Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fact that this was Jon’s first day as archivist was already a fact that stressed him out more than he cared to say. A job he doesn’t really feel qualified for when there were Gertrude definitely had other opinions on who should be head archivist is… terrifying to say the least. Yes, he asked Sasha to also be moved down here, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was chosen. He can’t refuse this position, but it doesn’t feel right taking it. 

Nonetheless, here he is. Walking into his new archives. A place Elias is… strangely fond of. The pressure on Jon’s shoulder mounts. Elias expects him to right this place. And… that’s one hell of a task. The place is already a mess and he hasn’t even gone into the storage closet, full of filing cabinets with statements crammed into every small space between the walls, cabinets draws and so forth, with no rhyme or reason for why they’re here to begin with. 

This is… not going to be an easy task to say the least

But it’s the one he was paid to do. So he walks the rest of the way down the stairs, ignoring the twinge of pain in his legs, and arms and shoulders and just about everything else. The archives are… the same as they were when Jon first saw them. He walks over to his office, placing his bag down as he sits behind the desk. He makes his first task to clear his desk (is that a lighter?! In the archives? What was Gertrude doing?!), trying to make quick work of mess. Although it is the smallest amount of mess in this small office. So… maybe not the biggest achievement. But his assistants should be down here soon enough. 

Tim and Sasha know what they’re doing. With the extra hands, this should all go as smoothly as it possible can. Which probably shouldn’t be promising. As for… Martin. Well… that’s something to think about when he gets here. Hopefully he doesn’t interrupt the others’ work too much. Jon isn’t sure is Elias wants him to succeed or not. The man wants the archive clean, but he insists on giving Jon obstacles. Like Martin.

This train of thought is interrupted by the man himself. Alongside Tim and Sasha. So… maybe not all bad news. Jon stops his cleaning of his desk to look up at them, adjusting his glasses as he does. The three of them look… mixed about this new position, to say the least.

Tim looks… bemused. Like he was angry about something before he got here, but now is trying not to crack a joke at Jon. Jon and Tim did work in research together, so it’s most likely a joke at Jon’s expense. But… there feels like more. A grim sense of determination under all those feature. Jon knows Tim always had that about him… but it’s more exaggerated down here. Like he’s found the next step in a journey. His hands are folded over his chest as leans on Jon’s office door frame.

Sasha looks tired. She smiles at Jon and it feels half hearted. And he… can only imagine what’s going on in her head. She really should be the one sat here, Jon knows that. It’s what Gertrude would’ve wanted to take on from her. If only. Jon doesn’t know how to go about that subject. But she looks happy for Jon nonetheless. Maybe out of pure politeness or maybe just… emotional maturity. 

And Martin. Martin is a state. He looks nervous, specially from his and Jon’s first meeting on Jon’s first day in the archives. Martin wasn’t even meant to be down here and he brought himself and a dog down here! The man’s hands flutter nervously by his sides, grasping at his jumper in an attempt to stop this. He doesn’t make eye contact with Jon. Probably for the best, Jon is doing nothing to hide his venomous glare at him. 

“I’m glad you all could make it”, Jon starts, folding his hands on his desk, now partially cleared of the mess it had on it. “As you can see we have… a lot of work to do. I have been told from Elias that we need to catalogue, sort and record each statement digitally. He also mentioned tape recorders of all things in the storage room. I hope it doesn’t come to the point where we have to use them. But as Elias mentioned it… I wouldn’t bet on this being true.” Jon sighs as he looks over the three assistants. 

“So…” Tim starts up. “Where do we start, boss?” Jon can’t tell if the ‘boss’ added on the end of that statement is a joke or not. But he’s not willing to ask to find out. 

“Start on your desks, get your computers set up and work through any stray statements on them. Then we can start working through the storage room of statements, as well as any new ones that come in.”

The three nod, Tim and Sasha walking away with purpose, whilst Martin look after them, back to Jon, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before a faint blush spreads across his face in ears and scampering after the two others. Jon sighs to himself. It’s… definitely not going to be an easy job. 

And so the day goes on. Sasha is the first to finish with her desk, helping Martin out with his as Jon gives Tim his next intructions once the man finishes his own. He’s grateful for Sasha, but he can’t help but feel slightly paranoid about the fact that the others will see him incompetent in his failure in helping one of assistants, a feeling of being watched and judged settling over him. Not an unfamiliar feeling. But an unpleasant one nevertheless. And this is how the day settles. The afternoon coming around, with Sasha, Tim and Martin all diligently working… more or less. Tim’s cracking loud jokes to the two others, Martins bumbling along and Sasha… well she’s actually doing her job. Jon scrabbles to try and do his along side her. Going through his own statements, trying to figure out ways to record them, a stack of stubborn statements piling on his desk as they refuse to record. He’ll ask Sasha about it later. She always was better at technology. And everything else. Well… apparently, she’s not head archivist. why? Why him? Why Jon? Jon from research who’s scared of spiders? For the love of god, he doesn’t even believe in this stuff! He refuses to. Why him?-

A loud bang emanates from the archive storage. The sound of crashing and something clunking into the filing cabinets with a loud clang follows. Something… strangely inhuman and daunting about this. Well, obviously the fact that Jon doesn’t know where this thing has come from. But also… the coughs are strangely static-y? And hollow? No, that’s got to be two sets of voices. None of his assistants have gotten up, so it’s not one of them. Good Lord please say it’s just some people from artefact storage-

Jon jumps up from his desk, hanging around in his office door frame, hesitating a few seconds. Tim, Sasha and Martin all looking at the door in surprise. Tim immediately picks up on Jon’s hesitation, getting up from his chair himself to cautious approach the door. Jon makes a small noise at this action, trying to get him to stop. But Tim continues on. Reaching for the door handle, to open the door inwards. Sasha jerkily gets up from her own chair, as if preparing to flee or attack whatever comes out the door. Martin loudly scrapes his chair away from his desk, fumbling and nearly falling over on it (how, it’s got wheels for Pete’s sake.) and picks up the closest thing to him: a paper wight. 

The silence in the office stretches on. The coughing becoming strangled in the storage room. Jon can feel his heart in his throat. Dear lord, what could it be? Attacked in his own goddamn archives on his first day!? God Elias would kill him if this thing didn’t kill him first, he would be a laughing stock, a-

Tim opens the door inwards, finally gathering his courage to reaveal… two people. One figure hunched over, clutching another in their arms. And blood. A lot of blood. And dust, strangely enough. Jon freezes again where he is, a few steps away from his office. Sasha openly gapes at the two figures, as does Tim. Martin awkwardly shuffles around to get a better look, looking extremely hesitant, before stepping forward. The figure clutching the other one looks up. Jon feels a strange sense of… familiarity with the figure. But he can’t place his finger on it. 

The figure’s hair is ginger, with white streaks in it, really its almost completely white by now. A beard in the same ginger and white fashion too. Their glasses are fogged up to the point where their eye are impossible to make out, how they’re seeing anything is… beyond Jon’s comprehension. Their clothes are… dirty. Not just from the obvious excess of dust, but also from rips and tears in the fabric. Dirt, burns, mud, stones (rubble?) and blood. New and old. All caked on their jeans, jumper, hands and every other part of them. Their companion looking in a similar state. Although, the more pressing issue for said companion is the knife sticking deeply into their back, blood dripping off the handle. The figure seems just as surprises to see everyone else. 

Martin interrupts this pregnant silence by dropping the paper weight in his hands, before rushing forward. Panicked mummering and shock coming from him. “O-oh god, what happened? How did you get in here?! Why is there a knife in their back!?”

All valid questions. Although the figure holding their wounded companion gapes and opens and closes their mouth a few times. But they reply, voice hoarse, like they’ve been crying and screaming. “Just get a first aid kit! He can’t just die after all this! We have a deal!” 

Jon contemplates the fact that this figure seems more intent on getting his end of a bargain as Sasha shuffles, running to get a first aid kit. Martin drops to his knees to try and help the figure and their companion. Tim looks on for a few seconds, looking over the scene in horror, no jokes to make at this, before joining Martin on the floor, trying to look around for fabric to stop and/or soak up the blood. 

And Jon stays where he is, still in the doorway to his office. His gaze doesn’t leave the figure’s. Something. something about them. It’s familiar, yet off. It nags and gnaws at his train of thought as he look over the two figures. He remains this way several more moments before stepping forward himself.

The other figure, the one currently bleedinging out, seems to be breathing currently, but looks unconscious. There’s… something familiar and odd about the figure too. But, he seems more uncanny. From where Jon’s standing, they seem to be infested with scars, small circular ones scattered over his face. And that’s only from where Jon’s standing. The rest of the figure is covered in the same amount of dirt as the other, although the amount of fresh blood is steadily collecting under him.

The sound of first aid kit being opened besides Jon startles him out of his staring. Sasha quickly pulls out any fabric, banadages, wipes. Her hands are shaking. Martin crouches next to the figure holding the bleeding man, and Tim has successfully gotten fabric from somewhere, holding it to the stab wound, slowing the rate of blood loss. 

The figure still clutches the other man, muttering quietly under his breath, mostly repeating “come on” or small pleas to his unconscious companion. 

It’s all far too much for Jon. He looks away.

“There’s a cot at the back of the storage room. We could build it and put him on there. I’m sure it’s more comfortable than the floor” Jon speaks up after a while, glancing over the scene before looking back down at the ground again. Jesus, what else can he do here? This isn’t exactly the first day activities he had in mind. 

The figure clutching the unconscious man jolts at his voice, pausing and nodding. Scooping his companion as best he can, stumbling slightly, but moving determinedly towards archive storage. Jon frowns. He… hasn’t told this person where that is, yet they seem so confident as they head in the right direction. Tim follows with the action, still holding the fabric to the wound, blood seeping through the fabric, not questioning these movements like Jon is. Then… Jon silently questions why the blood looks darker than it should, but tries to chalk it up to being the dark shadows of the storage room distorting it’s colour. He can’t quite get himself to believe it. Sasha and Martin both seem rather shocked at the quick agreement from the figure. Sasha quickly closes the fist aid kit and starts on the way to where the cot would be. Martin pausing where he is to look around at everyone in confusion and hesitance and then scrambling up to follow everyone else.

The cot is easy enough to build. Mainly because… well, it barely qualifies as a bed. Practically a shoddy, thin mattress and some form of a frame to barely hold it above the floor. The mattress itself is lumpy and uncomfortable. The unconscious man does not complain though. Most likely because he can’t. But that’s besides the point right now. The figure lays his companion on his front, allowing easy access to the knife. A choked noise coming from the figure as he looks at it. 

Tim and Sasha waste no time in silently communicating with each other and switching out the fabric for some more currently unblemished rags from the first aid kit. Tim gently pressing down around the knife. “We need to get the knife out of this guy. He’s not going to heal whilst stabbed” Tim supply’s. Helpful, Jon critisizes, trying to distract himself from the growing emptiness in his gut at how helpless and useless he is here. He doesn’t know anything about first aid! 

“We have some plasters. Depending on how big the stab wound is we could… stick a plaster on it and hope it heals?” Sasha tries. Martin shakes his head

“It’s a stab wound. With a knife in it! I doubt it’s going to be a small one either! He needs stitches at least!” He counters, sounding frantic. His hands tremble and he looks to be trying to keep his lips from trembling. 

The figure waves their hands around, gesturing for silence from the others. Looking at the knife’s hilt in… fear and apprehension, taking a deep breath.

The assistants fall silent, them and Jon looking on as the figure slowly grabs the knife hilt. 

“What are you doing?” Tim hisses at the figure, looking from their fogged up glasses to the hand on the hilt. As the figure readjusts the grip, their other hand coming up to rest on the unconscious companion’s back, next to the knife. 

The figure takes a deep breath in. “I’m taking a gamble,” they say. The tone emits such confidence that Tim seems temporarily fine with this arrangement. 

That is until the figure pulls the knife out their companion’s back.

Tim’s eyes widen, Sasha lets out a small protest and Martin lets out a strangled yell. Jon even lets out a chocked noise. That’s… not what he expected. And now someone is bleeding out at a dangerous rate on institute property. Brilliant.

“Jesus! You didn’t have to do that! What the hell are you-“ Tim starts up.

“Just trust me!” The figure snaps back, desperation leaking into their voice. They don’t move their head, so Jon can only assume they’re staring at the wound too. Tim recoils slightly, gaping at the figure, then looking back to the bleeding wound in the unconscious figure’s back. 

Well, rather the place the wound used to be. 

Martin let out a strangled noise as the wound stitches itself together, the skin and muscle pulling itself apart to grab the other side of the wound and stitch itself. It reminded Jon of a spider pulling at a section of string, binding a captured bug in a cocoon. It made Jon’s skin crawl, he gags slightly. Tim openly stares in shock, mouth opening and closing. And Sasha looks aghast… yet strangely intrigued.

And the figure over their unconscious companion’s body… lets out a small sob of relief, slumping against the cot and the man, head falling into their hands and threading through their own hair and they let out the breath they had been holding. They look… so relieved and… unconcerned about the fact that that wound stitched itself back together. It’s obvious they care about this person- This thing, Jon reminds himself. Whatever that thing is, it is not human. Human skin does not do that. 

“What… the hell… was that?!” Jon demands to the figure as the try and take in steady breaths. Tim glances at Jon, then the figure. Martin and Sasha still stare at their newly healed section of the unconscious figure’s back, where the skins looks slightly discoloured. Another scar from the looks of it. 

Silence hangs in the air as Jon looks from the person and their unconscious companion. “Tell me?” Jon prods again, “what is that? Who are you?” He hisses out. He denies, he refuses to admit that… maybe after all these years of remaining adiment that the supernatural, the paranormal is false, tricks of the mind… that it could be real. That’s terrifying. Because if thats real… 

“well?!” Jon demands again, voice raising slightly as he breaks that chain of thought. First day of the archives and this happens-

“Right….Jon, calm down. Shouting isn’t getting anywhere. I can explain.” And Jon stops as he’s able to listen without panicking about a stranger bleeding out in his archives. Because Tim didn’t say that. Nor Sasha. And… that’s… undoubtedly Martins voice. But… Martins mouth did not move. Instead the figure… the ‘stranger’ continues.

“We had to do it. Cut the tether, free the Fears. Oh god, we did that. B-but we had to. together. And… we’re here. It’s a long story. One I’m assuming from… the looks of each of you. You haven’t started that story for long. I… maybe we can change what happens…” the figure trails off wistfully. Before sighing and turning to face each of the assistants and Jon, taking off his fogged up glasses. And… that’s Martin. Jon’s sure of it. Yes, a beard, streaks of stark white hair too, and… dull, unfocused and foggy eyes. But that’s Martin, how is that possible!? 

This figure, this person (not-martin? other-Martin?… old-martin…?) frowns at each of them in turn, looking over Martin and Jon in resignation, and Tim and Sasha in… sadness. He runs a hand over his face. He has been crying. Jon can see it. His eyes are red like he has been for a while. The figure continues on.

“I’m… from a future, I suppose. A… different universe. Time line? It’s… complicated. And Annabelle took no time explaining it so… I don’t really know. But… I’m Martin Blackwood. And I think you should all sit down for this chat.” 

Chapter Text

If you had told Martin that he would be falling into archive storage, holding his partner after stabbing him, being helped out by younger versions of the archival staff and then having to explain how he got here in this position… well, he probably would’ve sighed and resigned himself to the fact he cannot have a single normal day. Or the fact that that’s a very specific fear domain, what?! 

But what’s in front of him isnt a fear domain. It’s surreal, yes. Insane, definitely. But this past (future? present??) archival crew is looking at him like he stabbed someone- well. Like he stabbed one of them- no wait. technically he did? Do these Jons count as the same person? -But that’s besides the point! The fact is that Martin and Jon have been through hell and back over these years, a literally apocalypse and back. 

And Martins back to staring at Jon’s disapproving glare. This time with more exasperation and shock. Just one break from that, preferably. please. 

But… from this perspective, Martin can see the progress they made from his past. How different he and the other Martin are. Looking at his face. But one he doesn’t see in the mirror anymore. No white streaks in his hair. Not even a whisp of beard on his face. Eyes still sharp and brown. And the younger figure of him looks scared and almost… pitiful. Yes, he feels a sense of connection, this is himself after all. But he does not look back at the first few months of the archives fondly. He was a chronic people pleaser, lonely in the sense of a lack of connection. He did nothing to help himself though. Backbone of a soggy eclair and the eyes of a kicked puppy. 

A stark contrast of what the archives made of him. Losing weight, gaining weight, losing the colour and focus of his eyes in favour of a cold fog settling in his veins and skin. Humanity stripped away. The apocalypse only highlighted that. And now he’s taunted by what he used to be.

He’s changed. For better or for worse? He’s unsure. 

And Tim and who he only assumes to be Sasha. Tim looks different without the anger and bitterness seeping through him. Unscarred and still determined to get some of revenge and closure, still thinking that these things can be defeated. And this Sasha just highlights how wrong what replaced her was. Ink smudges on her hands, an even, unflinching gaze from dark green eyes as she meets Martin’s gaze. The thing that replaced her always refused to write on paper, likely due to the change in handwriting, and it’s bright blue eyes that avoided eye contact at all costs. 

None of its started, he realises. They look so out of their depth, maybe from the person falling out of another universe claiming to be from the future. But also inexperienced with the archives, especially with how the cot wasn’t made, suggesting this Jon hasn’t even stayed over night yet. They’re still unaffected, unblemished and innocent. No death threats, murder accusations or scars. A chance. Just one. Martin doesn’t intend to waste it. He’s sure his Jon wouldn’t want to either.

Even if his Jon’s apparently still not very human with how his wound healed. A blessing right now. Very likely to be a curse later. But that’s a problem for the future. They made a deal. 

“…chat? You’ve told us your from the future and you want a chat” Tim speaks up disbelieving. “You realise this is insane, right?”

“Yes, I’m very aware. This situation is… just as surreal for you as it is for me. Especially for me.” Martin counters, looking away to look over Jon. His Jon. The skin where the knife was is still discoloured. He narrows his eyes slightly, the skin around it also seems discoloured, did he always have such a big scar on his back?-

“Right, okay. So, everyone agrees this is weird?” Tim looks around each of his co-workers. Martin always forgot Tim used to muse aloud before he went sour, a bitter-sweet thing as he loses his train of thought, turning to Tim instead. Sasha nods, past Martin makes another nervous sound and past Jon merely continues to stare at him. Although he supposes he can give him a break, he probably looks horrendous. There are no mirrors in the apocalypse. 

“So… how far in the future are you from exactly? I’m guessing 2026? 2027? Especially with how…” Jon fills in whatever word could go there by weakly gesturing at everything about Martin, then to the other Martin, the stark difference between the two as blindingly obvious as it was at first. Ah.

“I’m from 2018, not sure when in that year. Or if time passed after… well, a few things. It’s complicated-“

Jon‘s face drains of colour, staring at martin in shock. Martin can practically se the man trying to rebuke or find the lie in his words. Anything. Anything, that means that that is not an actual result of just two years. Martin grits his teeth slights, never one fond of being undermined. This Jon isn’t his Jon. Nor is this Jon his boss. He has no need to comfort him with white lies or hold his tongue.

“Yes. 2018. It’s a rough two years.” Martin sighs before adding “Not the intended purpose of our… trip, but here we are.” The words are tinged with bitterness. Here are the rest of the archival staff getting the chance to escape their cruel fates, why couldn’t he Jon have that? … would they still end up together if they didn’t go through those two years? Martin shakes the head to dislodge these thoughts, turning his attention back to the figure, his Jon, still laid out on the bed.

Now that he’s not actively bleeding out and Martin isn’t stressed about his partner dying or something, he can start to make out more details to his partner, even in the dim lighting. The first thing he notices is the faint hum of static as he breathes. Something he heard when Jon was somewhat conscious and coughing when they first came (fell?) through into this universe. So… maybe not as far away from the reach of the entities as they thought then. So much for cutting the tether. Unless Jon merely holds one end of the ‘rope’ of entities? The entities on one end are free and less concentrated over the universes. Meanwhile, Jon still holds onto his end of this ‘rope’, a concentrated bundle of all the fears he still holds onto. That he still is after sacrificing himself to stop that. God, that would be cruel. And therefore not out of the question. Martin also looks back through the hole in Jon’s bloody shirt, allowing him to peak at the skin of his upper back. He doesn’t remember any scars there, why is so much of the skin discoloured? Yet some isn’t, like a pattern of some sort-

“so” Sasha interrupts. “What do we do about this?” She looks at Martin and then at the old Jon. 

Old Jon is still pale, hands clasping and wringing each other as he stares at future Martin and Jon. Martins just glad none of them have question why Tim and Sasha aren’t here too. 

“Right. Yes. Um. Right.” Past Jon fumbles over his words, before Martin interrupts. 

“Look, I get this is… a lot. So why don’t you guys go collect your thoughts and let me settle back in? I’ll stay here in case he wakes up.” Martin’s gaze returns to his partner. Still unconscious and unmoving. He frowns sadly. Some supports would be nice right now. The room feels strangely cool, even for archive storage.

“Perfect. Then we’ll just be in the break room,” Tim trails off, obviously a few more words to say. But he doesn’t. He nods awkwardly, before exiting archive storage, the others follow after him, Sasha close behind, past Martin scampering after and past Jon looks on for a few seconds, before making his own way out. 

And with that. Martin is alone.

Not completely, yes, he knows that. Jon’s here. His Jon. But… his Jon isn’t even awake right now. Martin rests his chin on a hand, looking over Jon. He looks human still. Although, his perspective of that may be a tad warped from the apocalypse and seeing Jon like that everyday. Human yet not. A vessel beyond Martin’s comprehension. Just being around him felt like being under a microscope, like the tension in the air before a storm. Martin can still feel it weakly now, in fact. He prays that means less than he thinks it does. 

Finally, Martin follows up on his trains of thought. Jon looks… normal enough. His face clear of any open eyes that shouldn’t be there, however he is asleep, so that may mean nothing. His actual eyes are wide open. Something that began after he found Gertrude’s body. Although, he never told Jon that, the man just always looked deep in thought when Martin used to enter his office with tea. He didn’t even realise that was him sleeping until the safe house. 

Martin sighs. God. The safe house. Somewhat simpler times. No archives, no Eye or police or murder or supernatural things trying to kill them. Just empty fields, sky, cows and Jon. Best two weeks of his life. 

No point in reminiscing now, though. Martin checks over the rest of Jon. He finds only bruising from the rubble of the panopticon on Jon’s forehead, likely the cause of Jon being so throughly knocked out. 

Apart from his back. 

The discoloured skin, scaring, is still there. He can see that through the hole the knife made in Jon’s shirt. But the stab didn’t go that far from Jon’s back. How has it spread? Martin takes a moment to lift up the bloodied shirt and inspect Jon’s back. 

A pattern is on there. Martin’s eyes narrow. It’s… vaguely the shape of a skull, he swears it’s familiar, but the eyes of the ‘skull’ are so deep and dark, yet piercing. Martin feels dread settle in the pit of his stomach as he lowers Jon’s shirt. He then swallows his worries as he finds a blanket to put over Jon. 

He settles next to the cot, leaning his head on it. A problem for tomorrow, right? Jon will Know what to do. Although he can’t stop himself worrying about it. He sniffs and closes his eyes nonetheless.

The tears on his face never felt so warm as the fog curls around the cot.

Chapter Text

Sitting down in the break room after all of that felt… stupidly normal. This is something Tim felt everyone agreed with. Even Jon was antsy. Someone just appeared in the archives, claimed they were from the future and then made it sound like this was weird for them. Well. Maybe it was, but still!

Tim doesn’t know if he should storm in and demand they answer more questions or just… sit here uselessly. The latter seems more easily done right now. So, there he sits along with the others. Sasha’s clearly deep in though. Jon’s staring into space. Martin is fidgeting and picking his hands, before mumbling something about making tea and turning the kettle on.

It feels too normal. They should be freaking out! They should be doing something!

But what is there to do?

Tim sighs and slumps further into his chair. He can’t help but mentally catalogue the similarities between the two Martins. Martin -the actual, normal Martin- was skittish, shy and honestly doesn’t look like he could hurt a fly. A big, threatening man that… honestly has the personality of a puppy, really. The man cried over videos about animals for Christ sake! They werent even sad videos! This Martin had the emotional capacity of a fork. 

But. The other Martin. The future Martin. The ‘Martin’ came in covered in blood, with someone who was stabbed. And they didn’t bat an eye when they ripped that knife out. That difference alone is massive! But, at the same time, Tim can see the similarities. The way they instantly go to help, the was they adjust their glasses. The other Martin’s hands had been picked raw in some places, a habit Tim knew the actual Martin had. 

So, the two of them being the same person was clearly a very good possibility. Either that or other Martin is a very good doubleganger. So that leaves the question is: What changed? What happened?  And is that something Tim wants to know what happened?

“So. What do we do about… that? The new Martin?” Tim questions aloud. He knows it’s what they’re all thinking, even if no one’s looking at each other. But someone had to break the silence. It’s unbearable. He didn’t realise a space so small could have such an unbelievable echo, creating the illusion of being in a room or auditorium of sorts. An empty silence. Tim was never good with that kind of silence. Not after Danny. 

“What can we do? Do we believe them? That they are Martin?” Sasha responds. She continues to look and pick at her nails. 

“They’ve got to be, did you see the way they adjusted their glasses? Identitcal. And the fact their hands were picked to shreds? The actual Martin does that too!” Tim argues, gesturing to the nervous action their Martin was currently doing, and then startled out of doing by that call-out.

Sasha hums, eye narrowing thoughtfully at the action and information. Knowing Sasha, Tim bets she’s already found several different reason besides his that that Martin is the same person as this Martin. Or maybe a hole in this new person deception. She always was observant. 

“But that doesn’t mean we should believe it. Being from the future is far too far fetched. I mean, I doubt someone can change that much in two years. Let’s alone Martin.” Jon starts, ignoring the way the Martin in the room with them is carefully keeping his head down. “We should figure out what’s really going on. Maybe he’s just someone similar to Martin on drugs? Maybe a head injury-?” 

“Oh, come on, boss! You saw the wound of that person heal! And how else would you explain them just appearing in the archives? It’s supernatural! Admit it, you’re wrong about the supernatural!” Tim grins, knowing he’s all but got Jon in a corner with this now, happily ignoring the greater implications of this. And everything else that it implies in the archives.

Jon scoffs and rolls his eyes, “a trick of the light! It was a small knife. And that thing did not move, it was just gravity keeping the blood in the small stab wound. And! There could be, I don’t know, a corridor in that archive storage. Half of it’s full of statements we need to go through. We have no idea what’s down there. I say we don’t trust this new ‘Martin’ and whatever else he’s brought.”

Tim huffs and folds his harms over his chest. Sasha hums and nods along weakly, making Tim’s hopes of getting along peacefully with the new Martin dwindle. The actual Martin continues making teas, stirring the water and teabags in each mug, not speaking. his moves are quiet, like he hoping he’s not asked about anything or noticed. Another pregnant silence follows again. Tim shifts uncomfortably.

“What should we call them then? We already have a Martin. We can’t have two in the archives.” He says to the room. Not the most important question and not to anyone in particular, just in the hopes of a conversation. Sound. Anything but the oppressive lack of noise, that somehow seems to convey the barren and lonely archives. 

The question hangs in the air for a while and after a while, Martin is setting the mugs in front of each person, mumbled thanks and nods given to him. Sasha turns as he sets the tea in front of her. “Maybe we can call him by your middle name? What does the ‘K’ stand for?”

Martin freezes and then his face slowly goes bright red. Tim grins, latching onto what could be an opportunity to have some of the confusion and dread weighing them down lifted in favour of some light-hearted teasing. “Is it that bad?” He pokes.

Martin opens and closes his mouth a few times. Tim is happily poking the man for more information now as the weight on Sasha’s shoulder lifts, even if just briefly, as she covers her own smile at Martin’s fumbling. Jon, ever allergic to fun, rolls his eyes at this, seeming more annoyed that he isn’t getting a fast answer than the conversation itself. “Well?” He prompts Martin, who looks ready to melt into the floor and fade away.

“W-well. It’s uh. Well” Martin sigh and runs a hand through his hair, mumbling the next words quickly in embarrassment, “I made up a middle name, I don’t have one. It’s just a K”.

Time pauses, before barking out a laugh. Sasha starts laughing too. Jon looks thoroughly confused. 

“You made it up?” Jon stares at him in bewilderment. “why!?” 

Martin is actively trying not to dissolve into what seems to be a blubbering, flushed mess of embarrassment and Jon looks ready for an exasperated rant about lying to employers and how it could have and probably has somehow effected the employment process. Before Sasha steps in, swiftly angling the conversation away from this. “How about Blackwood, then?”

Jon blinks in surprise, glancing over at Martin once again in a look of confusion and frustration before nodding to Sasha. Meanwhile, Martin still looks like he would rather be digging his own grave. Tim laughs again, quieter this time, blowing his tea to cool it down and then sipping it. 

“I don’t trust Blackwood in the archives” Jon butts in suddenly. He’s looking down at his tea, not looking up to meet any of their eyes. Tim blinks at Jon’s quick agreement and uptake of the nickname for the new Martin. And then processes the question.

“Okay. Why not?” 

“It’s my first day as head archivist, I’m not letting two strangers stay in the archives, I only just got the keys for this place, I can’t lock them in! Or out, they have no where to go.”

A reasonable dilemma. Tim knows this. He didn’t think that far ahead, far too concerned with the fact that time travel is real and out of all places, it happened here. Why here? What’s special about the archives? Why did Blackwood look so distressed and sound like they had screamed and cried for so long? For an archival assistant that had supposedly been working here for two years, they seemed really out of place in the archives. And very dirty and scarred for an archive job. You don’t get that much mud, dirts, rubble and blood caked on you over time from working behind a desk in an institute in London. There’s barely green spaces to get your boots muddy in the first place, let alone that much muck. And then there are the differences between Blackwood and the actual Martin. But Tim refuses to think about that and what it implies if that is Martin.

“Maybe you could lock them in archive storage? I mean, it locks and the statements can’t really be damaged with anything in there. Well, unless they start tearing them up but, with the state they’re in I doubt they would be doing that. And then they have a place to stay and you don’t have to worry about them rifling through any of the institute technology or office spaces. Plus then theres no need to move them” Sasha suggests, making Tim focus back on the original question.

Tim smiles, he knew she would be the smartest of the group. He knew Jon had a tendency to panic under stress and do questionable stuff in the heat of the moment, something he’d gotten used to in research. As well as a few of Jon’s more… peculiar habits. And, well, Tim didn’t really know anything about Martin, he worked in the library.

 But Sasha was always a levelheaded woman. Tim can’t help but privately think she would’ve made a great head archivist. Sasha made him promise never to say that to Jon. Sasha was competitive, yes. But she wasn’t cruel. She knew Jon was already stressed and burdened with the thought of not being good enough. Tim didn’t really care about that though. Sasha was the obvious person for the job, why Elias choose Jon will forever remain a mystery to Tim. Tim’s betting sexism, maybe a secret evil plan, or Jon has more on his CV than Tim realised. He’s more faveroable of the first one, though.  

Jon nods and smiles weakly at Sasha, before returning his gaze to his tea. As do Sasha and Martin as the conversation dies out. Tim glances around the three others, before settling into the silence. The others seem comfortable despite their weary expressions. So he doesn’t speak to fill the barren air of the archives like he usually would. They need a break. 

Tim’s mostly through his mug of tea when Martin finally speaks up, as his tea slowly goes cold in front of him, untouched. 

“I don’t like the way Blackwood looked at me,” he frowns. And Tim perks up. 

“You mean his glassy stare? It’s creepy, right? I mean how can eyes look so unfocused-“

“No. It’s not that.” Martin interrupts Tim’s train of thought with Blackwood’s physical eyes, “But, that was weird. It was more, well, he just looked at me pitifully and somewhat annoyed at me. It’s normal to be annoyed by people, yes, but if he’s my future. Well, surely that’s a bit different, right? Should I be worried for what’s to come? Or who I will become? Why doesn’t he like me if he is me?”

And, god, Tim doesn’t know what to say. That a very deep worry of Martin’s. And none of them have any answers. This isn’t exactly something they can relate to. Jon looks throughly surprised by the philosophical outlook Martin has from less than 10 minutes of interaction with Blackwood. Sasha seems to pause and look at Martin sympathetically. And there’s nothing any of them can say to comfort Martin. So they sit there in silence at this revelation.

“Is it bad if I don’t want to be that?” Martin adds in after a while. And Tim moves to lean casually on Martin, draping an arm over his shoulders in an attempt of comfort.

“Whatever you want isn’t bad, Martin. We can prevent that. And… even if that does happen we’ll be here for you, no matter what. I promise.” 

Jon nods, although sighing somewhat dramatically as he does so. Sasha smiles weakly and nods, “yeah, we’re here for each other. That’s not changing”.

Martin nods and looks uncertain still, but he smiles at Tim nonetheless. And that’s something for now. Tim smiles back and squeezes his shoulder lightly. Martin sips some of his tea, even though Tim’s sure that it’s definitely gone too cold to be nice anymore.

“Who do you think the other person is?” Jon interrupts, clearly taking a somewhat more curious approach to this situation, rather than Martin’s more emotional one. And everyone pauses again.

Sure, they think that Blackwood is some version of Martin. Heck, the person said it themselves. But that isn’t something they thought about. The nameless nobody? Blackwood obviously cares about them. Someone from the institute? No one looks like them. Unless someone changed that jurastically in the span of two years. Its unlikely, but Blackwood obviously did. And the implications of that are making the group uneasy. Or at least making Tim uneasy. Sasha shifts uncomfortably at the question, along with Tim who rubs the back of his neck as he continues to lean against Martin. Meanwhile, Martin blinks at the question, looking to be mulling over it, before speaking

“I can’t think of anyone they look like completely, but that was the same with Blackwood and i, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ll know unless we ask.”

Jon frowns and sighs, “well, I suppose that’s something to ask Blackwood then when they get out of archive storage. Maybe even tomorrow. They didn’t look ready to be explaining anything the state they were in.” 

Sasha hums in agreement, Martin stays silent and Tim looks down at his empty mug of tea. 

A great first day. They had gotten some work done and now their housing someone who looks to have been through a car wash with mud and blood instead of water, and claiming to be from the future and their maybe supernatural friend, in the archives. Brilliant. Just what Tim signed up for.

And so there they sit. All four of them in silence. They avoid eye contact with each other as they sit. No one wanting to point out the fact they’ll have to deal with this at some point. With Blackwood and whatever they brought with them. If they’re real or not. If they’re trustworthy. 

Jon checks his watch, frowning before sighing. “It’s 5, so it is time to go home.” He pauses, before speaking again. “I can explain our plan to Blackwood. You should all go get rest. It’s been a long first day, after all.”

Tim raises his head in bewilderment, looking to see Martin and Sasha with similar expressions on their face. 

“What? We’re not letting you go alone, Jon.” Sasha states, before continuing, “at least let one of us go with you.” 

Tim nods along. Martin seems to nervous to input his opinion on this, following Tim along and nodding to Jon. 

Jon sighs and looks at them deadpan, “fine” he looks between the three others before looking over at Tim. 

“Come on, Tim. Let’s get this over with”

Tim’s partially surprised, but doesn’t question it, taking the opportunity to try and lighten the mood once again. He bounces up before Jon can get out of his seat at the table.

“Right, come on then Boss! Let’s go see what the mysterious time traveler is doing in the spooky archives!” 

Jon sighs and Tim feels no sympathy for the man, he chose Tim, he gets the stupid jokes. Sasha huffs a small laugh and Martin tries to smile weakly, but it ends up failing. Tim makes sure that no disappointment from the small and rather lacking reaction of his co-workers show. Seems this isn’t something he can joke about and move on past so quickly then. He doesn’t know how to deal with that. But it’s something to note and think about for later as the other two stand up with less urgancy and start towards their desks to pack up.

Jon starts off towards archive storage, Tim quickly following after him so he doesn’t walk away, which for such a short man, happens a lot more often than Tim would like to admit. Tim’s the tall one, dammit, he should be faster. They walk in silence. It’s tense and Tim hates it.  It the silence hangs heavy enough that he doesn’t dare break it. Better to act happy and full of jokes rather than angry and bitter. Or worse, hopeless. 

Tim has already positioned and self proclaimed himself as the funny guy of this office. Dim, damp and slightly creepy office, yes. But an office nonetheless. And the only thing he can do to be more useful than just some guy that does his job sometimes is to be funny. Try and counteract the mopey setting. Getting all emotional, depressed and useless isn’t going to help anyone. 

Jon makes no move to break the silence either. No noise but their steps on the wood floor boards. Jon wrings his hands in front of himself as he walks, his posture straight and stiff like he had been the whole day. Like he had been since he found out he got the Head Archivist role. Tim knows he usually slouched and limped still on good days, used a cane on bad days. Tim doesn’t feel the need to question it too much. its Jon, he reasons, he knows what he’s doing. Maybe he just got some medication that’s helped the pain. He’s Head Archivist after all.  And Tim is only partially educated on the subject as Jon usually skirts around the topic. Therefore, he’s not in a place to say anything.

They both reach the door to archive storage and Jon hesitates on the handle, before seeming to reason with himself and instead knocking on the door and then opening it. 

Future Martin -Blackwood, Tim reminds himself- looks up from where they’re still slumped against the cot. The figure they brought is now positioned on their side. The figures eyes are… open. Which, Tim will admit, is a very disturbing sight. Whilst their face is scattered with scars, the eyes on it are unnaturally green. No flecks of different colours or imperfections. One singular colour throughout the whole iris. The eyes do not move. Tim shifts uncomfortably, pointing at the figure.

“Uh… is it- are they-?” He starts

“He’s sleeping, yes” Blackwood finishes for him, frowning at Tim and Jon. 

Jon’s posture doesn’t show any of how he reacts to that. Tim swallows and shifts again. Right. ‘He’. Tim doesn’t really trust that that figure is a ‘he’ right now. No more than any of the things in statements being a ‘he’ or a ‘she’. He doesn’t say that though.

Jon clears his throat before speaking, “so. Whilst you are staying in the archives, which are currently my responsibility, I need to ensure the safety and regulations remain intact and followed as much as they can.”

Blackwood just stares at Jon as he speaks. Their glasses still placed to the side on the cot, their eyes are looking in Jon’s direction, but Tim is further unsettled by how clouded they are still. Blackwood’s expression also gives nothing away, looking distant and, for a lack of a better word, angry. 

Tim can’t imagine how this person and the Martin back in the break room, or by this point walking home, is the same person. He can’t imagine Martin this… bitter? Sad? Frustrated?

Cold, Tim realises. This person is cold. In fact, archive storage feels to be a few degrees colder than the rest of the already cold archives. Tim doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t feel that right now it would be a wanted interruption.

“So I will be taking the precaution to lock the archive storage door to the rest of the archives and institute for the night,” Jon continues. “I will not compromise on this if you wish to stay here and I will be back in the morning to unlock the door and get a proper explanation about this, instead of the vague ‘from the future’ spiel. You have the benefit of the doubt for now due to the… circumstances that brought you here, as well as the state you’re in. But I will not tolerate having a stranger I don’t not trust or know anything about in the archives for longer than I have to”

Jon looks ready to continue his rant when Blackwood interrupts this.

“Alright.” 

Jon pauses and blinks a bit, looking a bit confused that they just accept this, “what?”

“I said alright, Jon. It’s your archives. Do what you need” Blackwood doesn’t look perturbed at all to Jon’s suggestion, simply going back to looking at the figure in the cot. Staring at their open, unblinking eyes. 

Jon looks to reign in his confusion, nodding and then looking to Tim, before nodding towards the exit as he speaks to Blackwood, producing the keys from his pocket. 

“Well. We’ll see you in the morning. And I will expect the explanation”

Now, Tim has some sense to see that they are currently badgering someone who looks like they’ve been through a crime scene and then hell and back for more information about… well, anything about them really. But, he can see why Jon might be being slightly unnecessarily strict and cruel. The man has adamantly refused to acknowledge the supernatural, and now he’s faced with something that’s most likely evidence or a really messed up drug trip for two people. Tim wouldn’t want to leave them in a place he was now responsible on the first day of it. 

So, yet again, he doesn’t question it. He doesn’t step in. Merely stepping out the door and waiting for Jon to follow and lock the door. As he looks back towards the cot as Jon follows him out he catches Blackwood’s gaze on him. 

Blackwood is frowning, eyes unfocused still but sharper than Tim has seen them in the whole few moments he’s spent around the person. And they’re staring straight at him. The weight of the gaze is practically dizzying. Tim feels the Cold seep into his bones for a second, as if he was outside in the rain without a coat. He can almost feel the water in his eyes. All he knows is that Blackwood looks at him and the archives and the others and Jon and the situation, everything- it melts away. And he can only look back at Blackwood and feel. It feels like the day he got out of the Royal Opera House. Holding a damp pamphlet of the theatre, now illegible due to the rain smudging and destoying the ink. The loss of Danny heavy on his body and heart. The hopelessness and anger, the Cold only seemed to add to it as he staggered away and into God knows where. Just away. The… the Loneliness settle over him. That it. The Coldness, the loneliness, the emptiness and bitter anger. As it took every meaning of the world around him, and crushed it until it all felt mute and meaningless and a cruel imitation of the world before and-

And Jon shuts the door. 

“Tim?” Jon frowns at him, looking slightly more confused. “Are you alright?”

Tim blinks and nods, taking a breath in and wiping his face. He feels dizzy, like the floor has just been swept out from under his feet. He wipes his face and hair, half expecting to find himself drenched to the bones as the cold is slowly once again replaced by warmth. 

He finds, instead, that his eyes had welled up, near to crying. He wipes his eyes and nods, smiling as best he can.

“Yeah, yeah. Something… something in my eye.” He lies. 

It seems good enough for Jon for now, as he nods and hesitates. Before sighing and speaking, “well, now that’s all dealt with, you should go home too. I have to lock up the archives as well.”

Tim nods and smiles, swallowing down any emotions. “Sure thing, Boss”, it feels empty, but it’s the best he can currently do. 

And just like that, Tim finds himself at his apartment. Packing his bag and leaving the institute in a hurry is hazy in his mind. He knows he must of done them, because here he is. But he doesn’t feel he has done them. They don’t feel real. They feel distant and foggy. 

He drops his bag by his front door, going through evening routines with practiced care. 

And after all that, he goes to bed. Trying not to think about what happened. 

And he fails at that too. 

All of todays events seem blotted out by that one moment. Less than a few seconds, he knows rationally, but what felt like an eternity. It did when it originally happened. It took forever to get home walking. 

Tim’s rest is unsettled and his room is strangely cold. 

Yet he refuses to even think about tell people this when tomorrow comes around. 

He picked his act. He’ll stick to it until it snaps. 

Chapter Text

Jon’s hands run over the cover of the book he holds. The slight bump from the imprinting of the words and picture of the cover. The book itself feels cold. He turns the book over to see the cover and the familiar haunting face of a spider stares back at him. Beady, misshapen and unsymmetrical eyes seeming to follow him as he looks over the cover. 

He has a vague sense he’s dreaming. No real factual evidence. Just a feeling of… Knowing. This is not real. But the eyes stare up at him nonetheless. 

His mind can’t seem to settle on whether he’s sat on his Grandmother’s living room floor, picking the book up for the first time again with small, unknowing hands and a small naive face. Or whether hes in the archives, picking up the same god forsaken book again, forced to read familiar words again, and maybe this time Mr.Spider will get what he was after this whole time as he’s unwillingly lead to his demise. 

He’s had this dream often in the past, but not for a while. The books familiar cover a surprising thing to see in his mind -and hands- but it’s still there.

Usually, at this part of the dream he would find himself walking endlessly and willingly, reliving the same memories that have happened. Or find his demise taking that option into its own control as spindly legs would reach around from the nearest door. 

Whatever way these dreams went about, he would find himself staring at glistening eyes and waving mandibles. Legs that held him so carefully as they wrapped him taut and let him suffocate as he struggled, which only led him to suffocate faster. The fact he could never get enough oxygen in his lungs as he panicked and flailed meaning he’d wake up gasping and trying to unwrap web from around his throat that was no longer there. That was never there. 

But nothing happens.

A fact that… Jon really couldn’t be unhappy with. He just stares back at the eight unequal eyes of the cover as they stare back at him. There was still definitely a strange hum of this dream that suggested something was wrong. It was undeniably there. A faint vibration of nerves and rot and hunger. Like a smell of rotting flesh that clung to the air despite the body being long gone.

It settled over Jon like fog… and then like dirt. Cold, hard dirt. Heavy and noticeable.

The feeling grew, until it was impressing and heavy, thinning the air and causing Jon to gasp and cough. He swallows as he tries to get some breath back in his body, but his body simply seems to reject it. Every attempt seemingly being crushed back out of his body and chest as he moves a hand up to his mouth.

He flails briefly before his eyes focus in front of him once again on the book. 

A moth covers Mr.Spider. Not a big one. Nothing remarkable or notably supernatural about it. But there it sits nonetheless. Blocking the beady eyes of the book. The moth is a dark shade of brown, covered in dark cream and orange patterns. Like bleach seeping through black cloth. The most notable feature of the moth is its back, an almost skull like patten nestled in the space between where its wings attach to its body. 

Nothing to major about that, Jon knew. Many moths look like something they’re not, whether out of pure coincidence or natural selection. But the eye sockets of this moth. They were deep. Dark. Vast yet so small upon this tiny moth’s back. 

Jon swats the moth away and he draws in another painful breath, the air seeming to be rapidly thinning. His eyes follow the small moth’s body as it doesn’t do anything to change the fact it’s falling straight onto the floor. No struggle or act to right itself. 

Onto the floor in front of two shoes. 

The shoes are covered in an ungodly amount of mud. Many different shades of mud being slicked up the side of the trousers and shoes in front of him. Along with suspicious shades of red and brown.

Jon looks further up the figure. 

A similar array covers the t-shirt and cardigan of the person in front of him. Deep reds to dark, dark brown, almost black mud. Definitely blood. 

In fact, this person seems to be in a similar, if not worse state to Blackwood, Jon has that single thought before he reaches the face. And then that thought stops. Because whatever that thing is. 

It’s not human.

Eyes. Eyes cover their-it’s face. Places where there aren’t eyes are covered instead in an inky black skin, although some of it seems to be blemished by green. Small polka dot scars scattered around. One long slash of the toxic green along its neck. Even of of its hand is corrupted by the sickly colour. It’s not human. None of it. There are antenna sticking from its forehead and they curl in front of the things face, twitching with the vibrations of Jon’s struggled inhales.

The more Jon looks at it, the more eyes he can see. Eyes in the antennae, shapes of eyes in the black and white hair that reaches it’s shoulders, eyes on the neck of this creature. 

The thing reaches forward, and Jon can then distinguish why the cardigan is so baggy on the thing. Wings -just like the tiny, dead still moth on the floor- fan out behind the thing. Then another two arms emerging from under the cardigan, following the other arms. 

Four arms reach for Jon, each palm opening to show another eye in the middle of the clawed and inky black fingers. Each staring in at him. They do not blink. None of the eyes blink. Jon has to fight the urge to vomit at the sight.

It’s not much of a fight though because he feels pinned by the things gaze. How ironic, Jon thinks bitterly, that the human one here feels like a pinned insect. His mouth is dry and his hands shake. 

The thing tilts its head to the side and Jon backs away as best he can. The thing responds by taking another step forward. 

A whirring of something -a tape recorder, Jon Knows- begins, and from its chest a voice starts up:

“Jonathan Sims” it rattles.

It’s quite literally comes from the things chest. Jon finds the thing’s t-shit moves as its limbs do, the loose fitting garment showing off a tape recorder shoved into it’s chest. The skin around it is warped and glistening, like a fresh wound. The skin around the recorder seems to be trying to fix the issue, connect and cover the wound, whether the tape recorder is still embedded in or not. The recorder has clicked on, but the thing seems to be talking through it rather than doing a recording of something. 

“Jonathan Sims” it repeats, the crackle of the recorder hurts Jon’s ears. The eyes do not stop watching him. All he can do is nod, breathing still hard. Although now he knows why. This thing’s gaze carries what feels like a physical weight. Jon feels like he being crushed alive, strung up thin in a web and falling through air all at once. 

The thing narrows its eyes. An almost hypnotic movement as all the eyes move in sync. Jon tenses as he waits for what the things will do.

“I can save them” it pleads.

What? Jon stares at the creature. save who? Him? The institute? The world? 

More importantly, why? A sense of… sympathy? Empathy? He doubts that. there’s got to be more to it than that, Jon’s sure of it. Fear swirls in his head and his chest as he continues to stare at the thing, head aching from the sight of the thing, but too scared to turn away. 

“I can save them”, it repeated, stepping forward. “Let me save them”.

Jon steps back, shaking his head. Whatever this thing is, it having any sense of ‘saving’ is unlikely. Mr Spider has no sense of wrong or right. Just survival. Human emotions such as empathy or care are foreign and unneeded. Why would this thing have it? This a ploy, an attempt of manipulation, deceit-

The creature steps forward again, an arm out stretching towards him, one wrapped in the toxic green of its blemished skin, the eye in the centre of the hand, although damaged, is as piercing as the others. The eyes still do not blink. They stare. 

“Please”, it pleads again. The tape recorder in its chest clicks several times, turning on and off and on and off, the whirring of the tape stuttering in what could be a display of… discomfort? Another hand comes up to clutch and claw at the thing in it’s chest, as if to control the noise or rip it from its own chest, but it’s eyes remain on Jon.

Jon steps back, avoiding the hand as he shakes his head more firmly. His throat seems to close as he speaks, but he pushes and spills the words out, determined in his decision.

“No. I will not let you near them” he tries to sound firm. It fails, coming out small and trembling. But this thing is not human, he will not let it near any of the others. It will not hurt them. It will not scar and take from them like Mr Spider did him. He refuses. 

The things eyes stare at him pleadingly, making one last stretch towards him. It’s whirring increasing in volume, “please-“ . But Jon doesn’t hear the end of it, as his steps away become firmer, he feels a faint sensation of being watched as his gut drops and he startles up in his bed. 

Same small, London apartment, cheap and lacking in a decent landlord and rotting in more ways than one. Jon grips and holds his chest, heart beating fast and unsteadily. But strangely enough, for a brief second, he swore he could feels something else there.

Whirring and clicking.

___

Tim is not having a good day. First that Blackwood, an apparent time-traveler comes into the archives, and he has what he can only describe as an experience of being pushed back through his life to that god forbidden day, now here he is, dreaming of that night again. 

Earlier, all he could feel is numbness, the cold seeping into his fingers and legs and arms and chest, the bitter and thick fog clouding and filling his lungs. Choking him slowly as he felt himself run walk through the empty streets again. 

But now? He has an audience. He knows he has an audience. A sick imitation of a circus and the crowd watch him again and again as he covers his mouth, as he watches his brothers skin ripped away, placed back, warped and pulled in so many directions at once and then lifelessly flopped back onto the floor again. 

Again. And again. And again. 

And they just watch. They make no sound. They do not move, or applude, or react. They watch. Toxic green eyes dissecting him as he falls to his knees again. As loss rips him apart. And he can’t do anything. So he slumps where he is again, head bowed as the mannequin of his brother sheds its skin again. 

___

Basira knew that this wasn’t… normal.

Diego Molina writhes in front of her. She cuffs him and the now familiar searing pain of the metal pressed against her skin flares. She’s never had this dream before. And this happened a few years ago, she’s never stopped to dwell on it. So something must have changed. And she has reason to believe it’s nothing to do with her.

Because of the thing watching her. 

She doesn’t look away. She doesn’t look up. She knows that thing will be there. Watching. Watching as her skin blisters and discolours against the metal. Watching as she flinches away and scowls at the metal. Watching as it repeated again.

It hasn’t moved. Not as the dream continues beyond what she experienced, not as she grits her teeth and powers through the sensation of scorching, melting skin. It burns her heart. She’s never felt it for so long before, but she grips on tighter to what she knows. She will not loose anyone. She refuses. The white-hot metal settles heavy in her hand and in her heart. 

Basira refuses to cry. Not when that things still watching her. 

____

It had been a long time since the host of the hive had felt anything.

The worms had long since eaten her mind, her heart, her soul.

She and the worms were one and the same. A hive and her swarm. They sang together. They were together. Never alone. 

So when the host started to fear, so did the worms. They were together. She knew this, the swarm knew this. Something else Knew this. 

They did not know what. But they feared it. It Knew. A sense of that was burrowed deep into the hive. Just as the swarm had eaten the host inside out, the fear fermented in the hole that soul of the body left behind. It pooled and spilled over into each tunnel carved into what was once Jane Prentis. Each worm felt the fear that tinged and infected the body of the host. 

It was bitter and made each worm squirm a bit harder, burrow a tad deeper, wait a bit longer. Fear is not something they are built to feel. Yet the vibrations of it are felt by each of the swarm. Very much there, and very much noticed. 

The hive is scared. 

Of what? It does not know.

_

Sarah Baldwin is long gone. 

Melanie keeps telling herself that.

Sarah Baldwin is gone. She can’t get in contact with her, not since the hospital. She can’t even find her. 

So why is she here?

The smell of copper hung in the air, the sounds of Sarah shouting at something in a language she doesn’t even understand rings through her head. It hurts. It’s happened countless times before. Is she dreaming? This seems too real, too similar to the actual scenario to be dreaming. 

The camera shakes in her hands as she watches as Sarah is flung across the room again. The fear condenses in her mind, her heart beating frantically. 

She needs to move, to get out. Pretend to be asleep and never work with Sarah again. Ever. If this is the real thing, she needs to, who knows what Sarah will do if she catches Melanie here. 

But she doesn’t move. She can’t move. She just watches through the camera. She could believe this is the real thing with how loud the sound of Sarah hitting the wall is. The way it reverberates in her bones and skull. She would believe it from the way she feels, hands shaking, adrenaline thrumming through her body as she watches. She could believe.

If it wasn’t for what’s next to her. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see it. A figure with too many eyes. Antenna that moves as the vibrations of Sarah hitting the wall reverberates past Melanie and the thing. Its eyes are a toxic green. Bright and piercing. But… there’s something else in them. It stares at Melanie, watching her every move, her every shake and gasp for breath as she holds it in, hoping Sarah won’t notice her and the creature.

But when she glances at it, in the corner of her eye, she swears it looks… sad. Can a being of just eyes look sad? Well, this one certainly can. It looks guilty and straight up pitiful. A hard task for something that looks to be from every normal persons nightmares, but it manages. Melanie would almost feel sad for it if she wasn’t in this situation and it wasn’t so pathetic. Like a wet dog. If she could move, if she could talk, she would tell it to suck it up, stop looking at her like that and get on with whatever it wanted to do. 

But it seems content to just watch Melanie, to sit back and bask in her suffering. Looking guilty for something it’s actively doing. Melanie feels nothing but hatred for this thing. 

But alas. She cannot vocalise any of this. 

So instead she remains where she is. Flinching when Sarah hits the wall, wincing as he voice echos and rings through the air. And holding back vomit as Sarah peels back her skin and resets her arm. 

She can’t make her mind up if this is a dream or not. But if it’s not, God, she might just give this creature a piece of her mind. 

---

Lukases don’t dream. 

They don’t long, or wish, or plead, or talk about it- 

They never have.

So the fact that Peter is dreaming is an anomaly in itself. 

That fact that he’s dreaming about memories and information he keeps close to his chest is more worrying. Usually he would be worried some eye-aligned avatar is poking its head in his business, usually Elias and his lack personal boundaries after so long with no physical barriers. 

But that’s not it. Elias is at least discreet about it. This settles over him like a layer of dirt. Thick and heavy. 

He is being watched. 

He tries to look around, but this dream has no real essence, feeling to be made of fog. He swears he’s in The Lonely with how this feels but he has no definite proof. The sway under his feet reminds him of the tundra, but there are no railings of walls to prove this either. He tries to turn again, only to be met with a face. 

Well, what should be a face. 

It has far too many eyes, antennas drooping over his face. The eyes stare with clear malice, narrowing at him as the thing steps forward. 

It does not speak. 

Peter steps back, shocked at the face and what this could even mean. Not human, no. Definitely Eye-aligned. But other than that… he’s not got much. The weight of being Known is crushing him, though. As this creature observes and catalogues him.

He grits his teeth and moves away, no sense of where to, just away from this thing. The fog swells and wraps around him as he goes, blocking the creatures view of him. It does not move, but the intensity of it’s eyes does not let up, following him as he backs away. 

And when he wakes on the Tundra and his crew asks why the routes being diverted to London… well, he just says important matters have come up. 

Chapter Text

London looks… normal. 

The monuments still stand where they always stand. The same path takes her to the same bus stop, which takes her the same route. The people around her fidget and ignore her, headphones crammed into their ears with music loud enough she can nearly hear what they’re listening to. The bus stops on her usual stop and she makes her way along the same walk she takes near daily now. 

The Magnus institute is the same as it was yesterday. Standing tall with no recogniseable features on the outside of it, the building is tall and old and worn and-

It’s infuriating.

Yesterday, Sasha watched two people appear out of thin air and then one of them healed a wound in a way that is not scientifically explainable, meaning that they hold explanations for what she’s seen and experienced and they hold answers. Answers she has been looking for ever since she joined this place and experience the items in artefact storage. Their mere presence is against the very fabric of this world.

And nothing has changed because of it. 

London is perfectly normal and it feels like a trick to lull her into false security.

Sasha trudges through the main lobby of the institute, nothing new hiding within it. People walking to where they’re needed as the morning started and people arrived for work. Cleaners finishing up their hard work of the morning. Rosie talking to Elias at her desk as he waves his hands around to stress something about a sudden change in the route of a ship and being unable to know why. Sasha manages to sneak her was around getting involved in that conversation.

Nothing else seems to be as important considering what happened in the archives, like a once in a life time experience. It’s not every day that something that can’t be explained by knowledge and logic happens and she’s here to experience and watch it! 

The door to the archives was already propped open by a doorstop, one that seemed to be struggling to do so with the weight of the door. As Sasha carefully made her way down the stairs, sounds of voices became more eligible as she went down, until she eventually got down the stairs -thankfully without falling down them- to Jon trying to teach Martin the proper format for follow ups on the statements.

Emphasis on the trying, as it seems it’s more Martin fumbling around with the instructions and Jon steadily growing more frustrated as he keeps pointing at the screen of the computer in front of the two of them.

“Morning!” She interrupts the two, who both looked up at her. Poor Martin’s eyes look red, hands cletching and unclentching on his desk infront of him, keeping his gaze locked on the computer they’re both working on. Jon somehow looks worse than he did yesterday, deep bags under his eyes and his gaze flickering around the room, chewing his lip. Sasha once again noted the lack of any of his mobility aids she saw him use in research. 

“Sasha,” Jon states, taking a moment to collect himself and focus on her infront of her, “right on time. As usual”. 

Sasha smiles at Jon, before glancing at Martin again, who is still looking like a hot mess. “How long have you been…” she nods to the computer they were both huddling over.

“Struggling? Around 40 minutes now.” He sighs, “I’m surprised Martin came in this early, so I thought it best to make the most of it and prevent future sloppy work and increase the efficiency of the archives.” The man in question was keeping his gaze fixed on the computer and completely still, like if he didnt move Jon wouldn’t notice him.

Sasha nods slowly as she processes how bad Jon is at helping someone and apparently talking positively about anything, “How about a cup of tea to start the day then?” 

Martin is quick to stand, scaring Jon in the process, and rush away to the break room thats tucked into the back of the archives. He calls out ‘I’ll turn on the kettle!’ to both Sasha and Jon as he makes his escape away. 

Jon glances at Sasha as he straightens himself somehow further, trying to save face of being scared by the escapee, “well, I don’t see why not,” he responds stiffly. 

Sasha frowns before deciding to press Jon about the state he’s in.

“Are you stressed about…?”

The question dangles in the air as Jon looks at Sasha, before glancing at archive storage. A place where most of the older and supposedly ‘sorted’ statements were kept (more like shoved into a two filing cabinets whether they fit or not), and now someone who claims to be a timetravler and what should be a corpse that they brought along with them. 

Jon sighs before nodding, “how can I not be? I… I was already out of my depth before this happened. Many… others are better qualified for this” he glances at Sasha, “this just seems to further emphasise that.” 

Sasha grimaces at the implications. It is true that she feels she could do a better job. Gertrude was somewhat complimentative of her work and experience in the few times she met her, despite Gertrude’s somewhat cold demeanour and general… pessimism. So the fact that Elias didn’t chose her after she worked so hard for it? It left a small bit of resentment for Jon rotting away in her mind, but she tries not to blame Jon for this.

Before she can open her mouth and say any of that, Jon’s already steeling his expressions and scowling slightly, “but that’s besides the point, I just need to figure this out.” And without a response from Sasha, he walks to the break room where the kettle can be heard boiling. Sasha doesn’t hesitate to follow after him.

Making cups of tea seems to be the only time Martin’s actions seem confident. Opposed to the way Martin quietly asks Sasha what the statement numbers mean for the sixth time, Martin steeped the tea without a hesitance he usually had. 

Sasha sits quietly on a foldable chair as she watched Martin wander around the limited kitchenette of the break room. Leaning on the plastic table several chairs were tucked under, she twirls her hair as she turns the issue currently located in archive strorage over in her mind. 

Jon was on a chair nearby, zoneing in and out as he drums his hands on the table, something Sasha was choosing to tune out. He seemed distracted and jumpy though, something Sasha eventually chose to pay attention to after making little to no headway with why the timetraveler is here and questions to ask him. 

Jon’s has a bad sleep schedule, yes. Heck, he’s had a bad sleep schedule for all the times she’s known him. And all the time Tim’s known him. So him having bags under his eyes shouldn’t be new. But his eyes suggest something rattled him. His eyes keep dancing around the room, never focusing on one thing, as well as the constant drumming. Tired Jon was lethargic and moved slow. If anything, Jon was moving faster today, skittishly. Maybe he’s still nervous about being head archivist still? Had Blackwood really rubbed off this badly on him? Maybe it was something else-

Martin slides three mugs onto the table and in front of each of them, interrupting Sasha’s train of thought, before sitting down himself, “this feels like all we do in times of crisis. Just… sit in another room and have a cup of tea.”

Jon looks up at Martin, “what else can we do?” 

Martin nods, “I mean… yeah. But surely there’s something we can do. There’s always something.” 

“Well, if you know what it is, please tell.” Sasha replies, “I’ve got no idea. All we got down here are disograngised statements and water damage.”

Martin huffs slightly “well, yeah. But we’ve got to do something eventually. I mean, at least we can focus on this issue.”

Sasha tilts her head to the side, “what do you mean by that?”

Martin shrugs, “its not like anything else happens down here. As you said, this place is mostly made out of paper and most likely mold from the water damage. I doubt anything else will come up-“

And like the universe had heard this and decided that actually yes, its actually like this every single  day, a yell comes from what sounds like the other side of the archives, near the stairs by the entrance:

“Jonathan!?” 

The three of them pause.

“Are you kidding me?” Martin whispers

“Of course nothing is simple down here,” Jon snarks at the same volume as Martin, leaning in slightly so both he and Sasha could hear him, seemingly out of fear that this person would hear them.

In any other circumstances, the shade of red Martin went from being this close to Jon would’ve been something she laughed at. However, Martin had chosen a suitably horrible timing to do so as Sasha was more focused on the intruder in the archives.

“What the hell do we do? We’re trained in paper work, not the general public!” Sasha stresses quietly.

Jon seems to try and run through options, looking increasingly more panicked as he does so.

“We could just… ask them what they want? Who says they’re aggressive?” Martin interrupts.

Jon opens his mouth to shut down Martin’s idea, before reconsidering it. After a few seconds he huffs and nods to Martin.

“That’s a… good point, Martin.”

Sasha snots slightly at Jon’s admission, to which Jon attempts to glare at her, before he can do so effectively a woman all but flies into the small break room, looking between the three currently in there and deciphering who Jon is.

Maybe it’s Jon’s uptight posture, or the fact he’s the only one out of the three of them that has consistently decided a slightly crumpled suit is the best way to make a good impression despite the fact hes been working here for so long, but the woman instantly locks onto him.

Her hair is dyed a striking blue with black roots starting to grow back in. Her clothes consist of patched denim jeans and a T-shirt. Although the words of the T-shirt are covered by an old leather jacket, Sasha can still make a carton ghost on the shirt. Her jaw is tense with her nose crinkled as she surveys Jon.

“Jonathan sims?” She glares at him.

“Uhhh?” Jon intelligently responds, with all the authority of a Head Archivist.

The woman takes a step into the room before Tim rushes into the room behind her, looking out of breath as if he’d been running after this woman as she ran around the archives.

“That is not how you make a statement! He needs to be alive if you want one!” He pleads to the woman, seeming to be at least somewhat familiar with her.

At least that means she’s not an intruder? Sasha weakly supplies herself.

The woman looks back at Tim before looking back at Jon. 

Now that the situation is at some sort of stalemate as everyone stares at each other, Sasha gets a better look at this woman. Her eyes are slightly puffy, with deep set eyebags under her eyes, like she got no sleep. Whilst at first glance she seems to all but snarl at Jon, her hands also tremble by her sides with her eyes flicking from side to side to survey the room.

As Sasha looks at Tim to ask for an explaination, she pauses. Tim looks in a similar state, although his weariness seems a bit deeper, and he’s made no effort to hide the fact his eyes are red and bloodshot, deal bags under them. Although his smile is plastered onto his face, it doesn’t reach his eyes. Before she can question this, Jon waves at the woman.

“So… Tim, who is this?”

The woman frowns at Jon and steps forward again, “my name is Melanie, and I can speak.” 

She pauses for a second, as if processing what she said before continuing in a less threatening tone, “I need to make a statement and use this places resources to research something supernatural,” 

Sasha looks at Melanie and then between Jon and Martin. Martin is picking at his hands and trying to make himself as small as possible, which is hard when he’s the tallest in the archives. Jon, meanwhile, is already puffing out his chest and raising his head. 

“You are in no place to make any demands currently… ‘Melanie’. So, I will ask again. Tim?”

Tim jumps in behind Melanie, “she came down and asked to make a statement, boss! It seemed pretty reliable, it’s about the an old military hospital and Sarah Baldwin, who I believe was mentioned in an earlier statement-“

“It’s not just that,” Melanie butts in. 

The four others in the -now somewhat crowded- break room look at her again. 

“It’s not?” Sasha prompts.

Melanie looks nervous all of a sudden, but she doesn’t shrink in on herself. If anything, she squares her shoulders. 

“I… um… had a dream about it last night,” she starts

“Really,” Jon drawls out. Martin glares at him slightly for the lack of social awarness he seems to have.

“Yes,” Melanie bites out at Jon. “It… felt real.”

Jon rolls his eyes and looks just about to insult Melanie before she quickly adds:

“And there was something else there that wasn’t… human.”

Jon pauses considering this, looking to Tim who nods, and then nods himself. “Okay. That sounds… statement worthy if you’re so insistent on it. Would you like to write it down or-?”

“I just… need to say it.”, Melanie takes a deep breath in, before forcing out a “Please”

Jon nods again and considers for a few seconds.

“Right, anyone got a computer or-“

“Tape recorder?” Tim says as he holds one towards Jon. 

Jon all but throws himself away from the thing, tilting his chair back as he moves away from it, eyes wide as he stumbles over his words “Dear god! Tim! When- how did you-? Where did you get that from so quickly?!”

Tim holds up a hand in surrender, still holding the tape recorder out to Jon, looking at Jon in surprise and confusion “It was just on the side? Did you not get it out?”

Jon shakes his head, still staring at the tape recorder and as away from it as far as physically possible in the foldable chair he’s likely now stuck in. 

Sasha takes the tape recorder from Tim not questioning that no one apparently got it out, figuring that it would be easier if it was down on the table so no one would throw it or themselves across the room and damage something. She then pulls a seat out for Melanie and nods to het to sit down.

Melanie is looking between each of the others in what Sasha can only assume is concern with everything currently happening in front of her, before sitting down on the edge of the chair. “Right…”

Jon looks at the tape recorder in horror for a couple more seconds, before resigning himself to looking at Melanie and glancing at it ever so often. 

Sasha looks over the small devise. It seems to already be running. Must’ve happened when Tim picked it up, she assumes as she hears the hum of tape move through it.

“Right so… full name and what this about, please,” Jon looks at Melanie 

Melanie frowns and pauses for a few seconds and then tries, “Uh… Melanie King and the thing in my dreams?” 

Jon frowns and prompts for more, seemlingly confusing Melanie more.

“I have a YouTube channel where I hunt for ghosts? That’s how I ended up at Cambridge military hospital and meeting Sarah Baldwin.”

Jon sighs, “no your statement. Give us what happened”

 “I was hunting ghosts with her as crew and I woke up and saw her ripping her skin off to reset a bone.” Melanie states plainly.

“Not what i- just”, Jon cuts himself off and shuts his eyes and rubs them before looking straight at Melanie and speaking again, “Give us your statement”

Melanie stares at him for a few seconds, opening her mouth and-

“I feel like thats all there is to it, thats not what i came to talke about anyway”

Jon deflates before nodding, “you know what, good enough. What’s this about the dream then?”

Sasha leans in to Melanie, interested by one- the fact she saw someone rip off their skin? More information is definitely needed on that. And two- the dream she seems so nervous about.

“Well, this all happened around a year ago. I was temped to make a statement because no one believed me, the only thing stopping me is your all a bunch of pompous academics… no offence. But the dream brought it all back up again. But there was something different about it.”

Sasha nods along to Melanie as she speaks, trying to take in as much information about this event as possible. Martin looks at his hands as he continues picking away at his skin away, frowning at the wall in front of him and looking very lost in this situation. Jon was still incredibly tense as well as scowling slightly at the comment from Melanie, Sasha guesses from the frown on his face. And Tim… was looking at Melanie with what Sasha could only describe as astonishment and… hope?

“It was all the same,” Melanie continues, “I could feel the vibrations of the crash as Sarah was thrown into a wall, the crack pierce the air as she shifted her bones around her arm, the squelch of what could be meat as it was moved around with the bones and as the staples were added and removed and it happened over, and over and over. But there was… something else. It looked…”

“Looked like what?” Sasha prompts Melanie 

Melanie looks at Sasha for a moment, the light must catch her eyes weirdly and Sasha swears she sees them flash an odd colour as Melanie remembers her dream. Melanie continues:

“No, it looked at me. That’s all it did. It just looked at me. And I couldn’t move under the pressure of that! And it- it-!”

“-was made of eyes?” Tim finished. 

Everyone turns to Tim in confusion.

Melanie nods. 

“Tim?” Sasha looks at him, eyebrows creasing as she grows more concerned for him and this situation.

“I had the same- well… similar dream last night. Big eye monster that didn’t say anything, just suffocated you with its presence? Made you feel like a tiny little bug being squished open under a microscope so they can see where your organs connect and where you’ll feel the most pain? Big like…?” Tim mimicking antenna on his head at Melanie to fill in for the words he was thinking of, for reasons Sasha doesn’t even want imagine. Is it possible for people to share nightmare monsters? That have antenna? Apparently.

Melanie nods more, looking at Tim in recognition, “yeah- yeah! Big wings! And-”

“A Tape Recorder” Jon states, looking at the one in the middle of the table with wide eyes, blood draining from his face. 

Both Tim and Melanie pause, Tim still having his hands by his head, “…what?”

Jon quickly shakes his head, “nothing, nothing, what do we do about-“ he waves at Melanie and Tim “- you two having a shared dream monster now?”

Sasha nods, though still regarding Jon quietly for his comment, “clearly supernatural. Have there been any statements about sleep?”

“Does getting up whilst asleep to unlock a cursed coffin help? I haven’t read most of the statements kept here, it’s going to be an uphill battle to find something thats real and can help,” Jon sighs.

Sasha frowns before shrugging, “something to look for then? And what happened to Mr.’These are all drug induced dreams’?”

Jon swallows nervously, looking at the tape recorder, “i’ve reconsidered… especially with what happened yesterday. I think it might be more dangerous to deny their existence than to accept it.”

Sasha raises and eyebrow at this explanation, but Jon seems to avoid her gaze and instead awkwardly slides his chair away from the table. Sasha frowns more at the action, making a mental note to check on him later about his new morbid outlook on their job.

Now that Sasha has a moment to think, she realises none of the cups of tea have been drunk and Martins hands are bleeding from how much he’s picked at them, although he doesn’t seem to notice.

Melanie also slides her chair away, hesitating before asking “Can I help?” 

Jon almost immediately bristles at the suggestion, standing up straight and opening his mouth-

“Aren’t more hands useful?” Sasha butts in, glaring at Jon. 

Jon fumbles and scowls before huffing and nodding, 

“Fine… but if you so much as crumple a statement I will have you out of here before you can say anything.”

The threat sounds empty coming from Jon who has about as much physical prowess as a cheap water ballon, but Melanie nods nonetheless. 

Tim seems relived that someone else has experienced whatever he experienced and the fact that they’re now staying so he can talk to them about this more. Although Sasha can see other emotions cross over his face as this dream is brought up for him though. He still saunters out the break room with easy grace and clenched fists, Martin looking to Tim as he moves out and quickly following behind him, looking like hes going to ask Tim whats going on. Melanie takes another once over of Jon and Sasha, before exiting a few steps after the two others.

Sasha moves to go after them as well, glancing back at Jon but then pausing as she sees him staring at the tape recorder again. He still seems pale, keeping his hands firmly away from the thing as it whirls away on the cheap plastic table of the break room, the sound reverberating through the material. 

Sasha reaches out and Jon flinches.

Not at her hand, but at the corner of the room.

Sasha jumps trying to look at what Jon seems to be jumping away from and finding nothing.

“Jon?”

Jon tries to force his body to relax as he turns to Sasha, still breathing fast.

“Oh! Sorry Sasha. Just… on edge, I think.”

Sasha smiles at him reassuringly, keeping her hand outstretched to encourage him forward, but also to make sure he doesn’t collapse, considering how worryingly pale he still is. The last thing they need is to have to scrape Jon off the floor after he faints.

 Jon takes her hand as he straightens his posture and breathes out slowly.

“And what spooks Mr.sims?” Sasha playfully quips him.

Jon huffs a laugh and half-heartedly smiles as he lets Sasha drag him out of the room, “Thought I saw something. Out of the corner of my eye.”

The tape recorder clicks off.

Chapter Text

Martins hands stung from where he held the keys.  The metal is warm now that he had been holding them a while, although it still irritates the raw skin of his fingers where he’s been picking them.

The feeling didn’t distract him from his current task though. 

Whilst a lot of the statements needed to be researched and followed up on were out in the main space of the archives, tucked into the multitudes of filing cabinets that were apparently needed for Gertrude and then seemingly never used to organise anything, only to shove statements in haphazardly. Most of the statements held in the archives are tucked into archive storage, as it has more shelves and more space to put them.

Martin knows that area very well, being a place where he’s searched for many specific statements as well as a dog. The ceiling was higher than in the archives and therefore had a ladder used to get to the top shelves. It was a place that reminded him of the library. Maybe that was why he was so comfortable there. Nothing new to learn and no places he could be found out for his lies.

However now there’s a new obstacle of Blackwood being in archive storage.

Martin doesn’t think he would make it difficult to get statements or somehow run away, it’s just the fact he doesn’t really want to spend time with his apparent future self that has taken a dislike to him immediately. There were more usual worries, like whether Blackwood would need food or a drink, but the was mostly drowned out by the fact that Blackwood knows everything Martin is: an under qualified worker who’s lying to everyone who talks to him.

So that’s why he’s been staring at the door to archive storage for far longer than socially acceptable standards. 

The task of getting statements and hopefully documentation from Gertrude that would shine a light on what’s currently happening isn’t going away but a few seconds of silence after the past 24 hours is nice. The near constant reveals of unsolved and definitely supernatural problems popping up and everyone acting… decidedly weird. It was a lot. Especially so early on in the job. This is only the second official day where they’re all here together. He needs the time alone at this point.

The door to archive storage is the same as any other door in the archives, overly heavy and worn down. However, this door has the added struggle of being the only air tight room in the archives. In case of a fire, probably. But it adds to how daunting it looks to Martin.

The key in his hand was heavy. Probably heavier than the other keys Jon had rifled through to give him this one, it was ornate, matching the door’s design. Jon had said barely any words as to Martin he handed it over to him, seeming focused on the paper on his desk he was digging through, the box of Gertrude’s items he needed to throw out (with a suspicious amount of lighters in there) and Sasha, who was discussing plans of action with him. 

Or what Martin could assume were plans of action as both stopped talking as soon as he entered .Martin wasn’t surprised by that, he knows both of them see him as a liability, but he’s glad Jon’s trusting him with getting more statements! It was a chance to get Jon to trust him with more.

Tim, meanwhile, was at his desk with Melanie. Both seemed tired and looked to be spaced out. It was easy to tell neither were used to sleepless nights, but they seemed to be looking through statements for similar situations slowly and steadily. Melanie also seemed to have already memorised what the statement numbers mean. Martin was still trying to ignore that fact along side his… shortcomings.

But none of that mattered! Martin has been asked by Jon to get some more statements and he will be doing that and he will be doing it well! Even if he’s been standing in front of the door for far too long. 

The key is still warm as he flips it over in his palm again. He stares at the door still as he tries to pull himself together. 

Which he quickly manages to do as he hears footsteps down the hall coming towards him. Scrambling to the door and trying to shove the key in as fast as possible in the hopes that whoever it is won’t question why he’s been here so long and not been able to get any statements out. Or maybe it’s Jon coming to tell him how useless he is at his job-

“Oh. Martin, you’re here. Also getting a statement from archive storage?”

Martin freezes and turns around to the voice to see Elias stood behind him looking bemused at Martin, like he was watching an overturned bug struggle on its back. Martin can’t help the thought of ‘at least it’s not Jon?’. And then the thought, ‘oh no, it’s not Jon’ as he remembers the issue currently being held in archive storage. 

Elias tilts his head at Martin raising an eyebrow at him, waiting for a response. 

“O-oh… yes! I am… getting a- a statement… for Jon,” Martin manages to squeeze out as he tries to think of a way out of this. The way the hairs on the back of his neck stand makes him feel like that’s not possible. Elias is looking at him and looking through him and he knows that Elias knows that something is wrong.

Before Elias can question him and his silence, he pushes open the door to archive storage. He can already image the face of the others as he has to tell them that Blackwood’s gone because Elias called the police on him, thinking him to be an intruder. He can imagine the rant Jon would go on already, maybe Sasha would shout at him, or maybe he was just thinking of what his mum would do, he can see their face twist in disgust so clearly in his mind as the door swings open to reveal archive storage. 

Martin shivers from the adrenaline rushing through his body, or maybe it’s because of the air feeling colder than usual. But it’s just archive storage. The cot in the corner of it is still there, as Martin creeps further in, the light from the hallway managing to illuminate the room well enough that he could see most the room. There’s nothing in here except the statements and pages strewn across the room, although a few looking to be placed in neat piles. 

The room is empty. Devoid of life except for Martin and Elias. 

There’s no one. 

“There’s nothing in here,” Elias states in what sounds to be surprise. 

Martin picks his fingers, the key now left in the door’s lock so he can’t fidget with it.

“Just statements and documents,” Martin responds as steadily as he can as he tries to figure out where Blackwood has gone and where the other person he brought with him went.

“I would’ve thought… must just be nothing in here to See…” Elias looks around the room for a few more seconds, glaring into what seems to be thin air, then sighing and shaking his head. He turns and opens a box and takes a statement, seemingly at random in Martin’s opinion, and looks over to him, narrowing his eyes and frowning, “make sure this places stays tidy then, Martin. Don’t want anyone having to carry the burden of your mistakes, do we?” 

Martin pales and nods quickly, “ri-right, yes, of course, that’s- yep! Mhm. Right.” 

Elias looks at him a bit longer then looks around archive storage one last time before turning around and leaving, closing the door behind him and leaving Martin in the dark without the light of the corridor shining in. His shoes click on the floor of the archive as he leaves.

Martin decides to ignore Elias’ comment in favour of turning around and scanning archive storage. Blackwood was still nowhere to be seen, the cot still empty. 

He starts trying to rack his brain for where they could’ve gone, the room was locked they couldn’t have just walked out and the room was a dead end. He shivers as he started to think what the others would think. Nevermind Elias finding out, he’s lost Blackwood and Jon will never trust him again, maybe he’ll fire him. How did he mess up on such a simple task?

He shivered again, before noting the temperature of the room has dropped. Cold enough that he can see his breath in front of his face. Martin stares at his breath as it evaporates in the air in front of him, before turning on the light of the room to get a better look at it.

Archive storage wasn’t the biggest room. However as he steps further in, Martin can see his breath more clearly. Then the fog that has seemingly collected in the back of the room. It smelled… of disinfectant, Martin decides. He doesn’t know how. It smells exactly like the disinfectant used in the nursing home his mum was in. 

He knew she didn’t like that place. She made sure to complain about it every time he managed to get her on a call, which wasn’t often. But it was often enough for him to know she still hated it there. Keeping her at home with him wasn’t an option, too many complications and Martin spending too little time at home to take care of her. The apartment was cheaper, he got her as good of a home as he could with the money he has. It felt lonely without her though, even if when he was living with her Martin had to care for her and take the brunt of frustrations. He knew she still loved him. The apartment was too small. Too empty. He wasn’t enough without her, too little, too insignificant, too-

A body slumps into him, drawing him out of his head. He stumbles back as he scrambles to pull the body up, panicking as he readjusts to his surroundings. He’s not with his mum, he’s not alone in his apartment. Rather he’s in archive storage holding onto a limp body that weighs far too little and feels far too cold. 

Martin manages to lay the body as softly as he can onto the floor as he checks for a pulse, only to realise who it is. Toxic green eyes stare past him into nothing as he looks at the scarred face of Blackwood’s partner. Now that he has a closer look at them, he can see the way the skin is pulled and warped around their face, although their long, matted hair covers most of it. He sees enough to see that their face and figure to see they’re gaunt, almost skeletal. Their eyes stare into space, although Martin swears he can see the eyes flick around every so often. 

If Blackwood’s partner is here, then he must be nearby, Martin assumes. Looking up into the fog that’s steadily growing thicker around him. It makes it hard to see archive storage around him, causing his eyes to prickle and well up with tears from the sheer bitter chill that it seems to bring. He tries to look for a source before he makes out a shape in the fog.

No, of the fog. The fog swirls and moves to his breath around him, however it’s pulled almost taut right in front of him as it pushes forward. And then falls towards him.

Martin flinches back as the fog looks to collapse in on itself towards him, before the shape becomes clearer as it descends.

Blackwood collapses onto his knees before Martin, completely made up of hues of dull blue and white, hazy edges blending into the fog that’s steadily growing to envelop them both.

Martin stares at Blackwood as he hesitates to check his partner’s pulse, holding his hands close to his chest as he begins to whisper under his breath, quiet enough that Martin can’t make out what he’s saying.

Martin stares at Blackwood as he almost shrinks in on himself. Wanting to help he reaches over Blackwood’s partner to try and put a hand on his shoulder and draw his attention. He knows that look of dissociation on any face, but especially his own.

His hand goes straight through Blackwood. 

Where his shoulder once was, the shape gives way. The fog spiralling away from the motion, making a tear through Blackwood’s torso. Martin can feel the bitter cold shoot up his arm and he immediately draws his hand back. He feels more tears collect in his eyes as he recoils. 

He feels his stomach churn as he feels the bitter cold inside himself claw up his throat, he clamps a hand over his mouth as his body tries to make him heave it up and get rid of it before it freezes him inside out. He swallows and tries to focus on the situation at hand but his mind drags the emotions of everything back up. The smell of disinfectant and heavy air infiltrates his thoughts as he turns away from Blackwood and his partner to try and escape the oppressive fog and the look on Blackwood’s face.

He watches from the side of his eye as Blackwood tries to rub his hands together as he repeats the same sentence over and over again, although Martin can’t seem to hear it as the fog presses down on his mind, clogging his mind and pushing the tears out of his eyes. 

Martin closes his eyes to try and stop the tears coming from his eyes and fails miserably, hand tight over his mouth as he tries to stay as still as possible, the chill in his body feeling like it’s frosting over his thoughts, trapping him with the same repeating thoughts of emptiness and isolation. No one can see, no one can hear, no one cares as he shivers and buckles towards the floor under the pressure of the fog, it feels like the fogs pulling, pushing and pummelling him all at once. For water vapour, it’s impossibly heavy. 

“Martin!” A hand lands on his shoulder, it’s as cold as everything around him but it shakes him, dislodging his hand from his mouth to balance himself.

Martin opens his eyes to see Blackwood in front of him, glasses put to the side so Martin can see his eyes. They’re cloudy, but they’re more focused than when Martin last saw him. Blackwood stares at him, looking close to panicking himself. He uses his hands to stabilise Martin, making sure he doesn’t crumple onto his partner. 

“Look at me. Can you tell me your name? Who are your co-workers?”

Martin feels his frigid throat close up slightly as he tries to talk, when he opens his mouth he half expects fog to claw its way out of it and choke him. He opens his mouth, his name sticks to his tongue for a second, before he manages to choke a few words out. 

“My- my name is Martin Blackwood.”

Blackwood in front of him nods. “Your coworkers? Your friends?” He pushes further. 

Martin hesitates at that. He doesn’t feel like they’re friends, they all know each other, Martin’s the odd one out. Being bad at his job and the one they don’t know anything about, they’ve barely spoken in the time working together. 

Before he spirals further, Blackwood shakes him again. The action hurts a little but seems to drive out the empty fog in his mind that’s clouding his thoughts over in solitude and hopelessness. He coughs. 

“Tim, Sasha and Jon,” He answers. 

Blackwood seems happy enough with the answer as he stops shaking Martin and nods, breathing out a sigh and slumping slightly as he looks somewhat calmer. Although his image still seems slightly hazy to Martin, Blackwood seems more solid. Warmer colours seem to have returned to his skin and the amount of fog around him and in the room is dispersing slightly.

Martin swallows the bitter cold thats lodging itself in his throat, trying to focus on his breathing once again as he sits back. 

Silence hangs in the room as Martin breathes loudly and as slowly as he can, meanwhile Blackwood leans against one of the shelves in the room and checks over his partner, letting Martin catch his breath in peace. 

“What…? How d-did that… happen?” Martin eventually asks.

Blackwood looks up from his partner, he seems relieved that they seem alright. Aside from still being unconscious.

“The… coldness? It’s complicated. Especially since I can’t tell you without putting everyone in danger,” 

Martin frowns, “no, the…. How did you just appear?”

“Oh… that” Blackwood sighs and picks at his fingers, staying silent for a bit as he seems to be thinking. 

“Think of it as… another layer of reality. If that’s not too implausible to you right now. I just… change what layer of people can see me, if that’s makes sense. I don’t think it’s smart for Jo-… Elias to meet me yet. Too unpredictable and I’m too unprepared to do anything. I wasn’t expecting to end up here and deal with… this.”

Martin nods along, even though that clears nearly nothing up for him, so he tries to lighten the mood instead of questioning further.

“I’m guessing ‘this’ also includes having a conversation with yourself to comfort him?” 

“No. Unsurprisingly, I’ve done this before.”

Martin is more lost now, that’s very surprising. What does that even mean?

The silence settles over them again. 

Martin can’t help himself as he looks at Blackwood.

“How did we become this?” 

Blackwood looks at him for a few seconds as if assessing what to say, before sighing.

“You should talk to Tim and Sasha. About everything. Yes, also about the CV, before you ask. You… you never know how much other people are suffering when they’re all staying as silent as you are. Maybe not Jon yet though, he’s… probably still working through his own issues at the moment.”

“How does that…?”

“It doesn’t explain it, no. But it’s as much as I can tell you and keep you safe, as well as hopefully preventing it happening to you.”

Martin looks at Blackwood in silence, heart still beating faster at the mere mention of his CV, but nods. 

“Right… will do.” Martin pauses for a long moment before speaking again, “what about you? What now?”

Blackwood turns to his partner, who has made no movement of their own, looking into space with unblinking eyes.

“I… don’t know. I can’t keep us hidden in this room for long amounts of time without it getting suspicious. But nowhere else is safe right now and I can’t move my partner anywhere and he’s not waking up. I-… I’ve read him statements and I’m keeping an eye on him an-and he’s just not…” Blackwood keeps his eyes firmly on his partner, but the shakiness of his voice tell Martin he’s close to crying. 

“Why don’t you make the place you want to go safe then?” Martin pokes as gently as he can, realising he’s stepping on most likely sensitive territory for Blackwood.

“I would have to leave and I can’t do that! We made a deal. Wherever we go, it’s together.” 

“I don’t think he’s exactly aware of that right now though.”

Blackwood stiffens and turns to look at him as he says that and Martin can’t help but flinch slightly. With his glasses still off, he can clearly see his eyes. Whilst clouded, they still manage to send a deadly glare at him.

“Sorry! Sorry! … but… wouldn’t you have uh… more chance of him being safe if wherever you go is safe? A-as you said, archive storage is only a… temporary place.”

Blackwood continues to glare at him for a few more seconds, before leaning back on the shelf behind him. 

“… right. It’s just… very complex. And I would need to get rid of a few future threats before we go down there in complete safety,” Blackwood sits and looks at his partner for a while, muttering to himself about something to do with worms, books and tunnels for a moment, before continuing in a louder voice again.

“I don’t know how long I would be gone… but if I managed to do it, I would be able to help him more.” Blackwood takes a few more seconds to consider it, before turning to Martin, ”then… can you tell Jon that I will be able to answer more questions than I would be able to do right now?”

“Why can’t you answer them now? Before you go?”

“Because if I do, somebody might Know what’s going on. And if they find out who my partner is… then I don’t know what they’ll do, but it will be worse than anything you think could happen.”

Martin stills at that answer, trying to see if Blackwoods exaggerating or not. But he is dead serious as he looks at Martin. So he nods. There doesn’t seem to be any other way he could respond to that. He dreads to even ask if he could explain that, with everything he’s just experienced, he doesn’t want to.

So Blackwood grabs his glasses from beside him and puts them back on. He carefully scoops up his partner and places them gently back in the cot. He lingers there for several seconds, before standing up and taking a deep breath in. Martin stands shakily alongside Blackwood, who tower over him and Martin notices he doesn’t slouch like he does, not hiding the fact he’s taller than most and could be seen as intimidating. He stares up at him.

Blackwood’s height seems to be only one factor in his image of intimidation. His clothes are layered, making him look wider and they’re still covered with mud, debris and dried blood, in fact his hands look like he’s tried to clean them of blood but it still lingers under his nails and cracks of skin. His eyes are covered by his fogged up glasses and his hair and beard hide any of the softer features Martin knows are under them. Fog clings to his form, whilst not in the quantities it was earlier, it still makes his form clouded and difficult to clearly make out where he really is, like the haze over a hot road. 

Blackwood grits his teeth, before looking at Martin for a few seconds.

“If he wakes up and I’m not here… make sure you’re the one to help him. He won’t trust anyone else.” 

Martin nods, not asking any questions about them because he knows Blackwood won’t answer it. 

Blackwood nods, before turning to the door of archive storage and opening the door. However, the action seems blow the fog from his body, then from him and then they seem to rip from his form as his body seems to turn to swirling mist right in front of Martin’s very eyes, leaving him staring at the space Blackwood once stood as the fog disperses around the room around him. 

He blinks in shock of Blackwood disappearing so suddenly, before setting his head into his hands and trying to wipe any sign of tears from his face.

“How am I going to explain any of this to Jon?”