Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey boss? Is everything okay in there?” A voice called out from the darkness.

Jon winced as he raised his head from the floor. Damn this headache. Martin told me to cut my hair but did I listen? No, no I did not.

“Jon? Seriously, are you-” The voice broke off, and Jon looked up at the man standing over him. “Oh,” Tim said dully.

“Oh indeed,” Jon muttered, sitting up, clutching his bloody and twisted arm. The price I paid for peace, he thought.

The hawaiian-shirt wearing man’s eyes widened as he finally noticed the wound. “What happened to you?” He half whispered, and Jon grimaced.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jon replied, attempting to stand, but only managing to stumble against the wall and slide back down it. Great going, Jon, now you look like an idiot.

Tim said something but he didn’t listen, glancing around the room and examining the boxes upon boxes of files, each one surely containing horrors beyond either of their comprehension. The once white linoleum floor was now stained red, and the two bloody handprints from where he attempted to stand were now turning a dark rust color. The light above them was far too bright, and it swayed slightly as though the room were a ship, even though they were most definitely on land.

When Jon tuned back into their very one sided conversation, Tim was on the floor next to him. “Martin! Get in here, and bring the first aid!”

Jon’s head snapped up. “Martin. Where is he?” He rasped, eyes wide. How could I forget him? How the hell did I forget Martin?

“Coming!” Shouted what Jon could only assume was Martin. A moment later, the large man burst through the door holding a bright red case labeled ‘FIRST AID’.

Martin let out a soft gasp as he looked down at Jon, and in that moment he knew it wasn’t his  Martin. His hair was a dirty blonde, his skin far too free of scars, and most importantly of all, his sweater wasn’t covered in Jon’s blood. ”Can I, um,” Martin cut himself off as he knelt down next to Jon, examining his arm. “Can I bandage that?”

Jon nodded silently, still staring at Martin as though he had murdered his firstborn. The blond shivered and set to work, pulling a clear liquid that Jon recognized as saline from his bag. Pouring it onto a small cloth, he began to clean his arm. Jon winced at the stinging sensation, then began to relax as it blended into the routine pain.

If he isn’t here, then where the hell is he? Jon thought as Martin wrapped his wounds in a thick white bandage.

“Jon, what happened to you?” Martin asked in a hushed tone. “You look, well, you look-”

“Like somebody who just crawled out of a statement,” Tim finished for him.

Jon let out a raspy laugh. “That’s accurate,” he said, and the two men raised their eyebrows at how raspy his voice sounded. “Let’s just say that I’m not exactly from around here.”

“What does that even mean?” Martin asked, a hint of hysteria entering his voice.

At that very unfortunate moment, Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute entered the room, looking less than pleased at Jon’s presence in his Archives. Or, more accurately, the fact that both Tim and Martin were looming over his wounded body instead of working on their assigned statements. This Jon’s hair was far shorter than his own, and instead of a green sweater he wore a white long-sleeve button up and pale blue tie.

“What the- who are you?” The man shouted, looking down at Jon less like he would an injured man and more like he would an Avatar of the Flesh.

“I’m you,” Jon said with a thin smile. ”Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to find a chair. I haven’t sat properly in, well, a while.” Jon pushed past Past -Jon with shaky legs, He instinctively turned to enter his old office, before he stopped himself and shook his head. No. Not there. He finally settled on collapsing into Tim’s desk chair, spinning to face the three men looking at him, mystified.

“Right, where’s Sasha? I only want to do this once,” he said quickly, vigor finally returning to his voice.

“Right here, boss!”

Jon froze.

A woman with pock-marked skin and deep blue eyes and blond hair and no glasses and NO NAME AND NO FACE AND NOTHING-

I'm too late

Shit.

Chapter Text

“...Double boss?” The thing that was definitely not Sasha asked, raising an eyebrow at the man.

Jon’s eyes widened in horror, his heart beating out of his chest. Calm yourself. You killed her once, you can do so again. I just need time.

“Right,” Jon said, brushing a small clump of dirt off his sweater, attempting to regain his composure. “I should explain. I am, in short, you,” he gestured to Past-Jon, “from a future that hopefully will never come to pass”

Past-Jon snorted. “How the hell are we supposed to believe that? For all we know you're not another one of those... Things, trying to steal my face!”

Jon almost laughed at the irony. If only he knew. “What must I say to convince you?” Jon asked in mock elegance.

“Say something only I know about.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Past-Jon nodded, and Jon grimaced. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. “Knock knock,” Jon whispered, lowering his voice to the same tone as he’d used during his statement. “Who is it, Mr. Spider?”

Past-Jon flinched, rage, fear, and grief flashing across his face at once, but Jon continued.

“It’s Mr. Bluebottle! And he’s brought you a cake!” His tone began to take on a dangerous lilt as his eyes sparked green. He could feel his pulse racing, the memories rushing through him like an overflowing dam. “Mr. Spider doesn’t like it.”

“You can stop now,” Past-Jon snapped, but in all honesty, he wasn’t so sure he could.

This is my statement once more.

“Knock knock. Who is it, Mr. Spider?” He continued as Tim and Martin looked between the two with increasing levels of horror. “It’s Mrs. Fruit! And she’s brought you some flowers!”

“Stop it!” Past-Jon shouted, baring his teeth like a caged animal.

“Mr. Spider doesn’t eat flowers.” His voice rose to a yell, drowning out Past-Jon’s pleas in static he was sure only he could hear.

“Knock knock. Who is it Mr. Spider?”

“It’s Mr. Horse. And he’s brought you his son!”

Jon’s voice rose to a crescendo.

“Mr. Spider wants more.”

Suddenly, the static stopped, and Past-Jon was glaring at him in disgust and fear. Mostly fear. “My apologies,” Jon said, not very sorry at all. “Does my proof work for you, Mr. Sims?” He raised his chin to almost look down upon the man standing before him.

Past-Jon nodded silently.

“Wonderful,” Jon said, choosing to ignore the way Not-Sasha was staring at him as though he held the keys to the universe. Which, in her defense, he quite literally did. “Now, any questions?”

“What happened to you?” Martin blurted out, then slapped his hands over his mouth in an instant moment of regret..

Jon chuckled. “Hell, mostly.”

“And what happened to us?” Not-Sasha asked, giving him a pointed look.

Jon tensed, then did his immediate best to look as casual as possible. “You all are fine,” Jon lied with a dismissive wave using his non-injured hand. “Lived to see the end and all that. Nothing too special.”

“Right…” Tim said skeptically. “So what do we call you then? Because I have a feeling ‘Double Boss’ is going to get old fast.”

“Hmm… I suppose you can’t just call me Jon, that’d get confusing.”

“How about Sims?” Martin suggested.

“Sounds perfect,” Past-Jon, or, just Jon now, said with a swift clap, cutting Sims off before he could even open his mouth. “Now can we please all get back to-”

He was cut off by loud, heavy footsteps that made them all freeze. Footsteps that Sims had done well to memorize his last few years working as the Archivist.

Jonah Magnus.

“Elias!” Tim said, spinning around to face him as though on wheels.

“Hello, Tim,” Elias greeted with a sickening smile and fake pleasantries. “Jon. Martin. Sasha. And… You.”

“Me,” Sims agreed.

“Who are you, exactly?” Elias asked coldly.

“I’m Jon’s brother, Jonny. He brought me in to help him with some paperwork he didn’t have time to take care of.” Sims lied with an ease that should have scared him more than it did.

What did scare him was Elias’ expression. “I see. I was unaware Jonathan had a sibling.” The old Victorian asshole’s eyes bored into him like a giant drill that wanted to kill him  as violently as possible while still maintaining the cleanliness of the ugly green carpet beneath them.

“I try to stay off the map. There are eyes everywhere, you know. Watching,” Sims said as he returned Elias’ glare tenfold.

“I suppose those eyes have a blindspot then, since I ran extremely thorough background checks on each and every one of my employees, and yet you never seemed to fall within my sights.”

Is he… serious? “How unfortunate.”

“Indeed,”  Elias said, turning back to Jon. Oh my god, he isn’t kidding. He has no idea who I really am. “In any case, it is extremely unprofessional to invite non-staff members into the archives unless it is for the purpose of recording a statement.  I have to say how disappointed I am with you, Jon.”

Jon hung his head, and Sims could tell from his clenched fists that he was quietly seething at the reprimand. “Yes sir.”

Elias nodded. “Good. I expect this will never happen again. I also expect that the rest of you who are actually on my payroll will return to their duties. Is that understood?”

“Yes boss,” the Archives staff said in unison with varying levels of disgust.

As Elias stalked off with no further words, Jon turned to glare at Sims once more. “Jonny? Seriously?”

“What did you want me to do, tell him that I’m a time traveler?” Sims shot back. “Besides, the most he’ll ever give you for me being down here is a slap on the wrist.” Though, let’s face it, he likely already knows everything I’ve told all of you, even if he can’t read me. So you’re a liability.

“He could deduct my pay, he could fire me,” Jon began to list, but Martin placed a hand on his shoulder and he paused long enough to take a step back and for Sims to loudly talk over him.

“Right, next order of business,” Sims said. “Has anybody here happened to come across another Martin?”