Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the year 1873 in Cheyenne Wyoming, and Jonathan Sims was getting ready for the first day of his new job at the Magnus Institute. “Head archivist” is what Elias told him, which sounded like a real ballyhoo of a job description, but it paid well for the area so he couldn't complain. 

Jon combed his hair into a short ponytail at the back of his head, he put on his nicest white shirt, a leather vest, and some nice black pantaloons. Jon had also gone heeled, his old revolver on his hip. He grabbed his hat as well, a dusty brown cowboy hat with a shocking green feather tucked into the leather band. I wonder where that came from. I feel like I should know, but I can’t seem to place it?

As Jon finished getting ready, he left his little log cabin on the outskirts of town and jumped on his trusty horse to ride into Cheyanne. She was a beautiful brown thoroughbred he had named Dixie, and she had always gotten him to his destination.

The ride into town was short, dusty and accompanied by cactus. Two whoops and a holler as his mother would say. My mother? When did I start remembering my mother? Jon was sure he had a mother, but he couldn’t tell you a single thing about her. The thought felt misplaced in his head, pushed in like a square in a circle hole. Jon put it out of his mind.

Now, Cheyanne was a small town in 1873, only a few years old, so the town consisted of a saloon, the Institute, a few houses, a sheriff's station, the mayor’s office, and a small shop where the locals could trade for food and fabrics. A charming place if Jon said so himself. The small number of buildings were all facing a wide dirt road, and a few towns people were bustling about, some were leading or riding horses, and some were carrying letters or large bags of what could be grain. What a delightful place. I could sure make a good livin’ here given the chance.

Jon looked to the institute building, a tall box of stucco and dirt. There was a large wooden sign on top that said MAGNUS in big green letters. The few people who passed by looked at it with contempt, giving it quick looks and high tailing it into the next building. It gave Jon butterflies, though he couldn’t tell if it was excitement or apprehension.

A gruff and low voice broke Jon out of his thoughts, “Good morning there stranger, hain’t seen you here before.” Jon looked up to see a short, blond woman walking up to his horse. Her face was sun-worn under the brim of her hat, and a red bandana was tied around her neck. Further down, right on the breast pocket of her tan shirt, a bright silver Sheriff's badge glinted in the sun.

“Only been here a short time miss, got myself a job at that there institute. My name is Jonathan Sims.” While a little intimidated by the woman, he stopped his horse out of respect. Her gaze was intense, like she was looking for any sign of weakness in him.

“One of them academic types I see. Couple more like you here’n town. The name is Sheriff Daisy Tonner, best not make a fuss or I’ll have to take you down to the station, you hear?” the Sheriff jabbed her finger toward the jailhouse. It was a small stucco building with a big star above the door. On the porch were two chairs, one was still occupied by who Jon assumed was the deputy, and lazing under the empty chair was a brown and white dog.

“You have my word ma’am. I won’t make trouble ‘round here.” Jon tipped his hat as a goodbye and left Sheriff Tonner behind him. Jon couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen her before, even though he was very sure he'd never met her. Her eyes just felt so familiar.

Jon tied Dixie at the front of the institute, another horse there already. They looked content enough to be next to each other, the second horse seemed to be a pinto, beautiful swathes of color adorning its body.

The door to the institute was old, green painted wood. As Jon approached it to walk in, the door swung open and he was met with the chest of another very tall man. “My apologies there! I wasn’ watchin’...” 

Jon stepped back to see a tall curly-haired man. He was a full head taller than Jon was, and while his build suggested someone who would command a presence, his eyes told another story. They were grey, and Jon couldn’t pace it, but he felt like he knew those eyes as well. 

“No, I'm sorry, I hadn't expected you to be there. Jonathan Sims, nice to meet you.” Jon held his hand out, and the other man hesitated for a moment before taking it. 

“Martin K. Blackwood, pleased to meet you” Jon had decided that he did not like this Martin Blackwood. They stared at each other in uncomfortable silence for a moment before Jon dropped Martin’s hand as soon as was polite. It was sweaty and Jon felt weird holding it, like it wasn’t right.

“I best be gettin’ inside now, I have a job to do.” Jon had tried to step around, but Martin just stood there, almost as though in shock. His eyes flitted around nervously, no matter how much Jon tried to hold eye contact.

“You’re the new archivist ain’t ya? Golly I should've known. I can show y’all around since you're new, if you'd be agreeable.” Martin took a couple steps back, revealing the interior of the archives. The first room was small, a few deer antlers mounted on the wall. There was a desk with a sprightly woman sitting there, fanning herself so hard her curly blonde hair was blowing around. She was so distracted by her fanning she didn’t seem to notice they were there. Behind her stood a tall black stove to keep the institute warm in the winter and to heat coffee or biscuits during the day.

“I think I'll find my own way, but thank you kindly. Just that door back there?” Jon asked, a frown etching its way down his face. He wanted to get as far away from Martin as quickly as possible. Martin made a confirming sound, and walked out the door without another word.

Jon walked past the secretary to the back room. It smelled like books, and there were papers stacked to the roof. The floor creaked as he took his first step inside. The room was a wood box, the books on the shelves were all different sizes, and the whole place seemed to be in disarray. Two other figures sat at the tables talking to each other, a man who seemed as tall as him, with short brown hair and a hat on his head. He wore a vest like Jon, but it was more worn, slightly dirty. Across from him was a dark-skinned woman. She was very elegant in her yellow dress, and her hair was tied in a ponytail that cascaded over her shoulder.

They both turned their heads at the sound of the floor creaking, and the man stood up quickly to greet Jon when he entered. 

“Well hey there, you must be the new archivist! The name’s Timothy Stoker, and that there is Sasha James. How do you go by?” Tim had a wide smile on his face as he introduced himself and the woman. She smiled as well, though it was more reserved. There was a deep sense of dread in his gut when his eyes met hers.

“My Name is Jonathan Sims, you both are my assistants, yes?” Jon asked, hesitating for a moment before adding “and Martin as well I s’pose.” Jon's frown got deeper as he relived the meeting with the awkward man. He couldn’t quite place his weird feeling, but he knew it was probably nothing good.

“Oh yes, we’ll be working here together, sorting through the mess that is these archives.” Sasha spoke this time, her voice confident. A memory wormed its way into Jon's brain, an unwelcome and intrusive memory of his sister. Did he even have a sister? Surely he did if he remembered her-

“Are you alright there pardner? You look like you just got smacked,"Tim questioned, a hint of a laugh in his voice. 

“Yes, you just remind me of someone, Miss James.” Jon tried to smile, but based on Sasha’s face, it probably didn’t work. It was at that moment Martin walked back in, providing a well placed interruption to Jon's awkward introduction to his co-workers.

“Tim, I think we’re gonna need more space for the horses, Elias is here an’-” Martin cut himself off when he saw the scene. His face began to turn pink as he took another step toward the tables. “Hello Mr. Sims. Good to see y'all have met…” Martin trailed off, and Tim filled the awkward silence.

“No need to kick up a row with them horses, I'll help y’out” Tim took long confident strides toward the door, clapping Martin on the shoulder and pushing him out the door, shutting it behind them.

“You best talk to Elias, he’s been want’n to meet with you since y’all last talked. Just in that door and up them stairs." Sasha explained with a smile. It eased Jon's nerves, or at least his shoulders. 

“Thank you kindly Miss James. I'll be seein’ you.” Jon turned and walked toward the back door where the air thickened with each step.

Chapter Text

The staircase to Elias's office was strange. The stairs Jon had been walking on were made of wood, and enclosed in the building, but about halfway up the stairs, the wall opened to reveal an outer set of stairs. Jon took a moment to inspect and found they led out and down to the horse corral, where three horses now stood. His own, the same pinto from earlier, and a jet-black thoroughbred which he assumed was Elias’ horse. A small smile made its way across Jon's face as he turned to start his ascent again.

While Jon walked back up the staircase and back into the building, he began to smell tobacco smoke coming from the office. While Jon didn’t mind, this smoke was thick and heavy, and it stuck to his skin. Truthfully, it made him a bit lightheaded, and he tripped a bit on one of the stairs and hit his shin. 

Each step Jon took reminded him of his last meeting with Elias. Greasy slicked back hair, a thick New York accent, and a condescending glare. It reminded him of his grandmother, although she was more interested in keeping Jon occupied than picking apart his insecurities. Jon’s smile from earlier vanished as he reached the final step.

The door to Elias’ office was the same green painted wood as the door to the institute, a scratched and worn gold knob his only obstacle to entry. A bead of sweat made its way down the back of Jon’s neck. 

Jon reached for the handle, hesitating for a moment before taking it in his hand and turning it. It was cold, so cold it almost stuck to his fingers. It shouldn't be so cold in the summer .

The door swung open with unnatural quickness. Elias sat inside the door, his chin resting on his intertwined fingers. He puffed a breath of smoke from the cigarette between his fingers. “Hello Jon. Welcome to The Magnus Institute. How has your first day been so far?” His voice dropped with poorly concealed contempt, eyes boring holes into Jon's forehead.

“Well, it sure has been somethin’...” Jon trailed off a bit before regaining his composure “I am very glad to have been picked for this job.” Elias smiled at that, a silver tooth poking out from the corner of his lip.

“I’m sure you’ll do great. Anythin’ would be better than our last archivist anyway. A real addle-pot she was.” Elias then took a moment to take a drag of the cigarette, blowing the smoke right into Jon's face. “Surely you and your team won't be over your head and ears with organizin’. That wench Gertrude left it in quite a state, and I can’t have my archives lookin’ a mess now, can I?” 

“Of course not sir. But I do have a question, why is Martin here? I coulda sworn we agreed on two assistants?” A flicker of confusion went through the intense eyes of Elias Bouchard when Jon mentioned Martin. It was gone a fraction of a second later, however, smoothed back over into the leering gaze that adorned his face.

“Well, I hadn't been to the archives til after Gertrude Robinson died, and I thought you’d like the extra set of hands. You can’t be displeased with him already, are you? I could have him... Removed.” Elias’ smile widened with that statement, as though he was waiting to do so. Jon’s ears began to ring.

“No sir, I was just wonderin’... in case there was a mistake.” Jon couldn't make out why, but he felt a surge of protective fear go through him when Elias mentioned removing one of his assistants. It made his shoulders tense and his hands clench. Jon’s mind was going fuzzy, he couldn’t remember the name of the woman who had directed him here. And what was the name of the man with guns on his hips?

“I’ll let you settle in, you’re gonna wanna get started real quick with that organizin’ now. No need to hang fire on that mess.” Elias took one last opportunity to blow the putrid smoke into Jon's face as his mind began to go completely blank and his eyes glazed over. Elias then walked around his desk, stood Jon up by the shoulders, and shoved Jon out the door.

Jon stumbled quite a bit down the staircase, his depth perception completely out of whack.

Next thing Jon knew, he was back inside the archives, the smell of tobacco sticking to him like the humid air of the California town he hailed from. He couldn’t remember the name.

Sasha came up to him again, deep brown eyes searching for any sign of sentience in him. She spoke, but Jon couldn’t hear her. Simply the sound of ringing filling his ears, subsiding ever so slowly. Sasha continued to try and get Jon’s attention to no avail. She decided to leave him alone after a few minutes, Jon was so clearly out of it.

By the time Jon came back to, both Tim and Martin had come back in from their horse activities. Martin looked worried, like usual, and Tim looked confused but was mostly unaffected.

“- we are not calling you Timmy Two Iron, that would make you sound sapheaded.” Sasha exclaimed, laughter ringing her voice. 

“Does not! Tell her Martin, Timmy Two Iron makes me sound like a real buckaroo! Not like I just sit in this archive all day sortin’ papers like some kinda saddle tramp.” Tim laughed as he said this, his left hand on Sasha’s shoulder showing off a polished silver band. 

“Well, I guess I can appreciate the name, but I gotta go with Sasha on this. Were academics, we have to sound smart” Martin gave a small awkward smile. It gave Jon butterflies and a lump in his throat. Jon couldn’t really tell if it was out of affection or disgust. He decided firmly it was out of disgust. 

“Ahem, don’t we have a job to do?” Jon finally spoke, voice a little scratchy from disuse. “It’s still mornin’ we have lots of daylight left!” 

Martin’s face fell as Jon spoke, and Tim and Sasha both turned quickly to see him like they had been spooked by Jon's sudden appearance. 

“So the dead man finally speaks! Better than standin’ there like some kinda statue.” Finally? That caught Jon off guard. He was sure he’d been in Elias’ office for only a short time. And like a statue? 

“What? No, I just came back down. We have some work to do so let’s do it. This place ain’t gonna organize itself!” Jon spat, almost indignant.

There was a beat of silence before Sasha spoke. “Hun, you’ve been standin’ there for hours. We been doin’ lots of work, but it's almost midnight. We wanted to make sure you were ok.” Jon took a moment to soak Sasha’s statement in.  Hours? What in tarnation did that bunko artist upstairs do to me? 

“Do you need someone to go home with you? If you’d be agreeable, I could make sure you get home safely?” Martin’s voice came quietly from behind Tim and Sasha. Sasha looked back at him, a bit of pride in her eyes as Tim had a smirk on his face the size of timbuktu.

“No I.. I think I need to be alone for a time. Process.” Jon began to walk toward the door but paused when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Sasha's, adorned as well with a silver polished band.  How sweet- 

“You take care of yourself, you hear? We don't need another Miss Robinson situation, ok?” Sasha looked at him with concern, her eyebrows knit. 

“Yes ma’am. I’ll be seein’ y’all tomorrow. Night.” Jon tried to force a smile and turned to go back out the door. The night air was crisp. There was no noise but the crickets. It was very comforting, and Jon finally released the tension that had been building in his shoulders all day. 

Elias Bouchard. What a nose parker. Where have I seen his eyes before? It was always their eyes. First Sheriff Tonner, then Martin, then Sasha, and now his slimy juniper of a boss. It was unsettling. 

Jon made his way back to the horse corral and got on his horse again, who seemed very happy to see him. The black horse was gone. Dixie nuzzled his hand when he walked up to her, seemingly concerned for him.

“Nice to see you too girl, now let’s go home.” Jon led her out to the road, past the institute front, the shop, and the Sheriff’s station, chairs both vacant. They rode back through the dust and the dirt between his house and Cheyanne, past the tall cacti and the critters that come out at night.

When Jon made it home, he untied Dixie and let her back into her pasture. Jon went inside and lit a candle so he could have light to change out of his day clothes, they still had the smell of tobacco clinging to them. 

The only thing Jon had noticed out of the ordinary that night, was a jagged scar on his sternum that had definitely not been there the night before.

Chapter Text

Martin had arrived in Cheyanne two weeks ago, and there were only a few things he could remember. 1, his name was Martin Blackwood, 2, the name Jonathan Sims, and 3, that he needed to be there when Jonathan Sims became the head archivist.

When his eyes adjusted, he could see that he was covered in red dust and clutching a bloody knife. The surrounding area was barren save for the wooden wall at his back, illuminated only by the waxing moon. It was desert as far as he could see.

Martin found that he had the strength to stand and pocketed the knife. If this was civilization, he needed to be careful just who saw what he was carrying. He had a dusty pair of slacks on and a shirt that looked worse for wear more than anything. He decided to walk around to the front of the building and saw a single figure riding atop an animal through the middle of the dirt road. Large green letters that read MAGNUS caught his eye. 

The figure in the middle of the road was tall, almost too tall. They were wearing a hat and had long curly hair, though Martin couldn't tell the color. And the animal he was riding? An incredibly large rodent, pink tail swinging idly as it walked.

“Hello? Can you tell me where I am?” Martin called to the strange animal rider, who turned around with a wide crack of a smile on their face. Martin could see now that this person was a man, though his features were blurry and seemed to shift ever so slightly when he looked too hard. It made him nauseous.

“Well hello there, my name is Michael. Welcome to Cheyenne, pardner!” his voice was jaunty, like he had just been told a wonderful joke. If his face made Martin nauseous, his voice was downright sickening. His stomach felt like he was falling, and what little he could remember was being twisted out of shape.

“Well I- I just got here, and I'm not too sure what’s going on. Cheyanne you say? Like Wyoming?” Martin was very confused. Is that my name? It felt right, but he couldn’t be sure. Michael was messing with his head.

“Oh dear, that's quite the predicament.” Michael paused to laugh, an ear splitting, disorienting laugh. “Why don't you come with me, and we’ll get you all situated so you don't get lost.” Michael grinned ear to ear, his whole face splitting over rows of teeth.

“Well, I guess I have nowhere else to go.”  Martin looked down at the rodent - no zebra? Michael was riding and debated hopping on. 

“Great! Great news! Let's go, I live just outside town!” Michael laughed his horrible laugh again as he grabbed Martin by the crook of the elbow and yanked him onto h the back of his ostrich. It felt like a sack of potatoes under his weight. Too lumpy and in some places, and not quite solid in others. 

“You know, you should be more careful about who sees that weapon of yours, had it been the sheriff you might've been hanged.” Michael giggled, his shoulders moving with the action. 

Martin's mind was gradually clearing the longer he was around Michael, the initial shock of strangeness wearing off. He could tell the buildings apart now, a saloon, the building with the large green letters, and at the edge of town, a sheriff's station with two empty chairs on the porch. He could also smell tobacco coming from the building labeled MAGNUS.

The mountain lion they were riding on felt too fast and too slow all at once, the desert passing quicker than it should've while the buildings stayed almost completely still in Martin’s peripheral vision. 

“Who are you? I know your name is Michael, but who exactly are you?” At this question Michael let out a sigh like he gets asked this question far too often. 

“I am not a who I am a what . I am Michael. How does nobody understand that? Isn't that right Bessie?” Michael gestured to the cow they were riding on, that meowed contentedly when it was asked the question. “See? Now, we have some work to do. You’ve gotta get into the Cheyanne spirit, and you have an archivist to meet.” Michael spurred on his rather large dog to go faster, but the sound of the footsteps was erratic and slow. 

“Ok then, what are you?” Martin was growing slightly annoyed with this stranger. Why did he have to be so confusing? He made the air smell like rotten but sweet, and he made Martin's stomach do flips up and down his torso.

“I can't say...” Michael burst out laughing at this, the cacti they passed by bouncing as though they understood the joke as well. The sound made Martin's head split.

A small house appeared in the distance, though the proportions got more wrong the closer they got to it. The roof was too tall, and the door was far too small to fit a normal person through. 

“Is that your house? It certainly seems weird enough to be.” This remark earned another giggle from Michael. 

“No, but I live there. Now, you can’t be saying long words like ‘certainly,’ you’re gonna upset the balance. Try using ‘sure’ instead.” Michael sounded a little more serious with that last part, so Martin tried to take it to heart, but it was really distracting when the giant snake they were riding on wouldn’t stop howling.

“It sure seems weird enough to be.” Martin half-mocked. Michael was really beginning to get to him. “Happy?”

“Oh, I'm very happy. This has been a wonderful outing. And you're already getting the words! I'm so proud. Keep it up and you might be ready in time for the Archivist!” Michael mocked right back. He hopped off of his giant squirrel and gave his hand to Martin to help him off. The sweet rotten smell was getting stronger, and Michael’s fingers were far too long and much too sharp to be safe to touch. Martin just slid off of the pig’s back.

“Thanks. I guess. Your elephant is wandering away.” Michael shrugged.

As they walked up to the door, it got larger as though it changed size depending on how close you were. A circle window appeared next to it as well. Martin was sure it had not been there before.

“Welcome to where you’ll be staying for the night. Tomorrow, we get you a house and start on your adjustment. You can’t walk around Cheyenne Wyoming sounding like a brit of course!” Michael opened the door and inside was a yellow staircase. It was on the ceiling and led into the floor. Michael did not hesitate and walked right in. 

Martin hesitated a moment before taking a step inside. He immediately regretted it however, as his whole body felt like it was wrenched upside down to accommodate the stairs. Martin just about puked.

Once the feeling settled, Martin took a moment to absorb the scene. Yellow stairs, strange, distorted mirrors, and the door that creaked closed behind him was gone. Great . Not to mention the overpowering smell. When Martin looked closer into the mirror, he saw himself and Michael, but his features were all wrong. His eyes where his mouth should be, an ear for his nose, and fingers where his eyes should be. Martin’s nausea was back.

“I don’t suppose that you could make your house less nauseating?” Martin asked and Michael laughed again, and the sound made the mirrors wiggle and scrambled his features again.

“What would be the fun in that?” Michael offered nothing else but continued up (down?) the stairs. Martin couldn’t see any option but to follow, so he left the scrambled mirror behind. 

Each new mirror was a different horror, one even made it seem like his teeth were fingers. Each new mirror also brought a new smell, sweet, rot, sour, floral. The shift in smells really messed with Martin, his headache growing worse with each new one. 

Michael led them through the staircase and in multiple right turns. The crossroads only went forward or right, never left. Another new smell, another horrifying mirror, and finally, a new yellow door.

Michael turned around and looked Martin directly in the eyes. Martin’s breath caught in his throat and his heart began to beat wildly. Michael’s eyes were fragmented and brightly colored. They swirled faster the longer they held eye contact.

“Now. you must be on your best behavior in this room. I don’t want to have to toss you out of my corridors for being rude. Not that you’ll remember this next part anyway.” Michael didn't speak with laughter in his voice. It made the hairs on the back of Martin's neck stand up.

“Su- sure thing… I'll uh…” Martin trailed off. He didn't want to imagine what was on the other side of the door, but he figured he had no choice. 

As the door creaked open in front of Michael, it revealed a dark red room, decorated like the lobby of a hotel. It threw Martin for a loop, the stark normalcy compared to the horror-show that was the hallways almost made it worse. Martin took a step forward after Michael and realized the floor felt soft and bouncy under his foot, and the air thickened until it was soupy in his lungs. 

Michael appeared behind the desk, curly blonde hair in a ponytail to the side of his head and his cowboy hat replaced by a red and white striped cone. It was strange, Martin mused, but no stranger than he had been exposed to previously. The room was entirely the same shade of red. The floors, ceilings, and walls were all a thick velvet that might be nice to the touch.

In the corner of the ceiling was a couch, and on that couch were 14 humanoid figures that stared at Martin from their cramped sitting place. They all wore different clothes, but Martin couldn’t see anything beyond that, their skin and faces concealed by a thick red smoke that bled from the walls.

“Can I get you a room, good sir?” Michael asked with fake courtesy, his smile widening by the second. The sudden question made Martin jump a bit before he answered.

“Uh, yes? One with a bed I suppose.” The question caught Martin off guard, but with the warning from earlier, he figured he’d play along.

“Just wonderful! Here's the key, just down that hall, first door on the right.” Michael handed Martin a bright pink key labeled “MKB” in curly red letters. “Have a nice night~! And do try not to stare at other patrons, it's very rude.” Michael called happily as Martin turned to walk toward where he was directed.

Upon further inspection, there was only one door in the hallway Michael pointed toward. The key fit inside the lock, so Martin assumed it was his.

Pushing the door open revealed more red walls. A single red bed sat dead center in the room, furnished with far too many red pillows. There were no more mirrors, and surprisingly absolutely no smells, which was a welcome change from the overload of smells he had gotten before. 

Martin took a few steps into the room and found the floor was completely solid in here as well. This is too good to be true. No way Michael actually lets me sleep in peace. Martin’s suspicions were confirmed when he attempted to move the pillows to lay in the bed. The whole bed was basically an elaborate concrete slab. Typical. 

So Martin laid on the floor. The soft, flat velvet felt good on his back, and the quiet helped him fall into a dreamless, though slightly uncomfortable sleep. 

When Martin awoke in the morning, he was surprised to find the room exactly the same. He stood up and tried to open the door, but it was locked. So, in the red room he stayed. He didn’t feel different, but he almost knew it was something suspicious going on with Michael. 

“MICHAEL!” Martin yelled, surprised by his own voice and the shift it had taken on. It had changed from the familiar, comforting tone and accent he knew previously to something a lot closer to the accent Michael was wearing. “What in tarnation? Where does that ol’ flannel-mouth get off on changin’ my speaking like this? Golly.” This struck true fear into his heart. His elegant British accent was gone, replaced by a western cowboy accent?  No sir, no how was this acceptable.

Martin kept trying the door, but the more he tugged at the handle the more tired he became. He kept trying until his movements were sluggish and he had to stop and think for a moment. He couldn't think of anything besides cheesy western colloquialisms, and it was infuriating.

 He decided to take a rest and laid his back to the concrete bed and dozed for a few hours.

Martin woke up with a piece of straw between his teeth and a ragged old cowboy hat over his eyes. “Whatever game you’re playin’ needs to stop Michael! You hear? I'm done with this, now LET ME OUT!” Martin was shaking with rage.

No answer came. Martin was left in the room, pacing, cursing, and screaming for days until he couldn’t remember who he was yelling at. It was then the door opened, revealing the building labeled MAGNUS in dark green letters. The red room fell away as he stepped out, confident.

Martin knew why he was there. He worked there. He was meeting the new archivist today and starting his brand-new position in the archive. He had been the secretary but now he was promoted to assistant archivist, how exciting!

Martin took a deep breath and opened the door. The knob was ice cold, but he didn’t mind. He’d been working there for as long as he could remember, and the feeling grew on him. 

What a great day! Martin thought to himself, at least until he was met with a pair of familiar pair of striking green eyes belonging to a familiar Archivist.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since Jon’s first day as Head Archivist, and he was settling in really quite well when he wasn't worrying about Elias. 

Jon, Sasha, Tim, and Martin were sorting through quite a few stacks of statements. Their workspace consisted of a big wooden room with a couple tables pushed together in the middle, so it made collaborating to sort through the statements very easy. The shelves full of books and statements were always covered in the same red dust that stuck to their boots from outside. 

Their sorting process was fairly simple as well. First, they’d sort the statement by date, then by category. Spooky Being or Spooky Object, only occasionally both. Most statements were read out without incident, but every once in a while, there would be a statement that would fill them with fear and make their stomachs twist into awkward shapes.  

“Hey boss, look at this one! A wood coffin what sings in the rain, sent in by a man named Joshua Gallespie. This one’s real spooky” Tim looked like he was trying to keep up a smile, but Jon could see in his eyes that he was shaken. 

“How do you mean? Read it out.” Jon looked up from the statement he was reading to give Tim his attention.

“Well ok, but don't come for my head if it gets to ya’” Tim sighed, he dreaded reading the statement, but he read it anyway. 

As Tim read carefully through the statement, Jon’s stomach dropped, and his mouth went dry. He couldn't speak for anyone else, but he truly believed this statement into his bones. Joshua’s statement had detailed how the coffin had shown up in his house, chained up with the letters “DO NOT OPEN” scratched on the surface. He had managed to outsmart the key he was given by burying it in a locked box and fed that key to one of his horses. It was picked up by two large men who called them Breekon and Hope and Joshua said they looked ‘exactly like you'd think’. The coffin stayed on his property for 3 years.

A chill went through the room as Tim finished his statement. 

Jon turned to his coworkers and saw that Sasha was simply staring in shock and Martin was trying to wipe away a stray tear that ran down his face. 

“Well, that sure is… unsettling. We should, uh, put that… somewhere.” Jon started. “Most of these statements are real corral dust but this… uh…” nobody answered. The silence was almost absolute, emanating from the statement in Tim's hands.

“I think we should make a pile for ones like that. Call ‘em real spooky or the like.” It was Sasha that spoke up this time, her shock worn off but weariness still there.

“Let- let’s just. Put it s-somewhere. That gave me a real spook.” Martin stuttered out. Jon felt the need to comfort him enter his mind, but he pushed it away quickly. He needs to get himself together. This is our job. What a yellow belly.

They decided to put this statement into a wooden box they shoved as far into the corner as they could away from their desks. It was almost comforting. Jon could almost put the coffin out of his mind.

The next Real Spooky statement was just as bad, read out by Jon this time. It was about a woman whose husband left for the saloon one day and came back a completely different person. His looks, his mannerisms, everything. And no matter who she asked or how she argued, she was the only one who knew he was different. They all just told her he’d always been like that. 

That statement went in the box without hesitation. It had left the team wary, and the archive was silent for a few moments before finding a particularly sap headed statement to laugh at. Something about an evil cow watching someone in their sleep. 

But other than a few Real Spooky statements, the Archives had been running smoothly. Jon had been able to bond with Sasha and Tim (Jon found out they eloped after her father disapproved of Tim) and was beginning to tolerate Martin more. Martin had begun bringing coffee in from the front room stove. It was the best Jon had had in a very long time, not that he would admit it.

Jon was becoming increasingly confident in his movements and status as well. When he rode into town in the morning, he would wave hello to Sheriff Tonner and her deputy in the morning, and stroll past the lively saloon at night. The routine was a comfort to him, even though the smell of tobacco never quite left him alone. 

Tim had also invited Jon to go to the saloon one night with himself, Sasha, and Martin, but Jon declined. He didn’t like to see Martin in the daytime at work, so he did not want to see the man in liquor making a fool of himself. 

The next morning, on his way into town, Sheriff Tonner stopped him. “You there! Mr. Sims, was it? Y’all need to keep a better handle on your tall friend there you hear?” Jon was confused, and he must’ve looked it because Daisy continued, “That’n with the curly hair and the weepy eyes. He tore through here last night on some horse kick’n an’ screamin’ somethin’ fierce.” The sheriff was already frowning, but she seemed to frown deeper. Jon was hesitant to answer because she was gesturing up and down the street with her gun like she wanted to shoot someone. 

“Apologies, Sheriff, I think he an’ a few others were drinkin’ last night, and I wasn't there to stop ‘em. I’ll keep a better eye on Martin though.” Daisy’s eyes narrowed, but she let him go with “A warnin’ you hear?” 

That already had Jon in a bad mood. What put him in a worse mood, however, was that that crucial person he was meant to keep an eye on was gone. The curly-haired secretary, whose name Jon had just learned was Rosie, said she hadn’t seen him, and Tim and Sasha said they left the saloon before Martin did. A perfect recipe for a wild goose chase if you asked Jon.

“Are y’all sure you haven’t seen him? The Sheriff said he was ridin’ through town three ways from Sunday makin’ a real fuss.” Jon asked Sasha, who looked at him with curiosity as they walked into the Archive room.

“Hun, he’s probably just tryin’ to sleep off a night of drinkin’ joy juice with us. God knows Tim would be if I hadn’t stopped him from drinkin’.” She put her hand on Jon’s arm to reassure him, it didn’t help much. Tim just laughed to himself, something about what happened at the saloon last night and a very  drunk Martin. Jon couldn’t be bothered to ask Tim to elaborate no matter how intrigued he was. He had an assistant to chew out. 

So, Jon went looking. First to the saloon, where he was met with nothing but a drunk old man at the bar that smelled like manure, and an unhelpful bartender, whose long, curly blonde hair distractingly shifted and swirled with each word he spoke. 

“I’m quite sorry I can't help you. Your Assistant was here last night. He gave me some very good business, but he left, and I Haven't seen him since." The bartender giggled at that, and Jon decided to leave to try to find Martin’s house before the odd stick of a bartender started telling jokes. The only problem being that Jon didn’t know where Martin lived. So, Jon ended up heading to the Sheriff’s station to ask if they had seen or heard anything about Martin. 

The sheriff and her deputy, A tall woman who had an inquisitive look in her eye under her headscarf and cowboy hat, were sitting on the porch like usual. The brown and white dog was sitting alert on the ground staring at him like it knew he was coming. 

“Hello Sheriff Tonner, Y’all wouldn’t happen to have Seen my assistant at all today, have you?” Jon asked tentatively, the dog was looking at him with the same hungry expression that had been in the Sheriff's eyes when they had met.

“Hain’t seen ‘im. Could be he ran off to lick his wounds after chewin’ gravel last night. You seen ‘im Deputy?” when the Sheriff looked over at her deputy, her eyes softened while she asked the question. 

“I ain’t seen him either, but I can help y’all look. Daisy said he’s tall, with curly brown hair and- how did you describe his eyes? Weepy?” The deputy asked, looking at her partner with a hint of a joke on her voice.

“Damn Straight. A real yellow belly of a man if y’ ask me. ‘Cept last night when he was all roostered up, poor boy was so drunk he couldn’ walk straight. ‘Member Basira?” Sheriff tonner let out a strange noise, something like a laugh? Deputy Basira laughed with her, clearly amused.

“Well, if you see anything, please let me know. I really need to tan his hide after his behavior, he can’t be runnin’ off like this." Jon was frustrated with his lack of leads. How could Martin just disappear like that and not tell me? No. he’s his own man, even if he is a juniper. I have half a mind to fire him if he didn’t make such good coffee.

“We’ll see. If he don’t turn up, we’ll form a good ol’ posse and find him right quick for ya’.” Sheriff Daisy tried to assure, but she looked more excited to form a posse than to help Jon find his assistant.

“Sheriff, does every situation need a posse? You almost called one last night when Mr weepy eyes started actin’ out.” The deputy questioned. Daisy turned toward her in bewilderment and that was when Jon decided to take his leave. Martin would turn up sooner or later… Right? 

Chapter Text

Jonathan Sims was not worried. Jonathan Sims was not anxious about the whereabouts of Martin Blackwood. Jonathan Sims was definitely not pacing the length of the archives wondering how he could find his missing coworker. Jonathan Sims would absolutely never feel a creeping sense of dread as the number of days Martin was gone climbed higher.

He didn’t even like Martin that much, looking into his unsure eyes made Jon feel awkward. And yet, Jon still felt compelled to find him. 

Tim had been mocking him all morning, asking if Jon was “worried there, loverboy?”  whatever that meant, and Sasha was giving him worried smiles. She even tried bringing everyone coffee to make up for Martin’s absence, suffice it to say, Sasha was banned from making coffee. 

The Sheriff and Deputy hadn’t found anything, Sheriff Daisy just saying that they should form a posse, and how the Deputy talked her down, Jon would never know.

So Jon was simply left to worry.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in that there floor if you keep pacin’ boss. You gotta calm down.” Tim laughed, and Jon frowned.

“I am perfectly calm. And I’m not worried about Martin. Don't you smile at me like that!” Jon snapped, but Tim’s smile only got wider.

“I never said you were worried boss, You’re the one who keeps bringin’ him up.” Tim smiled and Jon knew he was right. 

The smell of books and paper that was normally a comfort was beginning to wear on Jon, especially because the number of Real Spooky statements was climbing as well. 

“Fine, fine. Maybe I’m a bit worried. Are you so sure you’re not?” Jon sighed. It was early in the morning and Jon was already tired.

“Of course we’re worried, but we can’t spend all of our time worrying about Martin, we have a job to do. More’n likely he got sick on account of what happened when we went to the saloon.” Sasha interjected, cutting time off from another surely terrible remark. “Y’all know gettin’ sick is serious business.”

“You’re right, I think the air in here is gettin’ to me. The smell of Elias’ tobacco is givin’ me a headache. I’ll be right back.” Jon took a deep breath and opened the door back to the front room. 

Rosie was in there chatting up whatever mail-order-cowboy is in town today, and Jon had no time for it. She did say hi to him on the way out, however. 

Outside was not much better, but the wind felt cool on his face, so it made him feel less anxious. He tried to remember exactly what Sasha had told him happened at the saloon, but the details were escaping him. 

Jon knew that they all went drinking, and that Martin was drinking quite a bit, but Sasha said they left shortly after they got him to stop crying “on account of his ma’ not doin’ well.” Jon understood, but he couldn’t help but feel like sickness was not the reason Martin was missing. 

Watching the business of the town was a slight comfort to Jon’s nerves, though. A few horses, lots of people walking, talking, working. The Sheriff was busy breaking up a fight between a short but very loud woman and an imposing man that is at least twice her size. Funnily enough, it seemed like the woman was winning before Sheriff Daisy took notice.

Jon took a deep breath. It had been almost two weeks since Martin had been gone, and Jon felt his anxiety pool in his stomach and claw its way up his throat more and more every day.

After a few moments of standing outside the institute, Jon decided to walk back in. Rosie was too busy dragging her rope to notice Jon a second time, so he walked right past her, past the antlers on the green wall and past the tall stove where Martin used to make coffee. Jon hesitated.

If I don't find him, he won't be able to come back to make us coffee. It feels so empty here.  That realization made Jon want to cry. He tried to tell himself it was out of joy of being rid of Martin, deep down he knew it wasn’t working. He was happy at first, Martin had been the cause of a few setbacks when he knocked over some stacks of statements, but the feeling quickly deteriorated. 

Jon wouldn’t admit this, but the dynamic of the Archive was fun, and it made Jon want to be there. Without Martin, the whole place felt a little bit tense, and a lot a bit off kilter. 

Jon put the thoughts out of his mind and opened the door back into the archive. Tim and Sasha were whispering furiously and stopped quickly as Jon reentered, the familiar squeak of a loose floorboard grounding him a bit. 

“What? I’m not interrupting something am I?” 

Jon gave a confused look, but didn’t argue too much when Tim got up and whispered into Jon’s ear “Not at all boss, just a bit of planning. Keep it on the dry, but I have a crush on Sasha, and I'm planning to tell her” Jon just frowned while Tim smiled and giggled. What a child. They are very sweet though. Jon was filled with nostalgia for a feeling he’d never experienced, that being the feeling of being loved.

He wasn’t unloved , but his parents were not the most affectionate when he was a child. What parents? They died when I was small. There was that feeling again, a square memory in a circle hole. Jon used to believe he had memories of parents, parents who were still alive. Who loved him. Now he wasn’t so sure. 

Sasha broke him out of his mental spiral when she placed her hand on his forearm. 

“Come now Tim, we’re married of course I know. Now Jon. you’ve had plenty of a break but it’s time to work. Sit down and write this statement. We're burnin’ daylight!” Sasha smiled and handed him a paper.

“Can do ma’am.” Jon smiled back and did a mock salute to her as he walked around to sit down at his spot at the tables. 

The paper looked to be newer than most of the others and looking at the date it was only a few weeks old. May 12, 1873, the same day Jon had arrived in Cheyanne. There was a large, discolored stain in the middle of the paper however, and looking at it made Jon’s skin crawl. That was a bad sign.

Jon began to read, voice beginning to shake the longer he read. The statement belonged to one Jane Prentiss, and it detailed her emotions over the last year and the wasp nest she found in her attic. It detailed how she felt the itch to be loved deep into her bones and the wasp nest sang to her that it could fix that itch. It sang that it loved her. She so desperately wanted to be loved.

She wrote down how she used to go to church and give everything to them, how she longed for the true love of a god that had consistently reviled her. She wrote how lost her parents at a young age and she was run over by a horse shortly after. 

She wrote how she had always been intrigued by bugs, but never let it go past that, until the wasps nest. It filled her with comfort and with love. She trusted it, and it loved her. She had decided by the end that she didn’t want the help of the archives. She would join the crawling walking things that wriggled beneath the feet of the masses. She would join them, and she would be loved. She hoped they could love her too, when she shows them the true beauty of the things that squirm and the things that wriggle. 

Jon had finished reading and the archives became dead quiet. Sasha simply sat there like her soul had left her body, and Tim was crying. Jon thought he might cry as well. He also found himself thankful that Martin was not here to listen to this statement, then kicked himself for thinking of Martin. Jon simply stood up, walked to the box shoved far into the corner, and opened it to shove this statement in the growing pile of Real Spooky statements. He shoved it to the bottom. 

When Jon closed the box, it gave him a splinter. He didn’t make a sound as he pulled it out with his teeth. It started to bleed, and he let it. It dripped soundlessly onto his pants and down into the fibers. Tim had grabbed Sasha's hand and was rubbing the back of it with his thumb. She still hadn’t come back to. 

The silence was deafening when the staircase door opened. Elias came walking out like some showpony who just won first place. His smile did not falter when he noticed the tone of the room.

“Real lively place down here. I just came to check on your progress, I know you’ve been making so much lately without that oaf down here." Elias smugly took a drag of his cigarette, eyes daring them to say otherwise.

“Was it you?” Jon rasped, almost under his breath.

“You’ll have to speak up, boy , I can't hear you when you talk to the floor," Elias spat, his eyes glowed with contempt as he blew a puff of smoke in Jon’s direction.

“You said you could have Martin removed. Was. It. You.” Jon was on the verge of yelling, or crying, or both. He couldn’t help it.

Elias had the audacity to laugh. “Of course not. It was simply a happy little coincidence.” he took another breath of cigarette smoke. “Now, since I can see you’re all doing so wonderfully , I have a dinner date with my husband. Toodaloo~!”

Elias slinked out the door and the archives were plunged back into silence. They sat like that for another hour before Jon got up and left.

Chapter Text

How Jonathan Sims had gotten into this situation, he didn’t know. Jon had begun the day still wary from yesterday’s events, what with Elias barging into the archive, worsening the dread they were all feeling in the wake of the statement. Now Jon was riding a house at full gallop through the desert behind a duel crazed maniac.

The first of the events that led Jon there, was Tim and Sasha convincing him they should all take a break from work and go to the saloon. Jon thought it was a great idea - until he actually arrived.

The saloon was loud, and full of people. Everyone was in various stages of drunkenness and the single bartender was handing out drinks like they were free. It was a perfect recipe for a splitting headache.

The wide bar to the left of the door was full of patrons, some awake, some asleep, and one was even the short woman from the day before who Sheriff Tonner had to talk down from angrily shooting another man. She had a drink in one hand and a pistol in the other, as she stood with one foot on her stool and one foot on the bar, singing with reckless abandon. 

The woman had an air around her that made her seem ten feet tall, defiant confidence flowing off of her in waves. What a confident woman. Where have I seen her before yesterday?

Tim had swept Sasha into a dance and left Jon all alone next to the bar. 

“Can I get y’ anythin’ pardner?” Jon turned his head toward the voice, the bartender. He was tall with long blonde curly hair and his face was… almost correct. His features seemed to float off of his face slightly. 

“Whiskey. Please.” Jon asked wearily as he sat down, frowning. The stools were made of old leather, cracked from use. It only took a few moments for the drink to be slid across the bar to him for his almost peace to be broken.

Above the cacophony of the bar, Jon heard the short woman a few stools down from him yell “NEXT ROUND OF DRINKS ARE ON ME BOYS!” the bar broke out into cheers and laughter as she said this, which only made Jon’s headache worse.

The whiskey was cold and sharp when Jon took a sip, he could feel it moving its way down his throat and into his stomach. He liked the way it prickled when he swallowed. And when Jon had finished his drink, he had unfortunately been noticed by miss short, loud, and iron wielding. 

“What’s the name stranger?” she sat down next to him, an intense look in her eyes. They're so familiar, where do I know her from? 

“Jonathan Sims, ma’am.” Jon answered, tired.

“No need for formality, Jon. Ain’t never seen you before I reckon, Name’s Melanie King. I ain't never lost a duel.” She brandished her revolver, a polished piece of silver metal adorned with a beautiful tiger’s eye adorned stock.

“What a beautiful gun you have. All I carry is an old six-shooter my pa’ gave me. Shot my first at 9 years old.” The memory slid out of Jon’s mouth before he could stop it. Jon knew it was wrong the moment it crept its way out of his throat. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, long as it gets the job - HEY, I SAID KEEP IT QUIET! WHAT DID I TELL YOU BOY!” Melanie strode over to where a particularly red-faced man was making a fool of himself. “YOU OWE ME A DUEL, HIGH NOON TOMORROW, YOU HEAR?” Melanie held her gun in his direction and the bartender stepped in at that moment. Jon wondered if maybe this would get her to leave him alone to drink away his sorrows.

“Take it outside you two, no violence in my bar. I don’t need the Sheriff in here, all horns and rattles formin’ a posse. Again.” he then winked at Jon, and it made the whiskey in his stomach turn sour. Something is up with this man, but I can't put my finger on it. 

“Fine! But you better show up, ya’ hear? Don’t run among the willows cause you're scared.” Melanie gave the man one more stink eye and walked back to where she had previously been sitting, much to Jon’s disappointment. “Now that’s taken care of, I dont reckon you work at that spooky looking institute do ya’? Heard strange happenin’s go on there.”

“Sometimes, mostly it's just tall tales of people gettin’ funkified by a shadow. Nothin’ too strange.” The question caught Jon off guard a little bit, but not enough to shake his confidence. “What about you? You sure can’t pay for a whole bar’s wortha’ drinks without a good job." It was Melanie's turn to be surprised, but then her eyes filled with pride. 

“I help out at a ranch owned by Georgina Barker. Before that I spent some time cattle rustlin’ with some Vaqueros, but I left that life behind.” Melanie softened at the mention of Georgie, but Jon’s stomach turned. He knew her, he knows he did. A wave of awkward panic went over Jon as he remembered his failed courtship attempt. 

“Ah, cattle rustlin’. Quite the noble job for anyone who can find a career in it.” Jon remembered his days riding with the Vaqueros, smiling at the familiarity of it.

His smile was quickly wiped off his face by the square memory in a circle hole feeling once again. It was quite a disappointment.

“It was a fun time, but I needed to settle down in one spot, what with meetin’ Georgie. I need to be there to take care of her. She-” All hell broke loose as the red-faced man from earlier began making trouble again. He was carrying a chair and Melanie was having none of it. 

Jon tried to keep his eye on it, but one second Melanie was right next to him, but the next she was in the middle of a huge fight and holding her own. 

Jon even spotted Tim somewhere in the chaos with Sasha held gingerly in his arms. They were both smiling like maniacs with a heavy drinking blush on their faces. It made Jon smile.

The bartender who had previously been relatively tame began yelling and kicking people out when he noticed the chaos, and with each word his features seemed to jump off his face and arrange themselves into new configurations. It was quite unsettling. 

“Hey what did i say? No fightin’ in here! I’ll call the sheriff on y’all if you don't stop kickin’ up a row! Don't touch that- Get out! No dont- are you bitin’ his ear?” The bartender was getting progressively more furious. “GET OUT! THE LOT OF YA’! OUT OF MY BAR BEFORE I CALL THE SHERIFF!” That got everyone’s attention, so they slowly began filtering out the narrow door.

Jon had lost Tim, Sasha, and Melanie in the chaos, so he just sat outside on the porch of the saloon, looking at the stars. 

Melanie hadn’t lost him however, and she called out to him, asking him to help with something. She seemed to be getting ready to duel the red-faced man who got them all thrown out of the bar, her back to his.

“You’re one of those academic types right? Gone to a fancy college and all that? I need someone to be a doctor when I clean his plow.” Melanie had a fierce look in her eyes, so Jon didn't disagree , but he did try to warn her.

“I’m - I’m not a doctor-” 

“Just stand there but turn around so ya don’t see.” Melanie cut him off and seemed to leave no room for argument. She had a big smile on her face like she had been waiting for an excuse to shoot a man all day. Jon thought it was best to just go along with it, but he couldn’t help smiling at her tenacity. It was charming, if a bit brash.

BANG!

Jon whipped around to see the red faced man laying on the ground and Melanie standing confidently, equalizer in hand. She had a satisfied look on her face as the man lay dead, shot through the heart. She’s dangerous. Best not to be on her bad side of that man might be me someday. The quickness of his death made Jon wonder if she dueled fairly.

Jon almost went to congratulate her when Sheriff Tonner came tearing out of the station, a crazy look in her eye. 

“DEPUTY, GET THE HORSES! WE’RE FORMIN’ A POSSE TONIGHT!” The Sheriff was only half dressed in her usual outfit, belt unbuckled and hat half on her messy head of hair. Jon’s stomach dropped as she looked in his direction.

Melanie was ready though and pulled Jon onto her horse as she was riding out of town. She was surprisingly strong for her size, almost as though she absorbed the strength from every man she dueled.

So Jon was riding full pelt into the desert, behind a gun crazed maniac, running from the law. The revelation sent a wave of adrenaline through Jon’s chest as he felt the wind through his hair. He held fast onto Melanie as he heard the thundering of hooves behind them, no doubt the Sheriff’s posse. 

“YEEHAAW!” Jon couldn’t help himself. The cry of triumph was so tempting, and the liquid courage running through his system certainly helped. Melanie smiled wider as she pushed her horse faster, an Appalachian with scattered black spots. 

“Come on Buttermilk, you know you can outrun those puddin' feet!” Melanie encouraged, and the horse gained speed more than Jon thought was possible. 

Jon could feel the rush of wind in his ears, and see the cacti whizz by while Buttermilk ran his heart out. Jon was sure they even passed a coyote once or twice. 

Sheriff Daisy and her posse were slowly losing them, made all the more evident by daisy yelling and screaming obscenities.  That made Jon smile even wider. The cold air was whipping on his face, and he was having a fantastic time. Martin and the institute were a mess of memories pushed back by adrenaline and joy-juice.

Once the Posse was fully lost, not even a speck of dust on the horizon, Melanie slowed down. A small house appeared in the distance, just a small log shack that looked to be in bad shape.

As they approached, Jon started noticing various sizes of circular holes in the wood, almost like bullet holes but too irregular in size.

“Is that where you live Melanie? It looks like it’s seen better days.” Jon asked tentatively, a bit afraid of her gun after the adrenaline wore off and he remembered who he was with.

“Naw, it’s just my safehouse when the sheriff gets after me for defending my honor. I swear she’s all high and mighty about the law but can't help herself but form a posse when a man falls asleep in the road. ’Least she has a short memory.” Melanie scowled at this. “But it sure didn’t have holes in it when I left last. He best not've gotten himself in trouble again." Melanie stopped her horse next to the house.

“Who? Is someone there already?” Melanie didn't answer. She just slid off her horse and began to tie him up while Jon hopped off as well. She walked on the door, also covered in holes, and pushed the door open to reveal someone sleeping on the bed. They couldn’t see very well even with the moonlight streaming in the window, so Melanie lit a candle and began yelling at whoever was in the bed. 

 “GIT UP! GIT UP YA’ VARMIT! Y'ALL HAVE SOME EXPLAININ’ TO DO BEFORE I FILL YOU WITH HOLES JUST LIKE MY HOUSE!” the person in the bed jolted up at this, panicked grey eyes and curly brown hair shooting up from under the covers.

“Martin?” Jon whispered, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

“Martin? What are you doing here?”

“What he’s doin’ here is not takin’ care of my house like he promised to do!” Melanie spat, enraged.

“N- no, I would- I just - worms.” Martin stamered, looking down the barrel of Melanie's gun.

“Worms? What in tarnation kind of yellow belly is scared of worms?” Melanie’s knuckles were white on the stock of her pistol, gearing up to shoot. It made Jon worry about Martin's fate but he couldn’t really do much to stop her.

“I-I saved some, they're- they jump. And bite. I’ve been locked in here all week- please don’t shoot!” Martin’s voice was shaking as he slowly stood up and walked to the wood stove on the other side of the room. He didn’t take his eyes off of Melanie's gun and almost tripped on his pair of boots left on the floor.

“This best be good.” Melanie was still ready to shoot, almost chomping at the bit to get another chance to kill a man tonight. 

Martin slowly put his hand on a coffee mug sitting on top of the stove with a plate on top of that. “It’s either dead or it’ll jump s-so be careful, th-they're mean.” Martin looked like he was about to cry, and Jon wanted to comfort him. 

No matter how much Jon tried to tell himself it was only because he was a good person, Jon knew that wasn’t the case deep down. He normally just turned a blind eye when someone was tearing up. It made Jon’s stomach hurt to realize this.

Martin was slowly uncovering the top of the mug, wincing as a rancid smell emanated from the ceramic. When he looked in, he visibly relaxed when no worm came jumping out at him.

“It’s dead. But look, silver, ‘bout yay big with mean lookin’ teeth. I call ‘em gopher worms cause they… uh… tunnel, I guess.” Martin looked worried, and Jon felt worried, but Melanie dropped her hands to her side, the weapon no longer pointed at Martin’s head.

“That’s what was chasin’ ya wa’n’t it. Those and that wench from behind the bar?” Melanie sounded tired when she said that a hint of apprehension in her voice. 

“Yea, I was too drunk to get a good look at ‘er before, but I seen her plenty since. She didn’t let me leave. And her worms too.” Martin’s eyes were tearing up again. “She breathed em’. She was full o’ holes too, like they burrowed into her skin. It's been two weeks since I seen the sun.” 

It was Jon’s turn to be angry. “She seems to go away when other people are around. Come live with me. I got a good rifle and a surefooted horse.” The words came out on complete impulse, but he stood by them. Martin was terrified and Jon wanted to help.

Martin looked at Jon, tears in his eyes, searching for a trick or a joke, something he didn’t seem to find. “Are you sure? I’ve seen how you look at me. I know y’all don’t really take me seriously. You can’t really want me in your house.” Martin said, not accusingly but matter of factly. It hurt Jon to know that’s how Martin felt. It felt like Jon was being punched in the gut.

“I am sure. I don’t want to lose my assistants.” Jon tried to deflect his affections into a more work relationship feeling, but it wasn’t working. Jon knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, he just hoped it would be a long, long time before would have to admit it. “But if you want to stay h-”

Martin cut him off “No, please, I'd like to go with you.”

“Glad you two figured this out. From the way Martin talked about y’all in the archives it was almost like you gave him the mitten. It was very sad.” Melanie frowned. She looked between them like they were interrupting her emotional moment, not the other way around. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t say anythin’!” Martin's face went red. How cute . 

“When was he talkin’ about us?” Jon questioned, eyes darting between the other two.

“None, no time, definitely when I wasn’t in liquor to my nose and ears.” Martin's face reddened even further.

“What are you talkin’ about boy? You were talkin’ all about how you felt-” 

“OH KAY THAT'S ENOUGH!” Martin panicked. “Sorry i just- I don’t want to share that to the whole desert! ” Jon didn’t think Martin’s face could get any redder, but when they made eye contact his face darkened at least two shades more. It was very obvious against his pale face scattered with freckles. 

I wonder how long it would take to count them. Jon wondered, for totally normal reasons. Not because he was giving in to his feelings or anything. That would be absurd.

“Oh hush, now. Are you goin’ with him or not? Cause if ya’ are I’d like to get y’all out of my house as fast as possible." Melanie asked, her patience with the situation clearly running out.

“Yes, I’d like to go. I want to go back to work too, Tim must be wonder’n where I am after I beat him drinkin’ at the bar a few weeks ago.” martin mused, then realized who he was standing next to and quickly turned back to jon, trying to do damage control. “I mean, that is- well, he coaxed me- I-”

“You won? Impressive. Tim ain’t no lightweight.” Jon tried to wear a friendly smile and put Martin at ease. It simply backfired and Martin shot straight back into stuttering.

“That is to say- i just- well, i guess it was-”

“Will you stop  blubberin?  Does no one know how to hobble their lips?” Melanie interjected, “I swear you two are worse than the sheriff and the deputy, cuttin’ a rusty like that.”

Jon felt his face heat up. “No i-”

“Save it. Y’all can have all the time you need when I bring y’all back to town tomorrow. Jon, you keep watch while I go to bed. Martin, you uh, do whatever you want. I'm plumb tuckered." Melanie then pushed past them and back to the bed Martin was previously occupying. It left Jon and Martin in an awkward silence. It hit Jon just how tired he was.

Neither quite knew how to proceed, Jon obviously wanted to go outside and keep watch like Melanie asked, he feared her wrath if he didn’t, but he just stood there. 

Martin was wearing just a loose shirt and a thin fabric pair of short pants, and he noticed a few circular scars on his ankles, partially healed but still pink with new skin. Jon hadn’t noticed before, but Martin had a few sprigs of white hair interspersed with his brown curls. They were usually hidden by a hat, but now that he wasn’t wearing one Jon couldn’t help but wonder where they came from. 

Jon studied his face, all soft curves and freckles, and Jon found himself wishing this moment would last so he could drink in Martin’s features. The thought surprised him, but he didn’t try to push it away like he had been before. 

Jon was too tired to do so. 

It also hit Jon just how complex Martin’s grey eyes were, layers of gray blue rings that made Jon’s heart flutter just a bit, and Jon wondered why he hadn’t taken the time to admire them before. They were captivating in the fleeting candlelight.

“Your eyes, they’re-” Jon trailed off. Martin looked at him with a bit of fondness. 

“Yours too.” Martin smiled. That did it. That broke Jon. A true genuine smile from Martin made his heart skip a beat and a lump build in his throat. 

“Would you like to come keep watch with me?” Jon whispered, a small smile making its way across his lips. 

“I would love to.” Martin smiled back.

Chapter Text

Melanie must have woken up first, because when Jon woke up the first thing he noticed was the smell of biscuits wafting out of the house behind him. The next thing Jon noticed was that his head was resting on Martin’s shoulder, who was still fast asleep. 

Then it all came rushing back to him in a wave of embarrassed memory. Jon couldn’t believe he actually said the things he said last night. I can’t be doing this; he works with me. Not only that, But Tim would never let me live down such a thing. Jon stood up, carefully so as to not wake Martin, and opened the door to walk inside.

Melanie was there, and she had made biscuits. She did not wait for Jon or Martin to wake up before she began eating, however. I don’t know what I was expecting. 

“Mornin’ Melanie.” Jon rasped; his voice tired from being asleep. Jon grabbed a biscuit and took a bite.

“Mornin’ there Jon. How was your date last night?” Jon just about choked his biscuit, and he felt his face go red.

“It wasn- I- It’s not like that. We just work together.” Jon tried to look refined, but Melanie looked at him skeptically. Her eyebrow was practically jumping off her face.

“Mhmm, I don’t fall asleep so fast loverboy. I could hear y’all makin’ eyes at each other from the other side of the room. It was sickening.” Melanie smiled at that last part, and Jon knew he had made a mistake. Tim would have made fun of him, but he wouldn’t be brutal about it. 

But Melanie? Melanie was ruthless. Jon was completely at her mercy. If she decided to tell anyone about last night Jon would be pretty much powerless to stop her. Jon felt himself shift his weight across his feet, the floorboards squeaking slightly as he rocked back and forth.

“Please don’t say anything about it. I don’t want anyone else knowin’-”

“That you have a soft side? Sure thing pardner.” Melanie cut him off and Jon decided to stop talking. He was clearly not getting anywhere with Melanie. Jon just ate his biscuits until they heard Martin waking up. 

“Good morning!” Martin opened the door and strode in smiling. “Can I get anyone coffee to go with your biscuits?” 

Jon felt the familiar butterflies in his stomach but pushed it down. Jon tried to look menacing again, but he didn’t have it in him. “Yes please. Thank you, Martin.”

“I’ll have a cup too. Make it snappy, we gotta get y’all back to town and I have to check on Georgie.“ Melanie spoke around her biscuit.

Jon tried to speed up eating until he heard a familiar fragrant smell go through the air. It hit Jon just how much he missed Martin’s coffee. It was comforting to have something so mundane happen when the previous weeks had been so stressful. 

Martin came and handed out the various cups. Jon took a sip of the warm liquid, and he felt it through his whole body. It was warm and had beautiful fruity notes go through the dark of the coffee. 

Jon must have been smiling too widely because he saw Melanie look over at him with her eyebrow raised, almost as though to say, ‘Are you sure there's nothing going on between you two?’ Jon frowned. 

Martin was engrossed in his biscuits and coffee, almost as though it was the best thing he’d eaten since being here. Jon shoved down another flow of affection.

“Well,“ Melanie smacked her knees and began to stand, “We best get goin’. I’m sure y’all both want to get back to town now.” Jon swallowed the last of his biscuit and downed the last of his coffee while Melanie walked out the door.

Martin looked over at Jon and smiled fondly. Jon really didn't want to smile back, but he did. We’re not back in town yet. Maybe I don't have to save face while we’re here.

Jon Held his hand out to help Martin up from the chair he had been sitting in, and Martin hesitated for a moment, almost as though he was wondering if this was real. He took Jon’s hand and held it for a few moments longer than necessary, looking into Jon’s eyes while he did so.

When Martin let go, Jon had almost begun wishing he hadn’t, but then remembered he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I was just drunk last night. Off of one shot of whiskey. Yeah. 

When Jon and Martin had made their way out the door, Jon took a moment more to look at the holes on the outside of the house. The small holes ranged from a centimeter to two inches, and they were completely inconsistent in their placement. It sent a shiver up Jon’s spine.

“Come on you two, you can’t walk any slower! I have places to be!” Melanie yelled from next to her horse. She was getting impatient and Jon worried she might shoot them if they didn’t hurry. So he tore his eyes from the holes and walked to meet Melanie, Martin not far behind. 

Melanie hopped on her horse and Martin helped Jon get on behind her, and he got on behind Jon. I wonder how funny we must look, stacked up by height. Each of them was a head taller than the person in front of them, and it made Jon want to giggle. He didn’t though, Jonathan Sims doesn't giggle. 

Melanie spurred the horse on, and it jumped to life galloping about ¾ the speed from the night before, most likely a bit strained from the extra weight of a 3rd person. The cacti were standing tall in the heat of the day, and Jon saw a small silver animal squirm between some red rocks. What was that? Silver ain’t a natural color.

Melanie did stop the horse about halfway through, it needed a break from the effort and Jon walked around a little bit, looking for any excuse to not talk to Martin. He did look a bit hurt when Jon did this, but respected him nonetheless. Jon tried not to feel bad.

After a few minutes of awkward (for Jon) silence, Melanie called them back over to her horse. They hopped back on in the same order as before and they began their journey again. The town was beginning to come back into focus from being just a dot in the distance. 

As town got closer, Jon began to notice a disturbance in the normally busy air of Cheyenne. He could only hear two voices, and there were no people going about their business between the rows of buildings. It was quite unsettling.

Upon closer inspection, Jon found that it was the sheriff and Elias in a screaming match in the middle of town.

“- MY ARCHIVIST! Y’ALL CAN’T-” Elias’ archivist? Jon was very curious about where this conversation was going.

“I CAN DO WHATEVER I DAMN WELL PLEASE, BOUCHARD! DON’T GO TELLIN’ ME WHAT I CAN DO IN MY OWN TOWN!”

“YOUR TOWN? JUST CAUSE YOU POLICE THIS TOWN DON'T MEAN YOU OWN IT!” Jon was sure that even if the Sheriff didn’t own the town, she sure ran it like she did .

“IT SURE DOES! I HAVE HALF A MIND TO THROW YOU OUT OF IT!”

“THROW ME- I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW MAYOR LUKAS WOULD HAVE NONE OF THAT!”

“SHUT YOUR TRAP, MAYOR LUKAS HAS NOTHIN’ TO DO WITH THIS!”

“HE DOES IF HIS HUSB-”

“NO! Y’ALL DON'T GET TO USE THAT AGAINST ME! Y’ALL GET DIVORCED AT LEAST TWICE A QUARTER! THEN YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER THE NEXT DAY LIKE NOTHIN’ HAPPENED!”

“ITS FOR TAX PURPOSES!” Jon laughed at that.

“SO YOU'RE TELLIN’ ME YOU'RE EVADIN’ TAXES? IS THAT IT?”

“OF COURSE NOT!”

“NOT TO MENTION Y’ALL CAN’T KEEP IT TOGETHER IN PUBLIC, EVERY TIME Y’ALL GO OUT IT’S ALWAYS A FIGHT! JUST STAY DIVORCED!” Melanie slowly rode them into town, not wanting to make too much of a fuss, like she wanted to see what happens as much as Jon did.

“ITS FOR TAX PURPOSES! AND YOU’RE GIVIN’ ME RELATIONSHIP ADVICE NOW, MISS ‘I CAN'T CONFESS MY FEELINGS FOR MY DEPUTY’?” Damn. That's low.

“OH, THAT IS LOW AND YOU KNOW IT!”

“MAYBE I DO, DON’T CHANGE THE FACT YOU’RE SCARED!”

“SAY ONE MORE WORD BOUCHARD!”

“ONE MORE WORD!” 

“THAT'S IT! GET YOUR PISTOL WE’RE DUELIN’”

“YOU'RE GONNA GET IT, WOMAN!”

Elias stormed over to his horse and pulled his pistol out of the holder in the saddle. The Sheriff already had her gun in hand, and it led Jon to wonder if he should stop them but decided against saying anything.

Jon didn't like the idea of another duel happening in the middle of town, but he figured if Daisy took care of Elias there would be one less spooky thing happening in this town.

“ Should we stop them? We should stop them!” Martin whispered behind Jon and Melanie whipped around to shush him.

“ Shhh! Don't you go spoilin’ the show! ” Melanie whispered furiously. Unfortunately, Elias must have had very good hearing.

Jon tried to get Melanie's attention when he saw Elias turn and look him directly in the eye. He had a cruel glint in his eye that made a shiver go up Jon’s spine more than the prospect of man-eating worms.

Melanie and Martin were bickering around him and Elias was slinking closer despite the Sheriff's outcries. Jon’s ears began to ring, and the air became solid. Jon could not breathe. He couldn't think. The hair on Jon's arms and the back of his neck stood up, and his shoulders were so stiff you could use them as a table. 

Elias still hadn't broken eye contact and the ringing in Jon's ears blocked out the sounds of quarreling around him.

Jon began to truly panic and tried to get off the horse, but he just ended up knocking him, Martin, and Melanie off the horse’s back. They landed in a tangled pile at the horse’s feet, but it broke Jon out of the spell and the air came back to his lungs. 

Jon could hear the anger of the sheriff as she shouted and screamed at Elias to go back and duel him. He could also finally hear Melanie, who was very upset.

“What was that Sims?? Are ye’ tryin’ to get yourself killed? If you are, I'll be happy to arrange it for ya’!” She had already gotten herself untangled from the other two and was ready to curse Jon out.

“No need for that miss King. I'll take those two from here.” Elias interjected, waving Melanie off. His slimy voice was just as unpleasant as Jon remembered. He stood up quickly, forgetting Martin on the ground. “Now Jon. I'm sure we won't have any more incidents with the Sheriff? And don't leave Martin on the ground. I'm sure he's had quite the time since your other assistants left him to almost get eaten by worms without you tossing him away like that.” Elias smiled, the silver tooth poking out of the corner of his mouth.

Melanie looked incredulous, like she’d never been brushed off before.

“Now listen here Bouchard ! I can talk to whoever I damn well please-”

“Please miss King. You have a woman to be back to, don’t you? I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her…" Elias turned to Melanie while he said this, his intense eyes leaving Jon for a moment and letting him breathe.

For once Melanie seemed at a loss for words. Her mouth hung open for a few moments while she figured out what to say to that. “Fine.” she turned back to Jon, “You owe me. Both of you.” Melanie then walked back over to her horse, jumped on, and rode off. 

“What a flannel-mouthed woman. Glad to be rid of her. So, Jon. I expect you to be back to work tomorrow. And Martin? Do try not to get killed by worms.” Elias still had a smile on his face, he had grown a shrimpy little mustache since Jon had seen him last, just a few hairs on each side of his top lip. It would be funny if not for the face they were attached to. “Goodnight Jon, Martin. I’ll be seeing you~." Elias turned and slinked away. 

Jon stared at where Elias was standing for a moment before remembering Martin was behind him. “Martin! I’m sorry I- Uhm. Can I help you up?” Martin was frozen in shock. He didn’t even make any movement when Jon began speaking to him. It was almost like what happened to Jon during their first meeting in Elias’ office… 

“I’ll uh. Go get my horse. Don’t move. Please.” Jon wasn’t quite sure how to proceed, but if he stood completely still from morning till night, Jon figured Martin wasn’t going anywhere for 10 minutes. 

As Jon walked behind the magnus building, he noticed more silver forms skittering around and behind things. He only saw them for a split second before they were gone, but Jon was sure he had seen them.

Jon Saddled up his horse, who was more than happy to see him, and walked her over to where Martin sat on the ground. While Jon didn’t quite know how the shock worked, he was sure it was some type of magic, he worked at the magnus institute for long enough to know that.

Jon tried to grab Martin’s hand, but it was limp, so Jon tried grabbing him by his shoulders, and that seemed to work. His eyes… they’re so glassy. It’s almost like he’s not there. It worried Jon.

Somehow, Jon managed to get Martin and himself on the horse. The ride back to his house was silent as sin.

Chapter Text

When Martin finally came back to, Jon was relieved. Martin had been out for two days, haunting glassy eyes staring endlessly at the wall. Jon couldn’t sleep, and he refused to go to work until Martin snapped out of it.

“Jon? Where am I? What happened to the sheriff?” Jon Jumped a bit when Martin said that, turning to see a disoriented looking Martin. 

“I brought you to my house… what do you remember?” Martin knit his eyebrows and looked even more confused. 

“Your house… the last thing I remember is you and Melanie bargain’ into her safehouse. It all gets real muddy from there.” Martin’s hand shot to his forehead “Do you have any drinkin’ water? My head hurts.” 

Jon nodded and walked toward the door. It didn't rain much here, but when it did Jon made sure to catch it in a barrel. 

When Jon returned, water in hand, Martin had taken to staring again, this time thoughtfully at the door rather than blankly. He turned his gaze back to Jon when he walked in.

“Why are you being nice to me? Don't think I hain’t seen how you look at me in the archives, when you even bother to.” Jon felt his chest tighten, though in guilt or apprehension he didn't know. Martin telling him how he looked at him didn't hurt any less the second time.

“I don't- ah. I don't know what you're talking about. You were distressed and I wanted to help. Whatever was chasin’ you only came if you were alone so I figured if you're not alone, she won't come.” Martin looked slightly confused, so Jon decided to elaborate. “You and Melanie explained shortly before we brought you back to town. Then Elias came and did his spooky eye magic and you were froze all statue like.” Jon handed the water to Martin who took a short sip.

“Well, thanks I s’pose. You don't need to pretend to like me, though. I'll try to stay out of your way.” Jon felt his eyes go slightly wide but tried to keep his composure despite the tightness in his chest constricting his breathing. It's better like this.

“No need, just stay alive. I don't want to have to find another assistant.” Jon diverted his eyes. He didn't want to see Martin's face anymore. 

Jon decided it would be best if he did some work around the house to keep himself busy and away from Martin. Jon had a horse and some chickens to feed. 

Dixie was more than happy to receive her food and the chickens were alive and well after his trip to Melanie’s safehouse. Jon collected the eggs and made sure they were good before taking them inside to cook. It was about lunchtime and Jon figured this was a good enough meal. 

A hot cast iron pan and a few broken eggs later, Jon and Martin were eating outside on Jon’s porch. It faced a plateau out in the distance, all red rock and sand. They ate in silence.

When they were finished, Jon grabbed both of their plates and made sure not to touch Martin's hands when he took them. 

“Thanks.” Martin said curtly. He avoided Jon's looking eyes, but Jon could tell there was disappointment lurking on his face. He decided not to respond.

Jon put the dishes away after washing them in a bowl of water. It's better this way.

It was worse when night came. While Martin was frozen in shock, Jon just went to bed, no problems. He didn't stop to think about what would happen when Martin woke up. Not realistically. 

“So. Uh. How are we gonna… sleep?” Martin and Jon looked at each other, but Jon didn't answer. He just sort of shrugged. “I could just, uh…”

“I'll sleep outside. Good for the soul or- or somethin’.”Jon sighed. I'd rather he be comfortable for once while he’s here.

“Shouldn't I be-”

“No. You almost got eaten by worms. You deserve to sleep.” Martin looked a little shocked at Jon's words, but didn't argue any further. It's better this way. Jon tried to rationalize, but he couldn't help the anxiety in the back of his head.

When Jon stepped outside, the moon was coming over the hills of red rock surrounding them. It was quiet, save for the sound of crickets.

There was a lot of cacti surrounding Jon’s house, they cast tall and imposing shadows in the night. The worms that made a few of them into homes surely didn't help with the fear factor.

Wait… worms? Jon shot up from where he was sitting. If those are the same worms from Melanie’s… Jon walked closer to investigate until he noticed the silver worms making their way closer to him. 

“AAHH!” Jon stumbled back and one of the worms jumped and landed on his leg, immediately biting and burrowing through Jon’s pants leg and then his skin. It burned like the devil, and Jon could feel it pushing itself through the layers of skin and muscle.

“Heavens to- MARTIN!” Jon yelled, trying to get his attention from inside the house. Jon scrambled to his feet and ran to the door, fumbling with the door handle. Jon could feel his blood trickle down his ankle.

There were still worms behind him trying to get him. “MARTIN!” Jon finally got the door open and fell inside, the door had swung open to reveal Martin on the other side, concern on his face when he saw the scene. 

“Jon? Jon! Oh golly, let me help you with that!” Martin pulled Jon inside and shut the door as fast as he could. They could hear the worms hit the door with a faint thunk.

“Goodness Jon, what happened?” Jon propped himself up on the bed, his foot with the worm hanging off the bed while his blood dripped slowly onto the floor.

“Worms. They were in the cactus, like they were waitin’ for me. A whole raft of them squirmin through it. Then they came after me.” Jon winced as the worm burrowed deeper in his leg.

“Let me- can I? I know how to get 'em out.” Martin questioned carefully. The way he looked into Jon’s face made him sick with guilt. Martin looked at Jon with such care and tenderness.

“Please.” Martin didn't wait any longer and went to searching through his pockets. Jon noticed the cowlick on the crown of Martin's head and smiled a bit. 

Martin produced a small twisty knife from his pocket and went to work on Jon’s ankle pulling the worm out. Needless to say it bled quite a bit but anything was better than death by gopher worm. 

“How many times did you have to- uh.. pull those out of your own legs?” Jon asked, not expecting much of an answer but was pleasantly surprised when Martin looked up at him and responded.

“Only once. I tried to go outside to get some fresh air and a lady wearin’ a dirty red dress was comin’ real close to Melanie's house. I was worried so I went to ask if she was ok but when she spoke she just puked worms.” Martin hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath.

“They fell from her mouth faster’n I could count and swarmed me. They got my legs but I got inside before they could do any real damage. Had to pull ‘em out one by one with my hands before I realized somethin’ sharp’d be better. I tried to use the knife but it wasn't working very well. I used a piece of firewood to bend this’n out of shape and that worked. Less bloody that way. I didn't try goin’ outside again.” Martin had tears in his eyes as he finished up talking. Jon wanted nothing more to comfort him but held himself back. It's better if he stays at arms length.

“Oh Martin I'm s- thank you. For removing it.” Jon forced out. He tried to avoid Martin's gaze so he looked down at his leg. It had stopped bleeding and the worm was chopped into pieces by the twisty knife, but it wasn't much better. 

“Oh- you're welcome I guess. We best be off to bed. I'll sleep closer to the wall.” Martin said, voice a little hurt. 

So to bed they went. Without a word. They slept back to back and Martin fell asleep quickly. Jon could hear him softly snoring and decided that he could die happy listening to Martin sleep peacefully. Jon wished he could put his hand on Martin's arm, or hold his hand, but he pushed the thought away. It was hard when Martin smelled faintly of coffee.

Jon laid awake for a while longer, silently hoping, but eventually fell asleep right alongside Martin. It's better this way.

Chapter Text

Jon woke with the sun. He always wakes with the sun. The beams of light shone in from the window and the smell of dust was heavy in the air. 

It took a few moments for Jon to remember Martin was there too, and when he turned to look, Martin was still sleeping peacefully. He was still facing the wall as well, and his arms were curled under his head.

Jon’s eyes drifted to his face and noticed a lock of hair in his eyes. Jon decided to brush it lightly out of his face, his fingers moving swiftly across Martin's face. He tucked the lock of hair behind Martin's ear and waited for a few breaths, just taking in how peaceful Matin looked.

When Jon pulled his eyes away from Martin, he turned and steeled himself for the day. His leg hurt, but nothing he couldn't deal with. He slid his feet back in his boots and put on his usual work vest, a soft leather that fit his form well. 

Jon combed his hair and went out to feed his horse and the chickens, smiling and humming a tune to himself. He finished his chores quicker than usual though, still a bit nervous from what happened yesterday.

When Jon opened the door, he immediately was met with the smell of coffee, strong and potent in the air. Martin had woken up and was making coffee for them. Jon decided to try to look neutral despite his good mood.

“Morning. Did you sleep well?” Martin jumped a bit when Jon asked this, not realizing that Jon was behind him. 

“Oh, hello Jon… yes. I slept well. Did- did you?” Martin asked nervously, like he was caught doing a crime. His shoulders were tense.

“I did. I also see you made yourself right at home this mornin’."Jon said pointedly.

“Oh uhm- i'm sorry i just thought- uh. I made enough for the both of us?” Martin looked a bit panicked, and Jon immediately regretted his coldness. 

“‘Preciate it. Thank you.” Martin’s shoulders relaxed a bit.

“We should head into town soon. I’m sure Tim and Sasha are wonderin’ where we are, we been gone a whole four days.” Jon stated, a little less cold this time.

“Four days? How much time did I lose stuck? I don’t even remember much o’ what happened at Melanie’s. How do I just lose four whole days just like that?” Martin snapped for emphasis, a mix of frustration and worry mixing in his features.

I struck Jon just how expressive Martin’s eyebrows were. 

“You ain't missin’ much. Just Elias bein’ spooky which is not new. And chores.” Jon tried to comfort Martin covertly, not really wanting to come off as affectionate but wanting to quell Martin’s anxiety.

“I guess. Here. Coffee.” Martin seemed frustrated, and Jon could understand why. He took the cup gingerly and noticed Martin was the one avoiding the contact of their fingers. It's better that way, I s’pose.

They drank their coffee in silence and Jon washed the cups and put them out to dry. Jon left his door and saddled his horse, waiting for Martin to come out of his house and join him before hopping on the horse. Jon held his hand out to Help Martin on the horse behind him and while he did take it, there was no lingering hold. 

They rode into town in silence. Jon was on the lookout for worms, and while he did spot a few in the desert, there weren’t enough to make a fuss. 

When they arrived in town, it was as lively as ever. The townspeople were all darting along minding their business, and Jon couldn’t help but wonder what led them all there. I wonder what led me here? What I was doing before I moved to Cheyenne?  

Jon genuinely tried to remember, but it was hazy. He had some splintered memories of faceless family members and a nameless college in a nameless town, but they all felt wrong and ill-fitting. Like he had someone else’s memories put into his head.

Something interesting Jon noticed was a wagon parked in front of the institute. It was as imposing as ever, the green letters casting a foreboding shadow across the road. I guess that explains why everyone is so funkified by the institute.

Jon rode over to the corral behind the institute and hopped off of Dixie, unsaddling her and leaving her there with the other two horses. Martin had jumped off the horse and walked into the institute without a word.

Jon walked into the institute as well after making sure the coral was secure and found a confusing scene. Tim was arguing with two very large men, Martin was Signing some papers, and Sasha was nowhere to be seen.

“You can’t just barge in here with a bunch of artifacts and expect us to take ‘em without knowin’ what they do! Do you even know where this place is?” Tim was frustratingly telling the two men. They wore matching coveralls, and their faces looked exactly like Jon expected. They hunched slightly as the ceiling was too short for them.

“We sure can. Your boss said to leave ‘em right here. Ain't that right Hope?” One of the men said, monotone.

“Sure is Breekon. Just sign on the line please.” the other man spoke, sounding exactly like the other one. 

“My boss? Jon has been out for days. And Elias does not deal with artifacts. Smug bastard is too busy gettin’ another divorce. Again.” Tim mumbled that last part, but Jon could hear it. 

“We’re just doin’ our job.” one of the tall men said, possibly Hope. 

“Sure are.” the other one parroted, maybe Breekon.

“Pardon me. What is goin’ on here?” Jon interrupted, and Tim had a relieved look on his face.

“Good, you're back too. What happened to you? Martin won’t say anything, and these guys just won’t leave.” Tim questioned, his voice tired.

“Worms. What are they doing here?” Jon said matter of factly and turned to the two men in coveralls. 

“We’re makin’ a delivery ain’t we Breekon?”

“Sure are Hope. Your Boss said to leave everything down here.” the other one confirmed and Jon scoffed.

“What are they deliverin’?”

“A table, a lighter, and a bunch of books. The problem is we don't have more space for books. The shelves are full.” Tim was exasperated. 

“Fine, fine. Martin, have you signed those documents?” Jon asked and seemed to spook Martin out of a trance.

“Uh, yeah. Here.” he handed the papers he was holding back to the two men as he walked past them. Martin continued into the secretary room seemingly on the hunt for Sasha.

One of the men walked over and Handed Jon an old pellet lighter. It had a spiderweb pattern all across it, but it looked pretty old. Jon’s first instinct was to drop it. It was cold, too cold despite having been held by one of the delivery men. It sent a shiver of apprehension down Jon’s spine. Why is everything in this place so familiar? I swear I've seen this before, but I know I haven't. So then why…

“We best be going. Lots of deliveries to be made ain’t there Breekon?”

“Sure thing Hope.” The two men left, and Tim and Jon just stood there in stunned silence. 

Tim was the first to move, moving as well to the secretary room, so Jon followed his lead. In the other room they discovered Martin and Sasha trying to awkwardly get a large table in the narrow door. 

“You’ve gotta move it that way- No I meant- push harder!” Sasha was directing but it wasn't getting anywhere. There was also a box of old looking books on Rosie’s vacant desk.

“Do y’all need help? I can get the other side Martin, and we can carry it in." Tim asked and Sasha relented to let him carry it in. Jon watched as the table was slowly moved into the room. It was a dark wooden table with a spidery pattern of lines and swoops engraved all over the top of the table. It was mesmerizing.

“Where should we put it?” Sasha asked, Staring into the Small square hole in the center of the table.

“We don't have space in the archive, that’s for sure.” Martin spoke; his voice flat.

“Let’s put it in elias’ office. He’s never there anyways, he’s always off cuttin’ a rusty with his ex-husband he keeps marrying.” Tim remarked. It made Sasha giggle and Jon smiled. Martin’s lips twitched at the edges but stayed flat.

What could be wrong? He can't have remembered what happened at the safehouse could he? Jon decided to worry about that later. They had a table to move up a flight of stairs.

Chapter Text

“Job well done guys! If Elias wants a spooky table, he can have a spooky table.” Tim remarked, breathing a little heavy after bringing it up the flight of stairs. They left it square in the middle of the walkway of the empty office.

“At least it wasn’t heavy, just real awkward.” Sasha said, breathing a bit heavy too and leaning on Tim for support. “Oh, and Jon? I need to talk to you. Martin too I reckon.”

“Sure thing Miss James. Let’s get outta Elias’ office though. Spooky in here.” Jon replied. 

The room was dark since there were no windows, but there were quite a few candles, and the light from the door was enough to illuminate most of the office. It had a desk and chair, and stacks upon stacks of papers behind those.

Once they were done admiring their work they left back down the stairs and into the archives. They all sat down at their desks and waited for Sasha to start talking. 

“Well, first I want to make sure y’all are ok. Where have you been?” Sasha looked between Jon and Martin, searching for an answer. Martin was silent for a few moments before he spoke.

“Well, After you left the bar and I whooped Tim at drinkin’, I went to try and find you but I had been fully in liquor, so I couldn't. There was a woman made of worms behind the saloon, the Sheriff was after me for being drunk in the street, and then Melanie King saved me and brought me to her safehouse. Then that same woman followed me there and game me these,” Martin stopped to roll up his pants cuff. Tim and Sasha's eyes got bigger, and Jon could feel his own scar tingle. “Then Jon came to get me and my memory fails me from there. I just remember waking up at Jon’s yesterday.”

“We stayed at Melanie’s for the night and then came back to town, but Elias was there and did his statue eye magic, so I brought him to my house so he wouldn't be alone.” Jon concluded and caught a glimpse of a small smile on Martins face.

“Well you ain't the only ones who have seen weird happenings ‘round here.” Tim said and Sasha nodded.

“Hain’t seen any ladies made of worms, but we sure have seen quite our share. Your worms weren't silver and had teeth like the devil did they?” Sasha sounded like she knew the answer but needed to ask anyway. 

“I call ‘em gopher worms. Cause they burrow.” Martin answered, his faint smile returned to a hard line.

“They been all over town these last few days. We found a way to get rid of those varmits though. Salt.” Tim said, triumph spreading all over his face. “They shrivel up and smell somethin’ fierce but it kills ‘em dead.” 

“Good to know. How'd you find out how to kill ‘em?” Martin asked, and Jon was curious too.

“Well, that's what I wanted to speak with you about. We had some help.” Sasha looked tired when she said the last part, like she was dreading talking about their mysterious ‘helper.’

“His name is Michael, and his hands were all wrong. And his face. But he tends the saloon.” Tim added, noticing Sasha’s discomfort. 

“The bartender?” Jon exclaimed, a bit confused. “I mean, he did look a bit weird but… I guess it makes sense?” Jon said, though he couldn’t really make heads or tails of it.

“He came up to me a couple days ago after I stomped out some worms who were about to get Rosie. You know how she is. Could talk a donkey’s hind leg off but not much goin’ on behind those pretty eyes of hers.” Sasha said, pity in her voice.  “Anyway, When I turned around to come inside, Michael was just sittin’ there on Rosie's desk. He asked if I wanted help taking care of them and showed me how to salt ‘em. And it's worked pretty well considerin’ they keep showin’ up. We salted the windows and doorways too. They won’t cross ‘em.” Sasha finished, looking directly at Jon. The idea of being able to defend against the worms - even for a short time - really helped his growing feeling of dread. 

Tim got up to kiss the top of her dark and curly hair, and Jon took a moment to look over at Martin. He had his chin in his hand and looked deep in thought.

“Michael didn’t happen to have long curly hair, did he?” Martin asked.

“Martin, you’ve seen him before. Long blonde curly hair, floaty face, fingers too long for their own good.” Tim sounded confused when Martin asked this.

“You flatter me Mr. Stoker. It takes quite a bit of effort to make myself look normal, you know.” The whole room jumped when Michal appeared out of the corner of the room, walking out of a yellow door that had absolutely not been there before. It swung closed with a long creak.

The sound made Jon want to throw up, his stomach and throat tightening in uncomfortable ways.

“You- you’re Michael?” Jon asked, and while he had seen him before, tending the bar, he wasn’t expecting to see Michael now. His long hair was covered with a hat and flowing in confusing fractals down his shoulders. He was wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt as to be expected, but Jon couldn’t quite pin down the colors. They seemed to change all the time, as did his hat. 

Michael turned his intense and swirling eyes to Jon. “Archivist! What a pleasure to make your acquaintance!” Michael giggled and folded down the middle in a stiff bow. “How have your travels been?” 

“Ah, good? I live just outside of town so…?” Jon trailed off, not too sure how to answer the question.

Michael refocused his eyes on Jon, looking deeply into them. “You know that’s not what I mean.” Michael’s voice changed. It still had the giggly and sing-songy quality to it, but his accent changed. He sounds… British? That sure ain't right. It made Jon’s stomach do flips inside his torso. Tim and Sasha looked like they felt the same thing.

Jon had a fleeting memory of yellow doorways and confusing corridors, but it left his head as soon as it came. This is so frustrating. Why can’t I just remember?  Jon felt his fingernails cutting into his palms.

“I'm sure I don't.” Jon said curtly. He spotted Martin flinch out of the corner of his eye. “And if you’re just here to be confusing then you can take that taffy mouth of yours and go boil your shirt.”

“No need to wake snakes Archivist. Can’t I pay a visit to some old friends ?” Michael began giggling again, and Jon felt his head begin to throb from the noise. His accent changed again, too, back to the familiar western one that was common in this part of the country. Martin took a tentative step toward Jon, but seemed to decide against it, stepping back again and wringing his hands.

“Not unless you know anythin’ else that can help us with this worm problem?” Jon said, expecting Michael to relent and go back in his spooky yellow door.

Michael laughed, his head splitting laugh cut through the room, significantly more intense than his previous giggles. Tim Put his hands over Sasha's ears and held her close to his chest. 

“Oh, Archivist. Of course I do, But I won’t be sharin’ much with you. I wouldn’t want to upset Old Scratch upstairs. He can be quite fussy when it comes to his Archive.” Michael giggled again, not quite as cacophonous as before, but still enough to make Jon’s ears hurt. “I can tell you her name is Jane Prentiss, and she don’t like you…” Michael continued giggling, his too-long fingers covering his too-wide smile.

Michael had too many teeth.

“Jane Prentiss. What does that even mean?” Jon asked, trying not to let the too tall man in front of him unsettle him. 

“And why did you open a saloon?” Tim asked, though Sasha piped in with a short “not the time Tim.”

“Well, I have to keep from boredom somehow!  I can’t be runnin’ around cousin’ chaos now, can I? Everyone else here already has that covered!” Michael completely disregarded Jon's question.

“Everyone else? What in tarnation do you mean?”  Jon was at the end of his rope by this point, almost resolving to begging for any type of straight answer.

“You’ll just have to find out~! Now, as much as I love our chats, I must get going. Someone just started a fight in my bar. I’ll be seein’ you!” Michael kept giggling while he pulled himself through his door. It creaked shut behind him and shrunk back into the walls with a quiet pop!  

Jon felt himself lose balance and had to steady himself against the table behind him. What did he mean ‘others’? And did he mean Elias when he said ‘old scratch upstairs’? What an odd fish. Hon felt a hand on his arm and looked up. It was Martin.

“Are you alright Jon?” Martin had a worried look in his eye. “You just about collapsed. Do you want me to get you some water?” Martin asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“No I- I’m Ok. I just need to sit down for a bit.” Jon’s head throbbed with questions and he had the answer to none of them.

Chapter Text

The week following Michael’s visit was incredibly stressful. Worms were becoming more frequent, Elias had been on everyone’s tail with sorting the Archive, and to top it all off, They kept stumbling across real spooky statements involving Jane Prentiss. Their box in the corner had begun overflowing with not only Real Spooky statements, but also Real spooky statements with strange stains and even stranger contents.

One statement had detailed a man’s courtship with a woman who had exploded into worms at the end of their date. Jon asked Tim to see if the sheriff knew anything, (she didn’t) and the deputy found the corpse of the statement giver a few days after it was submitted, he was covered in holes and clutching a bottle of whiskey.

The whole archives were also covered in salt. They had taken care to have clean lines of salt on all of the windows and doors and made extra care to salt the corner with the Real Spooky statements.

Everything came to a head on August 8th, 1873.

The air in the archives was already think with tension when Elias made his way down the stairs. The whole archival team almost got attacked by worms before they got to work, so nobody was in a good mood.

“Morning everyone! Y’all look like you’re havin’ a wonderful time. Be sure to hunker down and get lots of work done, you hear? There's a stampede comin’." Elias smiled his slimy sly smile at them, as he just stood there. “Y’all best clean up this salt mess while I'm gone. Now, I’ve gotta go help my husband keep safe while this here stampede passes, he’s so useless in these situations." Elias took one last condescending look around the archive and walked back out the door. 

“If I never see him again it would be too soon.” The scathing remark came from Sasha, whose hair was frizzy and unkempt after the worm scare this morning.

“I can’t say I disagree. I hope this stampede passes fast so I can get home early. It’s been a hell of a week.” Jon replied, his voice tired and weary. Martin had come back into the room and handed them coffee. The familiar sound of the floorboard creaking alerting them all to his presence.

“What did I miss now?”

“Stampede comin’ towards town. Elias said to hunker down and clean up the salt, bastard.” Tim replied, his voice just as tired. Jon saw Sasha pull a flask out of her dress and pour some liquid in both her coffee and Tim’s. Good idea.

“Sounds about right, I reckon. I don't suppose some six-shooter coffee will make it better, but it might take the edge off.” Martin tried to sound enthusiastic, but Jon could hear his weariness under his tone. 

Martin seemed more tired than anyone, making and bringing everyone coffee, sorting and reading most of the statements, and electing himself to put the statements in the Real Spooky box. How it doesn’t weigh on his soul I will never know.

The sound of a voice coming from outside of the institute broke Jon out of his thoughts. 

“STAMPEDE! EVERYONE GET TO HIGH GROUND!” The sound was dampened by the walls, but it was certainly Sheriff Daisy and Deputy Basira. 

“We’re probably safe in here, right?” Sasha asked, turning to Tim for support.

“Of course. I’m gonna go check on the horses and Rosie. Be back soon.” Jon felt his stomach drop in anxiety when Tim said this, but he couldn’t think of a good reason to not let him leave.

“Be careful Tim. Sounds like the stampede is gettin’ close.” Jon warned, anxious. He could feel his palms sweating from fear, but he couldn’t quite place why. It’s just a stampede, why in tarnation am I so nervous?

Tim nodded and walked out the door to the secretary room. Everyone heard it coming closer, a steady thundering approaching from the west side of town. It made Jon’s neck hairs stand on end. Martin was shaking and Sasha looked like she was about to cry. Jon could relate. Tim will be fine. He and Rosie will come back any minute now.

Sasha broke from her spot and rushed toward the door “I need to go help Tim, You two stay here!”

“Sasha, wait!” Jon tried to stop her, but the door was already closed. The thundering noise was growing louder and closer. They're adults, they can handle themselves. They’ll be back. Jon turned toward Martin ho was shaking and staring at the door.

“Are you alright?” Jon tried and failed to sound comforting.

“Not really. But Tim and Sasha will be fine. They can handle themselves.” Martin’s voice shook, and Jon impulsively pulled him into a hug. Martin went stiff for a moment before hugging back, and Jon realized what he was doing. He held on a little longer than he wanted but did pull away. 

“We’ll be fine. Let’s check on them. They’ll be fine.” Jon turned to go open the secretary door. The handle was cold, and Jon felt his stomach drop when he turned the handle. 

Rosie, Tim, and Sasha were gone, but what was there was a gaping hole in the floor spewing worms. What he saw in the middle of the twisting silver mass would haunt him til the end of his days. 

Jane Prentiss was a tall and skinny woman; she wore a tattered red dress, and her hair was a rat's nest of dark locks. Her skin was pitted and rancid, every pore was a swollen hole on her skin, it disgorged too many worms. Her face had it the worst, there was skin missing on her cheeks so you could see her rotten teeth through the empty sections of decaying flesh. Her eyes had been replaced with squirming swirling masses of silver worms.

“Prentiss. Floor, help me with the shelves!” Jon panicked and shut the door, he ran to one of the shelves containing books and statements. Martin realized what was happening and began pushing too. They managed to get a heavy wooden shelf in front of the door, but they could hear Prentiss banging and screaming on the other side. 

For a moment, Jon’s vision flickered. He could see a smooth concrete floor and shelves with files lining the walls and a fancily dressed Martin holding a thin twisty knife over his legs. Next to him was a small grey box with two spinning circles on top. The image left Jon’s vision before he could fully take everything in.

“Martin, are you alright? No worms got in, did they?”

“I’m Fine, and I can’t see any. I hope Tim and Sasha are alright.”

“I do too.” Jon thought for a moment before he asked, “Did you see anything just now? Like the room wasn’t quite right?” 

“No. Jon, are you alright?” Martin looked worried, more than before. “It's not Michael, is it?”

“I’m fine. Just forget I said anything.” Jon tried to sound confident but really didn’t accomplish that. He was panicking. Was it Michael? I haven't seen him but if he’s here…

Jon jumped as he heard something fumbling with the door handle on the other side of the room. Martin flinched as well but they weren’t fast enough to slam the door shut when it opened to reveal Tim, he was covered in salt and was being chased by a few worms, but otherwise alright.

“Hey Guys! It‘s real bad out there, y’know worm stampede and death and everything, Sasha is upstairs, and Rosie is gone but It’s better in here! And look what I found!” Tim was holding a small grey box. It had a few darker colored squares at the bottom and one red one at the end. The middle of the box had a clear glass window with some kind of rectangle with spinning circles inside, and two spinning circles at the top. What? This was in my vision, I should- 

Tim suddenly rammed into Jon, pushing him out of the way while Martin ran around to close the door with the wave of worms coming inside. They latched onto Jon’s ankles as well as Tim’s and began to slowly make their way inside. They crawled up Jon’s body and continued latching on and burrowing into different limbs and even a few on his face. Martin Pushed a bookshelf in front of the backdoor, leaving them trapped. 

“SHit! Tim, warn me next time, AGH!” Jon felt the worms eating through his skin.

“Damn it Jon! Here let me get those, you too Tim!” Martin Rushed over to the two of them, still laying on the floor, covered in worms. 

Tim was struggling to sit up and Jon tried to get out from under him, but Martin managed to pull them apart by the collar of their shirts. 

Martin sat the two of them down on the wall and went to work pulling the worms out and salting them, worm by painstaking worm. Each one Marin pulled out was another wave of burning pain running up Jon's body. 

“I know it hurts but bear with me, I’m getting the last of ‘em.” Martin was working surprisingly well under the pressure, and Jon couldn’t help but admire him. 

“Thank you, I- Thank you Martin.” Jon did his best to sound as sincere as possible. Martin had a small smile on his face when he looked up at Jon, and from the corner of Jon’s eyes, he could see Tim wiggle his eyebrows looking between them. “Oh, shut up Tim.” 

“I didn’t say anything. You’re the one makin’ mushy eyes at him.” Tim smirked and Jon just about decked him.

“Can we please not do this now Tim? The whole town is covered in worms! Do you even know where Sasha is?” Jon snapped, and he saw hurt go across Tim’s face.

“I was just tryin’ to lighten the mood. Sasha is upstairs in Elias’ office. I wanted her to get to higher ground.” Tim frowned at the floor while Martin began pulling the worms out of his legs. 

“I’m sorry Tim but now is not the time to have a light mood. I am glad Sasha is safe.” Tim lightened a bit when Jon apologized but winced when Martin pulled a particularly deep worm out of his leg.

“Sorry Tim, that one was aggressive, little devils.” Martin said, apologetic, but not genuinely. There was something else in his voice too, jealousy maybe? But why?

“It’s fine. We should check if we can leave through one of the doors. Jon, can you walk?” Tim looked over at him, pain evident in his watery eyes.

Jon tried to stand but the worm holes in his legs radiated too much pain for him to get very far. “Not quite, I’ll need another few minutes.” 

“I can check, just let me get these last worms out.” Martin replied, once again with something like jealousy ringing on the back of his voice. He then pulled out and salted the last worm with more aggression than he needed to. The whole room smelled like shriveled worms, and it was awful.

Martin then proceeded to get up and listen to the secretary room wall, staying there for a moment before moving back across the room and listening to that wall. The windows were covered with worms, and they blocked out the sun.

“I don’t think we’re getting out the back door. There’s no movement in the Secretary room that I can hear, so let’s try that way.” Martin said matter of factly and walked over to give Tim and Jon a boost up.

They rested on the wall beside the door and watched while Martin pushed the bookshelf out of the way. He pulled the door open to reveal some shriveled worms, but nothing else. The hole in the floor was empty as far as they could tell. 

Jon took a deep breath of the worm scented air and looked at Tim and Martin. “We could go in there; it looks like it’s worm free. If it is, it would be perfect for an escape.”

“I agree, let me drop a match down to see how far it goes.” Martin replied, he lit a match and dropped it. It only fell a few moments before hitting the ground and sputtering out. The tunnel was worm free. “I’ll lower you both down there and then I’ll go in after you. Why are you still carryin’ that box Jon?”

Martin gestured to the box Jon was holding that he didn’t realize he still had. It vibrated slightly as he noticed it in his hand. “I don’t rightly know.” Jon didn’t elaborate, and Martin Didn’t ask. They just looked at each other for a moment.

Martin lowered Tim down first, he was holding an oil lamp and was stronger than Jon was. Then Jon went down, lungs full of still air and his feet landed on hard stone. Tim was beside him, staring down one way and noticed that the tunnels were too regular to be formed naturally. Mines . They must run under the whole town . Jon was befuddled.

 Martin lowered himself down last, one hand holding another oil lamp. He put his hand on Jon’s shoulder and looked at him fondly. “Which way do we go?”

Everything from then on was an unclear mess. At some point Tim and Jon had managed to lose Martin, and then they found a large supply of salt in one of the rooms off the main corridor. 

Tim and Jon had managed to lug it back to where the institute was, crawling with some difficulty back through the hole in the floor. They brought it up into the secretary room and managed to surprise Jane Prentiss, who had broken into the archive, and threw the salt at her. She shriveled and made a horrific screaming sound, like a thousand dying voices, but eventually stopped moving. 

That was when they heard Martin scream echoing from inside the tunnels.

Chapter Text

Martin found a corpse. Not just any corpse, but the corpse of the previous Archivist. She had 3 bullet holes in her chest, and she was sitting in a room full of statements and those strange grey boxes.

Jon just about threw up when Martin told him. 

When Jane Prentiss died, so did all of the worms in town. The whole building was covered in holes, but There was no structural damage to any buildings but the Magnus Institute, so she was clearly coming for them. Maybe even for me specifically..  

Elias came back as well, Rosie and a man Tim recognized as the mayor in tow. Sasha came back as well, her short blonde hair and pink dress were largely unharmed save for a few tears at the bottom of the dress. There was also quite a bit of dark dirt visible on her pale complexion. 

She and Tim hugged for a long time when they saw each other again. Jon also noticed her looking directly into his eyes and winking from behind Tim’s back. Nobody else seemed to notice her eyes were blue now.

When the sheriff arrived, Jon told her there was a body in the tunnels under town, and she was very interested in finding it. The crazy look in her eye had returned at the idea of a search party in the tunnels, though Jon couldn't figure out why.

The corpse was removed, as were the statements and strange boxes, but Elias took most of them, leaving only a few statements and a single small grey box for the Archive.

“I wonder what got to her. The old archivist seemed so old.” Tim remarked, his arm around Sasha's shoulders. She was sniffling into Tim’s shoulder, muttering something about how tragic the situation was. Poor thing. But Sasha has always been emotional. Jon thought about the time they had spent together during the weeks he had worked at the institute and tried to remember the last time she had behaved like this, but he really couldn't think of any. Wait… I've never seen Sasha cry before. Even after reading those Prentiss statements… Sasha had always been so strong… 

Jon didn't have time to worry about Sasha’s newfound emotional state for long. Elias came up to everyone and told them to go home after that. 

“After such an unexpected turn of events, I do believe y’all should take a break. Go home for the rest of the week. I'll get this whole situation patched up. And Tim? Keep an eye on your wife. She rummaged through my things, and I do not appreciate it.” Elias said, he almost sounded genuinely concerned for their safety. He didn't look at Sasha at all when he spoke. 

“ Bastard.” Tim whispered under his breath when Elias walked away. Jon turned to Martin who looked shaky and nervous.

“Martin let's- well I guess you can go back to your own home now. Since Prentiss is dead.” Martin looked back at Jon, his eyes watery and unsure.

“I guess. Can I- Golly I must sound so- I don't want to be alone.” Martin’s response shocked Jon, he figured after all that time stressed and anxious Martin would want to go to the comfort of his home. Jon wasn't unpleasantly surprised by this, but it would be hard to get Tim to stop teasing him if he agreed.

“Sure thing. One more night won’t hurt I reckon. Let’s go.” It was Martin's turn to be surprised, he smiled and walked along with Jon, who caught Tim looking at him and wiggling his eyebrows. 

Luckily, the horses were ok. Elias’s was gone, but that was to be expected. Jon’s horse, Dixie, was spooked for sure but unharmed. “Hey there girl. Long day today huh?” Jon said to his horse, trying to calm her down. 

After a few more nice words Dixie calmed down enough to let Jon saddle her, and Tim and Sasha came around to pick up Tim’s horse, the beautifully colored Pinto.

“Come on Loko! It's Sasha! You know Sasha!” Tim’s horse was running around and keeping as far away from Sasha as possible. I wonder why? Maybe because of the worms. Probably.

The horse did not calm down by the time Jon and Martin hopped on Dixie and rode off. Sasha just kept glaring at the horse the whole time.

The ride home felt longer than usual, the red desert stretching on and on. The cacti stood tall against the rocks and plateaus of the desert, and the hot air made the ride through the sands miserable. 

I hope Martin is doing alright. The corpse of Gertrude Robinson is not what I would expect to see. Elias had said she “died in the line of duty” which had not made Jon’s nerves about the situation feel any better. It made them worse actually.

When Jon arrived at his house, he immediately knew something was off. The chickens which normally walked around his house were missing and the door was flung wide open. 

“Stay on your taps. Something is in my house.” Jon warned, slowing his horse to get a good read on the situation. There was nothing except the door and the chickens that was wrong, but Jon couldn't get the bad feeling to go away.

“I've got your back.” Jon hopped off Dixie and drew his six-shooter. He was ready to shoot if need be. Martin hopped off behind him and pulled a non-twisty knife from his belt. 

The two of them walked closer and as silently as they could toward the house. Jon’s hands were shaking slightly but he really tried to keep his face in a hard frown.

As they crept closer, Jon strained his ears to hear inside but heard nothing. Jon and Martin both peeked inside and saw someone inside sipping tea sitting on Jon’s bed. 

It took a few moments for Jon to realize who it was, but when he did, he realized why he felt so out of place. 

It was Michael. Again.

Michael. Of course it's Michael.

Jon relaxed slightly and put his gun away. He turned to Martin and shook his head. It was clear Martin had seen Michael as well, his hands were at his sides, and he was much less tense. They started to walk over to the door.

“To what do I owe this visit, Archivist?” Michael asked from his seat on Jon’s bed. They were fully inside before Jon answered.

“My visit? You're in my house!” Jon exclaimed, frustrated.

“No need for technicalities, Archivist. How did you enjoy the worms?” Michael giggled as he turned to face Jon and Martin.

“You say that like it was a fun adventure. I almost got eaten.” Jon spat. He wasn't sure where Michael was going with this, but he didn't like it either way. Michael looked Jon dead in the eye.

“You're going to need to be much more respectful of things that can kill you Archivist.” Michael smiled, his too many teeth stretching from one ear to another. It made Jon feel small and his skin itch in the worst possible ways. he then took another sip of his tea like he hadn't just threatened Jon's life.

“What is that supposed to mean? And you still didn't answer my question?” Jon was getting toward the end of his rope.

Michael just giggled again; it made Jon's head pound. Jon turned to Martin, and he looked completely out of it.

“Oh, I'm sure you'll figure it out. If the imposter doesn't kill you first.” Imposter? What is that supposed to mean? “I look forward to seeing you again Archivist!” Michael let out one more ear-piercing laugh and disappeared with a pop! Just like his door had a week prior.

“Jon, are you ok? What happened?” Martin was suddenly back in the real world, his hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Wh- what? I was just. It was Michael, he was here and being cryptic. Like always.” Jon tried to take a step away from Martin and found his balance was completely off kilter. He would have fallen over if Martin didn't catch him.

“Are you sure you're alright? Do you want me to get you any water?” Michael said there was an imposter. Maybe it's Martin. He could be getting close to me to kill me just like the last Archivist. He was the one who found her body.

Jon’s expression hardened. “No. I'm fine. I'm going to put Dixie in her pasture.” Jon took a tentative step and found he could walk without much issue. 

“But- alright.” Martin looked hurt but Jon tried very hard not to care. He did, deep down, but he couldn't afford to now he knew there was an imposter on the loose.

Chapter Text

One week after the Prentiss Incident, the archives team were back to work. Jon, Tim, Martin and Sasha had all been cleared by the doctor, one Dr. Banks, and were cleared to go back to work after a few days.

On the first day back, Jon had ridden into town and bid the Deputy good morning and left his horse in the corral behind the institute. Rosie was in good spirits as usual, despite the very large hole in the floor.

“Good Mornin’ there Mr. Sims! How was your week?”

“Just fine Ms. Rosie. Can I ask how your week was?” Jon was suspicious of everyone at this point, ready to interrogate anyone and everyone.

“Well, Mr. Sims, I got Engaged! Mr. Bouchard Set me up with a ranch hand from Santa Fe so I was gone all week meetin’ with him and he was just lovely! Speaking of lovely, there are much less worms and much less salt everywhere! And Mr. Bouchard put a lovely hole in the floor! It really is very lovely! I think it adds a nice and spooky touch to the whole place don’t you think? It reminds me of my Fiance’s eyes. I- ” Rosie gestured toward the gaping pit, it had a wide board of wood stretched across the opening so anyone could walk over it. Looking at it made Jon feel cold.

“That’s nice Rosie. I hope it goes well for you.” Jon cut her off before she could talk too much and walked back into the Archive room. The imposter isn't Rosie. She talks just as much as before. I wonder if Elias knew about Jane Prentiss. Wouldn’t put it past him, spooky bastard.

When the door swung open and Jon walked over the creaky piece of floorboard, Tim, Sasha and Martin all whipped around in a panic. Tim and Martin had statements in their hands and Sasha has been fanning herself with a yellow fabric fan. 

Martin looked nervous when he turned to Jon, unease in his eyes. No matter how much I want to, I can’t trust him. If he’s the one who murdered Gertrude Robinson, I can't let that happen to me.

“G- Good morning, Jon. Nice to see you after… uh-" Martin's hands fidgeted with the corner of the statement he was holding.

“Yes, Yes. What have y’all got there?” Jon tried his best to look menacing and Martin recoiled slightly. Tim was having none of it.

“Come on Boss. ya’ can't go on back scarin’ Martin after last week. We gotta stick together, right?” Jon’s frown deepened, and Tim’s face fell a bit. “D’aww don’t give me that look! You know you want to open up-”

“No, I don’t. I just want to get to work. Keep an eye out for Real Spooky statements.” Tim shook his head and went back to reading the statement he had in his hand. Sasha stayed silent, simply looking between them when they spoke, her fan making her short straight hair swish a bit with each beat of the fan. 

“Just sayin’ boss. The three of us can’t get through all of these statements by ourselves.” Tim turned back to his statement.

“What about Sasha?” Jon asked, a little confused.

“What do you mean, ‘what about Sasha’? She can’t read.” Jon found that a little strange, but not surprising, he realized. Of course Sasha couldn't read. He felt a pair of eyes on him, and when he looked, he saw Sasha’s startling blue eyes flitting away.

Women normally don’t take on academic jobs. She brings us coffee. Jon thought, relaxing a bit before remembering that no, Martin brought everyone coffee. I’ll have to keep an eye on her. Maybe she and Martin have teamed up. Maybe they’re planning to kill me together. Poison me probably. Jon shifted in his chair away from Martin. If he noticed he didn’t make it known.

“I uh, found one. Real Spooky. It's abou- golly- It’s about cursed books. One that made a man feel like he was falling even though his feet were uh- on the ground. I think- uhm. Jon, you should read it.” Martin handed Jon the statement but avoided eye contact.

Jon took it and began to read, the feeling of falling radiating from the statement. The book was called ‘Ex Altiora’, and it was stamped with ‘From the Library of Jurgen Lietner’ in the front. I could swear I've heard of this book before. I can’t let the others know.

“Cursed books sounds like a taradiddle. And stop yammerin’ so much. You sound daft.” Jon spat, but he still took the statement to the corner where they kept the Real Spooky Statements. He couldn't be too careful.

Martin looked hurt but didn't say anything. “Someone woke the wrong passenger today.” Tim remarked quietly.

“Do you have something to say Mr. Stoker? I don’t see you Makin’ any headway in these statements. I have half a mind to fire all of you and find a new set of assistants.” The words came out of Jon before he could stop himself. Martin’s eyes started tearing up, but he stood walked out to the secretary room before Jon could say anything else.

Sasha was also sniffling, but Jon couldn’t be bothered to worry about the weepy woman. Tim looked absolutely furious.

“Come on Jon! You know you don’t mean that. You can be angry all you want but don’t take it out on us! Especially Martin! All he wants to do is help!”

“What help is he? All he does is bring us coffee and whale on without actually sayin’ anything! He’s such a -”

“Don’t you dare! Maybe he’s not the bravest man but he sure ain’t useless. If you knew how much he-" Tim jabbed his finger toward Jon but Jon cut him off this time, his volume rising.

“Is that a threat? I assure you I won’t let no threats go unanswered!” Jon felt the cool metal of his iron and realized he was almost ready to pull his gun on his assistant. A wave of shame flowed through him but he couldn’t back down. Tim will never respect me if I let up. Maybe he’s in to kill me too.

“FINE! Be that way. Come on Sasha. We’re going for drinks.” Sasha took Tim’s hand and stood up to leave behind him. Her eyes lingered on Jon for too long before she closed the door of the archive room. Jon couldn’t help but see the faintest hint of a smile on her face behind the flittering yellow fan.

The whole room was silent now. So silent in fact, that Jon could hear a faint whirring in the corner, which he followed behind a stack of books, hiding one of those strange grey rectangles from a week ago. Tape recorder. That’s what it’s called. Jon’s shoulders tensed in surprise. I’ve never seen anything like this before… Even if Jon felt apprehension in his stomach, he couldn't help but be drawn to the thing. I should take it home. To study it.

Jon tried to put the strange box in his pocket, but it didn’t fit. He’d just have to subtly take it home at the end of the day. He left it on the shelf and replaced the books. Nobody can know about this.

Jon had just replaced the books when he heard the sound of the squeaky floorboard behind him. Jon turned around to see Martin, eyes a bit red but free of tears. 

“I uh. Brought you a coffee. I know it’s been-” Jon’s heart squeezed in his chest at the sentiment, but he had to cut Martin off.

“No thank you. I can’t drink coffee anymore.” No matter how hurt he looked, Jon would not take anything from his assistants anymore. If they’re trying to kill me, I can't trust them. He’ll have to shoot me himself. I will miss his coffee though… But that was probably his plan. Lure me in and bamboozle me.

The tears returned to Martin’s eyes, but he didn’t walk back out of the room. Instead, he just walked to the desks, sat down, and took a sip of the coffee he had in his hand. Jon did his best not to look at Martin as he sat down diagonally from him. Jon really tried not to look at the way his freckles glistened with tears. Jon couldn't help the lump of guilt creeping its way up his throat.

They both began reading statements again, but this time in silence. The only noise was a slight whirring sound and the occasional sniffles coming from Martin's side of the table.

Chapter Text

Jon’s paranoia only got worse. He considered just avoiding everyone, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was after him. And the tape recorder mystery only made it more apparent that something was very, very wrong. 

Jon managed to take it home with him but couldn't quite figure out what it had to do with anything. It hadn’t stopped whirring the whole way home and when Jon got inside and set it down, he finally tried figuring out how it worked. It took him 'til sundown, but he managed to at least get the whirring to start and stop. He even managed to get it to play. 

Suffice it to say he had a little spook when Tim’s voice exploded from the box. “Fine! Be like that!” scratched out from it before he managed to shut it off. Recordings… I can't place it but this feels very important.

Jon felt guilty when the fight from earlier replayed in his mind, but he had to keep in mind that not only was there an imposter, but his assistants were probably trying to kill him. The lump of guilt came back up his throat when he remembered how he hadn’t seen Tim or Sasha since Tim stormed out, but he dismissed it.

Jon didn’t even want to think about Martin. He's just out to kill me. They all are. I can't trust them. Jon couldn’t help but doubt them. They worked there before Jon did, and they knew the previous Archivist. They could have easily killed her.

But Elias could have done it too. He could be in on it. I should keep a watch on them. Jon couldn’t help but stew on it all as he fell asleep.

In the morning, Jon got ready as he usually did, but he also packed a bag. He packed multiple charcoal pencils, and would get as much paper as he could from the institute. 

Jon was going to wait until the end of the day and follow Martin home. Then tomorrow, he would follow Tim and Sasha home. Jon would note every movement they made, where they lived, who they talked to, everything. 

Jon rode into town thinking about how he could watch Tim, Sasha, and Martin without being seen, but couldn’t come up with much. He broke out of his thoughts when he saw the Sheriff and the Deputy’s horses outside the institute. 

Jon tied his horse behind the institute like always, but walked much faster inside to see that Sheriff Tonner and Deputy Hussain were interrogating Martin. Tim was nowhere to be found, and Elias was in the corner by the door to the stairs, looking judgmental as always. His intense eyes staring daggers at the back of Martin's head.

“So you’re tellin’ me that you saw nothin’? Even after you got a new archivist you didn’t think to ask why?” The sheriff was in Martin’s face giving him the jaw.

“She was o-old! And I was the secretary, it wa’n’t none of my bu -business.” Martin shrunk under the intense interrogation style of the Sheriff. 

“We just want to make sure you’re not hidin’ anything is all. Can't have the murderer get away without Daisy formin’ a posse.” The Deputy cut in from beside the Sheriff. 

“Formin’ a posse ain’t the focus here Basira! Its servin’ justice to that good for nothin’ saddle tramp who killed an old woman!” The Sheriff sounded indignant and turned to Deputy Basira to argue with her about the ethics of forming possies.

Martin took a breath of relief but immediately sat up straighter when he noticed Jon in the doorway. Elias noticed as well because Jon felt his sleazy gaze shift to his face.

“Uh, hello Jon. Welcome b-” Martin said in a small voice but immediately got cut off.

“Jon. Good. The Sheriff and her Deputy are here to ask about the murder. Have you seen Tim or his wife?” Elias looked at him like he was envisioning a bullet in his chest. It made Jon want to shift his feet and get out of the room. He didn’t say her name. This is the second time he referred to her as Tim's wife rather than just saying her name. She just went to the top of the imposter list.

The two police officers in the room were too preoccupied with arguing to notice Jon’s presence, though they didn’t argue with malice. The Deputy was smiling and Daisy had her hand on Basira’s arm as a tender gesture.

They did stop arguing however when the Deputy's eyes drifted ever so slightly and landed on Jon. The Sheriff had her back turned toward Jon as to argue with The Deputy easier, but turned to see what Basira was looking at when she noticed Basira's eyes drifting.

“You! Archivist. What do you know about Gertrude Robinson?” Sheriff Daisy turned on him quickly, immediately taking notice of his presence and glaring at him, despite being a whole head shorter than he was. 

“Nothin’ helpful ma’am. I arrived in Cheyanne after she died. I never met her.” Jon tried not to sound nervous, but the Sheriff had the familiar wild look in her eye, almost as though she wanted him to turn around and run.

“So you’re useless too. Take Mr. Blackwood. We're interrogating Mr. Bouchard next.” Sheriff Tonner accused and turned back to Elias.

Deputy Hussain gave him a shrug of apology but turned to ask Elias some questions with Sheriff Tonner, who had completely forgotten him.

Jon motioned reluctantly for Martin to follow him, and they both went out to the front of the building, looking at the wide road of the town. Martin didn’t say anything, he just stood there fidgeting his hands and watching the people bustling through town.

I miss looking in his eyes. The thought bubbled up into Jon’s head so suddenly he flinched. Martin took notice and turned to Jon, eyebrow raised.

“Are you alright Jon?” Martin asked, concern in his voice. Is he trying to throw off on me? Jon knit his eyebrows as he stared at Martin, searching for a lie or a trick in his face. Jon told himself he found it, lying just under his kind demeanor. 

“Fine. Just tripped.” Jon lied, the red dirt was flat where they were standing, but if Martin caught him in the lie, he didn't make it known. Martin simply nodded with a look of disappointment on his face and turned back to the road.

They stood outside in relative silence for a long time, but eventually the police officers came back outside. Sheriff Daisy was cussing up a storm, something about how “the place full of academics is actually full of idiots,” while Deputy Basira was trying to talk her off a ledge.

“We should- I’m going inside.” Martin said curtly and opened the door back inside the institute. Jon just stood there for a few moments longer, wondering whether to go back inside or wait outside for Tim to possibly not show up.

Jon decided to go back inside by the end, and the rest of the day passed in relative silence. Tim and Sasha still hadn’t come back, but Jon tried not to worry. They’re probably off plotting. 

Jon and Martin read and sorted statements in silence, and no Real Spooky statements had made their way to the top of their reading piles. Jon thought the Archives team was making good headway all things considered, they managed to be able to see the floor in two whole corners of the room, which was a major improvement.

When the day was finally over, Martin left silently, save for the creaking floorboard. Jon waited a few moments before quietly following as closely as he could, paper and charcoal pencil in hand.

Martin wove his way through the bustling crowd to the market, two buildings over from the Saloon and full of people. Jon followed, simultaneously trying not to lose Martin, but also trying not to be spotted. Jon took the not being spotted much more seriously.

I need to stay hidden. If Martin notices I’m following him home, my whole plan will be thrown off. If I had a plan for what I would do if he was trying to kill me. Which he is. I should make a better plan .

Jon wrote down everything Martin picked up to buy. Coffee beans, flour, eggs, and drinking water. Martin paid with a $2 bill. The word suspicious was scrawled next to the list and underlined. Martin paid and Jon had to hide before Martin caught sight of him. Luckily, he managed to dodge Martin’s gaze by hiding behind a very tall man. 

The next place Martin went was the bank. It was right next to the mayor’s office and was run by a scruffy looking man and a young woman with a scar over her eye. They didn’t look like family, but they acted like it. 

Martin deposited $0.40 that he had left over from the market, which Jon wrote down. Jon had to hide once again but ducked out of the front door at just the right time as to not be seen. 

Martin then mosied around town, talking to multiple different people about nothing in particular but mostly church. Jon counted each of the people he talked to, 3 men, 2 women. They were all dressed in working clothes, which Jon wrote down as well. Martin then started walking out of town a short ways. Two whoops and a holler came back to his mind and reminded him of his mother. He still couldn’t remember her face.

Martin walked for a good 5 minutes into the desert to his own house, and by that time it was beginning to become nightfall, so Jon went back to the institute to get his horse and go home. He needed to think about all he had learned today.

Chapter Text

Jon had been following Martin for a few days and found nothing out of the ordinary. Martin had the same schedule almost every day, go to work, occasionally go to the Saloon with Tim and Sasha - Tim had been avoiding talking to Jon in the archives - then going to the market, to the bank every few days to withdraw and deposit money, the largest sum being $5.00, and the smallest being $0.10.

Martin would then go home and make himself dinner, do some writing in a book Jon desperately wanted to get his hands on, and went to bed. Jon would then go back to his own house after Martin would turn in for the night. 

Jon also learned the layout of Martin’s house from his watching, he had a small stove and a bed, and he also had a table with multiple chairs both inside and outside, though Jon had never noticed him having company.

Martin didn't even have any suspicious hobbies, he did a lot of writing, talking to townspeople, and he went to church on Sunday. 

Highly suspicious, is what Jon would almost always write beside his notes despite the stark normalcy of Martin’s life. It frustrated Jon to no end that he couldn't see anything incriminating in Martin’s routine, and he ended up breaking a few charcoal pencils in half. After a week of watching Martin to no avail, he decided it was time to follow Tim and Sasha. 

After an almost silent day in the archives with Jon being on edge, Tim being angry, Sasha being uncomfortably silent, and Martin attempting to raise the mood every once in a while, not much had gotten done. Jon had been watching Sasha, and she didn't blink once.

Has she been blinking? I need to watch her much more closely.

Jon had watched them walk to the Saloon and Tim had ordered a few whiskeys. Sasha still said nothing and watched him drink.

Tim yelled at the bartender Michael about “the boss being spooky and Martin being anxious this week and they really need to just up and quit.”

Jon was standing outside the window, but he could have sworn Michael’s swirling eyes flit over to him while Tim was talking. He doesn't know I'm following Tim, does he? No. I'm good at staying out of sight.

Tim continued to talk, and Sasha continued to watch unblinking until Tim was redfaced and stumbling. Sasha carried him out of the Saloon with Michael wishing Tim the best. He didn't acknowledge Sasha when she paid him.

She carried Tim back to where he had left their horse and just glared at it until it calmed down enough for her to saddle it and shove Tim onto its back. She then got on and rode off in the direction Jon had assumed their house was in. What did she do to that horse?

Jon got on his own horse and rode quickly in that direction as well. He needed to make sure he knew where they lived so he could find them in the future.

They lived farther out of town than Jon did. It was on a ranch where they had a few cows and two horses. Their house was tall and made of stucco like most of the buildings in this part of Wyoming.

There was a porch with a wide bench that Sasha unceremoniously plopped Tim on in his drunkenness. Why not take him inside? How rude. We may not be getting along but even I wouldn't treat him like that.

Sasha disappeared into the house and when Jon managed to get closer, he could hear the sound of a telegram coming from where Sasha was standing. Beep beep be- beep beep!

Jon wondered who she was sending and receiving it from. Tim had fallen asleep on the bench, so Jon wasn't worried about being spotted. Sasha wrote down a few things and shoved the telegraph and the papers under a loose floorboard.

Where did she get all of that? I though Tim said she couldn't read. I don't trust her. 

Jon wrote down everything he had seen in his notes. The words HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS were in all caps and underlined on her page. 

Jon started rethinking his suspicions of Martin but reminded himself that they might be working together. He's who she's telegramming. Even though I've never seen Martin send or receive a telegram. Jon wrote down ‘make sure Martin does not take or send telegrams.’

Jon continued to watch Sasha as she started cooking. They had a rather large stove and lots of food that the institute did not have the money to pay them for. Jon had ducked out of the way when Sasha came outside to move Tim, who had not woken up.

She simply propped him up on a chair and began force feeding him until he woke up. He didn’t stop her, and ate everything he was given, but his eyes were glassy, and his movements were slow. Tim just stared off into space while Sasha fed him with a disgusted look on her face. She ate nothing.

Jon continued to write everything down. Anything Sasha did had been written down in excruciating detail.

‘ Walked to cupboard. Opened cupboard. Took out plates, 2. Put plates, 2, on table. Still hasn't blinked. Walked outside. Picked up Tim. Does not have the strength to pick up Tim. Put Tim on chair. Opened Tim's mouth. Fed Tim biscuit. Tim woke up. Sasha looked at him with pity. Did not blink.’ 

Once Tim was done eating, Sasha had walked Tim up the stairs and into what Jon had assumed was their bedroom. Jon couldn't see what was going on, and despite himself, he was worried about Tim. How could he not be? Sasha was acting very strangely, and Tim was vulnerable in his drunkenness.

She had come back down after a few minutes. She picked up the kitchen and went back outside. Jon ducked out of the way when she passed back outside and walked to the horse stables. 

Where is she going?  

Sasha did the strange glaring thing to one of the horses and saddled it. She began riding in the direction and Jon was semi- alone at Tim’s house. Jon took a deep breath but was startled out of his boots when he heard a familiar voice beside him.

“Hello Archivist! Watching Tim’s house this week, are we?” A tall blonde man had appeared at Jon’s side while he was observing inside.

“Michael? What are you doing here? Don’t you have a saloon to run?” Michael giggled.

“Can’t a man be in two places at once in peace? I like watchin’ this odd stick as much as you do Archivist.” Michael’s answer caught Jon off guard.

“‘Course. Are you here to help or just to be spooky? If y’ ain’t here to help, then I don't want you here.” Jon tried to sound stern.

“No~” Jon hated that Michael only gave him non-answers.

“Fine. Stay out of my way.” Michael just smiled wider at this. He held out his long sharp fingers in a gesture to shake Jon’s hand.

“You got a deal partner!” Michael’s too many teeth were buzzing in his mouth. It made Jon’s skin crawl.

“I’m not shaking your hand.” Jon spat, but Michael’s unnerving smile didn’t falter.

“Wise choice Archivist. Now let’s check on our runaway bride, shall we?” Michael continued giggling while a rhinoceros mosied over to where they were standing. Looking at it made Jon’s head hurt.

When Jon had finally finished saddling Dixie, no thanks to Michael and his giggling hyena, Jon worried he had lost Sasha. She rode back in the direction of town, Michael in tow on his giraffe.

Cacti whizzed past as Jon rode quickly to make up for lost time. It was getting dark, but Jon could still see well enough to get into town and see the horse Sasha had taken tied out front of the institute. 

The Deputy rode up to him as he got closer. Her horse was a spotted appaloosa.

“Mr Sims? Do you know what Miss James is doing here so late?” Jon was about to answer when the Deputy spoke again “She keeps coming here at dusk in a hurry. She’s makin’ the sheriff want to form another posse for disturbin’ the peace.” Deputy Basira sounded very tired.

“Yes Ma’am. Thank you for lettin’ me know.” Jon nodded and made a mental note to write that down. 

“And tell your friend over there to keep his goat to be quiet. The sheriff will form a posse.” The deputy rode away, and Jon turned to Michael, who was waving with a smile on his face. The fish he was riding was flopping aimlessly.

Jon simply sighed and walked inside the institute after tying Dixie out front. Walking inside, Jon noticed that the board that had spanned the hole in the floor was pushed aside, and a scrap of pink fabric was torn by a rock.  Sasha was wearing a pink dress.

When Jon looked at the bottom of the rock tunnel, there was a pair of red dirt footprints walking into the tunnels. This is going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Jon hadn’t been in the tunnels before. He had gone in when Jane Prentiss had attacked, and he had tried several times since. Jon wasn’t scared either - he was rather excited to explore the tunnels. It was just that every time he went down, no matter how many lamps he brought, they always blew out a few feet into the tunnels.

It took Jon by quite the surprise that when he lowered himself down to those cold stone mines, his oil lamp held fast. There was a brisk gust of air coming from deep in the tunnel. So, Jon got to walking. 

Michael had disappeared, and Jon hoped to go bother someone else. Good riddance. Odd fish. 

Jon’s mind was swirling with questions like ‘ Why is Sasha here?’ ‘Why did she just leave Tim at their house?’ ‘What does Sasha have to do with the tunnels?’ ‘Is this part of their plan to get me out of the way?’ Standing in the middle of this tunnel was certainly not going to warrant any answers, so Jon started walking in the direction the red dust footsteps were going. 

The first odd thing Jon noticed was that there was a solid line of dead worm carcasses about 40 feet into the tunnel. After that point, the floor was almost completely covered in shriveled dead worms. It made it both easier and harder to follow the tracks. Easier in that the crushed dead worms were also covered in red dust, but harder in that the crushed worms blended in very well with the shriveled ones.

 The scent attacked Jon’s nose and made it crinkle, almost as though his nose was trying to retract inside his face. Like horse manure and dead fish. They crunched beneath his feet like dead leaves.

The next odd thing Jon noticed was the way the tunnel opened up into a wide circular room. Jon poked his head into tone off the passages and saw a ring of worms halfway burrowed into the wall. Almost as though they were trying to make a gateway…

 As the light from the tunnel entrance in the institute waned, Jon grew more worried about his lamp. He had brought an extra and the strange, web patterned lighter from those odd delivery men, just in case.

The worms were at least getting more and more sparse, and the trail leading into the tunnels more and more obvious. Not only that, but there were multiple paths divulging off of the main path. At one point, Jon had tried to touch the wall he realized he had been holding a tape recorder, on and recording. How strange. I could have sworn I hadn't been holding one before. 

Jon had continued on until he heard the light sound of running water. Rivers are rare in the desert, but infinitely useful. So Jon followed it, down one of the divulging paths. Jon hurried into the tunnel, but to his disappointment, a tall blonde head of hair was waiting for him at the underground stream.

“Hello Archivist! And company~! What brings you down into my little corner of the tunnels?” Michael was wearing a brown fishing hat with fishhooks embedded in the fabric, and a vest with multiple sparkly jelly fish lures staring out of the pockets. He was holding a wooden fishing pole, dipping the hook in and out of the water.

“Company? I’m here alone. And what are you doing here?” Jon immediately worried about what Michael meant by ‘company.’

“One question at a time, Archivist. And I happen to feel quite at home in these here tunnels. Gets… Confusing.” Michael giggled and as usual, Jon’s head started to throb. “And put away that pesky recorder. They don’t play nicely with me anymore.” Michael’s accent changed again. British.

“What. In the world. Do. You. Mean?” Jon's headache was making him irritable. And Michael smelled weird. Like sweet and rotten all mixed together in a horrifying cologne that Jon couldn't tell if he liked or hated. And what does he mean about ‘company?’ Does he mean the recorder…?

“Well wouldn’t you like to know, Archivist. Now. Put that thing away before I cut your hand off with it.” Michael’s tone was humorous, but Jon could tell he was deadly serious. He turned off the recorder with shaky fingers.

“So are you goin’ to tell me anything or just sit there bein’ all spooky-like?” Jon asked, watching Michael move the fishing rod up and down in the running water. It looked like blood lit by the single oil lamp.

“No~! That’s for you to figure out on your own dear Archivist, although it’s a great honor for me to be your time waste of choice!” Michael giggled out, his accent changing back to the familiar western accent Jon was used to.

Jon felt his face go red with rage. “What do you mean, time waste?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head Archivist. Just keep followin’ those footsteps. I’m sure you’ll find something of worth, right?” Michael laughed and began shrinking. With each laugh, Mihael got smaller until all that was left was the sound of a giggle and a faint pop!

Jon let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Michael always funkified him, but this time was especially frustrating. What did he mean? Is he trying to throw me off something? Jon got started walking again, back through the worm carcasses. Is he trying to say I shouldn't follow those steps? I bet he’s in on Sasha and Martin’s plans. I need to follow those tracks. I need to know.

The steps led farther into the tunnels, twisting and changing directions quickly sometimes, but not enough to deter him. Jon was determined to know.

The worms had gotten much less frequent the longer he traveled, and by the time Jon had started to see a light at the end of the tunnel, he had realized he had been walking all night. 

Probably Michael and Sasha working against me. Distract me while they plan a trap to kill me. They’re not going to get me. They didn’t believe I would keep following the tracks. Well, I did. They can’t get rid of me that easily.

Jon kept walking and put out his lamp. The light shone so brightly it was hard for his eyes to adjust. When they did, Jon saw that the mouth of the tunnel was coming from a plateau overlooking Cheyenne.

“It’s so beautiful.” Jon jumped slightly when he heard himself speak out loud. Jon could see the whole town, Tim’s house, and Martin’s house from his vantage point. He could also see a shovel propped on a dead tree at the foot of the plateau. A shovel? What could be buried here?

Jon slid down the hill of red rock slowly, making sure not to fall and hurt himself. It blew into the air behind him in an arid red cloud.

 Jon took hold of the shovel and looked around on the red ground and saw that there was a particularly round part of the soil that was most likely to be dug through. 

So Jon started digging. It was a good foot and a half before he got anything, and when he knelt down to pull back the red dirt, Jon was surprised to find a pile of tapes. They were all unmarked and covered in dirt, but Jon was sure that these would go with the tape recorder in his hand and at his house. 

Should I try one? They're obviously meant to be hidden from me. I should. I will. 

Jon picked up a tape. It was dusty and light. It fit in his hand well and slid nicely into the tape recorder he had been carrying. What had scratched its way out of the tape recorder scared him more than Michael, or Elias, or the Sheriff. 

It was his own voice.

Chapter Text

“ It is remarkably easy to buy an axe in central London.”

Click

“This level of Paranoia is new to me, but I’m learning fast.”

Click.

“Supplemental - I’m in the tunnels. I was exploring and I got lost.”

Click.

Jon had been replaying those voice clips over and over. It was him, but it wasn't. As far as Jon knew, he was not British, Jon hadn’t even been out of the country. This voice was not helping the identity crisis he was avoiding. He had been doubting his memories for some time now, but to be so out of place as London, England? Inconceivable.

Jon hadn’t even given himself the luxury of listening to the tapes in the comfort of his own home. He just sat under a creaking dead tree listening to those damned tapes. I wonder what this other me was doing. Why would he need an axe? Do I need an axe?

Questions for another time. The blowing wind was getting hot with the rising sun, and Jon needed to eat something. So back into the tunnels he went. 

Only problem was, the footsteps were gone. Almost as though they hadn’t been there. Not even a lick of red dust from his own footsteps remained. Jon considered going back out of the tunnels and simply walking back to Cheyenne, it only looked to be a few miles out, but to walk that much in the blistering heat of the desert might actually kill him.

And Jon needed time to contemplate his findings. The tunnels were the best place to do some thinking. They were cool compared to the heat of the day, and the blowing air made him a little hopeful he could find his way out again. 

Unfortunately for Jon, he did not find his way out easily. Jon began walking in the direction of Cheyenne, but that path had twisted so much Jon found it hard to believe he was still on the right track. 

After a few turns and different paths, Jon finally let himself think about the tapes. He had grabbed a couple from the hole in the ground, but he couldn’t carry very many. His pockets were bursting with his gun, the lighter, cigarettes, the few tapes he took, and he had an extra oil lamp hanging on his suspender loops. It was a lot to say the least.

The first thing Jon wondered about was when they were recorded. Jon didn’t have any memory of recording them, but he had been worried that that wasn’t a good metric to go by. His memory was growing more and more fuzzy and incomplete.

Did he have a mother or not? Did he have a grandmother? Siblings? What were they like? Where did he come from? Jon’s brain told him he came from California, but his gut told him differently. Now that he had listened to the tapes, the square in a circle hole was looming on his mind like the shadow of the institute over Cheyenne.

It had just occurred to Jon how strange the location of the Institute was as well. Why not a city like New York or Boston? If Elias was set on the west, then why not Denver or Phoenix? They were certainly busier and more developed. Why would Elias settle down in a city that was founded only 6 years previous?

Jon ran his hand on the cool rock of the tunnel wall. It grounded him from his spiraling thoughts while he took a couple moments to rest from walking. 

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. That was the first thing that had scraped its way out of the tape recorder. How Jon knew it was him speaking through the grey whirring box. It made him sick.

When Jon started back walking again, his lamp went out. “Typical. At least I came prepared.”

Jon took the lighter from his pocket, it felt ice cold and lit easily when he clicked it. Jon tried to light the first lamp again, but it just wouldn't catch, so he tried his second. Jon unclipped his suspenders and replaced the new lamp with the other one.  It lit without issue.

What did cause the issue was that the tunnels had completely changed while the light was out. What had previously been a straight corridor had become a circular room with branching tunnels. Jon couldn’t see the floor; it was now covered in worm carcasses again.

“Damn it.” Jon swore, but he was relieved to say the least. At least he was more familiar with this area of the tunnels. Jon could hear muffled voices coming from one of the tunnels, so he followed it. They gradually became clearer, and the closer Jon got, the more he could tell it was an argument.

“- of Jon! He’s been gone and you decided to just drink yourself into a stupor? You almost got hit by a train, Tim!” Martin’s voice. Jon felt relieved at the sound of it, and despite himself, he relished in the sound of Martin saying his name.

“Well excuse me if our boss is going insane! He came to my house and scared Sasha half to death!” This was Tim’s voice. He sounded very mad. Jon guessed he hadn’t been so subtle in his following.

“So we need to help h-”

“No, Elias needs to fire him. You been here for years, you deserve the job more than some juniper who just strolls into town like he owns it.” Jon just about jumped out of the tunnels at this. How could Tim say that? Jon figured he was doing a good job.

“That’s not fair. You know findin’ that corpse was hard on him.”

“He needs to suck it up! Not all of us are soft down on him. He has a job to do rather than follow us around like some kind of nose parkin’ nipper!” Tim said, his voice loud and firm. Jon took quite the offense to being called a ‘nose parking nipper.’

“You say that like you know him!” Martin complained, and Tim came back quickly.

“Oh, and you do?” 

“At least I try to get to know the man before just assumin’ he’s out to ruin my career!” Martin accused, subtle venom in his voice.

“ I did. I invited him out for drinks, and the one time he went with us, we got separated. Then he went and found you, off doing who knows what." Tim spat right back. The venom in his voice was much more evident.

“Dear please, I can't stand when you’re upset. Would you like a drink?” Sasha’s small voice startled Jon. He wasn’t expecting her to sound so… insignificant? There was something else in her voice too. It made Jon’s skin crawl. And why does she immediately offer him a drink? Is she doing something to him?

“Sure. let’s go hun. Martin.” Jon heard two pairs of footsteps leading outside and decided it was time to leave the tunnels until he heard Martin sigh under his breath.

“Oh Jon. I hoped you weren’t followin’ Tim too.” Martin sounded disappointed and Jon thought he caught the small hint of jealousy in his voice again. Strange.

Jon walked into the light of the institute, the board back over the top of the hole. Martin was standing by the window, presumably watching Tim leave. 

Even though Jon couldn’t see him very well from inside the hole in the floor, he could see the hat Martin wore and how his wide shoulders slumped while he looked out the window.

Jon tried to make a noise when he climbed out of the tunnel, he didn’t want to frighten someone who could very well have a gun. Jon got his wish when his foot slipped and he got the wind knocked out of him, falling onto the floor of the tunnel with a painful ‘oughf!’

Martin immediately took notice and appeared in the opening. Jon relished seeing Martin's face, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.

“Jon! Are you alright? Where have you been? I been worried sick.” Martin’s face was full of worry and pity. It infuriated Jon how pretty Martin looked with his hair haloed by the golden light coming from the window of the institute.

“Fine. Help me out.” Jon wheezed out as he stood, avoiding Martin’s eyes. He extended his hand down into the hole and Jon took it. Martin’s hands were calloused, but they were warm and almost comforting to hold. Jon wouldn’t admit it, but he had missed the feeling. 

“Jon, you been gone two days. Why were you in the tunnels?” Martin asked as Jon had finished crawling out of the hole.

“Research.” Jon answered quickly. He didn’t want Martin to know what he was doing or what he found in case Martin was planning something. Jon’s gut tried to tell him that Martin was safe, but that only made him more suspicious. Nobody is safe .

“Well- i guess uh. Golly. Stay safe on your way home, yeah?” Martin sounded hopeful, like he genuinely wanted to make sure Jon was safe. Probably so he can get the job done himself. He won’t get me in the neck that easy.

“Will do. G’bye. See you tomorrow.” Jon pushed the words out quickly, not leaving any room for argument as he pushed past Martin and out the door.

Chapter Text

Jon woke up tired. His back was sore from falling to the floor of the tunnel the previous day, and his neck was sore from sleeping awkwardly after the fact. 

The memories of the previous day were making themselves known to Jon, and he groaned as he relived his experiences from the last few days. Michael, the tunnels, and the tapes. What do they mean? I need to do more investigating. Jon looked around for the recorder he had been using to listen to the tapes. 

It was not where he left it, so Jon tore apart his house to find it. There wasn’t much- the bed, which he had stripped of its sheets and taken off the frame- a table- that he had flipped over- and a single chair- also flipped. 

There was the wood stove as well, and when Jon began looking under the wood logs he had been using to cook, he found the tape recorder. It was nestled gently under a particularly strangely shaped log and under it was a paper. 

Upon further inspection, it was written in pen, but that wasn’t even the interesting part. This is Martin’s handwriting…

Martin’s writing was light and curly cursive, the soft round lines seemed fitting for Martin. It was addressed to his mother, and it detailed about his promotion from the secretary, but it was the final unfinished line that startled Jon the most. “ If the others found out i have been lying-”

It sent a shiver up Jon’s spine. Lying about what? What does he mean by that? I need to find out. I will find him. It's Sunday, so he’ll probably be at church. Jon looked over the letter a few more times before folding it up and placing it in his pocket. He could worry about that later, right now Jon needed to get some food in his body and get his chores done.

Jon walked out to feed Dixie and his chickens. There were 8 in all, Plymouth Rock hens that laid pretty well. Their names were Maria, Felicia, Beatrice, Alice, Mary, Miriam, Belinda, and Victoria. It made Jon smile to see them run across the red landscape in search of food. He fed them grains to make sure they got enough nutrients as well, but it was good for them to forage on their own. They were a hardy bunch, and they got along with Dixie, who mosied after them sometimes, seemingly interested in their adventures.

Jon wanted to let Dixie eat before he saddled her up to ride into town, so he decided to eat as well. He headed inside with a few eggs collected from his entourage of chickens and made a nice egg and biscuit breakfast. It was quiet, and on the outside, it seemed like a perfectly nice and tranquil morning, but on the inside, Jon was spiraling.

What if Martin really is trying to kill me? I used to trust him. What if he is in it with Sasha to get me out of the way. He probably wants my job. I can’t let them have it. Elias picked me for a reason… right? They need me, if not for me they- Jon stopped himself. 

Did he do anything they couldn’t have? They didn’t really need him. Maybe that’s why they’re out to get me. I have to step it up. But not until I can trust them. Once I clear their names, I can finally get the archives sorted and my life back on track.

Jon shoved the last of his biscuit in his mouth and stood up to clean his plate. He had righted his table and chair to be able to eat, but his bed and his dishes were still in utter disarray. I’ll clean them later . (He won’t)

Jon went through the motions of saddling his horse like usual, securing the halter, the blanket, then the straps of the saddle, making sure it was properly centered and wouldn’t slip while he rode the few minutes into town.

“Alright. Let’s go girl.” Jon said, motioning for Dixie to ride. Jon wondered about the letter while he rode into town. He wondered what Martin could mean by “If the others found out I have been lying” and why he would send the letter to his mother. Had Martin left it there from when he was staying with Jon, or had it appeared like the tape recorders had been doing? 

Jon made it into town before he knew it, and found it was very still. He had never been in town during Sundays except for when he had followed Martin to church in the past few weeks, but he had always gone in. The priest, Father Maxwell Rainer, never made any indications that he had seen Jon there.

Jon never realized how eerie the town looked without the bustling citizens. The air seemed stale, and a tumbleweed blew in lazily, going from one end of the street to another. 

As Jon continued into town to put up his horse behind the institute like he usually did, he felt the familiar feeling of being watched. It had always been present when he was at the institute, even more so since Jane Prentiss, but this felt more targeted.

Jon got off Dixie and looked around to find the red dirt road empty, like before. Then he felt a small pebble hit the back of his head.

 Jon whipped around to see a barrel behind the next building over, he walked over and before he could get a good look inside, a small scruffy child popped up from inside the barrel and drew a slingshot.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em mister!” the child exclaimed, conviction in his voice. 

The child and wild red hair and a smattering of freckles on his face. He was thin, and was missing his two front teeth. He couldn’t have been more than 8. His eyes were brown, and while his face said ‘feisty child with a dangerous weapon’ his eyes said he was just curious, so Jon let his guard down a bit. He kind of reminds me of Melanie.

“Yes sir, can I ask your name, young man?” Jon put his hands up in surrender and smiled. The child smiled back.

“Name’s Jimmy O’Connor, and I’m gonna be sheriff of this here town someday!” Jimmy said, conviction in his voice. He flexed his arm muscles in a powerful stance after he lowered his slingshot. “Your eyes are funny, Mister. What’s your name?”

Jon just about giggled to himself at this persnickety little kid. “Name’s Jonathan Sims, and I’m the Head Archivist in this here institute!” Jon said, mimicking Jimmy’s statement with the same conviction and jabbing his thumb behind him at the institute building. “And my eyes have always been like this, long as I can remember.”

“I like mister better. Your scars look funny. Where’d you get ‘em?” Jimmy stepped out of the barrel, his scrawny legs tossed over the side and his pants were folded so he wouldn’t trip over them with his bare feet.

“Worms. Mean worms.” Jon said simply, no need to traumatize a child. Jon never did think about how strange the circular scars scattered around his body were. Jimmy had a confused look on his face.

“I ain’t afraid of worms. I ain’t afraid’a nothin’.” Jimmy said confidently, his toothless smile wide and defiant.

“Good thing if you wanna be Sheriff. S’pecialy in this here town.” Jon remarked, thinking about how Melanie was a gun slinging wildcard. “Shouldn’t you be in church, Jimmy? It’s Sunday.”

“Shouldn’t you be in church, mister?” Jimmy accused. He then proceeded to kick Jon in the shin and ran away in the direction of the church. He had a surprisingly hard kick despite how scrawny he was, and it caught Jon off guard. He laughed to himself as he watched the red cloud of dust Jimmy kicked up while he was running. “Little whippersnapper. Gonna grow up to be a good sheriff though.”

Jon started making his way to the church as well, following the little red footsteps on the ground, negating some of the rising anxiety in Jon’s stomach. What would he do if Martin was really trying to kill him? 

The church was probably the second largest building in town, only second to The Magnus Institute. It was tall and made of wood that was painted white. It was an imposing building if you weren't used to the looming shadow of the Archives.

Jon pushed the door open and was immediately met with the loud voice of the priest, saying something about hellfire while Jon scanned the crowd for Martin. He did see Jimmy sliding into the pews next to a woman with a tight red bun and at least 8 other children. She gave him a glare when she noticed he had returned, and Jon smiled to himself.

When Jon eventually did spot Martin, he did his best to walk around the outside wall so as to not disturb anybody. He got a few upset looks, but nobody made a fuss. At least Martin was sitting on the outer edge of the pews rather than the middle of the room. 

Martin looked like he was completely zoned out, his eyes were looking at the priest, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, the usual look for him when he sat in the pews of the church. If Jon had his notes on him, he would write down how suspicious that look was, but right now he was more concerned with confronting Martin about the letter. 

Jon put his hand on Martin’s shoulder, and Martin jumped like he had been shot. He turned to Jon and his face was red with embarrassment. The old lady next to them scooted away slightly.

“ Jon? Why are you here?” Martin whispered furiously under his breath.

“Come with me.” Jon whispered furiously right back. Martin took a deep breath and got up to follow Martin out of the church. Jon tried not to catch any judgemental glances from the crowd, but of course he did.

Standing on the steps of the church, Jon felt like he could finally breathe, and he could tell Martin felt the same because he took a big breath when the door closed behind them. They turned to face each other and Jon hesitated long enough for Martin to start talking.

“This had better be good Jon. Father Rainer ain't gonna be happy if he notices I left.” Martin’s face looked like he was trying to seem serious, but his tone implied he was grateful for the distraction.

“What do you know him personally? Y'know what. Not important. This letter. You left it at my house.” Jon held the letter up for martin to see it, and he saw a panic run through Martin’s eye. “‘If the others find out I have been lying.’ What does that mean? What are you lyin’ about? Are you out to get me or somethin’? Cause if you are I-” Martin cut Jon off from his rambling accusation.

“Oh no, no I- No. There is a good reason I just- Please promise you won’t fire me for it?” Martin’s face had gotten redder since he started talking.

“I guess… “ Jon trailed off, opening the conversation for Martin to start talking. He stood there silently until Jon realized he would have to say more. “I won’t fire you. This is where you say what you’ve been lyin’ about.” Jon said sternly.

“Well, I guess I- golly i sound so sap headed when I say this, but, I never went to a fancy college.” Martin relaxed considerably and continued, his hands still fidgeting, “When Elias was interviewin’ me for the job, he had asked if I had graduated from a college with any type’a degree, and I lied and said I did, even though I very much didn't. But I needed the job, my ma’ was sick and I couldn’t keep up with medical bills with my last job.” Martin looked at his feet and picked at his fingernails for a moment.

Jon felt his shoulders let go of tension they had been holding for weeks, he even doubled over with the weight of the sigh that escaped his lungs. “Thank god. You really had me worried Martin. I knew you weren’t out to get me.” Martin’s head whipped up in surprise so fast the back of his head collided with Jon’s chin.

“Oh no, oh golly, I am so sorry! What an idiot I am, I should have- wait. Why did you think I was out to get you?” Martin’s face went from shock to confusion very quickly in the span of that sentence.

“I uh. Just. Ignore that.” Jon struggled to find the right words. He hadn’t realized he had said that out loud.

“You said that earlier too. Are you alright Jon?” Martin asked, genuine concern on his face.

“Ignore it. I’m just uh. Worried is all. Yeah.” Jon stuttered out while Martin’s look turned from concern to something unreadable. 

“Sure. you know you can talk to me right?” Martin said slowly, and Jon had to admit he wanted to, but he was quickly reminded of why he was even doing what he was doing in the first place. The imposter. I can’t be sure of who it is. 

“I’m fine. I'll see you tomorrow Martin.” Jon said finally, and turned to walk away while Matin just stood there in stunned silence.

Chapter Text

Monday morning, walking into the archive felt different. The feeling of being watched was there as usual, but there was something else there too. Jon could feel the apprehension in the dust filled air of the archive. Even Rosie was silent when he walked in.

The hole in the floor was still there, the gaping maw of darkness sat untouched since Jon’s impromptu tunnel adventure a couple days prior. If Jon wasn’t filled with dread before, he certainly was now. 

Jon pushed open the door to the archives and found not only Tim, Sasha, and Martin, but Elias was there as well, and he was the only one who was smiling.

“Jon. We been wantin’ to talk to you for a long while now, and yesterday was the last straw.” Tim spoke first, but Elias picked up right after him.

“You been following your coworkers around ain’t ya’? You nosy little blatherskite. And you been doin’ a lick and a promise at it too.” The words slithered their way out of Elias’ mouth, almost as slimy as his slicked back hair. The way he spoke made him sound serious, but just looking at his smug face would tell you he was having a ball.

“We just want to make sure you’re doin’ alright is all.” Martin said gently, “We don't mind invitin’ you out if-”

“Yes we do. You scared Sasha half to death when you followed her to our house? What kind’a boss does that?” Tim accused, and Jon couldn’t help but feel shocked. Jon felt his fingernails cut into his palms at the accusation.

“Honestly boy, you need to be better at blending in with crowds if you’re gonna follow someone. Even Martin noticed you been followin’ ‘im.” Elias spat, the smell of tobacco wafting off his breath. Jon’s eyes flickered to Martin who looked slightly annoyed at that comment, but he didn’t say anything.

“Well ex cuse me if I been a little paranoid lately. When Martin found the corpse, I needed to know who did it.” Jon looked around at everyone’s faces, and while Tim and Martin looked serious, Sasha had been fluttering that yellow fabric fan and staring at him, unblinking like before. Elias looked like he was about to start laughing in his face at any moment. “I needed to know why she died.”

“She was old. Senile. What more reason do you want? She probably made the wrong people mad, so they cleaned her plow.” Elias said, his tone light and unserious. “It’s not like she was a good person,” Elias laughed to himself.

Jon narrowed his eyes, Elias hadn’t stopped smiling in amusement, and his silver tooth was shining out from the corner of his cracked lip. 

“A little paranoid? You followed me home , Jon. And Martin. You been goin’ full out nester! It’s like you got a hankerin’ for a lead plumb!” Tim said, angry.

“Is that a threat, Tim?” Jon asked quickly, hand immediately going to the pistol on his hip.

Martin tried to deescalate “Now hold on-”

“Please threaten him. Makes for a good show.” Elias cut him off, slimy yellow teeth on full display.

“What does it sound like Sims? I ain’t afraid of you.” Tim spat, the tips of his ears were red in anger.

“Tim I'm sure there's no need to-” Martin tried to interject, but Jon cut him off.

“Time and place, Stoker.” Jon said, finality in his voice. Jon and Tim stared at each other for a tense, silent moment before Tim scoffed and turned away.

“Y’ain’t worth my iron. Come on Sasha. I’m drinkin’ til I can’t walk no more.” Tim shoved past Jon, shoulder checking him and stomping his whole way out. Jon watched Sasha walk out as well, an uninterested look in her eyes. Jon thought he caught a hint of a smile behind her twittering fan again.

“Pity. What a disappointment. Well. I have a divorce to get to. Have fun boys.” Elias said and slinked out of the room as well, careful not to touch Jon. It was deadly silent when Jon looked at Martin again.

The air had gone from tense silence to thick heavy silence, and the air settled heavily in Jon’s lungs. 

“You could have asked.” Jon jumped when Martin finally broke the silence.

“What?” The question caught Jon off guard, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

“Asked about my day. Or even go with me. I’m not your enemy, Jon.” Martin turned to him with a hurt but not surprised look on his face. 

“Not until I have evidence. I am the only one I can trust right now. How do I know you’re not the one who Killed Gertrude?” Jon asked, tone getting more and more accusatory as he spoke. “Or Tim? Or Sasha? Elias would probably kill her for the hell of it.” 

“Are you satisfied? Now that you’ve documented my routine? You weren’t exactly subtle.” there was no accusation in Martin’s tone. Just sadness.

“No. I can’t. Not til I know for sure.” Jon said, trying to ignore how sick this interaction made him feel. Martin was silent for a few moments. He looked deeply into Jon’s eye, and it made him wonder why he was so suspicious of Martin.

“Tell me when you’re done being a paranoid ass. I am not your enemy.” Martin said finally and walked out of the Archive without another word. Jon was just left to his own thoughts and a horrible guilty feeling burbling in his stomach.

Chapter Text

Martin was tired. These had been a long few weeks since the Jane Prentiss incident. Jon was going crazy, Tim was a drunk, and Sasha? Martin had no idea what to make of Sasha. She seemed off, and in the back of Martin’s mind, he knew not to trust her, but she seemed so normal that Martin didn’t know what to do.

Their intervention had not gone well. Tim and Martin were planning it since Jon started following him, and when Jon started following Tim too, they knew it was time to bite the bullet and tell him off for his creepy behavior. He wasn't even good at it. 

Martin noticed immediately when Jon was following him around, occasionally ducking behind a wall a few seconds too late, and then writing furiously when Martin did anything but breathe. Martin was pretty sure Jon kept batter track his finances for that month than he did.

He had been following Martin around with a crazy look in his eye, writing furiously and occasionally muttering loudly to himself about how everything was “highly suspect,” and Martin had thought if he just ignored him, he’d stop eventually, and he did, but not in the way Martin had thought. He started following Tim instead. 

Then Jon was gone for two days doing “research,” which Martin thought was a complete fabrication, and came to his church the next day and asked him about a letter Martin had addressed to his mother in his own house the previous night. How it got to Jon's hands? Martin had no idea.

Martin had hoped that they could get Jon to snap out of it, but it clearly didn't work. He was even worse over the next couple days, seemingly thinking that if he just stood still they wouldn’t be able to see him behind a barrel or crate. Some of the townspeople had even become worried about a green-eyed man who had been stalking around town and spooking the children. 

All except one who wore a pair of overalls with only one strap buttoned and had crazy red hair and carried a slingshot. Jon occasionally broke character and pointed at Martin and whispered to the child about his ‘mission’ and sent the child away to go play. 

It almost warmed Martin’s heart to know how good Jon was with kids, but it made him more concerned than anything. How did Jon know this wily child? Martin did eventually figure out who the child was, one Jimmy O’Connor. Town famous mischief maker and shoe hater.

Martin was good friends with his mother actually. Her name was Ophelia, and she didn't seem at all concerned about Jimmy’s whereabouts at all when Martin brought it up the next time he saw her. She was too busy wrangling her other smaller children.

Martin had considered asking Elias to do something about it after he inserted himself into the intervention, but found out he was away with Mayor Lukas on their 4th honeymoon this month from Rosie. I swear they get divorced and remarried faster than Jon finds a new unsettling way to follow us around.

Martin found himself at the saloon with Tim a few days later. Sasha was apparently off with some new friends trying to find people for a rodeo, and Tim was lamenting.

“She's just differen’ Mar’n. ‘M not sure how else y’ wan’ me to say it.” Tim's words slurred together, clearly drunk.

“I know, but how do you mean? Has she been more rude lately or less interested in the things she liked?” Martin asked while he ran his finger around the rim of his untouched whiskey glass.

“No. She's jus’ the same. But dif’rn.” Tim stared into the array of shot glasses in front of him. “I don’ feel safe ‘nymore. Can’ fig’re out why.”

The bartender, who's nae infuriatingly escaped Martin, walked over and handed Tim a few more shot glasses full to the brim with glinting liquid courage. Martin shot him a dirty look, but the bartender shrugged “Good for business.” 

His curly blonde hair tied in a ponytail behind his head. Martin had noticed that every time he saw the man, his features were slightly off, but in different ways. Today his eyes seemed too close together and his nose too high on his face. How unsettling.

“Maybe you wanna slow down there pardner.” Martin commented while Tim drank another shot. “It’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“She ain’t right. Her new friend’sr weird. Don’ trust ‘em.” Tim shook his head slowly while he spoke. Martin could feel his eyebrow slide up his face in confusion.

“Weird how?” Martin asked, and Tim sighed loudly.

“Can't tell. They're too normal. I don’ think I ever seen ‘em blink.” Tim drank another shot.

Martin was about to speak when he heard the loud crash of the doors being flung open behind him. 

“Someone gemme a drinf!” A very drunk Jon yelled while he stumbled over to the bar, a bottle of what was presumably liquor in hand. Martin just stared at him, surprise and discomfort at the sudden arrival of Jon. Tim just scoffed and turned back to his shots.

The bartender slid another bottle toward him and Jon barely reacted until a few moments later when he slowly wrapped his fingers around the new bottle. He looked over at Martin and squinted for a moment before his eyes lit up. “Mar’in! Hi there. You look very cute with’at hat’n your head.” Jon’s breath stank of booze and his words slurred together almost indistinguishably. His face was red and his movements were slow. 

“What?” Admittedly it caught Martin off guard. Just a few days ago Jon was accusing him of murder and now he was drunk out of his mind and calling him cute? 

“Yur too pretty’a wanna kill me.” Jon giggled. He actually giggled . “All’ese people makin’ me confused. British people aren't REAL !”

Martin had to admit that seeing Jon with a smile on his face, even a drunken one, made him happy. Martin really wished he could make Jon smile.

“What are you talking about Jon? British people? Why are you confused?” Martin was genuinely stumped. He had suspected Jon had found something that made him suspicious but where did British people come into this?

“The tapes, Mar’tn! They made me bri-i-itish…” Jon trailed off and took another large gulp of alcohol. “Makes m’head hurt ‘n my mem’ries all wrong.”

“Do you want help? With your uh… Head?” Martin asked tentatively, but Jon just stuck his finger to Martin’s lips in a shushing gesture.

“Shhhh! You’re not ‘llowed to know. ‘Ts a secret!” Jon giggled again and hiccupped. “Gotta f’gure it out on m’own.”

Martin was at a loss for words. Jon’s been secretive and creepy for the past few weeks, and now he was just telling Martin all of this? Martin smacked Jon’s hand off his face.

“But what are you trying to figure out?” Martin decided he would not leave it alone until he figured this all out. 

Jon cupped his hand on Martin’s cheek gently and looked into Martin's eyes with his intense green ones. 

“Foun' a book. Ga’me a spook. ‘En some man wi’too many bones and muscles stole it. shod’em, but he didn’die. So I'm drinkin’a forget’im.” Jon looked serious but didn't remove his hand from Martin’s cheek. He just stared, his uranium green eyes looking deeply into Martin’s. 

A book and a man with too many bones and muscles. Where have I heard that before? A Real Spooky statement maybe? Martin continued to wonder until it clicked. ‘ The Bone Turner’s Tale.’ 

“The book wasn't made of skin, was it Jon??” Martin asked, knowing the answer but needing confirmation.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Real spoooo…” Jon trailed off, his eyes looking through Martin for a moment before he tried to snap his fingers next to Jon’s ear to try and get the full answer out of him. “...OOKY! Spooky!” Jon had a proud look on his face like completing his sentence was the biggest accomplishment. 

“Shoot.” Martin whispered under his breath. 

“Yur mighty pretty. I'm gon' marr’you one day. We c’n buy a cow. Good cows.” Jon just stared happily in Martin’s eyes while he panicked on the inside. Did Jon just-? Why would he say that? 

“Uhm- I- th-thank you? I guess? W-why do you say that?” Martin could tell the blood rushing to his cheeks. He wasn't opposed to the idea, but it certainly was not what he was expecting to consider tonight. 

“Like you. Pretty. And reeeeal nice, makes me feel ssssafe.” Jon giggled again. Martin had no idea what to say to that, he just sat there while Jon stared at him. 

“I- yes. Uh. How's about we set those bottles down.” Martin tried to take the brown bottles of liquor out of Jon’s hands but his grip was surprisingly strong. 

“Nawwww. I need'a forget. Spooky. Melanie shot ‘im and he di’nt even die! Bastard.” Jon pulled one of the bottles back out of Martin's grip and tried to take another long swig but found the bottle was empty. Martin noticed the other bottle was still very full but it was seemingly forgotten in Jon’s off hand. 

Martin felt a small pang of jealousy when Melanie was mentioned. Martin knew she had a wife and that she was happy, but he couldn’t help being jealous. If not for this whole paranoia deal Jon would have asked me.

“What are you talking about? Why were you with Melanie?”

“She’s’a good shot. Shot him in fouuuurr diff’rn hearts. Didn’t die . So I’ma drinkin’a forget’im. Not you though. Yur too… mm’pretty'a forget.” Jon sat there for a moment staring through Martin, and when he turned around, Martin could see that Tim had fallen asleep with his forehead resting on the rim of a half empty shot glass. “Hey! It’s Tim! I like Tim.” Jon smiled and pointed while the bartender walked back over.

“Can I get you another bottle there Archivist?” he asked, his voice a slight pitch off key.

“No. He’s had enough, thank you.” Martin answered for him. Jon was already drunk enough.

“Ooh, finally growing a spine are we, Mr. Blackwood?” Michael answered, smiling. Martin shivered down his spine at the sight of the bartender’s many, many teeth.

“I'll have you know I have plenty spine. Come on, Jon. Let’s get you home.” Martin turned from the funky bartender and slung Jon’s arm over his shoulder.

“Hhhhhome? But whyyyy? I wan’ t’stay.” Jon said, but when he tried to pull away Martin just held him closer. 

“Maybe next time there, tiger.” Martin pulled Jon to his feet and walked them both outside. What the hell am I even supposed to say to all that?

Chapter Text

When Jon woke up, he woke up to a throbbing headache, blurry eyes, and a hazy memory of the previous day. 

When Jon’s eyes adjusted to the shining beams of light coming in from the window, he saw that his house was cleaned, and on the old wood stove there was a pan of biscuits that had been made.

Who did this? What- oh. Martin took me home yesterday.

Jon’s memories were slowly trickling back while he put his face in his hands, which were clean of the dirt and grime that had built up over the last few weeks. Self-care had taken a backseat while paranoia was front and center in his mind.

Evil books, Melanie, drinking, Martin... Oh god. 

The day previous, Jon had decided to go on a ride out into the desert. He needed to clear his head and organize his thoughts after reading a particularly rattling statement about a man named Jared Hopworth. He’d buried that statement. He began to follow his thoughts back through his memories of yesterday.

After saddling Dixie and riding out of town, he began to try to organize his thoughts. 

What do I know. Gertrude is dead. Elias is mighty suspect, Sasha has become quite the odd stick, Martin is probably not guilty, and Tim is a drunk now. Jon rode far into the desert, cacti passing by slowly. 

My job is to sort the statements and keep the archive in order. I've been doing a bang-up job at that. I've found some odd pieces of hardware down in the tunnels, and I have a compulsion to refer to them as tapes. How did they get there? Who recorded them? Why in blue blazes was i British? I- 

Jon was not paying attention to his surroundings. He had moseyed pretty far from Cheyenne, and past Melanie’s safe-house. He had found himself at the remains of a large building. 

It looked to have burned down, though it was expansive. A couple logs stood where the corners of the building must have been. Flecks of charcoal were strewn through the dirt and sand, and burned planks of wood were laying everywhere.

Jon dismounted from Dixie and went to investigate. He really didn't want to disturb the fragile balance that kept the little bit of this place standing, so he tried to be careful. That was until he was startled out of his thoughts by Melanie.

“Well, well, I knew you been up to somethin’, but I didn't know what. Did you burn this place down Sims?” Melaine asked suddenly, probably making a jest, but Jon did not find it funny.

“Good god woman, do you sneak up on everyone?” Jon put his hand to his chest as though that would slow his speeding heart. It didn’t. 

“No, just you. You didn’ answer me. Did you burn this here building down?” Melanie smiled.

“No ma’am. I just found this place. Tryin’ to clear my head.” Jon admitted, though he was half-worried she would shoot him if he lied. He turned to the building again and walked farther in, finding only charred logs and the remains of books. “It must’ve been a library. Lots’a book remains.”

“Must’a been. Right up your alley then.” Melanie pushed past him, kicking things over with no regard to the little bit of structural integrity left. “Hey, Cattle Kate! An unburned book!” 

Jon whipped around quickly and almost tripped over himself and two other pieces of debris to reach her. Jon looked where Melanie was pointing. A single unburned book laid in a 3 foot circle of unburned planks. The edges of the circle were charred but sharp, abruptly turning from ash to light wood flooring. 

The book itself was wrapped in light leather, stitched together in awkward panels, but when Jon went to pick it up, it felt miraculously like human skin.  

Jon dropped the book with a squeak, and it hit the ground with a loud thud, louder than it should've been. Melanie scoffed and picked up the book as well, but a look of disgust washed over her face.

“What in the world? I thought you to be tryin’ to fob off, but this ain’t right.” She turned the book in her hands, looking at the spine. “The Bone-Turner’s Tale. Odd.” Jon stiffened. 

“Melanie. Put the book down.” Jon said, voice clipped and serious.

“What kind’a Juniper are ya’? It's just a book.” Melanie protested, not caring for Jon’s tone.

“Melanie. This book belongs to-” it was then they heard it. The sound of something approaching.

Melanie had a serious look on her face, and set the book down quietly. The two of them ducked behind the remains of a wall, but it wasn't very good protection if someone decided to shoot.

The something in question was coming closer, and stopped just short of the ring of unburned wood. Jon felt his heart beat almost out of his chest and his breath hitch as the thing bent down and grabbed the book. 

It seemed to be a human hand, but it was lumpy and misshapen, almost like there was too much underneath the stretched skin, distorting it. It grasped the book and stood back up straight. Looking down at the shadow cast by the thing did not reassure Jon in the slightest.

The shadow showed the distorted silhouette of whatever grabbed the book, almost human silhouette, but much, much bigger. It seemed as though it had more ribs than any regular human, and a second set of arms. Jared Hepworth. 

Jon’s heart stopped. He stopped breathing, his head spun. Jared Hopworth was just supposed to be part of a statement, not real, and certainly not within 20 feet of him. 

Melanie had no such qualms. She startled Jon out of his fear stricken state as she stepped out of her hiding spot with Jon. “Hey! Mail order cowboy! I ain't got no idea what you're doing here, but that there is our book, we found it!” Jon risked a look from behind the wall and caught a glimpse of Jared Hopworth’s back as he turned. 

His skin was lumpy, and distended, like he had many, many layers of muscle packed under it. He was tall, taller than he should have been, and because he wasn’t wearing a shirt, Jon could see every little bit of stretched skin and protruding bone that was not supposed to be there. 

“Well, well, there little missy. You're quite the fighter ain’t ya~?” Jared Hopworth’s voice was impossibly low and unbothered. He seemed to know he was in control of the situation, and Jon didn’t doubt that. “This here is my book, and no Jurgen Leitner fool will be able to separate me from it for long. It's bound with my skin after all.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about? Bound in your skin? Who is Jurgen Leitner?” Melanie spat, though Jon picked up the slightest amount of fear in her voice.

“The owner of this here library. Or he was, before he burned this place down with himself inside. Now. I’ll give you and your terrified friend there ‘bout 10 seconds to run, or you’ll join me and my ranch. Y’all’d make some lovely horses.”

Jon saw Melanie draw her gun from her hip, unafraid of his bluff. “Ain’t no way i’ll be pushed around by some no-good cattle rustler with too much time on his hands.” Melanie's voice shook slightly with fear. “A duel. You win, you can take Jonny boy here and turn ‘im into any manner of barnyard animal. But if I win, I take the book. Sound fair?”

“I like those odds.” Even though Jon couldn’t see Jared’s face, he could almost hear the sinister smile creep its way to his face. 

Jon closed his eyes. He believed in Melanie’s dueling prowess, but Jared Hopworth was no drunken idiot. A single gunshot rang out, then silence. Melanie swore. Another gunshot. And another. And another. “Just die!”

Jon wouldn't look. Melanie quickly ran over and grabbed him by the arm hauling Jon to his feet with an urgency he hadn't ever felt in Melanie before. “Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go.” Melanie’s voice was stricken with fear. Jon couldn’t believe it, so he opened his eyes and snuck one last look as he and Melanie ran in the other direction.

Jared Hopworth was standing tall, book in hand, but no gun. He had four clean bullet holes in his chest, right about where his heart would be, but he was laughing as bloody lines of muscle wove itself back together over the bullet holes. His face was muscular like the rest of his body, but more intentionally smooth. Almost handsome if not for the large gouges in his cheeks, showing off rows and rows of teeth, most not even human.

Melanie and Jon managed to stumble away toward the horses, and Jared hadn’t moved. He simply watched the remnants of laughter highlighting his face. They managed to get on, and began to ride, and neither Jon nor Melanie began to feel safe again until they had more than lost sight of the library. Neither spoke for the duration of the ride, and when Jon got back to town, he drank until he found himself in last night’s embarrassing situation.

Chapter Text

Timothy Stoker was a simple man. All he wanted was to work in a spooky library with his perfect wife, go out for drinks, and tend to his horse named beans. Things were not going according to plan.

The whole archives deal was going great at first, he and Sasha worked together with Martin to keep the archives nice and tidy, or at least as much as they could after Gertrude died. She had a very specific filing system that none of them were familiar with, and while she was alive Tim was perfectly happy to let her handle it. 

Now, things were weird. Jon was having a breakdown, Sasha was strange, and Martin… Well, he was himself. Tim wanted nothing to do with it all, so he shut himself off, and drank himself into a stupor. Elias didn't care of course, he encouraged the drinking almost more than Sasha did.

Tim knew something was up, of course. He wasn't stupid, no matter how drunk he got. He’d catch her muttering into a can attached to a string every once in a while, but when Sasha left and he went to check, he found nothing. Almost like it wasn’t there at all. And the telegram? Tim knew about the telegram but couldn't find it either. 

When Jon followed them home, he pretended to be asleep to hopefully tip off her weird behavior to Jon, but Tim thought it must have been a waste of time. 

Everything was so weird, he couldn't handle it. One day Sasha was an avid reader, and the next all the beautiful letters left her mind like they were never there. So Tim decided that he was going to ask her point blank why she didn’t read anymore.

“Hain’t never picked up a book darlin’. Any woman that even touches a book that ain’t the bible is a she-devil and a witch. All god fearin’ woman stays far away from them things. O’course, I couldn't read if I tried." Sasha responded, her dead eyes and unblinking stare sent shivers down Tim's spine.

“But, darlin’, you have a college degree.” Tim said, dumbfounded.

“I haven't the slightest what you're talkin’ about, are you sure you're alright?” her face flashed with something akin to worry, but it was all wrong. She got up to put her hand on Tim’s forehead, checking his temperature, but he smacked her hand away.

“No, no, don’t play these games with me, woman!” Tim got up to look at the diploma framed on the wall, but it was gone, a faded rectangle of dust all that was left. Tim huffed and walked out the door. Tim wanted answers, and he was dead set on finding them.

Tim wandered around the ranch for a little while, but relented to taking his horse and looking to the archives. The ride felt longer than usual, almost like something didn't want him to get the information he was after, but he was determined, and 5 days sober. 

When Tim got there, Rosie was gone, but she wasn't there often anyways. Off dragging her rope with the next saddle tramp who caught her fancy. Martin was there, though, and Tim was sure Martin could find something. Tim took a deep breath of the mildew scented air before he spoke.

“Martin. Have you found any Real Spooky statements where someone changes?” Tim didn't hold his breath, but to his surprise, when Martin turned around, he had a determined look on his face. 

“I think I know what you're looking for. Let me look.” he took a couple steps toward their box of Real Spooky statements, still pushed to the farthest corner from their desks. 

Tim had noticed that Sasha’s desk had been inching ever closer to the accursed box, as it overflowed with bone chilling statements that would make any cowboy shake in his boots.

Martin rifled through the box for a few moments, and Tim had taken to looking through the many unorganized shelves, looking for something… anything that could lead him to answers.

“Is this what you're looking for?” Martin held up a browned and weathered paper, a look of curiosity in his eyes. “Its about a lady whose mother was the same one day, and the next was a different person wearing her clothes. Every’ne else sure believed that was her mom, and when she came here she begged anyone to believe her. She disappeared soon after leaving this statement.” Martin looked at the paper, then back at Tim. “Why are you lookin’ for a statement like this anyway?”

Tim hesitated, taken slightly aback. “Hain’t you noticed Sasha’s been actin’… Weird? Not normal. She don’t blink. Ever.” once the words came, they wouldn't stop. 

“And she’s been meetin’ up with these people who also don’t blink, and she keeps tryin’ to contact someone, but I can't find any proof. She don’t read no more, her proudest accomplishment is gone. She don’t even sleep in the same bed as me no more.” Tim tried to take a deep breath, but the sentences kept spilling out like a leaky tap. Martin looked on with an empathetic gaze, not interrupting. “She changed Martin. That ain’t my wife. That's not my wife.” Tim’s voice shook and his eyes filled with tears.

Tim remembered the rows of books lining their hallways, replaced with barren blank walls, water stains scattered across the walls like a mockery of his previous happiness. Tears began to fall as Tim fell to his knees, fleeting moments of dancing in their kitchen together, smiling and happy. 

Tim remembered her brilliant and unstoppable brain, questioning everything. The memories were flooding back into his brain, washing away the shrill woman that had replaced his smart and beautiful wife. Her beautiful dark curls straightened into pale blond choppy locks, and her supple brown skin bleached like bones in the desert sun.

Martin just rubbed his shoulders and provided comfort while Tim let out shaking and gut-wrenching sobs. He felt disgusted with himself for ever mistaking his perfect, endlessly gorgeous, intelligent wife for some pale, illiterate fake. 

How long has it been like this? Since Jon got here? Longer? How could I let this happen to her? What happened to her?

Tim managed to pull himself together long enough to ask Martin for the statement, which he readily handed over. He read through it, once, twice, three times. One detail made itself known to him, the lady in the statement, Jubilee Baker, had noted that she had recently come into ownership of an old table after her great aunt had died. One covered in complex, webbed patterns, and one quite familiar to him. 

“Martin.” Tim choked out, trying to sound confident. “We need to go see Elias. All of us." A new emotion had filed its way into Tim’s head, taking place of the deep and unfettered grief. 

Rage.

“What in tarnation would we go up there for?” Martin sounded stunned, but prepared.

“You find Jon, I’m gonna find an axe.” Tim was full of determination now. Their petty fights could wait, they needed to deal with this Not-Sasha and quickly.

“I hain’t seen Jon since I brought ‘im home from the bar. That was days ago. I s’pose I could go check his house. No guarantees.” Martin relented.

“Alright then. I have an axe to get. I’ll meet you here this evening’.” Tim wouldn't let this imposter ruin his life any longer. He would get rid of her one way or another.

Chapter Text

Jon was taking a few days off of work after the bar incident embarrassment. He’d spent time tending to his chickens, and building them a new coop, trying to decompress from the Jared Hopworth incident. Melanie was reckless and had no concern for anyone’s safety, but he couldn't help but admire her tenacity in the face of danger.

Needless to say, the chickens were happy with their new coop, and were filing inside for the night as the sun was setting. Then Jon heard hoofsteps coming toward his house. He whipped around, heart still flighty from fear of Jared coming back, but it was just Martin.

What is he doing here?

Martin’s horse was a stunning appaloosa, white mane and tail flittering in the dusty wind. “Jon! Jon! Tim’s gone a tad bit funkified but we need you, and probably your gun too.” Martin yelled, voice leaving no room for question.

“What do you mean? What did Tim do?” Jon was confused, but walked to his house to grab his rifle anyway as Martin dismounted his horse.

“Tim said to tell you to put fight’n’ aside for now. Then you can go back to bein’ a creepy stalker once this is dealt with.” Martin replied, slight bits of disappointment penetrated his voice when he suggested that Jon go back to his paranoid state. Jon wasn’t surprised. He picked up his rifle off of his porch and handed it to Martin.

“We’ll ride together then. Here’s my gun, I'll follow you on Dixie.” Jon went to saddle Dixie, but turned back to Martin, who looked unsure of what to do with the gun. “Martin, what is happening?”

“Tim found out what was wrong with Sasha." Martin said, effectively finishing the conversation as he turned, the gun held uneasily in his hands, toward his horse.

Jon stood stunned for a few beats but shook it off and saddled Dixie. Each of the buckles and clasps refusing to go together due to Jon's quaking hands. He had known Sasha was… off, or a while now, but he couldn’t place it. She had been just the same for a long time, besides the unblinking stare. And the telegram. 

Jon finally managed to get the saddle properly on Dixie and jumped onto her back. He took her up next to where Martin and his appaloosa were standing and gave a nod before they began on their ride into town. They rode for a while, but that day was particularly dusty. The wind was picking up, and Jon noticed dust devils picking up every once in a while, before dissipating just as fast.

The Magnus building stood, tall green letters, foreboding over the town just like they always did, but the shadows seemed to bleed farther than they should have. It sent chills through Jon’s body, and he could tell Dixie was getting skittish as the wind picked up. Flecks of dust hit his face as he posted her behind the institute. The corral was empty, but Martin had said Tim was on his way soon as well.

So, they waited. They went inside and Martin made them both a coffee. Jon took it wordlessly but admitted to himself that he missed the way Martin made his coffee. It was flavorful and strong, nothing like the belly wash Jon normally made. The warm feeling contrasted with the creeping dread building in his stomach, swirling together in a nauseating mix of anxiety.

Finally, as Martin and Jon were finishing their coffee, Tim arrived, axe in hand. He had a crazy look in his eye, like he hadn’t slept in weeks and was going delirious.

“Jon. good. Follow me.” Tim said curtly, walking past them to the stairs leading to Elias's office.

“Tim, what’s going on? What are we doin’ here?” Jon asked, but received no response. He stepped forward to grab Tim's arm but ended up stepping on a crumpled statement. He bent down to grab it and almost dropped it because the paper was ice cold. A Real Spooky one. 

Jon unfurled it and began to read, and he remembered finding that one. Sasha snatched it from his hands and buried it under stacks of other real spooky ones. Tim was out drinking that day. Then it hit him. Jon knew exactly what was wrong with Sasha. He realized what the axe was for and surged forward with newly found confidence. 

A memory of a familiar British man standing in a cold storage facility over a broken and splintered wood table made a home in Jon’s subconscious, and he decided that this was exactly what he was meant to be doing. It was the first thing in a long time that felt completely right, and with that Jon’s confidence was irrevocably boosted.

They made their way up the creaking stairs, past the door to the horses. They could hear a wind whipping dust up against the old wooden door. Jon worried for the horses, but he couldn't stop. He was focused on the task at hand and was sure that this would solve a good host of problems he was facing. 

The creature that came from the table like in the statement must have been the one that killed Gertrude. Then it came for Sasha. This has to be right.

When they reached the top, Tim reached for the doorknob, but recoiled when he felt the cold iron against his skin. Jon pushed past him and grabbed it, ignoring the fear worming its way into his bones despite the sureness of his actions. A rush of tobacco filled air smacked them all in the face, but Jon was used to the way it made his head spin.

“Well boys. Nice of you to pay me a visit, though I hardly think those are necessary.” Elias remarked, a roll of tobacco in hand.

“Where is the table.” Tim said, jumping straight to the point.

“Oh, you never have any fun anymore Tim! First you refuse to shoot Jon, now you want to destroy my property? You’re so dull.” Elias laughed, his yellow teeth making an appearance. “It's over there, though if you're going to destroy my property please don’t do it in my office.” Elias gave them a wave of his hand and a knowing glance before taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“Fine. Jon, Martin, take one side. I’ll take the other.” Tim barely even waited for Elias to stop talking before he walked closer to it.

Jon relented, and Martin slung the rifle over his shoulder. They got into position and picked it up, it was surprisingly light. The pattern on the top was mesmerizing, but Jon had to resist getting lost in the crisscrossing lines for fear of dropping it.

They managed to wind it back down the stairs before simply just staring at it. Tim finally broke the silence with a warning. “Stand back.” 

He then raised the axe and began swinging it, breaking into the ancient wood, splintering it and sending little chips flying everywhere. Martin flinched when a tiny wood chip hit his cheek, and Jon felt more on edge the more the wooden table came apart. 

A scream erupted from somewhere outside of the institute, a triumphant and knowing cry, that made Tim’s swinging stop right before the axe made contact with the table again, hovering. The creeping dread that had been filling Jon burst out into a full-blown panic. Martin looked like he had seen a ghost, and Tim began to sweat as the thing broke through the front door. 

The only thing separating whatever was outside and the three of them was a flimsy wooden door, and Jon knew that wasn't sufficient.

“Do you never learn, Archivist? That was not very smart, especially the second time.” The grating voice of Michael appeared behind them, and they all whipped around to see Michael pull himself out of his yellow door, a swirling vortex of color that made Jon lose his balance. Or maybe it was the banging on the door behind them.

“Michael? What do you mean ‘the second time?’” Jon asked quickly, Tim and Martin still in a stunned silence. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Well, if you must know, I'm bored. And I would like for you not to die. The others though, 'might as well go face the imposter head on for all they care.” Michael replied nonchalantly, gesturing to Martin and Tim. The door began to crack, and the banging became more frantic. “Now. You have two choices. Stay here and die, or! You can come with me and only maybe die.”

Jon went to speak, but Tim beat him to it. He shoved Martin and Jon toward Michael's door, just as pieces came flying off the hinges behind them, revealing the creature behind it. 

Through the raging wind and dust, Sasha had made her way to the archive, but this was not Sasha. Its face was stretched into an unnatural smile, lips pulled back past even the gums, and its teeth were crowded and jagged. Its eyes were now hollow gashes, deep unending pools of darkness. 

It stuck its hand through the hole in the door, and it was much, much longer than it should have been. The fingernails were long and sharp, and it bent and folded in unnatural ways. The skin looked like it had been burned and boiled and blistered, and it almost got ahold of Tim’s neck before they all fell past the doorframe, the nauseating abyss of swirling colors and patterns replacing the creature that broke its way into the archive.

Chapter Text

Falling through the nauseating colors of Michael’s door is what Jon remembered most from the previous 10 minutes of his life. Though that might've been because he fell face first onto a hard stone floor from the top of the tunnel, web patterned lighter in hand. He could’ve swore he left it at his house, but wasn't going to question having a light source in this dark tunnel. 

Jon flicked the lighter to life, and covering the walls was thousands upon thousands of spiders. Skittering, twitching things that fled the warm flame that illuminated them. Jon looked around him and both directions were straight tunnels so he decided to pick a direction and walk. 

The farther Jon walked, the more spiders he saw, but he also began to see remnants of life. A burlap sack, rotting potatoes, and something he did not wish to remember. Nonetheless, the signs of life were getting more and more frequent until he came upon a wide circular room, and lining the walls were stacks and stacks of tapes. 

Astounded, he went to pick one up, but stopped short. He remembered what was on the few tapes he found before, broken fragments of a voice so similar to his making incoherent ramblings and paranoid thoughts to rival his own. 

Jon picked up the courage to grab one, but before he could lay a finger on the cold plastic case, a light and footsteps came from the other end of the room. Jon quickly extinguished the lighter and tried to hide amongst the stacks of tapes, hoping he'd be mistaken for a stack and who or whatever was coming would move on. 

“I could've sworn I heard- no. Really Jurgen, all this time in solitude has done a number on you.” Whoever was talking, Jurgen, had a low baritone voice, but then a squeaky voice came from the same source. 

“I don't think so, Jurgen. There are plenty of tapes, and the rats make wonderful friends!” The voice changed back to the regular baritone.

“Oh you, you really need to stop playing with the food!” Jon risked a peek and saw a single old man carrying a torch. He was stout and had wiry gray hair sticking out from the sides of his head like a clown. He wore a pair of broken spectacles on his nose, and his clothes looked like he had been run over by an ox. Jon had to hold back retching when the smell assaulted him. A pungent, rotting smell like he hadn’t bathed in years.

The squeaky high pitched voice came again, “you can't say that when you do the same!” he laughed, and it would have been a nice laugh if not for his almost complete lack of teeth, a total of four were hanging onto his gums. 

“You can come out now child.” The low voice came again, and in the time it took for Jon to contemplate this man’s lack of teeth, he had zeroed in on Jon’s location amid the stacks of mysterious tapes. “Oh yes, Jurgen sees you over there. You're the tapes man!” he cackled again, almost like he had won a prize.

Jon reluctantly stepped out, trying to get a read on the kooky and quite smelly old man. “What do you mean ‘tapes man?’”

“Phooey. Jurgen will answer, but first, we must find a way out of this desert! Jurgen knows the way to London from there.” the squeaky voice of Jurgen remarked, looking pleased with himself.

“London? What are you talkin’ about?” Jon was even more confused, and stepped closer to Jurgen. Needless to say, that was a bad idea, as the smell got almost unbearable and Jon gagged.

“London! The Institute! To stop the Eye from ending the world!” the squeaky voice continued, and Jurgen grabbed hold of Jon’s wrist. His fingernails were cracked and sharp, and his skin felt like wet sandpaper.

“What eye? What institute are you looking for? Why London?" Jon was growing more frustrated with this man’s antics, and tried to wrestle his hand away from the old man, but he was surprisingly strong and held fast.

“Dont pretend like you don't know. THE Eye, THE Magnus institute. You’re the archivist.” the low voice of Jurgen said, exasperated. “Now, if that kid hadn’t burned Jurgen’s Library, he could tell you all about the Eye.” 

“Jon tried again to take his hand back as Jurgen pulled him down a corridor, but to no avail. “Library? Burned? Wait. You're not Jurgen Leitner are you?”

“Jurgen has made his name known more than once, youngling. Have you not been paying attention?” Jurgen’s voice changed between sentences, but Jon was too stunned to be able to register that. 

“Jurgen Leitner.” Jon breathed, almost silently. He didn’t want to believe that this stinky old man was THE Jurgen Leitner, but he could feel that this man wasn’t lying to him. “Jurgen Leitner.”

“Yes, yes. Pleased to make your acquaintance. You didn't let The Stranger in here did you? Something has been eating my rats.” the low voice rumbled, still sounding pretty frustrated.

Jon stopped walking for a moment, “The Stranger? That ain’t a face stealin’ creature is it?”

“One of them.” Jurgen pulled Jon’s wrist harder, rough fingernails digging into his skin. “It sure sounds to me like you did.” Jon was about to respond, but just at that moment a screech was heard echoing through the tunnels, eerily similar to the sound Jon had heard Not-Sasha make when it broke into the Institute.

“Donkey spittle.” Jurgen’s high voice creaked, and he handed the torch to Jon, somehow not letting go of Jon’s wrist. “Take this.” Jurgen pulled a book from the inside of his bedraggled jacket, reading through it. It was thin, but the cover was crumbly,and it looked and smelled like it was made of soil. It wasn’t enough to cover the repugnant smell of Jurgen Leitner.

Jon stood there awkwardly, torch in hand, waiting while Leitner read from his strange soil book, but he could feel a chill coming up his spine. The Not-Sasha seemed to be coming closer if the ever-louder sound of its screams was to be believed. 

Jon held the torch out just a little bit farther in front of him, and was met with the shadowed face of Not-Sasha. Its too long limbs were pulling its too long body through the tunnels, unnatural joints bending and folding and shifting like it was made of rubber. It sped up when it became illuminated, and it seemed to laugh when it caught a glimpse of Jon.

The laugh was like nothing Jon had heard before, grating and pitchy, and full of sadistic glee. It’s face seemed to be splitting in half, what was left of its cheeks was coming undone and its unnerving smile was growing wider. Blood trickled from its bisecting cheeks, flowing between its teeth and dripping on the tunnel floor. 

Jon tried to run, but Jurgen Leitner held onto his wrist, restricting his movements while the old man simply continued reading. Not Sasha was coming closer, and Jon knew there wasn’t much time, so he pulled harder, but Leitner wouldn’t budge. Jon began to claw at the old man’s hand, desperately trying to move, and trying to keep an eye on the creature as much as he could. Jon jerked his wrist, and even tried to pry the man’s hand off of him but to no avail.

A deep rumbling could be heard, coming from far within the tunnels, and Not-sasha stopped, looking slightly confused, just in time for a massive earthquake to cover it in tons and tons of rocks, a single lock of blonde hair all that was left, sitting in a splattered pool of blood. 

Jurgen Leitner shut the book and silently continued on like nothing happened. Jon hadn’t had much of a choice but to go with the smelly old man, in silent fear and surprise. Leitner simply walked around the pile of rocks, and Jon practically hugged the wall thinking of the creature popping up out of the rocks to kill him, but no such event happened. 

Leitner began to hum to himself, and Jon replayed the last few minutes in his mind over and over. The terror of being helpless was still palpable no matter how many times he saw it happen in his mind. 

Leitner finally let go of Jon’s wrist, which left a dirt smudge where his hand had been. Jon didn't want to know what the sticky substance on his wrist was. Jurgen Leitner turned around and faced Jon, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Now. We are about to get to the building where the Eye lives now, but we must be certain that nobody else is there. You go up and make sure it's empty before I come up.” Jurgen sounded uncomfortably lucid, but his voice switched again/

“Nobody knows Jurgen is alive!” Leitner giggled, and pointed farther down the tunnel where a small light could be seen shining through the top of the tunnel. Jon practically sprinted, like he could smell the dusty air of the archive from there. Anything would be better than the abhorrent smell of Jurgen Leitner.

Jon stopped under the hole in the front office and looked around, but nobody was there. Only moonbeams illuminating the red dust hanging in the air. He jumped and managed to grab the ledge, dust falling into his face. Jon pulled himself up and called to Leitner, who hummed a disjointed tune all the way down the corridor. 

Jon did not want to touch this man, so he took Rosie's chair and lightly tossed it into the tunnel so Jurgen could pull himself out. He had managed to, and grunted a thank you. The smell had unfortunately followed them and was now filling the room with the rancid scent of Jurgen Leitner. Jon took a step out so he could get a breath of fresh air, but heard a commotion from inside a couple moments later. Jon’s heart picked up with the thought of what it might be, but he managed to fight the fear and look inside anyway. 

Leitner laid on the floor in a pool of blood, head caved in like a pumpkin 2 weeks after halloween. A horrid choking and gurgling sound could be heard from Leitner as his last breaths made dark red bubbles in the liquid around him. A lead pipe sat next to his head, covered in the old man’s blood. 

Jon couldn’t breathe. He just ran. He didn't know or care where, but he ran. He needed to be anywhere but The Magnus Institute.