Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a normal day in the archives. It had been a normal week. Normal. Calm, even. Right up until the moment that Jon started screaming. 

It happened very suddenly. There had been quiet save to the faint sounds of Jon recording a statement behind his closed door and the clicking of hands on keys as the assistants worked. 

Then screaming. Guttural, pained, screaming. 

Tim and Sasha shot up and ran to Jon’s door. Martin dropped a mug in his haste coming from the breakroom. What they saw when they got in the room was not pretty. It was absolutely horrifying. Jon was rolling on the floor, clutching at his head and clawing at his neck and arms. He was covered in blood to the point where Tim couldn’t even see where it was coming from. 

They all rushed to his side. Martin pulled out his phone to dial 999 when suddenly, he doubled over and started screaming as well, dropping the phone. Blood started pouring from a cut on his neck as he dropped to the floor pressing his hands to his skull. Tears were streaming down his face. On top of that, his form seemed to … fade. It was as though someone was sporadically changing the opacity and volume on Martin and his screams . 

Tim was hunched over both of them trying so hard to help, but he had no idea what to do or what was happening. He felt so damn helpless. 

Sasha dialed 999 and the ambulance came shortly after. They sedated the two men and the screams finally faded, leaving Tim’s ears ringing as they went to the hospital. They let him and Sasha ride with them on the way and they watched as the paramedics tried to stop the bleeding. Martin just had the one wound, but Jon was covered in them. There were round pockmarks all over his body and a cut across his throat, and that was just what Tim could see. 

The paramedics asked them what happened, and they told them what they’d seen. 

Martin was the first to wake up. Before he was even fully awake, he was asking for Jon. Tim had been camped out in the chair next to him and went over. 

“Hey, Martin. It’s ok. Jon’s stable. You’re in the hospital.” 

Martin just stared at him for a minute, shock and confusion written all over his face. “Tim? What are you…? Are you alive? Or am I…?” He glanced down at himself before sharply looking up again. “Unless you’re not Tim and I am stuck in another fucking domain. What? Can I expect to see Dr. David now? Or one of the other fucking Stranger types? I don’t think you want to get on the Archivist’s bad side these days. Especially with that - face on.” Martin sounded like he was ready to rip someone limb from limb. 

Tim took a step back. What the hell was that? “Martin. It’s me. It’s Tim. You’re… You’re safe. I’m not lying to you.” He tried to ignore the mental image of things that steal faces. 

Martin glared at him. “You think I’m just going to - what? Believe you? This clearly isn’t the Lonely because my memory is fully intact. And I remember arranging a burial for what,” He spit out each word, “For what little there was left to bury, ok? I’m not sure what your game is, but I am not willing to play along with it. I am so done with being manipulated.”

Tim put his hands up and backed away more. “Ok. I — I’m not going to manipulate you. I’m going to get a doctor. They can explain to you what’s—”

“Where. Is. Jon.”

“He’s right over there, Martin.” He gestured to the second half of the room blocked off by a curtain. Martin made as if to get up immediately, but Tim stopped him. “Martin, you shouldn’t… You should talk to the doctor. I—” He swallowed. “Do you want me to get Sasha to talk to you, since I don’t want to ... “ His voice was small. “... distress you.”

Martin stared at him. “Sasha James is dead. The thing I remember as Sasha James is also dead. Jon killed it. I was there. Frankly, this is just insulting.”

Tim felt horrible. He didn’t know what he could do or say. Did Martin have a brain tumor or something? What was he talking about? He didn’t want to leave him alone in the room, but he had to get a doctor in there who actually knew what they were doing. And he really did not want to be in this room any more. Not with Martin looking at him like he was the worst scum in the world. 

Luckily, Sasha came back then, and he scooted over to her. She looked alarmed at his expression, and he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “He thinks we are both dead. I don’t know what to do, but I’m gonna grab a doctor. Just… be careful in here, ok?” She nodded, and he ducked out. 

He was really glad to be out of there. 

Chapter Text

Martin was in the middle of making tea when he heard it. A scream. It sent a thick chill to his core, leaving his heart pounding and hands shaking. He couldn’t keep a grip on the mug he was holding and it shattered to the floor, the sound almost inaudible against the sound. 

He didn’t even know who was screaming until he ran out to find Tim and Sasha running for Jon’s office. Oh god, what was happening to Jon?

He ran in after them and … oh god. That was a lot of blood. He quickly grabbed his phone with shaking hands, dialed two number and— 

I just want to make a statement about what happened to me. I mean, it… it’s what we do.

If I ever see another can of peaches…

Do you really think she’s still out there?

Well, I don’t really know where he –

There’s too many

A ghost? Really?

But when I turned around you were gone. You were both gone. It was an accident.

Did you want that tea?

—after you “accidentally” stabbed yourself— 

—why are you smiling?

—know how messed up he’s been since Prentiss.

You said was I lying

He’s not wrong, you know.

Tim… Wait…

The streets are hard in London

We should have helped her

His head hurt

Bring her back safe, okay?

—artin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, recording statement number

Why does everyone think that I always know where everyone is, all the time?!

I wonder what she was planning to do with them

It wasn’t… Sasha?

I don’t like recording these. 

I think he thinks that the distance keeps us safe, you know?

—you’ve been burned by this, mys-mysterious ghost, so what did you do?

Better us than them

Tim, you’ve been out of it for a while

I just hope he gets back soon

You’re one of them, aren’t you? A Lukas.

So, what, he can just reach into your head and put something in there

I’ve never really actually done any, you know, travelling

Did his head always hurt this much?

—sat around drinking tea until the world ends

Martin Blackwood, he was always scared, then he died. The end.

—ignity of being trapped in your flat by worms — corkscrew — the thing that murdered your friend without you even noticing. Laughing, at all their little jokes —  impossible corridors for wee— 

simply hates you simply hates you simply hates you simply hates you simply 

Don’t. You. Dare.

Goodbye, Jon.

I haven’t exactly had a lot of time recently

I don’t like being manipulated.

I’m not going to let it happen again.

Was it always this cold?

Martin Blackwood, archi— Assistant to Peter Lukas

Good luck, Jon; I – Stay safe.

No one really talks to me anymore

We’re not friends, Daisy! None of us are; we’re all just trapped together, here, and, and kidding ourselves that we don’t hate it.

—sometimes the helping people hurts

I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.

—what you want is a reason to not do those things, so you come to me

Some things are just hard

Nothing. Nothing at all.

I’m saying no. I refuse. Game over.

I see you, Jon.

I was on my own. I was all on my own. 

Obviously I’m going to tell you if I see any good cows

—t’s not like there are days to count, anymore, all the clocks are stopped— 

I’ve actually had a couple of bags packed for a while now

I’m scared.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

I’ll ask her, next time she calls

Never really liked merry-go-rounds anyway

If you want to stop them and have the power to, then yeah, let’s do it

It doesn’t – feel great, having someone look inside your head.

—death guy, isn’t it?

It’s not just your revenge though, is it? Destroying her - it would help all those people in there, wouldn’t it?

Just die already!

 I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore; I am not lonely anymore!

Jon – we are doing good, right? Making things better?

—how d’you even know if it’s your motivation—

Tell me about this place. I need to know.

Was someone screaming? 

Kill him.

I have been on my feet for a literally uncountable amount of time

I know you keep saying we’re safe, and I am feeling very calm, but just so I know – Can he kill me?

It’s nice to find someone we can trust again. Ever since everything went to hell— 

We’ll just have to tie them all up in one go

Look, it’s a tense situation, alright?

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with— 

Was Martin screaming? 

I don’t like being manipulated.

I’d rather be trapped in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with you than spend one more moment in paradise with her

Not an hour from an oasis, and we’re already at sinister hospitals?

I’m sorry, am I, am I supposed to be sympathising? 

Are there people in my domain?

I’m sure I love you.

No one likes ants, Jon

Is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?

This is our domain. You’re not supposed to suffer here.

—glad she’s dead.

Any other price? I’ll pay it.

Time to mourn?

She couldn’t help what she was, I guess

It’s the final battle, right?

Oh, I’m the antichrist’s plus one

—sleeping with your eyes open again

I’m not going to doom the world over it.

Oi! Dickhead! Come down here so we can kick your arse!

—you need to keep it together

—aside the fact that it’s a suicidal idea, it’s just completely stupid!

—that’s a pretty generous way to describe being blackmailed.

When Jon gets here, he is going to kill you.

—stuck me in a weird interdimensional web, and threatened to fill me with spiders!

I didn’t really think I was important enough to kill

—if one world still matters in an infinite spread of dimensions, then one person does, too.

Then I’ll die!

I don’t think I can— 

I love you too.

The first thing Martin noticed was that his throat felt raw as though he had been screaming a long time. The second thing was that he did not feel dead. The third was that he did not know where Jon was. 

Then he heard a voice. A once-familiar voice. Tim’s voice. It was soft and placating. 

That couldn’t be real. Could it? He entertained a brief moment, a shining glimmer of hope. And crushed it down where those glimmers had made it clear they belonged. 

So was he dead, then, and seeing Tim in - whatever afterlife? His mum had talked a lot about Heaven and Hell. Between those two, it was obvious where he’d end up/ But his throat hurt and the light was bright and buzzing and that was not what death felt like. 

So that was not Tim. 

And all Martin could muster was anger. Of course this world had to twist the knife further than it had. Knife. Had their plan failed? It must have. They were in a domain, clearly. Stranger, maybe. Or Spiral. The classifications didn’t really matter these days. That left one question. And Martin was far too tired to be polite at this point.

“Where. Is. Jon.”

As soon as whatever was pretending to be Tim left him with whatever was claiming to be Sasha (it wasn't even a good replica, or if it was, he didn't remember), he got up, ignoring her protests, and went over to where it said Jon was. He was there. He looked… he looked awful. Awful but alive. A heartbeat and everything. An upgrade all things considered. 

He took Jon’s hand and waited for whatever was coming next. That was alright. He was good at waiting. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Martin said to Sasha after waking up was “You don’t even look like her.” His voice was cold and he glared at her. 

She was taken aback. “I… What? Martin, what are you talking about?”

He let out a small huff. “Although I don’t suppose I’m the best judge, right? You could be her clone, and I wouldn’t even know. But something makes me doubt that that’s the case.” He began shifting to get out of the bed. 

He really should not have been getting up yet. She had just talked to the doctor before coming in, and he had more injuries than just the cut on his neck. The doctor had wanted to know if he’d been in some kind of collapsing structure. She could only tell him what happened, what little that offered. 

Sasha put her hands out and leaned over to block Martin. “You shouldn’t be getting up. Tim will be back in a minute with the doctor, and you can talk to him about your injuries. You don’t want to make anything worse.”

Martin stared back, unflinching. “Whatever you are, you need to get the hell out of my way.” 

She did not like how little he sounded like himself. The only time she had ever heard him take a tone even similar to that was when they had gone out for drinks soon after the transfer to the archives, and someone started harassing Jon. Granted, she had not known him very long, but she did not like how he sounded. There was a threat behind every word.

He stood, and even while clearly reacting to the pain he must have been in, he stood far taller than he normally did. 

She was tall, but he was clearly not stable right then no matter how grounded he seemed. She recalled taking an EMT training class years before. Sadly, she’d needed to drop it because of other commitments, but she recalled one piece of advice: never go in without a way to get out and always, always prioritize your own safety in any situation. 

She stepped to the side and let Martin go past her to where Jon’s bed was. 

Martin stared at Jon, scanning him with his gaze, seemingly to check over everything. His eyes lingered on the steady lines of the heart monitor. He let out a small sigh and dragged a chair. With a gentleness that didn’t seem to match his overall demeanor, he took Jon’s hand, gently rubbing circles into it with his thumb. 

He must have felt her eyes on him because he abruptly stood, wincing at the pain, and closed the curtain. 

A minute later Tim came back with the doctor in tow. He sent a worried glance her way at seeing the empty bed. 

“Where is the patient?” the doctor asked, casting a judgemental glance towards Sasha.

“He’s in there.” She gestured at the curtain. “But he’s not really stable.”

“Was it the same as what Tim was telling me happened? That he thought you were dead?”

“He said I ‘didn’t look like her’ whatever that means and acted relatively threatening when I wanted to stop him from getting up.”

The doctor nodded. “I’m going to try to talk to him. I think he may have some head trauma.” He turned, but Sasha stopped him first.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she said. 

“Oh, sorry. I am Dr. Daveed Levi.”

She nodded, Tim looked concerned, and Dr. Levi went behind the curtain. 

There was yelling from behind the curtain. 

Chapter Text

It was … deeply upsetting to see what happened. As soon as Dr. Levi stepped beyond the curtain, he could tell it was not going to go smoothly. At first he heard Martin’s tempered responses to Dr. Levi’s calm questions. Then the responses became increasingly tempered. Then yelling. 

“I don’t know what domain this is, or what you are, or what you did to Jon. But, as I am sure you are aware, getting on the Archivist’s bad side has not ended well for folks like you. Hell, I almost wish he hadn’t killed Helen. She could probably help out considering how fond she was of these sinister hospital types.”

“Sir, we just want to check to see if you have a head injury. No one is threatening you.”

A sharp laugh. “If you think for one second that I am leaving Jon’s side after — after what happened, wha - what I did, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“Sir, we need to make sure you are alright first. Then, you can return to Mr. Sims.”

“I’m not sure what—”

“Just come with—”

“Don’t touch me! ” 

And then things got louder. A few orderlies came to Dr. Levi’s aid. Tim could only stand there. So damn helpless. 

He could tell that they were trying to be careful, to avoid worsening any injuries while restraining him. But Martin… Martin was thrashing and fighting like he was about to be killed . Tim wanted to help him. He wanted to do something. He had to do something. But what could he do? Martin clearly needed help, something was clearly wrong. And the doctors were there to help. 

But that knowledge did not make the bile that rose in his throat or tears that rose to his eyes any less present as he watched his friend try and fail to fight his way away from those restraining him. Or when he went slowly limp from sedatives and stopped thrashing at all. 

He was getting moved to a different ward for observation. Somewhere with better security, they said. 

Sasha put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to her, wide-eyed. “Do you want to get out of this building? I think we need a break.”

His voice sounded hoarse. “We should be here when Jon wakes up.”

Sasha’s firm hand didn’t leave his shoulder. “I think we’ll be ok. Just for a little while, yeah?”

He gave her a small nod.

As they left the room, someone came in to clean up the mess that Martin’s fight had left behind all around the sleeping Jon. His mind went briefly to Sleeping Beauty, surrounded by tangled thorny briars. 

Chapter Text

When Martin came to, he thought for a moment that he was back in the tunnels. That sensation of waking from what was either restless sleep or sleepless rest clung to him like tar. He almost expected to roll over and see Jon’s wide, staring eyes next to him. God, that was terrifying the first time it happened. He remembered shaking him awake and crying and thinking he was dead. But as his mind caught up to him, he processed that this was far too bright to be the tunnels. 

He also realized that everything hurt. His back, his head, it all felt like one big bruise. He knew physical pain was still a thing - of course, how else were you meant to be afraid of it? - but it hurt more than he was used to. 

He almost turned to gripe to Jon about it when his brain caught up with him the rest of the way. 

Jon. Fuck.

They separated them. And he didn’t think he could rely on Jon’s Sight to find him seeing as he’d been unconscious. That probably was his own fault. Even a failed attempt at “cutting the tether” had hurt Jon. He had hurt Jon. He had killed him. 

Oh, god, oh, god. He had killed Jon. 

But no, Jon was alive. He was alive and had a heartbeat and warm hands. 

Martin let himself relax just a tiny bit. They would get out of this. Somehow. Fuck, he hoped Melanie and Georgie and Basira were ok. 

The door to his room opened and a nurse came in. “Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Blackwood.” He stared at her, offering no response. Why bother? It would only feed them. “I’m very sorry about all of this, but it is for the safety of yourself, our staff, and our patients. We would like to take you for an MRI, so we can see if you have a head injury that might be causing you hallucinations and other symptoms.Would that be alright?”

It wouldn’t. But she had had to unlock the door to get in, and Martin needed a way out. “Su - sure,” he stuttered. 

She gave him a broad smile.

What he had hoped and failed to avoid was actually experiencing the MRI. Well, they didn’t find any signs of a brain injury. So that was a thing. What little that meant. He supposed he was just grateful it was not actually some torture device. Probably not a Flesh domain. Or a Slaughter one. Eugh.

It was time to think clearly. As much as he wanted to fight and kick and scream until he was back at Jon’s side, he did not have any spooky Eye powers. Or any invisibility powers anymore. He was outnumbered and did not know what spooky powers those around him may possess. 

So he acted lovely . Smiled in the right places, stuttered awkwardly through his words, and cast genuinely sympathetic looks towards the other patients who he assumed must be victims of this domain. 

He was glad the Tim was not here. It hurt far too much to look at it, let alone pretend to be its friend. His chest tightened at how much he knew Tim would hate someone stealing his face and voice and name. First his brother, then his best friend, then him. Then him again. 

And the Sasha was just insult to injury. He felt disgusted and hurt whenever his mind wandered to them, fretting about him, fretting about Jon. 

Then he realized something. Something very odd. 

“I’m hungry.” 

Hungry didn’t exist anymore, so what the hell was this?

The nurse from before smiled at him. “I can get you some food if you like.”

He stared at her, unsure of how to react. He remembered Jon’s warning about the Canteen at one of the damn hospital domains, but before he could object, the nurse took his silence for an answer. 

She returned with a bowl of applesauce and bright colored jello. “Pick your poison,” she said. 

Well, shit. 

“I - I’m actually good thanks.” He kept his eyes trained on the cups of food and tried not to think about what was probably inside them. Or who. Eugh. 

She frowned. “You sure?”

He pasted a smile on his face. “Yep. Sorry.”

She nodded. “Well, if you change your mind, just let me or one of the staff know, alright?”

“Sure.”

Damn.

Chapter Text

Voices. Speaking. A voice speaks into a recorder that turns faster and faster and never seems to stop.

Voices. Vices. An addiction to words and answers. 

There is a woman who digs her own grave. 

He watches, voiceless. 

There is a man who cries surrounded by hearts that bleed and apples that chew.

He watches, the only one allowed to taste the forbidden fruit. 

There is a woman who stares Death in the eye and feels no fear. 

He watches, trying desperately to remember her name.

There is a woman who films and tries to understand.

He watches, wishing he did not understand so well.

There is a woman who flinches under his gaze.

He watches, across from her in the café.

There is a man who flinches at every knock on his door.

He watches, and feels his heart break for him.

He watches. He sees. And knows. And understands None.

He does not feel pain. Or if he does, it is distant and too far to know. 

Chapter Text

It felt very good to not be in that hospital anymore. Sasha pulled Tim, who was being very quiet and had shining eyes that she graciously did not acknowledge, swiftly out of the building with her and out into the open, non-sterilized air. There was a little vegetarian Asian-fusion place down the road, and she marched them in and got a table. 

“You really should eat something,” she said. Tim had been staring at a fixed point on the menu uncomprehendingly for the past ten minutes. A waiter had already come and gone. 

“I’m not …  really hungry,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Well, it’s what Jon would want, right? More than you just sitting here worrying anyway.”

That earned a small scoff at least. “Jon can barely remember to eat on the best of days.”

“Martin, then.”

Tim frowned and went back to staring at the menu. There was a beat of silence before she reached over and pressed his unread menu onto the table. He looked at her with wet eyes.

“It’s just — “ He swallowed. “It’s just that I feel so damned helpless! What’s happening to them, Sasha?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Tim. But it will be alright. Right now, the best we can do for them is to keep a level head and make sure it’s only two people in the hospital.”

If there was one thing Sasha was almost unnervingly good at, it was keeping head in a crisis. Not always in the best way. But for now, she could stay eerily calm and make sure what needed to get done got done. Earlier, it had meant calling the ambulance when Martin collapsed in a fit of screams. It meant explaining to the EMTs what the situation was even though she barely knew what was going on. And now, it meant getting Tim to eat. It was as simple as that. Later on, it would probably all hit her at once, and she’d have her breakdown. But that time for that had not yet arrived. 

“The curry chicken looks good. Do you want to split a bowl? And maybe some autumn rolls?”

He gave her a small nod. 

“Great. And I’ll order some extra to go, so we can sneak it in, and Jon and Martin can eat something besides jello.” She forced a smile on her face and ordered their food. 

Chapter Text

He Sees so much

So why does it all feel so 

muffled?

No, that’s not right.

He Sees so much

There are Eyes

and Wolves

and Twisting things that hold bouquets 

of flowers (what was her name?)

(was it Sasha?)

(no, that is not what Sasha looks like, is it?)

(looked like)

He Sees so much

There are Ants that crawl and turn into something

a man? or that is not a man anymore, is it?

And a Coffin that leads down

down

down 

No up.

No out.

Does he See that? 

Or does he remember?

He Feels it. 

He Feels burrowing and pain.

He Feels hands that reach inside.

He Feels cold metal on throat.

He Feels cream that smooths scarred skin.

He Feels love and longing. 

He remembers.

He dreams.

And Sees.

And Knows.

And Remembers.

And Feels.

and his dreams jumble to include it all. 

He does not feel pain, in the physical sense. Or if he does, it is distant and too far to know.

Chapter Text

Alright, there was no getting around it; Martin was hungry. Which was weird, but it was not like he was about to eat whatever it was they were serving him, so he decided to set that aside for now. He had far more pressing things to worry about. 

He managed to convince the nurse — her name was actually Joy, if you could believe it — that he had calmed down. It was not going to help him to mention the obvious lunacy or insult of the situation, so he … didn’t. 

He was simply Martin Blackwood, and he was feeling much calmer now, yes. So would it be ok if he went and checked on his friend? He was oh so terribly worried about him, and the stress had just taken over. 

(Nurse Joy had called Jon his “friend,” which bothered him, but he decided to stick with it. Not a Jared Hopworth situation, apparently.)

Eventually, they had allowed him to go back to Jon’s room so long as there was another person in there with him. Well, he’d take what he could get. For now. Making it back to Jon was step one. He could work on getting them both out of there afterwards. 

Seeing Jon there … He looked so small. Not the big, all-seeing, all-powerful Archivist; just a man covered in a fuck ton of injuries. He looked oddly similar to how he did after Prentiss for a moment, all covered in bandages. 

With his head more about him, he could see that that was the case. It looked like all of his old wounds had reopened. The worm holes, the cut on his neck … and of course the stab wound on his chest. It hurt to see him like this, to know that he had contributed to it. The one thing he had never wanted to do was hurt Jon, and he had. 

He took a breath to steady himself. He had to school his reactions as well. That was alright. He was good at that. 

He looked at the heart monitor. Still going strong. Still beating. 

Beating kind of fast, actually. 

He distantly heard more people coming into the room as the machine started making a loud noise. 

Chapter Text

Mixed and mixing

and not yet ready to bake

The song of the slaughter

And Circus

And Hive

It all sings discordant

Until it Stops.

and there is quiet

and there is quiet.

and there is quiet.

And There Is Quiet.

And. There. Is. Quiet!

And. There. Is QUIET!

AND! THERE! IS! QUIET!

And then it is very loud indeed.

All the silence

That deafening 

Blinding 

Silence

Becomes 

The blank white noise a 

Whirring 

Spinning little ears

Spinning words into thread

A thread

Tightening

Restraining 

and flying him away

Small doors

Or tall towers

but he can feel warm arms around him

And remembers

And remembers

And remembers

And He Feels Pain

He would think himself blind if not for how blindingly bright the world becomes in an instant

He cannot See the world as he should

As he did 

For that unKnowable spread of time 

or no time at all

(Time is a weird concept, especially in the End times)

(What counts as a day?)

(What an excellent question.)

(You can be infuriating sometimes, you know that?)

(Yes)

Wait. No. No. No, no no nononono

He felt the warm arms around him, but now there is cold and bright and empty air that is filled with people and none of them are —

“Martin? Martin?” He tries so hard to speak, to scream , but not words come out. He’s choking. It is too tight. He cannot breathe. Is it the Buried? Is he there again? Again but alone? Where is he? Where is Martin? Why are there hands and yelling and what is happening? And it is all too much and where is and who is and where??

“Sir, you are in hospital. The tube here is helping you breathe. You are alright. You need to calm down now.”

All he could do was look at her with terrified eyes. Eyes that see so little . He looks at her and Knows her darkest secrets, but he cannot See. He cannot See. And he cannot see Martin. 

“Let me through!” 

A warm hand curled around his own. And he felt his too-fast, still-beating heart begin to slow.

“I’m here, Jon. I’m - I’m here.”

Chapter Text

When Tim and Sasha returned to Jon’s room (bag of takeout in hand), it was chaotic. The first thing he noticed was that Martin was back and looking much calmer. The second thing he noticed was the sound that snapped his eyes to the heart monitor. And its thin, flat line. 

No. 

No. Tim absolutely refused to come back just in time to see Jon die. And he couldn’t just stand there like an audience member (No, don’t think about that. Focus.), but he found his feet rooted to the spot as hospital staff flooded in. 

Before they could even do anything, the heart began its steady bumps again, and the deafening beep ceased. The staff members eyed each other warily for a moment, but Tim barely noticed that. He was too busy seeing Jon’s eyes snap open and a look of pure panic fill his face. He was alive! And he was terrified. He watched as Jon thrashed, and nurses tried to steady him. 

Martin, not frozen as Tim was, shoved through them, and gently took Jon’s hand. 

“I’m here, Jon. I’m - I’m here.” 

It was ... odd to see Martin being so familiar with Jon, but not nearly the oddest thing that he'd seen that day. Better than his ... reaction to Tim and Sasha. And Jon’s heart rate slowed down. With it, Tim's did too though there wasn’t a fancy monitor to broadcast that to the world. It probably showed well enough on his face though. 

It took a while of people bustling around Jon and checking him out — Martin never left his side — before the room cleared again. 

He tentatively walked over, Sasha at his side, gripping his hand. 

She spoke. “We brought you some takeaway. I thought you’d like some curry.” Sasha awkwardly held up the bag. 

Martin turned his icy glare on her, and Jon just looked confused and vaguely concerned. He was still intubated and couldn’t talk, but his eyes showed plenty. Martin’s gaze didn’t falter even as he rubbed comforting circles into the back of Jon’s hand. 

Tim swallowed. He tried to avoid looking at Martin, whose opinions clearly hadn't changed. “It’s good to see you’re awake, boss.” His voice failed to hit any energetic or comedic notes that he may have wanted. 

He could feel Martin’s glare on him. Jon, at last, turned to look in his direction. His eyes widened, and he began frantically looking between Tim and Martin. 

“It’s not Tim. And certainly not Sasha. Though it’s a different Not-Sasha than the one we’re used to. Ignore them,” Martin said, every word a blade. 

Jon couldn’t answer and still looked confused and distressed. Tim glanced at Sasha, who was looking away uncomfortably. 

Martin added to them, “Leave. I don’t think you want to be here when the Archivist is at - full capacity. So to speak.”

Tim hesitated, but shrunk back and left the room, Sasha with him. She’d left the takeaway behind on a chair. Just in case. 

It stung. Jon was awake. They both were alive, but something was still very wrong. 

Chapter Text

With the tube finally out of his throat, Jon felt like he could breathe. There were some benefits to being not quite human, and fast healing was certainly one of them. But spending time unable to talk or do anything other than let himself be grounded by Martin’s steady presence gave him time to think. 

He thought they'd made it. They must have. He hadn’t really thought it could happen. Jonathan Sims was many things, but he had never been a lucky man. 

They were somewhere else. They had to be.

Martin stirred from where he had been dozing with his head resting on their intertwined hands and blinked blearily at Jon. 

Jon smiled at him. “Sleep well?” 

“I … yeah. ‘S been a while. Not sure why this domain is letting us sleep, honestly. I mean, you know, obviously, but I don’t think I want to, frankly.”

That’s when Jon really looked at him. Martin looked … tired. Bone-deep exhausted and tense. He was also wincing slightly as he moved as though he was in pain. 

“Martin, we aren’t in a domain.”

“What?” 

“We are not in a domain.”

Martin’s voice became heated. “So, what? You mean to tell me that we’re in some kind of sinister hospital with - with poisoned food and little fake copies of our dead friends, and it’s not a domain? Hm? What is it then?”

“Martin!” Jon sounded excited, like he had when they first came upon the Upton house mystery. “We’re not in a domain! We’re — I think we’re somewhere else!”

Martin paused. He opened his mouth and closed it several times. “I … Really? We’re in another - a whole entire different universe ?”

“I think so, Martin. I really think so.”

“That’s - that’s - wow - ok.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“And you know this how exactly?” Martin said eventually. 

“I - Well —” He paused to articulate his thoughts. “I can still Know, but it’s lesser. It feels like - like if we say I had a thousand eyes in before, now I’m down to a hundred? The Eye’s power is still flowing through me, but it’s so much more dull. I - I can’t See as much as I could when the Fears were present in the world. So I have to assume that they … are no longer present.”

Martin nodded slowly, taking in the information. “So, then the people here are different versions of those from our world?”

“I suppose so, yes. If the same people even exist here.” The thought sent a deep twist into his gut. He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to Georgie. 

“If you spoke to someone, would you be able to Know if they’re a real person or some Stranger or whatever?”

“I - Yes, p-probably. Why?” Then he recalled what Martin had said before about ‘dead friends’. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Martin’s eyes were shiny. “A Tim and a Sasha have been around. I - I’ve been assuming they were fakes, but if this really is another reality…”

“Then they might really be a Tim and a Sasha.”

Chapter Text

Fuck. 

That was a lot. They - they were Somewhere Else. Some other world. 

That was a lot to process. 

Jon seemed to think the food would be ok, so Martin pulled the takeaway Tim and Sasha had left on the chair out and poked absently at fake chicken pieces with a spork. 

Tim and Sasha. Fuck. That was really them. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t them, and it was. And that hurt. It hurt just to think about it. It hurt to think about them most of the time anyway. The way his friendship with Tim had grown. The way they met in the library and went out for coffee (Tim’s) and tea (Martin’s) and got to know each other for the whole year before he even joined the archives. The way all of that had become slowly cold and brittle as Tim had collapsed in on himself and everything went to shit. They way he hadn’t even recognized Sasha. 

“They knew us.”

“Hmm?” Jon looked up with a mouthful of noodles, which while adorable, was not enough to distract Martin from his melancholy train of thought.

“Tim and — This Tim and Sasha. They obviously know us, so where do we fit in?”

Jon paused, chewing thoughtfully. His expression was sober. “I … The Eye hasn’t given me any pertinent information. But I wonder if there was a Jon and a Martin, and we …”

“What, took them over?”

He nodded. “Overwrote their lives with our own.” His voice was bitter. “Stole their lives. We - We knew there would be a price to all this. It’s playing with reality, reali ties . Some people were bound to get caught in the crossfire.”

Martin took a shaky breath. Then another. With some level of determination, he said, “Better them than us.”

Jon looked up sharply. “What?”

“I - I am glad to be alive, Jon. I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want anybody to - to be tortured for the Ceaseless Watcher. Those two people, this Jon and Martin, are a—“ Another shaky breath. “A smaller number in exchange for our entire world. Heh. It’s - It’s the same as the old deal.” There were tears on his face now. “You and me die while the world goes back to normal. It just ended up being a different you and me than, well, you and me.” He tried for a watery smile. “I’m glad you’re here. And there’s no use in feeling guilty about it at this point. It’s done.”

Jon nodded slowly and repeated with solemnity, “It’s done.”

There was a long beat of silence. 

“For - for what it’s worth, I - I’m glad you’re here too, Martin. I felt so … trapped and afraid when I woke up here. If you hadn’t been there ... I don’t know.”

Martin stood. “May I?” Jon nodded, and he stood and enveloped Jon in a hug, careful to be light on their injuries. That was all they needed right then. The warm comfort of each other despite everything. It wasn’t everything. It was not perfect. But, for then, it was enough. Tears soaking into the shoulder of a loved one. 

After a minute, Martin let out a watery laugh and said, “Move over.” He got into the stiff hospital bed next to Jon and resolutely pulled his food onto his lap. “I haven’t had non apocalypse food in a very long time, and I would like nothing more than to share some with you.”

Jon cracked a small smile and leaned into Martin. “I would like that as well.” 

Martin grabbed a spork-ful of seitan and held it up. Jon, wearing that same cracked smile, twirled some noodles on his and held it up. 

“Cheers.”

God, that tasted good.

Chapter Text

Sasha and Tim sat in the waiting area for a long time. She got Dr. Levi to give them an update. He rubbed her the wrong way a bit, but not in a way that set off any red flags. She just … wanted her friends to be getting good treatment from someone who was respectful. She’d be suspicious of anyone, to be sure. According to him, Jon was awake and seemed to be recovering “oddly quick for the state he came in in”. She’d also overheard him grumbling to one of the nurses about some forms he would have to sign. But Sasha could focus on that later. For right then, she let herself let out a breath. Jon was awake. Martin was awake. Both of them were alive. That was the biggest worry. 

Tim sat next to her in the uncomfortable chair, leaning forward and staring intently at an open magazine page. He hadn’t turned the page in well over an hour, and she doubted that he was so intent on learning “how to be the best girlfriend for the discerning gentleman” or whatever the magazine was on about. Tension flowed off of him in waves. 

Sasha had been called many things in her life: “smartass”, “impulsive”, “warm”, “cold”, but the one that she held close was something Tim had called her a few years before not too long after they had met. He had gone into such a spiral that he hadn’t been able to get out of bed. She had bit down any questions she had, came to his house, and sat with him while they watched old tv shows without talking for hours. He had called her a “good friend”. He had said it so softly and so genuinely, far from the jokingly vain comments she would make. And she spent every day of their friendship trying to live up to that. 

But she hadn’t always been the best at being a “good friend”. She didn’t know when lines should be crossed or shouldn’t be. She couldn’t always tell when a prank or a joke was funny or would make someone uncomfortable. She didn’t always know what to say when people were hurting. That was where Tim excelled. She might not even know what she was feeling, but Tim would pick up on it and say the exact right thing. 

She was good with problems, good with research, and good with getting every step of a process done and done well. 

But the main problem, the one with all the obvious steps, was solved. And everyone was still hurting in that abstract way people hurt. 

She reached over and flipped the page of the magazine. He turned his head slowly towards her and didn’t say anything. She looked at him. He looked at her. 

“They are going to be alright, Tim. They’re already out of the woods, and the doctor said they are recovering well.”

“I know that. It’s just —” He ran his hands through his hair. “I just — What’s happened? What the hell was that? I know we work at the damned spooky institute, but those injuries came out of nowhere, and Martin was literally fading in and out of existence or something! And I don’t know what is going on or how I can help them. I was supposed to — Working there was supposed to — “ He let out an aggravated huff of air.

“What?”

Tim’s voice was softer. “It was supposed to help me figure out what’s behind the spooks and the hurt, not get more people I care about hurt.”

She put a hand on his arm. “As soon as we can get out of here and get some sleep, We’ll research it. That’s what we’re good at, right?”

He tried for a weak smile but gave up on it. “Yeah.” His gaze drifted back to the magazine on his lap.

“Until then, do you want to regale me with something more entertaining than that magazine?”

Flat voice. “Like what?”

Ok not terribly encouraging, but she could work with it. She doubted she could get him on a completely different subject, and she didn’t want to poke at his past or whatever got him in the institute in the first place (no matter how much she really wanted to know). 

“Erm. I don’t really know Martin since I only just started working with him, but I know you two were friends already.” At his nod, she continued, “So, got any good Martin stories? How did you two meet?”

He actually cracked a small smile at that, which she took as a win. “I met him in the library maybe a year ago? I’d run into him before that, of course; he’d been there for a while before me. I don’t consider that a proper meeting though. You’ve gotta talk to to someone beyond ‘Need any help finding anything?’ ‘Nope, I’ve got it.’ in order to really meet them. Do you remember that rickety old ladder?”

“Don’t tell me you used that! I always found pulling a chair over was far more stable.”

“And that is but one example of you being far smarter than I am, Sasha James.”

“True. But go on. Rickety ladder?”

“Yeah, I was trying to find a book that should have bee/n right at the top of the big floor to ceiling shelves in the back. Something on soil science, I think? I don’t really remember, but it was something like that. And as I’m searching, Martin comes over to ask if I need help. ‘Nah, I’m good,’ I say because I’m pretty sure I see the book just a little bit to the right.”

“Oh no.”

“So, I reach for it, and,” He paused dramatically, much more life in his face than before. “The damn thing tips over, and I go flying, book in hand. And Martin! Catches me. In his arms.”

“Oh my god. What do you even say in that situation?”

“I don’t know what you should say, but I didn’t say anything as Martin stumbled with the new weight and we both hit the ground. I swear, nobody looked more shocked at the situation than Martin. After asking if I was alright, the first thing he asked was if I had gotten the book.” Tim was smiling fondly. “And then I asked him if he wanted to come with me to grab lunch because I have very much earned a lunch break at that point, and anyone who saves my life deserves to be treated to some kind of reward. Like my charming company. 

“And we ended up hanging out more after that. We’re not super close, but … “ He took a breath, the seriousness creeping back in. “He’s a really good guy. I’m just — I’m worried about them.”

Sasha reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I know, Tim.”

Chapter Text

Dr. Daveed Levi deeply regretted not taking the extra day off. He had been visiting his mother in Essex. She’d offered for him to stay the extra day and spend Purim together, but no, no he just had to go back to work. Idiot. He could have been there now, eating his safta’s poppy seed hamentashen, which were objectively better than all other hamentashen. But instead he was back at work signing a goddamned Alternatural Nondisclosure form. 

It was not a bad thing per se. He certainly didn’t believe the poor sod who was bleeding out deserved help any less than anybody else, but it did make things… higher pressure. Weird cases, alternatural cases, people injured by things that were not right did not behave like normal injuries or illnesses. You could not rely on what you learned in med school, to put it generously. And on the really bad cases… the safety of everyone in the hospital was prioritized over the individual, who could not be saved anyway most of the time. The very thought of it repulsed Daveed. It went against his principles even as it made sense in a big picture sense. 

And once someone signed an A.N. form, they would always get stuck with those cases. Daveed had never envied that handful of staff who always had a haunted look about them. The closest he had ever gotten to an A.N. case was when some poor kid had been brought in with a “papercut”. He had reeked of disease. Before Daveed had gotten a look at him, one of the nurses, Vi, had taken one look and warned him to stay as far away as possible before getting another A.N.’d staff member to deal with it. The kid had been dead within the hour. 

But Vi wasn’t there to warn him off this time when the two men were brought in. The injuries were bad enough on their own, but the explanation of how they had “just appeared suddenly without cause” put a bad taste in his mouth. 

The bad taste got worse when one of the men started healing faster than should have been possible. 

Even so, he found himself grateful that they would be able to walk out of there. That whatever had done this to them hadn’t finished them off. That they hadn’t been deemed too much of a risk to help. 

But he knew that would not always be the case. And he would be seeing a lot more of the alternatural cases in the future. 

The pair was able to be discharged after less time than would have been traditional, but the others who were A.N.’d couldn’t be happier to see the back of them. 

Chapter Text

Leaving the hospital, Jon felt some small bit of tension leave his shoulders. The hum of fluorescent lights was blessedly absent, and the smell of cleaning solution and fear was able to dissipate in open air. Despite the state in which he’d gone in, he was in a better state than Martin by the time they left. Benefits of selling his soul to an all-seeing fear entity, he supposed. Martin was still struggling in the absence of supernatural healing. But the doctor had given them clear instructions for care of Martin’s back injuries (which turned out to be far more severe that Martin had been willing to let on but less bad than they could have been) and all the other injuries they had between the two of them. Jon could feel a statement lingering within Dr. Levi, but he managed to restrain himself from Asking. He did not deserve that. Not after helping them. It was his job, sure, but he did not deserve that either way. Even if he hadn’t helped them. But he had. 

It was startling and confusing, to say the least, to go from the apocalypse to as close to normal life as he had access to. He was unused to people helping him. He had been unused to that for a long while. 

He Knew that both his and Martin’s flats were the same as they had been years before. After a short bout of debate, they decided to go to Jon’s flat.

“I think if one of the first things I see in a non-apocalyptic world is a can of peaches, I am going to start wishing for the apocalypse,” Martin had commented with a shiver. 

The flat was… how he’d left it. It was just as strange as it was familiar. A relic of another time, perhaps. But that time was now. So… 

Martin pressed a mug of tea into his hands and sat down beside him with a small groan. “What are you thinking about?”

“I just… Don’t you find all of this strange? It’s all so normal. I imagine this is what Gerry felt when he would try to live his life away from all the horrors. I don’t think I ‘got it’ before, but I do now. It feels so — I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Martin hummed and took a sip of his tea. “I think the other shoe dropped when you were bleeding out on the floor in your office, Jon. It’s not… It’s not perfect. And I don’t think it’s going to be perfect; the entities are still on the periphery here—”

“Because of us.”

“Right. Because of us. But we’re alive. And all the people around us are alive and get a chance to live, even if it’s hard. And…”

“And?”

Martin elbowed him. “And I am sitting next to you on a couch that isn’t made of polluted fear, and we’re drinking tea that isn’t made of depression, and I have chosen to think of that as a win.”

And he was right. The world was not perfect. It was different and would be worse for him being in it. And everything felt more muffled than he had felt since the world ended. But he was here. And he was here with Martin. 

And maybe, that could be enough.

Chapter Text

Tim shifted a stack of papers on his desk, flipping through them for the sixth time in the hour. All organized with color-coded tabs and ordered based on his priority. 

Top: Current work. A handful of statements to do research for along with all the relevant research documents he had assembled so far for it in the same off-white folder. Tab color green.

Below them and on the bottom: Upcoming work, possibly related statements, side projects. Tab colors blue, green, and pink, respectively. 

Second from the bottom: Personal research . Documents, notes, and whatever current material he was working on with relevance to the Circus. Tab color red.

He lingered over the most recent statement he’d been working on, a clearly fake story about a man who had been convinced his neighbor’s dog had it out for him. Below that was a different statement he’d research when hitting a block with the other, trying to find out more about a delivery company. 

That was one Jon was working on that he’d been researching mostly to appease his own curiosity and help out Jon a bit. 

He didn’t see much point in working on either of those. 

He lingered over the red tabbed papers for a long minute.

Sasha cast him a look from where she typed away at her laptop but didn’t comment. 

He flipped through the stack again. He desperately wanted to focus on something , but he couldn’t bring himself to. Committing to any one thing felt wrong, but taking a break and giving up felt like defeat. So, he kept doing something adjacent to working. It felt more active than the impossible task of sitting still with his thoughts, but it was also driving him mad. 

Pulling something from the blue tabbed group, he made an attempt to read whatever the document was but couldn’t process a single damn thing. He shoved it back into its place and flipped through the pile again as his mind attempted to eat itself. 

Reset. Let’s try a reset, he decided. He went and made tea. As the water boiled, he tried sitting but couldn’t keep still, so he paced. The shriek of the boiling water made him nearly jump out of his skin. 

Oh, now wasn’t that  a terrible thought. 

He poured himself a cup and tried to let the burning liquid bring him back to his senses. 

It didn’t work. 

He was only able to flip through his stack of papers once, yelling at himself the whole while to just pick something, anything and focus on it, when Elias came in. 

“What brings you down here, Elias?” Tim’s voice was more strained than he’d prefer. Talking felt like more effort than it really should be for him.

A pair of grey eyes swept the room and met his. “I came to tell you both that Jon and Mr. Blackwood will be absent from work until they recover from their injuries, which I understand has been going well. Seeing as you are a new group to the archive, I would like to recommend that Sasha temporarily take over for Jon until his hopeful full recovery and return.” His cold eyes were locked on Sasha. 

“I— What?” Sasha stuttered a moment. “Am I being promoted, or just … being given more work?”

“It will be a temporary position, but I would be happy to discuss a boost in payment for the duration if you feel the responsibilities would warrant it.”

“Er, yes, ok.” 

Tim knew she had wanted (and deserved) the promotion, but this was a whole different set of circumstances. 

“Wonderful. I am also told that the cleaners were able to take care of Jon’s office?” He waited for a uncomfortable nod from Sasha. “Do let me know if there is anything they missed.”

With another sharp scan of the room, Elias nodded to himself and opened the door to the stairwell. “I’m sure Jon and Martin will be back soon enough.”

Chapter Text

[ Search history ]

Spontaneous injury

Injury without cause

[CLICK]

    SASHA

Right. Well, I’m glad to see the tape does seem to be working. 

( breath )

Ok. My name is Sasha James, acting archivist for the Magnus Institute while our current archivist is … indisposed. While it may be nontraditional for an archive like this, we decided as a team to make audio copies of the statements we go through and organize. Many of the statements from the archive will be available to other members of Institute staff as well as researchers and students from outside, and we want to keep things accessible. 

Even if it is a bit … time consuming for the amount of statements we have to get through. 

I won’t do an intro going forward. If anything, it’s mostly for my own attempt at getting into the mindset with Jon and Martin … 

Right. 

Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh. Original statement given April 22nd 2012. 

Statement begins.

    SASHA (STATEMENT)

This all happened a couple of years ago, so I apologize if some of the details are a bit off. I mean, I feel like I remember it clearly but sometimes things are so weird that you start to doubt yourself. Still, I suppose weird is kind of what you guys do, right?

[...]

[CLICK]

~~~

Sasha looked down at the still tape recorder for a long moment, the silence stark against her speaking and the whir of the spools. How was this room even so quiet? She could hear everything from outside the office, but it seemed soundproof from inside. 

She’d never been much for silence. 

As she busied herself pulling all the papers relating to the statement into their proper order and labeling the tape, she felt an odd sense of someone watching her. 

She scanned the room thoroughly. No one else there. No security cameras. Just a messy desk and unorganized shelves. 

“All good?” Tim asked when she stepped back out to the bullpen. 

“Yeah.”

He gave her a skeptical look. 

“We don’t have cameras down here, right?” she asked.

“Not as far as I know. I — Yeah, they tried to install some a while back, but the signal was bad or something didn’t work in the basement, so no cameras.” Why?”

“No reason, really. Just felt watched for a minute.”

Tim held her gaze for another beat but didn’t press the subject.

“So,” Sasha said, “Any progress with the research?”

“No. There isn’t a lot on spontaneous injury that is even vaguely like what - happened. What about you? Did you get to talk with anyone in Artefact Storage about if anything there could cause that?”

“I haven’t gotten to it yet.” She dreaded even going to that floor. The stuff up there was … She never regretted leaving, let’s leave it at that. 

“Right.”

Sasha booted up her computer, listening to the sounds of Tim’s pen tapping mindlessly against his desk and the dull whir of the computer fan and the distinct lack of silence. 

Maybe she would email Sonja instead of going right up to Artefact Storage. Probably be more convenient for both of them. 

Chapter Text

Tim paced outside the door to Jon’s flat. Jon didn’t like surprise visits. Tim knew he didn’t like surprise visits. He had texted, so it wasn’t technically a surprise, but he hadn’t gotten a response, so …

His fist hesitated over the door. He should let him rest, but he … He just couldn’t sit around waiting anymore! He had barely gotten any damn updates other than Elias’s vagaries about “recovery going well”, and these were his friends! Sitting on his hands wasn’t working for him, so it was time for a new technique. 

Tim knocked lightly on the door. There was a long pause. He knocked again, firmer. He couldn’t see through the warped glass of the peephole, but he felt the brief, overwhelming sense of being watched. Then the door opened. 

Jon looked … well, he didn’t look good, but he didn’t look like he was bleeding out, which was an improvement at the very least. He was absolutely covered in scars. Pockmarks and jagged lines covered him. A cruel slash of uneven skin was visible on his neck. The hand which awkwardly held the door open was textured as if from a burn long since recovered from. 

“Tim, I—” Jon stammered. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I texted.” Tim said lamely. 

Jon’s brow furrowed for a second, and he nodded. “So you did.” He made no move to close the door nor to invite Tim inside. 

“I hadn’t heard anything from you, and I wanted to check in, make sure you’re healing alright and taking care of yourself.”

There was pain in Jon’s eyes but a soft smile playing at his lips. His voice was almost inaudible. “That’s very kind of you.” Then louder. “We’re healing fine. I appreciate your concern.”

“We? Are you in contact with Martin?”

“He’s - he’s here recovering with me. Two hands are easier than — well, it would be sets, I suppose. Two sets of hands are easier than one? Was that the saying…? Doesn’t matter. We are — Yes. We are both here.”

“...Right. Is he… Look, Jon, I don’t want to impose at all, so, if you don’t want me in your flat, just take my soup offering, and I’ll go. But can I come in? I miss you, and I’m worried, and the soup is just going to get cold if I keep standing out here with it.” Tim held up the container of soup he’d brought as if it held answers.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jon held open the door. 

The flat looked how it had the last time Tim had been there. It had the look of a place trying to be organized and neat, but failing in favor of using every flat surface as storage space, thereby creating more flat surface area. It was a larger version of the nightmare that was Jon’s desk at work. No matter how hard he tried to keep it clean, it was always fully “utilized” by the end of the day. Jon never seemed to struggle to find anything though, so at least it worked for him. The flat was filled with neatly ordered books in haphazard piles. The “wonderland” on top of Jon’s cabinet was filled with small tchotchkes, mostly cat figurines, carefully organized about. He could see the section of the bookshelf that was jam-packed with Playbills in the corner. It felt right. It felt like Jon, and something in Tim relaxed a bit. 

There were also large wool knit jumpers draped over the couch or on hooks, and a handful of items Tim recognized as Martin’s strewn about. The couch wasn’t set up for sleeping, and he knew Jon didn’t have a guest room in this place, but he didn’t press the issue. He would wait to see if it was sensitive before commenting, and maybe the two just needed help from each other while recovering, and Jon had a comfortable bed. He had no interest in rocking whatever boat he had ended up on by making anyone uncomfortable before he’d even set his soup down.

Chapter Text

Jon bustled into his kitchen with the soup to avoid making eye contact with… this Tim. He looked so normal . He looked like the person Jon had known in Research, his friend . But it also wasn’t. It couldn’t be the same Tim. It was just another person he was going to doom out of his own selfishness. 

He pulled a bowl out of a cabinet and gripped it tightly, his fingers obscuring the flower pattern in the porcelain. No, he couldn’t think like that. This was a person who obviously cared about him, or rather, cared about the other Jon, and the least Jon could do was not be rude. 

He brought soup bowls out and set them on the little table. “We’ll have to be quiet; Martin’s asleep in the other room.”

Tim raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, just nodded. “I'm glad the two of you are helping each other out. Is— Has Martin been— At the hospital he was acting a little strange around me and Sasha, I’m not sure if anyone told you about that. Has he been … better?”

Right. Of course Martin would have acted strange around them; he’d thought they were still in Hell. Martin had been cagey around the specifics, but he got the idea it hadn’t been good. “Yes, he’s been doing better.” 

There was a pause where Tim may have expected him to add more, and when he didn’t, let out a breath and said, “Right… That’s good to hear,”

Tim looked uncomfortable and Jon felt uncomfortable, and it was a desperately weird situation for both of them in very different ways, so Jon took a spoonful of soup instead of talking or making eye contact. It was heavenly. Not for any particular reason; it was a bit too salty and less spicy than he’d make it himself and the vegetables were cut unevenly, but it was real food — still a luxury after the apocalypse. And not just that, it was Tim’s recipe. The same recipe Tim made for him years ago. Another life, he thought bitterly, aware of how dreadfully accurate the thought was. 

His voice was soft. “This is fantastic, Tim. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem, boss.” Tim’s voice was tinged with concern, and his eyes were darting over Jon in a protective scan. 

And Jon just wanted to say “thank you” again or “I miss you” or anything else, but that would mean telling him he’d practically killed the Jon he knew and brought the dread powers into his world, and he just wanted to enjoy his soup for the moment. 

Before he could say anything, Martin came in. “Jon, where did you leave my pain kill…” He froze and looked at Tim with a flurry of emotion blowing across his face. “Tim?”

Tim looked meek, which was an odd sight. He seemed small and had a fluttering nervousness about him. “Hey, Martin. I - hope it’s alright, I just came to drop off some soup, but I can go - if - if you prefer.”

Martin stared at him, chewing his bottom lip slightly. “No, it’s — I’m sorry, Tim. I’m so sorry. I - I didn’t … I didn’t know, sorry.” His hands fluttered slightly at his sides. 

Jon sprang up. “I’ll get you a bowl. And - and I’ll find your meds. You two… Yes. Right.” And he stepped into the kitchen. It wasn’t exactly a big flat, so he was only a few feet away. He poured soup in a bowl and lurked awkwardly while the other two spoke quietly. He tried not to listen in. They deserved their privacy. 

But he felt a roll of emotion when he stepped back in to see them wrapped in a tight hug. He did not comment on any wet cheeks, just handed Martin his meds when they pulled away.

Tim stayed a little longer before making his excuses to head out, leaving Martin and Jon alone in the flat. 

Martin looked at him sharply. “That was Tim.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because I know that he had that same sweater in our reality, and what are the chances of him being so similar that he even has the same sweater?”

Jon looked at him. “I miss him too.”

Martin’ shoulders sagged. “Yeah. And he’s right here.”

Chapter Text

Being back in the institute was weird. It was just — Yeah, no, weird was definitely the right word for it. He could walk by and go “Oh, look, there’s where I lived for a couple months while being hunted by worms.” or “Right there’s the scratch marks we figured out were from a guy trying to dig a Buried ritual in the office.” or “There’s where Flesh monsters almost impaled me on a bone spear thingie before Melanie stabbed it to death.”. He shuddered. But those things hadn’t happened here. 

Or had they? 

Well, no, obviously some of that — most of it hadn’t happened. But something about all of this was rubbing him the wrong way. Why was the Institute even here if Jonah Magnus died in the 1800s without any spooky Eye powers? Why would Jon, any version of Jon, have a job there if he’d never met Mr. Spider? Why would Tim be working there? Why was Tim wearing the same sweater had in Martin’s universe ? 

He hadn’t mentioned any of this to Jon. Jon was only just settling into the idea of building a life in this new world, and Martin didn’t want to wreck that by giving him false hope. Hope of what exactly, he didn’t know. But he needed to check, to be sure. 

And if he was wrong, he would be no worse off, right?

“Martin!”

He turned around to see … Sasha, presumably. He’d only seen her for a few minutes at the hospital, and that was his only base of reference. 

“Oh, hello, Sasha. I was wondering if Tim was around?” He gave a soft, apologetic smile. 

She eyed him for a second before replying, “Yeah, he’s at his desk. What are you doing back so soon?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m not actually back yet. I just needed to ask Tim something, and I was feeling better, so I thought I’d do it in person,” he said. “And I am sorry about what happened, how I acted at the hospital.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sasha smiled at him. “I’m just glad you’re ok.”

Martin smiled again and gave a small nod before turning towards the Archives. “Actually, wait. Sasha… do you - er - do you know why Jon joined the institute?”

“Erm, no. I don’t. Why?”

“Just - just curious, you know. I’ve been staying with him while we’re recovering, and I just wondered.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re staying at Jon’s flat?”

Careful now. Teasing or questions. He gave a semi-casual (and mildly painful) shrug. “It just made sense since we both live alone. You know Jon and his penchant for efficiency.”

Her smile quirked. “I didn’t realize you knew him well at all.”

“Well, you know, I met everyone working in the library.” He turned towards the Archives again. “I should go talk to Tim. It’s - it’s been nice seeing you Sasha.”

“You too, Martin.”

One mildly awkward conversation down, one to go. 

“Tim?”

Tim turned from where he had been organizing some files. “Yeah? Oh, Martin. What are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d be back to work yet; Jon’s not—”

“No, no, I’m not back to work yet. I just had a question for you? And - and it will either be very awkward or sound crazy, but - but if it’s ok…?”

Tim looked mildly concerned, but gestured for him to go ahead. “Shoot.”

Martin took a shaky breath and met Tim’s eyes. “Why did you join the institute?”

“What? I — Why?”

“Tim.” 

A flash of anger. “Why are you asking, Martin?”

Martin took another breath. No backing out now. “Are you here because of your brother?”

Tim’s eyes went wide with shock or anger or terror or confusion. He was unable to speak for a second before quietly replying, “How do you know that.”

The air felt suddenly cold. “Was it the Circus?”

“How do you know that?” There was anger and hurt in Tim’s face and tone, but Martin could barely notice over the rushing in his ears. 

He stumbled back. “I - I’m sorry, Tim. It’s — I have to go.” He turned to flee, halting only to grab the tape recorder on Sasha’s desk before he went.

A hand on his arm. “No, what —” A breath. “What the hell, Martin? How do you know that?”

“You told me.”

Chapter Text

Martin was out, which gave Jon some space to think. Not that he didn’t love having Martin here — it was holding him together much of the time, in fact — but there were certain things he could … entertain while alone that he could not with Martin there. For all that Jon was the one with - psychic powers, Martin had a keen eye for telling when something was up. And, well, something was up. Something Martin would try to talk him out of. 

Jon was thinking about Daisy. 

She had died, and she had barely even known him when she did. She was … She was his friend. His only friend, for a while. They had crawled through the Buried together. She had chosen to be a better person knowing that she could at the same time never make up for all the wrongs she had done. But she chose to try instead of letting the guilt take her over completely. 

And she was dead. The Daisy Jon knew was dead. 

But Somewhere Else? Here? Maybe she was alive. A version of her anyway. Maybe a version that had never done the things his Daisy had. Maybe a version who had, despite the Hunt never coming to this world before now. Maybe a version that would be unrecognizable. Or one that would look just the same. 

He Knew there was a bar only a few minutes walk from his old-current flat that she went to sometimes. He would only take a look. 

As he neared the bar, he could feel a sense of the Hunt. Not directed at him, really. But he had gotten a better sense of how the different fears felt over the course of his ill-fated odyssey in the apocalypse, something that stuck with him even in his less-than-all-powerful current state. 

Taking a moment before he walked in, he thought how to approach this. Would he talk to her? Would she notice him? Feel threatened? 

He pulled something up on his phone quickly, and walked inside. 

Daisy was at a booth that was the closest to the bar without being so public. She looked like she had when Jon first met her, hard and sharp, like someone could try to hit her but only break their fist in the attempt, albeit less angry at the moment. She had one earbud in, and Jon felt a sting of hope. He sat on the barstool closest to her and ordered the first non-alcoholic thing he thought of, which turned out to be bottled water.  

“Are you - er - listening to anything good?” he asked. 

She raised an eyebrow. Gave him an appraising once-over, which he apparently passed. “The Archers.” 

Jon’s eyes lit up. This had been the answer he had been hoping for. “Are the latest episodes any good? Because I have been meaning to catch up.”

Her expression cracked the tiniest bit. “ You like The Archers?”

Jon laughed. “Well, no, not really. But my friend loved it, made me listen whenever she could, and - and well, it reminds me of her. So, I still listen sometimes.”

The bartender handed him his water, which prompted Daisy to quirk another eyebrow at him. 

“But the story itself,” Jon said in a dry tone,”is just barely more entertaining than doing nothing at all.”

Daisy let out a laugh. “My partner tells me the same thing. Doesn’t stop her from listening either.”

“It - It’s more ritual than show, isn’t it?”

“Hmm.”

Before he could say anything else, his phone pinged with a text from Martin. Looking at the message, he chewed his lip and then said to Daisy, “Sorry, I have to go. But it was - It was nice talking with you.” And before he could think better of it, he added, “You remind me of my friend.”

She gave him a short nod. “Sounds like a good one. Sorry they died.”

Always blunt, that Daisy. Jon nodded and gave a sad smile before taking his leave. 

She was certainly connected to the Hunt, but maybe, if she had the opportunity, she could make the choice to leave it. 

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, I told you?” Tim asked. He managed to keep his voice from rising, but his tone was dangerous. He still had Martin by the arm.

“You—” Martin puffed out a breath and flexed his fingers. He smiled, briefly. Humorlessly. “You gave a statement.”

“No, I most certainly did not .” 

“Tim.” 

Tim let his arm go.

Martin unfolded and folded his hands in an aborted gesture, tucking the tape recorder in his pocket. “Let me finish, ok? We’ll - er - You can yell at me after if you want.”

Tim felt his face tighten, but he forced himself to nod. Gesturing for him to continue, Martin did. 

“There was something of an apocalypse on, and a lot  had already happened. Sasha died, you and Jon were - hurt , Eli—” Martin stopped, looked warily around the room. Tim followed his gaze to a bronze bust rusting in the corner. “We should talk somewhere else. I might need a hand on the ladder.”

“Ladder?”

“Come on. I’d rather not - not while we could be watched.”

Martin was sounding an awful lot like he did in hospital, but it wasn’t all nonesense. He knew things. He knew about Danny, and that — Tim needed to know what he knew. He followed him into Jon’s office. There here still bloodstains on the floor. Martin ignored them and pulled a small rug back to reveal uneven wood paneling. Was that—? Martin went to pull open the trapdoor that they had apparently , but hesitated and doubled back into the room, poking through boxes in a corner until he found what he was looking for. 

“Are you seriously worried about fire safety when we’re about to go down to,” he laughed incredulously, “a secret passage below the archives?”

“It’s not about fire safety; it’s about worms.” He handed Tim the fire extinguisher. “I’m gonna have some trouble on the ladder, but if you see any worms nearby, just spray them, yeah?”

“Uh.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

Tim scanned Martin’s face. It didn’t tell him anything, which was…odd. He’d always found Martin to be something of an open book. A prickle of suspicion was beginning to rise in his head. He tightened his grip on the fire extinguisher as Martin began to descend down; if need be, he could use it as a bat. If that wasn’t Martin, he would. 

He followed after. 

Martin took a second to catch his breath, wincing where his injuries were probably still hurting him. “Tim, I’m just gonna come out and say this. I think I’m from the future.”

“The future.”

“You told me about your brother in 2018 when the bloody Circus was trying to end the world.”

The Circus. It pinged more in his head than the year. He didn’t respond. 

“They didn’t, if it helps. You stopped them.” Martin was searching his face. 

“So they’re still out there. Now, I mean.”

“Probably, yes. But I don’t think they could end the world. At least they didn’t.” Another wary look around. “Elias did.”

That was so utterly flummoxing that it pulled Tim back into the present. “I’m sorry, Elias? Our asshole boss, Elias? Doesn’t like to approve time off, Elias?”

“Yeah. Listen, it doesn’t matter.”

“Ha, I think it does!”

“No, it doesn’t! The world ended, Tim! It was hell. It was literal, actual hell, and now it’s not like that anymore, and it’s more important we figure out why! God, you - you were dead. Sasha was dead! Jon was —” Martin took a breath. Even in the dim light drifting in from the trapdoor, his wet eyes caught the light. 

“Dead, I’m guessing?”

“Worse. Well, worse from my perspective.” Martin let out a humorless cough of a laugh. “I killed him.”

“You —” Tim was taken aback. Whatever he had been expecting it hadn’t been that. “Martin, what are —?”

“It was a different time, ok? It made sense. It was — Christ, I sound like a bloody lunatic.”

Maybe he would if he hadn’t mentioned the Circus. “You don’t.” Tim swallowed. “Was he … not Jon?”

“He - er - no. No, that would be Sasha’s problem, now wouldn’t it?” Martin’s voice was intensely bitter. “It wasn’t Jon’s fault. He didn’t want any of it, but killing him was the only way to - to maybe not save the world, but to save what was left of it? He thought we would end up somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else. I assume you’re not referring to a holiday abroad.”

Martin cracked a smile. “No. Somewhere else as in.” He gestured broadly. “Another world. But I think it sent us back here . Back in time. I don’t know if it’s a good thing, but, Tim, even if it’s not, I’m - I’m really happy to see you.”

Tim put down the fire extinguisher gently on the floor and pulled Martin into as tight a hug as he could without hurting him. Martin didn’t move for a second but then wrapped his arms around Tim and shook as tears fell.

“It’s been a hard few years,” he said into Tim’s shoulder. “So fucking hard.”

“We’ll figure this out. I believe you, Martin, ok? I believe you, and we will figure this out. I’m not going anywhere.”