Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I know”

Jon could only Watch as Tim activated the C4, a hate filled grin plastered on his lost friend’s face, as the building came down and Jon wondered if Martin was okay.

The Eye Watched the nightmares that played out in Jon’s mind.  If it was honest, which the entity of knowing tended to be, it was getting rather stale.  Night after night, the same fears of the same people.  The only noticeable difference from the start months ago to now was that they stopped crying out to Jon for help and only cried because of pain or fear.

The fear this fed it was doable, but it didn’t gain anything new from watching the same lady be alone in an empty grave or the same man hold a beating, bloody heart.  It Knew that Jonah Magnus was working towards bringing about the Watchers Crown, but in the meantime there were already so many statements in the Archives that it hadn’t fed on yet.  The Crown would likely ruin the fragile papers that Jonah would be too careless to preserve and the Eye wanted to Know their stories.

Its Archivist couldn’t awake yet, not when he hadn’t accepted his role and he was too far gone to be solely human anymore.  But the Eye could send his mind back to when he was.  

Knock knock.

Jon startled awake, a crick in his neck from how he had folded himself over his desk.  His desk?  Was he back in his office down in the Archives?  He blearily looked around the room.  Yes this was his office.

How did he get here?  The last thing he remembered was Tim activating the C4 and then nothing.  Maybe some half lucid dreams?  Beside that, he was sure that after being that close to an explosion and presumably being inside of a collapsing building, he would be waking up in a hospital or maybe be stuck in a coma.  Maybe it wasn’t as bad as they had expected it to be or maybe Gertrude’s C4 didn’t pack as big of a punch as they needed.  Jon just hoped that it was enough to stop the Unknowing.

“Um,” he heard from behind the office door before it creaked open, “Jon, it’s five pm already.  Are you almost done?”  Martin, it was Martin.  He was alive.  Jon let out a small sigh of relief that Martin was still okay after offering himself as a distraction to stop Elias.  Jon smiled at him.

“Done with what?”  As far as he was aware, there wasn’t any paperwork needed for blowing up a wax museum.  As long as you’re not caught, that is.

Martin shuffled on his feet, face flushing, “W-with your statement?”  He gestured to Jon’s desk weakly, “If you’re going to stay much longer I can make you some tea?”

Martin’s tea is the best part of the Archives, aside from Martin himself, and as Jon straightened his back, feeling his spine pop and his neck crick before settling back down into his chair, he decided he needed some.  “That would be lovely.  Thank you, Martin.”  He smiled and nodded to the man before turning back to his desk to try and figure out what he was supposed to be doing.  Martin made a flustered noise that sounded somewhat close to “goodbye” before hurrying off to the kitchen.

Jon skimmed through the pile of papers on his desk.  He still wasn’t quite sure why he was there, but memory loss wasn’t too uncommon after traumatic head injuries.  Maybe whatever made him black out during the Unknowing cause some spots in his memory?  How long had it been since the circus?  His dreams didn’t give him much scale, but Martin didn’t seem too worried so it couldn’t have been long.  Was he so confused from the Unknowing that he didn’t remember coming back?  Jon shook his head.  He was back and that’s what mattered at the moment.

The papers he had been absentmindedly sorting through looked like a statement along with some notes for follow up, but he didn’t get much more of a look before he heard a chair roll across the assistant’s room to his open door.

“Boooooooss, I thought you said no sources of ignition in the Archives-” Tim smirked as he propped his feet up against the door frame and leaned back against his chair “-I was sure that Martin’s hair was about to catch on fire just then.”

Tim!  Jon had forgotten about him for a second in his confusion.  Sadness shot through is mind when he thought about how even though Tim survived it’s unlikely that their friendship ever would.  He had lost his right to that when he invaded his privacy, but it looked like dealing with (read: blowing up) the Circus brought Tim’s mood back up.  Although, something about him looked distinctly off.  Jon pushed that thought back, not trusting Tim is what got him into this mess.

The thought pushed back.  Tim had been right there in the center of it all and he looked completely fine.  Was it possible that the C4 didn’t work at all?  If this was another Stranger, Jon wasn’t sure how he would handle it, emotionally speaking.

Giving Tim a careful smile, Jon shuffled his papers into a neat pile to deal with later, “What are you talking about, Tim?”  He could only hope that whatever was causing Tim’s good mood would last long enough for Jon to at least work his way back to being Tim’s acquaintance .  Glancing back up, he noticed the faint blush on Tim’s face and how Tim then almost lost his balance when Jon tilted his head in slight confusion, smile now amused and genuine.

Tim planted his feet back on the floor and stood up muttering under his breath, “oh that smile is why Martin is so smitten.”  In his normal voice, “Oh nothing, bossman.  It’s just weird seeing you treat Martin nicely for once.”

Jon almost scoffed.  “A little ironic coming from you isn’t it?”  Over the past year, Tim had become bitter and snappish on his war path to avenge his brother.  Jon could hardly say he was a saint, but neither could Tim.  He inwardly grimaced.  Damn it, he was trying to become friends with him, not antagonize him into hating him again.

Tim’s smile faltered, “Sorry, what?”

With his face settled ever so slightly closer to the bitterness Jon was used to seeing for so long, he realized what was missing.  If this was the Stranger, it was doing a shit job impersonating Tim.  Did the explosion not get all of them?  Or was this one a separate being from the Circus?  

The fact that Jon was alone in his office with only one door became more pressing.  There were always the secret tunnels, but he wasn’t keen on getting lost in those again and he didn’t want to leave Martin with this potentially dangerous thing.

Jon would have to tread carefully to try and not draw any suspicion towards himself if he wanted to get out of the Archives alive and with Martin.  “Where are your scars?”  Fuck.

“My what?”  Tim, the possible Stranger, the Not-Tim asked.  He, they, it looked down at its arms in confusion.  Jon was floundering for a second trying to think how to rephrase the question in a way that wouldn’t tip it off when Martin came back with his tea.

Oh no, Martin.  Jon couldn’t let whatever this thing get him.  They were the last two of the original Archive team left.  Jon tried to signal to him to leave, but Martin’s attention was on the thing that probably isn’t Tim who was blocking the entrance to Jon’s office.

“Oh.  Excuse me, Tim,” Martin said, as sweet and lovable as ever, but also horrifically oblivious to the danger he just walked into.

Jon’s breath stopped as he waited for the thing to attack one of them, for its body to stretch and twist Tim’s handsome and scarless face into something that could only be described as wrong.  Instead, it moved aside for Martin.  Was it trying to trap them both in there?  Eyes wide as Jon watched Martin get closer to the door.  Jon mentally willed him to RUN.

Martin stumbled in surprise.  He corrected himself and made sure he didn’t spill any tea.  “Did you guys hear that?”  He asked, looking around the assistant’s room and through Jon’s door.

The thing masquerading as Tim casted a glance around and shook its head.  “I didn’t hear anything.  What about you, boss?”

“Um…”  Well that just made it worse.  Whatever that was.  Jon Knew he somehow managed to push that thought into Martin’s mind.  At this point, the Not-Tim most likely knew that Jon suspected it.  At least, Martin was outside the office and had some chance of escaping if Jon threw himself onto the monster.

Mind racing, he reached towards a heavy paperweight on his desk in a move he hoped looked casual.  He missed the days he had an ax or maybe even a pipe that he could use.  It was morbid, but he might as well add one more murder to the office.

He had only just opened his mouth to send Martin on some inane task or to yell at him to run when another person appeared.

“Have you-”

Jon panicked, “Who are you?”  The words felt discordant and heavy as they forced themselves out of Jon’s mouth, far too big and underlined with static.  Another person in the Archives.  Most likely someone from upstairs or someone coming in to make a statement, but definitely someone he didn’t know.

He stepped around his desk, paperweight forgotten, locking his eyes with the newcomer’s.

“Sasha James,” they said in a sharp gasp, like the words were being pulled out of them.

Anger burned in Jon.  The Stranger had already taken Sasha and they dared to blasphemy her name again?  Keeping his eyes on the Not-Not-Sasha, he let his anger push him past his fear and the confused Not-Tim, grabbing Martin’s arm on the way out.  Never letting the two Not-Thems leave his sight, he backed towards the stairs and pulled Martin alongside him ignoring his sputtered question of “what are you doing?”

Was it Martin?  There were already two Strangers here, it’s possible they were all Strangers.  His grip tightened around Martin’s arm.  No, he was sure this was Martin.  The two in front of them were faces he refused to recognize as his friends.

“Don’t lie to me,” the words flowed easier now although the static only increased, “Tell me.  Who.  You.  ARE.”

“Sasha James.”  “Timothy Stoker.”  Their voices overlapped, but Jon could perfectly hear both answers.  Both lies?  He didn’t believe them, but something told him that they weren’t lying.  Static built up in his ears.

He startled and the static stopped with a hand rested on his arm, unsure of its place there.  “Jon?”  Martin looked worried.  He probably didn’t realize quite yet what was happening.  How everything was for naught and how a thing took Tim and how he was tricked into believing another thing was Sasha again.

“Get behind me, Martin,” Jon slid his hand down from Martin’s arm and into his hand, interlacing their fingers together and tried to tug him behind.  Jon knew that he wasn’t the strongest, but he’d be damned it he didn’t try to save one of the only good things in his life.

Martin stepped back in front of him.  “Jon,” he said more firmly, “What are you doing?”

Martin’s hand loosened around his, Jon held on tighter.

“I don’t know who those two are, Martin, but they are not Sasha and Tim.”  Martin’s brow furrowed in worry and with their interlocked hand, he gently pulled Jon towards him.  Towards the Not-Them.  Well if this was the way he was going to die, at the very least he got to see Martin again.

The Not-Not-Sasha and the Not-Tim came towards them.  Oh god this was it wasn’t it?  He pulled himself towards Martin, buried his face in his chest and held tightly to him, trying to project his apologies for being so weak into Martin's mind.  He held back tears and waited for the Not-Them to kill them.

What he didn’t expect was a soft, “Hey, Jon?”  That was Tim’s voice.  Or what he believes is Tim’s voice, but he couldn’t be sure of that anymore.  “Are you okay?”

“Odd question to ask before you kill me, isn’t it?”  Jon choked out.  He tried to make it sound angry, but the hoarseness and the sniffling that came afterwards made it sound just as sad as he really felt.

“Cut the crap, Jon!”  He flinched at the volume he heard a sigh from the other Not-Them as Martin finally wrapped his arms around him.  He sunk further into his comfort.  When would the Not-Not-Sasha stop tormenting them?  “You’re acting all weird and you’re currently crying into Martin’s sweater.  Something is clearly not alright and we want to help you.”

He felt Martin’s warm hands reach around to settle onto Jon’s shoulders to ease him away from Martin’s now slightly damp chest.  “Jon, what’s wrong?”  His eyes full of such open worry and compassion was too much for Jon to handle and he turned his gaze down to the floor.  His view of the dirty linoleum-weren’t these changed a few months ago?-was blocked by Martin kneeling down to his lowered eye level whilst still holding onto Jon’s shoulders.  “Jon?”

Fidgeting with the end of his sleeves, he tried to speak, but the words got stuck.

“Can’t speak?”  Jon nodded.  “That’s alright.  Do you want me to grab you a notepad and pen?”  Jon shook his head.  “That's okay, let’s sit over here though.”  Martin’s arms slipped off Jon’s shoulders, one resting across his back.  The weight was comforting and guided him to a chair near Martin’s desk.  

Jon could almost say he was proud of how well put together he was when he only let out a small whimper instead of completely breaking down when Martin removed his arm.  And how he only felt startled instead of scared when the Not-Tim pulled up a chair, sat in it, and the Not-Not-Sasha leaned up behind it.  Martin sat beside them in a chair he retrieved from Tim’s desk.  The set up a mockery of the intervention that happened so long ago.  Now with twice as many Not-Thems.

The Not-Tim spoke first, “Jon, you’re our boss, but also our friend and right now we’re worried about you.”  The Not-Not-Sasha nodded in agreement.

Jon was beginning to doubt they were Not-Thems.  Would that make them not Not-Tim and not Not-Not-Sasha?  Tim certainly looked like Tim, sans the scars, but that didn’t say much and he had no idea who the other person was.  Either way, holding another intervention when he already called them out didn’t make much sense.  Jon bowed his head sheepishly and fiddled with his sleeve-didn't this cardigan get destroyed in Prentiss' attack?  It was possible that Tim had covered up his scars.  It’s possible that Elias even hired a new assistant named Sasha James just to torment them.  How long did that explosion take him out?  How much time or memories was he missing?

He tried speaking and when that failed he grabbed a nearby sticky note and wrote “sorry” in pink ink, handwriting wobbly from Jon still learning to write with his non-dominant hand after Jude burned his other one.  He was going to have to buy Tim a new kayak to make up for this.  Especially since Tim had yet to snap at him for his hubris. 

Martin, Tim and New-Sasha read the note.  “We forgive you.  It’s… not okay, but we forgive you,” said the woman who was probably just another person coincidentally named Sasha James.  “Can you tell us what happened?  Why were you asking who we are?”

Jon looked at Tim and Martin, gesturing at her to prompt them to answer for him, although they didn’t seem to get it.  “Are you also named Sasha James,” He wrote.

“'Also'?”  She cautioned a laugh, still careful to keep him calm, “I’m not sure who else you met, but I think I’m the only Sasha James who has ever worked in the Archives.”  Jon couldn’t help but glare at her and her smile became more tense.  “You’ve worked with me before.  You had personally asked for me to work here!”

Jon wanted to scream at her, at least when his voice decided to come back, and almost started writing everything he was thinking when he realized that Martin and Tim were looking at him in concern and not at the New-Not(-Not-Not?)-Sasha.  Did they not realize all of the lies she just said?  Did Elias trick all of them?

Something wasn’t right.  Not in the way that the Stranger or the Spiral made things wrong or how any of the Fears made people feel.  Martin looked like he was trying to fold himself up to look smaller than he is like he did in their first year before he started to relax around them.  There was a stranger he couldn't recognize who probably wasn’t a Stranger, but who claimed to be Sasha James.  Tim didn’t have his worm scars.

Looking down at his own hands Jon realized he didn’t have them either.

Switching the pen to his unscarred, dominant hand, he quickly scrawled, “What's the date?”  The writing was neater, but his haste straightened the curve of the question mark to be closer to an exclamation mark.  Like he was screaming.

Not waiting for an answer he scrambled for the phone that Martin left on his desk and stared at the date on the screen.  March 14, 2016.

More than a year before The Unknowing.

Chapter Text

Martin’s first few nights living in the archives wasn’t what he would describe as pleasant.  Not that he was ungrateful for Jon’s offer to stay there!  But being there, knowing the rest of the Institute was empty aside from the odd custodian or spider was unnerving.  It was still better than staying in his apartment or paying for a motel that he couldn’t afford.

He went out for lunch or to buy groceries, stomping on a few worms at the Institute entrance, but the openness left him triple checking every inch of skin when he got back to what he deemed as safety.  Being underground and surrounded by solid walls made him feel a bit more secure about worms not getting in, but the artificial lights made it hard to tell the time.  

Jon had actually come in at some point during the weekend to work and had the gall to look surprised that Martin was there, as though he wasn’t the one who suggested it.  He wasn’t anywhere close to nice, but he didn’t snap at Martin when he greeted him.

It was awkward.  He didn’t even see Jon much since he locked himself away in his office, but it felt like Jon was watching him through the walls and judging him for actually using his break.  Martin ended up compromising between working and having time off by sitting at his desk and writing some poetry.  A few too many lines were about unrequited love and locked door metaphors.

Jon’s goodbye was curt but soft when he left and Martin had enough dignity left to feel embarrassed at how that made his heart skip a beat.

When Monday rolled around, Jon was back to being his normal rude and snappish self.  Martin was thankful that he was giving his poor heart a break.  He was sure that if Jon was nice to him more often, or God forbid he smiled at him, it might explode.

Jon still rejected his offer for lunch, but it wasn’t with a sneer so Martin counted it as a win.  Later, his tea was accepted with a distracted mumble that sounded similar to a “thank you.”

Tim and Sasha’s teasing weren’t able to dim Martin’s smile.  Not understanding what he was working on did, but he didn’t want to bother them for help and could feel the stress flooding out of him when the time to leave came.

Enduring a head ruffle from Tim, Martin knocked on Jon’s door to tell him that they were leaving.  Not that Jon left with them, but he hoped he appreciated it anyways.

Jon looked like he just woke up from a nap when Martin opened the door.  Although, he was sure that between the two of them, it was Martin that was dreaming since the next few minutes made no sense to him.

At first, Martin’s heart was going overtime when Jon had smiled at him and thanked him while looking adorably ruffled.  Then it was just going plain old overtime when he got back with Jon’s tea and Jon shouted at him to “run” of all things, but without moving his mouth or the others hearing.  Or maybe his mind just made that part up.  He barely had time to think about that when Jon asked Sasha who she was and then stormed out of his office, shouldering Tim on the way out.

Martin was sure that Jon was going to run straight into him at the pace he was going and with his eyes still locked on Sasha, but instead Jon just grabbed him and started pulling him towards the exit and ignoring his questions.  His grip was oddly strong and Martin barely managed to set the cup down without spilling it.

Martin tried to motion something, anything to Sasha and Tim who looked just as confused as he was, but Jon’s question made his ears ring and buzz with static.  His heart finally calmed down.  Jon looked scared.  He didn’t need Martin’s stupid crush on him right now, he needed someone who was thinking clearly.

The static cut off when Martin started to lead Jon to the others.  Jon tried to pull Martin behind him and Martin had to keep his brain from short circuiting and following him when Jon laced their fingers together, but Martin persisted.  He wasn’t quite sure what to do when Jon continued to insist he didn’t know the people he was friends with for years and then started crying into Martin’s chest, a person he had only met that year.

Despite being buried in his sweater, Jon’s apologies to Martin were crystal clear if quiet.  Tim and Sasha didn’t mention them.  Tim’s words were soft and Sasha’s were a bit louder, but both made Jon tense up in a way that Martin felt more than saw.  It wasn’t until Martin settled his hands around his shaking shoulders that Jon relaxed.  Pushing back his feelings, Martin pushed Jon away from his chest and they made their way to Martin’s desk when Jon had trouble speaking.

Tim had grabbed a chair and sat in it with Sasha leaning over him and Martin grabbed another to sit next to them.  It felt like one of those show and tell circles, but if the thing you were sharing was why you suddenly lashed out at your coworkers and then started crying instead of a cool rock.

It started off well enough, Jon wrote out his responses and seemed to calm down, even looked a bit sheepish.  And then he started asking Sasha who she is again.  Martin curled into himself when Jon looked at him and Tim as though they would give a different answer than “Sasha James.”  Jon stared at his hands for a second before switching the pen from his left to his right and scribbled “What’s the date?”  The garish pink ink darkening to red where it blotched.

They barely had a second to read what he wrote when he grabbed the phone left on the desk, Martin made a small noise of protest when he realized it was his, and just stared at the screen.  From where he sat, Martin didn’t think there was anything incriminating on it aside from the embarrassing Mothman lock screen Tim put when he gave Martin his number.

There weren’t any notifications on it either, just a thicc Mothman and the date and time.  Did he just want to know the date that badly?  Was the Mothman wallpaper too unprofessional for the workplace?

None of them knew what to do when Jon folded over himself and started crying.

He wasn’t shaking, but they could hear his soft gasps for breath and see the tears running from his eyes.  Sasha and Tim looked just as lost as Martin and just as worried.  Quietly, Tim pulled them back a few steps to give Jon some semblance of privacy.

Martin made sure he could keep an eye on Jon.  The tears were freely streaming down his face as he stared at the phone.  It wasn’t even on anymore.

“Did I do something?”  Sasha asked.  She glanced back at Jon and turned back to them, eyes full of worry when he didn’t notice.

“No, I don’t think so.  He started getting a bit weird earlier when he asked me about scars and last I checked I don’t have any.”  Tim looked at his arms, but no new scars manifested just to prove him wrong.

“It might have been supernatural?”  Martin still wasn’t sure where he stood with them.  They were both requested by Jon and he couldn’t help but feel like an outsider even with how welcoming they were.  “I don’t think he hit his head or anything…”  He trailed off.  God, he sounded daft.

To his surprise, Sasha nodded her head.  “Makes sense, this is an Institute to study the supernatural.  Do you suppose it might be something like that table that replaced that Graham guy?”

“Maybe,” Tim mused, “He still looks the same.  I think it’s just us he doesn’t recognize, besides Martin, so would it be a reverse spooky table?”

Martin checked on Jon.  He seemed to have calmed down and the tears had stopped flowing freely.  They should give him another minute.  “Maybe one of those Leitners he hates so much?”  Martin suggested.  A Leitner that made Jon like him, as if he would get that lucky.  But, he couldn’t bring himself to like the idea if such a book existed and made him this scared of his friends as the cost.

“Is this,” Jon’s voice, slightly hoarse, caught their attention and he coughed to clear it, “Is this the date?”  Tim picked up the phone from Jon’s extended hand, careful to keep distance, and confirmed.  Jon’s whole body lost tension, his head hung and he stared at his hands.  He looked so small.  The bags under his eyes seemed darker.

Martin looked to the others, unsure what to do next.  Jon had seemed to be okay with Martin holding him earlier so maybe?

Hesitantly, Martin knelt before Jon and put a hand on his shoulder.  Martin started to second guess himself and almost retracted it, thinking he was crossing some line that wasn’t already crossed, when Jon melted into the touch.  He almost fell off the chair to tuck his face into Martin’s shoulder and to wrap his arms around him.  His skin was cold compared to Martin’s.  In a different context, Martin would have been elated to be so close to him, but now, he was just worried and he held him.  Jon didn’t shake with tears anymore, but Martin suspected it was because he was out of them.

They stayed like that for a minute.  Martin felt a bit self conscious to have Sasha and Tim watching them, but knew they had enough tact to not bring this up later, at least for a while.

Martin could feel Jon’s arms tense right before he removed himself from Martin.  He probably felt awkward and Martin felt guilty.  Was he taking advantage of the situation?

“I suppose I should explain what just happened,” Jon’s voice was still a bit hoarse and he avoided eye contact with Martin.  Fair enough.  Shame ate away at whatever warmth Jon left behind as he stood up.  He seemed more put together, maybe he wouldn’t mention it later and crush whatever hope Martin had for a relationship, or even a friendship.  Would it be worse if Jon didn’t mention it later?

Jon frowned at the walls.  “Let’s move this discussion out of the Archives.”  He went to his office, giving them no further explanation.  Tim and Sasha shared a look, shrugged, and packed their desks without question.  There wasn’t much since they were already cleaning up for the end of the day when everything happened.

Martin was straightening up his desk when Jon came back out with his bag and Martin sneaked a glance at him, but quickly averted his eyes.  Jon was looking at him.  He was probably going to reprimand him for being unprofessional, the hypocrite, and then fire him and then he won’t have a job and then-

“Martin,” Jon snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Yes?”

Jon fidgeted, fidgeted?  It wasn’t fair that Jon was so cute for doing something as simple as just standing there.  “You’re living in the Archives, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Jon should know this.  He was the one to suggest it and saw him there just yesterday!  “If you need me to move out, I’m sure I-”

“No, no!  Well, I guess yes.”  Jon ran a hand through his hair and seemed frustrated at its length.  “I don’t want to ask this of you, but it’s best if you don’t stay here.”  At least he was being kind about it.  Elias probably found out and told him off.  

“That’s fine, I’ll grab my things and I can ask a few friends if I can stay with them for a few days.”  That was a lie, but Martin really didn’t want to get him in trouble and a few nights in his own apartment probably won’t be that bad right?  There weren’t even any worms in it anymore.

“You could stay in my-” Jon continued.

“I have room in my house!”  Tim waved from his desk.

“And mine,” Sasha gently bumped Martin’s shoulder as she passed him.  

He gaped at them.  “Thank you,” he said, a smile splitting his face.  He was lucky to have such good coworkers.  Good friends?

Martin could hear them lightly bickering over whose house he’d like more, Tim had a better kitchen but Sasha had more room, as he went to grab what little belongings he had from the other room.  There wasn’t much, just his tape recorder and a few changes of clothes.  He threw it all in a bag and threw the bag over his shoulder.

Going back up the hallway, he could hear Jon’s voice under Tim and Sasha’s laughter.  Martin smiled.  It sounded like talking to them brought him back to himself.

“-my house!”  Martin only caught the end of his sentence, everything else jumbled by Tim and Sasha.  Jon stopped once he saw Martin and Martin could’ve sworn he was blushing as he put his arms down from where they were waving in the air and just glared at some spot on the wall.

Martin didn’t have time to ask what they were talking about when Tim yelled, “Dibs!” and threw his arms around Martin.  

“W-what?”

Sasha rolled her eyes, “We were talking about whose house to go to today and I guess Tim just declared himself the winner.”

The self declared winner smiled up at Martin, “It’s also the closest and it’s getting late.”  Martin smiled back at him until Tim kicked up his feet, forcing Martin to catch him and didn’t even pretend to look guilty when his stunt almost caused both of them to topple to the floor.

Shaking her head, Sasha grabbed Tim’s bag from his desk as she passed it.  Oh, the cup of tea was still there.  Maybe spearmint with honey was cursed.  On their way out, Martin dumped it in the sink and rinsed the cup, having to maneuver around a bit with Tim still clinging to his neck.

Strangely, this was what brought Jon out of his brooding.  He looked lost, almost sad?  He had rejected so many cups of tea, Martin didn’t think he’d miss this one luke warm, over steeped mug.

Chapter Text

They followed Jon out of the Archives.  Quiet, aside from Tim’s mock whining when Martin put him back on his own feet, saying goodbye to Rosie, and a harsh stomp and a squelch when Jon spotted a worm outside the entrance.

He had calmed down from… everything but his mind was still a mess.  Seeing Tim and Sasha rattled him, but he thought he was pretty well composed relative to his situation.  He was in the middle of stopping the Unknowing and now he was back to only a few days after Prentiss had trapped Martin in his apartment.  Too late to save him from that trauma, but early enough for Jon to save him and Tim from her attack on the Archives.  Early enough to save Sasha.

Even while he was talking (arguing if he was honest) with her and Tim about whose house Martin would stay in, Jon couldn’t recognize her.   Almost all of the pictures he had of her were digital and of the printed pictures he had he could never tell who was who or if the real Sasha James was in any of them.  Now that he had the real one in front of him, he still couldn’t memorize her face.  The Stranger’s facade still came to mind when he thought of her name.  He had listened to the few tapes he had of her real voice until the words sounded little more than gibberish and yet her voice calling out to him to slow down was still only vaguely familiar.

“-on!  Jon!”

Oh right.  They were going to Tim’s house.  Jon wasn’t supposed to know where that is.  He stopped and looked behind himself to where the others were jogging up to him a few meters behind.  Despite his shorter legs, he could walk pretty fast when he got lost in his thoughts.

“Sorry,” they didn’t know how much he was sorry for, “Tim, we’re going to your house.  Could you?”  He gestured his hand in the direction he was walking.

Tim laughed as they all caught up, “No problem, boss man.”  Jon nodded and he moved aside to let Tim pass him, not expecting it when Tim hovered an arm behind him to lead him forward.  Jon tensed in surprise, almost expecting Tim’s suave smile to turn into a sneer, and Tim pulled his arm back.  “Shit, sorry,” he apologized and Jon didn’t know how to tell him to put it back.  Tim’s smile turned tense.

They walked quietly.  Tim and Jon leading while Sasha and Martin followed behind.  Jon wanted to talk to them about something, anything, but at this point they still saw him as their austere boss.  He needed to explain why he lashed out, but there was just so much.  It would almost be easier to just lie and say it was a Leitner, but giving them any excuse wouldn’t put him in any position to help them and could make him lose credibility.  Telling them lies wouldn’t save them.  He would have to tell them the whole truth.

Gertrude knew everything and probably more and not even she survived.  Shot by another person of all things.  Speaking of, what was he going to do about Elias?  Jon didn’t notice until then, but the familiar weight of something Watching him felt different.  It was still there, but where Elias’ Eyes felt like being picked apart to uncover your darkest secrets, this felt like when he was reading a statement.  Was this the Eye itself?  Or just another avatar?

Jon shook his head.  The risk of Elias realizing that Jon knew more didn’t outweigh the risk of them going in blind.  They need every advantage they could get to have the best chance of surviving.

He jolted out of his thoughts when he was stopped from walking by a hand on his shoulder.  Tim quickly removed his hand and awkwardly smiled, “Sorry!  You weren’t responding and started walking past my apartment.”  Jon nodded and pulled his sleeves over his hands.  If he wanted to keep that smile and keep it scarless he would need to trust them.

Tim and Sasha lowered their voices as they walked through the halls and up the stairs to Tim’s apartment.  Jon cringed as he recalled hearing them talking on the walk over and only giving vague hums of agreement when they tried to include him.

Tim’s apartment wasn’t very big, but it felt cozy and lived in.  Once Tim moved the coffee table to the wall, there was enough space in the living room for a mattress to lay alongside the couch.

“So,” Tim dusted off his hands and took out his phone, “Thoughts on pineapple pizza?”

“Disgusting.”

“Sasha, I love you , you are banned from my house.  Marto!  Jon!  I beg for you two to have better tastes.”  Jon suppressed a laugh.  Tim could’ve been an actor with how he got his eyes to water so quickly, though the exaggerated sadness ruined the effect.

“They’re alright,” he said.  

“Same,” Martin agreed.  Tim nodded and walked into another room to order.  Through the walls they could hear him ask for two pineapple pizzas with one being half pepperoni.

Jon smiled.  He missed Tim’s levity.  He had helped ruin it last time by invading Tim’s privacy in the other timeline.  Was this just doing that again or was it okay since he was invited?  Hesitantly, he looked around and settled on the small couch.  He traded messing with his sleeves for rubbing a hand over the texture of the worn fabric and startling when he felt something drape around his shoulders.

Martin had put a blanket over him.  He hovered over Jon for a second before stammering and backing away to the dining room slash kitchen before Jon could thank him.  Martin grabbed two chairs from the table there.  Oh, he was hoarding the couch wasn’t he?

“Sorry, I can just-” Jon got up to move.

“Jon, it’s okay,” Sasha soothed.  She carried over an armchair that looked as heavy as Jon, maybe heavier, and only let out a small grunt while putting it down a few feet in front of him.  “There’s enough space for everybody.”

Martin arranged the other chairs beside the one Sasha put down as she left to check on Tim.

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said, Martin looked confused, “for the blanket.”  God that felt stilted.  How was it his job to talk.  “And sorry, for earlier,” he continued.  He had some small hope that Martin would understand everything that meant.

“Oh!  No problem.  It’s good to cry sometimes, you know.”  No such luck for him somehow understanding what Jon meant then.  Martin’s shy smile was nice though.  “N-not that I cry a lot!  I mean, it’s normal and healthy and it’s not good to just bottle it all up, and it’s not like I cry all the time, but if you need to-” Jon put a hand on his arm.

Jon chuckled, “It’s fine, Martin.”

He could’ve sworn he heard Martin mutter, “ Stop being so cute” as he flushed , but Tim and Sasha walked back in before he could ask.  They sat around Jon.  Martin taking a dining chair, Sasha claiming the comfortable armchair, and Tim sitting on the arm of it with his feet on the spare dining chair.

Jon fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves.  Looks like they were waiting for their explanation.  There was a muffled click and a whir.  It seemed The Eye would like to hear this and the lack of a pressing feeling in the back of his skull made him doubt Elias was also listening in.

“Just a moment,” he mumbled and dug around in his bag looking for the whirring recorder.  He found it but it clicked on in his hand.  If it wasn’t this one then?  “Martin, did you bring your recorder?”  Jon set his down on the side table.

“Yeah, I think so,” Martin dug his recorder out of his bag, “How did you know I have on?”  He furrowed his brows when he saw it was running.  “I must’ve hit a button when I packed it.”

“I’ll explain everything.  I just need you, all of you, to listen for a minute.”  Jon ran a hand through his hair.  Nope, it was still just as short as it was thirty minutes ago.

They looked confused and concerned, but they nodded in agreement to his terms.  It was doubtful that they'll be able to hold back their questions, but it seemed like they were willing to try.  Martin set his recorder beside Jon’s.

“So, to start off,” Jon took a breath, “I believe everything that we record.”

“I knew it!”  Tim exclaimed before Sasha shushed him.  Jon glared at him.  There wasn’t any malice behind it.  

“‘Everything’ is a bit of an overstatement,” Jon continued, “Anything that can be digitally recorded isn’t real, but if it causes a glitch then it most likely is.  We have to use analogue for those, hence the tape recorders.”

Martin raised his hand, interrupting him, but was much politer than Tim’s shouting.  He’ll allow it.  Jon nodded to him.  “Does that mean that the spiders in the Vittery statement were actually supernatural,” Martin asked.  

Jon grimaced.  The man was entirely encased in webs and he just wrote it off as natural causes.  “Yes,” he confirmed, “those spiders were supernatural and I apologize for not believing you when you brought it up to me.”

Tim raised his hand.  “No.  Tim, you lost your turn to speak.  Please just listen for a little longer.”  Tim put his hand down.  Jon sighed, “The spiders bring me to my next point.  Everything ‘spooky,’ as Tim would put it-” he shot Jon a finger gun and winked “-is caused by dread entities that exist parallel to our world.”

Tim’s grin faltered.  Sasha raised her hand then put it back down when Jon glared at her.  They just needed to sit still for two minutes, but perhaps being in the Institute made them more inclined to ask questions.  “They feed on, no, they are our fear.  They torment people like Vittery and other statement givers for their fear.  There are also people who worship them like gods.  People like that, that become closer to these fear entities, they become something other than human.  Like, like Prentiss.”  Jon saw Martin tense.  This discussion was about to get much worse.

“That’s actually why I asked you to move out of the Archives.  She’s...” Jon rubbed his scarless hands together and sighed, “There’s no easy way to put this.  She’s going to attack the Institute and is filling the walls with worms.”

“Wait what,” Martin’s eyes were wide with fear.  Jon didn’t want to scare him, but leaving him in the dark would be so much worse.  “So I was alone in the archives while she was in the walls?”  Jon nodded.  Martin snapped, “You knew this and you left me there?”

“I w-what?”  

“You saw me there just this weekend!  Christ, you probably don’t even remember that, ” Martin stood and paced around his chair.  “Unless you only found out during lunch today, I don’t know why you would just, just leave me there with Prentiss.”  Martin frowned at him, angry tears building up in his eyes.  Tim similarly betrayed, but more so confused.  Sasha looked like she didn’t believe half of what he was saying.

“Jon,” Sasha’s voice was firm and barely familiar, “How sure of this are you?  Of all of this?”

Jon fretted with his sleeves, he could feel a thread come loose.  “I wouldn’t joke about this.”  He needs them to believe him, but oh god he did leave Martin with her that whole time didn’t he?  Months of him living in the Archives by himself.

“Okay, so when and how did you find out,” Sasha asked.  Martin stopped pacing, waiting for the answer.

“That’s a bit complicated.”  Martin looked ready to leave.  Sasha and Tim frowned at him.  Dragging this out would do him no favors.  “I have memories of the future.”

They stared at him.  At least Martin didn’t look angry anymore.  Now there was just confusion and disbelief on all of their faces.

“The future,” Sasha deadpanned.  Jon nodded and pulled on the loose string.  “How far into the future and how much do you remember?”

“Um, more than a year and everything,” Jon said.  Tim tapped a finger against his lips in thought.

“Is it weird that that’s more believable than you playing the world’s worst and weirdest prank on us?”  Tim smiled uneasily.

Sasha nudged Tim’s shoulder, “He could still be Jon’s long lost twin who has a bizarre sense of humor.”

Jon couldn’t bring himself to feel insulted over the relief of being believed and he let out a relieved sigh, “So, you believe me?”

“It’s a bit out there,” Tim shrugged, “but we’ve never known you as one for jokes or being a convincing liar.”  Sasha slapped his shoulder.  “Not that that’s bad or anything!”

“I’m a bit skeptical, but I agree with Tim, you’re not really known for jokes and I would like to know what else you have to say,” Sasha leaned forward, “So, there’s fear gods and Prentiss is building up a worm attack in the archives.”  Jon nodded.  “Is there anything we can do about that?  Besides avoiding the place of course.”

Jon grimaced, “Actually…”

Martin made a noise of distress, “Seriously!?”  Jon winced and nodded.  Martin sat back in his chair with a stifled whine.  Jon could feel the weight of the blanket he put on him.  He had only just grabbed the end of it, about to shrug it off, when Sasha grabbed the blanket hanging over her chair and draped it over Martin.  He quietly thanked her.  Maybe another time.

“I’m sorry,” Jon wasn’t sure he wanted them to know everything that he was sorry for anymore, “but the Institute is tied to one of the fear entities and by extension, so are we.  Leaving too long will make you sick.”

“Oh, even easier!”  Tim clapped his hands together, “Let’s just quit the spooky fear worshiping job!”  Jon shook his head and Tim deflated from his brief win.

Sasha clasped her hands in front of her face with a tired sigh, “Okay so to recap:  Monsters, that most of we already knew are real, are extensions of extra dimensional fear gods.  Jane Prentiss worships one of them and is in the walls of the archives building an attack on it.  We can’t even avoid her because we’re tied to the Institute which apparently also worships those fear gods.  And to top it all off, you know all of this because you have memories of the future.”

Listed out like that it sounded like a lot.  “That’s all correct,” Jon confirmed, “but not all of it.”

Tim let out a long breath and Martin just looked dazed.  Sasha groaned and put her head in her hands, “That's, that’s a lot to go through.  We still need proof and it still doesn’t explain why you reacted to us how you did, but it’s understandable if that’s been your past year.”

“Alright, before we unpack everything else,” Tim pointed at Jon, smiling, “To lighten the mood, I would like to try guessing what happens next.”  It took Jon a second to realize he was asking for permission.  It was nice seeing him smile again, but there was a part of Jon’s mind that beat that happiness back with guilt, telling him that he doesn’t deserve it.  

“Go ahead,” Jon approved.  The guilt melted back when Tim’s smile increased.

“Alright,” Tim threw his legs over Sasha’s to let his feet dangle over the other side of the chair, careful to not hit Martin, nevertheless ignoring their protests.  “So, it’s a little dark, forgive me Martin.  I’m guessing that we’re all terribly injured by Prentiss or become like her and that made you realize that you love us-” Jon laughed, not entirely untrue “-and you found some magic ritual to send your memory back to save us.

“Or!  Perhaps a bit more likely, the worms eat the statements and you came back to save them,” Martin and Sasha snickered at this, “buuut you’re telling us this because you still found out that you love us.”

Jon laughed and flushed.  He honestly does love them.  “None of us are ‘terribly injured’ by worms,” he rubbed his smooth hands together, “and I’m not sure how I got here.  I just woke up in my office and Martin was there, telling me it was time to go.”

Tim nodded like he understood something new, “Hey Martin.  I guess he did learn after lunch.”  Martin gave Tim a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless.  Tim’s faltered as he contemplated something.  “Wait.  You said none of us were ‘terribly’ injured by worms?”

Jon pulled on the loose thread, “Yes?”

“You asked me why I don’t have scars.”  Concern was written on Tim’s face.  Jon could remember when furrowing his brow like that would’ve stretched round scars into ovals.

Jon absent mindedly traced his fingers over where the edge of a burn mark used to be, “We were covered in them.  If it makes you feel any better, I was told you pulled it off.”

Tim let out a brittle laugh, “I’m sure you were handsome too.”  He winked and Jon allowed himself to smile.  By the time of the Unknowing, Jon felt too tired and damaged to honestly say he even looked ‘nice.’

Sasha raised her hand, “What happened after the attack?”

Where to start?  His paranoia pushing them away?  Being on the run?  All of the other scars he didn’t mention?  Traveling the world and having the only worthwhile part be freeing Gerry?  Everything with Elias?  Jon let out a stuttered breath, the tunnels were probably a good place to start,  “After the attack, we discovered the walls of the Archive aren’t exactly solid.  There’s tunnels that can be accessed through it.  That’s where Prentiss was building up her worms and where we found Gertrude’s body.”

“Huh,” Sasha said, stunned, “I guess I knew in the back of my mind that she was dead, not just missing, but hearing that is still shocking.  How, how did she die?”

“She, uh, she was murdered.  Three shots to the chest,” said Jon.  He startled when Sasha barked a surprised laugh.

“Oh sorry, sorry.  I just,” Sasha looked shocked and sheepish, “I was expecting it to be something more supernatural with everything you just told us and with everything I knew of Gertrude.  Even death by worms would be cooler than that.”  Martin shot her a weak glare, still unsteady, and Sasha gave him a quiet apology.  

She was right though.  Dying of worms would have been a better death than what she suffered.  All of them ignorant of her death.  Talking and joking with her killer, and falling for its charade.  At least the worms would’ve left something for them to bury or burn instead of parading around and fooling them for so long.

It wasn’t like there weren’t any signs either.  After Prentiss’ attack, Sa-, no, Not-Sasha wasn’t able to use the computers that Sasha was a master of.  They should’ve realized sooner.  Would it have even helped for them to have learned sooner or would he have just made the same blunder and destroyed the table?  

Is he just going to make the same mistakes, but worse?  He already let Sasha die, let Basira and Melanie get trapped by the Institute, maybe this time Tim or even Martin would die.  He’s only one person, how is he supposed to stop dread gods when he couldn’t even stop whatever his human boss was planning?  He’d just fail them again and waste this second chance he was given.  Maybe this was actually just some sick trick by one of those horrid entities.

“Oh shit,” he heard a somewhat familiar voice mutter.  Jon jumped when he felt a hand brush under his eyes.  He was crying.  The face in front of him was one his mind refused to recognize, but he could tell the sadness and regret on it were genuine.  Sasha, her name is Sasha James.  She quietly apologized to him, knelt in front of him and opened her arms.  It took him a moment to realize she was offering a hug and not a moment longer to accept it.

She rubbed comforting circles over the blanket on his back as he choked out, “I’m sorry,” over and over again until he could only mouth the words into her shoulder, but he would never be able to make up for what he allowed to happen.  Sasha shushed him and held him tighter.  He felt grounded.

When his breathing even out, Jon remembered where he was and let go, murmuring one more apology.  She stayed and sat beside him.  Her weight on the couch made it dip causing him to lean towards her.  A comforting warmth by his side.  Jon stared at his hands.  He rubbed a thumb over the smooth surface, only looking up when Martin offered him a glass of water.  He softly thanked him and drank it.

“It was something from artefact storage,” Jon explained, voice less hoarse, “A table that replaces people and pretends to be them.  It happened during Prentiss’ attack.  It took us nearly a year to realize what happened.”  

The words choked with the effort of holding back tears.  “I still can’t recognize you,” Jon confessed.

Chapter Text

Jon wasn’t able to say much more after that.  He tried, but the words were blocked by the threat of tears.  They almost fell anyways when Martin knelt to his eye level when his head felt too heavy to lift.  Through a short series of quiet yes and no questions, he managed to tell them that he wanted them to talk.  Nothing in particular, just anything at all.  And so they did.

Sasha’s face still didn’t look right to him.  He didn’t Know if it ever would, so Jon just closed his eyes and let himself lean against Sasha.  He could feel the soft rumble of her speaking, heard Tim’s quiet laughter, and Martin’s heat radiating near Jon’s legs from where he chose to sit on the floor.  Even though he had asked them to, he didn’t know what they were talking about, but the cadence of their conversation had almost lulled him to sleep when the door rang, pulling him back to the waking world.

Tim went to check it, still talking to Sasha and Martin as he went, and came back with two pizza boxes.  “Martin,” Tim said, Jon finally listening to what they were saying, “I can’t believe you wouldn’t go on a date with Mothman.”  Jon half wished he hadn’t started listening, but at least he now knew the context for why Sasha’s side shook with laughter.

Martin sputtered indignantly, “Tim!  I’m not just going to go on a date with some random cryptid!”

“First off, Mothman is not some random cryptid, he’s my husband.  Second off, so you’d be open to a date with a non-random non-cryptid.  In other wooords,” Tim put the pizza down onto the coffee table and gave Martin the most shit-eating smirk Jon has ever seen.  “You’d want to go on a date with a specific person?”  

He waggled his eyebrows at Martin who was too busy making a choked noise to refute him and Tim’s eyes darted to Jon and back to Martin before darting back to Jon looking shocked.  “Oh h-heyo, Jon!  We were starting to think you fell asleep.”

Jon could see the flush creep down the back of Martin’s neck even as he looked determined to make himself infinitely smaller than he is.  “No, I was awake,” Jon straightened his back and it creaked in protest.

“Did you, uh, hear what we were talking about?”  Martin asked, voice raising to a squeak towards the end and not quite meeting Jon’s eyes.

Jon shook his head and Martin’s shoulders lost their tension.  Tim checked the time on his phone before gasping in delight and running out of the room.  What looked like a mountain of blankets and pillows came stumbling back in.  “Sleep over!” he shouted before tossing them onto a still flushed and now startled Martin.

“Oh,” it was getting late wasn’t it?  Martin was invited to stay here and Sasha was close enough to Tim that the invitation would probably be extended to her as well.  He could probably get a taxi and the Archives were close enough to sleep in if he just ignored the worms.  “I can leave,” Jon stood, relinquishing the warmth of Sasha and the blanket only for his vision to be obscured by another.

He removed it to see Tim grinning at him, “That means you too, Jon.  I wouldn’t mind sharing the bed with you of course.” His wink was too exaggerated for Jon to take that offer seriously and he couldn’t even see it when Sasha chucked a throw pillow at him.  Tim let it hit his face and laughed, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!  There’s enough room with the couch and the inflatable mattress for all of us to have space.”

Martin’s unflushed face finally managed to dig itself out of the maze of a blanket.  He gave Tim an unimpressed look and tossed a pillow at him.  This one he caught with a small laugh before picking the rest of the blankets off him and setting them next to Jon.

Like some untold direction, Sasha stood to help Tim move the table, both careful to not tip over the boxes while Martin moved the chairs back to where they belonged.  All Jon could do was stay out of the way and make sure the pile of blankets didn’t spill onto the floor.  He couldn’t help but feel a bit useless.  Tim and Sasha arranged the pillows and blankets on the floor around the short table with practiced ease before coaxing Jon to sit on the floor with them.

It was surprisingly comfortable.  The small space between the table and the cushion of the couch behind him.  He leaned against it as he ate his pizza, only barely listening to Tim and Martin argue the virtues of pineapple pizza to Sasha who refused to see the light.

Hearing them all talk so jovially gave his guilt ridden heart a jolt.  Their voices were all so unfamiliar for different reasons.  Jon was so used to hearing Tim sneering at him and his last words to him still echoed in his mind.  Martin had relaxed over the conversation, but he still felt so painfully withdrawn.  Despite this, Jon still managed a few laughs and hummed agreements when they asked him questions.  He still wasn’t quite up to a full conversation quite yet.

He pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped the blanket Tim threw at him around himself.  It was softer than the other one.

He was only able to eat a single slice of pizza--no Sasha, it’s not because of the pineapples--though he still felt hungry.  He wasn’t quite sure what he was hungering for, but his stomach didn’t feel like it was imploding anymore.  

Sasha seems to hate pineapple pizza with a passion.  Not-Sasha had liked it.  These thoughts clashed in his brain like a migraine.  Was that just a plot to get closer to them?  Copying them without understanding what made them love the real Sasha James?

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.  She laughed louder than he thought she did and her ears had more than the standard two holes for piercings.  Jon inwardly scowled, Not-Sasha was white and the real Sasha is biracial, black and Hispanic (how did he Know this?).  Not-Sasha had straight blond hair cut in a bob whereas Sasha had long curly hair with the top half pulled back in a loose bun.

That’s.  That’s how Jon had styled his hair.  He shoved that thought to the back of his mind and ran a hand through his now short hair, tugging at it.  “I suppose,” he interrupted Tim and Sasha’s feud about tomato being a fruit on pizza, “that you’ll want proof about all of this?”

“Only memories of the future, right?”  Tim tapped a finger against the table, “That’s a bit hard to prove, unless you can tell me the winning lotto numbers--” Jon couldn’t.  Oh god what if they didn’t believe him and he would just have to watch Sasha be replaced again. “--but we can see that you’re worried about this.  Even if it’s something else, we’re here for you.”  Tim smiled at him and Sasha and Martin nodded in agreement.

Jon could feel tears come back, not of grief and thankfully not enough to choke his words down.  “Thank you,” he cleared his throat but the tears stayed brimming in his eyes, “So after Prentiss-”

“Jon,” Martin cut him off, “No offense, but you look like you’re falling apart at the seams.”  Jon curled into his blanket.  He wasn’t wrong.  Martin sighed, “It’s not your fault, whatever happened.  And unless something happens tomorrow, I think you can afford at least one night or even a day of not thinking about it.”

Jon sunk further into the blankets, slipping under the table, but raised his head to look at him.  He did feel exhausted.  “Yeah, You’re,” he sighed, “you’re right.”

Tim shot him a soft smile, “Want to watch Americans go house hunting and judge them for wanting a giant kitchen with a small budget?”  Jon gave him a small smile and a nod.

Tim cleared the pizzas once they were all done and Sasha moved the table to give them all space between it and the couch.  Jon was helping Martin arrange the blankets and pillows on the floor when Tim came back with his computer and some changes of clothes.  

“Your frame is a bit smaller than mine but this should fit well enough,” Tim said as he handed Jon one set of clothes and put the computer down on the table.

Jon accepted them, but blinked, confused at him, “What?”

“You’re not going to sleep in that are you?” Tim looked at Jon’s clothes.

He was still dressed in his academic slacks, button up, and cardigan.  The sleeves now far more worn than they were this morning.  “Huh,” he didn’t notice the discomfort.  Tim rolled his eyes, smiling.  He handed Martin his bag before shooing him and Jon off to the bathroom and bedroom to change.  

Jon took the bathroom, still feeling like an intruder.  He kept his eyes off the mirror and body while he changed.  He didn’t need to look to see the lack of scars.

The t-shirt swamped him and he had to roll up the legs of the pants, but they were comfortable enough.  Sasha and Tim were already changed when he and Martin, dressed down in a worn hoodie and sport shorts, came back.

Jon reclaimed his blanket and his spot on the floor resting against the couch.  Martin, Tim and Sasha settled to opposite sides of him.  Tim and Martin were careful to give him space and Jon was tempted to pull them both closer to him, wanting to melt into their warmth.  Instead, he pulled his knees and his blanket closer.

He barely noticed the dull light of the screen or the murmured commentary from those around him through his sleep fuzzy mind as he nodded off.  Their quiet chatter more soothing than any lullaby he’s ever heard.

He was pulled half back into awareness by a low, “Jon.  Joooon.  Aye, come on you’re sleeping on Martin and he looks like he’s going to have a heart attack,” and a gentle shake.

Jon just grumbled and drowsily leaned away from the shaking and further into the warmth by his side.  It squeaked and tried to squirm away from his so Jon wrapped an arm around it to keep it still so he could sleep.  He heard a snickered laugh and a muffled “Oh my god, Tim get the camera” and a squeaked “Sasha no!” before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Jon woke to the familiar sound of a whirring tape, warm sunlight streaming onto his face, and a warmer voice, “-or all your skulking, slinking, sneering.  For all I was fearing; I was not expecting this,” speaking softly.  It rivaled the softness of the blankets he was cocooned in and he shuffled to become buried in them.  

The voice stopped with a hitch.  Jon sighed, might as well get up then.  It’s not as though he could even remember what dreams he would be returning to.

Sitting up, he became blinded by the sun streaming in and he blinked blearily at it.  “Hng,” he groaned.

“J-jon!” the voice, Martin he realized, yelped.  “You’re, you’re, uh, awake.”  The background whirring of the recorder stopped with a click.  The noise was continued by a different one clicking on.

Jon sighed and rubbed his eyes until the world stopped looking so overwhelming.  “Just woke up.”  He was almost tempted to glare at the sun, but couldn’t find enough annoyance within him.  He felt more rested than he had in years now, if a bit hungry.  “Don’t bother trying to turn off the recorders, they have a mind of their own.”

“What were you recording?” He asked and nodded to the recorder Martin was holding.  He pulled the blanket up to shield himself from the coolness of the room.

Martin flushed and held it behind himself as though Jon would be able to see the sound by looking at it.  “Nothing!”  he cleared his throat, “Just some poetry.”

Jon hmmed.  Martin sure could blush at anything, not that Jon was complaining, “It sounded nice.”  He pulled his legs up and rested his chin against it as he closed his eyes to bask in the warmth of the sun.  Apparently sleeping was the answer to feeling well rested.  Who knew.

The sun was streaming in from quite a high angle.  Jon didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he knew he kept them up quite late last night.  “What time is it?” he asked Martin against the texture of the blanket.

“A bit past noon.  We tried to wake you up for breakfast and lunch,” Martin nervously chuckled, “but you’re a heavy sleeper.”

That didn’t sound like Jon.  On bad nights, he would wake at the smallest of creaks and it only got worse in the last few years.  The bad nights and how lightly he slept.  He eyed the tape recorder, still spinning for whatever fear being was listening.  Perhaps the Eye needed him to rest after bringing him back.  

“Wait, past noon?” Jon shot up, “Shit!  We’re going to be late.”

“It-it’s fine!” Martin assured him, “Tim called Rosie and cleared us all for a sick day.”

“Oh,” Jon said and sat back down.  It seemed that at some point during his sleep, Tim had pulled the couch down into a bed and laid him down on it.  He felt like a burden to them, not remembering anything past sitting down to watch house hunting.  He didn’t even remember falling asleep and had left them to set up everything.  

“Where is he anyways?”  His question was answered by Tim and Sasha barging back into the apartment, arms ladened with overloaded grocery bags.

“Hah, see Sash!” Tim huffed at her, “We didn’t need two trips!”  He dropped his bags and then himself onto the floor.  Sasha huffed similarly and put one arm of her bags onto his back before heading to the kitchen.  He groaned under the weight.

Jon and Martin moved to help.  Help Sasha that is.  Jon was only able to remove a few of the over packed bags from Tim’s back, how were they able to carry armfuls of these up the stairs?

“Oh, you’re awake!” Sasha said, awkwardly smiling at Jon as she put cans into a cupboard.  Martin emptied a bag of new cans next to her.

“Yes,” Jon said as he emptied his own bag neatly onto the counter, not sure how Tim sorted his kitchen, “and thank you, Tim.  For allowing me to sleep here and getting us cleared for the day.  I really needed that.”  Tim moved his arm in a weak imitation of a wave, doing a very good impression of a corpse buried under bags of food instead of dirt.

Jon smiled.  He hoped that the Tim he had left behind in his timeline was okay.  Maybe all he needed was for Jon to be out of his life.

Sasha rolled her eyes and gave a light sigh, “He means ‘no problem, anytime Jon, also are you hungry?’”  Tim gave them a thumbs up in confirmation.  

Martin removed the final bag from his back.   Tim removed his face from the floor and propped his head on his hands with a grin, “So, are you hungry?”

Jon paused in unpacking his bag.  This was far too much food for one person.  Unless Tim was buying for a month.  Or for four people.

“No, I’m fine,” Jon’s stomach rumbled, “Okay yes.  But you already done enough for me and I’m well enough to go home now.”  He was sure they didn’t want their boss around on their day off.

“You wouldn’t be intruding, Jon,” Tim gave him an exasperated look, “and I love cooking for people.  Plus, I’m sure that you have more you need to tell us.”  Tim paused, “If you’re feeling up to explaining more to us that is.”

“I am,” he had to get through this for them.

“Are you sure,” Martin asked, “And before you just say ‘yes,’ I want you to think about it for a second.”

Jon gave him a withered glare that Martin met with the same amount of tiredness.  He didn’t want to admit that he was just going to say ‘yes,’ but Martin was right.  Just thinking about explaining anymore at the moment made his throat start closing up.  It’s important for them to know, but what would be the point if he had to stop every few minutes for the words to stop choking.  “...No.”  There was a click from the living room and the hum of whirring stopped.

Tim gave him a soft smile, “Okay, let’s not think about it for a few hours then.”  

He got up and helped them sort the groceries, giving them directions on where to put everything.  Apparently, his sorting system was non-existent but somehow everything had its place.  Afterwards, he showed them how to make something called menudo and biko.  A sort of pork and vegetable dish, and sweet rice.

Neither were complicated, but both took a while so Tim offered Jon a banana in the meantime.  Tim also assigned Jon to only checking and stirring when they found out he didn’t know how to properly cut vegetables.  Tim promised to teach him another day.  ‘Another day.’  Warmth and hope blossomed in Jon’s heart.

The conversation started with Tim guiding them in how to cook until Jon found himself rambling on about the qualities of certain pots and pans with the others chiming in with “Oh that’s what I have!” and “Good thing I didn’t buy that.”

Jon faltered in his stirring and his lecture about the maintenance of cast iron pans, “Ah, sorry.  I took over the conversation, didn’t I?”

Martin hummed in thought and without looking up from where he was pouring rice into a glass pan he mumbled, “It’s nice hearing you talk,” then choked on air and doubled his focus on leveling the rice.  Tim and Sasha shared a look and shook their heads.

“Hey, now I know why my dad was so insistent that I take care of these pans when he gave them to me,” Tim smiled at Jon.

“And now I know which pans to nick when Tim isn’t paying attention.”

“Sasha!  You don’t even have the kitchen to appreciate these pans!”

The conversation devolved into Tim and Sasha playfully bickering.  Jon and Martin were both dragged into it against their will and it somehow became a faux court case about the custody of the pans should Tim and Sasha fake-divorce from their fake-marriage.

Sasha had made the mistake of claiming Jon when he had a not-so-secret bias for Tim to win once he promised he would take care of the pans and already fabric divider that kept them from scratching each other when stacked.  Tim won full custody, but Martin managed to win Sasha visitation rights along with a larger slice of biko when it was done.

The menudo finished cooking before the biko.  They ate it with rice and cheap day telly, all of them criticizing the forced romance and laughing at the hammy acting.  Jon once again didn’t eat a lot, he felt hungry for something else and he didn’t want to acknowledge that yet.

Tim washed the dishes while Martin taught Jon how to play a game called Old Maid.  It was easier said than done with Tim belting out some love song.  Jon was only able to hum along, but Sasha sang a few lines with Tim, “This guy’s in love with you, friend.”   Probably the only part of the song she knew.  She tried to sing along to other parts, but stumbled over them even when Tim slowed down to guide her through the syllables through both of them giggling.

By the time they were done cleaning the dishes, Martin managed to teach Jon how to play through Tim singing his heart out and somehow still sounding good.  They played a few rounds before Tim jumped up in excitement, ran to the bedroom, and returned with an uno deck.  He nearly immediately regretted it.

He sat next to Sasha who kept giving him plus cards or skipping him.  She even managed to convince Martin to reverse it on the odd chance that Tim attempted revenge.  

Jon just watched with amusement.  He had only played this game twice before.  Both by Tim’s persuasion when they were in Research.  He could still remember the rules, but didn’t feel like working too hard on strategy and was surprised when he won the first round.

None were surprised when Sasha stopped her bullying campaign and got second place.  Tim let out a breath of relief, turning to Martin expecting to just chill for the rest of the game.  They were all surprised when Martin, who had a dozen cards to Tim’s five, gave him a sly grin.  He laid down his whole deck (full of plus twos, skips, and reverses) except for one card and said, “Uno,” before putting down a plus four.

The next few games went similarly though Jon didn’t have enough luck to win again.  Now it was just a race to not be decimated by Martin.  He didn’t even bother hiding his delight when he got another skip or plus card to add to his terror.  Tim always pretended to collapse when he got hit by it and Martin gave Jon a small “sorry” before laying down three whole plus fours on him.

It all helped Jon feel calm enough so that he could say “yes” honestly when Tim asked him if he was ready to tell them more.

Chapter Text

They didn’t allow Jon to start explaining right away.  They ate a light dinner first, Jon’s hunger for something else still growing though he didn’t mention it, and took turns using Tim’s shower as the man himself got more pillows and blankets from God knows where.  He added them to the floor of the living room and enlisted Sasha to help him arrange them so that they could all sprawl in comfort.

When it was Jon’s turn, Tim handed him another change of clothes and a toothbrush.  Jon didn’t want to keep them waiting, but couldn’t resist taking a minute to finally look at himself.

Less.  Everything was in some way less than it used to be.  Less hair (perhaps shorter would be a better word for it and he didn't have his five o'clock shadow), less tired, less...scars.  He brushed his teeth and took a quick shower, going back to the living room to free up the bathroom while he toweled his hair into a ruffled mess.  He still couldn’t believe that it had been a mess the whole day.

“Why do you have so many extra, clean toothbrushes?” Martin asked Tim as he came out of the bathroom.

“It’s for when I have people staying the night,” Tim winked.

Sasha scoffed, “He has them cause he figured that with all the late nights we work that we would eventually have a surprise sleepover and wanted to be prepared.”

“Sashaaa, I told you that in confidence,” Tim pouted at her.

“You told me that intoxicated,” Sasha teased.  She lightly ruffled Martin and Jon’s hair as she passed them before leaning to them with a hand up to her mouth, “He was honestly hoping for something like this to happen,” she whispered conspiratorially. 

Martin gave a theater gasp and cooed at Tim who looked sheepish.

Did Jon’s Tim have the same wishes?  If he did, they went unanswered and Jon doubted his Tim would’ve wanted Jon anywhere near him towards the Unknowing.

By the time they were all done cleaning up for the night, it was getting dark.  Jon took what he now thought as his spot against the couch and the others sat close in a circle, Martin and Sasha to his sides while Tim sat in front of him.  It was only when Jon was cocooned in blankets that they let him continue.

He heard the click of two recorders.

“After we found Gertrude’s body in the tunnels, I didn’t know if I could trust anyone.  Even with everything in the statements, being killed by another person made me paranoid and I didn’t trust any of you.  Except, heh,” Jon laughed ruefully.  God, he’s made so many bad decisions.  

“The only one I didn’t suspect was that thing, that Not-Sasha.  I even suspected Martin might have killed her, but it turns out you were only lying about your CV.”

“Wh-what?” Martin squeaked. “ N-no, I don’t know what you’re even talking about-” he continued to stammer.

“Martin!  Martin, don’t worry,”  Jon forgot he wasn’t supposed to know this yet.  There were so many other better ways to have brought this up, another bad decision to add to the list.  

Martin’s face didn’t stop getting reddening.  Would it be inappropriate to reach out and comfort him?  “Even if I wanted to, I can’t fire you.  And besides, I don’t want to.  You’re better at your job than you think.”

Martin made a choked noise and avoided his eyes.  Was he embarrassed?  Angry?  God, Jon was bad at this.

“I mean, considering that you don’t have a degree, the fact that you’re able to work any of these cases is amazing,” Jon tried to reassure him, “You can also come to any of us if you need help.”

“Thank you,” Martin’s face was still flushed, but he didn’t seem angry so Jon counted it as a win.  “How, uh, how did you know?”

Ah, the hard part.  If he wanted to earn their trust, it would only be fair if he told them everything.  Including the parts he’s ashamed of.  Jon sighed and ran a hand through his short hair, “I was paranoid and stalked you, all of you.  I didn’t respect your privacy and didn’t give any of you the trust you deserve.  Tim, my Tim, with everything going on, this made him hate me and honestly?  I probably would too.”  Jon didn’t mention how he already did.

Tim frowned and leaned forward to rest a hand on Jon’s knee, only putting it down when Jon didn’t move away.  “What you did, that’s not okay.  I don’t know what that version of me went through and I can’t forgive you for him, but I can see how you regret it.”

Jon did.  So much.

“Besides, you did just find out that your predecessor was murdered,” Tim continued, “I think I would be worried too.”  He paused, “Do you trust us now?”

“Yes.”

Tim gave him a weary smile and extended a pinky with those unblemished hands of his, “Pinky promise?”  

Jon smiled faintly, nodded and wrapped his pinky finger around Tim’s.  He relished the small point of contact.  Tim beamed at him and leaned back, out of Jon’s space.

Did Jon deserve this?  Having them trust him enough to believe or at least humor him with his mad tale, but what has he done to earn this?  He twisted the blanket in his hands.

“So, I know none of us did it,” Sasha reasoned, “Who did?”

“Elias.”

“What!?”  Sasha and Tim exclaimed.  Martin just looked shocked.

“Yeah,” they probably still thought of Elias as some antiquated, distant boss and not the fear god worshiping, conniving man he is.  “She, uh, was going to burn down the Institute so Elias killed her?”

They continued to gape at him.  Jon shrugged at them, it was a lot to unpack, but there was still more.

“After a while, I found the tapes that the, the Not-Sasha hid to hide its identity.  I found out it was connected to the table in Artefact Storage and I went to smash it,” he gave a scornful laugh, “That was a mistake.  I thought that destroying the table would destroy it but it just released it.  I got chased into the tunnels and that’s where I found Jurgen Leitner--”

“Wait what,” Tim reeled.

“He’s in the tunnels,” Jon insisted.  Tim groaned and gestured to him to continue.  

“He was hiding there for years and I made the fault of having him come out of them.”  Jon chuckled hollowly, “If I just had him explain while in the tunnels or didn’t step away for a bloody smoke then he could’ve explained so much more to me.”  Jon pulled, tugged on his short hair.  It made his scalp sting.  “Instead Elias murdered him in my office and I had to go on the run.”

Sasha stared blankly at the floor, hands clasped in front of her face, “That.  That is a lot.”  

Jon shrugged, “I mean, he also cleared my name?  But, he trapped more people in the Archives.”  He sighed and sunk into the blankets.  If he was still around he could’ve stopped Melanie, Basira and by consequence Daisy from being Elias.  “Please make sure no one else is hired.  It’s not worth it for the job security.”

Jon gave a little chuckle, but the joke lands flat.

“The table,” Tim said slowly, “It’s the one from the Graham statement, right?”

“Yes?”

“Is there any way to tell if someone was replaced?”  Tim asked.  He only just managed to keep his eyes from glancing at Sasha.

“Check physical pictures or tape recordings.  Anything analogue, digital can change,” Jon explained, “The same sort of properties as statements.”

“Oh!”  Tim stood and went to his room, returning with a smile and a Polaroid camera.  “Would this work?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect actually.”

Tim beamed and pointed it at Sasha who stuck her tongue out at him.  It clicked, but no film came out.  “Aye, looks like we emptied it last night.”  He hurried back to his room and came back with several packages of new film and inserted one into the camera.

He motioned to Martin and Sasha to scoot closer to Jon and laid himself in front before taking a picture of all of them.  He got up, waving the little rectangle that came out, putting the camera to the side and the picture in Jon’s hands.

It was still developing, but Jon could see their outlines.  He was squished between Sasha and Martin, Tim’s face barely made it into the frame.  As the colors deepened, he could see how they smiled.

Sasha and Martin stayed close, but stopped leaning onto him.  Tim rested his head on Sasha’s lap and draped his legs over Jon and Martin’s laps.

Jon was now completely enclosed.  Sasha and Martin on his sides, the soft couch behind him, and Tim in front.  It was warm.  He smiled as he caressed the edge of the picture.

“So, how were you able to make us answer questions?”  Sasha asked and started mindlessly combing her hand through Tim’s hair

“The Institute, it works as a sort of temple to the Eye and I was tricked into becoming an avatar for it.”  He pressed a finger into the corner of the picture.  Felt a sting but only stopped when he felt it give.  He frowned at the slight crumple, “I’m not sure if I’m human.”

They didn’t look like they believed him.  He should at least warn them of what he can do.

“I can compel people to answer questions, even if they don’t want to.  That’s what I did to you.  Sometimes I just Know things.  Elias can do the same and can force thoughts into people’s minds.”  The other recorder clicked on, the feeling of being Watched increased, but didn’t change, “He can also See things.”

“He does have eyes, doesn’t he?”  Tim queried with a smile, “I heard he had two of them.”

Jon shook his head, “I mean he can See things even if he’s not in the room.  He can be omniscient, but has to concentrate.  There’s no real privacy from him.”

“Oh,” Martin made a face of discomfort, “Creepy.  Is he looking now?”  His eyes skittered around the corners of the room, like Elias’ would roll out of the shadows.

“No, when he’s Looking it feels like,” Jon wracked his brain, “like being dissected to find your flaws.”

“Huh.  So, was Prentiss something like this?” Sasha waved a hand in thought, “An, uh, avatar?”

“Yes.  She was an avatar of the Corruption.  Fear of bugs, filth, and things that inspire disgust.”

“God of Ew,” Tim said, nodding sagely.

“At least you’re not filled with worms and just have some voyeuristic powers,” Sasha noted.  “Maybe ‘The Eye’ will cover you with eyes.”  She chuckled a little, but it withered away.  “What, is that what’s going to happen?”

Jon shrugged.  He really really hoped not.

“O-okay,” she stammered, “So, we know about the Corruption and the Eye.  What else is there?”

Jon told them about the fourteen fears, echoing what Gerry told him.  This time they didn’t stop him for questions.

“The Dark and the End I understand,” Sasha said thoughtfully, “But the Flesh?  Doesn’t really sound big enough for a whole fear god.”

“That’s what I thought, but animals feel fear too.”

She stopped her petting of Tim’s hair, “Oh.” Jon grimaced and nodded.

“Even though they’re fear gods,” Jon resumed, “some people want to bring them into our world and use rituals to try to.  I was trying to stop one of these before I woke up here.  Followers of the Stranger were trying, are going to try, to perform their ritual.  The Unknowing.”  Jon took a stuttered breath, “Its followers were called The Circus.”

Tim tensed. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered.  One of his hands clenched into a fist.  He ignored the sting of his fingernails.

“You know then,” Tim said, void of his previous cheer.  He didn’t wait for an answer and didn’t meet Jon’s eyes, “I think I would’ve told you all eventually.”  He let out a breath before finally turning to face Jon, “Did you stop them?”

Jon nodded and forced the words out of his throat, “Turns out fear gods aren’t immune to C4.”

They were quiet enough for the whirring recorders to sound like thunder.  Tim had some close to a grin growing on his face.  “Wha-where did you find the explosives?”  Martin stammered.

“Gertrude had some stored away for the occasion,” Jon couldn’t blame them for how shocked they were, he felt the same when he found the stash she kept.

Sasha laughed, “Sounds about right.”

“Did it work?” Tim asked, suppressing a grin that threatened to split his face.

“I think so?  I passed out when you, future you, pressed the button and then I think something hit my head.”

“Gertrude had enough C4 for an explosion to blow debris straight out of a building?”  Tim laughed, a bit incredulously but smiling.  Looks like Jon wasn’t wrong assuming that blowing up the Circus would improve his mood.

“Ah, no,” Jon corrected, “We were inside.”

Tim stopped smiling.  Jon Realized why.  “...Jon, I don’t,” Tim sat up, looking Jon in his eyes, “I don’t think I survived that.”

Jon Knew this.  Oh god, he Knew how it felt to have your bones crack and have your flesh be flayed, cooked by the heat.  Were these his own memories or was the Eye pushing this onto him?  No tears brimmed in Jon’s eyes, but he Knew how Tim had felt as his tears of anger vaporized.

He gasped in pain, the echo of a memory combining with how his blunt nails were cutting into his skin.  Tim, the one he could still save, gripped Jon’s hands and pried his fingers open.  Angry red half moons were left in their wake.

“Shh, it’s okay I’m here now,” he soothed, “We’re here now.”

Jon held onto him.  Almost flinching when Sasha wrapped her own arms around the two and melting when Martin wrapped uncertain arms around them all.  Jon wasn’t a big person by any means, but he did his best to hold all of them close.

He didn’t cry as Tim continued to murmur kind words to him.  Or when Sasha rubbed soothing circles into his back like she did before.  Or even when Martin rested his head on top of his. 

Jon fell asleep instead.

They heard Jon’s breathing even out as he fell asleep.  Martin carefully took the Polaroid out of his hands to keep it from creasing.  He only stood for a moment to put it next to his and Jon’s recorder, clicking both off and giving them a silent thank you when they stayed that way, and turned off the lights.  

Quietly, they did their best to adjust Jon to be lying on the blanketed floor, Tim lying next to him when Jon refused to let go even in sleep.  Sasha threw a blanket over them and settled next to Tim.

Tim looked at Martin with what he couldn’t help but think of as puppy eyes even in the faint lighting.  He sighed and resigned himself to sleeping on the floor.  Laying down a foot away, he fell asleep to Jon’s quiet breathing and Tim and Sasha’ whispered conversation.

When Martin woke he almost screamed.  He could feel something on his arm.  Fuck, did the worms get in while he was sleeping?  He couldn’t hear Prentiss knocking, but that didn’t mean anything.

He nearly slapped whatever horrid worms were trying to crawl into him when his eyes finally focused in the dark.  Jon.  Just Jon who was clinging to Martin’s arm.

Wasn’t he holding onto Tim?  Lifting his head a little, he noticed Tim on the other side of Jon.  No longer holding onto him but their backs were pressed together.  At some point during the night, they must’ve separated and rolled over to Martin.

Jon’s wavy bangs covered part of his face, screwed up in unconscious worry.  Martin had the mad thought of brushing them out of the way.  He really shouldn’t push it.  He got lucky when Jon didn’t remember how he clung to him last night (though he would have to live with Tim and Sasha teasing him about it for the rest of his life) and Martin didn’t even know if he had someone in the future.

Maybe...?  No.  He might be nicer to Martin, but that didn’t mean anything.  He was nicer to Tim and Sasha as well.  Jon may not know how he came back, but he was concentrating on stopping the Unknowing and Martin should be too.  No time for romance in the meantime.

Logic didn’t stop his heart from fluttering when he noticed how small Jon looked in his arms.  He’s been through so much.  Martin just wanted to hold him close, but there had to be boundaries somewhere.

He felt more than saw something shift and realized that Sasha had rolled over all of them.  She laid face down with one of her hands encased in Tim’s.  While trying to shift to give Jon more space, he also realized that all of their legs were tangled together.

Maybe brushing some hair out of Jon’s face wouldn’t be pushing boundaries.  He let himself fall to that temptation and smiled when Jon relaxed.  He resisted the urge to kiss his forehead, and shuffled a bit closer before falling asleep.

Chapter Text

Tim woke up first.

How could he not when one of Sasha’s hands flopped onto his face?  He moved it off to rest it against his chest instead and interlaced his fingers with it to go back to sleep, but didn’t feel tired enough.  

Bemoaning rejoining the waking world, he checked the time.  Early.  Might as well start breakfast.  

Reluctantly, Tim untangled his legs from Jon and Martin’s, wiggled to get out from beneath Sasha, and stumbled to the kitchen.  It was nice to work with a fully stocked kitchen.  Not that he would admit it, but he honestly was prone to forget to buy groceries when he didn’t have people over.  It was just easier to remember to take care of himself when he was taking care of others as well.

He went about cooking drowsily, the coffee machine still heating up, and wasn’t able to keep himself from knocking the plates or pans together.  

Sasha woke up second, moping and groaning, but Tim was used to this.  He watched as she bonelessly rolled off of Jon and Martin to lay face down on the floor.

Tim shook his head in quiet amusement as he made her coffee.  She propped herself up on her elbows, rubbing sleep out of her eyes before surrendering her hands to him.  He briefly covered her hands with his to wrap them around the coffee mug.  He knelt to her level and gently knocked his head against hers in place of a kiss.  A quiet I love you that he knew she returned.

“Morning, Sash,” he whispered.  She hummed tiredly in reply.

Tim looked at the sleeping half of the quartet.  Sasha, in her rolling, had pulled the blanket off and Tim had to bite back a squeal.  “Sashaaaaaa!” he whisper shouted, shaking the still groggy Sasha and she whined.  Tim pouted.  Still too tired then.  She’ll figure out that the cup in her hands can help her wake up eventually.  For now though…

Tim debated grabbing the Polaroid.  Jon had fell asleep while holding onto him, but in his sleep he had wrapped himself around Martin and tucked his face into his chest.  Martin was the biggest of them, in height and weight (and muscle) and encased in his arms, Jon was barely a speck.  God, Tim wished that were him.  Jon did say that physical pictures work to see through the Stranger’s facade sooo--  Nah, that would be going too far.

Instead, Tim grabbed the blanket and pulled it back over them.  Jon looked so small.  Just a few days ago, Tim was still trying to get him to go out for drinks or even to just get out of his office a bit more often.  He was still snapping at Martin and now here he was clinging to him like a life line and looking adorable.

Even just last night, he had looked so stressed, it was giving Tim grey hair.  Now, in sleep, seeing him relaxed made him look his actual age for the first time in since Tim met him.

He knew that Jon hadn’t told them everything yet, and what he already did tell them was already so much.  Worms, Prentiss, secret tunnels, whatever Jurgen Leitner was doing, everything Elias was/is doing… The Circus.

Blowing them up was all it took (will take?).  Either way, now he knew what to do.  Burn them all to Hell.  He could smell the smoke already.  Wait-- nope!  That was just the eggs.

“ Ah, shit,” he ran to the kitchen to move them off the pan.  Guess he knew which one was his then.  He continued cooking, not burning them this time, and started on the rice.

He and Sasha die.  Not how he thought taking an archival job would end.  It ended the same way for Gertrude as well and that just made Jon paranoid.  He looked so distraught and he had cried so much.  Far more than Tim ever saw Da-

“Fuck,” Tim snapped his hand back.  He hadn’t been paying attention and it touched the pan.  It didn’t leave a mark.  No scars on these hands, no sirree!  Not a single scratch.  But, would being covered in them be worth it?

Maybe he should start getting used to the pain.  His hand hovered over the hot metal, feeling the warmth radiating from it and he knew that the comfort would turn to mind numbing agony if he only had the resolve to lower it an inch.

He looked back at Jon, still sound asleep and barely visible under the blanket and Martin’s arms.  Maybe...Tim could still do what he came here to do without dying.  He pulled his hand back.  No scars as well.

Right?

He had already lived with this goal in mind for so long, giving up now just because he could die would be selfish.  Here he was alive and well and with his first real lead while…

Just focus on the eggs, Timoker Stoker.  You have guests!  Just fry the eggs, start the corn beef, compartmentalize for a little, you can do that.

Tim heard shuffling from the living room.  Sasha entered the kitchen, putting her empty mug in the sink as she passed it.

“Are you awake now?”

“A bit,” she mumbled and wrapped her arms around him.  She rested her head against the back of his, “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem.”

If anything, he would at least make sure she didn’t die.  Even if her clinging did force him to shuffle everywhere.  At first she held him for support, but now it was just from her want to bother him.

They heard Martin wake up when a loud squeak sounded from the living room followed by a quiet grumble (presumably from Jon).

Tim chuckled, “You okay there, lover boy?”  

“I’m fine,” they heard him whisper.  

Sasha finally used her hands for good and helped him plate the food and bring them to the living room table.  Martin’s eyes were like a deer in headlights as he stared at the wall, looking like he was about to strain himself from how still he held himself around Jon.  Not pulling away but not daring to get closer.  Sasha and Tim cooed at him.  Martin looked so flushed that Tim wasn’t sure they needed the blanket.

“Umm, can- can you guys help me please?” he whispered, desperately darting his eyes at them as his face got impossibly redder.

“Aww, but you look so comfortable,” Sasha teased.  She elbowed Tim, “Get the Polaroid?”  Martin looked affronted, but the look softened when Jon shifted closer to him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, trying to sound put off, but the smile on his face made Tim laugh.

“He sleeps like a log,” Tim said as he knelt behind Jon and lightly grabbed his arm, “We can probably just…” Carefully, he unwrapped Jon’s arms and legs from Martin.  The newly freed man grabbed a few pillows to wrap Jon around as a replacement, although the slight frown on Jon’s sleeping face told them that he would’ve preferred the original.

Tim and Sasha teased Martin for his still present blush as he ignored them to make tea.  Although, both admitted that they find this future version of Jon adorable as well as they sat down to eat.

“He’s small,” Sasha remarked between mouthfuls of food, “I mean he was always small, but now he’s soft.  Can I say that about our boss?”

“You’re right and you should say it,” Tim agreed, “Ten out of ten, would cuddle again.”

“I’m one of those ten,” Martin said, blush finally receding.

“Review not valid.  Too biased.”

“Hey!”

“He’s not wrong, Martin,” Sasha said, “Plus, you’re still blushing.”

Martin looked like he was going to make an argument, even going so far as to point a finger at her, but found none and settled for glaring at her while he drowned his embarrassment in tea.  He almost choked on it when Jon moved and sat up.

“Morning, Jon!” Tim called.  Aww, Jon had his hair all ruffled.  Maybe he could hide all the combs so that he would go to work like that.  Jon blinked blearily at them.

Huh.  Tim only saw it for a second, but he would have sworn that Jon’s eyes were not the dark brown they normally are.  Toxic, neon green irises with pitch black sclera weren’t on Jon’s list of spooky changes and he blinked them away a moment later.

Tim looked to Martin and Sasha.  She looked back, eyebrows furrowed, and Martin looked likewise unsure.  Okay, so they saw it too.  It’s too early to think about this honestly.

Jon looked a bit more awake after Martin put a cup of tea in his hands, mumbling a thank you.  Honestly, just a few days ago he was the world’s surliest boss, who gave him the right to look so adorable?  Tim wanted to thank them.  Now there were four absolute cuties in the archives.

“Are you feeling up to go to work today, future-boss man?” Tim asked.

Jon nodded, unfocused, “Yes, I--” he rubbed his forehead “--I think I need it.”

“Oh,” Tim swore internally, “I’m so sorry, I forgot that you said we can’t stay away for too long.”  He thought a single day off wouldn’t be bad for Jon, maybe it would even be good for him.  Damn it, he should’ve asked before he called.  He’s probably more connected to that eye god than them.

Jon waved him off.  “No, no, you’re fine.  This is,” he sighed, “this seems to be a new side effect.  I think The Eye is demanding more from me since it brought me back.  I just need to read more statements.  If you wish, you should be fine if you stayed out for another day.”

“We’re not going to leave you alone in a fear god temple,” Martin huffed, looking indignant as though he was insulted Jon would ever think so lowly of him.

Sasha bumped Jon’s shoulder, “I think Tim might have some pants that would fit you.”

Tim would be offended with how surprised Jon looked at their offers if he wasn’t so worried.  Once they were finished eating, Tim pulled Jon along to his bedroom, almost releasing him when he felt him tense before relaxing to the touch.

He should mention to the others that Jon seemed to like casual touch.  Probably should’ve noticed it last night with how fast he fell asleep with them holding him.  Maybe they could get him a weighted blanket for when he’s alone?

While digging through jeans that were too tight on him, but should fit Jon’s smaller frame alright, Tim had a thought.  “Hey, we can’t be fired now, right?”

“Hmm?” Jon had a bit of trouble focusing on Tim’s face, “Oh, yes.  Even if you try quitting.”

Although Tim felt a bit demoralized being reminded that they were essentially trapped, this did give him permission to go crazy with how he dressed.  Maybe not too crazy for now, just a few dress code violations to test the waters.

And so they arrived at the Institute, dressed like fashion is their passion and stomping on whatever worms they saw.  They gave their customary good mornings to Rosie who gave them compliments for their outfits.  Sasha had a sundress that showed her shoulders and Martin had a too-comfortable-for-business-casual rainbow sweater.  Tim himself had his brightest pink Hawaiian shirt and honestly?  They all looked great.

Jon didn’t say anything the whole time.  Not a single comment about the clothes Tim gave him!  He thought the cat sweater and cherry red pants would’ve at least gotten a raised eyebrow, but nothing.  He didn’t even bother to roll up the pants from where they scrunched at his ankles.

He only seemed to focus again when he got to the door of his office.  He stopped halfway through the frame and looked back at them, eyes wide with something Tim tentatively named sadness or shock, only heading in when they smiled and waved at him.

Despite the closed door, it still felt like he was looking at them.  Better than Elias, Tim supposed.  The three archival assistants separated to their desks.  All pretending to be able to focus before Tim finally sighed and asked, “Do you guys want to talk about it?”

Right away, Sasha and Martin nodded and they convened in the center of the room.  They concluded that they believe in Jon.  However weird everything he told them was.  All of them breathed a sigh of relief when they knew that the others also saw Jon’s eyes that morning.

Tim had a plan for dealing with Prentiss, but when Martin flinched at a small noise and glanced at the walls, he decided that it would be better to bring it up later.  To distract Martin from the impending worms, Tim brought back up Martin’s (previously questionable and now understandable) crush on Jon.

He didn’t bother hiding a grin when Martin flustered and his eyes darted to Jon’s closed office door.  Tim was tempted to be worried about Jon, but he is an adult.  He’s able to take care of himself, even if that meant reading statements to appease some dumb eye god.

“Maybe if Jon got replaced by a nicer future version of himself, then Elias would be too,” Sasha joked.

They laughed and had to stifle themselves when down the stairs came the man, the legend, the two eyed bastard himself: Elias Bouchard.  Was he able to hear Tim’s internal monologue?  Your khakis look ugly!  Eh, guess not then.  It looked like he was focusing on something else anyways.

Bouchard stepped quickly, looking agitated and fixed on bothering Jon.  Tim wanted to stop him, but remembered, oh yeah, he’s killed people.  But then again, he’s killed people.

He stopped on his war path to scowl at them.  “You’re all out of dress code,” he snapped, then threw open the door of Jon’s office and stormed in.

Tim looked to Martin and Sasha, maybe they should help.  They didn’t break the dress code that much so maybe the little spreadsheet obsessed man wouldn’t be that mad at them.

They only had time to share a worried look before Bouchard came stumbling back out, leaving the door open behind him.  His eyes were wide in shock and fear.  Maybe this feeds the voyeuristic eye god, Tim mused.  The trio watched him go leave the archives two steps at a time without reprimanding them again.

Tim nudged Martin, “Want to go check on Jon?”

He nodded, and Sasha and Tim followed him as he went to knock on the door frame.  He poked his head in, asking a quiet “Jon?” before startling and hitting the light switch.  Tim probably would have done the same if he was close enough.  

Whilst the office was shrouded in darkness, it was perfect to see two glowing green eyes.  In the light, Jon blinked it away like he did that morning.  Static that Tim didn’t notice receded.

“Oh,” Jon’s voice was still laced with the retreating noise, “I didn’t notice.”  He squinted at the light.  Did he not notice the eyes as well?

“Uhh.”

“Yes, Martin?” Tim was insulted that Jon could sound so smitten while Tim was still working through that shock of fear.

“We were just wondering if you wanted to join us for lunch?” Martin tried.  Tim silently applauded him for not stuttering while Jon was looking at him with those heart eyes.  A weaker man probably would’ve just turned to goo.

“Oh, yes!” Jon sounded elated, and more notably, more awake than he had the whole day, “just let me--” He organized the papers on his desk, likely the statements he was reading.

“I’ll listen to these later,” Jon mumbled as he put away a small pile of tapes and two tape recorders.  Tim was sure that he only had one.  Unless he took Martin’s (but the only thing Jon took of his was his heart).  It didn’t escape Tim’s notice that the Polaroid they took was attached to a paper weight on his desk.

All the way out of the archives and to a nearby cafe, Sasha gave Tim a look that said ‘you ask’ and Tim responded in the most mature way of ‘no you.’  This went on behind Jon and Martin until they were all seated and had their lunches in front of them.

It ended up being a staring match.  Tim lost.

“Heeey, Jon.  Did you gain any other powers from your eye god?”

“Well,” Jon started, “not really a power, but along with avoiding the Institute, if I don’t read statements for a while then I get sick.  N-none of you get this,” he assured, “I think it’s only an archivist thing.”

“Aren’t we archivists?” Martin asked, “Or at least assistant archivists.”

Jon shook his head, “The head archivist position has different consequences.  Although, before I-- I came back, I would feel sick, but now I feel hungry for them.”  He took a small bite of his sandwich.

“And I need more, probably because of that whole thing,” Jon waved a hand in a circle, no point naming it when they all knew what he was talking about.  “All I could think of this morning was reading statements and I can’t even remember what I read.  It just put me in a daze and now that I think about it I think I was reading two at a time.  Was I even reading them?  I think,” he put a hand up to his mouth, his breathing coming faster and his other hand clenched tighter, “I think there was just static coming out of my mouth?”

Tim grabbed his hands and made them unfurled, forcing them to relax.  “Breath, Jon,” he exaggerated his own breathing, waiting until Jon’s evened out.  “We can help you check the tapes later.  I hate to ask, but I was thinking more like glowing eyes?”

“No?” Jon looked distressed.  Tim rubbed his thumbs over Jon’s hands and reminded him to breathe.

“Hey, glowing eyes are cooler than bugs right?” Jon gave Sasha a flat look.  Probably not the reaction she was going for, but at least he didn’t look upset anymore.  Tim reclined back into his seat, letting go of Jon, but noted how Jon subtly leaned forward to follow him before pulling himself back.  Tim should definitely tell the others that Jon wants hugs.

“You can keep the door open if you’re worried about losing yourself,” Martin offered.  Jon nodded shyly, keeping his eyes on his sandwich.

They ate in relative silence, Jon seeming too worn out to speak.  After they ate, Jon did a double take on his sweater before looking at Tim confused.

“It’s wonderful, I know,” Tim beamed.  He got a heatless glare in return before Jon conceded and nodded in agreement.

Tim was glad that he liked it.  He meant to give it to Jon at the last office Christmas party, but he never showed up.  Maybe now they could drag him to one.  It probably wouldn’t be too wild to dream that he would come along of his own will either.

Chapter Text

Static became a norm for those working in the archives.  Sasha almost dared to call it comfortable.  Easier to tune out than the ever present press of something Watching her, though it made the hair stand on her neck and every few hours, she turned around just to check if something was there.  There never was.

The static also helped drown out the sound of the worms.  Although she was sure she was only imagining them.  She hoped she was just imagining them.

Jon had been keeping his door open since that first lunch.  Always leaving his office dark since the light was too much for his eyes when they got spooky.  If the static and the eyes weren’t enough to convince her about what he was saying, then the soft way he looked at them before going into his office just about convinced her.  He didn’t even seem aware he was doing it.

Which made her more sad about the fact that he still seemed worried about becoming a monster though Sasha understood.  When he compelled them, the words were just ripped from her throat and she dreaded to think what a worse person would do with that sort of power.  Although they trusted he would never do that, he still worried, but Martin was right in thinking keeping an open door would make him feel better.  She would be lying if she said it didn’t help ease her mind too.

They’ve brought him to more lunches since the first.  Always having to pull him out of the trance he went into when reading and waiting a moment for his eyes to stop glowing that unnatural green before turning on the lights.  Only the irises now, they’ve never reached the coverage they had when Elias came by.  

They’ve made sure he stepped away other times too.  Martin interrupting his focus for tea, Tim was actually on a few recordings asking Jon to straighten his back, and Sasha dragged him out in the middle of statements a couple of times to make sure he stretched his legs.

The tapes he recorded were another point of weirdness.  Other than the fact that Jon was able to speak static, the recordings themselves were anything but.  Sasha had checked a few and every one was as though Jon had spoken normally, albeit a bit theatrical.  When she had told this to him, he took a worried step back, not noticing a fallen recorder until they heard a crack.

They had to throw that one away.  Later, when it was Sasha’s turn to bring him to lunch, Jon held up three recorders.  More had manifested while he was recording.

He never seemed to be there with them at lunch.  He was there physically, but by his short answers and distracted nods, she knew he wasn’t truly there.  He would start the lunches fairly awake but always get less and less coherent until he excused himself early to record more statements.  Tim had called them his ‘second lunch.’  This earned him a weak smile from Jon before he went back into his dark room.

It took a few lunches before Jon was able to pull himself together enough to tell them that Prentiss was vulnerable to CO2.  Sasha couldn’t help but notice and cringe at how he worried at his hands while telling them this.  She wasn’t able to forget his hopeless stare at them when he told them about being covered in scars.

She covered his hands with her own to stop him picking at his skin, they were small hands and a bit dry but unbroken.  He didn’t seem more focused, but he did appear to calm down.  Looks like Tim was right when he told her and Martin that Jon wanted more physical affection.

Now they knew how to handle Prentiss, but Elias was still a wild card.  Since their day off, he hadn’t come down to check on them, but Sasha was ready to march up to his office and toss him to the worms when she couldn’t find Jon one morning.

Jon always left after them and always arrived before them.  At least she hoped that he left.  They never saw him leave, but he knows about the worms in the wall and she was sure that his statement-reading urge wouldn’t be enough to overcome his self preservation.  She hoped it wasn’t enough.

So, it was only natural for her to be worried when she didn’t find him in his office when she came in.  A week had passed since this new softer Jon appeared and at first she figured that he just had a late night and she focused on work.  A minute later, she decided that the place was a sham anyways and went to look for him.  With every room she checked, her worry increased and different horrible scenarios ran through her mind.

She had triple checked every room in the archives and was practically sweating her anxiety when Martin and Tim arrived.  Tim tried to rationalize that Jon probably just took the morning off, but they all knew the chances of that were low.  

His office was empty, better than a dead body, but bodies could be moved.  She wasn’t sure what sort of creepy eye powers Elias Douche-ard has, but she was sure that the three of them together on a hell bent war path could at least get a few good kicks in.

She grabbed a sturdy letter opener (honestly, crimes were a dime a dozen for them so one murder shouldn’t be too bad) and clutched it tighter when she heard someone coming down the stairs.  She put it down with a breath of relief when she saw it was only Jon.

“Jon!” Tim cried.  

He startled, dropping one of the fire extinguishers he was carrying.  His legs collapsed underneath him, forcing him to sit on the steps and they cringed at the loud clang of the cylinder hitting the floor.

Jon looked at Tim warily, “Yes?”  Sasha didn’t like the implication of how he shrunk into himself.

“Sorry,” Tim’s voice was softer, “We were worried about where you were.”

“I was getting these,” Jon lifted one of the extinguishers, “I also convinced Elias to change the fire suppressant system to CO2.”  He stood, stretching his back and Sasha could hear several loud pops.  He should really move around more often after sitting in that chair so much.

“It was easier to convince him this time,” he mused.  He handed one of the extinguishers to Martin.  “For the worms,” he said simply before heading to his office.  He missed the way Martin nearly cradled the nine kilogram metal cylinder like something precious as he thanked Jon.

Tim grabbed one from the stairs and handed the other to Sasha.  Wait.  One, two… hmm.  

“Jon?  There’s only three here.”

Jon looked at her, perplexed, “Yes?  I believe there’s enough for all of you.”

“What about you?”

Jon’s eyes widened, “Oh, I-- I forgot.”

Sasha shook her head, hearing Tim give a little “tsk” before handing Jon his.

“Wh-what, no.  No,” he tried to push it back into Tim’s hands, “Tim, you need this.”

“So do you.  I’m pretty sure there’s another one in the archives and if not, I can probably find one upstairs.”

Jon frowned at him, mouth working to find some other reason to make Tim take it before sighing and accepting it.  Only once he set it beside his desk and was in his reading trance did Tim go off to find another.

Sasha thought Jon was doing better.  Of course, she was worried that he forgot about himself, but if he was able to concentrate enough to talk to Elias then the statement need must be lessening, right?

Nope.  When Sasha went to interrupt him for lunch, she noticed that there weren’t two recorders.  Instead there were three whirring away and three statements.  Increasing how many he read at a time.  She couldn’t hear her sigh over the static pouring out of his mouth.  Maybe it would appear on the recordings.

Over lunch, she shared a worried look with Martin.  Out of all of them, he was the most concerned.  At first, he had been terribly flustered around this nicer Jon, but that had worn away to worry.  Since he was no longer staying in the archives, he wasn’t able to make sure Jon left at a reasonable time.  Or even left at all.  Although, Tim and Sasha still took some small joy in teasing him for the dopey grin he got whenever Jon smiled or thanked him.

She noticed that Jon also tended to smile more at Martin.  She and Tim had already agreed long ago that Jon didn’t realize that Martin liked him.  Now, both also agreed that Jon didn’t realize he liked Martin.

She itched to ask him about this, but it’s honestly not her place to interfere.  Besides, she got some guilty pleasure from watching them dance around each other.

More importantly, she wanted to ask him about the future.  How to prevent her and Tim’s death.  How to escape the Institute.  How to stop the Circus.  A myriad of questions but he always looked so haggard that it would be cruel to ask so soon.  Besides, if it was urgent then she trusted him to tell them.  For now, he deserved a break.

In spite of this, as the clock continued ticking down to the unknown date of her other self’s death, she couldn’t help but feel a bit more antsy.

So, the evening of the fire extinguisher incident, she collected a few true statements.  During one of Jon’s trances, she dropped the small stack onto Tim’s desk, startling him out of his focus.

“Let’s record statements,” she said, “You too, Martin.”  She nodded to him and he walked over.

Tim looked confused and shuffled through the pile, “Isn’t that Jon’s job?”

“Our work is light enough, we can help him a bit.”

Tim frowned and glanced at his computer.  Sasha sighed.  He still hadn’t told them what happened to him, but she knew it was enough for him to use all of his free time to study what he could about the Circus.  Without the help of an eldritch knowledge god, she didn’t think he'd been able to find much.

“He needs to read statements to feed that Eye thing right?  We’re also connected to the Eye.  If we read some then that should take some weight off of him and he would be able to focus enough to tell us more.  Plus, since we’re only assistants, we shouldn’t have any side effects.”

She watched as Tim turned this over in his head.  Even if he didn’t agree, having two should be well enough.  Martin was already nodding in agreement.  He probably had the most free time of all of them.  Once he had started asking them for help when he needed it, he learned fast and worked more efficiently though his work still had that sweet Martin touch to it.

Tim sighed, nodded and grabbed a statement.  Sasha smiled,  it was nice to have all of them together on this.  She grabbed one for herself and handed one to Martin, they separated into different corners of the room.  The cluttered piles of papers and boxes everywhere minimized how far sound carried.

From the corners, none of them were in sight of Jon.  Of his normal eyes anyways.  She wasn’t sure if he could Look like Elias, but the feeling of being Watched pressed a bit firmer when she got out a tape recorder.  One of the extras Jon had manifested.  She took a breath and turned it on.

It was, different from what Jon described.  She didn’t go into a daze.  Instead, it was like she was living through what happened.  She meant to read it plainly, but found herself acting out the emotions and voices like some real crime audio book.

It drew her in.  The room didn’t exist, only the words on the page and the feelings of the writer.  Of their fear.   Once finished, all of the focus she had drained away and left fatigue in its wake.

“Statement ends,” she clicked off the recorder, slumping in her chair.  Martin and Tim clicked theirs off a minute later, both looking out of it.

Tim groaned and face planted onto his desk, “How does he do so many of these?”

Martin shrugged, “Exposure?  Maybe the Eye god just likes him better than us.”  He scrunched his nose and rubbed his eyes, “Do we want it to like us?”

Sasha shrugged, barely a roll of her shoulders, “Tiiim.  Get Jon for a break, please.”

He grumbled, pulled himself off his desk and did an uncoordinated roll to Jon’s open door.  And sat there.  Sasha raised an eyebrow at him.

“Tim.”

“Yes, mahal?”

She stuck her tongue out at him.  She wasn’t sure what he was calling her but she was willing to bet it wasn’t nice.  “You have to knock.”

“I will just,” he waved his hand at the dark room, “I want to let him finish recording first.”

They’ve never bothered to wait before, but the bone deep exhaustion convinced her to wait.  They talked quietly, stopping when they heard three clicks from the office and the ever present static receded.

Tim waved at Jon as he stepped out, blinking at the light and letting the green filter out of his eyes. 

“Lunch?” he asked.

This was the first time he stopped on his own (that she’s seen, she was still holding some hope that he left at night).  She smiled, the only difference today was that they read statements as well.  Being a little tired would be worth it if Jon was able to live his own life instead of spending every waking moment paying off a debt to some fear monster.

They all headed to the break room, half of them sitting as Martin started the tea and Tim grabbed his Polaroid.  He half laid on top of the table to get all of them in frame, “Cheese!” and took a picture.  Once the film developed, Jon gave it his approval and Tim hung it on the wall.  

They’ve been doing that every break they take now and the break room wall was now half covered in strings heavy with pictures of them.  There were a few on their desks as well and Tim shamelessly kept one of Jon and Martin in his wallet, the one from their first night over.  Barely any of them were very flattering, but the reassured look Jon got when looking at it was worth it.  

Despite the fatigue the rest of them carried, Jon’s eyes were the clearest they’ve been in a while.  He was even aware enough to compliment Martin’s tea.

“Thank you,” Martin beamed.  Tim wiggled his eyebrows at him, Martin rolled his eyes in response and muttered something in Polish.  From the scathing tone, it wasn’t anything good.

Jon choked on his food and looked at Martin, shocked, “Martin!  I didn’t know you even knew words like that.”

“Words in Polish?” Sasha asked.

“Polish?”

“Yes?  I don’t know what Martin is saying, but I think I can recognize the language.”

Jon frowned, thinking as he took a sip from his mug, “Oh!  I thought it was only for written statements, but I think I can understand any language.”

Martin paled, a small “oh” falling from his mouth.  Sasha snickered, the love-struck fool had probably been calling Jon cute.

“Oh hey, Jon.  What did Tim call me?  Something like ‘mahal.’” She would have to find the Spanish equivalent.  She wasn’t fluent anymore, but there were a few cousins who were probably okay with teaching her curse words.  Tim looked like his brain blue screened.

“‘Mahal’?” Jon tilted his head in thought, the light catching his eyes in such a way that they looked hazel.  “That means ‘love.’”

…Oh.

She knew Tim was flirty but she didn’t realize how sappy he was as well.  This whole time, she thought he was calling her names.  The ball of sap himself looked like his face was about to catch fire as he stared intently at his cup, noisily drinking.  Fool, the noise can’t drown out the truth.

She bumped his shoulder with hers, laughing when he sputtered, “Aww, I guess I have to call you ‘mi amado’.”

Tim flustered, she laughed as he did finger guns before giving up and hiding his heated face in his hands.  Honestly, the man knew how to compliment and flirt, but didn’t know what to do when someone did it back to him.  She patted his shoulder and let him lean on her.  Martin looked like he was trying to suppress laughter.  This would probably count as some sort of payback for all the teasing they do.

“Sorry I didn’t mention this earlier,” Jon looked at them softly, “I don’t notice it when it’s happening and it only worked for statements before, I think.”

“Do you think it works with sign language?” Sasha asked.

Jon shrugged, “Maybe?”

Sasha gently moved Tim off her shoulder, he withdrew his face from his hands with a whine and stuck his tongue out at her.  She did the same.

“What does this mean?” She asked, facing Jon again.  She pointed at herself, brought both hands together to flick them downwards, and then brought them together again in a fist bump.

Jon shook his head, eyes staying brown, “Sorry.  I have no idea.”

“Eh, it’s fine.  Neither do I,” she shrugged, “I just remember seeing two teens aggressively signing this at each other and I’ve been wondering what it means.  One of them had some insanely long hair.”  Hopefully she didn’t just tell him to go screw himself.

“Maybe it has to do with intent?” Martin suggested, “Perhaps the person has to know what they’re saying?”

“I know a few words,” Tim said, finally over his embarrassment.  He put out both hands in finger guns then flicked them up and finished by using his right hand to do a motion like cupping his chin then pulling his hand down until his fingertips touched.

Jon’s eyes flashed green, “‘Boss man’?”

“Yup!” Tim beamed at him.  Jon smiled back and the smile reached his hazel eyes.

But Sasha was sure it was just the lighting.

Chapter Text

Jon was doing better.  He didn’t tell the others, but he had started reading three statements at a time.  They would just worry.  The guilt of the secret still weighed heavily on his mind regardless.  It was a bit easier to bear, he could actually pay attention to their conversations now!

Sadly, being able to focus on what they were saying didn’t give him much skill in actually contributing to the conversation.  They didn’t seem to mind though and it was nice to just listen to them talk.  He was even able to thank Tim when he gave him a weighted blanket the other day.  Maybe if he read four or five at a time he could sleep better.

Sleep at all?  There were times when Jon knew he wasn’t reading and he knew he wasn’t wholly awake but he wouldn’t call it sleep.  He could barely remember the ‘dreams’ he had when this happened and they were completely gone in a few seconds, leaving behind only the impression that it was unpleasant.  

In all honesty, he was running on the two nights of sleep he got at Tim’s, the tea Martin makes him, and whatever will power he had left.

He found that the leftovers of that slowly drained out of him over the days.  He cares about them, he really does, but interrupting him while he was recording statements didn’t make him feel any better.  Dragging him out of it left him a bit disorientated and he was grateful when they started to wait for him to stop instead.

Now that he could focus, he couldn’t allow himself to stop working on other things.  More canisters of CO2 were stashed around the Archives, all ‘repossessed’, from other parts of the Institute.  

He was a bit surprised that Elias hadn’t said anything about this.  Maybe some weird and unwanted favoritism?  Perhaps not, he seemed a bit uneasy around Jon when he had gone to ask about changing the fire suppression system, though he didn’t fight him on it.

There were so many things to prepare for, starting with making sure they all got through the worm attack and that wretched table.  Thinking about the Circus just gave him a headache.  A possible side effect from the Unknowing, he mused.

Tim’s April Fool’s prank didn’t really help Jon’s preparations.  

There were so many googly eyes.  Everywhere.  Where did he even get this much.  Jon hadn’t left the Archives the whole time and he managed to cover everything with them.  He even managed to rope Martin into this, evident when Jon stopped recording to eat a light breakfast and he saw him sticking some eyes onto the higher parts of the wall.

Jon noted with some unease that it was different from last time, Tim had snuck in cut outs of someone he called ‘Lucky Luciano’ and hid them around the Archives.  Was this some sort of butterfly effect?  Would the future change so much that what he knew wouldn’t help them?

The prank also reminded Jon that it was April first.  Something about the date begged for him to remember something, but whatever it was felt like it was covered in cotton.  What was it…

“Jon!” Sasha yelled, barreling down the stairs, knocking a few eyes off the banister as she ran.

“Sasha?” Jon reached for her, stumbling back a step when she threw her arms around him in a hug.  He heard recorders click on.

She released him, far too soon in his opinion, and held him by his shoulders instead, “I encountered one of those entity people, a- an avatar.  The confusing spiral one.”

Oh.  This had slipped Jon’s mind.

She told them about her encounter with Michael.  Starting largely the same besides a few word choices, but veering off when telling them about the cafe.

“He didn’t speak when I sat down,” she recalled, “and I saw his coffee cup was full, though the way he balanced and spun it on its edge should’ve spilled it.”

Another change.  Was this significant?

“His face was,” Sasha continued, oblivious to Jon’s worry, “frustrating to look at, but it looked like he wanted to ask me a question.  So I waited, but he never said anything so I asked him what he wanted.  I didn’t bother asking what he was, it was obvious in how his hair spiraled infinitely in the small space of the cafe and how the colors of his clothes made me taste lavender.

“He introduced himself as Michael; it didn’t seem to fit somehow, and the way he said it made me think it definitely was not his name.  Still, it wasn’t like I had any other name for him.”

Jon waited for her to tack on ‘for it,’ but it never came.  She glanced at him through the corner of her eye.  Did he change her mind about avatars?  Or did she not want to acknowledge his inhumanity in front of him.

“It’s a bit silly now that I think about it,” she laughed, “I don’t know if Michael even goes by ‘he.’  He, um, they told me they wanted to help.  I assumed they meant with Jane Prentiss, but they laughed at that, and the noise was like a negative photograph of sound.  Then they said they were surprised ‘The Archivist’ already knew what they wanted to tell them.  I think they meant you, Jon, but I don’t understand why they didn’t just say your name.  I remember you said they were lies incarnate and I didn’t trust them so I went to move.

“They put their hands on mine, and they just felt heavy, like wet leather bags of heavy stones.  I pulled my hands back and was already out of my seat when they called me back.  They seemed, almost shy?  They could’ve easily pulled me back, but they didn’t.  They said they,” she paused, “They said they wanted to be friends.  And then they handed me this,” she pulled something out of her bag, setting it on her desk.

It was wrapped in a long scarf and she unfurled it, careful to not touch what was inside.

A cup.  Maybe a cup.  If a cup could be not a cup and also a mobius strip at the same time.  It twisted into itself in fractals and smelled faintly of coffee, Jon wasn’t sure if it could actually hold any liquid.  He picked it up, ignoring how Martin and Tim yelped at him to put it back down.  The not-quite-a-cup was a bit heavier than it looked and the weight shifted as he turned, like it still had liquid in it.

Sasha looked at his hands warily, like they would mould into the cup, her eyes darted to his, “Jon, your eyes, they’re--” she gave a tired sigh, “I guess this is a statement then.”  She glared at the nearest recorder, manifested on her desk.

“After that,” she continued, “I left.  I didn’t say anything, I just pulled my sleeves over my hands, grabbed this, gave a curt thank you, left and went to sleep.  I didn’t see them again at the cafe when I passed it, but I also didn’t go in to find out.”

Jon nodded, putting the cup down.  He wasn’t sure it was the right way up or if there was a right way up.  “So they didn’t tell you to meet them at a cemetery?” he asked.

“No?  Why would they?”

“That’s what they did last time,” Jon reasoned.  Did they have to deal with Timothy Hodge by themselves then?  He didn’t know what building he was in, maybe Michael would be interested in them to take care of him themself.

“Last time?” Tim and Sasha asked at the same time, same wary tone.  Martin took a nervous sip of his tea, not wanting a part in this.

“Wait, wait, Jon,” Sasha shook her head, “Did you forget to tell us, tell me, that I was going to run into a fear avatar?”

“A-ah, yes,” he admitted sheepishly, “I’m sorry, Sasha.  I haven’t been very organized in the past few weeks and I shouldn’t have let this slip my mind.”

She frowned at him, upset, “How could you just forget something like…” she trailed off, eyes wide, “Oh.”

She held her arms out tentatively, he fell into the hug.  “I’m sorry,” she said into his hair.  He shook his head, she had nothing to apologize for.  She gave him a gentle squeeze before letting him go.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Tim asked.

She shook her head, “No.”

“That’s good,” Jon said, “Michael is fairly harmless, though they did stab me once, but this cup is new.”

“Michael did what?” Martin asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“They were fairly harmless?”  Was it so shocking that an avatar of a fear god could be a decent person?  What does this say about Jon?  Sure he didn’t actively choose this but he still made all the decisions that lead to this and, oh wait.  That’s not what Martin was asking about.  “They stabbed me, but that was in the other timeline so that scar is only psychological now.”

They stared at him, frowns and straight lined mouths on all of them.  “That was a joke,” Jon mumbles.  Sasha and Martin gave quiet laughs, Jon could tell they didn’t really find it funny.

Tim chuckled, “I wasn’t sure if I could laugh.”

They went to their separate desks after that, Jon taking the twisted cup to his office.  He wanted to keep it close in case it did anything and if it lead the Distortion back to them, better Jon than the others.  It was also just mesmerizing to look at.

He was half glad for going into a trance while reading, he didn’t have to feel the statement givers’ fear anymore and he didn’t have to think about the worms behind the walls.  One of the downsides, besides losing his autonomy, was that the seconds after snapping out of his reverie always made his skin crawl, his sight wasn’t the only thing enhanced.

The only thing that made him grateful for his increased sense was when he woke to find a cup of tea on his desk.  Always set in a spot he had cleared for it.  Before, he had been annoyed at Martin for always giving him tea, assuming that he was just using it as an excuse to not work.  But now, he relished it.  Martin always seemed to perfectly time when to put it down so that it would be steeped and cooled to Jon’s preference by the time he was ready to drink it.

Martin only did this half the time.  Sometimes he would wait for Jon to finish reading before pulling him away to enjoy tea with the rest of them.  He enjoyed these times with them, even if Sasha and Tim would occasionally disappear leaving him alone with Martin.

The second thing is what he did today, Martin’s voice being the first thing Jon heard out of his haze, thankfully quiet and asking if he wanted to drink tea with him (Sasha and Tim were elsewhere).  

Asking was just a formality at this point, Jon didn’t think he would ever turn him down.  He smiled and nodded, clicking off the recorders as he went to join Martin, bundling up his weighted blanket to take with him.

Normally, he only indulged it over the weekend when he was alone in the Archives, but around Martin he didn’t feel self conscious about his want for pressure.  The weight was always pleasant and it dampened the phantom itches of the scars that no longer cover him.  He couldn’t help but feel greedy, wanting warmth along with what he already had.  Maybe he could get a heated blanket.

The main room was still covered in eyes, some stuck to the walls and ceilings with a few on the ground that failed to stick.  The Eye didn’t seem to take offense to this so there wasn’t any reason to pull it down quite yet.

The break room wasn’t as covered, only a few eyes stuck tastefully to appliances to give them faces.  Jon debated grabbing the Polaroid as he sat down, but that felt like Tim’s thing and he didn’t want to mess with it.  Besides, the wall was now almost covered in pictures, hung up with colorful strings and clips.  Some of the pictures had smaller googly eyes stuck onto them, a few of Jon’s had an eye on his forehead.

“I’m making Jasmine tea today,” Martin said as he turned on the kettle, “Do you want some honey?”

“W-what?”

“Jasmine tea and honey?” Martin asked again, distracted by his tea prepping.

Oh, of course.  Jon had thought-- Heh, he must be out of it if he thought Martin had called him…

“Yes, uh, thank you,” Jon answered, pulling the blanket closer around him.

Martin hummed in reply, both falling into a comfortable silence only broken by the soft clinking of spoons against cups.  Jon rested his head in his arms and was half way to sleep when a cup was put down in front of him.  There were eyes arranged in a smile on it.

“Thank you,” he said, wrapping his hands around it, careful to not unstick the eyes.  The warmth felt near burning to his cold hands.

“No problem,” Martin replied, sitting across from him.  “Are you okay?  With Michael and--” he waved his hand around the room, indicating the Archives.  Though he might have meant Tim’s prank when he took a sip and had to spit out a plastic eye.

Jon chuckled once he was sure Martin wasn’t choking, “Michael shouldn’t cause much trouble, they were actually quite helpful a few times.”

Martin raised an eyebrow at him.

“No trouble aside from them stabbing me, and they only did that once.  Not even a lethal area,” he mumbled that last part.  “The Archives aren’t too bad either, but it might take a while to clean all this up.”

He could probably do it overnight since he doesn’t really sleep.  He also hasn’t left in weeks, but let’s not unpack that.  His stay would probably be more pleasant if Martin was still living here, just knowing that he was in the other room, a short walk away.  But forcing him to stay here longer than he needed, forcing him to stay near the worms, kept Jon from asking.

Best to just enjoy his company while he was here.  Martin told him about Jasmine tea and Jon did his best to not interrupt.  Even when the knowledge started filtering into his head before Martin told him.  He just nodded along, adding input when asked about his opinion, and fought the urge to read until the hunger grew painful.  He winced.

Martin faltered, “Do you need to go back?”

“Sorry,” Jon apologized, tired.  “Thank you for the tea, Martin,” he smiled at him.

“Anytime,” Martin smiled back, a soft blush creeping across his face.

Jon folded up his blanket, holding it in one hand and putting his empty cup into the sink with the other.  Martin waved at him as he left, still having tea and time to enjoy in the break room, and Jon headed back to the main area.

Sasha and Tim were back from their outing, Sasha at her desk and Tim sitting on the edge of his talking to her.

“Hey, Jon!” Tim called from his high seat.  He waved at Jon, then moved two open palms up, parallel to his chest, before moving both forward as thumbs up, then signed the now familiar ‘boss man.’

Jon blinked, the words ‘Hello.  How are you, boss man’ entering his mind.

“Good?” he answered, sounding more like a question, “Have you been learning sign language?”

“Just a little,” Tim grinned, “Figured it would be useful when you’re not feeling up to speaking.  Sasha knows a bit more than me.”

Sasha waved from her desk.  ‘Hello.’   She pointed at Jon before doing a motion like stroking both sides of her face with a flat hand.  ‘You are handsome.’

Jon could feel his face warm, “Th-thank you,” he stuttered.

Sasha smiled at him, “I’m just saying the truth.  Not sure how our grammar is, but we can get across a few basic ideas.”

“So,” Tim leaned forward to rest his chin on interlaced fingers, “why are you out and about?”   He grinned at Jon like this was some good gossip instead of him just existing out of his office. 

“Drinking tea with Martin?” Sasha guessed.

Tim pouted and whined, “You can’t hog him all to yourself.”

Sasha laughed, “Didn’t we leave them here tog--” but stopped when Tim gave her a pointed stare.  She raised her hands in mock surrender.

Jon swore they didn’t make sense sometimes.  “I’m not hogging him, Tim.  Besides, I enjoy both of your companies as well and I’m sure Martin does too.”  

He hoped they liked his company as well.  Logically, yes they do.  They chose to be around him and go out of their way to be with him and even got him the blanket he was holding.  He clenched his hands around it, but couldn’t stop one hand from reaching up to tug vengefully on his hair.

Tim winced in empathy, moving to stop him, but pulled himself back when Jon removed his hand.  “Why do you do that?” he asked.

“Hmm?”  Oh, the hair thing, “My hair used to be longer, and I picked up the habit of messing with it.”

“Whaaat!  Aye, I would’ve loved to see that,” Tim laments.

“Me too,” Sasha adds in, thought most of her concentration had turned to her computer.

“It’ll take some time to grow back out,” Jon told them, giving his hair a gentler tug.  He cleared his throat, “So, what are you working on?”

“Just, you know,” Tim shuffled the papers he wasn’t sitting on, “Statements about the circus and the Stranger.”  Despite the casual tone, he doesn’t quite meet Jon’s eyes.

Jon bit back the part of him that wanted to tell Tim to not go near them.  Tim is a grown man and can take care of himself.  But his Tim was also a grown man and he still, he still died.   “Be careful?” 

“I’m not going to blow myself up, Jon,” Tim snaps.  Jon’s grip tightened on the blanket, nails digging into it and he could feel the beads inside shift and dent as his frown deepened and his throat closed.  Tim immediately reeled back, “Sorry, I’m-- Sorry, Jon.  I promise you that I’ll be careful.”

Jon nodded, heading back to his office without a goodbye and getting lost in statements before his emotions caught up to him.

Jon seemed to be in a better mood at lunch, he was talking with them and laughing which was a good sign.  Sasha tested and taught different signs to him and Martin.  Tim wasn’t looking forward to ruining the mood, but there were a few important things he had to ask.

“Is Elias Looking now?” Tim asked, careful of his tone.  He didn’t want to coddle Jon, but he didn’t seem to notice or didn’t mind.

“No,” Jon said after a beat, “I actually haven’t felt him Looking since I got here.”

“Cool, so I’ve been thinking of how to deal with him,” Tim had actually been thinking about this for a while, “He had straight up killed people before right?  He hadn’t been caught but there’s probably other crimes he’s done that we can get him for.  Like that American mobster who got arrested for tax evasion, except now it’s a little pasty man who only does taxes.”

“The Institute is oddly well funded for a place that studies the supernatural,” Sasha considers, “There’s probably some illegal stuff going on in the background.”

Jon thought about this, nodding his head before saying, “We tried that last time, but I don’t know how it went.  It went down the same time as the Unknowing.”

Of the four that sat at the table, only Martin’s future version knew how that plan went.  Sasha died long before.  Tim and Jon had blown themselves up to stop that damned ritual.

The Unknowing.  The Circus.  The Stranger.  They’ve ruined Tim’s life in more ways than one.  They took his little brother.  He beat back the anger he felt welling up inside him, threatening to show on his face.  Jon didn’t deserve that.  He was trying his best to stop it and doing his best to be a better boss, a better friend.

Sasha groans, “Why don’t we just shove him in a box and toss that box over a cliff?”

“We’re tied to him,” Jon reminds her, “He dies, we die.”

“Let’s just toss him in a box then and call it a day.”

Jon smiled, looking lost in thought as he ate, “That might actually work.”

“Wait what,” Martin asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, what?” Tim started to consider that adult life just got too weird sometimes. 

“Yes, the uh,” Jon took a moment to rack his brain, “Statement number 9982211, Joshua Gillespie.  He had a coffin that people don’t come back out of.  I think they--” his eyes flashed green, Tim didn’t see a point in denying it, “The people inside it stay alive.”

“It seems a bit extreme,” Tim grimaced.  Being locked inside a box and forced to stay alive sounded awful, maybe even too awful for Elias.  “Would it work?”

“I believe so,” Jon said, “The creatures known as Breekon and Hope have it with them, I don’t think they go anywhere without it.  But it would be dangerous to have, we run the risk of being trapped inside it ourselves.”

“Is there any way to get out?” Martin asked.

“Maybe?” Jon shrugged, “I think an anchor would work, something to tie you to the world, to humanity.  Maybe I could cut off a finger?”

Tim blanched at the thought.

“But aren’t they fear entities?” Martin looked as distressed as Tim, Sasha likewise horrified at Jon’s calm musing.

“Yes?”

“How would a limb tie you to humanity?  Shouldn’t it be an emotional anchor?” Martin asked, almost begging to be correct about this, “Good emotions versus bad emotions and such.”

“Oh,” Jon looked taken aback, a bit embarrassed, “I didn’t think about that.”

“That’s why you have us,” Sasha declared, leaving no room for Jon to argue. 

Tim cleared his throat, “Alrighty so, Plan A: Arrest Elias Bitch-ard for possible money laundering.  If that doesn’t work, Plan B: Shove him in a box,” he summarized.

Both ludicrous plants that could quickly go south.  Elias clearly wasn’t afraid to ‘fire’ them (if that meant firing a bullet out of a gun of course) and the Coffin was dangerous to be around if Gillespie’s statement was correct.

And that’s all if they survived Prentiss.  Which reminded Tim, “Could you explain the worm attack a bit more?”

“Sure,” Jon said, not picking his hands, Tim doesn’t doubt him, “She was building up her attack in the walls for a long time, trying to overwhelm us, but I broke the wall too early so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”

Jon’s hands glide over each other.  The way he looked when he told them ‘we were covered in them,’ in scars, haunted Tim’s mind.  Being covered in worm injuries wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been?  Maybe being killed and turned into worm food was worse, but that’s a low bar. 

“What if we broke the wall even earlier?” Tim suggested, “Then there would be even less worms.”

Jon turned this over in his head, mindlessly eating and Tim nervously copied him.  He’d been thinking about this since the first day back and he didn’t really have any other plan other than ‘fill the tunnels with CO2.’  That could flush the worms out, but they could come back or just get out of the tunnels and into the Archives.  Without knowing the tunnels’ size, they also wouldn’t know how much gas they would need so that plan was out.

“It might-- No,” Jon finally decides, “I don’t think that would work.  The worms respond to Prentiss, but if we try that while she isn’t there, then it would all be for naught and I can’t tell whether she’s there or not.”  Jon scratched his throat.

So there goes that plan.  There was still time though, Jon hadn’t told them when exactly it happens but this was something Tim was sure he would tell them before it did.  He was glad that he asked before he went all gung ho with fire extinguishers on a worm lady who probably wasn’t even there.  And then perish via worms.  Or become a worm hive.  Tim shivered.

He shoved that thought from his mind.  They could deal with that later.  For now, the most important plan he had was to enjoy lunch with his friends.

Jon shifted the fire extinguisher, placing it into his stash.  He shouldn’t have waited so long to collect so many.  It’s been more than a month since Michael, even longer since Jon’s future memories appeared, and the only thing Jon’s really done was change the fire suppression system.

It wasn’t like his statement urge was holding him back now.  He learned how to manage it, if ‘manage it’ meant falling further into it and reading five statements at a time now.  He still hadn’t told them, but the sad looks Sasha gave him made it clear that she knew.

He looked out of his office, Sasha and Martin had already gone home and Tim had left earlier for research.  It was late enough that he would likely just head straight home instead of coming back to the Archives.

Jon eyed the door.  He hoped Tim wouldn’t come back to the Archives, he would probably trip over the extinguishers Jon had lined from his office to the stairs and up them.

Tim’s plan was honestly quite smart.  Get her before she was anywhere near ready.  The only problems this presented were collecting enough fire extinguishers and whether or not she would be there.

It took him over a month, but he was ready now.  He took a month to secret enough CO2 extinguishers down and another week hyping himself up to do it, but now he was ready and he Knew Prentiss was there.  He had lied to them about not Knowing if she was there, a lie he had to drag out of his throat and left it itching, but he wouldn’t let them get hurt.

His nervous tick of rubbing his hands together was stopped by his gloves, as thick as the rest of his clothing.  The thickness of the gloves also kept him from holding anything correctly.  He hesitated, but ultimately removed them.  No point in trying to protect yourself from worms when you could just kill them instead.  He ran a clammy hand through his hair, bangs now brushing his nose.  

Shouldering a backpack full of Polaroids and Tim’s camera and the weighted blanket he gave him (in Jon’s opinion, the only records actually worth keeping from the Archives), he grabbed one of the extinguishers.  

He took a breath, picked up the twisted cup, and aimed for a spider shaped crack on the wall.

Chapter Text

Jon wasn’t human anymore.  Tim knew that Sasha tried to ignore this, but it was hard to turn a blind eye (ha!) to how Jon’s were basically night lights when he read statements.  He also didn’t eat as much as he used to.  Maybe Tim’s joke about statements being his second lunch wasn’t that far off the mark.

With the loss of his appetite, Jon’s ability to focus had returned.  This was a good thing! (besides the obvious but at least they were dipping back into human problems and not eldritch god problems)  Or so Tim thought until Sasha told him about Jon reading more statements without even telling them.  Damn it.

Tim volunteered only once to get Jon since he heard about this.  In the darkness, the green of his eyes practically lit up his desk, the glow consuming his entire eye instead of just the irises.  Tim felt like they could see into his soul.  He stayed away from Jon’s office during statements after that.

This wasn’t to say that he didn’t like or trust Jon!  When he wasn’t enraptured in statements, Tim was glad that he was with them.  He was different from what he used to be.  Now, he was more aware of other’s feelings and even apologized.  Tim wasn’t above admitting that his soft smiles made his heart melt a little bit.  These moments, during lunches or whenever Martin used his Jon-senses to figure out when the man was available for tea, were precious to Tim.

So, it only made sense that he sacrificed an hour or so from his day to read statements.  Full disclosure: They freaked him out.  He didn’t like feeling out of his head or how it was like living through someone else’s in some sort of messed up 4D movie.

Even though the statements were given to them, they felt invasive.  Tim was pretty sure the statement givers weren’t aware of how much they were going to know about their emotional state.

But if being a bit uncomfortable was the price to take some of the weight off Jon, then Tim was happy to pay it.  The fact that he was paying it to some dumb eye god didn’t phase him as much as it probably should to be honest.  Easy enough to not think about when he was out drinking with his friends.  He even managed to pull Jon away from the archives once to go drinking with the rest of them!

Overall, the past month or so were pretty great.  He wanted more of it, more time with Jon.  More time with Sasha and Martin.  He just had to save them from everything that could happen.

He was tempted to get Gertrude’s C4 stash (Jon had already shown it to them, in case anything happened to him but Tim would make sure nothing would) and go ham, but he had promised Jon that he would be careful.  He was, but that didn’t mean that he would stop his research.

He made sure that he never went to any place that was terribly dangerous and asked Jon a couple of things during a few of their slower lunches.  Sasha, Martin and him even made an hourly check up system for when he did field work.  None of them wanted a repeat of Prentiss.

Tim’s phone buzzed for one of these checks, “It’s getting late.  Last vibe check.” 

He laughed, Sasha never bothered to be professional with these, but it worked.  “Rancid, but not bad :]” he texted back.

His latest lead was from Jack Barnabas’ statement.  Figured that if an explosion could take out the Circus then surely a giant fire would do a similar job.  Who better for that than an avatar of the Desolation?

Tim had already spent the day exhausting all the other leads from the statement.  Barnabas himself had been the last person Tim had checked and now there was only the cafe.  It was a low chance that there was anything useful there, the statement was from a decade ago, but it didn’t hurt to do some due diligence.

The cafe was nice.  Even at the end of the day, there were a fair amount of customers milling about.  One looked like a college student.  Poor kid was surrounded by half a dozen coffee cups and looked close to tears as they typed on their computer.

Tim ordered coffee, more out of courtesy than actually wanting to drink one.  Didn’t seem like he would get any information, but he might as well bring Jon something since he knew he would be working this late anyways.

He sat in the corner to people watch while he waited for his order.  Someone came up to the student and offered help then clicked a few keys on the computer.  They both watched the screen for a moment before the kid started sobbing in relief, Tim could hear them saying something about saving them from student loans.

A woman sitting a few seats away scowled at this.  Either a person who didn’t like others being loud or wants others in college debt.  She was a bit shorter than Tim but just as buff and wearing a tank top despite the weather.  Wait.  This description felt familiar.

Tim’s name was called.  He tried to get a discrete look at her as he went to get his coffee.  Her hair was short and on her back he could see the edges of a tattoo of flames.  He was willing to bet that there was a man screaming in the middle of it.

Maybe this research trip wouldn’t be a total bust after all if this was the same woman mentioned in Barnabas’ statement.

“Hey,” Tim waved at her, hoping that he came across more charming than creepy, “Coffee?”  He sat down across from her, putting on his trademark Tim™ smile and offering the coffee to her.  Sorry Jon, you probably need actual sleep more than coffee anyways.

He had to adjust himself when he felt corners dig into his butt.  Huh, a tape recorder.  Did Jon’s manifesting powers really extend this far?

She eyed the coffee, “Who are you?”  She pushed it away from her, steam curled out of it.

“Just another lonely person,” Tim winked.  She glared at him.  Yeah, that approach wasn’t going to work.  “I’m from the Magnus Institute.  I’m doing follow up on a statement we were given by a Jack Barnabas.  Did you know him?”

“Ugh,” she sneered, “That burnt-face little runt?  What about him?”

“He used to work here in 2006 and he mentioned someone who looked like you, including your tattoo.  I was just wondering if you knew anything about the woman he was seeing at the time, Agnes Montague?”

Her expression softened, like wax in a warm palm, “I knew her.  But she’s not one of your stories,” she finished with a glare.

“Fair enough, but can you tell me about her people?  The fire cult,” he leaned back doing his best to be non-threatening.  It wasn’t hard with how she leaned forward and didn’t look like she would hesitate to rip out his throat.

“‘The fire cult?’” she laughed, “Don’t be so ineloquent when talking about The Desolation.  Especially when you’re from that pathetic little eye, just sitting back and watching instead of actually doing anything.  When we triumph, we’ll leave you nothing but a shriveled husk that can only ‘behold’ its own agony.”

“Alriiighty,” Tim smiled stiffly.  This conversation was getting more aggressive than he thought it was going to get.  He only went out to get more information on the Desolation but finding one of its followers was even better.  Provided she doesn’t kill him.  “So you’re part of them?  An avatar of the Desolation?”

“Yes,” she leered.  She picked up the cup.  Tim could hear the coffee inside boil and steam poured out of it.  This didn’t seem to bother her when she took a sip.  There was a hand mark burned into the cup and the lip of the cover was melted when she set it back down, smirking at his doubtlessly shocked expression.

“Jude Perry,” she introduced herself, holding out a hand.

He eyed it warily, “Tim Stoker.  Can you help me stop the Unknowing?”

“Perhaps,” she drawled, “For a handshake, I’ll think about it.”

He considered it, a bad burn for stopping the end of the world, but he promised Jon he would be careful.  Doing his best to keep a casual smile, he stiffly laughed, “Sounds like a bargain, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you down.”

She shrugged, taking another steaming sip of coffee, “Fair enough.  I didn’t think you were that dumb.”  She put the cup down.  Tim startled when it caught on fire, not noticing Jude reaching over the table until she purred, “But I do know you’re not fireproof,” into his ear and he felt a searing heat on his arm.

There was too much pain for him to even scream, though not for lack of effort, and she let go, looking disappointed.  He panted out heaving breaths, backing out of Jude’s reach best he could without out right running away.

The burn was horrific.  

He could smell as much as see how the flesh charred, angry red around the edges of the hand shaped wound.  It dipped in like soft wax pushed around and parts of it looked like it bubbled and melted before it remembered it was flesh and not a candle.

“You didn’t scream,” she said, and sighed, “More than I expected from your lot.  I would love to burn you more, but I think I’ll let you go.  You seem like you would do well with us, if you weren’t with the Eye.”

“Thanks?” Tim bit out through the pain.  He tried to move his arm, hissing when the burn blistered and started bleeding, “I got your calling card if I ever consider a career change.”

She laughed and smiled, more predatory than he would have liked, and he left.  Barely remembering to grab the recorder on his way out.

There wasn’t enough burn salve in the car.  Tim also didn’t have enough at his house so here he was driving back to the Institute after work hours hoping that one of them had enough sense to stash a first aid kit away with everything that was happening.  Were burns supposed to feel like they still warm after the fact?

There were more worms than usual outside the building and he had to be careful to not jostle his arm while stomping on them.  He waved to Rosie with his good arm and almost ran into a fire extinguisher when he went down to the archives.

There were three that he could see before the door to archives proper, but he didn’t need to pass that door to hear Jon’s yelling.  It was almost drowned out under the sound of nauseous writing.  

Worms.

Tim ran down the rest of the stairs, grabbing an extinguisher with his good arm.

The next few minutes were a blur of running, yelling, pain, and a touch more CO2 than Tim thought was healthy, but his mind was clear enough to remember getting out of the archives with Jon and activating the fire suppression system.

Now, he sat outside of the Institute, swaddled under a blanket with Jon as medics attended to their injuries.  Prentiss was dead, the shrill screaming of her worm ridden throat left his ear ringing, but she left her mark.  Tim’s lower legs were dotted with bleeding holes and there were a few on his arms from when he tripped on the stairs.

Jon’s hands had it worse.  He had thick clothing everywhere else but his forearms were a mess, didn’t make it any better that he practically stuck his hands into a carpet of worms when he dropped his bag.  Not all of the worms completely burrowed in, but there were so many bites and deep scratches that Tim wasn’t sure they would work the same after this. 

How was this less worms than what Jon had to go through before?

Tim made sure to keep an arm around him when he could to ground him, even when they were getting bandaged.  He was given a worried look from a medic for the burn on his arm, but thankfully they treated it without question.

Jon just sat there.  Staring at his hands.  Tim had to stop him from picking at the wounds and once they were bandaged, he had to stop him from picking through the bandages.

Tim gave a laugh that startled himself.  Jon jumped at the noise.

“Sorry, it’s just,” Tim chuckled, tears slipping down his face, “We didn’t lose Sasha this time.”

Jon stared at him.  He started laughing a little as well, more motion than noise as the sound choked in his throat.  Tears brimmed up in his eyes until they were running down his face and Jon was crying.  Tim wrapped his bandaged arms around him best he could until they both calmed down and their thankful but tear reddened faces dried.

They still had to wait until the medical people cleared them so Tim let go of Jon, changing positions to sit beside him instead and rested his head on Jon’s.

“We still need to talk about what happened,” he said quietly.

Jon nodded, staring at his bandaged hands again.  The scars were obscured, but Tim was sure that they hurt as much as his.

Elias came by, probably worried that someone was going to take away his favorite hobby of murdering head archivists.  Tim could feel how Jon had tensed at his side and moved to stand.  He gently pushed him back down, Tim could deal with this little bastard himself.

It was all through gritted teeth, but he managed to thank Elias for the fire suppression system without spitting in his face.  He didn’t think Elias was convinced that Tim liked him but Tim didn’t really care.  He even managed to persuade Elias to clear the archival team for a while with paid leave.

Well.  More like Jon had persuaded Elias by glaring at him with his spooky eyes.  Hey, if you get tricked into being tied to a fear god then you might as well use your eye powers to bully your boss.

Jon was too out of it to tell Tim where he lived, he just let himself be guided to Tim’s house.  They were quiet the whole walk, Tim was probably angry at him.  

God he messed up.  He couldn’t have waited one more day to make sure no one would have come back.  Or have just done it the moment he was ready instead of being a coward.  There were more worms than he expected, Prentiss was probably watching him gather all those fire extinguishers and he just let her build up more of an attack because he was an idiot.

Now, Tim was covered in scars and all Jon had was a few scratches on his hands.  He picked at the bandages again, Tim separated his hands.  Probably didn’t want Jon bleeding all over his floor.

Tim handed him a change of clothes when they got there and then just turned his back to change instead of leaving the room, likely too tired to go anywhere else.  Jon turned around as well, setting his bag in a corner and changing as quick as he could with trembling fingers.  There were still no scars on the rest of his body, just his stupid hands and he didn’t have to turn around to know how much Tim had in comparison.

Tears blurred his vision.  He wiped them away with his damaged, bandaged hands.  The texture was unforgiving.  He couldn’t even save his hands from  Prentiss, how was he supposed to save Tim and Sasha?  Would he just mess up and cause Martin to get hurt as well?

He couldn’t save them could he?  Was he just stuck in a time loop where he failed to save his friends from death over and over again?  Every nice moment had only to make him mourn them that much more?  Would he have to forget Sasha’s face again, have it replaced by another’s each time until every face but hers reminded him of her?

A sob racked his body.  God he was useless.

“Jon,” a soft voice pulled him from his mind, “Shh, we’re okay.”  Tim drew him into his chest, one arm lightly pressing against his back and the other in his hair.  His strong frame steadied Jon’s trembling one.

Jon wrapped his arms around him and tucked his crying face into Tim’s shoulder.  He didn’t have to look at his damned hands like this.

“We need to talk,” Tim mumbled into Jon’s hair.

Jon pulled his face away from Tim, instantly missing the warmth.  Even with the bandages, he felt a bit warmer than usual.  He put a finger to the tip of his nose then moved his hand away, then closed his fore and middle finger against his thumb two times.  ‘Can’t speak.’

The bandages made it hard but he closed his hand into a fist, circling it in front of his chest and willed the pained tears brimming in his eyes to not fall.  ‘Sorry.  Sorry.  Sorry.  Sor-’

“Shh, it’s not your fault.  It’s fine, we’re fine,” Tim soothed, letting Jon collapse back into him.  He combed a hand through Jon’s hair.  “We can talk later, but I need to tell you some things right now, okay?  Two taps for yes and one for no.”

Jon tapped his back two times.

“Okay, three taps for ‘stop talking’ as well,” he sighed, Jon could feel his warm breath against the top of his head.  He closed his eyes.

“What were you thinking,” Tim mumbled, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think that was an accident.  You had extinguishers lined up all the way up the stairs and more than I’ve ever seen in the archives.  Please Jon,” Tim’s voice cracked, Jon could feel tears on his head.  “We want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t tell us you need help.  You’re not alone in this.”

Tears continued to fall as Tim talked, “Thank you, for caring about us, but don’t sacrifice yourself for our sake.  You’re trying to save us right?  You’re part of us so include yourself, give yourself the same courtesies you would give another person.”

Jon scoffed into Tim’s neck, he wasn’t really a person anymore.  Tim shushed him, stopping his petting to give Jon a light bop on the head.  He tangled his fingers in Jon’s hair again before continuing, “You’re a person, Jon.  I-- I don’t think you’re human anymore, but you’re a person.”

Jon didn’t know what to say about this.  He tapped Tim’s back three times.

“Okay,” Tim murmured, “Let’s go to sleep then.”

It was a bit difficult figuring out how to lay down with their injuries.  Jon couldn’t put much pressure onto his hands or forearms and Tim couldn’t really lay on his sides for too long.  There was one bandage on his left arm he gave the most care, the knowledge that it was a burn from Jude Perry seeped into Jon’s mind.

He pointed at it, then crossed his pointing hand across his chest to his opposite shoulder.  ‘Why?’

“Desolation avatar,” Tim answered, “It’s not too bad.”

Jon frowned, he knew how much her burns hurt and Tim’s grimace didn’t help his lie.  Nevertheless, Jon wasn’t in any position to criticize someone running after dangerous avatars.

Tim pulled the covers over them, wincing when it pulled on his injuries, “Stop thinking for a little.  Just sleep.”  He pulled Jon’s head to his and pressed their foreheads together.

‘I love you.  We love you.  Please, we want-- we need you to be safe,’ was what Jon Knew it meant.

“Please be careful,” was all Tim said.

Jon pressed back, closing his eyes and willing Tim to understand he wished he could promise that.  Tim kissed Jon’s forehead then rolled onto his back to take the pressure off his sides, keeping one arm touching Jon’s.  They both fell asleep, slipping off into their usual nightmares, forgotten by morning.  Neither woke at the creaking open and close of a yellow door that did not exist.

Chapter Text

“Stop squirming,” Martin chided.  He rested a hand on Jon’s shoulder to still him, having to go up on one knee to reach from where he was sitting on the floor in front of Jon.

“Sorry,” Jon winced, but stilled.

Martin huffed, “No, no, sorry.  You’re fine.  This probably isn’t very comfortable.”

Jon nodded, looking away when Martin unwrapped one of his hands.  He could see why, there was more damaged skin than unbroken.

“So,” Sasha said from her seat next to Tim, helping him replace the bandages on his arms, “Do we not have a job now?”

Earlier that day, Martin and her had barely arrived at the steps of the Institute when Elias came up to them and told them they were cleared for several months of paid leave.  They managed to convince him to let them grab a few boxes of statements for Jon, saying they didn’t want to get too far behind, but the stench and sight of a rotting carpet of worms in the archives almost made them turn back.  They had to get clean boxes from Rosie for the statements they found that were high enough to not be absolutely covered in the slimy carcasses.  God, what Martin did for Jon’s sake.

In the few moments that he and Sasha sat outside the Institute with the boxes, they weren’t sure if Jon or Tim were okay.  It was likely that Jon was in the middle of what happened there.  In his gut, Martin knew that Jon wasn’t dead, or maybe that was just his denial, but the fact that he wasn’t replying to his or Sasha’s texts made him doubt.

They had picked up their statement boxes and were about to head to Tim’s when both Tim and Jon showed up, covered in bandages and leaning on each other for support, with a heavy bag slung over Jon’s shoulder.  After Martin and Sasha stopped fussing over them, they explained what happened and Sasha immediately declared that they take a me-day (Maybe a me-week.  Possibly a whole month) and lead them all back to her house, where they now sat, helping Tim and Jon change their bandages.

“Quitting via worm invasion,” Tim pondered, “Just sign the resignation letter in worm goop.”

Jon chuckled, Martin held his upper arm to steady him while he cleaned the uncovered hand.  “Sorry,” Jon held himself still again, “That didn’t work in the other timeline so I don’t think so.”

“We could try throwing worms at Elias,” Tim shrugged, “Or just throw some at him for the heck of it.”  

Sasha laughed, unwrapping a bandage higher on his arm, stopping with a choked breath, “Oh lord,” she muttered, “What happened here?”

Martin looked over.  Unlike the scratches and blood clotted divots that burrowed into Jon’s hands, the injury on Tim’s upper arm looked blistered and melted.

Tim looked away sheepishly, though it might have been in pain, “Let’s just say I finally found someone hotter than me.”  Sasha leveled him with a disbelieving glare, he fidgeted a little before conceding, “Fire avatar.  It looks worse that it is.”

Jon scoffed, “That’s a lie.”

“Please tell me you know that from your Eye god,” Martin pleaded.

Jon opened his mouth, likely about to lie and say yes, but stammered and choked on the word before just avoiding Martin’s eyes in lieu of an answer.  What a mess.  An adorable mess.  He wanted to kiss that pout away.  Martin hoped Jon didn’t develop mind reading abilities.

Martin shook those thoughts away, setting down the hand he was finished with and taking Jon’s other hand in his own to start the process over again.  He could feel Jon watching him.

“It was on my right hand,” Jon murmured.  Martin slowed his unwrapping, looking up at Jon.  The light behind him made his hair look like a halo and Martin had the fleeting thought of other worldly angels.

“Thank you for telling us,” Martin smiled up at him before turning back to his work.  He put more care to it, his touch feather light, “This can’t be easy to talk about.”

Jon hummed in agreement.  They all lapsed into silence, working quietly aside from Tim’s occasional hiss of pain when he started replacing the bandages on his legs.  Martin was almost done replacing Jon’s when he said, “Right shoulder and neck.”

“What?” Martin asked, turning Jon’s hands over in his to check them for any loose ends.

“It’s,” Jon stared at the new bandages, “It’s where else I had scars.  They were from Michael and a Hunt avatar.”  Laughing, he continued, “I actually told you- Sorry, not you exactly.  I told my Martin-” Martin’s heart did a little jump at the thought that Jon considered any version of him his “-that my wound from Michael was from an accident with a bread knife.”

Tim chuckled, “Well we know that you’re not good with knives.”

“I’m not that bad,” Jon argued, smiling.

Martin rolled his eyes.  He rubbed his thumbs over Jon’s new bandages and checked them over for any mistakes one last time, “Well these should be good for now.”  He lifted them to his mouth and kissed them, freezing a second later when he realized what he did.

“Uhh,” he could feel his face start to burn up, putting Jon’s hands down he covered his face, “S-sorry!  I wasn’t thinking.”

“N-no, it’s, uh, it’s fine,” Jon flustered as well, probably embarrassed for Martin’s sake.  Sasha and Tim snickered behind him, traitors, though they stopped when Jon’s stomach growled.

“Did you two skip breakfast?” Sasha asked, Martin sighed with relief at the subject change.

“Yeah, we woke up lat-- ah, aye, mahal!” Tim hissed through gritted teeth, leaning away from Sasha.

“Sorry!  Sorry, mi amor,” Sasha apologized, removing her hand from Tim’s burn.  “Didn’t realize it hurt that much.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Tim, that doesn’t even make any sense,” Sasha rolled her eyes when Tim winked at her regardless.  “Here,” she reached over to one of the boxes she and Martin brought and handed a few statements to Martin.

He accepted the pile and the fact that he would have to read it when a recorder manifested and clicked on, “Martin Blackwood, archival assistant at the--”

“What are you doing?” Jon asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Reading a statement?”

Jon stared at him, “Isn’t.  Isn’t that my job?”

Oh.  Oh right, they haven’t told him this yet.

“You always seemed so occupied ‘feeding’ the Eye god these statements by yourself, we were worried about you,” he explained, the memory of how dazed Jon had looked still troubled him, “Besides, we haven’t had any side effects.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Jon asked, frowning in concern.

“Like you told us about reading more statements?” Sasha deadpanned.

“Or about your worm plan?” Tim added.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Jon looked down guiltily, picking at his bandages.

Martin pulled his hands apart, “Seems like we’re all going behind each others’ back to try and help,” he put Jon’s hands down, resting his on top to stop Jon from messing with his hands again.

“Sounds about right,” Jon sighed, “I’m sor--”

“We don’t need you to apologize,” Martin stopped him, “Just tell us next time?  We care about you.  We don’t want you to get hurt, but we should’ve said something too.”

Jon nodded, bangs falling onto his face, “O-okay.  I can do that.”  

Martin only could only barely resist pushing back Jon’s hair to see his smile better, patting Jon’s hands instead to counter the urge.  Leaning out of his space, he handed him the statements Sasha handed him.  Oooh, she meant for him to give them to Jon.  That made more sense actually.

Jon thanked him, wincing when his fingers refused to flex to grab the papers.  “Maybe put them on the table?” Jon suggested.

“I can hold them for you,” Martin offered, sitting next to him.  “Let me just,” he could just barely balance holding four statements open with only his two hands, but he managed it, “There!”

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon smiled softly, making Martin’s heart do a couple more back flips.  His chest strained against his binder for breath.

“No problem,” no stuttering, a win for Martin!  His heart decided to give Jon five more wins, practically stopping when Jon leaned his head on Martin’s shoulder to read, having no regard to Martin’s personal wish to not have his face explode into flames.  “J-jon, uhh,” he sputtered, shutting himself up when he felt Jon’s torso rumble with the static flowing from his mouth.

Tim snickered, giving Martin a knowing look and a wink while Sasha held back her own laughter.  He glared at them, mouthing ‘shut up’ but he couldn’t put any heat in it.  Jon’s weight on his side was honestly too comfortable even if his hair tickled Martin’s neck.

Sasha dimmed the lights, making the green glow of Jon’s eyes more obvious, though not before taking a few pictures with the Polaroid from Jon’s bag and adding them to his hoard.  Martin didn’t bother protesting, just sticking his tongue out at her.

‘Good luck’ she signed, pulling Tim away to finish changing his bandages in a different room.  

‘Thank you’ he mouthed back.  Tim got one last wink in before closing the door on the room.  Martin sighed, hoping it wouldn’t be caught on the recorders.  Looks like he would be here for a while.  

Doing his best to not drop the papers, he moved the arm pinned between him and Jon to wrap around the shorter man instead, resting his head on top of his.

Once Jon read enough statements to silence his hunger and Tim’s bandages were all changed, Sasha set up her TV.  She found out and was quite frankly appalled that neither Jon or Martin had ever watched Avatar the Last Airbender and she was ready to culture them.  Plus, then they could join her and Tim in tearing apart the movie.

“Do those penguins have four flippers?” Jon asked, half watching the screen and half watching Martin paint his nails matte black.

“Yeah,” she replied, a bit distracted by her own task of painting Tim’s nails half rainbow and half sparkling black.

“Otter penguins?” Martin squinted at the screen, “Are they comfortable with that?”

She looked up, oh the penguin sledding, “They’re fine.  And yeah, all the animals are combinations of real ones.”

“Except for the bear,” Tim piped up, reaching for the popcorn bowl with his rainbow hand.  Sasha lightly swatted him and handed him chopsticks.  Not only was the fool about to get grease all over his new bandages, he was also about to ruin the nails she just painted.

She almost ruined them herself when a knocking startled her, making her hand jerk.

“Did anyone order food?” she eyed her front door, becoming more wary of it when they all shook their heads no.  Martin hit the pause button, plunging their anxiety into silence with only the glow of the screen to see.

Unease pooled inside her.  She approached the door, grabbing the metal bat she kept beside it for occasions like this.  Carefully, she opened the door, trying not to ruin her own nails painted a soft yellow.  It was her favorite color, but she was sure that she never changed her door to it.

The yellow door that she knew shouldn’t be there creaked open.

“Hello,” Michael said, peeking their head through the crack before stepping into Sasha’s apartment and closing the door behind them.  The yellow bleed out until it was the wooden brown she knew it normally was.  “Did you not like the cup?”

“What,” she lowered the bat.

“The cup I gave you,” they twiddled their fingers together.  Looking at the action gave Sasha a lurching feeling in her gut despite her eyes telling her that they’re just hands.

Jon jerked up, “Oh, I-I’m sorry, Michael.  That was my fault, I didn’t realize at the time.”

“An Archivist not realizing something,” Michael chuckled, “How amusing.”  The twisting tension they held melted out of them, seeming more at ease at the fact that Sasha didn’t intentionally break it.  They glanced between Jon and Tim’s bandages, “You dealt with the Hive then?”

“Yes,” Jon said, “I actually used your cup to break the wall.  I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful, it was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Michael preened.

“And I’m sorry.”

“What for?  I don’t much like dealing with the Corruption myself, Archivist.”

Jon shook his head, “I meant for what Gertrude did to you.  I’m sorry.”

Michael froze, their smile waning, “Why are you apologizing for her?  You didn’t force her to make me Michael.”  Their gaze settled on Jon’s hands, “And it looks like you won’t follow her footsteps.”

Sasha’s eyes darted between the two, feeling a bit lost in the conversation, “What did she do to you?”

“It’s not in my nature to give answers,” Michael looked to Jon, “but I believe you already Know.”

“Can I…?” Jon asked, Michael nodded their permission.  He nodded back and told Sasha about Michael Shelley.  Former archival assistant.  Loyal to Gertrude Robinson, enough to follow her to a country that did not exist and to follow a map until he became something else.  Until he became something that was never meant to be something or given a name.

“That’s,” Sasha breathed, tears of rage and sadness brimmed in her eyes, “That’s horrible.”  For trust to be used in such a way.  Even if it was to save the world, Gertrude still tied someone to a painful existence, not even letting them die as a mercy and then leaving them behind.  How many had she resigned to this fate?

Michael nodded solemnly, “It is.  I wonder what your Archivist will do instead.”  They reached back to open the door, yellow twisting into the wood again.

“Wait,” she grabbed their arm, it felt just as weird as their hand.  “Do you want to stay?  We’re having a me-day and since you used to work in the archives, you should join us.”

Michael looked at her with wide eyes, a bit too wide for their face, and they smiled, “I would like that.”

She smiled back as the yellow left the door, “So if you’re not truly Michael, what do you want us to call you?”

They pondered this for a second, “‘Michael’, though I don’t think I will use his pronouns.”

“Is they/them okay?”

“Yes,” they smiled and Sasha could smell sunshine yellow.

They all settled back onto the couch, nails dried from the time it took to explain all that is Michael.  Tim hit the play button from his seat on an arm rest, half leaning on Sasha sitting beside him.  Behind them, Michael draped themself across the back of the couch, tall limbs hanging off both ends, with their head resting on the side that Jon and Martin sat.

Through the episode, the two became too engrossed in the show to realize how close they became, Jon fidgeting until he was practically in Martin’s lap with Martin’s arm around him.

Aww, they were adorable.  She pushed Tim off of her, pointing to the not-yet-a-couple-but-they-better-be-soon-or-she’d-lose-a-bet and he grinned, silently slipping off to get the Polaroid from Jon’s bag.  She still couldn’t believe the only things he brought from the worm attack were the pictures, camera, and the blanket Tim gave him.  He had questionable priorities, but it touched her heart.

“Cheese!” Tim yelled, snapping a picture before any of them could actually pose.  Jon and Martin startled, both realizing how close they were at the same time and scooted out of the other’s personal space while stammering apologies.  Waving the small picture, Tim laughed, smile wavering when he looked at it.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha asked, they’ve had a few bad packs of film in the past that didn’t develop.  He handed it to her.

At first glance, it looked like the picture was over developed, if that were a thing.  All of the colors were far more saturated than they had any right to be.  Martin’s baby blue nails were a bright sky blue instead, but it at least got Jon and Martin, without paper this time or Martin sticking his tongue out.  

On a second look, Sasha saw that the Michael in the picture and the Michael on the couch behind her looked completely different.

In the picture, all of their limbs were elongated, some too long to fit into the picture, and their hair broke the edges of the photograph, partially twisting into the white space of the Polaroid. They looked like how Sasha saw them through her apartment window.

“I guess we underestimated the whole ‘distortion avatar’ thing,” she handed Jon the photograph.  He and Martin looked similarly shocked at it, though a bit more flustered at their closeness in it.

Michael leaned over Jon’s shoulder, “Yup, that’s me.”  They leaned back to their impossible balancing spot.

“Would it make you more comfortable to look like that?  All long, and bright, and stuff?”  Sasha asked.  Like hell would she have any avatars suppressing themselves in her home.  CoughcoughJoncoughcough.

Michael considered this, “I would like that.”  Then everything about them extended.

Their body distorted and lengthened until their hands were the length of Sasha’s forearm, their hair spiraled into fractals and brushed the ceiling.  Sasha yelped when some of their hair brushed past her neck, making her taste words for a split second.

“Sorry,” Michael’s voice rang in her ears, echoing after they finished speaking.  They started to pull themself back to a normal human length, their frown twisting downwards.

“You’re fine, just startled me,” she picked up the hand closest to her, examining how the nails extended with the rest of it and sharpened into points at the end, “I don’t think I have enough nail polish for this.”

“Oh,” they said dejectedly, drawing their hand back.

She pulled it back, ignoring how she could briefly see a whole different color spectrum and focusing on making sure Michael felt included, “I should have enough paint though.”

Michael smiled, it was nice.  Not like how Tim’s felt dazzling and flirty, or how Martin’s felt like sunshine, or Jon’s felt like quiet moments in a storm.  It made Sasha feel a bit dizzy, but it was nice.

It took a whole tube of acrylic paint, but with Martin and Tim’s help (Jon’s hands were too shaky), they managed to paint Michael’s long nails a bright yellow.

Chapter Text

“Isa.”

“One.”

“Hindi,” Tim shook his head, “I-sa.”

“One?” Jon tried.

“Isa?” Tim repeated, losing more of his composure with each iteration, fighting back confused laughs.

“One!”

“Isa!”

“What weird ritual is this?” Sasha walked in, Martin closing the front door behind them as she leaned on the couch back.

“I was trying to teach Jon Tagalog, but his automatic translator seems to not have an off switch,” Tim sighed.

They’ve been at this for almost an hour now.  Sasha and Martin had gone grocery shopping and neither of them felt up to watching tv.  It started off with basic sentences and sitting normally on the couch, but transformed into Jon and him just saying random words, hoping to catch the Eye on an off moment with Tim now sitting on the couch back and Jon lying on the couch with his legs over an arm rest.  

“Sorry,” Jon looked up at Tim.

“It’s not your fault,” Tim turned so that he was half lying on the couch back, reaching down to pat Jon’s head.

“What if,” Sasha folded her arms over Tim’s side, Martin came up beside her, “you had me or Martin say the words without telling us the meaning?”

“Oh, that might work!” He sat back up, nearly launching Sasha into Martin, “Okay so say, ‘isa.’”

“Isa,” Martin and Sasha repeated.  Tim looked expectantly at Jon.

His brows furrowed, “I-” Almost!  Ahhh, is this what parents felt like at a child’s first words?  The feeling of euphoria faded when Jon’s eyes flashed green, quickly blinked away, “One.”

Tim sighed and laid back down in defeat.  

- <0> -

Sasha pulled a hand through the knots in her hair, digging through the semi-controlled clutter in her living room with her other hand.  “Come on,” she grumbled, “I know I left at least one of you somewhere.  There you are!  Hiding under Martin’s yarn won’t save you from your duty.”

“Do you need help threatening those-” Jon looked up from reading over Martin’s shoulder.  He squinted at the object in her hand “-hair ties?”  

He was hogging the couch, a bit of a bother but Sasha was glad that he was comfortable enough with them to do that.  Martin had accepted this whole heartedly and sat on the floor to read, sometimes reading out loud with Jon.  Both did over dramatic voices for the characters.

Sasha laughed.  Jon’s hair had certainly grown over the time he’s been back (faster than hair normally would now that she thought about it) but it didn’t have the volume to kill as many hair ties as Sasha’s, “I just need to tie my hair up in a half bun.”

“I know how to do that,” Jon sat up, Martin finally looked up from his book at the lack of warmth behind him.  “If-- If you want me to help?”

She could see how his hands fidgeted and started to rub at the circles of skin that had only just healed into scars.  They weren’t quite the same with tremors Jon couldn’t quite steady, but he was able to write again, though he had to take more frequent breaks.  Tim still had bandages, but they all supposed that it was just a weird perk of being a fear avatar.

“Of course,” Sasha smiled softly, sitting in front of him and handing him the ties before turning her back to him.

His hands were gentle though unsure as they combed through the mess on Sasha’s head.  Martin continued reading the book, honeyed voice low in her and Jon’s ears, stopping only when she had to tell Jon how to treat her curls properly.  He followed easily, twisting the hair in a way that was familiar to Sasha through many mornings tying it up the same way.

“I used to have long hair,” Jon said in a pause in Martin’s speaking.

“Are you trying to grow it back out?” Sasha asked when Martin didn’t continue.  Jon stopped fixing her hair.

“Yeah,” his voice dropped to a murmur, tipping Sasha forward when he rested his head against her back, “This is how I used to wear it.”

It takes a moment for her to absorb those words.  

Her work, her voice, her own face were no longer things Jon was able to recognize.  A question of “Who are you” on his lips whenever he hadn’t seen her for a few hours and every morning.  He never asked, always remembering a second later, with a sad haze in his eyes.

Every.  Single.  Time.  

But the way she styled her hair had stuck with him through those years.

She reached back, hand finding Jon’s head, “You remembered a part of me then.”

“Not enough,” Jon muttered, “I- I didn’t save-”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Martin spoke up.  Sasha heard fabric rustle, possibly Martin reaching up to Jon.

“I-” Jon stopped with a stuttered breath, just nodding his head into the back of Sasha’s before continuing to braid.

Martin continued reading.  Sasha was sure that Jon had already finished her usual bun, now putting additional braids in.  None of them said anything to each other, just being there was enough for the three of them.

“Are you ready?” Tim came prancing in, slowing down when he sensed the mood.  He was decked in clothes that covered his bandages and that would hurt Sasha’s eyes if she wasn’t used to looking at Michael.  “Lovely hair, Sash,” he gave her a messy kiss on the forehead.

“Ugh, Tim!” she jokingly protested, pretending to wipe it away with a barely suppressed smile.

Martin only had a moment to laugh before Tim laid one on him too, albeit less sloppy.  “Tiiiim,” he whined, “That’s gross.”

“Are you okay, Martin?” Jon asked, putting Sasha's hair down.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Jon glanced at Tim before turning to fuss with Sasha’s hair again, “He-hello Tim, uh, if you wouldn’t mind- I mean of course you don’t have to-”

“Do you want a kiss too?” Tim asked him fondly.  Jon nodded and Tim pressed one to his forehead.

“Thank you,” Jon said, so quiet that Sasha almost missed it.  It was harder to miss Martin’s look that was somewhere between yearning and jealousy.

She checked the time on her phone, “Tim, it’s time to go.”

“Another date night?” Jon asked.

“Yup,” Tim popped the p, “Sasha hasn’t been to my favorite ramen place yet.”

The truth.  Mostly.  Tim would often take her out for the night so that they could leave Jon and Martin together, convinced that if they had enough time alone then their brain cells would work out that they had feelings for each other.  Not that she was complaining (or thought he was right), but the places he took her turned out pretty good anyways.

This day’s date night was a bit different.  She would probably need some cheering up too if she told her friends how her sibling died.

She pressed smiling kisses to the tops of  Martin and Jon’s heads, using an extra hair tie to tie the latter’s hair back from his face.  It was a shorter, less curly and bunless and braidless version of what she had.  Maybe it would be easier to just call it a half ponytail.

With the bangs out of his face, she could see his surprise better.  He reached back and felt where the hair stuck out a bit from his head, “I look silly don’t I?”

“I think you look cute,” Martin replied, eyes widening and face blushing a second later, “I meant, uhhh-”

“Very cute,” Tim agreed, Martin gave him a smile for the distraction, burying his face in his hands when Jon looked away from him.

“You look like you,” Sasha said.

“Yeah,” Jon’s smile looked forced, “I am me, aren’t I?”  His hands came together, matte black fingernails scratching along the edges of barely healed ridges of skin.  Sasha pulled them apart.  Geez, the man would probably pull himself apart if he wasn’t doing something with his hands.

“Stay here a moment,” Sasha requested, “Martin, hold this for me.”

“What?” he looked up, face still flushed, “Uh, sure.” He held up a hand to her.  She put Jon’s hands in it, rushing off to her room before either could protest.

Giggling to herself, she dug through the back of her closet, finding what she was looking for with a little, “Ah ha!” before returning with her prize.

They.  They were just staring at each other.  Martin getting steadily redder and still dutifully holding onto Jon’s hands.  Tim’s delighted grin, and his quiet manic waving at her, told her that they’ve been like this since she left.  Well, that was one solution to the problem but she doubted that Martin would be able to survive her doing that every time Jon started picking at his scars.

She presented the Rubik’s cube to Jon, breaking their staring match, “Here.”

He took it gingerly, having to wiggle a hand out of Martin’s grip who let go with stammered apologies, “What’s this for?”

“Picking at your scars isn’t very good, so try messing with this instead.”

It was a bit old, from her university years, but it didn’t squeak when Jon spun it.  It also hadn’t been solved since her college years.

Jon stared at the mix of colors, “Thank you.”

“No problem.  It helped me focus when I was stressed out with exams, but I’ve never been able to solve it.”

Jon hummed in thought, spinning the sides and testing the way all the squares moved with each other.  Tim linked arms with her, tugging her towards the door now that they knew Jon and Martin would be okay.

“Don’t burn the house down,” Sasha said instead of a goodbye. 

“We’ll try not to get too wild with our book reading,” Jon grinned, smiling wider when Martin laughed.

Tim and her walked out of her apartment through a yellow door that was now as familiar as the wooden one.

“I could lock them in a room, or a nice hallway,” Michael smiled, “It would be easier.”

- <0> -

Jon watched Michael’s hair twist and spiral, curling into the shag carpet.  Wasn’t it normally a shorter cut of threads?  The air around Michael simmered like air over a hot stove from where they had spilled themself over one half of Tim’s couch, leaving room for Martin on the other side while pressing their feet against the ceiling and the top of their head on the floor.  Jon wasn’t sure how Michael was comfortable like this or how they were able to bend their spine or neck like that and he was sure he wasn’t supposed to Know how either.  He wasn’t also sure how Sasha was comfortable lying her head on them either, but perhaps half lying on Martin negated that.

“And that’s,” Jon continued, spinning a side of his cube, “That’s everything that happened in my timeline.  Or at least the highlights.”

“Kidnapped three times,” Martin said disbelievingly, sitting on the couch behind where Jon was sitting on the floor.  He wasn’t alone on the ground, Tim had forewent his usual arm rest seat and was half draped over Jon’s lap.

“In less than one year,” Tim added, letting out a huff, “Do you- Are you okay with talking about this more?”

“Yes why-” Oh, he didn’t realize how much noise he was making spinning the cube side, at a more panicked pace than he consciously thought he was doing it as well.  He stopped himself from turning it again, running a finger along the blunt edge instead, “Actually, no I think I’ll stop for now.  Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, that’s why I gave it to you,” Sasha said, shifting in her spot, “Ah, sorry Michael.  I think you’re giving me motion sickness right now.”  She grabbed one of the many blankets Tim had strewn about and used it as a pillow over Michael’s stomach (stomach?  Middle-ish part of their body).  “That made it a little better,” she said with a grimace, still looking a little seasick.

“Sasha, you could simply not lie on someone made of confusion,” Martin suggested with a giggle.  Sasha and Michael pouted at him, both clearly looking for a solution that was anything but that.

“You could try using my weighted blanket,” Jon offered, “It’s a bit thicker than the one you’re using.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asked, their pupils rainbow whirlpools.

“I don’t really need it right now,” Jon shrugged, the movement rubbed his arm against where it was pressed to Martin’s leg and slightly jostled Tim still on his legs.  He moved Tim off of him, rolling his eyes when Tim acted betrayed, and grabbed his bag where the blanket had been since- since Elias gave them leave.  

The bag was now empty of Polaroids so it was easy to grab the blanket from the bottom, the pictures now in wallets or phone cases, though most were strung up in Tim and Sasha’s apartments.

“Thank you, Archivist,” Michael reached over the nearly seven feet between them, and took it.  Jon had long ago accepted the odd nickname from the Distortion, probably an eye avatar thing he didn’t know about or just what Gertrude called herself and Michael used it for him as well.

They folded the blanket into a neat, thick square and Sasha replaced the thinner blanket with it, laying back down.  She rested against them for a few seconds, hemming and hawing with little wiggles to readjust herself.  

“It’s good,” she approved, “Thank you, Jon.”

“No problem,” Jon said, sitting back in his spot and letting Tim barrel roll back onto him.  Tim stretched and yelped when his hand landed in Michael’s hair, quickly picking it back up.

Michael laughed, the sound echoing like a cathedral, “How did that feel?”

Tim rubbed his fingers together, “Like if pi, the number, was a texture.  Sadly, it did not feel like sticking your hand into a pie, the food.”

“And you know what that feels like?” Sasha asked, incredulous.

“How long have we been friends?  You should know the answer is yes by now.”

She shook her head in amusement, “I know.  I was just hoping for a pleasant surprise.”

“Well you will be surprised when I tell you this!” Tim shot up off of Jon’s lap, spinning once on his heels and shooting them all finger guns.  “I’ve been thinking and I want to go by they/them.”  He- They finished with a nervous grin, finger guns devolving into anxious hand jiggling, almost blurring from the speed.  “I mean,” they added quickly, “I’m still okay with he/him, so you don’t have to change anything if you don’t want to, but I also kind of like she/her.”

“Tim,” Martin cajoled, “We’re already trying to change the entire timeline.  I’m sure we can bear using different pronouns for you.”  Jon nodded in agreement.

“Thank you for telling us,” Sasha smiled at them.  

Tim smiled, practically radiating joy, “I- Thank you.”  She went back to her spot half laying on Jon, now face down and hiding her blush into the carpet.

After spending some time talking about gender and pronouns, Tim figured they were nonbinary.  Tim asked them all, “So what do you want to do?”

Michael shrugged, an odd roll of long limbs, “Laying here is fine for me.”  Sasha put a thumb up in agreement.

“Valid, but also: Truth or Dare?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably, easier now that Tim was sitting beside him instead of on, “I, uh.”  He knew the rules of the game, but he doubted any of them wanted to have the whole truth pulled out of them.  Using any part of his power on others didn’t make him all that comfortable either.  “A-alright.”

Tim looked at him, worry obvious on her face, “Are you sure?”

Jon tried to say yes, nodding his head when the lie refused to voice.

Michael frowned at him, the corners of their mouth still turning downwards despite being upside down, “Don’t lie, Archivist.”

Jon turned the side of his cube.  White, green, yellow, blue, white.  He took a breath.  “I don’t want to compel anyone,” he explained, “I- I know you’re supposed to tell the truth, but I’m not comfortable asking questions.”

Martin smiled at him, “We understand.  If you want-”

“You cannot deny your nature,” Michael interrupted him, frown spiraling deeper, “You do not have to embrace it, but you cannot run from yourself.  An apple cannot hate itself for falling and denying that it is does not change where it will land.”

Jon twisted the layer.  White, blue, white, blue, white, bl- “I Know.  I’m just, heh, I’m just scared.”  Here he was, repeating his past mistakes again.  Pretending that just because he didn’t have to think while reading statements that nothing was happening.  Michael was an obvious reminder of the dangers.  Jon’s shoulder sometimes remembered with aching phantom pain of the scar.

Michael twisted themself out from under Sasha.  Gathering up the weighted blanket along the way to hold Jon’s face with it, negating the effects of their touch.  “Neither of us chose what we become.  I was not able to ease into being, into Becoming, but you can.”

Jon nodded hesitantly, wishing he didn’t know what they were talking about.  Michael nodded back, some of their hair spilling onto Jon and making him see the world over saturated for a moment.

Jon practiced with simple questions, Tim’s suggestion, testing the limits of how much he had to concentrate to make them answer.  Besides Michael, they all volunteered themselves for questions, Jon always asking “are you sure” before asking them the next question.  It tingled, but the pressure of it didn’t hurt.

“Sasha, have you ever cheated on a test,” he asked with a yawn and tongue numb with static.

“Yes,” she answered, shaking her head afterwards to rid it of the buzz, “Do you want to stop?  Wait, let me rephrase that: Do you need to stop?”

“I’m fine, just a bit tired.”

Jon was insulted, but not surprised, when she looked to Michael to see if he was lying.

- <0> -

Asking so many questions was taxing, drawing little by little on that eldritch power.  He sat on the floor and set his statements on the table, too many this time for any human hand to hold all at once.  Michael had offered, but their touch twisted the words into lies.

Martin sat next to him with his own statement, Tim leaned heavily on Jon’s other side with one of their own and Sasha reclined lightly against his back with hers.

They didn’t bother going into different rooms anymore since the recorders only picked up on the words of one statement at a time.  Although other noises did make their way onto the tapes, Jon found this out when Tim and Sasha did a duet of a Whole New World that had more giggling than words while he was recording in a different room.  He didn’t bother rerecording when he listened to it, just tucking the tapes into his bag to keep them safe.

Michael dimmed the light as they left through a yellow door, turning on a lamp behind the quartet for the three who had human eyes.

Jon settled into the weight and warmth around him, letting the static pour from his mouth, knowing that he was safe.

- <0> -

Sasha threw a pillow at Martin from her bed, “Oi, take off your binder.”  They were getting ready for an afternoon movie marathon, both changed into comfortable clothes but one still wearing a certain article of clothing that would not be wise if it went into the night.

Martin tossed it back, “I’ve only worn it for a few hours, it’s not even that late.”

“And if Jon falls asleep on you?”

“I-I’ll just move so that I can take it off!”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Even if that would wake him up?”

“I’ll,” Martin flushed, “I’ll move carefully.”

“I could practically hear your ribs crying last time Jon fell asleep on your arm.”

“I was fiiine.”

“You already had it on for nine hours at that point!”

“But he looked so peaceful,” Martin looked at her with puppy eyes.  She wasn’t sure he was aware how much power he had.

“Okay fine,” she sighed, “I’ll give you a pass for that one, got it?  Only that one instance.  All other times I will not accept.”

Martin beamed at her.  Sasha rolled her eyes and turned her back to him to give him privacy to change before they headed to the living room.

Tim was reclining back on the fold out bed, clad in pajamas with an open laptop on his lap and Jon looking at the screen.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jon said uneasy.

“He tricked you into being tied to a fear god, I think some stealing is justified,” Tim typed on his computer, stopping for a second to put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, “We’ll be here for you through whatever ‘Becoming’ entails, but we’re not going to forgive him for causing it to happen.”

“What’s not a good idea?” Sasha asked, settling next to Tim.  On the screen was the log in for a bank, some applications open on the side that she recognized from her time hacking.  Martin sat in the space beside Jon, the smaller man tilting towards him with the cushion dipped.

“We’re stealing from Elias.”

“That sounds like a great idea actually,” Sasha scanned the screen with a new vigor.  She could probably do it a bit faster than Tim.

“Right!?”

“I like him as much as the next person,” Jon said, Tim scoffed, “but I won’t condone stealing.”

“But it’s for Martin’s new apartment,” Tim reasoned.

Jon thought for a moment, glancing between Tim and the screen, “...I will condone a little stealing.”

“Wha- I- J-jon!” Martin sputtered, indignant.

“What,” Jon twisted around to look Martin in the eyes.  Sasha held back a smile when Martin’s face started to take on the familiar flushed tint.  “I didn’t hear you object when Tim said we were stealing from him.  Besides, he wronged you too.”

“I,” Martin reddened further, Sasha wasn’t sure it was all from Jon, “I don’t need help with money to get a new house.  I could just get one in the same neighborhood for the same price.”

“Martin,” Tim started, “It’s London, it’s-”

“I don’t!” Martin took a breath, “I don’t need help.  I can do this on my own.”

Sasha could see the angry tears brimming in his eyes, catching his gaze over Jon and Tim.  Tucking her right thumb and pinky to her palm, she tapped her index, middle, and ring finger against her left palm two times then moved her hand so that it pointed to just under her chin and motioned it up and forward.  ‘Mother tomorrow?’

Martin avoided her eyes, but that was answer enough.

“So Jon,” She hoped this was enough of a topic change, “We haven’t been to your house yet, where do you live?”

“Uhm,” Jon looked torn between asking Martin what was wrong and answering her question.  Martin resolutely staring at the wall made the choice for him.  “I, uh, I forgot?”

“What,” Tim laughed stiffly, “We haven’t been on leave for that long now.  How did you forget where you live already?”

“It’s been over a year since I’ve been there so…”

“Wait,” Martin broke out of his brooding, “Have you just been living in motels for the whole time you’ve been back?”

“Would it make you feel better if I said yes,” there was the barest hint of static, but Jon cringed the second he finished asking.

“Yes,” Martin answered, slightly monotone.  “I mean,” his voice had more emotion, all of the emotion was worry of course, “It’s better than the alternative.”

“Sorry for compelling you,” Jon apologized.

“It’s alright,” Martin's voice was soft.

“Have you been living in the archives this whole time?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Jon admitted.

“The archives that you moved Martin out of,” Sasha didn’t like where this was going.

“Yeah,” Jon shrunk into his clothes, borrowed with Tim again.

“Because of all the-” she wiggled her fingers in place of saying what she meant.  Jon nodded, hands messing with the hem of his shirt.  “You see why we’re worried about this right?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, tangling his fingers in the shirt.

“Oookay,” Tim clapped their hands together, “Let’s house hunt for Jon then.”

“We’re not going to ste-” Jon started, voice weary.

“We’re stealing from Elias!” Tim cut him off.

Jon gave them the information they needed with a grumble.  From the lack of green, Sasha guessed it was knowledge he remembered from the other timeline.  

None of them cared to point out how all the houses they looked for were big enough for four people (and a guest).

- <0> -

It was one of those nights that they didn’t all sleep in the same space.  Michael never stayed over night, only leaving a door.  A lesson learned by the one time Sasha fell asleep on them and woke up seeing everything Twisted for hours.  

Even so, it was nice to have everybody in the same house and only a short walk away.  There was rarely a time that any of them were alone or in a different house.  Tim liked to take advantage of this, sometimes grabbing some of his blankets and just moving to where Jon and Martin slept in the living room and cuddling up to one of them when Sasha complained that he was too warm.

Normally, Tim and Sasha slept in the same bed, close enough that they could kiss if they felt like it, so Tim almost always woke up to the sight of Sasha.  Usually this was pleasant, but when his eyes focused this night on what she was holding he just felt confused.

“Should we even be calling the Fears supernatural if they’ve been there the whole time?” she asked innocently enough while taking a bite out of a banana.  The peel was still on.  The mad woman didn’t even flinch at the taste.

“Wah?” Tim tried to ask, sleep slurring her words.

Sasha took a bigger bite, the peel of the banana making an unexpected crunch like an apple, “If Digiorno’s isn’t delivered then how does it get into stores?”  Tim’s sleep addled brain couldn’t process any of this.  She continued to grin at them and eat the banana, one horridly crunching bite after the other until it was gone.  

Sasha kissed his forehead, pulling back to smirk at him, “No one will believe you.”

Tim gaped at her, “I can’t believe this betrayal.  How did Jon forget the Fifteenth Fear: Sasha James.”  Sasha laughed, cut off when Tim pulled her into their chest.

“Oi, I need to brush my teeth,” she wiggled, “Banana peels don’t taste all that great, you know.”

Tim held her closer, closing his eyes against the top of her head, mumbling “Karma.”  Sasha grumbled some more before giving up and wrapping her arms around him.  Tim could feel her smile into his neck as they both drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

- <0> -

Martin muffled his waking scream.

Damn it.  He should be over this now, it’s been ages since Prentiss and here he was still waking up and screaming like a child at bumps in the night, thinking that it’s her.  There came a muffled noise from a room over.  Martin flinched, relaxing when he remembered where he was.

Sasha’s house.  On the inflatable bed in the living room.  He’s okay.  That was probably just neighbors or pipes.  Tim and Sasha were just a room away and Jon was-

Jon wasn’t on the couch.

It wasn’t one of those nights Tim had called for a sleepover so they weren’t all tangled with each other, but Martin was sure that Jon was at least in the same room.  The rumpled blankets on the couch told him that he was right.  He didn’t run off to do something misguided and self sacrificing again did he?  No.  Jon trusts them to help and they have to trust him to ask for it.

Another muffled knock sounded, sounding more like metal now that Martin was actually listening, followed by quiet cursing.  Oh, Jon was just in the kitchen.  Martin drew a blanket around him as he shuffled to the kitchen.  He could barely make out Jon’s outline in the dark room.

“Hey,” Martin whispered with a yawn, flicking on the lights.

“‘Ey,” Jon mumbled back, rifling through a cabinet.  The pots and pans made the metal knocking Martin heard earlier.  “Thank you for turning on the lights, makes it easier to find-” he pulled out a kettle “-this.”

Martin glanced at the clock, “Why are you awake so early?”

“I just-” Jon avoided his eyes, “I just sort of woke up.”

Martin came over and leaned on the counter next to Jon, leaving space between them, “Nightmares?”

“Maybe?” Jon filled the kettle with water, “I can’t remember what it was.”  He set it on the stove, fiddling with the handle.  Martin wasn’t sure that was the whole truth, but he didn’t press.  “Umm, could you-?  Could you show me how to make tea?”

“Of course,” Martin smiled.

He guided him quietly, the liminal space of early morning keeping both of them quiet.  Only their low voices and accidental brushes breaking the silence.  The tile was cool, chilling compared to the warmth of the blanket and made Martin miss lying on his makeshift bed.  Jon shivered, a strand of hair falling onto his face.  Without letting himself over think, Martin extended one end of the blanket around him, sharing his warmth in the cold morning.  Jon leaned into him, accepting it easily without a word.

The kettle boiled and Jon tried to pour the water into the two mugs they prepared.  The stream almost spilled onto the floor when his hands started to shake.  He put it back down with a bitten back curse, taking deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Martin let go of his side of the blanket, grabbing a hand towel to wipe up the spilled water.  He checked Jon, gaze a million away and close to tears.  “Jon?”

Jon shook his head and wrapped the blanket around himself more securely.  Martin nodded, pouring the water into the mugs himself and cleaning up the rest.  Jon let himself be guided back to the couch, Martin bringing both cups of tea and setting them aside to steep.

Jon’s hands fidgeted and twitched closer to each other.  Martin closed his hands over his to still them, gently enough for Jon to move away easily.  Jon’s trembling calmed down along with his breathing.

“Scars,” Jon choked out, “When I woke up, I saw my scars and I thought I was back there, where Tim and Sasha were dead.  I can’t imagine living back there and I-” he sobbed, words choked and stopped again.  His frail body trembled and hiccuped with tears.

“Shh,” Martin soothed his thumbs over Jon’s hands, calluses feeling the bumps and ridges of healing.  Jon’s hands were so small enclosed in his.  “We’re right here.  You’re fine, we’re all fine.  You don’t live in that world.”

‘I know,’ Jon mouthed, words giving up on him.  Tears still streamed down his face.  He tipped forwards towards Martin, hesitating to allow Martin to move away.

Martin pulled him into a hug.  Maybe if he held on tight enough, nothing bad would ever reach Jon again.  “Do you want Sasha and Tim here with us?” Martin asked into Jon’s hair.

Jon shook his head into Martin’s chest, tightening his grip around him.  Martin held back just as tight, feeling the tension melt out of Jon until he was boneless and pliant against him.

Martin didn’t have many scars.  Just a trio of them on his legs from his first encounter with Prentiss and a few from non-fear god related incidents.  He couldn’t imagine being through something that traumatic.  Not to mention all the horrors Jon had mentioned from the other timeline, all those scars and fears compiled into the tired man Martin held in his arms.  To have such a physical and constant reminder of it all…

“What if you wore something on your hands?”  Martin suggested.

“Hmm?” Jon mumbled in Martin.

“So that when you wake up, you could-” Martin gestured with a hand despite Jon’s face still being buried in his clothes, “So you could see something else and remember?  That we’re ali- that we’re here with you.”

“That might work,” Jon’s voice was smothered in Martin’s chest, he could feel how Jon’s mouth moved with the words.  “I have a ring that I always forgot to wear in the last timeline, but I left it in my office.”

Right.  The archival office.  That was filled with worms.  Probably cleaned out now, but they should get Jon a new one.  In the meantime: “I have some yarn if you want to try it out for tonight.”

Jon hummed an agreement, removing himself from Martin to give him room.  Room to-?  Oh the yarn.  Not to just stare into Jon’s eyes or maybe kiss his face or something.  In Martin’s defense, he was really tired.

He grabbed a bag from a pile of unfinished projects that was set off to the side, filled with yarn and a small bag within it holding longer pieces of scrap yarn, “What color?”

“Black.”

“You don’t have to be professional, Jon.”

“I know, just-” Jon ran a hand through his hair, it was almost long enough to braid, “Can I have black?”

“Okay,” Martin rummaged through the bag, finding a small ball of the color that was soft enough to not irritate Jon’s scars.  “Finger?” he prompted Jon.

He held out his right middle finger, careful to not accidentally flip off Martin.  Martin looped the yarn around it twice and tied it, making sure it wasn’t too tight.

“There,” Martin cut off the extra length, “It’s not too rough it is?”

Jon flexed his fingers, better than they used to be but not quite able to close into a fist.  “It’s perfect,” he smiled, “Thank you.”

Martin couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about how the tea was ignored and grew cold in favor of them quietly talking until both fell asleep.

When Jon woke the next day, he didn’t have to see the ring to know where- when -he was.  He could barely see it anyways with how Martin’s hand interlocked with his, their intertwined hands held between them with Martin’s other arm holding Jon securely to his chest.  Jon pulled himself closer, relishing how Martin did the same even in sleep.

Chapter Text

“Going out?” Sasha asked.  Her face was shiny from sweat as Michael was draped over her with the weighted blanket in between them as she played poker with Tim.

“I, uh, yes,” Martin stammered, “Visiting my mom.”  

“Want us to come with?” Tim offered as he rearranged the cards in his hand.  It wasn’t a good deck.

Martin smiled tightly and waved them off, “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Stay safe,” Sasha said, a bit more serious than Tim thought she would have asked of Martin, “Michael could give you a door if you want?”  The fear avatar was already moving to open the front door, bleaching it to a blinding yellow.

“No, I’m- it’s alright,” Martin stopped them.  His forehead was creased with lines.  Worry wrinkles as Tim called them.  He wouldn’t stop fidgeting either which Tim hadn’t seen him do in a while.

“Are you okay, Martin?” Tim asked.

“Of course,” Martin smiled.  Tim frowned at the strain it took out of Martin.  “I’ll pick up some tea on my way back.”  Sasha and Tim waved at him as he left through the normal wooden door.

A quiet minute passed before Tim asked, “Is he okay?” and hoped Martin was out of ear shot.

“It’s personal,” Sasha explained, shrugging and causing a ripple to move through Michael, “I don’t know all the details, but I never see him come back happy after his visits.”

“Do you think we should…?” Tim gestured to the door.

“Follow him?  No, that’s rude,” Sasha put down a card, “He gave me permission to tell you if you ask.  Plus four by the way.”

“Booo,” Tim picked up four more cards, adding on to their fan of a deck.  “And no, I was thinking more like looking into it?  Nothing too invasive of course!  I’ll just ask you for the boundaries about it.  I love Martin, but he tends to bottle everything up to deal with on his own.”  They scanned their deck, “Do you have a five?”

“Go fi- Hey, wait a minute,” Sasha bopped Michael on the head, “Stop changing the game in the middle of turns.”

“I couldn’t resist,” they giggled.  It sounded like drunken wind chimes.  Michael motioned to their decks and Tim watched as the cards turned back into what they originally were.

“Wait, we were playing chess?” Tim exclaimed.  Their side only had a couple of pawns and the king, already in check by Sasha’s queen.  “I was losing so many games at the same time,” they groaned.

Michael laughed, “I might have been rigging all the games--”

“Michael,” Tim gasped, putting a shocked hand on their chest.

“--if Sasha wasn’t already winning all of them.”

- <0> -

Martin cringed as the staff looked at him sympathetically.  The same look he always got while leaving, regardless of whether or not his mother agreed to see him.

The visit was bad, as they always were.

Wait, no.  That wasn’t fair to say.  She’s going through things too and it wouldn’t be fair of Martin to blame his own faults on her.

He couldn’t help but wish that she would at least smile at him.  No ‘thank you’ or ‘I love you’ needed, just a smile would suffice.  God, he was greedy.  She already did so much for him and it wasn’t like Martin was in a retirement home!  It wasn’t like he was the one whose son wasn’t able to take care of him and abandoned him to the care of strangers.  Couldn’t even get a good place either.  She always complai-- told him (if she ever talked to him at all) about the conditions of the place and how all staff members were rude to her.  Martin didn’t know what she was talking about, they were always polite to him, but he supposed he wouldn’t know since he wasn’t the one living there.

This visit was one of the worse ones.  No, not worse.  He valued every visit he had with her, especially since she actually talked to him this time even if the topics weren’t Martin’s favorite.

She called him a bad son again.  Actually, not a bad son a bad dau--

Martin’s chest heaved with stuttering breaths, ribs creaking against the press of his binder.

Don’t cry don’t cry you’re in public don’t cry it’s not even that bad at least she let him up today and didn’t just stare out the window while he tried to talk to her about his job.  The job he got and lied to get to support her.  Couldn’t even get a job the normal way and had to fabricate his bloody CV.  He didn’t even use all the money for her and spent his extra on his transition.

No.  No, he would not shame himself for being himself.  There was already so much he had to deal with, but he would not hate himself for being him.

Not that there was much to love himself for either.  Not anything that his mother saw, barely ever looking him in the eyes anymore and when she did it was with a sneer.

He told her about work today, a less worm version of it, and there was a little spark of hope in his chest when she actually looked at him while he was talking.  An apathetic look, but that was better than hatred.  Until he started talking about Jon.  It might have been that Martin talked too much about him, might have smiled too wide, or even let slip that they were practically living together at this point, but she stilled, eyes narrowing at him.

It took three orderlies to calm her down, but at that point Martin was already escorted out of the room, her screaming following him down the hall.

Her words still echoed in his ears as he walked to the tube.  About how sh- he was disgusting.  How he would never be loved and how he didn’t deserve it.  She was right of course, but there were things Martin would rather not think about.  Like how Jon was only tolerating him, not wanting to make their living arrangements awkward.

Jon was so nice now, likely because of everything that happened in the future.  Martin didn’t want to ruin that with his stupid, meaningless feelings.  Nice doesn’t mean that your feelings were returned and as though anyone would return them to Martin of all people.  Jon probably didn’t even realize that Martin had feelings for him.  If he did, he would be as disgusted as Martin’s mother.

Martin should just stop.  Just stop liking Jon.  Easier said than done when Martin would just look at him and his heart would flutter at the smallest smile or chuckle.  Or the way the light would catch in his hair like it didn’t want to leave him either.  Or how nice it felt whenever Jon melted against him in a hug.

His heart only stopped from fluttering to break whenever Jon would look at Tim or Sasha or, on the odd occasion, Michael in the same way or embrace one of them just as tight.  Or when Sasha showed Jon how to braid her hair.  Or whenever Jon let Tim hold him closer than Martin would ever dare to.  Or even when Jon played with Michael’s hair even though they all knew how dizzying that was.  Jon had gotten more affectionate, but that didn’t mean anything for Martin.

Michael helped Jon work through Becoming while Martin just enabled Jon to ignore it.  Sasha helped Jon stop picking his hands apart while Martin was only able to offer some stupid pieces of string.  Tim literally saved his life.  And what could Martin offer?  Tea?  Hugs?

Jon didn’t return Martin’s feelings and he could understand why.

What he couldn’t understand is why he wasn’t in the underground like he thought he walked through the door for.

“Uh,” Martin looked around the seemingly never ending hallways.  It was disorientating to say the least.  The perspective of everything didn’t quite work and the colors were almost as bright as-

Michael popped their head out of a door, “Hello, Martin.”  They stepped into the hallway, standing up straight for the first time since Martin had known them.  They were.  They were really tall.  Tim walked in after them, going between Michael’s long legs instead of going around.

“You found him!” Tim said, shutting the door behind them and oh geez their shirt color was only made worse by Michael’s hallways.

“Tim?  Michael?” Martin asked, still trying to pull himself out of his thoughts.

“We figured we would give you a lift back home,” Tim flipped through a manila folder she was holding, “And I also found some information that I thought you would like.”

“I made sure to not Twist them,” Michael added, brushing a long bony hand through Martin’s hair.  He could feel the strands curl and spiral around Michael’s fingers.

“Sasha told me about your dad,” Tim started, “And how you don’t know much about him.  I hope you don’t mind!  I pressured her and--”

“It-- it’s fine,” Martin cut him off, “I told Sasha she could tell you if she wanted to.”

“Okie dokie then,” Tim’s smile was renewed with the redundant permission.  “Well, I did some digging and I found some pictures of him.  I can see where you get your looks, Marto.”  Tim handed Martin the folder.

Inside were what seemed like pictures of Martin.  Same hair, face shape, and eye color.  They looked a bit different though, cheekbones just a little off and eyes a little older.  But Michael said they didn’t Twist these?  And Tim said these were pictures of…

Oh.  No, wait.  If this was what he looked like then his mother always saw him when she looked at Martin.

Martin could barely feel the folder slip from his fingers.  It hit the floor with barely a sound and a kaleidoscope of colors took over it quickly.  The pictures twisted, whirlpools of saturation stretching the smiles too wide.  It didn’t matter though.  Martin already memorized the face.  He always wondered what his father looked like.  The man who abandoned him.  Who abandoned his mother and left her alone to raise a failure of a child.

Turns out all he had to do was look in a mirror.

“Ah.  Sorry,” Martin hurried to pick up the picture again, hoping that they didn’t see the shock that went through his face.  He closed the folder, shutting the mirror of his face inside and smiled his best at Tim, “Thank you, Tim.”  He hoped they took the tears in his eyes as those of happiness.

“Are you okay, Martin?” Tim didn’t look like they bought it.

“Yeah, sorry.  It’s a bit of a surprise and just,” Martin gestured to the twisting colors of the walls, “I think I just got a bit dizzy.  Butter fingers you know?”

Tim nodded in understanding and they all left the hallways together back into Tim’s flat.

“Martin,” Michael stopped him once Tim went into a different room, “You cannot use the Throat of Delusion without me knowing.”  They had a small frown on their face.  It slid a bit when Michael tilted their head.

“I know,” Martin looked away, “I just need some time to process this on my own first.  Please?  I’ll take a walk later, there’s not a lot of privacy living with three other people.”

Michael stared at him, considering, before instructing him, “Tell them you’re going to get tea.”  They opened their door again.

“What?  Now?”

“I can open a door to any place,” Michael said, “You do not have to wait to process this and I do not think they would want you to be alone while doing so.”

“But,” Martin shut his mouth.  What they were offering did sound a lot better than waiting for a moment to sneak off alone.  He studied the walls, shifting and swirling colors like ink in water.  Out of all of them, Michael seemed the least likely to bring it up again unless it turned life threatening.  “Okay.”  

Martin had barely called to the others that he was going out before Michael practically picked him up and carried him into the hallways.

Martin let Michael choose the location, surely knowing where to go better than Martin did.  They reached for a door that Martin thought looked familiar.  Walking through, he realized that he did recognize the door.  It was to a coffee shop that was near the Institute, close enough to a park if they wanted privacy from the evening crowd.  He also realized that Michael shrunk back to a human size, if still on the taller side.

“Michael used to go here with Gertrude,” Michael’s eyes were somber as they looked around, “Only a few times, but he thought fondly of this place so I thought you might like it.”

Together, they walked out of the cafe.  The chatter of the people cutting off when they closed the door and the noise of the streets lowering until they found themselves in relative silence in the park.  They continued to walk, passing by other people enjoying the nice weather until they found a fairly private spot surrounded by trees.  The foliage swayed in the wind until they started to twist and Martin felt the familiar feeling that was Michael come back, transforming the wall of trees around them to keep away from people for true privacy without the nauseating effects of their hallways affecting Martin.

“Thank you.”

“I can leave if you want me to,” Michael offered, “Just call me back when you want to go back home.”

“No,” Martin replied, “Stay.”

Michael nodded and laid down in a spot of sun, stretching their arms until their joints popped and then their limbs spaghettified into what Martin was used to seeing.  Martin laid near them, closing his eyes to the blinding sun.

If that was what his father looks like, no wonder his mother rarely looked him in the eyes anymore.  Especially after he told her that he wanted to go by ‘Martin.’  She could barely stand being in the same room as him after that.  Understand honestly, she had to see the face of someone who betrayed her offering her help.

Martin could feel tears roll down his face.  The tracks evaporated in the sun.

But wasn’t what he was doing enough?  Enough to separate him from his father?  He tried so hard to love her, but maybe it just wasn’t enough.  Or maybe it just wasn’t wanted.  He just wasn’t wanted.

Wasn’t wanted by his mother so he did his best to provide for her.  Wasn’t wanted by the jobs he applied for so he lied.  Wasn’t wanted by Jon who he met on the job he lied his way into.  And then he just dragged everybody down with his incompetence.  They had to stop their work to help him.  They had to offer to break the law because his stupid arse couldn’t get enough money for his own bloody house.

“Tell me about something,” Martin asked Michael, trying to distract himself.

“What ever I tell you might be a lie,” Michael said, practically a pur with how they lounged in the sun.

“I don’t care.  Tell me about, uh, Gertrude, I don’t know.”

“Your Archivist already told you about what she did to Michael Shelley,” Michael mused, “But I suppose there is always more to a story.  She cared greatly for him.  Such a sweet old lady.  Always thought about his well being and greatly appreciated everything he did for her.  Whenever he brought her tea, she savored it with a smile and asked for him to sit with her.  Always thanked him for the many statements he recorded and the time he sacrificed for her and would never abandon him.  And if she did, she would come back for him since he had cared so much.”

Martin turned this over in his head.  It didn’t sound like Gertrude at all.

“Did Michael ever regret trusting her?”

“Of course,” Michael lied, giggling.

Michael trusted Gertrude.  Loved her even.  Done so much for her and yet…

Was that what Martin was doing?  Giving his all to someone who didn’t care?  Who wouldn’t look back if he died?  Would lead him to death if there was any sort of justification?  Maybe not that far, but Martin doubted his mother would try and save him either.  He might look like his father, but at this point everything he had done for her should have proven that he wasn’t him.

Martin wiped away the tears that had stubbornly refused to dry.  Whether or not she loved him back didn’t matter.  He would love her, help her for as long as she needed it and until she told him to stop.  It hurt, but would hurt less if he stopped expecting her to suddenly turn around and love him back after all these years.  It’s likely she never will, like Jon would never love Martin.

Maybe he should start distancing himself from both of them.

“I think I’m ready to go home now.”

Chapter Text

Jon fell asleep on him again.

In the dim light of the screen, Martin could barely make out the lines of his face.  He was the last one awake if the lack of talking from Tim and Sasha were anything to go by from their end of the couch.  Carefully, he removed Jon from his arm, setting him to lean against Tim instead and turned the computer off before going to the living room to sleep on the couch.

Alone.

Technically, he almost always slept alone in his bed, but without the presence of Jon- of anyone else in the room it felt colder somehow.  But he supposed he would just have to get used to that and he wrapped his thin blanket tighter around himself.

- <0> -

Getting the Coffin was easier than Sasha expected.  Honestly, getting Jon to let them come with him as he went to get it was harder.  Breekon and Hope (just your average hundreds of years old fear avatars) only looked a bit surprised when they asked for it but gave it up readily.  They even carried it down to Jon’s office for them.  Though, they still left them with the table so now the Archive Gang, as Tim had dubbed them, was stuck with it.  Again from Jon’s perspective.

It wasn’t that intimidating.  It was obviously well made with the complex pattern engraved into the dark wood but it was still only wood.  Criss crossing and intersecting grooves lead her eyes along the large top of it to the center where she could faintly make out the shape of a small, square box with the same etchings along it.  She tore her eyes away from it.

They all stood around it like a wall between its supernatural terror and the world.  Sasha knew that they couldn’t destroy it; that would only free the monster.  Leaving it alone was just as dangerous as well.

Jon and Tim weren’t exactly subtle with their glances at her and even less so when they glanced at the Polaroids she knew they were all carrying.  Martin was at least a bit discrete when he did this.

Their worried glances only lessened once Michael opened their door to take the table.

But Michael wasn’t subtle either with their worry either.  She spotted their doors all the way down into the archives when they were moving the table.  All of their concern was appreciated but come on, she isn’t made of glass.

“These clowns are part of the Eye, but you’re an avatar of the Spiral,” Sasha chastised Michael, “I’m fine, okay?  You don’t need to watch over me.”

Michael pouted their long mouth, Tim grumbled, and Martin had the grace to look sheepish.  They were all so ridiculous.

“What if we’re watching over you for our sakes?” Jon asked, eyes wide with worry.

“I…” Sasha sighed, “I’m not going to say that I can handle myself since we’re going against literal para-dimensional gods of fear and I know that you’re all worried about me, but Tim-” she yanked their bag out of their hands and dumped out all of the Polaroids before they could grab it back, the amount of pictures practically carpeted the floor “-this is a bit much.  Same goes for you Michael, you need to work on making your doors less blinding if you don’t want me to notice you.”

Michael smiled fractally, “I’ll try,” their door became more saturated and they traced a long finger over the patterns on the table.  Trails of colors followed their fingers, quickly fading back to the dark wood.  “I can take this into my hallways.”

“Are you going to be oka-” Jon stopped himself, starting over, “I trust that you will be fine.”

“I will be fine, Archivist,” Michael sang.  Their sharp nails, still painted yellow, scratched the top of the table causing more neon sparks.  Something akin to rabid hunger was in their eyes as they observed the table.

“Alright,” Jon pulled his jacket off to grip one edge of the table and helped Michael put it in their hallways, the door swinging shut behi--

“Aghh,” Sasha’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes.  

The comforting blanket of the past month was yanked away with an onslaught of anxiety.  Nothing will change.  She will die.  Michael will die.  Tim will die.  Jon will die.  Martin will be alone.  She is not significant enough to change anything.   

Heaving deep breaths, the feelings ebbed away, leaving behind the feeling of being Watched.  Not the protective kind of Watching that Jon left them but like someone just waiting for you to make a mistake.  An uncomfortable pressure behind her eyes like a migraine.

“You,” Martin stammered, wiping tears from his face, “You guys too?”  She nodded, noting with a grimace that Tim did too.

When Jon stepped back through the door, it was almost disorientating for the discomfort to go away.

- <0> -

The second he wasn’t there, Elias hurt them.  Jon’s coworkers.  Jon’s friends.   

If he wasn’t so preoccupied with checking them he probably would’ve marched up to Bouchard’s office right then and there to- to uh...something.  He didn’t have the concentration to spare to try and think of any sort of substantial threat towards the murderer, but he could probably come up with something threatening later to think in his general direction.

But for now, they were fine.  Well, as fine as one could be after someone invasively shuffles through your brain.  And as fine as one could be while looking for a corpse in the secret tunnels under your work.

Jon gripped Sasha’s hand tighter and ignored the numb pain when he pulled on his scars as he led her, Tim, and Martin forward through the twisting tunnels with a flashlight in hand and Sasha marking the left wall with chalk to help them find their way back.  Michael was an expert in confusion and probably would've been helpful in their expedition, but they disappeared with the table, telling Jon with a vicious gleam in their eyes that they would take some time with it.

“Oi, slow down,” Tim huffed, “I know my muscles are huge but it’s not easy running with this fire extinguisher you know.”  The cleaning crews did a more thorough job of cleaning up the tunnels in this timeline, but Jon couldn’t help but worry some worms got away.

“Do you want me to carry it?” Martin offered, another extinguisher already in his hands and not even breaking a sweat.

“No, it’s fine,” Tim waved him off best he could with his tired arms, “Just wish Mr.Speed o’Sound Sonic here would slo-” He cut off with a yelp when Martin scooped him up, only having to stop for a second to balance himself before continuing.

Jon slowed his pace, looking back to make sure Martin was okay.  He could hear Tim grumble about Jon not slowing down for them.  Martin dismissed Jon’s concern with a tight smile.  Probably okay then...right?

Jon really didn’t mean to hurry but he wanted to find Gertrude’s body and get this over with before his urge to read came back.  Although, it was odd.  He hadn’t read a statement in a while now and yet he didn’t feel the urge yet.  Another fear suppressing trait of the tunnels maybe?

Smirke’s architecture was always confusing; the tunnels confusing and twisting but not Twisting and the darkness that was not the Dark.  Inducing fear without itself being made of Fear.  No wonder Tim found his work so interesting.  Maybe if Jon was able to find some of the plans for the place, they would be able to navigate it a little better.  Then he wouldn’t feel as lost as he felt now.  They haven’t passed any chalk marks so he was sure he hadn’t led them in a circle, but every now and again he would encounter a wall (or run into one) and they would have to turn back, making sure that everyone stayed together.  Jon turned another sharp corner, sure that he recognized the moulding on the walls, when he realized there was someone else in the tunnels.  He stopped, Sasha almost ran into him.

“Mr.Sims?” asked the old man in a raspy voice.  His eyes widened with confusion when Tim and Martin rounded the corner.  “I... I think it’s time we had a talk.”

Jurgen Leitner.  Jon almost forgot about him.

“I already know about the Fourteen Fears and about the rituals, Leitner,” Jon said curtly, already eyeing the tunnels behind Leitner.  He really wasn’t in the mood to hear Leitner’s ‘tragic backstory’ again.

“Wait, he’s…?” Sasha whispered, pulling Jon towards herself, Tim, and Martin, and away from the old man.

“I’m afraid so,” Jon nodded.

“Jurgen Leitner?” Tim exclaimed, incredulous and looking a bit ridiculous with how they were still held in Martin’s arms and cradling two fire extinguishers like babies.

Leitner looked at them puzzled, “I- Yes.  But, who are you?  I was only expecting the Archivist.”

“Long story,” Jon dismissed him, “What’s important is that we’re about to report Gertrude’s body so you might want to get out of the way for a while.  And please don’t move the walls with chalk, we’re using it to lead us back.”

Leitner floundered for a moment, Jon could see his mouth closing and opening behind his unkept beard as he debated saying more, before disappearing.  A wall, clear of any chalk, shifted and Jon recognized the brick work of the next one.  They were close to Gertrude.

There were less tapes in there than he remembered, an inflated importance that his mind assigned to the room.  When once he would’ve looked at the boxes of tapes and saw something that could hold all the answers, now he just saw the last works of an old woman.  A scary, cold blooded, old woman.

They left Tim’s extinguisher in the room, tying one end of a string to its weight and followed the chalk back to the Archives.  The urge to read came back the second Jon stepped out of the tunnels and back into his office.  The siren song of the Coffin leaning on the wall was nothing compared to it.

Sadly, the cell reception wasn’t the best anywhere in the Institute.  Jon felt a bit uneasy leaving the Archives again so soon after getting back, but it was for the greater good.  With one call to the police, step one of the ‘Arrest Elias’ plan would be complete: getting the police’s attention on the Institute with Gertrude’s murder.

Basira- Detective Hussain - stopped short when she entered Jon’s office, wrinkling her nose, “I thought you said the body was shot.”

“Wh-what?” Jon stammered.

The smell of blood was potent.  The sound of it dripping was one that Jon wished he didn’t recognize.

Daisy stared at Jon.  If he wasn’t so sure that she was connected to the Hunt, he would’ve assumed she was a part of the Eye with how bare he felt under her gaze.

“So,” she said slowly, “You came back from your long paid leave and you just so happen to find Gertrude’s body in the tunnels under your work.  The person whose disappearance meant you got promoted.  Not only that, but right after you and your little gang call it in, there’s another body that just appears in your office?  You do realize how suspicious that sounds.”

“Yes,” Jon fidgeted.

“You should just confess now,” she leaned over the table, “Who was he anyways?”

“I don- I’m not su-” Jon gagged, clawing at his throat when it refused to cooperate with him.

“Don’t-” Daisy slammed her hands onto the table “-play dumb with me.  I have full operational discretion on this case which means that if I think- no, if I know that you’re guilty, I can just make all of this go away.”

“Daisy-”

She growled, eyes narrowing.  He shrunk back in his chair.  Deep breath in, breathe out.  His hands fidgeted and he resisted the urge to pick at the scars that covered his hands.

“Detective Tonner,” he forced the correction through his mouth as he held back tears, “I know that you think I did it, but it was Elias.  He killed Gertrude and the man downstairs, but right now there’s not enough evidence to arrest him.”

“Say I believe you," she didn't sound like she did, "What’s stopping me from just arresting you or him here and now and being done with it?  Lack of evidence isn’t exactly a problem for me right now.”

‘Arrest.’  Jon Knows...he knows that’s not what she would do to him.  His neck prickled with phantom pain.

“You can’t kill him, that would kill everyone in the Institute and he Knows what you did to Calvin Benchley.”

Daisy didn’t flinch, but the blood drained from her face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not trying to threaten you, Dai- Detective Tonner.  I need you to work with me on this.  I need your help to arrest Elias and for that we just need some more time to get sufficient proof.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Still doesn’t answer why I shouldn’t just arrest you instead.”

“I- I can lead you to more monsters in the meantime,” Jon stammered, “You won’t have to second guess an-and it would be easier than running aimlessly about for signs of something supernatural.”  Jon struggled to keep eye contact with her.

Was it right to offer up other avatars to keep himself alive?  Not all of them had the choice to be like that, like how Michael was tricked into it, but there were still others who took pleasure in the fear they sowed.  But did that mean they deserved what Daisy would do to them?  Do they still deserve a peaceful death after what they’ve done?  Jon rubbed at his throat with his scar calloused hands.

Daisy leaned back, still staring at Jon as she thought.

“She agreed to that?” Tim asked.

“After staring at me for twenty minutes, yes,” Jon answered as he sorted through a box of statements.  

Kicked out of the Archives again.  Not even there for a day and it had to be cleaned of dead bodies again (although, this time they were humans and not millions of worms).  At least they were able to grab some boxes of unread statements before heading out again.  Elias ensured them it would only be for a few days, likely using some of his influence to make sure they came back to work soon.  He was mostly clean aside from a single spot of red on his dress shirt, something that when Jon noticed it, he could have sworn Elias smirked at him.

“Sounds rough,” Sasha sympathized, “The other detective was a bit nicer than that.  Although I think she was trying to bribe me with the tapes we found Gertrude with.”

“Oh yeah,” Jon chuckled, “That’s what happened to me last time.  I fell for it and my Tim actually thought we were dating instead of doing some legally questionable investigation.”

Tim laughed, “What?  I don’t know why I would think that with how you look at Maaaa- me!  With how you look at me!  I’m just too attractive.  I have to be kept in the archives to contain my power.”

“Wasn’t Jon the one to request us to the archives?” Sasha asked with a giggle.

“It was for the good of the world,” Tim lamented melodramatically, “Or he just wanted to keep the best eye candy to himself.”

Martin huffed a laugh, barely glancing up from his box, “I wasn’t requested so what does that make me?”

“Martin, if we’re eye candy then you’re the whole sweet shop.”

Jon smiled.  Martin was turned away from the rest of them but they could still see the blush on his ears as he stammered a thank you.

“Hey, Jon?” Sasha motioned to him.  She scanned a statement in her hands over and over again.

“Yes?” he filed away the pile of statements he finished, hunger subsided, and stacked the tapes beside it.

“So the fear entities, some of their followers do rituals right?  This Manuela Dominguez statement is about one for the Dark, but...this statement is years old.  She seemed pretty confident it would work but last I checked the world hadn’t been plunged into darkness.  I know Gertrude was pretty hands on about stopping them,” Sasha bit out bitterly, “but what if these rituals don’t even work in the first place?”

“I…I don’t know.  I don’t think that’s something we can risk.”

That would mean that his Tim died for nothing.

Jon woke up alone again.  Not the most unusual occurrence but the shaking terror his sleep left him was easier to deal with in company.  

The room was pitch dark but he could see his hands clearly with his temporarily heightened senses.  Covered in scars again.  Still.  Healed as much as they could but not the same.  The loop of yarn around his right middle finger reminded him that nothing would be the same this time around.

As quietly as he could, Jon went to the kitchen to make tea.  The process was calming, though something felt off.  Jon realized what it was when he poured two cups instead of one.

Jon glanced down to the floor where he knew Martin was, studying his outline until his eyes could no longer make out the shapes in the dark.  His back was turned to Jon and he was wrapped tightly in a blanket.  A thinner one than what Jon had, but he wondered if it would be warmer to be with Martin than alone on the couch.

“Martin?” Jon whispered, he could hear fabric shift.  Martin was ignoring him.  “I’ll...I’ll just leave this here.”  Setting one of the cups of tea down on a side table, Jon wrapped himself in a blanket and drank his tea.

When Jon woke up again, the cup he left for Martin was cold and undrunk.

Chapter Text

In Jon’s first timeline, he had the advantage of the Unknowing happening (though the downsides of that advantage far outweighed the benefits) to help distract Elias.  But that was a ways away and with how manically Jon was scouring statements for avatars to appease Detective Tonner, Martin didn’t think they had the time to wait.  

“So,” Martin looked around at the others in Jon’s office, “Are we ready then?”  They nodded.  The anxiety was near physical.

“Martin, are you-- I hope that you’re going to be fine,” Jon said.

Martin knew that Jon was trying to be careful to not compel anyone on accident, but sometimes the way he rearranged his sentences made Martin’s heart flutter with misinterpreted hope, “I’ll be fine.”

“‘Tim, I hope you’re going to alright too,’” Tim mimicked Jon’s voice, “Of course Jon.  Don’t even worry Jon.”  They threw an arm around Jon’s shoulder in a half hug and made him stumble with a dramatic swoon, “Your care is just too much for me sometimes.”

Sasha huffed a laugh, “You don’t need to ask me, I know I’m going to be fine.  But what about you, Jon?  You have the most to lose if this doesn’t work.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.  Have to take.  Detective Tonner has been getting more impatient with me and I can’t find enough avatars I’m willing to send her after,” Jon said solemnly.  Martin swore that he was too compassionate for his own good sometimes.  He didn’t want to bring harm to other avatars and yet he also didn’t want to send the Tonner after any that were too dangerous.

“Oh Jon,” Sasha said softly.  She pulled the shorter man into her arms, “Well you’re one avatar we’ll be sure that she never goes after.”  With Jon’s face pressed against her chest, he missed the way her eyes narrowed dangerously.  A look that Martin, Tim, and Michael all noticed and shared in spirit.

Tim threw their arms around the two, giving them a tight squeeze, “I guess I’ll start us off then.”  They shot them all finger guns on their way out into the archives proper.  

Sasha pressed a kiss to Jon’s head, “Stay safe, this is an order.”

“Can’t order me, I’m your boss.”

“I’m taller and don't have to climb onto the counter to reach the high shelves, that means I have automatic superiority over you,” Michael interrupted her speech with a bop to the top of her head, “Oh right, I should go now.”  She ruffled a hand through Michael’s hair, “Thank you for helping us with this, Michael.”

“My pleasure,” they purred.

“Thank you nonetheless and sorry I can’t turn off the whole,” Jon waved his hand at his eyes, “Seeing stuff.   I can’t actually see any of you, but still.”

“It’s all practice, Archivist,” Michael said, “You’ll get control of it.”

“Mind making me a door to where I need to go?” Sasha asked.

Michael rolled their eyes at her laziness, a kaleidoscope effect of a motion, opening their door regardless and left with her to guide her through the twisting hallways.

Then there was just Jon and Martin with Michael’s closed door waiting for Jon.  Jon hesitated, glancing between the yellow door and Martin.  Maybe if Martin was a bit more trustworthy, Jon wouldn’t have to be so worried about him screwing up his part.

“Jon,” Martin said.  Jon looked up into Martin’s eyes, hands spinning his Rubik’s cube at a worrying speed.  “We’re going to be fine.”

“I, I know,” Jon sighed, his hands slowing, “Oh, here--” Jon grabbed something from his pocket and pressed it into Martin’s hand.

A lighter.  It was still warm from being in Jon’s pocket.  Martin could vaguely remember it being the one that Breekon and Hope delivered with the table.  It was a nice zippo one and even had a spider web design on it.  Too nice for Jon to give to someone like Martin.  “I-- Thank you, but I can’t accept this.”

“No, keep it.  Please,” Jon pushed Martin’s hands back when he tried to hand it back, “You need it right now and it hasn’t brought me the most luck in the past, maybe it’ll be nicer to you.” Jon gave a nervous chuckle.

Jon’s hands were so much smaller and warmer than Martin’s.  A small flame in a blizzard.  If this was what the sun felt like to Icarus then Martin could understand why he would risk drowning in the freezing ocean.  But Martin didn’t intend to plummet.  If he could just hold on long enough, fly close to the cold mist of the waters, he would make it to land eventually.

“Thank you,” Martin said quietly, keeping his gaze on their small point of contact.  If he looked at him in that moment he wasn’t sure what he would do.  Maybe get lost in his eyes or say something stupid or ki--

He let out a small “oof” of surprise when Jon wrapped his arms around him, burying his face into Martin chest and squeezing him tight for a second before rushing off to Michael’s door without another word.

A shiver ran down Martin’s spine when the twisting door closed behind him.  Jon’s Gaze had turned from him then.  “R-right,” Martin breathed.  Now it was just a matter of getting Elias’ attention instead and keeping it for a few minutes.  Tim and Sasha were creating their own respective distractions elsewhere in the archives and while he wasn’t a theater kid, he was sure that he could put up a good enough performance for this.  

He locked the office door.  Only a panel of wood to keep out the terrors of the outside and to keep other terrors in.  The tunnels that were filled with worms, the office that was the place of so much of Jon’s supernaturalness, the Coffin that still sang quietly under its sheet.  Did it truly matter which side of the door Martin was on?

He clicked on a recorder to kill the silence of the room and tried to not think about how it didn’t do that on its own.  Might as well make a record for Jon later just in case Elias said anything incriminating.

Martin grabbed a metal trash can and stack of statements, all already recorded and set aside by Jon who insisted that they needed to be real for Elias to care.  Many of them were old and crinkled under Martin’s fingers.  

Taking a breath, Martin picked up the first of the documents, “Case, uhh, 0071304.  Statement of Ivo Lensik.”  The dry paper lit up well and Martin tossed it into the trash can.  It...it actually felt a bit therapeutic.  Being able to get rid of something that was tied to a past that brought so much pain to someone he lov-- cares-- someone he knows.  “Heh, um...statement ends, I guess.”

The feeling of Looking returned.  Uncomfortable and sharp but not the near pain that happened the first time Jon went through Michael’s doors.  So Elias was looking now.  Didn’t take him long.  The sharp stomping of footsteps could be heard through the door and over the faint crackling of the flames.

BANG BANG BANG.  

Martin didn’t bother hiding how he jumped.  

“Martin,” Elias ordered through the door, “Martin, what are you doing?  Open the door.”

It’s fine, Martin just had to hold his ground for a little while.  This was nothing compared to a worm hive knocking on his door for two weeks straight.  It was just his boss.  Who worships a fear god.  And had murdered people.  Still easier to deal with than Prentiss.

“Sorry, Elias,” Martin feigned, barely bothering to act apologetic, “I can’t hear you.  There’s-- a door in the way.”

“Martin,” Elias banged the door, “Unlock the door.  Now.”

“Mmm,” Martin hummed.  He threw another statement into the fire.  “No.”  He almost laughed when Elias growled.

“I don’t know what you or the other assistants are planning,” Elias said, struggling to sound composed, “But I can promise you it won’t end well for you.  Making a mess of the Archives will only make your jobs harder for you and I can assure you that it won’t be hard to find someone else who could easily replace you and what would your poor mother say about that?”

Replacing Martin wouldn’t be hard at all would it?  Hardly any credentials to his name and he was always screwing up.  He wouldn’t be able to afford support for his mother and surely he wouldn’t get so lucky as to find another job that would accept him so he should just… 

No.  No , he’s not useless.  He’s not replaceable.  Besides, even if he could get fired that would probably be a good thing.

“Hmm, so you know that,” Elias sighed, “I suppose I can’t use that threat then.  Pity.  I had a lot of material for it: how you faked your resume, how your mother will never love you, how you look like your--”

“Yeah, I know,” Martin cut him off, throwing another statement into the flames for good measure, “Tell me something new.”

“Very well,” Elias said.  Martin paled at the sound of keys jingling and the door creaked open.  Elias’ eyes were sharp and locked onto Martins’ as he prowled in.  Martin tried to tear his eyes away, tears sprung up in his eyes from the strain of it.  Elias spared a harsh glance towards the burning statements, little more than cinders now, and the still spinning recorder, “You’re doing this for Jon aren’t you?” he held the off button down, forcing it to stop, “Poor Martin, he doesn’t care about you did you know that?”

“N-no,” Martin shook his head.  Burning tears made their way down his face, “Jon doesn’t feel that way anymore.  We’re friends now.”

“Friends?” Elias actually looked surprised for a second, a look that was quickly covered with the annoyed apathy that he normally displayed as he took a step forward.  Martin stumbled back, almost bumping into the Coffin.  Its song was tempting compared to listening to Elias.  “It seems you really do believe that you are ‘friends.’  I don’t know what he’s done to make you imagine that with how he spoke about you in the statements.  But nonetheless, would you really stay friends if you told him how you felt?  How long do you have until he realizes how much of a nuisance you are and he stops tolerating you?”

None of these thoughts were new to Martin; they’ve been his only company during the night for the past few weeks.  How much had his future self changed for Jon to be able to put up with him?  And now he was stuck with a past version of Martin who was just forcing his presence onto Jon again but damn it he was trying his best to not.

“Do you even begin to understand the extent of his disdain for you when you started?” Elias continued.  Martin was half glad for his tears as they blocked his view of Elias’ mocking smirk.  “How every little mess up you made just added onto his already high stress?  How this just made his contempt for you grow?  He tried firing you a few times actually, went as far as filling out the form but as I’m sure you know, he was never able to submit it no matter how much he wanted to.”

Martin sucked in a shaky breath, “S-shut.  Up.”  That didn’t matter anymore.  After they dealt with everything he wouldn’t subject Jon to even looking at him anymore.

“Oh what?” Elias laughed.  From where Martin collapsed on the floor, Elias towered over him, “Even if you could quit, did you really think that distancing yourself would help?  As if that would work, you were infatuated with him even before he started acting so nice to you.  Although, I do suppose that making yourself scarce would make you more bearable to your dear Jon.”

Ice made its home in Martin’s veins as scorching tears fell.  Elias was the worst but he wasn’t wrong.  

Elias smirked and took his finger off the recorder button allowing it to whirr freely again, “I trust that you’ll behave now.  If you’ll excuse me, Tim and Sasha have surprise performance reviews I need to conduct.”  He turned to open the door.  Martin only had a second to remember that it wasn’t yellow before it swung open to reveal Jon framed by the Spiraling light of madness.

“You,” Jon growled with an edge of static noise, grabbing Elias by the collar of his suit.  The light of the door lit up the rage in his eyes as he pushed Elias further back into the office.  Martin scrambled out of the way, mind still fogged down with the thoughts that Elias had forced into his head.

“Jon!” Elias acknowledged him almost cheerfully before sneering, “Stop.”   There was a faint static to the command, barely heard over the sound of the recorder spinning which was soon joined by more appearing and clicking on.

“No,” the static that Jon spoke was louder, almost thunderous.  Long lines like cuts bleed onto Jon’s face, three above and three below his eyes all radiating from the center of his face making a shape like an asterisk without a center.  Jon blinked and his eyes opened.  

And then Jon’s Eyes opened.  

They fluttered open from the lines, covering his face and replacing his mouth with a vertical Eye.  He blinked once more and when his Eyes opened again they had the black sclera and bright green irises that Martin associated with statement reading.  Martin couldn’t help but think that they formed a flower.

“What are you-- STOP,” Elias scrambled and tore at Jon’s hands as he was all but dragged to the back of the office.  Trails of blood leaked from where his nails ripped through the worm scars.  “Jon.   Jon, please,” Elias’ pleads grew in desperation, drowned under the static, as Jon stared into his eyes.  All unblinking and unmoving Eyes aside from the two natural ones narrowed with seething rage.

Jon slammed Elias’ back into the wall, cutting off his begging as the lesser Eyed man bit and choked on his tongue.  Martin grimaced in empathetic pain.  Keeping Elias pinned with one hand, Jon swept off the sheet covering the Coffin and the chains fell away with a clatter.

The Coffin’s song grew when Jon threw the lid open and Martin could only watch as Elias was thrown in.  He couldn’t even hear his screams over the Coffin or the static and noise of the recorders.  

The lid shut again with a resolute thud.  Jon and silence fell with it, heavy.

Martin breathed as shallowly as he could like the volume of it would make the room explode back into the chaos it was.  Was that it?  The inane back up plan worked?

“Martin, I hope you’re okay,” he heard Jon ask in his non-question way.  It was more static than voice.  Jon staggered to his feet and looked at Martin with his many Eyes, all wide with worry.  His mouth was still replaced with an Eye, searching Martin’s face in darting motions.  Martin shrunk back from where he was cowered on the floor; he couldn’t handle Jon faking a single nice word to him without breaking down.  

“Martin?” Jon repeated and Martin realized that his voice came from the recorders.  Jon seemed to realize this at the same time and reached up to touch his face in confusion.  His dark and bright eyes widened when he touched the Eye where his mouth should be.  

The static returned distorted and screeching as Jon scratched at his throat and face in manic movements.  Blood dripped down from his face joining the mess on his hands as his nails scraped through his skin and tears cleared tracks from every Eye as Jon tried to claw them out.

“Jon, stop!” Martin finally pulled his arse off the floor to snatch Jon’s hands away from his face.  Tearful and bloody Eyes stared up at him.  Jon’s chest heaved up and down with panicked, uneven breaths despite having no mouth to draw air from.  

Martin knelt in front of him, keeping his distance, and the static quieted as they both caught their breaths.  Neither of Jon’s hands had a ring on any fingers.  Martin’s heart broke a little more, Jon probably only wore it when Martin was around and didn’t have time to put it back on before he came down to save Martin from doing his own job.  Maybe Elias was right about Martin being useless.

“I heard shouting,” Tim barged into the room, the door a normal brown again, “Martin are you okay?  Jon--  Oh...oh, Jon what happened to you?”  Tim approached slowly, bringing themself down to Jon’s level.  Martin let go of Jon’s arms like a hot brand and turned away to avoid whatever annoyed face Jon was surely making for touching him.

“Jon!” Sasha came tumbling through a spiraling door with Michael and she rushed to join Tim on the floor with the Spiral not far behind, “Michael told me what happened.”

Martin backed off.  Jon...he had the others.  He didn’t need a nuisance like Martin taking up space.  Martin tied the chains around the Coffin once again and threw the cloth over it, turning the fabric so that the blood stains from Jon’s hands didn’t show.  He looked back one last time; Sasha, Tim, and Michael were all holding Jon in a tight hug, all of his Eyes closed as he held onto them and Tim was murmuring something that Martin wasn’t close enough to hear.  Not close enough to any of them at all actually.

Martin slipped out unnoticed, shivering at the cold of the archives.

- <0> -

Tim’s job today was to mess up the archives.  Not a job given to them by the big boss man, but by the boss man that Tim actually had respect for.  An easy enough task to do and even easier when under the guise of it being because he was becoming more manic in trying to avenge Danny.  All he had to do was hastily check through boxes for statements about clowns or circuses and then dump anything that wasn’t relevant on the ground.  Jon didn’t seem too enthusiastic about Tim tearing it up in the archives but he did assure all of them that damaging the statements, no matter their tie to the Voyeuristic Eye God, would not harm him.

That didn’t make Tim any less worried when they heard screaming and a static screech from where they last saw Jon.  The amount of Eyes and blood and the fact that the Coffin was uncovered when they got there didn’t help either.

“Shh,” Tim tried to help Jon even his breathing, exaggerating their own.  They weren’t sure how he was breathing with all of the Eyes but Jon did seem to be calming down as he slowly closed all the extra Eyes, Sasha and Michael holding him helped as well.  They pulled him into a tighter hug, uncaring of the bloody mess their clothes became.  “We’re here.  It’s okay, Jon,” Tim murmured, rubbing circles into Jon’s back.

Jon’s Eyes blinked, Tim only felt mildly worried when all of them opened again.  “Where’s Martin?” Jon signed with shaky, bloody hands.  They would need to re-bandage him.  A recorder repeated his question.  Jon glanced worriedly at it, his normal eyes moving in unison as the other Eyes looked about in jittery movements scanning the room.

“He’s right here,” Sasha looked around the office.  Worry creased her brow when she didn’t find him.  “I could’ve sworn I saw him...I’m sure he’s just going to get help.”

Jon nodded in understanding before furrowing in confusion then panic, “Where--” he pointed to one of his bloody fingers.  

“Your ring?” Sasha looked around and grimaced at a piece of yarn.  It was black and the liquid in it soaked it darker.  “I think you might want a different one.”

Tim was sure that having Martin himself instead of a bit of string he once gave Jon would help Jon feel better (it would also make Tim feel better but they had some priorities).  “Do the Eyes hurt?” Tim asked, Jon shook his head in spite of the scratches that scored his face, “How much control do you have over them?”  

Jon blinked them experimentally and tilted his hand in a “so-so” motion.  “Can’t close-,” he signed despondently, the last unknown sign ending in a lethargic spin.  Tim’s british sign language vocabulary was still fairly sparse but it only took them a moment to Realize that the last word was “forever.”  They took that to mean that Jon couldn’t make them go away.

“Okay let’s try something.  Three taps for stop, okay Jon?”  Jon tapped Tim’s hand once in understanding.  “Alright, now close all of your Eyes for a second and just focus on your, um, normal eyes.”  Tim drew Jon back into their arms and put their head on top of his.  Sasha and Michael brought themselves closer, Michael elongated themself to completely wrap around all of them.

They stayed like that for a minute.  The only sound being the quiet whirring of a tape recorder and their breathing, Tim could probably fall asleep like this.  They only let go when they heard Jon take a stuttering breath with his newly opened mouth and hacked a few coughs to clear it.

“Elias,” Jon spelled out.  He waved a hand trying to look for a word before giving up and pointed towards the Coffin.  Tim wasn’t sure when it got covered again.  Maybe the cloth and chain were tied to it?

“He’s-- He’s in there?” Sasha asked.  Tim had to hold themself back from thanking the cursed thing or from the more tempting idea of picking Jon up and carrying him out of there.

“Yes,” Jon signed, “Elias-” he flattened his hands side by side before separating them “-Jonah Magnus.”

“Sorry Jon,” Tim said, “I only caught onto ‘Elias’ and what looked like ‘Jonah Magnus?’  As in Jimmy Magma our lord, savior, and founder of the Mango Institute?”

Jon huffed, close enough to a laugh in the situation, “Yes.”

“Is he also in the Coffin?” Sasha looked at it incredulously.  Possibly murderously considering that it possibly held the man that created the sexist Institute with extreme nepotism.

Jon shrugged in a ‘kind of’ motion before spelling out, “Elias is Magnus.”

“Like…” Tim had to take a deep breath to center themself, “Like some sort of fake identity, protective services kind of thing?”  Jon signed no and Michael laughed like a headache.  “Yeah course not, he’s too old for that.  Old people stealing youth kind of thing?”  Another no.  “Body snatching?” Tim tried.  This surprisingly got a yes.

“I think that’s one too many weird revelations for me today,” Tim tapped Jon’s arm three times.

Chapter Text

Carrying the coffin was a messier affair than Breekon and Hope made it look.  It was an awkward shape for two people and a Spiral to carry, and Tim insisted that Jon didn’t have to help them.  Sasha was preeetty sure that the two had used some sort of ‘fear of mailmen’ to help them carry their packages around.

It didn’t help that Eli-- Jonah didn’t bother updating the building to have elevators anywhere; they had to carry it from the basement to the top floor where his office is using nothing but the stairs and their hands.

“Ugh,” Sasha griped, “Michael are you sure you can’t just hallway this up?”

“I can’t hold more than one avatar at a time,” Michael steadied their long hands around the Coffin as they maneuvered through a door and onto the ground floor of the Institute, “This holds multitudes.”

“Hello,” a voice chirped.  Rosie.

The box pitched and almost dropped when Michael suddenly contracted their form to just looking only a little too tall and not a living Fibonacci spiral of a bowling alley carpet.

Jon sputtered as his eyes darted between Rosie, the Coffin, and all the blood that stained his clothes.  He frantically waved his hands in what he supposed would be the sign equivalent of stammering and hoped that she wouldn’t notice the dried blood.

“We had a bit of a mishap in the archives,” Sasha cut in, smiling at Rosie.

Rosie tsked, “You four cause almost as much trouble as Artefact Storage.”

“It’s not as bad as last time,” Tim protested.

Rosie looked at the blood stained on the Coffin and the mess that was Jon and raised an eyebrow, “I sure hope so.  Worm invasions and murder are kind of hard to top besides burning down the Institute or ending the world.  Oh- I actually don’t recognize you,” she pointed at Michael, still trying to subtly shrink to an average height, “New hire?”

“I’ve actually worked here for a while,” Michael chuckled to themself, “My name is Michael.”

“Really?  Last I checked there wasn’t a Michael in the payroll for the Archives, at least not in a long while.  I’ll make sure to add you.  Do you need any help moving your mishap box to Artefact Storage?  There’s a trolley I can get you.”

“Can-” Tim started.

“No, you cannot have two to do little jousting tournaments in,” Rosie said in a way that suggested that was not the first time Tim asked.

“Who will end your tyranny,” Tim sighed, “But yes, we would like the trolley.  Oh, and Elias actually asked us to move this into his office.  He’s also going to be gone for a while so just a heads up.”

“Again?”  Rosie pulled a face as she walked off, motioning for them to follow her.

“Sorry, Rosie,” Sasha said, leading the front of the Coffin to avoid bumping walls.  With Rosie’s back turned, Michael let their form loosen again to get a better grip on it.

“No matter,” she got out a set of keys to unlock a small closet and went inside, “Not like that changes much anyways.”

Jon tapped Tim’s shoulder to get their attention before signing, “Ask her to explain please.”

“What do you mean by that?” Tim echoed his question.

“Mr.Bouchard,” Rosie said in a mockingly pompous accent, “may be the head of the institute but he doesn’t actually do much work besides signing documents or making spreadsheets.  I swear, all he does are spreadsheets but he isn’t the one who has to actually enact what’s written on them.  Luckily for us, he did leave a contingency plan for if he’s not here to sign anything so don’t worry about the Institute running to the ground without him.  Here,” she rolled out the trolley, “It won’t help with the stairs but it should make most of moving that thing around easier.”

“Thank you,” Jon said a bit hoarsely, the first words he got out of his mouth in a while.

“You’re welcome,” Rosie signed and smiled brightly, “I have a first aid kit behind my desk if you…?” She motioned to Jon’s hands and his general body.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

The next few days passed in the same easy rhythm as before.  They went to work and recorded several dozen of statements with breaks as Tim or Sasha demanded then picked whose house to go to that night.  The only real difference that Jon marked was that Martin.  He had reappeared at work the day after they dealt with Jonah, but was rarely ever the one to pull Jon away for tea and when he did it his smile seemed tense.

Of course that normalcy started after they cleaned up the mess that Tim made.  For the few minutes they were given to distract Elias, they made a huge mess.  Some of the boxes even had small scorch marks.  Tim had laughed it off as them just being too hot to handle, but Jon had an uncomfortable feeling that there was a different explanation.

Jon had checked the tapes that appeared when Jon confronted Elias.  Jonah.  Most were too full of static and screaming to listen to beyond the introduction but there was one that wasn’t.

Click.

“Statement of Elias Bouchard,” it began in Jon’s voice, “Regarding the events that lead up to his promotion to Head of the Magnus Institute,” click.   Jon wound it back, “Statement of Elias Bouchard,” click, “Elias Bouchard,” click.

All the others started with Jonah Magnus.  Jon didn’t know how many times he had listened to this tape.

Tim knocked on Jon’s desk in lieu of an actual door, “Alright there, Jon?”

“Wha-?  Ah, yes.”  He probably should’ve gotten headphones.  He had moved himself into an open desk in the common area with the rest of his assistants once they came back.  His office just felt like a bad omen and though he didn’t admit it to them, he liked to be able to see them.  It worked for the most part to calm his nerves except for the fact that Martin mostly kept to the kitchen when he wasn’t busy so he was rarely seen.

“I’m fine, Tim.  I’m probably going to stay a bit late today.”

“Going to check on the Coffin again?” Tim asked, “Make sure that Victorian bastard, Joker Maybelline, is still in there for us will, ya.  Cover your ankles before you go or else he might just have a heart attack.”

“As if his eyes could be assaulted with such obscenities whilst he’s in the time out box,” Sasha joined in, “Elias is such a twig, I still don’t know how he made that thing so heavy.”

“Jonah,” Jon corrected.

“Jonah,” Sasha righted herself, “Is there a difference?”

“Yes,” Jon insisted, “Elias Bouchard- the real one -he’s as much as a victim as we are.  He was just some guy.  A bit pretentious, rich, and a weed-head, but he wasn’t a murderous mastermind.  He was lonely and I think that’s why Jonah chose him, he thought that no one would notice that a whole person was different.  Was gone.”

Jon supposed he was right; they didn’t realize it until it was too late.  Not completely dissimilar to what happened to Jon’s Sasha.

Jon sighed, “You three can just go home, you don’t have to wait for me.”

“Of course we don’t ‘have’ to wait.  We’re making a choice to be here with you, Jon.  It-- You’re not a chore for us, okay?” Tim assured him.

“We can go if you want some space,” Sasha ruffled Jon’s hair, it was long enough to cover his face now, “You still have the keys right?”

“I, I think I would like to be alone for a little while if that’s okay.  And yes, I have the keys but honestly Tim.  The keychain is far too big to be practical.”

“Mothman plushies are never impractical!”

Jon rolled his eyes.  The thing was almost the size of his fist.

“I have a set with a smaller keychain if you want to switch,” Sasha offered.

“No.  This one is fine,” Jon held onto it tighter.  For the sole purpose of making sure he didn’t lose his grip on it of course.

“See!  I knew you’d come around to my first husband,” Tim pulled Jon into a quick hug, patting the small toy as they pulled away.

Jon stared at the Coffin.  Tim tried to convince them to put it behind the desk like it was in the office chair, but they laid in on the floor instead.  Hopefully it just looked like an eccentric coffee table to anyone walking in.

Click , “Statement of Elias Bouchard regarding--” click.   

Elias Bouchard.  Not Jonah Magnus.  Another unwilling follower of horrid gods.  From the statement, he didn’t even realize what was happening until Wright had started carving his eyes out and then the statement ended.  Likely with Elias’ life.

Jon made his way back to the Archives, the Coffin’s song fading as he descended.  But what if he didn’t die?  Was Elias still alive in there, the real Elias?  Wrapped up in layers of fear and unable to escape any of them.  A prison within a prison.  Perhaps Jon just made it worse for him.

What could he do right anyways.  He was Becoming a monster and he knew it.  

Martin knew it.  Jon tried to ignore it, but he’s barely seen Martin since they’ve dealt with Jonah.  Since Jon revealed just how monstrous he could be.

He had let his emotions overtake him.  He had confined someone in a box that he knew would trap them in an eternal living grave.  He had far, far too many Eyes.  Jon touched a hand to his face; even without it splitting open to reveal what was beneath, it was still pitted and scored with scars.

Martin was probably the smartest of Jon’s…friends.  He'd seen what Jon could do and made the right decision to steer clear of him.  They might not be able to quit but avoiding Jon would probably keep them out of most of the danger.  Tim only got hurt again in this timeline when they went back for Jon and Martin only seemed more miserable with each day that Jon existed.

It would just be easier for all of them if Jon just went back to being their aloof boss.

“Sorry, it’s just,” Tim chuckled, tears slipping down their face, “We didn’t lose Sasha this time.”

Jon shook his head.  No.  He might have made foolish mistakes (so many) but he was making changes.  Good changes.  He wasn’t alone in this and he promised them all that he would tell them when he needed help.  He put the tape down on his desk and picked up his keys, gripping the keychain tightly.  That probably included right now.

The Archives were cold and Jon shivered, pulling on a sweater that was thrown over one of the office chairs.  It swamped him but it was warm.  Jonah had always cared more for the preservation of statements than the people who worked here but Jon was sure it was never this cold in the Archives.

Then he noticed the mist swirling at his feet.

“Jonathon Sims, isn’t it?” A cheerful voice asked, followed by a man dressed like a sailor appearing from the fog.  He was tall, and would have intimidating if it wasn’t for the almost awkward way he held himself.  He had a casual smile but the way his eyes skittered on and off of Jon’s face suggested he would rather be anywhere but there.  His name made its way into Jon’s brain.

“Peter Lukas?”

“Yes.  Talented little Archivist aren’t you?” Jon didn’t like the smile on his face, Peter’s eyes were far too dead for the shape of it.  “I can see why Elias chose you.”

“Jonah,” Jon corrected automatically.

“Oh,” Peter looked a bit more alive, “You Know then?”  Fuck.  “You’re pretty far along in Becoming aren’t you.  Seems like you’re a good match for it though it does make me wonder why your Archives feel so homey.  Maybe one of your assistants would like to work for me instead.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon bristled, clutching the keychain tighter to ground himself.  Standing his ground, he Glared at Peter when he refused to elaborate.

Peter chuckled, an unwelcome sound, “Don’t be so uptight, Jon.”  Peter’s smile waned as Jon continued to Stare at him, coughing and averting his eyes.  “Well, it’s late.  It’s best if we both head home then.”

“Right,” Jon said curtly.

“Right,” Peter echoed, “Just so you know, heh, El-- Jonah made me the head of the Institute during his...leave.”

“I’ll be sure to come to you if I ever find the need to,” Jon prayed to whichever fear god was the most benevolent that he would never find one.

Jon knocked on the door to Tim’s apartment.  Dealing with Peter Lukas made him too lethargic to even get out his keys.

“Jon?” Martin opened the door, yawning and rubbing his eyes.  He looked more tired than when Jon last saw him and the dimmed light of the room made parts of his hair look white.  “It’s late, Tim and Sasha were worried that you went to sleep in the archives again.”

“No, I just got a bit caught up,” Jon said.  Martin moved aside letting him in and closed the door behind him.  The inside of the apartment felt just as cold as the outside, but Martin…

“J-jon?” Martin stammered and tensed when Jon wrapped him in a hug.

“Mmm,” Jon grumbled into Martin’s chest, “Where’s Tim and Sasha?”

“Of course you don’t want…” Jon barely heard Martin mumble under his breath.  Warm breath blew over Jon’s head though the room felt like it dipped in temperature, “They’re asleep already, but I can get them for you if you need them.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jon said and stood there, holding onto Martin like a lifeline and fighting the chill of the room little by little.  “I’m sorry,” Jon loosened his grip, “I lost the ring you made me.”  In time, Jon would have replaced it, but in the time being he had liked the texture of it.  It felt right.  Every time he woke up, it reminded him that he wasn’t by himself anymore despite waking up alone for the past few days.  And then Jonah tore that away from him.

“It’s alright, it’s not too much trouble to make another one.  If, um, if you want one that is.”

“I think I’ll be fine for tonight if you, uh, if you stay with--” Jon felt too embarrassed to say it out loud and just held Martin tighter and leaned them towards where the bed was set up.

“Are you sure you don’t want Tim or Sasha here with you?  Michael even left one of their doors nearby if you’d prefer their company.”

“No,” Jon shook his head, “You’re, I’d like for you to be here if that’s not asking too much.”

“I...that’s not too much.”

Jon flinched awake from terrors he could never remember.

The sun wasn’t quite up yet and left the world in a darkness that only he could see.  A world that was currently made up of Martin.  Through the night Martin had hogged the blankets but that didn’t bother Jon as much as it could’ve when Martin had partially rolled onto Jon and he felt better than any number of weighted blankets.  Looking up, Jon could see Martin’s face in all the colors his eyes normally couldn't see.  Infrared and ultraviolet scales of light created an enthrall picture that he struggled to tear his eyes from.  Even the white in his hair casted a rainbow.  He was a bit colder than Jon remembered from when he first arrived in the past but he found that he didn’t mind; all he needed was for Martin to be there with him.  Jon couldn’t help but need, want, everything about Martin.

Oh.

Oh.

Jon’s breath caught in his throat.

Martin mumbled something in sleep, brows pinching together, and pulled Jon closer to him.  Jon held himself as still as he could, barely daring to breath.  His hands fidgeted in stiff, jerky movements, one behind Martin holding him closer and the other interlaced in one of Martin’s.  If Jon tried to remove himself now it would just wake Martin up and Jon couldn’t lie for the life of him.

When his heart calmed down, he tucked his face back into Martin’s chest, pressing his head to Martin’s sternum.  A quiet ‘I love you’ he was sure wasn’t returned.  Waking up will just have to be a problem for future Jon.

Jon woke up alone and cold despite the sunlight streaming in.

There’s a void in his hands where Martin’s used to be ( ‘should be’ whispers an anguished corner of his mind) and a small cold weight makes him open them.  A ring.  Smooth black metal that stays cool no matter how long he laid there staring at it.

The blanket wrapped around him was heavy and the weight shifted like viscous liquid when he moved it.  His weighted blanket, though now it was probably more Michael’s with how Spiral touched it was.  Jon sat up, rocking slightly with the blanket, and noticed a cup of tea on the coffee table.  

It had gone cold.

Chapter Text

The tea was cold, not room temperature, but cold .  Jon enjoyed the over steeped taste nonetheless.  Bitter and over sweet at the same time with the atrocious amount of sugar and honey that Martin knew he liked.  

He always noticed things like that hadn’t he?  Even in the last time line, Martin had gone out of his way to check on him and make sure he took breaks even though Jon pushed him away.  Jon wasn’t pushing him away again was he?  He took breaks when asked and talked not only to Martin but Sasha, Tim, and Michael too when they asked.  That wasn’t really reciprocating was it?  That was just accepting what he was being given but not giving back.

He took another sip of tea.  The sweater he took from the Archives made the chill of it more bearable and he pulled the sleeves over his hands to protect them from the mug, rubbing the texture between his fingers.  Soft.  Very soft and it smelled nice too.  Not quite the familiar paper smell of the Archives nor the distinct perfumes and colognes Tim and Sasha wore.  Almost fresh laundry but with a hint of earthy tea.  It made Jon feel safe.  Was this…?

It was Martin’s.  Jon flushed.

Jon was in l-- Martin is someone Jon lo--  Jon let out a long suffering sigh.

Jon cared greatly for Martin.  Very greatly.

What he specifically lov...enjoyed about Martin couldn’t be pinned down.  Martin was handsome.  He was kind and thoughtful and diligent, petty and ruthless when he wanted or needed to be, and just absolutely wonderful.  But above all, he was Martin.

These were all things Jon noticed in the last time line as well but only now did he truly realize what it meant to him.  He had far more tact than Jon as well; which is why Jon asked him to take the next live statement that came in.  And she inevitably did walk in.

“Are you sure?” Martin whispered, glancing over at the frightened statement giver to ensure she didn’t overhear and curled his shoulders closer to himself when she jumped at the noise of a door creaking.

“Of course,” Jon said.

“What about Tim or Sa--”

“Martin,” Jon stopped him, “She needs someone like you right now.”

“I- Um, alright,” Martin flushed, more noticeable with how pallid his skin had gotten lately.  “This way, Ms…?” Martin led the disordered woman into a side room they had cleared out for this purpose.

“Helen,” she paused before entering, studying at the door with wide distrustful eyes before entering, “Helen Richardson.”

The door swung shut behind them and turned a shock of yellow.  Jon knocked on it.

“Michael,” he greeted as the Spiral twisted out and into the Archives, “We have a statement giver in today.”

“Is that so?”

“She was rather nervous about doors,” Jon leveled them with a look.  He held back a cringe when he realized how much he was mimicking the look his grandmother would give him when the police brought him back to her house.

“I couldn’t resist, Archivist,” Michael’s smile wavered up and down at the ends like a sine wave, unsatisfied with happiness or despair, “I need to eat after all.”

“I Know.  You were just obeying your nature.  We have it easy by just needing to read statements but you need to directly cause fear.  I won’t stop you from…’eating,’ but I advise you to let this one go.”

“Hmm,” Michael pulled themself into their human form and their small frown was clearer to see.  “I’ll trust that whatever your reasons are, that they’re better than the last Archivist’s.”  The yellow door’s form wavered and changed and stayed the exact same as it burst open and Helen rushed out, tripping over herself, and nearly ran into Michael.

“Y-you?” she staggered back, “No, no, no, where am I?  Oh god, I’m still in there.”

Jon turned her towards himself, “Hey, hey, it’s okay.  Just breath,” and let go once her eyes were off Michael and on him instead.   He exaggerated his breathing, copying what Tim had done for him so many times.  She still looked tense as a wire and ready to snap but her breathing steadied until she stopped flinching at every small movement.  “You’re out.  I promise you that you will never see those hallways again.” Jon looked over her shoulder at Michael.  They nodded their head.

Tim never passed up an excuse for sleepovers since they all started living together (a fact that Jon stopped trying to dance around).  Movies, games, cooking lessons, anything that leads to them being in the same room at the end of the night.  Jon enjoyed these nights more than he let on, indulging in the warmth and the varying touches of the others.

Michael couldn’t be described since they normally left during the night but the ever changing textures Jon felt when he slept near their door were relaxing to analyze on sleepless nights.

Sasha was almost the same temperature as Jon, if a bit warmer, though her feet were always freezing which she lately didn’t hesitate to remind the rest of them by putting her feet on top of theirs before promptly rolling on top of them after passing out.

Tim was a furnace.  Jon preferred to sleep with them at his back, but that ran the risk of them rolling onto him which in theory sounded nice until he would wake up far too warm and sweaty.

Martin was...Jon could barely remember what it felt like to have Martin with them.  He would sleep on the very edge of the bed or pile of blankets they threw on the floor and by morning they would find him asleep under a thin blanket on a separate couch or even a separate room than them.

This night was a night like that.  

Jon had woken up drowsily from his dreams, not feeling the terror he normally did but now just a numb fear, and was left to stare at the walls until the rest woke up.  Sasha had wedged herself between him and Tim, cold feet on Tim’s side, and Michael had left their door on the ceiling.  

Martin was curled up on a small couch across from Jon and was covered by a thin blanket.  Barely in arm’s reach even if Jon leaned from the edge of the pull out bed.  

He looked cold.

Jon wiggled out from under Sasha and Tim and put the weighted blanket over him, smoothing it over the sleeping man to steal an extra moment with him before rejoining the others on the bed.  He pulled his arms tight around himself, warm except for the cold metal of the ring on his hand, and watched over Martin until his eyes could only see the white streaks in his hair.  They seemed to bleach out more and more of Martin’s strawberry blonde each day.

“Happy Spooky Day of Sinister Happenings!”

“You can just say Halloween, Tim,” Jon said.  He had almost forgotten about the holiday and went with a simple outfit: just a shawl with moth wing designs and a shirt that said ‘costume’ in comic sans.

“But my ween isn’t hollow,” Tim smiled at him, their fake fangs peaked through their lips.  They chose to dress up as, allegedly, sexy Dracula.  So for Tim, it was just a regular Dracula costume.

“I-- You’re not wrong…”

“Let the enby speak their truth!” Sasha said as she flopped on the couch.  

She went as Frankenstein’s monster, evening donning platform shoes to reach his eight foot height.  They forced her to duck through every door (excluding Michael’s who was ‘dressed’ as a normal person, pulling themself to the shape Sasha first saw them in and putting on a sticker name tag with ‘human’ on it) but she insisted on making it through the day with them.  Tim bet against her being able to do it and she bet they couldn’t make it through the entire day with the fake teeth.  Their contest hadn’t made work any easier with Sasha tripping and hitting her head on the ceiling every time she stood up and Tim lisping too much to record statements but they both endured enough to take the challenge all the way back home.  Out of the two of them, Tim’s teeth managed to be the bigger inconvenience when they started choking and nearly gave Martin a heart attack during lunch.

Martin himself was dressed almost as simply as Jon; just ears and a tail.  At first, Jon had thought he was a cat but then the Eye told him that Martin was dressed as a werewolf.  Dogs weren’t as appealing to Jon, for reasons, but he found he didn’t mind them as much when it was Martin.

“Want to watch Nightmare Before Christmas?” Tim asked, partially a hiss around their plastic teeth, as they sorted through their DVD collection.

“Nah, that’s a Christmas movie,” Sasha stuck out her feet making a tripping hazard with her platforms.  Michael let their form go, draping themself loosely over the couch back like a boneless cat and messed with Sasha’s tall hairdo.

“Why do you bring such blasphemy into my house?  They live in Halloween Town, my love.  How is that Christmas movie material?”

“There is Christmas in the title, my love,” Sasha argued.  The way she said 'my love' told Jon that they were talking in another language and not just repeating each other.  The slightly silted way they said it suggested that they were saying it in the other's language.

“A bit between it all, isn’t it?” Michael laughed and braided their long fingers further into Sasha’s hair.

Jon sat next to Sasha, making sure that there was space beside him and looked over at Martin who was still hovering by the door.  He patted the spot in what he hoped was inviting and not too awkward or betrayed his wanting.  Martin sat in a separate chair.

Tim ended up playing The Fly.  “No Christmas anywhere!” as they said.  The movie was only an hour and a half, but with Jon’s rambling and pausing to point out certain practical effects they only managed to watch thirty minutes by the time Sasha asked for his help to take her hair down an hour later.

“Could you make popcorn on your way back?” Tim asked when she moved from where they were leaning on her.

“Only if you take out your teeth,” Sasha said, struggling to get to her feet with her tall shoes.

“And lose?  You’re just mad at how good I look,” Tim fluttered their eye lashes at her.

Sasha laughed and almost bumped her head on the ceiling.  Crouching, she led Jon to the bathroom and sat on the toilet to get to his level. They started pulling out the pins, fake white highlights, and levels of hair nets that made up her monstrous hairdo.

“Is Martin okay?” she broke the silence.

“As much as any of us are.”

“Jon.”

“Sorry, sorry.  I’m not sure.  He’s been,” Jon sighed, “distant lately.”

Sasha pulled out another hair net, “I’ve noticed that too.”

“I don’t want him to be,” Jon huffed almost childishly, “Is that-- I feel selfish.”

Sasha stilled, “Jon do you-?  Martin?”

Jon felt himself heat up and he nodded, moving himself to the side to avoid looking at her straight on.  Nice to know how easy it was to read him.

“You have good taste,” Sasha obliged him and didn’t turn around, “It’s not selfish depending on how you go about it.  I want to have Tim and Michael close by twenty four seven but I don’t force them to be since they have their own lives and things to do.”

“I guess it would be weird to be with them all the time,” Jon mused, “Including when they have to go shower or other.”

“I mean…” Sasha wiggled her shoulders and raised her eyebrows up and down at Jon.

“Sashaaa,” Jon groaned in exasperation.

She chuckled, “Sorry, I know you don’t but if Tim isn’t here to make dirty jokes then someone has to fill that conversational niche.”

“And where would we be without that,” Jon asked dryly.  Controlling his compelling was easier with sarcastic comments as it turned out.

“Either Heaven or Hell, no inbetween.” Sasha shook the rest of her hair down.  “Are you going to tell Martin?”

“I’m not sure,” Jon fiddled with a pin, feeling the edges of the thin metal roll between his fingers, “I don’t think he likes me since he’s been avoiding me the most.  I want to protect him from the Institute and all the fear in the world, but I feel like getting closer to him would just trap him more.”

“You can hardly protect someone by removing yourself from their life.  ‘Sides, a relationship--” Jon tensed at the suggestion that Martin, wonderful amazing beautiful Martin, would even look at Jon that way “--is a dance that requires at least one partner.  Tell him how you feel before you try and martyr yourself.”

Should he really though?  The mortifying ordeal of being known and rejected versus the euphoria of being known and being loved more for it.  High stakes for a precarious game.

Sasha gave up on her hair.  Between the two of them they were able to pull out enough hair ties to fill the sink basin, likely gifts from Michael.  They rejoined the others in the living room.  Martin had moved to the spot that Jon had left for him earlier and was talking to Tim quietly enough to not be heard over the gorey noises of the movie.

“Ah, you’re back!  Popcorn?” Tim offered, motioning to a bowl between them and Martin.

“Ooo yes please.  Wait a minute--” Sasha grabbed their face by the cheeks, pulling them over the back of the couch and Michael squished their almost gelatinous form down to let her get a closer look at Tim.  “You took out your teeth!  That means I won two bets today,” she said with a smile and kissed Tim.

“Fiiine,” Tim whined, “Wait, two bets?”

Sasha leaned over and whispered into their ear, Michael twisting closer to listen in.  Might as well.  If Jon managed to pull himself together in a timely manner then they would know soon enough regardless, either in a good or a bad way.  Sasha gave Jon a thumbs up and Michael contorted their limbs into a heart behind the couch where Martin couldn’t see.  It was both encouraging and embarrassing to have such enthusiastic wingpeople.

Martin looked lost in thought as Jon approached but startled when he noticed Jon.

“Jon!  Uh, I hope you don’t mind that I moved,” Martin fidgeted and glanced towards Tim who mouthed something that looked like ‘he doesn’t.’

All Jon could think to say was ‘I love you’ so he signed “It’s fine” instead.  Sitting next to Martin felt familiar, felt right.   He took off his metal ring and rolled it between his fingers to resist the temptation to hold Martin’s hands.  It just made his hands itch to hold Martin’s more than ever.

Chapter Text

Martin didn’t regret his decision to only wear ears and a tail for Halloween.  After watching Sasha almost face plant from an eight foot height and Tim almost die via laughing then choking on plastic vampire teeth when that happened he was also beginning to consider that maybe the real monsters were the lack of self preservation his coworkers had when it came to bets.  Tim only took out the plastics after Sasha pulled Jon away to take down her hair.

“Doesn’t that mean that you lose your bet?” Martin asked.

“Some things are worth losing for,” Tim said while heading to the kitchen, “The sweet, unobstructed taste of microwaved caramel popcorn happens to be one of them.  Come on Marto--” they pulled Martin to his feet as they passed and dragged him along “--help me make some as consolation of my loss.”

“Didn’t you cause that?” Martin allowed himself a small laugh.

“I shall mourn regardless,” Tim threw a popcorn packet into the microwave and tossed another to Michael.  They opened it with glee and chewed on the unpopped kernels like gummy bears.  “It’s been a while since we’ve been in the kitchen together hasn’t it?  Man, it feels like you’ve been living somewhere else,” Tim gave Martin an easy smile.  Too easy in fact.

“Yeah,” Martin said flatly.

Tim’s smile faltered.  Easy come easy go.  “Look, Martin, we’ll understand if you want some space from us--” their smile faltered further when Martin nodded “--but.  But it would be nice to get a heads up.  We’re all worried about you, especially Jon.”

“Sure he is,” Martin huffed, but part of him believed them.  Wanted to believe them.

“You’ve been acting weird since Jonah.  All skittish and hiding away in the kitchen whenever Jon…” Tim’s smile fell away completely, “Is this because of Jon?”

“No!  Yes...Kind of.”

Tim frowned, almost glared, “He’s still Jon.  He’s not anything less human he’s just, just got a lot more eyes.”

“What?  Oh!  Oh, no I don’t--  It’s not because of that.  I…” Martin dragged a hand down his face, “Jonah, before he was put into the Coffin, he pulled up some of the bad memories I had of when I started working at the archives.”

“Oh,” Tim calmed, “Well, just another reason why he belongs in the box.”  The microwave dinged and Tim poured the popcorn into a bowl, separating the burnt and unpopped pieces into a separate one, and carried both back.  “Jon’s changed a lot since then.”

“I know,” Martin followed them back into the living room.  He hovered by his solitary couch; the fabric lost the small amount of warmth he managed in it from his short time standing.  Sitting down again would mean getting used to the chill until his body heated it up again or if he just got used to it.

Tim sat down and Michael partially draped their loose form over their shoulders to grab at the bowl of burnt popcorn.  “It’s okay to ask for love, Martin,” Tim said sincerely, “We’re more than willing to give it to you.”

“Sometimes,” Michael said, “you just have to notice that it’s being offered.”

Tim and Michael were both seated on one side of the couch; Tim perched on an arm and Michael laying over the back, leaving room for Sasha and Jon to sit on the proper cushions on Tim’s side and the middle.  Purposely leaving one spot open.

“Or just realize that it’s okay to accept it.”

Martin sat on the side of the couch that Jon kept for him.

“I’m sorry that I let you get so Lonely,” Michael said one day while they were out with Martin.  He had asked them to bring them to the clearing again to have some space to write.  Sometimes he just needed to be alone for a little though Michael only agreed after he promised to talk to the others if he started feeling down.  “It’s hard to remember what it was like to be human and all of the intricacies of relationships.”

“You were trying to help,” Martin consoled.

“Do intentions matter when the outcome is pain?”  The trees swaying at the edge gained a sharper feel, branches snapping like whips instead of bending with the breeze.

“Yes,” Martin said firmly, “And as long as you change afterwards as well.”

Michael smiled and stretched even longer in the sun until they could reach the edges of the field where the trees softened into candy floss.  “I suppose you’re lucky that I am constantly changing.”

“Suppose it does.  Although it does make it hard to write about you,” Martin scoffed light heartedly and spun his pencil in his hand.  Scanning through his notebook he picked out the most recent line he wrote of the entity: “‘Tidepools of gold, melting and valuable, heavy and warm.’  But now you’re more of a spiraling staircase made of straw, you know?”

“Yes, though I feel more chartreuse than straw today.”

“Noted,” Martin scribbled that in the margins.  This was one of the fun things about discussing poetry with Michael, he could get as abstract as he wanted but they would always understand in some sense of the word.

Michael stretched their neck, or maybe just shortened the space between them, to look over Martin’s shoulder at the other lines of prose and he let them flip through until they stopped on one of the older pages, all lines and poems scratched out but one:

Love is savoring an apple’s sweetness and sour

Then its bitter cyanide

Love is choking on an apple

Just to make sure it has a place to grow

“Hmm,” was the only feedback Michael gave him.

“What is it?”

“How you love, the way you portray it, it’s very sacrificial,” Michael traced a square into the grass leaving behind a yellow outline.

“I know,” Martin grumbled, “That’s why I started distancing myself from-- you know.”

“I do.  And that was stupid,” Michael giggled, “How many of these are about Jon?”

Martin scanned the page full of scratched out scrawls, words still legible beneath the extra layer of ink: Bright green emeralds within rich dark earth.  He knows infinity but to know how much I love him would be even more.  Torturous waves of time have beaten upon you and have left you something I yearn to hold in the palm of my hands.  Black, grey, white waves, soft and flowing anywhere but through my fingers.

That was only half a page.

“Not many.”

Michael rolled their eyes, “Of course.  The apple poem is about Jon as well isn’t it?”

“No,” Martin lied. 

Michael considered him before shrugging, the movement taking a long second with the length of their limbs, “Like you said, as long as you change afterwards.”

Martin hummed, not knowing what to say, and settled back down to continue writing.  Michael was right; his way of loving was incredibly self sacrificial, even after distancing himself he was still trying to throw himself across the cavern between him and his mother.  It was getting easier to love her now with the space between them or at the very least the pain lessened.  But with Jon…

Either way, Martin’s idea of loving would have to change.  Stop giving up everything until there wasn’t anything left to give.  Giving was certainly a part of love but it certainly wasn’t the whole.  But what was love if not an offering?  

Love is choking on an apple 

Just to make sure it has a place to grow

Maybe love was just that.  

Love.  

An emotion that couldn’t be broken down any further like how blue, red, and yellow (or green for the more scientifically minded) couldn’t be broken down into other colors.  But maybe he didn’t need to define it anyways.

The more Martin thought about it, the more ways he realized there were to love.

Martin hardly understood anything about Michael but he still tried to share pieces of his life with them.  And Michael might not be able to help with Martin’s troubles but the concern they’ve shown had been more than enough for Martin to know that the appreciation was mutual.  It was like singing a song in a language you don’t speak.

Over the next few months he noticed how Rosie and Tim would always stop to chat for a bit and always separated smiling wider.  On occasion she would even call the rest of them over to talk about something Tim mentioned or even check to make sure Michael was getting their paycheck.  She wasn’t as involved in Martin’s life but he could still feel how she loved them all in the way that someone could only love a stranger.

Whenever Martin would get absorbed in statements- he was nearly as bad as Jon was at this point -Sasha would make tea for Jon and leave a cup on Martin’s desk.  The first few times he gave them back to her thinking that she forgot the cups on there in passing.

Giving love was easy but to be on the receiving end?  He had to excuse himself to the bathroom when she clarified that she made them for him.  If he came back with red eyes, well then that was something that Sasha didn’t mention when he came back ten minutes later which only made his smile wider.

During breaks and lunches, Tim started recommending Martin music.  None of them were really Martin’s taste but was beginning to see that that wasn’t the point.  It was about being known.  Tim’s smile when Martin tentatively showed them his own music selection was bright enough to rival the sun.

Jon was more subtle (aside from throwing himself at danger).  So much that Martin doubted he realized he was doing it himself.  But Tim accepted his shoulder pats given in passing.  And Sasha didn’t miss how he would press himself to her side when they sat together.

Even half asleep, Martin certainly couldn’t miss how Jon’s hands had lingered after draping a blanket over him.

Jon would also leave space open for others.  Mostly as a courtesy but ever since Martin stopped forcing himself away, he noticed how Jon would naturally start leaning into the other person.  When it was Martin, Jon would startle away when their arms would finally press together in a denouement of the moment and sit straight before the tilting started anew.  In those instants, Martin felt complete.

Maybe this was the epitome of love.  Or another part of it.  Wanting another so much that they become the sun, the center of your solar system that you gravitate towards when they’re near.

Did the sun want Icarus too?

Martin blushed as he remembered how it felt when he last held Jon.  How Jon had asked for him to stay there with him and how right it felt to hold him.

Love is choking on an apple just to make sure it has a place to grow giving and receiving, knowing and being known and not knowing at all, wanting and to be wanted.

Overall: love was confusing.  And a fearful thing to ask for, but god was it worth it.

It was a few weeks later at one of Tim’s mandated sleepovers that Martin finally got over his fear.  The movie ended late into the night, late enough that Michael made their leave to spare them the effects of prolonged exposure to them, and they were all settling into the pull out bed.

It was the norm for Martin to be the one who turned off the lights and he did just that.  As the light died he felt his heart begin to race.  Since Halloween, he started sitting with them again during movies and games but afterwards he would move to a separate area to sleep.  Tonight he rejoined them on the bed, careful to not lay on anyone in the dark and skirted to the side to take up less space.

“Martin?” Tim whispered like a school kid afraid to wake up their parents.

“Yes?” It was too soon wasn’t it?  Damn it, he should have asked instead of barging in on them uninvited.

Martin had only just put a leg on off the bed to remove himself when Tim shouted, “You’re here!” then practically threw herself over where Martin knew Jon was to latch onto Martin, pressing a sloppy kiss to his clavicle.  They almost rolled off the bed in a tangle of flailing limbs and Martin had to scoot them both close to the center of the bed to keep them from falling off again.  “I call dibs,” Tim smiled.

“Oi, that’s not fair,” Sasha whispered.  Her hand landed on Martin’s face in a light slap.  “Sorry!” she apologized.  

He heard another slap closer to his chest accompanied with an affronted “ow!” from Tim.

“Are you two okay?” Jon’s voice was barely a rumble in the quiet, a thunderstorm that was closing in, and far closer than Martin thought he was a second ago.

“Yeah,” Martin breathed.  He could feel the warmth radiating off Jon and felt Jon move closer until the dip in the mattress caused him to roll towards Martin’s side.  Martin didn’t need light to know where Jon’s hands were; his own were drawn to them like magnets.

He leaned towards Jon in kind and traced his fingers over his scars, each caress meaning an ‘I love you’ he didn’t dare voice, stopping when he heard Jon’s breath hitch.  Then Jon’s arms joined Tim’s wrapped around Martin.  Sasha pulled a blanket over them, Martin sandwiched between Tim and Jon, and she laid over it to accommodate her restless sleeping.

It was hot and stuffy and Martin woke up tacky with sweat and surrounded by people who he loved and loved him.  To say the least, it was the best he slept in a long time.

Love was a fearful thing.  Good thing Martin worked in a fear god temple.  Maybe not a good thing but he would take his joys where he could take them.  Or ask for them.

It felt weird to ask for something without offering anything in return besides himself.  No servitude.  No favors.  Just to ask for love and having his existence enough as payment.

Martin’s hands fidgeted with his tea mug as he set another one in front of Jon.

Okay so a payment of his being and also some tea.  Just to sweeten the deal a little.

“Oh,” Jon startled, putting down his statements, and took the mug, glancing at a clock with dark and bright green eyes.  Midday.  The others were already getting ready to leave for lunch.  “I didn’t realize how long I’ve been recording.  Thank you, Martin.”

“No problem,” Martin smiled and tried to hide how tense he felt.

“We’ll bring some food back for you two,” Sasha said as she checked for her wallet, “Though you could still come wi--”

“Martin is too tired to go out for lunch, Sasha,” Michael interrupted.

“It’s from all of your rolling,” Tim teased and exaggerated a yawn.

Michael laughed, “Besides--”  They whispered something into Sasha’s ear.

“Oh?” She smiled mischievously, eyes darting over at Martin with mirth.

“Absolutely~”

“How did you make a tilde noise with your mouth?” Tim asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know ^-^”

“I would!” Tim threw their hands up, “Very much!  I don’t even know how I can hear that!”  Michael laughed.

“It’s not that hard, Tim~” Sasha giggled.  Tim started making a high pitched noise.  “Jon,” Sasha started, then continued in Spanish.  

Martin had failed the one semester he took of the language in school before he dropped and the only thing he had to go on was the way that Jon looked increasingly flustered.  Jon pointed at himself then tapped the thumb of his fist against his head (Martin also couldn’t pick up on British sign language as the rest of them).  Sasha squealed, smile widening impossibly wider, before Jon started shooing her out with a singular halted glance towards Martin.

Sasha and Michael continued to mess with Tim on their way out of the Archives saying something about bananas and Sasha’s eating habits.  Michael’s twisting laughter was dizzying enough that it was a mystery that none of them tripped down the stairs.

Jon took a sip of his tea, “So Martin.  Would you like to.  I would like to ask you.  Um…” He drummed his fingers on the mug making a clicking noise every time his ring hit the ceramic.

“Do you need a minute?” Martin asked.

Jon groaned, “Yes please,” and put his head on his desk.  Martin needed a moment himself but best to just get it out.

“Are, uh, are you enjoying your tea?” he asked stiltedly.  God this sounded so much smoother in his mind.

“Hmm?” Jon picked up his head.  Looking into his eyes made Martin melt.  “Ah, yes.  It’s perfect.”

“Thank you--!  Wait, no.  Sorry, I wasn’t trying to dig for compliments,” Martin said in a rush, “I meant, if you enjoyed that one then I think you would enjoy this café nearby.”

Jon looked at him blankly, “Thank you for the recommendation?”

“And if you wanted to we could.  We could go together?”  He set his cup down, worried it would spill with how shaky his hands got.  “Just the two of us?”

Jon stared at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to!” Martin averted his gaze, like any wise man would when looking into the sun, and waved his hands frantically, “We could just go with everyone else or we could just forget this ever happened!  I can just leave now and leave you the address if you don’t feel too weird about it--” Jon grabbed his waving hands.  Martin looked at him.

Smiling.  Not grimacing, no disgust or pity.  Jon was smiling.  Tears were building up in the corners of his eyes, still faintly green, but he was smiling.  

“You stole my line,” Jon laughed and Martin felt like he was beholding a miracle.  He loved and was being held by one who loved him back.  “I--”

“Is Jon down there?” Someone yelled from up the stairs, cutting off the words Martin was desperate to hear.  Hussain and Tonner came down, the latter looking more pissed off than the former.

“Yes, I’m here,” Jon sighed and let go of Martin’s hands.  The touch of his fingers lingered on Martin’s skin.  “Tonner.  Hussain.  What can I do for you?”

“Please, just call me Basira.  Daisy told me that you gave her some leads for some of the more supernatural cases and thought you’d be good to go for advice on Maxwell Rayner.  We’re doing a raid in a month or so.”

“Already?” Jon asked, half annoyed and half incredulous.

“Excuse me?”

“No sorry, it’s nothing.  Bring torches, any sort of light.  James can tell you more if you need it.”  Jon motioned back towards the stairs, blatantly trying to get them out of his Archives.

“Is that the hot one?”

“You’re thinking of Tim,” Jon said with a fond smile, “I meant Sasha James.”

“Yeah, the hot one,” Basira said, a faint smile tugging on her lips.  Was she...joking with Jon?

“I- okay.  If that’s all,” Jon glanced back towards Martin and his hand twitched towards Jon’s.

Basira scribbled onto a notepad and nodded, “It is for me.  Thanks, Jon.”  She exited the Archives leaving them alone with Tonner.

“Jon,” she said slowly as she prowled closer.  Jon shrank back and Martin took a step forward.  “Care to tell me where Elias is?”

“H-he’s in his office.”

“Is that where he’s been hiding for the past few months?  I keep tabs on my targets, Sims.  If you’ve just been buying time for your monster boss to run away then you’re next up on my list of monsters.”

“Hey!” Martin stepped between them.  “Don’t talk to him like that,” his growl almost matched hers.

“He’s not human,” Tonner maintained, “I don’t know what spell he has you under but I suggest you get out of my way.”

“Martin,” Jon moved him away, squeezing his arm, “I’m fi-- oka--” he coughed the lies out of his throat.  “Let it go.  I have been buying time,” Tonner’s eyes narrowed, “B-but not for the reasons you think.  Elias is in his office.”

“Show me then,” Tonner grabbed Jon’s arm and dragged him towards the stairs.  Martin had to scrabble after them.

‘Stop STOP PLEASE,’ Jon mouthed, clawing at her hands.  She didn’t notice the blood that started streaming in thin rivulets down their arms.  He gave up and looked back at Martin.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ Martin tried to say but it was too big of a lie for either to believe.

Tonner all but threw Jon into Jonah’s office, dust and thin fog disturbed as he tumbled in.  “So.  Where is he?” she inspected the room, growing more agitated by the second.

Jon pointed towards the Coffin.  The blood rushing through Martin’s veins was a whisper compared to its song.

Tonner sneered, “What?  Did your weird vocal chords give up on you?”

Jon put a scarred hand up to the clear skin of his throat and he stepped back shaking his head, trying to force out noise while keeping his eyes on Tonner.

“He’s in the box,” Martin said for him.

“What?”

“The box,” Martin motioned to the Coffin, “He’s in there.”

Tonner looked at it.  Martin tried to edge around her to get to Jon, struggling to keep from running and wrapping him up in his arms.

“Oh,” she said, taking a step back, sluggish with the pull of its song, “The Coffin.  So he’s dead then?”

“N-no, he’s alive in there.”

“Fuck,” she drew her gun.  Every move unsteady as they all felt its pull increase.  “Suppose that makes it easier to find him then.”

“Wait!” Jon signed but the detective didn’t notice as she tore off the chains and threw open the lid only taking a moment of consideration before she descended into its depths following its song and her prey.

Martin froze, “Shit.  Jon, if she kills Jonah…” They would all die.

The lid was still open, song still trilling but quieter; The Coffin wanted another.  Legs heavy with fear, Martin forced himself to move to it, to close it so that they could stop and think about what to do next.

He felt warmth rush past him.

“Jon--!” Martin reached towards the man he loved but he wasn’t close enough to do a damned thing.  

A foot in the Coffin and a hand on the lid - as if Orpheus tossed himself into the Underworld to spare Eurydice - Jon looked back to Martin for a second that lasted an eternity and not long enough.

Then the Coffin closed with Jon inside.

Cold flooded into the room again, engulfing and cold.  So thick that Martin struggled to breath past the tears or the fog.  Is this what Icarus felt when he drowned?

The room was quiet again, the Coffin settling back down to an inaudible hum, but Martin wished it was screaming if only for the mercy of not hearing the broken “I love you” he whispered to the empty room.

Chapter Text

“Does something feel off to you?” Sasha asked.

“Not really,” Tim shrugged, “Unless you mean the cold but maybe that’s just cause someone stole my hoodie.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Michael lied, not even bothering to hide the fact, and pulled the hood of their stolen clothes over their head.

“You’re only getting away with this since you make them look cooler,” Tim said.  They of course meant more like an arcade carpet that was tripping on acid.  The colors of the fabric flashed brighter.

“And cause I’m cute :3”

“And cause you’re cute.”

“You could just steal some of Martin’s sweaters.”  Sasha herself was sporting one of her favorite fashion lines: ‘Sweaters That Are Obviously Not Hers But Martin Has Too Many To Notice It Missing.’  She smoothed her stolen clothes around her, showing off how warm it was.

“Our local textile economy is in shambles,” Tim sighed and took a spare jacket Martin left on the back of his chair.

“Where is he and Jon anyways?  They’ve been gone since lunch and it’s almost time to go,” Sasha said.

“Oooo,” Tim cooed, “Maybe their mutual pining finally got too much and they went on a date without us.  Running away from the Institute for a romantic date sounds like something Martin would like.”

“Hopefully.”  Sasha sent off a quick check up text to both their phones, just in case.  “Guess that means we’re doing the daily Box check.”

The walk to Jonah’s office was a bit tedious, old fashioned bastard probably wanted to put himself above everyone in a literal way, but the trip was made in good company.  Although one of the present company could make a door to make it faster, she would never ask that of them.  She didn’t want Michael to feel like they were only a personal taxi to them.

A thin mist rolled out when she opened the door to the office, a wall of cold hitting her right after.  She could feel her hair stand on end and the chill stung tears into her eyes.  She hissed through chattering teeth.  Best get this over with quickly then.

No Jonah in the room?  Check.

The Coffin was closed?  Check.

Chains around it?  Her breath got caught in her chest.

“Shit,” she cursed, “Tim, Michael, try to see if Jonah got out.  I’ll get the Coffin.”  She rushed to wrap up the box before something, someone, Jonah, could get out.  A hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her cold.

“Martin!?” she shouted in shock.  The man looked dead tired.  She dropped the chains and grabbed his hands.  “God, why are you so cold?  Martin?” she coaxed, “Martin, why are you here?  Wha-- Where’s Jon?”  He stared at her blankly, eyes dull, before his gaze slid to the Coffin.  Then she Realized what felt off: the lack of feeling Seen.  “Oh god…”

Tim and Michael shared her epiphany and seconds later her horror.  Sasha hugged Martin tightly, light returned to his eyes in unshed tears.  Tim wrapped their stolen jacket around their shoulders creating a barrier for Michael to lay down theirs.  Martin’s tears fell, cutting through tracks that had dried on his face.

“Damn it, Jon,” Tim muttered.  

They approached the Coffin, reaching to open it when Martin croaked a weak, “Don’t…” 

“Hey,” Tim approached him and Sasha on the floor like approaching a frightened animal and gently grabbed Martin’s face, pressing their forehead to his, “Don’t worry, ‘kay?  I’ll be careful.”  Martin didn’t look like he believed them but didn’t try to stop them again.

Tim wrapped one end of the Coffin’s chain around a sturdy couch leg, wrapped it once around their torso to anchor themself, and opened the Coffin.  Sasha could see a dirty staircase descending into darkness.  No Jon.  Tim slammed it closed, too busy fuming to notice how the rest of them jumped, and piled the chain into their arms, looking back and forth between it and the Coffin.  

Tim hesitated, “Sasha, even on the off chance he…”

Sasha nodded in understanding.  Tim put down the chains and Michael helped them pull one of the office’s lush curtain’s down to put over the Coffin instead.  Easy enough to remove if you were inside.

“Oh, that’s where he went,” said a cheery voice.  Sasha whipped around, disturbing the fog that was trying to build around Martin.  A tall, almost picture book caricature of a sailor had appeared unnoticed in their panic.  

“Hmm,” he circled around the Coffin, then smiled.  A cold facsimile of a real one.  “I would say that I won our wager,” he said to no one, or perhaps to the Coffin, “but I suppose that would be rude since you always seem to find a way to pull through in the oddest of ways.  Shame about your Archivist, though, especially since you’re giving me such a wonderful tribute to my god.”  A cold glint shone in his eyes, like sun shining off of snow.  

Sasha held onto Martin tighter, pulled him to his feet, shifting to put her and Michael between him and the strange man.  “Who are you?”

“Oh, where are my manners!  I’m Peter Lukas, the acting head of the Magnus Institute during Elias’...leave.”  The pause told her that he knew more than any of them would care for him to.  The way that his eyes settled on Martin told her what, who, he meant by tribute.  She held onto Martin tighter and held herself back from doing something rash.

Peter Lukas went away after that, leaving a few statements and a calling card behind.  She was tempted to burn them all even if just to help Martin warm up but just the thought of doing so made her feel nauseous.  

Michael helped them move the Coffin back to Jon’s office.  They didn’t have to discuss the matter; it felt wrong to leave him there.  At least the chill was more bearable in the archives.

Sasha sorted through the statements she had been studying for the better (or worse) part of a month since then.  All of them about the Coffin.  All of them held a wealth of information about it but none of it useful.

Did it eat them the moment they set foot in it?  No, then Jonah would’ve died and then they would all be dead.  It opened into a staircase so maybe if they had a long enough rope?  But then Jonah would’ve tried crawling back out the moment he went it.

On top of the pile were Gillespie and Tonner’s statements, the latter left during one of her visits for new targets.  Sasha glowered at the it.  Of course one of the only helpful pieces of information was left by the person who made this mess, leaving her mark on them just to taunt them all.  

Sasha considered playing the statement again, as though if she just played it one more time it would change.  But that hadn’t worked the last fifty few times.  Nothing spooky happened with the recorders anymore, something they found out like the wretched cherry on top of their messed up lives when Melanie King came in to make her statements and it took five minutes for Tim to realize he had to actually press the record button.

Sasha groaned and slammed her head into her desk.  No matter.  Rereading the same statements would turn her brain to mush (each relisten felt more stale and grating to her ears).  It’s been weeks, nearly a month.  She needed a new perspective, a new statement, a new anything .

She eyed the statements Lukas recommended.  

Tim was arranging to go with the other detective in a few days to check out the raid on Maxwell Rayner desperate as Sasha was for any sort of information.  Martin thankfully never became as unresponsive as they found him and was doing his best to keep himself together but they could all see how he was starting to pull away again - could see how he wore thin clothes and let himself get cold.  Michael was, well, Michael.  But she knew they didn’t enjoy the situation either.

So there wasn’t really any reason why she shouldn’t check out at least a few of the Lukas statements.  Fixating herself on the same few sources wouldn’t help and she was starting to get an itch from focusing on the same topic for so long.  Who knows, maybe her intuition was wrong and Peter was being helpful.

Well that was a lie.

Sasha wasn’t sure what caused her more discomfort: the gauze that was wrapped around her head - and the injury that laid underneath - or the guilty shame that grew as Martin paced and avoided her and Tim’s eyes.  He looked like the stress was turning his hair prematurely white.  Tim’s arm was once again out of commission with a cut that looked deep enough to scar; although, it was a bit hard for her to judge the depth of it with only one eye left.  Following Martin’s movements as he moved about pulled oddly on her...on her lack of an eye.

“What were you two thinking?” Martin seethed, “Do--  Do you even know what it was like for me to look up and realize that you were both gone?  And then for Tim to come back with a cut up arm and to get a call from the hospital cause somehow Sasha got a traumatic eye injury?”

“Michael was here,” Sasha weakly defended, not bothering to refute his second point.  Michael patted her arm in solidarity and it went numb for a second where they touched.

“Oh well that’s just fine then!” Martin’s voice pitched up in frustration, “Yeah, let’s all just go off alone to fight monsters why don’t we?”

“It’s not like I went out looking for a flesh avatar!” Sasha argued at the same time Tim said, “I didn’t go to the raid by myself.”

“Oh?  And how did that go for you?  What did you think you would find researching a statement clearly about The Flesh?  Tim, half of your arm is covered in bandages, again, and Sasha you-- god, Sasha you lost an eye.”

“I thought--”  What was she thinking?  “I--”  Now that she was back, her reasons for going fell flat.  The stack of statements was still on her desk, looking like an innocent pile of papers.  She hadn’t read through all of them and yet she didn’t get the same feeling as last time that something in there might hold the answer.  “I’m not sure,” she finished lamely.

“In my defense,” Tim said, “I thought it would be safe to go with the police-- Don’t give me that look Sash I know --but it turns out, what a shocker, they’re not perfect,” Tim huffed.

Martin stopped his pacing.  The door to Jon’s office was open as they always left it.  “Don’t think it’s that much of a shock,” he said under his breath.  Michael reached for Martin, hovering a bit to see if their touch was welcome, and let one of their too long hands run through his hair when it was accepted.  Martin let out a breath and stared at nothing for a moment longer, “Please don’t scare me like that again.”

“Cross my heart and hope to--” Tim stopped themself short when Martin grimaced.  “Hope to be straight.”

Martin barked a surprised laugh, the first they’ve heard from him in a while.  The sound was almost unfamiliar.

Michael giggled, “Oh, what a horror.”

- <0>  <0> -

“What are you looking at?” Tim rested their head on Sasha’s shoulder, wrapping their good arm around her uncaring of how her hair tickled their ear.

“Fake eyes,” she answered and indeed her phone was filled with different kinds of prosthetic eyeballs. “The doctor said I could go without but I’m not passing up the opportunity to have heterochromia.”

“Good thing we have all these Polaroids to keep you humble.  Remind you of your roots and all,” Tim pulled out one of the little albums they all had on their desk and flipped through it.  They were mostly for the sake of keeping some of the mess organized and none of them have looked at the small books much, some of the pictures still had little googly eyes stuck to them.

“I’ll just sharpie over all of them.  Shouldn’t take too long, there’s only a couple thousand of them right?” Sasha scrolled through the eye selection, sometimes tapping on the wrong part of her screen with her screwed perception.  She swapped the book Tim was holding with her phone.  “Try to see if there’s a rainbow one while I start on my Sisyphus task.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tim turned on the camera app instead.  “Cheese!” They hit the button a few dozen times.  Hey, if you take a million pictures then at least one of them is bound to be good.  

“Hmm,” Sasha flipped through the book.

“What?”

“Martin’s hair got really pale hasn’t it?”

Tim looked over to the Archive’s main office, door open.  Martin had made it a habit before to bring Jon out and now he was the one always in there.  In the dim lighting the white of his hair was all the more obvious compared to his slightly darker original hair.

“Heh, I didn’t notice it till now but it’s almost pure white.  Don’t suppose that’s his actual hair color and he’s just been dying it strawberry blonde?” Tim joked.

“Look at him strawberry blonde~” Sasha pulled out one of the first few pictures, one before Prentiss, and stuck it on her desk.  Tim looked like a stranger without any of their scars.

“I still don’t know how you do that.”

“And you never will~” she teased.

“Wait, so you get heterochromia--” at the cost of her eye “--Michael can alter their appearance however they want--” they were betrayed and made that way to control them “--Jon can do spooky eyes--” don’t think about how you’ll never see him again how he’s stuck how he’s worse than dead “--and Martin has white hair--” was this the Lonely or the all the stress “Everyone gets to live out their DeviantArt OC dreams but me?  I see how it is,” Tim said.  Their smile was easy to keep with years of practice.  

“I think there’s a corner store nearby that sells hair dye,” Sasha said offhandedly.  

“Seriously!?” 

“Wait, nooooo!” she protested when Tim shot out of their chair, pulling her along with a wild grin, but started putting on her own coat, “I meant that as a joke!”

“You should know better than that, Sasha Salamander James.”

“Excuse me, it’s Sasha Salamander James the Fifth.  It’s a family name,” she straightened her back and looked down her nose at them, although slightly to the left.  The way her shoulders shook from suppressed laughter ruined the effect.

“My deepest apologies Queen Duke Sashianna Salamandress James the Fifth Junior,” Tim bowed.

“Rise peasant, you are forgiven.”

But were they forgiven for leaving Martin?  Sasha’s waning smile told them she was feeling the same guilt.

“So why did you go to that raid?” she asked.

“Same reason you did field research,” Tim squeezed their arm till the pain stung.  It would scar but it should’ve gone deeper, maybe it would hurt more than everything else.  Drown it out.  “I couldn’t just sit here.  In retrospect, it wasn’t my best idea.”

“Yeah,” Sasha agreed and grew quiet.  They leaned into her, her skin felt cool as she leaned back.

“Pink,” Tim said.

“What?”

“I think I would look good with pink hair.  Maybe the whole rainbow if the dye is cheap enough.”

Sasha scoffed, “If it’s that cheap then your hair is going to look more like a cat puked up a rats’ nest than a rainbow.”

“Maybe secretly-an-old-man-Martin knows how to dye hair,” Tim mused, “We should bring him with us to the store.”  ‘Instead of leaving him again’ went unsaid.  Neither of them wanted Martin to push himself away again. 

- <0>  <0> -

“Statement ends,” Martin read in the low light of the office.  He sighed, “I couldn’t find any evidence to support this beyond the fact that it wouldn’t record on the computer.  But Jon said that was enough so...yeah.”  He reached to press the stop button.

“Marto!” Tim and Sasha threw open the door, light flooding in.  Martin jumped in surprise.

“Geez!” Martin clutched his racing heart, “You scared me!”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Sasha looked sincere, “We’re going out and you’re coming with us.”

“We’re going to have a good time and this is a threat,” Tim said.

“I’m fine being here, guys.”  He didn’t want to leave Jon alone.  “I just wanted you two to tell me before you went out so I don’t worry as much you know?”

“Yeah, but we’re not okay with leaving you here alone,” Tim retorted.

“I’m not--” He stopped himself.  Michael already left and an untold number of prisoners in a cursed box didn’t count.  “You don’t want me bringing you down.”

“We don’t want you feeling down all alone,” Sasha corrected him, “Come on, we’ll be right back.  Besides, misery is better in company.”

“But it’s only three pm, we can’t leave in the middle of work,” Martin continued to resist.  Thinking of a better argument sounded so tiring and even the thought of having to continue the conversation out of the Archives drained him.  

“Work will still be here in twenty minutes,” Tim said, not quite stopping their eyes from glancing at the Coffin.

Just twenty minutes… He could handle twenty minutes.  A short work there and back, then he’ll be done for the day.

“Okay.”

The dye Tim chose was a horridly vibrant pink.  “It’ll fade,” Sasha assured him as much as herself.  She had to stop Tim from buying five more boxes of the color just to spite her.  Martin didn’t say much during any of it, but they took that in stride not forcing him into their banter but still including him by asking his opinions answerable in nods or short signs.

They made it back to the Archives in the twenty minutes promised.  Martin had only just sat down at the highback office chair and started the next tape when Tim came into the office with a bucket filled with the dye, bleach, and cheap towels.

“Is it okay if I dye my hair here?” Tim asked, as timid as Tim could ever get.

“Uh…”

“We’ll be quiet,” Sasha said as she entered, carrying another bucket, this one full of water.

“I...yeah I’d, um, I’d like that actually.”

They kept this promise as well as they kept the twenty minute one, keeping their conversation down to a whisper.  It was loud enough to keep Martin from recording but not enough to distract him from filing.  It was...nice.  Really nice actually.  Normally he only got these not quite quiet moments with them during the night right before they fell asleep.  He nodded off a few times, a Pavlovian response to quiet noise.

While waiting for the bleach to set, Tim got out her phone for a mini anime marathon.  She tentatively offered Martin an earbud.  There wasn’t much else to work on anyways.  The statements had waited for decades; they could wait another day or two.  He accepted it and sat with them.  

Somehow, the color didn’t set as saturated as it showed on the box.  It set brighter.   Martin and Sasha shared a half panicked look when Tim said they couldn’t wait to see if Michael could make it even more of an eyesore.

Martin smiled.  They were right, it did feel better to be with them.  Getting out didn’t magically pull Jon out of the Coffin, but being with them, seeing Sasha and Tim smile and laugh, it soothed part of the ache that made a home in his heart.  Made him feel a bit more solid.

“Sorry about the noise,” Martin said to the Coffin, to Jon, after it was all done.  Sasha and Tim were asleep in the common area.  Tim declared that it was high time for another sleepover even if it meant having it in the Archives, insisting that no one should be left alone here.  In or out of the Coffin.  

“I know it’s hypocritical of me to say that since I’ve been here for almost a month recording or playing some of your old tapes but it’s quieter here without you.  I, uh, I kind of miss the static noise you make when you read.  I never got around to telling you that I liked it.  Did you know you started making clicking noises?  I woke you up from one of your reading trances and wasn’t sure if I should be worried when you sounded like a recorder.  Not every time but only whenever you got really into it.”

He laughed quietly then sighed, “I wish you were here.”

He startled when a banging knock came from within the Coffin.

Chapter Text

The Coffin shut behind Jon.  He heaved his next breath, lungs already taxed with the dust that hung heavy in the air.  Oh god, this was a bad idea.  He left Martin.  What had he done?  He didn’t have a plan on how to stop Daisy who could easily overpower him, and he didn’t have an anchor to get out.  He was blind in the darkness but he could hear the way the dirt of the Coffin rumbled and compressed, pushing him forward into depths.  Towards Daisy.  

With no other option, he abided.

The stone steps felt solid beneath him.  Roughly shaped and uneven, the surface was easy to stumble on, the constant threat of plummeting into the Coffin instead of walking hung over his head.

He wanted to call out to the detective but his voice still wasn’t cooperating.  He stomped his heel against the stone instead.  There was no answer or echo to the noise.  

He continued down, keeping a hand on a wall to steady himself.  Daisy didn’t have much of a head start on him but she was running when she went in.  Fast with the call of blood, of the Hunt.  How long would he have to walk until he reached her?  How long until he would have to crawl?

The wall felt cool compared to the anxious sweat he built up and he leaned on it for support when he stomped again, what felt like minutes or an hour later.

“Sims?” he heard call out.

Daisy!  She sounded far away (an odd concept in the Too Close I Cannot Breath) or perhaps muffled due to the nature of the Coffin.

“What are you…” she trailed off, confusion and frustration entangled in her voice as Jon got closer.  “What are you doing here?” she tried again, forcing harshness.

Stopping you from killing us, Jon wanted to say.  He took the next few steps faster, afraid that he would lose her, and lost his balance instead. 

“Umph-!” Daisy grunted and caught him.  “Still not speaking?” she asked, not unkindly, as she righted him.

Jon shook his head.

“Can’t exactly see if you’re shaking or nodding your head, Sims,” she said and grabbed one of his hands, “One squeeze for no and two for yes.”

He squeezed her hand once.

“Is selective mutism a monster trait of yours?”

Jon shook his head, remembering a second later to squeeze her hand as well.

“Hmm,” she hummed in lieu of a proper response.  The pause in conversation made it easy to hear how the walls creeped closer.  “We should keep moving,” she pulled him along further into the deep.

Jon tried to tug them back up.

“What?” she snapped.

Jon flinched but kept his hold on her, thankful that there was no burn mark or splinters of a wooden shovel handle to make that harder, and choked on the words to explain.  You can’t kill Jonah without killing everyone in the Institute.  We might still have a chance of getting out if we go back now.  He could voice none of that and pulled her again towards what he still believed was up.

“I’m not going to play twenty questions with you,” Daisy snarled, “You can tell me when you get your voice back.”

She continued dragging them further into the Coffin.

“Don’t kill him,” Jon managed to say.  Time was hard to gauge without light or the ability to sleep but he would guess it had been a few days.  Days of being pulled deeper and deeper into their living tomb by Daisy.  The smooth stone of the stairs had long given way to packed dirt and the tunnel’s ceiling seemed to want to merge with the floor, curving down the walls and lowering in height till they crouched.

“And why not?” she asked.  Not like before where she meant it as mocking or like she thought he was an idiot but like an actual question.

“We’re tied to him, my assistants and I.  If he dies we die.”

“Tough luck,” Daisy stopped, pulling Jon to a stop as well where her hand had stayed wrapped around his.  “The ceiling got lower again,” she muttered and pulled them ever closer to the floor.

Before, she made him dig his own grave.  Now they were walking deeper and deeper into a shared one.

“Why,” Jon asked some time later, throat dry from untold days of walking.

“Kind of obvious isn’t it,” she replied.  She lost her venom.

Jon shook his head, “You’re...you’re like me.  Connected to things that feed off fear and drive us to get it.  I can’t feel my pull anymore so why won't you stop going after Jonah?  Even after what I told you about him?”

“What else is there to do here,” she murmured.  Her hand tightened, the one point of contact they could trust in the Too Close.  Jon felt his head brush the ceiling and Daisy pulled them to the floor.

Jon pulled weakly where they refused to let go of each other, not that he had the strength to pull it with any strength, “We could head back.  Or least try.”

“It’s so loud out there,” Daisy said softly, “The blood.”

“The Hunt?”

“I guess you could call it that,” she laughed lightly and coughed when she inhaled dirt raining from what was too low to call a ceiling.  “Do you get that too?”

“In a way.  I had to read statements and go to work or else get deathly ill.”

“Sounds like you were stuck before you got in here.”

And then the walls collapsed around them.  

“J-jon!” was the last word Daisy said before they were both engulfed.

“Dai--!” Jon tried to yell back and got a mouth full of dirt instead.  He wanted to sob but that just invited more ground where air should be.

Earth pressed beyond the line between comforting and suffocating.  Everything was dry chafing dirt aside from where his tears turned it to mud.  It was too much, too tight and movement just packed the dirt further.

They were stuck.  In the Coffin.  Between life and death.  

Jon couldn’t even close his jaw with how packed it was.  Dirt was in his mouth, his hair, his nails, under his ring, in his scars, in his lungs.

Daisy’s grip tightened around his wrist.  It was painful, he could feel his bones creak, but it was something besides the never ending Buried that surrounded them.

Maybe once they got out - and god he hoped they got out - whenever he read statements, the dirt would cascade from the cassettes as well.

Hours later (Days?  Weeks?  Months?) the dirt receded.  Jon gasped in a breath of air so clogged with dirt that he would’ve thought nothing had changed if it weren’t for the fact he was finally able to move.

“Jon?” called Daisy.  Her voice was weak with something other than exhaustion.

“I’m here,” Jon replied and pulled tentatively where he held onto her.  He was still afraid of her, the memory of digging still fresh despite the time, but being without her in this place would be infinitely worse.  Where their hands were pressed together was probably the only place in the whole Coffin that wasn’t covered in grit.

“Wha--Why,” she stuttered then swallowed, “Why didn’t that kill us?  God, this is Hell isn’t it?”

“No.  Not Hell.”

“I deserve it,” she said, her old venom turned inwards, “I, I had a lot of time to think when the--” the walls shifted closer as though summoned and Daisy whimpered.  “When...you know, and I hurt a lot of people.  I didn’t like it, the Hunt just made me think that I needed it, but it didn’t make me do it either.  But here, maybe I should stay down here.  I-I can’t hear the-- the blood anymore.”

So the Coffin muffled more than just their screams.  Jon didn’t want to know what he would have to do once his hunger came back, how strong it would be when it did, but maybe he didn’t have to worry about this one thing.

“I was planning to kill you,” Daisy continued.

“What?” His hands free of the dent of the shovel was proof enough that didn’t happen in this timeline.

“After Elias, Jonah or whatever, I was going to kill you,” she elaborated, “You’re a monster or at least not human.  Basira didn’t see that and that honestly just made me more suspicious of you.  It felt so obvious, how off you felt.  But... she also didn’t realize how much of a monster she was working with either.”

Jon didn’t know how to refute that.  Didn’t know if he could and silence dropped between them.  Jon lightly tugged her in the direction he thought was the exit.  She tugged them forward.  Neither let go.

The Coffin encased them several more times.  Jon learned to keep his mouth closed before it surged in after the first time.  Each break felt like their last opportunity to draw breath and each cave in felt more cramped than the last.  It didn’t let them sleep either.  No escape even in dreams.  

In between the waking nightmare of being buried alive, Jon and Daisy talked as though they were just friends and not prey and hunter.  An Eye and a Wolf.

“What’s it like working in the Archives?” Daisy asked.

“Outdated equipment, evil and corrupt boss, and dusty,” Jon listed, “Best part is definitely the people.  ‘Sides the boss of course.  Why?”

“I’m going to change jobs after this.  Something that won’t enable me.”

“I don’t think the Institute is much better,” Jon knew that they’ve all been pushed to commit various crimes and cross multiple boundaries with the law.  “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything worth that yet.”

“But you’re trying.”

Jon could hear her breathing stutter and she cleared her throat, “So the people.  Tell me about them.”

Jon told her about his assistants, only that in title and pay difference.  He told her about Tim’s natural charisma and jokes.  Sasha’s level headedness and smarts.  Martin’s kindness and tea and soft smiles and warm hands.  He even told her about Michael despite the fact that they didn’t do any work.

“Aren’t you ever scared of hurting them?” Daisy asked.

“What do you mean?”

“One day you’re going to run out of those statements to read.  Do you really think your Eye would be sated by that?”

“I.  I never thought of that.”  A lie.  The first he told in a while that didn’t burn.

“I suppose there’s a silver lining with us being here: we can’t hurt the people we love anymore.”

“Who…?” Jon wasn’t aware she was in a relationship or that she was really close to anyone.

“Basira,” Daisy answered.

“Ah.”  Jon had suspected in his last timeline but between the running from the police and the Unknowing he never thought much of it.

“So what about Martin?” Daisy redirected, “You talked about him an awful lot.”  Jon could hear the shit eating grin as she teased him.

“That’s because he’s the best,” Jon puffed his chest out the best he could and only succeeded in reminding himself of how close the ceiling was, “He actually invited me to go to a coffee shop with him, just the two of us.”

“Wait, was that what you were doing when we came in?”

“Yes, you interrupted me getting a date,” Jon knocked their elbows together, a show that he wasn’t hurt.

“Sorry about that,” she laughed lightly, lighter than anything was allowed in the Buried, and bumped back, careful to keep her hand around his.  

He laughed in kind.  “Martin was the one who gave me the idea about emotional anchors.”

“Shame it didn’t work.”  Something they tried during one of their reprieves from the dirt.  But an anchor couldn’t work without it being connected to something.

“Yeah…”

Time was hard to keep track of without a clock or the sun or being able to sleep.  So when Jon started feeling a pull on his heart he didn’t know how long they’ve been down there.  All he knew was the feeling of digging through the dirt one handed to get to it.  Dirt found a home under his nails and he pulled with weak limbs to keep Daisy with him as they dug their way to a heavy wooden lid, a soft voice getting louder as the pull got stronger.

Jon could hear something, someone, on the other side.  Only a panel of wood kept them from reaching that person.  He pushed against it with one hand, thankful for the solid ground and the room to do so.  It barely had any give with his atrophied muscles.  The chains, he thought, the chains must be wrapped around it.  If Tim, Sasha, or Martin were smart (and they were) then they would’ve wrapped it up again or put it where no one else would get hurt by it.  Hot tears cleared tracks down Jon’s face.

They were so close.  He could feel the clean air that flowed through a thin crack in the lid.  The voice on the other side continued talking then lightly chuckled and Jon wanted nothing more than to get out and laugh alongside it.  The feeling called on him like a beacon to land.

Daisy started pounding against the door.  Fist and feet exploding sharp raps in the still too small space.

Chapter Text

Martin’s heart pounded in rhythm with the banging coming from within the Coffin.  Erratic and getting louder by the second.  The curtain draped over the Coffin shuttered as the lid gave and lifted every other knock.  Whatever was trying to get out would be able to.

Luckily for Martin, it was remarkably easy to buy an axe in Central London.  He gripped it tight and aimed for whatever was trying to come out.  If it was Jonah, well, he was probably weak enough to take down and throw back in without killing him.  Any other kind of monster Martin would hopefully be able to hold his own against long enough for Sasha and Tim to get out.

He didn’t let himself hope that it would be Jon.

The knocking stopped, muttering now audible (other victims of the Coffin?), and was replaced by the slow creaking of the lid opening.  The curtain fell onto what stepped out.

“Hello?” croaked a weak voice from beneath it almost drowned under the sound of all of the recorders in the room clicking on by themselves.  Martin could barely let himself hope that the voice belonged to who he recognized it as.  Then the figure pulled the curtain off itself.

“Jon,” Martin breathed, voice caught in his throat.  He dropped the axe, barely aware of the thud it caused, and didn’t even realize he moved until he was standing before Jon.  Even holding his face in his hands wasn’t enough to believe he was there.

“Martin,” Jon said like a prayer and gripped one of Martin’s hands with his own.  He pressed his face into it as though to ground himself.  Every inch of him was covered in dirt but Martin didn’t mind.  He just brushed a thumb under Jon’s eye when tears started to fall and he kissed Jon’s forehead, holding back his own tears.

“Do you two need a room?”

Martin jumped in surprise.  He hadn’t realized there was a second person who exited the Coffin.  She closed the cursed box behind her, dirt falling from her blonde hair as she did so.

“I’m sorry who--?” Then Martin recognized her.  Though her hair was longer and darker with dirt, and her eyes lacked the flame that he remembered burning like a pyre built to burn his life to the ground, and her mouth wasn’t pulled into a sneer that revealed sharp teeth, she was still dressed in the same uniform he saw her in a month ago.  And how could he forget the face of the police woman who took Jon away.  

He pulled Jon away towards himself, wrapping his arms tight around him to shield him from the corrupt detective.  “Stay back,” Martin glared and drew himself up to loom over her.

She stepped back with fearful eyes that grew wider when she bumped into the Coffin.  Martin took a step away from it; he might despise her but he wouldn’t subject her to that.  She stepped forward with him and he realized it wasn’t because she was following him but because she was holding onto Jon.

“Let go of him,” they said at the same time.

She glared and growled, “Let.  Him.  GO.”

Martin was about to bite out his own retort, a list of everything she’s done, when Jon spoke up, “Please, Martin.”  Feeble.  His other hand tapped Martin’s arm in sets of three.

“Sorry,” Martin said in a rush and let go.  Jon didn’t move far, just enough that he was out of the circle of Martin’s arms, but still kept one hand on him.  Martin was careful to keep an eye on Tonner to make sure she didn’t try anything.

“Are you okay?” she asked instead.  Jon nodded his head.  “No speaking again?”

“I’m fine,” Jon waved off her concern.  Did they really become so close while in the Coffin?

She squeezed Jon’s hand, “Alright then.  This is Martin right?  I can-  I can leave you two alone if you want.”

“Ah, yes, if you don’t mind actually,” Jon smiled.

She scoffed a laugh, light hearted and strange to Martin, “See you later then.”  She walked away, stopping short.  “Oh, right.  I’ll have to…”  She looked down to where she was holding onto Jon.  Her breathing got tense, “...let go.”  They all stood in a stand still for a moment more.

Jon patted their connected hands, “I’ll be right here, Daisy.”

Tonner smiled, the edge of it blunt, “If you say so.”  Jon rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll shove off.  Keep him safe,” she said to Martin.  She squeezed Jon’s hand one last time before letting go, revealing a spot that was clear of dirt mirrored on both their palms.  Probably the only spot on either of them that was relatively clean.

“I missed you,” Martin said to Jon once she left the room.  He kept himself from reaching for Jon again, careful to not push himself onto him again.

“I missed you too,” Jon smiled at him, a tired thing.  “I--ugh,” Jon doubled over, gripping his stomach.

“Jon!” Martin hovered his hand over Jon’s hunched form, snatching it away before it touched and crouched to his eye level instead.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine just,” Jon groaned, “Hunger pains.”

“I’m sure Tim wouldn’t mind if we stole their lunch from the breakroom.”

“No,” Jon grimaced, “Not that kind of hunger.”

“Oh,” Martin said.  He gathered the stack of statements from Jon’s desk he was planning to record later.  “How many do you need?”

“That should be enough,” Jon grabbed the whole pile.  There must have been maybe a dozen or more statements in there.  He sat on the floor and spread them around himself, pausing for only a second to say, “Thank you, Martin.  For everything.”  Then the only noise that came from his mouth was a discord of static and the next time he blinked his eyes became black and green.  Then he blinked again and his Eyes returned, the recorders carrying on the noise as the Eye that covered his mouth lazily drifted between the statements on the floor.

“Of course,” Martin chanced brushing hair out of Jon’s face, letting his hand linger when Jon leaned into the touch.  “You don’t even need to ask.”  Jon didn’t respond, but that was expected.

Martin wrapped the Coffin back up in its chains.  Nothing else they wanted out of it.  Jon was still reading the statements and would be there for maybe another twenty minutes so Martin went out to check on Tonner.

She was just.  She was just staring at Tim and Sasha both asleep in the common area.

“S-sorry.  Do you need something?” Martin asked, voice low.

“No,” she glanced at him and flexed open and close the hand that held onto Jon, spot still clear of dirt.  It seemed to naturally curl back into a fist.  “He talked about them when we were in there.  You too.  He cares about you all a lot.”

“Thank you?”

“Don’t thank me,” she said solemnly, “I almost-- I was going to--”  Her face contorted between anger and sadness.  “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Martin couldn’t, didn’t want to, dispute her.  “Are you hungry?”  He headed to the breakroom, trusting that she would follow him if she was.

He directed her to the washroom and spare cot with a change of clothes after she ate.  They didn’t talk all the while, both having too much to say but not the energy to say it.

He brought another set of clothes, towels, and a jug of water back to the office where Jon was still reading.  He must have finished the shorter ones since his Eyes were closed and the static was less than before.  He looked less tired than when he came out of the Coffin but was still covered in grime hence the items Martin brought.

The static stopped with a click.  Jon blinked and looked over at Martin.  “Hey,” he said with a smile that reached his still green eyes.

“Hey,” Martin said back, “Sorry for earlier.  I shouldn’t have rushed you like that.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jon fidgeted his hands, taking off his ring and cleaning it of dirt.

“Still.  I should’ve, I don’t know, I just shouldn’t have done that,” Martin’s breath came faster and he held back the urge to cry, “I’m sorry.”  It wasn’t fair that he was the one who was on the verge of tears when Jon was the one who needed more comforting out of the two of them.

“Stop that,” Jon grabbed his hands, “I’m the one who should be sorry.  I went into the Coffin when I should’ve waited.  I didn’t have any sort of plan.  I, I'm sorry, Martin.”  His voice hitched.

“Really Jon?” Martin laughed through the tears that started to fall, half incredulous, “You don’t need to apologize for that.  I’ve-- We’ve missed you so so much.”  He knocked their foreheads together, laughing in earnest.

Jon gripped his hands tighter, laughing as much as crying in relief, “Look at us.  God, we’re a mess.”

“Mostly just you,” Martin teased.

“Oi,” Jon swatted his arm, leaving a smear of dirt, “Not fair.”

Martin chuckled and brushed some of Jon’s hair back, “I know.  I know.  Here.”  He led Jon to the chair they kept in the office for statement givers and set up the towels and water on the desk, bucket from Tim’s hair dying session behind the chair to catch any stray liquid.  “Sit.”

Jon followed him easily, trustingly, letting Martin tilt his head to clean his hair and face.  Jon’s eyes closed and the tension he held since Martin saw him released.  It was honestly unfair how much Martin wanted to kiss him by just breathing.

“Could you…?” Martin motioned to Jon’s shirt.  He nodded sleepily and let Martin lift it off of him.  He was so thin and he shivered in the open air.  Martin cleaned his torso off quickly and stepped out to give Jon privacy to clean the rest of himself and change.  Coming back into the office, Martin saw how much the sweater he lent him did not fit.  

“Um…” Jon rolled the sleeves up.  The body of it hung to his knees and the sleeves over his hands.  He also decided to forgo trousers for some reason which seemed counterintuitive to how cold he looked.

“I think Sasha has some spare trousers you could borrow and you could probably fit some of Tim’s shirts better than mine,” Martin offered.

“No this is fine,” Jon said, “Trousers would feel too, too confining.”

“Yeah, yeah, no that’s okay,” Martin assured him.  If he asked to romp around in a full winter’s coat or even an inflatable dinosaur costume who was Martin to deny him?  

Jon looked smaller than usual.  Tired and with shoulders heavy under the weight of the world a month of crushing earth.  Martin couldn’t imagine comparing him to the sun like he did before but probably because that wasn’t accurate.  

Icarus was never trying to get to the sun; he was trying to get to land.  And Jon was the land in Martin’s mind.  Safe and safety, solid and real and now, more than ever, reachable.

“Can I…?” Martin floundered, waved his hands looking for the right words and the courage.  He sighed, gave up on that endeavor, and spell signed what he wanted to ask for with a blushing face.

“Oh,” Jon said, face flushing similarly, “Y-yes, I would like that.”

Martin cradled Jon’s face in his hands, getting lost in his eyes as easily as he fell to gravity, and they kissed.

Short, barely a press of lips, but it was enough to make Martin’s heart feel ten times bigger than his chest would allow and his smile felt too wide to fit in the room.  It broke with breathless laughs and Martin pressed his forehead to Jon’s, reveling in the fact that he was able to do that again.  They shifted so that Martin’s chin rested on Jon’s head and his hands rested lightly on Jon’s hips, Jon’s arms around him.

“Let’s go home,” Martin mumbled into Jon’s hair.

“I’m already here,” Jon said into his collar bone, lips brushing the skin there as he spoke.

“Jon,” Martin sighed, exasperated, “That’s okay for tonight, but you’re not going back to sleeping in the Archives.”

“Martin,” Jon laughed, “That’s not what I meant.”

There was a look of reverence in his eyes and Martin  Knew  he meant ‘I love you.’

Chapter Text

Going to sleep was more of a dance than Jon wanted it to be.  Daisy assured him she was fine in document storage (she refused any blankets), Michael left for the night before Jon got out, and Tim and Sasha were already asleep wrapped around each other.  Martin set up a sleeping area next to them made of sleeping bags and blankets, stopping every once and a while to look back at Jon.

Cuddling with Martin wasn’t unfamiliar to Jon.  Out of everybody, he was the one Jon tried to sleep next to the most due to how nice it used to feel to have his arms tight around him.  But being in The Coffin for so long more than filled his quota for pressure to the point that any at all was too much and if he couldn’t feel air on his skin he couldn’t bring air into his lungs.

From earlier he knew that he wouldn’t react well to being surrounded again.  No matter who the person was or how much he loved them, but he could get through that, for Martin.

“Alright, all set,” Martin beamed at Jon and patted the makeshift bed.  His smile faltered, “Are you okay?  Sorry, stupid question.  What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You just look a bit tense,” Martin reached out a hand.  Jon took it readily, sitting down next to him on the blankets as he brought Martin’s hand up to caress his face.  Jon could handle this kind of touch; a small amount of contact, warm skin that doesn’t smother.

“I’m better now that I’m here,” Jon said and tilted his head further into Martin’s hand, blinking at him half lidded and exhausted.

“O-oh,” Martin flustered.  He got warmer and Jon chuckled, relaxing as his eyelids grew heavy.

“Sorry,” Jon suppressed a yawn, “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been a long month,” Martin said softly, “For all of us.”

Tim and Sasha were sleeping soundly, too gone from the world to hear Jon’s broken, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.  It’s not your fault,” Martin told him.  Jon closed his eyes and hoped Martin took it as fatigue instead of the avoidance it was.  Shame and guilt churned in his gut.  “You don’t have to believe me,” Martin murmured, tiredness plain, “But please know that we don’t blame you.  We never have or will.”

“I’ll try,” Jon said back.  Quiet enough that only Martin, scant inches away from Jon’s face, was able to hear.  ‘I love you,’ he signed with one hand.  His hands were still shaky from being cramped and the stiffness of scars but Martin understood.

“I love you too,” Martin said.  The movement of his lips were just off enough for Jon to realize that it wasn’t in English.  Martin kissed him on the corner of his mouth and Jon discovered another kind of touch he could bear.  It would probably be wise to ask for more, for research purposes of course.

They settled next to each other.  Jon selfishly stole Martin’s hand to keep but gave him his heart in return.

Martin offered Jon space under the blanket.  Jon refused.  It was colder than comfortable in the Archives so it was a solely logical move for Jon to press himself against Martin as close as possible, wrapping his arms around Martin’s arm and tucking his head under his chin.  Martin didn’t move to envelope Jon or pull him closer than he put himself.  Not trapping him or holding him back; like an ask for Jon to stay and Jon wouldn’t dare say no.  He thanked Martin for this with a brush of lips against his collar bones.  Martin shivered.

Jon had so much to thank him for.  For taking care of him (in this timeline and the last), his patience, his tea, his smiles, his love.   It was more than Jon deserved or had any right to ask for and yet here he was.  With not only Martin, but Tim, Sasha, and Michael too.  

Between one drowsy blink and the next, the Eye made Jon Know what they were doing before he got out.  He blinked again in surprise.  They hadn’t discovered some ancient ritual or found a statement that had the answer.  They were just...Being.  Jon Knew that they tried and they looked and they worried about him but right before he got out they were being happy in spite of the horrors around them.  Was that what an anchor had to be?  Something to help you forget the Fear in the world?  Like a single light in the darkness to remind you that you can see.

Maybe anchor wasn’t the most fitting name for them.

Jon weaved his fingers with Martin’s and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.  Martin laughed softly.  His breath brushed through Jon’s hair and he smiled.

Martin was covered in freckles from head to toe.  A little faded.  There was a shocking lack of sunlight working in a basement.  Jon had the sudden impulse, a want, to bring him somewhere warm with idyllic fields of green grass and flowers and animals that let you come up and pet them or go on a road trip and visit every roadside attraction that caught Martin’s eye.  He wanted to see Martin’s freckles flush with color from the sun and warmth from how strongly he blushes.  Honestly, it was unfair how tempting the freckles on his face were to kiss, especially the ones by his mouth that moved along with his words and his smiles.  Did the ‘K’ stand for ‘kissable’?

For now, Jon settled for a small patch of dots on his jawline that loosely formed a triangle.

“Good night,” Jon whispered to him.

“Hmm,” Martin mumbled back, more rumble than word.  He was already half asleep.

Jon closed his eyes and held tightly to Martin’s arm.  He could think of a better name for anchors later.

“JON!?”

Jon startled awake from the shout.  Everything was too bright and he stiffened when he was plucked from his place tucked into Martin’s chest and strong arms wrapped themselves around him.  Too tight.  Compressing.  He couldn’t breath with how pressed he was against this chest.  The pressure increased when he moved to get out and squeezed his heart and lungs to the point that neither felt like working correctly.  It took a moment for the rushing blood in his ears to quiet down enough to hear what the person was saying.

“Jon, jon, jon, we missed you so much,” Tim mumbled into his hair, trailing off into a litany of unneeded apologies and sharp breaths.  

“Oi, dummy, let go.  He needs room to breath,” someone thankfully said.  She must be new since Jon couldn’t remember anyone with an eye injury.

“Huh?” Tim sniffled, “Shi-- Sorry.”  They quickly loosened their hold and Jon felt his lungs expand gratefully.

“Martin!  Wake up!” Tim continued being far too loud for what Jon was sure was too early in the morning and shook Martin awake.  “Jon’s back!?”

“Hnnrg?” Martin grumbled.  He blindly patted the area next to him and looked confused when he came up empty.  “Yeah,” he yawned, “He got out last night.  We didn’t want to wake you.”

“If something like this happens again, knock on wood--” Tim knocked their head, curiously covered in bright pink hair, to reverse their luck, “Then please wake me up.  Even if I’m on live TV being interviewed for being the handsomest person alive--”

The stranger scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

“--Which is totally plausible, then feel free to run on stage and tell the Queen to shod off cause this is far more important!”

“You’d risk her sending you to the dungeons for me?” Jon laughed.

“Of course, I love you!  Besides, I can simply roll to seduce and get us out,” Tim said like it was obvious.

“You don’t even play DnD,” the stranger said with a light hearted smirk, closer now.

“And last time we tried, you chose fighter and then failed every seduction roll,” Martin added.

“Do you see what I had to endure while you were gone?” Tim sighed at Jon, “There’s a glass ceiling put in place to oppress thembos.”

Jon laughed.  Every breath cleared more and more of the dirt lodged in his lungs.

“But seriously, Jon.  We’re glad you’re back,” Tim tentatively raised one arm as an offer for a hug.

“Sorry,” Jon drew himself together, “I-- I don’t really…”

“Yeah yeah, no that’s fine,” Tim put their arm down with an easy nonchalant shrug, “Head pat?”

“How unprofessional do you think I am?” Jon narrowed his eyes at them.  He gave up the façade and sighed, “Yes please.”

Tim patted his head with delight painted on their face, ruffling Jon’s bed head, “Aww, you’re just like a cat.”

“No, I’m not,” Jon scowled and moved further into the touch despite his denial.

“Sure,” Tim smiled.  They brushed Jon’s bangs out of his face and kissed his forehead in one smooth motion.  He only had the time to feel a blush begin form before Martin replaced the touch by putting his head on top of Jon’s.

“Ah, sorry,” Martin removed himself, “Is this okay?”  Jon pulled him back into place instead of answering.  Martin pitched slightly, knocking into Jon’s skull, and had to catch himself by putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder.  Jon held that there too.

“Adorable,” Tim continued slandering Jon.

“Cutest of the cuties,” the stranger added.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Jon asked, uncomfortable being called anything, even compliments, by a stranger.

Tim’s lips pulled itself into a pensive line, “Jon…”

“I thought this might happen,” said the stranger.  She sighed, tired, “I’m Sasha.”

There was no moment of clarity as Jon’s memory of Sasha with short blonde hair collided with the dark haired person in front of him, though she had her hair pulled back in the same way Jon normally had his.  He simply Understood it was her.

“Oh,” his apology died on his tongue.  It was old and worn and exhausted from being used over and over again for the same purpose.

“It’s alright.”  The stranger - Sasha - sat next to him, just out of eyesight.  He leaned on her, leaning Martin as well.  “We’ll remind you as long as we’re here.”

Tim sat next to Jon, smiling and keeping a comfortable distance.  “Can’t get rid of us even if you tried.”

“Woe is me,” Jon rolled his eyes, “I don’t know how I’ll bear such a burden.”

“You guys are loud.”  

Jon startled at the new voice.  Ah, only Daisy.  Even standing with arms crossed and lightly glaring as she stood in the doorframe to the hallway, she cut a less imposing figure dressed in rumpled clothing and tangled hair but she looked more put together than Jon felt.

“Good morning, Daisy,” Jon said.

“Morning, Jon,” she nodded to him, taking all the casual touch in stride, “Have you felt…hungry yet?”

“Yes,” Jon reached for Martin’s hand on his shoulder, they interlaced naturally.  “Right after you left, actually.  You?”

“It’s manageable,” she said and rolled her shoulders in discomfort.  She pointed to her eyes with a questioning look, “Those a monster feature or do you have some insane contacts?”

“What?”

“Your eyes are still green, love,” Tim provided, “I think this is the longest they’ve stayed this way.”

“Oh that.”  Slightly worrying but Jon didn’t feel any different or like he had to read statements at the moment.  “It’s normal.  Kind of.  They are a part of the monster thing but it’s not too bad.”

Daisy nodded in understanding.  “What happened to your arm?” She motioned to Tim.

“This?” Tim held out one of their arms.

“What…?” Jon stared at their arm.  He hadn’t noticed all the bandages that were wrapped around it but the injury that laid beneath must hurt.

“I’m fiiiine, Jon,” Tim patted his face as assurance.  Jon felt his last shred of dignity melt when it worked.  “Just went on an ill advised trip to that raid you were asked about.”

“That’s less reassuring than you think it is.”  Jon couldn’t help but eye their arm warily.  Tim winced when they put it back down and leaned on their other arm that had the burn scar.

Sasha bumped Jon’s shoulder with hers, “You’re showing some extreme favoritism for short people.  Unless my eye injury is too high for you to see.”

“I only asked Tim since that injury is new,” Jon protested, “You poked your eye out back in Research when you left a spoon in your coffee.”

Tim looked at him in befuddlement.  Even Martin moved from his spot to look Jon in the eyes with the same confusion and worry.

“...Right?”

“That’s probably easier than what actually happened,” Sasha mused.

Jon sighed.

Daisy didn’t ask, knowing this wasn’t her business, but did ask for a phone to call Basira.  Tim offered theirs since they already had the detective’s number saved.  Daisy narrowed her eyes at them in suspicion, relaxing minutely when Tim explained that it was so that they could send information to her in case they gained any more information about Maxwell Rayner.

Basira came in barely half an hour later.  Daisy evidently didn’t have the same aversion Jon had to being held since she was the one to initiate a hug that lasted longer than simple cop buddies would have.  

Then with one last look back and a mock salute, Daisy left the Institute and Jon for the first time in a month.

Was it sad that he was going to miss her?  He didn’t forgive her (was it even fair to blame her for things she hadn’t done) but his hand did feel empty after holding another’s for so long.

Fortunately for Jon, he had four pairs to fill that ache.

- <0>  <0> -

No matter what Sasha said, Tim’s wardrobe was not made solely of tacky button ups and tight jeans.  They also had a selection of skirts.  So when they noticed that Jon looked incredibly uncomfortable in pants no matter how roomy, they realized that the stars had aligned for their fashion sense to save the day.

“Happy birthday!” Tim set a hastily wrapped box on Jon’s legs.  Technically Martin’s legs but since Jon was the boss and had capitalized Martin’s space on Tim’s couch, nearly sitting on his lap and constantly holding his hand, Tim dubbed them his.

Jon looked up from an old statement puzzled, “Thank you?  I’m afraid you’re a few decades off, though.”  He smiled widely when Martin chuckled at the lame joke.  The only kind of joke that any of them could afford on an Archives salary.

“Time is fake and made by clock companies to sell more watches,” Tim met in stride, “Just open it up will you?”

“No cake?” Sasha asked, “Jonah isn’t here to ruin it this time.”  Tim laughed and knocked on wood.  They decided to take the rest of the day or week off and were nowhere near the Institute but it didn’t hurt to play it safe.

Jon pulled out a skirt from the box.  One of Tim’s favorites, midthigh and pleated black fabric that went with anything Tim felt like.  “Thank you?” Jon said strained, looking at Tim questionably.

“I didn’t take the time to sort them okay?” Tim dug through the box themself, removing the shorter skirts from the top.  Admittedly, they didn’t think beyond just throwing every skirt they had in the box to present to Jon.  “But there should be at least one in here that’s more your style so that you don’t have to keep on wearing Martin’s sweater as a baggy dress.  Ah!  Here.”  Tim handed Jon three skirts.  All ankle length and dark with subtle patterns and different thicknesses for the weather.

“Oh,” Jon’s eyes lit up, going from emerald green to lemon lime.  “Thank you,” Jon said like a breath of spring.  He took them gratefully and stood up.  “Could you all, um?”  He motioned for all of them to turn around.

They obliged of course.  Jon signaled that they could turn around again with a nervous cough.

He chose the lightest of the three, dark green fabric with a golden smattering of flowers adorning the bottom, and had it tucked under Martin’s sweater.  With Jon’s shorter height, it brushed the floor.

Martin said something in Polish with a smile.  From how flushed Jon got, Tim was sure it was Martin being as sappy as he had been wanting to be since he realized he liked Jon.

“You look very handsome,” Sasha said.

‘Thank you,’ Jon signed and hid his face in his stolen sweater, overwhelmed.

“The Queen is going to want to interview you instead of me at this rate,” Tim said, only half joking.

Jon’s only acknowledgement that he heard them was a nod of his head, face still behind his sleeves.

“Jon,” Martin coaxed, “Kochanie?”

They heard a sniffle.

Oh fuck.  Were the skirts insensitive?  Did Jon just go along with it even though he hated them?

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to,” Tim tried to console, “I’m sure Martin has enough sweaters for all of us.”

“That’s where they’ve been disappearing to?”

“Not important right now,” Tim hushed, “Jon?”

“I’m fine,” Jon said, half breathless through tears.  He finally showed his face.  Blotchy skin wet with tears that were still running down his face.  Despite that, he was smiling wide.  “Thank you, Tim.  I love them,” he hiccupped, “Sorry.  I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional over this.”

“Feeling overwhelmingly good about yourself after trying different clothes?” Martin said, “Very gender of you.”

“Oh,” Jon said in realization, “Hmm.  I think…I’m not nonbinary.  I’m still comfortable being male but I like wearing skirts if that makes sense?”

“That makes perfect sense,” Sasha said, “Besides, clothes don’t have gender beyond what the wearer decides it has.”

A yellow door appeared and creaked open.

“Sorry for clocking in late, Helen was--” Michael’s voice pitched up towards the end in surprise, “Archivist!”

They recapped the morning for the Spiral.  Michael played with Jon’s hair all the while, making it fluffier than Tim thought Jon could possibly manage but also a soft temptation.  After they told them about Jon’s new relationship with gender, they promptly donned their human shape with what Tim thought was a wonderful skirt; holographic and neon rainbows weaved together into a zigzaggy plaid.  Sasha had to cover her eyes just to be able to handle the majesty that was Michael’s skirt.

“I can’t tell what this is supposed to say,” Jon asked as a non-question, squinting at the banner Tim was writing on.

“‘Happy Getting Out Of The Time Out Box slash Late Valentines slash Jon Did Not Make A Bad Decision That Led To A Horrible Table Monster Being Released slash Gender Day!’” Tim read in a rush of breath.  “It’s a national holiday, don’t you know?”

“Ah, is that why we took the day off?” Martin asked over Jon’s shoulder with a smile.

“Yup,” Sasha popped the p, “That and no other reason at all.”  Tim handed her and Michael the banner to hang up.  Dumb short legs.  

“Thanks for making me feel so important,” Jon deadpanned.

Martin silenced any further complaints from him by running a hand through his hair, making Jon melt in his lap.  “What do you suggest we do for such an important holiday?” He turned back to Tim.

“Get day drunk and regret our decisions once we sober up at midnight.”

They ended up not doing that exactly but better.

The kitchen was a ballroom that they danced around for half the day, Tim showing them the recipes they’ve been collecting all month but had been waiting for Jon to get back to make them (hoping against all odds that he would).

Having four more pairs of hands made it infinitely easier and harder at the same time.  Pros: More people to mix and watch everything.  Cons: Tim’s kitchen had a max capacity of three on a good day and good days did not involve the amount of bowls they had to wash.

“Aye.  Sorry, Marto,” Tim said when they bumped into him for the umpteenth time trying to get to the oven.  One of their million timers went off again.

“‘Scuse me,” Sasha spun around the two bumping into Tim anyways (Tim tried to not think of why her perception was so off), haphazardly lifting a bowl of ingredients above them as she ventured to the cabinets.  “Ube extract, if you will Jon,” she requested.

Jon searched the cabinet behind him, keeping one hand holding one of Martin’s no matter how impractical it was for the both of them.  He sat on a counter above the nonsense of being packed like a sardine.  Mostly for his own comfort and also so that Tim could see him at all times.

“Watch out!” Tim took a hot bread pan out of the oven, only one of the five recipes they were making.  They shouted a curse when it slipped out of their oven mitts, threatening the floor tile and, more importantly, the edibility of the bread.  Michael caught it easily through one of their doors and it made a quick reappearance dropping a short distance out of another and into Tim’s waiting mitts.  “Thanks!”

“No problem,” Michael smiled.  They had happily chosen the task of making cinnamon rolls and was twisting them beyond comprehension.  The shapes they were making were hypnotizing to look at, following the strips of dough seemed a venture that could take days.  Tim tore their eyes away and set the finished pastry on the table.  One down, four more to go.

They had made blueberry lemon bread, a favorite of theirs from childhood.  Delicious and easy aside from zesting the lemons.

Michael put their impossible cinnamon shapes into the oven.  That left Sasha’s ube pandesal, Martin’s blueberry scones, and Jon’s.

“What did you say this one was called again?” Jon asked, careful not to compel, as he lined a greased glass pan with cookie dough.  Martin gave him a pack of Oreos which Jon opened and started tiling them onto the cookie dough.  

“Slutty Brownies.”

“Wha-what?” Jon stammered incredulously.

“Unlady-like Brownies,” Sasha elaborated.  She turned her dough out onto a lightly floured counter and started kneading while Tim felt their brain activity cease watching her strong arms work.

“I don’t think we want to ask,” Martin whispered conspiratorially to Jon then started to knead his own dough.  From the look on Jon’s face, Tim didn’t think much more was going to get done for a while.

Everything turned out delicious.  Some of the cinnamon spirals were mobius strips that, if dipped, took all the icing with them and Martin’s scones ended up tinted green, but they didn’t need to be pleasing to the eye to be pleasing to the mouth.

“Now for the fun part!” Tim broke out the booze and the Lord of the Rings.

They piled onto her couch with the food and drinks piled onto the coffee table.  Michael took their customary seat across the back, Martin leaned against a couch arm with his lap full of Jon, and Tim and Sasha leaned against Martin.

It was calm and restful aside from when Tim stole Jon’s phone to take pictures of him as evidence for the cuteness court and the tousle resulted in several people getting dialed by accident.

“We should go on an epic journey,” Tim slurred at the end of the third movie, inebriated and letting the credits run, too comfortable where they were laying with Sasha.

“Friendship adventure!” Sasha exclaimed with a sluggish fist bump into the air that tottered back down onto Tim’s face lightly.

Tim’s mind moved like molasses processing what she said.  “Friendship?  Wha-- Wait wait wait,” Tim thought as they patted Sasha face with each ‘wait’, “Waaaait.  Aren’t we dating?”

“Aren’t you aromantic?” Sasha retorted, giving Tim’s face a pat in return.

“I said demiromantic,” Tim corrected, “And I say ‘I love you’ a lot!  And kiss you and we went on ‘date nights’!  We are literally cuddling right now.”  On top of Martin’s legs, who was holding Jon boneless and relaxed, Martin himself looked more drunk on Jon’s presence than any alcohol in Tim’s stash.  Both watched Tim and Sasha in amusement and were also both loved by Tim.

“Okay you made your point,” Sasha kissed their nose with a pout, “We are official as of right now then.”

“So many missed days,” Tim lamented.

Sasha scoffed with a smile.  “Not my fault that someone didn’t tell me we were dating.  So, how are we supposed to get any restaurant reservations on anniversaries when it’s on such a big holiday?” She teased.

“Yeah five people is kind of hard to seat.” 

“Five?” Jon asked bewildered.

“Uhh,” Tim suddenly felt timid, “I meant ‘aren’t we dating’ as in...aren’t all of us dating.”  If their romantic feelings weren’t obvious that whole time they were about to die of pure mortification.

“Ah,” Martin said eloquently.

“I thought you were just being friendly,” Jon said to justify his egregious offense against Tim’s ability to flirt.

“I kiss you two, too!  Do you see me kissing Rosie?” Tim asked incredulously, “Or, god forbid, Dave?”  Just the thought made him feel sick but maybe that was just the over eating.

“I second Jon,” Martin said, the traitor, “I thought that’s how you acted with friends.”

“We sleep in the same bed most nights,” Tim tried.

“Yeah.  Friendly,” Sasha insisted on tearing down Tim’s excellent evidence to the contrary.

“I didn’t want to question it,” Jon admitted.

“You’re also way out of my league,” Martin shrugged.

“You’re out of my league,” Tim rebutted.  Martin pulled his handsome face into one of disbelief. 

“How long did you think we were dating?” Sasha asked.

“Way too long apparently,” Tim sighed, “That can start today if you two…?” 

Martin and Jon looked at each other contemplatively for a moment.  Tim was worried that they took a step too far, one presumption too many, as they communicated in what Tim was sure was telepathy.

“We think…” Jon began after far too long, listing off slightly in tiredness and alcohol, “We would like that.”

“Michael?” Tim looked up at them.

“I’m surprised you managed to cause more confusion than I have,” they giggled, “Sounds like fun.”

Tim heaved a sigh of relief and interlaced one of their hands with Jon’s.  Sasha wrapped her arms around them as Martin combed through their hair as consolidation of their agony.

“Drama Monarch,” Martin scoffed with a laugh.

“Oh hush,” Sasha swatted his arm, “The fool almost had four people break up with them who didn’t even realize they even were dating them.”

Tim groaned, “You’re the worst.”

“You had a crush on us, how embarrassing,” said Jon, cuddling into Martin’s chest and patting Tim’s face.

Tim hummed in content.  “Okay but back on topic.  An epic journey!”

“A Lovers’ journey!” Sasha exclaimed and laid down instead of fistbumping the air again.

“Where would we go?” Michael mused and summoned a door.

Martin stifled a yawn and tucked his face into the crook of Jon’s neck.  “New Zealand,” Jon suggested, “That’s where they filmed the Lord of the, the…” He trailed off drunkenly, spinning a tall champagne glass filled with Tim’s finest fake statements rolled to fit in it.

“Lambs?” Sasha asked, blinking hard.

“Maybe,” Jon pondered, “Anywhere that’s not America.”  He spat it like an insult.

“Here here,” Sasha raised her glass and drank a shot of slutty brownies that she coughed right out.  “Oh bleh!  I forgot I put that there.”  She took another mouthful of them.

“Nothing good in America ‘cept for--” Jon sat up straight.  Martin let out a little whine for the loss of his human blanket.  “I Know where he is.”

“Who?” Martin asked despondently.

“Gerry,” Jon said, “Gerard Keay.”  He rambled off a set of coordinates to Michael who tapped and changed the shape of the door with each number until it looked completely different and exactly the same.

“Roadtrip!” Tim stumbled out of their comfortable spot and almost pulled Sasha down with them.

“Slow down,” Michael laughed, “I cannot hold more than one avatar remember?”

“Yeah and?” Tim was too full of pastries, alcohol, and good company to think.  They were strong enough to carry everyone so what was the problem?  Plus Michael could make their arms long enough to hold them all so what on Earth were they even talking about.

“I don’t want to move,” Martin complained, sitting up and burying himself into Jon’s hair.

Michael sighed, “I’ll get him.”  They went into the hallway alone.  The colors pulsed dizzyingly, blinding in the most fun ways and not at all helpful to Tim’s rolling stomach.  The light show was only interrupted when Michael stumbled back through holding a book and foreign dishevelment, slamming their door shut behind them.  “Sorry,” they said when Jon jumped.

“Gerry?” Jon reached for the book.  Michael handed it to him.  Tim could hear Martin snoring behind him, hands resting on Jon’s waist.

A door appeared, overlapping the corner of the first one Michael made.  Michael frowned at it.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha asked.

“Do you need me to punch that door for you?” Tim offered.

Michael barked a laugh.  Twisting and nauseating and beautiful as always.  “Thank you, but I would rather you don’t do that.  My only trouble is that someone keeps on walking into my hallways without me wanting them to.”  They focused for a moment and the second door disappeared.  “And it seems she does not want to be in them either.”

Tim was preeeetty sure this had some horrible implications but their head was as empty as the bottles and plates on the table and Sasha was being too comfortable to lay on.

“‘His consciousness faded in and,’” Jon blinked blearily and yawned as he tried to read, “‘out like the die.  He tried…’” The rest of his words slipped from Tim’s hearing as they slipped into unconsciousness.

Tim woke up with warm bodies pressed against them and a numb arm.  Luckily not the one that was still healing so they felt free to continue laying there until they heard someone clear their throat.

“I know you’re awake.”

Tim’s eyes snapped open and they sprang up.  They didn’t recognize that voice.

“Hi,” said the person.  They were dressed in dark clothing and a trench coat that reached their knees.  Jewelry and piercings shined on their fingers, ears, and bottom lip.  Their hair was badly dyed but Tim couldn’t say anything about that with their own bright hair falling into their face.  

Something was off about this person.  The way that light hit them didn’t quite match anything else in the room but that might just be Tim’s hang over talking.

“Jon summoned me, introduced himself, and then fell asleep,” the person explained, the title seemed more questionable when Tim noticed how their edges didn’t look clean, “I’ve been stuck here for hours.”

“Summoned?” Tim questioned, “Oh.  Oh!  You’re Gerard Keay aren’t you?”

“That’s me,” Gerard smiled and gave weak jazz hands.

“Sash, wake up,” Tim slapped her face a few times until she started moving, “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Oh, I am.”

“Oookaayy,” Tim drew out.  This was a bit much to process on their own.  “Oi, Jon,” they called to the sleeping man.  He looked adorable as always and was hogging Martin’s space like it was free real estate.

“Hrmg?” Jon grumbled, refusing to wake.

“Gerard Keay?”

“Gerry!” Jon shot up.  Martin startled awake at the shout and Sasha finally opened her eyes when Jon jostled them all by climbing out of the human pile.  “I’m so sorry.  I summoned you and then I fell asleep without an explanation and god this so unprofessional--”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Gerard pacified, “Yeah, that didn’t give me the best impression but I don't care much for professionalism and I don't think anyone bad could have this many silly pictures hung up around their house.”  They nodded to one of the walls lined with them, a smile on their face that Tim almost dared to call fond.  “Michael, the one with the colorful skirt, also told me that none of you were trying to cause the end of the world before they left.  So what did you call me for?”

“Oh,” Jon stared at him with wide eyes, “I just...I wanted to ask if you wanted your page burned.”

Now it was Gerard’s turn to stare.  “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious,” Jon chuckled.

Gerard smiled for a split second, relief and hope shining in their dead eyes, before pulling back in suspicion.  “What do you want?”

“N-nothing,” Jon defended, “We--  We already know how to stop the Unknowing and--”

“The Unknowing?” Gerard interrupted, “Why didn’t Gertrude stop it?”  Jon gave him a solemn look.  “Oh.  When did she die?”

“About a year after you did.”

“Huh,” Gerard mulled over this, “So you don’t need anything from me?  You’ll...let me go?  Just like that.”

Jon shrugged like there was nothing else to explain, “It’s painful isn’t it?  Existing while dead?”

“Yes.”  Gerard’s edges wavered.  The morning sun from the window passed through them, casting no shadow and reflecting no light.

“I’m not sure if it’ll work but do you want a hug?” Tim asked.  Sasha sleepily sat up, leaning on Tim for support and offered her arms as well.  Gerard looked at them doubtfully.  They probably looked more of a mess than they felt.

“Worth a try,” Gerard shrugged and walked through the table to get closer.  Tim wrapped their arms around them and met nothing.  Sasha hugged the empty space as well and tugged Martin to join them.

“Anything?” Tim asked.

“No,” Gerard replied, something close to loss in their voice, “But thank you.”

“Are you ready to go?” Jon asked from outside of their huddle.

Gerard nodded slowly, an odd tingle to Tim’s sense.  “Please.”

The edges around Gerard, Gerry as they asked them to call them, feathered and frayed when Jon ripped out their page.  Gerry steeled themself with a breath.

Tim wondered if they were allowed to feel the warmth of the flame when it burned their page.  The relief on their face as they faded made it seem so.

Chapter Text

“And so Gerard Keay Ended,” Jon breathed.  A eulogy for one.

The End claimed another one to its tally.  Though for all he knew, the Flesh and the Desolation took a share (and the Web always had its hands in everything).  

Jon jumped when a phone ring cut through his reverie.  The name on the screen surprised him: Georgie.

“Who is it?” Martin asked.  He rubbed his eyes sleepily and Jon held back the temptation to fall back into his comfortable arms.

“An old friend from uni,” Jon hovered over the answer button, “This didn’t happen last time.”

In the original timeline, Jon came running to her under duress and she accommodated him with minimal questions due to the extreme circumstances.  Rooming with her shitty ex was likely low on her wish list but she wasn’t cruel enough to kick him out when he had nowhere to go.  He doubted she would be amiable to reconnecting in anything less pressing than that with how they broke up.

Tim sucked in a breath through their teeth.  “That might’ve been me…”

“What?” Jon questioned and tensed when the phone rang again.

“When I was taking pictures of you yesterday I miiight’ve accidentally hit some of your contacts while you were trying to get it back.”

“Wha- How?  I have a password!”

Tim shrugged.  “Easy to guess.”

“Tim, how on Earth would you even--”  Jon didn’t have the time to ask how they guessed the name of Jon’s cat in university (which he never told them he had) when the phone rang for a third time.  He accepted quickly and stepped away into Tim’s bedroom for some semblance of privacy.  “Hello Georgie.”

“Jon,” came her voice and she stifled a yawn, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t pick up.”

“Sorry.”  Jon fretted with a sleeve from his sweater, although a look confirmed it was actually Martin’s sweater, and pulled it over his free hand.  “So,” Jon tried to find the words to mend the bridge he burned, “Why did you call?”

“To find out why you did,” she answered precisely.

“Ah.  No, sorry that wasn’t me.  One of my par--” Jon tried to cover his slip with a cough, he didn’t want to derail the conversation by bringing up his new relationship, but by the soft laugh he heard he knew that Georgie still knew his tells, “One of my friends took my phone yesterday.”  

“Makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“The voice mail was mostly a bunch of rustling and shouting,” Jon heard movement on her end and could picture her exaggerating her words with gestures.  “I was half worried that you were being kidnapped.”

Jon let out a dry laugh.  If only she knew.

The conversation dulled, both parties out of practice talking to each other but also enjoying the fact that they were talking to each other in the first place.  His eyes wandered around the room, landing on a wall reserved for pictures strung up on red string.  Polaroids in no order that Jon could discern.  Many had stickers but one that stuck out was one with worn edges and a fold that comes from being in a wallet; he recognized it from one of their first sleepovers when he wasn’t sure how close he should be with them.  The quiet felt somewhat awkward to Jon, but a smile was brought to his face when he heard a soft staticity meow on Georgie’s side of the phone.

“The Admiral?” Jon didn’t bother feeling embarrassed at how his smile was audible.

“Yeah your stinky little boy is here.”  There were fabric rustles as she presumably moved away from the phone and called to the cat.

“Don’t bully him!  He’s a proper little man,” Jon said aggrieved.  His distress was quickly wiped away when the meowing became louder.

Georgie giggled, “He misses you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Admiral.”  The Admiral gave him a short chirp and rumbling purr as any respectable gentleman would.  Some part of Jon Knew that the Admiral really did miss him.  “Do you...do you want to meet up, Georgie?”

She was silent for a moment before sounding indignant.  “If this is some sad excuse to get back together--”

“What?  No!” Jon cut her off appalled, “I just miss you.  A-as a friend.”

“Oh,” she calmed.  “I missed you too.  As a friend.  Oi-- Stop climbing me!  Here,” ambient noise joined her voice and Jon guessed she put her phone on speaker.  The Admiral’s happy meowing was louder.  “He only likes you more cause you pet him whenever he wanted.”

Jon rolled his eyes, “I was only giving him the attention such a majestic beast deserves.”

Georgie promised to send him pictures of the Admiral after the call, the cat’s purring audible in the background all the while.  She agreed to meet up but though Jon had the whole day off, the closest opening in Georgie’s schedule was a few days away during Jon’s work.  Podcast work, she explained.

Work was normal to get back to.  The Coffin was removed from Jon’s office since Sasha called ahead to get Artefact Storage to move it somewhere safer but Jon continued ignoring the room in favor of being with his favorite people.  His friends, his partners.   The thought made Jon’s heart flutter, filled his body with the need to move with the excess emotion, and flushed his face with happiness and pride.  They were all so wonderful.

Martin updated him about what happened while he was...gone, and guilt coursed through him when he learned that Melanie already left for India some time ago.  Damn it.  Just another way that his rash decision ruined the lives of people even outside of the Archives.  He made Martin, Tim, and Sasha promise to keep her from signing onto the Institute so that she could avoid being trapped at the very least if he couldn’t help her from being shot by a ghost.

Jon checked the time and tapped his foot impatiently, solving his Rubik’s cube until he could do it blind.  Ten am.  Only fifteen minutes before Georgie would come by.  

He’d been worrying for days and all morning about how it would go and finished a dozen statements within the first hour before Sasha forced him to take a break when she found him wandering in the shelves looking for more in a half daze.  

He and Georgie...to say they broke off amiably would be generous.  He was insensitive and didn’t take any of her emotions into account.  She had her own life going on and the expectations they set for each other were unreasonable and not clearly communicated.  As friends they got along well, but romantically?  A mess.  After they separated, uni had taken priority and left no time to amend what they broke but Jon couldn’t help but miss her.

He startled when a cube edge misaligned.  “Damn,” he muttered.  Carefully, he twisted the piece back into place with a satisfying click and spun it a few more times but it lost its calming properties.  He set it down with a sigh.

His fr-- partners were too busy to talk to.  Sasha was calling sources to officially discredit some false statements, Tim was reading their own share of statements, and Martin was cross checking with an absolutely archaic piece of parchment to add onto one of the true ones.  Michael had pretty much disappeared over the last few days since Jon came back, only popping in every once and awhile to confirm that they still exist.  This wouldn’t be worrying to Jon if it weren’t for the fact that they once struggled to open their door.

Jon’s mandatory break was over now and it was tempting to consume more statements with nothing else to do.  He checked the time again: only five more minutes.  Not enough time unless he wanted to waste Georgie’s time by being stuck in a stupor for the first half of her visit.  Besides, he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to see, to know, that side of him.

The fight against his hunger only lasted a few more seconds before he heard someone coming down the stairs.  

A cat meowed.

“Admiral!” Jon rejoiced, reunion of parents and child melting away his tension.

“Nice to know what your priorities are,” Georgie teased as she came into view, cat bundled in her arms.

“Glad to see you too, Georgie,” Jon tacked on, already standing up and making a bee line for the cat.  “Hello there, Admiral.”  Petting the black British shorthair was easy.  There was no baggage between the two of them. 

“Mrrrp,” he purred and rubbed his head on Jon’s hand.

“Here’s your bastard child,” Georgie laughed and handed him over.

“You’re not a bastard,” Jon told him.  Whatever heartache the cat felt at the insult was not shown through his attitude, tail flicking happily and butting his head under Jon’s chin purring up a storm.  He glared over the cat at Martin, who was doing his best not to laugh, and Sasha, who was taking a picture.  Tim was too absorbed in reading a statement to look up.

Georgie smiled, Jon hoped it was fondly.  “Sorry that we have to meet during your work, but today is the only day I have any time off for the month.  Sponsorships you know?”

Jon nodded.  Hearing the many eccentric ads she had to record was not something he missed.  They were less believable than any of the ghost stories she told.

“I brought take out,” Georgie presented a plastic bag Jon didn’t notice, too preoccupied with the cat.  “It would be an early lunch but you still like that curry place near my place, right?”

Jon nodded stiffly.  He only ever went there because Georgie liked it but it was god awful and licking pavement would be easier than validating its existence.  “We can eat in the break room.”  He waved at his partners (the thought still sent his heart into a frenzy) while he left, Martin and Sasha waved back, and Tim spared a short glance away from their statement to nod.

“So what have you been up to?” Georgie asked cordially as Jon led the way.

“Not much.”  He skirted her eyes and continued running his hands through the Admiral’s fur.  He purred in Jon’s arms, helping him calm down with how he could feel the rumbles in his chest.

“Same,” she said.  They lapsed into uncomfortable silence for a moment as she laid the take out on the table and they sat down.  She smiled softly at the pictures still taped and strung up on the walls, likely recognizing the people as the ones in the other room.  “The podcast is really starting to kick off.”

“Oh?” Jon took a small bite of the curry and held back a retch.  They had not improved their recipe.

“Yeah.  All the extra hours are starting to pay off.” She smiled as she took a plastic spoonful.  He wished he was able to use whatever power of nostalgia she was using to enjoy the food.  She had good taste in food but always defaulted back to this one when she wasn’t feeling herself.  He didn’t try another bite, just poking at it with his spoon in rhythm with petting the Admiral.

“Maybe you’ll finally be able to drop those sketchy sponsors,” Jon teased.

“Oi, those sponsors have made me the person I am today,” Georgie joked back, “Don’t think you’re much better working at the spooky Magnus Institute.”

“You have a point,” Jon conceded.  “Some of the stories people submit are… questionable.  And not just in credibility.”

“I can only imagine.  Some of the ghost stories I cover are just to show what not to put in one if you want it to be believable.  After a while you start to get a feel for what’s real, what’s not, and what’s not but people believe is.”

“We get the same thing with statements.  A majority are uni students doing it for a laugh or bad trips.”  The cloying smell was starting to get to him.  The small bite had left a lingering taste in his mouth and he desperately wished he had something else to clear it out.

“In all fairness to uni kids, weird things do happen in that part of life,” Georgie sympathized, “I’ve been through a few weird things myself.”

“Tell me about it,” Jon said conversationally.  He blinked heavily.  He hadn’t been sleeping well recently, or ever, and the warmth of the Admiral wasn’t helping the pull of sleep.  It was rude to sleep while someone was talking but he couldn’t help zoning out for a split second when Georgie started to respond.

- <0> <0> <0> -

Jon yelped in pain and glared half heartedly at the Admiral for biting him.  He couldn’t put any heat in it; the menace was adorable even when he was raising his hackles and biting Jon’s arm like he meant it.  He hissed in pain, the Admiral’s teeth were really starting to dig in.

“Sorry, you were saying?” Jon finally dislodged the cat and looked up at Georgie.

Fear wasn’t the word to describe what she was staring at him with.  He Knew it could never be that.  She seemed short of breath when she asked, “How did you do that?”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked carefully, confused but dragging back his sudden urge to Ask.

“You told me to- to tell you about what happened in uni,” Georgie said, confusion and distrust obvious.  “I was just going to laugh it off but then I couldn’t stop myself from telling you.  I-- I never meant to tell you about the cadaver.”

“What,” Jon asked blankly.  It was more to himself, to the Eye, than to Georgie.  Did he…?  He scrambled for his phone and stared at the dark screen.

Reflected in it, his eyes were green.

Oh god.  Without meaning to - without even realizing - he compelled Georgie, one of his closest friends, to share her trauma.  The hunger that was twisting his stomach was quenched but Jon wished there was some way to give it back, to reverse what he did.  To starve himself.

“I’m sorry,” Jon choked and wanted to throw up.  The Admiral meowed in discomfort, squirming in Jon’s arms, and he realized how roughly he was brushing the cat.  Mournfully, he set the Admiral on the table and made to leave, hands clenching and nails digging painfully into his palms.

“Wait,” Georgie commanded and Jon couldn’t deny her this when he already wronged her so much.  “What was that?  Why-- Why are your eyes green?”

Jon searched for the words.  “This place, the Institute, being its Archivist had some… effects on me.”

“That was incredibly ominous and unhelpful,” Georgie deadpanned.  “Effects like the cadaver?”

Jon winced at the comparison to the corpse.  Like the rotting being found in the other temple of the Eye.  “Sorry.  And, in a sense, yes.”

“Well you look more alive than it at least.”  Georgie gathered the Admiral back into her arms, calmly brushing hair down that Jon petted the wrong way.

Odd.  Jon could've sworn that she said the opposite last time he took her statement.  “The supernatural has different effects on people.  You- You’re not mad at me?”

Georgie shrugged, “A little.  But, well, I know you Jon.  You’re the furthest thing from a monster and you bend to the will of a cat whenever one is around.  So no, I’m not mad.  A bit wary of that happening again, but what’s done is done and I’ve already forgiven you.  In all honesty, you seem more afraid of yourself.”

Jon scratched his arm restlessly.  “I normally have more control over it.”

Georgie hummed in response.  “Whatever happened to you, it doesn’t hurt does it?”

“Not any more than hunger does.”

“That’s good,” Georgie nodded lightly, “What else can you do?”

“Oh,” Jon said surprised.  He expected her to want to leave the second she could and here she was conversing about fear powers like it was some innocuous hobby.  “Besides compelling, what I just did, I also sometimes just Know things an-- and I’ve been told that I sometimes get more… Eyes.”

A strangled shout cut off whatever response she had to this.  It sounded like it came from the assistant bullpen.  Jon only spared a glance at Georgie before bolting to what was starting to sound like a proper fight.

- <0> --- -

Sasha’s day was going normally enough.  She was worried about Michael who's been AWOL for a few days but besides that it was just business as usual.  Jon asked the three of them to help him act professionally when his old friend came by, worried about making a bad impression, and so she didn’t do more than wave and secretly tease Jon when she came by.  The black cat his friend brought in made Sasha doubt that she cared if he acted professionally though.

The sound of another person walking down the stairs made her pause.

“Hello?” Melanie appeared.  She looked worse for wear than the last time she gave a statement.

“Melanie?” Sasha stood to greet her.  “Glad to see you’re back!  Do you need anything?”

“Access to the library,” she answered and staggered down the last step, catching herself on the railing.  She narrowed her eyes at her legs.  “I meant to ask after my last statement but Jon wasn’t here.  Uh, is he still out?”

“Oh,” Martin chimed in, “He’s taking an early lunch to catch up with an old friend.  You could’ve asked last time.  I think you might want to see Rosie, the front receptionist, about that.”

“She’s sweet, she’ll probably give it to you,” Tim smiled, finally done recording.

Melanie nodded, “Thank you.”

“Researching the supernatural?  If I recall, you went to India after your last statement,” Sasha said.

“Yeah uh, got shot in the leg,” Melanie motioned to her leg, “By a ghost.”  Now that she said it, Sasha noticed she had a preference for one side over the other.  Leaning hard on one and never switching.  “What happened to you two?”

“Evil shadows,” Tim waved it off casually like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Meat monster took my eye,” Sasha said.  The wound still smarted every now and again but at least she was getting better at guessing distance and not knocking everything off a table when she tried to grab a glass of water.

“Oh, okay.  I’m… I’m obviously missing something here.  What’s going on?” Melanie started to sound a bit agitated.

“Just another day in the Archives,” Martin shrugged, sounding a bit tired of it all.

Sasha shivered.  Why did the darn documents have to be kept so cold.

“Oh don’t be like that, Martin.  It’s not that bad,” said a jovial voice and Sasha startled.  Peter Lukas.  The elusive and socially awkward temporary head of the Institute.

“I heard you were looking to gain access to our library,” the old man turned to Melanie, “We have a section that might have what you want, ghosts and such, but it’s only available to employees.”

“Ah,” Melanie slumped, disappointed.  “I mean, I’m not currently employed.”

“What happened to Ghost Hunt UK?” Sasha asked, half as a fan and half following Jon’s plea to keep her from employing.

“Yeah you can’t just leave a show as great as that for boring academics,” Tim tired.

Melanie shrugged.  “Disbanded,” she gruffed.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said reflexively, “What happened?”

Melanie shrugged again, looking at a loss at what else to do.  “Everyone on my team left one way or another.  Or are on a permanent break,” she scoffed.  “I lost my reputation and became a meme for a bit.  I’m kind of at the end of my rope.  I just, god, I don’t even know why I’m here.  Thought giving Jon my statement would make me feel better I guess.”

“Well I’m sure the Archivist would love to have your statement,” Lukas smiled, “And there can never be too many assistants for the Archives even though Mr Bouchard recommends only three.”

“Wait, are you seriously offering me a job?” Melanie sounded incredulous but hopeful.

“I am!” Lukas’ voice was filled with friendliness and mirth that was as warm as a drawing of fire.  “The front receptionist desk has applications if you want.”

“That’s really not a good idea,” Martin butted in.

“What?” Melanie stepped up to him, shorter height not stopping her from being intimidating.  “Am I not good enough for your academics and pomp?”

“What!?  No!” Martin tried to defend.

“None of us think that,” Sasha tried to assure.

“If anything, you’re better than us,” Tim tried to lighten the mood.

Melanie glared at Tim.  They back off, understanding that their attempt wasn’t well received.

“Look it’s just--” Martin made the mistake of stepping towards Melanie to get between her and Lukas.  No matter his intentions, it looked like a threat.

Melanie lashed out, silver rings flashing for a split second in the dead light of the archives as she backhanded Martin.

He yelped in pain and jumped back, colliding into Lukas’ imposing form.  Sasha leapt to help him while Tim moved to restrain Melanie.  She looked ready to fight and started yelling at Tim to back off, wielding a fountain pen she pulled from who knows where and nearly knocking over a shelf when she ran into a cobweb and jumped in a frightened frenzy.

“Martin!” Jon entered the room, already gaining tunnel vision for his beau and he rushed to Martin’s side.  “Melanie?  What--  What happened?”

“I--!” She looked at her raised hand in confusion.  She lowered it, directionless fury radiating with confusion.  “I’m not sure.”

“Mel!  Are you okay?” Georgie entered after Jon, going to Melanie.

“Georgie?” Melanie said bewildered then nodded her head sharply.  “Y-yeah.”

“I think we should leave,” Georgie offered a hand to Melanie, she took it warily.  “Not because-- Jon, we can talk later, ‘kay?”

He looked at her with hopeful eyes, “Yeah.  Yeah of course.”

The archives were silent while they exited.  Lukas was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared unnoticed during the scuffle.  Bastard.  Unwilling to de-escalate fights in the Institute he’s supposed to be in charge of.  

Martin smiled and murmured quiet assurances to Jon who fretted over a scratch on Martin’s face.  It stretched from a corner of his mouth, went veering down diagonally, and stopped short of his jawline, pulling half his face into a frown.  From where she was standing, it didn’t look like it was bleeding too hard but it probably stung.

“Sorry, Jon,” Sasha finally said.  “Lukas came in from nowhere and was trying to employ her.  We were trying to stop her.”

“No it’s-- It’s alright,” Jon sighed, “It’s not your fault or Melanie’s.  You were just trying to do what I asked and she has a ghost bullet in her le--” Jon stopped.  “There’s a ghost bullet in her leg that’s making her feel more violent.”  He groaned and bumped his head against Martin’s chest.

“Is this a time travel knowledge thing or?” Tim asked tentatively.

“I just… Knew it,” Jon said.  He sighed again.  “I’ll call Georgie later and tell her about it.  Melanie might try to resist getting it out if I told only her.  It doesn’t seem to be acting fast but it should be removed as soon as possible.”

“Supernatural Plan-B,” Tim smiled warily, “Mister Worm Statement could’ve used some of that.”

“Tim!” Martin said scandalized but smiling.  Sasha laughed.

“If such a thing exists, it escapes my knowledge,” Jon said dryly.  “But I do believe I might need it.”

“Boss-man!  I thought you didn’t do that!” Tim put a hand to their chest in mock surprise, “I mean of course there are different types of aces and what I think about your identity doesn’t matter more than what you--” 

“Tim,” Sasha stopped them, “We love you but please give him a moment to elaborate.”

“Thank you,” Jon said thankfully.

“No problem.  Now go ahead and give us your worm sex statement,” Sasha smiled.  She tried to press the play button on the nearest recorder but missed and hit the eject instead.  “Close enough, one of the others will probably turn on if the Eye finds it important.”

Several others did turn on, like little children excited to be called on.

Jon looked at them warily.  Interesting, his eyes were green.  “That’s actually part of the problem.  When I was talking to Georgie I accidentally compelled her into giving a statement.  I didn’t even know I was doing it until the Admiral bit me.”

“You weren’t able to control it?” Martin led Jon to sit.

“N-no I just--” Jon let out a frustrated breath.  “I couldn’t and the fact that I couldn’t tell that I did until I saw the look of distrust on her face.  God, I-- She’s my friend, one of my oldest friends, and I- I hurt her.”  Jon gripped his arms and dragged his hands down, oblivious to the read pricks of blood that sprang up.

Martin noticed with a frown and he grabbed Jon’s hands to stop him.  All of them knew that now wasn’t the right time to reprimand him and they waited for him to find his breath before prompting to continue.

“We need to find a way to get out of this,” Jon said solemnly, “People won’t always be so lucky as to have a cat bite me and who knows what I’ll resort to when we’re out of statements.”

“Hey,” Tim smiled softly, “Maybe by then we’ll find a statement about how to get out of this place.”

“I don’t think the Eye would let that kind of information exist here,” Jon smiled back.  “But I suppose it might be worth looking for since we have Prentiss’ statement.”

“We have what,” Martin scrunched up his face in disgust.  “I can’t imagine seeing her holding a pen or holding a piece of paper without monologuing about worms to it.”

“She was human back then,” Jon reasoned, “Just barely, but still.”

Sasha felt an idea forming.  “Wait, Jon, you might be onto something.  The Eye doesn’t like statements being destroyed, or at least Magnus didn’t, so if one about how to escape the Eye ever did exist here then it still could.  It just might be well hidden.”

“It’s possible,” Jon shook his head.  “It’s a start but the Archives are extensive.  If it exists then it could be buried anywhere in the shelves or even in the tunnels or possibly fell behind a cabinet with Gertrude’s organization system.”

“I’m not a fan of going down into the worm tunnels again,” Tim said with a shudder, “Well, Jonah was a dick--”

“Stating the obvious,” Sasha cut in.

“It bears repeating,” Tim continued, “But what I was trying to say was that he might’ve kept it if he knew - or capital K Knew - about it.  Like a back up plan in case the Eye finally got sick of him.”

“His office?” Jon mused, “I suppose that’s easier than trying to catalogue the entire Archives first.”

After cleaning up Martin’s face and Jon’s arms (was that a cat bite?) they journeyed up there.  Peter Lukas wasn’t there as Sasha suspected he wouldn’t.  He was rarely around and when he was it was only to offer more statements that Sasha made sure to never do field research on (or to offer jobs to anyone walking in apparently).

Sasha didn’t take the time to appreciate the lavishness of the office the previous times she’s been here and certainly wouldn’t start now.  They split off in the room.  Jon checked the desk, Martin and Tim checked two bookcases on separate sides of the room, and Sasha checked the walls for any secret panels.

Her disappointment was immeasurable to find out that none of the stupid eyeballs on the wallpaper were buttons that would conventionally pop out a panel with a file labeled ‘How to Escape and Live a Normal Life.’

“Anything?” Sasha asked the others after feeling along the back wall for the fifth time.

“First edition books, a lot of old diaries and letters addressed to Mr Monopoly,” Tim said.

“Same over here but also a pile of bones,” Martin said.  “I think they’re real.”

“Spreadsheets,” Jon groaned.  “So many spreadsheets.”

Sasha walked over and whistled in appreciation.  Jon was thorough rifling through the desk.  Papers and a box of tapes were stacked onto the desk from where he removed them from their drawers.  There were even scratch marks in the wood where Sasha suspected Jon might’ve tried checking for false bottoms.

“What’s that?” Sasha pointed tape that sat alone in a drawer.  It probably got knocked out of the box when Jon removed it.

“A drawer?” Jon questioned, going back to digging at the bottom of a different one with a letter opener.

“No, the tape,” Sasha clarified.

Jon looked at the tape than at her doubtingly.  “It’s empty.”

Tim and Martin looked over and both looked at her worried.  She felt a self conscious urge to cover her eye when their gaze darted over it.

“It’s right here!” She insisted and picked it up.  Jon’s eyes finally focused on it.  

“Wh-what?” Jon floundered.  “How…”  He studied at the tape in her hand and drawer like picking it up was some sort of magic trick.  He didn’t seem able to keep his eyes on it, always trying to look anywhere else or going cross eyed if he tried too long.  

Was this what it looked like when he looked at her.

Chest still tight, Sasha sighed.  “I think we found it.”

Chapter Text

The oriental shop down the street was never crowded, something Jon didn’t have to rely on the Eye to know as he ducked into the alley.  He was gracious for the lack of people as he walked through the aisles, picking up what he could recall were on the grocery list tacked on the fridge at home.  He never liked being outside, why when he had so much work to do and the outside was so noisy, but now after learning what he did and everything he went through, even he could find some joy in the humid air and ambient noise of the streets.

He meandered through the shop, trying to memorize the labels and shapes of ingredients that colored his earliest memories, until the crampedness of the small shop was too much and he went up to pay.  It wasn’t fair that a place like this made him feel discomfort when the far more cluttered, underground shelves of the Archives felt like a home.  The air outside was cool and felt nice on his stress clammy skin.  People passed by, their day normal and not full of life changing revelations like his.

Their eyes.  Their freedom came at the cost of their eyes.

“God,” Tim muttered once the tape finished.  “Are we really going to…?”

Jon nodded solemnly.  “We haven’t found any other options.  I-- Uh,” he muffled a nervous laugh by gnawing on his hand, “I’m not quite sure how I feel about this.”

Sasha pulled his hand away, the edge of a few scars too late to save from bleeding, and interlaced her hand with it.  “Come on, slow pokes,” she joked warily, “I’m already halfway there.”

“Sasha,” Martin said reproachfully.  She stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head, smiling.  “Can’t we just, blind ourselves temporarily?”

“The point of it seems to be the lack of sight so the Eye might come back if your sight does.” Jon rubbed the back of Sasha’s hand in lieu of any other stim.  “Although it hardly seems easy to blind yourself temporarily anyways.”

“Yeah, yeah, no that’s right,” Martin said dejected.  Jon put his free hand on Martin’s shoulder, hoping that the pressure would be as reassuring as Jon once found it.  Martin smiled weakly at him.

“After the Unknowing,” Tim declared.  “Right after we blow those clown bastards to Hell, we’ll do it if we don’t find some other way by then.  It’s not too bad, we’ll have each other won’t we?”

Tim sat up straight, false bravado as obvious as the plea in their eyes to not be alone in this.

Jon tried to smile.  “Right.”

Tim seemed so sure of themself; already making plans on how to design a blind friendly house and making a list of books on braille to check out of the Institute library, but their surety was surface level.  They could all see the fear that ran right under their skin and felt how tightly they gripped their hands even as they barrelled ahead with their plans.  Jon wasn’t sure he’d have the same resolve if he didn’t have them with him.  It would be easy enough to keep convincing himself to keep on trying and searching and digging for any other option until one day he’d look up and realize how deeply he dug and then he’d truly be trapped (Jon shuddered, maybe it would be best to try and stay away with digging metaphors).  Instead he had Martin, Tim, Sasha, and Michael all to support him.

Even though it was good, it was still too much for Jon at the moment.  So he took a walk by himself.

They loved him so much and he did this to them.  Drove them to the point of desperation for freedom that they would gouge out their eyes just for the chance to quit the job that he dragged them into.  

No.  No, bad thoughts.  They’ve told him off for thinking like this before.  As much as he’d like to disagree, they told him time and time again that he had no way to know what they’d all be agreeing to and Martin and Michael were in it without Jon’s interference anyways.  Still, maybe if Jon just--

Suddenly knowledge was slipped into his mind, so subtle he would’ve missed it if he wasn’t thinking so hard and he almost dropped his groceries when he Knew.

There was another way for them to quit.  With a far less drastic cost in Jon’s opinion.  They couldn’t exactly be Archival assistants without an Archivist.  No.  No.   That wasn’t fair.   Jon held back frustrated tears and tugged harshly at his hair.  The sting just brought more tears to his eyes.  But nothing was fair was it.  

He considered just getting it over with.  There were plenty of busy streets nearby and he was tired enough to just...not check before he crossed.

A van hurtled down the street, breaking him out of his suicidal reverie.  He took a step back in shock and another in disgust at himself.  What was he thinking?  His breath came fast.  He just wanted to be back in his partners’ arms, they would help him, remind him that he wasn’t a sacrifice and--

“‘Scuse us,” a gruff, heavily accented voice startled him out of his breakdown.

“‘Ello Jonathon Sims,” a similarly accented voice greeted.

“Yeah, wh--?”  Jon looked up, neck straining with the sheer height difference between him and the two newcomers.  They were both solidly built men, dressed in delivery outfits that read-- “Oh, shi--” Jon’s breath was knocked out of him the second he recognized them and the shorter one, Hope, punched him in the gut.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Breekon said, “Miss Orsinov wants to see you.”

Jon thought he was forgetting something when he left earlier.  There was a sharp pain in his gut and for a second he worried that they broke his ribs before he realized that it was only his phone.  Damn it.  There was no way he’d be able to sneak a text or a call but now Sasha wouldn’t be able to track him.

They gagged him but didn’t put a bag over his head this time when they shoved him into the back of the van.  For taking the Coffin, Breekon gruffly explained.  Jon would’ve been grateful for this change if the back of the van wasn’t full of other deliveries and...costumes.

There were boxes stacked on the side Jon was restrained on, comfortably warm to lean on as long as he didn’t think about what or who might be inside.  The costumes hung on the other side of the van.  Far enough away that he wasn’t in danger of touching them, swaying as the two man-shaped beings drove in a nonsensical path that Jon wasn’t sure was possible in the streets of London.

Breekon and Hope themselves were unremarkable aside from their intimidating height and bulk, but their actions towards each other could almost be described as kind.  Maybe even affectionate.  

Jon watched them warily for the first part of the journey, trying to find some opening to escape or see if they would change their mind and do something worse to him, when he saw Hope bobbing his head slightly to a song.  Without looking away from the road, Breekon turned the radio up a few notches.  Sometime later, Hope reached back to one of the costumes and peeled its face off.  Between trying not to hurl into the gag and hyperventilating, Jon saw as he put it to his own face; Breekon took his eyes off the road long enough to laugh but not long enough to see the gentle blood smeared smile Hope had when he took the face off.

The hand Hope held the floppy skin in had a ring on it that matched one on the hand Breekon drove with.

Jon would think them sweet if he was able to overlook the death and horror that followed them like a lame dog.

When they stopped, they blind folded him before they took him out and his skin prickled to have his sight taken from him.  The gag made it hard to calm himself.  The noise around him gave him no hint to where he was even though logically he knew where he was; he’s been here before.

“Archivist!” Nikola greeted as she whipped off the blind fold.  Jon startled, blinking in the sudden light.  The title sounded better out of Michael’s mouth.

The monologue she gave was the exact same and still addressed ‘Elias.’  Likely a script she wrote herself instead of improv.  Jon didn’t bother interrupting this time and she seemed happier for it along with her audience of tape recorders being larger than last time.

His skin crawled and the thin layers he went out in suddenly feel not enough.  He could feel her eyeing the bits of skin he had exposed like the searing attention of a spotlight as she planned out his skin routine.  He fidgeted in the chair, longing to cover himself but knowing that angering her would just make everything worse.  The exposure, the humiliation that made it hard for him to take care of his skin even in private haunted by the memories of a month of forced skin care.

And in there laid another problem: Last time, his skin was far worse with every inch half eaten by worms and badly healed by Jon’s habitual picking, but now the damage was regulated mostly to his hands and though the rest of his skin was rather dry it was healed better.  Was his skin not bad enough for her to keep him for a month until Michael showed up?

What if Michael never showed.  They’ve been rather in and out for a while, what if they just grew bored of Jon and realized he wouldn’t even be entertaining to kill?  Or what if Michael just chose to play a different game, tricking Jon into thinking he was cared for and twisting Tim, Sasha, and Martin’s minds into thinking that Jon was worth loving just to snap them back to their senses now when Jon needed them most?

Jon breathed heavily, trying to keep his watering eyes from turning to genuine tears.  He didn’t want Nikola to see him more vulnerable than he already was and, oh.  The room was empty.  Vaguely, he could recall them leaving after he stopped responding to any of her prodding.  Even the tape recorders had left him in silence and the eerie company of waxworks.

The uncanny faces made his skin crawl (their own skin hung too loose or too tight) but he would have to get used to them again if he wanted to get through this sane.  He breathed in as deeply as he could around the gag.  He’d done this before.  He can do it again.

“Oh…” A yellow door appeared, hinge complaining as it was forced open.  “Oh, Archivist.”

“Michael?” Jon tried to say through his gag.  It came out more pathetic than he wanted.

“What have they done to you now?” The Distortion brushed sweat plastered hair out of Jon’s face.  Jon leaned into the touch despite their previous fears and braced himself for a wave of nausea that never came; Michael was in their human form.  Jon gave them a questioning look but they shook their head.  “It’s nothing to worry about.”

They removed Jon’s gag and started untying the rest of the ropes, hands not sharp enough to cut.  “Sorry for taking so long.  The Circus never likes to share the stage and I didn’t want to stand in their spotlight.”

“Thank you,” Jon’s voice was hoarse from all the tears that got caught in his throat.  He hugged Michael the second he was free enough to do so, the lack of motion sickness more disorienting than having it.  “I didn’t-- I thought no one--”

It hit him that he was preparing to live his kidnapping again and he held Michael tighter.  Michael gave him a gentle squeeze and didn’t ask for more.

He swallowed down everything else he was going to say, too much in the middle of an escape, and pushed down his want to Ask.  “Where have you been?”

“I thought it would be best if I waited for Nikola to leave.”

“I meant for the past few days,” Jon let go to look Michael in the eyes, to drink in the proof that he was saved.  “You practically vanish and now you seem stuck like this,” Jon motioned to Michael’s general form.  Michael grimaced and the door behind them shivered.  “Is it...Is it Helen?”

“You’ve told me not to take her and I haven’t,” Michael said indignantly.

“But it wasn’t you who took her, was it,” Jon asked though he knew.  Michael wasn’t the entire Spiral, just an avatar of it.

Michael looked away, staring intently at the door until it stood still.  “We should go.”

They helped Jon stumble to his feet with his stiff limbs, and Jon tried the door handle, half afraid that he knew what would happen next.

The door didn’t open.

He tried it again, twisting the handle hard both ways and slamming his shoulder into it like a fear could be bent to his will with sheer strength.

“What?” Michael asked breathlessly, more to themself than anything.

“It’s locked,” Jon stated, fearfully.  Helen shouldn’t be in the hallways anymore if what Michael said could be trusted (and Jon chose to trust them in that at least) but the Spiral?  That could make any truth a lie and stab any back with a smile even its own.

Michael laughed, high and nervous, “It’s not.”

“Why is it locked,” Jon tried the handle again.  What was that one saying about insanity?  

“It can’t be!” Michael took the handle themself and yanked at it, hands sharper with proximity to it.  “Th-tha-that-that’s… not--”  They took their hand off.  The handle started to move as it was turned from the inside.   “Oh.  Oh no.”

Michael began to scream.  The same painful and distorted and twisting thing that Jon heard last time they couldn’t open their door but then there was a pop like changing air pressure and Michael collapsed.  Jon rushed to them.  Last time they simply stopped existing (albeit too pained to be ‘simply’) and Jon feared there would be no body to mourn (like Sasha, like Tim) but here was something tangible, something different.  His hands scrambled for a pulse, hard to feel under his scars and calluses and his own racing heartbeat but it was there, faint but it was there.

His panicked shouts of, “Michael?  Michael!” almost covered the noise of the door creaking open.

“Do you want to come in?” Helen asked him, more casually than he expected.  She stood tall in her doorway, not the unsure and confused woman he remembered her being.

“Helen Richardson,” Jon acknowledged icily.  “What did you do to Michael?”

“You Know I'm not exactly Helen,” the new Distortion tilted her head. “Just like how Michael wasn’t exactly Michael.”

“What happened?” Jon was too tired for any games.

“Michael didn’t fit, wasn’t feared by you, so they were let go,” Helen answered.  She glared at him. “That hurt , Archivist.”  Her sharp hand landed heavy on his shoulder and he buckled under the weight as she dug into his thin flesh.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jon gasped through the pain.  She let go.

“Do you still want to leave here?” 

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

Helen nodded and motioned to twisting madness that was called a hallway.  “The door is open, if you’re ready?”

Jon hefted Michael’s limp form over his own.  The height difference and Jon’s weakness made it a perilous tower of limbs.  “No, not really, but…”

The walk through Helen’s hallway was the same as last time by Jon’s estimate though he had to account for how he was significantly slower as he stopped every now and again to check Michael’s pulse and to rest his weary legs.  He was beginning to regret turning down Tim’s offers to work out together or go on walks.

The ground was uneven, tilting to and fro, and it caused him to stumble more than once over unseen folds in the long carpet that lined his path to the yellow door at the end.

Jon shifted Michael’s weight more solidly over himself.  He could feel their steady heart beat through their wrist, calming and regular in the liminal space.  “Almost home,” Jon said breathlessly.  He desperately needed another break but god damn it they were so close and it would feel better to rest in Martin’s arms than in the fluorescent lights and stale air of the hallway.

The door creaked open.  Jon sighed in relief that it wasn’t stuck and the coolness of the Archives drifted in.

“Martin!” Jon called as he settled Michael into a chair.  Still breathing evenly, good.  “Sasha!  Tim!  Where are you?”

“Jon?” He heard Martin’s voice call from the kitchen.  

He could cry in relief at the sight of Martin’s face.  It’s only been a few hours and already it felt like a balm on his soul.

“You’ve been missing for days!” Martin rushed in and wrapped Jon in a tight hug.  Too tight.  Jon tapped his arm several times and tried to squirm out but Martin just pulled him closer.  “I was so worried.  God, don’t do that to me.”

“Sorry, love.”  Jon tucked his face to Martin’s neck, trying to ignore how cramped his limbs felt.  The tears that built from moments ago turned from relief to distress but he held them back.  Martin was already so worried, it wouldn’t be fair to put more on him now.  “Where’s Tim and Sasha?”

“Who?”  Martin finally gave him enough room to breath, still holding onto his shoulders, but that only gave Jon a perfect view of the confusion on his face.

“What,” Jon asked lamely, increasingly confused.

“Jon it’s just the two of us in the Archives,” Martin said, then added bitterly, “No matter how much we’ve tried to convince Elias to get us more help.”

That’s not right.  It was obviously not right.  Tim and Sasha were hard to forget on their own and as far as Jon knew there was only one Not-Them and that only changed memories not completely erased them.  This was just all wrong .  Unless…

“What are you?”  The static danced on Jon’s tongue.

Martin’s grip on his shoulders tightened, squeezing as his smile widened and Jon yelped.  Jon knew there would be bruises later and then there was blood as Martin’s fingers turned into sharp pricks and his smile twisted into a headache as he loomed over Jon, growing taller and taller.  

“I told you, Archivist, that I don’t like being Asked.”

Jon wrenched out of her grip.  “Helen.”

She let him back up to Michael.  “Pity.  I was hoping that would work for longer, but I suppose the Eye wouldn’t choose people who are complete fools,” she said, idly examining her blood tinged nails and still mimicking Martin’s face.

“Well sorry for depriving you of your meal,” Jon snided.  “Now could you stop pretending to be my boyfriend.”

“Ah, you’re no fun,” she pouted but shifted to her Helen shape, long and sharp.  “The door’s still open.”

Jon eyed it warily.  The hallway seemed to stretch on forever beyond its frame.  “I guess we don’t have much choice now.”

Helen laughed.  Sharp and grating to Jon’s ears.  “You really don’t.”

Jon picked Michael up again, muscles strained, and made his way back to the door.

He didn’t let his guard down at the next door.  It opened to a scene he knew well, movie night at Tim’s house.  He tentatively accepted their hugs, a bit too tight but that was understandable with how long he’s been missing.  Even them not knowing who Michael was could be explained with how their current shape only barely resembled the one they normally chose.  The world still felt slightly wrong, but maybe Helen just decided to have the Spiral leave more of a mark on him this time along with her door in the living room.  

Over the evening, the night, and the next day, Jon slowly relaxed more.  This was them.  He was sure of it this time.  Martin had the faint scar he got from Melanie, Tim could sing any song well even when belting out their lungs, and Sasha always wore her blonde hair in a braid...fuck.

Jon couldn’t carry Michael out of there fast enough once he realized he recognized Sasha’s face.

Jon wasn’t sure how many doors later Michael woke up, he stopped counting after a door that opened to an Archives where Martin never survived Prentiss.  They were confused and scared but so was Jon.  The Distortion was something that should be familiar to Michael but now was twisted, turned, in a way they didn’t know and couldn’t control.

Michael muttered “I’m sorry” with every door they opened that led to another twisted version of their destination.  Jon was beginning to think that maybe Helen lied (what a shock coming from the Throat of Deception) and she just tricked him into walking right into her stomach, carrying her old face with him.

It was easier now that Jon didn’t have to carry Michael but there were still just so many doors .   At first glance they all seemed to be the right one, they even stayed in a few for what felt like days, until they found something wrong.  The worst part was that some of them were tempting to stay in; ones where Jonah was just Elias or where the entities weren’t as malicious or even where they weren’t employed in the Institute.

But they weren’t home.  And so Jon and Michael left each of those worlds behind.

Jon didn’t bother calling out for his other partners with the next door he opened.  He knew better than to hope.  He just curled up in the closest chair and stared blankly at the yellow door he knew they would have to walk back through soon enough.  At least in the fake Archives they were able to rest for a bit.  Being within another fear domain also cancelled out his hunger so he wasn’t starving for statements either.

Michael slouched against the desk beside him.  “Sorry,” they said for the thousandth time.

“Don’t be,” Jon said like the next line in a script.  “It’s not like you’re in control of this.”

“And that’s exactly the problem, Archivist,” Michael clenched their fists.  “I could’ve been!  If I just--”

“No,” Jon stopped them.  “You’re the one who told me that we don’t get to control Becoming.”

“Yes, but--”

“Well we don’t get to control this either!”  Jon looked up at them.  Even human shaped, they were tall. 

Michael stared back at Jon, lips pursed as they held back another argument before they slumped to the ground.  They hugged their long legs and curled into themself.  “I just wish I could do something.  Bring us back.”

“Not like I can do anything either with all my Eye avatar prestige,” Jon consoled.

Michael chortled, “Well--”

Whatever they were about to say next was interrupted by Martin, another fake one, entering the Archives and staring at them with wide eyes.

“Well that’s our cue to leave,” Jon huffed and stood up.  They only stayed in each Archive long enough to check if it was fake before leaving, but Jon was getting tired of getting his hopes up only to be beaten down over and over again.  He was beginning to forget what his partners actually acted like.  He ran through his mental checklist of their traits over and over again, begging the Eye to let him have this in the inconsistent hell they were trapped in.

“Jon?” The Martin asked, soft and hopeful, something Jon had already heard played out.  “Michael?”

“You can drop the act, Helen,” Jon said over his shoulder.  “We’re leaving already.”  He helped Michael to their feet.

“What?  Wait-- Jon!” The Martin stepped between Jon and the door.  “You can’t just--!  Jon, you’ve been missing for weeks.   We’ve filed a missing person's report and Daisy’s been losing her mind over this. ”

“And you’re ever so worried for me,” Jon mimicked the spiel that he heard so many times it was starting to not sound like words.  “Let me guess, Tim is the one who doesn’t exist this time?”

“Or maybe another one where Sasha is the Archivist,” Michael suggested.  There were a surprising amount of those.

“What?” The Martin asked, bewildered.  “No.  Tim’s upstairs talking to Rosie and Sasha’s an assistant like me.  Jon what happened to you?”  He stepped forward, a hand reaching forward to brush hair from Jon’s face, and Jon recoiled.  Martin pulled his hand back, shrinking into himself dejectedly.  Odd.  The other Martins tended to be more physically pushy.  At least Helen knew how to mix it up.

Jon started towards the door again, hand clasped with Michael’s.

“Wait!” Martin pleaded, not blocking the door anymore.  “You’re not sure if I am who I am, right?  Like-- Like Sasha?”

“Sure,” Jon answered curtly, itching to leave.  It was too close to real.

“Then Ask me.”

Jon stopped.  He tried this before, Asking them if they’re real and Helen always punished him for revealing her tricks early. 

Michael took the lead.  “Ignore her,” they said and opened the door, prepared for another long walk to another lie.  Jon hesitated before following, Helen was certainly getting better at getting him to believe her.

“Please,” the Martin said, quiet, almost inaudible.  Jon turned to see the façade of his lover’s face.  He instantly regretted it.  The look in the Martin’s eyes was close to desperation behind the tears, close to real.

Jon stumbled.  This one felt real but so have all the ones before.

Michael let go of his hand to grab his shoulder, mindful of the injuries beneath.  Under his shirt were bandages covering numerous jagged lines where Helen demonstrated how she felt about him Asking.  The bandages were just another benefit of the fake Archives.  But what was one more scar to one so covered them already.

“Fine,” Jon spat at the Martin.  “I’ll try to act surprised when you stab me.”

“I won’t,” the fake said - lied - determination in every line of his face.

“Helen,” Jon said slowly.  The Martin frowned.  “Who are you?”

“I’m Martin Blackwood,” he answered willingly, words spilling from his lips like they were on the tip of his tongue.  “I’m an Archival assistant here at the Magnus Institute, London, and I work with Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Michael, and you, Jonathon Sims.  I’m Martin Blackwood and.”  He took a deep breath and declared like it was as factual as the sun is warm, “And I love you.”

Jon blinked.  He Knew everything said was true.  Which meant…

“Martin,” Jon said like a prayer, “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Martin said relieved, and shyly raised his arms for a hug.  “I’ve missed you.”

Jon smiled and fell into his open arms.  “I missed you too.”  Martin held him gently, not the crushing fake that Helen always played.

"Oh, oh, Martin," Michael said, horrified at themself, "I thought you were-- I didn't mean to use the wrong..."  They twisted their hands together.

"It hurt," Martin said quietly, "but I know you wouldn't if you knew I was me.  I'm still confused about that.  What happened?” Martin - Martin, Martin Blackwood, the real actual Martin - asked Jon, one hand idly rubbing the small of Jon’s back.  “You said you were just going for a walk and then you didn’t pick up any of our calls after an hour.  Sasha tried tracking your phone an-- and you just vanished off the face of the Earth!”

“The Circus,” Jon’s answer was muffled into Martin’s chest.  “I forgot about them.”

Martin huffed against the crown of Jon’s head.  “This just had to happen one of the only times we could get you to go outside, huh?  What about you, Michael?  We couldn’t exactly just call you but having you and your doors would’ve really helped.”

Jon heard Michael shuffle from foot to foot.  “Well, they’re not exactly my doors anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Martin sounded annoyed. 

“Helen Richardson,” Jon explained.  “In my timeline she took over being the Distortion and killed Michael but this time she let them go.  She also made us wander around in her hallways for far longer but maybe that’s just her way of balancing it out?”

“From how you reacted, I think whatever she did to you two was more than just a wander,” Martin muttered darkly.

The yellow door opened, Jon flinched and Martin held him infinitesimally tighter, out stumbled Helen.  “Where--?” She looked around, and perked up when she spotted Jon.  “Oh!  There you are.  Sorry darling, I’m afraid this isn’t the right world either, I got them a bit mixed up but I got it now if you’ll just--”

“Helen,” Jon said evenly.  “Stop it already.  Aren’t you tired of this?”

“Tired?”  She laughed hysterically, “Well my apologies for not understanding how to be when I’ve just Become.   I was trapped for who knows how long in that- that thing’s hallways--”

“Helen,” Jon growled.  He wouldn’t stand for people insulting the people he loved.  “Stop.”

She choked on her next lie.  “Fine.  You’re really no fun, Archivist.  But maybe your assistants...”  She leered at Martin.

Jon glared at her.  He could feel his Eyes start to peak open.

“Alright, alright,” she huffed.  “I’ll have you know that you’re a dreadful audience.  I created so many fun worlds and you didn’t like a single one of them!  Not even the one where Jonah wasn’t a problem.  But I can tell when I’m not wanted.”  Jon rolled his eyes, it only took her several weeks.  “And I’ll take my talents elsewhere.  Well, I’ll be seeing you around, Archivist.”  She laughed at her own awful word play and exited through her door, leaving Jon and Martin to stand in unamused silence.

“--and that’s why Godzilla would win,” Jon heard someone from up the stairs, it sounded like a woman.  Martin perked up.  Was it?

“Okay, but King Kong is just too thick,” Tim rebutted, their footsteps growing louder as they got closer.

“Good point but,” the other person, Sasha Jon guessed, stopped at the bottom of the stairs.  “Jon?”

He waved weakly.  Next thing he knew, Sasha and Tim were in front of him, both checking over him as much as they could without smothering him.  He butted his into Tim’s chest as an okay for them to crowd him and they took their permission enthusiastically.

“I’m fine,” Jon struggled to say over Sasha’s fretting and Tim rubbing their head against Jon’s.  They didn’t listen to him and continued to hold him like he was something that was fragile.  He couldn’t even pretend to be upset; it was nice to feel cared for.

“Who’s that?” Sasha stopped in her assessment of Jon to squint at Michael.  “Wait…”

“Hi,” Michael said, laughing shyly.  Jon could understand how Sasha wouldn’t connect the face before her with the Spiral they’ve lived with.  Their current (possibly permanent) human form was different from the one they normally chose.  Still tall but not to the point that their hair brushed the ceiling, maybe even the same height as Sasha give or take an inch, and their hair’s curliness was decreased with the length and weight of it pulling it straighter near the top of their head.  But their laugh?  It was the same as before without the headache.

“Oh,” Sasha pulled them into the hug.  “We’ve missed you.”

Michael gripped them tightly, arms not having the reach they used to.  Jon saw them open then close their mouth, likely another ‘sorry’ they belatedly realized didn’t need to be said.

“I have to tell you all something,” Jon muttered, pulling out of the hug enough to look them all in the eyes.  He had to twist his neck a bit to look at Martin who was doing the most blasphemous act of not being a part of the group hug.

“Can’t it wait?” Martin said softly and kissed him unbearably soft, warm hand caressing Jon’s face.

Jon’s mind temporarily muted with an overflowing feeling of admiration.  If he could, he would choose to stay here forever in their arms just being held and loved, maybe even kissed every now and again if his heart could handle it.  But being here, in the Institute, wasn’t a choice.

“Mmm,” he hummed contentedly when Martin pressed another lingering kiss to his forehead.  “N-no,” he shook his head to focus himself, “Sorry.  It’s important.  There’s another way we can leave.”

“That’s fantastic!” Sasha smiled.

Jon couldn’t smile back, “I have to die.”

“That’s not happening,” Tim stated, leaving no room for argument but Jon was used to worming his way into places where he wasn’t supposed to be.

“But--”

“No,” Tim leveled him with a look.  “Jon, I said we’re getting out of this together and I meant it.  I’d trade more for half the chance of escaping this place if it meant you didn’t have to be a martyr.”

“Okay,” Jon conceded.  “But if we--”

“Nope!” Sasha talked over him.  She surprised him with a kiss on the cheek.  “Absolutely not.”

“Sash!”  Jon flustered and blushed too hard to remember his argument.  Michael giggled and kissed the top of Jon’s head which Jon couldn’t help but smile at.

“Aww you’re adorable,” Tim smiled fondly and kissed the other side of Jon’s face, then again and again until Jon was overcome with laughter.  Sasha resumed covering the other half of Jon’s face and Martin sent shivers down Jon’s spine with kisses that lingered on the back of his neck.

“Stop, stop,” Jon giggled breathlessly and felt like putty in their hands.  “Fine, fine, we won’t turn to...that.”  He kissed the tip of Tim’s nose and smirked at the dopey smile that graced their mouth.  He sighed and melted more into their hold, feeling surrounded, but, more importantly, felt how they shifted with him instead of boxing him in.

“Wait,” a realization came to Jon’s mind, “Martin Blackwood.  No K?  I was looking forward to knowing what it stood for.”

Martin smirked, “I guess you’ll just have to keep on wondering.”

Chapter Text

Martin knocked lightly on Jon’s desk.  “Jon?” He called softly.

Jon didn’t look up, entranced in the statements he was reading.  The flower of Eyes that decorated his face flicked between the papers spread neatly around him like a wall of horrid fairy tales that locked him away from Martin.  Okay, maybe a tad dramatic but Jon always feels so distant when he’s like this.

“Right…” Martin sighed.  “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I got your tea.  Finish reading before it goes cold will ya?”  He set it down in the spot Jon always left for it and leaned forward, habit driving him to kiss Jon’s forehead before realizing there wasn’t enough skin on his face with all the Eyes.  To Martin’s surprise, the Eye on Jon’s forehead swiveled away from the statements to Look at him.  It didn’t feel wholly unpleasant.  Almost like a soft gaze.  It studied Martin’s face for a minute, categorizing his features, before it slid closed.

“Uh?”  Martin blinked, he didn’t dare to while the Eye was Looking at him.  Jon was still reading, not reacting to anything that just happened and his other Eyes still open and reading.  Why did this one close on its own?

“Maaaartin,” Tim whined from their desk.  “If I don’t get the tea I so dearly crave I will scream.”

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” Martin said.  Tim pouted and made grabbing hands at the other mugs Martin had in his hands.  “You can just get it yourself, you know?”

“But I could also have it hand delivered by our Lovely Martin,” Tim said into the desk.  It was tempting to just leave their mug on Jon’s desk but there wasn’t another clear spot on the wood.

“I would also like my delivery,” Sasha piped in.  She was currently sharing her desk and chair with Michael and she motioned to Jon.  “Oh, that’s odd.”  The Eye had opened again at the comment, stared at Martin, and fluttered close again after he saw it.

“What do you think that means?” Martin asked.  “I don’t think Jon mentioned anything happening around now but we don’t know much about his whole Eye situation anyways.”

“What were you doing beforehand?”

“I did my work, made tea, and started to give it to everyone.  I stopped to talk to Jon for a little bit and I know he can’t hear us but it feels weird to say nothing.  Um, what else,” Martin racked his brain for anything of note.  “I was going to give him a kiss, but I don’t think he would like his eyeballs touched.”

Sasha and Michael gave him pointed looks, glancing at each other incredulously then back at him.  Tim picked their head up just to roll their eyes at him and lay back down.

“What?  If it’s so obvious to you guys then-- O-oohh,” Martin flushed.

“You two are unbearably adorable,” Sasha laughed.  She stood and retrieved her and Michael’s mugs with a parting kiss to Martin’s cheek, leaving him clutching onto Tim’s mug.

Martin looked with wide eyes (very much a lower case word) at the Eye.  It practically glared at him and closed again with as much as a huff as an Eye could achieve.  

Tim propped their head up.  “I can’t believe you two got to the point that Jon’s fear appendages started bending to your will.  Or maybe our dark lord and un-savior, the Eye itself, likes you.”

“I’m not sure having an evil fear god being fond of me is good,” Martin said, amused.  The Eye opened again, blinked and rolled irritably, then closed again after pointedly Looking at Martin.  He chuckled and pressed a light kiss to the lid.  “Come back soon,” he whispered.  His lips barely graced Jon’s forehead and when he pulled away the Eye opened, looking content and continued its job of reading statements.

“Thank you,” a staticky voice murmured from a recorder on Martin’s desk.  Barely heard over the constant wave of static that poured out of Jon, but Martin could recognize the voice of his boyfriend.  

Boyfriend.   It’s been weeks since they’ve all started dating (albeit most of those weeks were spent with Jon and Michael trapped in hallways) but he had to keep himself from swooning at the thought.  He kept to the much more dignified act of kissing the top of Jon’s hair with a giddy smile that felt impossibly wide.

He helped Michael check over a few statements with Jon’s low buzz in the background, still holding onto Tim’s mug.  With a groan, Tim finally picked themself up to retrieve it and plopped themself into Martin’s lap instead of going back to their desk.

“I’m taking my tea break.”  Tim sipped the lukewarm drink with a smirk when Martin flustered.

“Fine, fine…” Martin accepted and went back to work.  

With the new arrangement he had to reach around Tim which hindered some of his movements.  Luckily for all of them, the statements they were starting Michael on were false ones so it wasn’t pressing to research them, but it was important to Martin that the people who came to them for help at least found some sense of solace.  Michael had a handle on the work; they did it before when they were Michael Shelley but they are also never Michael Shelley and never stopped being Michael Shelley either.  It was a massive tangle of threads to unravel and untwist from each other.  Sasha asked if they wanted to throw the whole yarn ball away and get a new name but Michael was too attached to the label.  Their last connection to their old selves.

“The archiving system changed since Michael last worked here,” Michael muttered as they checked and double checked before adding a label to a folder on Martin’s desk.  “But then again, Gertrude didn’t really have a system,” they giggled.  Martin wasn’t sure if it was how Spiral touched they were that made him think of sunflowers at the sound.

“I have a feeling she just shoved statements into whatever empty spaces she had,” Tim remarked, still leisurely sipping their tea and seeping heat into Martin.

Sasha hummed in agreement.  “Once, I think I actually saw her push a box off a shelf to make room for another one.”

Tim let out a low whistle.  “I’m pretty sure I twisted my ankle on that.”

Sasha laughed.  Her eyes narrowed with how wide she smiled, her prosthetic eye green contrasting with her brown one.  The new eye came in a week earlier and shocked Jon when he noticed it.  The most surprising part to all of them was that he knew , not Knew, that it was a new part of her.  Probably had to do with their current most liable way to quit.  Jon had asked why she chose such an eye catching eye color.  She shrugged and said that it just reminded her of someone.  Jon had nodded along blankly in fake understanding before stuttering “O-oh” and pointing to himself with something like wonder.

Martin heard the sound of drinking replace the static.  

“Ready?” Martin asked Jon, setting Tim on the desk.  They whined but went along with the manhandling.

Jon took a moment longer to drink his lukewarm tea then nodded.  After reading so many statements it was starting to take him a moment or two to fully get his voice back.  Sometimes from the Eyes sticking around for a few minutes or just from static clogging Jon’s throat.

“Flower?” Jon signed.  Their short way of talking about Detective Tonner, Daisy as Jon was allowed, instead of spelling out her name.

“She’ll be here soon,” Tim said and signed.

“Okay,” Jon signed as acknowledgement.  “How is she,” he attempted to say but a short burst of electric noise came wrapped around his words.  Still understandable but Jon grumbled lowly at himself, distaste clear.

“Better than you,” a smug voice said from the stairs.  Martin startled at the sound.  Detective Tonner and Hussain came into view, the former with a genuine smile and the latter looking uneasy.

“Daisy,” Jon smiled, voice buzzing.

Tonner ruffled Jon’s hair and Martin had to hold back a scowl.  Not the time to feel protective, Blackwood!  Not like she trapped them both in a box and threatened to kill him and is known for her ruthless killing of people like Jon.  Okay, maybe a little bit of overprotectiveness is fine.

“Static voice a monster thing?” Tonner asked.

“It’s rather new.”  Jon shrugged.  “Doesn’t seem to be too bad, just annoying.”

“Just like you then,” Tonner teased, shouldering Jon.  He huffed but grinned.  “It’s nice to see you again, Jon.  Can’t believe you got kidnapped, we’ll have to keep a closer eye on you.”

“Don’t let her nonchalance fool you,” Basira piped in.  “She was out all the time trying to find you.  Could barely concentrate on her work until we got a call that you were okay.”

Toner huffed indignantly, not denying or moving away from Jon and he leaned into her with a shit eating smile.

“Thank you for that, detective Tonner,” Tim said.  Michael and Sasha nodded in agreement.  “I don’t believe we thanked you yet.”

Tonner shook her head.  “No need.  And it’s not detective anymore.  I...we quit.”

“Oh!” Sasha looked surprised.

“Congrats on getting out of that!”  Tim exclaimed, reaching up for a high five.  “Never liked cops anyway.”

“Watch yourself, Stoker,” Basira glared light heartedly at him.  Their hand went ignored.  “We might not be on the force anymore but we can still do a few things none of you can.”

“We know, we know,” Michael pacified.  

“What are you thinking of doing?” Martin asked.  “There might be an opening at a certain institute that has great job security and only had a minor infestation.”

Tonner laughed.  “I think we’ll pass.”

“So,” Jon looked over all of them.  “Shall we head into the breakroom?”

Martin was comfortable in the breakroom.  It’s where he felt the safest when he lived a lie; falling onto what he knew best but still felt wasn’t good enough as the moment he stepped out of it he was berated.  Then it became a place where he could provide for those he loves.  Now, it was their storage for what felt like a ton of plastic explosives.  There’s no poetic way to spin this latest development.

The former police had come over to discuss the plan to take down the Unknowing:  Blow it up.  Inelegant but simple, to the point.  

Tim looked down right giddy about it.  Maybe too giddy.  Perhaps with too much of a revengeful glint in their eyes to call it giddy but there was too much to think about, to worry about, for now.

“None of you have to do this,” Jon said, spinning his Rubik’s cube.  There was a faint static under the plastic glide.  “I’d understand if it’s too dangerous and you want to pull out.”

“We barely have enough people as it is,” Tonner sighed.  “If anything we need more to make sure this will work.”

“No!” Jon grimaced.  “I-- I can’t.  I refuse to drag more into this.”  Martin had been with him when he called Georgie about Melanie’s ghost bullet, had seen the relief on his face every time she called back in the days following giving him updates on how they were doing, and knew it would be impossible for a man with such a bleeding heart to put more people in danger.  “It’s just...Despite everything we know, this isn’t any easier.  It might actually be harder.”

“I might not be able to do anything anymore,” Michael mused as they spun a mug on its edge and watched water spill onto the table.  Jon glared light heartedly at them.  “In terms of my-- The Spiral’s hallways I mean,” they quickly amended.  “But perhaps Helen may be amiable to helping?”

“Yeah absolutely not,” Sasha shook her head.  “Do I even need to list why that’s a terrible idea?”

Michael grumbled to themself but shook their head.

The rest of the meeting went without a hitch.  Everyone knew everybody’s part in the plan inside and out at Jon’s insistence.  But this meeting wasn’t the last.  The weeks leading up the Unknowing they met everyday to go over the plan, tweaking it ever so slightly and adding more fail safes.  In the end, there wasn’t much to change without roping more people into it.  

- <0>  <0> -

“Hey,” Daisy stopped Jon after they dispersed after the last meeting.  One more sunrise until they’re free to ‘quit’ if they don’t die first.  “Thank you for this.”

“I don’t see much to be grateful for,” Jon replied.

“It’s just,” she paused to gather her thoughts.  She circled one of her wrists with her other hand and frowned deeply when her fingers connected easily around it.  “You have statements, you don’t have to go out and terrorize people.  I’ve...I was getting worse after the Coffin.  But even just discussing this, I’ve been feeling better like I can properly track something down again.  Getting more sleep.”

“Oh,” Jon awkwardly patted her shoulder.  She smiled awkwardly back at the menial comfort.  “Well, I’m glad you’re able to get something good out of this.  I just hope we’ll be able to find something more permanent after this.  But, Daisy?”

“Yes?”

“If you slip up, even once--” Jon Stared into her eyes.  There was fear behind them; for Basira and the others, of tomorrow.  She was a hunter who planned five steps ahead but now those thoughts of the future turned to the worst as images of bodies torn by explosives, then by claws and bullets flickered through her mind too fast for Jon to process but he didn’t need to.  He felt how terrified she felt by all of it, of herself, of the Circus, of--

Jon blinked.  She was scared of him at that moment.  

“We won’t help you,” he finished the sentence he started a small infinity ago.  Hopefully she was able to tell what he was saying under the static that garbled his speech.

“I know,” she said, voice hoarse.  “I’m holding you to that.”  She smiled tiredly at him, seemingly unafraid at the monster that stood before her.

Jon squirmed.  Only one more night before the Unknowing and every single scar of his decided to start itching.  He resisted the urge if only because he wanted to avoid the disapproving looks Martin would give him when he discovered that he broke his skin again trying to get to the bone deep discomfort, even if the soothing way Martin rebandaged him was nice.  He shifted again, trying to find some way to put pressure on all of himself without being buried.

“Aye, love, that’s my organs you kneading on,” Tim groaned.  

“Sorry,” Jon whispered.  He scooted himself so he wasn’t elbowing his partner’s stomach and Tim sighed in contentment when Jon settled into the space between Tim and Martin.  They pulled Jon’s legs over themself and wrapped one arm over his shoulders.  Sasha snored somewhere behind Tim where she was presumably still tangled with Michael on the other side of the bed.  Soft, rhythmic, regular and calming to breathe along to.

Jon almost managed to lure himself to sleep when Tim gave an indulgent kiss to his forehead.  “Mmm,” he batted Tim’s chest and pushed his face into the junction between Tim’s neck and shoulder.

“Sorry,” Tim’s smile was audible and their apology revealed to be fake when they kissed Jon again.  They lazily rubbed a hand up and down Jon’s back that replaced the itching with tingling warmth.  “Were you asleep?”

“I almost was you awful person,” Jon snuggled closer.  Martin let out a sleeping whine behind him when he moved away, rolling towards him and burying his face in Jon’s hair.  “You’re both so demanding,” Jon huffed but pulled both closer.  It was one of Jon’s better nights, able to be surrounded.  On worse nights he would sleep on a separate bed but the loneliness would keep him up.  Even on nights like this he has to have at least half of his body exposed to the chilly air.  All the more reason to hoard Tim’s body heat.

“Can’t sleep?” Jon asked Tim.

“Just a little.”  Tim ran their hand through Jon’s hair, untangling the knots they could reach that Martin wasn’t buried in.  “What about you?”

Jon stayed silent for a moment, weighing his words and fighting sleep as Tim’s hand continued combing through his hair.  “I need to Ask something.”

“The usual?” Tim asked.  Jon nodded into their chest.  “Go ahead.”

“Is this real?”   He hates Asking but sometimes some thought would sneak into his head that this was another illusion or maybe the life he lived before the hallways was the fake one.  Jon pulled away enough to look Tim in the eyes.  He knew Tim wouldn’t be able to see him with how dark it was but it was always calming to see his partners in moments like this, like a private part of the world that belonged only to Jon.  

“Yes,” Tim answered.  They brushed hair out of Jon’s face, almost grown past Sasha’s hair length, and leaned forward blindly.  Jon closed the distance and kissed them chastely knowing what they wanted.  Seeing their sappy smile in pitch black was one of the perks of the Eye.  “I’m glad you’re here with us.  Anything else?”

“All of us getting through tomorrow safely would be nice,” Jon went back to his spot tucked against Tim.  He gave a startled yelp when a limb landed over his torso before he realized it was Michael’s arm from where the tangled duo rolled over from the other side.

Tim sucked a breath through their teeth.  “Sorry, I only got sixty-nine cents.  Not even enough for chicken nuggets.”

Their laughter rumbled deeply in their chest, further lulling Jon into unconsciousness.  But underneath it Jon could still detect stiffness from pain.  He suspected that Tim could feel the same in Jon, in all of them.  Just one more day, Jon promised himself, just one more day and they’ll be able to heal away from all of this.

“Good night,” Jon whispered, resting his face against Tim’s collarbone.  Tim said the same and rolled onto their back.  Jon Knew it was to lessen the pressure on their injured arms.  Closing his eyes, Jon pressed his forehead to Tim not knowing what to say to make them feel better.  Given to a fear god of knowledge and he couldn’t provide the barest comfort to the ones he loves.

Chapter Text

“Everyone ready?” Tim asked.

“Absolutely not,” Martin sighed.  He smiled tiredly.  “But we can’t wait around forever can we?”

“We could try,” Jon suggested.  He looked tempted to, leaning comfortably into Martin’s side.

“You know we can’t.”  Sasha ruffled his hair.  “Alright everyone in the car.”

“Why do you have this again?” Basira asked, eyeing the vehicle next to Tim.  Compared to the one she and Daisy brought it was ancient and made no effort to hide it.  “I had you pegged for a sports car fan.”

“First off: Don’t disrespect Golden Girls like that--”

“Golden Girls?” Basira laughed.

“Secondly!” Tim ignored her.  “She’s Jon’s.”

“I used company funds,” Jon shrugged then smirked.  “Well, more of Lukas’ funds.  Without permission.”

“And out of all the cars you could’ve chosen you got this?” Daisy motioned incredulously at the wood paneling.  “If I was using that crone’s money I would’ve gotten something that didn’t scream suburban house mom just to put a dent in his wallet.”

“It’s a good car!” Jon defended.  “It has decent mileage, second hand so it’s resale price isn’t low, and-- Okay, you know what?  We don’t have time for this.”

Daisy laughed and opened the back.  “I’ll give you one thing, the storage space is rather useful.”  Tim was inclined to agree, it could fit a majority of the explosives.  All of Gertrude’s stash would be needed so they split it two ways with the rest in the ex-polices’ car.

“Be careful,” Michael said.

“We will,” Sasha said, kissing their cheek and draping her arm around them in a hug.  “Say hi to Rosie for us will ya?”

“Of course.”  Michael tucked their head on hers.  “She’s nicer to me than all of you anyways.”

Martin rolled his eyes.  “Not all of us have roof access!  It’s not like you offered to take us either after showing off all those sun rise photos.”

“It’s not all Roses and sunsets,” Michael muttered, smile barely hidden in Sasha’s hair.  “She also makes me do paperwork.”

“In exchange for the best gossip,” Tim retorted.  “She hasn’t updated me on any of David’s antics in forever.”

Michael’s smile widened.  “Oh?  I guess I could tell you...when you get back.”

Tim sighed.  “Fine, fine.”  They quickly hugged them and Sasha, squishing both tightly in a way that made their arm scars ache.  “You better invite us to the roof, too.”

Michael hummed contently.  “You’ll like the view.”

Tim was sure it’d be beautiful even if the sky was hailing down on them.  They’ve been trying to figure out what they wanted to look at last and a sunset with the people they love around them didn’t sound half bad.

The wax museum was small.  Tim had seen pictures of it and studied the floor plans but it was still hard to wrap their mind around how miniscule it looked when they knew what it was about to be the stage for.

“Come on,” Daisy said as she shouldered a duffle bag of C4 and handed similar bags to all of them.

“Thank you for doing this,” Jon said, tilting slightly as he received it.  His free hand was tightly interlaced with Martin’s.

“I owe you,” Daisy said.  “‘Sides, it’s not like I want these clowns to rule the world.”

“Hey, it’ll be fun,” Tim tried to joke.  Their smile felt more like a grimace or a sneer but they couldn’t find it within them to make it more convincing.  They were so close to killing the thing that tore their family apart.

“Tim,” Jon admonished and fidgeted.  He looked down, thinking, before looking back up at Tim.  “I...I think it might be better if you stay to the perimeter of this with Basira.”

“What?”  The words came out harsher than Tim intended.  “No.  No no no.   Jon, you can’t just change the plan like this!”

“Well I will if you’re going to be a danger to yourself!”  Jon stood straight, shoulders back.  Small and barely an obstacle if Tim wanted to get past him.  “This isn’t a game, Tim.  If you go off the rails you won’t just be risking yourself but the whole world.”

“Oh, so I’m just a wild card now?” Tim stepped forward and Jon’s stature folded.  Tim took a shocked step back.  They didn’t mean to take advantage of their height like that; the fear on Jon’s face was something they never wanted to see.  “Sorry,” they said lamely.

“It’s fi-- fin--” Jon coughed, hacking at the words.  Tim grimaced.  “I know.  That wasn’t fair of me.  Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah I’ll be okay,” Tim sniped.  “It’s not like I’ve been trying to avenge my little brother for the last four years or anything.”

Jon frowned, opened his mouth, and closed it again.  “Tim--”

“We can talk about this later.”

“R-right,” Jon slumped.  There’ll be a later, Tim hoped, they could make this up afterwards when they had time.  What a ridiculous thought; more time.  They’ve had more than a year and yet they were begging for more time.  “I just want-- I need you to be safe.”

Tim couldn’t meet his eyes, their words thrown back at them and no less true.  “You too,” they said.  They could feel the weight of Jon’s gaze and Martin and Sasha’s worrying.

Basira patted their shoulder, jolting them out of the bubble they were in.  “We need to go now.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Tim brushed her off.  “Let’s go.”

Thoughts dragged through Tim’s mind like sandpaper, simmering rage grating away at their higher thoughts.  So they did their best to not think at all.  The C4 went up with muscle memory anyways.

“What was that?” Basira asked.

“Don’t know what you mean,” Tim said curtly.

Basira eyed him and went back to her task.  “You know what I mean, Stoker.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you even look cross at Jon.”

Tim stayed silent.  The monotonous movement of their hands worked them through their next thoughts.  They haven’t felt this anger in so long that it was more like discovering mold in food they’ve forgotten than an actual emotion; seemingly easy to avoid and corrupting to things they used to enjoy.  Not much made them angry now but this dragged back into the light so much they wanted to ignore.  The worst part was that they didn’t want to be angry at Jon.  “It’s personal.”

Basira was helpful, Tim trusted her, but they weren't keen on spilling their traumatic backstory.  She looked at him doubtfully but didn’t press.  With the two of them they quickly cleared their rooms, barely hearing a peep aside from the odd creaking floorboard or periodic walkie-talkie checkups.  Jon and Daisy would be taking a bit longer and Martin and Sasha were nearly done with their set.  Tim and Basira checked the C4 one last time before heading back outside where they would be able to safely activate the detonator.  

Danny ran past them on the way out.

“Timmy!” He smiled jovially and continued on his way.  Deeper into the wax museum.

“Oi!” Tim yelled and ran after him.  “Tch, told him to stay outside.”  As they turned back into the museum, they could tell something wasn’t right.  Something was wrong but Tim couldn’t put their finger on it as Basira shouted at them to come back.  Danny wasn’t supposed to be… something.  Here?  Yes that was it; he wasn’t supposed to be here.  Tim could swear he was supposed to stay outside as the getaway driver but plans can change.

“Danny, wait up!” Tim wasn’t unhealthy by any means (ignoring mental) but Danny was always the faster of the Stokers.  He was easily able to stay ahead of Tim, turning around corners that Tim couldn’t recall from the blue prints and they skidded to a stop when they lost sight of him.  Instead they found Jon and Daisy crouched in front of a door slightly ajar.  “Have you guys seen Danny?”

Jon startled and whipped around to look at them.  “W-what?”  Confusion and distress twisted his face as he switched between looking at Tim and whatever was beyond the door.  He shook his head and looked back at Tim with clearer eyes.  “What are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be outside already.”

“In a sec, I just lost sight of Danny.”  Tim waved him off and angled their head to look past the door.  Danny didn’t like it when they worried, especially after the… they… What was it that made Tim so overprotective again?  Noise leaked through the door and distracted Tim.  Daisy wasn’t paying attention to their conversation and, luckily for Tim, cracked the door open enough for them to see through it.

“He’s…” Jon started.  “Tim,” he tried but stopped again when they didn’t respond.  He turned around and saw the room.  “Good lord.”

Jon wasn’t able to describe to them what the center of the Unknowing looked like in much detail.  Said that it was all a blur after it started, Sasha suspected the memory suppression was a stress response, but he knew enough to make a plan.  Tim understood his inability now.

The room was massive, easily defying the dimensions of the outside as though the walls themself were scared of touching what was inside and expanded to avoid it.  Wooden bleachers lined the edge of a circus ring, filled and overflowing with what at first glance looked like a mass of strips of red satin, shiny and moving vigorously with some invisible wind, but then Tim’s eyes focused.  They were bodies.  Skinless bodies whose blood shined with the light.  Their lipless mouths smiled and they sang and danced in painful, graceful movements that stained the ground a darker and darker red.  Above them, extending and disappearing into the shadow of the roof, was a mass of flesh.  Hanging at the end was something that could only be mistaken as a person by silhouette.  The Angler Fish.

Looking at the grotesque scene was dizzying.  Like a video shot with a wide eye camera that warped the background and made the thing standing in the center look that much bigger.  Beneath the Angler Fish stood tall and proud was a person too still to be a person.  The dancing stage lights made the illusion of movement, but its joints were stuck posed like a ringmaster, complete with costume and a whip in its hand.  Its back was to the door to face its adoring audience.  

“Holy--” Tim gasped.

“It’s anything but,” Daisy said but it was obvious she was just as unnerved.  “You weren’t kidding when you said we needed all of it.”

“I must admit, I almost forgot how horrible it was.  Is,” Jon corrected.  He handed Daisy his duffle bag and she braved into the room.  They watched as she hid in shadows that danced along the edges and threatened to throw her into the spotlight with a single misstep.  They quickly lost sight of her among the skinless masses of sinew and muscle, teeth exposed in a bloody mimicry of a smile.  The look in Jon’s eyes was close to awe as he took in the scene, eyes wide and drinking it all in.

“So what’s our plan for them?” Tim asked.  The dancers were alive, they knew this.  They could still be saved.

“There’s no plan for them,” Jon said.  “We can’t help them.”

“So what,” Tim scoffed.  “We’re just going to leave them like this?  It’s not like you’re opposed to changing plans suddenly either.”  

“They’re not alive!  They’re already dead!”  Jon took a deep breath.  The exhaustion was more obvious when he let it out.  “I’m not losing you as well.  Not again.”

They stared at each other, neither budging.  The pain in Jon’s eyes outweighed the rage Tim felt and they conceded.  “Okay,” Tim sighed.  “But I’m still not okay with this.”  They grimace on Jon’s face told them he felt the same.  “Just give me a minute to find Danny and then I’ll meet you two outside.”  Something nudged at Tim’s mind like a dog scratching at the door. 

Jon frowned.  “Danny’s not--”

“Done,” Daisy reappeared through the door.  “Here,” she handed Tim the detonator and looked to Jon, “Don’t forget to tell them when to activate it.”

“Right, okay, come on, then.  Let’s go.”  Jon grabbed Tim’s free hand, naturally interlacing them, and started to the exit.

“Wait.”  Tim pulled them to a stop.  Daisy stopped as well but bounced restlessly on her heels as she eyed the way out.  “What about Danny?”

“He’s not-- Tim, I--” Jon stuttered and led away again, avoiding Tim’s eyes.  “I’ll tell you when we get out.”

The itch began again in Tim’s mind, trying to remind them that something was wrong but that didn’t matter because Jon wasn’t telling them something about their own damn brother.

“Talk later,” Daisy stressed.  “We lollygagged enough as it is, we don’t have time for this!”

“Jon,” Tim gritted.  “We are not leaving without him.  Tell me what happened to my brother.”

“Tim, please,” Jon pleaded.  “We have to go--”

The door creaked open and Jon fell silent, horror on his face.  Calliope music grew louder along with an announcer’s voice.

“Will the audience take their positions?  The show… has begun.”

- <0>  <0> -

There was noise.  A lot of it.  Some was song with notes that danced in rhythm with red glistening bodies and some was loud and screaming and oh.  That was them.  They closed their mouth and some of the noise ceased.  Them?  Who were they, she, he, me, it?  None of those felt right.  All it knew was that the lights were blinding.

“Jesus,” said a voice, sounding close by.  Did that come from it?  “Where…” It tried again.  There was another feeling deeper inside it that felt like it would burst it inside out if they didn’t free it and why wouldn’t it let it out.  “What am I?”   The words bubbled forth with a searing pressure.

It all came back to Jon like a train crash.  The song of the Unknowing was no longer pleasing but terrifying and the dancers no longer looked graceful but like fish pulled by invisible wires that pulled on their muscles.

“Oh no,” he muttered.  “Tim?  Daisy?”  From where he collapsed, Daisy was closer and looking around wildly.  Tim was glaring at anything that got close to them.

“Don’t move!”  Daisy growled and backed away from Jon when she noticed him looking at her.

“Daisy!”  He tried to pacify.  “Shit-- Daisy, it’s me!”

“I said,” she bared her teeth.  “Don’t.  Move.”

There was an easy way to get her to remember, Jon knew.  But he didn’t have permission.  He glanced helplessly at Tim still getting their bearings and prayed that this wouldn’t hurt their chances to reconcile afterwards about his sudden change in plans.

“Who are you?” Jon Asked her, begging for her to hear over the increasing circus song.

“A Hunter,” she sneered.  Her teeth were sharp and growing sharper in the kaleidoscope light.  Her face fell as recognition entered her eyes.  “Wait.  No, no.  I’m not giving in to that.  I’m… I’m…”  She struggled and her voice softened along with the sharp edges in her mouth.  “I’m Daisy.”

“Yes,” Jon smiled, relieved.

“Jon?” She asked.  He nodded.  She looked around, taking stock of the dangers that surrounded them.  “We need to get out of here.”

“I don’t think so!” Nikola smiled, turning her back to her audience.  Her painted upturned mouth kept her face forever cheerful.  She didn’t have a proper mouth beneath the skin, just an opening violently cut into the plastic of her mannequin face that opened and closed like a lazy puppeteer was piloting her when she bothered to move it at all.
“Run,” Jon said.  Tim still wasn’t quite themself yet but Daisy was cognizant enough.  She looked back at him conflicted.  “Go,” he insisted.

“What about you?”

“It’s not polite to talk during the show!” Nikola said and she stalked towards them.  The unnatural way she walked was somehow as graceful as the skinless dancers that followed her.

“Stay back!” Daisy shouted at them.

“It’s early enough that the exit still exists,” Jon told her.  There wasn’t enough time to get Tim as well.  With how aggressive Tim currently was there was no way they’d be able to drag him along and there wasn’t enough time to get his head straight.  “We’ll meet-- We’ll try to meet you outside,” Jon tried to assure her.

Daisy casted one more conflicted look between the dancers and the door, but it was clear Jon wouldn’t budge.  “I’m keeping you to that, Sims.”  She squeezed his hand tight before running.

He watched long enough to see her get out the door, bloody people on her tail.  He turned back in time to see something right in front of him.  The blinding spotlight behind it made the plastic hollow of its head glow through the thin skin that covered it.

“Who are you?” Jon asked on reflex, too shaky to put any compulsion in it.

“It’s me, Archivist,” it smiled.  “It’s Tim!”

“Tim?”  Jon couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize them.  Their smooth skin hung strangely on their face but Jon couldn’t say anything about that with his own poor skin routine and scars.  It seemed so obvious it was them after they said their name.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes.  Jon, you can relax.”  Tim smiled widely.

Jon smiled back.  “Of course.  Yes-- Wait.  No, no, no.  We need to do something first.”  Jon racked his mind for what it was.  He was just talking about it with someone but he couldn’t remember who with the music drowning out his thoughts.  He shook his head to clear it but that made the lights swim in his vision and blur together the red dancing people around him.  Dancers.  The Circus.  The Unknowing.  “We have to stop it,” Jon said.

“And how are we going to stop it?” Tim asked.  Their smile split their face in half.

Jon frowned.  “You should know this, Tim.”

“Well remind me then!”  Their smile was beginning to perturb him.  Did they always have that many teeth?

“Who are you?” Jon asked again, unsure.

“Why, I’m… Tim of course!  Who else would I be?”  The Not-Tim smiled.

“You’re not,” Jon snarled.

“Oh, you caught me.”  Nikola dropped whatever charm she used with a flippant flourish of her hand.  The smile was the same.  “I’m Sasha!”

Her face was familiar.

“Shut up!”   Jon snapped.  “Don’t you damn her face again.”  He Stared at the plastic fake’s face and picked out everything that was wrong.  The most obvious: loose skin, wrong race, too tall, stick thin, no hair.  Both eyes were glass.  “I See you.”

“Do you now?” Nikola backed away, smile no less mirthful but Jon could sense the discomfort.

“Yes.”  Jon spoke without thinking.  The same words as before flowed out as he picked apart the being that stood before him.  “I see the sad clown, bitter and hateful.  I see him finding his way into the circus where nobody knew him.  I see him torn apart, becoming the mask, remade by a cruel ringmaster.  Sometimes a doll, sometimes a mannequin, always hiding in somebody else’s skin.  Somebody else’s name.”

“Not always,” Nikola denied petulantly.  “And it's far too late for any of that.  Nothing you see can help you.”

That’s where she was wrong.  Behind her, a dancer stood alone with skin too scarred with pockmarks and slashes for Jon to think that Nikola would ever consider it for her choir.  Its movements were erratic and clumsy and stood out sharply against the others with how it struck the ones that got near it, getting splattered with blood and tangled in their loose organs.  It made eye contact with Jon and they noticed the ringmaster standing before him.  Familiar rage filled the dancer’s eyes and Jon recognized them as Tim.  They ran up with a wild cry and moved to hit Nikola.

Jon’s eyes widened.  Not Nikola.

“Wait--!” Was all Jon could shout before Tim tackled him.

“I’ll kill you!” Tim yelled.  “All of you!”

“Oh that’s adorable!” Nikola cheered.

Tim struck without coordination or thought, just senseless battery.  Their lack of skill was a note of luck for Jon.  With effort that left him panting he managed to pin them to the ground for a second.

“Tim, I’m sorry but I need to Ask something,” Jon said, pained.  They got more than a few good hits in and they were sure to bruise something awful.  “What do you see?”

“I see a fucking prick!” Tim shouted and twisted a hand out, reeling it back for another punch.  The anger quickly dissipated into confusion.  “Or-- or… wait…”

“Spoilsport,” Nikola said, displeasure not shown on her face.

“Grimaldi,” Tim snarled.

“Once.  A long time ago, before Orsinov made me.  And sometimes, even now, for special occasions.  Like your brother.  Shall I?”

Jon pulled Tim to their feet, maneuvering to block their view of Nikola.  “We need to run,” Jon said breathlessly.  “Everything’s set up, we need to go.”

“That’s quite enough from you, I think.”  Nikola picked Jon up easily, he could feel her stolen skin slide minutely against the plastic as she did, and tossed him opposite of where the exit used to be.  “And now you.”   She eyed Tim.

Jon’s head spun and stung sharply where it connected with the ground.  All he could think of was how Nikola’s glass eyes had a hungry glint as she stared down one of the people Jon loved and Jon would be able to do nothing but Watch as their skin got ripped off.  His voice refused to work but thoughtlessly he pushed into Tim’s head.  “What’s in your hand?”   A moment later he realized what would happen now.

“The detonator,” Tim answered out loud.  They looked down at it in surprise.  Jon wished he had the ability to cry.  He wanted to find another way that didn’t resort to this.  Nikola made a displeased noise and lurched forward.  “Go on,” Tim teased her, taking a step back.  “I’ll race you.  I’m pretty good at playing keep away.”

Nikola giggled.  “It’s too late,” she said sing-song.  “The world is ours!  That toy won’t help you now.”

“So come and take it,” Tim taunted.  They flourished the device when neither she or her dancers moved and they smirked.  “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m losing my patience,” Nikola growled.

“Good,” Tim jeered.  The manic joy on their face lessened.  “Jon.  Jon!  I hope you can hear me, if you can… Then I don’t know how to tell you how much this means to me.”  They grinned wider at Nikola, finger hovering over the button.  “Thank you for this.”

“You idiot!” Nikola shouted.  Some of her skin slipped off her face, showing off her inhumanity.  “Do you really think the world will fare any better under the Watcher?  You think you’re saving anyone?!”

“I hope so,” Tim replied.

“You can’t even save him!”   Nikola pointedly accusingly at Jon.  “Or your own brother!”

“Tim don’t do it!”  A new voice shouted.

Jon moved his head as much as he could to see where it came from.  One of the dancers, mangled from Tim’s blind anger, shambled forth.  Its guts were spilling out of it and dragged along the ground.

Tim stumbled, thumb lifting from the button.  “Danny…”

“It’s not that bad,” the dancer said.  It reached out a hand with broken fingers trying to coax the detonator out of Tim’s hand.  “Being with the Stranger.  I’m much happier here.”

“Oh god.”  Tim's grip loosened and they sobbed.  “I only lost you for a second.  I’m-- I’m sorry.  I should’ve saved you from…”

The dancer laughed.  “There’s nothing to save me from, big brother.  You should join us, you’ll be a natural at it!”  It smiled at Tim if the exposed teeth counted as one.

“Yeah,” Tim sniffled.  Their hand dropped, detonator barely within their grip, and they took an unsteady step forward.  “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

‘He’s dead!’ Jon wanted to scream.  Tim stopped and their brow furrowed, glancing at Jon with uncertainty.  ‘He’s been dead for years,’ Jon tried again.  

Tim took a shuddering breath.  “That’s what you were trying to tell me earlier wasn’t it?”  Tim asked quietly, more to the detonator in their hand than to Jon.  He managed a weak nod.  Tim smiled sadly.  “It was nice to forget for a little.”

‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sor--’ The words choked and drowned under Jon’s distress.

Tim’s grin was strained as they lifted the detonator with renewed conviction.  “Find me when you wake up.”

‘I will,’ Jon tried to sign but his hands were more pain and scars than flesh and blood.  ‘I’ll save you, all of you.’   He knew what he had to do.  Don’t shy away from what he has to do, what he has to Become.  His crimson fate is not a favorable one but better than one without those he loves.  He refused to repeat his mistakes.  ‘I love you.’

Tim laughed, a fragile thing already cracked.  Tears spilled from their dark eyes, bright green from the nightmares around them.  Their smile wavered only for a moment before Tim pressed the button.

“I Know.”

- <0>  <0>  <0> -

Knock knock.

Jon startled awake.  He didn’t bother opening his eyes, letting himself a moment to breathe before he started again trying to save his partners.  Friends?  Coworkers at the moment.  Damn it.  It could make them uncomfortable if he started being as familiar as he was towards the end and he would need to explain it all again.  Where was Michael at this point?  What exactly convinced them to be with them in the first place.

But none of that mattered if they all died again.  Even one.  Jon heaved a deeper breath and realized he wasn’t lying on his desk.  That wasn’t right.  He should’ve woken up at his desk.  He should’ve had a crick in his neck but he was lying comfortably in what felt like a bed.  Jon blinked and realized his eyes weren’t closed but blindfolded.  Pain laced through him as he scrambled to pull it off and was greeted to a hauntingly familiar sight of a hospital room.

The door opened.  Martin and Michael stepped in.

“Jon?”  Martin asked.

“Where’s Tim?” Jon Asked Martin.  The compulsion poured out like a waterfall.  “Wait don’t--” Jon almost fell out of the bed in his effort to cover Martin’s mouth with his hands before he could speak.

Martin swallowed down his answer and removed Jon’s hands, helping the smaller man not fall to the ground.

“Can’t control it?” Michael asked as they helped him back onto the bed.  Jon nodded, not wanting to risk talking.

Martin kissed Jon’s forehead instead of saying the ‘it’s okay’ they both knew he wanted to say.  No point in lying.

Jon grasped Martin’s sleeves to pull him closer.  With how weak he was, it was obvious that Martin was doing most of the work including keeping Jon from tipping over.  Martin’s arms were cozy and Michael sat beside them adding to the warmth.  Jon practiced asking the question by mumbling it to himself until he couldn't taste the static; each iteration built dread in his heart of the answer but he needed to know.  Not Know.  He needed that human connection.

“Where’s Tim?”

His question was answered by Sasha entering.  Alone.

Chapter Text

The cursor blinked in and out on the screen.  Flickering like the beat of a heart monitor.  Sasha stared at it blankly.  She’d been meaning to hack into some databases for follow up, but what was the point of working when she should be helping Jon, who just got out of a medically induced coma, and Tim was…

Even crying took too much energy.

She was outside the wax museum with Martin, well in safety, but Hussain was there without Tim.  The former police was only able to tell them that Tim had run back in when Tonner had stumbled out, skinless corpses grappling at her, and then the building blew up behind her.  

It took days to find Jon and Tim under the rubble.  They were mangled, almost indiscernible from the rest of the viscera they were tangled in but their bodies were more solid than the meat that surrounded them.  And even with its colors deadened by dust, Tim’s cheerfully bright pink hair was a beacon, and Jon’s eyes open and unharmed were bright green.  

And more shocking than that:

They were both alive.

No heartbeat, their lungs didn’t move, but Michael insisted they postpone a close casket funeral to do a brain scan and, sure enough, there was a signal.  Neither moved, better than dead, but damn it seeing their blank faces, the odd burn marks marring more of their skin, was horrible.  Jon’s body stitched itself together faster than Tim’s, looking like a person again instead of a hastily dissected science project after a few days.  Albeit his open eyes unnerved the hospital enough to the point that they kept him blindfolded until he had woken up a few days ago, but Tim was still unresponsive.  Everything but braindead.

The Unknowing was over but no one had quit yet.  Sasha didn’t want her last image of Tim to be one where they’re lying like a corpse in a sterile hospital.  She, Martin, and Michael, and Jon, once he woke up, visited them everyday in some vain hope that their presence would help.  Deep down, she knew it didn’t.

At least Jon was awake now.  Sasha tried to be happy but instead what she felt was more like the absence of despair, a void of gnawing agony but not the joy she knew she should be feeling.

The screen went dark and she woke it up with a wriggle of the mouse.  A new idea came to mind.  Made on baseless hope but she started allocating money, stolen from Lukas’ and Magnus’ funds, as always, for a house.  Enough to afford a few bedrooms, though she doubted more than one would be used for sleeping at a time, and a big kitchen was a must.  Maybe in the countryside where they could feel the sun on their skin and didn’t have to hear traffic.

“Sasha?”  Michael reached around her in a hug and closed the laptop.  “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Not hungry.”  She leaned into them, debating reopening her computer but decided not to.  Michael sighed and rubbed their head on hers.  Their blonde locks fell into Sasha’s view and she closed her eyes.

“Accompany me to the break room?  I’m still getting a hold on what is and isn’t safe to eat.”

Sasha mumbled something that resembled a ‘yes’ and her knees popped when she stood.  Geez, she must’ve been staring at the screen for longer than she thought.  They went through the motions of reheating some cold pasta.  She threw it into a nonstick pan, putting it over a portable stove top Jon got when Martin was living here, and grabbed a utensil to mix it.  

There was a screech and Sasha froze.  She looked at the pan and sure enough, there was a silver scratch running down the middle of the black pan.  Fuck.  She grabbed a metal spoon by accident.  She threw the metal spoon into the sink with a loud clatter and yanked a drawer open to look for the correct wooden spatula.  Where was it? She was pretty sure there was one here.  Mumbling curses, she shifted through everything, throwing open other drawers and rifling through them.

Her breathing stuttered, grew heavy.  That’s Tim’s pan.  They brought it to the Archives when they realized they had a few spares.  Is Tim’s.  Was Tim’s?

A choked laugh came out of her throat.  Forever ago, in their fake divorce, they agreed that the pans went to Sasha if anything happened to Tim.

She startled when Michael presented a wooden spoon to her.  Right.  They were in cups on the counter not in a drawer.  Tim arranged it that way so that they would be easier to grab.  

“Thanks,” Sasha took it.  She stared despondently at it and put it back without another word.  Distantly, she heard the portable stove top click off.  Michael wrapped their weighted blanket around her and she leaned back against the counter for a second, breathing, before she slid down to the floor.  Michael sank down next to her and put their weight on her side.  

“Shhh.”  Michael rubbed a hand in circles on her back.  Oh.  She was crying.  “Do you need water?”

“Yeah.”  She moved to get it herself but Michael nudged her back down.  Their comforting weight left for a moment and returned with a glass.  They sat together as she drank.

“Do you still want pasta?”  Sasha asked.  She was feeling better now.

“Not if you’re not okay,” Michael said.  “I think I know what goes in a sandwich if you want one.”  Making anything sounded like too much and she didn’t want to force Michael to do anything because of her.  She shook her head.  “You need to eat something.”

“I had breakfast,” Sasha argued, too weak for it to be convincing.

“Half a banana,” Michael retorted.

Sasha took a guilty sip of her water.  Her head felt a bit clearer.  Clear enough that she remembered a little trick from her more stressful Uni days.  “What if we ate the sandwich ingredients without putting it together?  Same nutrient without all the work.”

Michael still ended up doing most of the work by their insistence.  Martin kept the fridge stocked with the ingredients for any sandwich one could think of and, as a result, Michael had a cutting board piled and layered with various pre sliced meats, cheeses, breads, and a tomato.  Not cut, just a tomato that Michael was eating like an apple.

Sasha felt marginally better; one part of the emptiness in her gone.

“I miss Tim.”  The words came unprompted but they were always in the back of her mind these days.

“They’ll wake up,” Michael said.  Sasha wished she could have the optimism they had.

Martin entered the kitchen and did a double take at the two of them on the floor.  “Um, are you two okay?  I mean-- You know what I mean.  Not in a general sense but, right now.”

Michael took a bite of their tomato and Sasha grimaced when some of it leaked onto her.  “Still figuring out how to be a human again.”

“Better,” Sasha shrugged.  “You?”

“Certainly not my best,” Martin sighed.  “Jon’s having trouble sleeping and he’s tired all the time.”  He grabbed the kettle and set the abandoned pasta into the sink without question.

“Figures,” Sasha mused.  “It didn’t seem like he was sleeping even when he was under.  With the eyes and all.”

“At least it wasn’t Eyes eyes, you know?” Martin leaned against the counter as the kettle heated up.  “That would be a bit harder to explain than two people surviving that explosion.”

Michael laughed, “That does sound fitting for the Archivist.  Seeing at all times.”

“Yeah,” Sasha agreed.  And it would certainly be impossible to explain alongside Jon and Tim’s already unexplainable conditions.  

She wished Tim wasn’t in a coma.  She knew the others were prolonging quitting until Tim woke up but Sasha was a bit more selfish.  She wanted to see one last sunset with Tim.

- <0>  <0> -

Martin almost prepared five mugs of tea.  He put the extra ceramic back before Sasha saw.  He stayed and talked with Sasha and Michael for a bit, eating some of their smoked ham slices, and helped them clean up before pouring the water for the fourth mug.  

Jon was in the tunnels again.  It weren’t well lit but two green pinpricks guided Martin to him.

“Didn’t sleep again?” Martin asked, handing him his tea with a kiss to the forehead.

Jon blinked, coming out of a daze, and accepted both with a smile.  “Yeah,” he cradled the mug, “It’s quieter down here, the urge to read, but it doesn’t let me sleep either.”

“You can’t put it off forever, Jon.”  Martin knelt to his level.  The right words were hard; all of this was way over his head.  He should’ve brought Michael with him, they were better at avatar business.  “I can’t stand to see you wasting away like this,” Martin settled for.  At the very least he could say the truth.

Jon lowered his gaze to his mug with a grimace.  The murky surface reflected green.

Martin sighed.  “Just one, maybe?  And try taking a nap?”

“Could you stay with me?”  Jon asked.  How could Martin say no?  Love of his life aside, Jon’s puppy eyes weren’t lessened by the spookiness.

“Of course, love.”

Once Jon finished his tea, they moved out of the tunnels to document storage, making a quick stop to Jon’s office to grab a few statements.  Martin could barely make out the words underneath the static as Jon read one.  Pressed front to back, the movements of Jon’s chest were more obvious to him, Martin’s arms wrapped around his torso and Jon’s head leaning back on Martin’s shoulder.  Martin stroked Jon’s hair through it, murmuring senseless comforts to him whenever he tensed up.

The Eyes stayed open after the statement.  A flower of bright irises and black sclera all looking at Martin like he hung the moon and stars.  They drooped in a way that Martin thought was adorable and also looked like Jon would yawn if he could.

“Short sleep?” Martin signed using Jon’s face instead of his own.  He forgot the sign for nap but he made do.

“Still hungry,” Jon signed.  “Don’t want it.”

“Do you want to read another now or later?” Martin signed the few words he knew as he spoke.

Jon nestled more into Martin instead of properly answering, Eyes half lidded.  Martin laughed, kissed his forehead when an Eye blinked, and tipped them sideways to lie down.  Grabbing a blanket, he wrapped Jon in it, lifting his arm to let Jon shuffle around to get comfortable.  Comfort for Jon turned out to be legs half off the bed with his face and open Eyes tucked into Martin’s chest, hands reaching up to bury into Martin’s hair.  Not that Martin was complaining.  

They laid there, both exhausted but neither sleeping.  Jon was completely still; no heartbeat or breath have moved his chest since the Unknowing.  Martin could only tell when Jon fell asleep when the tension drained out of his body and his Eyes closed.  His normal eyes stayed open, though.  And stared, unseeingly, as Martin drifted into unconsciousness.

- <0>  <0>  <0> -

The key cracked under her teeth, jaw straining with the effort but she couldn’t stop.  The plastic edges scraped down her throat when she swallowed.  Her blood slick hands slipped and struggled as they tore out another piece from the computer.  The escape key.  Certainly one of the easier ones compared to the space key that got lodged in her throat.  It pressed on the fragile skin of her esophagus with every breath she took.  She tried to slow herself with the key.  It was the last one and eating the screen was much harder.  All she could do was hope that she’d wake up before then.

Or that the monster with too many eyes would help her.

But the Archivist was just as trapped as she was.  It didn’t want to watch her suffer, didn’t want to be the subject of the hopeless hatred in her eyes as blood poured from her mouth when her gums were shredded.  It simply couldn’t move.  Didn’t even have the ability to shift its gaze away to give her privacy in her suffering.  

She swallowed the plastic key and started clawing off the glass of the screen from the rest of the computer.  Red streamed down where her nails ripped off from the effort.

“Help me,” she pleaded.  Her mangled mouth and tongue garbled her plea and her sneer turned it more into a command as she took a painful bite of the screen.  The glass splintered and cut a gash from the inside of her cheek to the out.

The Archivist Watched.

“Jon?”

The Archivist was jostled but its Gaze didn’t waver from its meal.

“Shit.”

The edges were sharp, cutting, she can feel them cutting her guts open and leaking acid into her other organs, digesting herself.

“Hey!  Stop that!”

The Archivist Watched as she was grabbed by the shoulders and shook by a human shaped being.  Her muscles tensed in fear and the shards inside her took home in other cavities as she turned to look at the figure.  But she was free from eating.  

Tessa Winters woke up in a cold sweat.

Without her to Watch, the Archivist Looked at the newcomer.  Their pink hair glowed in the flickering light of the screen Winters left behind, and Eyes blinked in and out of existence behind their now blood splattered medical gown.

“Christ, that’s a lot of Eyes,” they said, their words tainted by fear.  Curiously, they weren’t afraid of the Archivist, but scared for its safety.  The Archivist Looked at them, trying to figure out why they felt so familiar and Jon would have gasped if he had the mouth to do so.

“Tim?” A recorder spoke for him, popping into existence in Jon’s hand.

“The one and only,” Tim smiled uneasily.  They looked around at the blank landscape, more of a background to the computer than a proper location, and the congealing puddle of blood Tessa left behind.  “So is this what the afterlife is?  Reruns of statements?  I know it can’t be hell cause you’re here with me.”  They winked and shot finger guns, studiously ignoring the Eyes that winked with them.

The recorder grumbled out flustered static against Jon’s will and Tim grinned.  “I don’t think so,” it said for Jon.  Seemed like he wouldn’t be able to control his words.  There was so much he wanted to tell Tim but the recorder didn’t cooperate.  His hands twitched.  How badly he wanted to sign and speak with his own words but the Eye barely allowed him enough movement to try.  Slowly he worked his neck enough to move it and work out the cricks.  “I remember having dreams like this before time traveling.  And I don’t think this is the afterlife.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I woke up.  You’re in a coma.”

“You…?”  Tim closed and opened their mouth, thinking.  “But wouldn’t that mean…?”

Jon nodded.  “We’re not dead.”

Tim’s breath hitched.  A crooked smile made its way onto their face and they let out a surprised laugh.  Jon couldn’t wait to see them smile again in real life.  “Oh.  I--  I really thought you were sent back.”  They opened their arms for a hug and wrapped Jon in it after he managed a small nod.  “I thought I was giving you another chance,” they said into Jon’s hair.  They held onto him a little tight.  Jon forced his arms to move, small jerking movements, until finally his arms were around Tim.  “I was so sure I died,” Tim whispered.

“You didn’t,” Jon assured them.  He wouldn’t let that happen again.  The fear, the pain, of losing Tim again made his own death secondary, inconsequential.  His joints protested as he gripped Tim’s thin gown to hold them closer.  Jon’s many Eyes drank in the sight of them, memorizing for when he would have far less.

“So you woke up,” Tim broke the silence.  “Was it a kiss from your dear Martin?”

“Oh, shove off.”   Jon butted Tim’s head and his laughter came through as static.

Tim laughed and batted Jon’s attack away.  They sighed and pulled back until they stood face to face.  “Will you tell them when you’re awake?”  Their smile was strained, a sight that was becoming horribly familiar, but hopeful.

“I won’t remember this.  What would you want me to tell them?”

“I don’t know.”  Tim shrugged, at a loss, hopeless.  “That I’m still in here?  That I’m sorry for leaving them.”

“They know already.”   For both and didn’t blame them for the second.   “We’re not giving up on you.”

“Okay.”  Tim relaxed and they breathed easier.  Did either of them need to in a dream?  Jon kicked that silly habit anyways in the waking world.  “Assuming of course that we’re actually dream walking and this isn’t a weird death hallucination I’m having.”

“I’m sure I’m real,” the recorder said amused.  “You?”

Tim patted themself down and nodded.  “Feels real, my eight pack is all here.”  Jon scoffed.  “So with that professional diagnosis, why is this the first time I’ve seen you?  I’ve been wandering around this place for a while when I can move, trying to help people, but this is the first time I’ve seen you.”

Jon shrugged.  “This seems to be statement based, live ones I’ve taken this time and the last.  Perhaps I was in one you hadn’t read?  I believe you took Tessa Winter’s statement this time around.”

“Makes sense,” Tim said.  They ran a hand through their hair, the only point of saturation in the murky statement landscape, and winced when hair got into an Eyes on their hand.  “How did you wake up the first time?  Emotional anchor?”

Jon dug through his memories and shook his head.  “I… I remember someone giving me a statement.  It was a break from the old nightmares to fit in a new one about death, a boat, sleep, and making a choice.”

“What was the choice?”

“I can’t remember.”   Jon’s shoulders sagged.  “I haven’t remembered any of my dreams since I went back.  The Eye likely has something to do with it.”

“Probably for the best,” Tim hmmed.  “Wouldn’t want one of my favorite people living through this every night.”  The puddle of blood Winters left was still wet, shining the computer’s light off its slick surface.  “Guess we could try something later.  I’ll send you mental vibes once you’re awake and tell you what to do.”

“You mean telepathy?” Jon suggested.

“Sure, sure.”

They spend the rest of their time together in Doctor Elliot’s statement, after they woke him up of course, with Jon resting his head on Tim’s chest at Jon’s insistence.  He said didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable with the overabundance of Eyes despite the fact that both of them were covered in them, the silly man.  As punishment for his hubris, Tim had no choice but to run their fingers through Jon’s hair while murmuring words that Jon would claim are too kind for him.

They knew their time was limited; Jon was only taking a nap in the real world and the chances of them coming across each other again weren’t in their favor.  Despite knowing this, the coolness that Tim felt when Jon disappeared still felt worse than any of the horrors that surrounded them.

“Right,” Tim sighed.  “Choices.”  They sat up and hopped off the table they were on, pacing around the empty science room, each step landing in blood.  “Don’t suppose I’ll like it, will I?”

They looked up at the ceiling.  At where they felt the Eye Looking down at them.

“I’m not dead, and I can feel you Watching me,” Tim glowered.  “Can’t blame you, but I doubt it’s for my good looks.  You want something.  Keeping me alive for some stupid plan or ritual.”  They glared at the tiles.  No answer.  How rude.  “Probably won’t let me go if I don’t do what you want.  Won’t let me live, won’t let me die unless it’s to your damn plan.  Jon isn’t able to remember any of his dreams or his coma so I doubt I’ll remember this, but I want to add one more fact to your plethora of Knowledge:

“I hate you.  Just Know that even before I make my stupid ‘choice.’”  They spun on their heel, making quoting motions with their hands.  They took a deep breath and sneered at the Watcher, the Beholding, the Eye.  “I’m making it for them.”

The feeling of being Watched dropped for a moment and Tim smirked.  Winning a staring cost with the embodiment of staring?  That would go on the top of their resume if they were able to apply to other jobs.  

Then it came back full force.  Every atom of their being burned and spun like a top, grating on each other, so that the cursed fear god could see every angle of them at once.  Tim screamed.  Tried to at any rate but their knowledge of how to was flooded over with so much more.  The Eye’s plan.

“No,” they rasped.  “No, no, please, I take it back I--”  They cried tears of pain but that just caused their tear ducts to burn as what came out wasn’t liquid but bulbous.  Wiping at their eyes, they saw what at first felt like caviar, small and round and easy to burst, and they retched when they realized that tiny bloody eyes were pouring out of them.  They closed their eyes and whimpered, trying to shut out the pain of Becoming, but Eyes upon Eyes opened until that’s all they were.

- <0>  <0>  <0> -

Tim gasped.  First in shock that they could and then in pain when they flailed and landed on the floor.  Before they could even feel the cold of the tiles, he was swept off the floor.  Strong warm arms were wrapped around him and he could hear babbling around him.  Some panicked and some happy.  Someone was crying and it was only by hiccupping breaths did Tim realize it was him.

They pulled themself closer to what they realized was Martin’s chest and relaxed into his grip.  The pressure and the heat increased when more arms joined.  The abundance of poofy dark and curly yellow hair made it easy to guess who.

Tim pushed against Martin's chest to remove herself.  “I-- I’m sorry.  I couldn’t--  Jon--”

A smaller body slammed into them, thin arms clinging around them.

“I’m here,” Jon said into their chest.  Warm and alive.

“Oh,” Tim breathed.  “We’re okay,” they said.  Just to try the words, feel the truth in them.  A smile split their face.  “We’re, we made it!”  They scooped Jon up and nearly toppled Martin when the weight proved too much for their bedridden legs.  They laughed joyously, tears wetting their face.  “Guess we were too hot for that explosion, huh?”

“Sure,” Jon huffed, rolling his eyes and smiling.  He frowned slightly and put his hands on either side of Tim’s face, staring deeply into their eyes.  The touch was nice but the intense look was a bit disconcerting.  Wait, were Jon’s eyes… “Your eyes are green,” Jon said.

Chapter Text

Jon didn’t realize how cold the bed felt without Tim.  An overbearing kind of cold that worked its way down to Jon’s bones (despite the fact he was now a healthier weight thank you very much please stop worrying Martin).  Sasha and Michael didn’t stay still enough to properly cuddle and Martin somehow was the same temperature as Jon if not a touch cooler some nights.

No one else was bothered by this so least to say, Jon hogged Tim the first night they were released from the hospital.  Just flopping himself over the human space heater and basking in the heat.

Huh.  Curious.  Jon rested his ear on Tim’s chest and brought his free hand (the other was holding Martin’s) up to Tim’s neck.

“You don’t have to worry, you didn’t crush my ribs,” Tim said, drawing Jon’s head up to kiss his forehead.

“It’s not that,” Jon shook his head.  He pressed his fingers to Tim’s neck again and yup.  “No heartbeat.”

The hospital told them this but it was so odd to feel it in person.  Complete stillness that made Tim feel like a fresh corpse.  Jon held them tighter and nosed his way into their neck junction.  Was this what Martin felt when he held Jon?  No wonder he always held him so intensely now.

The lack of heartbeat wasn’t the only thing that changed about Tim.  Now they shared Jon’s appetite for statements, a physical hunger now encouraging them along into unconscious reading.  A bonus of this was that they could now read more than one at once like Jon.

They both gorged on statements after Tim woke up.  The same appetite that Jon experienced when he first woke up overwhelming him again.  The morning after Tim was released, and they all clung to them like touch alone could anchor them to life, Tim felt sick until they could read something.

The static buzzed almost pleasantly in the back of Jon’s mind after he finished his batch.  Most of the hunger was abated now, enough that he didn’t feel forced to read more, but he wouldn’t mind another.  He Knew Tim felt the same.  He didn’t like the fact that Tim was a full fledged avatar now (didn’t like the fact Sasha and Martin likely were half way there as well) but he was grateful that they weren’t dead.  Besides, not like that would be a problem for too long.

“Huh,” Sasha picked up the finished ones and set them back into the crate they brought them in.  “That’s the last of them.  Two hundred years of collecting statements gone just like that.”

“Well hopefully that won’t become a problem.”  Jon.  “Ready to go?”

They went to the Institute to quit.  To properly quit, paperwork and all that or, more accurately, fill the paperwork as much as they could before they did the final step.  

Tim was insistent that they quit then and there when they woke up, they didn’t know why they were so persistent on it, but the side eyes the nurses and doctors gave the group stopped them and convinced them to wait until Tim could at least walk by themself until they actually did it.  With this delay, Tim figured that they might as well watch that sunset which was another reason why they were all heading to the institute.  This would be a bit faster if Rosie was at the desk to give them the key but no biggie.

“I can go find her,” Michael offered.  “She’s probably in Research's break room.  It’s the only one with a full stove top.”

“Alright,” Sasha.  

“Could we check the Coffin?”  Jon hesitantly asked.

“Elias?”  Martin.  Jon nodded.  “We can come with you.”  He said that like they even considered leaving one of their numbers alone with the Coffin.

“I would like that,” Jon and they started to Artefact Storage.  “I just… I feel like we’re leaving him behind.  I didn’t even know the real him and I can’t help but feel like we’re similar.”

“We don’t even know if he’s still alive,” Martin sympathetically.

Jon made a noise of acknowledgment.  “Still.  It would be nice to Know but the Eye isn’t exactly helpful.”

“Tell me about it,” Tim slung an arm over Jon.  “Since this morning it’s been randomly dropping facts about how Celsius was invented.”

“Anything interesting?”  Sasha.

“Celsius originally made it flipped around with the negatives on top.”

“Oh!”  Martin.  “I actually Knew that too!  Um, where did I…  Must’ve heard it on tv or something.”  He shrugged.

Jon smiled uneasily.  Knowing and knowing…  His heart twisted in the cage of his ribs and he wanted nothing more than to rip it out to stop it from hurting.  His partners being avatars wasn’t something he wanted, but it saved Tim.  There were good parts to it.  Jon bit his tongue and grimaced.  That wasn’t the logical human part of his brain talking, that was the Eye.  He hoped it was the Eye influencing that part of him, telling him that they would be fine staying like this.

“Jon, love?”  Martin.  “You okay?”

“Hmm?  Ah, yes, of course.”  Jon leaned into his side.  ”You’re here with me.”

“You’re such a sap,” Sasha laughed.  She ruffled his hair.  “Never change.”

“Sorry but that was the one compliment I had for the day, I have to be a bastard for the next twenty four hours to load the next one,” Jon, joking and smirking.

The smile fell a minute later when they realized the Coffin wasn’t in Artefact Storage.  One of the few late staff members there told them it was requested to be moved to ‘Bouchard’s’ office by none other than Peter Lukas.  

They rushed there.  Jon’s mind ran with the possibilities.  Why did Peter take it?  He knew that’s where Jonah was but Jon doubted he would risk himself to save him.  But then again he could just force someone else to make the trip down for him.  What would happen if Jonah got free?

The Knowledge nudged at the edge of his mind, rattling at the door that held back an ocean of Knowing.  Jon grimaced and ignored it best he could.  He had a feeling that letting it out would overwhelm him.  

Tim stopped short of opening the door with one hand on the handle, looking back at the three of them.  “Ready?” They asked.  Thin wisps of air drifted from the bottom of the door.

Jon nodded.

Fog rolled out in waves.  Thick enough to feel physical and drowning.  The whole office was muted in color by it and making it look like it had infinite depth, going on forever.  In the middle of the room, standing in front of the open Coffin where the fog was the thickest, was Peter Lukas, mist pooling around his ankles.

Jon reached for Martin’s hand, gripped it tight until it felt solid and warm.  

“Oh,” Peter turned in surprise.  “Hello, Archivist.”

“What are you doing?” Sasha.

[This is where I stopped writing and is now just notes and drafts]

Lukas greets them, surprised, and admits that he’s been trying to retrieve his horrid little rat of a husband (jokes that he’s late to their next divorce) since Jon made his way out.  Figured that he’s safe as long as he stays out of it and the Loneliness of the Coffin makes it easy to find him, but the Buried makes it hard to drag him out

They all stare at him in shock (put different reactions for everybody).  Jon and Tim unconsciously Stare and the attention makes Peter gag, and the fog drops but it’s too late.  They hear ragged breathing and see Jonah climb out, dirt mucking his overgrown hair.

Jonah sees them and makes some attempt to compose himself but the effects of the Coffin and the Lonely have weakened him, he has to use Peter to stand.  The sailor looks a bit uncomfortable with the touch but tolerates it.

Jonah starts saying something along the lines of thanking them but Jon doesn’t listen, he’s too distracted by his sudden urge to Know.  The slight hunger that stayed with him from the morning became a blackhole.

Information and thoughts are pouring off of Jonah, Jon Knows it’s because he became unused to keeping it away and also because Jon is becoming too powerful.  Jon can feel some part of his mind feeding on the new information but also realizes that Jonah doesn’t mean well.  Jon pulls back a bit.  Tim stops short of asking what was up and they Realize as well that Jonah is more than just a bicentennial murder.  Martin and Sasha back up as well

Jonah can see that going back to his persona won’t work so he tries to intimidate them, tries to Look at them but he’s so much weaker it’s laughable

“Jon.  Jon.   What are you doing.” Jonah’s voice wavered with false confidence.

“CEASELESS WATCHER.”  Jon’s Eyes snapped open, replacing his mouth with a chorus of recorders manifesting and clicking on.  Their static was a replica of voices, Jon’s and Archivists dead and gone, murmuring but loud together, “Jonah Magnus.  You have Watched and Known and Understood none.”

“Stop.”

A single recorder stood separate from the rest, almost unheard underneath the chaos, calm compared to the rage and narrated in Jon’s voice. “Jonah’s smirk wavered as he begged for mercy from those he thought he controlled.  The Archivists known as Tim, Martin, and Sasha joined the cacophony, their voices pulled along by the Eye.”

“You have Listened and Heard and refused to Comprehend.”   Their voices raised until the air itself was thrumming from the noise.  “You have tried to bring in all the is Fear and all that is Terror and all that is the awful dread-”

“-that Crawls- ” Tim and Martin chorused without Sasha, the recorders with Jon’s voice grew louder and echoed their words.

“-and Chokes-” Jon’s voice grew again, the sound itself pressing down on Jonah as Jon approached.

“-and Blinds-” Tim’s shadow deepened and stretched.

“-and Falls-” The noise released its incessant pressure on Jonah but that just made it all the more obvious to the man how far he would have to run to escape.

“-and Twists-” All of their voices grew in volume and static, a faint laughter barely audible beneath it though Jonah wasn’t sure if he heard anything at all.

“-and Leaves-” Martin spoke by himself.  Horribly fitting, Jon thought.  It didn’t escape Jon’s notice that Peter left, only leaving behind a thin wisp of fog.

“-and Hides-” Jon and Tim spoke again.

“-and Weaves-” Their voices chorus together, as they should be.

“-and Burns-” Sasha and Martin dropped away again as Jon and Tim spoke and the room grew hotter.  The air sizzled with their rage.

“-and Hunts-” The recorders growled Jon’s voice and his neck ached with a scar that never existed.

“-and Rips-” Martin practically sang.

“-and Bleeds-” Sasha said, her prosthetic eye as intense as her flesh one.

“-and DIES.”  All of their Eyes open. Every visible inch of skin covered in them at Staring at the pathetic man that was before them.  The scars that littered all of their skin splitting open to Look as well.  The absence of their voices was insignificant as the crescendo of static and voices were deafening to the one who sought to rule a Ruined World.

“TURN FROM THIS WRETCHED THING.”

Jonah screamed “-as The Archives’ Eyes turned to him,” one recorder continued to narrate, “ the Eye closed to him, and he ceased.   And so, Jonah Magnus Ended.  His eyes burned and rotted from their stolen years and the body he wore collapsed where it stood.

“The Archivists collapse and try to gasp for air but their mouths are still gone and the air is still filled with the breath of the Lonely though the one who brought it had left.  The chorus of tape recorders click off until there is only one.  They do not need air but it would make them feel better.  The Archivist called Sasha glares at the recorder with all of her Eyes, walks over, and reaches up to turn it-”

Click

Sasha got a moment to smile for a second at her loves.  Then she hears another--

[CLICK]

THE ARCHIVE

But that doesn’t work.  The recorder speaks in the Archive’s voice still, the only one still standing.  The Archive hungers.  It needs another statement.  And luckily for it, there is another statement in the room, stashed in a secret compartment under Jonah’s desk.  The Archive snaps its head to the recorder when it says this, the Knowledge of the statement’s existence entering its mind at the same time it’s said--

[CRACK]

The recorder stopped with a loud crunch when Sasha stomped on it.  Her chest moved with breath she couldn’t take as all of her Eyes stared in horror.  Tim and Martin were trying in their own ways to get Jon to respond, stopping short of ripping a statement out of his hands but Sasha Knew none of them would be able to damage the paper.
A small clatter sounded behind her. 

[CLICK]

THE ARCHIVIST SASHA

Another recorder appeared to read with the Archive as the first continues narrating the scene, this time in Archivist Sasha James’ voice.  She doesn’t seem to like it but every detail is important to record of course.  ‘Statement of Hazel Rutter,’ the Archive begins.  But that’s not quite right.  ‘I was never able to read the statements before,’ the Archive thinks.  But that’s when it was still Jon--

[CLICK]

Tim struggled against the Eye more, having to force every movement as they realize that they’re also falling for it since they can’t bring themself to destroy the recorder, only click it off.  They struggle and struggle, trying to force themself to help Jon but they click it on again.

[CLICK]

THE ARCHIVIST TIM

In some way Jon was grateful for the dazes, not having to think about the horrors.  Jon was never able to remember the statements because he didn’t need to; they were fed directly to the Eye.

[CRACK]

Martin smashed the newest one.  A snippet of words were heard before he smashed another that appeared by them.  He managed to get Jon to respond for a second, holding the off button on the one that read for him instead of destroying it out right, both were crying but another recorder appeared and Jon was pulled back down under the words to drown in the statement.

Piles of recorders appeared, too many for the three still able to move to destroy.  Sasha was still trying, sweating from the effort, but Tim.  Oh god, Tim.  They weren’t moving, just staring at the statement Jon was holding.  With horror, Martin realized that it wasn’t just Jon’s voice coming from the recorders anymore.

[CLICK][CLICK][CLICK][CLICK][CLICK]

MULTIPLE RECORDERS SPEAKING FOR THE ARCHIVE

The Eye had used Jon to archive, consumed ravenously the statements and the sensations he went through when he willingly, if unknowingly, gave his body over to his patron.  Old knowledge and repeating stories from Jon’s dreams, from all the Archivists’ dreams.  It was harmless, they didn’t even miss their dreams.  The Archivists, Martin and Sasha, don’t seem to agree with this as they all glare at the recorders in anger, still futilely smashing them.  But that’s no matter, with no mouths they can’t voice their opinion against it.

“‘Hello Jon,’ the Archive reads.  And the constellations of scars on its body opened into Eyes, crying tears of blood and joy as the world began to change.  The part of the Archive that remembered being Jon felt fear that fed the Web beautifully, the loss of control of his mouth and eyes and mind as his hands tried to scratch out his eyes leaving trails of blood that just opened into more Eyes.  

That didn’t stop the door from opening.

[AN EXPLOSIVE SOUND OF BREAKING GLASS; THE STATIC STAYS HIGH AND HEAVY AND OPPRESSIVE ]

[TAPE GARBLES AND MAKES A SOUND AKIN TO REWINDING]

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[starts from the last chapter when Sasha first turned off a recorder]

• Sasha collapses in front of the last tape recorder, physically and mentally worn down.  The silence of the room makes her skin itch compared to the cacophony. 
• Michael gets back, is rightfully panicked, and helps her get back over to the others who seem worse for wear.  Michael is worried and is asking her what just happened and also glancing half scared and half mournfully at ‘Jonah’s' corpse
• Jon signs that the Eye was sustaining Jonah so when it closed on him, he died.  Jon is a little wary about this, he wasn’t sure that it would even work, and is a bit worried about the consequences of it
• Michael sets Sasha down next to the others 
  • Sasha has a little more luck with it as does Martin but Tim has more trouble
• Sasha asks Jon in sign how to close their new Eyes.  A tape recorder clicks on and mimics the question in Sasha’s voice.  Sasha glares at it and it clicks off on its own.
• Jon signs that it’s a matter of trying to feel calm again and tries to show them but gets more panicked when it doesn’t work aside from the one that covered his mouth
• Martin helps calm Jon down and Tim guesses that it’s probably because they’re famished and they need to eat
• Michael goes out to get help and food and statements from the Archives for them
• They all feel weak and Jon remembers that there were other statements in the room that might at least take the edge off while they wait.
  • Jon is getting fidgety but is able to calm down a lot after Michael throws the Spiral weighted blanket over him.  It helps lessen the Eye
• Sasha tells him off for it since Michael literally just told them not to and they wait a few very hungry minutes waiting for Michael to get back.  Jon feels the hunger for the statements he Knows are right there but holds off because he doesn’t want to upset them.
• Michael finally returns with Rosie in tow, both carrying food and water.  Michael and Rosie offer to give them statements.
• Jon is glad that he waited.  After eating his fill and they were able to close their Eyes, Michael looked over the statements Jon sensed and saw the trap laid in it.  Martin and Tim have some fun setting them on fire with the web lighter
• Rosie feels vindicated that Elias/Jonah was like that but also bad because she didn’t do anything about it before
• Martin worries that they could have killed everyone in the Institute cause they just killed Jonah but Rosie is a clear indication they didn’t and Jon tells him that the Eye rejected Jonah and that they’re the new Head of the Institute.
• Sasha wonders if they can quit now.  Jon says that it’s a bit more sense they’re all deep into being avatars but they should at least be able to leave the Institute for much longer now and that they could try to make it more pleasant for the others
• They offer the ownership to Rosie since she’s very competent and knows what’s going on.  She’s a bit tentative but seems a bit more receptive when they mention the raise and the multiple mansions Jonah had.
• Their conversation leads to how to make the power transition less suspicious and they hear a groan and notice that ‘Jonah’ is still alive
• It’s og!Elias!
• Elias recognizes Michael’s voice for that sweet sweet surprise Elias x Michael that's right this crack ship was my end game if you thought the pineapple pizza was bad then catch these hands
• Mention how Elias had some great weed and Michael was cool.  Even when Michael was the Spiral they were chill with Elias and even gave them better weed (though the after effects were not the best idek)

EPILOGUE

• Time skip.  Opens in the Scottish Cottage (different from Daisy’s!  Or maybe in a town outside of London)
• They spent the last few months experimenting with how much they could hold off before they needed to take a statement.
• The house they live in was bought using Lukas’ money (he’s disappeared but they’re been keeping an eye out for him to make sure he doesn’t try anything more but they doubt he will) (Daisy offered her safe house but it’s not big enough for four people) and modified by Tim.  With their knowledge of Smirke’s architecture, Eye Knowledge, and the Dark, the house is able to suppress their hunger a little bit 
• Overall, they discovered that finding more benevolent terrors and watching over them to make sure they didn’t run rampant was enough to take the edge off.  Jon was the most likely to push it too far but the others were always there to make sure he ate no matter how much none of them wanted to do it.  They don’t think they’re brave enough to completely blind themselves but the house is prepared in case one of them decides to.
• Rosie also sends them statements from some of the other Institutes that Jon hadn’t read yet.  Every now and again, Basira and Daisy are the ones to deliver them and stay a while in Daisy's Scotland safehouse.
  • Tim insists that putting Polaroids everywhere helps and it honestly kind of does
  • Daisy is also working on her Hunting urges and finds some solace through hunting for non living things and trying out some work as a PI but they’re not sure about anything
  • Jon still texts Georgie and Melanie.  Melanie is doing well and dealing with her anger and helps make sure that Georgie is managing her lack of fear as she does.  They’re honestly doing great and just letting Jon think they need help so that they could keep an eye on him.
  • They mostly text pet pictures and brag to each other about their relationships
• Tim and Jon have the urge to read worse.  Jon more so.  Sasha and Martin can get away with urges but don’t feel starved when they don’t read, but since the Institute is now under new management they don’t feel as threatened by being tied to it.  Albeit, they’re all worried about Jon because of how dependent he is
• Michael lives in London but is still part of the polycule.  They also live with Elias (yes they are dating) and they sometimes visit between rediscovering being alive and free to do what they want.
• The gang has a cat and a dog now.  The cat has long orange hair and Sasha insisted that it would be named Steve Carlsberg after a character in a podcast she likes (she normally shortens it to Berger).  Martin insisted on the dog, a spaniel, but let Jon name it Lieutenant Pilot.
• The start of a random day:
• Jon pretends to be asleep (eyes still open) (Jon was the big spoon so that Martin wouldn’t drown in his hair and it was easier on Jon’s claustrophobia, Martin rotates to look at his face), Martin can tell and gives him a bunch of face kisses until they’re both giggling and adorable
• “Joooon,” Martin kissed his face.  “Oh, when will my boyfriend wake” Kiss.
  “Nope, sorry, not awake.”  Jon is struggling not to laugh loudly, trying not to wake Tim and Sasha.  “It would seem I need more kisses from my lovely Martin.”
• This is one of the nights Jon was comfortable enough to sleep in the same bed as the rest of them, feeling okay with being a little squished.  On his worse nights, he would sleep on a different bed entirely
• "It’s weird isn’t it?” Jon self consciously touched his face where an Eye peaked open.
  "A little,” Martin admitted.  “But it’s part of you, and I like you.”
• They get ready to go out on a walk, Martin seems a bit nervous but Jon doesn’t pry.  There’s plenty of good cows to see
• Tim gives them kisses when Jon and Martin go out and Sasha gives them kisses to their foreheads
• They’re looking at cows when the following conversation happens, something Jon had been thinking about for a long time:
• “Martin, you’re not my anchor,” Jon said.
  “What?” Martin could barely hold back the edge of distress in his voice, half insulted.
  “No,” Jon insisted, “Anchors...they fall.  Into dark, cold depths in hopes to hold something still by distancing themselves.  They’re far away and I...I would prefer to have you with me.  You’re more like a lighthouse; a light in the dark to call me home.  To call me to you.”
• Martin blushes and stammers etc and asks Jon what this is about.  He says that he just wants to enjoy looking at his favorite person, seeing the light, a bit more while he can
• “Marry me,” Martin blurted.
  “Wha-what?” Jon, confused but delighted.
  “I brought you on this walk to ask.” Martin looks a bit sheepish and blushing furiously at just the thought of marriage.  “Tim and Sasha have been more than obnoxious about it and threatened to marry you first.”
  “Oh,” Jon blinked dumbly.  He laughs.  “I was going to say I’m going to gouge my eyes out.”
• Martin asks if he’s sure about it
• Jon assures him that he is and that he doesn’t want to worry anymore about ‘feeding’ and doesn’t like how the Eye still doesn’t let him remember anything when he does now (but that’s much preferable to the one he is able to remember) and that’s he’s too far along and hopes that he’s still able to do it
• Martin comforts him and whatever.  Jon jokes that he’s excited to actually dream again.
• “And yes,” Jon said. 
  “Hmm?”  Martin said dumbly.
  “Well if you’re going to forget what you asked me that quickly I guess I’ll just have to go to someone who’ll actually appreciate me,” Jon feigned being insulted.  “Tim!  Sasha!  I’m being under appreciated!”
  “Wait wait!  Oh my,” Martin broke out in laughter and kissed Jon. “You’re insufferable sometimes, do you know that?”
  “Yes”
  “I know, I know.”