couldn't begin to explain (and that should have set off warning bells, considering the daze the intruder had been in) why, but he loved this thing. Its thousands of eyes were familiar as much as they were foreign, its stiff stance as reminiscent of something he couldn't quite place as it was threatening.

And when his hand touched the rippling ink of its neck, the eyes seemed to scatter and shift around his hands, settling in a tight cluster around his fingers, all staring in at the strange touch with distinct and overt curiosity.

A loud rumbling like crinkling paper vibrated in his chest in what could be a growl or a purr, but it was still.

It allowed him to stroke the malleable flesh unobstructed, though the cluster of eyes around his hand eagerly kept pace with the movement.

“Is that… angry, or happy?” Martin asked weakly, looking up into its presumed face (hard to define when the mouth could be anywhere and the eyes were everywhere but it was the shape at the end of its neck so it would have to do). A thousand eyes blinked in an asynchronous wave across its form. It did not move.

Butterflies fluttered in Martin's chest. “I guess… happy then? That's cute– like a cat or…” it chirped, the noise a series of mechanical clicks but with far too much trill to be a simple mechanical contraption. “Or a bird, I suppose. Or all the above. Still kind of dragon as well, but honestly..” he reached upwards to what he'd assumed to be horns and stroked the mass as it twitched and drooped down closer. “I think they're more like antennae. Like a moth. You just don't know what to be, do you?”

He hadn't expected the irritation that followed his words, but he flinched back as its body seemed to bristle and sprout more eyes, purr turning very very clearly now into a low growl of crunching paper. “Sorry… right, you can understand english then? I wasn't trying to insult you- you just… remind me of so many beautiful things.” He laughed nervously as he said it, and the eyes seemed to droop almost instantly as if in apology.

Martin had read once on a wiki deepdive that moth antennae are made up of beads when examined under a microscope, and he thought now looking at this massive creature's likewise massive tufts of fluff, that each of those beads must be its own little eye, glancing around and down at him and everywhere at once as thin strands of the same paperlike material as its wings quivered and twitched along the many eyes. Male moths had the fluffy ones, right? “So… are you a male… thing?” He tried after a moment of struggling for less insulting language and finding none. It didn't seem to mind.

It seemed honestly… embarrassed? By its previous outburst if Martin had to make a guess as it lowered to the floor with a shockingly wet slap, and Martin saw the ink it had gotten on his trainers even in the dark. Its ink was so black it actually seemed to glow in the dim light, completely clear and distinct from the shadows around it.

Martin settled too, sitting down carefully in front of it with a pained hiss as his body reminded him he had fallen down here very violently from likely very high up. “I… don't quite know what to do now honestly.” He admitted, and shivered pleasantly as it laid its headlike limb down to rest in his lap without much consideration. “You're clearly not… violent. But I'm pretty sure Elias throws people down here to be- I don't know, eaten?” Martin laughed awkwardly. “That's definitely how I got here, anyway. I'm…. Pretty sure about that at this point. Are you just not hungry?”

It bristled again, not lifting its head but raising its massive wings in a sharp flap of indignation at the suggestion.

“No-? Then I don't really understand. You just… don't want to eat me?”

There was a long pause of nothing, then Martin jumped as the mouth split open from its shoulder to lick his face without moving from his lap. “That's– that's a yes then I suppose.” Martin said with a squeaky laugh. “Wow, I– honestly I don't really know how to respond to that. I don't think I've ever been anyone's favorite– anything, really.”

It trilled again, and a clawed spindly leg lifted to spread the talons across his face. Martin couldn't help but flinch obviously, the thing was beautiful yes, but it was huge and sharp and scary in a way he didn't much know what to do with, despite his captivation.

Not that it hurt. It reminded him more of when his cousin's massive dog would shove its paw right in his face while it slept. Harmless, affectionate, and very much unintentional in its resulting discomfort. “At least you don't have scratchy pads to rub on me.” He sighed, and laughed a moment later as it did not move the talon-like limb from him. “You have an end game here?” He teased, and his chest felt so much lighter than could remember it being in a long time, starved for affection as he pretended not to be. It even seemed to overtake the pain, and for a moment Martin was reminded of the floaty feeling he got around crushes.

With a soft sigh, Martin stroked the creature's neck again, giggling at the eyes, squirming and blinking in and out at its convenience to follow the gentle movements. “It's got to be boring down here. So many eyes and there's nothing to even look at. Why do you stay? He can't have– trapped you, right? Elias is scary yeah, but he's not exactly… threatening physically. And you're huge.”

It stared at him with several eyes as the rest blinked and shifted. It did not answer.

“You… don't care to leave then?” He asked. Its wings rustled and settled again. God, was that a– yes? It was so hard to tell, but he at least knew it wasn't an irritated response.

Suddenly its tail whipped out, dragging a streak of ink across the cool cement of the basement room as it shoved a mass of something into the black glow of its form. It must be shedding some level of light then, despite looking darker than the dark, because Martin jumped with a horrified gasp, clearly able to see the practically mummified remains of the man that had disappeared into the pit just before him.

It didn't seem to mind his horror- in fact, he was pretty sure it… shivered happily in the same moment his chest bunched up in fear. But it also did not stop cuddling him, despite Martin's growing awareness of how sharp the talons touching his face felt.

The body wasn't in a natural condition, obviously. He'd seen this man hours ago at most if he'd been knocked out for a bit, and it wasn't possible to dry into paperlike skin and bulging bones in that time. But that didn't really seem surprising. This thing clearly wasn't natural.

It had… drained him, Martin could only guess based on the evidence, and he remembered the trancelike fever of words and spit and blood that had flowed from this man's mouth so what else could that be? Martin winced and shoved the leftover remains into the corner to… crumble slowly to dust.

What was it trying to tell him? Surely not ‘this is your future’, it genuinely seemed to… like him. At least Martin had thought so. It was so affectionate. As if on cue with the thoughts, the giant monster rolled over, talons falling away and wings creasing like the paper they resembled without signs of discomfort, until it was laying on its back, head still in Martin's lap.

It stretched languidly, like a cat daring you to rub its belly, where so many eyes had migrated with the motion, that he could barely see the ink around them. They all blinked at him in clusters.

“Uh… right. So, you stay here because… you get given food-?” Every eye blinked at once then. Well. That was probably a yes-? “Cool. Right. I guess- I guess that's good-? Sort of. It would probably be… dangerous, if you were out hunting in London. No offense-! Sorry. But- I don't know… do you like captivity? Wouldn't you prefer to uh… hunt…?” the next blink was asynchronous again. It didn't feel like a no exactly, but it was hard to tell.

Martin sighed, and looked up to the ceiling in contemplation before realizing that was a very foolish choice, as the ceiling was a graveyard of bodies similar to the one the monster had just shown him, hanging from familiarly glowing dark inky threads. He recognized the debris as very similar to a spider's web before a finished meal was cleaned out and only carapace remained. Martin swallowed, hard, and looked back down.

Every time it did something cute, he seemed to forget this room was the den of a literal man eating monster. God, maybe this is how it ate? Maybe Martin wasn't actually safe, it was just lulling him into a sense of security before it liquified his insides, if it was as spider-like as he was beginning to think.

Martin liked spiders. A lot, actually, but he wished the creature took after the birds or moths it resembled instead.

It really didn't know what it wanted to be, did it? The thought almost made him sad this time, but he had the sense not to say it out loud again. It had only just stopped pressing talons into his face.

The clicking trill played again, and Martin realized why the sound was familiar. Like the old tape recorders they needed to use in the archives. But as if there were thousands of them, all different distances away to create varied tones and timbres to express itself. “What… are you?” He asked softly.

He jumped, immediately disturbing the monster's lounging, as the trap door above creaked open with a loud groan. Light poured in, and Martin had to squint before giving in and closing his eyes completely against the sudden change in brightness. He could only imagine this was agonizing for the eye monster, but he couldn't see yet to be sure. It did roll off him though, sitting back on its haunches instead to… look up into the square of light with every single eye at once.

Elias Bouchard was crouched there, handsome features Martin noted once he could blink his eyes open enough to see, creased in genuine shock.

“Well I must say, this is unexpected.” Elias said. Martin glared at him. “You've never once denied a meal before- what exactly is different about this one? I gave you too much at once?”

It was with very little surprise Martin realized he was in fact talking to the monster. Not him. “I'm right here.” He growled.

Elias laughed. It was breathy and almost trembling, and Martin felt his skin crawl at the never before witnessed excitement in his… evil murderous creepy boss. “Yes, and that I am sure you can agree, is a shock to us all Martin.”

With the light coming in from above, it was hard to make out the full details of the monster's form, its darkness seeming to flatten out and blend with the rest of the dark now that a contrasting value had invaded the space. But it was staring, all eyes, literally all eyes seeming to be trained on Elias Bouchard. It didn't feel… friendly.

Elias beamed at it with curiosity, totally unbothered by the animosity in the air. He wasn't pulling down the ladder to come inside. He seemed to have no intention to enter at all and Martin realized with an odd jolt, he did not think it was safe for him to come down there.

The monster would eat Elias in a heartbeat.

Why was it staying down here-?

He didn't understand.

Elias's cold gray eyes were staring right into Martin now, and he immediately wished he would go back to ignoring him.

“Did you tell it a story? Did you have a statement in your back pocket, perhaps?” He asked with a clinical tilt of the head.

“What?? No I- why would I take a statement out of the archives? Jon would kill me.” He said indignantly, before backtracking internally to dissect what that meant. It sort of fit what had happened earlier. “It- eats stories then? Well- prefers them-?” He tried, but Elias just looked amused and turned his attention back to the creature, now statuesque in its posture, staring right into him.

“How very curious.” He murmured to himself, touching his chin as a sinister smile crept onto his features. “How long do you think it would take it to get hungry enough to turn on you, Martin? Feel free to answer honestly, your opinion one way or the other will not be affecting the situation going forward.”

Martin paled, but did not have time to answer before the monster had activated. The screech it released sounded like thousands of nails on thousands of chalkboards, all shattering through the still air as one. But it wasn't just screaming. It had expanded, body seeming suddenly to take up every inch of the darkness of their little basement, tendrils of inklike vines digging into the foundation of the room and pushing further still, a root system of rage snaking ever closer to the hole in the ceiling. Everywhere the stone cracked, it felt like cold void trying to push in, or pull them out, and even the light above seemed to be bleeding into this deeper kind of darkness. Martin couldn't breathe in it, the dust in the air seeming to invade his lungs and coat him from the inside out in death and decay. He choked on it, unable to do anything but look up at Elias because looking straight at it right now- he didn't know how he knew, but he knew his mind wouldn't be able to handle it.

The look on Elias's face had shifted to one of true and real terror, and Martin genuinely expected the man to run. But he did not, breathing sharp and quick and eyes wide, it seemed as if he'd been frozen in his fear until he spoke in measured, slow words. “Martin is an employee of this institute, Archivist. If you kill me, he will die as well. You are, I am sure, aware of this.”

Everything was still for a beat, and then suddenly it was all gone. The tendrils, the eyes, even the cracks through the foundation seemed to seal back up until all that was left again was the monster, eyes still boring into Elias like knives and vibrating in now suppressed rage. It was almost a perverted mix of fear and pleasure that seemed to cross Elias's face once it had calmed. He took a deep breath.

“That is… much better. Thank you” He laughed like he couldn't catch enough air. “But your point is very much taken. That threat hardly protects me if I allow Mr Blackwood here to suffer some unfortunate demise.” Elias cleared his throat and stood then, adjusting his suit jacket and waistcoat as he composed himself. “Would you like to come out then, Martin? It seems we have… some contract amendments to discuss.”

And he heard a smooth click, as the ladder was released and fell down into the room below.

“Come up at your leisure. You must be quite hungry by now, so I shall have Rosie order us some lunch.”

And Elias walked out of the square view cut out in the darkness on still trembling legs.

Martin was sure he heard a very obscene cross between a laugh and a sigh in the distance, jittering and guttural, but he was out of sight by then. He was… kind of thankful. Seeing the state of Elias in that moment with his own eyes… would have been far more than Martin could handle from his boss, even his creepy evil boss who had definitely admitted he'd tried to kill him a moment ago.

Martin looked at the monster. Its eyes were drooping down the sides of its form, none looking directly at him. He couldn't tell why. It could be Martin's own terror, surely, considering how he hadn't stopped shaking and hyperventilating since the posturing has receded. But it could also be… wishing he wouldn't leave. Or it could be something else entirely.

Martin couldn't tell.

And his heart was very heavy, as he slowly and painfully started up the ladder. It did not move to stop him.

It did not move at all.

Martin told himself he couldn't stay down there forever.

He reminded himself that that creature could clearly get out whenever it wanted.

He reminded himself he had nearly just died, from the room collapsing on him if nothing else, and he needed to get out of that underground space.

No matter what he reminded himself, it didn't feel any less than a betrayal, as he broke free from his confinement, and left the monster behind in the dark.

Chapter Text

Martin had been aware of the supernatural for a comparatively short period to those he considered his peers. Peers feeling like a shameful term when they all had degrees and credentials and papers under their name, and he had… fraud waiting to be uncovered at anyone's convenience.

If he were to give himself a bit of credit, Martin would point out he became aware and understanding of the supernatural very gracefully, and with little to no fuss.

Obviously he'd gone into the job convinced this was a natural science of identifying real causes behind supernatural happenings, and he'd only been hired in the library so it didn't much matter if he understood it or not. But then he was offered the Archive position. It was an immediate no at first- he would be doing more than following the decimal system in an archive. Hell, he didn't even know what you did in an archive, let alone have the education to function while doing it.

But then Mr Bouchard had shown him the salary, and by that point it didn't much matter if he believed, or was qualified.

He needed that money.

His mum needed that money.

So he'd accepted, with nothing but anxious dread in his chest to find out just how long it would take for him to be discovered, a sheep amongst the wolves.

And he'd continued to fear it, as he got to know his coworkers; Sasha, who was way too smart to be anyone's assistant and knew it, Tim who was just down to be a part of anything as long as he got to investigate any of the architecture related incidents. And… Jon. Jon, who he knew in no uncertain terms, hated him, could see his lack of training in every avenue Martin walked down, who watched him with sharp eyes and open disdain and it felt like truly any moment, he would be discovered, maybe even arrested.

He'd almost broken down once in the first month. He could tell Jon could see the tears threatening his eyes, because he paled, panicked even, and was nice to Martin for an entire day. It didn't last of course. Martin kept making mistakes, though he thought less with time, and Jon still found him insufferable. But he… kept it away from Martin after that. He still ranted on his tapes Martin knew, but he stopped yelling at him almost completely. He even looked at him a little bit more gently, gave him tasks he knew he could manage so he wasn't cocking it all up constantly.

No one else seemed to notice the change, but it was hard not to for Martin.

Because that's when the dreams started.

They were exceedingly odd dreams really. Most of them were literal memories of what happened in recent days. And in the dreams, the butterflies were more intense than he even remembered them being the first time around, like most of the dream was in sepia tones but Jon, Jon was in pastels.

In the dreams Jon's eyes were green, which was the only actual difference between them and real life, and after a few months he could actually tell when he was dreaming by staring into Jon's eyes. Even through his rather thick glasses, it was obvious Jon's eyes were very much brown, so it was an instant give away, even if the exaggerated colors and feelings in the dream managed to escape him.

Of course this had a notable side effect of scaring the shit out of his boss when he was awake from time to time, because Jon really did not thrive on eye contact and Martin was pretty sure he thought it was a tactic to assert himself around his bully of a boss.

He was pretty sure, because Tim asked if that's what he'd been doing after Jon looked particularly shaken by the exchange. It was embarrassing and Martin gave away his mortifying crush to his coworkers much more quickly than he would have liked simply by virtue of his stuttered a blushing attempts to explain himself.

They'd both recommended strongly he try to get over it quickly, because Tim ‘would hate to see him get hurt’ and Sasha ‘couldn't see that going well for any of them’. Martin had tried. He… thought he'd tried at least. His dreams had been slowly getting out of sync from his experiences, and he thought, maybe, that meant it was drifting from hope into fantasy.

NOT that the dreams ever got– weird. Far from it, they were so mundane and inconsequential he even thought maybe the crush had faded into more of a habit.

Until… one of them hadn't happened yet.

It wasn't the same exact day, mind you. It was still just off in the dream, with green eyed Jon locking himself in his office for most of the day without a word, until the girl with the statement arrived. In the real world, three days after the dream, Jon did very similarly but– asked Martin for a cup of tea. That was it. It caught him so off guard as he realized he'd been expecting it to go like his dream he'd just stared at Jon slack jawed for a second, and barely managed to get Jon the cup before he took back the request in mortified frustration. Tim had fallen off his chair laughing, and Jon once again stayed in his office.

Until the girl arrived with the statement.

It only occurred to Martin after seeing her anxious face the reason he had been so startled in the morning was the differences to his dream.

And when she stormed out of Jon's office in near tears, it became very clear to Martin that he either knew Jon far too well, or he'd had the most innocuous premonission in the history of forever.

By this time they'd done field work investigating several cases that hadn't digitized properly and needed follow-up, and Sasha had opened up enough about her previous position that Martin resisted the strong instinct to keep it to himself, and told his fellow assistants during a lunch break.

Tim thought the idea of prophetic dreams about completely normal office life were hilarious, but maybe predictably, Sasha was actually very interested.

She asked him to keep a dream journal after that, and share what was different and most notably, what was the same in the coming days.

Martin had agreed, mostly because they already knew about his stupid crush and the dreams were extremely non eventful. But it was still embarrassing.

Until it just got really interesting instead.

The three of them had taken to pouring over Martin's dream journal during lunches where something out of the ordinary happened, making charts to graph how far apart the dreams were from the future they predicted. It wasn't consistent, oddly enough. Just as the dreams varied just slightly from reality (especially in the places around their notice of the dreams themselves) the amount of time before a weird event took place could varry by weeks sometimes if it was odd enough.

Tiny things like days when Elias came into the archives to speak to Jon, happened basically the next day no matter what. Things where Jon did something ridicuous, primarily pissed someone off enough that they made a scene, usually got a solid week of predetermination before it actually occured.

And Martin had been anxiously on the look out for almost a month after the dream where Jon had a very subdued and painful looking panic attack over a fat spider camping on his door. It had taken long enough that the assistants had given up looking for it when it finally happened, chalking it up to one of the things that wasn't quite the same, although obviously it was a much bigger divergence than usual.

When it had actually happened, and Jon actually went home early over it, they grew… conscerned about what changed the timing.

Sasha had been bouncing around a theory for a while now based on the green eyes tell, that Martin might be having dreams of a paralel reality that was slightly out of sync with theirs. But the inconsistencies made it hard to investigate, and Tim had developed his own theory that it was crush-fueled ESP, letting Martin know based on the urgency of how upset the event left Jon.

It was a stupid theory, but they all admitted that Jon's reactions in the dream world particularly did tend to be more dramatic the earlIer Martin had the dream.

They had had to stop in the last week though, because Martin had started getting incoherant nightmares with no Jon in them at all, just him hiding alone in his flat and refusing to leave, terrified of something he couldn't even see.

It was concerning, but they were constant and unchanging for over a week, and Tim announced he didn't actually want to hear more about Martin's lonely nightmares until something actually changed. They'd been sweet about it, checking to make sure there was nothing Martin could think of to leave him in such a state, but Martin really couldn't think of one. If he were going to have an isolationist breakdown, it would have been when his mum checked into the care facility in the countryside.

Not that he told them that.

So they were ‘playing it by ear’ when the weird stalker stuff started, and Martin's dreams were still very much unrelated to the man. So before the night he'd folliwed him into Elias's office, he hadn't even considered the guy a danger to him so much as to the institute.

Tim had even said that weirdos camped outside the institute from time to time, and he only grabbed him that first night, and Martin had handled that ‘like a champ’ so they all figured it must not actually be very important.

And it was nice to focus on something weird that wasn't slow knocking at his door as he tried to tape the entire frame shut in frantic tears.

He regretted it now.

It was honestly very likely he had behaved so foolishly because he'd been so preoccupied with his nightmares, when he thought about it for a moment. But… nothing could be done about it now.

Now, Martin was staring down into the trap door guiltily, barely able to see the monster kept inside from the darkness. He thought it's antennae were drooping.

It was heartbreaking.

Like abandoning a puppy at the roadside.

Martin's arm throbbed agonizingly at that moment, and he realized with a wince that his pain had been somehow dulled while he was interacting with the monster, and now it was very much back with a vengeance. He was going to need the hospital.

If Elias let him leave the building ever again.

“Well… you definitely scared him.” Martin murmured to the hole. “Maybe he really does just want to talk.”

He got no response. He sighed, and couldn't bring himself to close the door on the drooping creature, so he just forced himself to turn, and walk away.

Elias must have used the stairs from artifact storage both times he came in and left today (once just now and once when he'd pushed him in a hole to be eaten by a literal monster) because the lift was exaxtly as Martin remembered leaving it; grate half open and tiny dried specks of bloody spittle on the floor.

He did not have the ID or clearance required to open the doors to the stairs, so after a long moment of consideration, Martin stepped back into the lift and prepared himself to be taken directly back into Elias's personal private offices.

The trip down had been frantic and alarming, so Martin hadn't really observed much about the lift last time. It was with that in mind that he watched and took note that there truly was only one stop. It was up, or down. Office, or monster.

What the fuck was Elias doing down there?

Well, it was kind of obvious in some ways. Obviously, Elias was feeding it people who… snooped too much. Or something. But it clearly wasn't his pet, and Martin was pretty sure at this point that Elias was genuinely frightened of it, despite its personal unwillingness to leave its den.

Maybe, if he thought of it like a spider it made a bit of sense. Burrowed spiders don't really leave their dens unless they feel safe, or like they'll be flooded if they stay. It was clearly… spiderish, from the way it ate and the webs in there. It didn't like Elias, clearly, but didn't feel safe outside, and had steady food and stable enviroment within.

It didn't make perfect sense for a lot of reasons, but it was the best Martin had for now, so he'd run with it until Elias gave him literally any indication of what was going on. He had never liked Elias, and much less now that before, but he was still really hoping the man intended to give him something to help him understand this.

Part of him wondered if maybe… this experience was what led him into hiding like his dreams, but it felt… wrong. Martin had been terrified when the monster got angry, yes. But he didn't really feel scared of it. Or even scared of Elias at this point, because both seemed moot in the face of the sheer protectiveness the thing seemed to have for him.

He actually felt… safer than he had in quite some time, if he were honest.

Weird.

Very weird.

The lift chimed gently as it reached the familiar hall of portraits, and Martin blinked in surprise as the door to Elias's public office opened immediately like it had been timing to the second to know when he would arrive.

Did he have cameras in the lift?

Martin swung around sharply and examined the iron contraption suspiciously. Nothing that looked record-y. But there were intricate eyes carved and bent into the metal and laced with gold, and after the day he'd had, those eyes felt… very suspect.

“Martin, I would appreciate you do not keep me waiting.” Elias called. Martin jumped, and sighed as he limped reluctantly towards the impassive voice of his… murder boss.

Elias smiled at him when Martin stepped inside, and Martin summoned all the venom he could muster (more than you might expect) to color the glare he gave in response.

“You do look in a bit of a state, now that we have you in the light. All from the fall I suspect?”

Martin bristled, and Elias continued to smile at him. “You pushed me!” He accused, and as it often did when he was truly worked up, Martin heard his voice raise dramatically in pitch and volume with the accusation.

Outside the room, Martin heard a sudden clatter of many small plastic things hitting the marble floor, and realized the sun was out. He had definitely just scared the devil out of Rosie.

He winced. Elias seemed to not care whatsoever, and instead folded his hands neatly in front of his face and watched Martin from his vantage just above them. “Yes, Martin. And I think you are about to find it is the best thing that has ever happened to you. So please sit down.”

Martin sat, but he made it clear from his expression he was not pleased nor interested in the implications of those words.

“What is it?”

“What is what, Martin? The terms of your promotion? The volume of your raise? Or do you perhaps want to know about our little friend downstairs?” He paused just long enough to see something in Martin's expression and laughed. “Ah yes, of course. You want to know about the Archivist.”

“Why is it an ‘Archivist’-?” He demanded and then paled visibly as a thought struck him “Oh god did you- is that Gertrude Robinson?! She went missing, you- you didn't-”

Elias had already just laughed, so it was a bit startling to see the difference when genuine laughter bubbled up. He closes his eyes, chuckling for several long seconds after the original guffaw. “Goodness, Martin, you do have a vivid imagination. No, that is not Gertrude Robinson. To the extent of my knowledge, she is very much dead. Though you know as well as I do the investigation has turned up no solid evidence how or why.”

Martin scowled at him, flushing just slightly at the patronizing tone. “Then answer the question.”

Elias was far too put together and comfortable in his own space. Martin missed the genuine fear he'd seen on him when they had been in the basement. Elias blinked at him as he thought this, and it was several seconds too late to be in response to his demand.

No.

He couldn't be serious.

The smile Elias gave him then was different than it had been. It wasn't just sly or smug, but pleased. Appraising.

“You are correct Martin. And I must say you are a good deal more clever than you appear. I am indeed ‘reading your mind’, so to speak.”

Martin pressed away, back into the base of the chair as if it could remove him with any effectiveness at all, from Elias's twinkling gray eyes. “WELL STOP!”

“If it were so easy.” Elias said dismissively, then chuckled. “And really, I don't want to anyway. Yes, I am afraid you will just have to settle into it. Don't worry. You will still have ample time to voice any questions or answers you have verbally. I have manners.”

Martin gritted his teeth, feeling maybe for the first time in his life, like he wanted to punch someone.

“You will do no such thing. Or I will be forced to reevaluate my approach to your situation to one much less favorable for you. Now.” He sighed, and it sounded far too excited to be normal. “You wanted to know about the Archivist.”

Martin held his tongue only in hopes of getting an actual answer to his question.

“The Archivist is- oh, thank you Rosie. Just put it on the desk there, and you may go for a late lunch of your own.” Elias said, and Martin watched in horror as a distinctly terrified looking Rosie came into the room with a paper bag wrapped in a looser plastic one. She looked at him with such genuine concern Martin almost apologized, but then she made a pained noise of apology, and fled from the room.

There was a take away now sitting in front of him.

“Go on. You always get the wrap on Tuesdays Martin. You can eat while I give you a… yes, a history lesson.” Martin's skin crawled as he checked and it was exactly his order from the sandwich shop down the street. Elias knew what he ate on Tuesdays. And he could tell even just with that one thought how much Elias relished his discomfort at knowing that fact. He spoke with a satisfied smirk unhidden and unabashed by his alarming lack of personal privacy. “Do you know what was the first thing humans as a species invented, Martin?” He asked the question pleasantly, conversationally even, and Martin felt like it was a trap set to make him look stupid, so he kept his lips pressed in a thin line, and glared.

Elias chuckled. “It was language, Martin.” The answer was sincere enough to take him a bit aback. “Modern anthropologists believe language emerged possibly about 50 to 100 thousand years before the first carbon dated tools that have been discovered. Some believe that humans likely developed the capability for proto language before the modern homosapiens had even emerged through evolution.” It was interesting, in a weird way, getting an ancient history lesson for Elias of all people but Martin could feel himself growing impatient. Elias ignored it. “And do you know why the need for language arose in those early stages of sapience?” He didn't wait for a response. “It was because they were afraid, Martin. They were afraid, and they needed a way to tell each other what they feared. So language was born.”.

Martin raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a scathing lack of interest.

“Which means if Language was the first simple tool of humans, stories were its first technology. Stories that carried purpose. To outline what scared them. Why. How it had happened. What they might do, to prevent the same catastrophe from happening a second time.” Elias laughed. “Don't give me that look, Martin. I am answering your question.”

“Well you're really taking your time with it.” Martin grumbled darkly. Elias ignored it.

“With the technology of stories then came the profession of story teller, and more importantly, story keeper. Admittedly I have yet to have found proof of just how far back the role of the Archivist has existed, but you can be assured it was quite early in human history. It watched the fearful and fed from their terror, and in doing so kept their stories for its own personal archive. Later history shows more understood and accepted iterations of the Archives. Chinese dynasties dating much farther back than you could even imagine kept libraries and Archives of human suffering. And the Archivist feasted on that knowledge. The library of Alexandria, Celus, Arshurbanipal. All of these monuments to knowledge and information were the den in which the Archivist kept vigil. And now, today- it is here.” Elias finished with a grand sweep of the arms that Martin found wholly unnecessary. “That is what the Archivist is. A living record of fear painstakingly collected over millennia of human existence. It is a creature older than this country- this continent, and it lives off of our suffering.”

“That sounds ridiculous.” Martin snapped, but a shiver ran down his spine anyway.

“Well, I suppose I have no proof this one is the very first. It does not like to talk, and there have been others since, obviously. It is a role passed down through the ages with each new generation. Most don't seem to survive more than a thousand years, from what expeditions I've done uncovered. But this one has. And now, the archive is here. In this institute.” Elias looked smug again. “I have a suspicion that your… relationship with it, is through the Archive as well. It must be able to sense your connection to it, and thus considers you its… friend, I suppose. It does make me wonder what it might do with Jon.”

“Leave Jon out of it!” Martin commanded sharply, and gritted his teeth as he was rewarded with more laughter.

“I'm afraid Jon agreed to the position quite enthusiastically. He is already an Archivist now- though still a newborn in many ways- oh, you do have quite amusing reactions Martin.” He leaned his chin to rest on interlocked fingers. “Have you truly not noticed? When he reads his statements into his tape player, and he sounds like he's living through it himself? If I'm not mistaken it's one of your sited proofs that he has empathy at all-”

“Stop. Looking. IN. MY. HEAD!” Martin demanded, and stood to slam his hands down on Elias's desk. Elias looked… intimidated. And delighted. “Jon wouldn't have– agreed to that. He doesn't eat fear, he feels it in the statements like anyone would.” The last words were softer. Martin curled his fingers into fists. “He doesn't- drag it out of people while they're spitting up blood-”

“Well I did say he was a fledgling.” Elias dismissed. “A very adept one mind you- he's maybe a year away from reaching the skill it took Gertrude her entire life to cultivate. You should really be quite proud.” Martin did not know what to say to that.

He was in pain, and slamming the desk had once again reminded him he may have broken something in that fall, and he felt so tired and so weak.

Elias tapped the takeaway container. “Eat, Martin. Or you're going to faint.”

Martin sat heavily and glared again. A safe go-to in this situation. “What, you can see the future too?”

“Oh no, I'm afraid that is more the purview of the spider, if anyone could at all.” Elias told him. Martin stared flatly at the obnoxious attempt to once more talk about things he already Knew Martin couldn't already know about.

“The… Archivist. It was a spider. Sort of.” Martin said finally, and started very reluctantly unwrapping the food. Rosie had gotten it for him. It would be fine. Probably.

“Martin I can assure you if nothing else you can be certain of, it is that I will not harm you as long as our friend has taken a liking to you.” Elias said to Martin's thoughts rather than his statement. Like an arse. “And yes, it's fascinating is it not? That is my primary evidence to postulate it is the first. I have never seen a being so of everything. I'm half inclined to explain it to you fully-” a sigh. “But no. You are without a doubt going to scurry right downstairs and report this all to Jon and his assistants, and it simply is not time for him to understand any more than this.”

Martin tensed, then relaxed with a flush. He could read minds. It wasn't a surprise he knew that. “Why can't we know more?” He bit out instead.

Elias shot him what he was sure most romantically active people wouldn't know better but to assume was a very charming smile. “You could know. There are no direct restrictions on you Martin. But you will tell Jon and he simply is not ready. This is already far too much for him as it stands. I'd be a fool to give you more. Unless…” Martin's eyes narrowed. “You'd be interested in a non disclosure agreement.” Elias finished sweetly.

“A- an NDA? Are you- joking?!” Martin asked, clearly affronted. “We're talking about monsters and forbidden knowledge and you want me to sign a form?”

“Yes Martin. My contracts can be… quite binding. If you recall, it even stopped that tantrum earlier. If you sign it, you will not be able to tell them what you have learned today. And then, I will happily tell you Everything.” He seemed sincere. Probably. Martin gaped at him, and for a long guilty moment, he considered it. If he knew more- knew the danger, he might be able to protect them. Elias leaned it a bit as the thought crossed Martin's mind, and he shook his head sharply.

“You can't make me sign it, or you already would have.” He accused. Elias did not look bothered by this, but neither did his face reflect Martin was wrong. “If I don't sign it, I can tell Jon everything I know so far and you can't stop me. At all.”

Elias nodded, and it was jarring how easily he admitted it. “You are correct of course. I can't afford to threaten you, not with your new friend. I can simply offer you the chance to know everything it is possible to know about this world and hope your curiosity is enough to win you, or bribe you in hopes that you don't make yourself a nuisance in your semi-ignorance.” Martin felt like all he had left in him were glares. Elias continued after no response was forthcoming. “I do recommend at the very least taking the bribe. It would do you good to have some spare money of your own after your mother wrings you dry every month-”

Martin snarled. Elias laughed, and it was once again tinged with the tiniest inflection of trepidation. “A joke, I apologize it was in poor taste. What I mean to say is, you would not be required to limit yourself should you accept the substantial raise I am offering, so there is really no loss to you. And it will benefit Jon to learn things in his own time as well. He will be in danger eventually, and premature information fed to him with a spoon will only limit his ability to protect himself.”

He watched Martin carefully after those words, and Martin was torn as to how to respond.

“How… can I even trust anything you say?” Martin asked finally, hating how the fight was clearly leaving him.

He hated it even more, when he saw on Elias's face that he had won. “Because the last thing in the world I would want, is to lose either of my Archivists. Any you can trust that fact, without trusting me at all.”

And Martin could tell he was telling the truth. He could feel it, skin crawling and deep in his bones; Elias had plans for Jon.

He would not let him die.

But Martin had one last question.

“Why… does it stay down there?”

Martin only managed to stumble down into the Archives in the evening, while everyone was packing up to leave for the day.

He was fresh from the hospital, arm in a bloody cast and face bruised badly enough he had genuinely debated hiding at home a few days until he looked less a mess. But that would be too similar to his dreams. He refused.

So he braced himself for the expected onslaught as he stepped carefully down the stairs, and entered. Sasha was the only one in the main room when he did, having just finished working on her paper for the day. She looked up curiously and gasped in horror when she saw him.

“MARTIN WHAT THE HELL?!” She demanded, and she did not make efforts to lower her volume. Her eyes were blazing as she marched over to him. “Who the hell did this to you? I'm going to kill them.”

The door to the assistants offices swung open just before the door to Jon's did.

“Marto! Did you really skive off work that's not li-”

“Good Lord Martin, what the hell happened to you?” Jon cut in, sounding touchingly more worried about his appearance than his lack of attendance for the day's work. Tim had reeled back upon registering as well, horror evident as he also ran over to join Sasha.

“I er- it's- h-hard to explain uh-” Martin grimaced, shrinking under the attention despite all the fury and resolve he had felt earlier that day.

Sasha was trying to hen him, and shockingly so was Tim, and he found himself struggling to even speak over the worried friends.

“Give him… space.” Jon said after a moment, and Martin was grateful, even if the look on Jon's face was not… ideal. He looked disturbed. “He clearly needs room to breathe.”

“Er- thanks-” Martin mumbled feebly, and it was only after he acknowledged his approval of the suggestion did that fellow assistants took a step back. “Sorry I'm…. Could we all maybe go for a drink-? Out… of the institute?” He asked hopefully.

Tim's eyes flashed and Martin was pretty sure the other man have understood that far more completely than Martin was expecting. “I'll get my coat.” He said shortly, and rushed from the room. He looked frightening in the moment Martin had seen him just before turning around. Martin had never even imagined a man like Tim could even make that kind of face.

He was so startled by it, he didn't hear what Sasha said as she gave his intact arm a quick squeeze and ran to gather up her things as well.

Jon looked like a deer in the headlights, clearly caught between a completely antisocial lifestyle and some genuinely sweet concern over Martin's wellbeing. Despite himself, he felt the butterflies again and it was jarring in a way he'd never felt before because the dejavu was not of this moment in a dream, but the moment he had first laid eyes on the monster in the basement of Artifact storage. Love.

Oh god.

Did he love Jon? It was just supposed to be a crush they didn't even know each other that well! It was silly in retrospect of the thought that he had no particular trepidation over clearly loving the monster he had met only once, but in the moment he was having a good old fashioned crush based meltdown until Tim and Sasha returned, ready to go.

“Come on boss.” Tim said, and his expression was less pissed but his voice held none of his normal cheer. It was hard, cold as ice. “Martin wants a drink with the team, how could you say no to that face?”

His point was well made, because Jon jolted a bit, then stuttered something and got his own coat, saying he would lock up on the way out.

Martin didn't know how to feel about this being his first out of work experience with Jon of all things- no, scratch that. It sucked. He was well aware that this completely and totally sucked.

Still, he led the group out of the building a minute later without trouble, and sighed in relief before they even reached the pub, he just felt so glad to be out of the institute. None of his companions missed the shift, and Tim's expression hardened a little again.

None of them bothered him to explain himself until they were all settled snugly in the corner of a local place Sasha had taken the boys to once for Tim's birthday. Jon was a complete fish out of water and Martin suspected Jon did not drink as a general rule.

This was proven true when he awkwardly asked for ‘whatever was on tap’ when Sasha gathered their orders, and then promptly choked on the beer after sipping it.

It was a testament to how not happy Tim was, that he didn't even crack a smile at the display. He was watching Martin. Once they had officially settled, he was the first one to speak.

“Who was it?”

There was very little room for faffing about over if someone had done it. Martin took a gulp of his own pint for strength, then said softly, “I understand if you don't believe me but-”

“Martin.” Sasha said sternly.

He sighed. Fine. Just out with it. “Elias Bouchard tried to kill me last night.”

There.

He'd said it. No turning back now.

Chapter Text

Despite the gravity with which Tim was already giving to the situation, Martin's words still made his mouth hang open in shock.

Jon nearly spit out the his next attempt at the beer, though he managed to swallow this time, and Sasha actually punched him in the arm, even if she quickly apologized after a scandalized declaration of “I am your BOSS!”

Martin shrunk back in his seat as he watched their faces nervously, searching for signs that they thought he was lying. Not even Jon seemed disbelieving though. He was purely shocked. He may not have even processed what the implications were enough to formulate an opinion on validity yet. Martin was sort of grateful for it.

It was Tim who finally dragged them back onto the subject at hand. “Martin you actually can't come in looking like that and stop there. What the hell happened?!” Sasha looked like she was contemplating the merits of punching Tim too, but decided against it when Martin forced himself to keep talking.

“Well. Um. Okay, so you know the creep who's been lurking outside the institute at all hours?” Jon looked like he did not in fact, know. Sasha nodded in acknowledgement.

“You'd been keeping an eye on him. I remember.”

“I remember saying you should stay clear, personally.” Tim said, and Sasha decided to punch him after all. “Ow! Hey! It was out of worry, damnit!”

“I know.” Martin assured him quickly. “But I was tired, you know I haven't been sleeping the best-” he winced as Jon was once again made very clear how out of the loop he was in his own department. He plowed ahead. “Well anyway. It was stupid and obvioisly I know it was stupid, but I left properly middle of the night yesterday, and I spotted the guy- well- breaking in.”

“Oh god Martin please do not tell me you caught him uncovering horrible secrets never to be known about our double boss, and he showed up to off you both?” Tim said in a strained whisper.

Martin winced again. “Well… yeah. Kind of.” He replied weakly.

Tim's head was in his hands. He looked stunned and it was hard to tell if it was at Martin's stupidity, or the knowledge that the head of their institute actually tried to silence him permanently.

“Martin what-” Jon started, and there was a moment where he seemed to be openly suspicious of Martin's story, but cut himself off with a deep breath. Then he collected himself, tried to look in control of the situation, and said, “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

And the strangest feeling Martin had ever experienced in his life overtook him.

He was talking. When had he started talking?!

“-- but he was already picking the lock to Elias's office, so I panicked and followed him in so he wouldn't realize someone was behind him. I shouldn't have bothered though. There was something wrong with him by that point. Obviously I'd been watching him disolve into a mess in real time over the last as many days, but this was different. Like he was in some kind of trance.” Martin was barely gulping for air between sentences, and panic was starting to grow the more he spoke, not because he didn't want to be telling them- he did, but because he was understanding now with perfect clarity that Elias had been honest.

Jon was an ‘Archivist’.

And he was feeding on him.

Right now.

Oh god.

But Martin was still talking. He hadn't stopped talking. “--And the lift was moving down by the time I got up. And the guy was- muttering to himself, talking about- I think-? His daughter clawing her eyes out-? God, I don't know- he was frothing at the mouth by this point, and there was blood like his body was- I don't know- trying to take the idiom ‘spill your guts’ literally. I was really scared, and I was going to run but I couldn't really move, and then the lift was down in I think the basement of Artifact storage?” He swallowed, realizing if he forced himself to relax, the story came out less… alarmingly.

“- and something shoved me in after him.” He said with a weak wave of his broken arm. “That's how I got all this. It was from the fall. I think I must have tried to catch myself but I honestly don't remember. The nurse I saw earlier said it was a miracle I didn't have a comcusion, but I didn't, and everything I'm about to say is really actually real. I'm not lying, and I'm not hallucinating.” Two of three nodded firmly. Jon nodded with slight reluctance. “Right. Good. This actually feels kind of good to get out, honestly. So when I woke up, itd been hours. I didn't know by then, but it couldn't have been more than an hour after I woke that it was lunch time. At the time it could have been minutes. I had no way to know. And obviously it hurt. But none of that actually mattered, because there was a monster. A literal monster. It was huge, and covered in eyes, and wings like paper, and legs like a spider-” Jon paled visibly. “But it wasn't doing anything to me and I swear this sounds insane but I felt like I knew it. Like it was… a long lost loved one I hadn't thought was even alive. I don't know where that feeling came from, but it hasn't gone away. When I think about it I… miss it.”

The group looked highly conscerned, but none seemed willing (or maybe able?) To interrupt him now, and Martin was starting to feel a load sinking off his chest with every word.

“It didn't attack me. It tried… being cute? I think? It was huge and and made of eyes but it started purring at me, and a little later it rolled around like a cat. I was really out of it in the moment, the- love feelings- were really overwhelming. I said something about how it looked- like a mishmash of different creatures almost, sort of dragon-y, sort of bird, obviously spider, and I think moth? And it was purring like a cat, so I said it didn't know what it was-” Tim winced, and he was also pale by the point. Only Sasha didn't seem terrified, and she had begun frantically scribbling notes since the monster came into the scene.

“It got mad. It got all big, and spread its wings out at me and I honestly thought I was going to die, but then it actually seemed… flustered? That's the best word for it. Like it was ashamed of its reaction and by that point I realized it understood human speech so obviously- I… talked to it. I asked it questions, and it didn't talk back but it tried to answer in its own way. I thought it was going really well. I'd almost forgotten where I even was- it was really actually cute. Like I said, it rolled around and purred and snuggled in my lap and I was pretty charmed by it if I'm honest. But then… the trapdoor opened and Elias was looking in at me and you should have seen that bastard's face-” all three of them looked shocked at his language. Martin could not care less right then. “He was so shocked to see me alive down there. I mean there were corpses. Dried up bodies of people he threw down there to feed it, and it was just as surprising to him as me that it didn't want to eat me. He tried to… get it to. I think. But it got-”

Martin's throat caught as his memory caught up with his mouth in that moment, and he was suddenly back there, ice cold in that void of darkness and eyes as it tried to destroy the whole chamber in its rage.

There were tears in his eyes then.

But he kept talking, reliving the moment so vividly there was no difference between now and then.

“It got so angry, it came apart at the edges, it grew until there was nothing left around me but it and that square of light and it was reaching for him, with something terrible and it was inside me just because I happened to be there- it was so cold- it was so cold and the world was gone but it was leaking out cracks in the room, and I knew it was going to pull the building down on me just to drag him in there, and he was so scared, as scared as I was, but he didn't move he threatened it. He said if he died, I would die too and suddenly it was ALL gone.”

Martin sat there shaking for a moment, only distantly realizing he had tears soaking his cheeks.

But he kept talking.

“The monster was back. The normal monster. Like it had put itself back together again and packed up the horror of all existsnce back inside and now it was just- glaring at him. But he seemed- excited. He was really excited, even though he was obvious Still scared.” He took a wet breath then, closed his eyes, and tried to recompose himself.

“After that Elias promised he wouldn't hurt me, because I was a hostage now or something, and just… let me out. He had me go upstairs, and eat a bloody lunch and I have proof it happened because look-” with his undamaged hand Martin yanked a crumpled stack of documents from his jacket and put it on the table. “He gave me a raise and said he was bribing me not to cause a fuss since he couldn't threaten me safely.”

He looked up at them again, chest heaving. He was done.

The story was done.

“There's- one more thing but I-” he gave a full-body shudder as his companions tried to collect themselves in turn. “I need to say it on my own time. So… don't ask please. I just.. need a moment.” Martin had never considered himself someone who sounded fragile. He was fretful, yes. Anxious, usually. Even lost and confused regularly. But…he'd never felt as delicate as he did now, begging Jon not to ask him another question.

And to his credit, Jon didn't.

Neither did Tim, or Sasha. They all just sat, staring at their drinks and trying to figure out what else there was to say.

“I believe you.” Tim said. “Of course I believe you. I don't need to see the bribe– of course you're telling the truth. You're Martin.”

No one disagreed. Not even Jon.

Martin started crying again for a very very different reason.

Sasha dove in then, and hugged Martin so gently his tears kept coming, and he was sobbing before he could breathe and he couldn't actually stop, because even if he had liked it- even if he knew he was safe with it- he had been so very scared. And more even than that, Martin cried because he could not remember a moment in his life he felt more cared for then in her arms, Tim's arm wrapped protectively over a shoulder, and even Jon, resting a careful hand on his knee.

None of them moved while he sobbed, standing some special vigil, reminding him with every choked breath he took to finally steady himself, that he had made the right choice.

No knowledge was worth more than this.

Martin went to wash his face after a good 30 minutes of public hysterics, but Jon couldn't find it in him even superficially to critisize his conduct. Would he have been better? No. Of course not. He would likely have handled it much worse in fact, considering he felt his first instinct powerfully veering in the direction of ‘never speak of it even if they all deserve to be warned what he now knew’.

Even Jon could acknowledge what Martin had done here was… brave. Technically.

Still, while Martin was away from the table, Jon did pull the mess of papers he'd offered earlier to look over them, ignoring the reproachful frown from Tim, who was now almost chugging his pint.

It was a work contract. Very similar to the normal one he knew all three of his assistants had signed when they agreed to take on the positions he offered to them. But there were a few key differences. Three of them.

The most notable, and most clear change was salary. Jon's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the figure alone. It had to be at least twice what Jon was currently making. It was ridiculous even in concept for an assistant position.

But it was… not as important.

The most important part was a little addendum hidden among the normal Indemnity drivel detailed on the third page's fine print. Of course Elias was using fine print like some kind of crossroads demon. He'd only known Elias was… he supposed he should say it, evil for just under an hour, and that already sounded right up his alley. If it was true. But no. Obviously it was… true. Martin's proof really did prove it as well, even if he somehow lacked the sense and empathy necessary to feel Martin's terror and see his goddamn injuries.

The text hadn't been changed too overtly from its original, which was good because it limited the extent of the damage Martin had been tricked into agreeing to, but it was enough to raise several questions he would have to try very hard not to ask before Martin was ready for them.

‘Contracting party will reserve the right to claim losses for no more than 3 casualties resulted directly from Negligence of Employer for one of the resulting compensation options. Employer has no legal obligation to demands deemed outside the limits of the agreed upon compensation.
Compensation A, the revocation (AKA termination) of one employee of the Magnus Institute from their relevant contract without repercussions on contracting party or terminated individual
B, Fiscal increase of yearly salary or bonus with quantity variable based on direct agreement at time of request
C, The answer to one Question answered with full transparency; question must start with ‘why’ and cannot be divided into multiple questions via run on sentences, and, or, but, or if.’

And further in, among his duties was the third.

‘Responsibilities include official use as liaison between Employer, or Third party given express permission from Employer, and The Archivist. This includes but is not limited to; Questions, arbitration, both integrated and distributed negotiations, RFI and RFP.
Method of communication is flexible in the case of both Employer and Contracting party.
Results will not be taken into account as long as all communications on the part of the Contracting Party are executed as per Employers expressed wishes, in good faith.’

Jon stared for a long time at the last of them, brows furrowed. For all intents and purposes, that simply meant he (‘the Archivist’ could mean little else) was going to receive communications through Martin, if Elias so desired it.

Why would that even be there? Elias had no qualms talking to Jon personally, and anyway it didn't exactly require contract terms to enforce. Was Elias anticipating Martin tellin them everything and Jon choosing to- what? Never speak to him again like a child?

Shouldn't he be more concerned with them all quitting?

But even as Jon thought that he knew he wouldn't quit. He didn't know why he wouldn't; curiosity as to why the hell his boss had a monster in his murder basement just didn't feel very motivating. And yet.

He had no intention to quit.

Maybe he could at least ascertain whether any of these three wanted to quit. He needed to give them that. What happened to Martin was unacceptable regardless of whether he was doing something he shouldn't have been.

There was a shuffle across from him, and Jon glanced up to see Martin back in his seat. His eyes were rimmed red and a bit puffy, but his face was clean as it could be now, and he was not crying. He just stared at the papers in Jon's hands with weary sadness.

“It's a lot of money, right?” Tim glared at him again, and Jon had the distinct impression he thought Jon didn't believe Martin. It was a bit insulting. He wouldn't still be here if he didn't believe him.

But Martin.

“Yes.” He agreed after clearing his throat. “But that isn't what I was looking at.” Martin looked surprised.

“What are you looking at? The contract looks the same as the one I signed when I started.” His voice was scratchy and quiet from his crying episode, but Martin still scooted over to look at what his boss was reading.

Jon pointed. “It is. Mostly. I've only found two unusual changes.” Sasha and Tim perked up a bit at this, and suddenly all three of his assistants were crowding around him. “It wasn't added as an official addendum, so I'm frankly not sure it would hold up in court. But… here.”

The look on Martin's face was odder than he'd expected from the additional responsibility, if he were honest. He looked shocked, even a little pale. Nervous. The other two did not share his reaction.

“Martin? Does this mean something I'm not aware of?” Jon asked, then winced as he realized he had asked a question. Luckily Martin didn't start tensing up and looking frantic like last time. At least he didn't scare him that much.

Martin looked at him, then looked back at the paper, then laughed. It sounded far away. “He's a bastard. A complete and total bastard.” Neither Tim nor Sasha seemed to be following either, and Jon found himself relieved despite himself. Not another insider reference then. That was good at least.

“Martin, you have to explain, I don't get it. Like, I get if you never want to see him again and sure, talking to boss can be a drag but-” Jon looked at him sharply, but forced himself to hold his tongue.

“I admit I may not be… the most. Friendly of superiors.” He said in a stilted voice. Tim huffed a laugh. “But I have to agree I wasn't expecting the force of your reaction. You'd seemed interested in doing… similar to this already, in the last months.”

Martin sighed, and leaned back against the booth seat. “It's- a double meaning I think.” Martin said at last. “You are… ‘The Archivist’ yes, so I'm sure he'll say it all counts like a slimy little git. But that's what he called the monster. The Archivist.” He flicked his eyes down and Jon could swear he was specifically searching for Jon's reaction to this news.

Jon had no idea how to react to that, aside from overtly threatened by the implication. “Excuse me? He what-”

Martin didn't even seem to realize he was interrupting once he'd clocked Jon's alarm. “You remember I said the guy was talking, babbling about something terrible happening to his daughter- I think it was… the monster calling him. Taking his… statement.”

“We all need to quit.” Tim announced abruptly and with a fierce sense of finality. Martin blinked at him in surprise. So did Sasha. Jon… was not surprised so much by the content of the outburst as the volume. He flinched. Tim did not falter. “That sounds straight on not even a layer of obfuscation like he's trying to turn us into weird eye monsters and that's just the- Martin.” Tim looked suddenly agast and Jon glanced at Martin. He looked guilty. “Did you just- wince?!” Tim demanded, and the guilt only seemed to grow across Martin's face as he shrunk back.

“Th-that's- the other thing. Erm-”

“That's the part you left out for later?!” He sounded mad at Martin now, and Jon frowned.

“Tim this is hardly helpful behavior.” He turned on Jon with a laugh that made Jon realize for shamefully the first time, that Tim's happy go lucky social butterfly persona may in fact be an affectation.

“Oh right, sorry I'm not being helpful.” Tim started on him now, but his mouth snapped shut with a sudden click as Sasha put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tim it really isn't helping. If we aren't in this together than we have nothing going for us.” She told him calmly and Jon admitted he was impressed. “Let's let Martin explain. We owe him that after everything he's been through.”

Martin smiled at her, appreciation evident. “Thanks Sasha. I- I get it, it sounds like maybe the first thing I should say- but honestly, Jon asked me to tell the whole thing, and he said from the beginning. And… I realized when I was done the stuff Elias said after… didn't feel like the same story.” He swallowed, then grimaced again before continuing. “...And I needed a second. If I was making another statement.”

“Martin this isn't an official environment I'm not- I'm not going to file this.” Jon defended. Martin shook his head.

“That's not…. I don't actually know how to…” he struggled for a moment in silence. Jon could tell Martin was glad no one needed to shush anyone. “Okay. Right. So first- I mentioned the monster took a statement. And how the man looked- crazed. Like he couldn't stop himself even when he started coughing up blood-” Martin paused again with the struggle to find the best words. “It's a power ‘the Archivist’ has I think. Not the monster specifically. But the- position in the institute. And… it was happening earlier. When Jon asked me to tell him what happened.”

Jon didn't quite understand. He blinked a few times, and stared at Martin, trying to process that. “You're saying me? I can- what? That's ridiculous.”

Martin looked like he'd been waiting for the moment Jon dismissed this. It made him feel a deep shame he couldn't quite place. He frowned, and settled into glaring back. “Martin that's impossible. I would know if I was- compelling people to answer my questions!”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Is it? How would you know exactly?”

“I just would!” Jon snapped. “You don't do magic by accident. That makes no sense. You need a book- or an artifact even-”

Tim seemed entirely unconvinced. “Martin was sobbing his eyes out. He was so scared he almost threw up!” Martin looked embarrassed and Jon was suddenly unsure if Martin hadn't vomited while he was in the bathroom. That made him feel guilty as well. But he hadn't done anything. He'd just asked a question- “How would you even know if you were turning into a monster, eh? The people in the statements don't! I know about Jane Prentiss-”

“I would have noticed if I was growing extra eyes!” Jon snapped heatedly. Sasha frowned and pulled on both of their sleeves.

“Calm down. Tim is right, you could do something odd without realizing it but- I SAID, but that doesn't mean you're suddenly a monster either. Monsters don't worry about their coworkers.”

“They could be pretending to.” Tim muttered bitterly, but once again settled back at Sasha's insistence. “Fine. Innocent until proven guilty. I guess.”

Sasha smiled. “Thanks Tim.” She looked at Jon next. Jon hated being managed. And this was so clearly being managed that he scowled at her.

But then he relented, and looked away from the group. “At the very least I did not do it on purpose.” and that was the best he could do. Martin smiled reassuringly and it did not feel like a very proud best.

“I know you didn't. I know you wouldn't- not on purpose. But Tim is sort of right I think Elias is… doing something to us? Or– you..?” He looked so worried about him. About him and not himself. Martin, with his arm in a cast and head so bruised and battered it had temporarily altered the shape of his face, didn't seem to care a lick about almost dying or meeting a monster in that moment. Just… him.

“Did he- say something suspicious-?” He asked weakly, and tried with all his might not to make Martin do anything not of his own free will.

Martin stared at him with his mouth firmly shut for an uncomfortably long time. Then he smiled. “Right. Yes, he said a lot of things but the important bits are that the monster- it was an Archivist of some… ancient civilization I think. He was weird about it honestly, he seemed to think it was like- pre historic levels of old but said he didn't actually have proof.” Martin paused a moment, face impassive then thoughtful.

“He said that the position has existed as long as stories have, and that Jon just happened to be this… ‘generations’ one. I think he set the Archives up somehow to make sure they were this archivist, and not- like- Usher's or something.” Martin took a deep breath. Tim was visibly holding himself back, clutching Sasha's hand in a painful looking grip. Jon nodded slowly, waiting for Martin to continue. “It definitely isn't by choice- he tried to get me to sign a magic non disclosure agreement about it, because he said it's- ‘too early for you to know’ so obviously I decided I needed to tell everyone as soon as I could.”

“And he just… let you go?” Sasha asked. Martin laughed. It sounded unlike him. Dark and maybe even bitter.

“He's too scared of the Archivist. The one in the basement. It could get out whenever it wants, it's just choosing not to, and he knows it.” Martin paused for another tense moment. “I… asked why. Why it stayed I mean. Elias looked… er… annoyed maybe? He said it was ‘dregs of humanity’. Whatever that means. I suppose it's confirmation at least that it used to be human, once.”

“That is not comforting Martin.” Jon said softly. He could hear the fear creeping in. Even Tim looked a little worried again and that made him feel positively pitiful. He took a deep breath. “So. It won't come out because it was once human. There's only two reasons then. Shame, or self control.” The assistants looked at him curiously. Sasha nodded slowly.

“Yes I think you're right. It either knows it will hurt people if it lets itself out and doesn't want to, or it's aware of what it's become, either leading to dysphoria or guilt over the people it's already hurt. That makes sense, given how it acted with Martin.”

Martin nodded. “It clearly drains whoever is left in there. Until it's just skin and bones. Then it puts it on the ceiling for whatever reason.”

“If it's a mix of both, maybe it doesn't want to look at proof of what it's done.” Sasha suggested. Jon thought that was plausible, but tried not to think too deeply on ‘what if that were me’.

“Maybe.” Martin acknowledged. “Like I said I… really like it. Too much. Suspiciously much. But it's undeniable from Elias's reactions that it treated me differently. He said it can probably sense my connection to the Archives. Which… means it might treat you all the same.”

“I'm sorry for yelling at you Martin.” Said man blinked in surprise at Tim. His face was still stormy, but with a hint of contrition. “But none of this changes my stance. We all need to quit. Now. This place is clearly run by an evil maniac.”

Sasha nodded, but it looked like a hesitant bob. Jon could feel his reluctance as well, and sighed. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest and stared into the distance.

“I can terminate you out of contract, so you get compensation.” He said finally. “For whoever wants.”

Tim gaped. “You're staying?! Do you want to turn into an eye monster?!”

Jon shrugged stiffly. “Obviously not. But I would much rather keep my eye on him than run away and hope he doesn't go looking.”

“That's so stupid.” Tim announced. He shook his head. Twice. “That's the stupidest thing you've ever said. Do it. Fire me. I don't want this.”

“I… will send a termination notice tomorrow during work hours.” He had to pretend that wasn't borderline painful to say. Why was this so hard? “Martin? Sasha?”

Martin shook his head. “I can't. I tried earlier with Elias, he was all smug about it and said I couldn't quit so I might as well take the extra quid.”

Sasha frowned. She looked down, like she was concentrating. “I thought I just didn't want to quit.” She admitted eventually. “But I think it's more than that. Yes, I was already going in knowing it was going to be spooky and scary, and yes I really like learning about it all. But… I think maybe deep down… I can't quit either. I feel way too reluctant to even… try.”.

“I don't feel reluctant to try.” Tim said, but there was strain in his expression. “But– when I think about committing to it– it sort of hurts.”

Jon closed his eyes. Shit.

“I feel that pain when I think about firing you.” He admitted with no small amount of exhaustion.

“Whatever he has us with… it might already be too late to turn back.”

Tim sat there silently for too long. Then he looked at Jon. “I… didn't feel like this when I was in research. I could quit any time there. You– dragged us all down here and-”

“Tim.” Sasha cut him off with more of a hard edge than Jon would have expected. Tim looked almost hurt at the scolding. “This isn't Jon's fault. He didn't make us come to the Archives.”

“But he invited us.” Tim countered darkly.

“And we accepted that invitation after chatting about it for weeks with zero pressure from Jon.” She countered. It was like a tennis match, balls lobbed back and forth so fast you could hardly see the streak of green. “This isn't him. It's Elias.”

“Yes but-”

“Sorry no buts. We have absolutely no reason to think he wouldn't have assigned us down there anyway. He was pulling the strings from the start, and Jon got the job under the same false pretenses as us.” She hesitated then, and Jon saw a flash of… guilt? “In some ways, he… kind of took a bullet for me Tim.” She said it with a finality that was completely lost on Jon, but Tim seemed to get it. He sunk back.

“...if it had gone different- if it were you… Yes. Ok. I would have still accepted. I give in. Of course you're always right.”

Jon was on the verge of realizing what that implied when Sasha made him jump out of his skin with a sharp short clap. “Right then. Quitting's not an option, so plan B. We all have to work together. I doubt everyone at the institute is secretly evil, but even still we can only really trust each other." She looked between them one at a time. “So. What do we want to do?”

Elias Bouchard sat in his home office, lazily swishing a deep red wine in small circles.

It was cute. Truly adorable, that they all thought they were kept from his oversight simply by leaving institute grounds. But it worked in his favor, so he was hardly going to complain.

He couldn't help but admit he was disappointed too of course. He'd been hoping Jon was still too caught up in willful skepticism to take Martin seriously, and despite his shock and pride at seeing a fully successful compulsion so early in the Archivist's tenure, it was still mostly an inconvenience for him to be in on his little peons plotting.

Ah well.

It was too late now, he might as well enjoy his victories where he could get them.

Jon's unexpected progress was still worth considering sincerely. He might be able to push his plans forward even, condense the revelations so they could be had in a naturally dangerous environment rather than through dull attempts at research.

Yes.

He would need to get the word out quickly that a new Archivist had emerged already.

There were plenty of enemies of Gertrude that wouldn't care who now wore the mantle as long as they could hurt him.

The desolation or the spiral came to mind first.

He'd look into the smoothest option for transition tomorrow. It was quite fun to eavesdrop on their plans to end him once and for all. After all, they had no chance at success.

Just babies swimming without their water wings.

He took a sip of his wine.

Chapter Text

Martin was too tired not to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow that night.

He was fully anticipating the dream of hiding in his home at first, then an anxiety that he might dream about the monster instead. But he dreamed about neither. Honestly Martin's best guess was it was simply a dream for once, because it felt completely outside the scope of what was plausible.

He was in a deep, impenetrable fog.

It wasn't just that the fog was too think to reveal the scenery around him, but seemed to be the scenery around him as far as the eye could see.

It was cold.

It was cold the way the basement had gotten cold, after The Archivist got angry. Seeping deep into his skin not as a bite, but as a fact.

He was just cold. To his soul. Chilled to the bone, and lost in the fog.

But that wasn't quite all that was there.

Head laying in Martin's lap like it was the most normal thing in the world, Jon lay. He was sleeping, and he looked like he needed it more than usual. His hair was an absolute mess compared to his normal meticulous style, longer by a bit and streaked through with way more white than the dusting at his temples he had in the real world. No glasses, and unfamiliar clothes though they didn't seem out of place on Jon, just a bit too loose on his even thinner than normal frame.

Martin thought he saw hints of scars at his collarbone, on his cheek. And… a clear line of scar tissue much more stark than the others, on his neck. It was so straight and clean Martin couldn't help but think of a knife.

None of these scars existed in the real world, so Martin didn't need to see the green eyes to register it was a dream. Jon looked so at ease there, cheek pressed lightly into Martin's thigh. He couldn't even bring himself to be flustered. Somehow despite the added marks of stress and pain, he looked… captivating like this. He just stared down at him, stroking his hair gently and wondering where the prophecies and nightmares had gone. This was too nice.

It was too peaceful.

Just the two of them in a world where anything that wasn't them, right there, simply did not exist. He felt dizzy from the joy of it, and needed to close his eyes to steady again.

When he next opened them, he was not the only one who had. Unsurprisingly this Jon's eyes were green. Of course they were. This was clearly dream Jon. Even though this was also quite an impossible future to imagine. Usually he couldn't really react how he pleased in his dreams though, even after recognizing them as such. So his freedom of movement made it feel even clearer that this time it was pure fabrication.

Jon did not help changing his mind as he reached up with scarred fingers to brush some hair from Martin's face in return. He looked sad. He looked mesmerized. After a moment, he smiled despite the motion doing nothing to change the sadness etched deep into his features.

“Hello, Martin.” He said softly, and it sounded like him but something was lost- some energy always coiled tight behind his words as Martin knew him that was simply lacking here. It wasn't that he was resigned- if anything there was affection there but still it sounded like something had been lost. A tear slipped free from Jon's hooded eyes. “I'm not sure you've ever been quite this late in your life.”

Martin didn't understand, and Jon laughed softly. It sounded distant, like from out in the fog. But he was right here too. They were staring deep into each other's eyes and they weren't going anywhere. He knew that fact so fiercely it almost burst from him unbidden, but it did not.

Instead a single heavy tear dripped down and landed on the tip of Jon's nose to slid and mix with the one already inching across a circular scar. He blinked at it, trying to glance down for half a second before recentering his attention on Martin, wiping the wet trail away with a shaking hand.

“I'm sorry Martin. I know. I know it's my fault not yours.” And Martin wanted to scream for a second but he didn't know why and before he knew it he was full on crying in silence, face screwed up in indecipherable grief.

Jon looked stricken, but not the way he remembered it, bristling and hurt but covering it in a gaudy veneer of pompous indignation. No. He looked devastated. Miserable. Worried. So very worried about him.

He sat up from his position in Martin's lap and turned so he could hold Martin's face and press their foreheads together so intimately he thought he might manage to faint in his own dream.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Martin.” he repeated it over and over again, a few more thin streaks of tears falling from his own closed eyes. “I was selfish. You should never have had to suffer through all of this. You should never have been forced to do that.”

Unbidden, Martin's mouth began to form words that completely bypassed his own mind and for a long confusing eternity of one single second, he thought he'd somehow been forced to tell another story. But no. The soft and raspy words that forced their way from numbed lips were short and simple. Final in some way he didn't understand. “Where you go, I go.” He said and it felt so- romantic he couldn't understand why he'd even said it.

But Jon laughed, the sound watery and distant but his words were clear, spoken against his lips. “Where you go, I go.” He whispered back.

And then he well and truly kissed him.

Martin woke in a cold sweat, head still spinning from the shock and confusion as he tried to blink the visions of that dream from behind his eyes, but he was actually crying even now, and it refused to leave him any time he closed his eyes.

How the hell was he supposed to look Jon in the face today?

What was wrong with him?

The idea that the dream was anything but absolute fantasy rubbish his mind had concocted to settle some of the trauma he felt from being compelled did not even cross his mind.

Visions into other realities be damned. There wasn't another reality that could possibly leave them there like that.

It was completely and undeniably, impossible.

…As such, he did not tell Sasha and Tim about the dream. They still thought he was on standby until the over a week long seclusion dreams finally reached their conclusion, so they didn't even think to ask.

Looking at Jon was not easy though, and all of them noticed. Jon might have even looked a bit hurt by it, but his blushing had left the other two with absolutely no illusions as to the nature of his avoidance.

“I'm really not trying to make fun Martin-” Tim started with a grimace. “But now is really the time to let go of your crush on our boss. Really. He might not even be- him soon.”

Sasha shot him a look. Martin forced the smile to remain fixed in place. “Don't say that.” Sasha said, and they could both tell Tim wanted to defend his motivations this time. She just shook her head. “We are in this together. Full stop. This is not how Jon would be tricking us if that were his goal, and if it's not he can certainly give us warning if he feels something happening to him.

Tim sighed. “I know. Fine. I just… don't think now is the healthiest time to have a crush on your boss.”

“I'm not doing it on purpose” Martin defended indignantly. “Feelings are feelings! What can I do about that?!”

A creak. Jon never knocked unless absolutely necessary. And it was not, in his own archive and his own personal staff. “Do anything about… what?” Jon asked slowly, testing the waters of how welcome he was despite their agreement the night before to share anything important as it came up.

Martin blushed a deep red and turned to the small pantry. “I'm going to make some tea.” He announced, and said no more.

He could hear Jon trying to get it out of Tim and Sasha, clearly displeased that they were already keeping secrets.

“It's legitimately nothing to worry about boss. It's not even weird stuff. Scouts honor.” Tim assured. Martin appreciated it. Truly.

“Its… about my crush.” Martin announced and Sasha and Tim looked shocked by the boldness. Martin blushed furiously. “S-so I'd rather not talk about it. They were just teasing me.”

Jon looked completely blindsided by it. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then straightened. “Well. As long as it's not Elias for some godforsaken reason.” He decided stiffly. “It just… won't affect your work I trust.”

Martin smiled awkwardly. “It will not. Just… the arm, er, might.”

Tim suppressed a snicker.

Jon looked annoyed for a second, then rolled his eyes and started walking away. “That's just to be expected. I'll be in my office if anyone should need me. I'm recording a statement.”

Sasha's face was a picture of academic fascination. “I think he really doesn't know. His willful ignorance is… clinical.”

Tim just laughed outright this time. “I don't know what I'd do without you here, Sasha.” He said. Martin sighed softly and sat back town with a steeping cup of tea.

“At least he wasn't… ‘willfully ignorant’ last night. That's all I can really ask.”

A whir and a click.

“--I saw that a fog had gathered around me and I could no longer see more than a few feet in front of me–”

Another whir. Click.

“--mist made me feel somehow even colder–”

Click.

“--All that remained was the fog–”

Long whirring then click.

“-- on that anchor–”

Click.

“-- I could have sworn I heard Evan's voice call to me–”

Click.

Very likely as a direct result of his very embarrassing and very intimate dream containing the major theme of ‘fog’, Martin had felt strongly attached to the idea of investigating Naomi Herne's statement.

There were a good many details that did not match of course. For one, they hadn't been alone in Martin's dream. They'd been together. And though the warm contact did put into stark relief how very cold he was there, they had still been warmed by each other.

Additionally, Jon of the fog was visible and clear. And even though the fog looked thick and never ending, it had been notably inclined to keep to the edges, giving them a modest berth.

Despite all that, Martin couldn't help but feel it was a clue. And if it was it meant that dream was more than just a sad fantasy about Jon apologizing. So he'd volunteered to take care of it. All of it. Acquiring hospital records, logging the police report, calling the Lukas family.

No one minded. No one seemed to find it odd or out of character either. He'd take it.

It wasn't on the list, but Martin's first move was to call Ms Herne again to ask follow-up questions. Jon's interview had been horrid as expected, so she was reluctant to talk at first and Martin may not have been Tim, but he still managed to charm her into a meeting.

They had agreed to meet somewhere neutral for the interview. She had very firmly declined returning with ‘that prick around’, so Martin had made no complaints. Jon's bedside manner as it were, really was terrible.

“Hello! I'm Martin. Sorry for calling you about follow-up so soon after you made your statement, but I'll do my best not to take up too much of your time.” He smiled at her. His best comfort smile, full of gentle understanding because he knew this must be hard.

Naomi was small. She wore excessively warm clothes for the weather, and her eyes looked very red and sore. She was staring at him. Suspicious. “I don't care about that. It's fine but- just, don't tell me to seek professional help again. Please.”

Martin did not grimace. In actuality he thought a grief counselor would probably be very good for her, and maybe that's what Jon had really meant in the first place. But he wouldn't say that. “I won't. I am really sorry for your loss, but how you handle it is your choice to make and- and well, isn't really what I'm here to talk about.”

She eyed him, clearly satisfied enough that he wouldn't dismiss her, but no less suspicious. “No one trusts you guys.” She said finally. “Everyone says you all believe anything. And I got… well. Nevermind. Whatever. What did you want to ask?”

Martin watched her huddle a little deeper in her coat, chin nestled in her scarf almost protectively. “R-right. Yes. My questions.” He resisted the urge to laugh awkwardly. “I suppose- I'd mostly like to ask about the end of your experience. When you heard your fiancé's voice if it's alright.”

“What is there to even tell?” She mumbled to herself, before sighing and nodding. “Sure. Fine. It wasn't a lot of time though. He only said two words, and I was… well I was obviously imagining things. He wasn't there. I just… wished he was.”

Martin nodded, though he very much doubted he was simply a wish induced hallucination. “Well, I understand why you might think so. But I'm here to look at it erm- from the stance of it being very much real. So if it's ok, I'd like you to assume for a bit that he really did call out.” Her eyelids fluttered, looking wetter than they had a moment before. “Sorry. I know this must be hard.”

She laughed softly. “It's harder trying to convince myself he wasn't real. It felt so real. It didn't- it was all fog and nightmares, but he had been there. If he was I mean. It would mean he was watching over me.”

Or, he was also trapped in the fog. Martin did not say this because he wasn't that much of an idiot. He couldn't imagine a more likely way of convincing someone to walk right into the jaws of a monster, than saying their dead lost might still exist in there. But it did bring up some possibilities about his dream.

He would figure that out later.

“It was what got you out.” He offered instead. “Traveling into a space disconnected from the one you were in, in the real world isn't exactly common, but it is possible. And getting out is not… an easy task. You were very lucky to have him.” She smiled, just a little one, and Martin was glad he wasn't just making her cry. “Did he sound… far away? When he spoke to you? He said to turn left, so it's plausible he was only able to help you because you had already backtracked so far on your own.”

“What… does that mean exactly?” She asked. It was a relief she didn't seem upset. “He sounded like he was- I don't know. Right there. But he wasn't. The fog cleared the tiniest bit when I heard him, and no one else was there. I was still alone.”

Martin nodded. “Oh I just mean, well- timing is hard to account for, since you didn't know how long you walked, and you ran on your way back. But at the beginning of all this, you turned right. And at the end, turning left got you free. I suppose it's just my theory, but I think you retraced your steps in some way.” And Evan Lukas, for whatever reason, knew he needed to to get her out. He added silently.

She looked… well. It was hard for Martin to read that expression. Hard. Sort of. Except at the edges. “I suppose it makes the most… sense of anything. I'd always thought… it was just hearing him that bossed all the fog and feelings of loneliness away. That… I don't know. Feeling like someone was there for you is the only way to escape.”

“It's possible.” Martin agreed. The theory sent a shiver down his spine. Was the fog Jon… lost in it? Or was he..? He didn't feel particularly hopeless that night, all things considered. So it seemed unlikely he'd been the one who was lost. He could still even now feel the warmth of everyone comforting him, believing him. “If that is the case, I'm glad you heard him. No one… deserves to feel alone.”

There must have been something in the way he said it, because Naomi tilted her head, brows scrunched up where they me in the middle. “You… feel sort of like him, honestly.” She admitted. Then blushed. “Not- not in a flirting way. God, obviously not. But in a… your energy I guess. It doesn't feel as much like an intrusion. Like… I don't know. Sorry.”

Martin shook his head quickly. “Don't be sorry! This is valuable information. It's possible that the… energy you're talking about, it could be why he was able to reach you. Thank you for telling me.”

She looked down. Not upset, just pensive. “...Maybe. He always was good at making me feel like- I wasn't alone in my own company. We used to just-” she swallowed. “Just sit. Quiet and reading or something. Like we were alone, but… alone together. That doesn't make sense, does it?”

“No it does.” Martin assured. “Experiences of the supernatural often have strong connections to your personal experiences. A-at least- in the cases I've seen. I think they find people who already fit in some ways. It helps to pull you in.”

“That… scares me.” She admitted. “It's already so easy to just… be alone. I don't- I don't want to go back there.” Her voice was strained.

Martin hesitated before deciding he might as well offer unsolicited advice. “I know it's easier- I really do, actually. But when you can, reaching out to those friends… might help pull you further away from the fog. If you… ever felt up to it.”

She pursed her lips, then sighed and huddled in her outer clothes again. “I… suppose. It would be- not just not easy like being lonely is- it would be… really hard. But. I guess not as hard as being in that cemetery was. Nothing is…” she trailed off, then sighed once more. “Maybe. Not that it's your business. Did you have more questions?”

“Oh-! Yes! Of course. Sorry. Not really my place to…” he stopped himself from rambling. “I had some questions about his family. If it's alright.”

Naomi grimaced visibly. “If… you must. But I really didn't know them. I barely spoke to them when I met them. I wasn't kidding, I mentioned every word they said.”

Martin nodded. “I understand that. But you said they had a private mausoleum right? Then they must have arranged the funeral?”

“Yes. I was a mess then, I think I said in the statement I can't even remember the week leading up to it clearly.” She glanced at Martin.

“Do you remember how you were invited? Obviously you had every right to be there- I just mean, he didn't talk to his family and you've never met them- and none of your friends got invited.” It was actually quite hard to keep the smile in place at this point. She did not seem to really notice.

“Well… I suppose the- hospital must have told them…? Or, maybe Evan did tell them, he may have been considering inviting them to the wedding. I don't know. Either way, I remember getting a letter. It was really severe. All stark black on white, but the invitation felt like heavyweight parchment. Not surprising, they were rich.”

Right. Sounded… intimidating. Martin doubted it was accidental.

“Ms Herne- thank you for your time. Really. You've been very helpful. I hope you continue recovering from… everything that happened to you.” Martin offered her a hand. She looked at it, then at him.

“You should really take statements.” She told him after a long moment. “You're way less insufferable than the other guy.” Martin shook her hand firmly when she took it, smiling. “Thanks. For… hearing me out.”

“Of course. Thank you for all your help.”

Martin was glad, as she walked away, that she hadn't minded being called out just for his few questions. They were important to him, obviously, but they must have seemed a bit off to make a whole trip over.

And admittedly, he didn't know much more from it. But the conversation had given him some new theories.

Time to break into a mausoleum. Well. Maybe. He needed to do his utmost not to be arrested. He might not make it as far as breaking in.

Naomi had named the cemetery location in her statement, so taking transit down there wasn't too hard, though he had to call a driver once he was close enough, since it was a bit much to walk, and no buses went any closer.

Martin was waiting for the driver to pick him up, when he got the call.

Unknown number, but local ish area code for where he lived and worked. He picked up with minimal reluctance.

Foolish.

“Ah, Martin. I'm quite pleased you picked up. This is Elias.” He wished he had considered more who it might be. There were far too many options to have fairly expected him to guess, but… urg.

“I'm doing field work." Martin told him. The hardness in his voice was an obvious threat to just hang up if Elias got… weird or alarming.

A chickle. “Yes, I was informed very recently you are working on a statement involving the Lukas family.” Martin blinked. Elias knew the Lukas family? That did not at all bode well.

“Y-yes. It's normal. Investigating is part of the job.”

“Not this time.” Elias told him. It felt final. Threatening. “It would be best if you returned to the institute and conducted the rest of your investigation using the paper trail.”

That made him want to do that very little. “Or what? You'll kill me?” Elias laughed darkly. Martin did not like it.

“On the contrary Martin. I am concerned for your safety. While you would in no way die from a disagreement with the Lukas family, it certainly would make both our lives more difficult.”

“Who are they then?" He demanded. Despite asking the question, Martin had not expected to get a helpful response and was very much shocked.

“They are founding investors of the institute. You'll leave them alone. Understood?” Martin hesitated.

That made them feel significantly more investigation-worthy, not less. Well. Whatever he wasn't going to let Elias in on his plans either way.

“Fine. But they probably attacked the girl who gave the statement.” Martin snapped. Elias laughed.

“Yes, they do tend to lash out at interlopers. Which is exactly why you will not be one. Have a good day Martin. I will see you soon I trust.” Martin heard the smart sound of Elias hanging up his clearly physical landline phone, and sighed.

“Great.” He glanced down the road in the direction of the cemetery, still too far to even see a hint of through the trees. He was already here. He… had to try, right? He had very little reason to listen to Elias after all. The man was clearly the bad guy.

“Just… a quick look.” He told himself softly.

When his car came, he told them to take him to the cemetery. He ignored the second missed call from Elias, and sighed.

It would be fine. The car was going to wait, because they thought he was just swinging by to pay his respects. Getting out after a look around would be quick and painless.

He got out of the car, thanking his driver for his patience, and made his way up to the imposing old building, grand and almost threatening, and the equally so mausoleum built nearby.

The place wasn't that unusual in a literal sense. Yes, it was clearly a place you only owned if you had a good deal of money, but nothing felt… satanic or something.

He took a quick look around the main building first. The structure was well maintained, but clearly completely empty. Lights were off, and the midday sun made it very hard to see much inside the windows, so Martin very casually tried the door before turning his attention to the mausoleum when it was firmly locked.

It was smooth, carved stone. It had a conservative amount of decoration adorning its outside. Some carved grooves mostly. But there were words carved elegantly on the door (which had no way Martin could see to open it. It was just smooth stone). It read, ‘In Silentio Nostro Perdimur’.

Latin, clearly, which Martin did not know whatsoever, even if he could guess the word silence without much trouble. Something about the carving felt… Static. Like even touching them would have an impact on him.

He did not touch it.

Martin sighed, preparing himself to just head back now since there was only so much he could do without doing something risky.

“‘In our silence, we are lost’.” A voice said from just behind him. Martin jumped out of his skin, backing up sharply and only just managing to stop himself from colliding with the mausoleum wall.

The man behind him was smaller than him, dressed very plainly in nice, but practical clothes and pale as Martin could imagine a man could be. He smiled thinly at Martin, hands in pockets casually, despite his posture being impeccably straight.

“It's a beautiful motto don't you think?” His tone was… off. Martin wasn't sure how to describe his cadence other than a bit dissonant, but it didn't feel quite normal. Like cheerful, if cheerful was a thing you could be somberly. “I'd always hoped one day to be lost, personally. But not until our final rest, isn't that right?”

Martin had no idea how to respond to that, and was edging to the side now in hopes of getting further away without actually touching the cold stone behind him. “I.. suppose?” He tried, sounding a good deal more awkward than he did affording. The man continued to direct that thin smile at him.

“Peter Lukas. You must be Martin. Come with me now, won't you?” He didn't wait for an answer, turning on his heels as he said it and starting to walk back towards the road.

It was more of a command than a request, even leaving aside the fact that this was a Lukas, and that Lukas knew his name.

So Martin followed.

He had only been investigating the area for maybe ten minutes, but the car he had waiting for him was nowhere to be seen. Instead an oddly nondescript limousine was parked in its place. Peter Lukas beckoned him to it. “Don't worry Martin. I was asked to pick you up as a favor. You're not in trouble. Though I suppose you may have been, if another member of my family happened to find you first. We are very… private people.”

It didn't feel like Martin had much of a choice, so he reluctantly slipped inside, sitting as far from Peter when he entered as he could manage. Peter seemed to appreciate the distance, so it was pretty much as far as physically possible, once they were both settled inside.

“Where… is my ride?” The limousine started up without direction from either of them once the door was closed, and Martin scrambled to get a seatbelt on as it started moving.

“I asked them to leave.” Peter told him. “Don't worry, they were compensated handsomely for their trouble, and I'm simply taking you back to your institute.”

Martin swallowed. His throat was very dry. “You… knew I would be here.”

Peter crossed his leg over his knee, a moment of annoyance flashing across his features before smiling again and settling. “Yes. Elias requested a personal favour, and it's hard to resist something like that for simply giving a man a ride.”

Martin shuddered. He would have had to call in this favor long before he even called Martin, or the timing simply didn't line up. “Um… do you know Elias well?”

Peter appraised him. “You are very lucky, Martin. I am only at port for the next week, and Elias does not give out favors for so little. He must care about your wellbeing a great deal.” A sharp amused laugh escaped Martin before he could stop himself. Peter's eyes drifted down to his cast, then back up to the ghosts of bruises still darkening his face. He tilted his head. It had an oddly birdlike effect, combined with that small thin smile. “He and I play poker occasionally. I suppose you could say we are… ‘friends’.”

It did not sound like Peter considered them friends.

“Oh… thanks…?” Martin tried. He felt truly at a loss at how to respond to this man. He wasn't as predatory as Naomi had described in her statement, but maybe that had more to do with who he considered prey.

“You know Martin, I think you and I could get along.” He said suddenly, and Martin jumped again despite himself. They'd been silent for several minutes, he realized. His brows furrowed in confusion. “I see a lot of potential in you. You even seem… experienced. Would you have any interest in sailing?”

Martin stared. “I… have a job.” He said awkwardly. He couldn't help but feel like this was a dig at his past work experience, even though it was next to implausible that Peter Lukas knew about his past in labor. Even if it was… tempting to accept, simply to see if he could. Would Elias's hold over him be affected by another dangerous person's offer?

It didn't matter, he wasn't about to back out now, even if he could.

“The sea is very peaceful.” Peter tried. “You wouldn't have to worry about eyes on you, everyone on my crew is very happy to keep to themselves.”

“No… Thank you.” Martin said. Then he fidgeted. “But I'd love to… ask you some questions, actually. Since we're here anyway.”

The look on Peter Lukas's face was the most overt distaste for this suggestion possible, while still maintaining the veneer of neutrality he was clearly trying to. He looked out the window. “Point taken. I don't mind taking the drive in silence.”

Martin hadn't been trying to make a point, he had been hoping to ask about the funeral. But it was clear from Peter's response that he took it as Martin's declaration that he stop being… nosy? Sort of? He wasn't totally sure.

It did not stop them from spending the entire remainder of the trip in that promised silence. While it was frustrating to be rebuffed, Martin could admit the silence itself wasn't awkward. Comfortable even. As comfortable as one could be when trapped in a car with a man who might be secretly a monster.

A sea monster. Martin couldn't help a tiny laugh to himself, which got him a flick of dark eyes in his direction before returning to the window in disinterest.

Thank god. He did not want to be asked what he was thinking about.

It really stretched on until the limousine finally came to a full stop, and Martin was startled to find eyes back on him.

“Give Elias my regards.” He told Martin in clear dismissal.

Martin did not waste a moment more before scrambling from the car and seeing the institute regally towering above him. Neither of them tried to say a real goodbye. The door simply closed, and the Bently just drove away.

“What the hell was that?!” Martin jumped out of his skin for the third time in as many hours, turning sharply to see Tim and Sasha, both looking at him in impressed surprise. “Martin are you rich?”

“What? No!” Martin said immediately. He actually laughed at the absurdity of it. “I was… well. Not kidnapped that sounds alarming. I was given a mandatory ride home. I suppose.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Sasha stepped over, checking on his cast as well as to make sure no new injuries were now visible. He was fine, so she sighed in exasperation. “Come on, you have to tell us everything. But we'll go downstairs and see if Jon's available first.”

She started walking, and after a short moment, Martin and Tim followed her without complaint. “Were you out to lunch?”

Tim smiled, and there was the ghost of his usual energy. It was an improvement, since he had been subdued and a bit prickly since they'd had their talk in the pub. “Yep. We got back just in time by the looks of it.”

“Wasn't planning to hide it-” Martin started, and tensed up as he saw Elias standing at the top of the stairs to the next floor. His eyes were sharp as they stared into him. Disapproving. Martin glared back, and the man actually rolled his damn eyes before turning and starting his walk back up. He'd clearly been down there just to stare at Martin on his return. “Absolute creep.” He mumbled.

Tim looked up at Elias's retreating back, then to Martin again. He looked concerned. And wound tight again instantly. “What was that? Is he just- keeping you in check now? Seriously?!”

Sasha opened the door leading to the archives and waved them in.

“I guess. I don't know. I did something he told me not to, and he clearly knew before he told me not to that I'd do it regardless, because he tattled on me.” Martin didn't have the energy to hide the bite in his tone after that car ride. “He called the Lukas’.”

Sasha looked shocked. “Wait, he called them on you while you were investigating? What if you'd been arrested?!”

“He'd probably find that convenient.” Tim grumbled, and Martin couldn't help but agree despite the tiny amount of proof otherwise.

“Jon- Martin had an incident.” Sasha called. Jon stood immediately from his desk. There was a tape recorder on it, but they'd clearly caught him either before or after, because he shuffled right out.

“What happened? Is he hurt?”

Martin felt his heart flutter at the concern. “I'm ok. Elias just interfered in my investigation of case 01—- something. The Naomi Herne case.”

Jon seemed to be bodily stopping himself from asking what happened. It was touchingly considerate. Sasha noticed too, because she said “Okay, now we're all here why don't you tell us what happened.”

So Martin made himself a cup of tea, along with Jon and Sasha who accepted his offer, and told them about the mausoleum, and Peter Lukas.

It was hard not to be concerned at all by the events, but none of them seemed quite as alarmed or worried as they had been when he was injured.

“You probably met someone very dangerous.” Sasha said with some resignation. “But Elias is keeping up his promise, I suppose. So that's good.”

“What do you think it meant when Elias said you wouldn't die, if you got in bad with the Lukas'?” Tim asked. Martin shrugged.

“Considering the content of case 0161301, I believe it would be safe to assume, something very… isolating.” Jon said with a sigh. Martin's head snapped to him.

“You said you didn't believe it!” He accused indignantly. “Naomi Herne said you called her crazy.” Jon scowled.

“I did no such thing. I told her I would be of little help in processing the trauma. She was simply looking for blanket support of an unverifiable story- …Right. Sorry. I hadn't… intended to upset her. But she clearly needed someone, and I simply could not be that person. That is all I was trying to tell her.” Jon managed to sound slightly shameful, maybe even apologetic at the end, and Martin sighed.

“Of course she wanted someone to believe her. She was scared.” Jon just looked pointedly at a shelf several feet to the left of Martin's face, looking sour.

“Ok, o-KAY.” Sasha said, waving her hands for calm. “It's fine. It's not bad to deter statement givers from trying to reinvestigate their experiences personally, especially if we think they're true. It doesn't have to mean we don't believe it. And obviously, this experience leads a bit of credence to it regardless.”

“Yeah, the guy sounded like he was trying to isolate Martin anyway. Invitation out to sea completely at random?? That's sketchy beyond belief.” Tim added. “Good on you giving a solid no for once.”

Martin smiled wanly. “I was actually trying to ask him about his relation to Evan Lukas.” he admitted. “He was way older than Naomi was, so I wasn't sure if he was a cousin, or what.”

“Well we can look up public records on that one.” Tim suggested. “It'll probably just be names and dates, but if they're registered citizens they should have birth records at least.”

Martin nodded. “I'm going to do a deep dive on the record side of things once we're done talking. It just would have been useful to get a measure of him on the relationship while I had him.”

“We should keep an eye out for cases involving the Lukas family, regardless. Something tells me they will appear in a number of the statements we've yet to sort through.” Jon said, standing and lifting his half finished tea to take with him. “For now I had better get back to work. As should you all.” He looked at them sternly, and Tim scowled back at him. “The last thing we want is to give Elias an excuse to come down here and harass Martin.”

They all reluctantly dispersed at that. There was still a tremendous amount of work to be done.

Chapter Text

Martin's dreams came completely untethered from reality after that first dream in the fog. Sometimes they were normal life in the Archives, but always a slightly different one from theirs. Hardly anything ever matched up anymore aside from the most core of habits and the most random events. He was pretty sure it was a dream about what their lives would be like if they never knew about Elias. If they kept… living in ignorance.

Often in them, he was living in the Archives for some reason, and saw himself hiding fire extinguishers in boxes. It all felt very dreamlike, and left him questioning if they were even the same type of dream as before.

Sasha and Tim's opinion on the fire extinguishers was very much “That sounds nonsensical, you have to admit.” So he put a general pause on dream reporting while he recovered from his injury.

He'd just about convinced himself the prophetic dreams had stopped long ago now, when he went to investigate the building with the spiders.

He liked spiders, wasn't at all afraid of them, and had recently gotten his cast removed. All perfect reasons for him to do the ground level investigation on a rare sort-of recent case. Jon hadn't even made a fuss about if he could handle it. He'd just let him go with a sigh and muttered “Be careful.” Said so quietly Martin was sure he hadn't been meant to hear it.

The others were supportive of his enthusiasm and cheered him on as he fled the archives in embarrassment for their fanfare. He heard Jon yell at them to keep it down as he climbed the stairs, and he couldn't help but smile.

On a level it never had, before the near death experience of horror, it felt like a little family. His little family. It warmed his chest as much as his cheeks and he was enveloped in that warmth so comfortably that he missed the person trying to hurry past him.

They crashed, and Martin, being a larger man than most, winced apologetically as he was quite fine and the woman he had bodied was thrown unintentionally to the ground with a shocked gasp.

“I am so sorry I should have been paying better attention I- oh. Hi Rosie.” He finished softly. She flinched, and for a second he thought he must have REALLY scared her, before recognizing the crease of guilt marring her features.

“Martin.. I- I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking.” Her eyes were searching frantically for anything to look at but him. “I- god. Sorry. I have to go. I'm so sorry.” And she ran.

He'd known she had heard him that day. The louder bits at least, and knew she definitely saw him when she'd come in. He hadn't expected her to blame herself for it though. She looked well and truly wretched when she was forced to look at him.

Martin couldn't even imagine what she could have done aside from quitting in protest, and even then considering the trouble they'd been having, there was no guarantee she could even try that much.

She didn't deserve this.

Not for the first time Martin wished he had quicker reflexes with which to call out before people ran beyond polite reach. Rosie was already long gone.

He sighed and made the rest of the way out the building much less cheerfully.

And then of course, cocked the whole thing up.

It would be nice if he could say he figured out what was happening before he reached the point of slamming his foot down on a wriggling worm under his door in terror and locking it tight before searching his home for anything to stop up the cracks.

But it was actually the moment he realized he couldn't call for help because he'd lost his phone that did it. A dizzying sense of de ja vu settled in on him, and it was so painfully familiar he finally finally realized the dreams of hiding had started a full 3 months before they happened.

And boy, were they happening.

Having context did not make it easier.

He had no phone, no power, no anything, and none of the archive staff even knew his home address. (Jon could find it though, right? If this lasted as long as it did in the dreams, there's no way they wouldn't notice he'd gone missing while out on assignment) he had frankly abysmal food options as well, and he was barely willing to crack open an outer facing window so he had any fresh air, as he had used packing tape to seal up every vent and crack in his flat.

The worms were trying to get in. He could hear them outside and he realized the sound had been there in the dream but he hadn't know, he never seen those worms in any of his nightmares and knowing what he was hiding from made it so, so much worse.

His only relief was the dreams. The foggy ones were back, the ones that felt completely and totally unreal in how intimate and soft they always felt.

And of course the mysterious fog always at the edges. It was so cold there, but he hardly even cared.

Often he would come into consciousness in the dream in waves lapping at his mind. Something was pressed against his back, and yes it was cold there, but the body felt so warm as it leaned its head against his shoulderblade. He couldn't help but notice Jon was so much shorter than him.

He seemed content to just sit there with him, back to back like they were anchoring each other there.

The only thing he even said was, “Oh… the worms. Are you ok?” Before allowing silence to return to the endless space while Martin tried to forget.

The fog's version of Jon was different from the green eyed Jon. Green eyed Jon was much like real Jon. He was maybe a bit more uptight than real Jon was these days, but their prickly nature and rigid need for control were still very much there at their cores. This one was different. He was softer, gentler but also more fragile in return. He always seemed to know something Martin couldn't, yet still seemed to care about absolutely nothing but Martin's suffering.

This Jon didn't seem to even care if he was in control anymore; seeming to almost reject his right to it, while also feeling just a little bit lost as a result. When that feeling came up, the dream reacted to Martin's notice of it, and fog Jon would sound like he was speaking from somewhere far away.

It reminded him of the Lukas case, and he wondered if Jon was lost in the silence here.

He just seemed like he wanted to be near Martin. It didn't seem like he had room for anything else inside him, so oftentimes they just sat in the dream together, enjoying their shared quiet in a way it had been very hard to with Peter Lukas.

But the more he wanted to distract himself from the horrid sound of knocking that woke him any time he tried to rest long enough for comfort, the more he started wondering if the silence was… bad.

Eating away at them, or something.

That was why he eventually started talking.

“I'm really scared you know?” He said softly. “It's not like I'm starving or dying, none of the worms have gotten in, I even have a window, though I suppose you can't count that if I never dare open it more than a crack. But despite… not really knowing what I'm scared of- it has to be Jane Prentiss right?- well, anyway I don't even feel like it'll break in, I think I'm safe as long as I outlast it.

“But that's just it, isn't it? How long? How long can I last before I run out of food– out of sanity and I just… walk into the worms?”

Jon took a breath. It was deep and careful, and it didn't seem to catch him at all off guard when he was spoken to for the first time in days. “You won't do that.” He said it with such quiet conviction it felt unarguably true. “You will survive the worms. And you will survive what comes after. You're stronger than you think you are. You can do this, Martin.”

Martin smiled bitterly and laughed. “I don't feel very strong right now.” Jon laughed too, but it was sad, and not quite bitter. Maybe sardonic.

“You never do.”

Jon then heaved a sigh and shifted. Despite everything it was still distressing to lose contact when Jon pulled away and turned himself fully around to hug Martin around the neck. He jolted weakly in surprise. The embrace was so warm. “I know you Martin. I've watched you struggle and seen you return strong any time you do it out of my sight. You always manage. It will be ok. You just… have to wait.”

Martin didn't know quite what to say, since Jon most certainly hadn't seen most of his life's struggles, and his time at the archives were punctuated by Jon himself finding his attempted struggles insufferable.

“You don't even like me.” Martin said softly, and felt the arms around his neck tense and tighten. Jon buried his face in the crook of Martin's neck for emphasis.

“I love you Martin. Even if I can be an… absolute ass of a boss. With edgy antisocial …angst you shouldn't be made to deal with. It was unprofessional.” What part had gotten him? He couldn't tell because it was all so delightful to hear Jon say in a tone like confessing his sins to Martin's shoulder. Whichever it was, Martin felt a mix between a yelp and a laugh forced out of him in a wave, loud and delighted. Jon huffed. Martin could feel the warmth of his breath, warming him further in the cold. “It's not that funny.”

Martin giggled a bit in response. “It is a little.” he turned his head to look at the smaller man's tired face. He was smiling, just a little.

Was he allowed to do this? Was this creepy and weird and some unknown form of harassment if he… accepted this affection? This Jon, his Jon he decided right then like it hadn't actually been a choice at all, was offering it up freely. The real world's Jon was beyond uninterested, but at least he cared. He wouldn't want to be… used like a brainwashed puppet in Martin's dreams just so he could kiss him somewhere. It felt like it should feel wrong. But even worse because it really didn't.

Jon huffed a breath, eyes half lidded and watching him and it felt like he could see inside his mind. “Martin?” He asked. Martin realized he'd been staring longingly at him, mouth open as the silence extended between them. Wow. Way to be awkward in your own dream, Blackwood. “Martin.” Jon said again.

He cupped Martin's cheek, thumb tracing slow circles against tingling flesh. Martin swallowed. “Yes?” Their breath was mingling; they were so close again. And those green eyes were staring into him.

“It's ok to ask for help. Even if it's just help… carrying on. You're the one who taught me that. So don't forget it.” Martin's chest fluttered. “Everyone needs an Anchor when the world tries to sweep you away.” And then Martin leaned forward, just a little, just enough that he was pressing their lips together this time. Despite Jon's seemingly mind reading eyes, this still seemed to surprise him. He blushed, a cute sprinkle of it dusted over his cheeks in a way Martin had never actually seen before and found infinitely charming. Then he pressed back into it, not to deepen but to strengthen the kiss.

It felt sweet, and chaste, and like it had no need of stopping unless Martin wanted it to. The longer the soft press of contact lasted, the more Jon relaxed against him until half their bodies were leaning into each other. And it was so warm, and so nice, and Martin felt like such a creep.

He did pull back eventually, flushed and unable to look at him. “I shouldn't be doing this to you in my dream. It's one thing if I don't know I'm dreaming but this-? Feels like a violation, doesn't it?” Jon did not move any further from him than the space Martin had created between them. His hand still cupped his cheek, his arm still wrapped around Martin's neck.

“I won't kiss you if you don't want me to, I would never force myself on you. But you are utterly incapable of forcing me to do something I don't want to. Believe me. You aren't responsible for my choices Martin. Never. Not even in a dream.” Somehow Jon sounded like he thought he was the creep in this scenario. It was baffling.

“I really don't understand what this is.” Martin said softly. “What did I do to… make something like this in my head? It's just a dream isn't it?”

A sigh. There was indeed some guilt there. “This is me, missing you Martin. I'm very, very tired of… being alone. And as always, a bit… selfish.”

“I really don't understand.” Martin admitted weakly.

“No, I suppose you don't. That's not your fault. And that… is why you have nothing to feel responsible for. This, it's all me. Selfishly dragging you in, again. When maybe you could have been free. Happy.” He kissed Martin on the cheek this time, and Martin felt a bit disappointed he was keeping his promise. “Just take whatever you can get out of it. It would make me feel better about my place in this, if anything.”

Martin could feel himself drifting then. He wanted to answer. He wanted to… accept. But he was waking. It was so frustrating. Sleep was hard to get between the phantom sensations of worms crawling on him and the knocking-

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The door rattled with the force of the impact, adhesive and cloth and sponges seemed to shift for one horrible second after he opened his eyes, but no worms squirmed through. Martin shuddered and wished he could go right back to sleep. He wished he felt capable of going back to sleep.

He wondered what it would mean if it really wasn't a dream at all. If another Jon from somewhere else really was reaching for him in his dreams. It was so romantic he sort of wanted that to be true. But that made no sense. Even the parallel reality theory felt flimsy when it was just so specifically a Jon that was just for the him here. Who loved him, and worried about him, and missed him so much it made Martin's heart ache painfully just thinking about the loneliness in those eyes.

There was a buzz of anxiety in his brain that told him he couldn't think about this right now. It was too much on too much.

It had been so long since he'd seen anyone but His Jon in his dreams. More than he wondered anything he regretted so much wasting that one on being indecisive about comfort he'd been offered almost entirely unbidden. Maybe he'd… just deal with the moral ambiguity of explicit consent from a being you made up to love you when he no longer felt the world caving in on him.

But not yet.

He needed to check his fortifications, and see how many peaches were left in the cupboard. Maybe if he were feeling spicy he would search for his phone, like it would magically appear this time when he knew he'd lost it in the basement.

Just do the things you can.

One at a time.

And when you're exhausted enough to sleep, you can try again at not being the worst date in the history of cloudy dream dating. Or something.

Just. Keep going. All he had to do was wait, and eventually he'd have his foggy respite again. He could handle this. It wouldn't be forever.

It wouldn't be forever.

Jon had promised.

And he… couldn't help but trust his Jon.

Nearly two weeks had now passed since Martin called in sick. He'd sent in his report and findings just fine the day before, then texted the next to let him know he wouldn't be in. At first none of them worried. Maybe they should have, with everything Elias had already done to him. But he was texting, and answering texts too. They were always short, but Jon at least had accepted Martin's own insistence that he'd simply caught a nasty bug.

He'd tried calling of course but Martin never answered, just sending a message that he really didn't have the voice to talk right now.

Tim started feeling off first, a week or so in when a bad cold could still potentially knock you off your feet for at least that long. He had less to do than Jon and Sasha, so Jon suspected it was giving him too much time to catastrophize. So Jon gave him a little bit more to do, and told him he was not going to ask their evil boss for Martin's home address just to invade his privacy when he needed rest.

Sasha got worried 10 or so days in. She said she'd been texting Martin on and off just to check in, and he was being evasive. Not answering her questions and just insisting it was just a bug.

“So it's definitely not just a bug.” Sasha concluded with certainty. “Either it's way worse, and he needs an actual hospital, or he's trying to keep us from something.” Tim very heavily agreed.

So Jon spent the next day trying to figure out if any of the library staff happened to know where he lived. He wanted to avoid asking Elias, and his last resort was Rosie since Elias would beyond doubt hear about it if he did request the information from her.

But his options were dwindling, and Tim was saying he would go talk to Rosie which Jon could not in good conscience allow as his boss, so he agreed to go that Monday morning.

He regretted dawdling. The longer Martin was out of touch the more the thought that he was hiding something- or that he needed help felt increasingly likely. He had genuinely no clue what exactly he thought he could do about it, aside from maybe asking it a question (if it was even a problem one could ask questions of) but even then Tim had made him try it on him a few times and it never worked. He clearly had no control over it.

This had been a comfort for Tim, but for Jon it just meant he had no control over when he turned it on by accident.

But they shouldn't have left Martin alone. Just thinking about the way he'd cried that night at the pub- god. He went on Saturday instead, entering the building after making sure he saw Elias's car in the lot, and beelining right for his office.

Rosie wasn't there, which was only a mild surprise on a weekend but a surprise none the less. She seemed to always be there when Elias was. But as expected the light was on in Elias's office.

Jon's skin crawled.

He hadn't spoken directly to Elias since Martin had been attacked. It had been a relief at the time but now standing here he realized there was no way it hadn't been intentional.

No backing out when Martin could be in active danger. He knocked briskly and fought with all his being not to feel like a fly, walking into a parlor.

“Come in, Jon. The door is open.” Elias sounded disinterested, busy even. When Jon turned the knob and carefully entered, the man was actually sifting through papers with readers on. He glanced up at Jon and smiled.

He looked, acted no different from any other time Jon had seen him. He stepped inside.

“Have a seat.”

“I will not be staying long.” Jon replied stiffly. Elias chuckled. “I simply need access to Martin's contact records.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, and settled his papers down to stare more fully at Jon.

“You have his number I'm sure. That would certainly be faster than sending a letter, Jon.” the tone seemed even and professional as always and still Jon was so sure he was being mocked. Elias smiled as he had the thought. “I'll need more information before I can release personal information of employees. Even to you. So sit down.” A pause. “Or I suppose you can ask Rosie on Monday. If you aren't in a hurry.”

Not knowing how to counter that, Jon sat. He also glared. Elias raised a delicate eyebrow in return, as if daring him to talk about it.

Or ask him.

Oh god.

“Martin is sick.” He said instead. “He hasn't been in for two weeks, and I am going to check in directly.” The words were level and without intonation.

Elias evaluated him for a moment, then sighed. “No, I don't think so.”

“Excuse me?!”

Elias flipped open the folder on his desk and started looking over it again. “I think it would be less than ideal for you to show up at your assistant's door uninvited. Surely you can see that.”

Jon's eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed as he realized what Elias must be intending. Elias glanced back up.

“Jonathan, I have no interest whatsoever in letting Martin die, as you well know.” Elias said with a sigh of defeat. “I simply have judged the situation lacking any required interference. He will be back by Monday. I guarantee it.”

It was… satisfying and frustrating at the same time to hear Elias crack, and acknowledge the unnatural underpinnings they were now both aware of. “You know what happened. You know where he is.” Jon accused.

“I do make it a point to keep tabs on employees as needed, yes. And he is at home, fending off a bug as you've already heard.” It almost worked. Elias's lip twitched, ruining any illusion instantly that this was a normal bug. “And no, I did not poison him. I am far better off with Martin alive. And I intend to keep him as such. Is that all?”

“Tell me what happened to Martin.” Jon growled. Elias blinked, then laughed. He looked suddenly much more pleased.

“That's quite well done, Jon I think you'll get the hang of it very soon. Unfortunately, I am not so easily compelled. So you will have to wait until Monday.” He gestured to the door. “If that is all, I'm afraid I am quite busy arranging a fund raiser gala.”

He didn't want to leave like that. He didn't want to just- accept that he could do nothing and wait. He gritted his teeth. “If it's not dangerous, why won't you let me check on him now?” It was clear from Elias's complete lack of reaction he hadn't even done it right the second time. It was just a normal question.

“I did not say it wasn't dangerous. I said he will be quite fine. There is a difference.” He leveled Jon with a piercing stare. “You however, would not be fine. Neither would the others of your team. So no. You will not convince me to change my mind. Go home instead. Get some rest, for Monday.”

“At least tell me what's happening to him!” Jon snarled.

“He is hiding in his home from bugs. He will be fine. Go home, Jon.”

Jon trembled, then stood abruptly. “Fine.”

“It was lovely to see you as always, Jonathan.” Elias called after him as Jon stormed from the room.

He needed to call Tim and Sasha.

It was possible for the three of them to meet the following day, so they'd all agreed to meet up at a cafe a ways from the institute. Sasha and Tim were clearly very interested in whatever news he was willing to contact them for, and Sasha had cut a visit to her parents short just to make sure it happened before Elias's promised Monday. He was glad. He shouldn't have even been surprised really; it had been Jon holding up their urgency. He felt very guilty about that now.

Tim dropped a backpack onto the empty seat next to him and stared intensely. “Tell us what happened.” He said, and not for the first time his tone had a steely undertone Jon found… genuinely threatening.

He cleared his throat and glanced at Sasha. She raised an eyebrow and motioned him to start.

“I'd gotten to thinking the weekend would be a long time, so I checked the institute on the chance Elias was working the weekend as he sometimes does. He was. So I decided to approach him directly about Martin's home address.” Sasha looked alarmed.

“That was so reckless Jon! We were going to ask Rosie!” Jon tried to look apologetic without sacrificing his composure. The effect was a bit of a judgmental stare he couldn't say he was proud of.

“It seemed clear to me that Elias would not harm me, based on the information Martin has shared. And I was correct.” He considered a moment before adding “Not that he was helpful regardless. He refused to give me Martin's address.”

Tim looked exasperated. ‘“Then what are we even doing here?!”

“He said there was no need to look for him because he would be returning soon. I have no way to verify the veracity of his claim, but he… knew Martin had told us he had a bug.” Jon sighed. “And said he was at home, hiding from said bugs.”

“He's hiding at h- oh.” Sasha said, and shared a look with Tim. “How the hell did we forget about Martin's dream?!” Tim looked put upon, then ashamed.

“It was a full season ago, and a lots happened. I- shit, so that was why it kept… seeming like the same one.” Jon was narrowing his eyes again as he realized there was something else he hadn't been informed of. Before he could demand to be looped in, Sasha gasped her agreement to Tim's apparently important deduction.

“Because he was locked in there for- weeks. Oh god. I feel so bad. How could we just assume something like that was nothing!?”

Jon put a stop to it there. “Okay it is time to clue me in on this conversation. Now.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “Not really much to report. Martin just dreams of things that sometimes happen, sometimes. Not even always.”

“They've been getting less accurate as time goes on.” Sasha supplied, and pulled out her notebook. “He tracks them with a dream journal and we cross reference if anything ever matches.” She held open the page with a calendar plotted out with notes. “A few months ago he had a recurring dream about hiding out at home. We weren't even sure it was one of them, let alone have they ever taken longer than a month to happen if they're going to. So this was… a shock.”

Jon stared at the charted out correlation. It was just… random things that happened on a work day. A few were circled, but it was simply ‘Statement’ or ‘Spider’ like that was a big deal. But that wasn't even the point. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He would keep his tone even and professional. “And no one thought to tell me Martin gets prophetic dreams once we agreed to share any and all relevant information, why?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “It wasn't on purpose. Like Sash said it's getting less and less accurate. And we all got quite preoccupied. It just didn't come up.”

Sasha took back her notes. “Let's get back on track. Martin and Elias. Elias has been keeping tabs on Martin's safety, presumably because of what he promised the monster Archivist. Which means it's probably true he will survive this at least.”

“Not mentally!” Tim squawked. “There's no way Martin isn't coming out of two full weeks of unexpected siege tactics without some heavy trauma.”

Jon couldn't help but agree. But… pieces were beginning to fall into place not just of the immediate, but of what he definitely knew. “I have a theory as to what happened.”

Both assistants looked back to him sharply. He continued coolly. “I'm sure you all remember the statement we looked into several months ago on Timothy Hodge.” He started. Sasha looked confused, then paled.

“The guy who's one night stand exploded into bugs?” She gritted out. Jon nodded.

“He was as far as all investigations indicated, a victim of Jane Prentiss. You both must have read the hospital incident report when I passed it around.” They nodded. They did not look happy. “I believe Martin must be experiencing… something related to these incidents. I have a few reasons for this. Primarily, Elias's behavior. He said Martin was hiding from bugs. He also said it would be wholly unsafe for you or I to try to get to him. This implies a danger with the capability to do intentional damage if it is awarded an easier target. If Martin really is hiding securely, it cannot get to him. But it is likely waiting nearby or he would have left by now.”

“But why wouldn't he tell us?!” Tim demanded. His face was reddening quite concerningly.

“That… I do not know.” Jon admitted. “Perhaps he is aware of the danger posed to someone approaching the situation and does not want to put us in harm's way. Or he doesn't trust us. Or- or something else. There's too many possibilities to be sure."

Sasha closed her eyes and laughed. It was a strained laugh, soft and short. “You know if this was happening before… before he got hurt, I would be hard pressed to imagine things going well in the slightest. Martin seems so- bad at staying safe doesn't he? And Jane Prentiss- the files made it sound like she was a miniature disaster. So many people died in that one hospital. And then there's Martin.”

Tim didn't seem to appreciate her humor (if that's what it even was) and clenched his fist. “I don't trust Elias.” He said instead of anything to do with Sasha. “But if he's as slimy as he seems behind all the pretenses… Martin said he was actually very scared. Of the monster. I think he'd be willing to sacrifice one of us to save his own skin, if Martin was in physical danger. BUT. That's just physical. He's not going to be fine Elias just doesn't care.”

The way he said it he might have been talking about a predatory loan shark, cruelly wringing Martin dry while totally willing to ruin his life in the process. It wasn't a bad comparison honestly.

“You aren't wrong. We agree, just– oh god-” Jon stood sharply and a moment of horrified confusion unfolded as he struggled to get words past his now clumsy lips. “M-MARTIN! Martin can you- Martin-”

The other two swung around in their seats, eyes wide and hopeful. It was Martin. He looked thin, and tired, and his hair was an unwashed mess. He had been staggering slowly down the street when Jon got up and ran to the door shouting, but thankfully stopped and turned towards his voice.

“Martin.” He said again, mostly relief now instead of frantic… flailing. He swallowed. “You look thin. Can you eat? We were… having lunch.”

Martin looked very confused. Then, when he spotted Sasha and Tim, absolutely baffled. Then he looked startled, as Tim pushed past everyone and grabbed Martin's wrist.

“Come on. Whatever you want. On me.” Despite the phrase sounding like an offer, Jon actually had to swiftly stumble back from the door as Martin was dragged past them and to their seats before he could even agree. Or disagree, but Jon had sort of hoped that wasn't something he was considering.

They were in this together.

Martin was sat, and looked like he was trying to catch up when the other two sat back down as well. He looked at them all. He looked at the table, where Jon and Sasha had ordered coffee, and Tim a water.

He looked up again. “Were you all- having… coffee? Together?” He sounded more incredulous than hurt at the idea of it, though there was a trace of ‘you've never done that with me’ at the edges of his expression.

“We were having a meeting.” Sasha corrected. “Outside the institute.”

Martin nodded, eyes wide with understanding. “A meeting… about Elias then.” His voice sounded faint but not weak. Just… unwilling to be too there.

“A meeting about you.” Jon corrected, and folded his hands in front of him. “You've been worrying us. And Elias had officially refused to give us your address. So we were discussing… options.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause we had options.”

Sasha put a hand gently on Martin's arm. “Why wouldn't you tell us what was happening?”

“I… don't have a landline.” Martin said it like it was obvious. Then he backtracked with realization. “Oh. Right. Yes, I lost my phone and my power was off, so was internet- and without my phone it was just… there was no way to reach out. S-sorry.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Sasha or Tim, could you ask Martin what happened?”

Tim actually snorted, the first shift of levity he'd had to offer since they started their meeting. “Nice work around boss. Yeah, Martin can you tell us what happened?”

“From the beginning.” Sasha added. Jon nodded, watching Martin closely for… signs.

Martin smiled at him. He looked tired and… something else, something soft that felt completely out of place to be aimed at Jon. It made him… nervous. Like he was once again missing something. “Thanks. Yeah, I'll tell you. Okay. Do we have a recorder? Should we make it a… statement?” He glanced around but Sasha shook her head. Jon made a face, regretting the lack of foresight not to keep one close. “...Whatever. I suppose I can… record it again later. I'll just say.” He closed his eyes, and took a very deep breath.

Then he started from the beginning.

And by the time he finished, Jon had an unpleasant heaviness in his chest, and he wasn't the only one looking down at his phone with trepidation.

“...Well shit.” Sasha whispered. Tim was combing his fingers through his hair in agitation. None of them looked happy. Martin looked apologetic.

“...Sorry. I really am sorry, I keep getting into trouble like an idiot-”

“Martin, this…” Jon sighed. He believed it, so why was it so hard to admit. “This isn't your fault. You were attacked. And you were literally doing your job this time. It could have been any of us.”

Martin looked touched. His cheeks were a little flushed, and he smiled that soft smile again. Jon saw Sasha and Tim glance at each other, but Jon had no idea what that meant either. He crossed his arms self-consciously. “Thanks… Jon. Right- um- right. I was on my way to the archive I think, before you saw me. I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to be home what if it came back? And Jon works weekends sometimes, so I thought- I… hoped… and. Yes. Here we are. Still don't want to go home, honestly.”

“You shouldn't.” Jon said, and when he spoke next two other voices spoke at the exact same time.

“You can stay in the Archives-”

“You can come to mine.”

“You can stay with me Martin, don't go home.”

Martin blinked at all of them, then flushed more deeply and laughed. It sounded good. A real laugh. A real smile. He looked between them all almost shyly. “Thanks. Really. I… the archives make sense I think. Maybe. I don't want it to find either of your flats, and- well… I'd been dreaming I was staying in the archives before all this. So it kind of makes sense.”

Jon looked startled. Then he coughed. “Well- yes. I would have made that offer regardless. It's temperature controlled, or is supposed to be. So the rooms are well sealed. Bugs won't be able to get in. And I… have a cot. In the back.” He found his own face heating despite himself. “Why are you looking at me like that? It's the logical next step.”

Martin flicked his eyes down but it seemed obvious he was quite happy about Jon's logic. “Thank you. All of you, obviously. And sorry. I already said that but… yeah. I am.”

Tim heaved a sigh and patted Martin's back with a hard slap that made the larger man wince. “Apologize again and you have to pay for your own lunch. Now order, you haven't eaten anything but peaches and beans for a week straight.”

Martin smiled at Tim too. “Okay. I appreciate it. Thanks. All of you. Just… Thanks.”

Chapter Text

During Martin's isolation, he had gotten very comfortable in his foggy dreams. Nothing… untoward happened, obviously. Even if Jon had seemed interested (he really hadn't) Martin wasn't sure he had it in him with all the stress of hiding. But they did get very touchy. Laying together, or holding each other, anything for some comfort through the miserable mess of fear and isolation that interrupted them far too frequently.

After he'd felt that she was gone, (and he did feel it somehow) and after a quite extended moment of caution before Martin was willing to believe she actually was gone, he'd left the flat immediately, no idea what day it was, just that the sun was high and he couldn't stay there a second longer.

And… he didn't have to.

The real Jon made sure he didn't.

Martin got used to living in the Archives rather quickly. It was all so very much like his other dreams, so it already felt familiar. He'd been… privately disappointed, when it became clear that the fog dreams with His Jon had ended with the exit of Jane Prentiss from his immediate problems, and he found he missed him quite badly even with real Jon being nicer than usual.

Tim had told him a week later he was being really obvious about the crush now, and thought Jon had actually noticed it. Martin hoped not, but he couldn't help feeling warm when he thought about Jon saying he'd have offered no matter what.

Like if none of the monster stuff had happened, and Jon hardly believed a word of any statements like in Martin's dreams, he still would have believed him. Still would have reached out.

God, he needed to stop thinking about Jon. It made him think about his Jon too, of holding his hand and nuzzling his chin, and crying into his arms, and that was so inappropriate now that he was interacting in real life again. But it was hard. He knew before this that Jon worked all hours, even on weekends. But living down there meant he saw him doing it. He was spending more time with Jon than ever before, and he was being, if not supportive, something very similar whenever he wasn't putting on airs.

Tim had been slowly, very slowly, coming down from his state of agitation and starting to act more like his usual, jovial self. Sasha was pretty much normal. Not that it felt like she hadn't cared- far from it. She was just… steady like that. But they didn't distract from it much.

And it was with no small amount of relief, that Elias had not tried to intervene in their affairs. Jon had fielded the idea of requesting further security in case Jane Prentiss attacked (a final text from Martin's phone certainly implied she was hoping to) but they were unsure if they could actually trust security Elias put in place anyway.

They were still torn on that. But from Martin's dreams, he didn't think Elias was inclined to do anything to help them even if they had asked. So he wasn't pushing that issue. Instead, he had purchased a big knife, and hidden it under his pillow. Just in case.

And he'd gotten himself a new phone as well. It was laughably easy with his new paycheck, and the little archival team had all agreed they should be checking in daily at this point so a phone was vital equipment.

But in trying to put aside his thoughts of his crush, he needed to think about something.

Being down in the archives, in the document storage where he'd put his cot (since the door locked and it was almost totally sealed, which felt much safer for sleep) also made Martin think more about… the monster. The Archivist.

He'd heard nothing from Elias, nothing of it since he left it down there, and when he thought about the elevator that he'd taken to reach it, and the placement of Artifact Storage on the floors above, it made Martin pretty sure its little den had to be… close to here.

Some nights when he couldn't sleep, he imagined he was leaning on the same wall as it was, just a single block of concrete between them. He hoped it was… okay. As okay as a person-eating eye monster could be at least. He didn't want to think about whether it had been… eating, really, but he did find himself wondering if it ever had company.

He didn't think it did. It clearly did not relish Elias's company afterall. And Martin's survival was a shock to everyone so he doubted the monster normally even had the self control to keep someone down there with it alive if it wanted to. Maybe. It had shown self control with him, but it had also seemed threatened by Elias's suggestion that it might go after Martin after long enough.

Anything would eventually, he supposed.

It wasn't the Archivist's fault it needed to eat. Martin just wished it was able to eat bugs like a real spider. Then it could eat Jane Prentiss or something, and do good for the world.

He also… missed it as well. Sort of. He felt more of himself missing his Jon these days, but it wasn't the monster's fault he craved the human contact those dreams somehow provided.

Martin wondered if… he could go down there again. Not like, through Elias's elevator, but through Artifact Storage, down those stairs that must connect the two spaces. But he didn't have clearance, and neither Jon or Sasha, who both did, were fans of the place.

Tim would have gone. He could tell from the flash in his eyes lately. But Tim was like him. Never had a need to be in there, so never had permission.

Maybe Elias would give it to him if he demanded it. But at that point, Martin might as well have gone through the elevator afterall.

He didn't want to be anywhere near Elias if he could ever help it. He scared Martin a great deal more than the monster did, even if he was sure he was too much of a coward to try anything.

A click resounded in the distance. Martin looked up, seeing the light on in Jon's office and realizing he must be recording a statement. It was really early in the morning, early enough that Martin hadn't bothered to get dressed yet, so he was grateful he'd become so sensitive to the sound of the recorder. He sluggishly got up, and put on some clothes.

Martin didn't plan on interrupting obviously. But he could start some tea, and if Jon wanted some when he came out, great. It'd be hot and ready for him.

When Jon did come out of his office, it was with a determined look on his face, and a folded envelope clutched carefully in hand. He almost marched right past Martin, but jumped, turning at the last moment, then sighing deeply when he saw it was him, sipping a cup of tea.

“Martin. Hello. You are up early.” Martin smiled at him.

“I made tea, do you want some?” Jon sighed but shook his head. That was unusual now. Jon had taken to accepting tea pretty much every time Martin offered these days. “You.. alright?”

“Yes I- well. I have coffee.” He cleared his throat and glanced behind Martin to the old records storage. “Since you're awake however; I want to search the oldest statements we have on file. Which are, in the room you're sleeping in. Allegedly.” the last word was added with dark dripping sarcasm. Nothing was filed where it was supposed to be here.

Martin looked back at the door curiously. “Oh. Erm- sure? What are you looking for? It's really early.”

Jon sighed, and stepped around Martin. “I'm doing this intentionally off the clock. I'm trying to find… records of the institute's founding.”

“Oh! Um- can I ask why? Obviously go right ahead either way I just- you don't get enough sleep as it is, everyone can tell that.” Martin followed Jon in, flushing a bit at his little living corner but ignoring it because thankfully Jon was. “I can help look too.”

“Sleep has never been my strong suit.” Jon said dismissively, and pulled an unmarked box down. There was something else behind his words too, something just slightly too fast, but Jon pressed on without time for him to comment on it. “You mentioned a while back that the creature- the Archivist, was extremely old. Possibly unfathomably old, if Elias is correct. So when did it end up here? Was the institute built on top of it? If so, how long had we had it? Maybe it was at the old Edinburgh location too, and moved here after the Milbank prison was demolished. If so, records about when Jonah Magnus was still alive might hold clues about why it stays. What it's… waiting for.”

Martin nodded slowly, pulling down a box marked for 1800s records to start searching too. “I suppose that makes sense. What… brought this on? Anything new?”

Jon held up the envelope he'd been carrying, and let Martin take it. “Be careful, it's very old. It was misfiled among more recent statements, and got me thinking about why Jonah Magnus created the institution in the first place. And… well. The text from your old phone. The last one it.. called me Archivist. I just want to understand.”

Martin looked at the letter, very careful with it but impressed by how well preserved the thick expensive looking parchment was. “Oh, I remember you talking to Tim about this last week. The servant who got attacked after stealing his coin, right?” Jon nodded, but did not look up from scanning letters. Martin carefully returned it to its envelope. “It didn't say anything about the Archivist though. But I see why… it might be helpful.”

He felt like he was rambling now, with Jon simply reading through the documents, skimming for indication of their time periods. So Martin did the same, sitting on the floor of the cold old room, and started searching.

It was actually very weird, how few statements and documents were actually filed into the correct dated box. That might have been a Gertrude issue, as so many things about the state of the archives seemed to be, but really it felt moreso… picked bare. Like the files of any import had been intentionally removed already.

That… probably meant Jon was right. At least to some degree. The chances that Elias himself had been down there, and taken any information they might find to fill in the blanks he clearly did not want Jon to know, seemed quite high.

Hopefully there were other misfiled ones, then. Ones not so easily slipped out of their proper place in a few unguarded minutes. He started searching a blank box as well after that.

He only paused once during their search. It was to tell Jon something relevant that had popped into his head from way back. “Elias said the Lukas family was involved in the institute's founding actually. We should cross reference what we find with stuff about them, too.”

Jon looked up for the first time in an hour, and nodded thoughtfully. “That is… a good catch. Thank you Martin.” Martin quickly busied himself again, trying to hide his blush at the tacit approval. Was it even tacit? Wasn't it just overt? God.

Several hours passed like this, with a quite pitiful pile of all of two statements discovered and placed between the two of them. Martin yawned, unable to suppress his drowsiness, when Sasha came in for the day's work. She found them rather quickly, and laughed a little seeing the two grown men sitting on the dingey floor with papers surrounding them.

“Something I should know about?” She asked, eyes flicking between them. Jon looked up.

“Sasha. Ah. It's time for work. Right.” He sighed deeply, and stood with a wince. “I should have.. brought a chair. That was foolish. We were searching for statements dating back to the 19th century. If you happen to find any, put them aside. But… we should get to work.”

Sasha looked at Martin, who yawned again, and offered a hand to help him up. Martin smiled at her. “Thanks. I was just helping. Woke up from nightmares so… yeah. How was your morning?”

She smiled awkwardly. “Oh. Well, nothing significant to report I suppose. But I'll let you know if that changes. Tim asked me to look up some info on the calliope in artifact storage just now, so I'll probably do that before getting into the filing. You?”

Martin jolted a little. “You're going to Artifact Storage? I thought you hated it in there.” She laughed wearily.

“It's not my favorite place, but I'm not scared to go in. Why? Did you… want to come?”

Martin nodded before he could help himself. “If that's ok of course! I've never been.”

She glanced at Jon, who waved them off with a tired sigh and pulled out his laptop to do some ‘fake drivel’ as he had taken to calling it lately. She smiled at Martin, and Martin smiled back.

“Then let's go introduce you to the institute's room of horrors.”

It wasn't as horrifying as Martin was expecting after the leadup. Sasha had given him strict instructions not to touch anything not clearly labeled ‘level 1’ and even then, be cautious, but it seemed as if level 1 items were all that were kept in the first room when they entered.

The space was clean and sterile, but still gave off the feeling of an old storage unit more than an institute research resource. Unsorted and only barely labeled, there were shelves, chairs, some china, even an old meat grinder. In one corner there were books packed neatly in a box, but these were labeled ‘level 2’ instead, so Martin didn't even try to get a closer look at them.

Sasha was weaving her way back to a corner of the large room next to a door that said ‘level 3 access’ and stopped in front of a vibrant red calliope. Martin followed carefully, aware it would only cause her trouble if he got lost.

“What does Tim want with it…?” He asked as Sasha pulled out a notebook Martin hadn't seen before and jotted down a string of numbers and letters that sat under the organ's own ‘level 2’ marker.

“He's always interested in circus stuff. If he hasn't shared why I would rather let him in his own time. But this appeared in a statement Jon asked him to do follow-up on, and this is part of the follow up, since we have it.”

“...’Be still, fore there is strange music’.” Martin read quietly. The cover looked locked, and then padlocked again with a newer sturdy thing that had clearly been added much later. “What does it… do? Do you know?”

Sasha glanced at him, making sure he wasn't attempting to touch it. “Well, I'm going to use its ID to look into any testing it's undergone, but as far as I know it's dangerous to those that hear it played. In the statement, a victim's jaw got pulled clean off. But we don't seem to have a clown doll in here, or the steamer trunk, so who knows if it can do anything all on its own.” She closed her book and smiled at Martin. “Still, level 2 means it's had confirmed fatalities, so best leave it alone if we can. Now. I know you didn't want to come in here to just… look at the room. What are you looking for?”

Martin flushed. “O-oh. Yes, you're right of course. Sorry I should have just said.” He glanced to the second door with its own keycard reader and heavy sealed reinforcement. “I wanted to see… if we could find the stairs I saw that night in the pit. The stairs down to where he keeps… the Archivist. I can't imagine it's out here though- how many levels are there-? How does clearance work?”

Sasha seemed less exasperated or annoyed to find out Martin's motivations than he was expecting. She just nodded. “There are six levels, I think. I can get through to 4, and I can't imagine a live giant people eating monster is anything less that 6. But I can show you 3 and 4 if you think it'll help your curiosity? You just have to promise to be really careful.”

Martin nodded enthusiastically. “I will be so careful. VERY careful. I'll even put my hands in my pockets and keep them there.”

He got a laugh for that, and a wave of dismissal. “You don't need to do that. Starting level 3 they're all behind protection anyway. But if one of them is obscured on purpose, you can't try to focus on it ok? No squinting or leaning in, not even concentrating on it. The stuff past here doesn't need to touch you to hurt you.”

Martin shivered at that, but nodded.

“I'd still like to see if that's ok.”

She smiled, and pulled out her work ID, swiping it and letting the doors slide open with a hiss that sounded very much like an air lock.

Level 3 was as Sasha implied, much less slapdash. Everything seemed to have its own enclosure, some air tight, others tinted a very dark black to make it hard to see what was inside. There were some things hanging high from the ceiling, which explained to Martin why Artifact storage took up half of the 2nd and 3rd floors, as well as the entrance on the first. It felt surreal, seeing so many small boxes of precaution for each individual item. There was a book floating in actual water near the entrance, the water seeming to discolor into a sickening yellowish sludge around it rather than getting it wet.

Sasha smiled and waved him to follow her.

“I know something that should be safe to just have a look at. I actually helped document it back when I worked in here.” She walked further in with Martin quickly shuffling after her, and stopped in front of a smaller containment with two notable features.

Inside, was a mirror. A hand mirror specifically, old and not very taken care of with cracked glass affixed inside of it that was so completely broken up Martin suspected it had been painstakingly reassembled after shattering. It… was less exciting than the writing. On the glass, like it had been scratched unreasonably neatly from the inside were the words ‘Behind you’.

Martin couldn't help looking over his shoulder, but nothing was there.

“It's a nasty little thing.” Sasha told him. “We found that keeping it in an airtight seal keeps it from… getting around. But no matter how many times it's moved it always gets the words written on something nearby. It's the creature's name to me. The ‘behind you’.”

Martin's brows furrowed. “What… does it do when you don't have it airlocked?”

Sasha stepped to the side a bit so Martin could look into the reflective surface of the mirror. The repair had been careful enough that it more or less reflected at a single angle, despite the multitude of fissures through the image. Martin took the offered spot and jumped. Peaking out from behind a different enclosure, something… dark was watching them. Its eyes bulged and its features seemed to blur around them like static that couldn't maintain itself in the bright lights of the room. Martin turned, but there was nothing there.

“If it could get out, it'd start following you now. I had it on me for about a week and honestly it's maddening. It doesn't do anything but watch but its gaze is really… heavy. You can't really stop thinking about it when it's there.” She sighed, and glanced away from it. “I get nightmares sometimes still of those eyes. The behind you is sort of parasitic, so if you let it out by seeing it watching and it's not contained, it'll latch onto you, and only gets forced back into its mirror when you're dead.”

Martin gasped, horrified. “And they had you- how did you get it off?!”

The concern seemed appreciated, even if Sasha's smile had a hint of amusement behind it. “You get paid an awful lot for testing. I really needed it at the time, so I signed the waver. But they got it in with another artifact. I think they'd already figured out they could before they had me take it for the study, and when the week was up, they did something to the shattered pieces of the mirror, then got it back under glass so it couldn't latch again.” She eyed it with distaste. “Nasty thing, like I said. Though I suppose it's more mild than some other level 3s.”

Martin looked away from the mirror, feeling a shiver. “I think it makes you feel more watched than the hundreds of eyes on the Archivist. Or maybe it's just that it didn't want to scare me. I don't know.”

“Yeah, it's hard to tell without proper testing. I wonder if they're the same… kind of monster though.”

“What? Do you think Behind you is an Archivist too?” Martin couldn't help but laugh. “I know Jon can get a bit intense but he's not that bad.”

Sasha laughed back good naturedly. “I don't know, maybe not every eye monster is related. Or maybe the Archivist sub species is part of the eye genus. Same broader category, different evolutionary pattern.”

Martin thought about it. “Do you think monsters… evolve?”

Sasha walked casually past him, towards the doors to level 4. “They must do, if Archivists start human. I knew Gertrude, even if not well. Her eyes made you prickle when she looked at you, but she only had two of them. So it must have grown the extras over time. More time than humans normally live, probably.” She shrugged. “Hell who knows, maybe it's a pair of eyes per lifetime, and by 2100 Jon will have an extra pair in the back of his head.”

He couldn't help but snort at that, though he didn't much like the mental image. Still, he followed her as she let them into the next room. “I'd rather not think too hard about that if I'm honest.”

“Yeah, understandable. I doubt Jon would be enthused at the mental image either. So. As you can see, level 4 is a little different.” And it was. Martin looked around as he walked slowly into the hallway of cells.

“Wait… are there- people in there?” He asked, rushing up to one of the doors to peer into its window, but blinking as he realized it was tinted too dark to see clearly. He quickly stepped back, remembering Sasha's directions for level 3.

“No. Not.. really anyway. No, sorry-” she backtracked at the look on Martin's face. “Sorry. There aren't people being confined in the depths of the institute as far as I've seen. But who knows, knowing what we do about Elias now. Not even I know what's in level 5 it's… possible.” She looked down, clearly bothered by the idea, then sighed. “But not here. These are all artifacts. They just… level 4 keeps the ones with agency. The ones that can… choose if it wants to hurt you.”

Martin shuddered. “That's… very scary.” He admitted, and stepped further away from the darkened door.

“Lots of spider stuff back here actually.” Sasha admitted. “I think they're more prone to decision making. It makes them… unpredictable.”

Martin wondered if that was why Jon hated spiders so much. “Do you know how much access Jon has…?”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “I see what you're getting at. I know he was in research around the same time as me, and he had limited access then- probably level 3 or 4. But as far as I know, department heads have full access. Most don't go near the access with a ten foot pole, mind. But if I had to guess, I doubt he got his fear of spiders from in here.”

“Why's that?” He asked. It wasn't important, really it wasn't. But Martin never really understood the fuss, and he… wanted to understand Jon.

“His research. He's been way too busy since taking the archive job so I think he's officially put it on hold. But I remember it was about spiders.” She looked at Martin, patting him on the shoulder. “I wouldn't worry too much. People who never even experience the supernatural get phobias about spiders. It's really common. It could be argued you're a little more odd, Martin.”

“Lots of people have pet tarantulas!” He defended indignantly, then added, “well, I say that but I don't. Though I always wanted one. But it's a pet. Lots of people like spiders.”

She gave him a look that spoke volumes without words. Something like ‘I don't mind if you need to defend yourself since it's not a bad thing to like, but we both know it isn't popular’. Martin huffed.

“We probably shouldn't search through these ones aimlessly.” Sasha told him. “They can… feel that. Even with all the protections it's still better not to wander.”

“...Okay.” Martin sighed his agreement. “Thank you for showing me. I guess level 5 is over there?”

His finger pointed towards still another heavy door. Sasha nodded. “There's stairs first though. Never been up them, but I think level 5 is the floor above this one. You ready to head back?”

Martin nodded, and the two made their way carefully out and back down to the Archives. “Level 6 must be… under it.” He mumbled to himself thoughtfully. “I think it is level 6. I think you're right.”

“I am often right.” She said cheekily. “Now here's where we separate. I need to pull up the research records on the calliope like I promised Tim before we got off track.”

They said their goodbyes, and Martin checked over his whole body anxiously to rid himself of the phantom skitter of bugs on his skin, then went back inside to get some work done.

Why they still bothered doing their work, Martin wasn't even sure at this point. But it was something to do. And they were more likely to find new information going through the misfiled statements than sitting on their thumbs, so they might as well.

But he was pretty sure Elias wouldn't fire them, even if they never did another second of work. If he were willing to let them go, there would be no point in making them unable to quit.

“Ah Martin. There you are. There's an incident from last year I want you to look into. I've put the statement on your desk, as well as a… quick brush up on the church of the Divine Host. In case you aren't already aware of them.” Jon nodded to him once, then left.

Dreams had been tame lately. Mostly. Every so often, Martin would have a blip in his dream where he felt really scared, or saw something creepy, (Jon showing them an apple in disgust, which was grinning inside with human teeth where the core should be) but they hadn't been alarming in a while.

They hadn't been the fog either though. Martin was starting to have strange mixed feelings about the fog dreams. On one had, he really missed his Jon. And if he were being morally conscious, he wasn't sure how he'd even look at real Jon after waking up from a night having his hair combed by thin loving hands and murmured affection, even if they felt… kind of like different people to him after spending those two weeks of horror with no one else for company. But he didn't fully know how to feel about the turmoil that was cropping up as a result of that distinction.

They felt like different people. And he really liked them both. But one was real, and didn't like him back, and the other was… not there. He doubted it was intentional that he'd stopped appearing (if he really was a separate being as he would like Martin to believe) with how lonely he'd expressed being without Martin there. It felt… sad and foolish to wait for it though, when the only two times he'd had the dreams were nights after abject terror was all he had really been feeling.

And without the ability to count on that, his mind had taken to wondering if real Jon's kinder behavior meant there was more of a chance there than he'd originally thought. But even wondering that left him feeling like he was cheating on his Jon with real Jon.

It was ridiculous.

Not only was it ridiculous, but it was also not something he was willing to share with Tim or Sasha, let alone the real Jon himself. It wasn't that he was trying to hide things. Even if this was all supernatural, and it was if any of his speculation even mattered, it was still really private. And hadn't been relevant to anything that actually happened. His Jon had never helped him, at least not in a way that affected the world. He'd just been there for him. Helped him through it. Comforted him, and reminded him it was going to be ok. She would not haunt him forever.

No one needed to know about it.

Especially Jon.

So Martin just wrestled with the complicated feelings when he was alone at night, alone with his tape recorder and his poetry.

That night, he was curled up with his notebook on his knees, trying his very best to explore the feelings in rhyme. Because why not. Expressing yourself helped. This was how he expressed himself.

No one would ever read it.

Would you say it isn't fair?
The way you hold me close
The memory of hand in hair
And gentle lips on throat.

Who, you ask, is the victim here?
Me and my fickle mind?
Or he and his comport austere
Unaware of the love we'd find?

But then there's you,
My so perfect escape
Who always claims anew
You only need our shape.

Where do you go when not with me?
Do you die each morn’ I wake?
Or do you wait and maybe see
My courting of your fake

“No- that's not right he's not fake. God, this is harder than usual. None of them feel fake that's the problem.”

Martin shoved his notebook back into his bag with the tape recorder in a fit of frustration. This was embarrassing. He was embarrassed to read it.

Martin fell back and grimaced. That wasn't helping, it just made him feel worse. Now that everything was over, he wished he could talk to his Jon about this at least. He was the one it felt like he was cheating on. He was also the one who said he was a real actual person who loved him and not just a dream. “But I can't.” He grumbled darkly. “Because now I can't dream of him at all!”

He rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow and resisted the urge to scream. You'd think if it were really just a dream he'd have more control over having them. Not even once this past month, and it really felt like it was out of his hands.

Did he have to wait until his Jon got lonely? “No…” he mumbled. It hadn't sounded like Jon had bouts of loneliness. It sounded like he lived there. Martin blinked. “Wait.” He sat up. What if the problem was Martin? What if he could only reach Martin when Martin was alone?

It fit with what he'd managed to get on the Lukas family.

‘In our silence, we are lost’

He wasn't ever alone here. Even when he knew no one was in and he could record without fear of interruption, he still didn't feel alone. It was hard to feel alone at the institute. It always felt like… someone was watching.

Ever since the debacle with Elias, Martin had become acutely aware of all of the eye motifs around the institute. They were actually everywhere if you looked. Yes photos and people, but the institute's crest had 14 eyes in it. Martin had counted. That was way too many eyes.

The stamp they used on envelopes down in the archive kind of looked like an eye, albeit a very stylized one. No one else seemed to notice the almond shape of the overhead lights, or the target-like engraving on the doorknobs. It was hard to tell if they were all just too used to it, or if Martin was being a paranoid freak.

Either way, it felt like Elias was around, even when he wasn't. Tim texted him daily to let him know if Elias's car had left at its customary time of 5:45 pm like clockwork too, so he knew the man wasn't skulking. Not in person at least. But, if he really thought the eye-like symbols were portals Elias installed to… magically look through, that hardly stopped his spying.

It'd match Sasha's joke theory about monster genus’ too. Elias might be something like the Behind You, if Jon was supposed to be something like the Archivist. Different subspecies in the same family. It made too much sense in a way really. But admitting it was just sort of calling Jon a straight up monster, and he would rather not.

It would hurt Jon, who never did anything to ask for all this.

It would also encourage Tim, who Sasha was barely maintaining her leash on to stop him calling Jon one without the help. He meant it affectionately. Probably.

Martin winced as he recalled the whispered confession that Tim was starting to wonder if Jon was… going to stop being Jon.

God damnit, he had let his mind wander too far.

He was trying to spend his rare peace and quiet worrying about his imaginary boyfriend version of his boss. God, that sounded bad.

Martin sat up with a sigh and looked around.

If he needed to be alone, it didn't have to be extensively alone. Just… isolated from the not-alone nearby. Like Jane, who was right outside his door, unwelcome as she may have been. Elias was just as unwelcome.

So if he… blinded him in the room, Elias would be technically outside, right? It was worth a try. Martin hopped up from his cot and surveyed the room. Boxes with the stamp could be pressed against the wall, folders with it could be put inside of the boxes. The lights… maybe if he removed the bulb, the eye would be blinded like a real one missing the pupil. It was worth a try.

He got to work, messing up the old record storage royally in the process of it, but Jon had already finished searching in here for old founding records, and no one ever came in here but him otherwise. It should be fine for one night.

Martin took all but one lightbulb out before he got to work on the walls and door, ending up with a sheet tacked up over the entire door to block off the door jam and knob. Overkill, but who knows. It was worth it to block the window looking out into the main area anyway.

The molding was harder. It was subtle, but Martin had a strong suspicion the tiny dotted pattern decorating it formed an eye. He found some masking tape, and just taped the whole thing up, like he was going to paint. The walls themselves were mercifully blank in here, so with that…

He looked up at the only light left on in the room. He disconnected the power and reached up to unscrew it. Just before pulling it loose and emptying the final eye of its ability to see, Martin muttered “Fuck you. Really.” and blinded Elias from one blessed room of the institute.

He would be alone tonight.

He just hoped it worked.

Chapter Text

Fog.

It was likely the effect of waking in a dream that slowed the burst of excited relief as Martin finally registered the fog.

He'd done it. It said concerning things about his Elias theory that it worked at all, but it had. He was back.

Martin stood, looking around excitedly. Usually his Jon was already right there, leaning on him but today it was… colder. Where was Jon…?

He was surrounded by the fog, like he was the center of a tornado frozen in place to drift imperceptibly around him and blocking everything else from view. It was definitely the right place.

“Jon?” He asked, and heard a dull echo call back to him that had not been there when they were aware of each other. “Jon, It's Martin! Say something I'm- I'm trying to find you!”

The fog was silent after its hollow echo of his words. Martin tensed, frustration filling him alongside a conviction that had absolutely no source; this is the world of the lost. You have to find him.

He had to step into the fog.

And it took remarkably little hesitation before he did it and was engulfed in numb, cold, nothingness.

Why was he… doing this? Was he really so miserable in the real world with his real friends and real crush that he'd jilt them all just to find one figment of a man who by all rights probably wasn't even real?

The question left him feeling hollow. He was so cold. His mum hadn't even replied to his last three letters, because deep down he knew she didn't want to deal with him.

He was such a nuisance.

Jon was humoring him at best, and Sasha and Tim clearly had something going on which made him a third wheel in the only group that welcomed him. Who even was he really? Half the time he was smiling and it felt fake and lately he'd been smiling less and that made him feel like a different person all together.

He missed…

Someone.

His Jon.

He missed his Jon, even though it was sad and pathetic that he missed a dream and if his Jon had wanted to see him wouldn't he have been waiting like every other time?

Did he not want to see Martin either?

Martin stared down at his bare toes, thinking it was actually kind of nice they were cold, because everything else felt so numb, it was refreshing to feel anything at all. He had been… walking for some reason. Why had he stopped?

Because it felt pointless?

But wasn't staying still pointless too…?

Martin shivered. Thinking about this made him feel colder, but he sort of liked it because it was still driving the numbness farther away. If moving is pointless and standing still is pointless, then why the hell not move? Who was going to stop him to tell him it was pointless?

Hell, if someone did, at least he wouldn't be alone.

Maybe they could warm each other up, brave the fog together. If… anyone else was even here of course. He was walking for the sake of walking now, but he didn't have much hope for a companion appearing out of nowhere. This place felt empty. Like no one else existed at all.

But… wasn't there… someone here? Hadn't he known someone was here? Wasn't that why he'd entered the fog, even though it was so cold and all the self critical thoughts reminding him of his pathetic life came swirling in-

He was looking for someone.

That was why he was walking.

Right.

It wasn't pointless. It was important. If his Jon was actually in this fog, if that's where he was always stuckwhen they weren't together?

No. No no no no no. He couldn't leave him here. He couldn't leave Jon in this.

“Jon!” He shouted again, and the voice seemed to echo more sharply inside the fog proper. He couldn't stop. He'd forget why he was here again. He needed to- “JONATHAN SIMS I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU BETTER ANSWER ME!”

The scream left his voice feeling hoarse and scratchy in a way it really wasn't fair in a dream, but Martin relished the feeling anyway. It was a feeling. He needed to hold onto the feelings.

Like Naomi did.

“JON!” He screamed again. It echoed and echoed, and Martin realized he might… see something. A shape in the fog.

Martin was sprinting in an instant, and it felt like the fog was cutting him, trying to repel him from his destination but he just let it slice into his skin and pushed forward.

It was Jon. He could see the shimmer of white streaks through jet black hair, a thin frame, curled up in an ocean of white.

“Jon!” He yelled again. Jon didn't seem to hear him, but he could hear the echo struggling to follow him as he got closer. “Jon can you hear me?” He knelt down next to him and touched his cheek.

It was like ice. So cold it burned, and Martin had to fight himself not to pull away because he knew he knew if he withdrew now, there would be an ocean of fog between them again. So he let it burn, shuddering and leaning down with shaken painful breaths.

“Jon, please. Answer me.”

“You're the only one who still calls me Jon.” He said softly. The echoes intense, resounding so deeply in the fog it was hard to pinpoint his actual voice among them.

“Jon, oh god, Jon come on look at me-”

Jon laughed. It was a tiny dejected thing, amused at itself for even attempting it. “I remember this. Me calling you… begging you to just… look at me. I remember everything. I can't seem to not remember, and everything just piles and piles and it's so hard to even… see your face with all the other things I remember at the same time.”

“Jon I am right here. You can look at me. Look at my face.” He pleaded.

A single tear slipped down Jon's face. “I thought… you left me. That it was my punishment for everything, and you weren't there. You… didn't go where I went.”

“Jon PLEASE. Look at me.” He put both hands on Jon's face now, and tried to turn his head from his knees.

“I waited for so long, hoping that maybe… maybe you'd come back if I waited long enough.” It took far more effort to bend that thin neck than it should have, but it was moving. Slowly. It hurt, but Jon's words hurt more, shattering him somewhere deep inside he didn't even know was there.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you wait so long. I never wanted to leave you. Please-” And those words felt true, even though something about them also felt like it wasn't actually Martin talking. Or… was it?

“The memories just kept piling up, and I wasn't forgetting, but everything was starting to feel so small, there was so much…” He blinked, face now manhandled with much effort until it was facing Martin's. “I came here… because it scared…me.” He said, the echo fading enough to hear his actual voice through it. “It scared me… that everything felt so… insignificant. I was… utterly… alone.”

“You're not alone.” Martin promised. “You're not alone I'm right here and I Love you. I will never stop loving you.” He was crying now too and the words spilling from him felt so real despite it feeling so off base. He hadn't known Jon that long. And yet his chest burned with the conviction of it.

“...When I saw you again… “ he whispered, and Martin could feel warmth returning to his scarred cheeks. He was blinking, eyes focusing. “I knew… you were there. I could feel it.” He took a shuddering breath. “I'd waited, and waited and you… came.”

Martin smiled, and leaned in without even thinking, and kiss him. “I'm here. I was always on my way to you. I'm so sorry I took so long.”

Jon closed his eyes into the kiss, and Martin followed his lead, moving his hands from his boyfriend's wet face to tangle in his hair and wrap around his frame.

“I missed you so much.” He said into the kiss, face screwing up enough that Martin could feel it with his eyes closed, tears flowing freely from both of them. Jon wrapped his arms around Martin's neck, pulling him tight.

It felt like fire surrounding them, buffeting the fog back with a literal howl of agony that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“Martin.” He said softly, repeating the name right into him. Martin had never imagined in his life he could feel as wanted as he did right then.

Martin remembered the first dream in this fog. Jon had said he was late then too. Jon had cried then, too. Martin had cried with him.

“It's not your fault.” He said in turn, holding tight, bruisingly tight, but that made it better. That made it closer and warmer and Jon was on him, pressing as close as he could, tears running freely and seeking out more.

“It's not your fault.” He said again when he got no answer, and he felt Jon shudder and try to pull back. He didn't let him. “Jon, this isn't your

fault. It's not. You never even wanted this.”

Jon stared at him, brows pinched in clear confusion as he searched for something in Martin's eyes. “Martin… do you- remember me-?”

“I-” Martin started, finally slowing down enough to get a hold of his own thoughts. “No- not- but I feel it. I can feel the memories.” What did that mean? What memories? What was happening?

There was no longer any question that this was completely and totally real.

His Jon was real.

His Jon stared at him, and he looked hopeful. Martin felt his throat constrict as he looked back. Jon lifted a hand, a scarred hand, with blackened and twisted skin in the shape of a palm print clutched his wrist. He pressed that hand against Martin's cheek, wiping away some tears.

“Martin… I'm not- strong enough to push past it right now. How did you…? Did you enter the Lonely on your own? Without any memories?” he sounded very very worried now, and Martin couldn't quite imagine why. Yes, this fog had been very dangerous for Naomi Herne, but he'd visited it plenty of times now. The only side effect was the chill.

“Maybe? What's wrong? Should I not have…? I just missed you, and I wanted to talk to you about- things- and it's been nearly a month and a half and you weren't coming back.” Jon shook his head, kissing Martin again much more briefly before settling and if Martin had been remotely in his right mind, he would have been very aware of the fact that settling meant in Martin's lap.

But he was still so confused, overwhelmed by emotions he didn't remember but he was sure now were his own. Somehow.

Jon took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Despite them being closed, Martin could see a faint green glow beneath his eyelids. It felt suddenly like Jon was spreading out, expanding though his shape and position remained unchanged. “I don't have a lot of strength right now.” He admitted softly. “But I can- at least find you a safe path out.”

Martin laughed softly. “Like Evan Lukas did.” Jon twitched at the name- not Evan, but Lukas. He knew them then. But Jon was concentrating too much to ask him more about that, muttering softly under his breath what legitimately sounded like directions.

“---can't go straight through he'd be marked— then left, then forward-- I'll need to lead the way–”

“Jon, wait.” Martin said. This did make Jon open his eyes quickly, like he was worried how Martin would look after saying something like that. Whatever he saw was a relief, because he slumped a bit with it. “Sorry. I know- well, I don't know but I guess I sort of do- er- I sort of know, it's dangerous for me to enter here intentionally. I appreciate you making sure I can get out I just… can we talk? I don't want to leave yet. We always got cut so short before, and I… I'm really confused.”

The sensation of being surrounded faded. Jon stared up at him still worried, but after a second he let himself laugh. Soft and short, hardly just a huff of air but still, a laugh.

“Okay. We can talk first. I'm not trying to push you out.” Martin smiled in appreciation. He'd been half expecting to be told he had to go now or he never could. This was better.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and kissed some tears from Jon's eye. “It's going to sound really silly, so don't laugh.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, the expression more reminiscent of the real world Jon than he usually was. “I know you Martin. I cannot promise you won't come up with something that makes me laugh. You have baffling ideas sometimes.” A joke. Promising.

Martin pouted at him, then smiled, looking down shyly. “O-okay. Well. First— are we… dating?”

To Jon's credit, his voice did hitch, but he didn't actually laugh. His expression, one that clearly wanted to, was dazzling. “I'd rather think that's not a choice I make on my own.” He paused, thoughtfully, then added more gently. “We were. Once. When you don't remember. But I won't make presumptions.”

Martin tried to decide what he felt about that. It didn't make sense, unless he simply applied Sasha's theory of alternate realities, which admittedly he just kind of did at this point. But if it was a different him Jon had dated, wasn't he… stealing Jon from himself? Or… “I… think I'd like to be.” He admitted, then flushed. “But it's complicated. I'm not the Martin you remember. And- there's another Jon too, and I know you're different, you're really different honestly- but I still… like you both. A lot.”

“Do you… want to be with him?” Jon asked slowly, then shook his head, like dislodging a pesky thought. “No- that doesn't matter. Sorry. I don't– mind. I suppose. I've dated polyamorus people in the past- god that was so long ago.” He just sat there for a second, blinking and reeling at that realization. “Sorry. Martin, there isn't a different you.” He looked back at Martin, very very serious. “You are him. You said you could feel it. I do too. You just… you were human at the end. Falling through… reacted differently for each of us. I think you needed to be reincarnated.”

The concept of reincarnation was oddly the least wild one yet. He'd read and seen plenty of stories about reincarnated lovers. And he should have had more questions about what exactly the fell through meant. But Martin was honestly more shocked about the dating. “Wait– you've dated before?!”

He was graced with the most Jon like expression yet, one of exasperated annoyance. “Martin. It's not that shocking.” And then, thinking back. “It was in uni. She was going through a phase, or I doubt she'd have been interested in me. But we both liked paranormal things, and I didn't really care if she saw other people as long as- well. Nevermind. Yes. I've dated.”

Martin took that in. That sounded very much like a thing he could check to see if real world Jon had the same history as his Jon. “Well- good to know… I suppose. But isn't it different? If it's another you? How is that still ok?”

Jon's face twisted into something vaguely amused but mostly seemed to be visualizing it. “I mean, I won't deny I think he'd be a bit difficult to wrangle, which makes it less threatening. I… was. But also- no, I don't think so. I just want you to be happy, Martin. I certainly don't want to have you feeling guilty about a crush when I'm not even- there for you. In a physical sense I mean.”

He was ‘difficult to wrangle’? The phrase made the process hard to imagine, especially with how affectionate he was in present. Maybe the loneliness had an effect on that. But it sounded like they had needed to… develop their relationship past a bad start. Unless that wasn't what he meant. Martin was burning to ask, but he should really settle this bit first.

“Okay, so would I just- try to find you here and let you know if I was- going for it?” He asked in the hypothetical more than anything else. He could not imagine an event monumental enough to make him secure in actually asking out his boss. He tried to imagine asking out this green eyed Jon and paused.

Martin blinked. Oh. That was a thought.

Before he could voice this new thought, Jon sighed and pressed his face into Martin's chest. “I suppose? I'd really rather you not come looking though. It's dangerous for you.”

“But not for you?” Martin shot back. “You know when I got here you were curled up crying right?” He could see the blush at the tips of Jon's ears and the back of his neck. Cute.

“I- it can't hurt me the same way it can you. You don't remember when we- when I got tangled up, but this place. The Lonely. It's part of me now. I'm never going to be fully separate from it again. So its effects… aren't… damaging.” Martin was rather suspicious of how much Jon believed himself on that fact, but he did not really know enough to argue.

So he swallowed, and said what he had thought of. “I have other dreams too. Dreams about- daily life, they feel like premonitions, except they're not always quite right. The Jon in those dreams has green eyes like yours. Do you think that's– I don't know. Memories of a past life?” It made sense. It did. So Martin had no idea why it embarrassed him so much to actually say.

Jon tilted his head. “You just had Jane Prentiss attack didn't you? How far ahead do these dreams go?”

“Not that far. The stuff with Jane Prentiss took the longest to actually happen, but even that was only about three months.”

Now Jon looked confused. “I don't… know.” He said after a long moment. “The implications are solid, the logic is sound- but I don't think my eyes had turned green by then.”

“Your eyes weren't already green?” Martin asked, shock genuine and very evident. “I- honestly I thought it was one of those things- an alternate universe where everything's the same, except this time Jon has green eyes. Something like that.”

Jon looked amused. “I suppose more farfetched things have happened. But my eyes were brown until… hm.” He looked away, troubled. “I… don't know if I should be telling you the future. It would be a lot, all at once. And you're still dealing with Prentiss.”

Martin scowled at that, then tried to sit back and actually consider it. “Would I… be able to do anything now, if I knew?"

“Considering you said you're already diverging from these potential past life memories, I doubt it just…” his eyes widened. Urgency crashed into his voice so violently he nearly coughed on it. “Sasha. You have Sasha.”

Martin was a little bit startled by the fervor then. “Y-yes? She's working in the archives with me– I don't think she ever shows up in the memory dreams though.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, looking suddenly very tense. Angry. Martin was grateful he knew it wasn't at him, but it was still jarring to see in the Jon that was only ever sweet. “Is there a different woman in them? Short, white, brown hair?”

Martin thought about it. “Maybe? Never much, but I guess the dreams only really focus on me and you, so Tim isn't in them much either.”

Jon gritted his teeth. For just a second his teeth looked… sharp. But Martin blinked, and they weren't. Jon was just seething. “There is one thing I know you can do something about, Martin.”

“Y-yes?” He asked weakly. It felt like Jon was really mad at Sasha. It was alarming. And made no sense. “Jon, what's-”

“A table. There will be a delivery from Breekon and Hope to the archives while you are living there. They will give you a package with a lighter inside. Toss it if you can. They will also have delivered a table, which Rosie will have had put in Artifact Storage.” Martin listened warily. Jon wasn't scaring him exactly, but the intensity was alarming. “Never let anyone near that table alone. If possible, get it relocated to level 4-”

“Wait, Jon. What would I even tell them? Why would they listen to me?” Jon scowled.

“You're right. Elias wouldn't care about something like that. No- he'd want it. It connects us to the stranger-”

“Jon! Stay with me. Please?”

He shrunk a little, looking startled, then sheepish. “Yes. You're right, obviously. I just want to prevent a tragedy. The table won't act unless it's alone with someone, so if they don't believe you, just make sure you're never alone with it.” He was more composed now, but his eyes still felt electric in their intensity when he looked at Martin. “Especially. Sasha. Re-examine statement 0070107. It details the basic dangers of the table and why it will be very hard to track in retrospect.”

Martin really wished he had the photographic memory all Jons seemed to when it came to statement numbers. As it was, he could only promise he would, and repeat the numbers back to himself about 10 times so he remembered the proper sequence.

“Okay. Okay. Yes. Got it. I'll look at that as soon as I wake up. Are you- ok?” He leaned in, and Jon shrunk back, just slightly. In that moment he looked faded again, but shook it off himself.

“Yes. I'm okay. I just- have a lot of regrets. I think I'd like to make sure they don't come to pass this time.” His smile was still sad and a little distant, but he leaned back into the embrace. “Sorry. I think that's mostly it for now. Have you heard from… Michael yet? I suppose that technically needs no interference, but it would be ideal if she… didn't go alone.”

“Nnnnope. Don't know a Michael. Is it Sasha again? You said she.”

Jon shot him a warmer smile. He looks relieved. “Yes. It's not as important as the table, so just keep an eye out for Sasha saying she had an odd morning. Although… she didn't really mention it to me until it was over-” he sighed. “Sorry. If you can go with her, it would be ideal. Otherwise I didn't mean to scare you. It will be ok, even if she goes alone.”

He nodded. “Okay. I… think I get you weren't sure what to say and not…? I don't think I could keep track of too many things to look out for at once.” Jon nodded slightly in agreement.

“That's normal. Good. A healthy mind isn't paying attention to everything at once. Just… keep it to Sasha for now. Buddy system, maybe. So she won't go anywhere alone.”

Martin laughed. “That's what Tim said. Not about Sasha specifically obviously- I think it was more aimed at me- but it hasn't really been viable. It's always so busy in the archives.”

He got another smile. “It sounds like you're getting along. I do hope the… other Jon is not being too much of a stick in the mud, but it's a bit in my nature I'm afraid.”

Martin grinned back. “He's trying. I don't think he wants to be, he's just stressed.”

And then Jon rolled his eyes. “Perhaps not in general but I assure there is effort put into it. I am- “ he sighed, struggling for the word.

“...Scared?” Martin supplied sweetly. Jon blinked at him.

“There is no way I was going to say scared, Martin. You had to know that.”

“Yes, you were going to say something really scathing, I can imagine. But I think my boss Jon is just scared of… responsibility, I suppose. My boyfriend Jon is also scared, but I think of other things.” Martin stared at him. “Things I want to help with, by the way.”

A quick smile faded then came back a bit more weakly. “I really don't know if there's a way to help me at this point, Martin.”

He leaned his chin on Jon's head. “I am not willing to accept that as a long-term answer, so I'll give you some time and try again next time.”

Jon sighed. “I will… think about it. But please don't be hopeful. I… don't want to disappoint you again.”

“You know, you traded pretentiousness for self-flagellation, right? It's weird.”

That earned him a slight chuckle. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Martin leaned on him, and closed his eyes, taking in the warmth around them, pleasant against the lurking cold. He was so glad this worked.

Jon lay with him for a little bit, seeming to just enjoy the warmth with him, and it almost seemed like he was going to fall asleep in Martin's lap. Then he twitched. “You should go, Martin. I still need to show you the way out.”

It was… with reluctance that Martin agreed. He slowly got up, resisting the urge to just pick Jon up too, because this one seemed light enough. But he resisted, despite being pretty sure Jon would make a great noise if he did. Jon stood too, seeming a bit wobbly on his feet for a second, but steadied quickly.

He closed his eyes, confirming the route, and then took Martin's hand.

“Follow me.”

The morning had started in disaster.

Well. That wasn't actually fair to the morning, if you thought about it. Because the disaster had actually started  day before yesterday morning, culminating in a disaster last night. Which became a completely different disaster this morning.

Sasha took a deep breath, and put her head in her hands. “Okay look, I'm sorry.” She tried. Tim looked incensed. Martin looked drowsy. Jon looked wane. God, this morning sucked.

It had started, as Sasha had noted, the day before yesterday.

She had seen a strange man in the window out her flat on her way to work. But he wasn't a man in the window, not even if you took into account the distortion in the glass. It was a creature. A tall, impossibly tall creature, with a neck crookedly cocked as if in a mockery of curiosity, and arms that went all the way down. They were capped with enormous hands, big as it's torso each, and sharp as anything.

Obviously, this was far from ordinary, and she really should have just told everyone yesterday when she knew what was up, but she had just thought… well. She'd thought they would stop her. And it seemed important.

To be fair, it had been important.

That was off track.

She saw the strange figure, and went outside to look, but there was just a man. A young man even, tall yes but not nearly as tall as the strange creature had been. He was also quite thin, but his broad shoulders gave off an air of heft anyway. He had long, wavey blonde hair, and was of all things, buying lilies.

She supposed the man himself seemed… innocent enough, if she had to make an evaluation. But the monster hardly seemed to match the flower at all, making the man's inoffensive appearance feel more like a trap than anything.

He didn't look at her. She didn't think he did at least, but when he passed by a car, she caught him in its mirror and once more, there was a monster in it.

To be honest, she had wanted to take notes in case they could find any mention of it in the archive, but she was late for work and just hurried away instead.

Except, that was only the first time that morning she saw him. He was there, sitting alone in the corner, bored as anything, just staring into nothing with a coffee in front of him. At her morning coffee destination.

She resolved to go to work. “Why didn't you MENTION IT?!” Tim had demanded, and Sasha had shrugged, wincing at the pain it caused.

Story time.

She went to work, said nothing because what was there to even say by that point? ‘I saw a strange man who was only strange in reflected light, but I didn't talk to him, end of story’? It sounded like a waste of everyone's time.

She had instead promised herself to take it as an intentional stalking, if she saw him again.

Which… she did. (Tim groaned) He was at the same cafe. It should have been closed by that time of night, but it wasn't. The lights were out, and the staff had all gone home, but the man was still there. Still staring into space. Still with an identical cup of coffee.

So she went inside and sat down. (WITHOUT EVEN A TEXT?! Screamed Tim)

He- it? Didn't look at her right away, but when he did, eye contact felt.. weird. It almost made her dizzy, but it wasn't vertigo so much as… the headache you get when you're looking at really badly formatted text. Eye strain.

She did the only thing she could think of. She asked what he was.

“He was really obtuse about it too.” She complained, crossing her arms irritably. “What was it? ‘How does a melody describe itself’? So I said if he was going to talk in cheap riddles, I was leaving.”

“You SHOULD have LEFT!” Tim interrupted again, looking more distraught than she wanted him to, but, well. Nothing to be done about it now.

“Yeah, but I didn't. But it did seem sorry for that. I think it actually really wanted to talk to me. It said to call him ‘Michael’”

Martin, who'd been blinking slowly the entire time since his part of this debacle, now flinched, paying much closer attention.

Right. They let her speak, so she continued her story.

Michael didn't really think his name was Michael. She could tell that much, despite not being entirely clear what exactly was behind the expression he wore when he said it.

But Michael said he wanted to help. And. Well. They didn't exactly consider the Archivist thing safe seeing as Martin only saw it the once, but it had saved Martin from Elias being a psycho, so she wanted to believe, maybe, this one was also friendly.

Jon looked aghast. She told him to shut it, and continued her tale.

Michael said that everyone in the archives were in danger. Proper, not just ‘your boss is evil’ danger. He listed off all their names- Martin, Jon, even Tim. Nothing had threatened Tim yet, so Sasha wasn't confident at this point that she knew what information he was offering.

It could have been important.

The Michael-not-Michael said he would show her if she showed up at a local-ish cemetery the next night after work, and yes, okay, she had specifically told Martin yesterday that nothing notable had happened. But TECHNICALLY it hadn't yet. It wasn't intended to be a lie. Just… a willfully scientific take on the situation.

She went, obviously. They were done glaring and judging her now, just listening to her story which, admittedly, did make Sasha feel a little more guilty.

But it had been good she had gone.

She knew they couldn't deny that, even as she described the living hive that used to be Timothy Hodge. (Confirmed by a check of his ID after the worms were all dead) Even including her injury, courtesy of their new friend Michael, who had sliced open her skin with his fingers and pulled a worm out of her.

Because she had a way to fight the worms now. It seemed highly likely Michael had staged this at least in some respect, so the fire extinguisher was right by her when the worms attacked. He never said, and she could only speculate how and why, but she saw no other explanation for his actions aside from to teach.

What was that word? Tsundere? She highly doubted it truly had the sweetie feelings that indicated, but his insistence on wanting to be friends, of teaching her a way to be more safe- it really clashed with his claims that he didn't care if any of them lived or died.

It certainly felt very hot and cold.

She had considered actually going right back to work then, telling at least Martin, if not Jon what happened immediately. But she had decided to wait till morning, so she could wrap up the cut- it was just a cut- so they wouldn't worry. She may, she would admit, deserve Tim's derisive scoff that time.

But when she got to work she couldn't exactly just tell them, could she? Because to her eyes, Martin was dying or something in his bed while Tim and Jon tried very futilely to wake him up.

Which in literally no way, was she going to take ownership of. Martin's weird ice cold coma that lasted 50 minutes at the very least was not her fault.

“And now we're here.” She finished with an exhausted huff. “Martin woke up on his own, randomly, and you all got mad at me for not telling sooner. Now I want to know what Martin was doing. Did you- secretly touch something weird in Artifact Storage? Can you remember?”

Tim seemed reluctant to take his attention off of Sasha, and while she understood the frustration, she really didn't know why he was so… scared every time something happened. Yes, it was all scary. But he was usually so good at brushing that off.

Jon was slightly less reluctant, but not by that much. He gave Sasha a complete, disapproving once over, huffed a soft “Well if you insist you're fine.” And looked at Martin, who he was clearly very worried about. She assumed he had been the one who found him like that.

Martin himself squirmed, looking guilty. There was something… furtive in it, like he was trying to decide how much of it he was going to tell them. “Martin… you have to tell us. I told all of you, even with Tim yelling at me the whole time.”

“I was not-”

“Yes you were.” She interrupted flatly. He glared back. “Anyway. No secrets. Remember?”

“I… do.” Martin admitted, but his face was heating up way more than she would have anticipated, and suddenly Sasha was worried they were about to hear a magically coma-inducing wet dream. “It wasn't an artifact. I know that. It was just… a dream.”

“It was clearly not just a dream Martin.” Tim finally got on board, sighing and crossing his arms. “I felt your forehead, you were freezing.”

Martin's face twisted, then he sighed.

“Okay. Okay so- you remember how I was really interested in the case with Naomi Herne a while back? And I met Peter Lukas?” Jon narrowed his eyes, but nodded. Sasha did as well, but she made her confusion evident on her face. “Well, that's because, the place she described going … I've been dreaming of it. It was only once back then, but it was every night when I was hiding because I-”

“Because you were totally isolated.” Tim finished. He seemed to be reaching the end of his capacity to silently seethe for the moment, and now just looked tense and upset. “Martin you should have told us. Bad things in your dreams come true, remember?”

Martin winced. “I… didn't think it was… that kind of dream. It felt different, and I had control of my actions, which I never do in the future coded dreams. I was just… trying to understand them. They never kept me asleep past being disturbed before. With Jane Prentiss- well. You know. She kept waking me up. It was always the foggy dreams she woke me up from.”

“Okay.” Sasha said with a nod. “Sure, suspicious dreams but no side effects and you didn't understand what it meant, so you were looking into it. Sure. What changed?”

The guilt on Martin's face made it clear what happened next.

“Martin!” Tim hissed.

“Look, I hadn't had one since the apartment, and I got curious. If- if I could… make myself dream of it.”

“Martin that is absolutely idiotic.” Jon snapped. Martin flinched, then flushed and looked at his hands.

“I'm sorry. It just… felt- important. Obviously I did manage to, and it was… more intense? Going there on purpose? It took me… way longer to figure out what was happening, and then I had to find the way out, like Naomi did-”

“I was rather curious what you were doing, Martin.” The entire room jumped, turning as one to stare in horror at the doorway.

“Elias.” Jon ground out. Elias smiled at him.

“Hello Jon. It is very good to see you, but I was actually interested in Martin's story at the moment.” He stepped forward, and on instinct Sasha crowded around Martin. She was not the only one. Elias stopped moving, looking more amused than threatened, and put up his hands in mock surrender. “My, you all are quite hostile now. This is why I had hoped to save this for quite a bit later. C'est la vie. But this does not change anything. I am your boss, and I would appreciate a degree of respect. Martin, I'd like to see you in my office once you're done with your little debriefing.” He turned to leave again, glancing back to add a cool “And I do hope the rest of you intend to get work done today.”

And he was gone, like a nightmare flash hurricane.

“Christ, what is with today?” Tim demanded, and sat down weakly next to Martin.

Sasha shrugged. “It's definitely a lot.” She agreed. Then she glanced at Martin. “You shouldn't go.”

Martin looked so apologetic, just like Martin would, and fiddled with the hem of his sheets. “I don't think that's an actually viable… choice. Unfortunately.” He admitted. “I'm sorry. There is one thing I…” he glanced up, pulling Jon all the way into the room suddenly, and closed his door. It was weirdly dark with the sheet covering the rest of the archives outside it, and Sasha realized with incredulity, that none of the lights had lightbulbs.

“Martin what is this?” Jon demanded, sounding sort of nervous.

“I just realized why he came down here.” Martin said ambiguously. Sasha nudged him in the dark. “Sorry. Yes. Okay, so this is actually about the fog dream technically. So I hadn't been having them. I realized it was because I'd moved into the archives and- yes- I understand why that sounds like a good thing but I wanted to figure out why. So I thought about… how it's hard not to feel watched at the institute. You never really feel alone.”

“...And there's a tangible way to change that? By- being in pitch dark?” Jon asked skeptically.

“Sort of. Not exactly. I've been counting eyes lately. On the furniture, the logos, the stamps- everything in the institute has eyes all over it. So I… covered all the eyes.” Martin cleared his throat. “And I dreamed of the fog. Which meant it worked.”

“...And Elias came down here for the first time in months because we were standing in the room without eyes.” Tim said, tone laced with dawning disgust. “He's watching us through them. And he didn't know what we were doing in here so he came to find out himself!”

“Yes.” Martin said awkwardly. “That's what I was thinking.”

“You definitely can't go see him.” Sasha said, but Martin let the door open, and light as a result, come back into the room.

He shook his head. “I think I have to. I'm… not scared of him. And I don't think there will be another way to keep our eye-free room.”

Tim looked now revolted, but visibly nodded at Sasha. Jon looked… intensely thoughtful.

He didn't say anything though, and Martin was wavering a bit at the door. “I'm really sorry for scaring everyone. I want to see what he's going to say though, and I'll tell everyone once I'm back.”

She gave him a long hard stare, before sighing, allowing herself to consider her own needs in that moment. Martin took it as the permission it was, and nodded.

He scurried off before Tim could grab him, and Sasha, face going dark as she made her decision, held him back. “Hold on Tim.”

Then she shut the door again, capturing them once more in darkness.

“Sasha what the hell?” Tim demanded.

“..Hmm?” Jon asked, seeming to have just dialed back in. She would figure out what he was thinking about later.

For now, she needed to take the chance where not only Elias, but Martin was preoccupied.

“Guys. Martin is hiding something.

There was a big thing left out of that explanation. I can feel it.”

Tim laughed. “Yeah, like why it was so big a deal when he couldn't go back when he's definitely the least curious person here."

“Exactly.” She said. “He clearly doesn't want to tell us what it is. So… we need to decide.”

“Sasha-” Jon started, sounding more anxious than disapproving.

“No let her.” Tim said. He sounded like anger was sinking into hurt as he calmed down.

She nodded, and said it. “We need to decide how much we're going to trust Martin, if he's keeping supernatural secrets from us.”

Chapter Text

Martin was tired and still very cold as he made his way up to Elias's office. He was unable to change with his friends hiding in the room he kept his things, but luckily had been wearing pajamas, so the looks he got from fellow institute employees were confused or judgmental, not scandalized.

He wasn't sure he had the energy to care if they were honestly- but could take the win that he didn't need to deal with it.

Rosie was typing something when he came in, and she jumped, looked at Martin worriedly, and to her credit only winged guiltily for a second before scurrying over. “Martin! You look like death- are you- okay?” A fear to ask him what had happened was obvious. Martin imagined she was very, very scared to know more than she already did. It was sweet that she worried despite it.

He smiled wearily. “Just a rough night's sleep.” He assured her. And it was true. “I'm sorry I keep scaring you Rosie.”

“Send Martin in, Rosie.” Elias commanded from the office beyond. Martin smiled at her, reassuring but sad.

“It's fine. I'll see you later.”

The look on her face was very much like the look on the faces of his friends in the archive when he'd decided to go upstairs. No one was happy he was walking right where Elias wanted him to go. But it was sort of just… the only option. So he tried to look confident and not about to be eaten alive, and went inside with a little wave.

She waved back weakly as the door clicked shut, heavy but neat.

Elias was at his desk, leaning back with legs crossed and hands placed delicately on a knee. Martin glared tiredly at him when he smiled.

“Your temperament has gotten so unfriendly as of late Martin. I thought you always appreciated a smile to lighten the mood.” Martin scoffed.

“It's been a struggle since you tried to kill me.”

Elias rolled his eyes, a gesture he seemed to have taken to around Martin in particular. He couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a sign of their… equality, as essential parts of his survival, or a childish habit taken up to protest against Martin's newfound importance. “That was months ago. I have saved your life several times since, so I think we are more than even.”

“You didn't help with the worms!” Martin squawked with indignation. He got a dismissive wave.

“Yes yes I saved all your friends that time, as you yourself would clearly be fine. Do you really want me to stop prioritizing that?” Martin glared. It was like rain splattering a windshield and sliding ineffectually down. The man was impenetrable.

“What do you want?” He demanded finally. His head hurt. His fingers and toes were freezing. His morning had started with screaming and chaos and he really did not want to be here.

“How?” Elias asked simply. Martin actually looked confused, trying to process what he could possibly be asking. He elaborated. “You seem to have found something, some clue to keeping secrets from me. I would like to know how.”

Huh?

“Wait- is this because I covered your eyes?” He demanded. Incredulous. Elias graced him with a frown.

“Martin, I know you. I am very much aware of your life, your experiences, and your capacity for change. You are not the type to assume the walls have magic eyes you can cover for privacy.” Elias said evenly. Martin laughed.

“You don't know me then! Because that's literally what happened. No one told me to- I just don't want to be spied on.” He crossed his arms and glared. “It's not that hard to notice if you know your boss is a creepy eyeball man.”

“Well that is uncalled for.” Elias chided. “And I am hardly an ‘eyeball man’.”

“You have eyes covering the entire institute.” Martin said flatly. “And obviously you're watching with them, or you wouldn't care that I covered the ones in records.”

A world-weary sigh. “You really are so unpleasant these days Martin. Very well. Then tell me; why were you attempting to get to the Lonely? Surely you could sense what a dangerous gambit that would be?”

Martin frowned, this time more to himself. That's what his Jon had called it too. ‘The Lonely’. Elias didn't react to the thought as Martin had expected he would, just waiting, brows slightly furrowed.

“Martin, answer the question.” He commanded.

Martin looked back at him flatly. “Can't you just read my mind? You did last time. And when I went to investigate the Lukas family.” He felt gratified by the glare he'd pried from Elias at that.

He did not answer.

He really couldn't see what Martin was thinking about, when it was about… what? The Lonely? Maybe his Jon?

“Why do I have to tell you?” He demanded.

Elias tensed, then once again rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Let's make a deal Martin. I have something you want, and I may be inclined to give it to you, if you answer my questions. Sound promising?”

“What could you possibly have that I-”

“Jonathan Sims is at present drafting up a request for the Archive's fire suppression system to be altered from its current water-based composition to a CO2 based one. It is an expensive and time consuming process to undergo, and I am not currently interested in complying.” He smiled again. It was sharp and threatening. “But I imagine you'd rather like that extra protection, wouldn't you?”

Martin gaped, completely dumbstruck. “You know about the worms! You know they've been creeping around the institute! You know they're dangerous!”

“A danger I could easily use to my advantage if I so wished. And one I do not need a full archival team to survive. you and Jon would easily suffice.” He was serious. The way he spoke, just slightly too quick to catch his breath, and an undercurrent of satisfaction. He was actually serious.

“What is wrong with you?!”

“I am a big picture type Martin. If you would like to protect the… little details as it were, I would suggest a modicum of cooperation.”

Martin clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. Bastard. He seemed to have been able to read that, because Elias chucked softly when he thought it and tilted his head.

“Fine.” He ground out. The fact of the matter was, Elias couldn't seem to invade thoughts about his Jon. He shouldn't be able to tell if Martin was even lying, as long as he sold it. “I didn't know it was called the Lonely, I just called it the Fog. I dream about it sometimes. It's— comforting. When I'm overwhelmed.” Half truths were his friend, when trying to trick a man like Elias.

Elias stared at him. He looked contemplative. “Peter did take a liking to you, didn't he?” He said thoughtfully. “He asked me to give you to him, you know. After you returned from the Prentiss incident. I wondered at the time what had changed his mind. It had been several months since meeting you.”

He seemed like he'd bought it. Now Martin just needed to not get sold to an old sea captain and he was hopefully in the clear, with a CO2 suppression system as promised.

“I don't want to be a sailor.” He said quickly. Elias laughed.

“I'm afraid it wasn't an option regardless of what you want. You belong here now. And I want you where I can-” his lip twitched “-see you, so to speak. So no more hiding, hmm?”

“I want the suppression system." Martin said instead of answering. “If you don't keep your promise fat luck trying to get me to cooperate again.”

“I keep my promises. You will get your approval once Jon officially makes the request. But this is a matter of importance Martin.” He looked serious. “I can't keep you safe where I can't see you. And I want to keep you safe. You know that is true.”

It would have sounded sweet and caring if someone overheard them. Martin shuddered at the thought. “That room is surrounded by an entire institute you can see. If something was going to endanger me you would see it without seeing that one room.”

Elias chuckled. “So you're negotiating. You want to keep the space-”

“Where I sleep!” Martin intercut, and was waved off.

“You want to keep the space out of my sight. And what exactly are you offering in return?” He looked a little curious. Curious enough that Martin thought he might actually accept if he got something for it. But- what else was Martin willing to offer?

“I… won't do it anywhere else.” He said after a moment. “You could probably fix anything I tried to mess up, but you would have to be there physically, so I could easily do something before you can fix it. Any time. But- I could just keep it in the room.”

“A predictable blind spot, rather than an obnoxious floater.” Elias said after a moment. Martin nodded. “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish with that room, Martin?”

“It's where I sleep!” He said again, more indignantly this time. “I want privacy! And what's it matter if I can actually talk to people where you can't see? You still see literally everything else!”

“It is highly inconvenient.” Elias said dryly.

“So is me blinding you constantly out of spite every time I come to work.”

Elias sighed, tipping his head to look at the ceiling. Martin glanced up too, and he was pretty sure there was a bloody eye in the pattern of the stucco. Lord.

“We shall agree to a trial period.” Elias said finally. So he got him. Martin knew this situation would be worse for Elias than him. Martin's threats could result in the whole institute getting an inkling of his spying. It could be very annoying.

“Fine. Can I go now?” He asked, already making to stand. Elias looked like he was considering saying something more, but decided against it. He waved a hand in dismissal.

“Get back to work.”

Martin really felt like he'd won the interaction. It was nice.

Martin dreamt of Melanie King the day before she arrived, and he felt for some reason like it was more important than any other statement giver he'd ever been warned about.

As such, when he heard her, voice judgmental and caustic as it met Jon's similarly deriding tone, Martin had to take a peak.

The day had been slow. Their cases had taken up much of their time, so none of them had done much by way of conspiring or sharing. Sasha had seemed frustrated by it, but Jon just buried himself in his work. Tim was spending as much time as he could out on site investigating somewhere or another, and Martin couldn't really blame him for keeping clear of the archives after he'd found out what Elias was doing to watch them.

Because of this, Martin was the only other person in the office with the two bickering adults, and went entirely unnoticed. She was pissed about the tape recorder, which Martin did not understand because Jon could easily just tell her that meant her story was real, he had admitted that much by this point. But of course he didn't. Martin couldn't help a fond smile, knowing how stubborn Jon was about not actually admitting that in front of the statement givers.

It was silly.

Now that he had admitted to them he believed it, Martin could allow himself to find it cute despite his simultaneous judgment. It was easier to think about things like that since talking to his Jon about.. dating. A flush crept up his cheeks but Martin ignored it and sat at the table in the main room so he could eavesdrop while organizing files.

The conversation truly wasn't any different than his dream of it had been, and Martin couldn't help but be impressed that none of the changes they'd made in this world thus far managed to affect their argument.

Or the statement itself.

Astounding. It had to be a matter of absolutely incompatible personalities, or fate. It made Martin wonder how she would respond to his Jon, who had all but given up picking fights that weren't a wry attempt at humor. Well. Probably badly now, since she had met this one.

Martin had only gotten a slight look at Melanie in his dream, off in the side room at his actual desk on the day it took place, so he perked up a bit when she stomped out of the room.

“Great! I should have known this was a complete waste of my time!” She snapped, slamming the door to Jon's office open hard enough to crash violently into the metal shelving beside it. Martin gasped, darting forward to catch it before anything could be shaken off. “O-oh- Sorry.” She said, seeming totally taken aback by a second person being in the archives.

“It's ok! Things are just cramped in here until we get more of the backlog digitized and- AH!” Martin jumped back, away from Melanie in overt alarm, face paling starkly. “AaaaAAAHH?? Are you- alright?!”

Melanie's brows furrowed. She looked like she was maybe getting annoyed again, but Martin couldn't be sure because her expression was hard to read around the gaping holes where eyes should be.

“What the hell-” she started, but stopped when Jon actually shot past her to check on Martin.

“Martin! Are you alright what on earth is it this time?” He sounded genuinely worried despite the phrasing, and Martin felt warm where he touched his arm. It was appreciated, it felt like all his body heat had exited him in one fowl swoop. Jon looked at Melanie King, and glared. “What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything!” Melanie yelled back, though she still looked shaken. “He just- screamed when he saw my face- is there something on my face?” Despite herself, she touched her face self consciously.

Martin took deep breaths. She had eyes. He could see them now. “No? Not- anything unusual.” Jon said, sounding less sure of himself. “Martin sit down- you can go Ms King.”

Despite a very hard dismissal Melanie crossed her arms and glared. “No? Not until I get an explanation on- this weirdness.”

Martin was lead back to his chair, and he was fighting down a burst of overpowering embarrassment at his behavior. “Oh god- I'm so sorry that was so rude-” he moaned and covered his face.

Jon sat down next to him, and Martin heard to little surprise now, Melanie pull out a chair opposite him. “I'm a ghost hunter.” She said seriously. “I know an ‘I just saw a ghost’ type reaction when I see it-”

“He did not see a ghost.” Jon shot back derisively. Martin winced.

“It was a catch all term thanks! And you don't know!”

“S-sorry- could we stop yelling?” Martin asked with an awkward laugh. “I'm sorry I think I just- s-saw a hallucination. It was really rude, but it's gone now and I am sorry-”

Melanie leaned back a little. She looked… suspicious. “Are you like- schizophrenic? And they have you working down here?!” It was the oddest mix of insulting and sweet it could be, considering how up in arms she was about it.

“No! No, sorry. I just haven't been- sleeping well.” He said quickly. Jon glared at Melanie again.

“And that was a highly inappropriate comment regardless of the medical status of our employees. Now please leave.” She glared, but seemed to agree with him, if only just, because she sighed and stood.

“Sorry, er- Martin, was it?” Martin nodded. She smiled at him, and when she didn't look like she'd just stepped in something (or didn't have eyes) she seemed quite nice he thought. Just a bit stressed. “I wasn't trying to scare you. And sorry about the shelf.”

Martin smiled, and offered a hand to shake. She looked surprised and then took it. “Thank you for giving a statement, it was very helpful.” He said, and Jon huffed indignantly.

“I decide if it was helpful Martin.”

“Oh shove off.” Melanie snapped back. Martin laughed awkwardly. “It was nice to meet you Martin. Say thank you to Sasha for showing me down as well if you see her.” She glared once more at Jon. “I am so sorry about your work environment.”

Then she huffed, and left as Jon made a very similar sound and stopped the tape that had been running. “What a delight she was.” He said darkly, and then turned back to Martin as he heard the door to the stairs slam aggressively. “Martin, what really just happened?” He asked. He didn't sound mad exactly, but strained.

Martin rubbed his eyes. “Honestly I think it really was a- a hallucination?” He said weakly, and was startled to see Jon didn't look like he believed the simple explanation. And that he'd been hoping Martin would confide in him. Martin flushed again despite himself. “I mean it- I- well, first I had one of my dreams- Sasha told you, right? I dream about things that are going to happen sometimes, and usually they aren't very accurate, you know? And-”

“Martin. The hallucination.” Jon said wearily.

“Right. Yes. The dream was last night, just, oh someone named Melanie King comes in, gets into an argument with you, then leaves. I was just-” Martin stopped sharply, eyes widening as he realized Jon had asked him that question directly. Had it been on purpose? Was he being compelled? Jon looked confused, then like he realized what he had done a moment later, and scooted his chair away like that would… make it stop, if he had.

“Sorry. Martin I wasn't trying to-”

“No…” Martin said, smiling and waving his own hands in apology. “I- I was able to stop just now- I think we're good. I just… wanted to tell you myself.” Jon nodded, suspicion seeming buried now under the anxiety about actually hurting Martin again. Martin cleared his throat. “So- dream. I was curious, so I came out to see since I didn't in my dream. I knew what she looked like, sort of. So I had an expectation when she looked at me and then just…” he opened and closed his hands several time, hovering awkwardly near his head.

Jon looked baffled. “What… is ‘this’?” He asked, doing a quick imitation of the movement.

“She– didn't have eyes? It didn't last very long, but it was really startling because she had them open, and was blinking, and honestly it was really gory— I was startled.” He looked at his lap. “Sorry.”

Jon seemed more interested in puzzling together what that could possibly mean than berating him, which Martin was pleasantly surprised by, and looked to the shelf Martin had run over to before it happened. “Nothing in the dream… pre-empted this?” He asked. Martin shook his head emphatically. “No eyes seems rather- opposed to what we've been dealing with lately.” Jon admitted. “And it seems irrelevant to her statement.”

Martin shrugged weakly. “I honestly don't know what's going to happen to me next at this point.” He admitted it like it was an apology. Jon did not acknowledge the apology one way or the other. “But I… hope it's just a hallucination. Not… a waking vision of the future.”

Jon had the decency to wince at the suggestion. “Yes. We all hope that, I'm sure.”

He did, but Martin wasn't sure he was that lucky. He had been speculating with his Jon that the dreams were memories from his past life. If this was a new elevation of that- didn't that mean Melanie King was- in danger?

He should ask his Jon.

That was such a simple solution. He couldn't believe it took him so long to think of.

Jon sighed, looking a little shame faced as he stood up. “We… can't just assume it's nothing. But the best we can do to potentially help her, is looking into her statement.” He decided. “I will be writing out the transcript, and when you are recovered, you can start looking into it.” He hesitated. “--Or I can give it to Tim, when he gets back.”

Martin tried to make his smile less awkward, and failed. But he did try. “No! No I can. I was startled, not traumatized. I promise.” Jon nodded stiffly.

“Right then.” He said quietly. Martin nodded back.

Silenced stretched until Jon fled back into his office with a “Good, thank you Martin.” And Martin wished he was less awkward around the version of Jon that didn't already like him.

He groaned, hiding his face in his hands again for a good minute before dragging himself back to his desk. He would go to bed early today, so he didn't scare people when he tried to reach his Jon that night.

It felt like The Lonely should scare him more than it did.

But it really didn't.

It didn't work.

Martin woke the next day feeling absolutely out of place, laying in his little cot, and staring at the ceiling.

“Huh?” He asked dumbly.

There was no answer in the resounding silence.

Slowly, Martin got up and looked around him. It was very dark. This was no surprise, with his anti-Elias set up, but the lack of light peaking out through the cracks in the door meant it was still quite late. He looked at his phone.

4:22 am.

Martin couldn't help but scowl at the number, which very clearly implied he should have entered the fog, and this was not a manner of disturbed sleep. He had two texts, one from Tim with the usual; Double boss gone 4 day.

The other was from an unknown number.

Do what you must for his own good.

What… the hell? Martin squinted at it, trying with all his might to figure out what that could possibly be referring to. Was it… the reason he hadn't dreamt? Who was it from? How was he even supposed to know what they were talking about?

Was it- Elias?

A loud noise startled Martin out of his confusion.

“‘Scuse us!” A gruff voice yelled. The accent felt off.

A second quickly joined it. “Looking for the Archivist.” It said. The accents were fake. That's what it was. Martin raced out of his room into the central archives, jumping despite expecting them when he saw the two massive men.

“Who- who let you in?!” Martin demanded in alarm. They seemed not to care.

“Won't take up your time.” The first said again.

“Just got a delivery.” He felt his eyes flicking back and forth as each spoke. He felt entirely off kilter.

“I'm sorry- it's the middle of the night-”

“Package for Jonathan Sims.” Martin was getting dizzy. Why was he dizzy?

“Says right here.” The other added.

“How- the archive is supposed to be locked-” Martin squeaked.

They ignored him completely.

“We'll leave it with you.” One said, and shoved a small package at him without warning. Martin clutched it instinctually.

“Be sure he gets it.” The second continued. Was he- laughing at him?

“Sure? Okay? But how did you get in here?!” His questions were once again roundly ignored.

“Be on our way. Much’ obliged."

“Stay safe.”

They left without a chance for more failed interrogation. Martin was on the verge of screaming. “THANK YOU? But coming from intruders in the middle of the night doesn't make you seem very safe-!”

The door slammed after them.

“DAMNIT- That was definitely something. I am way too used to ‘weird’ to just be swept up-”

“...Martin?”

He jumped. He actually jumped so violently he strained his neck, and gasped in pain as he turned towards a very drowsy looking Jon, opening his office door. Martin blinked at him.

His mouth flapped a few time, taking in the redness in Jon's right cheek and clothes from the day before.

Martin gasped. “Did you- sleep at your desk?!” Martin demanded. Jon blinked a few more times, each time accompanied by further realization of what was happening.

“What-?! I- Well.” He seemed to search for a proper explanation, and failing one, coughed. “I was… distracted. Sorry. It was unintentional.” He glanced Martin over, and Martin tried not to look flustered by his disheveled appearance.”Regardless- do you know what time it is? Why were you yelling?”

“--Oh.” Martin looked at the package in his hand. There was a sheet of paper sitting neatly atop it. A delivery slip. “There was- two men in overalls broke in and delivered a package for you?” As he said it, he felt something itching at the corner of his mind.

Jon walked over and took it from him while he tried to work it free.

“....007…010..7?” He said with confusion, and Jon looked at him strangely.

“The- identity stealer?” Jon asked. Martin looked immediately confused as well.

“Wait what did they deliver?!” Martin demanded, and shifted to look at the slip over Jon's shoulder. The slip had two items listed. The first was labeled ‘Express’, and the second ‘ground’. Unhelpful.

Jon shook his head. “No. Amy Patel. Her statement about a strange neighbor. It's 0070107.” Why was Jon so good at that? He would swear he'd thought it before but he wished he had the photographic- oh.

Martin snatched the package back, and Jon made a very offended noise.

“Martin!”

He ignored it, tearing the package open and pulling the ornate metal object out with a severe frown.

A lighter.

“Is that a lighter?” Jon demanded. “That is NOT to be kept in my archive!” Martin nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! I agree! We should throw it- wait. The statement's about body snatching?” He refocused on it with the full context of his memory returning.

He got an irritated sigh, and Jon snatched the lighter back from him and shoved it in his pocket with a frustrated grumble. “No. It is about an alleged replacement of one individual with another distinctly different individual. More- life snatching, if anything.”

“...Was there- a table in it anywhere…?” Martin asked weakly. Jon looked surprised.

“...Yes. I'm shocked you remember it, it was a very tertiary piece of information. The victim of the life snatching had an odd table with a visual illusion carved into its surface.” Martin sighed deeply.

“Okay. Yes. Jon you know how I get those dreams about the future?” Jon nodded, looking suspicious but willing to listen.

“Yes, I do remember that. You reminded me all of twelve hours ago with Melanie King.” Martin sighed in relief, not really focused enough to note too pointedly that Jon found the reiteration odd.

“I dreamed about that statement. And- the table. I mean the delivery- I think it's the table from that statement. I think it's dangerous.” He tried to explain hurriedly. Jon listened. Then he sighed.

“There is no way they got into artifact storage at this hour. They only got into the archives because I wasn't intending to sleep here tonight and had yet to lock up. For which I am sorry, Martin. It must have been quite alarming.” He did look sorry, which wasn't that much of a surprise but Martin fidgeted anxiously as he tried to determine how seriously Jon was taking the table situation.

How did he bring up level 4 containment without revealing how he knew exactly what it did? Would the statement be enough?

Jon watched him agonize over it with tired eyes, frown prominent and tense. “Martin?” He prompted. Martin looked at him and attempted a smile. Jon sighed.

He sounded sad. Why was he sad? What? Martin blinked at him several times. “What's wrong?” He asked awkwardly.

“You're acting odd.” Jon said blandly. Martin winced. “I understand if your premonitions have warned you about this table. It certainly isn't something I'm about to ignore. But your behavior is… concerning me.”

“...Oh. I'm sorry. I think I just feel silly forgetting about the table until now. It's- I think it's really dangerous.” Martin said softly. It was true as well. The fact that he could forget something so monumental simply because he was woken in a frenzy did not make him feel… reliable. “I'm sorry.” He said again.

Jon patted his arm once. “There's no point in going on about the apology. It's fine. How about… “ he paused as he struggled to say what he wanted to say without phrasing it as a question. “I would love if. Someone informed me of the appearance of your mysterious delivery men.”

Martin snorted. He couldn't stop himself, and it felt nice even with the reproachful glare Jon shot his way for the noise. “Sorry. Right yes they were-” he paused, brows furrowed suddenly in concentration. “B-big?” He finished lamely. “I was really swept up when they were here, it was unnaturally confusing to talk to them and they kept ignoring anything I said- and well- their actual faces… are kind of a blank.”

“By blank do you mean-?”

“Oh! No, no they had faces. They definitely had faces. But I can't for the life of me come up with the features. I think they must have been- I don't know. Something unnatural.” Martin said as he crossed his arms. Tiredly, Jon pulled out a folding chair from the table and sat down. Martin took the cue to do the same.

“There are cases… involving deliveries.” Jon said. He sounded so tired. Martin was worried about how tired he had to be to pass out in his office. “Two men; Breekon and Hope. They certainly seem to have ties to the supernatural. I think we should- destroy it. The table I mean.”

“Wait- wh-what?” Martin stuttered. Jon looked at him with very little expression. “I'm not sure that's- well I mean it's probably dangerous- but…” his Jon had said nothing about destroying it. “Can't we just– put it in level 4 or something? Get it safe and out of reach, in case destroying it… lets something out?”

“Do you think destroying it will let ‘something’ out?” Jon raised an eyebrow at him. Martin flushed.

“I don't know- maybe? But it's an artifact, we don't know. And… I don't want anyone to get hurt.” Jon sighed, leaning forward to stare at Martin.

“Martin, you are acting as if you know something you refuse to share. We made an agreement. We all share everything.” It was true, they had. But aside from the information coming from his Jon, Martin was at a loss as to exactly what was putting him so on edge. Jon hadn't warned him not to destroy the table. Why the panic?

“It's not… clear.” Martin said. And it was honest. It was. “It's like when I think about breaking it, it feels like you- get taken away? I didn't dream of that or anything- but it feels really real.”

Another sigh. So many sighs. “I suppose we aren't exactly in the business of destroying potential knowledge. I'll… talk to Elias about it when he gets in. They'll have to do some tests before confirming what level it belongs on, but I can push for immediately marking to level 2 at least, considering the statement.”

Martin smiled. It felt half hearted even to him. “I suppose that's what we can do.” He said. Jon nodded. Martin watched the heavy way he blinked, and decided to switch gears. “What were you- doing so late that you fell asleep?”

“...Oh.” Jon blinked, then stood with a bit more energy. “Oh yes. I found something. A statement. Jane Prentiss's statement.” He said with a ghost of excitement.

“And that made you- pass out?”

“No, Martin it- well.” Jon looked thoughtful. It was a welcome change to the familiar flash of irritation that just accused him of incompetence. “I recorded it. I planned to give follow up directions tomorrow- today now- but I wanted to get a recording done as soon as I could. I must have fallen asleep as soon as I was done.” He didn't seem entirely confident and Martin didn't really see how his description differed from Martin's in anything aside from brevity.

Whatever. “Okay, well you should get some actual sleep.” Martin tried, but was hardly surprised when Jon shook his head.

“No. It's far too close to work hours to go home and anyway, I want to speak to Elias as soon as he's in about your table.” He wasn't a fan of it being his table, but Martin didn't have the energy to argue. Jon ran a hand through his disheveled mess of hair and looked around. He looked so tired. “I might as well check the library for official records of the institute's founding while I'm here at this hour as well. The statement for Amy Patel is actually filed correctly among our completed inventory if you wish to hear or read it. And… There is a tape recorder on my desk with Jane Prentiss's own statement.”

Martin watched him leave, practically swaying from his exhaustion and Martin really had to wrestle with himself over not bothering Jon further. He really needed an actual night's sleep.

Honestly, Martin was a ball of nerves now, so he was… hesitant to look over the Jane Prentiss statement immediately. Just thinking about it set his skin to feelings of creeping and crawling bugs that were entirely not there when Martin brushed at his arm anxiously to check.

Instead, he wandered to their shelves of filed and organized material. It looked nice, compared to the clutter of the rest of the archive and he knew it was important to Jon that the places they had been through look very different from the mess Gertrude left behind. Martin smiled at it. When he considered it, the presence of a friend in the archive all night seemed a perfectly logical explanation as to why Martin wasn't able to contact his Jon that night. Frustrating yes, but there wasn't much to be done when their meeting place was apparently called ‘The Lonely’. He could try again that night.

Now at least he could also ask about the viability of destroying the table as well, since it had come up. He could tell his Jon Sasha had met Michael too, oh! And his absolute steamrolling of Elias in their meeting. Jon would be interested to know Elias couldn't read his thoughts when they came to him. He might even know why. He seemed to know a lot of things.

Martin found the file of Amy Patel quickly, and sat down to listen to Jon's pleasant and soothing voice take on the life of the story in a way he never would have imagined Jon could from a normal interaction.

In the end it wasn't actually that helpful, mostly because while the table was definitely there, it really didn't seem like it did anything but look hypnotic. The monster seemed to be a different creature. One with long thin limbs dark and straight like iron and far too many joints. Or arms. Or both. Regardless, the ‘life snatching’ as Jon had called it, seemed to be purely the aftereffect of that monster getting into Graham Folger's house, not the table.

Jon's after statement follow up notes made him laugh before he could stop himself though. He had very pointedly been pretending he didn't notice which statements were real still at this point, and his claims of brain damage causing the effects was truly unhinged. They had photographic evidence on file.

Well. Whatever. The most interesting thing Martin noted was the note at the end- Sasha apparently having one of his notebooks. ‘Keep watching’ could mean any number of things, but it did call to mind the described mesmerizing shifting of the table's patterns.

Martin very much wished he remembered his past life. It would be so much easier to sift through all this if he had actual foresight, and not just little snippets of dreams of who would be by tomorrow. Maybe he in his past world knew what this all meant.

Stop.

It was beyond unhelpful for him to be cluttering his mind further when he had no real way of knowing if he had known anything. Certainly his dream self was clueless at the current date, mostly just obsessing over hiding fire extinguishers where he didn't think the worms would find it and buying a cork screw. Well. Martin related to that part now. He had bought his own a few days back before he even realized he had in the dream.

Time ticked by as Martin worked himself up anxiously to listen to the Prentiss statement, then thoroughly backtracked when he spotted a bloody worm and he'd screamed and snatched up the closest CO2 canister in a flail of limbs to kill it.

Maybe overkill. Maybe. He did know he could crush them, but not being in shoes since waking up made him very inclined not to risk it burrowing up into his foot.

He resolved to listen to the Prentiss tape later, when he wasn't alone, and instead got dressed and started picking his way through the building looking for the newly replaced extinguishers Elias had irritably been forced to supply just so Martin could whisk them away as well.

You could not have too many CO2 canisters. Even if Elias had at least kept his word, and the suppression system was being upgraded when Jon sent in the request.

Chapter Text

Jonah Magnus, also known presently as Elias Bouchard, and always known as the owner and director of the Magnus Institute, had a headache. A very nasty headache.

Jonah did not often regret his choices. He considered most very carefully, and the breadth of information constantly at his disposal made certain very few of those choices could be called uninformed. But he really did regret knocking Martin Blackwood into the trap door that night.

On the outside it seemed without ramifications. No one knew Martin had been skulking around his office in the middle of the night, and Jon disliked Martin enough that he would likely assume something odious of Martin and call it a day. The man had no friends, and his own mother would likely have been satisfied to pass on without ever hearing from her son again.

He was a perfect target to disappear. And more importantly, his presence when the real target, Mr Bennett the investigator who had been trying to spread damning information about the institute, had gotten inside as planned was less than expected. Martin always seemed a bit cowardly, and definitely dull in Jonah's eyes. He had not at all anticipated Martin following Bennett up to his office.

Jonah had, of course been subtly implanting thoughts and ideas into Bennett's mind over the last week of his surveillance, preparing him for his desperate break-in without ever needing to speak to the man again. He already knew from previous experimentation that the Archivist would feel an offering without any need of warning, and finish the job without Jonah being present once he'd gotten the man close enough, and scared enough to taste.

Every step of the way that night Martin had surprised him. Following him upstairs, following him into the office going down his private lift. He had obviously started back to the institute at the first sign of something amiss, but he hadn't at all been expecting that the smooth dismissal of Martin into the trap door before he closed it and headed home to be anything less than the end of that.

Of course Martin surprised him most of all by living. And not just living. He had somehow won over the Archivist, an ancient creature of power Jonah had done little more than convince to tolerate him over long, long years of cooperation and offerings. It was infuriating.

He was not so petty he wouldn't admit to a bit of jealousy. It had been that very emotion that led him to taunting it, which he did truly regret. Jonah had never seen the Archivist posture. Well. Posture was a misleading word, Jonah had little doubt he really could have died if he did not have his contingencies in place. It had been a threat display. A very effective one.

And it had never done that before. Not even when Jonah had moved it, luring it into a massive vehicle meant for transporting exotic mega fauna with a particularly fragrant statement, and transporting it across the sea to its new home. As long as it was primarily kept in darkness, it didn't make a fuss.

It actually seemed reluctant to act out from Jonah's observation, only wanting to pull in at most one victim a month, despite Jonah knowing an Archivist needed to take them at least once a week to stay functional. Even Gertrude had been adherent to that limitation, even as she intentionally destroyed any sense of order the archive had out of spite.

He hadn't needed to experiment much to know the parameters of the Archivist's restraint.

It would only call one Statement to it, even if Jonah provided several, and would kill whoever it took as quickly and cleanly as possible, despite the obvious loss in value that taking the memories of the dead was to a creature like that. It would however, not resist a second meal, likely out of the pure starvation it was bringing on itself, if Jonah forced them down to join the first victim it had called.

It would eat as many as 6 people in a sitting, if Jonah locked them in with it. But the resulting behavior was something akin to hibernation when it ate well. It seemed clear to Jonah that this as well, was a choice it made. Everything the creature did seemed to circle around keeping itself contained.

This fact was positively devastating for Jonah to come to terms with, as he could feel the directness of the monster's connection to the eye, and could easily see the signs of marking from every other power carved deep into it. It truly was a perfect, living archive of human suffering. And it was utterly unwilling to embrace that fact.

If it was cooperative, he would have already easily been able to complete the ritual necessary to bring the Eye into the world as its new master. It was so difficult. Practically childish for something so unfathomably old.

So he had needed to raise his own Archivists independently of his work with The Archivist. Jonathan Sims had been a godsend in terms of that plan. Even simply on a level of affinity, Jon had always been close to the eye. Never wanting to consume the same thing twice, always hungry to learn, even as it terrified him beyond imagining. His connection to the web when Jonah met him was likely a sign that it had noticed as well when he was a child how perfect he would be in the role.

And of course, offered its approval of his plan in the form of the man himself, guided to his institute by the desperate need to understand what he had experienced all those years ago.

Jonah was fond of Jonathan Sims. More than fond, he quite considered the budding Archivist to be his treasure with the speed at which he was becoming his role.

Which was another piece of the headache.

Martin Blackwood had turned Jon quite summarily against him, long before he had been intending to allow such realizations. But he could do nothing about Martin with the way The Archivist rumbled through his mind any time he considered a way to dispatch him. He just had to Let Martin get more and more bold as time pushed on, sharing secrets he shouldn't have been allowed, and stealing the damn CO2 canisters from around the institute the moment he got them replaced.

That was the man's latest transgression, and Jonah was all but fuming at the other department heads of the Institute who were insistent on their replacement every damn time. Yes, fire safety. Yes, a fire breaking out in their Library would be devastating. But even still it was maddening.

He suspected Martin was doing it on purpose, though he did have the sympathy to know the large man was also sincerely afraid of the looming threat of Prentiss. But they did not need more. And on a more personal level, Jonah needed the attack to do at least a little damage to Jon before it was sorted.

God.

Jonah leaned back in his chair, groaning in exhausted discomfort. He wished he could sell Martin off to the Lukas'. The mere thought granted him an immediate growl of disapproval from deep below, and Jonah gritted his teeth. It had refused to eat in months. How was it even still paying attention?

Because as well was one of the headaches caused by Martin Blackwood. Its self control seemed to have redoubled since meeting him, and now his Archivist was refusing to call anything Jonah left for it. While its weakening even further did mean he was marginally safer if he wanted to end this nuisance, its obvious attention made it quite clear he would not survive the attempt. And truly, the idea of something so ancient and so immaculate actually being destroyed left him with a feeling of devastation that simply wouldn't allow him to desire The Archivist's end.

Nothing was going to plan.

He could feel Jon coming up stairs now as well, here to demand what was going on with the table Rosie had told him 10 minutes ago she had had moved to Artifact Storage. It was of course a Stranger, ensnared in a Web by one Adelard Dekker several years before his death. A perfect set piece for Jon's second mark, though this conversation may very well make the prospect less viable now too.

Because of Martin.

Jonah would be impressed, if he wasn't seething.

Jon opened the door to Rosie's office, and he listened to the two exchange stiff greetings before she told him to have a seat, and rang his intercom. Jonah closed his eyes, centered, and became Elias Bouchard.

“Yes Rosie, send him in.” He told her wearily, and he watched Jon invited into the room a moment later.

“Elias-” Jon started, and Elias held out a hand to silence him. Jon was clearly displeased by the gesture working, but his conditioning to obey authority had its uses.

“Sit, Jon. And close the door so Rosie can do her work in peace.” Jon did as told, though he was scowling every step of the way.

Once he was sat, he began again. “Elias why am I getting mysterious packages delivered to my office at all hours of the morning?” The demand heavily implied Elias's assumed orchestration and he couldn't help a soft laugh.

“Jon, I should be asking you that. You do realize it was sent to you personally? I myself would love to know why you are getting mysterious packages sent to Artifact Storage.” He leveled Jon with a dry, hard look. “Regardless of your personal feelings towards me, I would have expected you to take more care in circumstances relating to the safety of the rest of the institute.”

Jon spluttered, immediately on the defensive. “I didn't organize it to happen! That's why I'm here!”

“Because you think I secretly sent you a table I would be forced to deal with regardless?” Elias asked blandly. Jon glared. At least Jon was still easy to manage, despite Martin's interference.

“Well-” Jon struggled, then switched gears sharply. “Then what do you suggest we do about it? It's clearly dangerous.”

“It is not clearly anything yet, because the practical research team has yet to even look at it. If you believe you have statements relevant to the team's investigation into it, please by all means send them through the proper channels and they will be taken into account.” Elias said with finality. Jon looked so tired. Delightfully so, if Elias was honest about it. If he had to guess, he was starting to experience the statements in his dreams. A fantastic step towards gaining a hold on his abilities, and a beautifully convenient method of keeping him in check. “Is there anything else, Jon? I do have quite a bit of work to do.”

Jon huffed, and it was comically in perfect rhythm with the pounding of Elias's head. “We have been finding worms. In and around the building.” He said.

Elias nodded. “Yes you are not the first to report this believe it or not. But they have been completely docile. And show no signs of either swarming, or reacting to nearby movement or individuals. I have even squished a few myself, though it does leave an unpleasant mess. Regardless, they are hardly threatening.”

“You know what they did to Martin-”

“And they seem to be lacking all interest in doing so again. Tell me Jon; what more would you have me do? I have accommodated your request for updated fire suppression, and have even been refraining from disciplinary action regarding Martin's recent bouts of kleptomania.” He looked at Jon. Jon was regretting coming in, now that he was struggling to lead the conversation, which was very like him. “I am listening of course, if you have productive steps to suggest. Regardless of what Martin has told you, I am very interested in ensuring your safety. I am on your side.”

He saw Jon's skepticism at that sentiment, but he also saw the predictable way he faltered. “I find that very hard to believe. You don't even know what happened to Gertrude-”

Elias's lip twitched, spotting an opportunity. “Yes, well Gertrude had a habit similar to Martin's to obstruct my vision at crucial moments where I could have assisted her. That is easily remedied on your end Jon. Just don't hide things from me, and I will guarantee to keep you alive, whereabouts perfectly known.”

Jon's eyes flicked to the side, and Elias felt the anxious thoughts of his Archivist trying to find the fault in his logic. “Why did Gertrude hide things from you then?” He asked, eyes narrowed.

“She was very… independent. Untrusting. As you may have noticed she didn't even employ assistants for nearly 20 years before her disappearance, leading to a frankly abysmal standard of work. I would have hoped you recognized the flaws in her modes of operation." Elias sighed. “Trust me as little as you would like Jon. But you are a smart man. You have to realize she made it quite impossible for me to protect her with anything resembling a speedy reaction.”

“Fine. Yes, I can see that.” Jon muttered, then he grit his teeth and stood, clearly about to flee the wreckage of the conversation. Elias grimaced at the pain in his head.

“Tell Rosie to get me a painkiller on your way out if you're done.” He said with a wave of dismissal. Jon looked at him.

“Are you- experiencing pain?” His tone said quite clearly Jon didn't think he could, and Elias laughed.

“Everyone gets headaches, Jon. Even me.”

Jon was amusingly taken aback by the sentiment. “... Right. Fine.” He stood and left the room after saying this, and Elias smiled when he heard Jon obediently inform Rosie of the request.

Nothing was unsalvageable.

Now he just needed to determine how to force his stubborn other Archivist to eat before it managed to destroy a millennia if not more knowledge in its vendetta to pretend it still had the luxury to act humane.

One thing at a time, he supposed. Maybe if its negligence put Martin in danger it would change its tune. He felt it again growl in his mind, and he laughed once more.

“Your behavior is hardly my fault.”

It did not respond.

He decided he would try to lure in a new prey in the near future, to see if it had finally relented.

.

Danny would be 30 today.

This was the only thing Tim could really think about as he went through the motions of gathering records, wooing filing clerks, and finally heading back to his hellish job that felt more like a sink trap at this point than a place of work.

Martin and Sasha both were worried about him, and he knew that, knew he was letting it all get to him but really? What the hell was he supposed to do?

Danny had died at the hands of something just like the bastard that Tim now worked for. And yes, he would admit regardless of whatever was clearly happening to him Tim didn't really think Jon was one of them. Not yet anyway. But Elias seemed frankly unashamed that they knew he was. Smug even.

It had been enough that Tim had considered buying a damn shotgun, and blowing the man's head off. Sasha had paled when he joked about it, begging him not to actually go through with it and… yes. Fine. Sure. He wasn't going to risk being arrested for murder of an irrelevant horrible monster man before he'd managed to track down the horrible monster man who had taken his brother's life.

He was just so on edge.

Every new development felt like lava itching in his veins, and he thought- really thought the archival team was at least in this together. That's.. why he'd been avoiding Martin. Tim almost would have preferred it if Martin was ditzing around, offering tea like it solved anything, to this new secretive model who was willing to lie to them point blank.

Sasha didn't think he was fully lying, yes. And Jon seemed sure that Martin was just dealing with the new horror that was their life. But it hurt. They'd been a team for a second there. He'd been considering telling them about Danny. Because even if it hadn't come up it felt like they should know.

He should… probably still tell them about Danny.

Sasha already knew, but…

The latest Statement, capital S had been related to Smirke, and Tim couldn't really imagine a better opportunity to bring it up naturally. Maybe he could get Martin to say whatever he was keeping too. It felt like a childish hope that being honest would get honesty returned at this point in the hotrors of his life, but what the fuck was he even living for besides revenge if he let go of hope in the team?

Sasha was trying so hard.

She did manage to comfort him, whenever she had the chance. She was more hard edges than one would expect from someone so attentive and sweet, but he didn't really mind the matter-of-fact way she operated.

He… liked her.

And maybe that scared him too.

He already knew Sasha had made a clear boundary about their relationship, and he really honestly didn't want to push it. He liked being friends.

He didn't even know if he was in a place for a relationship considering how volatile he felt all the time.

Tim grimaced, trying to screw his face into something even resembling the care free smile he'd gotten so good at over the years. It was hard. Everything felt too raw. It almost hurt, just knowing what he knew now.

Like shards of glass inside his skin.

He was around the corner from the institute when he slammed into someone hard and unmoving.

“Ow! Hey what the-” Tim started, then stilled as he realized the woman he had run into was staring at him like she'd just discovered road kill on her driveway.

“Who the hell are you?” She demanded, and Tim almost laughed with the indignance of it.

“Excuse you? You're the one standing in the middle of the walk like some statue with a bad attitude!” He snapped back. She glared. She was more than a head shorter than Tim but you wouldn't know it from the energy she put off. Absolutely insane.

“I don't get it.” She said instead of answering, and Tim stiffened as she walked around him like she was appraising a slab of meat still hung at the butchers. “Why a pretty boy from the institute? How hot could you possibly burn?”

Tim took the chance to take several large steps away from her and towards said institute when she got behind him. “I have literally no clue what you're talking about, but you really don't want to test me today.” He growled. Shockingly, her eyebrows raise in apparent approval.

“Well, there's a spark at least.” She said, then shook her head. “Whatever. What's the point anymore anyway?” Tim bristled as she started to turn away.

“What, you just- say a bunch of cryptic nonsense then- leave? Like this was a waste of your time?” She spun around so fast he flinched, but it was the sudden spike in heat on what had previously been a pretty chilly day that made him step back.

Like a furnace opening, hitting him in a cloying wave of air so hot it was hard to even breathe in it.

“Yeah.” She said, and it felt like the air crackled between them as she bared her teeth. “It is a waste of my time. And you'd better hope I walk away now, or you're not getting a choice in how you light up.”

She smelled like camp fires doused in petrol, and her eyes shone with an inhuman light he would more have expected from a demon in fiction than any monster he'd found evidence of before. He swallowed, and took another step back.

Not worth it.

He had to get away.

She scoffed, and turned again, expression one of pure disgust. “See me again when you're ready to lose everything.” She said, and loped down the street like a predator looking for a more satisfying meal.

Tim gaped on the cooling air. It did not make his lungs feel less scalded.

Was this his Michael moment? They all seemed to be taking it in turn to see monsters. It was just his wretched luck that his was aggressive in broad daylight.

He gritted his teeth. It felt tempting suddenly to see if Martin would share the records room, at least for a few days but the thought of locking himself in a room surrounded by Elias's eyes was- urg.

With hurried steps, Tim rushed the rest of the way back to the institute, kicking one of the eye-like decorations on the door as he went in pure spite. He hoped Elias could feel it. He had to get to the archives. His reservations about secrets aside, he really had no idea where else to turn with the terror gripping him.

“Who's available?” He demanded loudly as he thundered down the stairs. Martin jumped, looking satisfyingly startled by his sudden commotion. “Come on. It can't just be you.”

“Er- no, Sasha's at her desk, and Jon's doing a statement-” He felt like he was still feverish from the interaction, like his skin was burning up without any help at all from the freak who threatened to burn him.

“Oh for God's sake.” He groused, and opened Jon's door without any warning, completely ignoring Martin's frantic requests not to. Jon jumped too now, apparently so caught up in his- meal if Tim was feeling mean (and he was now, because it was easier to feel mean than let himself just be scared and he just felt so hot) that he hadn't even noticed the shouting outside before he entered the man's bubble. “Jon do it later something happened and we are talking about this now.”

Like a reflex, Jon reached out without looking, and softly pressed the stop button on his recorder. Then he slowly stood up, and nodded. “Right. Fine then if you… insist.”

Tim did. He nodded and marched back out, glad to see Sasha was now out there as well. It was impressive there weren't smoking footprints where he stepped. “We are going into the room without eyes.” Tim told them with no room for argument. No one did.

When the door was closed, and the only lights were the thin lines across their faces from the edges of the door, Tim finally took a breath, leaning against it. It was cool, very cool compared to him, but it didn't help the heat.

“Tim are you alright?” Sasha asked, though she clearly already knew the answer. “What happened? Weren't you just- checking out Pall Mall?” Tim laughed thinly.

“Yeah, I was. And it was pointless. The reform club fixed up any holes they might have had in their basement, and 100 was a normal office building with literally no secret tunnel access points. And on the way home, I got- barked at by a monster!” The three of them were immediately alarmed.

“You- there was a monster?! What kind? *Where*?” Martin asked.

“It's broad daylight!” Jon said like the protest would change anything other than earning him a heated (ha) glare from Tim.

“You said barked so- assuming you wouldn't scare us like this over a nasty dog, it didn't hurt you right? Just… threatened you?” Sasha probed, already putting her hand to her chin in contemplation.

Tim deflated a little, and sighed. “...Yes. yes, and yes.” He said with less venom. “It was down the street in front of the bakery. In full view of the street. No one noticed though. We weren't that loud, and I got spooked when she got- monstery, so I got out of there as soon as I could manage.”

Martin looked worried about him. He wondered if he'd be offered a cup of tea, and actually laughed a little, albeit strained, when Martin said “Tim, sit down I'll make you some tea.”

“Sure Martin. Make some tea. I'd love tea. Miss you making bloody tea.” He said, letting his face fall into his palm with exhaustion. He meant it. It felt… grounding for once, after feeling like Martin was changing more rapidly than Jon was by the day. Martin smiled at him, brows pinched in worry, and slipped back outside.

“I'll be right back.” He felt like he was suffocating.

“BRING ICE!” Tim called after him before the door shut again. “I don't want anything hot right now.”

Sasha was pulling him to sit on Martin's cot, and Tim tried to release his tension out in a breath, very disquieted by how hot the exhale felt on his lips. He sat. “I'll wait for Martin. Sorry. I- today's a bad day.” He said softly. Sasha put a hand on his back, rubbing gently.

“It's fine. I know I tried to play it cool, but I was really freaked out after Michael.” She soothed. Tim laughed.

“At least Michael was- pretending to be friendly. She wasn't giving me a ride home or creeping around outside. This lady threatened to set me on fire.” Tim didn't know if he was relieved or extremely annoyed at the way that caught Jon's attention, like he might actually have some context to give him.

His boss opened his mouth, but then closed it with an audible click of teeth. For half a second, Tim thought he was waiting for Martin, but it did not take much to remind him of how dangerous it was for Jon to ask a question.

Despite himself, despite everything he'd been feeling, how angry he always felt these days, that still touched him a little. The effect was impressive; his body feeling noticeably cooler with each breath after he acknowledged someone was looking out for him. Tim closed his eyes with the relief of it.

“When Martin gets back, you can write down your questions Jon.” Sasha said with a little smile. “I'll ask anything you need.” Their immediate boss nodded shortly, looking solemn again as he fiddled with the tape recorder he had taken with him presumably without thinking about it.

“Do you think- he listens with those? Like he watches with the eyes?” Tim asked. His voice was so small without the boiling tension behind it, and he just felt suddenly so very tired.

Jon and Sasha both looked at it, apprehensive. “I– don't know.” Jon admitted. “I'll put it outside.” He added hurriedly, and Tim nodded his appreciation when he passed to open the door.

Martin and Jon came back in together, and Tim laughed as he saw the hastily prepared ice tea he was offered. “Thanks.” He said. A tiny smile pushed at the edge of his lips before he drank.

Now, Martin was weirdly good at brewing tea. This had been true as long as they were colleagues, so it was no surprise when he took a sip that it was good. But the cool liquid seemed to be almost revivifying, the flow of it down his throat seeming to wash away the last traces of the kindling around his heart. For the moment at least. He was grateful. He was pretty sure he almost cried.

“Er- so, whenever you're up for it, what attacked you-? Are you ok?” Martin asked. Tim smiled more visibly at him.

“I'm better now. This room is better in general I think. Less like his eyes are digging at my skin.” He said, and Martin nodded in emphatic understanding. Tim sighed again. “Like I said. My investigations were a bust, and I was in a really bad mood for- reasons I'll get to.” He said, then swallowed. No one pressed him. Wow. Did he actually have- really good friends? How had he not been appreciating that? “So- I was in a bad mood, really in my head, I admit it was partly my fault when I bumped into someone but honestly I already felt like a livewire and just wanted someone to yell at.”

Their expressions were hard to read in the dim light, but Tim was pretty sure Sasha looked exasperated. He tried to look apologetic.

“She hadn't budged an inch when we crashed, which was odd to me because she was kind of tiny. East Asian and pretty solidly built but still really small. That just made me annoyed right then, so I told her to watch where she was going, and was going to just shove past but the way she looked at me was-” he shuddered. “It was wretched. Like disappointment if disappointment was aimed at a dog turd in your bed.” He was getting jumbled from the adrenaline, but he pushed through anyway. It was fine. “She asked who I was which- we were on a public street, but she sounded like I'd just broken into her flat. It was so accusing, and I was so not in the mood so I laid in. She ignores me completely, just starts talking to herself about how she doesn't get- something, and she knew I was from the institute, but it definitely wasn't friendly. She asked me something weird.”

He thought for a moment, trying to scrape it back together. “‘How… hot could you possibly burn?’ Something like that. It kind of sounds like a threat now, but it honestly just felt like an insult when she said it. So I… yelled at her. I don't remember. Something that caught her attention because she said I had a ‘spark’. But then started acting like I'd been- trying to solicit her or something, and said this was a waste of time.” He frowned, finger tapping anxiously on his glass. “I should have just let her go. But I was– really pissed off. So I told her she couldn't just walk away after spouting nonsense.” He swallowed around a very dry throat, and forced himself to take another cold gulp of tea. “I think I still thought she was human at that point. I was just picking a fight because I was confused- but when she looked back at me it was really obvious she wasn't… normal.”

Sasha was still rubbing his back. Was he shaking? God, that was embarrassing.

“She turns around in this wave of heat. Like opening a furnace in your face. The air feels like it's popping, crackling like it's on fire but there's nothing there. She says I better hope she just walks away because she could ‘light me up’ or something and at that point fight or flight finally kicked in properly and I knew I had to get out of there. It seemed like she noticed, and she- hated it. It was that disappointment again like I failed the test. She just left after that. I remember her parting words though. All of them. It sounded like as much an offer as it was a threat.” He looked up at them. “‘See me again when you're ready to lose.. everything’. Then she left. I still felt hot and angry, like I was burning out of my skin like her attitude was infectious- but I was also scared. So I found you guys.”

He let silence fall. It was sort of nice to get it out, and he felt like a totally deflated balloon.

Sasha spoke first. “I'm so sorry Tim. I'm glad you got out of there.” He laughed. It sounded more like a sob to him, but what did it matter? “...Jon- do you have your questions?”

Jon nodded, still looking very focused on the situation. “Yes- here. I also have something to say. But this can be first.”

He handed Sasha the list.

“Okay Tim- did she use any odd phrases or words like ‘lightless flame’ or ‘asag’?” He shook his head, brows furrowed. Martin perked up like he recognized it. “Right. Did you touch her at all?”

“Only the first time when we walked into each other." Tim sighed. Sasha and Jon both nodded.

“Did she at any time look like she intended to touch you, or like anything more than the air was hot? Metal on your bag, the sidewalk, like that.” That one got a grimace and a shrug.

“Not that I noticed, but my soles are pretty thick, and I'm not sure I even would have noticed if my bag burned me. I was- really caught up in her eyes.” No one tried to make a joke about being smitten, and Tim realized dimly he was the one who made those jokes. “She looked like a demon. Like her eyes were on fire, but they weren't.”

Jon nodded again, looking very contemplative and opened his mouth before reaching instead for the paper. Sasha surrendered it. When she got it back, she nodded. “Did she have any signs of burning or scars on her anywhere?”

Tim had to think about that.

“No.” He said after a long moment. “She was showing a lot of skin, and none looked burned. But she had a tattoo. Bloody awful now that I think about it. It was- some guy, graphically burning alive. Do you know who she is?”

Jon sighed, and seeming to have no further questions, began to speak. “No, unfortunately not. But I suspect she is part of a cult I've come across a few times when I was in research. ‘The Lightless Flame’. I can't say what the name means exactly aside from the obvious lack of light as a metaphor for ‘the good bits of fire’, but we had a statement a while ago about burn victims who boiled soda in nearby vending machines. I suspect the heat you were feeling was a similar ability from another member of the cult.”

Well shit. He laughed again, and it was even less like a laugh than the last one. “Great. GREAT. So what- was she- recruiting me? What the hell was that?”

“I don't know. But in statement 0121102, there were two seemingly… opposed forces. One was the man who was chanting about the flame, and the other was Gerard Kaey.” He looked at Tim to make sure he recognized the name before continuing. “The statement was given by a nurse, who spoke to Mr Kaey. He stopped her from touching the other man while he chanted, claiming it was to protect her. And later, he said ‘Better beholding than the lightless flame’.”

Sasha's eyes widened. “I remember that one! The security footage had a big eye in the screen for a second when it was recording the scene. Jon you don't think-”

Jon smiled grimly. “Eye motifs have been very common in statements regarding the Kaey family, including the one we found today. I suspect Gerard and Mary Kaey were… followers of the same- thing that Elias is. And it is something very different from what they worship in the lightless flame. The two groups might even be in active conflict, based on what you said she was like regarding the institute.”

“...So- if they're Elias's enemy, isn't that good?” Tim asked. The other three looked startled.

“I mean, I get it, enemy of my enemy is my friend, but Tim- she was threatening you.” Sasha said and Tim looked down.

“I know. I JUST—” He grimaced and tried not to pull at his hair. “Obviously she seemed bad too. Obviously neither of them are a good choice.”

“Based on the limited information I've had access to, the cult of lightless flame worships the concept of harming others.” Jon supplied. Tim groaned.

“Fine. Terrible suggestion. I don't want to hurt people. Not really.”

Martin smiled at him. Sad and full of attempted comfort, like Martin was. “Maybe that's what had her so disappointed. You don't want to hurt anyone, and she could tell.”

“...Maybe.” Tim admitted. He was suddenly so tired. “Sasha, how the hell did you manage to just go home after a monster talked to you? I'm considering moving in with Martin down here, Elias Bouchard be damned.”

She laughed awkwardly. “I suppose I just feel comfortable with the ‘if he wanted me dead I would be’ logic, so there's no point in hiding.” That was so Sasha Tim laughed an actual real laugh.

“You're insane.” He said with a grin. She grinned back.

“We all have to be a little. To still be trying to figure this out.” the words struck something, and Tim's face fell.

“...I want to go around in a circle.” He said, and he was relieved that all the rage had already drained out of him, because he wanted this to be non-negotiable, without being a threat. “I'll even go first. We tell each other why we're still… trying. To investigate I mean. Why we joined the institute, what's stopping us from just putting our heads down and giving up.”

None of them had been expecting that, and Tim smiled darkly. “Think of it like a trust exercise. I really need it right now.”

Sasha's face twitched, and she sighed, nodding. Jon looked… extremely reluctant, but didn't say no. Martin had just flushed.

“Right. I said it'd be me first. Today is my little brother's birthday. He'd be 30. Big number. But he's not. Because he's dead.” The winces were vivid and a little satisfying. Sasha just looked pitying, and it reminded Tim rather painfully that he had already told her. “He died 4 years ago now, during an urban exploration obsession of his that-” he sighed deeply. “I'll make a full statement or whatever later. I don't want this to drag on. He went somewhere he wasn't supposed to go, and it did something to him. It– skinned him. I think. It was a clown- what I saw at least was dressed like a clown. But it was a monster. Obviously. It took him and I never saw my brother again, and I came to the institute because I thought maybe it would be a way to understand what happened. But. I guess it's healthy to move on but since everything has started up with Elias I can't stop feeling like I gave up on him. And that's… me.” He looked dully at them all and sipped his tea. “Now someone else go.”

Despite his prompt, silence followed for a painfully long moment. When Jon spoke, it was not what Tim wanted to hear. “Tim I'm so-”

“NOPE! We can do commiseration later. I NEED you three to prove I'm not in this alone.” He said in an impressively level tone. Jon shut his mouth. Tim was about to hassle him to answer when Sasha began to speak.

“My first exposure to the supernatural was through Gertrude Robinson actually.” She said, crossing her arms. Jon looked startled. She smiled at him but it was hard to determine what exactly it meant in the dark. “Gertrude was a scary woman honestly. I've told Tim this before, but I can't imagine the Archives got like this by accident. And knowing what we do now? I THINK she was fighting against Elias. If it's more than just a job- if it's a… state of being I suppose, he probably couldn't just fire her. Gertrude was a…” she snorted, “I suppose saying fire starter is actually a bit of a pun. She really liked burning things. She said she had a reason I think, but I never found out what it was. Anyway. I was just out of Uni when we met and I was looking into possible positions in research or library management. I really needed money, and I was getting desperate.”

Sasha kicked her legs as she spoke, before tilting her head. “Sorry, I can do the whole proper statement another time too. Long story short- Gertrude burned down the building I was going to apply to for my job.” Jon choked, and Martin let out an involuntary and very high pitched laugh. “She didn't really spare me any time back then, just moved along like it was normal. And to cope I sort of… stalked her a bit.”

She winced as Tim laughed, “Sasha James!”

“It was warranted! She kind of set me back and I thought she was a serial arsonist. But I ended up just finding the institute. They had openings in practical research, and I really needed money, so I took the job. She recognized me I think- but never said anything about it. Only really started talking to me once I asked to be transferred and ended up on regular research. That's me. I didn't have a big trauma, just too curious for my own good, and needed a job. Still am, obviously. But it doesn't hurt that I want to keep all of you safe.” Sasha tilted her head, and looked at Jon who was, in a physical sense, next in line. “Now you go.”

Jon flushed a little, looking around as if for an escape route. Tim stared him down. “Fine.” Jon said after a strained silence. He looked extremely agitated. “I experienced a supernatural incident as a child. Eight I think.” He scoffed. “Of course it was. I don't particularly want to go into detail, but it was a Leitner. It… ate someone in front of me, and had intended to eat me as well. He- the victim- saved me, in a very real sense, even if he was just trying to bully a child 6 years his junior. But he died in my place, and I've been… I suppose, obsessed, ever since. That's why I joined the institute. I am still ‘trying’ for much the same reason as Sasha. Happy?”

“...yeah.” Tim said after a moment, nodding. “Thanks. Really actually. Now-” he turned to the final target. “Martin. I know why you're * here at the institute and I'm not going to make you say it, I want to know what- drives you. You know as well as I do you aren't as curious as these two by a longshot. And you've nearly died like three times. Why the hell are you still doing things like- intentionally getting back to the fog?”

Martin was closest to the door, so the light filtering in made his expression more visible in the darkness than the others. He looked frozen in indecision, face red and skin damp from anxiety. He clearly didn't want to lie.

Tim found that comforting, but it wasn't good enough. “Martin.”

“It's really- really really hard to explain.” Martin said with feeling. He was asking for an out, but none of them gave it to him. Even Jon, who had been the most reluctant to distrust Martin by this point, seemed to need it for the exchange of laying his own trauma out for them. Martin sighed, and shrunk in on himself. “I… met someone. In the fog. I- I really can't tell you more than that yet, and I'm really actually sorry but you won't believe me if I don't have proof, so I need to- talk to him. I told him next time we saw each other, he had to… well. I'm not leaving him in there. I can explain the rest when I get him out.”

Sasha's mouth was hanging open.

Tim's eyebrows were raised, but he was at war about whether he considered that to be enough. “Can we trust you?” He asked.

Martin looked at him, totally startled. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. “Of course you can. You guys are– all I have.”

Well shit. Tim screwed up his face to stop himself from feeling too much too intensely, and laughed. “Damn, I think I'm same. That sucks for us, doesn't it?”

Chapter Text

Jon was standing at his desk, brows furrowed in frustration as he looked over the reports he'd been given from his assistants. Martin watched worriedly, as it was an expression he recognized as ‘this is not acceptable’ and thus was sort of anticipating a scolding. Really, it wasn't his fault that none of Melanie King's colleagues and correspondents had anything useful to say; she'd said they didn't believe her. What more could he do, when Sarah Baldwin had vanished six months before the statement got made.

All that told them was it was not long after the incident at the military hospital took place, and might have been in response to it.

“That is conjecture.” Jon told him sharply, and Martin shrunk. He seemed more sensitive to that lately though, and to Martin's surprise Jon relented immediately. “Fine. I'll talk to Georgie- she probably just didn't want to talk to the Magnus Institute, she has no reason to trust us.”

“Huh?” Was all Martin managed. What? Did Jon just call Georgina Barker, the witness who recommended Sarah Baldwin for use in the first place–Georgie?

Jon raised an eyebrow, pulling out his phone. Oh god. He'd go to his laptop for an email; Jon was going to text her.

When he finally spoke it was far, far too loud, and immediately attracted the attention of both Tim and Sasha.

“You— have her number saved into your phone?!”

Jon flinched back at the volume, clearly at a loss as to why Martin was being… Martin. Tim peaked in.

“Who's boss got in his phone?” Jon scowled.

“I thought you were talking about the dead ends on the Melanie King case-?” Sasha asked. Jon made an irritated noise next.

“All of you should get back to w-”

Martin knew he was being insufferable, but his mind had gone blank in a way he could not possibly have anticipated. “You called her Georgie!”

“Everyone calls her Georgie!” Jon snapped back immediately. He clearly regretted it as the other two came into the room, eyes wide and curious.

“All her friends maybe!” Tim agreed. He had more color in his cheeks than yesterday, and Martin tried to tell himself his miniature freak out was for a good cause. “You never call strangers by nicknames!”

There was a light in Sasha's eye that actually scared Martin a little. “You've dated.”

The world came to a screeching halt.

Jon did not get the memo, and blushed in the most obvious admission of guilt he had ever seen. “That is highly inappropriate-”

“Oh god it's true!” Sasha said, jumping up and down and pointing at him. “You dated the host of What the Ghost?!”

Tim looked delighted once he was filled in enough to enjoy it and Martin felt a conversation he had had recently click into place. “Oh.” He said softly.

This was who Jon dated in college. Their lives did match.

His hand slapped across his mouth abruptly, mortified as it sunk in what he was doing right now. “O-oh god- I'm sorry, that was so rude- I didn't mean-”

Jon put up a hand. His ears looked very red. “Enough. It could not matter less, aside from the fact that I can ask her for more details directly. My- dating life could not be farther from your business.”

Tim pouted. “Oh come on we all opened up and spilled our guts, you can give us the deets, Boss.” Martin wondered if this was what Tim had been needing to get his energy back.

Jon did not seem to agree. He looked a very unfortunate combination of furious and mortified. “Get back to work.” He ordered, and all three of them scurried out of his office, with Martin dying inside and the other two chattering excitedly.

When Jon left for lunch for the first time in two months, and glared at them all on his way out, Tim squealed in impish delight. “He's definitely meeting her.”

Martin made a nest out of his arms and stuffed his face into it. He was dead. This was the end of him. “It's not— actually a big deal I'm sorry I was weird-”

“Maybe we should follow them!” Sasha suggested far too enthusiastically. Tim pumped a fist in the air.

“Hell yes we should!”

“No we should not?!” Martin screeched. Tim laughed. “Please don't- god I- I'm already embarrassed enough! Its not like its a crime to- to date!”

“Some would say it is a crime to stay on speaking terms with an ex though.” Sasha said with a grin.

“Some would also say it's quite a choice to keep your ex's number in your phone when you never even told them where you work!” Tim added.

“They dated in university!” Martin said with exasperation, then as quickly as he could, tried to salvage it by adding “PROBABLY! I don't know! But I know I shouldn't know! And I really like Jon not hating me anymore, please can we drop it?”

Tim stroked his chin. “You do do crazy stuff in uni. It's plausible Jon might even date in a wild time like that.”

“Okay but Martin!” Sasha said, leaning in with excitement. “Isn't this really good to know? Don't you want to find out his type?”

Tim was sparkling. “If we aren't following him let's at least watch What the Ghost.”

Sasha agreed enthusiastically, and Martin wished the floor knew how to swallow him whole.

He was full of nothing but regrets.

“Hey! It's been a long time, are you just in town or something?” Georgie said as she pulled her bag around and sat across from him. Jon shook his head and sighed. He was nursing a headache thanks to the… antics of his team, but he wasn't intending to take that out on Georgie.

“No- I took a train. I'm still in London.” He said, trying to chase the awkwardness out of his tone as he sighed.

“Oh. Well okay. You wanted tooo talk about the industry right? You said you met Melanie?” Jon nodded. Georgie sighed, smiling sadly. “She's got it rough right now. I feel bad, everyone's spreading weird rumors. So you- believe her then?”

Jon nodded, folding his hands carefully. “Yes. Though I'd appreciate it if you don't tell her that. We had a… tiff about it at the time and I'd rather not rehash it.”

Georgie blinked several times, then looked shocked. She pointed. “Wait you were the Magnus Institute Asshole?!” He flushed, and gave her an indignant frown. She laughed. “Sorry. That was too much. I just had no idea, you used to believe everything back in the day. Now you work for Magnus? Really?”

She was so good natured, he actually found himself smiling a little despite himself. “I needed a job, Georgie. And I wasn't about to start making videos. You know how badly that would go.”

“Woow, imagine.” She laughed, then looked mischievously thoughtful. “Actually, I could see it. There's a target audience for grumpy you know. People eat the ‘bad attitude’ angle up.” Jon grimaced at the thought.

“I would have suffered a tragic downfall very quickly, when I had a panic attack, live on air.” He said it dryly, but it was nice to speak to her again. Georgie had always been vibrant and easy to talk to, and it only seemed to have blossomed since they parted ways. “It's good to see you, Georgie.”

“It's good to see you too Jon. Really. You should come back to mine after lunch, Madame had a kitten and the Admiral is a big boy.” Jon raised his eyebrows in shock.

“I thought she'd been spayed?” She gave him a conspiratory look.

“Come here. Closer.” She leaned in as close as he was willing to allow, a dark curiosity clear on his features. “So did I.” She finally said, and Jon snorted.

“So they lied when you adopted her. Fantastic.” Georgie nodded in mock sadness.

“Yep, and by the time I knew why she was hiding a few weeks every summer, because believe me she wanted me nowhere near her, it was already too late. She'd gotten around the neighborhood if you know what I mean.” He sort of felt bad for her, having that sprung on her.

“I had no idea. She was still a kitten last time I saw you.” He said. She shrugged.

“I mean finding out my 8 year old spayed kitty was pregnant was a shock, but in the end it wasn't that big a deal. I kept Admiral, because he was such a mama's boy, but the others weren't hard to find homes for. It was… an adventure.” She smirked wryly. “But I swear, Admiral got his surgery as soon as it was safe.”

He shook his head, reeling slightly at the story. “Your life is so-” he paused, realizing with morbid amusement that he had been about to call that exciting. He laughed. She looked curious. “Sorry. My job has been… eventful as of late. I just had a moment of perspective.”

“Well- that's fine. Did you want to talk about your work thing then? I did answer the email the institute sent about Melanie's experience. I don't know much of anything about where Sarah might have gone.” She was clearly sincere, but Jon shook his head.

“No- I am interested in a more personal take on it. What was working with Sarah Baldwin like? You must have met at least 3 times, if the first contact was through a networking event.” Jon watched her carefully as she considered this. If the stare bothered her, she hadn't said anything in the last 15 years.

She did not today, either. “Yes, I did. The first time was way back, right out of school. I was barely getting started in the industry at that point, so I took basically anyone's card that'd give me one.” She rested her cheek on a fist and sipped her coffee absent-mindedly. “I didn't actually contact her for a long time. I didn't have money to even hire a sound tech before 2008, and it took me years even after that before I looked her up for an on-site episode.”

Jon continued to stare, too interested to watch his questions, though he would be pretty sure later she hadn't been forced into answering any of them. “What was she like? The… personality described by Melanie King was- memorable.”

Georgie laughed. “Wow, you could say that. It wasn't actually much back when we first met, she smelled very strongly of cigarettes, but so did plenty of people, and she was fine enough to be around. Shy, maybe.” She met Jon's curious stare with a knowing one of her own. “When we actually worked together it was different of course. No skin gloves or anything mind you. She was just less friendly, less considerate. I figured she had been through some shit to be honest. I never asked, but she'd sometimes get this far away look in her eyes when she didn't need to be working on something.”

Jon listened. He did not need to take notes, but he would copy down the information on Melanie's tape later.

“Nothing weirder than her being weird happened when I worked with her, Jon. Both times, she wasn't an ideal teammate, and I needed to air out my flat whenever she was over, but she just did her job, then left.” She pursed her lips. “I thought she was a normal kind of weirdo, if you get me.”

“...And now?” He asked carefully.

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I believe Melanie?” Jon winced, because he clearly was, and nodded stiffly. “I suppose… yea. Melanie isn't a liar, and Sarah's been radio silence since last year. Something definitely happened. No reason not to believe Melanie about what it was.”

“Why not… defend her in the industry then?” Jon asked. Georgie looked amused.

“What makes you think I haven't?”

“Er-” Jon hesitated. “Honestly? She sounded like no one in the world believed her, or she wouldn't have been making a statement at all.”

Georgie looked down. Jon winced as he recognized the signs that he had made her sad. “Honestly? I think she got mad at me because I told her she shouldn't look into it. The whole community is making stuff up at this point, just trying to bully her out of the scene. It's awful, but the solution shouldn't be jumping back into danger and hoping this time it tapes better. You know?” She smiled, and it was a matching shade of melancholic. “I'm worried about her. What she might… do. To prove she was right. She doesn't appreciate me meddling.”

“I see- I'm sorry Georgie, I-” he jumped as she put a careful hand on his.

“It's fine Jon. I know how to say shove off if I don't want to talk about it. I'm a very successful youtube star now, remember? I can be a major Diva if I want to be.” Her tone coaxed a laugh out of him despite himself.

“Right. Well- you're a good friend Georgie. I'm… sure she knows that.” A flash of pain passed through her smile. Jon tried not to panic.

“You- do know why she went to you? Why everyone is treating her like this?” Georgie asked carefully. “I know you've never really been the type with social media.”

“She… was discredited in some way, and her colleagues don't believe her, so she talked to us?” Georgie's face twisted and he knew very instantly that was… not correct.

“I'm saying it because it's public knowledge, and if you see her again I really want you to try to be nice. This information is a bribe. Got it?” She watched him in only slightly mocking seriousness.

“...Got it.” He said with a sigh. “I will do… my best, if she were to return. But she wasn't exactly pleasant to me either.” He added with a little snip. Georgie rolled her eyes.

“That doesn't mean you need to escalate. And I'll ask her too. So- she was injured pretty badly actually, not long before she went to give her statement. Arrested too, caught on film by a dog walker, screaming about… ghosts.” Georgie sighed. “I knew she was going to get hurt, but- obviously, the video was bad. It really did the rounds while she was in lockup. By the time the trainyard dropped charges, she'd already been marked and no one cared what the truth was anymore.”

“I… see. Is she… okay? Physically, I mean.” Jon asked hesitantly. He didn't feel guilty in particular for arguing with her, considering the way she was deriding his work and institution, but… he could at least care that she suffered harm.

Georgie knew him well enough to know he did actually care about the answer and shrugged. “It was nasty. I'm surprised you didn't notice the bandages, but she is the type to hide it under a big coat so.. Well, anyway. It was long and jagged and it's not good but there won't be muscle damage. So I'm taking what I can get.”

He nodded. “You must be close. You sound quite worried about her. Fretting is… rather unlike you.” To his absolute shock, she blushed. Jon squinted, trying to determine the meaning behind the expression on her face.

“Oh stop it!” She huffed, and covered her face with a hand. “Stop giving me that look.”

Jon let his face shift into a scowl. “What look? I am not giving you a look!”

“Yes you are! It's that look that means you just spotted a foreign mammalian behavior pattern, and you're about to take notes!” She was definitely flustered, but… “Jon! Goddamnit, yes ok, I care about her but she doesn't exactly know how much if you get me. So drop it.”

“Oh.” He said. “I see. Well. You have my sincere apologies, I wasn't intending to pry into your private life and it is perfectly acceptable for us to move on-”

“Oh god sudden formal Jon is worse nevermind.” she stood, holding out a hand to him expectantly.

He stared at it.

“What?”

“Take the hand Jon. You look positively dead on your feet. We're going to see the Admiral. No buts.” And no chance she would let him just go back to work in a timely manner.

Jon sighed, and took her hand.

“Fine. I would love to meet The Admiral.”

Martin felt a little bit guilty that he distracted his fellows with Jane Prentiss's statement. Really. They'd become sombre and antsy almost immediately, and Martin had to remind himself a total of twelve times while they listened to Jon's recording that they needed to find out about this as soon as possible.

Sasha shivered.

“---The institute was consulted of course, as during her admission to the hospital she had claimed to be…. Possessed. She- ah…” there was a clattering and a shuffling on the recording, interrupting Jon's regurgitation of the case knowledge without any need for the team to research. “---Where… was I? This statement seems to have… taken more out of me than I usually…” The creaking of the desk, and the shuffling of papers. Then, a soft thud. “....I am tired, I think. End…”

“Did Jon pass out at the end of that?” Tim asked with no small amount of horror.

“I- I think so?” Martin said, regretting it strongly that he had avoided listening until now. “He was still here when I woke up yesterday, he… was asleep at his desk? I think?”

Sasha put her head in her hands. “That is beyond just he needs to get some sleep. That sounded- weird. Like crashing from an adrenaline high. He passed out mid sentence.”

“Well- finding her statement probably was one.” Tim said, but he looked just as concerned. “But this seems er- pretty bad either way. He's clearly not sleeping enough.”

They stilled as they realized the tape had still been playing in the silence of Jon's quiet breathing. The sound of footsteps quietly entering the office. Tim looked at Martin questioningly and he shook his head in an emphatic ‘no’.

They all stared at the recorder in alarm as Elias chuckled.

“What the fuck.” Sasha said with some urgency. “What the actual fuck?”

“-- You really should learn to pace yourself, Jon.” Elias said. He sounded amused. “--Two statements in a day is a tad bit much for you at this stage. Ah. There it is.” The muffled sound of the recorder being fiddled with followed. “Lets not waste the film on the entire night, hmm? Recording ends.”

The recording clicked off.

“I think I feel sick.” Martin announced with a pained breath. “I thought he went home!”

“He did!” Tim defended with indignation. “ But I don't stake out his house! He must have gone back later!”

Sasha sighed and picked up the recorder. “It… sounds like recording statements might be- hurting him?” She said with a questioning glance at the two of them. “That's what it sounded like right?”

“I suppose? Or he was just really tired and needs more sleep like we already know he does?” Martin countered frantically.

“Either way, we need to do something about Elias.” Tim said, shaking his head. “Change the locks or something. He can not be creeping down here while people sleep.”

“We'll talk to Jon when he gets back from lunch.” Sasha announced.

The other two agreed immediately.

But Jon did not come back from lunch.

Martin's first instinct was abject fear, but Tim just looked… activated. Sasha had taken initiative to send an email to Georgina Barker checking in, because she didn't want to waste time speculating if Martin was… correct to panic.

Tim was willfully unwilling to hear of any explanation aside from Jon rekindled a flame with an old girlfriend, and Martin was impressed at himself for how little he cared if that were the case.

“I hope so.” Martin sighed, checking the time. The work day was almost over. “God I hope this is some weird romance thing.” Tim also looked impressed.

“Are you finally getting over him then? Don't mind if he starts dating? You really freaked earlier.” Martin flushed a deep red.

“I was- it was a bad reaction and I don't want to talk about it. I would be HAPPY to learn Jon was out on a date right now.” Tim stared at him hard and Martin had to weigh his new animation against his own anxiety over Jon's safety in order to decide if he was happy about this conversation.

He eventually decided to reserve judgment for when they knew more.

Sasha sighed. “I wish he had gone through email, then I could at least get the address they met at.” She was clicking away at something on her computer. “It looks like Georgie Barker is based outside of London, so I might be able to find ticket records, but that will just confirm if he went to her, not where they met.”

Martin sat near her, leg bouncing anxiously. “You- you don't think she's secretly a monster, right?” He asked weakly. Sasha gave him a thin smile. At least she didn't look annoyed.

“I find it very unlikely.” She assured him. “She's a well known public figure in a lot of internet circles, and she's always well liked.”

“Elias is also well liked.” Tim pointed out and Sasha huffed at him.

“Who's side are you on? I thought you were convinced it was a hookup.”

Tim shrugged, a flash of the strain he was clearly trying to bury flashing across his face before he could hide it. “I'd rather be optimistic. But public image is not what we should be trusting.”

“Then trust Jon knows- Oh!” Sasha leaned forward, catching both men's attention and Martin joined Tim instantly in eagerly crowding Sasha's desk. “I got an email. Now mind you, whatever it says could be an absolute lie if she's evil-”

“Just open it please!” Martin begged.

Sasha opened the reply from Georgie Barker, and laughed a little before she could restrain it.

Sorry for stealing him, but I think he needed the break. I'll give him back tomorrow, promise. -G -

A photo was inserted into the message, clearly taken from a phone camera. In it Jon was out like a light, peaceful as anything with a cat the size of a toddler settled quite happily on his chest. It looked like it was kneading his jacket.

“Wow.” Tim said. He sounded impressed. “I didn't think boss could look… peaceful.”

Sasha smiled a little, and glanced at Martin. Martin smiled back, sighing in relief a moment later.

“I'm so glad.” He said weakly.

“Now Martin, this could be a staged photo to cover up a kidnapping.” Tim said in a tone that made Martin laugh despite himself. “Or” Tim added mischievously, “This could be post hookup. It is pretty intimate.”

“Yeah between him and the cat” Sasha said with a snort. “I think they're just friends now. Anyone could see how much Jon needed to sleep, and honestly, I'm kind of glad he's doing it somewhere far from a certain creep upstairs.”

They could all agree to that.

Martin sighed deeply, letting himself sink into his chair like unset gelatin. “I did not get anything done this afternoon.” He admitted weakly. “Jon's going to kill me tomorrow.”

Sasha patted him. “Just throw a few of the digital compatible statements into the system. It'll be fine, he doesn't need any information on Prentiss he seems to have it memorized.” Tim also patted his shoulder, and Martin got the impression his worrying must have really worried them too.

“And get some sleep too.” He said. “You don't look that much better than Jon does, Martin.”

Martin smiled weakly. “Well it's been… stressful. Jon's asked for CO2 three times in the last week because worms are getting into the archives and I-”

“You don't need to explain yourself.” Tim promised. His smile was more gentle than it had been in a long time. “Just get some actual rest. If the monsters are after Jon, none of them are going to pick now to attack.”

“That- that's… true, I suppose.” Martin said, fiddling with the hem of his cardigan. “Unless- they take hostages-”

“Which Elias has effectively already done, and Prentiss has made pretty clear she won't be bothering with.” Sasha said with finality. “And the fire lady and Michael- well, they don't seem to want to get close to the archives. Or can't.”

Tim nodded. “You should call it early today Marto. Go to bed before… 10. That's an order.” Martin laughed awkwardly.

“I suppose that gives me time to do the digital files, since I don't go home.” he agreed. Tim nodded, pleased. Sasha did too a bit more brightly.

“Do you need us to stick around a while?” She suggested gently. Martin shook his head with another very deep breath. “Alright. Then I'm going to head out. Yesterday was a lot, and today wasn't much better.”

Martin debated asking if the two of them would be willing to head out together, since the buddy system felt especially appealing after a day of worrying, but Tim beat him to it.

“I'll walk you to the tube.” He said firmly. She smiled at him and he grinned back a little sheepish. “I'm allowed to be freaked by my weird ‘fire lady’! Sometimes I don't want to go home alone.”

Sasha stood, starting to pack up. “You don't need to explain. I don't mind being your knight in argyle if it helps.” Tim laughed a little, and Martin couldn't help a tiny little smile. “Let's go, princess Stoker. The dragon won't take you while I'm on the job.”

Tim snorted derisively. “More like a demon. But sure. I'll grab my stuff. You going to be ok Martin?”

Martin nodded.

“I'll text you when I see if double boss has left or not.” he promised.

There must have been some shuffling and leadup to their exit together, but Martin felt lightheaded from relief and he was pretty sure he missed most of it. He remembered saying goodbye, remembered Sasha giving him a quick hug; and then he was alone.

Car still here, be careful in there. Tim's text said a few minutes later. Martin grimaced, and took the opportunity to lock the entrance to the archives before he got back to work.

Elias probably had a key, but it was at least… something between them. And Martin really did need to get some filing done before he tried to sleep.

Two hours into tedious sorting and scanning, and Martin had realized that he would definitely be alone tonight, and sighed in guilty relief at the prospect of being able to contact his Jon again.

Certainly, he hoped the reason he couldn't the last two nights was because of his friends being close, rather than Jon somehow- locking him out because he knew it was dangerous for Martin to try to go there intentionally.

But he… sort of had to. Like, maybe he didn'thave to. But also he did. They'd officially agreed they were dating for one. And grudgingly Martin admitted more importantly, he had a lot of questions he needed to ask. One of which was very important.

He wasn't going to let Jon push off the topic of his freedom from the fog twice. He'd given him his chance to think it over. Now… Tim wanting answers was just one of many reasons this needed to be resolved.

Martin painstakingly made sure he got at least a little more work done, before he retreated to his actual bubble of privacy and tried to make a list on his phone of what he needed to ask.

Melanie King, eyes???
Tim and fire lady
Table! Can we destroy??
Sasha and Michael
Elias creeping (and owning!)
Get him OUT of fog

Right.

He searched his memories of the last few weeks carefully for other topics he absolutely had to ask, but eventually settled into those 6. Maybe if it… felt natural, he could ask about his Jon's childhood or… Georgie. But neither one felt like they were important enough to sit beside his other concerns.

It was time to sleep.

Quickly, before he could forget, Martin scribbled a note for the others on the hopefully slim chance his journey wasn't complete by the time they got into work. They wouldn't be pleased, obviously. But they would understand if he made it clear this was to stop the secrets.

Martin settled in, closing his eyes after stashing his phone in his bag just in case, and tried to relax into the knowledge that he was alone. It almost felt foggy before he was fully asleep, but you never really… know the moment you.... fall.. asleep.

It was predictably cold when Martin came to, in the Lonely as he had hoped.

His heart was pounding, knowing this was going to be a very important conversation. He could not take ‘I can't leave’ as an answer. He promised himself he wouldn't. Then Martin looked around.

Like the last time he'd come himself, his Jon wasn't in immediate sight. The fog was thick and mesmerizing as usual, just endless in all directions.

Martin stood. He had been laying on the ground, in the position he fell asleep in. He shook that off, forcefully telling himself that was not a bad sign. It was just normal.

Finding his Jon again was much more important. He looked around, not really expecting to see a break in the fog. There.. wasn't.

But it was still different from last time. No visual indication of Jon, but Martin could… sort of feel something anyway. Like a hook in his heart, gently pulling him in what was otherwise a completely random direction.

He stepped in again, this time very much prepared for the wave of aimlessness that tried to flow into him when he did. Being ready with a checklist did actually seem to push it aside much faster. Martin started moving in long, purposeful strides.

Jon wasn't curled up this time. He still looked far too small, standing there in nothingness, but he was standing, and he actually turned towards Martin as he approached.

He sighed, looking equal parts relieved and displeased to see him.

“Martin, I told you not to come back here on purpose.” He said in way of greeting. Martin smiled wearily.

“Hello, I missed you too thanks.” He replied, and Jon rolled his eyes before stepping closer and wasting no further time to warm Martin's prickling cheeks with his warm hands.

“Obviously. But it's bad for you here. You can't keep doing this. I- will be fine. I promise.” Martin would have none of it. He took both Jon's hands, resting his own on top of them but didn't move them from his face.

“You have to realize that's not happening without big changes, Jon.” His Jon flushed, eyes flicking away. “I have a lot to talk to you about and I'll give you until we have before I really bother you about getting out of here because I know you don't want to talk about it. So prepare yourself.” He sounded very assertive, which he appreciated, though Jon visibly did not.

“Martin, it's not as simple as-” he was cut off by Martin pressing a finger to his lips.

“I'm not taking arguments. I'm sorry, but it's not just about me being worried about you anymore. The others need to know about you and I cannot explain without you there too. Please.” Jon looked at him, not in agreement, but without argument. It reminded Martin a bit of how real Jon looked when forced to talk about his childhood, and Martin suspected it was very likely a similar feeling for him.

“...You said you had a lot of questions.” Jon sighed. Martin smiled gratefully.

“Right! I made a list but obviously I couldn't take those with me here. But first was- well, not first- but Sasha, she met Michael like you said.” Jon closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the shimmering green of his irises felt focused.

“Did she go alone?” He asked, and when Martin nodded he sighed. “Great. Of course she did. Was there an injury in her shoulder from-”

“From where Michael took out a worm.” Martin finished with a nod. “It didn't feel like there was too much to tell you didn't already know? But I figured I should say anyway.”

“It… helps with the timeline.” Jon confirmed with a tired smile. “Have you had luck getting the suppression systems upgraded? It took me months-” Martin nodded enthusiastically, practically sparkling with pride.

“Yep! Right away. I wouldn't tell him how I figured out he was watching if he didn't and- you know it was really insulting actually, he seemed totally unwilling to believe I just figured it out. Thought I'd found something.” Martin huffed, and would have folded his arms grumpily if he wasn't holding Jon's face in return now, because it felt nice and his fingers were cold.

Jon thought for a small moment. “He was probably worried Gertrude had left another copy of her… 'job introduction' he had somehow missed.” He said. “He stole the original, but it did tell her… presumed successor about how he sees.”

“Oh… well, I didn't. And it was still insulting. I just… thought after the eye monster-” Jon twitched. “And how he was watching everything it felt like, that maybe his obsession with eye flavoured decoration was… well. Intentional. You ok?” Martin leaned in a little, and Jon blushed. It was very cute.

“I'm… fine. He always managed to underestimate you, so it's really not a surprise to hear he's still doing it here.” Jon said softly, and now Martin was also blushing. Jon glanced away, then at Martin again hesitantly. It felt like he was expecting something. “What– other questions did you have? I'm… not trying to hide anything from you Martin.”

Martin hated how frail he sounded when he said it. “I know that! I know that. I trust you, obviously I do. I just have things we didn't have the chance to talk about.” Jon nodded slightly. He still looked anxious. Martin pushed on, in hopes that just getting through them would allay some of his fear. “I did want to touch on Elias obviously- he clearly sees through all the eyes at the institute, but-”

“Not just the institute.” Jon interrupted pointedly. “He's not that limited. It's anything that can function as an eye. Images, cameras, even street lights, he isn't constantly paying attention to everything at once so it's not impossible to surprise him, but he is not limited to just Institute property.” Martin paled.

“Oh god- that's worse than I thought, how- isn't that really powerful? How is that even fair?” Jon laughed, and it sounded grim.

“He has a device. He has constant access to it, and it expands his reach near infinitely. Unless it's countered by another power that hides information naturally. Darkness, the Unknown- etc. He can only use it on one thing at a time, but he also has two eyes so he can effectively look at two things at a time. But he can switch between them quite fast if needed.” Martin hated that. It looked like Jon also hated that. He pursed his lips, then added, “You… could maybe… kill him while he's…. No- no, then you would get pulled into it- and the contract...” he blinked when Martin shook him gently to recenter him.

“Let's try to focus. You start sounding far away when you do that.” Martin pleaded gently. Jon looked apologetic. “So- after everything with Michael, I stayed clear for a while because I promised you some time to… think. But some more things happened recently that had me thinking it really isn't something we can keep stalling on.” He leaned in carefully, and rested his forehead to Jon's like he had when he was hiding in his home in terror. Jon's eyelids fluttered rather prettily. “First off, the table you told me about. The one that got you really upset? It got delivered, and Jon- the my boss Jon- wants to destroy it if I think it's dangerous-”

“Don't destroy it.” Jon said sharply, and Martin laughed.

“That's exactly what I felt like when he said it. But I don't know why, you didn't say not to last time, I just felt it, like I feel the memories of you sometimes…”

“It's the right instinct. There's a statement- I find it maybe a year from now I think. 9941509 and 0011206. They are instances of the same phenomenon as case 0070107.” Martin nodded suddenly in understanding.

“The Amy Patel case! Yes I looked it up, it's about… someone being replaced.” Jon smiled and nodded.

“Specifically, in case 0011206, the table is used in a ritual that the statement giver had no real understanding of, but resulted in the monster being subdued.” He looked at Martin meaningfully. “Into the table.”

He gasped. It was mostly in understanding but part of him did feel a bit like he had to be a good audience for the reveal. “So it's the only thing keeping it away from people.” He said. Jon sighed.

“More or less. But that doesn't protect someone who ends up alone with it. So ideally it would just be thoroughly locked away.” Jon said. Martin nodded. “I… made the mistake of releasing it. In my own… well. It isn't a friendly monster. It would be best if it wasn't given the opportunity."

He looked a little ashamed, but mostly anxious. He hadn't really been able to directly meet Martin's eyes in quite a while too, and it was with a start he realized his Jon managed to do so a lot more often than real Jon did in other circumstances. “...I'll make sure everyone knows.” Martin said firmly. Jon smiled quickly and nodded.

His finger was tapping nervously against Martin's cheek now, only seeming to get more agitated. “So. What else did you need to… confirm?” He was now obviously waiting for a specific question. Martin wished he could read minds.

“Anyway. More… more questions. Tim ran into a strange woman- and my boss Jon, said it sounded like she was from the- ‘lightless flame’?” Martin tried. This seemed to catch Jon quite fully off guard. “Did that- not happen on your end?”

“Not- not that Tim told me.” Jon said, and his voice sounded quite shocked too. “Did they… hurt him? Burn him?”

Martin shook his head. “She just scared him really bad. He thought she might be trying to… recruit him?” He tried, and it was clear this was also news to Jon. “She talked herself out of it I guess, cause she let him go but- Jon? What do you know about her?”

Jon seemed like he was trying to smile around his concern, but it was a flat thin line. “Jude Perry, if I were to guess. She is… a violent and zealous worshipper of pain with a grudge against Gertrude Robinson.” He sighed, and closed his eyes to gather himself. “Their cult lost… everything a few years back. Gertrude was a major player in that loss, but they mostly just liked to destroy places of power for fun, or I suppose profit sometimes. They're dangerous, but… aimless now.”

Martin followed Jon's gaze when it flicked down, and found himself staring at the blackened handprint. It made him feel a little sick. “She… sounds awful, regardless.”

“She was.” Jon said with a heavy breath, then he tore his eyes away from his own scars. “Keeping her away from Tim would be a very good idea. He… has it in him to join them. If he felt hopeless enough. That's probably why she was there.” Jon looked very sad. “If Tim has nothing left to lose, he sort of just… starts wanting to see the whole world burn.”

It was very much clear that this was exactly what had happened in Jon's version of his life, and it made Martin queasy. “That won't be happening.” Martin said firmly. “We're in this together. Tim wants to be in this together.” The regret only seemed to grow on Jon's face at the words.

“Yes, it… was me. I mean- my fault he didn't feel like he had that when I was…” He sighed. “And Sasha is a grounding force in his life. As long as nothing happens to her, I can't imagine he can be pulled too far afield."

Martin wished he had the time and capacity to just take in everything Jon was regretting all at once, so he could understand. But he knew that was too much. He wasn't sure he'd even be ABLE to retain a lifetime's experience dumped on his all in one go.

He just pressed close, deciding at least to pull Jon down to rest with him on the ground in a proper hug. “Um… if you need a moment, just-” Jon shook his head. “...Right. Then, I guess that leaves… Melanie King?” He said it like a question, hoping Jon remembered her and was startled by the violent flinch he heard at the name.

“Melanie- already made her statement then. Right. Of course, that wasn't that long after Michael and Sasha…” he sounded if possible even more strained than he had about Tim.

“Jon-?” He tried. Jon sighed.

“Yes. Sorry. What was your question about Melanie?”

Martin pulled Jon close before answering, taking him into a preemptive hug. “When I looked at her she had no eyes.” Predictably, Jon jolted violently at the words and tried to pull away. Martin plowed on. “But she did, after I blinked. She was normal. I was seeing things, and it was scary but it also wasn't.. real.”

Jon tensed, then noticeably forced himself to relax. “I… see. So you… wanted to know why you would see something like that.” Martin nodded. “That… was likely a memory. Like your dreams may be. Not of that moment, but of far in the future. She… does it to herself. To get away from… the eye. Elias. It's one of the only ways to ‘quit’ as it were.”

God, he didn't want to hear that. Jon had clearly not wanted to say it either, and they both sat in the discomfort for a moment. Collecting themselves. “...So she joins the institute later.” Martin said finally. Jon nodded. “...And she hated it so much she…”

“Melanie is not someone who takes well to being trapped.” Jon said wearily. “And by the time she joined the team, no one was feeling very… friendly anymore.” Martin looked shocked. Jon shrugged. “Including you. It had been hard on everyone. And it was… sort of hard to welcome her to the team I imagine, when you know what working for J- Elias actually entails.”

“God, stuff just… sucked nonstop, didn't it?” Martin asked with a strained laugh. Jon echoed it.

“Yes, mostly. I think the most peaceful it ever got was… when the two of us were in hiding.” Jon tensed after saying it, and Martin didn't need to ask to know it had not been anywhere close to ideal, even then.

“...So… it sounds like there's a lot of things that might still happen, that you want to change.” Martin started tentatively.

Jon laughed again. “Yes, you could say that Martin.” It was still bitter. Martin swallowed, then pushed on.

“Then change it.” He said.

Jon looked directly at him again for the first time in what felt like hours. “I can't-” he paused, then sighed as he realized this was just Martin's opening line. “Martin…”

“I can tell you know how to get out of the fog.” Martin pushed. Jon tried to shift away, and he refused to budge. “Jon, please. I know you feel like you need to be- to be punished for things that haven't even happened yet-”

“They have happened Martin. They just got the opportunity to happen twice because of me.” Jon shot back, and he really did sound upset. He was tense, and resistant. A dark self hatred seeped through his form and words, making the area around them both sticky and cold. “And you may not be— thinking about it, but there are very obvious reasons I can't just- get up and take a walk in the real world.”

Martin gritted himself against the torrent of negativity. “You say that, but you know you could help. Probably even more than you've let on! So even if you won't do it for you-”

“Martin stop.”

“Or for me-” he continued, and forced himself to ignore the genuine distress that entered Jon's voice in his next protest.

“Martin please-”

“But you clearly care about the others. You know the danger they're in, you could save Sasha, you could support Tim this time-”

“It's not that EASY, Martin!” Jon shouted, and it was the first time his Jon had ever raised his voice to him. Martin flinched, but did not buckle.

“I think it's easier than you're pretending it is! You- you promised you wouldn't just give up! I might not remember anything specific but I know you did! You PROMISED me Jon, and you hiding out here? It is NOT keeping that promise.” Martin was never quite sure what to do when he felt his instincts being overtaken by feelings he was pretty sure belonged to his past life, but he felt so particularly in line with its current frustration, he didn't even want to understand it right now. He just let it talk.

Because Jon had frozen, going pale and guilty again and Martin didn't want him to feel guilty but he obviously knew he was breaking their promise and Martin's inner Martin had clearly had Enough.

“I don't even care about whatever you did right now, you can make that up to me later when I'm not risking my life every time I want to see you because you're– so bent on torturing yourself in the Lonely rather than trying to make a healthy productive decision like, I don't know! OWNING UP?” It was in that moment of Martin just letting his mouth move without filtering it through his head first, that he realized he was actually really mad at his Jon.

The guilt and apologies he'd flash at Martin every so often, it hadn't been some irrational self hatred. He didn't know what it was, but Jon had fucked up. Not just in general, but with Martin.

And they'd promised to stay together anyway.

He took a shuddering breath.

It was clear Jon had messed up. But Martin could feel that same insideous bitterness creeping up his own throat, turning his words jagged and harsh.

Calm down, Martin. Stay together anyway.

You aren't going to stop following now. And neither will he.

“Jon I really need you. Now. You can't hide anymore. You can do something. So you have to.”

Jon put his hands carefully on Martin's shoulders. He no longer looked frustrated or cowed. He looked… like he was gearing himself up for something very hard.

“I cannot promise that.” He spoke sharply over Martin's immediate attempt at protest. “Not. Yet. Because you… need to be aware of everything and you clearly aren't- somehow.”

“Jon why can't you-”

“Martin WAIT. Just be QUIET for a second. I'm sorry I've been avoidant, and I- haven't been adhering to the spirit of our promise– again. I am. I really am. But Before I can promise anything else there's something I need to make completely clear to you.”

Martin tried to struggle, but it was suddenly impossible to leave Jon's grip. He did not budge an inch. It was frankly a completely jarring experience after his not-entirely-him-but-still-technically-him explosion. “What is it then?!” He demanded in exasperation. Jon looked him in the eye.

The green looked unnatural, and familiar.