Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gertrude is not a good Archivist. 

This is a fact that she is proud of. It takes a lot of work to stay human when in a high position in a temple of an evil entity. However, whether she is a good or bad one, at the end of the day Gertrude is still an Archivist, and the Archives are, thus, hers. And that means that when somebody goes down there, somebody powerful, Gertrude knows it. She can almost feel it, like the feeling of bug climbing up her leg. It’s a Saturday. She’s supposed to have the day off. Gertrude does not get many days off, many days when she’s not planning, but this was one of the rare ones she had. 

Except now, apparently, she is going to go back into work and deal with whoever or - more likely - whatever has decided to try and crawl into her Archives while she is away. With much grumbling, Gertrude leaves her flat. There is work to be done. There is always work to be done.

The Magnus Institute isn’t locked, although Gertrude did have keys if it had been. Hell, she could pick the lock, and barring that she wasn’t against just destroying the door to get in. Let Wright deal with the damage. 

The building is quiet and Gertrude’s shoes echo loudly as she walks. She has a single-minded purpose. There is a chance, she supposes, that it is nothing. Maybe some homeless person has snuck in for a place to be warm for a bit. Or someone from research is working Saturday and had needed something from the Archives. These answers, however, probably wouldn’t leave Gertrude feeling like this. Like she has been intruded upon, like there is a threat all too present. Or is it a threat? It is sometimes hard for Gertrude to understand what the Eye was trying to tell her. This, of course, was just how she wanted it to be, if she wanted to remain human, or well, human enough. 

She doesn’t reach for the small handgun in her purse; the action could show her hand too quickly. She descends into the Archives, ready for whatever she’s going to face when she reaches the bottom of the stairs. 

There’s always a feeling of being Watched in the Archives, but it’s different today. Not like she’s been more Watched, like one might expect. It almost feels like some of the eyes are distracted, are looking elsewhere. If she wanted, Gertrude could also Look. It is not a skill she’s used before, but some part of her does Know that if she wanted, she could claim the ability. She resists. She has two perfectly good eyes in her face, and she’s going to use those to see what is down here. 

The main room isn’t disturbed, the desks of her assistants untouched from the way they’d been left yesterday evening. Emma’s desk is neat and organized, while Michael’s is going through it’s usual cycle of mess-clean-mess, and Sarah’s seems to simply be just a perpetual state of disarray. This was also all fine. Gertrude couldn’t care less about the states of her Assistant’s desks. More and more often, she’s been letting the day to day tasks of being Archivist and maintaining the Archives fall aparat. The annoyed and upset comments from Wright only make her want to do it more. This is all about feeding the Eye, isn’t it? So it’s in her best interest to maintain it as little as humanly - very humanly - possible. 

There’s sound coming from storage and Gertrude makes her way closer, slow and steady and quiet as she can be. The lights are on, the intruder apparently so sure that nobody will be here that they're bold and reckless. 

Gertrude turns to look down a hallway and-

There’s a child. 

There’s a child in the Archives.

Or, Gertrude amends in her own mind, there is a thing that looks like a child.

One of the boxes of poorly maintained statements is on ground, not yet sorted - and if Gertrude had her way, possibly never sorted. Maybe flung into document storage as far back as she can get it. The thing that looks like a child, however, has other ideas. It’s surrounded by statement folders, flipping them open, reading a few lines, and then placing them into two different files. The child-like-thing doesn’t notice that Gertrude is there at first, and Gertrude gets the chance to just stand and observe. 

“Excuse me,” Gertrude says, in her best ‘I’m a weak old lady but I’m not afraid to put a child in their place’ voice, “What are you doing down here?”

The child-creature flinches, the file that is currently being held slapping closed. Face turns, eyes looking right at Gertrude, and something akin to relief seems to fall over its face. The relief is quickly schooled into a child’s version of professionalism as the child that must not be a child stands up, careful not to disturb any of the statements, and approaches Gertrude this hands behind it’s back. 

“I was worry you wouldn’t come in today. It would’ve been a shame, as considering school and all I can only really come here on weekends. I was ready to leave a note for you and everything, in fact it’s already on your desk. But, nonetheless, it’s nice to see you’ve come. I’m Jonathan Sims.” Jonathan - or so the monster claims to be - holds out a hand to shake. Gertrude, naturally, doesn’t take it. She also doesn’t rise to the bait. Underestimation is one of her strongest defenses, she’s found. 

“Dear, what are you doing down here? And where are your parents?” Gertrude asks with a kind yet stern voice. 

“Dead, for a long while now, and I already said I was here to meet you. Although perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere. You don’t have much of a presence, do you?” Jonathan says this with absolutely no respect and then sets off, walking deeper into the Archives. 

“If you’re here to make a statement-” Gertrude starts, but Jonathan cuts her off.

“I do not plan to do anything of the sort. Now, are you coming or not?” 

Gertrude considers the odds for a moment. It is still clear that this is no child, in the way he speaks and the way he carries himself. Everything about him feels off. Dressed like he may as well be a child from Gertrude’s own childhood, and hair far longer than most boys keep it, though pulled up and away from his face. He walks the Archive with a keen sense of familiarity that sends off so many warning signals in Gertrude’s head. And there’s also the fact that she thinks she knows what the Watching has decided to focus on. It’s him. It’s decided he is more interesting than its own Archivist. That is in no way a good sign. 

“It should be about… yes, here it is.” Jonathan starts shoving over some boxes. Or, Jonathan attempts to shove over some boxes with minimal success. At least that’s something of a relief, as the monster is lacking in actual physical muscle. 

“What are you doing?” Gertrude asks.

“If you had more of a presence down here, I’d tell you, but you’re a terrible Archivist.” Jonathan says. He continues his futile effort for a bit and eventually Gertrude’s curiosity gets the better of her. She helps him shove the boxes to the side, and then his little child-like fingers scrambled around at the floor. Gertrude sees when he’s trying to grab at. There’s a trapdoor of some sort. She’s had theories, of course, about tunnels, but this is the closest she’s gotten so far to them. She helps him lift the heavy wooden door from where it had fit perfectly-flush with the floor. There’s a ladder, and Jonathan is the first of the two of them to climb down.

“Isn’t it rather scary and dangerous down there?” Gertrude only says in an attempt to keep up her grandmotherly-act for a bit longer.

“If you need a torch, you can go grab one. I wasn’t planning to go very far.” Jonathan says. He has folded his arms. At this point Gertrude decides she is going to see this out, and descends down. 

Jonathan has stepped so that’s he’s not directly under the ladder and nods when Gertrude finally comes down at the bottom.

“Alright, what do you want?” She keeps her voice even and unammused. Jonathan reflect that unamusement right back at her. 

“What you want: to prevent the rituals from succeeding.” He raises his chin. 

“Except for your own.” Gertrude guesses, but he shakes his head.

“Especially not mine. Or I guess it’s especially not ours .” 

This does give Gertrude pause for a moment as the assess the not quite a child in front of her. A child, wise beyond his years, could feasibly be something brought about by the Ceaseless Watcher, she supposes. But, as far as Gertrude has seen, the child doesn’t inspire any sort of fear. What is the point of it if it doesn’t feed the entity? 

“Why would that be?” Gertrude asks. Jonathan looks Gertrude up and down, tilts his head to the side, and then says, 

“Because I’ve seen what happens when the Watcher’s Crown succeeds. It’s…” Jonathan trails off, eyes with a far off look. He shakes his head and there’s something steely in his eyes as he says, “It was bad and it’s not going to happen.” 

“So you say. And you’ve, what, ‘Seen’ this?” Gertrude puts her hands on her hips. 

“Yes, I have seen it. It’s bad. So I’m here to offer my help in finding a way to prevent it.” Jonathan tells her.

“I’m not nearly so desperate to need the help of a child.” Gertrude says. The child stops his foot, looking annoyed.

“I’m not a child. I’m an avatar, and I know what’s going to happen in the future!” Jonathan insists, and gestures around him, “See, I knew about the tunnels!”

“They’ve clearly existed for a while, that proves nothing.” Gertrude says. 

“Well, I know Elias is Jonah Magnus.” Jonathan declares. 

“Who?” 

“Jonah Magnus, the founder.” Jonathan says, foot tapping impatiently. 

“I know who Magnus is. Who is Elias?” 

Jonathan blinks, looking thrown for a moment, then closes his eyes, thinking. 

“Or, um… Mr. Something Wright? The current Head of the Institute. The Head is always Jonah Magnus.” Jonathan says.

“...” Gertrude considers what he says, tossing the idea back and forth in her head. There’s no proof to that claim of his, but she still doesn’t know what this child monster is trying to get out of this… enemies close and all those sayings. So she decides to just ask him, “What do you want?”

Jonathan doesn’t seem like he was expecting that question. 

“Um, hm,” Jonathan hums, holding his chin in his hand and looking off to some corner of the tunnel, “I don’t want the world to end.” He decides.

“And what do you get out of it?” Gertrude pushes. 

“I-I,” Jonathan’s eyes are darting around, brow furrowing, “I don’t, I don’t… I just want to help.”

And he sounds his age for a second.

“... come back here Monday. Today is my day off.” Gertrude says. Jon looks at her, hopeful before schooling his expression.

“I will see what I can do. I live in Bournemouth, and I do still have school. My Gran won’t worry about me being gone, so long as I’m home by the evening.” The little professional monster informs her. Gertrude raises an eyebrow.

“Are you saying that just to make me fall for this ‘child’ act?”

“I can give you my Gran’s number and you can talk to her yourself, if you’d like. It proves nothing, really, but that’s all I can give you, unless you’re coming back to Bournemouth with me.” Jonathan holds his head high. 

“I’ll take you up on that offer. And if you can’t come Monday, then there’s no real point to working with you, is there?” 

Jonathan’s mouth twists to show his disagreement with Gertrude’s opinion.

“Then I will be seeing you, Ms. Robinson.”

They climb back into the Archives, and Gertrude can feel the Watching again. Jonathan’s insistence on speaking in the tunnels makes sense now. If nothing else, she knows she did get the valuable information of the tunnels and how to enter them from this encounter with the not-really-a-child. She closes the hatch behind them and then, for good measure, pushes boxes back over it. 

“Have you blinded your pictures yet?” Jonathan asks. He stood off to the side, hands behind his back, watching her work. 

“Yes.” Gertrude says and Jonathan nods, like he approves of that. 

“Good.” 

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he goes back to the box of statements he’d been working on before. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gertrude asks. Jonathan blinks up at her.

“Sorting the statements, of course. Your Archives are a mess, and it makes me feel…” He puts a hand to his chest, but doesn’t elaborate on any sort of feeling. 

“They’re better like this.” She tells him. Jonathan looks at the statements, then back at her. She levels him with a look. 

“Okay.” He relents through gritted teeth, standing and following her out of the Institute. 

She watches him walk down the street, a supposed child on his own with no supervision, and Gertrude ponders what has happened. He claims to know things, and there is something more than a little off-putting about him, but she’s unclear what. If nothing else, on Monday she will learn more, and then she’ll be able to decide whether or not to go forward with his ‘help’, whatever that may amount to.

Chapter Text

It would be nice to say that by Monday, Gertrude has forgotten entirely about the strange child she’d encounter that Saturday, but that would be both lying and incredibly out of character for her. As she steps into work on Monday, she finds herself wondering if the monster will, indeed, come. It claimed to be a monster of the Ceaseless Watcher, which as far as Gertrude can tell seems just about right, so she supposes it doesn’t have anything immediately to fear upon entering into a temple of the Eye. However, the feeling of being Watched is always stronger during the week, and whatever entity it is that lords over the Institute may not take well to having its territory encroached upon, even by one that serves the same 'god'. That would be fine with Gertrude, as she had yet to figure out just exactly what was doing the Watching. There is, naturally, the answer of the Ceaseless Watcher itself, but Gertrude suspects that there is another monster in play. Her current theory points her towards Wright, but further evidence has yet to be found on that matter. She's had other more pressing matters. 

If the 'child' shows up, it would also be coming in the middle of the day, when there were people around, and wouldn’t they suspect something? He was, by all appearances, a child. Perhaps he’d take on a more grown form, in which case then Gertrude would learn that to be an ability of his. And perhaps he wouldn’t come at all. It was all very good data to collect. 

“Good morning, Ms. Robinson!” Michael stands from his desk, grinning widely as Gertrude finally makes it to the end of the stairs and into the Archives. Emma looks up from her desk as well, smiling and waving. Sarah isn’t in just yet, running a bit behind today it would seem. Gertrude gives them a small smile.

“Please, Michael, I’ve told you Gertrude is alright.” She tells him warmly. She knows by now, of course, that Michael will continue to call her ‘Ms. Robinson’. After all, one must show respect for the old, frail, and elderly, shouldn’t they?

She goes into her office, sits down, and pulls out a statement. She looks it over, flipping back and forth between the pages. The story practically hums under her fingertips as if alive, as if a shivering small lamb. The fear is there, old but still good, like canned food. That must be what it’s like for the Eye, Gertrude imagines. She does not read it right away. Wait, make the Eye wait for it. It’s her job to Archive these, and they give her good information, information she needs, but she is not ruled by the Eye. She will read the statement when she wants to, on her own time. For now, she leaves the door slightly open and accepts the cup of tea that Emma has prepared her, made just the way she likes it. 

“-but because the needle needs to go over those grooves, every time you play a record, you are participating in the act of destroying it. This presents you with an interesting choice you need to make: do you use a record for its intended purpose and in doing so ruin it, or do you preserve it but then never listen to it?” 

Jonathan’s voice carries down, right into Gertrude’s office, and she looks up. Everybody is looking at the stairwell.

“Well, if that’s the case, why not just buy music on CD’s, or even cassettes if you have to?” Sarah’s voice follows after Jonathan’s. 

“CD’s can get scratched up. It’s very annoying, and I cannot wait until we move onto the next thing. Cassettes have their own set of difficulties as well, and we once again come across the destruction through usage, although this one works a lot differently. You see, in a cassette-”

Jonathan is descending the stairs right behind Sarah, who has the fondest look on her face as she listens to the child that is no child rattle off facts about CDs and cassettes and records. 

“Good morning Sarah! Who’s this?” Michael asks, standing from his desk again and going over to greet the two. 

“Morning Michael. This professional here has to have an important discussion with our Archivist.” Sarah says. 

“I’m here to talk to Ms. Robinson. It’s very important.” Jonathan says for himself.

“Well hey there, I’m Michael. First we need to take some notes about your statement before you can see Ms. Robinson, but that shouldn’t take much time. Although, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you parents?” Michael asks, as well meaning as ever, hand put out for a shake.

“Dead,” Jonathan replies bluntly, “I’m Jonathan, and there won’t be a need for any of that. I’m not making a statement, but I do need to talk to Ms. Robinson.” To his credit, Jonathan does shake Michael’s hand before heading straight to Gertrude’s office, although Michael looks like he's still reeling from the 'dead' answer. 

“Uh-” Michael starts to say. He has somewhat designated himself as the gatekeeper to Gertrude’s office. He wouldn’t want the poor old woman to get overworked or anything. 

“It’s alright, dear.” Gertrude calls to Michael.

Jonathan enters Gertrude’s room, closes the door behind him, and sits in the statement giver chair with his back straight. His hair is in two twin dutch braids this time, but he still flicks his head as if trying to get a bit of hair out of his face. Gertrude is closer to him now than she had been Saturday, and she can see that his eyes are hazel. She can feel it better this time, the kind of aura that radiates off of him. It’s not fear-inducing, not yet at least. It’s like standing next to a kiln, the fire raging on a frightening heat inside, but still contained inside of the bricks. At least, Gertrude thinks that’s what it’s like. She still knows so little about this thing. 

“I’m skipping school to be here. My Gran is going to be upset when she finds out.” Jonathan informs Gertrude. 

“Then go home.” Gertrude challenges. It becomes a staring match very quickly, and Gertrude is proud to say that Jonathan blinks first. And then assess the fact that she is proud about winning a staring match with almost a child.

“You’re rude and mean. But I already knew that.” Jonathan sniffs. 

“I am,” Gertrude says, “Now are you going to tell me anything, or are you going to go back to your grandmother?” 

“I have a lot I want to tell you, but I keep wondering if I should tell you.” Jonathan folds his arms, and he’s looking at Gertrude again. He’s quiet for a couple seconds longer before sighing and saying, “There’s no point in stopping the rituals. Or, well, there a point in stopping them, because a lot of people die, but the world isn’t going to end if you don’t stop them.” 

“Really.” Gertrude makes it plain she doesn’t believe them. Jonathan rolls his eyes. 

“Some are doomed simply because of what Fear is attempting to be summoned - the End doesn’t need a ritual, in a sense the very act of existing is the ritual as every second brings the world closer to its End, whatever and whenever that may be. The Hunt is about the act of hunting, and it’s never about the catch, so the actual prize at the end won't ever be reached. But the rituals are also doomed from conception because they suppose each entity to exist on it’s own. The entities are all connected to each other, and they cannot be easily parted. You’ve read your share of statements by this time, I’m sure. Not each one falls into an easy category - and those categories to begin with are just labels that someone decided they had the authority to name.” Jonathan explains with seeming ease, eyes drifting closed as if to better envision the words he is saying. 

“You said that you’ve seen what happens when the Ceaseless Watcher’s ritual succeeds.” Gertrude points out.

“Because that’s the only one that has been created that’s capable of succeeding. It does put an emphasis on the Eye, but it pulls all the others into our plane of existence as well. And it’s bad .” Like Saturday, Jonathan very particularly insists that the world would be bad if the ritual succeeds. Not that Gertrude really needs too much convincing on that front. Anybody with half a brain could’ve told her that. 

“Alright, so then how do we stop it? I assume that’s why you’re here.” Gertrude waits. And waits. And waits. Jonathan isn’t meeting her eyes any more. Apparently, her office’s walls and floor are incredibly and deeply interesting for an eye monster, “... you don’t know.” She can barely even believe it.

“It’s not as easy as toss a fucking person in a hole!” Jonathan throws his arms up and then slaps them over his mouth. He stares with wide eyes at Gertrude and then down at her desk and says in a rushed and much quieter voice, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to swear it’s just been a stressful few days.” He lifts one of his hands and looks like he’s about to bit down on his knuckle before stopping himself and putting his hands in his lap. 

“If it’s not as easy as that, then what does it take?” Gertrude almost demands.

“We need to find a way to get rid of Jonah and Annabelle Cane, I think. As far as I’m aware, they know the most about what’s required to fulfill the Watcher’s Crown. Of course, that’s a lot easier said than done. Annabelle Cane is a rather tricky spider, and I have no doubt she’s likely already become aware of my presence and has started to wave some web or other taking me into account. Jonah, on the other hand, is difficult due to the fact that he is the beating heart of the Institute - almost literally. If he’s killed, the entire Institute goes with it - yourself and your assistants included.” Jonathan seems to have found his footing again, visibly more comfortable even as the not-quite-child talks about killing a man and woman.

“If the Watcher’s Crown is the only ritual we need to worry about, wouldn’t that be worth it then?” Gertrude asks. It’s not as if she wants to die, but she’d be willing to be the casualty in this war if that's what it takes. 

“I’m not letting your assistants die,” Jon says stubbornly, “Not when they’re not aware of what’s going on at least. And there must be another way. There has to be. I just need more time and resources. Your resources. The Archives. And, like I said, we need to take care of Annabelle Cane first.”

“A lot of demands for a child to be making.” Gertrude notes. 

“Well, I’m the best chance we have right now. Believe me, don’t believe me, but when Jonah shoots you I hope you know I gave you the chance to get ahead of this.” Jonathan practically spits. 

There’s silence between them again as Gertrude processes what he’s said. Jonathan had said that Wright was Jonah Magnus, and oh how easy it would be just to march right up to his office and put a bullet in his head. It was likely, however, that if the man was the mastermind Jonathan was claiming him to be, he had some sort of plan in case that happened. Or, being associated with the Ceaseless Watcher, would see her on her way up and get the drop on her instead. Speaking of which…

“How do you know that Jonah hasn’t been listening in on this entire conversation?” Gertrude asks.

“Well, surely you’d be filling up… the… space…” Jonathan trails off. His head whips around, looking, searching. Gertrude looks around her room as well. There’s no eyes in sight, at least. Gertrude got rid of those long ago. This time, Jonathan doesn’t manage to stop himself from biting down on his hand as he continues to look around the office, “Right, you’re a bad Archivist. You can’t Know, can you? If he’s been Watching? I mean, it doesn’t feel like it’s been bad, the bad kind of paranoid feeling when you know he's Looking closely? Shit, shit, shit.” Jonathan is still turning around, and in all honesty, it’s very pathetic looking.

“Calm down, or you might get his attention, if he wasn’t already watching. He’d be attracted to all the fear, wouldn’t he?” Gertrude says. Jonathan takes some notably deep breaths, holding them and then slowly letting them out. 

“Right, right. If he’s seen us, he’s seen us. We’ll just, yes, we might still have a chance,” Jonathan is whispering to himself, mostly. He shakes his head, braids almost hitting his face, and then looks back at Gertrude, “I should go. Probably. We need to talk more about this. There are other things you should know about, like, um…” Jonathan doesn’t say whatever he was going to say next, but his eyes flick downwards, and Gertrude catches what he means. Tunnels, next time. 

Jonathan begins to leave, but Gertrude gets up and stops him, holding the door barely open a crack. Jonathan looks up at her in confusion, and Gertrude puts a finger to her lips as she whispers.

“Somebody is coming down.” 

It’s not the same feeling as when she’d Known Jonathan had been here on Saturday, but it was similar enough. Someone who had a statement, a real statement. She could tell that much. Could it be Jonah himself? After watching them, come down to kill both of them and stop their plotting right then and there? Gertrude blinks, somewhat surprised at the ease with which she’s already believing what the strange not-a-child has told her. She reminds herself that she knows nothing about Jonathan. She isn’t going to let herself pass up an opportunity to get ahead of things, but she also isn’t going to let herself fall into a trap, if that is what this is. 

There’s two sets of feet, both of them somewhat irregular sounding. Gertrude and Jonathan both have themselves pressed up against the door, waiting, listening. 

“Well hello there,” It’s Emma who speaks, voice pure sugar and sweetness, an octave higher, as it usually gets when addressing statement giver, “Are you lost?” That part, of course, is an odd questions.

“I’m here to make a statement.” A child’s voice declares. Gertrude’s eyes flick down to Jonathan. His forehead is scrunched up. 

“Another? Uh, well, are you sure-”

“So you do take statements. Damn- or, um, darn. Danny, don’t repeat that, that’s a bad word.” 

Jonathan gasps and he pushes the door open so suddenly that Gertrude almost falls.

“TIM?!”