Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All the corners of you;

All the bones that I knew

"Is it too cliché to write my phone number on a napkin?"

"Is it too cliché to pop a few buttons on my blouse?"

Martin had just come in and watched Hannah do just that. Olivia next to her chuckled.

"What are we talking about?" Martin asked and startled both of them.

"Martin! What are you already doing here?"

"My shift starts in twenty minutes?"

Olivia checked on her phone. "Shit, you're right! I was too lost in the eyes of that hunk."

"I'd rather be lost in his bed," Hannah muttered and waved Martin closer. "Table on the left side, all the way in the back."

Martin pulled his apron on and leaned over the counter to see what all the fuzz was about.

"Wow!" That came out without his permission, but it sent both girls into a laughing fit. He couldn't even be mad about it because wow.

The guy sitting at the table was unfairly attractive. His torso was basically a triangle with strong shoulders and defined arms. He had to know because while wearing a button-down, his sleeves were pushed up and his arms rested on the back of the chair next to him. His hair was dishevelled in a very deliberate way, and under the low lights of the café it looked like gold.

Then the guy looked up from his work and all three of them scrambled.

"His name is Tim. Wrote it on his cup with a little heart. Made him laugh", Olivia confessed.

"I've never seen him here before."

"Neither of us have. The other guy he's with comes in on some mornings."

Martin hadn't noticed anyone else, but his eyes had been rather occupied. He usually didn't take the early shifts, that was when he took care of his mom, but he'd been working at Café Alexandria for four years now, and knew his regulars.

It was early afternoon, and the coffee shop wasn't quite busy yet, but he still looked around for something to do, preferably something close to that table.

Hannah just snorted. "Believe me, every task in his proximity has been taken care of."

"They've been here for two hours, and I am ready to work overtime to just gaze at him some more."

"Not with less than £300 in the register. Ask me again after the rush hour."

But the rush hour barely deserved that name. It was pouring outside, and nobody would walk through that just for a cup of coffee. By the time Martin could throw a closer look at the table, Tim was already packing up an honestly impressive amount of folders. The other guy seemed more familiar, a small, scrawny man who was still glaring at some papers as if they'd personally offended him.

Then Tim threw Martin a smile and Martin ran straight into a table. White, perfect teeth. How unfair.

"Look at that weather", Tim said good-naturedly.

Martin was quick to nod. "Do you guys need anything else?"

"What we need is a break." Tim stretched and Martin was occupied with watching the buttons on his shirts fight for their lives.

"I told you that the location wasn't the problem. There was no reason why we couldn't have stayed in the institute."

"Sometimes a change of scenery does help, Jon."

"Well, it didn't."

Jon, right. Martin remembered scribbling the name a couple of times on the to-go cup. Black coffee and a conversation that didn't contain more than hello, thank you and goodbye.

Now he closed several books with a satisfying thud and looked up to Martin. "But I wouldn't mind another coffee to go."

"You already had three! Jon, you will die of a heart attack."

"Shut up, Tim."

"Coming right up." Martin went back to his counter to get the coffee started and handed it over when they came to the front. He watched as they stepped out into the rain, huddled under a single umbrella, and then they were gone.

It didn't look like it would let up any time soon, so Hannah and Olivia went home, while Martin stayed behind. That was fine, he could handle the coffee shop by himself and had done so many times before. Sometimes he even preferred it, the quiet it would bring him, and considering the weather, he wasn't about to be interrupted. 

He was just done with wiping down the surfaces, when he noticed the folder. It was stuck between the table Tim and Jon had been sitting at and the wall, and Martin pulled it out.

The Magnus Institute was written in the corner. Of course, Martin knew about the institute. Everyone living long enough in London probably knew about the beautiful, old building that was researching spooky stories of all things. It was something to laugh about, but Martin, who had scraped together enough cash to go on all kinds of ghost tours since living here, had always been fascinated by it.

Huh, he hadn't taken Tim to work there. Or Jon for that matter.

He brushed the spiderwebs from the manila folder before placing it behind the counter. If Jon walked in the next morning, Olivia could just hand it over. The more pressing matter was the cobwebs that had apparently gathered beneath the table. Martin was sure he had thoroughly dusted that area just a few days ago.

Once he was done, the folder was still there, and while Martin usually used the downtime to read or try himself on some poetry, today he couldn't focus. And it wasn't like he would hurt anyone, taking a peek inside. Surely they hadn't taken some super secret stuff into a coffee shop.

When Martin opened the folder, he expected a ghost story of some kind, a witness report, but what he found was the description of a creature.

The handwriting was neat and tiny, and the more Martin did read, the more he realized that he knew exactly what they were talking about. Something he had heard a long time ago, maybe even during his childhood.

He was so focused on remembering, that when the door to the coffee shop was thrown open, he actually shouted. A figure ran in, gasping and drudging in water and mud everywhere. They didn't even look at Martin, just stormed right towards the table, and only when they stepped beneath one of the hanging lamps, did Martin recognize them.

"Jon?"

Jon didn't listen. He was dripping rainwater from his chin and the bottom of his coat, his hair was plastered against his skull and he was mumbling to himself. Honestly, if Martin didn't know who he was, he would probably be concerned.

"Jon", he called again, his heart still thundering after the shock. "Are you looking for this?"

Like he was smelling the folder, Jon's head whipped around and once he found it, his shoulders dropped. "Oh, thank god."

"It must've fallen from the table. Figured it was important."

"I wouldn't have heard the end of it if something from the archives was lost." He took the folder in hand like it was a gift from the gods themselves. Once he had it, some of the manic energy fell from him. His eyes darted to Martin's name tag, then up to his face.

"Thank you, Martin. You're a lifesaver."

Oh.

Jon could've just confessed his love for him, by the way Martin blushed. He could feel the heat on his face, and if he stepped outside right now, he might actually start to steam. An embarrassing little squeak escaped his lips.

Now, he had noticed Jon before, and certainly not because of their heartfelt conversations. The morning commute was one of the busiest times in the coffee shop, but Jon always looked so professional and put together, it had been kinda intimidating.

Having his whole attention was too much, his gaze was surprisingly intense.

"You're welcome," he replied too late, and quickly let his gaze drop to the floor. The very messy, wet floor.

When Jon followed his line of sight, his face paled. "Good lord, I am so sorry!"

"It's fine-"

"No, really. Do you have a mop or something?"

"You're a customer here, I won't let you mop the floor!"

"It's clearly my fault!"

"How about you put up your coat by the door, so you don't make it worse?"

Jon looked down at the puddle that had started to form around him. Flustered was a very good look on him.

By the time Martin found a fresh towel, Jon had pulled himself on one of the bar stools lining the counter.

"Here, it's a bit small but at least clean. Why didn't you bring an umbrella with you?"

"When I noticed part of the case missing, I didn't really think to bring one? To imagine if Elias found out about that." Jon shivered, and Martin was pretty sure it wasn't because of the temperature. "We aren't supposed to take statements from the archives, but Tim insisted a change of scenery would help."

"You two work at the Magnus Institute, right?"

Jon threw him a sharp look like he expected Martin to ridicule him. When he noticed that Martin was mopping up the trail he left behind, he quickly schooled his expression.

"Yeah, down in the archives."

"That must be exciting! I'm sure you know all kinds of spooky stories."

Jon pulled a face. "Most of it is unfortunately a load of nonsense. Stories told by lonely people who are just looking for someone to talk to."

"Sounds not so different from my job," Martin remarked and actually startled a laugh out of Jon. What a nice sound.

"Unfortunately I have to act like I believe them and try looking for evidence. Like with this one here." Jon pointed to the folder in front of him. "I don't even know where to start."

"It's about Pająk Pół Kilo, isn't it?"

Jon stared at him, and Martin nearly let his mop fall. Right, he totally hadn't snooped around and read in some folder that hadn't been for his eyes.

"I- I am so sorry-"

"No, it's-"

"I've always been too curious and today has been so slow, and I swear, I only took a peak-"

"Wait." Jon glanced once more at his name tag. "Martin, wait. It's fine! What did you call it?"

"Oh, um... Pająk Pół Kilo? Just reminded me of that old tale." Jon's intense gaze made him feel small, and he busied himself with putting his mop away. "I mean, it's just a fairytale, right? Pretty sure my grandma used to tell me about it because I always brought spiders into the house-"

"Spiders?" Jon opened the folder, to look over the text again. "There is no mention of a spider here."

"Well no, but the scuttling noises in the attic, the strange liquid running down the walls, the symptoms of poison?"

Jon stared. And stared. Martin felt like a fly, pinned under his gaze, and he quickly stopped talking. He wasn't even sure if Jon was annoyed, angry or- curious?

No, that couldn't be, right?

He must've used the towel while Martin had been busy because his hair was dishevelled but dry. Still there was a single drop running down his neck, disappearing into his collar.

"I’ve never- excuse me, could you repeat that again. Pajak..?"

"Pająk Pół Kilo."

"Is that- It's not german, is it?"

"Polish. It's where my grandparents live, and they used to tell me all kinds of tales when I went to visit."

Which he hadn't done in years. His mother wasn't exactly on speaking terms with her parents, and Martin couldn't even imagine reaching out on his own. Not only would it be awkward after such a long time, but his mother would certainly see it as a betrayal.

“Polish”, Jon repeated slowly. “According to records it happened in Belarus, but that’s not too far from Poland, and considering it’s nearly 200 years old, I would have the maps of the time, to make sure, but it would be possible.” He stopped, his words trying to form around the foreign name when his eyes darted back to Martin.

“Could you write it down for me?”

“Yeah sure, but do you really think this has something to do with an old fairytale?”

“You’d be surprised how often statements come back to that.”

Martin hummed and wrote the name down on some napkin. For a second he nearly added his phone number like Olivia had suggested with Tim, but that would’ve been quite farfetched. This was… a business meeting. Kinda.

Martin had never been on one but still.

Also Jon still looked like a washed up cat. His coat might’ve protected him from the worst of the rain but his button down still clung to his narrow shoulders and he was starting to shake.

“How about a hot drink?”

Jon looked around like he’d forgotten he was in a coffee shop. “Oh right. Please.”

While Jon was busying himself with his phone, probably googling the Pająk Pół Kilo, Martin automatically moved to the coffee pot. But the day was winding down, and hadn’t Tim mentioned that Jon had already too many coffees?

“How do you take your tea?”, Martin asked instead.

“With a teabag.” 

Martin stopped in his tracks. Was that meant to be sarcastic? But Jon was so focused, noting down things without even looking at him, that he just seemed absentminded.

So Martin prepared him a real good tea, with a dash of milk and maybe a bit more sugar than necessary. Considering how thin Jon was, he could use some.

“The religious aspect doesn’t fit”, Jon mumbled to himself, and Martin actually startled him once he put his cup down. “Can you tell me how you remember the story?”

“I mean, yeah? But like I said, it was a long time ago, so I’m not sure how accurate it is. My grandmother probably just wanted to keep me from bringing spiders into the house.”

“And she was right for it.”

“Oh come on, they’re cute! And quite beneficial to the environment, you know?”

Jon pulled a face, and Martin had to stifle a laugh. “You don’t like spiders?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, that won’t change after this story.” He went through the familiar motions of preparing his own tea. “The story goes that a priest allowed a spider to live in the church’s attic, but unbeknownst to him, the spider continued to grow until it was a giant spider. That’s what Pająk Pół Kilo means; half kilogram spider.”

Jon actually shook himself, holding onto his mug like a lifeline.

“The spider would drool venom down the walls or through holes in the ceiling and poison the priest’s food and drink. That would go on for years, killing every priest that came into the church. By the time the village figured it out, they needed several men to kill and transport the body out of the church.”

“What an awful tale”, Jon mumbled. “The fact that it’s about a priest and happening in a church made me think of religion, but I guess that’s not necessary it? It’s about letting something into your house you shouldn’t have.”

“I guess so?” Martin said if only to say something. Jon was mostly talking to himself at this point, his gaze intense but focused on something in the distance.

“That would be reflected in the statement as well, even though the man didn’t talk about letting in spiders, but he mentioned a vagabond-”

The door to the coffee shop opened and made both of them jump. For a while they had been in their own world, filled with the sound of rain, the scent of tea, and low light.

Now reality crashed over them in the form of three young women, loudly chatting with each other.

Usually that would be good, they looked like the type to order one of these fancy drinks that Martin would never get for himself. That meant more money in the register and well, Martin was kinda good at making these drinks.

Right now he felt rather annoyed because it took time and even though it was his job, discussing ghost stories with Jon had been way more interesting.

“Looks like the rain is letting up”, Jon said once Martin was done with the orders.

“Not by a lot.”

But Jon was already looking for his wallet, and pulling out a £50 bill. Once Martin handed him the change, Jon moved the tip jar toward him and let all of it fall inside.

“Jon, no- That’s way too much!”

“You gave me the first solid lead I had in weeks. Our library is extensive but that’s no help if you don’t know what you’re looking for.” He smiled, and this time without looking at his name tag, he said, “Thank you, Martin. Truly.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Martin was stammering something that didn’t even make sense to his own ears, but Jon already pulled on his coat. With a little wave he stepped out into the rain, the folder pressed securely against his chest, and left Martin alone in his boring life.

On the other side of the road, a woman watched him. Martin’s eyes only found her for a second, and he couldn’t help but wonder how she wasn’t cold in her red cocktail dress.

But then the group of women were ready to order, and he forgot all about her.

Chapter Text

Martin was pretty sure Jon was some form of cryptid. Either that or his working schedule was absolutely unpredictable.

He showed up at the most random of times for his coffee. During the few morning shifts Martin covered, he would appear right after opening, just before 9 am, or not at all.

During Martin's usual late shifts, Jon could pop up in the middle of the afternoon rush for what was apparently his lunch - which included his coffee and a single pastry, if at all. Or he'd just turn up when it was already dark and the day was winding down.

One time he had given Martin the scare of his life when Jon just walked straight into the door that clearly stated they were already closed. Martin had been sweeping the floors, and Jon had looked at him, like the picture in front of him made no sense.

"What time is it?", he'd asked through the glass door.

"Jon, it's nearly midnight!"

"Ah."

Jon's eyes had wandered to the coffee pot, but it was empty and clean and Martin had already locked everything down. Still he was nearly swayed to let Jon in, have a nice cup of tea and chat a bit.

Of course he didn't. That would be irresponsible and stupid. Jon probably wouldn't pull a knife on him and Martin could easily overpower him.

Also his mother was waiting for him. Martin wasn't about to come home and give her more reason to talk about the retirement home again.

So he watched Jon awkwardly shuffle back the way he came, which was hopefully to the next tube station and not back to the Magnus Institute. Who knew the job of an archivist meant pulling such inhumane hours?

But even when Jon appeared at a more normal time, Martin could never predict his mood.

Sometimes he was in a hurry, the usual hello, thank you, goodbye interaction Martin had with countless people.

Other times he would wait for Martin, even if one of the other workers was free, and then he would smile and call him by his name. It was always just harmless small talk, the usual pleasantries, and still Martin would look forward to them.

Olivia and Hannah were having a field day with the whole thing. Martin didn't mind their teasing too much. Hard to be mad when a cute guy was paying attention to you.

At least it allowed Martin to keep his mind off of things.

His mum was getting worse. Her health was... while not great, at least stable, but her mood was at an all-time low.

She wanted to leave, she had wanted that for a very long time, and Martin was running out of strength to keep her.

Not that what he wanted was in any way important. It didn't matter that he had no idea how to even afford the care home or that it was so far away, that visiting her would be a whole journey.

She wanted to be out of his life, and keeping her chained to him helped no one.

Apparently not even his mother could stand to be around him.

He would give in, they both knew it.

At work he didn't have to think about that. He could make his drinks, chat with people who didn't know about his problems, and indulge himself in hoping that Jon would show up.

That he would be smiling and remember his name without looking at his name-tag and maybe talk about the weather.

Then the worms came.

It was the day he'd finally driven his mother to the care home. The drive contained four hours of tense silence, and once they arrived there were so many things to sign, so many nurses and doctors to greet.

Once he got home, he just fell into his bed to sleep.

And then the knocking began.

The following days were a storm of panic, exhaustion, and such a deep-seated fear, that he was sure he would never get rid of it. 

And knocking and knocking and knocking.

When the woman in front of his door disappeared, he just- went back to work.

What else was Martin supposed to do?

Nobody would believe him if he told them that for the past two weeks he'd been trapped by worms, and that those worms had come from a woman. That was insane, something like that didn't happen.

It was way more reasonable to think he just had a... a mental breakdown or something.

Hell, if it wasn't for the passage of time, he would be sure he just had a very long, very intense nightmare.

"You told me you needed some days off to take care of your mum, but I didn't expect you to stay away for two weeks!", Olivia told him once he showed up again.

"I'm sorry. Things just... kept on piling up."

"You could've at least called!"

But what would he have said? He had thought about calling someone but what then? They would've thought him insane. 

One time he had called the police, but the line had been so distorted that the officer on the other end hadn't understood a word Martin said.

Maybe it was for the best, that way Martin got nobody in danger.

He had just stared at his phone and watched it die without receiving any message. Nobody had checked in on him, nobody had come over to look.

He'd gone missing and nobody had noticed.

Which was good, of course. Imagining Olivia just appearing at his door to find... find this woman there?

No, Martin was alive and nobody got hurt. Things were fine.

"I'm sorry", was all he could say again and Olivia sighed. Her eyes wandered over him, and he knew how he looked. Unshaven, with dark welts under his eyes, but hey, at least a diet of canned fruits had made him lose some weight! So not all was bad.

"If it was anyone else, I would have them fired", Olivia continued. "But nobody covers more shifts than you, and nobody wants to work late. Can you at least promise me not to pull such a stunt again?"

"Of course not", he replied and hoped it wasn't a lie. The worm lady had disappeared, but she could just wait for him to come back home.

"Okay. But you better believe you cover all the late shifts this month."

So he at least kept his job and if he wasn't working, he was sitting at home, waiting for the knocking, waiting for the worms. When he slept, it was in fits, only to get the feeling that something was crawling on his skin and wake up drenched in cold sweat.

Life continued.

Something was growing inside of him. It felt numb and dark, and he didn't dare to poke at it. He rather kept it hidden, where no one could see, where no one knew.

He made coffees and fancy drinks, he bought new towels and duct tape to reinforce his defense, he put out pastries and gave back change. Whenever he came home, he sneaked up to his flat, expecting her in front of the door, inside, under his bed. Everywhere.

His mother hadn't noticed anything wrong and hadn't taken his calls in the first place.

Nobody noticed, so it hadn't happened at all.

Right?

"You're back!"

Jon's voice ripped his daydreams and Martin blinked. He was pretty sure he'd just been standing there, holding a mug in his hands and staring at nothing. His tea was barely lukewarm.

It was late and the coffee shop was abandoned. Martin should start wiping down the tables, but he couldn't move.

"Hey", he answered belated, but Jon didn't notice.

This time he had brought an umbrella against the pouring rain, and he placed it next to the door.

"Thanks to you, we managed to discredit the statement", Jon told him as he slipped out of his coat. "Just a retelling of an old folktale in the end. It's either that or people with untreated mental illnesses most of the time."

Martin watched as Jon put his work bag on the counter and wanted to feel something. Had Jon smiled at him when he came in? He didn't know. Did it matter?

Jon had noticed that he hadn't been in. Huh.

"I'm supposed to give you this from Tim and Sasha. Tim claims if he'd had to work another day on that statement, he would've quit, but he's just being dramatic. Sasha is just happy to learn about a cryptid she didn't know."

Chocolate. Lindt, the good kind.

Martin stared at the box and couldn't get his hands to move. That was nice, wasn't it? He should smile and be grateful, and then Jon could be on his way.

"Ah, sorry if it's a bit banged up. I've been carrying it around for the past week, hoping to catch you. But I didn't open it or something!"

Cute. That was cute and what a thoughtful gift. It wasn't something Martin deserved.

"Everything okay?"

Jon's voice faltered, but Martin couldn't look up from the bright blue box. The tea in his hands had gone cold.

"Can I ask you something?", he finally managed to say, but it sounded far away. Not like it was coming out of his mouth, but from someone outside the coffee shop.

He couldn't tell anyone about what had happened, but Jon had heard all kinds of stories. Retelling of old folklore or from people with untreated mental illnesses, right? People who wanted attention.

Martin would probably just destroy any kind of minuscule chance he ever would've had with Jon, and still, the words just wouldn't stop.

"In all your statements... have you ever heard about a worm woman?"

That wasn't the most eloquent way to ask. Actually, it sounded like something a maniac would say.

Jon stayed silent and when Martin finally forced himself to lift his gaze, he found him standing there, shoulders tense but his eyes... his eyes were sharp. He was looking at Martin the same way he had when Martin had told him about Pająk Pół Kilo.

For the first time in weeks, Martin felt something that was nearly hope.

"A worm woman?"

"The worms were inside her and everywhere else. There were... holes in her. So many, and she kept on asking if I could hear them sing. I think she meant the worms but that's stupid, worms can't sing."

Martin shook his head very slowly. "None of it made any sense. She just kept on standing there, knocking, with no break. Surely she had to eat or drink or-"

He stopped because now he was the stupid one. Whatever had stood in front of his door hadn't been human.

Something touched his arm and it made him jump. His mug hit the counter, spilling the cold tea, and then smashed on the ground while Martin checked his arm over for worms.

None there. It had been Jon reaching out.

"Did you meet Jane Prentiss?"

He whispered the words, but they sparked something like alarm in Martin.

"I don't know", he admitted, before he paused. That was a name. Jon knew so much as to give it a name, and the utter relief flowing through Martin made his knees weak.

Jon helped him onto a seat, surely aching under his weight but he didn't say anything. For a while that was all Martin was able to do: sit there and try to breathe.

Meanwhile Jon cleaned up the spilled tea and got rid of the shards. It was funny seeing him behind the counter, that wasn't right, but Martin didn’t care.

Jane Prentiss.

"Martin? Do you have a safe place to stay?" Jon asked him, and probably not for the first time. He was standing next to him now, a hand on Martin's shoulder to get his attention, and Martin nearly wept. The touch didn't feel squirmy.

"Yes", his mouth said without his input.

"Good. I want you to come into the institute and take your statement. Do you hear me? Martin?"

"You believe me?"

"We've been searching for Jane Prentiss for a while, and if you truly did meet her, you are in danger."

"I think I am", Martin muttered. He looked out of the big windows of the shop. It was pitch black, but he still pointed to the other side of the street. "I think I saw her before. A couple of times. She always wore that red dress and honestly, I thought she was a hooker."

He blinked and gasped. "I don't- of course, just because a woman is wearing a dress doesn't mean she's a hooker. I don't think that! But she would stand there no matter the weather and I figured she was off to some kind of work and well-"

"Martin, focus."

"Yeah, sorry."

Jon turned to watch where he was pointing, but with the lights on in the shop and the dark outside, it was hard to make out more than their reflections. It looked weird, Jon was standing so close, hovering by like he had to catch Martin just in case.

Martin didn't think Jon would be able to even do that.

"Do you remember the first time you saw her?"

Martin shook his head without really thinking about the question.

"Okay. Can we... can we lock down the shop? Just in case she-"

That was one of his recurring nightmares. Martin locking up the shop for the night, turning his back to the dark street, only for her to be there, waiting. There was no way for him to outrun her in the open.

He patted his pockets down for the key and meant to get up, but Jon was faster. Taking the key from him, he headed towards the entrance and locked it. He even flipped the little sign, informing everyone that they were closed.

Probably not going to stop whatever Jane Prentiss was.

"There's a gap beneath the door, they can still get in. The worms", Martin told him. "It's wide enough. I measured it. I think I measured a lot of little gaps. They can get in from the letterbox, like the little slit in the door? I had to duct tape mine shut. Worms can't lift it, but if there's enough-"

He was rambling, his mouth just forming words before he had even really grasped his thoughts.

Only when Jon pressed the key back into his hand, did he stop. Jon's fingers were warm and dry against his own. Martin was shaking, something he also hadn't noticed before, but the touch was like a spark, electricity that jerked him back into his body.

Breathing in, then out, back in again.

Jon's eyes were on him, focused on the issue while Martin panicked, and that wouldn't do.

"You really believe me."

"I do, and you can bet I don't say this a lot." Jon pulled a chair towards him and sat close enough for their knees to brush occasionally. "Most of the statements I have down in the archive are fake, but there are some that are-" He struggled, like the word real was hard to get past his lips. "There are just some names that creep up enough to not be a coincidence."

"Like Jane Prentiss?"

"Yes."

"So people survived. They had to make a statement, right?"

Jon hesitated again, but Martin refused to acknowledge that little pause.

"Come to the institute tomorrow. You can give your statement, and I'll see what I can dig up in the meantime."

Chapter Text

The Magnus Institute was an intimidating building. Martin had seen it before, of course, had imagined walking in those long hallways and browse the biggest collection of supernatural literature in Europe. He would love to, but he knew just as well that he didn't belong there. This was a place for intellectual people, people who studied in Oxford or something. Not people like him.

But now he stepped inside and felt incredibly small. All these statues around, the old portraits... their eyes seemed to focus on him in an instant. Wary, accusing. Like they were spotting an intruder.

The morning sun pulled his shadow into a grotesque length until the heavy oak doors fell shut. Each of his steps echoed too loudly, making the entrance hall sound bigger than it actually was.

Somehow this place felt hungry.

"Good morning."

Martin jumped at the sudden voice. He hadn't noticed the woman sitting behind a desk, who now smiled at him.

"Oh... um, good morning."

"May I help you?"

Martin stepped closer, to talk more quietly. Speaking too loudly here felt like bothering something slumbering. 

"Uh, I am here to see Jon?" Oh god, he didn't even know Jon's last name, did he? "He works down in the archive, and he asked me to come in today?"

"Let me give them a call."

She turned away to reach for her phone, and Martin stood there, fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. He still felt watched, and he couldn't help but look around. So many portraits staring down at him, colorful thanks to the stained-glass over the entrance. Neither of them seemed happy with his intrusion, which was of course a stupid thing to think.

Then his eyes caught on the landing above and the man looking down at him. A bit older, well put together, and wearing a suit that cost probably more than Martin made in a month. His gaze held the same intensity as Jon's like he was staring straight into Martin.

Martin gave him a polite smile, but before he got one in return, the woman put the phone down.

"Someone from the archive will be right with you."

"Thank you."

When he next looked up, the man had disappeared. 

It didn’t take long for a woman to appear, and extend her hand.

"You must be Martin! Glad to finally put a face to the name. I'm Sasha."

She was tall, nearly as tall as him, and behind her round glasses, her eyes were bright. Still, there was something tense about her. 

Martin barely noticed though because apparently Jon only worked with gorgeous people.

"Nice to meet you."

She led him towards a door and then down into the archives. When Martin had thought the institute was hungry before, now it felt like he was being devoured. The walls seemed closer together, the colorful light replaced by harsh fluorescent lamps. While the stairs upstairs had appeared to be stone, maybe even marble, these steps creaked.

Without any witnesses, Sasha turned towards him, and now he recognized the tenseness as worry. "Did you see her again?"

Martin didn't have to ask who. He'd spent the whole night awake, sure that Prentiss would attack before he could get any help.

"No."

"No worms either?"

"Not for a few days."

"Good. Jon was worried sick about you."

That was new information, something that Martin would love to dissect in great detail. Someone worried about him? Most of all, Jon?

But then he spotted Tim and was once again reminded how unfairly attractive he was. Tim greeted him with a hearty slap to the shoulder.

"Good seeing you again! And in one piece, not nibbled on or anything?"

"Not even a little." The teasing felt light like making fun of the nightmare.

"Good lad!"

Even with so few people, the office felt crowded. There were piles of boxes in the corners with scribbled numbers and strings of letters written on them. The free desk was stacked high with complex looking books and still Martin had the urge to pick one up and browse through it. The sheer knowledge and stories he could find in this room alone were overwhelming.

"Ah, you made it."

A little further down the hallway a door had opened and Jon stepped out. It felt weird seeing him anywhere else than Café Alexandria, like meeting a teacher outside of school. Martin liked him more under the warm light of the coffee shop though, down here Jon looked rather washed out.

Still, not even Martin could deny how relieved he looked once his eyes fell on Martin. It was kinda flattering.

"I should've picked you up just to be sure, but I only thought about it this morning, and I couldn't call you. You should give me your number."

What followed was a silence that Jon apparently didn't notice, but Martin was very aware of. Just as much as Tim's and Sasha's eyes boring in the back of his head or Tim's little whispered, "Smooth."

Martin cleared his throat. "I- yeah, I can do that."

"Good. Come in then. Looks like I'll be the one offering you coffee today."

"Uh, I would prefer tea if you have?"

"I'll see what I can find."

He was ushered into the room and took a curious glance around. In his mind he'd imagine a pristine office with everything in its place, but it honestly looked like some filing box had exploded in here. Some notes were pinned to a board, but apparently that board had been too small because even the wall around and part of the bookshelf was plastered with more papers.

Under some folders, a nameplate peeked out and Martin moved some things aside to properly read it.

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist

Huh, so that meant Jon was running this place, right? Martin couldn't really imagine Jon as the boss type but then again maybe working under him wasn't half bad.

"Here."

Jon placed a mug in front of him, filled to the brim with a mysteriously dark liquid that had no smell at all. Martin still thanked him for it.

"Please ignore the mess. My predecessor left the archives in this sorry state, and we're trying our hardest to get some sort of order in here."

"It's not that bad", Martin lied. He was more concerned with his apparent drink. It would be rude not to drink it, right? Then again keeling over right in Jon's office would be too.

Time for some deflection.

"I sat down yesterday and tried to make a timeline." He pulled out his notebook, filled with bad poetry and now the notes of the nightmare he lived through. Only one of those things he was ready to share willingly.

Jon made a pleased little sound, which was already very distracting, but then he leaned across the table to sneak a look into his notebook. His cologne smelled very nice.

Focus!

"That's when you saw her first?"

"Yeah, it was the day we talked about Pająk Pół Kilo. Remember how hard it was raining? I remember seeing her across the street after you left and wondering how she could just wear a dress in that weather."

Something about Jon's demeanour changed. He let himself drop back into his chair, his lips pressed together tightly, and Martin let his notebook sink. Had he done something wrong?

"So she appeared when we had our chat?"

"At least that's the first instance I can remember." Martin fidgeted with the worn pages. "Is that... bad?"

Jon didn't answer at first. He was taking deep breaths, his gaze angry but at least not directed at Martin himself. His jaw was working frantically until he finally admitted, "I think she was following me."

"What?"

"When I told Tim and Sasha about your encounter this morning, that was something Sasha pointed out. Jane Prentiss has no reason to target you. The two of you should've never met."

Dread settled in Martin's stomach. "So you don't believe me."

"What? No! No, Martin, that's not-" Jon rubbed a hand over his face. "Jane Prentiss hates the institute, I don't know why. I think... we already had the theory that she might be keeping tabs on the institute, so when Tim and I went out for lunch, she might've followed us. When I later returned and talked to you, she might've thought-" He stopped, his mouth opening to form the words, but no noise escaped him.

Martin understood anyway. With the time they had spent together that day, Jane Prentiss had thought Martin was important to Jon. Which wasn't the case. Martin just had the information Jon needed, nothing more.

"Oh."

"And I came by nearly every day after that", Jon muttered. He had his hands pressed against his eyes, his shoulders were slumped. "Even when you were suddenly gone, I'd stand outside, checking if you were in. How damn stupid!"

A part of Martin was flattered by that, but it felt distant. Just his rotten luck that when he finally caught the eye of some cute guy, it would be a package deal with nearly getting eaten by worms.

He should probably say something, but what? No hard feelings? Martin could've died, he nearly lost his job. He'd spent two weeks eating canned peaches and drinking from the tap, checking each centimetre of his flat for worms over and over again. He'd lived through a nightmare somehow, with enough trauma to give a therapist a field day, if he could ever afford one.

All because Jon had forgotten a file.

God, if his mother had still been living with him-

"I'm sorry", Jon assured him before Martin could come up with a reply. "I am truly sorry, Martin. If I had known, I would've- I don't know!"

"Yeah." Even to his own ears his voice sounded impossible far away. He could feel Jon's eyes on him but couldn't bring himself to lift his gaze.

Only when Jon gently touched his arm, some tension bled out of him. A human touch, not squirming, just a bit cold.

"I'll fix this. I promise."

“How?”

Jon faltered, just for a heartbeat, but Martin noticed anyway.

“The statements. We found some about Jane Prentiss, but there are more. We might even have one of herself before… before her sickness.”

“Sickness? Jon, whatever was inside her wasn’t a sickness.”

“There are many unknown illnesses or parasites-”

Martin tried to breathe, but it was hard. If Jon didn’t believe him, nobody else would. Nobody else could help him get out of this nightmare.

“She had worms inside her! She was full of holes and inside those holes were silver worms, that wiggled and were alive, and the smell-”

“I am aware of what parasites are, thank you.”

Martin stood.

He hadn’t planned to, just like he hadn’t planned to slap his hands onto the desk. Something horrible was growing inside him, something ugly and hurt and scared. He had thought Jon would believe him, that Jon could help him-

What a fool he’d been. Jon was just looking for another story for his archives, another maniac who he could ridicule. Obviously he had some form of quota to fulfil.

How had Jon put it, the day they had first talked?

Desperate, lonely people.

Well, maybe Martin was both of these things but he wasn’t a liar.

“Fuck you.” Now these words didn’t only surprise him, they also startled Jon. He looked up at Martin, like he couldn’t understand how the conversation had taken such a turn.

“Excuse me?”

“I thought-” Yesterday Jon had believed him, right? Martin hadn’t imagined the concerned look on his face, the way he had called a cab for him to make sure Martin got home safely. Jon’s touch hadn’t reminded him of worms, of being hurt or eaten or whatever.

Maybe it had all been in his mind, the care Jon had shown. Maybe Martin had been so desperate to have something to hold onto, to tell someone, to find an answer, that it all had been in his head.

“Never mind.”

He searched for his coat, realized he was still wearing it, and then just stormed out of the office. Behind him he could hear Jon calling for him, and he could feel the curious looks from both Tim and Sasha.

Martin didn’t care.

He should’ve listened to his first instinct when he entered this place: He didn’t belong here.

Jon was stalking him, which really was just Martin's rotten luck. His mother still hadn't returned any of his calls or letters, he should take care of searching for a smaller flat that he could actually afford, and oh yeah, the worm woman might just come back at one point and finish him.

Now the hot guy he'd been talking to thought he was insane and had started to stalk him.

Martin truly knew how to pick them.

He should probably be more concerned, but Jon was just so bad at it. He would stand outside the coffee shop, hidden under an umbrella no matter the weather and smoking. One time he had even brought a newspaper to hide behind and while the distance was too great to be sure, Martin could swear there were little holes cut into it to look through.

Ridiculous.

"Are you hoping for Jane Prentiss to show up? Get some evidence when she eats me?" Usually Jon would scramble away when Martin stepped out to close the shop, but tonight he'd stayed, slumped against the wall. The cigarette in the corner of his mouth was long out. Maybe he’d been asleep.

"Or pardon me. She wouldn't harm me, of course. The parasite would."

Martin had startled him, and he could see how Jon tried to look for a way to escape. Well, Martin wasn’t done with him.

"Did you really think I didn't see you lurking here each evening?"

"You did?"

Martin rolled his eyes. "So what are you doing here, Jon?"

"Just looking to get some coffee?"

"Well, the shop is closed, and you haven't come in the past few days."

Jon plucked the cigarette from his mouth, saw that it was half burned down, and made to relight it.

When he didn't answer, Martin just sighed. "So what if she showed up here? What would you even do? Did you bring bug spray or something? Because if you did find some weapon in how to deal with her, I would love to know."

"Not yet", Jon admitted. "We haven't found any more statements. You saw how much of a mess the archive is-"

"What if there aren't any more statements? What if there is no way to get rid of her?"

"There has to be." He said it with such a certainty, that Martin was a bit taken aback. "People have survived her."

"But nobody managed to kill her."

Jon looked up at Martin, and it was hard to make out his expression. At this point it had to be nearing midnight and besides the streetlamp a few meters down the road, there was little light.

"I'm sorry." The ember of his cigarette painted a red arch when Jon let it sink. "It's my fault you're in this situation."

Yeah, Martin had turned that little nugget of knowledge around in his head a lot. The fact that Jane Prentiss had only noticed him because she thought he was close to Jon. Of course, why else would she even notice Martin? He was just... background noise.

"You went out to get a coffee. Can't really blame you for that."

"And sometimes you just want to read a book. The intentions hardly matter when someone gets hurt in the end." That came out too harsh like Martin had touched a nerve.

Jon had to notice as well. He let his cigarette fall and stomped unnecessarily hard on it. "I know I'm an asshole, believe me, I've been informed of that a lot. But Martin, if there's any hint in your statement to get rid of Jane Prentiss, I need to know."

"How can I tell you what happened when I know you won't believe me?"

Jon avoided his eyes, reached for another cigarette before thinking better of it. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall. "I do believe you. I just-"

Martin waited for him to continue and was nearly sure Jon would just leave it like that, when his shoulders slumped. "A logical explanation is easier, isn't it?"

"There is no logical explanation for Jane Prentiss!"

"I know." He said it so quietly, Martin barely caught it. "And there are too many statements like that."

Martin stopped to think about that. He had seen the archive with its mess of statements, the sheer volume of them in just the few parts Martin had been in. There had to be more and if only a small percentage of these were true, that had to be hundreds, if not thousands.

Martin couldn't grasp what that meant, the scale of it all.

Instead he searched in his pocket for the keys he'd just stuffed in there.

"Way too late for coffee, but I can offer you some tea." He nodded towards the coffee shop across the street. Jon looked first at him, then at the shop, before he pushed himself off the wall.

"Will you..?"

"If my statement will help, then I'll give it to you."

"Statement ends."

The tape recorder fell silent with a click. When Jon had first dug that thing out of his pocket, Martin had nearly laughed. Jon looked like he was born in the wrong decade, but that thing was even behind for him. It was easier to tease Jon about his vintage tape recorder than to think about telling his story.

Even now, when his words had run dry and his tea cold, Martin felt shaky. Shouldn't talking about trauma help in some way? Right now it didn't, he had successfully pushed those two weeks trapped by Jane Prentiss as far away as possible. Now the memories felt raw and real, like they could grasp Martin. Hurt him.

Jon didn't say a thing. Leaning back in his chair, he seemed deep in thoughts, and Martin busied himself with making tea. His hands were trembling.

When he returned to the table, Jon gladly took the mug. Even under the warm light of the coffee shop, he looked tired and washed out. Martin glanced at his phone. It was after 1 am.

"I'm sorry this happened to you", Jon finally said.

Martin nodded and sat back down. The night seemed to press against the big windows of the shop like a living, breathing thing. He didn't want to go out there. He didn't want to go home because she would be waiting for him there. Right now the memory was so vivid, that he was sure he could smell her. That rotten, sickly stench.

In the reflection he could watch Jon fidget with the tape recorder, sneaking glances at Martin.

"If I'd known she was following Tim and I-"

"It's not your fault." It would be too easy to blame Jon for this, but Martin had thought long enough about it to know it wasn't. Jon hadn't stood in front of his door knocking,

"It feels like it is."

Martin turned towards him, and Jon quickly averted his gaze. The tea was still too hot, but that didn't stop him from busying himself with it.

"What you said before. About intention not mattering when people get hurt. I think you're wrong on that."

Jon stiffened, but that didn't stop Martin from continuing, "On that day your intention wasn't to bring any harm to me, you didn't even know my name back then. You just wanted to get out of the office for a bit. That's a pretty big difference."

The mug clinked when Jon put it back down. Still he didn't answer, just pressed a hand against his mouth like he was trying to keep something in.

Martin watched him for a while, before also turning away. It was late, but he had no urge to get home, the last tube would already be gone anyway. Sitting here with Jon felt safer somewhat, even if it was a fake safety.

Jon, as it turned out, was a bit of a creature.

There wasn't a day when Martin didn't spot him pressing his face against the window or casually smoking across the street. He was checking up on Martin and that was honestly quite adorable. If it wasn't for Jane Prentiss and Jon's obvious guilt about what had happened, Martin might read more into that.

Like it was though he just enjoyed the attention.

It all came to a head a few days after giving his statement. It was bitter cold, the winter making one last come back before spring would hopefully settle, and the streets were covered in a thin layer of snow. The shop windows were fogged up from steaming coffee and the cold air, and Martin had only the occasional customers warming themselves up.

At least until Jon dragged himself inside and put something down that made a metallic clunk on the floor. He was out of breath, with sweat clinging to his forehead.

At Martin's confused look, he lifted one hand to ask him to wait, while bracing his other on his knee, gulping down air. Martin leaned over the counter to see what he had brought and found two fire extinguishers.

Okay.

"Did you carry them here?", he asked, but Jon wasn't ready to answer yet. By the time Jon had caught his breath, Martin had made his coffee and already placed it on the counter. In his head that space was already Jon's by how often he sat there. It was the closest one to Martin.

"Co2." Jon said it with such pride as if Martin should congratulate him. "It kills them. The worms."

"Wait, really?"

Jon nodded. He dragged himself into his chair and started to look through his bag. Snowflakes were melting between his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Sasha encountered them. Here, I brought you her statement. She told me I could share it with you."

"Oh god, is Sasha alright?"

"She's fine, just a scratch and a bit of a scare. Still, all the more reason to deal with Prentiss as soon as possible" He pushed the manila folder over the counter and Martin took it greedily. It was a couple of handwritten pages and while everything in him wanted to read it right now, he knew that was a bad idea. He was at work and would probably need some peace and quiet to progress this.

"You guys do realize that laptops exist, right?" Martin teased instead. "You could've just printed that out or something."

"Why do you think we use tape recorders? Try to take a picture with your phone."

"Is it alright to just make a copy of this? I thought your boss was pretty strict about the statements not leaving the institute?"

"Already broke those rules. You should never have access to this."

"Jon, I didn't think you had a rebellious streak in you!"

Jon snorted and gestured towards the folder. Well, if he insisted. Martin pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the first page. Instead of the preview, just a little rectangle with an exclamation mark appeared.

Corrupted file.

His eyebrows climbed up as he tried again. The same thing.

"Oh, that's freaky."

"Better stop. Tim broke his phone trying to copy some statements. Couldn't even save any of his contacts, which he made everybody's problem."

Martin laughed but it sounded shaky. The pages in front of him were just that; normal paper. They didn't feel any different, they didn't look special and still they could mess with his phone. He quickly closed the folder and put it away. When he returned, Jon had placed a business card on the counter.

"I keep forgetting to give you this. It's the direct line to the archives. I don't have the phone in my office to not disturb my recordings, so either Tim or Sasha will pick up but I... I wrote my private number on the back here. For emergencies."

The last part he mumbled into his coffee, and Martin felt his face flush. Just for emergencies. Right.

But Jon's phone had appeared in front of him, already opened on the new contact screen, and then, like Martin couldn't take the hint, Jon added, "Even if I could've taken a photo, I wouldn't have been able to send it to you."

"Give me your phone."

Jon handed it over in such a rush, he spilled some of his coffee. Martin pretended not to notice and entered his number. In the list of Jon's most recently used emoji were only the thumbs up, thumbs down, and a laughing cat, so Martin had to search for the teapot to add after his name.

"Do you like cats?" Martin asked as he handed the phone back. He hadn't anticipated Jon to rip the phone out of his hands, scrolling furiously, and then shoving it back into Martin's face.

"That's The Admiral!"

What greeted Martin was a majestic looking cat with long fur, lying on his back. "Oh, he's adorable!"

"He is!" Jon showed him more pictures and while Martin tried to pay attention, it was hard. He loved cats, really he did! But as cute as The Admiral was, there was a spark in Jon's eyes with each new picture, and that was hard to look away from.

The two fire extinguishers were heavy and bulky. They also pulled a lot of attention to Martin when he very noisily put them down in the tube, but if they helped against the worms, he would carry them through all of London.

By the time he made it to his flat, he felt dead tired. That didn't stop him from marching through each room, searching for worms, for anything out of place, and checking on the duct tape. Once that was done, he spent half an hour debating where to put the fire extinguisher and finally settled on his bedroom and the middle of his living room. Easy access, far enough away from any openings so that he should reach them before any worms got too close.

When Martin put a ready meal in the microwave, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jon was still awake. He’d left the coffee shop when Martin had started to close down, so he probably wasn’t asleep yet.

Martin 🫖

Thanks again for the fire extinguisher! I realized I didn’t say that

He hadn’t even dropped onto his couch, when his phone buzzed.

Jon 

You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.

Jon 

I didn’t realize there was a teapot emoji.

Jon 

🫖

Jon 

Sorry, didn’t mean to send that.

Martin let his phone fall in favor of burying his face in his hands. A high-pitched noise was trying to make its way out of his throat, but he bit down on it. No. He would not be falling for Jonathan Sims because of an emoji. Or his cat pictures. Or fire extinguishers.

Absolutely not.

Martin 🫖

You can change my name if you want to. Just wasn’t sure how many other Martins are in your phone

Jon 

Just one Martin.

Jon 

But it can stay.

Martin’s face felt hot as his fingers hovered over the screen. He didn’t know what else to say and under Jon’s name, the little text said he was also online. Probably staring at his phone just like Martin was, waiting for something.

In the end Martin panicked.

Martin 🫖

Well, I don’t want to keep you any longer, you must be tired! Have a good night!

Jon needed longer to reply this time.

Jon

Good night.

“Idiot”, Martin muttered to himself and threw his phone away. When he returned with his food, he put on the TV without really watching. It was awkward from his position anyway. He had dragged his couch so that he could see his front door from it. He wasn't able to sleep without keeping an eye on it, and tonight wouldn’t be different.

The fire extinguisher stood bright red just a few steps away from him. 

Sasha’s statement was like a second nightmare. Martin was reading it with trembling hands and a frantically pounding heart. Like it was him, a fire extinguisher in his hand, fearing for his life.

These statements were vivid. More so than any book or movie he had ever experienced. They went beneath his skin, settling there.

Reading them, Martin felt like he was watched.

When he was done, he just sat there for a while. All alone in the flat that had never been a home, with fresh morning light that didn’t seem to reach him.

He should get going, call his mother because maybe today she would want to talk to him, maybe do some laundry, but he couldn’t move. For a while, the world felt too heavy.

Then his phone buzzed.

Jon

I should be ☕ then.

The laughter bubbling out of Martin’s throat was shaky at best, but it was real.

Chapter Text

Martin stared at the lighter in his hand. It had been there when he buried his hands in his coat pocket and now, as he pulled it out, he knew it was Jon’s.

How had it ended up with him?

Had Jon put it on the counter and Martin had subconsciously swiped it? No, Jon smoked outside the coffee shop. 

Maybe Jon had handed it over along with Sasha’s statement a few days ago? That didn’t seem likely and Jon would’ve surely said something by now. 

Jon couldn’t have slipped it into his coat, Martin always put his coat up in the back, where only he could get to it.

Still, this was Jon’s lighter. When Jon smoked he played with it, the gold of the lighter pretty, but Martin had always found it unusual. The lighter didn’t seem to fit Jon. It was heavy and flashy, but now that Martin held it in his hands, he also noticed the web pattern on it.

Considering that Jon didn’t like spiders, that was a strange choice.

Huh, maybe it had been a gift?

Martin turned the lighter around, letting his thumb travel over the pattern, and then checked the time.

It was his day off, so the plan was to head to the stores and get some groceries, but that also meant he wouldn’t meet Jon to give this back. Or… Or he could visit Jon for once. Kinda as an apology for just storming out of the archives the last time. He could bring some snacks for Tim and Sasha as well?

Or he didn’t. If he left now, he would get there right in time for lunch. If he commented on grabbing a bite, maybe Jon would join him. The other two as well, of course! That sounded like fun.

Maybe just Jon. Not like a date, just like-

Martin tried to think of an excuse but found none. Jon would probably say no anyway.

The doubts came when he stood in front of the Magnus Institute. What if he was bothering Jon? He was a bit of a workaholic, even Martin knew that, and he might not appreciate getting interrupted. Just shooting him a message might be enough-

"Martin?"

Tim was walking up the building, a striking smile on his face as he waved enthusiastically. Martin felt himself flush. Damn it, how was he always taken aback by Tim's looks?

"Hi, Tim."

"So it is you! Here to see Jon?"

That sounded way too casual, and Martin spluttered to find an answer. Tim was quicker, "Damn, this is awkward! You caught me cheating!"

"I- what?"

Tim held up his Starbucks drink. "Jon kinda laid claim on Café Alexandria, so I had to find my own barista to flirt with. Come on, I'll take you inside."

Martin was still reeling trying to find a reply, but followed willingly. Entering the institute with Tim at his side didn't feel quite as intimidating. He waved to the woman in the front and nobody stopped them walking down the guts of the building, still, "Are you sure I can just come in?"

"Why not? It's not like you don't know what's going on here." Tim hesitated on the stairs, forcing Martin to stop as well. "That reminds me. I need to apologize for bringing you into this mess. I insisted on getting out of the archives for once and-"

"Tim, it's... well not fine. Of course, I'd rather not have this happening, but it's not your guy's fault."

"I'm just glad Prentiss is focusing more on us now."

"How is Sasha doing?"

"Same as always, somehow way too excited about what happened. I swear each time we spot new worms here, she wants to experiment on them."

Martin blinked. "There are worms here?"

"Kinda laying siege on the institute. Did Jon not tell you?"

"No!"

"Huh."

Tim looked like he wanted to say more, but by now they had reached the archives, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Martin was too occupied with his own thoughts. Jon had never so much as uttered a word about seeing worms here! How could he-

"What are you doing on the floor?" Tim picked up Jon's tape recorder, turned it around in his hand, and then snorted. "Hey, did you ever hear Jon do one of his readings? He goes like Statement of Joe Spooky, regarding sinister happenings ."

It was a shitty Jon impression that would for sure make Martin laugh if he wouldn't notice the smell. The smell of unwashed, feverish skin, of rot and mold and slimy things. His heart stumbled.

"Tim, I think-"

And then chaos. So many things happened at once that Martin had a hard time grasping them. It felt like a tidal wave crashing around him. First there were the worms, more than he ever thought possible and coming from apparently everywhere. Pouring out from under doors and desks, piling on shelves, and falling from somewhere overhead.

Like they had just waited for them.

Next was Sasha. She appeared before them, crashing into him and Tim, yelling, "Run, run, run!"

Martin couldn't. He was frozen in place, staring deeper into the archives where Jane Prentiss stood. No door between them, no knocking. Just her and her worms, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

"Martin!"

Was it Jon calling that snapped him out of it, or the spray from the fire extinguisher? Martin wasn't sure what finally made him move and follow the outstretched hand, but all in all, it couldn't have been more than a few heartbeats.

Jon pulled him into a room and they both threw themselves against the door so it clicked shut. Instantly hands were tearing on Martin's coat, on his shoulders, even pulling him down to get to his hair. "Off, off. Take it off!"

Martin threw his coat off and for the next twenty seconds, they both stomped on it. Only when Martin saw the smear of crushed worms did he register what was actually going on, and promptly shook himself like a dog.

"Are there more? Did you get them?"

"Lean down, hold still. Let me-"

Jon's hands moved roughly through his hair, across his shoulders and down his back. "You're fine. I don't see- Shit, the door!"

Martin spun around. The worms were pushing through the gap beneath the door, and he jammed his coat underneath it to stop them. That wouldn't help for long, and he looked around for more. 

The room was small, but for whatever reason there was a cot shoved in the corner. Weird, but there were blankets there, even pillows, and he would use whatever to seal them in.

At least it was something he knew how to do and while the déjà vu feeling was bitter on his tongue, he worked without much thought.

"Did you see where Sasha and Tim went?"

"No, it happened so fast."

"Yeah."

With the door secured, Martin stepped back and dared to breathe. His heart was pounding away in his chest, but at least it was still beating. That didn't change the fact that he was once again locked in with Jane Prentiss looming behind a single door. And here, there was no way to get out. It was little more than a square room with shelves piled high with boxes. No window or second entrance.

Just him and Jon and certain death.

"What are you doing here?", Jon suddenly snapped at him.

"You forgot your lighter." Martin’s lips felt numb saying that. He reached into his pockets where even after all the panic the lighter felt smooth and cold as he pulled it out.

Jon stared at him, hair a mess, shirt rumbled, and absolutely flabbergasted.

"That's not my lighter."

"What?"

"Martin, I have the cheap plastic ones."

"No. No, I saw you use it before." He stared at the golden lighter and hadn't he wondered how little it seemed to fit Jon? "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! Each time I'm trying to quit, I throw them out. I would never waste money on a fancy one."

"Then where did this thing even come from!"

"I don't know!" Jon was yelling, and Martin realized he was as well. Taking a breath, he tried to calm down. Hard to do with the stench of rot, the squelching of worms and Jon staring at him like he was going insane. That might as well be true.

He could've sworn he'd seen Jon use this lighter, there had never been a doubt in his mind. Then again, that was hardly the most pressing matter right now.

Jon let out his breath. For the first time Martin noticed how he was shaking, drenched in sweat as he was leaning against the wall.

"Fuck, Jon! Did they get you?"

Stupid question, considering that one of Jon's pant legs was pushed up, and the skin beneath was bloody. Jon was trying to keep his weight off his injured leg, but with each motion, his face grew more ashen.

"In my office. Sasha got them out before we noticed you and Tim coming in."

"Here, let me." He helped Jon hopple to the cot and sit down. His heart clenched when Jon let out a small whimper.

"You went out there like this?"

"If I didn't you would've been eaten!" Jon looked around. "And I dropped the extinguisher somewhere."

"Should've kept some hidden."

"What? Why?"

"So that the worms wouldn't find them!"

Jon stared at him for a beat, before huffing out something between a wince and a chuckle. Martin snorted as well, and for a few minutes they just sat there, catching their breath and laughing together.

Martin spotted some clothes beneath the cot and pulled them out.

"Do I even want to know why you have them here?"

"Is that really the time to talk about my working habits?"

"I think it would be the exact right time to consider your work in the first place." The shirt was clean, so Martin ripped a long strip out of it. He placed Jon's foot on his thigh and began to wrap up the wounds. "Have you considered a career as a barista? I could talk to Olivia for you, put in a good word. Bad hours and shitty pay included, but at least no-" Worms. He caught himself before finishing the sentence.

"No monsters?", Jon asked.

"Kinda. But I swear some customers..." He glanced up at Jon and found him smiling. There was a little more color in his face now.

The blaring fire alarm startled both of them.

"Do you think that was Tim or Sasha?"

"Hopefully."

Martin placed Jon's leg back down and got to his feet. There was a little window in the door and even though it was covered in worms, he could at least try to peek outside. He stopped in his tracks when a hand brushed the worms aside.

Jane Prentiss pressed her face against the glass panel and Martin froze.

Before, when she'd been in front of his flat he hadn't properly seen her, not like this, not making eye contact. The white of her eyes was off a putrid yellow, her pupil tiny. She stared at him with such anger and hunger, that he couldn't move, couldn't even breathe.

She lifted her hand and knocked. It made him jump, made him want to hide. This time it wasn't asking for entry, this time it was quick, powerful strikes against the glass.

How long would it hold?

"Archivist." The word came from her mouth, but it was echoed by so many more voices.

Then Jon appeared with the pillow from the cot and pressed it against the window. It wouldn't stop anything if the glass broke, it didn't even stop the sound of the knocking, and still it was some relief to not see.

Jon turned towards Martin, his eyes wide, the makeshift bandage spotted with red.

"I am so sorry", he whispered and somehow with all the noise, Martin could still hear him. "You shouldn't even be here. Martin, I am so sorry."

Martin didn't know what to say. No, he fucking shouldn't be here! This had nothing to do with him!

Jon leaned heavily against the door, trying to take some weight off his leg. "We're going to die here."

The alarm blared, the knocking continued, and for an eternal moment that was all there was in Martin's head. Then he shook himself.

"No, there has to be- Are you sure there is no CO2 in here we can use?"

"Took the only one to get you. The bulk is scattered around the archives." Jon huffed. "If Elias wasn't such a damn money pincher. You don't need any more fire extinguishers, Jon! I recently changed the Archive’s fire suppression system to use carbon dioxide, that is more than enough! Well, what good does it do now?"

"Wait, what? But the fire alarm is going!"

"Because someone pulled it, not because of an actual fire."

Martin stared at him. He could see how Jon came to the same conclusion as him just a few seconds later.

"Oh."

Jon reached for his pockets, and found them empty. "I keep my lighter with my cigarettes, but if we could somehow-"

Martin pulled out the golden lighter and they both just kinda... stared at it.

In trance Martin reached for one of the filing boxes, pulled it out and threw it to the ground. Paper. Old, worn paper.

"Wait, I haven't looked through those statements yet!"

"I really don't care, Jon."

He flicked the lighter on and Jon actually made a step forward as if to stop him. When he put pressure on his bad leg, he winced and Martin had to steady him.

"Get as far away from this as possible."

Jon hesitated another moment, his face drawn in pain, but then he nodded.

Martin grasped some files and loose papers and held the lighter towards it. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Jon inhale, sharp and alarmed, but that didn't stop him.

He let the burning paper fall back into the filing box and then kicked the whole thing towards the door.

With Jon gone, the pillow had fallen to the ground, and now he could see Jane Prentiss' hand again. Slim and gray and full of holes, as she pounded against the window. With each strike new cracks appeared on the glass panel. It looked like a spider web.

With a shaking breath, Martin also stepped back, pressing his back against the wall next to Jon.

"Let's hope this works", Martin mumbled.

"If it doesn't and the fire reaches the shelves, we would have at least bigger problems than worms."

"Great. I really wanted my Thursday to end with the question if I wanted to be eaten or burned alive."

Jon turned towards him, probably to apologize again, but his leg gave out from underneath him. Martin caught him and dragged him towards the cot.

"Might as well sit down for this."

Groaning, Jon stretched out his leg. Blood had drenched the bandage and the top of his socks, and Martin's chest felt tight seeing him like that.

They were still far enough away from the steadily growing fire but he could pretend to feel the heat. In the flickering light, Jane's face appeared demonic, so he tried not to look.

Jon's weight shifted against him, his feverish face pressed into Martin's shoulder. "I figured I could do it this time."

"Do what?"

"Save someone." His hand crept closer until he could hook his fingers into Martin's jumper. "I'm bad luck."

With another of Jane's knocks, glass shattered, so it was kinda hard to argue about that. Martin’s arm was still around Jon from steadying him and well, if he was going to die here, might as well make the best out of it. He pulled Jon closer, and he went easily, curling into Martin's side like he could be safe there.

Then there was a strange pop from above, the hissing of gas and a shriek, like nothing Martin had ever heard before.

After that there was nothing.

Chapter Text

Something pressed against Martin’s face and if his arms weren't made out of lead, Martin would push it away. Like this he could only sit there and let it happen.

"Deep breaths", a voice told him, which was good because besides breathing there wasn't much else he was able to do at the moment.

It took a while for the fog in his mind to clear and when he blinked his eyes open, he found himself in front of the Magnus Institute. There was a woman next to him, pressing an oxygen mask against his face.

"There you are", she said, her voice kind.

This went on for a while and with each minute he could take in more. There were a couple of ambulances around, a lot of activity, and flashing lights. He only noticed the fire alarm when it stopped, leaving them in a sudden silence.

"Jon?", he asked. The word hurt his throat.

"Is Jon the guy who was with you?" She pressed something cold against his chest and listened. "We'll take him to the hospital to look at his leg."

Martin let the mask sink to ask more questions, but she pushed it right back in place. "You keep that right there and take all the oxygen you can get."

So he did just that, his mind still muddled. He watched the police officers moving around, asking people, probably all from the institute. Martin couldn't see a single familiar face.

What about Tim? Sasha?

The woman taking care of him had heaved herself into one of the ambulances and out of sight, so he could ask no one. At least until someone walked straight towards him, imposing in his well-tailored suit and intense eyes.

Martin had seen this man before, but he couldn't tell where.

"Once you are done here, I would advise you to leave this place. No need for you to get any more involved." His voice was cold, furious, like Martin had personally brought on this near disaster.

The man threw something at him that clattered to the floor before Martin could even lift his hand to try and catch it. It was the golden lighter.

"We don't need your kind here setting institute property on fire and interfering with things."

His kind?

"What?", he asked but the stranger didn't bother with an answer. He turned and left him sitting there.

Well, Martin could take a hint. The moment he got the okay, he made his way home. It felt like he’d been gone for days, but outside it was only just starting to turn dark.

He still didn't have any groceries.

So he moved on autopilot, dressing in new clothes, and heading down to Lidl. It all felt very dreamlike, like those other people were far away and fake.

Only when he put the milk in his fridge, did he think of his phone.

Martin 🫖

Please just let me know you're alright when you can

Martin 🫖

Tim and Sasha as well?

Jon didn't answer but Martin hadn't expected him to. Without undressing, he fell asleep on his couch.

It wasn't until the afternoon of the next day that his phone buzzed. He instantly pulled it out.

Jon ☕

Alive. All of us.

A weight Martin hadn't even known he was carrying fell from him and he leaned heavily against the counter. Olivia threw him a curious look but before he could explain, Jon was calling him. That sent such a pleasant spark through him, that his knees went weak.

"Do you mind if I take this?"

"Go ahead but make it quick."

Good, because he would have gone out the back with or without her permission.

"Jon!" Even to his own ears, he sounded desperate but he didn't care.

"Sorry for the late reply, my phone was still in my office." He sounded out of breath but it was Jon, alive. Something tightened in Martin's chest and for a few heartbeats he didn't know what to say. It was enough to just stay here and listen to Jon breathe, but then he shook himself.

"How are you? Are you okay?"

"I could leave the hospital this morning. What about you?"

"I'm okay. Just needed some oxygen, apparently co2 isn't quite as good for our lungs."

"I want to see you."

Martin's breath hitched. He leaned against the coat rag, his heart loud in his chest.

"Please?", Jon whispered.

"I- yes. Yes. I want that as well."

"Dinner tonight? My treat."

Martin closed his eyes. "I can't, I'm at work."

"Oh, o-o-of course."

"You could come into the coffee shop?"

"I- not really good on foot right now."

"Right, right. That was stupid, sorry."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Martin could hear voices from the front of the shop, the door opening, Olivia talking. There wasn't much time until he had to return for the afternoon rush.

"Tomorrow then?", he asked before doubt could keep him silent any longer. "I have the late shift, so maybe lunch instead of dinner? Would that be-"

"Yeah." Jon sounded breathless as he interrupted him. "That would be- yeah, we can do that. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care, just wherever." An insistent knock sent a shiver down Martin's spine. Olivia, not Prentiss, who was watching him expectingly.

"Listen Jon, I have to-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll just send you the address?"

"That works. See you tomorrow?"

"Bye, Martin."

He hung up and threw Olivia an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I'll be right-"

But apparently the rush wasn't that bad because Olivia made no move to get out of his way.

"Jon? As in Jon Jon?" She put a hand up, a little under her head to show his height, and put on a stoic face.

Instead of answering, Martin just turned bright red. "Maybe?"

"And you'll be seeing him tomorrow? You know you have to work, right?"

"We're having lunch together."

"Sounds like a date to me."

Martin tried to play it cool, but unfortunately, he had never managed to play anything cool in his life. He chuckled. "It does, doesn't it?"

Jon was wearing a gray coat and a long scarf against the cold. It sat crooked around his shoulder, one ending nearly trailing on the ground, the other barely holding on. He was trying to fix it but had a hard time while still balancing on one crutch.

Seeing Jon again eased something that Martin hadn't known he was still holding tight. He had known Jon was alright, had been chatting with him, they even had the phone call and still, apparently a part of Martin had left him in that storage room.

It had to be the same part that hadn't dared to get to bed last night, and had instead slept on the couch, from where he could watch the entrance to his flat. Scared and waiting, getting up to check on the duct tape.

In his head Jon was still sitting on that damn cot, leg bloody, his face ashen in pain and his fingers hooked in Martin's jumper.

Jon noticed him now and stopped fussing about his scarf. Exhaustion was still etched on his face, but it was eclipsed by the utter relief once his gaze fell on Martin. He turned towards him, his free hand coming up like he had to touch to make sure and well, Martin wasn't much better.

The second he was in reach, he pulled Jon into a big hug. Maybe a bit too forward, and honestly, he hadn't realized he would do that until his body had already moved, but nothing could've stopped him. He had to make sure Jon was alive, still safe and warm and breathing. It wasn't until Jon tensed that Martin's doubts came back, but by then the crutch hit the floor and Jon lifted his own arms to cling to him.

They swayed a little, unsteady because Jon didn't dare to put weight on his injured leg. Not that Martin would let him fall, he had his arms securely wrapped around him. He was so slim.

Jon's hair tickled his jaw when he turned his head into Martin's shoulder, his breath warm against his neck.

"She's dead. They burnt her, I saw the report. Jane Prentiss is gone", Jon whispered, and Martin let his eyes fall shut. He'd never imagined he would be glad about someone dying, but here he was.

"Okay."

He could feel Jon looking at him, knew how much his voice shook. Again, he hadn't realized how deep under the skin all of this went.

He stepped back, one hand tight around Jon's arm to steady him, so slim, as he picked up the crutch from the ground. When he dared to look at Jon again, he found him flushed but smiling. It was a nice look on him.

"So, um- where are we going?"

"Right up ahead. I hope you like Italian?" Jon led the way, the crutch making soft noises on the pavement. "Actually wanted to take you to the restaurant by my flat, but they are only open in the evening. Maybe-"

Next time.

The words hung unsaid between them and made Martin giddy. "Italian is fine."

When he opened the door for Jon, he was a bit relieved. The place didn't seem too fancy. He still had to buy a new coat, considering they had trampled on the last one, and it went missing somewhere in the chaos, and while Jon had invited him, Martin would feel bad for not offering to pay.

That wasn't to say the place wasn't nice! It was small, and homely, and the smell of garlic greeted them.

Suddenly he was hungry, actually starving. Food hadn't really been high on his priorities lately and more of a nuisance than anything else. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper meal.

They were seated towards the back and the waiter even lit the candle on the table. A stupid thing to notice but well-

Jon's leg brushed against Martin and he jumped.

"Sorry." Jon scooted a little to the side to not sit directly in front of him. "Can't really keep it bent yet."

"How's your leg doing?"

"Well, I got exactly 14 holes in it, which isn't ideal", Jon grumbled.

"I'd imagine."

"But it's healing. Will take a while and I will have to do some physical therapy afterward."

"Does it hurt badly?"

"No, it's fine. I got some painkillers when it gets really bad. I'm just happy I don't have any worms left inside me."

The last part was clearly overheard by their waiter, who stopped in his tracks before schooling his expression. He placed their drinks on the table before hurrying away.

Apparently Jon was oblivious to the reaction.

"Considering the situation we were in, I think we got lucky."

Lucky was a strong word for what had happened, but Martin couldn't really deny it.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Oh yeah. Just, you know, the oxygen stuff. What about the others? Tim and Sasha?"

"Sasha made it out of the archives before it got too bad. She actually had the same idea as us and wanted to release the fire suppression system manually. You know, without destroying a whole box of statements."

That came out surprisingly cutting, and Martin frowned. He might regret a lot of things in his life, but not that. Searching in his pockets, he pulled out the golden lighter like it was indisputable proof.

Jon took it from him and it looked both so right and wrong in his hands, that Martin felt a bit dizzy. "Are you sure it's not yours?"

"Absolutely. Look." Jon showed him his own, a cheap green plastic thing.

"Where did this thing come from?"

Instead of answering, Jon handed the lighter back. The gold felt smooth against Martin's skin.

"Well, it did save our lives."

"I don't know. Sasha said she needed just a few more minutes to manually-"

"Jon, we didn't have a few more minutes."

For a moment Jon actually seemed to argue about that before he leaned back in his seat. He shifted and his leg brushed against Martin's once more.

"You're right, of course."

Martin decided to let it go. "So what about Tim?"

Jon’s face fell. "He was... not as lucky as us." Taking one of the paper napkins, Jon started to play with it. "When we all got separated, he got trapped deeper in the archives, you know, where all the worms had come from."

"But you said-"

"He's fine!" Jon quickly assured him. "Or like... he'll be fine. He managed to find our stash of fire extinguishers, but they weren't enough for him to get back out. So he bunkered down in one of the storage rooms."

The pile of little paper balls grew in front of him as Jon ripped the napkin apart. "The worms got to him, and he had to find some creative ways to... well, get them out."

"Jesus Christ, Jon."

"But he's getting better! Should be home from the hospital by the end of the week. I talked to him this morning and we can do our physical therapy together! According to him, he's looking forward to getting out of work earlier on Fridays for that."

Jon smiled, something soft and fond that Martin hadn't seen yet. "It's hard to keep Tim down."

"Sounds like it."

Martin watched as Jon decimated the napkin until nothing was left. Neither of them said a thing, not after such a devastating topic, after the reminder of how close all of them had been to something much worse.

Thankfully their food arrived, giving their hands something to do. It was hard to think about awful things with freshly made pasta in front of them, and soon their conversation turned into something lighter. Martin couldn't help but wonder if they had ever talked about something else but cryptids, worm attacks, or their untimely death.

Good to know that they could.

Jon was just going on about how much he missed having a cat around, which revealed quite a few things to Martin. First off, Jon's work schedule was worse than Martin imagined, which honestly, he should've figured out considering the cot he kept at his workplace.

Secondly, The Admiral hadn't even been Jon's cat, but his ex's. Georgie, who was a woman. Which didn't have to mean much but could also mean everything.

Thankfully before Martin's mind could spiral about that any further, Jon's leg brushed against his again. This time he kept it there and neither of them mentioned it.

Unfortunately, Martin was too aware of the time, and while he tried to look at his phone subtly, Jon noticed.

"When does your shift start?"

"At 3, so I should probably get going."

Which was a shame, considering he could imagine himself sitting here with Jon for another hour, sharing their tiramisu.

"I don't want to keep you. I'm gonna pay and you can-"

"Jon, you really don't have to-"

"No", Jon shut him down, just like Martin knew he would. There was something nervous about him now, something restless. "This is the least I can do."

So Martin let him. It felt nice if a little awkward, nobody had ever properly invited him for dinner. Or well, lunch.

"You won't head straight back into the archives, will you?", he asked as they headed for the door.

"No, Elias insists I take some time off."

"He's your boss, right?"

Jon nodded. He struggled with his crutch, so the only reasonable thing to do was help him into his coat. Stupid thing to blush about, but Martin couldn't fight the feeling down. Jon quickly looked away, but didn't protest.

As they stepped into the brisk air, Martin felt nervous as well. This was the part where they had to face this had been a date, right? Talk about a possible next time, have a conversation about their relationship like two adults.

Martin couldn't bring himself to say anything and even with his bad leg, Jon walked swiftly ahead of him. The hand not holding on to his crutch was clenched at his side, his shoulders tense like he was preparing for a fight.

Okay, this was ridiculous. The tube station was up ahead where they had to part, and Martin hadn't read the situation that wrong. Jon had invited him for lunch, they had a good time!

"This was fun."

Jon stopped abruptly at his words and spun around. It was quick enough, that his crooked scarf started to slip from his shoulder and Martin reached out to catch it. It was reasonable to wind it around Jon's neck, right? Properly this time, so he wouldn't have to struggle with it anymore, so he would be kept warm.

Jon didn't stop him, just watched him in the intense sort of way he sometimes did. Like he could see more than Martin was ready to reveal.

That had to mean something.

Martin smoothed down the ends of the scarf, soft against Jon's coat.

"Maybe we could-"

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Martin blinked.

Jon's words hung between them, thick as fog and for a wonderful second Martin was sure he had misheard.

"I- excuse me? What?"

Jon breathed in deeply. His hands brushed Martin's aside and he even took a step back, the new distance opening like a maw between them.

"Jane Prentiss is gone. There's no reason for us to spend time together."

"What?", Martin just asked again. Surely he had missed a step somewhere, taken a wrong turn.

Jon finally broke their eye contact, his expression hardening in determination. "You're free now, you can just forget about everything that has happened. Go back to your normal life."

"But- but what about you?"

"This", he made a gesture between the both of them, "has changed nothing for me."

Distantly Martin was aware how much those words hurt, but he was still reeling. "Jon, I don't understand."

"I can't keep you safe."

Ah. That was something Martin could grasp, a strand of reason.

"But I am safe? Jane Prentiss is dead, you said so yourself."

"She isn't the only one. I think there is so much more out there. You've seen the amount of statements we keep."

He had, and Martin could also remember the sinking feeling when he had realized that. When his phone hadn't been able to take a picture, the dread from reading the statement. Like something looming above him, watching over his shoulder.

"I don't want that."

Jon looked pained at his words, but just for a moment, for less than a second. Then he squared his shoulders.

"That isn't for you to decide."

Martin's breath hitched. Jon must've heard because he reached out to squeeze Martin's arm, his voice pleading, "I'm sorry, Martin."

"No. No, wait- You can't just, what? Just disappear on me?"

"I'm sorry", Jon just said again, so Martin repeated his words as well.

"I don't want that."

Jon pressed his lips together until they were nothing more than a tight white line. His hand slipped from Martin's arm, down his jacket until he brushed against his hand. The touch burned like fire before it disappeared.

"Goodbye. Please forget this ever happened."

"And forget you as well, that's what you want, right?" Martin was raising his voice but Jon didn't bother answering. He turned away, going back the way they had just come from.

Martin could easily catch up with him, could grasp that dumb scarf of his and make him stop, make him listen.

His legs wouldn't move. There was something cold, something heavy, keeping him routed right there.

Chapter Text

"Mister Blackwood?"

Martin closed his eyes and tried to steel himself for what he knew would come next.

"Your mother is asleep right now, but I will let her know you called."

A lie. No matter how exhausted or sick his mother had been, he couldn't remember her ever having a nap. She also wouldn't allow him to have one. Naps were for lazy people and in her eyes he already was the most lazy person to ever exist. Taking a break between school and his six-hour shift down at the corner store? Impossible.

There were things to do, laundry to fold, food to cook and didn't he see the state of the bathroom?

Instead he said, "Please do so. Is she doing well?"

"She's in the best care, Mister Blackwood."

Hopefully, considering the amount of money he spent on her care home.

"Well, I'll talk to her next week then."

The woman on the phone hesitated, and Martin could sense the unsaid words. That he shouldn't call, that his mother hadn't accepted any of his calls since she’d been there and was probably quite vocal about not changing that.

Still, it was the right thing to do, wasn't it?

He hung up and let the phone drop onto his chest. He was lying on his couch, now thankfully back in front of the TV and not in the middle of his entrance.

After coming back from his not-date with Jon, he had used his restless energy to rip the duct tape from his door and opened every available window. It was still not quite spring, but the brisk air had felt freeing after not having it in months.

After his flat looked more like that of a normal person, he actually felt better.

Jon wasn't right, simply because Martin would refuse to think like that, but maybe Martin could go back to a normal life.

That positive thought kept him going until the next day when he realized that he couldn't just leave things behind. Every knocking sound still sent him into a near panic, and if he managed to fall asleep it was restless and full of diffuse nightmares.

The duct tape had left a sticky residue on the door and window frames he couldn't quite get off, and had in some places ripped the paint from his walls. He had tried to paint over that, but the white he bought was too white and when he added some gray, it got too dark.

So now he had a huge pot of useless paint and no hope to get his deposit back.

Which was just great, considering that he really needed to get out of this flat because rent was chewing through his meager savings, now that he also had to pay for his mother's accommodations. London's housing market was bad enough, but without his deposit, he could forget renting anything at all.

Martin Blackwood wasn't having a good time.

It only got worse when he got to work and found Jon's face looking at him. Well, from the picture on his work ID that someone had put behind the counter. Martin picked it up and let his finger travel over the raised letters spelling The Magnus Institute.

"He was here?", he asked Olivia and hoped it didn't sound hopeful. He didn't feel hopeful, whenever he thought of Jon it tasted bitter.

"That's what I wanted to ask you. Hannah found it this morning, so I figured he was bothering you last night." She looked at him, determined. "Jonathan Sims is not welcome here anymore! He can get his coffee somewhere else, and I hope he burns his tongue each time!"

Martin had to bite down on his smile. Going from his not-date straight to work, he had been bombarded with questions by both Olivia and Hannah. At least for about 30 seconds, until they saw his expression and now Jon was enemy number one.

Well, right after the creepy guy who always bothered Hannah and Martin had to throw out once. Maybe the same thing would happen if Jon would ever show his face here again.

"No, Jon wasn't here since-" Three weeks; 23 days to be exact.

Hannah spotted him from across the shop, dropped her drinks on hopefully the right table and came over.

"What did he do?"

"He wasn't here last night."

Hannah frowned. "But I found it right on the counter! It wasn't hidden or anything." She pointed to the seat Jon had always sat in, and Martin couldn't even be surprised.

"I promise, I haven't seen him."

"What if he broke in?"

"Why would he? Just so he could leave a little memento for Martin to find?"

"I don't know, I always got some bad vibes from him. I bet he's into some weird shit", Hannah prophesized, and Martin nearly had to laugh. It wasn't even farfetched.

"Like what?"

Hannah thought about that for a moment, before lowering her voice, "Cannibalism."

Now okay, that was farfetched.

"He isn’t."

"No, Martin, listen. I know stuff like that, I can sense it. He came in here, ordered his coffee and I was instantly like boom, cannibal!"

"Was that before or after you binged the Hannibal Lecter movies?"

Hannah waved her off. "I'm telling you this is all just a blessing in disguise. Always told everyone Martin is a snack, but this Jon guy took it literally!"

Martin snorted and went to put on his apron. He should probably stop this, they were all being childish but honestly, it just felt liberating in some way.

When he came back, Jon was still staring at him, so he turned his ID around.

"We can just throw it away", Olivia offered and for a moment Martin considered it but then he shook his head.

"Let's wait a few days for him to pick it up."

Jon probably wouldn't, just like Jon hadn't forgotten it here. He also hadn't broken in after Martin closed the shop.

It had just appeared and that meant something. Just like the lighter.

That was an insane thought and Martin should probably be concerned how little he doubted it.

The ID stayed behind the counter, turned around, so Martin didn't have to look at his stupid face all day. Nobody came looking for it, not Tim or Sasha and certainly not Jon. So Martin ignored it.

Now, he could take a picture and send it to Jon. He'd lost the ☕-privilege but Martin still had his number.

But the one message Martin had sent him, had never reached him, so apparently Jon had blocked him. In that case a blessing, because Martin had been quite drunk when he sent that rambling, awkward mess.

So no picture for Jon. This was his problem, not Martin's. He could just ignore the whole thing, pretend not to notice Jon's photo looking at him, no matter how often Martin turned it back around. No matter if he put a cup on it, placed his book on top, or put it in one of the drawers, it always seemed to creep back up, staring.

After a week of ignoring the issue, it smacked him in the face. Quite literally. Martin had been on the way to wipe down an empty table when it hit him on the forehead. With a startled noise, he looked up to find Jon’s ID hanging from the ceiling by a thick, silver thread. At this point, the big, hairy spider next to it wasn't even a surprise.

"I don't know what you want from me", Martin told the spider because apparently this was his life now. "He made it pretty clear that he doesn't want to see me, and you know what? At this point, I don't even want to see him. He's been an arse who clearly thinks he's better than me and has a grip on what's happening."

With a huff, Martin snatched the ID up. "Which is complete bullshit. I mean, have you seen the bags under his eyes? Or the state of his so-called office? This guy has no idea what he's doing. If he wants this, he will have to-"

"Um, excuse me?"

Martin spun around and stared at the woman, waiting by the counter. Heat crept into his face.

"I'm- there was a spider. I was just-" But the spider was gone, because of course it was. Even if it would be there, that was hardly an explanation.

The woman just nervously smiled at him. "Could I get a cappuccino?"

"Yes. Yes, of course! Coming right up!"

Stupid Jon because this was clearly his fault. Martin prepared the drink with as much anger as he could muster, and wasn't even surprised when the woman left as fast as possible. Great.

Martin lifted a corner of the heavy espresso machine and unceremoniously pushed Jon’s work ID underneath it.

"There", he told no one at all. Or the spider, or the espresso machine or whatever was watching him. "If he wants this thing, tell him to come and get it. I'm not going!"

When he woke the next day, Jon was looking at him from his bedside table. Martin threw the ID away and took the rubbish out. The next time he went to pay for his groceries, it sat between his bills. 

Something in him broke.

Fine. Fine!

He left his groceries right there and marched straight towards the institute. Nobody stopped him, he saw no one at all but at this point he had been here enough times to know his way around. Even down in the archive, the desks were abandoned, but he could hear Jon's voice coming from his office.

That should probably make him stop, consider what he was even doing, but Martin didn't even hesitate before pushing the door open.

Jon startled violently. He had his feet thrown on top of the desk and nearly tumbled out of his chair in his hurry to sit properly. His injury must still hurt because he made a low hissing sound as he moved his leg.

"Martin?"

Martin slapped his work ID onto the table. "There! Happy?"

He wasn't even talking to Jon, but it was satisfying seeing the utter confusion on his face.

"How did you get that?"

"I don't know!"

"What do you mean you don't know?" Jon reached to stop his recording and then opened his drawer, rummaging through the mess inside. While he was distracted, the tape recorder turned back on. "Where is- I keep my ID in here. When did you take it?"

"I didn't take it! It kept on showing up at my work and my home!"

"What? That's impossi-"

"Tell me it's impossible, and I will shove this thing where the sun doesn't shine, I swear to god, Jon."

Jon sputtered, searching for a reply. He probably wasn't used to being talked to like that but Martin was so sick of it.

"Is that just another try to get my attention?" Jon got to his feet, looking for yet another thing in his drawer.

"Another try-"

Jon smacked something onto the table, next to the ID.

It was the golden lighter and Martin felt the words die on his tongue. He picked it up, turned it around and let his fingers wander over the web-design.

"How did you-"

"You send it to me! The package was waiting for me when I got back to work!"

"No, I didn't."

"Then what? Someone stole it from you and sent it to me?"

"Jon, I still have the lighter, it's right-" He patted the pockets of his jacket and found them empty. For a second he stood there, stunned, then he turned his pockets inside out, letting loose coins and old receipts fall to the ground.

"No, that... I never use it. Maybe I left it at home, but I didn't- Why would I send it to you?"

Jon didn't answer, he just looked at his struggle, all proud like he'd won the argument. Martin was pretty sure they had both lost.

"Well, whatever may be the case, looks like we both have our possessions back. Now, if you don't mind."

"Seriously? After all this, you're just going to throw me out?"

Jon crossed his arms. "I apologize if your little stunt didn't turn out the way you hoped it would, but my decision still stands. I would rather not continue our relations ."

"Oh, you pompous ass!"

"This is for your own-"

"For my own good, right, right. You're my big saviour, helping me with worms trying to eat me and with sentient things that just show up, no matter how often I throw them away. Don't even get me started on whatever your deal with spiders is, but who cares? It's probably more complicated than what my stupid head can take." He snatched the lighter from the desk and when he looked up, Jon had squared his jaw.

"Martin, I know you expect me to have all the answers but I don't."

"No, but you have the statements and a library and people you can ask, who will at least believe you! You can rely on something . I can’t!" He pointed at Jon, but noticed his hand shaking, so he instead balled it into a fist. "You showed me this world, dragged me into it, and then you just told me to fuck off! Now I can deal with this stuff by myself! Well thank you, Jon!"

There was a soft knock behind him and Martin was very aware of someone else entering the room, but Jon was trying to say something and Martin would rather cut him off.

"Now if you would please stop trying to save me because honestly? You're just making stuff worse!"

Jon's mouth snapped shut, which was probably for the best.

He dodged Martin's eyes, and Martin could finally try and catch his breath again. He couldn't remember the last time, he'd been so angry.

"Everything alright here?", someone behind him asked, and when he turned, he was faced with two women he didn't know.

"Everything is fine. Martin was just about to go." It sounded like Jon had to press each syllable out between his clenched teeth. Good, because Martin had said what he wanted to say.

Martin didn't bother with a reply, just pushed past both women. He hadn't left the archives when he heard one of them say, "Damn Sims, got your ass handed to you!"

That made him feel a little better.

Chapter Text

Martin had his old laptop on his lap, looking through the available flats in London. At this point he'd scrolled too far, down to flats he could never afford, but at least they were nice to look at. He'd hurt no one imagining not living in a dingy place or having a stranger as a flatmate.

His phone vibrating was a welcome distraction.

Jon

Why was I thrown out of Café Alexandria?

The laugh building in Martin's throat was more of a cackle, and he instantly felt better. He left Jon hanging for a couple more minutes, going back to the listings, but the available flats were as disappointing as every conversation with Jonathan Sims.

After 45 minutes and another tea run, Martin picked his phone up.

Martin 🫖

They think you're a cannibal

Jon

I'm not!

Jon

Did you tell them I was?

Martin 🫖

No, they came to that conclusion all on their own. Apparently you give off a weird vibe

Jon stayed online for a little while longer, but no reply came. Good. Hopefully he got his bloody coffee somewhere else. 

It took Martin a few minutes longer to realize that Jon had unblocked him. Huh.

Well, that was at least something. Now, if something tried to kill him again, he could at least shoot Jon an "I told you so".

Wait-

Martin scrolled up until he found the string of rambling messages he'd sent while drunk. A bunch of nonsense, some accusations, and the very awkward begging for a second chance.

This time it had sent, so Jon had unblocked him and been instantly hit with that treasure.

"Fuck!"

Frustrated, Martin closed his laptop and made his way to work. At least he could be sure that Jonathan Sims wouldn't haunt him there.

Work wasn't much better.

The woman who had caught him awkwardly yelling at a spider was back, sitting at a table with her friends. They were laughing. Probably not at him, right? Most likely at him.

Martin hid in the back until they left.

When he cleared their table, he found a newspaper page folded beneath the cups. A listing of flats, with one circled by a red pen.

His first instinct was to look up at the ceiling, checking for any spiders. Apparently that was now something he did. 

No spiders.

The listed flat sounded lovely and the rent was much cheaper than it should be, considering the location. No way he was going to get it, there had to be hundreds of applicants but-

Again, a glance up revealed no spiders of any kind.

It still gave him the confidence to call right away and make an appointment for later in the week. Maybe his rotten luck was turning around?

"Martin!", Hannah called from the front. "He's back!"

So much for that.

Martin took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and returned to the front to tell Jon off. Instead he was greeted by Tim's bright smile.

"Marto!"

Tim's clap on his shoulder nearly got him off balance, but he couldn't mind it. Not when Tim was standing in front of him, alive and well. Jon had told him that Tim had got the worst of it, but without knowing it was hard to tell.

There was a cluster of circular, raised skin that could be seen on Tim’s neck where his scarf didn't quite cover them.

"I don't want to bother you too much at work, just wanted to check in", Tim told him. "Jon mentioned you were doing alright, but we haven't seen each other since... then. Had to make sure he wasn't talking out of his ass."

"He usually is." That had been an inside thought until it escaped Martin. Thankfully Tim just laughed.

"You heard that?" He was asking the woman at his side. Martin hadn't realized the two of them belonged together but now that he was looking closer, he recognized her as one of the two women who had barged into Jon's office.

"I heard", she agreed, and her smile seemed to stretch a tad too wide. "But I won't tell."

Tim lowered his voice, "Seriously though, are you okay? I still feel kinda shitty about the whole thing. I was the one dragging Jon out of the archive that day and let Prentiss here."

"Tim, no. It's fine, you didn't know!" And he'd paid dearly for it, hadn't he? Martin's eyes darted down, to the circular wounds that would surely scar over. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like for worms burying in his skin. How many more wounds were hidden under Tim's clothes?

Still Tim grinned and gave him another clap on his shoulder. "That's what I like about you, Marto. Always seeing the best in people."

That wasn't true but Martin would take a compliment any day. He reached up, squeezing Tim's arm. "I don't blame you, okay? All of us got out of it in the end."

That actually eased something in Tim's posture. Good, relaxed suited him more. Now if Hannah would stop staring at them.

"Listen, I know Jon can be an asshole, so I get why you wouldn't come around anymore. Sasha told me a bit about your fight." Tim nodded to the woman at his side, and Martin frowned.

"But if you ever do need help, here's my number."

Oh, okay. The fact that this woman was not Sasha was wiped straight from his brain because Tim was actually giving him his number.

He was still reeling from that when the two of them left, each of them with their own drink. The woman was watching him through the windows, her smile, once again, just a bit too wide. Something felt off.

Then Hannah took hold of his arm and shook him. "You're on a roll, Blackwood! Way better vibes that one!"

He shook the silly thoughts from his mind and couldn't help but laugh. "So Tim's not a cannibal?"

"Absolutely not! He's clearly a hunk." She sighed. "I'm gonna be upset about that for a little while, but I'll get over it. You won't mind me staring at him whenever he comes in after you two marry, right?"

"You're ridiculous."

By now Tim had disappeared from view, but Martin still felt unmoored, like he'd missed a step.

"What about the woman with him? Any readings on her?"

"No match against you", Hannah assured him as she got started on another drink. "She didn't leave an impact at all."

Martin got the flat. It wasn’t even a contest, he just showed up and the landlady asked him when he could move in. The place wasn’t even dingy but bright and airy, with huge windows overlooking a small park. It should be way out of his budget, but he’d triple-checked and it wasn’t.

There were spiderwebs in the corners of the room, no matter how prestige and clean everything else was. He took that as a sign.

For what, he wasn’t quite sure.

He should be over the moon. He should buy a damn lottery ticket with that amount of luck!

Instead he felt sick to his stomach, like something was lurking in each shadow. Not quite like when he’d been scared of Jane Prentiss. Back then he had at least known what he was running from, what she looked like.

This was a sneaking terror, something hidden that he couldn’t quite grasp.

He thought of Tim’s visit, of the woman who hadn’t been Sasha. Her smile.

Easy explanation? There were two people called Sasha working in the institute. It wasn’t such an uncommon name, and clearly Tim had known her. Jon had as well when she’d come into the office.

It was the smile that wouldn’t leave Martin. That made him reach for his phone and pull up his chat with Jon once he returned to his flat.

He could ask Tim, he had his number now, but he knew he wouldn’t. It had to be Jon.

Martin 🫖

Are there two Sashas working in the institute?

Then he sat there, waiting. There were a lot of things to do, he should move as soon as possible, get his stuff packed, and do something about the peeled paint around the door frame.

Instead he sat here, staring at his screen and flick his finger across it whenever it started to darken.

When Jon came online, Martin gripped his phone so tight the case creaked.

Jon

Why are you asking?

Martin closed his eyes and exhaled. Of fucking course, Jon could never just answer his questions. Granted, their relationship right now was rocky, but still.

When he opened his eyes again, another message had popped up.

Jon

Someone in IT might be called Sasha as well.

There. Easy explanation. He should stop looking for monsters in every shadow he came across. Probably stop using some form of spider as guidance.

Martin 🫖

Okay, thanks

Jon

Why are you asking?

Martin didn’t bother answering. A dick move, but first he had to figure out why that feeling didn’t leave. Sitting here on his old ratty couch, it felt a bit different. Still dark and foreboding, but also like someone was… pulling.

Chapter Text

Martin’s actions in the past weeks hadn’t been entirely reasonable. Sure, a lot of that was trauma. Being trapped in your flat for two weeks did things to one that were hard to overcome. He wasn’t in the best mental state to begin with, and meeting Jon had dragged him through all kinds of emotions he would rather not deal with.

Like missing Jon during his long shifts, when no one else was in. Pathetic.

But just walking straight into the pawn shop down the street from Café Alexandria was one of Martin’s less reasonable actions. Spinning a simple but effective lie about a break-in at the coffee shop and police not bothering with the case didn’t help.

But it got him access to their surveillance footage, the camera above the entrance had a limited but clear view of a few meters of pavement right in front of the pawn shop.

It was the same way Jon took when he visited the coffee shop. Presumably it was also the same way Tim and that woman had taken.

This was all highly illegal. And while Tim wasn’t a close friend, Martin still felt bad about spying on him. On the other hand, the fact that Martin could just do this, come in here and lie his way to something he needed was exhilarating.

When he walked out of the pawn shop, he had a picture of Tim and that Sasha.

Now what to do with it?

Well first he apparently could spend an unreasonable amount of time examining it. 

The fact that he could take a photo at all was probably a hint that nothing was wrong. It was a grainy photograph, but he had just snapped it from another screen, so that was fair. But when he'd try to snap a picture of Sasha's statement, it just hadn't worked.

He'd zoom in on her face and while he didn't recognize it, it was just a normal looking face. No reflecting eyes or protruding teeth or... things. Her shadow seemed a bit too long, stretching her limbs and fingers, but that's what shadows did. Tim's own also looked larger, so it had to be the sun.

Martin was so intently focused on the picture, he dropped his phone on the counter when someone cleared their throat. It was late, in just a few minutes he would have to start to lock up the shop and now that Jon didn't haunt his doorstep anymore, the last hour was usually spent in solitude.

"Sorry!" he pressed out and put on his customer service smile. It froze when he recognized the man standing in the doorway, but it took him another moment to place his face.

He'd seen this person twice. The first time Martin had visited the institute, this man’s attentive eyes had found him from the staircase. The second time, right after Jane Prentiss' death, it had been quite unpleasant.

Then again, after nearly dying and then passing out, their small interaction hadn't really been on Martin's mind.

"You are-" He still didn't have a name for this person, not really. Then again he could bet this was Jon's boss, Elias Bouchard.

"So you do remember? Here I thought the lack of oxygen in your blood made you forget my warning." Elias stepped closer. He had his hands behind his back, his tone pleasant, and still Martin quickly pulled himself to his full height.

"Then I have to assume either you haven't understood what I was telling you or that you chose to ignore it. Now, Mister Blackwood, which one would it be?"

"What?" Truly not the most eloquent response, but it didn't warrant the dismissive smile Elias threw him.

"I asked you not to interfere further into matters concerning the Magnus Institute, did I not?"

"I-I haven't?"

"A lie from a liar, no surprise there. Now, if I remember correctly, you have recently entered my institute without permission."

Martin opened his mouth, closed it, and tried to get a grip. His back hit the shelves they kept their cups on, and for the first time, he realized he was backing away.

"I just handed Jon something that he forgot. It was a private matter and not-"

"The Archivist belongs to the institute," Elias interrupted him.

"What? He belongs-"

Next to him, the cash drawer jumped open, giving him the scare of his life. When he threw a look towards the screen, it showed a bunch of jumbled letters and symbols, before it went dark.

Something was coming, creeping in, and Martin could feel it, clinging to his feet like fog. It crawled higher, cold and inevitable, until it curled in his chest, making breathing harder.

Elias hadn't moved, he still stood at quite a distance, but Martin could feel the disdain coming from him in waves. Something hungry, something dark but curious. It came with a high-pitched static noise like nothing Martin ever heard before, and the dead screen came to life. Not with the cozy warm colors he was used to, but displaying eyes. More than should be able to fit, and every single one was staring at him.

Martin gasped and the feeling crawled inside.

It sat there, a weight on his chest, in his throat and then it started to move.

It was searching, raking through his being, looking for something to grasp and squeeze and hurt. Martin was forced to look away from the staring screen and towards Elias. That was worse, more intense and the thing inside found what it had been looking for and drove its teeth in.

Martin yelled. It felt like an electric shock, like touching an exposed nerve.

"Oh", Elias whispered. Like tasting a good wine. Delighted, curious as he prodded further.

"Stop!" The word came out strangled. Martin tried to lift his arms, like he could push the pictures away. They were dancing in front of his eyes, not quite clear enough to see, as Elias flipped through them as he decided which to focus on.

Martin’s movements made porcelain shatter as he toppled the cups from the shelf, but the noise came from far, far away.

His phone, if he could reach his phone, maybe he could- No, not the phone. The lighter. Where was his lighter?

It made no sense but the lighter felt like power, like something that could stop it, but he wasn't even sure if it was in his coat pocket. If he'd even brought it and his legs didn't feel like they belonged to him, he couldn't even move to check and-

"Excuse me?"

The spell broke.

Gasping, Martin caught himself on the shelf, spilling more cups. Broken shards crunched under his sneakers as he tried to keep on his feet.

Elias hadn't moved, hands still clasped in his back but there was something tense about him now. There were strings around him. They were golden in the warm light of the coffee shop as they wrapped like a noose around his throat.

"Am I too late for a cappuccino to go?"

The third person in the coffee shop was a woman. Apparently she wasn't caught off guard by the strange picture in front of her, her smile focused on Elias of all people.

Slowly Elias turned towards her, holding up his hands as if to assure her he meant no harm.

"Surely Mister Blackwood wouldn't mind."

"Fantastic. So if you've conducted your business, Mister Bouchard?"

She stepped aside, even going so far as to hold the door for him. Elias hesitated for a moment longer before giving her a reluctant nod. It was like Martin didn't even exist; he just left.

The second the door fell shut again, Martin's eyes darted to the woman. He was heaving down breaths, sweat on his forehead, and still he didn't doubt for a second who she was.

The same woman who had caught him talking to a spider, the one who had left the newspaper behind where he'd found his new flat. She'd been in a couple of times by now, and he must've asked for her name before, but it was just gone, like the knowledge had never existed in the first place.

"Who are you?" He sounded breathless, his hands searching for the counter to lean against it. His whole body was shaking.

Still, when the woman moved behind the counter, he didn't stop her. Not even when she reached for one of the aprons.

"I would love a chat, Martin, but I fear we're out of time. I need you to keep your dear Archivist from doing something quite stupid."

"No. No, you guys can't just keep on coming in here and not explaining a bloody thing!"

She seemed delighted by his yelling. "I am not one for explaining, sorry."

"Oh, great! Why would I trust a thing you say then!"

"Because you already do. I did just save you, didn't I?"

She did. Kinda. Probably.

Absentmindedly, Martin closed the till. The screen above seemed normal enough now.

"How did you do that? The thing with the strings?"

For the second time that night, someone looked at him, like they were delighted by his scent. "You saw them?"

"What? Of course I-"

"Marvellous. Truly marvellous! Keep a look out for them, will you?"

With an apron on, she took the broom and shushed him aside. He actually went so she could brush the shards together.

"Now I am even more excited about a chat, but as I said, your Archivist needs you right now. If you would please get in contact with him?"

Martin breathed out, long and hard. "What is Jon doing?"

"Where's the fun in telling you? Let's just say he did buy an axe for tonight. Does that help with the urgency of the matter?"

It did. Martin couldn't imagine Jon with an axe, and it sent a tingle down his spine. He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but he knew they wouldn't be answered. Instead he fished out his keys and put them on the counter.

"I need them back, you hear me? Olivia will have my head if she finds out about this."

"No worries, nobody will know a thing. Would you flip the sign to close while you leave?"

This was insane. He didn't even know her name, and it didn't even cross his mind to not do as she said. Pulling on his coat, he flipped the sign and ran out into the dark streets of London.

Chapter Text

Jon didn't pick up the first time he called or the second one. But Martin didn't let that deter him. He just hung up, called again until he was sent to the mailbox, before doing it all over again.

When the call finally connected, Jon was close to yelling, "What?"

"Why do you have an axe?"

And just like that he had thrown Jon off, making him splutter, "I- what? How do you know-" A beat of silence. "I don't have an axe."

What an awful liar.

"Are you at the institute?", Martin asked just to be polite, because the second he left the coffee shop he had already turned in that direction.

"Are you watching me?"

If Martin hadn't been running right now, he would probably have enough air in his lungs to laugh. Someone was clearly watching Jon, maybe even multiple people, but Martin wasn't one of them. He was apparently the person to try to fix this man.

"Just stay where you are, I'll be there in a few."

"You are coming here? Why!"

Good question. Elias had made it very clear that Martin wasn't welcome in the institute, and he couldn't even imagine the consequences if they crossed paths tonight, and still he didn’t even hesitate.

The golden strings, this strange woman had told him to look out for them. And those golden strings had wrapped around Elias' throat like a noose.

Martin wasn't sure what that meant, but he was pretty sure Elias' Bouchard wouldn't bother him today. That maybe, just maybe, he was under some kind of protection.

"Just stay put", he told Jon and when Jon started to protest against that, he simply hung up.

Once he reached the Magnus Institute, his breath was going hard, but he dragged himself up the stairs to the entrance and tried not to think about how menacing the building looked, this close to midnight.

Like a tomb.

The doors weren't locked, which didn't even surprise him at this point. He just marched in, through the entrance hall and down into the guts of the building. Jon was waiting for him in the bullpen, axe grasped against his chest like he expected an attack.

"It's just me", Martin assured him once he left the creaking stairs behind.

Jon didn't lower the weapon, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to stop you from doing some-"

"Stay back!"

Martin had taken a step forward, and Jon's hands had grasped the axe tighter. He didn't lift it just yet, but there was a manic energy coming from him that told Martin he might.

So Martin stopped and lifted his hands. 

"It's just me", he repeated, and didn't expect Jon to start laughing. It wasn't a very happy noise.

"You have no idea how little that assures me."

Jon took a step back, keeping a safe distance between them. "How did you know I was here?"

"Jon, I don't know you for very long but come on, that wasn't a huge guess. I'm pretty sure you live-"

"Not what I was talking about, and you know that!"

True.

Martin took a calming breath and tried to think. Jon wasn't strong, but he had a weapon. Martin wasn't here to fight him, but one wrong word might just lead to that.

"A strange woman came into Café Alexandria and told me to stop you from doing something stupid."

"What woman?"

"I don't know her name. She comes into the coffee shop from time to time."

Jon blinked, and yeah, that wasn't quite a believable explanation, wasn't it?

"She helped me before. Just tonight she-"

"Was it Sasha?"

Martin shook his head and Jon leaned heavily against one of the desks in the room. He was thinking, his eyes traveling over Martin as he was looking for something. Finally he let the axe sink, but only to point at him.

"Stay there. Not a step closer. I'll be right back."

"Okay."

Jon disappeared deeper into the archives, throwing looks over his shoulder to make sure Martin wasn't coming closer. He wasn't, Martin would do as he was told.

There was the sound of drawers being pulled open and riffled through. Jon was obviously looking for something but how he could see anything was a mystery. It was nearly pitch black down her.

When he returned, he was still carrying the axe and in the other hand a tape recorder.

"Do you want a second statement?", Martin asked him but Jon didn't bother answering.

He put the tape recorder on the desk, clicked it on and then took a few steps back like Martin was going to jump at him.

There was something eerie about the way Jon's voice filled the room, the sound too grand and powerful for whatever little speaker the tape recorder had.

"Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding a close encounter with Jane Prentiss. Statement recorded direct from subject, 19th March, 2016.

Statement begins."

There was a small pause where Martin could only hear his own breathing and the faint clinking of mugs. He could still feel the cup of tea he had prepared himself, sitting in the coffee shop while he told Jon his story. Chamomile, to calm down.

"Where... where do I start?", his past-self asked.

"How about when you first saw Jane Prentiss?"

"Oh yeah. Well, it was the day you came in, and we talked about Pająk Pół Kilo. It was raining very heavily that day, so when I noticed this woman across the street in just a red dress, I found it strange-"

It was strange hearing his own voice coming from the darkness. Stranger was the intensity in which Jon stared at the tape recorder, taking in each word, each syllable, each pause. This was a test of some kind and while Martin didn't quite understand, he wasn't too worried.

Finally, before past-Martin had to talk about the endless knocking, Jon stepped forward and paused the recording.

Something in his posture had eased, he carried the axe with one hand, its head trailing across the ground like he'd forgotten about it.

"It's still you", Jon mumbled.

That wasn't quite true, Martin thought. There was something different about the voice he'd just heard and the him now, a rift like there were years between them and not a couple of weeks. But he didn't point that out.

"How did you know about Sasha?", Jon asked him.

"She wasn't the same person I met before."

Slowly Jon nodded. "There always seems to be one who is not affected. I wonder why."

Martin stayed quiet because now he was the one who wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. He watched as Jon picked up the tape recorder, weighing it in his hand. "I knew that something was off after Prentiss but I couldn't tell what it was."

Pausing, he looked up at Martin. "Where is Sasha? Our Sasha, the real one."

That Martin didn't know, but he didn't think Jon expected him to. He looked like he knew it too well, like that knowledge hurt and dragged at him, making him heavy and slow. Martin recognized the look, he had seen it too often in the mirror. Grief over something that you couldn't yet grasp, grief that you pushed down so you wouldn't have to face it.

Suddenly he knew that Sasha was dead.

That hurt.

Ridiculous to think like that when they had only talked once and Jon was right there. Jon, who was her friend, who worked with her. But Sasha also had a brush with Jane Prentiss. Sasha, who surely had read his statement, who had allowed him to read hers. There was a strange form of kinship in that.

"Right", Jon said under his breath.

When he came closer now, Martin stepped aside. Not because of the axe, that thing was still trailing behind him, but because the grief had been replaced by determination. Jon looked like he had a plan.

Martin had never been in other parts of the institute. It was a huge building, that seemed to stretch on well beyond its walls, but Jon had no issue navigating it. It was a few minutes into that tense, dark silence when Martin noticed the portraits. Well, that wasn't quite true. He had noticed them the first time entering this building but now he grew more aware.

They were watching him, something angry in their gaze.

Elias.

That made little sense but it was also the most logical thing in the world.

"Don't touch anything when we're in there."

Jon's words stopped his staring match. They had reached a door with a sturdy, fortified lock. It looked different from the other's around, heavier. Behind that was... something.

Martin couldn't see it, just feel it. Like shadows that had gathered right outside an island of light.

"What's that place?"

"Artifact storage." Jon opened the door, like there weren't at least four locks keeping it close. Neither of them mentioned it.

Someone wanted them in there.

The dreary feeling only grew when Martin stepped over the threshold. There was no light in here and neither of them bothered with finding a switch. Only a soft glow came from above them, a lit sign marking the door as an emergency exit. Where the glow didn't reach, the shadows were thick and billowing. Martin got the feeling they were breathing.

"She hated this place", Jon muttered. He lifted the axe, carrying it with both hands now, as he made his way into the room.

Somewhere a tape recorder clicked on. Martin didn't do it and Jon had his hands full, but neither of them mentioned the whirring sound. In a strange way it was a nearly comforting noise. Someone knew they were here and was listening in.

The table.

The moment Martin could see it, he knew that this was Jon's goal. The intricate pattern was calling to Martin, inviting his gaze to follow the lines deeper and deeper. He needed a few seconds but then he could see the picture it was making. A web, not that of a spider but a different kind, stronger. To catch bigger things than insects.

That should be impossible to make out with so little light but the lines were glowing. Not like the exit sign above the door, not in a color he could pinpoint. They were glowing on a spectrum a human shouldn't be able to see.

Jon couldn't see it. He stopped in front of the table, one hand reaching out as if to touch the wooden top before thinking better of it. Instead he hurled the axe over his shoulder and only then did Martin understood his so-called plan.

"Stop!"

The word was forceful and hurt his tongue. It echoed through the room like the crack of a whip, but Jon stopped in his motion.

It didn't look natural the way he did, his whole body tight, his arms shaking under the strain of stopping the axe mid-swing.

But he'd stopped.

Martin took the axe from him. Probably should've done so from the start but he'd thought that Jon had some sort of reasonable solution.

When Martin eased the weapon out of Jon's grip, their hands touched for a second and Jon actually jumped. He still remained like this though, his eyes wide and haunted in the dark, as he watched Martin closely.

Only when Martin turned back to the table, did his arms drop at his side. The web was still there, the web was the table, and the woman had told him to look out for its strings. Not destroy them, he was pretty sure this web wasn't their enemy.

"How did you do that?" Jon whispered next to him but Martin was too intrigued my the pattern of strings. He had the feeling he could reach into the wood and tug at them, play them like some kind of instrument.

If he'd touch, he was sure he would understand-

"Martin!" Jon's tone snapped him out of it, and suddenly the table was just a table. No glowing, no web, just wood and pattern.

"Why do you want to destroy it?"

"Because it brought that thing in here and that thing ate Sasha." Jon reached for the axe again but Martin didn't let go.

"No. I think this thing binds-"

Behind them, the door creaked open. Both of them spun around, uselessly pulling the axe in opposite directions.

A dark figure was standing in the doorway, not yet illuminated by the green glow, and Martin’s heart thundered in sudden fear.

Jon must’ve been able to see more because his hands slipped from the axe and his little, startled intake of breath turned into annoyance.

“I told you to go home!”

“Which isn’t super suspicious at all.”

Tim.

Bloody Tim, stepping into the little light they had, and Martin wanted to laugh in relief. It got stuck in his throat when he noticed how Tim was looking at him.

“What is he doing here?” Tim nodded towards Martin. “Thought you were coming down with something, Jon. Wanted to make sure nobody else got ill. If you just needed some privacy for a late night date, I can give you better recommendations than the fucking artifact storage.”

“And what are you doing here?”, Jon snapped back.

“Checking if your newest stupid idea gets you killed or not.”

Their words were pointed, strained. The room suddenly felt colder than before and Martin could feel the gaping distance between them.

“Go home, Tim.”

Jon turned away, holding his hand up like he truly expected Martin to just hand over the axe. Which he wouldn't.

"You haven't told him?" Martin hissed.

"Told me what?" Tim interrupted before Jon could even open his mouth. "Why an outsider is in this locked building in the middle of the night, carrying an axe?"

"That- It's not my axe!" Which wasn't really the point Tim was trying to make but the first thing Martin could think of.

"Oh, my bad! Please proceed with whatever!"

"No, I took it from Jon! I wouldn't even know where to get one!"

"Actually, it's remarkably easy to buy an-"

"Shut up, Jon." Tim hesitated before grasping Jon's arm. It was an awkward motion, like they hadn't been close, let alone touched, in quite a long time. Still, Jon let himself be pulled away from Martin.

"Always showing up when we need you, don't you?" Tim asked him as he put himself between Jon and Martin. "Or rather when Jon needs you. Can't find the answer to a statement with our extensive library and look at that, the one time we leave the institute you show up with just the information we require. Looking for Jane Prentiss for weeks? What a surprise, you lead us right to her!"

"I-"

"Not to forget that the very same day Prentiss attacks, you decide to show up out of nowhere to save the day! Why wouldn't we trust you?" Tim kept his eyes on him, cold and calculating. "Getting close to Jon without any problems, which was honestly the biggest giveaway in your whole plan. Jon, you were trying to figure out what was wrong, but you were looking in the wrong direction. You were obsessing about the people inside the institute, not outside."

Martin opened his mouth to protest but found no words. He was tense all over, unsure of how to defend himself because he wasn't quite sure if Tim was wrong.

It was Jon who came to his aid. "It's not him. I checked the tapes. He's still the same."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Jon didn't answer, didn't even look at either of them. He stood behind Tim, stiff as a board like Tim's hand around his arm was rooting him to the ground.

Martin realized he was between them and the table, the axe still in his hands, and that didn't help his position in the slightest. He leaned the weapon against a nearby shelf, too aware of Tim's eyes on him, as he showed his empty hands. Under no circumstances did he want to set Tim off.

"I'm gonna pull out my phone, alright? Just to show you something."

Tim didn't protest, so Martin searched for his phone and opened his gallery. The stylized photos he'd taken of the trees on the way to work and the one perfect latte he'd done felt like immature art, as he searched for the picture he'd taken from the pawn shop. When he found it, he held his phone up.

"Who do you see here?"

For the longest time, Tim didn't say a thing. He was staring at the screen, and in the light his face looked pale, the shadows beneath his eyes deep. When he finally breathed out, his voice sounded disbelieving.

"You two truly are a match, aren't you? Now you're also stalking me?"

"Stalking- no!"

Tim let Jon's arm drop as if disgusted before turning towards him. "I warned you time and time again that something is off about him, Jon. But I can't do more than that." There was a biting kindness in those words and Jon looked pained hearing them.

"Tim-"

"No, this is as far as I'm willing to go." He threw Martin one more cutting glance, before walking away. Jon lifted his hand, like he'd try to stop him, and Martin could just watch. At least until Tim said, "Come on, Sasha. Nothing more we can do."

Jon froze in his movement and Martin spun around. He hadn't realized someone else was here, hadn't so much as felt a presence, but there was a figure standing in the door, holding it open with one foot. Too large to be human, too spindly to truly be seen. It shifted, stretching just enough for the green emergency light to fall onto it.

Martin's heart stopped as it stared at him. Even if Tim somehow recognized this face as someone else, he had to see its smile, right? The way it warped, pulled to thin lines that reached nearly its hairline in a mocking grin.

There was nothing human there.

Martin made a step towards Tim. He was still closer to him, would reach him first. Grasp him, pull him back and maybe even reach the axe again before the thing that wasn't Sasha would even cross half of the distance.

Only that it didn't work like that. The thing lunged and its arms were so very long, catching him across the chest like a whip. Martin was a full-grown, heavy-build man, but the strike sent him flying into one of the shelves, sending things crashing to the ground. Something in his back popped as he hit the floor, and everything around descended into chaos.

But only for a second, not even enough time to catch his breath. Something landed on his cheek, soft and smooth, before it draped itself over his face. When it did, everything stopped.

No more shouting or creaking joints, not even the little light reached him here. Just his own heartbeat, the distant ache in his shoulder and his own breath.

Martin reached up to tear whatever it was from his face. It was some kind of fabric, maybe silk, with how it ran through his fingers like water. He pulled at it, but it was still there, blocking his senses as he tore and clawed and tugged. It couldn't be that big, could it?

He tried to call, for help, for Jon, for anyone but the second he opened his mouth, it stretched tight over his lips and nose.

Martin couldn't breathe.

That was impossible. The fabric was weightless and thin, but no air seemed to pass through. It was too smooth to properly grasp, and he couldn't find an end, so all he could do was claw at it, hoping to tear through. Of course the fabric didn't give, all he did was scratch his own face up.

There was still no air. He tried to breathe, force some oxygen down but could only taste silk and- dirt? He had no mind to think about that. In his panic, he thrashed around, his shoulder hitting the shelf again and again, sending more things to the ground.

There was no air, his lungs seizing with the need to breathe but coming up empty. He was going to die. Oh god, he was actually going to-

The fabric lifted and Martin turned onto his side, gasping for air. A cacophony of noises rolled over him, distorted, mocking voices and Tim, talking fast. It was Tim who was kneeled by his side, face ashen as he held up a piece of fabric, not bigger than a handkerchief.

Over his thundering heart Martin couldn't understand a word he was saying. He was too busy gulping down air, checking on his face to make sure it wasn't covered anymore. When Tim threw the piece of fabric away, it fluttered like it weighed nothing and didn't end up far enough for Martin's taste.

In his panic he must've let go of his phone and somehow his screen was still on. Its light was enough to cut through the oppressing darkness in the room, and there was Jon.

Jon hadn't moved at all. He still stood where Tim had left him, his hand half raised, his lips parted. The white of his eyes was glowing in the little light as he stared up at the creature.

It had given up on any sort of resemblance to a human being, its body stretched to grotesque lengths so that its head dragged on the ceiling, its limbs sagging on the ground behind it, like rejected skin.

It must have a mouth, because its voice filled the room.

"I’m going to wear you, Jon. I’m going to wear everything you are. Like you never existed."

It folded into itself, enough so that its head rolled to look at Jon. Glass eyes, Martin thought absentmindedly. Like a teddy bear. There was nothing behind them.

"No-one will even know. And it will hurt. Oh, yes, it will hurt. It hurt Sasha."

Tim brought the axe down with a cry. It sank into the thing way too easily, not cutting through skin but rather sinking into it. There was a dull crack as it did.

At least it made the creature hesitate, before it tilted its head so that one of its eyes focused on Tim. It had wandered somewhat, now bulging from its chin.

"Tim." More a singsong than an actual word. "Let's grab some drinks after this, won't we? Jon is acting so strange, we should think about what to do."

Tim ripped the axe out. No gushing blood, not even an actual wound. There was a dent in the creature's torso, the edges cracked and sharp like broken plastic. Still, he brought the axe down again and again.

Martin forced himself onto his knees. His whole body ached, his breathing still going hard, and his shoulder felt unnaturally hot. There was no weapon nearby, but the piece of fabric had crept closer while he wasn't looking, and that was enough to get him onto his feet.

Strings.

He could see them again, illuminating the table but also stretching across the room. They were wrapped around the creature, its skin and bones pushing against them, like it wanted to break free but wasn't quite able to.

Bound, trapped.

Martin reached out a shaking hand and touched one of the strands. It was like touching bone, like striking a nerve. A bright, blistering sensation that raced from the tip of his fingers through his entire body.

He gasped, let go and gagged. His knees, barely strong enough to keep him up, buckled. For a second he thought he heard music, like he'd been playing an instrument, only that his own being had created the note.

The creature swivelled around, its mouth nothing more than a black maw.

"Oh no, you won't!"

Its arm, nothing more than a fleshy tube struck Tim, sending him skittering across the floor as it turned towards Martin.

"Little weaver, don't play with things you don't-"

Martin grasped all the strings he could reach and tore on them.

The world spiraled out of focus. He hadn't heard music before, that word wasn't right, there wasn't a melody. Just a single high-pitched note that started somewhere beneath him and tore through him like lightning. It left little space for thought and all Martin could hold onto were the strings and that somewhere behind him was the table. Blindly he stumbled towards it and pulled.

When the world came back into focus, he was throwing up what little he had in him. He was holding on to the table, the smooth wood unnatural warm and pulsing beneath his palm.

The creature was gone.

Not truly, it was just trapped again and realising that, he quickly let go of the table and stumbled away from it. When he wiped his mouth, his hand came back bloody. It took a moment of dull panic until he could see the gashes in his palm.

The strings had cut his skin.

In the silence the crack when Jon hit the floor was deafening. As far as Martin could tell it was the first time he'd moved ever since the creature that wasn't Sasha had entered the room. His breath was shallow, his eyes still huge as he stared at the table.

"Did you... is it back in there?" His voice cracked and shook but Martin was pretty sure he wouldn't be better if he tried to speak, so he just nodded.

"Then we probably shouldn't be close to it."

They didn't make it far. There was a park close by that Martin had never been to, and he'd prefer a bench, but they came across a playground first. The swing groaned under his weight, but at this point his knees were shaking and his whole body throbbed. He was going to sit somewhere, and this was better than the cold floor.

Nobody mentioned it and after a moment of consideration, Jon even took the swing next to him.

For a long while they just stayed on this dark, abandoned playground, the park around them empty and threatening. It had to be way after midnight by now, right? Martin wasn't sure and he didn't bother with checking on the time. 

Jon lit a cigarette, taking a greedy drag from it. When Tim stepped up, he actually jumped before offering his pack of cigarettes.  When he turned to Martin, he shook his head.

What a strange picture they must make, he thought absentmindedly as he watched Tim sit down on the ladder leading up to the slide. His left side was dark and would probably bruise quite colorful by morning.

And then, for some inane reason, Martin thought he was part of the cool kids now. That's what they did, right? Hang around places like this, sharing cigarettes and maybe alcohol. Martin had seen them before, hurried past in hope to not be perceived.

The thought nearly made him laugh but he was pretty sure if he'd open his mouth now, it wouldn't be laughter that would come out.

It was cold at this night hour, a barely there drizzle wetting their hair. The tip of Tim's cigarette was jumping up and down with how hard his hands were shaking. He was the first to break the silence.

"Was that Sasha?"

Jon shook his head. He was spinning in circles, the swing’s chains twisting above him. It looked like a noose pulling tighter.

"Is Sasha dead?"

Jon stopped. The tip of his shoe had painted a spiral in the soft ground.

"God, I hope she is", he whispered. "To imagine she is conscious during all of this-" He broke off, letting his head hang. His hair was getting long.

Tim fell silent.

Martin tried not to look too closely. He got the feeling he was witnessing something private and not meant for his eyes. The chain holding the swing up felt cold against his face when he leaned against it.

He could fall asleep right here. The ache in him went so much deeper than just his body.

"And you were the one who noticed that wasn't Sasha."

Martin didn't answer. He wasn't quite sure where he stood with Tim, his accusations had been too close to the truth and he couldn't even blame him for being wary. But Tim had saved him back then, pulling whatever artifact had nearly choked him away.

"There's always one", Jon muttered.

"I know. I read the statements as well. But come on, it had to be Martin. It always is."

Tim walked up to him, stopping right in front of him and Martin still didn't dare to look up. He focused on the red, gleaming ember of Tim's cigarette.

"I don't know what to tell you", he forced himself to say. "Whatever's going on, I know less than you."

"Sure."

Martin startled when Tim touched him, but he just very gently turned his hand around. The blood was mostly dried by now but Martin had all but forgotten about the scratches in his palm.

"Get yourself cleaned up." Tim squeezed his wrist. Comfort? Warning? "I'm going home. Jon, I'm taking the rest of the week off."

"Okay."

Tim went into the night and Martin watched him until he was one with the shadows. Only then did he turn around.

Jon had to be on his second cigarette, maybe even his third by the greedy drags he took. When he noticed Martin, he asked, "How did you do that?"

"What?"

"Banishing it back into the table."

"I pulled on the strings binding it."

"I didn't see any strings."

No surprise there. Martin held up his hand like it was evidence, and Jon actually took it. His touch was cold and clammy as he turned his hand to see the straight-lined gashes in his palm. Martin waited for more judgment but instead Jon just nodded.

"I have a first aid kit at home. Come on."

Chapter Text

Martin startled awake, which was his first mistake of the day. His whole body ached and with a groan, he sank back down onto... a couch.

Not his bed.

"You awake?"

That was Jon. He was sitting on an armchair close by, legs pulled into his chest like he'd tried his hardest to disappear but hadn't quite succeeded. He was smoking again and, by the overflowing ashtray at his side, he had been for quite some time.

"What time is it?", Martin asked and immediately pulled a face. His mouth tasted like something had died in there.

"6 am."

"Did I fall asleep?"

"The second you sat down."

"Sorry."

Jon shook his head. He stumped out his cigarette and reached for a new one but the pack was empty. With a soft curse he let it drop back into his lap. His hands were shaking.

"Did you manage to sleep?"

"Didn't try."

There was so much restless energy pouring from Jon, that Martin felt antsy with it. He sat up, slower than before, and still had to grasp the back of the couch tightly when the world started to spin. Pain shot up his arm and he winced.

Right, cut palm and all that. There was a haphazardly wound bandage around his hand now, and he had no recollection of how it got there. Just like he couldn't remember how he got to Jon's flat, because that's clearly where he was.

Unfortunately the rest of last night was still very clear in his mind, if a little distant. More like an insistent nightmare than a memory.

That was probably the shock.

"Can I get you something?"

"Something to drink?"

Jon stood from where he was perched in his seat. 

Martin took the time to take deep breaths. Something in him felt hollowed out, like he'd strained a muscle he had never used before. It ached but then again, his whole body did.

A blanket had pooled in his lap, and he picked it up. Had Jon sat right there for the past hours, watching him sleep? Creepy but, honestly, not the creepiest thing in Martin's life by a long shot. On the other hand, it was nearly flattering, to have him watch over him. Maybe. It was too early to really think about complicated things.

Jon returned and handed him a glass of water before sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. He was close enough that their knees touched, his eyes bloodshot but intense as they bore into Martin's.

"Do you want to harm me?"

"No." The answer shot out of him before Martin had truly grasped the question. He blinked and then reached up to touch his mouth. It was a strange feeling to have it move without permission.

At least Jon seemed to relax. His gaze dropped to watch Martin's hand before he shook himself.

"You should have a look at your shoulder. I didn't want to-" He gestured at Martin's shirt and for the first time Martin noticed the dried blood on it.

The lights in Jon's bathroom were harsh and hurt his eyes. At least it gave him the privacy to check himself out in the mirror. He looked a right mess. Faint red lines were cutting through his face from where he'd tried to rip the artifact off, and his shirt was dirty and ripped. He tried to undress, but couldn't get his arm to lift enough to do so.

In the end he had to call Jon, and he helped him cut his shirt off. Not how he had imagined Jon undressing him for the first time would go but then again, Jon wasn't paying attention to his body. No, he was wincing with each new bruise he discovered and Martin could just stare. There was a purple row stretching over his belly where the creature had struck him and oh, that would hurt like a bitch pretty soon. 

His shoulder was angry red and caked with dried blood. There was a deep gash where he must've hit the shelf and Martin felt dizzy just thinking about it.

Thankfully Jon ordered him to sit down on the toilet, so he could clean the cut. His hands were cold, but gentle and Martin closed his eyes. Everything was spinning again, and he would really like not to faint.

It took a while until he managed to pull some words together.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." Jon put a plaster over the cut on his shoulder and smoothed it down. "Did just stand there, didn't I?"

Martin looked up, but Jon pointedly ignored him. There was a deep frown between his eyebrows, his motions angry the moment he wasn't touching Martin. He was still shaking, the bandage slipping from his fingers when he got it out of the cabinet.

"Useless", Jon hissed as he bent down to pick it up. "Just like always. Nothing changes."

"Jon?"

"Look at you! Look at all of this, it has to hurt! Tim as well. He charged in there while I couldn't even move! And Sasha-" His mouth snapped shut, a full body shiver working down his back and for an endless moment he just stood there, breathing harshly.

Helplessly, Martin watched him. He would love to offer some warmth, a tea perhaps, but he didn’t trust his legs to carry him. The words that came to his mind weren’t enough either, just empty phrases no matter how much he might mean them.

“I’m sorry about Sasha.”

“I didn’t notice. I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t said a thing.” Jon spoke frantically, spat the words like they disgusted him. “I should have. Why didn’t I?”

Martin didn't have an answer for him, there wasn't a single word he could think of, so he just reached out. He managed to snatch Jon's shirt and while he didn't feel very strong right now, when Martin tugged, Jon went with it.

So light, like nothing was grounding him anymore.

Now, Martin couldn't lift his left arm without wincing or do much with his hurt right hand, but he still tried to embrace Jon. With him sitting down, and Jon for once taller than him, he could do little more than bury his face against Jon's chest. Like this, he could feel the way Jon's breath caught, could smell the stale smoke, exhaustion, and sorrow on him.

Martin had always thought him slim but beneath his shirt, Martin could feel little more than jagged bones and a fluttering heartbeat.

For awhile Jon didn't so much as move, but he didn't step away either. Finally his hand came up, brushing Martin's bare shoulder before thinking better of it and settling on top of Martin's head.

It felt nice having fingers in his hair but he couldn't focus on it, not when Jon was trembling against him, like something that had been wound up too tight.

"I'm sorry", Martin repeated. "I don't know what's happening or how to help you."

"Me neither", Jon admitted and the words sounded like they hurt. "I don't know how to stop all of this."

"Maybe we can't."

"We have to."

Jon's hand moved, stroking through his hair, and Martin's eyes fluttered shut. How long had it been since someone touched him? 

He shivered and Jon stopped.

"It's cold. Let's get you to lie down."

Martin didn't dare to tell him that the temperature had nothing to do with this as they awkwardly disentangled themselves.

"You would be more comfortable in my bed", Jon told him when he helped Martin back to his couch.

"Buy me dinner first, will you?"

Trying to make light of the situation fell flat when Jon just looked confused.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Are you hungry?"

"Never mind."

With a sigh, Martin lay down and thankfully Jon dropped the topic. He even pulled the blanket over him, high enough that his feet poked out but Martin didn't mention it. It felt strange being fussed over.

Jon disappeared to get him some painkillers and after taking them, Martin was ready to just get back to sleep.

At least until Jon sat down on the floor next to him, back against the couch like he had to guard him or something. Martin recognized the position because he had sat like that a lot of times, waiting for Jane Prentiss to show up at his door.

"Is that why you didn't sleep last night? To keep watch?"

Jon half turned towards him, before thinking better of it. "I don't know how else to help."

From his position lying on the couch, Martin could see the back of Jon's head and his ear. His hair was growing long enough to curl at the ends.

"This doesn't rely solely on you, Jon."

"I brought you into this", he pointed out. "Just as I did with Tim and Sasha. When I took the position of head archivist, I asked them to follow me. They would've been safe in research but instead-"

His words trailed off, his gaze still locked on the coffee table right in front of him.

"You couldn't have known that this would happen."

Jon's shoulders sank, his voice barely a whisper. "But I did. People around me get hurt and people around me-" When he swallowed, it sounded loud in the room. "People around me die."

He had said something close to that before. "Because you're bad luck?"

"Yeah."

Martin frowned. He still didn't quite get what that meant but Jon was trembling now. With him sitting in front of the couch, Martin could reach him but the moment his hand brushed against Jon's shoulder, he actually jumped. It finally made him turn around to Martin, his eyes sad, his mouth a tense line.

He had pretty eyes, dark and deep and still, now as Martin dared to look, he got the strange feeling, that they'd been a different color before.

"Will you tell me what that means?"

"You've seen it, haven't you?"

"With Sasha?"

"And Jane Prentiss. You nearly died, everyone nearly did."

"Jon, that wasn't your fault."

"It also happened with my parents." The breath he let out shuddered and he turned away. "They died shortly after they got me. First my father, then my mother."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Jon shook his head. He reached up, taking Martin's hand in his, and pulled it closer. It was his cut one and Martin braced for pain but it didn't come. Jon's fingertips traced the edge of the bandage, then where he knew the cuts were, but his touch was barely there.

"I grew up with my grandmother. She's also dead now, but maybe... maybe that wasn't my fault. She was old, but then again I was a troublesome child. Spending her last years trying to rein me in, surely didn't help."

"Jon, that's just how children are-"

"She gave me this book. It was a Leitner. Of course she didn't know that, right? There was no way for her to know."

Martin had no idea what a Leitner was, but he didn't dare to interrupt Jon. Not with the way his voice got, the strange deep timbre to it, his eyes were focused on his hand and Martin could nearly pretend to feel their gaze like a weight.

Still gentle, still careful not to hurt.

"It nearly killed me. It should've killed me, but it didn't. There was this other boy, a bit of a bully. Took the book from me and so... so he got killed. Not me."

Martin's breath caught in his throat but Jon didn't notice. He turned Martin's hand around, tracing the tendons with his fingers.

"It ate him, at least I hope so. Maybe he was still alive, trapped in that house but I couldn't get him out. Nobody would believe me and in the end, it was just like it never happened. It should've been me. This boy had a family he didn't return to, they never got an answer, and someone missed him. If it had been me, people wouldn't have cared. They could've just moved on, and my grandmother could've spent her last years-"

"Hey. Hey, Jon, no!" Martin brought his arm up, no matter how much his shoulder protested. He settled his hand on Jon's head, forcing him to look at him. "You can't think like that."

"People close to me get hurt and then die", Jon told him with a finality that left little room for protest. Martin did anyway.

"No."

"You saw it happen with Sasha. Tim can't leave, he's bound to the archive now and that's also my fault. I tried to keep him out of this, but it never works. It didn't work with you either."

Martin grasped his hand. The cuts in his palm stung. "You said before that your intentions don't matter when people get hurt, but I still stand by what I said. They do matter. You don't want to hurt people, you want to keep them safe."

"I do", Jon whispered, his voice cracked and broken. "But I can't. I never can."

"You try to push us away to protect us, but Jon, you don't have to."

The thought pained him, Martin could see how his face fell, how he forced his eyes shut. "I want that."

"Good."

"But what if that-"

Martin squeezed his hand to make him stop. "What if it works? If you keep us close, we can protect each other."

Jon let out a long breath. He pressed Martin's hand against the side of his face, his fingers slotted his. There was a yearning there, something vulnerable that had been abandoned for too long.

"Would you even still want to? Me keeping you close?"

Martin let his other hand stroke through Jon's hair and let him lean into the touch. He felt feverish under his palm.

"I would like that very much."

Jon's eyes opened and Martin tried to give him a reassuring smile. They sat close together, something fragile in the new silence between them, and still, Martin didn't expect Jon to lean in.

The kiss was short and warm, a press of chapped lips and Jon's hand, cradling his face. Martin barely had time to let his eyes slip shut before Jon spoke, "I don't want you hurt. I'll try."

His thumb brushed over Martin’s cheek, his touch still so gentle as he pressed a second kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"Try to get some sleep."

Chapter Text

Martin woke more peaceful than he had in a long time. His blanket was soft, the pattern of rain against the window soothing, and he could smell something unusual but familiar.

Like cotton and potpourri.

This was Jon’s flat.

He could make out the armchair close by, the pillow on the floor in front of the couch, both abandoned now. A little light was giving him just enough brightness on this dreary day to make out his glasses, set aside on the coffee table. He couldn't remember putting them there.

There was a note beneath, and he had to put it up to his face to read it.

At Work.

"Are you kidding me?" Martin's voice cracked, but he forced himself to sit up. 

After yesterday Jon just went back to work? Like nothing had happened?

What an absolute idiot!

Martin found his phone in the pocket of his jacket, but it was dead, so he couldn’t even send an angry message. A quick look around showed him no charger, and he wasn't about to search through Jon's drawers. It left him in a predicament because, well, he also had work today. He wasn't going to go, of course, he wasn't quite as insane as Jon, and his whole torso was black and blue in mottled bruises.

But he at least had to let Olivia know.

Which reminded him that he had no idea what time it was. The gray light coming from outside could be dusk or dawn or noon, and the clock on Jon's stove just showed an unhelpful 00:00 that flashed at him.

What a great way to start the day.

Before the frustration could fester, he remembered the kiss, and well, that cheered him up. Like a little flame sitting in his chest, warming him from the inside.

Jon must've dug up a hoodie that was big enough for Martin to wear, because it waited for him on the kitchen table. It had a band logo at the front that Martin didn't recognize and was more formfitting than he'd prefer, but it was still better than just walking around topless.

It wasn't until he stepped out of Jon's flat that he found a clock at the nearby bus stop. Shit, he should've been at work over an hour ago.

So, first to the coffee shop, apologize profusely to Olivia, think up a story about some kind of accident, maybe show his bruises. Then home, where he could think about everything that had happened.

Instead he stopped dead in front of Café Alexandria because the woman was behind the counter. Not the worm woman, but the one with the spiders. Important to clarify.

Martin watched a while as she chatted with customers and handed out drinks. When she noticed him, she smiled and waved.

She had fangs.

"Right", Martin muttered under his breath and stepped inside. The scents were the same, even the noises, and still, Café Alexandria felt off. Maybe it was the fact that the woman was wearing his apron and sprinkled cocoa in the form of a spider onto a cappuccino.

"Subtle," Martin commented as he sat down in Jon's usual spot.

"I'm actually quite enjoying this, so feel free to recover as long as you like."

"If I take no shifts, that means no money."

"Oh silly! You got your whole deposit back, didn't you? You should be fine."

Martin blinked and then pulled his phone out to check on his banking app, but it was still dead.

"Here." The woman handed over a charger like she'd just waited for him. Which she probably had, considering it was his very own charger. Martin had patched it up with a strip of tape.

"Have you been in my flat?"

"I figured you'd be more comfortable with me packing your more personal stuff than with Breekon and Hope."

"With who and hope?"

"They usually only deliver things, but a move is basically that, isn't it? Don't worry, I kept an eye on them."

"Okay", Martin said slowly even though it wasn't. He stared at the woman, but she was busy with a latte and had no problem upselling a pastry on top. Huh.

At last, his phone gave a sign of life, and he logged into his banking app. The amount apparently in his account was way larger than it had any right to be, even with the deposit.

"I haven't even told my landlord that I found a new flat."

"You've been well busy, so I took care of it. Which reminds me." She searched for something behind the register and then placed a set of keys in front of him. "There you go. No need to go back to that horrid place; it still smells like worms and rot."

Martin took the keys, weighted them into his hand before looking up.

"Annabelle?" he asked because it said so on her name tag. "Is that your real name?"

"As much as Martin is yours."

"Well, Annabelle what the fuck is going on?"

For a while she didn't bother to answer. She loaded the dishwasher, counted out change for a customer until she finally held out her hand. Martin watched her, confused. He wasn't going to just take it.

"Do you see?" she asked and suddenly he could.

Strings, glowing golden and braided between her slender fingers. She moved one, a motion like someone stringing an instrument, sure but gentle.

Behind Martin, chairs scraped against the floor, and when he turned around, he found every single person getting up. Not in a hurry, not with so much as a reaction. Talks continued, purses were picked up, and jackets slipped on. A group of men hollered at something on their phone screen, the hands of a couple found each other blindly like they hadn't been in a serious discussion just seconds ago.

All of them filtered out of the coffee shop, some even waving at Annabelle, who smiled and did the same.

Once they were alone, Martin breathed out.

Okay.

"How did you do that?"

"You did the same last night, didn't you?"

He hadn't, not like this. His hand was still throbbing, and pulling at the strings had left something rubbed raw and aching in his bones. Annabelle's hand didn't so much as have a cut.

"I hurt myself."

"A plumb first attempt for sure but quite effective, wasn't it?"

"I think I just used the strings already there to bind that... that thing again."

"Now there's a misconception there, Martin." She put a cup of tea in front of him. Anise and fennel, a tea for nausea. "We don't create those strings, we just use them."

"Just use them", he repeated and tried to make sense of that. "So I could just go out there, look for some random person and... what?"

"Make them do your bidding. Well, only as long as The Mother allows it, of course."

She made an offering gesture and there it was again, a single strand floating in the air. It belonged to a man, walking on the opposite side of the street. He was talking into his phone, a briefcase in one hand as he hurried along.

Martin shouldn't. This was insane, this was all kinds of wrong but he reached for the string before he could think better of it. He could just let this man drop his briefcase, test if Annabelle was telling the truth.

Martin tugged and the man crumbled to the ground. Instantly, Martin let go again.

"Better", Annabelle commented. "It never takes that much force, though."

Pulling the string hadn’t hurt. He checked on his fingertips, and while they were tingling, there wasn't so much as an imprint.

When he looked up again, the man was still just lying there, the suitcase beneath his body, his phone slipped onto the road. He didn't move and the feeling growing in Martin was dark and sweet and scary.

"Did I..?"

"Just give him a minute." Annabelle nudged his cup closer. "Show me your cut hand. It should feel better soon."

Because he'd rested and kept it clean. Right?

When he unwound the bandage, he groaned in horror.

There were neat little stitches, silver thread closing the gashes in his palm. He hadn't done that, and he highly doubted Jon did.

Annabelle gently turned his hand to see better and then hummed, "Mother takes care of our family. By tomorrow, you should be fine."

His stomach rolled with nausea, and suddenly he was glad for the tea. When he sneaked a glance outside, the man lay there. It was still raining.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered. He didn't know if he was looking forward to the answer or fearing it. A bit of both perhaps.

"I want nothing from you, Martin. I'm just here because Mother wants me to."

"Then what does Mother want from me?"

That actually made her laugh and it made his hackles rise.

"What's so funny?"

"That you think we could understand The Mother of Puppets."

"So what, you just do things that... feel right?"

"Isn't that what you've been doing?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again and huffed, agitated.

"Imagine everything like a spiderweb-"

"Of course."

"We are all just little knots, Martin. Junctions, where the strings run together. Most people can't see these strings, but we do. We can follow them, bend them to our liking, and twist them, at least as long as Mother allows us. But we do not see the big picture, Martin. Watch every strand and or knot or pattern. Just those close to us."

She stopped for a moment, pondering.

Across the street the man came back to his feet, looking around frantically. For a fleeting second Martin wanted to pull again.

"Sometimes though, something big enough gets caught in the web, and we all feel it. Then we need to work together, to pull it closer before it even notices it is trapped."

"Like a moth", Martin mutters, and suddenly he thought of Jon and how he had kneeled in front of the couch, keeping an eye on Martin.

"Like a moth," Annabelle agreed.

"I'm not going to hurt him."

"Has any of Mother's direction led your little Archivist to harm?"

Had it?

Martin leaned back in his chair, the tea warm between the palms of his hand. "When Jane Prentiss attacked the institute and I just walked in there-"

"You saved The Archivist before the crawling rot could get to him."

"But not fast enough to save Sasha."

"She is none of your concern."

Martin pressed his lips together. That thought was cruel and awful and he hated it, but he wasn't surprised.

"And last night-"

"Went way better than any alternative. Drink your tea."

He did without tasting a thing. When the cup was empty, he asked, "So what now? What am I supposed to do with Jon?"

"Bind him to you", Annabelle told him. "Because if you don't, something else will. Here."

She slipped a magazine across the counter. "Put it on your coffee table. It looks more homely like that."

There were already three books on the coffee table. Two about poetry and a banged-up copy of Watership Down. Martin placed the magazine on top. It was about London architecture, something Martin wasn't all too interested in but he guessed it did look kinda impressive. Tied the room together or whatever.

Easier to think about that than the coffee table that wasn't his. Or the nice three-seater couch that he didn't know. The bigger bed and his new wardrobe with a silent sliding door.

His new flat looked foreign and fake. Like a showroom at IKEA that someone had tried to make look homey, but everything was just a tad too perfect.

His bookshelves were filled with books that all seemed interesting to him but he had never owned, the kitchen was shiny and new, and his bathroom had one of those fancy top-down rain shower thingies.

For a while Martin just stood there, waiting for something. Maybe for the true owner to return and throw him out. Ask him why there were still some boxes in the middle of the living room, filled with his more personal belongings.

Or maybe he was waiting to wake up. This had to be a very weird, very realistic daydream.

In the end it was his phone that snapped him out of his stupor.

Jon

I apologize if my behaviour this morning was unwanted, and I certainly have overstepped some of your boundaries. Then again, we haven't discussed boundaries, something I should've initiated before any kind of intimacy. I was in an emotional state, but that is no excuse. Thinking about it, you were as well, and while it wasn't my intention to take advantage of you, I think I did. You were hurt and exhausted and basically trapped in my flat, and I had no right to unload my emotional baggage-

Martin blinked. He reread the part again before stopping and scrolling down. It went on for three more paragraphs, no wait, there was an actual read more he could tap on. How long had Jon spent typing this? It went on and on and Martin didn't even bother reading all of it.

Instead he called.

"What the fuck, Jon?", he asked the second Jon picked up.

On the other end, he could hear Jon take a deep breath and start, "I apologize if my behaviour this morning was unwanted-"

"Did you memorize the whole message?" Martin asked him before shaking his head. "Your behaviour wasn't unwanted! Quite the opposite."

That derailed Jon's speech, and for a moment neither of them said a thing. Finally, Jon told him, "You didn't reach out the whole day, so I thought..."

"Ah." Martin hadn't. With everything happening, he actually hadn't thought to shoot Jon a message.

"And I just got home and you weren't here anymore. Of course, I shouldn't expect you to be-"

"Jon," Martin interrupted him before he could work himself up again. "I had no change of clothing or anything at your place, so I went home. I should've sent you a message, I'm sorry. Actually, I wanted to after waking up but my phone was dead and I couldn't find a charger."

"It's on my bedside table."

"I'm not just going into your bedroom without permission."

"Oh."

"I also had to take care of work, so I went there first."

"You went to work after yesterday?" Jon snapped at him.

"Oh, shut it! I just had to make sure someone covered my shift, and it's not like you're one to talk!"

"The table is still here", Jon told him, and that shut Martin right up. "I couldn't just stay home until we took proper precautions."

"Yes, of course. You're right. Did you manage to..?"

"Elias made sure the table is properly contained and nobody can get in contact with it."

Elias. The name made something in Martin tighten. After everything that had happened, he had nearly forgotten about their little meeting yesterday.

"So you're not mad at me?" Jon asked slowly and Martin realized he had just paced the entire length of his new flat, without saying a single word.

"I'm not mad at you, Jon", he assured him. "I just got home twenty minutes ago and I know, I should've sent you a message right away. Sorry I didn't. I didn't want you to feel-" Abandoned. Was that the right word?

"Oh, okay. You're fine. Today was just so quiet."

Martin's heart ached. Quiet, because Jon had sat down in the archive with nobody else. Tim hadn't come in, and Sasha... well.

"Come over." He spoke the words before he had time to think about them, but they felt right. "O-only if you want to, of course. We could finally have dinner?"

"That was the requirement to get you into my bed, right?"

Martin spluttered something that certainly wasn't words, but on the other end of the line Jon started to laugh. Huh, Martin couldn't remember ever hearing him laugh before.

"Sorry."

"Jonathan Sims, I didn't take you for a tease!"

"Well..." He trailed off, his tone still light. "I would like that. To come over, I mean. Not the bed-thing. At least not, um-" Now he floundered and Martin had to chuckle.

"Just come over, okay?"

When Jon knocked on his door, Martin was still debating how to greet him. A hug? A cheeky kiss on his forehead? An actual peck on the lips?

In reality he blurted out, "What happened to you?"

Jon looked at him in confusion, like he wasn't standing there in the clothes of the night before, his hair a mess and dark enough circles under his eyes, that Martin was sure they were actual bruises.

"What?"

"When was the last time you slept?"

Jon shrugged and then pushed one of the two plastic bags into Martin's hands. "Here, housewarming gift. When did you move?"

"I- how do you know I moved?"

"Well, you were living somewhere else before."

"You've never been to my flat", Martin pointed out, and Jon blinked slowly.

"Huh. Maybe you mentioned it before? In your statement?"

Martin was pretty sure he hadn't, considering that Jon had kinda stalked him back then.

Jon pushed past him and held up his other bag. "I got us dinner. Do you like Indian?"

"Never had it."

"I chose some dishes, so maybe you can try them and see what you like?" He looked around, unsure of where to go, and Martin ushered him into the living room. It still looked faked, too shiny and new and he was sure Jon would immediately pick up on it.

But no, Jon just crumbled onto his couch, yawning. "Do you like it?"

"Like what?"

"My gift."

Oh right. Martin opened the bag in his hand and found a potted plant. Or well, it had been before because most of the plant and earth was scattered in the bag, but the pot was actually an oversized teacup.

"It’s cute."

Jon smiled at him, all tired and soft. "I'm glad."

Martin felt heat crawl up his face and gesticulated to the kitchen. "I'm gonna get us some utensils. What do we need? Fork? A knife?"

"Spoon as well."

"Okay." He fled to the kitchen and started to put the potted plant back together. He had no idea what kind it was, but once it stood on his counter, green and healthy and alive, he had to smile.

"Where did you even get this?" Martin called. Jon must not have heard him and Martin quickly gathered their utensils.

By the time he returned to the living room, Jon was asleep. His head sunken back into the cushions, his mouth opened and his legs stretched out underneath the table. A position that Martin associated with drunk old men.

“Jon?” he whispered, and Jon gave a startled snore, smacked his lips, and then continued to sleep.

Martin had to press a hand against his mouth to keep a noise in, that was part laughter and part squealing. Okay, that was just adorable. Or cute. Or endearing. He couldn't think of the right word when the picture before him made his heart do all kinds of somersaults.

For a few seconds, he just stood there, content to watch, before he shook himself. There were at least five different containers of food on the coffee table and one more precariously balanced in Jon’s lap.

Martin quickly saved that one. He had no idea where the couch had come from, but that didn’t mean he would just ruin it on his first day.

“Jon?” he tried again, but it wasn’t until he actually touched him that Jon woke up.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, but I want you to eat something first.”

“Right.”

But it was no use. Martin watched out of the corner of his eye how Jon stared listlessly into his food like it wasn’t even there, fighting to keep his eyes open.

He wouldn’t be surprised if in a few minutes he would find Jon face first in his rice.

“You should’ve told me you were this exhausted. We could’ve met another time.”

“I was fine at home. Sorry, I’m not good company right now.”

“You brought me food and a cute plant, so all is forgiven.”

Jon’s mouth twitched before he mindlessly shovelled green curry into it. He chewed, fixating his spoon the whole time like he could bend it with his gaze alone.

Finally he muttered, “Everything was so quiet today. I usually like the quiet but it was a bit too much.” He squirmed, like it hurt to admit. “It’s not quiet here and I- Sorry, that makes no sense. Noise doesn’t make you sleep, that’s stupid.”

Martin pondered over that while they ate. The meat was tender on his tongue but a bit too spicy for his taste.

“I’m sorry you were alone today. Today must’ve been hard, someone should’ve been there.”

“I wasn’t the only one in the institute.”

But the only one who had known, who had been there yesterday. The only one in the archives.

Martin didn’t have to point that out, Jon already knew.

"Let's put the TV on, okay? Keep the quiet away."

For a moment Jon looked ready to protest, but then he turned back to his food.

"Okay."

Chapter Text

After all the rain yesterday, the new day promised to be bright, with a clear sky and the first traces of spring in the air. When Martin padded into the living room, Jon was still asleep. The couch was big enough for his small form, but somehow he had rolled right up to the edge, the blanket on the floor and one leg dangling over the edge.

That's how monsters got you.

Martin draped the blanket over him and gave him a gentle shove. With a snore, Jon curled against the cushions and continued to sleep.

His phone lay on the floor and at first Martin was just about to pick it up, but the screen came to life with his touch, letting him know that the alarm was going to go off in 17 minutes. Martin deactivated it without much thought.

5% of battery remaining. The reasonable thing was to charge it, but he knew he wouldn't do that. As long as Jon was here with him, nobody was supposed to disturb him.

Like clockwork the phone started to buzz in his hand and even though the caller ID said Elias Bouchard, he didn't hesitate to accept the call.

"Mister Blackwood, here I thought-"

"Jon is not coming in today", Martin said over him. "Actually, a long weekend is the least you can grant him."

He cut the call before Elias could get another word in.

So how had he known Jon was over here? 

Eyes, right? Martin’s flat was still so new that he had no pictures put up, not that he had too many. He pulled a few of his books out of the shelf, but they all just had a plain title. 

The magazine Annabelle gave him. It still sat on the pile of books on his coffee table, and while it showed some fancy building on the cover page, in the bottom was a single picture of a man. Some architecture expert that Martin didn't care about.

He turned the magazine around. On the back was an ad for a new car. No eyes there.

The phone in his hand started to buzz again, but Martin just let it slip into Jon's jacket. The coat rack was too far away from the living room to bother either of them, and just for good measure Martin put on the radio in the kitchen.

By the time the kettle was on, he was humming along to a pop song.

It wasn't until the toaster was going and cracking eggs into a pan that he noticed Jon in the doorway, watching him.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"You're fine."

He looked better than yesterday, more rested, with half of his hair plastered to one side where he had slept on it. He was still wearing his clothes from two days ago.

"I only have tea, so no coffee for you."

"That's okay. I like your tea."

How that made Martin blush, he didn't know, but he quickly turned away to clear his throat. "I could- um... if you watch the eggs, I can see if I find some clothes for you. They won't fit but-"

"That would be nice."

Only Jon didn't move when Martin tried to leave the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, looking up at him like he expected something, but Martin had no idea what it might be. So it was on Jon to get on his tiptoes and give him a chaste kiss on the mouth.

Oh, right. That.

"Good morning", Jon mumbled, and Martin could do little more than grin stupidly at him.

Yeah, today would be a fantastic day.

Martin tried his hardest not to stare at Jon. Seeing him curled up on his couch, wearing his way too big clothes was a bit too much for his heart to take. After a shower, breakfast, and some much-needed rest, he actually looked alert again. Human. Adorable.

Martin had maybe prepared a second round of tea for them, only because Jon's hand wrapped around the cup, half covered by too-long sleeves, nearly took him out.

Unfortunately Jon wasn't about to just let him sit there in silence, watching him for a couple of hours. The frown had found its way back on his face.

"So that strange woman that came into Café Alexandria..?"

"Annabelle."

"Last name?"

"Sorry, I don't know."

Jon shook his head. "Who knows if Annabelle is even her real name but I'll see if I can find some statements about her."

"But she doesn't seem to be the enemy, right? She sent me to help you."

"I would've preferred if she didn't send you straight into danger."

"Jon, you wanted to break the table! That thing would've killed you!"

"I wouldn't have been killed", Jon said, like that was not even a possibility. If it wasn't for the hot tea still in his hand, Martin would shake him.

"Still, the table was clearly binding that creature, so my first plan was perhaps a bit... ill-advised."

"Ill-advised?" Martin repeated in disbelief, and Jon dared to pout at him.

"Fine, it was stupid. You feel better now?"

"A little bit."

"Can you try to explain again how you made this thing go back into the table?"

Ah. Martin turned away to look at his own hand. He'd put a bandage around it again, if only to avoid any questions, and hadn't yet dared to peek underneath it.

"You said you saw some sort of string?"

"They were stretching from the table to that... that creature. They were also in the table, woven in the pattern."

He could feel Jon's gaze travel over his skin as he leaned closer. Greedy, hungry. "And then?"

"Then I grasped the strings and pulled on them. Pulled that thing towards the table. I think the table is some sort of web, keeping things trapped in it."

"Webs and spiders", Jon muttered. "They seem to creep up over and over again."

"What did Elias say when you told him about what happened?"

"Not much. Always hard to get something out of him. I honestly don't know how much he knows about all of this."

Martin was pretty sure Elias knew more than enough. But if he told Jon that, there was a good chance Jon would run straight to him, and Martin would like to avoid having those two closer than they already were. 

Before he could decide, Jon asked, "So about those strings, have you seen them before? Did you know you could do that?"

"No, I just... I don't know, it just felt right?" Martin shrugged. "Sorry, I know that doesn't make any sense."

"I think I know what you mean?" Jon said carefully.

"You do?"

"Sometimes I get the feeling that..." Jon stopped, squirming in his seat, and finally shook his head. "Forget it. It's ridiculous."

"I just told you I dragged a skinwalker-thing back to an enchanted table by invisible strings, but whatever you want to tell me is ridiculous?"

Jon huffed. "Okay, but you're not allowed to laugh. I think sometimes I can make people tell me things?"

Martin wasn't laughing. Quite the opposite. He could still remember Jon, that morning after they had banned that creature, sitting on his low coffee table, his gaze so very intense.

"Do you want to harm me?"

And Martin had answered before he'd fully grasped the question.

"I- I did it to you?" Jon next to him asked and when Martin didn't answer, his shoulders slumped. "Oh... Oh, I was hoping I was imagining things."

They sat in silence for a long time afterward, each lost in their thoughts. Martin wasn't quite sure for how long but when he finally managed to put his mug down, it was barely lukewarm. He touched Jon's hand and was relieved when he instantly grasped it and filled in the space between with his own fingers.

"What's happening to us?" Martin asked.

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

Jon opened his mouth to protest, but Martin squeezed his hand. "We talked about this, right? It's not all on you."

Jon struggled with that, he seemed to physically fight the words down, but in the end he nodded. He even scooted closer, leaning heavily against Martin's side.

That was progress and it would be a lovely gesture to wrap him up in an embrace, but unfortunately it was Martin's bruised up shoulder. He was caught too off guard to keep the pained hiss inside, and what could've been a nice moment, was instantly ruined.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't think-"

Jon spilled most of his tea onto the coffee table in his hurry to get up, which only made him more frantic. "I should get going anyway. You- you only invited me for dinner and now here I am still- Actually, I should get to work. What time is-"

"Jon." Martin's hand felt empty without his, but when he reached out to pull Jon in, Jon took a step back. He wasn't even looking at him, just frantically saving the books from the spill.

"Sorry, I'll get a towel, and then I'll be out of your hair. My grandma was right, I always leave a mess and don't think things trough-"

"I want you to stay", Martin told him, but Jon just shook his head.

"No, you don't. You're just being polite, letting me crash here. I should-"

"Then ask me. The way you mentioned before, make me tell you."

That made Jon stop in his tracks, his face pale and horrified. "No."

When Martin reached for him this time, he was able to take his hand again. "You have my permission. If that'll make you believe me."

He was pretty sure Jon wouldn't do it. That Jon didn't quite know how to do it, but he hadn't anticipated the hunger in Jon's eyes. They were intense and dark and so deep that Martin was scared to fall into them.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No." Again, his mouth worked without him thinking, and pinned under Jon's gaze, he couldn't get it to stop. "I want you to stay. Don't go back to your flat and be alone. Don't go back to the institute, it's not safe. Stay here, where I can protect you, where you can rest, and if anything tries to do you harm, I can stop it."

The tingling remained for a bit longer after his mouth finally stopped moving. Not trapped under Jon's gaze anymore, Martin quickly looked away. That had been more than he had wanted to admit.

"Oh," Jon said it softly, and Martin had half a mind to apologize. For what, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe because somehow he'd made the situation even more awkward.

But then Jon sat back down at his side, close enough that their thighs pressed together.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I can stay. I- I would like to stay."

"Good."

Tea was dripping onto the hardwood floor, but Martin would not get up now. Not with Jon so close, warm, and steady. He could stay here forever.

When he finally dared to look up again, Jon had apparently waited for that. His free hand laid on Martin's cheek, his thumb brushing over his mouth before Jon leaned in.

This time, it was a proper kiss, not a chaste press of lips, and Martin gladly opened up beneath him. Jon tasted like peppermint and smelled like Martin's vanilla body wash. The sleeves still covered most of his palms when he framed Martin's face, long fingers splayed beneath his jaw and ears.

It was a slow, languid kiss and even when Jon gently pushed him into the cushions, to straddle his lap, there was little heat there. 

Martin hesitated before he wrapped his arms around Jon's middle. Honestly, he was inexperienced in this kind of thing and under his palms, he could feel each knob of Jon's spine. He was so thin, so delicate.

Something could just come and snap him apart. Something could hurt him.

Martin could.

That was a horrid thought, and he wasn't quite sure where it came from. Jon felt just so fragile, so alive on top of him, that it scared him.

Maybe Jon could sense his thoughts somehow, because he lifted his head a fraction, just enough to breathe each other's air. Martin was looking up at him, pleading for something he wasn't even sure of. 

Maybe to be allowed to look after Jon. 

Maybe for Jon to assure him that Martin truly meant him no harm. That whatever strings Martin was able to pull, it wasn't to pull him deeper into this web.

Bind him to you, Annabelle had told him, and the words had haunted him ever since.

Then Jon smiled down at him, and just like that, Martin relaxed. Jon had a lovely smile when it was like that. Open and a bit awkward and just for Martin to see.

When he leaned back down, it was only for a lingering kiss, that sent sparks all down Martin's spine. Then Jon's lips wandered, following his cheekbones until his breath hit the shell of Martin's ear.

For a moment they stayed like this, wrapped around each other and with the same dried flower scent he had noticed in Jon's flat. 

Lilacs and lavender.

Jon's heart, pressed so close that Martin could feel it, was racing just as much as his own.

"Thank you", Jon whispered into his ear, and for a second Martin was so overwhelmed with emotion, he was sure he was going to cry.

Instead he wrapped his arms around Jon, no matter how much his shoulder protested, and held him as close to his heart as he could.

Wherever the couch had appeared from, it was very comfortable. Neither of them made a move to get up, like they were stuck there, magnetic or something.

Outside the day played on, sunshine and fluffy clouds, and in his head, Martin could hear his mother complain. To go outside, to not waste good weather, as if Martin had the energy after his double shift at the corner store.

Thankfully her voice was distant when Jon was this close. He also didn't care about the weather while they tried to fit together on the couch. Shoulder to shoulder, or Martin's feet in Jon's lap, or Jon lying in front of him daring to slip off no matter how much Martin was trying to fuse with the cushions.

Next to Jon he was too aware of how much space he was occupying.

"Soft", Jon muttered once he had bullied his way on top of Martin, head resting on his belly, and everything in Martin had grown cold and tight.

Soft was a word people had used for him when they tried being nice. Pudgy or strong boned, or sometimes just fat. He was pretty sure his mother had looked up new insults to throw at him because, at some point, they had grown quite creative.

Jon said it in a different tone, more like a sigh, and he burrowed closer, arms around Martin in a half hug. And then he dozed off like Martin was more comfortable than the actual couch. He didn't even wake when Martin spent the next twenty minutes playing with his hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers.

Maybe when Jon said soft, it was meant to be a positive thing.

Huh, that was an idea Martin had to get used to.

They ordered food and Martin introduced Jon to the wonders of Netflix, but movies couldn't hold Jon’s attention for long. He bunkered down on the opposite side of the couch from where he could reach the bookshelf and started to browse.

Martin left him to it, and while Jon didn't enjoy poetry, sometimes he would read a poem or two that he liked.

Hearing them in Jon's voice made something in Martin's chest buzz. Maybe he should ask him to read his favourite ones.

It wasn't until the sun was already setting that Jon reached for the magazine. Martin only noticed because the stupid architecture expert on the cover was now staring at him, and he didn't quite dare to avert his gaze.

Only when Jon flipped the magazine, holding it now vertically and unfolding the pages, did Martin ease up: "Are you looking at pinup girls?"

"Why would there be pinup girls in an architecture magazine?"

Martin shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it's a poster of a very fancy tower? I don't know what you prefer."

"Neither." Jon nudged him with his foot, before burrowing it back underneath Martin's butt. His circulation had to be atrocious because no matter the blanket, his feet were still cold.

"Do you know about the catacombs in Paris?"

"That's where they put all the bones and arranged them all artistic, right?"

"A city beneath the city. Only that one part is full of dead bodies. I always wanted to visit."

"Jon, full offence, but with your luck you'd get chased by whatever has slept down there for the past century."

This time Jon glared at him. "Fine, then I'm not taking you with me to Paris."

"Not if a weekend in Paris consists of going in the catacombs instead of the Eiffel Tower or visiting cute little cafés."

"Actually I would take you to Tour Montparnasse. It's the highest point available to the public in Paris and offers a wonderful view of the city."

"Now that does sound nice."

"I had a statement about it where-"

"How about we don't visit any place you learned about in a statement?"

Jon rolled his eyes like Martin was the one being unreasonable here.

"What I was trying to say is that just like in Paris there are complex structures beneath London as well. Nearly a second London and we just build over it."

"Is it also filled with dead people?"

"I mean, surely you will find some-"

"Then I'm not going. Actually, not going into any catacombs with you. Sorry."

Jon chose to ignore him and finally turned the magazine towards him. "This is a map of presumed underground structures. Look at how massive it is!"

At first Martin could just see a bunch of lines. It reminded him of trying to figure out the tube that first time. Then the map made more sense to him, and he tensed.

Annabelle had given him this magazine, and he knew exactly why seconds before Jon leaned ahead to show him.

"Looks like the old Millbank prison stretched even beneath the Magnus Institute."

Chapter Text

Martin 🫖

I'm waiting outside! ☀️

Jon

Are you not coming in?

Martin 🫖

Would it be alright if I don't?

Jon didn't answer right away, and Martin fidgeted nervously with his phone. Across the street the Magnus Institute waited for him and all the windows looked empty and threatening. He was pretty sure Elias was watching him from one of them.

No use antagonizing him further, at least not as long as Jon was so close to him.

Jon

We'll be out in a minute.

We? Martin frowned at the screen when a shadow fell on him. Not Elias but Annabelle instead. She was holding a black, frilly umbrella against the sun.

"You should put the coffee emoji behind his name again. He feels too awkward to ask for it", she told him.

"He can do it himself."

"He doesn't know how."

That did sound like Jon and Martin made a mental note to change his name later. For now he let his phone slip into his pocket and faced her. "Why do you want Jon to look into the Millbank prison?"

"He will find what he's searching for there."

"And that would be?"

"Answers."

Martin huffed but Annabelle just smiled as pleasantly as ever. "You worry about your web and I about mine, Martin."

"Did you just show up here to be cryptic?"

"No, I wanted to ask you to cover Thursday for me. I have tickets for a movie."

"I- excuse me?"

"Thursday shift? If you're free."

Martin stared at her but well, she had been covering for him constantly over the past week. "Of course I can. What are you up to?"

"I just told you. You're a treasure, Martin." She gave him a little wave before making her way down the street. Martin watched her black umbrella leave until a hand slipped in his.

Jon beamed at him, he always did when they met.

“Hey.”

Dropping a kiss on the top of Jon's head was more reflex than a conscious thought. How could Martin not when Jon was squinting against the sunlight that painted his hair from black to a deep ebony?

"Hi."

"Oh my god!"

Martin turned around and found Tim, frozen in place as he was crossing the road. He stared at their entwined hands, then at Jon.

"I try to set you up for years and the one time I warn you off a guy, you dive right in?"

"I asked you to be civil", Jon reminded him.

"Well, you didn't mention this!"

"It's a private matter. I would also appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about my boyfriend like he isn’t right here.”

The two of them went on, but Martin had his own problems. Boyfriend? Now that was a first, something that he and Jon hadn't agreed on yet, and he could feel his face heat up. Not that he was complaining! But he would've liked to hear that for the first time without Tim there.

Ah, but what was he complaining about? At this point Jon's hand felt familiar in his and spring was finally here, the sunlight warm on their skin. Jon seemed so happy. Even though he was berating Tim, his scowl was fake. There was an urge to kiss that stark line between his eyebrows until it disappeared.

Martin wouldn't, not in public and not with Tim staring at him. Oh right, Martin had done little more than watch Jon with heart eyes.

"How are you?" he asked Tim belatedly.

"You mean besides the fact that some kind of creature ate my friend and pretended to be her?"

Well, Martin had no idea how to reply to that, and Jon just inhaled sharply.

"Tim!"

Tim took a deep breath. "Right, sorry. I- better, I guess. What about your hand?"

"Needed some stitches, but I should be able to take off the bandage by the end of the week." That would hopefully be enough time so that Jon didn't ask why there was little more than faint lines left from the cuts.

Until now he had taken everything that had happened to Martin in stride but telling him that he was pretty sure some spider had taken care of his wounds might be too weird even for him.

By the way, Jon was guiding him down the street, his working bag weighted down with whatever, and Tim was still following.

"Are you Jon's Robert Smirke expert?"

"Unfortunately", Tim grumbled.

Having this meeting outside the institute had been Jon's idea and nobody had complained, but Martin wasn't sure if Starbucks was the right place for it. Especially when Jon covered most of the table in old maps and books he had smuggled out.

Tim sat down opposite of them. "So why do we want to find an entrance to the old Millbank Prison?"

"Think about all the things that would explain."

"Like?"

"If the tunnels and the institute are connected, it would explain how Prentiss could get inside because she surely didn't just waltz in through the main entrance."

Martin still had to fight down a shiver at that name and he tried to ignore how Tim's eyes snapped to him. Next to him Jon didn't notice. He was smoothing down the map that already laid flat, his gaze intense but far away.

"Could explain Gertrude", he said slowly, and that took Tim's attention from Martin. He leaned back, one arm thrown over the back of the seat next to him.

Suddenly Martin was nearly dizzy with the déjà vu of it all. That's exactly the position he had first seen Tim in, just in another coffee shop. Back then the table had also been buried under statements on the search for Pająk Pół Kilo.

Strange to think that Martin was now sitting with them.

"Who's Gertrude?" he asked when the silence dragged on for too long.

"She held the position as Archivist before me."

"Oh, you mentioned she left the archives a mess, right?"

"Not so sure about that anymore."

"What does that mean?"

"There seems to be a method to her madness", Tim explained. "We haven't quite figured out what her goal was or if she ever completed whatever she wanted to achieve."

"Why not just ask her?"

"She's presumed dead. CCTV shows her going down into the archives but never returning. All they found was enough blood to deduce that she was either badly wounded or dead."

Jon said it like that was common knowledge, like Martin was supposed to just keep up. Meanwhile Martin had to remind himself how to breath.

"She was killed down in the archives and her body never found, and you just mention that now?"

Jon shrugged. "It wasn't relevant before."

Martin was going to take him by his shoulders and shake him until he made sense. No matter how long it would take.

"You're going to quit. I'm coming with you to your boss right now, and we hand in your resignation letter even if we have to write it on a napkin!"

Tim started to laugh. A bitter, cutting tone. "I'm so glad I can be a witness when you tell him that you can't quit, Jon."

Jon didn't answer. He stared down at the map like he was trying to memorize it but his shoulders were tense.

Though honestly, after that nasty shock right now, the fact that Jon and Tim couldn't just quit wasn't even a surprise. It made way too much sense and with a groan, Martin buried his face in his hands.

"I'm... I'm gonna get us a drink."

Jon disappeared from his side, giving him a moment to work through all of that. Martin was very aware of Tim, still watching him, and he wasn't even sure where the two of them stood with each other. Things were just so damn complicated but it wasn't like Martin had too many options here.

"The two of you have to look out for each other", Martin muttered. "I can't when he's in the archive, so please promise me to stop him when he tries something stupid again."

"Like searching for an entrance to these tunnels?"

"Like storming down there with no precautions and not letting anyone know once he finds it!"

Tim tilted his head, his eyes raking over Martin and this time Martin didn't look away. Finally, Tim asked, "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why can't you look out for him in the archives? Why didn't you come into the institute today?"

Martin tensed. "Never seems to turn out right when I go in there, doesn't it?"

For a moment, Tim seemed to back off, but then he just leaned in closer. "No. No, I don't think that's the reason."

Martin pressed his lips together. His eyes darted to Jon, still waiting for his turn at the counter and while there was still a bit of tension between him and Tim, it appeared to have eased up. By the sound of things, they were trapped together in that horrid place and while Tim clearly didn't trust him, Martin really didn't have a bunch of allies lined up.

"Because Bouchard doesn't want me there."

"You met Elias?"

"I did, and he made it very clear that he doesn't want me anywhere near his institute or his Archivist."

"So you started dating Jon?"

Martin felt heat crawl up his face. "That's not for Elias to decide. It's dangerous enough, but that doesn't mean I have to antagonize him by just showing up in the institute all the time. Not until I get Jon out of his clutches."

"Have you told Jon about that?"

"No, and you won't either!" The words came out more forcefully than he had wanted to. They tingled on the tip of his tongue like electricity.

And they sank into Tim's mind. It was impossible to tell how Martin knew that, he just felt it happen. Like the strings. Not as powerful but still there.

If Tim noticed something, he just raised his eyebrows. "The relationship between the two of you is truly built on trust and communication."

"Shut up." This time Martin leaned closer, arms braced on the table between them. He didn't know how to act threatening, but Tim did tense.

"The last time I told him about something weird in his workplace, he charged the problem with an axe! Now imagine if I tell him that his boss has been using his supernatural seeing powers to threaten me! To show up at my work, to look into my head!"

"A fantastic mental picture, if you ask me."

Martin glared at him but before Tim could say anything further, his eyes darted over Martin's shoulder. Fine, Martin could just hope he got his message across.

"Are you two fighting?" Jon asked as he handed out their drinks.

"Discussing something. I was just telling Martin that his conclusion makes sense."

"And that conclusion would be?"

Tim didn't miss a beat. "That your ass looks very nice in these trousers. You should wear them more often."

Jon just rolled his eyes, like he was used to Tim's antics.

"Could we all focus?"

“So”, Martin began slowly. The park was busy, no surprise with the good weather they had. So many people enjoying the first real sunny day, families, and couples. How often had Martin watched them before, wishing to be a part of it?

Now he was, with Jon at his side, with no other goal in mind than to spend some time together. He hadn’t expected that, after their little meeting he was sure that Jon would go back to work, but he hadn’t.

“So?”

“I’m your boyfriend?” Martin asked, a bit breathless.

That made Jon look up from his fries. The ketchup left his lips redder than usual. “If I haven’t wrongly identified your gender, I think that would be the correct term for our relationship.”

Martin had to bite down on his tongue to not burst into laughter.

“I guess partner would be a more neutral term if you prefer that? Honestly, the whole label thing is just confusing as well as limiting-”

“Boyfriend is fine”, Martin assured him before Jon could launch himself into a rant. “Just good to know.”

With a hum, Jon focused back on his fries. Jon, as Martin had found out, could eat an impressive amount as long as he was reminded that food existed.

It wasn’t until they reached the pond and made their way around, that Jon softly said, “Ah.”

He pulled a face. “I should’ve discussed that with you before just blurting it out.”

“That would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry.” Jon held up the fries like he’d just remembered they were meant to share. Martin stabbed one with his barely used fork. “I’m not good with the whole social nuance thing.”

“What?” Martin gasped in mock surprise, hands clutched to his chest.

“If you expect some form of… courting ritual, I don’t know if I can provide that.”

“Courting ritual”, Martin muttered to himself, right before Jon took him out.

“We’ve been intimate in some capacity, and I don’t think that will change in the foreseeable future. I like you, and you like me. So the term boyfriend seems appropriate.”

Martin needed several seconds to stop choking on his food. 

Meanwhile, Jon just watched him, unimpressed, “What?”

“I- um, I like you too.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not complaining about being your boyfriend.”

“Sounded like it.”

“No, I-” But instead Martin just snorted.

Jon only looked more confused, so Martin nudged him. “Jon, I would gladly be your boyfriend.”

“Good. I only share food with my boyfriend.”

“What a charming cavalier you are!” Martin dropped a kiss on top of Jon’s head. His hair was warm from the sun and smelled like old books and coffee.

Jon hummed, pleased with himself before finishing his fries. There wasn’t a bin, so he kept the bag in his hands, which was a shame because Martin would really like to hold it.

“Actually, there is something I should… disclose.” And then Jon said a whole lot of nothing afterward. Martin gave him some time but after a while, he asked, “So are you going to or..?”

“Don’t really know how to tell you.”

“Today you blurted out that I am your boyfriend and that you like me!”

“Those were very obvious things.”

“Right, of course, my bad.”

Their discussion was paused because there was a row of ducks on the pond, and while Jon could find the right words, Martin could take some pictures of them. He would like to pretend that he was good at taking photos, but just with poetry, he was probably just going through the motions.

Crouching close to the water, trying to get a good angle, Jon probably thought him mad but then he sat down right by his side, throwing the last crumbs of his fries into the pond.

"That's probably not very healthy for the ducks and fish", Martin pointed out.

"It's not a lot, and look, they're coming closer now."

That they did. For several minutes Martin took pictures and showing them to Jon. Jon didn't seem to care too much, he made the appropriate oh's and ah's, but just sat there, chin in his hand as he watched Martin make a fool of himself.

His expression was soft, nearly dreamlike, and Martin wasn't sure if he wanted to squirm away from all the attention or bask in it.

"I'm asexual", Jon finally said, and Martin hesitated in his rapid picture taking. "I probably don't want to have sex with you, or at least not often. Sex is kinda an afterthought for me."

"Oh."

"I sincerely hope this is not a dealbreaker for you, but I could understand if it was."

A part of him registered how Jon sounded. Unsure and nervous, but beneath that was a yearning for Martin to understand.

And he did. It actually made perfect sense.

"Because I'm fat?"

Jon didn't answer. Martin wasn't even sure if he was still breathing but he didn't dare to turn his head and check. It was easier to just take another picture that turned out to be way too blurry.

"I can understand why... that's fine, Jon. I know I'm not much to look at."

For a while neither of them spoke. Martin took some photos without even seeing them, just wanted to have something to do. His heart hurt, but that was also stupid. What had he expected? Jon already gave him much more than he had ever anticipated and he was just being realistic. If-

Jon pried the phone from his grip and then took Martin's hand in his. His skin was cold, clammy, like he was nervous.

"No", he whispered. He gave a little tug and Martin was very aware that Jon was trying to catch his eye, but he couldn't turn his head. Stare at the ducks and the pond, and the dying light. That was easier.

"Your hair doesn't make any sense."

Martin blinked and okay, that made him turn around now.

"It's not because of the curls, I saw other people with curls before but with you? I try to follow them, to understand what I'm seeing but I never can. I've tried so many times but then you move and it's all different again. The color as well. Sometimes it's auburn and then I can find gold in there. Out here in the sun it's... I don't know. It doesn't matter. I like looking at you."

And he did just that. His hand brushing strands of hair from Martin's face before taking it between his fingers, feeling its texture.

"Your eyes as well. They were the first thing I noticed when we met. How kind they were, curious, and that was nice. But they can look at me so cold as well, especially when I messed up again. Then it feels like they cut me, like you can look beneath my skin and still, I can't look away."

Jon pressed his face into Martin's shoulder, careful not to agitate his bruises.

"They're always sad though, and I don't know why. That's fine, you don't have to tell me but it makes me do things. Like buy plants or drink tea or feed ducks. It's gone then, that sadness. Never for long, sometimes just for a few moments, but that's fine. I'll find all the things that make the sadness go away."

Martin tried to say something but he realized that all that would come out would be a sob. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to keep it inside. Jon still wasn't through with him.

"I like looking at you, I do. Not because you're fat or skinny or tall. But because you're a mystery. And I don't know if you knew that about me, but I enjoy a good mystery."

Martin let out a noise that was maybe a laugh.

"Like right now. The sadness is gone but you're crying. Doesn't make any sense."

Martin was crying. How stupid, considering that they were sitting at a pond, watching ducks. He quickly thumbed the tears away. "Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For not making any sense."

"I just told you that's what I like about you."

"Right."

Jon scooted closer until they were pressed together from shoulder to ankle. "But no matter how much I like you, I will probably not want to have sex with you. Not... not how you're probably used to."

"Does sex make you uncomfortable?"

"Sometimes but not always. It's just very, very rarely on my mind."

"But what we've done before... the kissing and the cuddling and being close?"

"That's fine. It's nice. Being close to you makes me feel safe."

Huh, Martin was pretty sure he had never made someone feel safe. That was a comforting thought, something that warmed his whole body, down to his bones.

Without any food left in the water, the ducks had moved away, and Martin could see their reflection. The way Jon was bodily leaning into him, face pressed into his shoulder like he feared that Martin would push him away any second now. His hands were grasping his own knees so tightly, his nails dug into his trousers.

"I just want to be with you, no matter how", Martin told him. "I'm... I think I'm gonna do some googling when I get home. A little bit of research into asexuality, okay?"

He wrapped his arm around Jon's shoulder and pulled him even closer. "Sorry for freaking out, I shouldn't have. Thanks for telling me."

Jon nodded but the tension was still there. "What if you don't like me anymore?"

"Jon, my coworker keeps on insisting that you are a cannibal, and I'm still sitting here with you."

That made him smile. 

Martin thought he understood what Jon had tried to tell him before. He would also love to see him smile, wanted to make him do it more often, all the time. Find new ways to make it happen.

What a nice smile it was.

"You said kissing is fine, right? And you would tell me if it wasn't? Because I would really like to kiss you now."

"I would like that too."

So they did.

Chapter Text

Being back at work felt strange. When Martin stepped into Café Alexandria he expected questions from Olivia and Hannah, after all, he had just dropped off the face of the earth for more than a week to be replaced by Annabelle.

Nobody said a thing.

It was like no time had passed at all, like Annabelle had worked there for as long as all of them. Honestly, it was kinda boring. A part of Martin had looked forward to lying his way out of this.

All in all working was horribly mundane. Making drinks, clearing tables, and manning the register when a few days ago he'd nearly suffocated by an artifact or fought a creature wearing another face.

So he decided to run some tests.

Upselling was easy if he did it right. Questions weren't effective, they didn’t fit quite in his mouth. Neither were orders. They worked better on some people, but Martin didn't like how they felt. Like keeping pop rocks on his tongue for too long.

Sometimes there was resistance, a furrowed brow, a raised voice. Martin knew he could push through that, could make this businessman buy all the pastries he had left, but he decided against it.

Suggestions were the easiest. Offhanded, easy reminders of how nice the cinnamon apple crumbles smelled. They crawled into ears, settled there and made people reach for their money.

By the time the evening died down, he was sold out.

Martin could see the strings more clearly now, and he tugged on some. The people hurrying past the coffee shop, the couple not even talking to each other, the obnoxious teen playing TikToks at full volume.

He got better at that. No cuts on his hands. Nobody collapsed or got a nosebleed.

God, he was bored.

He wanted to invite Jon over, but Jon had promised him to try to get something resembling a sleep schedule going. Martin wasn't about to make him sit with him until nearly midnight just because Martin wanted some entertainment.

So it wasn't until the next day that he got worried. 

Jon woke up before him and would always send him a good morning text. Maybe that was corny, but it always managed to make him smile.

No text this morning.

Not a reason to panic yet, right?

Martin 🫖

Good morning! Are you still asleep?

Nothing.

Martin made himself breakfast, had a long shower, got ready.

Nothing.

So he called, only to be immediately sent to voicemail. A dead phone, no panic yet. It was Jon after all.

The panic settled in when he found the architecture magazine hanging from his ceiling by a thick silver string. Martin had made sure to cut all the eyes out, and now the empty gaze of the stupid architecture expert seemed to mock him.

The string snapped, and as the magazine hit the floor, the map unravelled perfectly.

Of course.

"God dammit, Jon!"

It never turned out well when Martin stepped into the Magnus Institute, that's what he'd told Tim, and that hadn't been a lie. But what choice did he have?

The second he opened the heavy doors, he could feel it. The oppressing feeling of being perceived. It made his skin crawl.

The woman at the front desk looked up. Rosie, Jon had called her once and when Martin tugged on her string, the papers she was holding were way more important than he was. There were cameras trained on him, but when Martin glanced at them, the lenses were covered with thick spiderwebs.

So far, so good.

Walking down the creaking stairs towards the archive, the feeling fated. No, fading was not the right word. It didn't bore into Martin's soul anymore, searching for any insecurity and mistake it could find. It morphed, became more gentle, curious, familiar. Like Jon was watching him with interest, trying to figure him out.

Martin stopped in his tracks and let himself just feel. The institute was hostile, but the archives? The archives felt welcoming.

Because of Jon?

Maybe, that made as much sense as anything else. Still, it didn't change the fact that Jon had gone missing.

The bullpen was empty besides a single woman, boots up on her desk and listlessly thumbing through a folder. When Martin cleared his throat, she all but yelled.

"Dude, you can't just creep up on me!"

"Sorry."

"Rosie didn't call to say we had a visitor."

"She wasn't at her desk, so I let myself in."

She watched him, her eyes narrowing. "I know you, don't I?"

Yeah, Martin had also seen her before but couldn't quite place her. Didn't matter either.

"Is Jon in?"

"Don't know. As long as nothing smells rotten, I don't go into his office."

"Martin?" That was Tim, coming from deeper into the archives. He was carrying quite a familiar axe.

"You kept the axe?" Martin asked him.

"Perfectly good weapon. Wouldn't you keep one in this place?"

"Fair."

"Wait. Martin? You were the guy ripping Sims a new one!" The woman got up and offered her hand. "I'm Melanie."

"Right, you barged into the office back then!" Together with not-Sasha, but he didn't mention that.

"Wouldn't miss Sims getting yelled at for the world!"

"Martin here is Jon's boyfriend", Tim added helpfully, and Melanie's face went slack in shock.

"Guilty", Martin said and just waited for her to say something bad. Her hand was small and tense in his.

Instead she turned to Tim. "So you're telling me Sims got a boyfriend but the two of us are single?"

"Life is full of mysteries." Tim shrugged. He placed the axe against the wall. "So what are you doing here? Thought this place gave you the creeps?"

"Honestly, a reasonable reaction. He came in here and you charged him with an axe", Melanie pointed out.

"You were the one screaming!"

"Not the first time I was threatened with an axe down here", Martin assured her but by the way she looked at him, it might've not been an assurance at all. Instead he turned to Tim. "I can't get a hold of Jon. Is he here?"

"Haven't seen him but that doesn't mean much. He can just pop up behind you like a cat."

Jon's office was abandoned, no surprise there. Surprising was just the sudden anger brewing in Martin's gut.

"I asked you to look out for him!" he snapped at Tim, who quickly raised his empty hands.

"Jon promised me not to run into any tunnels without letting me know beforehand."

"And you believed him?"

"He's a grown man, what more do you want from me?"

Martin huffed. He circled the heavy oak desk, trying to look for any hints. An abandoned, cold coffee sat next to files, a bunch of books in the corner. Jon's bag wasn't here.

"So wait, Sims can go on cool adventures while we have to continue to search for this mysterious Annabelle?"

Martin's head snapped up.

Melanie was leaning against the door frame, like stepping foot into the office was bad luck.

"He told you to search for Annabelle?"

"Been doing it for more than a week. It's just busy work!"

"Right now it's Jon's top priority, not the tunnels," Tim pointed out. His eyes were sharp as they rested on Martin. "So I'm guessing you know this Annabelle?"

"Somewhat."

"You truly are a magnet for trouble."

"Seems like it." But better him than Jon. "So the tunnels..?"

"Haven't found the entrance yet."

But just because those two hadn't found it, didn't mean that Jon also hadn't. By this point Jon probably could know a whole lot about this archive if he wanted to.

Stepping past Tim and Melanie and out of the office, Martin looked around. Sure enough, he found a big, hairy spider down the hall. It scuttled away and Martin followed.

He never had been this deep in the archive before and without Jon's permission it felt like trespassing, but that wasn't about to stop him. There were rows of filing boxes, old shelves stretching to the ceiling and finally an abandoned room stuffed full with old... chairs?

It's where he lost sight of the spider but that was fine. He could do the rest himself.

Somewhere behind him he could hear Melanie whisper with Tim but Martin was making too much noise, carrying the chairs out. It wasn't until he had cleared more than half of the room, when he came across the trapdoor and stopped.

"He can't be down there", Tim told him, a hand on Martin's shoulder to stop him. "Even if he found this and went into the tunnels, he couldn't put all of this back in this room."

"Then someone locked him in, made sure he couldn't come out again." Martin shook him off and opened the trapdoor. The air escaped the space beneath like a sigh, unnaturally warm on his skin.

"We're just going to ignore that he found the entrance in like thirty seconds?" Melanie murmured somewhere in the background, but nobody paid attention to her. "Oh, okay. Right."

Martin jumped down. The walls around were made out of stone, old and withered but mostly intact. A layer of dust covered everything, before the world got swallowed up in darkness.

There were no footprints he could see besides his own.

"Martin, you're doing exactly what you told Jon not to do!" Tim must've kneeled down so he could stick his head down the trapdoor. He was looking around, a deep frown on his face. "Why would Jon be down here! Have you checked if he's at home?"

He hadn't, but he also knew that Jon wasn't in his flat. 

Fact was, that Annabelle had asked him to work yesterday, so that he couldn't talk to Jon on the phone like most other nights. 

Fact was, the architecture magazine she had given him had led both him and Jon right here.

Fact was, Jon had disappeared.

"I don't know if Elias noticed me coming in here, but you two should probably go back to work in case he comes down to check."

Tim sighed deeply. "You and Jon are the same kind of stubborn, I swear. You don't even have a torch."

Martin reached into his pocket and pulled out his golden lighter. He couldn't remember bringing it, hadn't actually seen it in the past weeks, but when he flicked it worked all the same.

"Right. So I'm just going to..." Tim gestured to the trap door and Martin nodded.

"Thanks for your help, Tim."

"I wouldn't call this help. Feels like I'm part of a crime." Tim got up, hand on the trap door but hesitated. He was towering far above Martin, worrying on his bottom lip. "What if you need help? Can you... give me some kind of signal?"

Martin opened his mouth to protest, to assure Tim he'd be fine, but well, he wasn't quite as bad as Jon yet.

"Watch out for spiders."

"Watch out for spiders?"

"Yeah."

Tim took a deep breath, his hand coming up to squeeze the root of his nose. "Why not? I'll watch out for your spiders, but maybe try to simply text me first?"

"Okay."

"You aren't seriously going to leave him down there. Tim, what if-" Melanie's protests were cut off when the trapdoor fell shut. It actually felt like everything was shut off, like some kind of blanket had draped itself over Martin's senses. Tim and Melanie had to be just above him, and still it was like he was all alone in the world.

As he looked around, the darkness seemed impenetrable, but that was ridiculous. When he flipped open his lighter, the flame cut straight through it.

Right on the edge of his island of light sat spiders. A couple of months ago that would've even made Martin shriek, but now it was nearly a comforting sight.

"What do you want to show me down here?"

That nearly made him laugh out loud. He could see his mother, sitting in her old armchair, watching Lassie. "Did Timmy fall into the well? Good boy, show me!"

The spiders scuttled away and Martin followed.

It was a labyrinth down here, with turns that made no sense and crooked stone steps leading down further and further. He quickly lost all orientation and could only hope that if he had to find his way back alone, he could hopefully retrace the footprints he left in the dust.

After all, they were the only pair.

"Jon isn't in the tunnels, is he?" he asked the spiders but they didn't answer. Honestly for the best, he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear their voices. Not the way Jane Prentiss had. So he raised his gaze from their many legs and focused on the darkness ahead.

"At least let me know he is safe?"

This time he asked The Mother of Puppets and waited with bated breath for an answer. Nothing. Maybe The Mother had no mouth, maybe She had no voice. Maybe She knew that no matter if She answered or not, that wouldn't stop him from going on, so he did.

Down here it grew colder, and at some point the dust just vanished. The fine layer was gone, like nothing had moved in the past century. Now he was truly alone with nothing but his trusted spider companions and the single flame, that didn't flicker or grow dimmer.

The stone walls slowly shifted into bricks, gray and coarse, and each of his steps started to echo on them. He hadn't even noticed how the tunnels swallowed up all of his noises until they returned, until something shifted and there was a humming. It was low, a tune he felt more in his bones than in his ears, but it was powerful.

The hairs on the back of his arms stood on end, and for the first time he stopped in his tracks. The spiders disappeared out of his view, and Martin carefully stretched out his arm as far as he could to see further, without actually moving closer.

He could sense something big ahead, a cavern that laid waiting, its mouth open, but he couldn't see. It felt like it could see him though. It felt like stepping foot into the institute did.

Lurking, watching in the curious way that a cat watches an unsuspecting mouse.

"I shouldn't go in there", he told The Mother.

"You really shouldn't."

Martin yelled. The lighter slipped from his hand as he spun around, hit the ground and left him in the dark. His heart was pounding, his back pressed against the bricks as his useless eyes tried to peer through the darkness.

The voice hadn't been The Mother, it had been a man. Not Jon. Elias?

"Who's there?" he whispered, his voice conveying all the nervousness he felt.

When there was no answer, Martin quickly dropped to his knees. His hands brushed over the brittle stones, catching on sharp edges as he searched for his lighter. His fingers hit the smooth surface, making it skitter further away.

Fuck.

"Just someone trying to be at peace down here," the man finally answered. Martin still jumped, his head swivelling to his right, where the voice came from.

That hadn’t been Elias.

"Whatever business The Mother of Puppets has down here, I don't mean to intrude. However, what lies in front of you will alert him, weaver."

Martin breathed out, forcing his hand to stop shaking. "Him?"

"The Eye."

"Elias?"

"That's his name now, sure."

Martin's finger found his lighter and he greedily flicked it on. It only served to blind him, and he nearly let it drop again.

"What's ahead?" He blinked the spots from his vision and still couldn't see anyone. He looked for strings, anything to tear this voice closer so that he could see, but there were none.

"The Panopticon."

That word held no meaning to Martin and still his breath caught in his throat. He turned, the grip around his little light slick with blood, but couldn't stop the steps from retreating. Holding his breath, he waited, counting his own heartbeats until he was sure he was alone. Then his sweat drenched back hit the wall.

The thrumming was still there, that power greedily crawling closer but being held back by something. No, he didn't want Elias's attention.

When he found a spider hanging from the ceiling, he nearly sobbed in relief as it led him away from that place.

The spiders vanished once the first ray of light reached Martin. It came from a metal door, and Martin had to throw his whole weight against it to get it to budge. By the screech of its hinges, it hadn't moved in the past decades.

The air stank of dirty water and old rubber, but after hours of the staleness, he took greedy drags. He had come out beneath some bridge, an overpass of sorts, and above him the trucks were deafening.

He couldn't see the sun but when he checked on his phone, it was already late afternoon. Now that he had a signal again, three messages popped up.

Unfortunately, they were all from Tim, getting more desperate.

Martin let him know that he was alive and then made his way to Café Alexandria. His feet hurt, the blood on his scratched up hand was sticky, and he was covered in dust. When he reached the coffee shop, Hannah was just stepping out, done with her shift.

Her eyes grew wide when she saw him.

"God, Martin! What happened? Are you hurt?"

He tugged on her string, and she finished buttoning up her jacket and walked past him like he didn't even exist.

When he stepped inside, Annabelle was behind the counter, crooking an eyebrow at him. Not surprised, she never seemed to be.

"Where is Jon?" his voice thundered, the words hurting his tongue and making his lips tremble.

Annabelle's smile faded, and her eyes darkened.

"That's not how you talk to family, Martin."

They weren't family. Martin hardly knew her, but he wasn't stupid. Annabelle was powerful, and he didn't want her as an enemy.

So he took a shaking breath, turned to the customers in the room, who were mostly staring at him, and pulled. It was aggressive, not at all how Annabelle had taught him.

It got the job done though, and chairs were screeching, food abandoned as the people filed out of the shop. Their bleeding noses did not even bother them.

Finally, once they were alone, he faced Annabelle again. "I apologize. It's been quite a day."

Annabelle held out her hand and Martin didn't hesitate taking it. While she examined the scratches, Martin fought to keep his voice levelled, "Where is Jon?"

"He's having some problems with clowns."

"That's not funny."

"It's not."

Tiny legs tickled his palm, and Martin didn't bat an eye. "Is he safe?"

"Not at all."

"Then why did I spend my day underground instead of saving him? I thought The Mother wanted me to protect him!"

"You're not the only one working on this web, Martin. His rescue has been set in motion weeks ago, I made sure of that."

Some tension vanished, and suddenly Martin was just tired. He searched for Jon's seat and pulled himself in, while Annabelle continued working on his hand.

"So he will be fine? When?"

"Soon."

Martin made an annoyed noise, but Annabelle didn't react. She vanished into the back before returning with fresh water and a towel.

"So what was the point of me going into the tunnels? Just to keep me occupied?"

"Hardly. Tell me what you found."

"The Panopticon."

Until now, Annabelle had worked with focused efficiency, but that made her stop. When she looked up, her eyes were black and shiny, like the shell of an insect.

"Did you enter it?"

Martin shook his head. "Didn't feel right, and the spiders led me back out."

"But you could have."

"Yes. But I would've been seen."

The towel was red with his blood when Annabelle let it drop onto the counter. The cuts were all cleaned and sewed by the same silver strings as before.

"Oh, Martin."

He didn't stop her as she leaned ahead and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It wasn't a romantic gesture or meant to comfort; it was pride in him, and Martin flushed at that. He never made anyone proud.

"What does it mean?"

"You found The Ceaseless Watcher's temple, their church." She brushed his hair aside. "You bound The Archivist to you, and he allowed you entrance. Martin, you truly are Pająk Pół Kilo."

Chapter Text

"Head home."

Annabelle appeared in Café Alexandria like always, unhurried and completely out of nowhere. After days of disappearing, days without so much as a message from her or The Mother.

Days without Jon.

Still, Martin didn't take the time to question that. He slipped out of his apron, handed it to her, and was out the door without even grabbing his coat. He reached his flat in record time, throwing the door open and called, "Jon?"

Jon had disappeared like he'd never existed, and Martin had been told to wait. He had held on to that, to the spiders, to webs, to the logic of it all. The Mother didn't want The Archivist dead, so Jon wouldn't die.

Now Martin’s careful control dared to slip because nobody was waiting for him. His flat was as empty and alone as it had been for the past days.

Martin stood in his living room, looking for a sign, another hint, a compass pointing him in the right direction. Anything-

When the door appeared, he didn't notice it at first. Even though he'd been living here for weeks now, it just blended in, somewhere between the bookshelf and his bedroom. It was yellow, a garish colour, and it creaked open without his doing.

Behind the door was Jon, arms wrapped around himself, his eyes growing wide as he noticed Martin. He stumbled towards him, unsure on his legs and when Martin finally grasped his wrist, he couldn't even speak. Jon's skin felt too thin, stretching painfully above bones and joints, his sinews like stark lines against his fingertips.

Before Martin could make sure he was in one piece, something else moved. It was- for lack of a better term, it was a woman. Stretched like a caricature of one, and when she gave a jolly little wave, her fingers barely fit through the door frame.

Martin pushed Jon behind him, placing himself between them, and tried to see the strings. They were there but distorted, pulled into odd angles, twisting into knots and when Martin tried to pull on one, it didn't reach this woman.

The door fell shut, its lines fusing with his wallpaper and even though he didn't blink, suddenly he didn't know where it had even been anymore. Still he kept watch, had to know if it popped up anywhere else. Maybe it wanted to take Jon from him again, and Martin would not let that happen.

Only when Jon swayed his little weight into him as he dropped to his knees did Martin manage to rip his eyes away.

Jon was breathing hard, and Martin's grip around his wrist was the only thing that prevented him from collapsing to the ground. He was also mostly naked.

"Jon!"

Martin sat down at his side, frantically looking for any hurt when Jon pulled back. He lifted his shaking hands and pushed with as much strength as he had against Martin's chest to get out of his reach.

There were angry red rope burns around his wrists.

Seeing them made something tighten in Martin.

He watched, frozen, as Jon pulled his bare legs against his chest. The same marks wound around his ankles.

"Who did this?" He tried to keep his voice level, like talking to a small animal, but Jon still jumped.

"Sorry! Sorry, that's not important right now." Even though it was to him. Martin had never considered himself a violent person, but right now he had to fight down the urge to hurt someone.

Not Jon though.

Never Jon.

"What do you need?" he asked instead, like he should've right from the start.

Jon didn't answer but he kept on watching him. His hair was wild and mostly covering his face, but Martin could feel the weight of his gaze on him as he carefully got up.

Jon turned to keep him in his line of sight, but Martin didn't go far. Just to his couch, gathering his blanket before offering it to Jon.

He was only wearing boxers, and he knew Jon well enough to know how exposed he must feel. But not only because of that. Like this Martin could see his ribs too well, jutting out from beneath his skin, every single knob of his spine with how Jon had curled into himself.

It only fuelled his anger, only made him want to hurt whoever was responsible more.

Jon didn't take the blanket. He reached out, hesitated, before touching Martin's hand instead. His gaze was still intense, waiting for a reaction, but Martin didn't know what reaction that could be. So he just held still, let Jon's finger travel over his knuckles, his wrist, before they finally pressed to the space where his veins showed blue.

Was he taking his pulse?

Whatever it was, Jon's tension snapped. He let himself fall into the blanket, straight into Martin's arms, where he let out shuddering breath after shuddering breath.

"It's you", he finally mumbled, and Martin's brain instantly latched on to that statement. Turned it around in his head, thought of the horror behind it before pushing it all away.

Later.

Now it was more important to keep Jon warm and safe.

"It's me."

Jon didn't smell like himself. He smelled like a medical glove, a sharp scent of rubber that bore into Martin's nostrils. Cold fakeness and talcum powder and something too sweet, that made him nauseous.

He was also trembling, no matter how many blankets Martin wrapped around him, no matter how he pulled Jon against his body.

"What do you need?" Martin asked again.

"To get this stuff off my skin."

Martin's new bathroom had a tub. A luxury he had ignored until now, but Jon turned the water as hot as possible. Nobody mentioned his nudity when he climbed in or how he hissed once the water hit the raw flesh around his ankles and wrists. That didn't stop him from scrubbing his skin until it was red and irritated.

Martin had to wrench the loofah from him before he actually scrubbed himself bloody.

They didn't talk. The bathroom was filled with steam and the occasional drop from the tap, the soft brush as Martin moved from Jon's shoulders down his back. He made sure to cover every centimetre, in circular, soothing motions. That way he could look for wounds, broken skin or bruises.

He found none.

It didn't calm him down as much as it probably should.

By the time he was done, his own skin was red and hurt from the heat, but he didn't mention it. Just how neither of them mentioned how Jon's breath still shuddered as he hid his face behind his hands, how his shoulders trembled as he leaned against the edge of the tub.

How Martin had to blink tears from his eyes as he washed Jon's hair, spilling most of the water into his own lap from where he was sitting in front of the tub.

Or how, once he couldn't take it anymore, he buried his face against Jon's neck, silently weeping.

It got a bit better afterward when Jon smelled real again, like citrus and mint, and his hand came up to tangle in Martin's hair and keep him close.

Alive.

Alive, alive, alive.

Martin chose his favourite pyjama for Jon, the one worn soft by many years, even if it nearly slipped from Jon's frame. But he wanted to wrap Jon in better times, that smelled like laundry detergent and lazy mornings.

Not that Jon cared, he started to drift off in the bathroom while Martin was treating his rope burns with crisp white bandaged against his irritated skin. He probably didn't even realize that Martin carried him into bed, because by the time his head hit the pillow, he was fully asleep.

For a long time, Martin just stood next to him. After the whirlwind of activity, he felt frozen in place. His heart was thumping against his ribs, his thoughts a mess of questions and horrors, without a single answer.

None of that mattered.

That realization only reached him slowly, the longer he watched Jon sleep. It didn't matter because Jon was here and Jon was alive. Whatever had happened, they could deal with it later. Right now he needed rest and he needed safety.

That's what Martin was for, right? That's why he was here. Jon had told him he felt safe with him, and Martin didn't care what he would have to do, which strings he would pull, to keep it that way.

Outside, the sun hadn't even set when he climbed into bed as well. Jon seemed to seek for his warmth, and Martin pulled him closer until his breath tickled Martin's neck.

The spider who had been saved by the kindness of the priest's heart, Pająk Pół Kilo, had been allowed into the church. There she had grown and had killed the unsuspecting priest. Slowly, day by day. Poisoning his food and wine until he passed, never the wiser.

Annabelle was wrong about him. He wasn't Pająk Pół Kilo. He couldn't be.

With both arms wrapped around Jon, Martin settled in to watch the door. Nothing would sneak up on them again. He wouldn't let it.

Annabelle appeared like a bad dream.

Martin was watching Jon sleep, the late moonlight drenching his angles in silvery white, making the grey in his hair shine. Each of his breaths calm, soft and the only noise Martin could hear.

His hair, now long dried, started to curl at the ends but Martin wasn’t sure if it was natural or because he kept on winding it around his fingers.

The next time Martin lifted his eyes, Annabelle was standing in the doorway. He wasn’t surprised, not even a little. What came out of his mouth wasn't a gasp but, for the lack of a better word, a growl. His arm tightened around Jon at the same time as he pushed himself up, ready to put his body between him and her.

"I brought food", she simply said before vanishing into his living room.

Martin followed more slowly. Once he started to untangle himself, Jon stirred. His eyes fluttered open, on the verge of waking, and so Martin stayed for a few minutes longer. Murmuring gentle words and letting his thumb ease the tightness on Jon's forehead.

Only when he was securely back asleep, did he get up.

There was no food waiting on the table. Annabelle hadn't even bothered with light, but that was fine. Martin could see her just as well, as she sat on his couch.

"I won't hurt him," he told her. "I don't care what you call me, I don't care if you think I'm Pająk Pół Kilo. I won't hurt him."

Annabelle tilted her head to the side.

"I'm not the one deciding what you will or will not do, Martin."

"You're not. But She doesn't either. Let Her hear. No harm will come to Jon."

"Harm is inevitable, and no power can protect your Archivist from it."

That wasn't true. He would do anything. He had to.

"You have done extraordinarily well, Martin. There's a delicate balance to uphold, and you bound The Archivist to you, just as Mother wanted." She leaned ahead and her dark eyes sucked up the moonlight. "When The Archivist was walking the hallways of deception, there was little more than his heart to guide him, and it brought him here. Not to his home, not to the safety of his temple, where he could feast and rest under the protection of his God. He chose to be here."

Tears burned behind Martin's eyes. That should flatter him, the trust Jon put in him, but it felt hollow and bitter. He got the feeling that he dragged Jon further and further into this web. 

What if it was too late to free him from it?

"Don't hurt him." His voice fractured, begged. "Whatever you want, don't-"

"Hurt is inevitable," Annabelle repeated. Her eyes drifted past Martin, her smile growing until he could see her fangs. "And it was about time we met."

Martin spun around.

Jon was standing right behind him, his bare feet noiseless on the floor. The pyjama could barely hold on to his frame, slipping off from one shoulder, but Jon didn't seem to notice. He paid no attention to Martin, his eyes focused on Annabelle alone.

They were glowing, faintly and green. Like fireflies in the night.

"I brought food," Annabelle reminded them, and Jon took a deep breath.

"Then tell me your story, Annabelle Cain."

“No.” She leaned back, her tone conversational and pleasant. 

“Let me tell you the story of the man you call Elias Bouchard and what he has planned for his Archivist instead.”

Somewhere, in the dark of the flat, a tape recorder clicked on.

Chapter Text

Annabelle got up, smoothing her skirt down as she did.

"So," she said like she hadn't just dropped a bombshell on them. The heels of her shoes clicked on the floor as she gave Jon a nod and a little wave toward Martin.

Then she just left the living room.

Martin listened to her retreating steps but could only move once he heard his front door open. He caught her before she could pull it close again.

"You knew all of that, and you didn't tell me?"

She was smaller than him, her black eyes looking up at him. "You know now."

"But if I knew before-"

"Things would've been different. You would be different, your relationship as well. We don't want different, Martin. We want things right as they are. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"I won't let Jon become... that."

"Oh, I know."

She turned to walk away but he grasped her arm. He was so much stronger than her and for a second he wanted to throw her into the wall, make her tell him what he needed to know to get Jon out of this.

"Martin." Still pleasant, her tone even but he recognized a warning when he heard one.

He let go of her before he could make any more enemies.

"Hasn't Mother done much to assure your Archivist does not grow as much as Beholding wishes for? Hasn't Mother put you two together to give your Archivist someone to hold on to?"

"I don't know what Mother wants from me," he admitted. Annabelle's hand laid against his cheek, cold but human. Being touched by her felt strange, they hadn't before, not like this, not like she wanted to comfort him.

"Like I told you, you are doing exceptionally well, Pająk Pół Kilo. Just follow this path further. Mother doesn't wish for Beholding to succeed either. Not yet, we need more time."

"For what?"

Her hand vanished as her smile returned. "Is it truly me you should talk to right now?"

No.

With an angry huff, he threw the door shut and returned to the living room.

Jon was standing right where he'd left him, hands clasped at his side. Petrified, like he was made of stone.

Then his head snapped up, his glowing eyes finding Martin. "Are you part of this?"

"This?"

"This whole plan? This Watcher's Crown."

"I think I am."

Just yesterday Jon had looked so close to shattering, malnourished, and weak. He'd rested, yes, but it seemed that it had been Annabelle's statement that had helped the most, had smoothed the cracks down.

Annabelle had fed him, and that was what Jon truly needed, not Martin's useless fuzzing.

Now though, the cracks showed again.

It was still nearly pitch black in the living room, but not even that could hide Jon’s hurt.

"So when we met..."

"No!"

Martin took a step towards him, trying not to raise his voice again. "I had no idea what was going on when we met! I just... I just wanted to help!"

The Pająk Pół Kilo file Jon had forgotten that day and how Martin had found it, covered in spider webs.

How much of their meeting had been fabricated?

How much of their relationship was even real?

Suddenly he understood Annabelle and her cryptic messages. Martin would've never been able to get close to Jon if he'd known from the beginning where it would lead.

With the way it was now, he could already feel the guilt eating away at him.

"I didn't know", he promised.

"About the Watcher's Crown?"

"No!"

"But about her." Jon nodded towards the front door. "You knew that something was going on. That they want me for something."

"You knew that as well."

Jon glared at him. Behind him, Martin's TV came to life but only displayed static. It sent an electric humming through the flat, that vibrated in his bones.

"Then why didn't you tell me? Why did you continue to work with her?"

The words got dragged out of Martin's lungs. "She gave me power. Without her I would've been nothing but thanks to Mother, I could be with you."

"Be with me?"

"Protect you."

Jon tensed, the flashes of colors from the TV making it hard to read his face. "Protect me- Martin, I don't need you to protect me, I need you to stop me."

Stop him? Martin could feel the way Jon's mind worked, could follow its path easily. How this was his fault, how already he put all that weight onto his shoulders to carry it.

How he came to the same conclusion as before.

That the world would be better without him in it.

"No, I- We-" Martin stopped, thought about his next words like they were steps, taken on a tightrope. One wrong one, and he could slip and drag Jon along with him.

"We need to stop Elias."

"Elias? He's not the one who is supposed to end the world!"

"Well, but he's the one behind this!"

"Martin, right now I'm like a ticking time bomb-"

"What's stopping Elias from doing this to someone else?"

That made Jon hesitate and gave Martin a second to catch his breath.

"Do you think that just because you- just because he loses you, he will just sit back and stop? Maybe he just turns to the next best candidate, to-to Tim or someone!"

"I hardly think Tim is suitable-"

"Not the point, Jon!"

Jon's mouth snapped shut, his breath agitated as he looked away.

Martin dared to come closer but when he reached out, Jon wrapped his arms around himself instead.

Right.

Martin switched off the TV before the static noise could give him an even bigger headache.

"Can we calm down and make a plan, please? Before you rush off to do something stupid."

"When have I ever-"

"Don't you dare to finish that sentence!"

Jon huffed and for a few precious seconds, silence settled between them. Then Jon's brows pulled together. "No."

"No?"

"No, I will not be calm and- and have a discussion or something! I was just told I'm supposed to end the world, and you know what? Somehow that wasn't even the worst day of this fucking week!"

He stepped up to Martin, stabbing a finger against his chest. "I was kidnapped by fucking delivery workers when I got off work and held by- by mannequins because they wanted my skin-"

"What!"

"Only for Michael to appear and offer to kill me, which you know what? Tempting offer! Should've made up my mind faster before he got- got replaced by Helen!"

He shoved Martin back and Martin went, even if Jon barely had any strength to move him.

"So don't tell me to fucking calm down! I deserve to be freaking out about this!"

"Fine!" Because Jon was right and Martin wasn't even able to wrap his mind around everything he'd just revealed. "So what do you want to do?"

"I don't know!"

Under other circumstances that would've made Martin laugh, but he could feel Jon's turmoil bleeding into him.

Someone knocked on the walls, followed by muffled voices. Right, Martin had no idea what time it was, but dawn hadn't broken yet and his neighbours probably weren’t too keen on their yelling. A couple of weeks ago that would leave him in a fit of apologies but right now, he just snapped, "Shut the fuck up!"

The voices faded away with his order and he turned his attention back to Jon. "Listen-"

Instead of listening, Jon surged up to crush their lips together. Startled, Martin was dragged down and pushed against the wall.

Until now their kisses had been light, warm things. Something to be shared and treasured.

This one had teeth.

Or at least it pretended to have. Jon wanted to be angry, and truly, he had every right to be. This world had pushed and pulled him, had made him into something he had never agreed to, and that wasn't even the end of it.

Far from it.

But he wasn't truly angry, no matter how much he wanted to.

Anger wouldn't leave his hand on the nape of Martin's neck, smoothing down the hair there. It wouldn't curl his finger into the collar of Martin's pyjama, not tearing but holding on.

There was something bottomless, something scared in the way Jon pushed himself against him, Martin could taste it.

So he did the only thing he could think of. A hand stroking down Jon's spine until he could rest it on the small of his back, pulling him closer, the other under his jaw, angling his face so they could look at each other.

Jon's breath was trembling when it hit Martin's skin, his eyes deep and desperate.

"Why are you still here, Martin?"

"What do you mean?"

Jon leaned his little weight against him. "When I just appeared out of that door yesterday, you weren't even surprised. You were waiting for me, you took care of me."

Martin frowned, brushing strands of hair out of Jon’s face. "Of course."

"And after what you just heard, what I'm supposed to do- you want to figure things out. You didn't leave."

"Oh, um-"

Martin looked down but it was still too dark to see properly. But he could feel Jon's hands, placed gently over his ribs, his face pressed right above Martin's heart.

There was a tremor working through his body and Martin smoothed down his back to ease it.

"It's not worth it. I'm not worth it, you would be safer if you just left."

"Pretty sure I'm in love with you. So, um.... that's why."

Martin closed his eyes against the darkness. It hid most things from him but he was pretty sure it revealed even more to Jon. He could feel him turn his head, his hair brushing against Martin's chin.

Ah but fuck it, as terrifying it was to reveal the depths of his feelings, it was at least the truth. There had been too many lies recently.

"You are?", Jon asked softly.

"Yeah. Is that... is that alright?"

"Of course it's alright."

"Good because well, um... Can't really change that, so-"

He forced himself to shut up.

Jon still had his face pushed against his chest, close enough that Martin could feel how he tried to say something, before not doing so. Finally, he whispered, "Okay. Okay, let's figure stuff out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. How about some tea first?"

"I'll go and make some." It was a perfect excuse to untangle, for Martin to hide away in the kitchen and try to get his heart back under control.

He hadn't meant to blurt that out like that. Hell, he hadn't even admitted that to himself, and now he'd just said it. Just put it out there.

Jon hadn't said it back.

That was fine. Of course, that was fine! Martin didn't expect him to and it wasn’t like they were together for very long, so it probably was too early anyway.

There was some noise coming from the living room. Either Jon was frantically going through his bookshelves or climbing out of the window to avoid him.

God, it hadn't been that awkward, had it? And Jon hadn't taken it all too badly, just- Well not the best of times, honestly. After all that had happened in the past week, days, just this morning, it probably hadn't been Martin's best idea to drop this all on Jon as well.

Ah, he should-

"Pretty sure you have to put the kettle on", Jon told him and Martin realized he'd just stood there, full kettle in his hand.

"Right. Just... it's been a hell of a morning."

"I know." Jon stepped up next to him and put a book on the counter. It was one of Martin's books, a collection of poems, and Jon had a finger in between the pages to mark his place.

"Sorry that I'm not good with what I'm feeling," he needlessly explained before opening the book.

but I can’t open it:

there’s no key.

I can’t wear it

on my sleeve,

or tell you from

the bottom of it

how I feel. Here,

it’s all yours, now—

but you’ll have

to take me,

too.

Martin knew that poem well, had read it over and over again with a stupid yearning. Never before had it filled his heart with so many emotions that he could barely see the page anymore.

"Let's figure out how to stop Elias," Jon said, and that nearly meant more than the poem.

Martin pulled him in until he could press a kiss to his forehead. He was blinking tears away.

"Yeah. Let's."

Chapter Text

When Martin unlocked his door, the lights were on in his flat and it smelled like food. It always gave him a moment of pause, a small spark of fear that someone had broken in.

As long as he could remember, he'd come home to dark rooms and cold words. Orders to prepare dinner, fold the laundry, get back out, and pick up the meds.

"I'm home," he called, just as softly as back then, in case Jon was asleep. He wasn't, even though he blinked owlishly at him when he came from the living room.

"Hey."

"Hey. You know you don't have to wait up for me."

"What if I want to?"

"What if I want you to have a normal sleep schedule?" Martin dropped a kiss on top of Jon's head. He must've showered after work because his hair was still damp and smelled like citrus

"I brought home some of your favorite pastries but it seems like you took care of dinner."

"Well, we can't let them go to waste." Jon snatched the bag out of his hand and Martin followed him into the kitchen.

Jon could cook. A revelation that shouldn't come as a surprise, considering Jon was an adult and living on his own. Still, Martin had never actually seen him do it.

He was more of a takeout person himself but every once in a while, when Martin got home late from work, Jon had grown bored enough to make them dinner.

Today it was a chicken dish with a heavy sauce and sweet potatoes. It left Martin feeling warm and dozy, so when Jon dragged him to bed afterward, he didn't protest.

The day had been warm enough to keep a window open and the distant noises of the city filtered in. There was a streetlight below, letting in just enough light for Martin to see the silhouettes of the room. Of Jon.

The sharp angles of him, the silver in his hair, and how he was looking up at the ceiling.

Martin turned onto his side to watch him.

"We searched the tunnels for that mystery man of yours again," Jon said after a while.

"And?"

"Couldn't find him."

Martin hummed. He let his hand wander over Jon's bare chest, counting the ribs easily. "You took Tim with you?"

"Yeah, and Melanie stayed above. Like I promised."

"Thank you."

Jon scooted close enough that Martin could rest his head on his shoulder. His long fingers buried in Martin's hair, smoothing it back until Martin’s lids grew heavy.

"What about Elias?" he asked.

"Haven't seen him. Don't even know if he's in the institute and I'm not about to go up to him and check."

"Good."

"I think the institute is his but not the archives. They're mine and-" Jon hesitated long enough for Martin to look up to him.

"I think I'm more powerful down there. That's why he doesn't dare to go there."

"What about the Panopticon?"

Jon shook his head. "I don't know yet. That's what we have to find out. Tomorrow, right?"

Martin tensed. He'd put it off for so long but he knew their answers waited down there, and still, he feared setting foot in that temple again. It's where The Mother wanted him. It's where Pająk Pół Kilo killed its priest and Martin had no idea what he would do, once he and Jon entered.

"You won't hurt me," Jon assured him like he always did. Like it was a fact.

"You don't know that."

"But I do."

Jon turned towards him, his hand slipping from Martin's hair to his jaw, tipping his head up.

Sometimes Jon kissed him like Martin was his favourite candy. Small pecks spaced out over the day like little treats. A barely there touch of lips that always left Jon smiling and flushed.

Other times, like right now, he kissed him in the way Martin enjoyed his favourite tea. The expensive one, he kept for special occasions. Unhurried and slow, nothing on his mind but the taste and the comforting feeling.

An indulgence.

When Jon pulled back, he let his thumb wander over Martin's lips.

"I'm not the only priest of Beholding."

Yeah. That was the only thing keeping Martin from refusing to go with him. The small chance that down there Elias was waiting for them.

Martin had never killed someone, he hadn't even seriously hurt anyone, and still-

Still, he was pretty sure he could kill Elias. If it meant all of this would be over.

That tomorrow, he could lie in this same bed with Jon still in his arms.

"Would you forgive me if I did it? Could you still look at me the same?"

"Yes." Jon watched him in the intense way he sometimes did. It always made Martin shiver and he wanted to shy away before Jon could see too deep. Not today though, not anymore.

And for a second, nothing more than a heartbeat, he thought he saw something else in Jon's eyes. Something that may have been guilt.

But then Jon touched his forehead against Martin's and closed his eyes.

"No matter what happens tomorrow, I will never blame you."

The tunnels were as dimly lit as before. With the only light coming from the trap door above, Martin could barely see more than a few steps before everything got swallowed in darkness.

Jon's legs appeared next to him and Martin quickly reached up to steady him. His thanks was an eye roll, but for once he didn't complain.

"Here." Tim handed him first the axe, and then a ball of yarn. Martin weighted that one in his hand before Jon took it and knotted one end to his belt loop.

"Worked for Theseus, so it's good enough for you guys," Tim explained, holding up the other end. "Just make sure you don't lose each other down there."

"Thanks, Tim."

Tim lingered for a moment in the rectangle of light above, before he sighed deeply. "Send me your spidey-signal if you get in trouble."

"Will do."

Then he left them in complete darkness. In the tunnels, everything felt muted, like watching the world through a veil. Even when Martin switched on his lighter, it didn't fade.

"Spidey-signal?" Jon asked and Martin nodded ahead. Just in the range of their light, a row of spiders were waiting for them.

Jon jumped seeing them, and pushed himself closer to Martin.

"Just had to be spiders."

"Sorry."

The spiders started to scuttle away, climbing over each other and into the dark. Jon made a noise that could be nearly called a whimper but then pushed ahead.

"Guess that's only fair."

"Yeah?"

"I told you I don't like spiders and you told me you wouldn't go into any catacombs with me. Yet here we are."

Martin chuckled. When he took Jon's hand, neither of them mentioned it.

"Depending on how this trip goes, I might be open to visiting Paris."

"Sure, I'll take you to Paris. I'll take you to whatever catacombs you want."

"How about a beach instead? Somewhere where they serve drinks with little umbrellas?"

Jon lifted his gaze from the spiders just long enough, to smirk at him. "You drive a hard bargain, Martin Blackwood."

Martin squeezed his hand and they continued. With their banter gone, the oppressive feeling started to creep in. The tunnels looked different, Martin couldn't remember taking so many sharp turns the first time around but then again, there was no way he could remember the path he'd taken.

The everlasting dust was disturbed, no matter how far they went. Probably from Jon and Tim's expeditions, still it felt even more like they were intruding.

Or maybe that was just Martin. Jon was walking faster, the deeper they went, pulling on his hand to spur him on.

When the humming rose, vibrating in their bones, Martin stopped him.

"We're close."

"Yeah, we are," Jon sighed wistfully.

"Are... are you looking forward to it?"

"Yes."

Martin watched him but Jon didn't even turn towards him. He was staring into the darkness ahead like he could see more. It was faint but his eyes seemed to glow.

"Jon."

With a deep breath, Jon shook himself. The spell seemed broken, at least for the moment.

"I want to be there. I need to be there," he explained. "That's probably not good."

"Annabelle said you needed the marks of all the fears. Without them, the Watcher's Crown will fail."

"Let's hope she's right." Hesitating, Jon offered him the axe.

"No. You keep it."

"Just in case, I-"

"No," Martin said again. "It's your defence in case I try something in there."

"As if I would use this axe on you!"

"And you expect me to use it? Jon, you promised me."

Jon huffed but let the axe sink. "Fine. But I'm not happy about that."

"Noted."

The humming grew with each step they took, morphing into something like static. It bore into Martin's head, pounding behind his eyes and he was hard-pressed to keep the lighter steady.

The spiders had disappeared now, but they weren't needed anymore. Jon knew the way, following a pull that wasn't for Martin to feel. He held on tighter to his hand.

A part of him knew that if he didn't, Jon would be able to abandon him.

Then they entered the Panopticon.

The walls on both sides disappeared, the bricks beneath their feet turned into smooth stone, old and worn by too many steps.

The lighter gave out, dropping them into the pitch black right as Martin tried to get a grasp of the dimension of this place. But no- no, there was light.

Fireflies, he thought absentmindedly and already knew that was wrong. There were no fireflies down here, those were eyes. Scattered all around, shining in an otherworldly green. They turned towards him, curious, threatening and the weight of their gazes brought him to his knees. The static grew, screeching, shaking the ground, and making century-old dust rise.

It stripped Martin bare, searching for any scraps of fear it could find. They were so hungry, starved for how knows-

"Stop."

The weight lifted and Martin gasped for breath.

Jon was standing above him, his little frame shielding him from the worst of it. Martin must've let go of his hand at some point but now it was back, buried in his curls and pushing his head against Jon's thigh.

Martin closed his eyes and focused on the finger on his scalp, the way air filled his lungs. That- That hadn't happened the last time. Granted, he hadn't actually entered but he thought he was allowed.

He lifted his head to ask Jon, but found him focusing on something above.

Only when he followed his line of sight, did he realize he could actually see. There was no light source, and his lighter must've slipped his hand at some, but still the tower ahead was illuminated. It reached nearly the top of the dome, a cavernous space that should throw every noise back at them.

Instead it was dead quiet, even Martin's own harsh breaths were swallowed up.

"Someone's up there", Jon whispered. His fingers curled in Martin's hair, pulling nearly painfully and Martin realized that he was holding himself back. That the second they had entered, Jon had wanted nothing more than to climb to the top and see .

But he'd stayed with him and if he could do that, then Martin could force himself back on his shaking legs.

Jon glanced at him, less than a second and Martin could've sworn there had been more eyes on his face than there should be.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

Martin looked up the tower but could see no one.

"Is it Elias?"

"Yes," Jon whispered, only to immediately add, "No. I don't know. It's nearly Elias."

Whatever that was supposed to mean, Martin didn't know.

A staircase was winding tight around the tower, steps so narrow that Martin's shoulder bumped against the smooth stone of the tower. Jon didn't have the same problem, he was taking two steps at a time and Martin was hard-pressed to keep up.

There was something strange about this place, besides the obvious. There was a stillness here, their noises swallowed up by the rows of cells around. The iron bars perfect, even if they had to be decades old. No rust, not even a scratch, no tally marks carved into stone. Even the dust that had followed them in here seemed to be gone like a gaze had burned it away.

The Watcher's temple, Annabelle had called this place and Martin was very aware that it rang true. He was also aware that he didn't belong and while Jon had led him here, it didn't mean that Beholding was welcoming.

It was... curious. It was watching him, eyes shining in the countless cells only to be gone once Martin turned towards him.

Under the weight of its gaze, it was hard to breathe.

When he finally reached the top of the tower, Jon was already there. It was a flat, circular platform with nothing there besides... a seat. A chair, made of the same gray stone as everything else in here.

Jon had already circled it to stare at the person sitting in it, and Martin expected it to be Elias. It had to be, right?

Instead, it was a corpse. A man long dead, judging by his clothes and the state of well, his everything. The skin stretched leathery and colorless across bone, the remaining hair wispy thin.

He didn't smell, somehow that was the first thing that popped into Martin's head. Actually, now that he stood next to Jon, nothing in here smelled. Not the tickling scent of dust or Jon's aftershave. Like all of his senses were dulled and useless.

Besides seeing, of course.

"Who's that?"

"Jonah Magnus", Jon told him without hesitation.

Martin threw him a look but Jon was too busy studying the picture in front of him. His eyes were glowing.

"You mean the guy who founded the institute."

"Yes." And then Jon took a step ahead, the axe slipping from his grip as he reached both hands out. Like he wanted to touch, to tilt the dead man's head upwards and catch his eyes. Or to pull the body out of the seat and take it himself.

Martin grasped his arm and dragged him back. "Stop, what are you doing?"

"Isn't the question what you are doing, Mister Blackwood?"

In the second that Martin had been distracted by Jon, Elias had appeared behind the seat. There had been no steps, no shuffling. He was just there.

Martin's grip around Jon's arm tightened.

"Don't you see that Jon belongs here? This place was made just for him."

"Shut up."

Elias gave him a wry smile, before turning his attention towards Jon. "It's breathtaking, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Can you feel its reach? The things you could know if you only took your rightful place." Elias threw an easy arm across the back of the seat. "Not yet, though. You are not quite ready."

"The marks", Jon said. His voice was soft, thoughtful.

Elias nodded. "The Web, The Crawling Rot, the Stranger, the winding halls of the Spiral. Oh, and of course Beholding. The five marks you carry are of course impressive progress, but I can not guarantee that they are enough to even survive sitting in this place. It can be quite overwhelming for the human mind to know."

"And we won't find out", Martin growled. His hand was still wrapped around Jon's arm and he pulled him away, tried to put himself in front of him, but Jon refused to move.

Slowly, Elias' eyes moved to Martin. The obsessive warmth he’d carried in his eyes, vanished once he found him and Martin staggered under the weight of his gaze.

"Then again, Jon, you have surprised me more than once. Your allegiance with one of The Mother's children is... fascinating after all she has taken from you."

Jon breathed out, long and hard. "That wasn't Martin's fault."

"No. No, of course not. Not back then. It's strange though, isn't it? The Mother sent you down this path, straight into my arms and now she wants to stop you?"

Elias’ arm slipped from the seat, his shoes perfectly shined as he stepped towards Jon. "She found the perfect hindrance to put into your way, but then again, she was always talented in leading you. The accidental fall of your father, the routine surgery that killed your mother, bringing you to your grandma, bringing you to that book, and ultimately leading you to that house. To Mister Spider. And now it wants more."

Jon's chest was rising and falling rapidly. His eyes still locked with Elias, no matter how much Martin was shaking him.

"Don't listen to him. He's just trying to manipulate you."

"Oh, now that's rich coming from a spider of all people." The weight of Elias' gaze pinned him down again. "Now Jon, what do you know of your Martin? He lied to you even during your first meeting, telling you he didn't look through your files. Then again you caught him back then. One of the few times you did. But shortly after, when he told you about his encounter with Jane Prentiss? Didn't he assure you he was staying somewhere safe, just to put your mind at ease? He didn't, he stayed in the very same flat as before but he couldn't tell you. He didn't trust you, so it was easier to l ie ."

Finally, Jon turned towards him but Martin couldn't get himself to look away from Elias.

"Now, those were all small lies, right? Why would Mister Blackwood tell you about his intentions when the two of you weren't that close? Or how I warned him over and over again to keep his distance, or the small detail that this Annabelle you and your assistants have been looking for was just waiting down the street. She was covering how many shifts of yours in the coffee shop, Martin?"

Martin didn't answer. His lips were sewn shut, his heart thumping painfully against his ribs. Elias' smile was still pleasant but with each step he came closer, Martin took one back.

The static all around made it hard to think.

"But those are all details, aren't they? Small things and if Mister Blackwood is one thing, it is obedient. Especially towards The Mother of Puppets. But while we're on the topic of mothers, has he ever told you about his mother?"

A whimper crawled its way up Martin's throat and he couldn't bite down on it before it escaped. With his next step back, he found the edge of the tower and still, for a second he would rather take another one than listen to the alternative.

"Your mother wanted to rather live anywhere else but under the same roof as you and deep inside, that was a relief wasn't it, Martin? You could call, pretend to be the good son, at least for a bit, now that she was gone. How long did you keep it up? The first few weeks, sure, after all, you know your mother well enough. She wasn't going to take any of your calls. So it was only natural to stop after a while, nobody could blame you for that. But when was the last time you even thought of her?"

Martin's breath caught in his throat as Elias towered over him, larger than life.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? But then again, your life has been so different without her. You had someone else taking care of you now, giving you money, a place to live, a purpose. There are some mommy-issues here, Jon. But then again, you wouldn't know, with your mother dead so soon. The Web took yours while pacifying him."

The edge of the platform was smoothed out like too many had stood right where Martin did right now. Elias' eyes were huge, dark, starving maws that would take everything he was and more.

"Of course, Martin, you don't need her anymore. There's someone else you can worry over, that you can suffocate with your care. What would you be without? No, better not think about it. But now you have Jon and all the problems he attracts! The role of the good son was growing tiresome anyway, especially when you could be the supportive boyfriend instead. It would be better for your mother to just die."

"He's not the one, forcing me to end the world!"

Elias' gaze grew annoyed before it smoothed over. When he turned his attention to Jon, Martin could finally breathe again. He was drenched in sweat, his mind spinning and he stumbled away from the edge and crumbled to his feet.

"End the world? Jon, you must be mistaken. We're simply going to create a new one!”

Jon scowled. He had picked up the axe again, taking a few careful sidesteps closer to the seat and the body within. It also left Elias with the back either to him or Martin.

In this new position, Elias didn't look intimidating anymore. Quite the opposite, he appeared small, his shoulders a tense line as he watched Jon's movement.

Whatever spell Martin had been under, it was broken now, even though everything in him was still reeling from the onslaught of fear.

"I don't want that kind of world."

"Now you're just lying to yourself."

Jon stopped, weighing the axe in his hands. "Yeah, maybe. There's a part of me that- it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how much Martin lied to me because you did as well."

Jon's eyes darted to Martin, still on the floor. "Intentions. Those matter. Someone told me that."

Warmth spilled into the space behind Martin's breastbone.

"Intentions?" Elias asked, his head tilted to the side like he was thinking hard about Jon's words. "What were your intentions for lying then, Jon? For not telling Martin the truth about your little plan here?"

Jon's eyes snapped back to him and now it was on him to grow tense.

"Did he mention what will happen if he decides to kill me, Martin? He never did, right? That severing the connection to The Eye will not only kill him, but everyone in my institute."

Martin could see little more than the back of Elias' head but he could hear his smirk.

It had to be a joke, right? A way to keep Jon from using the axe, from ending this all. Jon would've told him, Jon was awful at lying but then why- why could Jon not hold his gaze? Turning to look at the corpse instead of him.

"Not really a hard decision if the alternative is the end of the world," Jon muttered.

For a few heartbeats neither moved nor spoke. A small bubble of eternity stretched between them until it was Elias who sighed.

He reached behind himself and Martin could see him draw something silver and sleek from the waistband of his tailored suit.

"A gun?" Jon cried out and actually looked more offended at that than the fact it was trained on him. "You're using a gun?"

"You'd be surprised how well firearms work against rogue Archivists."

Martin managed to push himself to his feet but without turning around, Elias addressed him, "Move and I'll shoot him. Don't think I don't see you."

Martin froze. Instead he tried to see the strings, to pull and tear, even if it would cost him a few fingers. But there weren't any down here, his power barely a fracture in the temple of the Watcher.

He tried to catch Jon's eye, for anything, a plan, an idea, something-

But Jon was still focusing on Elias, his expression a fight between disgust and defiance.

"All your manipulation, trying to pit us against each other, but there's one thing you forgot, Elias. Something that really tipped the scales."

"And that would be?"

"You knew about Sasha and you did nothing."

The anger, the pure betrayal on Jon's face made Elias pause. It was just enough time for Jon to haul the axe over his shoulder, for Martin to barrel into Elias.

He reached for the gun when the first shot rang out, deafening after the tense silence before. The second one disappeared somewhere above, shattering the perfect symmetry of the cells around as Martin seized the wrist and yanked it up.

Elias tried to say something but thankfully, Martin's ears were still ringing. When his body went rigid against his own and his weight crumbled against him, he held Elias up for a second longer, before pushing him from him.

The gun clattered on the ground, falling over the edge and out of sight. Elias didn't reach for it, he didn't do much of anything, his face an eternal mask of surprise, before Martin could pull his gaze away.

Jon's axe had buried itself deep into Jonah's chest. A black liquid oozed out of the wound, bubbling like tar. Jonah’s empty eyes were wide open now, his jaw slack.

When Jon pulled at the axe, the body came with it and startled, he let go off the handle. The founder of the Magnus Institute hit the ground like a sack of rice and Martin wanted to burst into laughter.

Or maybe screaming, considering the two dead bodies between them.

But neither of the dead bodies was him or Jon, and while his mind was still trying to catch up with that, it was enough for his voice to work again.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." Jon's voice cracked as he spoke. He took a step back so that the black liquid didn't touch his shoes. "Are you?"

"No, I think I'm fine."

He was shaking and he couldn't drag his eyes up from the bodies. Maybe because of the shock, maybe to make sure they were truly dead.

Then he remembered Elias' words and new fear gripped him.

Jon was several meters away from him, his whole body a tight line, from his shoulders, over his clenched hands, down to his feet. He was waiting, breath going hard.

Nothing happened.

"He lied," Jon whispered eventually. "We're bound to the Eye but not to him. He lied!"

Now Martin started to laugh. It was shaky and hysterical but enough to finally make Jon look at him. That instantly shut Martin up.

"We did it. We- Maybe we're not free but Martin, he's gone and-"

"Jon!"

"What?"

Because he couldn't see the blood trickling from his nose, the way it pooled nearly black in the white of his eyes. Instead he looked around alarmed, searching for the danger.

When he found none, he smiled tentatively. "What?"

Above them, the Panopticon groaned and Jon's smile fell. Martin tried to reach him but no matter how fast his legs were carrying him, he didn't reach him before the splitting started.

A noise like pulling off duct tape, like tearing skin.

Now there were his strings, glowing green in the strange light down here. They were snapping from where they were drawn from each cell to the seat, from the seat to the dome above, going through the old stone and into the institute.

From the seat to Jon.

He was pulled taut, up on his toes in a way that shouldn't be possible. His mouth dropped open in a scream that never came before more strings snapped and he crumbled to the floor.

"Jon!"

Martin pulled him to his knees and caught the flailing hand. It was cold and clammy in his.

A steady stream of blood dropped from Jon's lips and chin, splattering on the smooth stone beneath, and still he dared to gasp out, "Fine."

God, if Martin wasn't so worried, he would be the one to kill him.

"I can- I can fix this. I just have to- if the institute is also mine I can keep them safe-"

And Martin could see he was trying to. He watched the strings moving to knit themselves back together, hair-thin connections that broke just as quickly and the few who stayed intact, weren't nearly enough because by now they were raining down on them. Torn spiderwebs.

"It's not working!" Martin hissed and Jon just shook his head. His weight collapsed against Martin's chest, his breathing shallow and rattling somewhere inside him.

"I have to-"

"You're killing yourself!"

"The Archive- Maybe I can save the Archive. Tim and Melanie, it's my fault they're trapped here."

"You fucking idiot!"

Jon tipped his head back to look at him and even with blood on his teeth, he grinned. "Yeah."

Martin screamed in his face. He wanted to- to tear and kill and destroy. But Elias was dead, and Jonah Magnus long empty, and the strings he could wrap around his fingers led to nowhere. No puppets left to direct.

Fucking useless!

He could only watch as the connections frayed and broke, the few Jon tried to save not nearly enough for all the power. There was no way for him to be the Archive and the Institute and when Martin's furious gaze found the empty seat, he paused.

Ah.

Jon wasn't able to fill that vacuum of power, but he wasn't here alone, was he?

Jon couldn't keep himself upright, not when Martin let go of him. His hands shook with the effort, before smearing the blood on the ground as he went down.

His breathing was ragged, and while he curled together in pain, his eyes still tried to find Martin. Maybe he said something, called out to him but Martin had already turned his back to him.

Before him the stone chair loomed, or maybe it was a throne. The Watcher's Crown and all that.

It didn't really matter.

He sat down in it.

And then he saw all.

Chapter Text

What Martin could see was all. 

There was fear and there was horror and crushed dreams. Hurried steps that weren't fast enough to get away, tripping and falling, and knowing you could never escape what was chasing you. Or the opposite, being trapped for so long that just the thought of getting away was too foreign to dream about.

The scent of locked hopes and the smarting burn of betrayal, and always the eyes. Wide and filled with fear.

Those weren't the eyes he was looking out of. He thought that would be a small act of mercy, to be the one whose heart was beating loud in fear, but the Watcher wouldn't have that.

Martin was looking down at those who cowered, impassive from pictures, or from the eyes of people who turned away and pretended not to see.

He was the one causing fear, he was the one who hurt, and he was the one who drank it all in.

"I don't want this!" he tried to beg, but alas, a Watcher had no mouth to speak but to feed.

So he tried to look away. Naive, yes, but he feared it would be the only thing left to save his soul. It didn't work, closing his eyes felt impossible, against his nature, and the few times he'd been able to, he felt weak with hunger. 

It was a fight he couldn't win, like trying to drown himself in an inch of water. Eventually, he would gasp, come up for air, and watch the fear, tear into it in his hunger.

A part of him realized that couldn't be it. That if he could truly see all, there should be good things. Weddings or birthdays or lazy mornings, where the sun through the curtains painted everything pink and orange. Long awaited holidays to faraway places, makeshift adventures of kids, strolling through the neighbourhood or simpler things. A good book, a new recipe that turned out better than expected.

A perfect cup of tea on a chilly day.

Beholding didn't care for these things, and Martin was too trapped in its whirlwind to force its eyes to move.

He could get lost in it, he was well aware. He could just sit here, watch from strangers' eyes, and let the fear and badness and rot burn everything away that was him. It would be easier, to be even less than Jonah Magnus.

To be empty and lost on his throne, filled with all this knowledge and pain and carrying it inside. A vessel of everything bad that had ever happened and was still happening.

Something stopped him from giving up though. He couldn't quite tell what it was, maybe someone calling him but as he may have a mouth to feed and eyes to see, there was no way for him to listen.

The first time he found someone familiar, it was Annabelle.

"There you are. I know you weren't lost in Beholding. There's too much of us in you to sweep you away." She tilted her head and Martin did as well. She was talking to her mirror image and if Martin didn't focus, he could go insane in the endless reflections. 

Seeing her seeing him seeing her seeing him-

"There was a natural connection to Beholding in you, an ill-advised curiosity that Jonah Magnus would never recognize. In another lifetime, maybe Beholding would've called to you more than The Mother Of Puppets."

He wanted to ask how she knew, but questions were for his Archivist, not for The Watcher.

"Beholding is such a primitive power, born from instincts and hunger. All that knowledge and for what? Thanks to you, we have all the knowledge of the world and the means to use it."

Annabelle laid her hand against the mirror and Martin was forced to do it as well. He hadn't even known he had a hand and underneath his palm, he couldn't feel the coldness of the glass or Annabelle's body warmth. There was simply nothing.

"Thank you, Martin. You played your role exceptionally. A normal person could never sit where you sit and remain intact, but then again, you were also marked by the fears, didn’t you? They made you stronger."

He knew that. He knew that and so much more now.

Just like he was aware that he was at Hilltop and what slumbered beneath. That was new, he had never so much as heard of this place before, but now it was as much home as the Panopticon.

"You feel it. It's not quite ready, we can't have the Watcher's Crown succeeding until it is."

A decade longer, maybe. With his help, it could be even less. In the grand scheme of things that was nothing. He could wait, there was no rush and he knew he would rejoice either way.

The part of him that was webs and deceit about tearing reality apart and finding so much more. The part of him that knew and watched about his Archivist and how wonderful he would be, sitting where he was sitting.

"Mother is pleased," Annabelle assured him. "And you know she takes care of family. We will call on you if we find the need, but until then, feel free to return."

He didn't want to return. That whirlwind of pain and fear, but again, there was nothing to do but watch.

Annabelle turned away from the mirror and Martin faded into nothing that was him.

This time though, he could hear. There was a voice, and it was telling him a story. He didn't know the story, and while he fed on fear, he also fed on knowledge.

So he sat and listened, starving to hear the end.

It was his Archivist reading the story, the book heavy in his hands, the letters nearly lost in the darkness, but of course, his Archivist had long stopped needing light to see.

Jon, Martin thought, and Beholding allowed him the correction, because technically it was true, even if it didn't care for that detail.

It didn't care about the way Jon stopped, sighed, and barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He wasn't fond of the story, of the dramatic confessions and the openness of the characters, saying things he would never be able to admit out loud.

And still, he always went back and bought a romance novel if it caught his eye. Mostly he was disappointed, giving the book away or stuffing it behind others like it was something to be ashamed off.

Still, he never stopped searching because when done right, he greatly enjoyed romances.

Huh, Martin had never known that about him.

So he sat there, listening, drinking in the new knowledge even though if he wanted to know, he could. But he could also watch his Archivist from every single cell around, the way his lips moved and his long fingers flipped pages. Fractured, like looking through a kaleidoscope, all the details just for him.

Jon, he reminded himself, and then he woke up.

From here, he couldn't see Jon's face or even the book. But Jon was kneeling before his throne, his back warm against Martin's legs. Silver strands were weaving through his dark hair, maybe more than before? More than before, and Martin could know the exact number if he cared to.

He reached out, tracing one with his finger, and Jon stopped reading.

No-

With the story gone, the static in his ears grew louder. The call of fears and knowledge was there, ready to take him again, and not even Jon turning to him, could drown it out.

"Don't stop," Martin begged, voice cracking like firewood.

"Martin", whispered like a prayer, and Martin wanted nothing more than to lean ahead, to kiss the lips that formed his name with so much love.

But he was slipping, Beholding was calling with more fear to feed on, and he felt too weak to resist.

Jon's eyes widened. Until now they had watched him with wonder and warmth but now they panicked.

He must have let the book fall at some point, and now he was scrambling to pick it up, searching for the right page to continue.

It was 319, Martin knew, and maybe he said so but he was slipping and then-

Then Jon's voice called him back again, telling him a new story, new knowledge, and Martin let out a sigh of relief.

He stayed there, floating. Jon was an excellent storyteller, his voice even as he drew him in.

Martin watched him read for a long time before he noticed more things. There was a blanket thrown around his shoulders and pooling in his lap. Not any blanket, the one from his couch at home. Jon had one as well, laid out on the floor where he sat and read. More books, some Martin recognized, some with broken spines and others brand new. Piles of them.

A thermos and bottled water.

"How long?"

Jon's even voice stuttered and cracked before he stopped reading. When he turned to Martin this time, he pressed his cheek against his knee. A warm point of contact for Martin to focus on.

"Seventeen days."

Ah.

Martin didn't really know what to do with that knowledge. It scared him, to think he'd just sat here, losing more than two weeks. What if it happened again?

His breath picked up and Jon caught his flailing hand.

"Don't let me go," Martin whispered. "I don't want to see any more."

"I won't," Jon promised him. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

He didn't know. The pull was still there, whispered voices in the back of his head and he knew he could slip away and lose himself once more.

"Help me get up."

"Is that... safe?"

Probably. A part of him would remain, he knew that as well. That he was now bound to the Panopticon for as long as he was alive.

Jon pulled him to his feet, but there was no way for him to keep Martin upright. So Martin went down, his legs stiff enough that he didn't even feel them budge. Still, it was better than sitting on that throne.

Jon pushed a plastic mug into his hand, the tea from the thermos lukewarm and watery. It still made Martin weep, the simple fact that he could taste, that he could do more than watch.

Jon was fuzzing over him, making space, opening a pack of crackers, pulling blankets around him. There were also tears rolling down his face, but as long as his hands were busy, he wouldn't notice them.

Martin would love to watch him longer but he was so very tired. His body ached and tingled but it was his mind that screamed for rest. Even the thin blanket that did nothing to cushion the hard floor was enough if he could just sleep.

Jon caught up soon enough, slipping out of his hoodie and bundling it into a makeshift pillow. That was stupid, it was too cold for that but while Martin wanted to protest, he was already daring to slip off.

"Martin?" Hand in his hair, hand on his shoulder. "Martin, I'm so sorry."

For what?, he wanted to ask. For lying about the plan? That was okay, Martin had done a lot of lying as well.

He reached out, his eyes too heavy to open, and still he managed to find parts of Jon to hold on to. And Jon understood.

He scooted closer until he was lying next to Martin, pulling the second blanket over both of them. That was good, that was warm.

"I- I made sure your mother was alright, kept the payments going. Um... Sorry, but I had to look through some of your stuff for that. I hope that was alright."

New tears were starting to burn behind Martin's eyes. Gratitude and a whole other slew of emotions that he didn't dare to unpack.

He forced his lips to move, "Thank you."

Jon pressed himself against him, warm skin and sharp angles pushed against Martin's softness. Hand on Martin's face, tracing with gentle fingers from his jaw and his hairline. Making sure he was real.

"Martin?" Jon's breath was so close that Martin could feel it on his face.

"Martin, I love you."

Good.

That was good.

Martin could see them lying there. The thin blanket mostly covered him after Jon had bundled him up once Martin was asleep. 

Jon had huddled closer now, trembling in the cold and searching for warmth. It didn't look like a very restful sleep, and every once in a while, Jon lifted his head, tired eyes looking around for danger.

Of course, there would be none. Martin would know it the second someone stepped into his Panopticon. His Archivist was safe with him here, no harm would come to him.

Jon laid his head back on Martin's shoulder, one arm thrown over his bulk in a nearly possessive manner.

It filled Martin with pride. Pride to have his Archivist so close, so dedicated to him and when the time was right, he would gladly give up his place.

Martin woke with a start, catapulted back into his body with a huge gasp.

Next to him, Jon jumped, sitting up and bracing for any danger.

There was still none, Martin just stared up at the cell, where just a few seconds ago he had watched them from. Now it was as empty and abandoned as all the others around.

"Martin?"

"I wanna go home," Martin whispered and couldn't stop his voice from hitching. "I don't wanna stay here anymore."

"Okay."

Martin was shaky on his legs, a newborn fawn after so long of just watching, but Jon didn't mention it. He pulled one of Martin's arms over his shoulder, took as much of his weight as he could, and slowly helped him down the stairs. One step at a time, round and round the tower, with Martin's other shoulder tightly pressed against the brick wall. The other side was open, dropping to a swift death.

Something about that amused Martin. The thought that after everything, these grand plans of Mother and Beholding, they could just stumble, fall and hit their head open. Just because there were no safety rails.

It made breathless giggles bubble up from somewhere deep inside and he couldn't keep them in.

Jon didn't mention it. His eyes were cast down, watching their feet with sweat on his brow and his mouth in a tight line.

Step, balance, breathe. Step, balance, breathe.

No, neither of them would slip and fall on his watch.

When they finally reached the bottom, Martin was shaking so hard, they had to pause.

Jon had gathered more supplies down here. Bottles of water, a whole backpack he pulled on and of course the yarn, leading into the dark tunnels.

"You're like a boy scout", Martin muttered.

"Never was one," Jon told him like that wasn't obvious.

"Were you down here a lot?"

"According to Tim more times than I should've been."

And Martin was glad for it, truly. He couldn't imagine waking up on his own.

"How are Tim and Melanie?"

"Fine. Everyone got a big scare but you closed the gap before things got dangerous." Jon looked at him and Martin could hear the accusations in his head. Unspoken, yes, but right beneath the surface.

Why did you take the throne?

Why did you bring yourself into danger?

I could've died, and you would've been fine.

Jon didn't say any of that.

"Beholding is still weakened. It's better when I'm in the archives, we think."

"Weakened?"

"Other entities... have shown a certain interest now that Elias is gone."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I would kill him again if I could." Jon held out his hand. "Ready to get out of here?"

Martin finished his bottle of water. "Very much so."

Somehow the way back was even longer than Martin could remember. The tunnels felt like cotton wrapped around his head. Muffling every noise, filling his dry mouth and not letting him see.

There was only his harsh breaths, the weakness in his muscles and the insistent throbbing in his skull. And Jon.

Jon, who didn't complain about the weight he had to carry, who was running his mouth with whatever he could think of, even though Martin could barely pay any attention.

It was working though.

One step before the next, because Jon was pressed into Martin’s side, whispering, "We're nearly there. Come on, just a bit further. I love you, please don't give up."

It wasn't until the trap door appeared above him that Martin slipped down the brick walls and huddled onto the floor. There was no way he was getting up there.

Jon spent a few minutes catching his breath before he swung the trap door open, and then- then he intertwined his fingers, went into a crouch, and nodded up.

"I'll give you a boost."

Martin burst out laughing. The mental picture of stick-figure Jon trying to heave him up there was something straight out of a slapstick comedy.

Only that his laughter morphed into something hysterical. Kinda fair after losing two weeks just watching other people suffering. Now he would stay down here forever, trapped and endlessly walking these tunnels, or just until he found his way back to his throne. Giving up, sitting down and getting lost in all the misery.

And maybe it wasn't laughter anymore, maybe he was screaming. The tears rolling down his face at least didn't feel like tears of joy to him.

At some point, Martin stopped losing his mind. Truthfully, after everything that had happened, he hadn't expected a trapdoor to finally crack him, but here he was, gasping for breath and shaking like a leaf.

Jon was kneeling before him, holding his face in his hands and thumbing each new tear away.

"I'm taking you home", he promised, over and over again. "We're going, and I'm not leaving you here. We've come so far, it's just a little bit further."

So Martin nodded.

He still didn't believe for a moment that he could do it, this last push but if Jon wanted him to try, well, then he would.

"Alright", Jon whispered. He brushed sweat-slick hair out of Martin's face and kissed his forehead. "Just a few more minutes. Just- just stay here, I'll be right back."

Jon leaving sent new panic through him but he felt so slow and sluggish, that by the time he noticed, Jon was already pulling himself through the trapdoor.

"Tim!"

Martin jumped at how loud Jon yelled. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, his scuffed and dirty shoes the only thing visible.

And finally, a door opening, and Tim's very annoyed, "What? Did you forget something again?"

"I need your help."

"And I need you up here so that no monster just walks through the front door-"

Tim's words were cut off and there was some kinda of scuffle above that Martin couldn't see, but a few seconds later Tim's face appeared. His eyes grew huge, and his handsome face paled when he recognized Martin.

"Holy shit."

Oh.

For the first time Martin understood that nobody had expected him to wake up. That there had been no guarantee of that, that in a few decades he could still sit down there, empty and forgotten as Jonah Magnus had been.

But he’d woken up.

Getting him through the trapdoor was an undignifying, exhausting business, that included a chair, several boxes of stationary and ended with all three of them on the linoleum floor, gasping for breath.

But Martin was out of the tunnels and out of the Panopticon and he curled together right there, sobbing in gratitude.

For a while that was all he could do. The sheer relief flooding through his system left little room for anything else but that was fine. Being out of the tunnel, out where people are, real people that were aware of him, that he wasn't just watching suffer, was like sinking into a warm tub after a chilly day. It soothed his aches and there was something else, something about this place.

Home.

In some weird way it probably was. Beholding was a part of him now, useless to deny that, and Jon was sitting with him, pulling Martin's head into his lap and stroking his sweaty hair.

There was Tim, watching him in distrust, and while Martin tried not to, his thoughts were so loud. Relieved about seeing him again, seeing Jon again.

He'd been against Jon going down to the Panopticon, staying for hours or sometimes days in his useless wait for Martin to wake up. Leaving them abandoned and defenseless.

And then, when Tim looked closer at Martin, he was thinking of Elias.

"Are you sure it's... him?"

"Of course it is", Jon bit back.

"I'm just... you said Jonah Magnus could body-hop or whatever."

"It's Martin."

"You heard the tapes we found in his office! You've seen the state of his office, how can you-"

"Shut up, both of you!"

That was Melanie, and Martin hadn't even known she was here. When he blinked his eyes opened, she shouldered past Tim and crouched down before him.

"Hey, Martin. I brought some food, can you try to eat something?" She was actually talking to him like he was here and real. Something about that made breathing easier.

"Pizza?" Jon asked as he helped Martin sit up. "Couldn't you get him a salad or something?"

"A salad? Jon, after something traumatic you don't crave a salad!"

"But it would be better for him!"

"You want to put your boyfriend on a diet or what?"

"No! Good Lord, no! Just... vitamins and stuff!"

"There's tomato sauce on pizza."

"Oh, shut up, Tim."

Martin barely listened to them, but he agreed with Melanie. There was something to be said about the wondrous cure of grease and extra cheese.

After the third slice, he nearly felt human again and while the tea Tim brought him was subpar at best, he finished it in record time.

Everyone was staring at him.

Martin looked from one face to the other, seeing apprehension and suspicion and in Jon's case an adoration, he didn't know how to deal with.

It was all a bit much.

"Did you tell him?" Melanie asked finally.

"No. He just got out."

"Tell me what?"

"Melanie", Jon warned her, but of course she didn't listen. Even Martin knew that by now.

"That Martin here is our new boss."

Martin had never been in the upper level of the institute and thankfully never set foot in Elias' office. Or his office, according to the nameplate on the door.

"Who did this?"

"Dunno", Melanie told him. "Still said Elias the first time we broke in after we nearly got our brains scrambled. Only noticed after we got the letters."

"What letters?"

She nodded towards the door, and Martin opened it.

Inside, the light felt... strange. Unreal.

It had to be because of the stained glass, the only window up here. If it showed any pictures, he couldn't tell what it was meant to be. Just artistic forms, an arrangement of dull colors, but then he saw.

Eyes. Of course, it had to be eyes. But not in the stained glass, but on the floor, the walls. The position of the sun throwing them everywhere, closing and opening new ones depending on the time of day.

Stepping inside, he was aware of every one of them, and a wave of vertigo made his knees weak.

Jon was there, helping him towards the heavy oak desk. When Martin leaned against it, a stack of letters slipped and scattered on the floor. They were addressed to him, every single one.

Martin Blackwood

Head of the Magnus Institute

"No", he said, which was honestly the most anyone could expect out of him at this point. He picked one letter up, opened it, and was instantly bombarded with something about taxes.

"Oh, that's just another nightmare."

"It's not all bad." Tim looked through the pile and pulled one out that had clearly been opened before. "You're formally invited to a fundraiser gala by Peter Lukas! You can even bring a plus one because and I quote: Mister Lukas would love to make the acquaintance with the new head of the Institute and his Archivist to discuss future business relations."

"He's not going near any Lukas!" Jon hissed like that invitation was the actual problem at hand.

"I'm not running the institute." Martin's own words sounded far away. This was all still a dream, right?

"I'm not sure how much choice you have about that."

Martin followed Jon's line of sight and groaned. The golden lighter sat in the middle of the table, perfect and shining, and next to it stood a plant. Not any plant, the cup of tea one Jon had brought him as a housewarming gift.

The last time Martin had seen it, it had still stood on his kitchen counter.

"Annabelle", he muttered, and something in him gave in. Clearly Mother wanted him here, and he wasn't about to deny her.

The Web had taken over Beholding, pulling their strings like in a puppet show until the time was right. Until Mother was ready, until the Archivist received his last mark.

Maybe... maybe if Martin was here, he could stop it, could protect Jon. In this place of power he could do something.

Catching Jon's eye, he reached out his hand. When Jon took it, it eased something in his chest.

"Guess I'm your boss now."

Chapter Text

"Delivery for you, Sir."

"Thank you, Rosie."

Martin took the small package and examined it closely.

"No return address. Again," Rosie pointed out. "I don't understand how these just show up."

"It's really strange, isn't it?"

Rosie watched him. She wasn't one easily fooled by his smile, and she didn't trust him. Fair, considering that Elias had just disappeared one day and Martin had taken over just as easily. Even though easy wasn't the right word, but after a couple of weeks, he started to get the hang of running an institute.

Google was his friend.

"Thanks, Rosie," he told her. "I'm heading out for lunch later. Are you in the mood for some muffins?"

"There's no need to, Sir."

"Please. It's just to prevent myself from eating all of them."

She smiled tentatively, and Martin knew he should chip away some more of her distrust. He liked Rosie, and well, she saw a lot that was going on in the institute.

With the unmarked package in hand, he headed towards his office and wasn't too surprised to find Annabelle already inside.

"Why even bother letting Rosie see these packages when you could just leave them on my desk?" he asked her, and Annabelle shrugged.

"Just doing my part. People of the Eye love mysteries."

"So what? This is like enrichment?"

"Perhaps."

"Jesus, Annabelle."

He dropped into his seat and started to rip open the package. It was tea, chamomile.

"So, who is this for?"

"End of this week someone will come to make a statement. I highly encourage your Archivist to offer her this tea."

They both knew Jon wouldn't do this. Martin would. Either acting as Jon's harmless assistant or the friendly head of the institute.

No need for Jon to get his hands dirty.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I can't guarantee that this person won't become an avatar of the Buried and seek revenge." Sitting on the armchair in front of his massive desk, Annabelle smiled innocently at him. She reached for the Eiffel Tower figure to have a closer look.  "And we wouldn't want yet another mark on your Archivist."

Martin glared at her. "Didn't stop you when The Dark attacked. Would've loved a warning back then."

The colorful eyes in the stained-glass opened and fell on her, watching. So Jon was aware of her here.

"We both want the Watcher’s Crown to succeed, Martin. We just have to pace ourselves until Hilltop Road is ready."

A part of him was exhilarated by the prospect of a successful ritual, but Martin was certainly not. As far as he was concerned, Jon would never come close to carrying all the marks.

Now, that didn't mean The Web wasn't a useful ally until then.

The door to his office was thrown open, and Jon stepped inside, already glaring at Annabelle. She just smiled back, as politely as always.

"Archivist. It's good to see you."

"Annabelle."

Jon stood next to Martin, a united front in case she wanted to try anything.

She wouldn't, they all knew that, but that display did make her smile in a way Martin didn't like.

"Well, I heard something about you guys having plans for lunch and I wouldn't want to keep you." She got up and put the small Eiffel Tower right next to the picture frame, where it belonged.  "Martin, are we still good for Friday?"

"I'll see you there."

She left the office, probably giving Rosie some more enrichment, considering she just appeared out of nowhere, but well, there was little Martin could do about that.

Jon's hand on his shoulder made him look up. "You know I don't like you hanging out with her."

"Olivia invited us. You can come too if you like."

Jon pulled a face. "Isn't she the one who thinks I'm a cannibal?"

"No, that's Hannah, but she'll be there as well."

"I think I'll pass."

No surprise there. Martin put the box of tea into his drawer, careful not to mix it with any of his own.

"Raincheck?" Jon asked, and Martin got up to give him a quick kiss.

"Don't worry, you're fine. I'll just have some drinks with friends."

"Friends", Jon repeated and looked at the office door.

"You know what I mean."

With a sigh, Jon let it go. They'd discussed the whole situation so much already that all the arguments had been made. Annabelle was too valuable as an ally and too dangerous as an enemy. Martin doubted they could even keep her away, even if they wanted to.

For now they played along.

"Lunch?" Jon asked as a peace offering.

"Yeah. I promised Rosie some muffins."

"Hope you can promise me the same, otherwise I will think you like her more than me."

With a steady hand at the small of Jon's back, he led him outside.

"Never."