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eldritchqueerture · 7 months

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Chapter 12: All That Matters

Chapter Summary:

All things must change. All things must end.

CW: suicidal ideation, arguments, death and murder, shock (a bit), child violence (kindof?? but not really), self-deprecation Jarchivist style, themes of chronic illness, themes of terminal illness

Author’s Notes: um. you may want to sit down for this one. in my defense - i did warn you. i did warn you, okay?

god. i can't believe this is it. take a deep breath, mind the content warnings and see you on the other side.

Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.

Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜

The tunnels are just as cold, damp, and unwelcoming as Jon remembers them. The darkness looms with a promise of something lurking just around the corner. Under their boots, the squelching painfully reminds them what has been creeping in the walls.

Tim grimaces, casting a half-horrified, half-disgusted glance at the floor. “Geez, this is… They've all been here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. “Biding their time. Waiting.”

He steps around the carcasses carefully but without need for light, using the cane as additional support when his recent wounds flare. Tim glances back at him briefly, keeping his flashlight focused on the worm-riddled floor.

“Waiting for what?”

Jon shrugs and winces at the sting in his shoulder. “Until there was enough of them to overpower the Archives. But they weren't ready. The Web wanted them to fail.” He scoffs to himself. “Not that they would succeed in any substantial way at any rate.”

“The Web...” Sasha frowns, searching the rough, stone walls with her light. “The spider Tim killed?”

“Yes.”

“And there's no chance it could've just been… A coincidence?” Tim offers weakly, at which Jon barely stifles a pitying chuckle.

“There are no coincidences where the Web is involved.”

He carefully keeps his voice soft; he's finding it hard to keep explaining things that seem so obvious to him now, but he knows that's just one of the things defining his inhumanity. He casts a glance at Martin who's been quiet ever since they descended into the tunnels. His gaze is fixed somewhere ahead, and there's a slight frown on his forehead.

Jon laces their fingers together to make him look down. He doesn't say anything - he wouldn't know what to say. There are so many things between them now and yet no words spring to mind. They need to kill Jonah Magnus, end this once and for all, and then...

And then hopefully we can live happily ever after, Martin thinks. Jon averts his gaze, blinking rapidly. He hasn't thought about what comes after — after Jonah Magnus, the heart of the Institute, is dead. What happens to him. He doubts the Eye will let him go; in fact, he's quite aware that's not possible anymore.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sasha speaks up in the silence. Her voice joins the echo of their steps reverberated on the stone walls.

“Of course,” Jon replies.

“You said there was an apocalypse, right?” She starts. “Various domains of fear, you travelled through them to get to Elias—”

“—Jonah Magnus—”

“Yes, yes, Jonah Magnus, in this… Panopticon.” She hesitates. “Where do other universes come into play then?”

Jon takes a breath to launch into a detailed statement, something about a grand plan and apotheosis, but Martin precedes him.

“Basically the Web fucked us over,” he says. “There was a rift on Hill Top Road, something about multiple entities converging on one place or some such. The catch was that if Jon killed Elias in the tower, he’d have to take his place. But Annabelle offered us another way. We could stop all of it. We could send the Fears to other realities and turn the world back to normal.”

Something dawns on Jon — a realization coated in dread that makes his heart stutter and his throat close up. He stares down at the floor, pressing his lips together. He knows he should speak up —they still have time, they can still come up with a plan— but his throat seems to have lost the connection to his brain.

“And you did?” Tim raises his eyebrows.

And maybe that’s for the better. Maybe this is his one last chance to do something right. It wouldn’t fix all the wrongs, nothing ever would, but maybe that was some sort of justice he could offer the world. Maybe it would be for the better.

“Well, Jon wanted to kill the whole world to contain them, so we didn't exactly have an alternative,” Martin scoffs, catching Jon’s attention with the tone. “And we were hoping that the Change doesn't happen in other worlds. The Fears would have marginal access to them, just like they did before the Change happened in ours. And—And we couldn’t exactly be held accountable for what could possibly, maybe happen in alternate universes, now, could we?”

Jon grinds his teeth to stop himself from arguing. There's no point reviving the same discussion, not after the fact. They've got to press forward and face what’s awaiting them. One way or another.

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you ended up here,” Sasha points out.

An uncomfortable silence follows her words. From the corner of his eye Jon sees Martin look away and bite his lips. Something heavy makes itself at home in his chest.

“We had an argument,” he speaks, taking extreme care that his voice doesn't show any emotions. “Martin and I. I… I could really destroy them all at the source. I had a chance to end it all for good. I had to take it.”

“You mean, you had to orchestrate the most elaborate suicide—”

“Martin.” Jon's voice takes on an exasperated edge. “This isn't about me, it’s about all the worlds and all the people I’ve—”

“No, Jon!” Martin stops and looks at him with desperation in his eyes, letting go of his hand. “It is about you, it's all about you! The Web chose you, the Eye chose you, and you keep putting yourself in danger because of some fucked up martyr complex—”

“They didn't—They didn't choose me, Martin, I was just” —Jon lets out a frustrated breath. “There's nothing special about me. I was just a conveniently placed chess piece that did exactly what it was meant to.”

“You're not a—a chess piece to me!” Martin says, his eyes glistening.

“I know,” Jon says as softly as he’s able to, and takes Martin's hand. "But the world doesn't care about—"

Martin takes a step back. “I had to kill you,” he whispers shakily. “I really thought I wouldn’t be able to, if it came to that, but I did. I had your fucking blood on my hands, Jon, I had to watch you die. Do you have any idea what it was like? I don't give a fuck what the world cares about and frankly, I feel like we deserve something nice for a change! So, if that’s alright with you, I would like to focus on us this time, without involving the entire world in it.”

Jon stares at him, too stunned for words for a moment. Martin clicks his own flashlight on and steps past Tim and Sasha, who are equally speechless, albeit for slightly different reasons.

“Come on, let's go,” Martin says.

None of them look each other in the eye for a while and the silence hangs heavy. Jon bites the inside of his cheek to stifle the self-loathing lapping at his core in powerful waves, as he rewinds Martin's words in his mind. Of course he's still reliving what happened in the Panopticon, why didn't he think of that? How could he be so heartless? Talking about the Web and the grand scale of things… Martin is still human, it must have been awful for him. How could he—

“A fork. Left or right?” Martin asks.

“Uh, forward,” he says without really listening.

Martin stops and all three of them look back at Jon.

“Jon? There's no forward,” he supplies.

“What do you mean there's” —Jon looks up and pauses. “Oh, good lord.”

“What is it?”

Instead of answering, Jon limps past them and turns to the right.

“Jon—?”

As they all light the corridor, the beams stop at an unmoving figure of an old man, slouched down by the wall. His head is drooping forward, with the chin resting on his bloodied chest, and his eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. A pool of dark liquid has gathered on the floor beneath him, already substantial but still fresh.

“Shit,” Martin hisses between his teeth. “Is that who I think it is?”

“In the flesh,” Jon replies gravely, as he kneels carefully next to the body. “Jurgen Leitner.”

“Wait.” Tim blinks in confusion. “You don’t mean—”

“Yes, Tim,” Martin presses his lips together. “That Jurgen Leitner.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Guess we mark him as no longer missing,” Sasha mutters under her nose. “What d’you think happened to him?”

“Jonah Magnus,” Jon supplies, rising to his feet, and shoots a glance at Martin. “He took the book as well.”

“Is there a way to get there without it?”

“We’ll find a way around.” Jon frowns and looks off to the side. “He might try to stop us.”

“Can he even find us here?” Martin asks. “I thought this was a blind spot.”

“I don’t know.” Jon shakes his head lightly. He glances at Tim and Sasha hesitantly. “This could get dangerous very fast. The tunnels are—”

“We know what we signed up for, Jon,” Sasha replies, her face changing instantly from concern to stubborn determination.

“Do you?” Jon quirks his eyebrow inquisitively at Tim, who has been rather hanging back.

Tim looks up at him startled, as if feeling his gaze on his skin. There’s a moment where the entirety of Tim’s identity is sprawled open before Jon — every thought and feeling, every memory, both remembered and lost — everything that makes him who he is for Jon to Know. He vividly remembers rebuilding this identity from the very core. There’s nothing inside Tim that could be hidden now.

Tim lets out a breath and the quiver of his lips is the only sign of his distress, invisible to the eyes of others. Jon sees the fear in the glint of his eye as he relives the memory of being ripped apart and put together again every time he closes his eyes.

“I—I mean,” he stammers out and laughs to relieve some of the tension. Does he even know where it’s coming from? Does he realize Jon was the one to put the pieces of him together? “We can’t turn back now, can we?”

Jon blinks, forcibly withdrawing himself back to his own body. He grips his cane so hard his knuckles go white, unable to fight off a grimace. Or is it a smile?

“Yeah, we can’t. Let’s go.” Sasha waves her flashlight further down the corridor.

“What do we do with him though?” Martin asks, pointing at the body. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Sasha shrugs. “We can call the cops later, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Tim says and clears his throat. “We do not want to be found near his body with a knife.”

“Okay, fair.”

Jon limps behind the rest of them as they continue forward through the tunnels. He entertains the thought of sneaking off and finishing this on his own, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good. He knew extracting Tim from the NotThem would have its consequences, but this… If Tim and Sasha are bound to him rather than to the Institute, then killing Jonah Magnus will do nothing to set them free. Better to continue with the former plan. And as for Martin…

Jon frowns at the ground. Can he do something like that to him, after everything?

Then again, he is already beyond redemption. Another unforgivable sin on his record wouldn’t make much of a difference.

He doesn’t notice Martin sidestepping him until his hand is taken hold of. He looks up to meet his concerned gaze.

“Hey,” he says in a hushed tone. Jon averts his eyes, the ache in his chest too strong to bear. He hears Martin sigh softly. “I understand if you’re angry with me.”

Unwittingly, Jon looks back up, ready to wipe away doubts of this sort, at least.

“I’m not!” He assures and squeezes his hand. “I’m not angry with you, I promise.”

“Then what’s going on?” Martin asks. “Talk to me, Jon.”

Jon looks ahead and bites his lip. They’ve lagged behind a bit, but Tim and Sasha seem to keep their distance, apart from the occasional glance back. Giving them some space, perhaps.

“I’m just worried,” Jon says carefully. “About what we’re going to do. What we’re going to find.”

Technically not a lie. Martin frowns and studies his face, but Jon knows he can’t see very well in the dark.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” he replies cautiously, as if daring Jon to reveal a detail that would derail the whole operation. “We go in there, we stab the bastard, we get out. Right?”

Jon can’t bring himself to look Martin in the eye.

“He’s going to be there,” he says half-heartedly. “He won’t go out without a fight, you know that.”

“There’s four of us and one of him, I think I like our chances,” he chuckles and gently nudges Jon with his elbow. “What’s on your mind? Honestly. I can see it’s not that.”

Jon stops with a sigh and passes a thumb over Martin’s palm, looking down at their hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Jon—”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he continues, looking up into Martin’s eyes. “Back then. It must have been horrible. I didn’t think… I—I can’t even imagine…”

Martin’s features smooth out in a sad smile and he brings up his hand to Jon’s face.

“It’s okay,” he mutters. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I got… A bit carried away.”

Jon stares into Martin’s eyes for a moment and wishes it could become eternity. This is the face of the man he sacrificed everything for — the destruction of the very beings of fear, the thing he deemed the right thing to do. His life was more important than all the other universes, all the other people in them; all the people in this universe, Tim and Sasha included. And still, he was so close to losing him…

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to carry the sound. He feels tears forming in his eyes, so he closes them. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He’s pulled into a hug that lightens the load he bears just a little bit, for a little while. Martin passes a hand through Jon’s hair and turns his head to press a kiss to his temple.

“I’m glad you stayed here long enough,” he whispers, and a new pit opens in Jon’s stomach. He feels the emptiness acutely when Martin pulls away. “Let’s go finish the job, yeah?”

Jon hesitates as Martin directs his flashlight away. A hurricane of thoughts and guilt-ridden feelings rises in his mind, but one thought is clear: he can’t do this to Martin. Not again. Not like this.

“Shit,” Martin speaks before Jon can say anything. “I can’t see them anymore.”

He starts ahead, faster than Jon can keep up with, and the words die in his throat, replaced with the low thrumming of dread. Martin sweeps the corridor with his light, but there is no trace of Tim or Sasha anywhere.

“They’re gone,” Jon realizes.

Martin turns to him, alarmed. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“They’re… Not here anymore,” he forces out through the tightness in his throat. The tunnels —the presence of them— encroaches on his mind, making itself known.

They’ve left the Archives’ territory and stepped into Something Else. He remembers the hunger of the earth, the walls pressing in on him from all sides — this is the domain of the Buried.

And he let his assistants out of Sight.

***

“Should we wait?” Tim asks, casting another backward glance at Jon and Martin. They’d slowed their pace to build some distance, and both Tim and Sasha took it as a sign not to interrupt the conversation they clearly needed to have. Now, it seems they’ve stopped altogether, and they’re already far away as it is.

“It’s fine, they’ll catch up,” Sasha waves her hand. “Besides, with Jon’s all-knowing abilities, they’ll find us if we get lost.”

“You know, it would be best not to get lost, if we can help it,” he says, but he still follows her lead forward.

“Think of this as scouting ahead,” she suggests with a smirk. “It’s not like we can make a wrong turn here or anything.”

Indeed, the corridor continues forward seemingly without end or so much as an alcove on either side. The farther they get from the archives the more decrepit the tunnels look, some more earthy and some roughly hewn in stone. Water and age have taken their toll on the state of the place, carving the walls and, in places, even forming stalactites.

Tim casts another look behind. It’s getting colder the deeper they descend, and a nagging feeling of anxiety has been buzzing in his stomach for a while now.

“Oh, what the hell?” Sasha mutters. “Look at that.”

Her beam of light points at a break in the wall, quite narrow and steeply descending downwards. The steps are uneven and no doubt slippery, but what immediately draws Tim’s attention is the simple, stark-white arrow pointing down the passage.

“Don’t tell me you wanna go in there,” Tim scoffs half-heartedly.

“Someone must have drawn it,” she says, lightly touching the arrow with her finger. A chalky residue sticks to it.

“Who, Elias?” Tim laughs. “If you just go right this way, this claustrophobic, horror passage will lead you to your death, where you can’t bother me and my Wednesday scheduling anymore.”

“Ha ha.” She rolls her eyes. She directs her light further down the stairs, but it doesn’t reach the end. “I wonder what’s down there.”

“With our luck, probably some kind of a sculking nightmare,” he mutters, taking another look back. His light doesn’t reach Martin this time. “I think we should—”

“Hold on, I think I see something.”

He turns back around to find Sasha already a few steps down the staircase.

“Sasha!” He hisses. “I’m not going down there with you.”

“I’m just taking a look!” She turns around with an amused expression. “I’m sure the lovebirds will catch up in no time, might as well take a peek, alright?”

“Famous last words,” Tim sighs in defeat. He knows this brand of excitement in her voice — she will not be deterred until her curiosity is sated. “I’m not coming to your funeral if something eats you.”

“If something eats me I probably won’t even have a funeral,” Sasha counters with a scoff. “Thanks a lot, Stoker.”

“You brought this on yourself, Miss Have To See It For Myself!”

Sasha’s reply is unintelligible, distorted by the echo of the stone. Tim is about to ask her to repeat when she yelps, scrambling back a few steps.

“What happened?!”

“I just felt the wall move,” she breathes out. “I’m getting out.”

“Finally, reason has graced you once more,” Tim sighs with relief. “What was that about walls moving though?”

Sasha climbs up the narrow stairs, helping herself up on the walls. “I felt the wall move under my hand,” she says. “As if it was getting narrower. I might be too curious for my own good, but I’m not stupid.”

“Clearly,” Tim says sarcastically. Sasha swats him on the arm.

“Alright, where are they then?” She asks, directing the light the way they came.

“I can’t see them.” The words come out of his mouth weaker than he expects them to. Anxiety churns in his gut and a cold feeling constricts his chest. He takes a step forward, searching the darkness frantically.

A dead end.

What he previously took as darkness where the light of his torch didn’t reach, now turns out to be a solid, stone wall right where the tunnel used to be. There are markings of age on the stone which seamlessly connects with the walls on both sides of the corridor, as if the structure hasn’t changed in years.

“Sasha…” Tim says as if she somehow hasn’t noticed.

“Impossible corridors…” She mutters, eyeing the walls suspiciously. “It’s got to be Michael, right?”

“What would it be doing here?” Tim scoffs, carefully stepping backwards.

“I don’t know, what would it be doing anywhere?” Sasha shrugs. “We should move.”

“God, we’re going to die here,” he groans.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she nudges him in the arm. “He’s helped us before. Maybe he’ll lead us back to Jon.”

Tim lets out a weak, noncommital sound. He sweeps the walls with his light every now and then as they walk down the tunnel, trying not to let the shaking of his hands show. The silence around them presses heavy on his shoulders, and the echo of their steps makes an uncomfortable amount of noise. How long have they been underground? What time even is it? He imagines daylight and a clear sky, and for a second they both feel like a dream that’s never been real.

The corridor starts gently curving to the left. If Tim’s spatial skills are anything to go by, they should be heading northwest from where they split up with Jon and Martin, so at the next crossroad they should keep to the left and hopefully catch up to them from that side. A side look at Sasha tells him she’s making similar calculations in her head.

“Hey, Sash,” he whispers. “What do you think about… All this?”

She glances at him briefly. “’All this’? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

He chuckles weakly. “Just… Jon and his… whole thing. Killing Elias? Just...” He sighs. “If I knew what this job really was, I never would’ve taken it.”

“Well, that’s probably reasonable,” she shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe it hasn’t really hit me yet, you know? But I’m just going with it, spooky distorted people, worm women, omniscient bosses…” She lets out a laugh. “I think I knew something like that would happen to me eventually.”

“What about Jon?” Tim asks tensely.

“What about him?”

He looks away with a frown. “I don’t know. Don’t you get a… Weird feeling around him? Ever since…” He hesitates.

“Weird how?” She inquires with a side look at him.

“Just… Like he’s watching you all the time, noticing every single thing you do.” Tim grimaces as a shiver climbs up his spine simply at the memory. “Like there’s nothing you could possibly hide or keep away from him.”

“That does sound in line with what he told us about the Eye,” she offers. “I haven’t really felt like that though. Not to a noticable degree at least.”

Tim’s throat tightens with an unnamed anxiety. He grits his teeth, staring down at the floor ahead.

“Are you okay?” Sasha peers up at his face.

“It’s just…” He hesitates again, his lungs feeling slightly too small for comfortable breathing. “Don’t tell Jon,” he starts quietly. “But… You know how he told us we can’t quit the Archives, right?”

Sasha nods attentively.

“Well. I sort of. Tried,” he continues. “Wrote up all sorts of resignation letters, more or less professional. Almost wrote Elias an email to just fuck off and let us go. I even searched how to get law reinforcement involved, but I just… Couldn’t follow through. I’d always somehow end up deleting the drafts or just abandoning the attempts.”

“Yeah,” Sasha smiles slightly. “I tried that myself once, just to see if I really couldn’t, but I obviously don’t actually want to quit, so...”

“But…” Tim tightens his hold on the flashlight to stop his hand from shaking. “I didn’t want to come here. These tunnels… They’re too much. I was going to stay at the archives, maybe call up Gerry and help with whatever mess you three would surely end up creating down here.”

Sasha stops, staring at him with a frown. “What? Why didn’t you say so?”

He chuckles stiffly. “I couldn’t. Jon looked at me like he could… Pierce me to the core, like he knew every single little thing I was afraid of and still wanted more. And it was just like with those resignation letters. Not worth the hassle. Too late to turn back now. Always some excuse not to follow through.”

Sasha blinks at him, concern and doubt visible in her eyes. Tim shakes his head self-consciously and looks away.

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I,” —she tuts. “I do believe you, I just... Are you sure it’s that? It’s normal to have doubts about places like this, but Jon wouldn’t force you to come with us if he knew you didn’t want to.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Do we still know what he would do? Martin got his memories back and instantly proposed murder!”

“Okay, so what exactly are you saying?” She frowns with concern.

“I’m not saying anything, I’m just…” He groans. “Maybe they’re not the people we know anymore, Sash. If they’re still people.”

Sasha bites her lip. “That’s a pretty bold statement.”

“And causing an apocalypse and forcing people to spill their trauma isn’t?”

“You’re saying we shouldn’t trust Jon anymore,” she gives him a serious look. “That’s different.”

An echoing sound of quick footsteps down the corridor turns their attention towards the yawning darkness. First, they see the faint light of a flashlight — the next second Jon appears in their view, clumsily leaning on his cane, with eyes wide and full of barely hidden fear. Behind him, Martin shows up with a similarly concerned expression that soon melts into relief.

“Here you are,” Jon sighs heavily. He leans one hand on his knee to catch his breath. “Are you okay? Did anything get you?”

“Get us?” Sasha frowns. “No. Just some weird stuff happened with the corridor, so we might get a friendly visit from Michael, but otherwise—”

“What, Michael?” Jon asks, surprised by the name. “No, that’s not him. The—The tunnels are something else.”

“There’s something else in here?” Tim raises his eyebrows.

“Not to my knowledge.” Jon shakes his head. “The tunnels themselves are… something though.”

“Best not to think about it too much,” Martin offers with a faint laugh, seeing Tim’s distaste.

“I’m glad you’re okay. We’re not far now,” Jon says, looking them both over again and turning his gaze away. Tim gets that uncomfortable feeling again; he feels Jon’s stare on his skin, in his eyes, into his very core. Don’t tell Jon, he told Sasha. How utterly naïve.

His legs start following Jon’s lead without caring to check in with his brain as they walk in the direction he and Sasha have just come from. When he glances at her, he finds her already looking back with a question in her eyes — What do we do? Tim swallows heavily, not knowing how to answer.

She must get something from his expression though, because she turns to Jon and stops abruptly.

“Jon,” she starts with conviction in her voice. He turns around, startled.

“Y-Yes?”

“Do you know the way back to the archives?”

Jon blinks at her for a second, as if he did not expect a question like this.

“I—I think so? I mean, if you’re worried about getting back, there shouldn’t be any trouble after—after everything…” He trails off, blinking heavily. “Why do you ask?”

“Would we make it there if we wanted to go back now?” She asks, gently pointing with her head towards Tim. He looks between her and Jon with stiff anticipation.

“You, uh… You want to go back?” Jon’s eyes stop at Tim and immediately widen with realization. “Oh. Uh, I…”

“You know what we talked about,” Tim states with a sinking feeling.

“I—I…” Jon takes a breath. “Tim, I didn’t…”

“You didn’t what?” Anger starts to bubble in his chest. “Don’t say you didn’t know.”

Jon takes a step back, horror written on his face. Martin places a steadying hand on his arm, looking beween them all with confusion.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“I can—I can explain,” Jon looks at Tim pleadingly. A part of him is growing to hate this expression that tries to play innocent, yet begging for forgiveness. As if he knows he’s already done something unforgivable.

“Apparently that’s the only thing I can ask of you,” he growls. “So please, go ahead.”

Jon shakes his head in disbelief. “I didn’t… Tim, I didn’t intend any of this. I didn’t think… I didn’t know this would happen.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Martin insists.

“In—In the Artifact Storage, when I, uh, pulled Tim from the NotThem,” Jon says, frantically searching the floor with his eyes, as if the solution was misplaced there somewhere. “I had to… I had to remake him. Extract the pieces of his being as knowledge I could glean from it and put him back together. I… I’m not even sure how I was able to do that,” he lets out a laugh. “By all accounts that should be impossible. But… I didn’t think it would have consequences like this but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Damn it.” He closes his eyes, in pain or in shame — or both.

“What consequences?” Martin asks with horror dawning on his face. Jon looks up at Tim, his voice quiet but dispassionate.

“You belong to the Eye now.” He pauses and adds, quieter. “You belong to me.”

Tim’s world shrinks to contain only Jon —or whatever he’s really become— and the impassive eyes that watch and drink in the horror of realization on his face, in his body, and mind. Tim didn’t know if he’d believed in a god before, but it doesn’t matter anymore — right now he stands face to face with his literal maker, who feeds on his fear. Who is his fear.

What kind of life awaits him, if his fear knows everything there is to know about him?

“Stop it,” he hisses, stepping back and shaking his head. “Just… Stop. Get away from me.”

“I’m really sorry, Tim,” Jon says quietly. “If I didn’t do it, your fate would be worse than death. This really is the better outcome.”

“I get it! I get it, okay?” He shouts, glaring at Jon. “D’you expect me to just magically be okay with it? You expect me to go on my merry way knowing my friend turned into a monster?”

“Tim!” Martin looks at him with indignation.

“No point skirting around it anymore, is there?” He takes a breath and grits his teeth. “You should’ve told me.”

Jon finally looks down, and Tim feels ever so slightly vindicated in a way.

“I really didn’t know,” he says. “But I could have. If I paid attention sooner. I wanted to give you time to recover.”

“Don’t paint it as some sort of charity on your part,” he hisses. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have even been here in the first place.”

To his surprise, Jon lets out a mirthless chuckle. “I am sorry, Tim,” he speaks. “There’s nothing more I can give you.”

“Fuck this.” Tim shakes his head and makes up his mind. “And fuck you. I’m done being scared for your sick enjoyment. I’ll find my way back even if it kills me.”

He turns around and forces his feet to walk away.

***

In his mind, Jon curses the lack of foresight to all hells.

He stopped himself from digging deeper into Tim’s mind, extending Martin’s rules from the apocalypse to the rest of them as well as he could. He wouldn’t willingly look in their heads; the fact that he had to scrape every little piece of knowledge about Tim from the NotThem notwithstanding.

Or so he thought.

If he only looked further, probed deeper, maybe he could’ve noticed Tim was unable to turn back on his own. Maybe he could understand why.

As it is, he watches him turn heel and stride the other way. Martin calls after him and, when that proves unfruitful, looks at Jon incredulously.

Jon’s eyes meet Sasha’s for a moment. She draws her eyebrows together, clearly weighing choices in her mind. Then, she shakes her head slightly and runs after Tim.

“Aren’t you going to stop them?” Martin asks in disbelief.

“Do you think I could?” Jon replies, clearly knowing the answer. “I did this to him.”

“Jon…”

“I know what you’re going to say, Martin,” Jon interrupts, still staring at the lights disappearing in the darkness. Then he turns around and starts walking. “And it doesn’t change anything. We have to kill Elias.”

“So, you’re just not going to talk about this?” Martin follows.

“What is there to talk about?” He sighs heavily. “This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“It’s not your fault,” Martin insists. “You saved his life.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” Jon says almost automatically in a tired voice.

“I would like you to agree, though.”

Jon keeps staring forward like his life depends on it. The weight of their destination sits heavy in his chest. One more reason to follow through with his plan. He’d be leaving a mess behind, but… At least he’d fix something.

Martin sighs. “Are they going to be safe out here?” He asks.

“I think so.” Jon nods. “I don’t know for sure. Nothing ever actually happened to us in our time, though.”

“Will they find their way back?”

Jon smirks slightly despite everything. “The archives will act like a beacon to Tim, whether he acknowledges it or not. I suspect they’ll be fine.”

The walls of the tunnel soon open up to a vast space of the chamber. Stone-hewn openings yawn from the circular walls at various heights, hundreds of corridors leading further into the maze. And at the centre of it all, the tower.

It's smaller than the one they climbed after the Change, and definitely less daunting. It still looms over them, surrounded by silence as thick and oppressing as if material, and both of them feel it would not be wise to disturb it.

“I can’t believe we’re here again,” Martin mutters almost inaudibly. “Where is he?”

“Inside.” Jon hesitates. The tower radiates finality, and he’s suddenly very aware of Martin’s hand in his own. He squeezes it, mostly to reassure himself. Is he really prepared to let him down one final time?

“Martin…”

“Hello, Jon.” A voice echoes from the entrance to the tower, and Elias comes into view to greet them. With a spark of vindication Jon notices a bandage on his right hand. “Martin. You really took your time getting here.”

“It’s over,” Martin announces and draws his knife. “Prepare to die.”

Elias smirks and tilts his head curiously. “Straight to business, then? Somehow, I don’t think that’s quite how this little meeting is going to go. Am I wrong, Jon?”

Jon curses in his head. “I’ll kill you myself if I have to,” he growls.

“And deprive Martin of his sweet revenge?” Elias raises his eyebrows. “How selfish of you.”

Jon grits his teeth, guilt twisting his insides.

“Martin,” he mutters, as if that provided them with a shred of privacy in this place. “You have to trust me now, okay? Give me the knife.”

“What?” He looks down at him with a confused frown. “You really want to argue about that right now?”

“Trust me.”

Elias chuckles in genuine amusement. “Oh, sweet, ignorant Martin. It is a kind of joy to be able to play such mind games with people, isn’t it, Jon? Knowing so much they just have to trust that you know what you’re doing.”

“Shut up!” Jon snarls.

“Such a shame you’re so self-destructive,” he tuts. “You really showed great promise.”

Jon sees Martin tighten his grip on the knife, ready to close the distance. He lets go of his cane to grip Martin’s other hand.

“Don’t!” He hisses. “Please, trust me. Let me do this.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Martin looks at him desperately without comprehension. “What does it matter?”

“You really haven’t told him, have you?” Elias shakes his head. “Maybe you and Gertrude aren’t that different after all. You keep surprising me, Archivist.”

“Told me what, exactly?” Martin growls at Elias, keeping a strong grip on the knife.

“Martin, I…”

“That if you kill me, you’ll kill him as well.” The smirk on his face betrays just how much he’s enjoying this revelation.

“What?” Martin laughs. “You can’t seriously believe this bullshit will work on us.”

Jon squeezes his hands tighter, and that must give him pause, because he looks back at Jon. His smile falls away.

“No,” he lets out. “Don’t tell me that’s true.”

“I was going to tell you,” Jon whispers, clinging to Martin’s faltering hands. “I just…”

“You wanted to use poor Martin to kill yourself out of guilt,” Elias finishes for him. “No need to sugarcoat it for him now.”

Martin drops the knife to the floor and pulls away from Jon, all blood draining from his face.

“You just what?” He asks shakily. “When were you going to tell me, exactly?”

“I—I just thought…” Jon grimaces at his own inarticulacy. “You are all still bound to me. Not to him, not to the Institute — to me. Killing him would not give any of you freedom. And Tim… You said it yourself, you all deserve something nice for a change! You deserve a life away from all of this! And I could—”

“You can’t be serious right now,” he laughs disbelievingly. “You were going to make me do it again…”

“No!” Jon steps towards Martin, instinctively reaching out, trying to make him understand. “I wasn’t! I—I promise, I wasn’t going to actually let that happen. I wanted to tell you.”

“You wanted to be the one to kill him,” Martin points out, grasping for the detail like it could save him from drowning. “Why? What difference does that make?”

“I—I, uh…” Jon glances at the knife and takes a breath. “I am the Institute’s Archive,” he says quietly. “If it dies, I die as well. But Jonah Magnus’ death doesn’t have to mean the death of the Institute.”

“You’re kidding me.” Martin looks horrified. “You want to take his place?”

“I don’t!” Jon’s voice raises without his intention in the heat of the moment. “I don’t want any of this! I didn’t mean for it, I didn’t want any of it, and it still happened! There are no right choices anymore, all of them are incredibly bad or worse, and I’m the one who takes responsibility! When I say the world doesn’t care about our feelings, Martin, this is what I mean. We’ve never had any other choice than that between inhumanity and death.”

With that, he picks up the knife and looks up at Elias. The dawning terror on his face shows he’s just realized his miscalculation.

“Jon—”

“You thought I really wanted to let Martin do it,” he speaks out of breath. “And you knew Martin never would. But I’m afraid you were wrong.”

He closes the distance between them before Elias has a chance to get his bearings, and he pushes the knife deep between his ribs.

“No…” Elias groans, gripping Jon’s wounded shoulder tightly. In the fervor of his fury he barely even feels the pain. “I—”

Jon lets him fall to the floor when his body goes limp in his arms. For a moment he just stands there, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The blood covering his skin is warm and sticky, and the smell makes him nauseous.

“This body doesn’t really matter,” he says emotionlessly. “It’s the original one that counts.”

“…What happens when you kill it?” Martin’s voice behind him is quiet. Sad.

“It won’t destroy the Institute,” Jon replies, still unmoving. “It won’t free any of you. But we will be rid of him forever.”

“What happens to you?” Martin repeats a bit impatiently.

“I don’t know.” Jon shrugs numbly. “I don’t imagine much will change. I’m already…” His voice cracks. “I’m already something entirely else.”

“Jon—”

“It feels right to do it,” Jon says in disgust. “Just as it felt right to walk the apocalypse world. I can feel the pull of the Eye, which is why I didn’t want to do it, but…” His voice becomes thick and he can feel the prickling in his eyes. His hands still tremble, and he knows he won’t be able to stop the tears this time. “I just couldn’t do that to you again. Everything I do comes back around to hurt you and I just...” He stifles a sob, his legs barely supporting his weight. “I just wanted to do this one thing right for you—”

Martin catches him before he falls, and pulls him into a tight embrace. “Oh, Jon…”

“My conscience didn’t let me let you send the Fears away but I still did,” he continues, words tumbling out of his words before he can stop them. “I thought—I thought I had to atone for that. I was ready to make myself pay for all the… the transgressions if I could take him with me, if I could give Tim back his freedom,” he lets out a laugh. “But I can’t. I’m weaker than you, Martin, so much weaker. I—I couldn’t watch you die. And I couldn’t hurt you like this again. I don’t want to hurt you ever again.”

“It’s okay, Jon.” Martin places a hand on the crown of his head, gently rubbing his fingers on his scalp. “It’s okay now.”

“I—I tried to cling to my humanity, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore,” he whispers. “And I think it might not even matter. Time and time again I prove to myself that I just can’t. Do it.”

“Jon. It’s alright. You don’t have to—”

“Because of you,” he whispers somewhere near to Martin’s ear, gripping his arms tight. He falls quiet. “You’re all I have left, Martin. You’re all that matters to me. S-So if I have to live as a monster who can only inspire fear? If that’s the only way I can be here with you? Then so be it.”

Jon feels Martin’s arms tighten around him. He looks up at his face to see silent tears on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. For all of this,” he adds quietly.

“It—It would be easier if you’d just talk to me, you know?” Martin lets out a laugh. “We’re supposed to figure it out together. You have to… You’ve got to tell me stuff like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Jon looks down. “I almost did a couple times, but there was always something… And then I’d feel like it’s too late. There was a voice in my head that wanted to… I thought maybe some good would come out of it, you know.”

“I know, Jon.” Martin’s palm cups his face, and he passes his thumb on Jon’s cheek. “But you can do more good being here. We can do more good. Together. Okay?”

Jon sniffles and nods, trying for a smile. “Where you go, I go.”

Martin smiles, spilling more tears onto his cheeks. “Yeah. That’s the deal.”

Jon casts a glance at Elias’ body lying just under their feet, and lets out an unwitting chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Jon looks away almost bashfully. “I just remembered something about you wanting to make out over his corpse.”

After a second of processing what he’s heard, Martin bursts out laughing.

“We just had a tearful heart-to-heart and this is where your mind’s at?” He teases.

“Well, we are just standing here, aren’t we?” Jon tilts his head with a faint spark of playfulness in his eyes. “Would you rather I ask if you’re a ghost?”

That’s all the invitation Martin apparently needs. His lips are warm and familiar when he presses them against Jon’s. His eyes falling closed, Jon hooks his arm around Martin’s neck to pull him closer and, in doing so, smushing his nose against his glasses.

Like riding a bike after a long break, they find their rhythm almost instantly after that. Martin lets out an involuntary sigh, his hand diving deeper into Jon’s hair, while Jon himself deepens the kiss like a man starving. He savours Martin’s sure and solid presence pressed against his own body, rediscovering just how much safer he feels in his arms. He breathes Martin in, and he smells like home.

They pull away, out of breath and shaking slightly from emotion. Martin’s eyes glisten, now less with tears and more with something far more meaningful — hope.

“What happens now?” He asks almost inaudibly, as if afraid of dispelling the feeling.

“I’ll go up the tower,” Jon says, painfully reminded of the task ahead. “End this.”

“I’m coming with you,” Martin announces, in a voice that is prepared to argue. Jon just smiles fondly.

“Alright.” He nods.

“Do you have to…” Martin hesitates. “You know. Actually take his place? With that whole… uh, eye-jumping thing?”

Jon’s eyes widen and he lets out a surprised laugh. “No! No, good lord. Thankfully, that’s not necessary.”

Martin heaves a sigh of relief. “Oh. Good. Good, that we can do.”

He picks up Jon’s cane and the knife from the floor. Jon frowns with amusement while he takes them.

“Would you… I mean, I’m obviously not going to do that, but… Would you still be on board if I said I had to?” He looks up to observe Martin’s reaction keenly.

He looks at him, startled at first, then his cheeks turn a bit red when he realizes Jon is teasing him.

“Look,” he presses his lips together in barely held in laughter. “I’m just glad you don’t, okay? Don’t laugh at me.”

“Just wanted to hear you say it.” Jon gives him a self-satisfied grin.

“Fine. I would still love you if you had to pick someone’s eyeballs.” Martin rolls his eyes. “But I’d be picking the people you’d jump into.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you have standards now,” Jon replies, as they make their way towards the entrance to the tower.

“Of course I do,” Martin smirks. “Tired, academic, oblivious. Sweater vests are a must.”

“Hilarious, Martin,” Jon deadpans, not hiding his amusement very well.

“Oh, they also have to play up the accent for shits and giggles, otherwise no deal.”

“I’m not playing it up—”

“Mhm,” Martin hums sceptically.

“Well, it’s definitelly not for shits and giggles.” Jon grimaces with distaste.

“So, you admit—”

“Oh, shut up,” Jon rolls his eyes with a smile.

Ascending the stairs is a feat with Jon’s wounds, but the tower is nowhere as tall as the one in the apocalypse world. The chamber at the top is open, with thirteen openings in the outer wall looking out all around the structure. At the centre, there’s a stone-hewn throne, upon which sits the two hundred year-old body of Jonah Magnus.

The body is visibly withered and slightly decayed, but there is no smell of rotting flesh, and most of the bones are still hidden under the skin. His hair has mostly fallen out, as have his teeth, and his eye sockets yawn with emptiness.

“Is it weird that I sort of expect him to move?” Martin asks in a whisper.

“Let’s make sure he doesn’t.” Jon adjusts his grip on the knife and walks up to the body.

From this point he can feel the power of the Eye and the others, like electricity condensing in one spot. His hairs stand on end as his hand is directed over Jonah Magnus’ chest almost without his conscious input. He’s been denying the Eye for far too long. With one push he can finally seize power from the man who had ruined the world; step above the boundries and redefine them however he wishes.

This world is nothing compared to the rich landscape after the Change, but that is not to say it is without any merit. There is plenty of fear to be found, plenty of people who beg to be heard, noticed and Seen — plenty of them he can yet make his.

As he plunges the knife into the chest of the founder of the Institute, his eyes fall closed, and something in his chest lurches. Images and feelings flash before his eyes, spanning years of searching, cataloguing and gathering statements of fear. Trying to understand and if not that, then to know and see how this thing called fear works, just to answer one simple question.

How do you stop being afraid of death?

The answer found itself in witnessing the fear of others, of watching and revelling in it, of wanting more. In finding a Power, something other than god, something more — something real. Something that bestowed upon him the gift of evading that which he was always most afraid of.

Naturally, he sought to give back to the power that had become his life, forsaking the ways of mortals who never really knew, never understood how the world worked. Naturally, he sought to remake the world, like so many others attempting before him, so that the power he served would thrive, and that he would thrive with it.

Then it’s over. His hand still grasping the knife trembles, his eyes fill with tears, and a giggling laugh escapes his lips. Jonah Magnus lies dead before him, and Jon can feel the deep, primal fear in his mind. He watched with sightless eyes as the knife approached and sunk in his chest, and Jon can witness him standing on the precipice of his greatest nightmare.

Jonah stands at the edge of a dark cliff, with a yawning, hungry abyss behind him, and Jon watches. He watches the little redheaded boy, in fancy, colorful frills of the nineteenth century look up at him with brown-grey eyes, wide open in fear. He sobs, trying to climb away from the crumbling precipice, but something just doesn’t let him. He calls out to Jon.

It would be all too easy to reach out and help him. Grasp his frail little hand and pull him out of that deathly chasm. But Jon stays back, the pleas of the child falling on deaf ears.

“Jon!”

He feels something touch his body — did the boy manage to grab purchase? Jon flinches, swats the touch away, pushes whatever it is towards that chasm — nothing but him is allowed the safety. Everything but him must be afraid.

The boy screams as he loses his footing on the shifting stone. His eyes flash before Jon’s face, presented perfectly for him to savour the final moment of overbearing terror as he falls to his demise. His cry still reverberates in his ears, even as he disappears in the darkness below.

Jon finds himself back in the Panopticon, sprawled on the floor, his cane abandoned nearby. Martin has retreated to the wall; his hands are outstretched in a placating gesture.

His face paints a stark picture of fear.

“You’re afraid of me,” Jon mumbles, his voice cracking slightly.

“Just because you tried to wrestle with me,” Martin says defensively. “I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. What happened?”

“I—I, uh…” Jon looks around to bring himself back to reality. “I saw Jonah Magnus meet his end.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Martin snorts nervously. “Why did you attack me?”

“Ah… Attacked you?” Jon blinks at him without comprehension.

“I thought you were going to pass out, so I tried to help.” Martin keeps observing Jon cautiously. “But your face… And you pushed me away, started fighting when I tried to bring you back…”

“Christ, I’m sorry, Martin.” Jon winces as he tries to stand up. Martin instinctively comes closer to help, but falters halfway. “I—I have to admit I wasn’t exactly myself.”

“Are you… Back?” He asks.

“Yes. Yes, I think so.” Jon tries to smile, but his shoulder wound has chosen this time to be particularly painful. He ends up grimacing and clutching at the bandage.

“So it’s done?” Martin looks at Magnus’ body. “He’s dead dead?”

“Dead dead.” Jon nods. “I’m… I’m the heart of the Institute now.”

Martin gives him a tense look. “What does that mean for us?”

Jon chuckles mirthlessly and shakes his head.

“I have no idea.”

***

The legal aspect of it all is a new kind of nightmare Jon has not anticipated to ever deal with. The documents have not magically amended themselves, so any claims to the position of the Head of the Intitute would be refuted, if not ridiculed. And they didn’t exactly have time to ask Elias for an express promotion before Jon killed him.

Martin’s suggestion to just let the fate of the Institute run its course while sound, would not be viable. Throughout the years, the place had become a sort of stronghold to the Eye, a place of power (to avoid the use of the word ‘temple’), and it would be a great loss to let it go.

Martin then offers to help — while his legal forgery isn’t the strongest, he could easily lie his way through as many interviews and negotiations as needed. Jon meagerly suggests he could hold some information over some people’s heads, but this line of thought is quickly shut down and not spoken about again.

“Can’t you just Know what we need to do?” Martin whines, sorting mindlessly through the papers on Elias’ desk. Jon rolls his eyes.

“That’s not how it works,” he says. “Elias could wing it however he wanted because if someone had a problem—”

“—He threw their trauma back at them, yes, yes, I know,” Martin sighs. “Obviously, we’re not doing that.”

“Obviously.”

Martin eyes Jon carefully. After a moment, Jon chuckles.

“I’m not suggesting it, stop looking at me like that.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Sasha used to be good at this stuff,” Jon says grimly. “We could use them. Both of them.”

“Only they could be anywhere at this point,” Martin sighs, rubbing at his face.

“Not quite. I’m pretty sure they…” Jon looks away for a moment. “Yes. They’re both at Sasha’s place.”

“That’s not far,” Martin picks up. “We can still catch a tube.”

“Right now?” Jon looks over his bloodied clothes and sighs in defeat. “Let me grab my coat.”

The ride there is quiet; under a layer of a newly established peace, there is tension brewing about the imminent conversation. Jon keeps his eyes glued to the ground most of the time, occasionally looking up at Martin to exchange glances.

When they’re about to walk into the building, Jon stops, grabbing Martin’s arm.

“I think,” he says carefully, “it would be better if I waited here.”

“What?” Martin frowns. “Why?”

“I’m not exactly popular with Tim at the moment,” Jon winces.

“All the better for him to see you’re not some evil entity out to get him, then.”

“That’s the problem,” Jon says. “I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me.”

Martin stares at him for a moment without understanding.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like…” Jon tuts. “You’ve walked through the Change with me. You’re used to it. But people can tell something is… Off. With me. I don’t think it’s exactly pleasant for them.”

“Well, Tim is not people,” Martin points out with indignation. “He’s… Well, Tim! You guys used to be friends!”

Jon lets out a bitter laugh. He knows it isn’t Martin’s intention, but the phrasing still stings.

“You saw him back there,” he says quietly. “He’s scared of me. Do you think he’ll approach it with sense, when he sees I followed him here?”

Martin presses his lips together, clearly unable to deny Jon’s reasoning but not thrilled about it either.

“And you’ll be okay staying here?” He finally asks with a sigh.

“If it helps you get through to them? I’d do anything.”

Martin’s concerned gaze doesn’t leave his face. “Not sure I like this energy, given it’s the Institute we’re talking about,” he mutters. “But okay. I’ll be just up the stairs if you need anything.”

“I know, Martin.” Jon gives him a warm smile and a brief kiss.

Once Martin disappears inside the building, Jon finds a bench nearby and sits down. Instinctively, he reaches into his pocket and produces a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He focuses on the sound of the lighter, on the warmth of the flame near his hand, and on the taste of the smoke; trying to distract his mind from the conversation Martin is about to have. He knows he could listen in — Tim’s mind is a part of him; it would be all too easy to just reach and take all he knows.

Instead, he closes his eyes and listens to the small sounds of the neighbourhood. There are quite a few trees around, and the evening wind rustles in their leaves; an echo of children playing somewhere nearby mingles with the everpresent sound of cars. The smoke burns on his tongue ever so slightly — the familiarity of it calms his mind. He idly wonders whether nicotine even works on him anymore.

“That’s a nice lighter you’ve got there.”

Jon jumps at the dreadfully familiar voice. Next to the bench stands Annabelle Cane, dressed in a vintage black and white suit.

“You,” he breathes, scrambling to his feet. Annabelle lets out a light laugh.

“Relax, Jon. Can I still call you Jon? I’m just here to talk.” She gestures to the bench. “Shall we?”

“What do you want?” Jon asks, disregarding the suggestion.

She rolls her eyes and sits down, leaning her cane against the bench.

“I thought congratulations were in order,” she shrugs. “You’ve got a promotion, from what I hear.”

Jon grits his teeth. “What of it?”

Annabelle sighs. “Are you really so opposed to a bit of friendly conversation?”

“Yes,” he hisses.

“Well, that’s a shame. We both got what we wanted, though. We don’t have to be enemies.”

“You made me send the Fears away,” Jon growls, anger boiling in his chest. “You made me become the Archivist, my whole life just a series of carefully manipulated strings, so you could have what you wanted.”

Annabelle raises her eyebrows in surprise. “And you really think I did all that? Me, personally?”

Jon falters.

“I really wish I could take credit,” she laughs. “But I am just a very small part of something greater. Much like you.”

Jon frowns and looks away. In a sense, she is right. In a sense, there is something greater at work here; something that he doubts he —or she for that matter— could control.

“You brought the tapes to the Institute,” he says. “Why?”

Annabelle gives him another shrug, and he runs out of patience. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” she chuckles at the compulsion. “You still don’t see the big picture. You weren’t the only one being puppeteered, Jon — just the only one trying to resist it. I knew that my actions were motivated by what the Mother wanted, but I could tailor them to my advantage. By fulfilling the Mother’s plan, you’ve freed both of us from the Grand Web. My actions are my own once again, and so are yours.”

She puts one leg over her knee. “I told Martin the tapes were a thank-you gift, and I meant it. And, of course, I suspected you wouldn’t be able to eliminate Jonah Magnus without him.” She smirks.

“I’m surprised the Web didn’t want to repeat the last success,” Jon points out snarkily.

“I’m not,” she says. “The world of fear is delightful, but you already know it’s finite. Terminus claims all in the end.”

“So, this outcome is preferable,” Jon grimaces. “Sustainable for longer.”

“Exactly.” She flashes him a smile.

With his adrenaline dropping, he sighs and sits back down. His cigarette has almost burned out, but he takes a last drag. It tastes tangy and bitter.

“You haven’t really answered me,” he speaks. “If it was your decision to bring us the tapes, then why? There must be something else.”

“Must there be?” She chuckles. “Fine, if you must know. I believe it will be more interesting to see what happens next, with him around. You are too easy to predict. No offence.”

Jon looks up at her with a frown. “Interesting how?”

“You and your boyfriend, managing the Institute on your own?” She raises her eyebrows. “I’m curious what you do with it. How you’ll choose to stay alive. And the whole situation with your assistants…” She lets out a giggle. “Really a mess. I’ll be enjoying the show to come.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’ll be very entertaining,” he scowls, knowing there is nothing he could do to really stop her.

“And, of course, there is the case of Martin’s future,” she continues with a slight smirk. “He is mostly human after all.”

A nameless dread grips Jon’s heart.

“He will die, eventually,” she speaks mercilessly. “I wonder what you’ll do with it. Will you try to keep him here at all costs? Or will you let him die a human death? Will there be enough left of you to even want that? Or, maybe he spurns the One Alone and joins us after all, to stay alive. So many possibilities...” She shakes her head with a sigh. “But know one thing, Jon. I may be watching, but I will not interfere. All decisions both of you make will be entirely your own. The question is, whether that is better or worse.”

With the help of her cane, she stands up and tilts her head at him.

“Either way, good luck. You’ll need it.”

Jon swallows and grits his teeth, stifling his emotions for the moment.

“You have an interesting definition of a friendly conversation,” he remarks.

She laughs. “Perhaps. Or, perhaps I am still the director of your story, and this was an important conversation to have. I guess we’ll never know.”

She winks at him and walks away.

Martin takes a big, steadying breath before knocking on Sasha’s door. For a moment there’s only silence, as he figdets with his hands. Will they want to talk to him? Will they be angry? Betrayed? He can’t help but think back to the state of the Archives before the Unknowing in their own timeline. Can they prevent that from happening?

Then the door unlocks and opens to reveal Sasha’s frowning face.

“Where’s Jon?” She asks immediately. There is a surface level of hostility in her voice, but Martin sees that deep down, she is curious. Maybe even glad he showed up.

“Downstairs,” he sighs. “He decided it’d be best if we talked without him.”

“Hm,” Sasha presses her lips together. “Come in, then.”

The flat hasn’t changed since the last time Martin was here, although he barely remembers it through the layers of fog and fear. He remembers Jon’s arms on his shoulders, calling him back from the Lonely in the centre of this very room. The armchair he sat in.

Tim sits on the sofa with a disgruntled look on his face. He eyes Martin suspiciously.

“Hi, Tim,” he tries for a smile, which isn’t reciprocated. Feeling slightly awkward, Martin takes a place in the armchair and leans forward. “We figured, we need to talk.”

Tim scoffs. “Boss didn’t think to show up himself?”

“I can call him up if you want,” Martin offers genuinely. “He’s just down the stairs.”

Tim grits his teeth and looks away.

“I thought so,” Martin says. “And he did as well. It was his idea that I come here alone.”

“So what?” He growls. “He probably knew that I didn’t want him here, because apparently he knows everything about me now.”

Martin glances at Sasha. She’s standing a few steps away from the two of them, listening with her arms crossed. There’s a focused look on her face, and she’s biting her lip, as if she’s silencing herself.

He takes another deep breath. “I’m sure you both know that Jon isn’t… Entirely human anymore.”

“Figured that, did you?”

“Tim, please,” Martin says. “I’m trying to help you approach this.”

“Why should we approach this at all?” He asks. “He’s clearly gone, we should fucking run. All of us.”

A flash of anger passes through Martin’s face, but he quickly regains control of himself.

“We’d die. Most probably,” he says. “We’re all still tied to the Institute whether we want it or not, and we have to approach this somehow. Better together than apart, trust me. We’ve done this before.”

“Institute?” Sasha speaks up. “You didn’t kill Elias?”

Martin deflates. “The situation was… more complicated than we thought. Turns out destroying the Institute would kill Jon as well,” he says quietly. “But if he was the one to kill Elias, he’d… Well. He did take over Elias’ role.”

“Fucking hell,” Tim sighs, hiding his face in his hands.

“So…” Sasha starts carefully. “So, he’s in charge now?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Sasha frowns, looking between Tim and Martin.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She asks, as if it’s an obvious thing they’re missing.

“We’re still trapped,” Tim points out dispassionately.

“And Jon has no control over it,” Martin finishes. “We’ll probably be stuck here for the rest of our lives.”

“Peachy.”

“There must be something we can use that for,” Sasha insists. “If he’s more powerful—”

“Yes, well, we haven’t gotten there yet,” Martin interrupts her, waving his hand. “We’ve got a bit of a, uh… Paperwork problem. Elias must have gotten these things done through blackmail, but we obviously don’t want to do that, so—”

“Consider it done.” Sasha shrugs, making Martin huff out a laugh. He looks at Tim, carefully choosing his next words.

“I know Jon can be… A lot, sometimes,” he says. “He used to be worse back during the apocalypse, all cryptic phrases, doom and gloom… But he’s still himself, deep down.”

“How can you know that?” Tim grimaces at the table in front of him. “That he’s not something that puts on an act, that tries to get us to let out guard down—”

“Because I know him,” Martin replies gently. “You do too, and if you give him a chance you will see that. He cares about you, and he— We really don’t want to lose you again.”

For a moment, Tim battles his thoughts, staring at the table. Then, he lets out a deflating sigh and looks up at Martin. “Fine. Fine, I’ll give him a chance. Where do we start?”

***

4 Years Later

Jon lets out a heavy sigh and tries to rub the exhaustion from his face. The written statements do make him feel slightly better but they’re not… Enough. They’re not nearly enough, and Jon knows sooner rather than later, he’ll have to face that fact.

“Recording ends,” he says quietly to the recorder and pushes the STOP button. He doesn’t have the energy to resist recording the statements he reads, but he doesn’t leave any follow-up on most of them anymore. The recordings get transferred to the library for any students or other researchers in need, and Jon never sees them again.

A knock on the door catches his attention, and Martin’s head pops up into view.

“Am I interrupting?” He mouths, eyeing the recorder on the desk.

“No, just finished.” Jon shakes his head with a small smile. At least there is one thing in this world that still brings a smile to his face unprompted. An anchor to hold onto. A reason.

“Good.” Martin smiles and enters the office with a mug in his hand. “Brought you some tea.”

He accepts the hot mug and feels Martin press a kiss to his head.

“Thank you,” he whispers over the mug.

“You will never guess what happened,” Martin starts, sitting at the edge of the desk. He goes into detail about some innocent mistake Lisa made that led to a renovation team arriving at the wrong address, so now they have to go to Sasha for additional funding, because the team is charging them for expenses.

Jon really intends to listen —he really does!— but he’s quickly distracted by Martin’s genuine amusement. The sight of him smiling like he’s got no cares in the world is so rare these days. He cherishes the glinting sparks in his eyes.

“—And you know, I’ve worked for years to win Diana’s approval, I’d really hate to lose that just because someone put the books on the wrong shelves—”

Jon wonders how he’s gone from additional funding to Diana and the library so fast. He takes a sip of his tea with a smile, and nods along.

“Well, anyway,” Martin says with a sudden realization. “Seems I’ve rambled for quite a bit, haven’t I?”

“I don’t mind,” Jon murmurs. “I was due for a break anyway.”

“How are you feeling?”

Jon looks away, his smile souring. “I’m fine.”

Martin’s expression morphs into concern. Jon really tries not to hate himself for always managing to wipe that lovely smile away, but it’s hard not to.

“Do you want to get lunch?” He asks with a heaviness in his chest. “Tell me about that upcoming Winter Holidays party.”

Martin laughs. “You really want to hear about that? Tim almost laughed Sasha out of her own office when she suggested it.”

“All the more reason to know what the deal is,” he raises one eyebrow, satisfied with the successful change in subject. He grabs his cane and gets up with effort.

His vision swims for a second as his stomach lurches. It’s worse than he thought. His skin goes cold, whether from fear or hunger, he cannot tell.

“Well, Tim’s been doing better!” Martin says, opening the door of the office for him. “And Sasha says he used to love organizing these things.”

Jon smiles. “Oh, did he now?”

“So, she put him in charge of that,” Martin laughs. “I think he’s never realized her chaotic potential as the Head of the Institute.”

They walk through the Archives, accompanied only by the hundreds of thousands of files. Martin’s laughter echoes in the space.

“You know,” Martin picks up, as they go up the stairs to the ground floor. “I think it was a good decision to put him back in Research. He seems to be doing better there.”

“I know,” Jon sighs. “Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly my idea.”

Martin glances at him.

“Is that why you told me to say I thought of it?” He asks. “Oh, Jon.”

“I know he’s doing better,” he says quietly. “He doesn’t see me as often anymore. That’s not a coincidence.”

Martin tilts his head in concern and stops to grab hold of his hand. “Jon…”

“Don’t. There’s no point pretending, when I Know what the truth is.” He looks away. “I have to accept my losses.”

Martin presses his lips together and squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Jon squeezes back and gives him a half-smile. They ascend the few last steps and make their way towards the canteen.

“I am glad he’s doing better, though,” he says. “And it’s sort of nice to have the Archives all to ourselves.”

Martin chuckles. “Careful, or you’ll have someone filing an HR violation. We actually have that now, if you’ve forgotten.”

“Right.” Jon huffs. “I did forget Sasha—”

“Oh! Mr. Blackwood-Sims!” A voice behind them interrupts. “I have these files you said I should—”

As they turn around, they see a young woman with a startled expression drop three file folders onto the floor. The papers spill everywhere, but her wide eyes are glued to Jon.

“Lisa, I told you, just Martin is fine,” Martin chuckles and steps forward to gather up the files.

“I’m… Uh, that is, I—I wanted to…” She stammers, frozen in place.

Jon finds himself frozen as well. Locked in her stare, locking her in place. He should do something, step aside, introduce himself, anything… But oh, isn’t this fear something? Isn’t this what he’s owed from these people who work under him without even realizing?

He doesn’t blink, not even a twitch in his muscles; is he afraid he’d do something to hurt her? Or would that break this delightful spell in which they found themselves without his intention? Surely, it wouldn’t be bad if he indulged himself, just a little bit.

After all, when was the last time he felt like this? He needs it.

He needs it.

“Jon!”

He finally blinks, broken out of the trance. Martin’s face comes into view, looking at him in alarm but trying not to show it. For Lisa’s sake. Right.

He blinks heavily a couple times.

“I wanted to introduce you,” Martin says with a tight smile. “Lisa, this is my husband, Jon.”

“The Archivist,” she whispers almost inaudibly, and then shakes her head, as if waking up. “I—I, uh. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” he mutters. Forcibly, he drags his gaze away, digging his nails deep into his palm. He can hear the rustle of paper as they pick up the remaining files from the floor.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Lisa laughs nervously.

“Don’t mention it,” Martin says gently. “Happens to everyone.”

“What I wanted to ask you is, uh…” The rustling stops, as she takes the folders from Martin. “These files are all ready to be transferred to the archives, but you said we can’t—, I mean, uh, where should I leave them?”

“Rosie’s desk will be perfectly fine, she’ll know what to do with them. We’ll pick them up on our way back.”

“Okay! S—Sorry for making a mess and, and for bothering you. I’ll get on, get on those files.”

“No worries. And be careful!”

“Okay, I will!”

Jon hears her turn around and almost flee the corridor. He shuts his eyes tight and focuses on the pain in his hand, as something inside him wails in despair.

“Love,” Martin whispers and grabs his shaking fist. “Can I ask what that was?”

“That,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “was a mistake. That is why I barely leave the Archives.”

“No, Jon, that was worse.” Martin’s concern is almost palpable in the air. “How bad is it?”

Jon swallows around the lump in his throat. “Bad.”

Martin sighs softly and gently pries Jon’s fist open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could—” He trails off and leans his head on Martin’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m always going to worry,” Martin says quietly. “Is it time to reconsider?”

Jon grimaces in pain. “I’m afraid it is,” he says hoarsely. “I won’t last on stale ones much longer.”

Martin takes a breath and nods. “Alright. I’ll bring it up with Sasha.”

Jon grabs his hand and shakes his head. “No. I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility.”

“Jon…”

“Come with me, if you insist. But I should be the one saying it.”

Martin looks at him with a grim understanding in his eyes, and nods. “Okay.”

***

September evenings this year have been surprisingly warm, so this one finds them curled up with blankets on the balcony, staring out at the sky. Martin combs Jon’s hair with his hand, a soothing habit he’s developed through the many sleepless nights spent cradling an equally sleepless Jon to his chest.

Jon is looking down, playing with the rings on his hand. One of them is black, an old little thing he’s had since uni all those years ago —almost in a different lifetime altogether. The other is much newer — glistening with gold in the evening light.

“It’s our anniversary today,” he says out of the blue. Martin’s hand stops, and he looks down at him, confused.

“What? Jon, we got married in May.”

Jon tuts impatiently. “I know that. I mean Scotland.”

“Oh,” Martin lets out.

“I barely even remember it now,” Jon muses.

“Me too,” Martin chuckles. “But that might have been the Lonely.”

Jon smiles at Martin and plants a small kiss on his lips.

“It pales in comparison to what we have now,” he whispers. Martin pulls him back for a longer kiss, stroking his head.

“I can’t imagine wanting anything more,” he says when they part. “Although… I wouldn’t say no to visiting some good cows.”

Jon laughs, cuddling up closer to him. Martin’s hand strokes his back, but then travels up to his neck and folds his shirt collar back. He feels Martin tense up beneath him.

Jon lets out a sigh. “I was going to tell you.”

“When did it appear?” Martin asks.

“I think I felt it… At the Institute.”

“When Lisa—?”

“Earlier.”

“Hm.” Martin presses his lips together and strokes Jon’s head.

Jon rolls up his sleeve. In the middle of his forearm his skin turns darker — almost black, and textured. Hundred thin, glistening bands that seamlessly turn into muscle and bone; and nestled among them a lidless, green eye.

“How long are we going to ignore this?” Jon asks under his breath. “Because it’s not going to stop.”

“I know,” Martin says. “And we’re not ignoring it. We’re just not worrying in advance.”

“Not worrying in advance?” Jon pulls away to look Martin in the eye.

“Look, we can’t stop it from happening by freaking out, can we?” Martin points out. “All we can do is enjoy here and now. That’s all we have, Jon. That’s all that matters.”

Jon blinks to stifle the tears that spring to his eyes for a reason that doesn’t quite register in his head yet.

“And besides, it doesn’t change anything,” Martin adds softly. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jon nods. “I’m scared,” he whispers. Martin pulls him close, as if with his arms alone he could protect him from all the dangers of the world and beyond.

“I know,” he says. “I am, too. But right now we’re safe. Here. Together.”

And that’s all that matters.

I don't even know what to say. I wanted to make a bunch of jokes but now that I'm here, I'm just really emotional. I've been working on this for more than two years and I sort of can't believe I actually managed to bring it to a close. I can't thank you guys enough for taking such interest in this silly little story and keeping my motivation up with so many comments. I'm sorry it took so long to actually get here, but we all know how writer's block works. I also have the most incredible beta reader without whom I would not have gotten this far at all and I feel like it needs to make an appearance in the end notes. I love you, Nessie <3

I've laughed, I've cried, and I've screamed when writing this story, but most importantly it brought me an unmeasurable amount of joy over these two years, so I hope it brought you at least a fraction of this emotional rollercoaster. I think I'm going to cry for a bit :')

Seriously, thank you for being here. Say hi in the comments. Or scream and cry. I'm right there with you. If you've got any questions, my tumblr ask box is also open whenever. I'm always up for screaming about this fic. You know how it is.

This chapter's title inspiration: "All That Matters" by Blanco White

OftM playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6YAyVIilJ0ZikpttT1kvkH?si=cce0e408d7644623

#tma #tma oftm #niki.writes #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #this was a MONSTROSITY to post on tumblr let me fucking tell you. this post editor was NOT made for a 13k text.

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