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Chapter Text

The hospital was packed by the time they arrived. Sasha was immediately raced off into intensive care, nurses and doctors in tow and shouting as they carried IVs and oxygen cylinders after them. Martin was dragged off almost as quickly, to get his burns seen to.

Which left Jon and Tim alone.

Jon tried not to look at Tim, turning away and huddling into his coat as he felt his eyes burning into him. Watching him as if Jon was something utterly terrifying and completely monstrous. Which- Jon supposed he was. He closed his eyes and sank down to sit on a bench, feeling ill. His face really hurt.

“What are you?” Tim whispered again. He was looking at Jon as if he was expecting him to spring at his throat at any moment.

Jon swallowed. “Something- not unlike Jane Prentiss.” He said at last.

It didn’t help. Tim shifted away three seats to the end of the row, huddling in on himself as if to offer a smaller target if Jon was about to attack. Jon tried to think of something to say- but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make the current situation even worse. How long were they going to be keeping Martin?

His phone rang. Jon pulled it out and almost cried to see Mike’s name. “Hello- ow.” He’d held it to his bad ear. He quickly swapped it to the other.

“Jon!” Mike gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I’ve been trying to call you but it wasn’t connecting. Are you okay?”

Jon touched his blood-soaked dressings gingerly. “I’m in one piece, more or less. You’ve heard?”

“It’s all over the news. Bioterrorism attack at the Magnus Institute. Everyone all right? Martin?”

“A few burns, we’re at the hospital.” Jon swallowed, glanced at Tim, he was still watching Jon as if hypnotised. Jon sighed. “There was more than one incident. One of the items in Artifact Storage- I think it decided to make the most of the distraction, it ate one of my assistants.”

“Shit.”

“Yes. We got her out but- she’s in Intensive Care right now. They don’t know if she’s-“ Jon broke off. How did he know that? But he knew it, down to the bone as if he had been in the same room as the doctors hurrying around Sasha’s still form, trying to stabilise her.

“Jon?” Mike’s voice cracked, broke, the connection failing.

“I’ll call you back. Martin and I are going to be fine, and Prentiss is dead-“ The phone beeped, Jon sighed and pulled it away from his ear, and stared.

The screen was not the black of his corrupted background picture, or the Beholding’s eye. It was showing the grainy feed of a hospital room. A bed, covered in tubes and surrounded by machines. Nurses hurrying to wrap the exposed injuries in meters of bandages. A face, although he couldn’t recognise it- still and unmoving under an oxygen mask. The speakers fed the irregular beep of her heartrate monitor.

Jon looked at the feed, then up at Tim. “Tim.” He held out the phone.

Tim recoiled as if it had been a bomb.

“Tim, it’s Sasha.”

Tim looked from Jon to the phone, terror and helpless rage that made Jon was to pull away, but he stayed where he was, offering his phone. At last Tim reached out and took it, staring down into the tiny image of Sasha inside, his face a rictus of agony.

Mine. The Beholding murmured. It had been quiet since the Not!Sasha had died. Mine.

Yours. Jon closed his eyes wearily. He was so tired. This day had been too much from the beginning. He wanted to go home so badly. How long did they need to keep Martin?

Mine.

Yes, yours too. And probably Tim, but I wouldn’t tell him that just now.

Mine

Me

I

The last was strained, a struggle of conceptualisation. Jon sat up. Looked up at the cameras around the hospital, it wasn’t much, but- “I need my phone back.”

Tim blinked, as in coming back to himself from- wherever he had been. He looked at Jon’s hand as if he had never seen it before, then slowly handed him the phone.

Jon set it in his lap, looking up at him. You. He tried to open his mind to It, to let it see his own understanding, to guide it.

He felt the Beholding rush through him. Pouring in through the cameras and phone in a roar that seemed deafening in the sudden silence. Jon looked around, and felt his skin crawl when he realised that everyone in the waiting room had stopped speaking, stopped moving. They were looking at him, phones held up to capture him in their cameras. He swallowed; Tim made a broken sort of noise and fell off the bench in a panic.

“Yours.” Jon whispers. “See me. Learn. Understand.”

It was struggling. Jon was trying help but- he had told Martin as much a few weeks ago- human minds simply weren’t built to grasp anything on the scale of Beholding. It was too huge, too impossibly alien and complex and beyond anything they could comprehend.

He felt it dig into his mind, pulling out the memories of the Corruption. The strange portal, Prentiss dying. Then that terrible battle between him and the Not!Them, the world straining and threatening to come apart at the seams.

Not me

Me

I

I am

Jon shivered, fighting the urge to fall to his knees- or curl up into a ball on the floor under the sheer scale of the words. The first tentative hints of true sapience. God, what had he done? It was- too big, too much, a scale beyond anything mortal actions could reach.

Me, it continued, thoughtful. I.

I am

Jon shuddered as more and more poured into his head. Himself, Martin, Sasha, Tim and Elias and everyone at the Institute and more and more as the Beholding grasped at everyone that belonged to It.

I am

The Corruption. The Not-Them. And more, reaching into Jon’s memories of the Vast, falling with Mike. Then- he sobbed- the Web, Mr Spider, those hungry legs reaching out. The countless scuttling multitudes, hungry to devour him-

Not me

I am

What

Jon gulped in a breath, tasted blood. He was bleeding again, from his eyes and nose. In the waiting room, the people holding out their phones were bleeding too, faces calm and expressionless as they all looked at him through red tears.

What am I?

Jon hunched, struggling not to retch. His head felt like it might burst, the Beholding, forcing, reaching, trying to put all the pieces together and understand- but it was too much. It wasn’t enough, and finally Jon felt the tension break and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

The waiting room was back to normal. The noise returned. People absently wiped their bleeding eyes and noses- and immediately forgot about them, returning to their phones or their conversations. A few of them glanced over at Jon, on the floor on all fours. Jon managed to sit up, hugging his knees.

Who

Who am I

It was distant, considering. The concepts grasped and fitted together, turned over and over in fascination.

“What the fuck?” Tim whispered.

“Jon?”

Jon nearly collapsed. Oh Martin, oh thank God. He staggered to his feet and Martin was there, pulling him close. “Hey.” He whispered in Jon’s hair. “You okay?”

“Not really.” Jon brushed his hair out of his face. “What about you?”

Martin pulled a face. The bandage over his worm bites had been joined by several bright pink strips of gauze, and his hair had been cropped short in places, close to his scalp. “I legitimately hate burns. Zero out of ten, least favourite of pain ever. What happened?” He brushed drying blood away from Jon’s eye.

“I- Beholding. Sit down, I can tell you.”

Martin helped him down in the seat, half in his lap; he kept his arms around him, breathing against his hair. “It’s learning.” Jon mumbled into the scorched fabric of his jacket. “It’s trying to understand what It is.”

“Shit.” Martin rubbed his back, “Have you told It we’re not that good at answering that question even for ourselves?”

“I think got that much. It’s trying but-“ Jon exhaled. “It’s- terrifying. It’s so much.”

“Shh.” Martin hugged him. “It’s been around forever. It can wait a day or two until you get some rest.”

As if it had been waiting to be mentioned, the exhaustion Jon had been trying to push through hit like a sledgehammer. “-right.” He said finally, fighting against the urge to just curl up on top of Martin and sleep.

“You knew about this?” Tim had gotten up, staring at them in horror and disbelief. “You knew?”

“Well- yes.” Martin gave Tim a weary shrug. “Jon explained it to me after Prentiss started going after me.”

Tim didn’t seem to have words for that. He slumped in his chair, looking down at the floor as if it had defeated him. For long moments, they were quiet, the bustle of the hospital passing around them.

“Excuse me; you came in with Ms- Sasha James?” The voice cut into the fog that had settled in Jon’s mind, he started upright.

A doctor was standing there, looking almost as exhausted as they felt.

“Yes.” Martin nodded, gently easing Jon off his lap and standing up. “We’re her friends.”

“Okay. Well, thank you for coming, but there is nothing you can do here tonight. We have your contact details and will contact you if anything changes.”

“Is she okay?” Tim said hoarsely. He tried to get up too, and staggered, almost falling over. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Ms James is currently stable.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Tim’s eyes were wild. He braced himself on the wall, hand white knuckling on the plaster. “What’s happening?!”

“As you are not family, I cannot-“

Jon lifted his head, everything felt so heavy, but inside himself, interlaced through him, was the spreading presence of Beholding. Like a new circulatory or nervous system, winding its way through him, spreading and making him more and more one of It; little by little. Jon’s met the doctor’s eyes, and felt the words heavy on his tongue.

“How is she?”

“She’s lost more than seventy percent of her skin.” The doctor blinked in shock at the words coming from his mouth, but they kept coming, drawn out smooth and sweetly as a magician pulling handkerchiefs from a hat. “We’re keeping her in a medically induced coma to keep her stable, but there really is no way to be sure if she’ll wake up. She’ll need extensive skin grafts, but there’s so little left of her own skin that no one’s sure if we could use it, even with tissue expansion. We’re doing our best, and seeing what we have in skin donors.”

The doctor blinked, caught his breath. Went white when he realised what he’d just done, and fled.

Tim and Martin looked at him. Martin in surprise, Tim in a sort of dull, resigned horror. “Did you do that?” Martin said softly.

“Yes.” The Beholding purred in satisfaction, drinking in the doctor’s terror at saying so much, that someone might find out what he had done, and he would be in so much trouble- Jon pushed the sensation away. Not now.

“What the fuck.” Tim sounded like he might be about to cry.

“There’s nothing we can do here.” Jon pulled out his phone, once again showing the feed of Sasha in her hospital bed. The heartrate monitor was blinking evenly. “We can check in on her like this, let’s go home before that doctor finds an excuse to throw us out.”

“Yeah.” Martin helped him up. They took two unsteady steps toward the doors, and stopped.

Tim was still sitting on the bench, looking at them helplessly. “Tim?” Jon said gently. “Are you coming?”

He didn’t move, looking around as if desperate to have any other option present itself to him. Finally, he got up, shuffling over to join them. He kept shooting Jon half panicked looks, as if expecting him to do- something hideous to him at any moment. Martin gently nudged Jon to his other side, getting between them, and Tim relaxed a millimeter.

“We could walk you home?” Jon tried, and got another terrified look. Oh, having his inhuman boss knowing where he lived would probably not be appealing to Tim. “Or- call you a taxi?”

“Or you could come back with us.” Martin put in, as Tim’s rictus look of panic remained in place. “Jon has a pull out sofa and you could- keep an eye on things?”

That got him a long, desperate stare, then at last, as if afraid his head might snap off if moved too quickly, Tim gave a single, stiff nod.

“Okay.” Martin exhaled. “Jon, how do we get back to your place?”

They got a taxi, in the end. It would be going under work expenses but Jon no longer cared. Tim got in front beside the driver and completely ignored the elderly Jamaican’s man attempts at conversation until he pulled into their street.

“You need to get him to relax, mon.” He smiled at Jon, as Jon handed him the cash. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” Jon managed. He took two steps towards the door, then stopped. Tim hadn’t moved. Jon made the mistake of taking a step towards him, and Tim recoiled. Shit.

“I’ll get him in.” Martin gently took Tim by the shoulders. “Go in the lift first and get the bed ready.”

“Right.”

The flat was absurdly, obscenely normal after the day they’d had. Jon looked around in disbelief that anything could be so- untouched. The only thing out of place was the pile of clothes on his bed. He looked down at himself, belatedly realizing he hadn’t changed out of his old things. The coat was covered in dirt and squashed worms, the leather fraying in places where they’d tried to dig through the thick hide. Jon took it off with a shudder. He’d have to find somewhere to get it cleaned and repaired-

Right. Bed. Tim. He pulled out the sofabed, wondering distantly if it might be worth just keeping it out permanently, given how things seems to be going. He put out the sheets and was just throwing a duvet over it when the door opened for Tim and Martin.

Tim made a thin, broken sound at the sight of him, and Jon backed into the bathroom. “I’ll just- um.”

“Good idea.” Martin looked shattered. “I’ll get him settled. You- get cleaned up. Your bandages.”

Oh. Jon touched the side of his face. His bandages were sodden and clotted, and the surgical tape was peeling away in places. He nodded, and closed the door.

Soaking and peeling off the gauze was a gruesome task, Jon tried not to think about it, sponging off the mess of wounds on his face and ear, listening to Martin’s soft voice through the bathroom door. He couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but it sounded soothing.

Jon washed his face at last, wincing at the still-oozing mass of holes, the pocked and ragged remains of his ear. He covered them in antiseptic, found fresh gauze, and started taping himself back together.

Martin came in as he finished. “He’s in bed.” He said softly. “I think- I hope he’s asleep. Probably best not to wake him.” He’d lost the jacket and pants, was in his shirt and underwear. His skin was red in places, but thankfully the firefighter’s outfit had saved him from any real damage.

“Martin.” Jon breathed, and Martin’s face drew up, all the pain and terror he’d not allowed himself to feel coming out at once, and- without being sure which of them moved first- they were in each others’ arms.

For long moments, they just stood there, in the bathroom. Holding on tight. “Shit.” Martin whispered.

“Quite.”

“What was that- thing?” Martin stroked his back. “The one from the table. Was it like Prentiss?”

“I’m not sure.” Jon rested his cheek against Martin’s chest. His heart was beating deep and steady, “I don’t know if it ever was human.”

“Fuck.” Martin breathed. “Is Sasha-“

“I don’t know. I don’t know any more than you do.”

Martin held him tightly for another long moment, then relaxed. “Let’s- just brush our teeth, and get to bed.”

“Shower. “ Jon said wearily. “I won’t be able to sleep like this.”

It was awkward, with the bandages. He’d have to find some waterproof dressings, but oh if felt good. Jon wrapped his hair in a towel, almost crying in relief just to be clean. Martin got in after him as he brushed his teeth.

They padded out on tentative feet, past the lumped form of Tim, buried in the blankets. He didn’t move as they passed, and Jon eased the bedroom door open, sidling inside. Closed it after Martin.

“Shit.” Martin said again, dropping heavily on the bed. “Oh, should we-“

“Tomorrow.” Jon picked up an armful of his clothes and dumped them in the wardrobe. He’d put them back up tomorrow. After today, the ironing he’d have to do wasn’t even worth registering as a concern. He dropped back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Martin rolled over beside him. Rested a hand on his chest.

Jon turned to face him. “Hey.” Martin whispered. Touched his cheek, so lightly, as if he was afraid Jon would shatter.

“I’m here.” Jon took his hand in both of his.

Martin hunched, shuddered. “Yeah. You- nearly weren’t.”

“We all nearly weren’t.” Jon shifted closer, until their noses were brushing. “But we’re still here.”

This close, he could count the freckles across Martin’s cheeks, the thin lines of grey in his blue eyes. The way the pupils expanded in the dim light filtering through the curtains, drinking Jon in. “Yeah.” He kissed Jon gently on the lips, then deeper. Then deeper still, then-

 Jon wasn’t too sure what happened after that. The closest he could come was making love. But that wasn’t right; it wasn’t sex- although the crotch of Martin’s underwear was somewhat damp afterwards. It was just- being. Together, entangling themselves through and through each other, pressing every inch of skin together, a desperate, wordless reassurance that they were here, they were alive. They had made it.

Jon knotted himself around Martin, until he barely knew where he ended and Martin began, and managed not to sob in sheer relief.

Chapter Text

Jon woke with a deep, throbbing ache in his face. He groaned, and tried to roll over- but that just made it worse; and he sat up with a gasp. Martin grunted, and pulled the blankets over his head.

Oh. Jon caught his breath. Fragments of his dreams chased after him into the waking world. Prentiss, choking, gasping for breath as her worms withered and died around her. The Not!Them, screaming as the flame engulfed it. The Beholding, that deep rumbled of satisfaction, like a well fed cat.

Jon closed his eyes. It was over. Whatever the horrors of yesterday, they were dead. They were gone. They were no longer something he had to worry about. For a change, something- two somethings- had come after him, and they had died.

He tried to smile, and winced when that pulled at one of his wounds. This was why he had done this. Was doing this. Selling off his humanity piece by piece, because one day that would be the Web. One day it would come for him, and be left crumbled and burning and screaming in his wake. The Beholding was holding up Its’ end of the bargain.

Jon carefully slid his legs out of bed, tucking the blankets more securely around Martin. He grumbled, and settled back into deeper sleep. Jon leaned down to gently kiss his forehead, swallowed two painkillers, and opened the door just enough to sidle through.

The curtains were drawn, casting the living room into warm, red shadow. Jon wondered what time it was- they discarded that thought. They could hardly be expected to come in today. He tiptoed to the kitchen and turned the kettle on.

It was midway through making tea that he felt the eyes on him. He turned, and Tim was lying curled up on the bed, watching him with a blank expression. “Good morning,” Jon attempted. “You- want tea?”

Tim didn’t answer at once. Then gave a slow blink, and closed his eyes. He seemed to be gathering every scrap of his strength, and Jon wondered if he’d slept the night before.

Then he got up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. He’d lost his clothes and wetsuit, and was in a pair of loose boxers Jon recognised as Martin’s, he walked over as Jon put two mugs down on the table.

It- occurred to Jon that if Tim wanted to, he could probably hurt him very badly. He was a good head taller than Jon, and much wider and stronger. From the look in Tim’s eyes, he’d realised the same thing.

But then he sat down heavily, with a low groan as if just that action had drained him, and took his mug. Jon pulled the curtains open, and the glare of the summer morning made Tim hiss in pain.

He sat opposite him, tried the tea. He could never get it as good as Martin’s.

“So.” Tim said at last. Set the cup aside.

Jon nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“You’re not human.”

“Not exactly, but-“ Jon stopped himself, he didn’t think Tim wanted a precise breakdown of what he might or might not be. “No. Not fully, not anymore.”

“Like Prentiss wasn’t human.”

“Yes, like her.”

Tim closed his eyes, gave a shudder that seemed to come from his very bones. “Christ.” He breathed. Then. “Are you part of the circus?”

Jon blinked, thrown. “I- what? What circus?”

“Don’t. Play. Games.” Tim gritted the words you. “The Circus of the Other. Are you part of it?”

The Dennikin statement, Tim had been very interested in that one. “I have no idea. No?”

For a moment Tim just looked at him, eyes burning with something very like what Jon had seen in him yesterday, when he was tearing the Not!Sasha to pieces. Then he sagged. “No, I should have guessed. Of course they wouldn’t bother with you.” It was spat, poisonous.

Jon’s hackles rose despite himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tim closed his eyes. “So, what are you then?”

Jon hesitated. It had been a lot easier with Martin. “You read a lot about Robert Smirke, did you ever run into any references about Smirke’s Fourteen?”

Martin pushed the door open, looking around to make sure no one was hurt, but Jon and Tim were just sitting at the table. Tim was glaring at Jon, but it seemed to lack some of the heat that had been there yesterday. He looked more- helpless, and lost.

“So that’s why you plastered the place with cameras.” Tim said at last, looking down at- oh no, had Jon tried to make tea? “To try and keep us safe.” It was spat out, probably even more bitter than the tea. “And look how that ended.”

“I was trying to deal with the spiders.” Jon’s shoulders were rigid, “I hardly expect we would become- magnets for this much trouble.”

“The spiders-“ Tim glanced up at the eyes covering the walls, and gave a fractured laugh. “Of course there’s spooky spiders. Why the fuck not, at this point?” Then he saw Martin.

Jon followed his gaze, and relaxed a little. “Good morning Martin.” He gave a small smile.

Martin tried to smile back, but it hurt to see him like that, the side of his face covered in gauze, already seeping red in places. His eyes tight with pain because he’d probably forgotten to take painkillers this morning.

The ache from his own wounds reminded Martin he probably needed to take his too. He stepped into the kitchen and put the kettle on, digging out three mugs.

“We already have tea.” Jon protested half heartedly.

“Hmm.” Martin found the painkillers, took two and tossed the packet to Jon. He blinked at them in surprise, then relief, downing two with his tea. Martin grimaced to see the teabag was still in there.

“Do you want-“

“No.” Tim hadn’t looked away from Martin. “You knew. All this time, you knew our boss was some kind of- monster.”

God, it was too early for this. Not before he’d had his first cup of decent tea, please. “Yes. I knew.” The kettle boiled, he warmed the cups, added the teabags, and poured in the hot water. The simple, familiar ritual felt far too good.

“And- what? That’s it?” Tim looked like he was trying to stay angry, but was so exhausted it kept slipping away.

Martin bought the cups through. Jon huffed as he cleared the other two cups away. “I wasn’t finished with mine.”

Martin didn’t dignify that with a response, turning instead to Tim. “And what? Would you have believed me? I saw how you and Sasha were with Jon.”

Tim looked about to protest, then sagged, looking even slightly ashamed before he buried his face in his hands. “Fuck.”

“Tea.” Martin nudged the cup. Tim took it.

“And Sasha. Did you know what was going to happen to her?”

“No. And when we did, we told you.” Jon sipped his tea, and smiled a little, Martin sat on the bed, covered his hand with his own.

“I almost didn’t believe you.” Tim whispered, and Martin knew that anger had turned to a new target, wanting something to blame, to hurt.

Jon looked about to say something, but Martin squeezed his hand. “I- I know you want to be angry, Tim,” He said carefully. “But there’s no one to be angry at. Not Jon, not me, and not you either. Just whatever it was yesterday, and it’s dead.”

“And Artifact Storage.” Jon put in, leaning against Martin. “We warned them how dangerous that table was; what were they thinking just leaving it lying around?”

“I said we should have smashed it.” Tim looked at his mug.

“Yeah. You were right.” Martin nudged the mug and Tim finally took a sip. “I wish we had smashed it, okay?”

For a moment Tim looked so defeated Martin wondered if he was about to fall off the chair. Then he straightened, painfully gathering himself like picking up every shard of a smashed vase, “Okay.” He looked at Jon, and for once there was no rancor in his eyes. “Can you- the phone thing. I want to know she’s okay.”

Jon handed it over, and Tim looked down into the tiny image. Martin wondered how Jon was doing that. Could he do it with other cameras? It would be kinda neat; they could stream entire movies as they were being filmed-

“Do you recognise her?” Tim asked.

Jon leaned over, frowning, then shook his head. “No. It- must have tried to erase and replace her in our memories. It didn’t work properly for me, I don’t remember her, or what it pretended to be.”

“I do.” Tim’s lips were white. “But it’s not her. I can’t remember Sasha.” He broke off, swallowed.

“She’s still alive.” Jon said gently. “There will be new memories.”

“Right.”

Martin looked at the phone, the tiny grainy face under all those tubes and wires. Not Sasha. The woman he remembered was short and dumpy, with straightened hair and a constantly flat, bored expression. The very picture of an assistant, exactly what anyone would expect to see. The tall, rather statuesque woman with her long braids spread out over the pillow was not her- and yet it was.

“Are we going to remember her, eventually?” Martin glanced at Jon. “Will it wear off?”

Jon gave a helpless shrug. “I have no idea. Perhaps-“ he brightened, “We already found a statement about that thing in the Archives, perhaps there’s more there that could shed light on what happened, or if there’s anything we could do to help her.”

Tim blinked, and for the first time looked like he might be able to smile. “Yeah. That’s- we could do that. I’ll email research, see if they have anything that might not have come to us yet.”

“It’s going to have to wait though. I mean- after yesterday, they’re probably closed.” Martin put in.

“I have the keys,” Jon insisted, “I could-“ His phone beeped, the footage of Sasha vanishing to an email alert. Jon groaned. Tim stiffened, paling. “No, it’s not Sasha. Elias.” He glanced down at it, sighing. “He wants me to come in today. To- go over everything that’s happened.”

Ice shot through Martin as he suddenly remembered something else from yesterday. “Elias wants to meet you?” He wavered. “In person?”

Jon frowned at him. “Yes. I admit it’s a bit odd; he’s never set up an in person meeting before. It’s all been via emails.”

No. No. No. “Jon.” Martin took Jon by the arm, and pulled him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. “Jon, the archives are a mess.”

Jon frowned at him, bewildered. “Yes, I think I know that, Martin.”

God, for someone turning himself into the living embodiment of forbidden knowledge, he was fucking thick sometimes. “What happened,” Martin hissed, “To the last person who messed up the Archives?”

Jon blinked, then started as he finally put two and two together. “I- oh. But surely- it’s hardly our fault.”

“I know that, but Jon, I’ve been here for ten years and Gertrude never did anything like this, and he still killed her.”

“I thought he killed her.” Jon said weakly. “And- anyway, you said it yourself, Martin. The Institute is going to be crawling with police after yesterday. He wouldn’t be able to just shoot me?” Jon sounded like he was trying to convince himself and it wasn’t working.

“I’m coming with you.”

“I- no! Martin, if he is going to- try and hurt me, I hardly want you nearby.”

“Well- well tough, because I’m going.” He tightened his grip on Jon arm. “If he’s going to shoot you-“

“Who’s shooting Jon?” Tim pushed the door open. “Wait, are you talking about Elias?”

“Were you listening at the door?” Jon scowled.

“Um, yeah? You two suddenly go ‘ohh, let’s go have a suspicious secret chat’; you think I’m just staying there having a tea party with all your creepy eyes? So, why is Elias going to shoot Jon? Apart from because he’s an eye monster.”

“Given he is one himself, I doubt that.” Jon sighed. “And I’m not convinced-“

“Jon thinks he shot Gertrude for being a bad Archivist.” Martin crossed his arms, “So he might also decide to shoot Jon after yesterday.”

“It wasn’t just that she was a bad Archivist-“

“He shot- why not just fire her? Is there some fucked up monster blackmail going on here too? Fire me and I’ll tell everyone you eat people’s eyes from breakfast-“

“We don’t eat eyes.” Jon looked exasperated. “I- look, I have no idea. But I am going to have to meet him at some point, so it might as well be now when the police are still around.”

Martin didn’t have an answer to that. “I’m still coming with you.”

Jon pushed his glasses up, rubbed his eyes. “Martin-"

“Oookay.” Tim drew in a breath. “So you knew Elias is also a monster, and murdered Gertrude for whatever fucked up monster reasons, and you haven’t quit- why?”

“Tim, there- look, to make it easier on both of us, assume that if your question can be answered by ‘because the alternative was to be eaten by spiders’ that is probably at least partially the reason.”

“’Because the alternate was to be eaten by spiders’.” Tim repeated. “Is that Elias too?”

“No! God no. Just- as long as I work for the Institute, I’m- protected to some extent. They can still try but it’s harder for them, and I can see them coming.” He pulled a face, “Usually.”

“Right.” Tim slumped, he looked at Martin. “So, what’s your excuse?”

“Worms.” Martin shrugged.

“Oh for fucks’ sake.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but I’m not coming to the Institute. If you two get shot, I’m making sure Sasha’s got someone with her.”

“No one is getting shot!” Jon protested. Martin glared, and he gave up. “Very well. But if he does shoot me, I want you to run.”

That was certainly not going to happen, but Martin let it go. Hopefully Jon was right and Elias wouldn’t try anything with the police around. “We’ll join you at the hospital when we’re done.”

“Try and warn me if Elias goes full Rambo. I’ll try and fight him off with an IV stand.” Tim tried to smile, and it almost looked right.

Chapter Text

The Institute was roped off, and Jon could see two bored looking police officers standing on the front steps. They looked over as he and Martin walked over. “No one allowed.” The shorter of the two women said in a flat voice.

She looked familiar, but Jon couldn’t place her. He started climbing the steps, but the two women barred his way. “I’m here to see Elias Bouchard.” Jon showed them his phone, and the email.

The first woman took his phone, glanced at it, and shrugged. “Sure, fine. The ECDC hasn’t cleared the place, so don’t come crying if the worms eat you.”

Jon nodded, but he knew it was clear. He could feel it in his bones. Beholding’s temple, damaged and despoiled, but free from the Crawling Rot. No doubt that was why Elias was happy meeting here.

His stomach clenched. Elias. He had barely seen the man since his initial interview, four years ago. But he’d known what he was even then. There was something about his eyes, like they were somehow more- real than the rest of him. Like he was like one of those trick paintings with the eyes cut out, and a real person was staring through the holes.

“Not you.” Jon halted, the police officers had stopped Martin. “No one allowed, unless you’ve got an invitation too?”

Martin hesitated, looking desperately at Jon. “I’ll be fine.” Jon assured him, wishing desperately that it was true.

Because- what of Martin was right? He’d hardly invited Prentiss into the Institute, but he hadn’t been very effective in keeping her out. What if Elias decided this Archivist was also a waste of time, and didn’t feel like giving Jon his one month’s notice?

No. It made no sense. Jon tried to reason it out. There had been that case with- what’s his name, the unpleasant man from accounting. Five employee complaints and another half dozen from the public; and even then it took three months and two lawyers to get rid of him. If Elias was so cavalier as to shoot anyone he wanted, it would have been him. It wasn’t as if anyone would have complained.

All the same, he glanced back as he went indoors, and saw Martin sliding along the wall, trying to get directly under the windows to Elias’ office. Was he hoping Jon would jump so he could catch him? It was- absurdly comforting.

Jon braced himself, and walked into the lobby.

It was painfully empty. Jon shuddered at the sight of small heaps of shriveled worms, swept up against the walls but not yet cleared away. They must have made it up here too; he hadn’t been in any state to notice yesterday. His face and ear throbbed miserably.

Rosie’s desk was empty, although her computer was still on. Jon squared his shoulders and started up the stairs to Elias’ office. He hadn’t been up here for four years, and felt that same cold hard knot of trepidation settle in his stomach when he looked at that ancient, hardwood door. Then, it had been out of fear that he would be cast out, left defenceless for the spiders. Now-

Well.

Jon knocked.

“Ah Jon, come in please.” At least he didn’t sound angry.

In fact, Elias was smiling from behind his desk, waving Jon inside. He’d become, if anything, even more unsettling in the past few years. Or perhaps it was Jon, becoming more perceptive. Those eyes seemed to burn, as if giving off their own alien light, casting the rest of Elias in shades of cool grey. Again, Jon was struck with the image of living eyes staring out from behind a mask, or a portrait.

Jon risked a glance at the actual portrait in the room; a shadowed, Rembrandt styled painting of Jonah Magnus, dark with age. But he didn’t have time for more than a quick look before Elias was gesturing to a chair. “Please Jon, sit down.”

Jon sat, and looked across the desk at Elias. He had both his hands on the table, steepled thoughtfully and there was no sign of a gun. Jon let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“Firstly Jon, I do have to ask about your health.” Elias looked at him over his fingertips. “How are you bearing up?”

Jon’s hand started to his ear, but he forced it back down, flat on the desk. “As well as can be expected.”

“Good, and Mr Blackwood, and Mr Stoker?”

“Also- as well as they can be.” He managed to restrain himself for glancing out of the window behind Elias.

“Good. Good.”

The moment stretched.

“Now Jon, you must be wondering why I asked you here while you are meant to be recovering.”

He clenched his fists in his lap.

“No doubt as you may have guessed, it is to discuss the events of yesterday.”

Jon caught his breath, bracing himself.

“Jon. I cannot even begin to tell you how deeply, completely and profoundly sorry I am for everything that happened.”

Jon almost choked.

“I really cannot blame anyone but myself.” Elias leaned forward, eyes boring into Jon intently. “And while I assure you, Jon, I had my reasons for behaving the way I did- and I even thought them perfectly good reasons at the time- it has become undeniable that they were exactly the wrong thing to do, and led to the tragic events of yesterday, both of Jane Prentiss and-“ he gave a deep sigh. “Of Sasha James.”

Oh. “You know.” Jon’s lips were numb.

“Of course.” Elias shrugged, “I could feel from the beginning that something was wrong, but I believed it was due to some- leftovers of the Filth. I spent most of last night going through the Archives, trying to find some hidden nest I had missed, but it was only when I left that I realised what had happened.” He paused. “What you had done.”

The gaze turned, if anything, even more intense, hunger and fascination and-

Fear?

Surely not.

Elias must have seen his expression, his smile broadened. “Jon, do you know what you did? You killed it. Something so old even our patron struggles to see its’ beginning. A horror that has walked the earth since its’ master first came into being. And you ended it.” His eyes were shining, hands white knuckled.

Jon swallowed, nodded. “Our patron.” He croaked. “Are we- going to talk about it, then?”

Elias slumped, the energy leaving him all at once. He sighed. “Yes, of course. That is- one of the things I wanted to apologise for, Jon. While what you did was incredible, it was only my own ill-conceived actions that put you in that position in the first place. Let me make it clear, this will be the last time. You will no longer be left on your own to manage as best you can. From now on, you will have my support and assistance whenever you wish.”

Jon sat back in his chair, trying to catch his breath. God. How long had he been desperate to hear those words? No longer searching blindly alone, or with those like Mike who knew only a little more. Elias was more than both of them, even at a glance Jon Knew he had been living in this world far longer than anyone else he had met. “Thank you.” He managed.

“Of course.” Elias shrugged it off. “And, in case you feel these are just empty words, I have been busy this morning arranging compensation for what happened yesterday. A small monetary bonus to you and all your assistants, to begin with, it’s the least you can expect given your actions. I have also been in touch with the hospital, and Ms James will be transferred to a specialized facility at the Royal London that will give here the best chance of recovery, and this Institute will be ready to help with any more- esoteric issues that may result from her ordeal.”

“Tim is there now. He hasn’t been very-“ Jon trailed off, trying to think of a way to end the sentence.

“I am aware of Mr Stoker’s- opinions as to those like us.” Elias’s lips quirked into a small smile. “There will not be any issues.”

God, Jon hoped not.

“Now, as for you.” That smile broadened. “I think a reward worthy of our patron would suit. Knowledge.” He let the word hang between them for a moment, as if relishing it. “For now on, I have an open door policy to you, Jon. Anything to need to know, you are more than welcome to ask it of me.”

Jon blinked, his hands clenching in his lap. “Anything?”

“I am an open book.”

“Why now?” Jon breathed. “Why not from the beginning?”

“Ah.” Elias’ smile faded, he nodded slowly. “A very understandable question. There were a number of reasons, in truth. Yes, I knew what you were when you first applied to work here, but I was wary. I do not make a habit of hiring those with- mixed loyalties, you understand.”

Mixed? But- oh. “The Web.” His lips were numb.

“Exactly. It was not of your choice, of course, but I don’t think I had ever met anyone so deeply marked by the Mother of Puppets. And choice means very little where they are concerned.”

“Yes.” Jon felt sick. Even now, even here, they still sought to ruin his life.

“There’s no question of that now, of course.” Elias waved that away. “You actions yesterday made that very clear, but at the time I wanted to take the time to make sure you were truly what you seemed to be, and could be trusted. And,” He gave a heavy sigh, “After the debacle with Gertrude, I didn’t feel inclined to get close to anyone else for a while. I had known Gertrude Robinson for decades, her death was a wrench.”

“But you-“ Jon managed to bite off any more, but it was too late. Elias’ eyes brightened, he sat up.

“Ah, so you do know! Good, I suspected you and Mr Blackwood had found her body, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Why?” And it was more than a question. It reverberated in the air between them like a plucked guitar string. Elias shivered.

“A fascinating feeling, not- unpleasant. I assume something of a new manifestation?” Jon nodded, not sure what else to do. “There’s no need for that, Jon. As I said, I’m an open book. As for Gertrude-“ he gave another sigh. “It was not what I would have chosen. I already had my eye on you as the new Archivist, but I had hoped for a few more years to be sure of you. Gertrude was getting old, I hoped to be able to get her to retire quietly- but in the end, I had no choice.”

“Why? Why murder?”

“I would say it counted as straightforward self defense, myself.” Elias smirked. “Suffice it to say, I realise Gertrude had gotten her hands on a great many explosives, and was planning to blow up the Institute.”

Whatever Jon had expected, it wasn’t that. He stared, stunned.

“Yes.” Elias said idly, “It surprised me too. I knew she had become more- ruthless in the past few years, but I never expected she would turn those tendencies on us. But the gist of it was that I caught her preparing to ignite a gas main under this building, and given that I had no intention of be blown up, or seeing so many centuries of valuable work go to waste- not to mention the lives of everyone here, and probably most of Vauxhall road- I took the only path I saw available, and made sure she would not harm anyone else.”

Oh. “Oh.” Jon swallowed. It was- strange to think how close he must have come to death. He, and Sasha, and Tim in research, working on their cases and- probably they would have been dead before they realised what was happening.

And Martin. Martin in the library. He swallowed again, knotting his hands together to keep them from shaking.

“Yes, I imagine you would not have appreciated it either.” Elias agreed. “I hope this reassures you that I only resorted to this because I had no other choice? And certainly not because of a trifling little mess in the Archives, so you can reassure Mr Blackwood of that much.”

He knew. Of course he knew. Jon drew in a breath. “Okay.” He settled back into his chair, and felt himself relax. The morning had been a lot, and he felt wrung out and exhausted.

“A cup of water, Jon?”

“Please. Thank you.”

Elias had poured himself one too, he sipped it as Jon drank. Jon tried to formulate his thoughts. Everything felt- scrambled, thrown up into the air to land where it may. “And now?” He said at last.

“Now?” Elias raised an eyebrow. “Now you rest, Jon. It will take a week to have the Archives fully cleaned of the Filth’s influence, and Ms James will be in good hands. There are-“ he paused, tapping his lower lip. “Certain matters I would like to discuss with you once you return, but they are not pressing. Go, spend some time with Mr Blackwood and enjoy your break.”

Jon was burning to ask what matters Elias was talking about, but the dismissal had been clear. He got up stiffly and nodded. “And the- table. The thing there. Did you know? Before?”

Elias nodded thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the table. “I knew it was a threat of course, but then so much of what we have stored down there is just as dangerous- even more so, sometimes. I had trusted that Archival Storage would have taken your warning seriously and taken the appropriate security procedures, but-“ he sighed.

“But to answer your question, Jon, no. I had no idea it was such a danger at the time. Probably I should have, but what with the Filth- it isn’t easy to split my attention in such a way, and I’m ashamed to say I slipped up. I take full responsibility for what happened to Ms James, as I said, and I will do everything in my power to make sure she will make a full recovery.”

Jon nodded, feeling a heavy weight sliding from his shoulders. Dear Beholding, but he was tired of carrying so much alone. To have someone on his side, an ally- “Thank you.” He whispered.

Elias’ smile was back. Such a strange smile. It reached his eyes but- they didn’t match, like eyes and mouth were not quite in synch. “Not at all, Jon. As I said, if I had been more open from the beginning, we might have avoided at lot of this mess. Now, I believe you have some paid leave to be getting back to, it’ll be a week before we can get the Institute open again, so I don’t expect to see you until at least then. Oh, and do assure Mr Stoker that I will be having a serious talk with Archival Storage and their supposed security procedures. Very serious indeed.”

Chapter Text

There hadn’t been any sound of gunshots yet, and Martin was trying to find some kind of reassurance in that. But he couldn’t seem to stop worrying, Elias wasn’t a big man, but he was still taller than Jon, and a twelve year old could probably beat Jon in a fight. And the Institute was ancient, with all sorts of places where a knife might be hidden-

It didn’t help that the two police officers were still looking at him. Once of them had followed him around the side of the building, as if to make sure he wasn’t going to break into a side door. But even now he’d gone back to the front steps, they were still watching, until Martin wondered if Elias had deliberately called for some Beholding officers.

The one who had been watching him the most- the shorter of the two, but somehow by far the most dangerous looking- gave her partner one more glance, and they stepped towards Martin.

Martin’s blood ran cold. He tried to smile. “Um, yes? Hi?”

“You’re Martin Blackwood.” The taller of the two, brown skinned and with a suspicious cast to her eye, looked him up and down.

“Yes?” Judging by the expression on the shorter one’s face, Martin had a sinking feeling he might have signed his own death warrant.

“There was a report yesterday of you being involved in a fire.”

Oh, thank God. Martin tried not to deflate in relief. “Yes, um. It was my friend’s house. Sasha. Sasha James. We were, um. After the worms, we decided to go back to hers, not feeling like spending the night alone, you know.” Their eyes bored into him. Martin felt more cold sweat break out along his shoulders. “Anyway, um. We decided to get pizza. My friends- that’s Tim and Jon, they went out to get some and Sasha, you know, turned on the stove? I was in the bathroom and I guess there must have been a leak because- boom! I managed to grab her and get her outside, and the others called the ambulance but- the flat was kinda wrecked.”

It was the same story he had told to the paramedics yesterday, but he’d told it much better then. The weight of those crushing gazes made him stammer and stumble more than he’d meant to, and by the end he was almost gabbling the words in his hurry to get to the end.

They didn’t say anything at once, sharing another long look, then the bigger one pulled out a notebook. “I’ll need to take down your details, double check your story-“

“Martin!”

Oh, thank God. Martin didn’t know if he was more relieved to see Jon alive, or to have anything to distract the police officers. He quickly stepped away to join Jon. “Oh, um. Maybe later? We have to get going now. Our friend’s in hospital. Um, bye?” He had Jon by the arm, dragging him away. Jon gave him a bewildered look, and for a horrible moment he saw the smaller police officer step towards them, shoulders raised threateningly-

But then the other put a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped. Martin didn’t stop until he and Jon were safely out of sight down the underground steps. “Martin, what is it?”

“Nothing.” Martin let out his breath. “Just- nothing. What about you? What happened with Elias?”

“Nothing.” Jon exhaled, shaking himself. “Or at least, nothing bad. He apologised to me, in fact.”

“To you?” Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Elias apologise to anyone. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time one of his bosses had apologised, full stop. “What for?”

“For not doing more to stop Prentiss and the thing that ate Sasha, to begin with.”

“Oh.” Martin blinked. “Okay. Good?”

“I think so.” Jon linked his arm with his. “He’s going to be more open with me from now on. With us. It’ll be-“ he exhaled. “It’s going to be good to have someone who understands, who has a bit more experience with our world.”

“I guess.” Martin wasn’t convinced. He’d never had any boss who made things better when they got involved. “And Gertrude?”

“Oh, right. Apparently he killed her because she was planning to blow up the Institute.”

Martin choked. “What?”

“Something about a gas main and a lot of explosives.”

Martin tried to picture it. He’d seen Gertrude Robinson a few times in the library, a wizened, hunched figure, buried in about twenty cardigans. Imagining her going, as Tim put it, full Rambo, seemed insane-

But then, his mind coughed up another memory. When he’d stumbled while pushing a book trolley, and almost ramming it into her. He’d been petrified he was going to crush the frail old lady, get fired, maybe get arrested for elder abuse-

And she’d dodged out of the way. So quickly Martin had barely registered it. One moment she was in the way, the next- she was on his other side, catching the trolley handle to stop it. Nodding off Martin’s stumbled thanks; and slipping away back down the stairs to the Archives.

If someone was some kind of- RED secret agent, staying under the radar until she was ready to strike and blow up entire buildings, looking like a helpless old lady would be the perfect cover.

“So you don’t need to worry.” Jon continued, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Elias told me himself he didn’t want to do it, and I have no intention of destroying the Institute.”

“I guess.”

Tim was sitting on the curb when they reached the hospital parking lot; he stood up and jogged closer as they came over. “Where did they take her?” He snarled. His eyes were red rimmed, his hands clenched. “I was waiting and I saw them wheeling her out! Jon, you need to do your- question thing. I need to know where she is!”

“It’s okay.” Jon held up his hand. “I know. Elias told me-“

“Elias?!” Tim stormed towards him, Martin stepped between them. “Is this some kind of- fucked up eye thing? Are you taking her eyes?!”

People were starting to stare. A family pulled their small children away from them, an old woman in a wheelchair was watching in fascination. “Tim!” Martin reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Tim jerked away, glaring at Jon.

“Elias had her sent to the Royal London.” Jon tried to keep his voice steady, soothing- and was miserably aware he was dreadful at being comforting. “They have a specialized burns unit there; it’ll give her the best chance.”

Tim glared for another moment, then sagged. He was tired, he couldn’t keep it up. “You’re sure? Thought you said the guy was a murderer?”

“Gertrude was a- special case. He’s not going to hurt Sasha. He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be reviewing the security systems for Archival Storage.”

“Oh, great. Wonderful he’s doing it now, when it’s too late. What’s that supposed to do?”

“Stopping anyone else from getting hurt.” Martin pointed out. “Tim.”

“Sorry I’m not praising his name for doing the bare fucking minimum for not getting sued-“

“He made a mistake and he’s making sure it won’t happen again.” Jon felt his hackles rise. Martin being skeptical was one thing; he could pass that off as the man just being protective and- probably more than a bit possessive, but coming from Tim it rankled. For the first time, he could have someone of real power on his side; he did not want it spoiled.

“I’m kinda with Tim on this one.” Martin sighed, “We nearly got eaten because of his fuck up. It would be nice to get some- compensation.”

“We are getting some.” Jon crossed his arms. “He said we’d be getting a bonus.”

“Better be a damn decent amount-“ Tim grumbled as Martin pulled out his phone, thumbing through his notifications. He stopped dead, blinked. Showed Tim his screen.

“Oh.” Tim rocked back on his heels. “Oh. Okay then. He really is scared we’d sue.”

Jon looked at his own phone; the bank notification was- oh. Oh. That really was quite a lot of money, wasn’t it? “Um.” He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

None of them did. They stood there for a long moment, awkward in the middle of the parking lot, until finally a car honked at them and they had to shuffle uncertainly back to the pavement.

“So.” Tim cleared his throat at last. “He really is taking it seriously, then?”

“I think so. He looked genuinely worried.”

“If he spends as much on security as he did on us-” Martin mumbled,

“Right.” Tim rubbed his forehead. “Fine. I’m going to the Royal London; see if they’ll let me see her. When can we go back to the Archives? I want to see if there’s anything we can find to help her.”

“Elias said we weren’t to come back for a week, but-”

“At least.” Martin frowned at Jon. “We all nearly got eaten, and your ear’s still a mess. Maybe we could go in, get a doctor to have another look at you-“

“I’m fine.” Jon held up his hands. Sighed, “Fine. A week.”

“Right.” Tim closed his eyes, drew in a breath.

“We’ll keep an eye on her.” Jon added, “If it looks like she’s- not doing well, we can go in and see if we can find anything.”

Tim nodded, and finally looked at Jon. It was weary and dull- but for the first time, there was no anger in it. “What kind of monster are you?” His mouth twitched in what might once have been a smile.

“I-“ How could he answer that? “I don’t know.”

“Well, you suck at it.” And that was a smile. Tim turned away; and starting up the road towards the tube station.

“Thank you?” Jon hazarded.

Martin smiled, and put an arm around him. “Let’s go home.”

Jon’s flat was small.

Jon’s flat was far too small.

Martin tried. He really did, but after four days of living on top of each other he was ready to tear his skin off just to get away.

God, what was wrong with him? It wasn’t the first time he’d lived in a cramped flat, even with other people. And Jon was far easier to get along with that- well, never mind.

But he’d been alone for too long, gotten too used to having his own space. Martin realised he was leaning against the wall, trying to get a few more centimeters of space-

And maybe Jon was feeling it too, because he was picking at his breakfast at the kitchen island, shoulders hunched as if to burrow inside himself. Eyes cast down, and Martin wondered if he was trying not to see. If having Martin so close for days on end was overwhelming him.

Martin wondered how long it would take before Jon had enough. He couldn’t really imagine Jon screaming at him the way- no matter. It was hard to imagine Jon scream at anyone, except maybe spiders. But this- thing between them, this fragile, fledging relationship felt too new and uncertain to test for too long. “I’m going out.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jon was trying not to look relieved, but it was all too clear.

Martin felt a knot of something sharp lodge in his throat. He wanted to say no, actually he changed his mind, maybe Jon would like to watch something together-

But he’d said it, and it would be too weird to back out now. “Okay.” He echoed.

“Are you going anywhere?”

“Not sure, maybe Battersea? A coffee? Just need a bit of air.”

“That’s a good idea.” Jon smiled. “I could join you later?”

He was just saying that to be nice. He just wanted to get him out of the flat. Wanted to be rid of him. Martin wanted to say- something, but no words came out. He got up, and stumbled over to find his shoes. “I’ll see you later.” Jon frowned a little, “Martin?”

“Yeah.” He got the word out. “Later.”

He barely remembered leaving the flat, staggering down the road with no idea where he was going. He stopped some uncertain time later, breathing hard. He wiped his eyes, “Shit.” He whispered.

He wanted to go back. He wanted to go home and wrap himself in Jon and ignore the crawling in his skin that begged for space. He didn’t. He kept walking, without much of an idea where he was going, and felt the world- expand around him. Even the smoggy London air felt incredibly fresh and soothing after being stuck in the flat for days.

He made it to Battersea park, in the end, walked around it without thinking. Sinking into himself, into a calm, still place, out of reach of the panic building under his breastbone.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked for, eventually heading out again, feet leading him to a coffee shop nearby. He bought a cup of chai and sat at a table by the window, staring out at nothing. The spiced tea didn’t seem to have any flavor.

His phone buzzed.

Martin blinked, pulled it out of his pocket. Jon.

It was a short little message. Do you want company? I can meet you at a café.

Martin stared at it for a long moment, then let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. It went on and on until he thought he would collapse from the inside out. Limp with relief, he pecked out a response.

Yes please. I’m at Black Cab coffee.

Martin looked at his phone, the static that had filled him for the last few days had faded, and the thought of having Jon here was- wonderful. Martin closed his eyes, pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. What was wrong with him?

Jon stepped in fifteen minutes later. He smiled, and slid into the seat beside Martin. “Hello.”

“Hey.”

“Are- you okay?” Jon hesitated.

“Yeah, I just-“ He looked down at his tea. It was cold. “Needed a bit of space, you know.”

“I know.” Jon gave a little smile. “It’s been- a while since I lived with someone- and the flat wasn’t so small. Maybe I could find somewhere bigger-“

“That wouldn’t be- safe though?” Martin sipped his tea anyway, hid a grimace. “You did a lot of eye stuff to keep your place safe.”

“Well, yes.” Jon sighed, “But I want-“ he broke off, looking lost.

As lost as he was. Martin smiled, feeling a heavy weight slide off his shoulders. “I like your place; I don’t want you to lose it.”

“But I want it to be our place.” It was almost petulant, and Martin adored it.

“It can be. I just need a walk every now and then.”

“If you’re sure.” Jon took his hand.

“I’m sure I love you.”

And Jon went pink to his cheeks. “T-thank you.” They hadn’t said it since Prentiss’ attack. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

It was a relief to get back to work.

Jon’s skin thrummed as they walked through the doors and into the cool shadow of the Institute. The entrance hall was cleaner than he’d ever seen it, every corner scrubbed and polished, the cracks carefully filled to prevent anything else from crawling in. Jon and Martin headed down the stairs to the Archives, and Jon sighed as a little on the endless tension he lived with, relaxed. The Beholding watching him, eager and hungry.

It- wanted something. Jon reached for it, but was unable to grasp anything. Too vague, uncertain, even Beholding didn’t know what It wanted- or didn’t have the concepts to communicate it. Jon pushed, but there was nothing. He sighed, the need was like an itch inside his teeth.

“You okay?” Martin squeezed his hand.

“Fine.”

He’d find it. Eventually. Either he would find something that Beholding could use to direct him, or It would gain the ability to do it directly. Eventually.

For now, he would just have to put up with the grating distraction.

The Archives were clean, and the worms were gone- but that was the best that could be said about it. There were files everywhere, boxes in disarray. Martin picked one up to put it away- and yelped as the bottom fell out, the inside a pulped, blackened mess. “Shit!”

“I think that’s one she destroyed.” Jon sighed.

“I think I worked that much out.” Martin grimaced at the mess. “Should I throw it out? Or-“

“If you can send it up to Research, they can send it on to experts who might be able to salvage something.”

“I was going to say ‘or should I get the hazard bags’,” Martin huffed, “But fine.”

Jon was helping to scoop the mess into a rubbish bag when Tim came in, juggling three cups of coffee. “Hey.” He looked pale, but at least he’d slept. “Coffee.”

“Thank you?” Jon looked at the cups in surprise.

Tim gave a half smile. “So, where do we start?”

It was an apology, Jon realised belatedly. An olive branch. He smiled back. “Right. I think we need to get through all this-“ He waved at the mess, “As quickly as possible, so Martin and I will work on sorting the real statements from the fake ones, and when we find the real ones, we’ll pass them onto you. You can check them to see if they’re anything to do with that- creature, or the table.”

Tim took in a breath, nodded. “Okay, sounds good.”

“How was Sasha?” Martin gathered the bag. “We saw you there yesterday.”

“Better.” Another smile, frail. “They’re still keeping her in a coma, but the grafts are taking and there’s no infection. They think after another week, they’ll be able to wake her up.”

“Thank God.” Jon breathed. “Well, with luck we will be able to find something to help. I’ll start sorting.”

And it seemed that for once, things were going their way, because when Jon settled himself at his desk with the first box of statements, he only needed to turn on the video program on his laptop and-

He knew. He didn’t even need to read the first word of the statement, he could feel it. The statement felt- insubstantial in his hands, lighter than the thick paper should be. It felt like holding one of those plastic toy fruit, lacking the weight and heft of the real thing.

He tested it, reading it aloud with only the audio recording on. When he tried playing it back, it was clear. Jon nodded, and put it away. He tested three more, then dug through the boxes until he found one that felt- real. Heavy and solid and he could feel the Beholding drawing closer in hungry eagerness. He read a little, tested it and- yes. It hadn’t recorded. He put it in the folder for the real statements, and got to work.

When Martin came back from research, Jon was sitting on the floor outside his office, piles of boxes around him. “Oh wow, that was fast.”

“Jon’s eye thing decided to play nice.” Tim didn’t look up from his statement, shaking his head and putting it aside. “Some old guy ordering a deep sea dive.”

Jon looked up, “Simon Fairchild?”

“How did you- no, no. Actually, I don’t want to know. He’s got nothing to do with this, right?”

“No.”

“Then he can fuck off.”

“Do you need me to-“ he waved at the boxes.

“No,” Jon took up the next statement, shook his head. “Help Tim, we’ve got a pile waiting.”

Martin took half the stack, sat at his desk. “Martin.” Jon just caught the soft whisper from Tim. “You see anything about a circus, put it aside.”

“Okay?”

“What did Research say?” Fake, fake, fake- there! That one. Jon put it aside.

“Um, you don’t want to know, they weren’t happy. They’ll try?”

“I suppose that’s the best we can expect.” Jon stretched, his back cracked, his head swam. He rubbed his eyes.

“Drink.” Tim waved at the coffee. “We need to keep going.”

“I know.” Jon drank a mouthful of coffee, tried not to grimace, he would never enjoy the stuff.

“I’ll do a few more and get tea.” Martin smiled.

Fake, fake, fake- if nothing else, Jon was confirming his original estimate that at best one in twenty statements was real. The piles of fake statements were rearing up around him. Martin got them all tea, and started clearing them away. “What should we do with these?”

“Does it matter?” Jon shrugged, “They’re not real.”

“Yeah, but sometimes we had people coming in asking about follow ups on their statements. I guess they wouldn’t be happy hearing we dumped them in the rubbish.”

“No.” Jon sighed. “What do you think?”

“I’ll clear out a few shelves and put them there.” Martin said with a shrug, “We can file them by date and name when we have five minutes.”

“So sometime in the next decade then.” Jon said dryly, and got a smile. He took a sip of the tea, and the world got just a little better.

“Got one!” Martin held up the statement up. Jon rubbed his eyes, and tried to focus on his boyfriend. They’d been at it for most of the morning, and two days before that. His head was pounding, and the Beholding was a gnawing demand inside him. It wanted. It was hungry, having been tempted by morsel after morsel, but never getting a full meal.

Nouvelle cuisine, Jon thought wryly, and felt the Beholding sinking into his mind, trying to decipher this.

More

“I’ll record it.” Jon reached out a hand for the statement.

“Um, I think that would be- bad.” Martin glanced down at the statement. “It’s got the table in it but- um.”

His expression said it all. Jon’s stomach sank. “Spiders?”

“Yeah.”

Jon closed his eyes. No. He would not let them have Martin-

“Hey.” Martin stepped over, sitting down beside Jon. “It’s okay. It’s just a statement, and we don’t need to do any follow ups.”

Jon leaned closer, resting his head on Martin’s shoulder. “Martin.”

“I’ll be careful.” Martin kissed his cheek. “I’ll wear gloves so I won’t get a papercut.”

Jon snorted.

“So the Sasha-thing was one of those spider monsters?” Tim broke in.

Jon frowned. “I don’t know.” It hadn’t felt like one of the creatures of the Web, but-

“But it’d make sense.” Tim said grimly, “Those spiders send you that table, but instead of you, they get Sasha-“

“You’re not blaming Jon again!” Martin growled, exasperated.

“It makes sense.” Jon said slowly, feeling the dull, heavy weight of guilt settle in his stomach. Things had started to feel better, but- “Remember the lighter. It came with the table.”

“Yeah, Martin said you had a spider moment.” Tim’s lip curled.

“The lighter was full of spiders.” Martin snapped. “They tried to eat us, so yeah; sorry we were a bit distracted there.” Tim hesitated. “So, I’ll record this one.” Martin waved the statement, “Jon records one to feed the Beholding, and we go over to Artifact Storage to get another look at that table.”

 “Any more monsters we should keep an eye out for? Apart from the ones in house?” Jon flinched at the cold glare from Tim. He'd dared to hope things were getting better-

“Spiders for Jon, worms for me.” Martin’s eyes bored into Tim. “What about you, Tim?”

Tim blinked. “What?”

“Circuses.” Martin glared. “You’ve got what, evil clowns after you? Ringmasters? Acrobats?”

Had Martin punched him in the face, Tim couldn’t have looked more stunned. He froze, blinking. He looked from Martin, to Jon, and back. Then he closed his eyes, and drew a long breath.

Martin winced, “Um, that was too much, sorry-“

“Clowns.” Tim said softly. “Evil clowns.”

“Oh.” Martin glanced at Jon, “Which one is clowns?”

“I- uh, I have no idea.” Jon tried to think. “The- Spiral, perhaps? For madness and unreality. Or the Stranger, for what seems to be but isn’t. The Flesh for deformation? The Slaughter if it’s violent. It depends on what happened.”

“The Denikin statement.” Tim whispered.

Jon tried to remember. Oh. He swallowed. “The puppets.”

“You know that one?” Tim’s eyes were all but burning.

“I’m not sure.” He took the mug of tea, swallowed a mouthful quickly. “But another name for the Web is the Mother of Puppets.”

The moment stretched, hideously. Tim was gripping the desk so tightly his knuckles were white. “So it might have been me.” He said; his voice cracking. “If it was the spiders for me too- it could have come for either of us. Or both. That lighter for you, the table for me.”

It felt wrong, but- “Then tell me.” Jon got up. “I need a statement, give me yours. I might be able to tell you.”

Tim nodded, but his eyes were distant. He looked like he might be about to cry.

“I’ll record mine and get you tea.” Martin glanced at the break room. “I think there’s still a bit of the whiskey we found in that box.”

“Yeah.” Tim’s voice was hoarse. “We’ll need it.”

“If it helps,” Jon said gently, “I don’t think it was the Web.”

Tim drank a swallow of tea and whiskey, colour coming back into his face. “Okay.” He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply. “Yeah, it does a bit. What was it, then?”

Jon drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m not sure, but that um- the skin. It’s come up a few times; I believe it might be the Stranger. I Do Not Know You. That which is and is not. It felt like the statements I got from Melanie King and that idiot doctor and-“ he hesitated.

“And?”

“I’m not sure.” Jon closed his eyes. Then. “I need to see that table.”

“Right.” Tim was still pale, but he downed the rest of the drink. “You go ahead, I need to get something.”

He and Martin were out of the Archives, heading towards Archival Storage, when Martin caught his arm. “Jon, that not-Sasha?”

“Yes?” Jon started down the stairs.

“It is dead, right? It’s not going to- respawn in the table again?”

“Respawn? It’s not a-a video game, Martin! No, it’s gone. We killed it. Whatever is left in that table is-“ he swallowed, “Whatever is left.”

Martin nodded, took his hand. “You don’t need to-“

“I need to see it.”

Artifact Storage wasn’t too happy to see them. Whatever words Elias had had with them had clearly left an impact, because they were wordlessly waved through to the table, which was locked up in one of the most secure rooms.

If it had been there when Sasha hid out here, she would have been fine. Jon could have said something about horses and stable doors, but Martin was already going in and Jon was not going to leave him in there alone.

And oh, but he Knew its’ nature this time. One glance at that creeping, seductive pattern and he felt the crawling legs along his spine. “That is the Web.” He whispered.

“Okay.” Martin stood between him and the table. “And the thing that took Sasha?”

“I-“ It made no sense, but- “No.” He closed his eyes, tried to remember. “It felt like- Tim’s statement. The Stranger.”

“Does it work with the Web?” Martin said after a moment. “I mean, you work with Mike, right? The Vast and the Beholding? Maybe they’re doing some evil spider-puppet-circus thing?”

“Maybe.” Jon sighed. He rubbed his face. “I need to know.” He gritted his teeth, but only got that familiar, longing ache. Something the Beholding wanted, needed him to find- but was unable to describe. Until Jon found it, he’d get no help there. “Fuck.”

Martin opened his mouth to say more, but the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted him. Jon sighed, hopefully Tim would be satisfied with this much. “Tim, it is the Web, but I do not believe-“

Tim didn’t slow his pace. He marched right past them, half running, his face set in cold fury. He lifted his hands, and-

Oh. He’d wondered where that had ended up. “Wait!” Jon gasped.

The axe came down in a single, heavy blow, and the table collapsed in a cloud of dust.

No. Not dust.

Jon screamed, and the world- went away for a while. When he came back to himself, he was huddled in one of the cubicles on the ground floor bathroom, the door locked, curled up on the toilet, hugging his knees.

There was a knock on the door and Jon stifled a scream. It is polite to knock.

“Shit! Shit, sorry.” Martin’s voice came from outside. “I didn’t think- sorry. Can you open the door?”

Jon shuddered, but he forced himself to uncurl, reaching out to pull back the deadbolt, before bundling himself up again. Martin pushed the door in gently, and stepped in. “They were all dead, by the way. Already drying out. I think they must have died about the same time the Sasha-thing did.”

“Good.” He hunched into the cradle of his arms and knees, trying to breathe. Martin stepped over and rubbed his shoulders.

“Tim’s calling the hospital, to see if it helped.”

“I don’t think it did.” Jon closed his eyes. “Nor made it worse.”

“Well, it’s a few less spiders around anyway.” Martin’s voice was soft, comforting. “Can you move? It might be easier downstairs.”

Jon tried- but the terror washed over him again, and he just curled up again. “I don’t think so.”

“I could carry you?”

Jon considered it. The thought of being carried out in full view of everyone in the lobby was galling, but it wasn’t like anyone had any respect for him anyway. “Alright.”

Chapter Text

Jon finished the box and twisted his head. His neck cracked painfully. “Next.” He said wearily.

“Give us a moment!” Tim looked up from over a massive pile of statements. “I’ve got enough here for weeks.”

“And I need a bit to sort out these shelves.” Martin stepped in from the storeroom. “Take a break, Jon. You look flattened.”

Jon huffed. His hands ached to do- something. The Beholding was becoming more and more insistent for him to find whatever it was, and his teeth itched from the force of it. Martin saw his face and sighed. “Or do- something else? Help with a few statements if the Beholding’s getting peckish?”

“It isn’t that.” Tell me. “I don’t know. It wants something, and it can’t explain what.”

“It’s not eyes, is it?”

“For the last time, Tim, it doesn’t eat eyes.” This wasn’t helping.

“Or-“ Martin seemed to be casting around to find something. “You said you wanted to get those tapes? I think some of them were labelled, so it might help. You know, in the tunnels?”

YES

Jon jumped from the force of it. “Oh. Okay. It liked that. Right. Um, do you have a torch?”

It took a few tries, a lot of chalk and a worrying amount of time to find Gertrude again. He felt the Beholding trying to pull him- somewhere, but in the tunnels its influence was so deadened Jon couldn’t guess where he was to go.

Gertrude was where he’d left her, not much changed. The Beholding stirred restlessly in the back of his mind, pulling, demanding. Whatever it wanted, Jon was close but just not close enough. Jon sighed, and started stacking crates of tapes to bring them back up- some of them did indeed have labels, so they might actually be useful.

He put the torch between his teeth, trying to get a better look. Crusader, one read. Tightrope, another. That might interest Tim-

A little too late, he realised he had taken a wrong turn. Jon looked around at the endless identical passages, and felt cold dread drop into his stomach. How much had been cleared, down here? Were there still some of Prentiss’ creatures, hiding, hungry-

There

Jon staggered, almost dropped the boxes- but the worms were dead. They were withered and still, piled in the corners of the tunnel. Jon stumbled away, turning to go back-

NO

It was thinner here, not as overwhelming as before- but very clear. Jon gritted his teeth, tried to hold the torch steady, and forced himself forwards.

His skin crawled, his ruined ear itched. Every waver in the beam of the torch made the dead worms seem to writhe and crawl towards him- but when he stopped to check, they were unmoving and dead.

Then the tunnel opened up, and he was standing in front of the worm gate.

Jon caught his breath, staring. The worms were half embedded in the stone, marking out the circle where the gate had been. Jon was unable to keep from stepping forwards, leaning forwards in fascination. What is it? He felt the Beholding gathering close around him, ravenous.

I

Jon held still, letting It find the words. The worms seemed to stir in his gaze, but even if they were alive, they couldn’t escape the crushing stone.

I am

Within the circle, the stone was- melted somehow, pocked and warped, as if the touch of the Corruption had sunk into it too.

Not Me

No, Jon agreed. Not You.

I see. I know

You do.

I MUST KNOW

Jon stumbled from the force of it. Had he been above ground, he’d be bleeding from the eyes and nose.

Yes. I’ll- find it for you.

YES

MORE

Jon looked at the circle of worms, but could barely see it. In his mind, he was watching the Not!Them die, screaming. He was falling, in an endless void with Mike. He was standing in that office, his hand on that coat, about to turn around-

No!

I MUST KNOW

I AM. THEY ARE

WHAT ARE THEY

WHAT AM I

Jon staggered back, and he was bleeding now. He dropped the boxes and fell to his knees, copper burning in the back of his throat, tape cassettes clattering everywhere.

I MUST KNOW

Jon nodded. “Yes.” He panted. “You will. I will do it. I swear it.”

And for the first time in more than a week, the itching, clawing demand faded. A well of warmth and pleasure filled Jon, making him gasp, and slump down on the ground, groaning in relief. He hadn’t realised how overwhelming the Beholding’s demands had become until they were gone. He drew in a breath, then exhaled, relishing the roil of contentment.

Then looked down at what he’d landed in, and grimaced. “Oh hell.” He stood, and tried to brush himself off. Well, he’d determined the worms were definitely dead, at least.

“I don’t suppose I could bill you for new clothes?” Jon sighed, but just got the confused static. “Never mind. Just as well Elias-“

Oh.

Elias.

Elias blinked as Jon barged through the door. “Oh, Jon. I know I said I have an open door policy, but you could at least knock-“ He broke off, standing up, “Are those more worms?”

“They’re dead.” Jon waved him off. “Beholding had me go back into the tunnels.”

“That’s hardly safe.” Elias’ lips pursed. “You have assistants for a reason.”

“I needed to do this.” Jon hunched over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. “And I need your help.”

“Of course.” Elias walked over and got the water jug. “But have a cup of water first, Jon, you look dreadful.”

“Elias, I have to know Them.” Jon stumbled forwards. “All of Them. I have to face every one of The Fourteen, as soon as possible. I have to know Them.”

Elias froze, the water jug still held in his hand, pouring into the glass. It overflowed, flooding over the rim and down the sideboard to soak the carpet. “Uh-“ Jon started, not sure what to say. “The glass.”

Elias didn’t seem to notice. Those alien grey eyes bored into Jon, as if searching for- something. He shook his head, mouth dropping open slightly, and let go of the jug. It hit the sideboard and shattered.

The sound seemed to jolt Elias back to himself. He looked down at the broken glass, and the spreading puddle of water, then back up to Jon. “What did you say?” He whispered.

“I- the Beholding. There’s glass everywhere. Should I call-“

“Don’t move.” Elias’ voice was harsh, brittle. “Jon, what did you just say?”

Jon drew in a breath. “The Beholding.” He tried to keep his voice steady. “It needs- I’m trying to bring it to full consciousness-“

“I know that!” Elias snapped, then held up his hands, “I am sorry, but- what did you say?”

“It needs to know the Others. That’s the only way. It needs to know Them, and to know Itself through Them. I’ve seen the Corruption, the Stranger, the Vast and the Web, but- It needs more. I have to seek Them out, learn about Them, and feed that knowledge to the Beholding. Only then can It become.”

Elias gaped at Jon.

The moment stretched, unbearable. Jon shifted, not sure if he should- call someone? The water couldn’t be good for that carpet, and he wasn’t sure if Elias might need a doctor.

At last Elias straightened, marched over to a cabinet, and opened it. He took down a decanter of some dark liquid, and a large glass, poured himself a measure and downed it. “Oh.” He exhaled, and poured himself another. “Very- very well.” He downed that one too, then took another glass out of the cabinet, and filled it. “Here.”

Hesitantly, Jon took the glass. The liquid inside smelled very expensive. He sipped it tentatively, and managed not to choke. Elias stepped back to his desk, and sat down hard. Stared at his hands for a moment, and waved for Jon to sit down. Jon took the chair, and tried another sip of the brandy. It did help; he felt the pounding headache ease a little, heat running up from his stomach as the alcohol settled.

“Jon.”

Jon looked up and was pinned in place by Elias’ eyes. They were burning, blazing like twin holes in the world, freezing him in place.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” He whispered.

Jon swallowed- or tried to, his mouth was bone dry. Those eyes seemed to swallow the world.

“It spoke to you.” Elias continued. “It spoke.”

“It’s- still somewhat limited.” Jon managed. “It’s comprehension is not very developed-“

“None of Them have ever spoken before. None that I have ever heard. And It spoke to you, and instructed you. It has made plans.”

Jon hesitated, and wondered if he should be afraid. He was not sure, but he suspected Elias was perhaps less- devoted to the Beholding than he was. What if this development displeased him? “I must obey.”

Elias blinked, and for a moment, that terrible gaze frayed a little, let him breathe. “Of course, I- I didn’t not mean- God, Jon, do you actually grasp what you have done? We could not dream of such a blessing!”

Oh. That glare had turned into a broad, almost savage grin. All teeth and hunger, and Jon wondered if he was about to spring over the desk and- devour him. In the most delighted way possible, because the sheer joy in his eyes, like a child who had been told there would be two Christmases this year; and at least three birthdays. “Good?”

“Good? I- oh heavens, Jon. This is marvellous. I knew I had done the right thing in hiring you, but I didn’t foresee this. Oh, the things we will do together!”

“Um.” Jon wasn’t sure what to say

Elias paused and drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He took a swallow of his drink. “I-forgive me Jon. I’m afraid I got a little carried away.”

“But- you will help me?” Jon said carefully, and was rewarded with another, toothy grin.

“Help you? Jon, this plan of yours- of the Beholding, is now my priority. I knew what you were planning for a while, of course. But I never imagined it could work. Yet-“ he shook his head, struck speechless again. “I did not expect- to have such a blessing.”

Elias’ smile was beatific, almost ecstatic. Maybe he’d been wrong in thinking Elias less devoted; he certainly seemed caught in religious fervour. The Beholding was calmer, but he could feel Its want. And oh, how he knew that feeling. To know one’s own lack, to need more, to need to know- “Then- what should I do? What should be the next step?”

“I- yes. Of course.” Elias drummed his fingers on the table. “I will- have to consider this. I was not expecting to- but no matter. We will find a way. We have our orders, and we may be the first to have received so much from Those we serve, so we had best obey. And once we succeed- what power we will have!” Those eyes blazed, ravenous. “For the Beholding to both know and understand. More than any have reached before! We will be raised above all! Kings of-“ he broke off.

Jon shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not why I need to do it.”

“No, of course. But you will have a life after the Web, Jon; perhaps you should start thinking about what you will want it to look like. The sky may well be the limit.” He grinned.

For a moment, Jon closed his eyes. Tried to imagine-no. One step at a time. He’d dared to dream once, and look at how it had ended. “I know the Vast and- the Web. Something of the Filth and- I think the Stranger as well, if the creature that attacked Sasha was of It?”

“It was.”

“Which leaves the rest.” Jon let out a breath. “The Flesh, the Hunt and the Slaughter. The Buried. The End-“

Elias’ eyes shuttered, he seemed to crouch in his chair. “Yes.” He looked faintly ill. “I think we should try and put that one off for a while.” Then at Jon’s questioning look. “As the Web is to you, Jon, so Terminus is to me.”

“I see.” Jon’s stomach jolted. The End, to have that after you- but then it was not surprising. It seemed most of them came to their Entities as a refuge from something worse. He felt a surge of sympathy for Elias, Gods, did he know what that felt like, and The End might well be the one Entity harder to escape than the Web. “I am sorry.”

“Quite. But our Patron is great, and will become greater still. Soon, we will be out of their grasp once and for all. As to the next- experience you require; I know one of the Lonely, Peter Lukas. I think I can prevail on him to do us a favour or two, and let you out in one piece.”

“Thank you.”

“I would also ask that you check in with me if you possibly can, before you meet with any others. So we can take- precautions. Goodness, Jon, can you imagine how difficult it would be to replace you at this juncture? Let us not even think about it.”

Jon nodded, closed his eyes for a moment. He felt- very tired. Elias leaned over and patted his hand. “Now, finish your drink Jon, and go back downstairs to your young Mr Blackwood. He must be very worried about you.”

Jon downed the rest of the brandy, and got carefully to his feet. Elias beamed up at him, and Jon felt a surge of shame at having been so- unfair towards him. Yes, Elias was somewhat off-putting, but that was hardly unusual. It more or less came with the territory after all. He had said he would be on Jon’s side, and he’d meant it. “Thank you.” Jon said softly, putting down his glass. “The Beholding will reach consciousness, and we will be free.”

“Apotheosis.” Elias’ grey eyes seemed to glow, the world around him strangely muted of colour in their light. “Think about it, Jon. There will be nothing to stop you, once we succeed. You could have anything in the world. Anything at all.”

It was- a little too much to consider. “Thank you.” Jon repeated, and turned for the door.