Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was going to die.

He was going to be the very first person in the world to die by migraine-induced head explosions.

Honestly, that was the only possible end to the massive migraine currently residing in Jon’s head.

It was just there, taking up all the space inside his skull, and burning with it.

Getting through the workday had been bad enough. He should have gone home – he was loath to take time off if he didn’t absolutely have to – but oh was he regretting not taking off sooner now.

Because the meds weren’t even taking the edge off.

And there was no way in hell he was going to be able to get up off of the cot in order to get more.

He’d long since resigned himself to laying on the cot with his eyes closed – if he had to move or – god forbid – turn on the light, he would expire, right then and there.

He was quite impressed at himself, though, at surviving the day without letting the others know what was going on. The Institute was like a pack of– a pack of rabid animals. They could smell weakness. If they’d noticed what was going on it would ruin his image. He couldn’t have that – especially so soon after getting the promotion. They would think he wasn’t fit for it. He could hear them now – ‘Poor Sims, he’s just not cut out for the stress of the position. It should have gone to Sasha James. She was clearly a better fit.’

Whether or not he believed that was a whole other story, but none of them needed to know where he stood.

Regardless, he thought he’d done a remarkably good job of hiding it from everyone – especially his employees, so it was particularly surprising when he heard the door to Document Storage opening.

He stopped breathing for a moment. No one ever came in there. That meant they were coming in to see him. Which could be good or bad, depending on who it was.

…Maybe whoever was coming in could put him out of his misery.

Might be nice.

“Hey, pal. How are you feeling?”

Mmn. Then again, maybe not. Tim wouldn’t do him the courtesy.

“Mmrf.” Jon eked out the smallest groan he could manage that hopefully would get his current predicament across.

He heard a slight huff of laughter. Quiet, muffled, like Tim was trying not to make noise. “Migraine?”

“Mrrrf.” Had that been translated appropriately, it would have been something along the lines of ‘How dare you, I did a perfect job at hiding my distress. It isn’t my fault that you’re supernaturally good at telling when I’m hiding something. It’s rather rude, when you think about it.’

Another muffled laugh, and the feeling of a dip in the bed. That meant the message came across quite well, if he did say so himself. Jon cracked his eyes open and saw Tim sitting there, with the faintest look of pity on his face. “You want me to–?” Tim made a gesture with his hands up towards Jon’s face.

Ah.

He was asking if he could run his hands through Jon’s hair. Tim had done it before, back when they were in Research. Back when they’d been coworkers, not boss and employee. He didn’t even remember how it happened, just that he’d had the worst migraine, and Tim was there, helping him through it.

Jon normally didn’t like anyone touching him, let alone when he was in pain, but Tim… he didn’t mind Tim doing it. He never expected anything in return, he just did it without any expectation of reciprocation. Like friends.

It would be nice. And they were still friends. This wasn’t an employee doing something for their boss, no. This was Tim – his friend – doing something for him. When the migraine went away he might feel differently, but as it stood now, Jon didn’t think he would say no to anything that might take away the pain. “Mhm.”

Tim’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, and he started running his fingers through Jon’s hair.

It felt glorious.

And then he started talking. The first time this happened, Jon, well, he hadn’t thought that Tim – loud, exuberant, extroverted Tim – was capable of speaking softly, soothingly.

But he was. The only other person that Jon knew who was capable of talking to him during a migraine attack had been Georgie… and Tim was better.

It honestly helped his migraines – it certainly wasn’t something he just tolerated.

“The stress get to you, you think, boss? You know, you don’t have to take it all on your own. I know you’ve got us, right? I mean, you know Sasha and I. We won’t let you down. And Martin will be a lot of help if you give him a chance! That boy wants to impress you, and you’d have to be blind not to see it. He’s just as nervous as you.”

The scratching was steadily lulling him to sleep. Which was wonderful. Normally with a migraine, he just laid down in pain until it faded away, or he got so tired he couldn’t help but pass out. The gentle scritching along his scalp was a far nicer way to drift off into the sweet, sweet oblivion of sleep.

“You’re going to do a great job, you know. I know you might not think you’re ready, or that other people would do better, but you’re going to do wonderfully. You’re certainly stubborn enough for it. Just don’t give up, and don’t be afraid to lean on us if you need to. We care about you, Jon.”

The words started fading in and out as he began to fall asleep.

The last thing he felt were the slight scratches on his head, and the soft mutterings of: “You deserve the best, Jon.”

And, oh how he wished that were true.

***

Nothing made sense.

What even was sense? Jon certainly didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. All he knew, or, well, thought he knew, was that nothing made sense. Everything around him was a blur of colours, shapes, noises, but when he tried to focus on one, all of the others melted away.

There was an itching sensation in the back of his skull, yelling at him, telling him that he needed to do something. But he wasn’t sure what it was.

He didn’t even know who he was. If he was even a ‘he’. He wasn’t even entirely sure what a ‘he’ was, aside from that it felt a little less wrong when (he?) thought of (himself?) as one.

He also wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Time meant nothing. Along a similar theme, he wasn’t entirely sure what time was, but he knew it was important.

Just as he knew it was important when someone responded to his pleas for help.

“Hello? I – anyone? What’s – what’s going on? What is this place? Where…Help? Please? Anybody?” Since he didn’t know the answers to all of the questions rattling around in his head, maybe someone, somewhere, would.

It was still a surprise when someone responded. Something about their voice though… it was familiar, and it put him on edge. “I’m somebody.”

“What? Wh– who are you?”

The voice sounded… pleased. “What an excellent question.”

He then lost track of what made sense and what was not. It was harder to focus on anything than just letting it drift away. It was more simple to just let the sounds carry him from place to place. But a niggling thought in the back of his mind brought him back to the present. He hadn’t even realised he’d been talking.

“What we have here is our handheld remote detonator.”

What? He understood those words individually, he thought. And it was starting to make a bit more sense the longer he thought, but… why was he holding a detonator? That didn’t feel like something he’d normally be holding.

Maybe he was wrong. “What?”

“It talks to a bomb.” Oh. So he wasn’t wrong. The question though, was still… why?

“Wait. Wait… uh…”

“I imagine if you’d used it, we’d have all come to quite a nasty end. Don’t you worry though, Archivist, it’s all in good hands.”

Wait. Archivist.

That was him. He was a he, and he was the Archivist, and this was the Unknowing, so that was–

“Nikola.”

“Oh, well done, Archivist.” The creature wearing the mask in front of him clapped excitedly, passing off the detonator to one of her other hands. “I truly was wondering if you were going to be able to figure it out! You’re doing far better than any of your other assistants. I should have expected this, though. Elias – can I call him Elias? – has trained you quite well.”

That sentence did not sit well in his mind, but he couldn’t focus on it. There were far more pressing matters. Primarily the location of his assistants, and getting to the detonator.

Now that he’d snapped out of the grasp that the Unknowing had on him, he could make more sense of what was happening around him. As loath as he was to take his eyes off of Nikola, there was no other way to see where his assistants were. So he risked it.

And he Looked.

There he was.

Dancing with a mannequin, with an incredibly pained smile on his face, was Tim.

He looked like he was crying. Jon didn’t know what Tim was seeing just then, but he could make an educated guess.

He was seeing his brother.

Jon knew it wouldn’t help much, being taken out of one hell just to be deposited straight into another, but… if he were in his place, the false hope would hurt more than the truth. He would have to deal with it eventually.

Or they’d all be suffering the consequences.

“Tim! Tim, what do you see?”

Tim blinked as though he was waking up from a dream, and turned towards him. His expression wasn’t all there, like he was straddling the line between being awake and being asleep. “I see my asshole boss. And a mannequin.”

It hurt, seeing the moment when Tim realised what he’d just said, what he was seeing. It wasn’t a subtle realisation, no. It was abrupt, and horrified, and his expression would haunt Jon until the day he died.

“No.”

It wasn’t screamed. It wasn’t angry. It was said so matter-of-factly, like this was knowledge he’d had his entire life.

As he went to let go of the mannequin that was holding onto him, its hand reached out and grabbed his wrist in a bone-breaking grip.

Nikola leaned forwards and tapped him on the nose. “Now, now, Archivist, that wasn’t very nice. Your friend here was having such a wonderful time, why would you go and ruin that?”

Distantly, Jon heard Tim biting out swears.

“Let them go, Nikola.”

“Oh, Archivist. What does it really matter? As soon as the Dance is done, the whole world will be like this, this wonderful circus. Does it make a difference whether or not they’re here just a moment longer? Soon the dance will never end!”

No. No, no, no, no. Dying was one thing, but he refused to let his assistants be trapped forever because of his mistakes.

He heard a gunshot.

What had Elias said? Something about ‘being strong enough for the Unknowing’. He was very insistent that Jon be there for the event. Maybe… maybe he could do something. Maybe he could.

Wait.

There. Just underneath Nikola’s mask. He saw it. The body she was using as a structure. The remains of Joseph Grimaldi.

And once he started seeing it, he couldn’t stop. It was like something had been overlaid on his vision, this Knowledge of Who she was, and What she’d done, and all of her parts.

And he Knew that Knowing that would destroy her.

“Stop. I see you, Nikola.”

“Do you now?” She sounded amused. He supposed most people would be, in her place. She genuinely thought she was going to win. But she didn’t know…

“Yes. I see the sad clown, bitter and hateful. I see him finding his way into the circus where nobody knew him. I see him torn apart, becoming the mask, remade by a cruel ringmaster.” He smiled. Something was giving way, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was Nikola, or himself, but he knew that it was going to hurt, regardless. “Sometimes a doll, sometimes a mannequin, always hiding in somebody else’s skin. Somebody else’s name.”

A pause. She didn’t look as amused anymore.

No. She was Scared. He could taste it, and it pushed him forwards.

He took a step towards her.

“I See the left arm of Isabel Cooper.”

A step.

“The torso of Colin McGrath.”

A step.

“All of the other little bits of people you stole to try and make yourself whole.”

Her fear seemed to root her in place. It was wonderful, being the source of a monster’s fear. And he was going to tear it out of her. She made a noise that sounded similar to an aborted ‘no’, or begging, or something along the lines of pleading. But he wasn’t going to listen, no.

“I See you, Nikola Orsinov, and you’ll never be unknown again.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. It wasn’t something he even knew that he could do. He felt the thread of fear in his mind, and he pulled. He pulled, and pulled, and like a ball of yarn, she unravelled.

The next thing he knew was that there was only a pile of parts – both mannequin and human – in front of him. And the detonator. Intact.

Everything around him froze, before a rumble rolled its way through the building. Sense began flickering its way into the room around them – walls looked as they were meant to, mannequins turned into plain plastic for brief stints of time, and Jon suddenly Knew the way out.

He dashed forwards and grabbed the detonator, before running up towards Tim, grabbing his arm, and doing his best to manhandle him out of the museum. (Difficult, considering Tim had nearly 20 cm of height on him, but he tried his best.)

“We have to get out of here now, Tim.”

“I– you– Nikola.”

“Don’t worry. She won’t be bothering us anymore. But we need to get out of here.”

Tim didn’t say anything else, but he felt tense underneath Jon’s hands. He chalked it up to residual discomfort about being in the core of the Stranger’s Ritual. Tim was alive, and that was the main thing.

He Knew that Basira had made it out.

He Knew that Daisy had not, though he didn’t know where she’d gone.

***

It was a breath of fresh air when they finally emerged from the building. The flashes of insanity grew fewer and further between as they’d made their way to the edges of the building and out to the street. When they got to the meet-up point, Basira was already there, waiting for them. She looked no better than the two of them.

“Daisy?”

He shook his head. “We can’t wait, Basira.”

She bit her lip. “I know.” A deep breath and a quick, decisive nod. “Do it.”

He nodded in return. He knew (with a lowercase ‘k’) how difficult that choice would have been for her. But she was the police. Daisy was police. They… they knew the risks going in. They all did.

“Here.” He passed the detonator to Tim’s free hand. “You deserve to take them out. You’ve suffered the most. Make sure they’re gone.”

Tim’s eyes quickly flicked to his before he took the detonator. He stared for a moment, transfixed, at the dilapidated museum. If he didn’t know any better, he would never have suspected that a world-ending ritual was occurring inside.

Tim’s hand shook where it held the detonator, like its weight was more than just the few hundred grams that it was. Like it was near impossible to hold, with the weight of expectations and promises long kept. Jon saw his jaw clench. “This is for Danny.”

And he pressed the button.

***

Jon wasn’t entirely sure how he was able to stay upright and relatively put together after everything happened. He didn’t seem to be sure of a lot of things over the past few… weeks, but this was one of the things that confused him the most.

Regardless of how he did it, he didn’t collapse (or close to it) until they got back to the van and got ready to drive back

They made it 90% of the way to the van before he felt that Tim was trembling. Jon had been so focused on keeping his own feet beneath him that he didn’t even notice that Tim was trembling.

He didn’t know how long it had been going on. But it wasn’t a subtle tremble, no. It was strong, it was convulsive. It… it wasn’t good. He bit his lip. Sure, he wasn’t in the best physical condition, but he needed to do something. Tim was clearly having a bad time. Maybe… maybe he didn’t know that they were out. Maybe he thought it was all just a trick by the Stranger to make him lower his guard. But Jon Knew that they were out, that they were safe, and he could impart that knowledge onto Tim. Maybe he could help soothe his worries.

“Tim-” He turned his head towards Tim the best he could in their position. He knew that if he lightened his grip either one or both of them would fall, and they didn’t make it out of the museum just to get injured while they were heading back home. Tim, we’re okay. We’re out. It’s fine. We stopped the Unknowing. We’re fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Tim spat, tearing himself away from where Jon was holding him up. “Nothing about this is fine. Look at yourself. Do you even know what you did?”

Jon blinked. The Circus was gone. The Circus was gone, Nikola was gone, and they’d avenged Danny. Why was Tim so…“I Knew her.”

“You destroyed it. No human can destroy it. You looked at it and it crumbled into pieces.” He scoffed. “You ‘Knew’ it, did you? Well, I don’t want you ‘Knowing’ anything about me.” He shook his head. Jon wasn’t sure if Tim even knew he was doing it. “You kept telling me that you were still you. That you were still Jon. And for a while? For a while I believed that. I know better now. Jon’s been gone a long time. I just didn’t see the signs. Stay away from me.”

After stumbling a bit while taking his first unsupported step since they left the museum, Tim slowly made his way back to the vehicle, opened the passenger side door, and flumped down, heavily, in its seat.

Jon felt an endless pit open up in his stomach. Without conscious control over it, his eyes flicked over to Basira for– for what, he didn’t know. Some sort of companionship? Confirmation that he wasn’t in the wrong, that what was happening was as confusing to someone else as it was to him?

He didn’t get that.

He shouldn’t have expected that.

Basira’s face was stone, but Jon could see a faint hint of disgust lining her features. She shook her head, slightly, and the message was clear.

‘Tim was right.’

Maybe he hadn’t really made it out of the museum whole.

Maybe there was no more Jonathan Sims left to save.

***

But, contrary to what they’d thought, neither of them (truly) died that night. If he was already dead, he’d been dead for a while. People just hadn’t relished looking at the thing that replaced him.

Jon knew that Tim had been expecting it, to die. If he was being honest, deep down, in a layer that he really didn't relish looking at for long, he hadn't thought they'd make it either.

They weren't cut out for saving the world. He wasn't cut out for saving the world.

He really hadn't been expecting to survive.

Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't.

But to everyone else who wasn’t there, they all made it back. Everyone but Daisy did. And they made it back to London, safely, peacefully, without the pressure of time and worry about the future hot on their tails.

It wasn’t any more comfortable than the drive up, however.

No words were exchanged the entire trip.

But they made it back to London.

Back to Martin.

And Martin’s expression when they finally came back was nothing short of elated. It was as though he didn’t really believe that they were there, alive – that the phone call was nothing but a sick prank and he needed to see their actual faces, their physical forms before he could bring himself to believe it.

That… made it worth it. Coming back. At least a little.

But the screams that Basira let out when she was looking for Daisy in the ruins, well, Jon knew those would haunt him forever.

They all knew he wasn’t supposed to make it out, but she was. Tim was. They all were, except for him.

And he had to live with that now. At least one person could be happy he was still alive. Martin was… incredibly important with that.

He knew it was unfair, but he was glad that someone still seemed to care if he lived or died.

***

He knew it was a selfish thought, hoping that Tim would forgive him, just a little, after it all calmed down a bit. After he’d recovered from the chaos inside the Unknowing. It was childish, it was selfish, and it was completely unprecedented. (At least with how their friendship – or lack thereof – was now.)

But it still hurt when he was treated with complete and utter disdain.

It started – well, continued – with small things. Being ignored, even when he asked direct questions. And, the entire time he was around, Tim acted like he didn’t exist. Any questions that needed to be asked were filtered through Martin, Melanie, or on one particularly terrible occasion – Basira. (Jon would have preferred to be continually ignored rather than have Basira talk to him. The guilt he felt, regardless of whether it was misplaced or not, was immeasurable.) Any answers were passed through the same people, or if Tim happened to be in the same room, it was as though Jon’s answers were spoken by someone else. As far as Tim was concerned, he didn’t exist.

But then it got worse.

Jon knew it was his fault. It was all his fault. He shouldn’t have needled at him. He shouldn’t have continued to try and talk to him, pretend as though things were normal. If someone asked him why he tried, he wouldn’t have been able to give them an answer.

Maybe he just wanted any reaction from Tim, even if it was a negative one. Something to at least make him feel as though he wasn’t invisible. That he was there. That he hadn’t been forgotten. They’d been friends, once. He wished they would be friends again.

“Tim, would you be able to let me know when you’re done working on the McClellan statement?”

Nothing. He sighed and walked out from the door of his office. Sitting down heavily in the chair nearest to Tim, he took a deep breath. “I know you can hear me, Tim. I know you’re still listening.”

It had been weeks. Weeks of nothing. He was… he was tired of it. Even if it was anger, it would be something. That was the only reason he could think of for goading Tim the way he did.

He bit his lip, and took another breath. “Look, Tim. I’m–”

“Don’t.” He saw Tim’s jaw clench at the same time his hand tightened around his pen. It was a miracle that the piece of paper he’d been working on didn’t tear from the amount of force being put on the writing utensil. “Just stop.”

“But–”

“No. Listen to me for once you stuck up, pretentious, asshole. Leave me alone. Stop talking to me. The only reason I even show up these days is because I get physically ill if I don't. Because trust me, I would have quit ages ago if I’d had the opportunity to. So please, Boss, do me a favour and leave me alone. Stop making my time here worse than it needs to be. I know you… you get off on suffering, but you can do that with the Statements – you don’t need to use me as fast food.”

The entire time, Tim just stared past him. Jon was normally the one who wasn’t particularly fond of direct eye contact, though he tried to mask it by looking at the middle of someone’s forehead. Tim, on the other hand, wasn't even trying to make it look like he was making eye contact. He just stared right past him, as though he didn’t even exist. The one benefit though, was that he was talking. That was more than he’d gotten in weeks, and it was worth it.

It was.

Even though Tim wasn’t looking at him, Jon swallowed. He swallowed his words, he nodded, and stood up.

It clearly hadn’t been enough time. The wounds were clearly… they were clearly still a bit too fresh. He’d give Tim some time before trying again. But Jon needed Tim to know that he was genuinely sorry. This wasn’t some compulsion by any god, or monster, or Entity, no. He just had his regrets, and he needed to get them out.

He went back into his office, closed the door and cried.

If he intentionally muffled any noises he made so no one would ever hear, well, no one would ever know.

***

She was in the coffin.

Of course she was. They’d never found Daisy’s body, so it only made sense that she hadn’t just been killed by the explosions. The police would have found something for sure, if it had been a purely natural cause. Even if it had just been minor remains, something would have been found, and Basira would have been able to get closure.

But she couldn’t. Because Daisy had been in the Buried the entire time, and he hadn’t thought to Ask the Eye what had happened to her.

Because there’d been no body, no signs, no indication about where’d she’d gone, or if she was even still alive. No evidence that she was ever there. So of course it had been related to the entities. It was his fault that he hadn’t Looked.

So he needed to fix it.

When they found out where she was, it was the first time Basira had been able to look at him without disgust lining her features.

They’d been talking. It wasn’t about anything other than work: about Elias, and Peter vanishing other Institute employees, but they’d been talking. (And deep down he was happy to get any attention from her at all, even if it was under the most tenuous of circumstances)

He’d felt like something was off, but he’d just brushed it off. He always felt like something was off, these days – chalked it up to the pervasive sense of ‘I want you dead’ that everyone around him seemed to have.

He should have listened to his gut.

He was still surprised when Basira put her hand out to block him from walking any further. “Jon. Don’t turn on the light. Go get Melanie, quickly.”

It made sense. The sensation he felt. “It’s alright, Basira, I know he’s here.” He took a step forward, and reached a hand out to turn on the lights. There was something tugging him towards Breekon. Something inside him. He needed to know what it was.

“So what are you doing?” Basira’s voice was a mixture of confusion and suspicion. He wasn’t surprised. She didn’t trust him. No one trusted him.

“I imagine he’s here to deliver something. Thought it might need signing for.” It probably had something to do with the large, coffin-shaped package beside him. Just a thought.

But then again, he might be wrong. He had been known to be, on occasion.

“That’s right. Just wanted to – to drop off a package.” Breekon sounded… off. Jon had become so used to hearing both Breekon and Hope during his time with the Circus that hearing only one of them felt similar to missing a step on the stairs.

“Right, look, what the hell is this? Did you bring him here?” Basira’s tone became more short as it went on. He knew she didn’t like being blindsided, and Breekon getting into the Archives was certainly something that she hadn’t been predicting.

Even so, who did she take him for? “No”.

“Is he here for revenge?”

He wasn’t omniscient, Basira. “I don’t – I don’t know. Ask him.”

“Like he’s going to answer me.”

He grit his teeth. People didn’t seem to like it when he used his powers, but whenever they needed something, he was the first one they went to. ‘Jon, do you Know this? Jon, do you Know that?’. He was tired of it. But he suppressed a sigh. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up – far from it. Honestly, if he tried, Basira would probably shoot him before she shot Breekon. “Fine.” He turned to Breekon. “Are you here for revenge?

The words left his mouth with weight. He tasted static on his tongue, and felt the pressure of the words build as they echoed in the air. There was no resisting the Compulsion. Everyone knew it.

And Breekon didn’t even try. He just kept standing there, beside the coffin.“Yeah. Just like when we… when I fed the copper to the pit.”

Even though he wasn’t focusing on her, Jon felt the way Basira bristled, tensed up, got angry. He knew he needed to at least try and diffuse the situation. Killing Breekon before they learned more wouldn’t be good for either of them. “Easy, Basira.” He asked another question. “What pit?”

For the first time since they’d been in the room, Breekon moved. He knocked on the coffin. “In here. Realised I’m not tied – to it anymore. Not on my own. Thought you could have it. Pay your respects like –”

An intake of breath. “Daisy’s in there.”

The rest of the conversation was normal. It was a Stranger, of course he would have a fun time messing with accents and changing how he sounded. The horrible, blatantly fake Cockney accent, the overplayed Russian accent, and then, finally, what seemed to be its real accent – or as close to real as they were going to get.

He had been planning on killing them. He’d already killed – or trapped – Daisy, and he had been looking to finish the job.

Hoping that they’d join her down there.

…He didn’t know he could do what he did. He didn’t know he could pull a Statement out of someone without them being there. He didn’t know he could push someone away with the force of that knowledge.

He didn’t know a lot of things.

But he knew one.

Basira didn’t want him going into the coffin – but it was the only way to get Daisy out.

And he was going to get her out.

***

Jon stood in front of the door to the coffin. He’d never really understood Joshua Gillespie until right this minute. The coffin had been in the office for weeks, but it hadn’t called to him, not really.

Until now.

It was as though it sensed his desire to go in, felt that he wanted, no, needed to go down into it to get Daisy out.

It was almost cocky, insomuch that a coffin made of wood and a physical representation of the Buried could be cocky. The groans and the creaking and the call of the coffin seemed to say ‘Open me. Open me and crawl down deep. Open me and be embraced by The Centre. Come into the depths of Forever Deep Below Creation, to a place where you’ll never escape, never see the sky again.’

He did not want to go down into Forever Deep Below Creation.

But he needed to. If not for Daisy herself, then for Basira. Basira didn’t deserve to have her partner be lost inside of an Entity because he wasn’t quick enough at beating the Stranger. And Daisy didn’t deserve to suffer forever, even if he wasn’t her biggest fan.

She just had a good sense of who was a monster. And monsters needed to be removed from this world.

His rib was on his desk. He couldn’t exactly feel a pull from it, he couldn’t really sense anything tether-like tying him to the piece of bone in the Archives. Honestly, he couldn’t feel much of anything (other than a slight squishiness where the ribs used to be.).

He hoped it would be different down there, when he was actively reaching out for the parts of him he left behind. Perhaps it was different out there, in the Archives, where all sensation was overwhelmed by the unease of being watched.

It had to be different down there. These things worked on a sort of dream-logic. If he believed the rib would be a tether, an anchor to keep him from being buried too deeply, it would work.

It had to work.

He wished he could talk to Martin but, well, after the first day they all came back… he’d been spending a lot of time with Peter Lukas, and it had been getting harder and harder to find him. Maybe it was better if he didn’t say anything. If he was lucky, Martin wouldn’t come down to the Archives at all over… over whatever span of time he was down there, and they could make it out without him being any the wiser.

He clenched his hand around the tape recorder. His other hand held a torch – he certainly wasn’t planning on going in there completely blind.

He sighed. “Right. Let’s do this one properly.”

The call of the coffin increased in volume, in sensation. The pulling from it became nearly physical, the desire to reach out and open it almost unbearable.

There wasn’t any reason for the coffin to call him so. “No need for that. I’m willing.”

As though the coffin heard his sentence, the call stopped.

Jon reached out towards the coffin and unlocked the lock keeping other foolish people away from it. The warning sign on the lid was nowhere near enough prevention to stop fools from throwing themselves down into its depths, and clearly the lock wasn’t enough to stop a fool from condemning himself either.

He gave a little laugh.

More fool him, if this didn’t work.

Hm.

The stone steps were a surprise. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been stone steps. And it wasn’t as though there was any testimony by people who’d opened the coffin and lived to tell the tale. By all accounts, it was a remarkably effective Artefact.

And it was just about to claim one more victim.

Temporarily, at least.

He took one last, deep, clean breath, and made his way down.

***

It was a good thing he took a recorder with him. At least if someone listened to it they would know not to be as stupid as he was.

***

“I-I can’t stand. Anymore. I – It’s – It’s not a passage. Not anymore. It’s a tunnel.”

***

“The air is heavy. Soil and dust. I am – very thirsty. But I know I won’t die of it. (moving again) I won’t die of anything down here. Not ever. Not if I – can’t find my way out.”

***

“I-I think – Oh god. I-I-I think I’m – I’m stuck.”

***

He wasn’t sure how long it had been. He hadn’t moved more than an inch in what felt like aeons, but occasionally he could swear he heard someone else crying out. A woman.

“Daisy! D-DAISY!”

Hearing her voice call back to him was a relief. And that was a sentiment he never thought he’d have.

…It almost made him not regret going down there.

He still regretted it, of course, but hearing her voice, knowing that he was at least a small comfort to a woman who had thought herself damned? It was a paltry comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

And knowing that he wouldn’t be alone if they didn’t make it out - that was another comfort he never thought he would ever claim to have.

He would still never forgive her, but it’s easier to be damned together than damned alone. Commiseration is a hell of a bond.

***

Hearing her say that she had still been planning on killing him was a slight surprise though.

But he really shouldn’t have been. It was really just par for the course these last few months, now wasn’t it?

And figuring it out from the clothes he wore? It was no wonder she was a detective.

***

They were going to die down there.

Well, not die, since the coffin wouldn’t do them such a favour, but they certainly would suffer.

There was no getting out.

***

Feeling the pull of his anchor again, eventually?

It was a feeling of such intense joy that he never thought he’d feel again. He wasn’t going to die down there. They weren’t going to die down there.

He could do what he’d planned on doing since the beginning, and help people.

Help Daisy.

Because what good was he if he didn’t do that?

***

Another thing he hadn’t been expecting to see: The coffin surrounded – and absolutely covered in (he heard them clatter to the ground as he opened the coffin lid) – tapes.

All of them playing a strange overlapping cacophony of his voice and other miscellaneous noises that had gotten caught on tape over the last year or so of recordings.

It was grating, it was overwhelming, but it was also the most beautiful sound that Jon had ever heard.

(Grinding, crushing, moaning. The sound of Daisy in pain, the sound of dry coughs and falling dirt.)

No one was there when they climbed out. Wasn’t a surprise though, he had no idea how long they’d been down there, and the Eye didn’t seem particularly keen on giving him that knowledge.

The final thing he hadn’t been expecting to see: Tim, running into the room with Basira hot on his heels.

Basira’s face when she saw Daisy… that… it made it all worth it. All of the pain and suffering he went through? It was worth it because he was able to actually give someone something. He was able to begin to make amends for all of the pain he had caused, whether it be intentionally or not.

His legs gave out beneath him the moment Basira took Daisy from him – the only reason either of them were standing was because they were both supporting each other. Alone, they were weak. Together they were… well, still weak, but at least able to stand like semi-functional human beings.

But he didn’t hit the ground. Somehow, for some reason that Jon didn’t really know, Tim was there to stop him from falling. Tim’s arms were under his quicker than one could say ‘The Coffin’.

He went to say something, make a note of what Tim had just done, draw attention to it – he didn’t know for sure, but one glance at Tim’s face changed his mind. Sure, he hadn’t been allowed to fall, but Tim certainly didn’t seem too happy about that fact.

He swallowed that sentence. But he couldn’t swallow the biggest question. “How long has it been?”

Miracles of miracles that it didn’t come out wreathed in the static of compulsion. At least he could do something right.

Tim gave him a slanted look out of the corner of his eye. “How long has it been? How long has it been? What? The big scary eye god in the sky not dropping that information directly into that oversized head of yours?”

That was rude. His head wasn’t any bigger than the average.

Oh. Apparently his head was 56 cm in circumference. Exactly in between the average of females measured in the UK, and males measured in the UK.

…Good to know?

But that wasn’t the point. He pursed his lips. “No. The eye… hasn’t been exactly forthcoming with information in the last few days.”

Tim made a move as though they would start making their way to Document Storage, to the cot, to his… well, to his room, until Jon shook his head. It was nice of Tim to offer to help him move but… the floor would be suitable for a while longer yet. Just until he got used to the feeling of air on his skin. And the lack of pressure. Was this what the bends felt like to divers?

Tim scoffed. “It doesn’t really matter, now does it? It took you long enough to come out. Did you even think about what you vanishing would do to Martin?” Tim’s face twisted into something terrible. Something hateful. An expression that Jon only saw when they talked about the Circus or Elias. No matter what happened between them previously, that expression had never been directed at him. “He worried. Nonstop. For 3 days. And now you’re back.” He shook his head. “It isn’t going to make things any easier on him.”

“Tim–”

“Don’t ‘Tim’ me, Boss. You don’t know what it was like up here, for Martin, these last three days. He was terrified you wouldn’t come out. He was here, most of the night. Barely sleeping. I finally bullied him into heading to my apartment to sleep since he hadn’t left this room in almost three days! And even then, the only reason why he left is because I promised I would call if you came out.” He turned his head to the side and muttered. “Maybe you should have just stayed in there. It would have been better for everyone.”

And Jon’s heart stopped in his chest.

He knew that people hated him. He did. He’d…. If not grown to accept it, at least grown accustomed to it. He didn’t like it, but he knew that that was what it was.

It was still different hearing it stated so plainly.

He felt the words lodge deep in his chest, taking up more room than his removed ribs used to take.

They lodged in his throat, taking up space, making it hard to catch his breath and blocking anything he may have wanted to say.

And they lodged in his head.

It was different hearing the words that he thought constantly said by another person.

Let alone by someone he cared about.

But Tim was right. It would have been better for everyone if he’d just stayed down there. He’d said as much to Daisy. She seemed to disagree, but, well, he was getting her out of there – she’d have said the same to anyone doing that. It wasn’t genuine, it was just out of gratitude.

He was glad he went in and got her out, he really was, but the world had two more monsters, now. At least Daisy could fight the pull. Unlike him.

If it was a plausible solution, Jon knew he would jump right back into the coffin. But if Martin and the others were able to give him enough of an anchor with the tapes, they could do it again… and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to resist the call, the pull to get out. Because he didn’t regret going in until he was actually down there.

Tim was right, but he wasn’t strong enough to do something about it with the materials he had on hand. No. No, he needed to plan.

But first he needed to clean up, and as selfish as it was, Tim’s hand was there, waiting to help him stand up.

With only the slightest hesitation, he reached his hand up towards it. Honestly, he was half expecting Tim to pull it away at the last minute, but he knew that thought was unkind and there was no reason for Tim to do so. Sure, he seemed to hate him, but he wasn’t meaninglessly cruel. All he did was tell the truth.

Though, the moment Jon stood on his own two feet once more, Tim’s hand pulled away as though he’d been burned.

Jon missed the contact.

Even though he’d done nothing but hold Daisy’s hand while they were crushed – alone, but together – in the coffin, even though he loathed the thought of anything pushing down on him (the mere sensation of something on his skin took his breath away, made his lungs constrict the way they’d been trapped before), he still missed that one point of contact. That one human connection that made him feel less alone in the world. Even if it was given to him by someone who could barely stand to be in his presence.

But it was something.

And all it did was make him realise how far he’d fallen.

Well, he wouldn’t fall any further.

No, he’d stop that descent in his tracks. Tim didn’t realise just how much he’d helped him. But he’d never tell him – Jon didn’t want to see the disgust on his face.

No, this would stay his own. Until they needed to know.

And that wouldn’t be until it was too late to stop him. And maybe not even then.

***

Jon sat at his desk. Tim was right, so there really wasn’t anything else to do. He’d already written out a ‘to-do’ list before he went through with it.

He knew he was particularly fond of jumping head-first into decisions that left him in worse places than before, and that was why he needed to have a plan.

It wasn’t like he was going to come back from this, so he needed to make sure he’d done everything that needed doing. Tied all his loose ends in a neat little bow, so to say.

The first thing on the list was getting Daisy out of the coffin. That had been dealt with already – it was the most important, and he was glad it had been done. As much as he knew he could never forgive her, no one deserved to be trapped down there forever. It wasn’t right.

The next thing on the list was getting that bullet out of Melanie’s leg. He knew he should have probably gotten it out of her before he went into the coffin to save Daisy. It was stupid. If he hadn’t come out of the coffin, the bullet would have never gotten out of Melanie’s leg, and she would have turned into an Avatar of the Slaughter eventually. It wasn’t like anyone else would be able to see it.

They would lose one monster, and gain another. A zero sum.

Typical him. Jumping headfirst into things without thinking them through. Even when he tried, he always seemed to get it wrong. No wonder Tim loathed him.

He took a deep breath. It was fine, he was fine. He got out, so he could do something about it now, before he did anything else.

He would think things through, and make things better for everyone. It was the best thing to do.

The last thing on the list would be to figure out how to, well, how to remove himself from the equation. He supposed he could easily just jump out of a window or something along those lines if he didn’t want to leave a mess for the others to clean up, but he also knew there was likely a better option.

A Leitner.

The mere thought of it made his skin crawl, made him think back to the time when he was a child, and he was almost eaten by a Leitner. Back to the last time where his will was really his own, before he knew that the world was more than it appeared.

But the Institute Library had an entire section in Artefact Storage solely dedicated to the Leitners, as well as a catalogue with their known effects.

And if he remembered correctly, there was a Leitner that seemed like it would have the exact effects he wanted.

An End Leitner.

He’d heard a bit about it while in Artefact Storage one day, in passing. About how there was a book that killed all of those who read it. Typical of a Leitner, but it still sounded appealing.

That was settled, then. He had his plan, and all he needed to do was to do it. Save Melanie, get the Leitner, save everyone else.

And if it meant damning himself, so be it. He’d been damned for years already, there was no harm in exacerbating it now.

The texture of his desk was strange underneath his fingers – he hadn’t even noticed his hand curling up into a fist, scratching marks along the smooth (less smooth now) surface. He swallowed and forced his hand to relax.

It was good. It was fine. He needed to do this, for them.

He wouldn’t leave them without an explanation, of course, but he knew that they likely wouldn’t care either way. It was more… it was more for his own sake. He didn’t want to be forgotten. If all that remained of him after this was all said and done was a handful of recordings, so be it.

With a swallow, he stood up and began walking to where he Knew Basira would be.

He had a bullet to remove.

***

Melanie… wasn’t grateful for the impromptu surgery.

He hadn’t been expecting her to be, certainly not, but he also hadn’t been expecting the stab wound that was currently decorating his left shoulder.

Basira holding her down during the event hadn’t been enough of a deterrent to stop a passionate, scared, terrified, Melanie from picking up a scalpel that he had so stupidly left close, and digging it into the nearest fleshy surface.

Which, of course, happened to be him.

It seemed like even when he planned things, it always seemed to go a bit to the left, a bit off script. For someone who was supposedly linked to a strange ‘God of Knowledge’ and, and ‘Voyeurism’ he really couldn’t figure out how to get a plan to go off without a hitch.

He’d never really been good at people, and the position he was currently in certainly hadn’t done him any favours on that front.

He pushed his glasses up on top of his head and scrubbed his hands across his face, hissing as the movement jostled the lovely new wound on his shoulder.

It was fine. It was fine.

Another point on the To-Do list crossed off, and if the only casualties there were his shoulder and Melanie’s trust in him? Well, she hadn’t trusted him in a good long while.

There… there really was no loss.

A resounding success.

***

Artefact Storage was a terrible place to be on the best of days. Jon wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought that they might even have a worse employee retention than the Archives themselves. Which was certainly saying something. Since their job wasn’t cursed, it was just all the materials they worked with.

Regardless, he still felt incredibly uncomfortable walking into Artefact Storage. He could feel the pull of the cursed objects trying to get him to touch them. It was rather impressive that Sonja and Sasha both lasted as long as they did.

He Knew where the books were kept, though. Right in the back. Far, far away from anywhere they could be mistaken for merely misplaced library books. So he began his trek towards them, walking faster than normal so that he wouldn’t risk giving into the pull.

And it went well.

At least until he ran headfirst into someone walking out from between the shelves.

“Oh, Jon. It’s nice to see you.” Sonja looked incredibly surprised to see him in Artefact Storage. Quite frankly, he was surprised to see her here as well. It wasn’t like it was still operating hours, and he’d fully expected everyone else to have been long gone. No one particularly enjoyed spending more time in the Institute than necessary, even before Peter Lukas took over for Elias. Now that he had, the atmosphere was even more discomforting.

So she shouldn’t have still been there.

…It didn’t matter, it just made things a little bit more difficult.

“Ah. Hello, Sonja.”

Was he imagining things, or did her smile look a little bit forced?

“What are you doing in Artefact Storage?”

Oh. Shit. He needed to come up with an excuse. “There’s a Statement I’m researching that seems to reference a Leitner. I wanted to check to see if any of the ones we have in Storage match the description.”

“Why haven’t one of your assistants come down? Like Tim! I haven’t seen him in a while. Is he doing okay?”

Wasn’t that a question. “Tim’s been… busy with personal matters. And my other assistants have been busy doing research on other tasks… this needs to get done tonight, so.”

She nodded, and – if he wasn’t imagining it – looked a little pained. “Here, let me show you where the list is. I’m not surprised you couldn’t find it – we keep the Leitners deep in Artefact Storage, since we’ve experienced many people being called to them. The deeper inside they are, the less likely it is someone gets summoned to them, and the more likely it is we can catch them before they get there.” She gestured in a direction with a nod of the head and began walking deeper into the room. “What Leitner is it? I might know if we have it from a description – I've spent a long while cataloguing those books.”

Jon shrugged. “There wasn’t too much detail in the Statement,” (since it didn’t exist – but he couldn't exactly tell her that he Knew what the book was) “but from what the statement giver said, it was black and being around it felt like something was being pulled out of you.”

She paused, a pensive look on her face. “I think I know which one you’re talking about, but I don’t know for sure.”

They resumed walking, with a weightier silence bearing down on the two of them. He Knew that she wanted to say something to him, but he also knew (with a lower-case K) that if he pulled the knowledge from her, Basira would find out and make him regret it.

Or, god forbid, Tim would find out and look at him with even more disgust than he normally did.

So he held his tongue and walked.

When they reached the locked bookshelf with the Leitners, she reached into her pocket and gave him the key. “I’m not supposed to do this, but,” she grimaced “The Leitners are my least favourite of the Artefacts here. I always feel the pull. Take the key – I trust you know not to do anything foolish.”

He opened his mouth to refute her, planning on saying something along the lines of “I never do anything foolish”, but a quelling look from Sonja stopped that in its tracks. He closed his mouth and nodded once, resolutely. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

She gave him a piercing look that wouldn’t seem too out of place on Elias or – if others were to be believed – himself, before she nodded and began walking away. “I won’t be far. If something happens just… scream. I’ll hear you. Probably.”

…Comforting.

He proceeded to skim over the catalogue on the wall. Even though none of the other employees of the Institute knew what The Entities were, the descriptions of the books and their behaviours were obvious enough that it was simple to determine which Entities they were tied to. And he knew exactly which one he wanted.

With a click and a soft squeak, the glass door containing the horrors within opened. It didn't take long to find what he needed. Even if he didn’t have an extra-dimensional Entity dropping knowledge into his mind, the pull of the book was undeniable.

He wasn’t entirely foolish, though. He didn’t touch it with his bare hand. He grabbed the towel that he’d taken down with him for this exact purpose – he didn’t think that the book was dangerous enough that it would cause any negative effects before he began reading it, but it was better to be safe rather than sorry. And Sonja had been kind – he didn’t want her to have to deal with the fallout from this.

Making sure the towel was carefully protecting his hand, he reached up on the tips of his toes, and grabbed the book.

It was done.

He had it.

He wrapped the book up in the towel, made sure the glass door was locked, and called for Sonja.

He knew she saw the book in his hand, but she said nothing.

She said nothing until they were almost out of Storage.

“If you… If you need someone to talk to, I know we aren’t close, but– I worked with Sasha. I know some of what you’re going through. We can talk.” She paused. “And if you don’t feel comfortable talking to me, I can recommend a good therapist. You don’t need to take any of this, I just…” A sigh. “I thought I’d offer. I don’t claim to know what’s happening down in the Archives, but I see it in your face. It isn’t good. And you… you shouldn’t bottle it up – that’s not good for anyone.”

He felt his chest grow tight. He hadn’t thought that anyone noticed what was happening in the Archives. He thought that they were isolated, cut off from the rest of the Institute. But if people were noticing…

All that did was solidify his choices.

He was making the right decision.

“Thank you Sonja. That means a lot. I might take you up on that, afterwards.”

He wouldn’t.

***

Jon sat at his desk with his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

He’d just finished writing the letters, recording the Statement.

Everything was done. Melanie’s bullet was out, Daisy was stable.

There really wasn’t any reason for him to delay much longer.

He gathered everything on his desk up into a pile. Letters for Basira, letters for Daisy, Martin, Melanie. Tim.

Letters for everyone he’d ever trapped in this godforsaken place.

If he was lucky, no one would ever see the results of the Leitner. It wasn’t meant to be gruesome, but he didn’t Know what would happen with him. It wasn’t like he was a normal human anymore. And there wasn’t exactly a large sample size of Avatars reading the book to draw knowledge out of.

The Eye was surprisingly reluctant to tell him much, actually. Even about if it would hurt. He supposed it didn’t want to give him any information that would help him stop the Eye. It’d really be counterintuitive.

But it would piss Elias off.

That’d be fun.

He shook his head roughly. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. The longer he waited… he could feel himself trying to come up with reasons as to why he couldn’t do it. Why it would be better to stay, to help. There were bound to be other rituals, other attempts by Avatars to end the world. The Stranger wasn’t the only one with that goal in mind and - from what he’d heard from Elias, and learned over time - Gertrude was always busy stopping some Ritual or another.

And that was the core of the justification as to why he needed to stay.

But it was also the reason why he couldn’t.

Jon wasn’t stupid. He knew that Basira and the others often thought he was, with his entire “act first, ask questions later” routine, but he wasn’t stupid.

He knew that Elias was planning something, but the Eye wasn’t giving him any help with regards to what it was. And if he really wasn’t human anymore…

Elias was playing some sort of game, and Jon knew he was a key piece.

But Elias couldn’t win if he was missing his Queen – so the only way to stop him from winning would be to take himself off of the board.

Hence, the Leitner.

Jon glanced at it, sitting, inconspicuously on the shelf to the left of his desk. It called to him.

It called to him, even as the Eye tried to pull him away. So it was time.

It was time to make the final preparations. Give them their letters. Make sure they knew exactly why he made this choice. He took a deep breath, pushed himself up out of the chair, grabbed the letters, and left the office.

Only to run into Tim.

“Oh- oh, Tim. I– I wasn’t expecting you to be here–” What time was it? He’d never been very good at keeping track of it, but he was sure everyone else had already left for the night. He quickly flicked his eyes over to where the clock hung on the wall. 8:36 PM. “so late.”

It was honestly more of a surprise to see him than he’d thought. Jon hadn’t really been seeing too much of Tim, since the Unknowing. They all had to come into work on a semi-regular basis, since Elias being in prison didn’t seem to do anything about the entire ‘tied to the Institute’ aspect of their career, but Tim seemed adamant on testing how infrequently he could actually go into work without feeling too terribly or actually dying.

All that led to him rarely seeing Tim. He usually came in once or twice a week, sometimes less (though he always looked completely wrecked whenever he showed up after a long break.) Even when he was in, he did his absolute best to avoid him – only interacting when it was absolutely necessary (which was very infrequently).

So it was a shock to see the man.

Tim looked shocked too. Except the shock quickly turned into disgust. As much as it hurt, it was an expression Jon had long gotten used to seeing.

“Oh, trust me. I wasn’t expecting to be here so late either.” He gestured towards his desk with his thumb. “I forgot something here, and I’m not planning on being back for a while, so I needed to grab it. Believe me, I’m not planning on spending any more time in here than absolutely necessary.”

“Oh. Uh. That’s– that’s fair.”

Tim gave him a flat look for a moment before he made to turn around and leave.

Wait.

Wait. He had the letters in his hands, sure. But he could just apologise to Tim now. There’s no point in putting the letter on his desk when he could just tell him what was in it. Speak from the heart. He knew it likely wouldn’t do anything, wouldn’t change Tim’s mind, but it would be…. Cathartic. To one of them, at least.

“Wait– Tim, wait. Please.”

A loud, put-upon sigh that dragged him back to the days before the Archives, back when they were in Research, pushed its way out of Tim’s mouth, but he turned around.

“What do you want, Jon? I’m off the clock. I don’t need to listen to you. I don’t want to listen to you. So hurry up – what do you want?”

Jon felt the corners of his mouth twitch up in a faint smile. This was so close to the old Tim. The Tim from before. He knew he’d never really get that Tim back – he was too different. Jon was too different, but seeing the little glimmers of it was more than he ever hoped he’d get again. “I just. I wanted to tell you that you were right.”

He could tell that Tim hadn’t been expecting that sentence to ever come out of his mouth. No one could say that Jonathan Sims didn’t learn from his mistakes – it just… it often took a lot longer than it did for everyone else.

“You… you’re going to have to be a bit more specific there, boss.”

He nodded. “You were right about me. About everything. I am a monster.” He worried his lip between his teeth for a moment. “I think… I think ‘Jonathan Sims’ has been gone for a while. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but I’m scared that he isn’t ever coming back. I still feel like him – like, like me. But. I can’t be. Not like this. So, you were right, and were just the first person to notice it.”

Tim stared at him for a long minute.

…For someone who was apparently working for a god of Beholding, being watched was incredibly uncomfortable, and Tim was better at it than he should have been.

“Is that it?” What.

“I beg your pardon?”

He rolled his eyes. “Is. That. It?” Every word was emphasised, with a pause between them.

Jon… wasn’t entirely sure what Tim was getting at, here. He felt as though he’d lost his page of the script and was just floundering around like someone without any cues. “I… yes?”

“What were you expecting to come from that? What? Were you expecting me to, what, forgive you? Were you expecting us to be friends again? Because we ‘saved the world’ and ‘didn’t lose anyone’?”

Oh. This wasn’t going at all like he’d been expecting.

He shook his head. “No. No, I wasn’t… I wasn't expecting your forgiveness, Tim. I know I lost any chances of that a long time ago. I wasn’t there when you needed me, I treated you horribly, and I let you down. I just… wanted to let you know. To tell you that. You deserved it, above everything else.” He sighed. “No forgiveness necessary.”

If he was being honest with himself, he had hoped that apologising to Tim would have helped a bit, maybe repaired a bridge or two, but… it was a selfish wish, and he knew he shouldn’t have ever expected it. Talking to him now, like this, in person, was already more than he’d ever been hoping for.

Tim scoffed. “You know what, boss? You can shove your ‘apologies’ up your arse. I don’t want to hear them. We’re not friends. We’re not anything, and nothing you say to me is going to change that. Fuck off.”

Jon felt his face crumple for a split second before he forcibly brought it back into a faint smile. No need to worry him. (He didn’t know if Tim would even be worried. If he would be, it would hurt. If he wouldn’t be, it would hurt more.)

“Okay. Goodbye, Tim.”

Tim spun around on his heel, with emphasis this time, and flipped him off as he stomped up the stairs into London proper, out of the hell that was the Institute, his steps echoing behind him as he went.

It… wasn’t how he’d expected it to go. It hurt, even though he really shouldn’t have even dared hope that Tim would forgive him. Some of the things he’d done? They’d been… well, they’d been unforgivable.

So he was doing the right thing.

It was the right thing.

Tim wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him again.

He slowly unclenched the hand he hadn’t realised had been curled into a fist so tight that his nails were cutting into the meat of his palm.

It was time.

He walked over towards each of his assistants desks, took out the letters intended for them, and carefully folded them over on themselves. The names were written on the paper – they should figure out quickly enough who put the papers there.

Daisy, Martin, Melanie, Basira.

They each got their own note. Full of apologies, custom to them, since he hadn’t fucked them all over in the same way.

Melanie - An apology for getting her trapped, for digging a bullet out of her leg without permission.

Daisy - An apology for taking so long to get her out. An apology for getting her trapped, and… and for not letting her kill him when she’d had the chance. It would have saved everyone a lot of grief.

Basira - An apology for ruining her life, ruining her career.

Martin - An apology for everything. For treating him poorly, not believing him. Being too much of a coward to actually apologise before it was too late. Jon knew that this would be a pale mockery of a physical apology, but… seeing Martin would test what little resolve he had left.

The letter would have to do.

Tim… Jon paused in front of Tim’s desk, holding the letter in his hands. ‘You can shove your apologies up your arse. I don’t want to hear them.’

It would be… selfish, if he gave Tim that note. It… everything he had wanted to say had been said in that conversation a few minutes prior, more or less. All the letter would do would be to make Tim more angry - and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Jon took a deep breath and released it all at once in a heavy sigh. With a quick nod to himself, he kept a hold on the letter for Tim, and walked towards the paper bin.

And he let the letter fall.

Tim didn’t want his apologies. There wasn’t a point in forcing it.

The letter in the paper bin sat there, accusatorily. It seemed to say ‘You’re a coward. You’re selfish. Trying to force apologies on people who don’t want them.’

And he knew that.

So he turned back towards his office. Everything had been completed – everything except for the final step.

He gave a quick glance over at the tape on his desk – if the letters weren’t obvious enough, the recording would have to be. Jon was… he was sure that they’d understand.

They’d have to understand.

He wasn’t turning back now.

He grabbed the book with a towel, making sure not to touch it with his bare hands. There wasn't any information on the book causing negative effects until it was actually read, but he’d had enough experiences with Leitners to know that he wasn’t taking any chances.

He didn’t lock his office door. The others didn’t have keys, and the effort they’d need to go through to break the door down wasn't something he wanted to impose on them. They’d already been through enough.

Jon mentally went through the checklist in his head:

Save Daisy - Done

Save Melanie - Done

Get Leitner - Done

Record Statement - Done

Write Letters - Done

Deliver Letters - Done

Leave door unlocked - Done

Read Leitner.

The only thing left to do was read the book. Though he wasn’t going to do it in the office, no. It was too likely that… that something would try to stop him.

No, the best place to read the book was in the tunnels. The Eye couldn’t get in the tunnels, so if anything would be keeping the Leitner from affecting him properly, it shouldn’t have an impact in the tunnels.

And the others might not be able to find him there.

They didn’t need to see that.

Jon opened the trapdoor into the tunnels. It felt strangely final. How many times had he done this in the past? Countless times; looking through the tunnels for answers that would never really come.

But this would be the last.

He didn’t bother closing the trapdoor behind him. The assistants weren’t foolish, they’d figure out where he went sooner or later.

When his feet hit the damp stone ground, instead of following the paths he knew by heart, he just… wandered. He did his very best to not keep track of the paths he took, taking routes he was sure he hadn’t before. Deep ones, dark ones, ones that he knew would lead further and further away from the Institute.

Ones that would hopefully make it so that he wouldn’t be found.

Eventually – and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking – he felt as though it had been long enough. He had no idea where he was, but he knew that it wouldn’t be easy to find him down there, assuming any of them would even have wanted to.

He stood, for a minute, just taking in the tunnels around him. Damp stone walls, even damper dirt floors, and very little light. He thought it would feel more like the coffin, crushing, oppressive. Or that it would bring back bad memories, of Prentiss, of Gertrude, of the Not!Sasha. Of almost dying time and time again. But, strangely enough, it was… peaceful.

A good place to die.

With a groan and popping knees, he slowly lowered himself down to the ground.

He unwrapped the book, giving the title a read, properly, for the first time.

The Deep Dreamless Sleep.

And then opened it up and started to read.