Chapter Text
***
“Are you sure about this?”
“... No.” Jon admitted. “But I love you.”
“... I love you too.” Martin said, readying the blade.
For what could very well be the last words the two may exchange, Jon felt they were … far more than adequate. They were more than he could hope for. It was indisputably and quite literally, the most beautiful thing Jon could hear in all the world at that moment with his All Seeing Gaze.
For Martin, they were the words he’d been hoping to hear a long, long time. He was ready. They both were.
The knife stuck true and the tether snapped- and ricocheted across space and time.
In the chaos between now and then, with a laugh, a spider tugged a few threads and changed their trajectory.
***
From one blink to the next Jon was standing in the Panopticon at the End of the World, and then sitting at a large desk in a familiar office he didn’t immediately recognize due to the startling incongruity of location. From looking at Martin’s resolute face, to staring down an open Excel Spreadsheet. From Seeing All, to narrowing to seeing what was right in front of him - though he could still sense that Watchful presence that would allow him to send his Sight elsewhere or tug out Knowledge should he Ask.
The blink between the states seemed to have lasted both a paradoxical instant and unyielding infinity. A timeless feeling that was not unfamiliar in the Apocalypse but never so pronounced or overt in its presentation of time is not real. Which made it all the more jarring for time to get back on its regularly scheduled … schedule.
For the first time since the words that had damned the world were spoken, time ticked on.
Jon needed a moment to recover from tonal whiplash. He was prepared to die. Had expected it, even.
Theorizing they might land Somewhere Else before being stabbed, and holding out hope for it were two entirely different beasts. Conjecture did not necessarily equate to belief.
If this really was Somewhere Else, he needed to Know. ‘… where am I?’ He Asked in habit before he could focus too deeply on his surroundings to figure it out himself. Beholding answers.
The Magnus Institute, Head Office, London.
Jon goes still, now placing the familiarity of the room and feeling nervous. He wasn’t used to seeing it from this side - aside from the few times he had broken in to snoop through the drawers for incriminating evidence, or stolen the key to the tunnels that he made a copy of - so he hadn’t placed it immediately. Even then, he had never sat in Jonah’s chair before - there was no reason to … even if it looked comfortable. Which, he now knows his assessment was correct.
‘… Why am I sitting at Jonah’s desk?’ Jon Asked, not able to figure it out even after a few seconds of staring at spreadsheets. Or maybe it was a full minute. Time was hard.
The Archivist is Jonah’s Eye’s.
Jon flinched at the Knowledge as if someone had been aiming to clock him in the nose.
‘What does that mean?’ Jon practically whines in his head at Beholding. Already Knowing exactly what it meant, but not wanting to believe it. Beholdings Knowledge going deeper than a mere five words, yet delivered just as succinctly.
The Archivist is Jonah’s Eye’s.
His hand slowly went up to his - Jonah’s - eyes but fell short of obstructing his view completely; whether to cover them in despair or poke them in morbid curiosity, he didn't know. The repeated Answer continued to feed the crawling dread of something being profoundly wrong that settled somewhere between his stomach and large intestine. Instead he gripped his hair which was not the right length, with a hand that wasn’t scared and not filled with desolate phantom pain. The dread did a flip.
‘Literally …?’ He Asked again.
Even his internal voice went up a notch, trying once more for denial that he was somehow possessing Jonah Magnus’s fucking eyeballs and situated in Elias Bouchards sockets pupeting Elias's body .
The Archivist is literally Jonah’s Eye’s.
… Fuck. ‘Is Jonah alive…? In here?’ He Asked with trepidation.
‘In here’ referred to Elia’s head because oh god Jon’s not in his own body. It is slowly sinking in. It was not a good feeling. Hello dysphoria, you were not invited, go away; it didn’t.
Jon was trying not to, heh, spiral , and still not quite processing it all. Sure, Jon had just stabbed Jonah at the Panopticon, but he was now apparently the man's eyeballs he felt a need to double check and Know. His impulse to a situation in which he was out of control or overwhelmed had always been to ask well before he could Ask.
And it seemed pertinent information to have. He really did not want to be sharing a headspace with a 200 year old body hoping, evil eldritch eyeball entity serving manipulative bastard hell bent on world domination.
Jonah’s consciousness is dead. Jonah’s Eye’s live. Jonah’s memories are accessible as Statements for Archiving.
Jon was almost surprised the Beholding was willing to part with good news. Then again, Beholding only withheld relieving information when it's (and by extension Jon’s) need for Fear was left unsatisfied and Jon had just come from the Apocalypse.
And now that he Knew they were there, he could feel the Statements right there, like loose leafs of paper scattered upon the floor if he looked for them. Uncategorized. That small craving whispering at the back of his head to put it to paper, speak them to words, put them in their place. But Jon held off. He didn't need it. Hopefully never will.
Even if it was annoying. Like a single book being a different size right in the middle of an organized shelf. Eye catching and an eyesore all the same. Paradoxically there and not there.
He also would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about the contents of the Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding - … he gently shoved the thought away, like turning down a smoke. He’s never exactly had the best track record with addiction, but he managed it. Not that addiction was entirely accurate when fear sustained him after he made the choice to wake up from that coma.
Jon remembered when it was typical of pre-apocalypse Eye to withhold information to make him anxious. Feed your Patron or it will feed on you and all that. All too eager to provide unsettling information without context, and withholding Answers when not Knowing would be more upsetting. Both the Fear of knowing too much and the Fear of not knowing enough.
The new control was … admittedly nice. Not unpredictable like before, yet not the constant increasing info dump of terror of the Apocalypse - that in itself was enough to confirm to Jon that they had done … something; that they were not in the Apocalypse. It was exciting even, having that choice. He could choose not to Know. Let him figure things out in satisfying steps. Because when one is All Knowing there is no more joy in solving a mystery, as all mysteries come presolved. It was sad.
Very sad.
Personally, and generally, and intrinsically sad . Knowing All, and Knowing that all was Fear, quite literally. Without the words to explain, nor a positive reprieve or solution in Sight for anyone. Not himself, not for Martin, not his acquaintances, no one . It was all just so … very sad. He couldn’t even keep his memories of Upton House, and he suspected more of his life than he cares to think about. Had his life always been so full of fear? Of Fear? He couldn’t remember what he wanted to do with his life before becoming the Archivist long before the Apocalypse.
And now … here he was. Jonah's office. Sat in front of Jonah's precious spreadsheets. Jon debated messing with them out of petty vengeance. Jonah wasn't Watching, he was dead - Jon replaced him. However, did that mean he would need to act as Institute Head and he would have need for the spreadsheets? But why would he need to act the part with no one Watching, aside from himself, and the Eye? Would it be necessary to keep up an act or could he just … do whatever? He wasn't qualified to run the Archives, let alone the Institute as a whole.
Beholding left Jon's hypotheticals on read. Jon wasn't a quality planner and neither was the Eye. Mainly he just really really wanted something to take his mind off the serious ramifications of what he is right now for just a little longer. It was quite the shock. And it was very hard not letting it take up all of his thoughts and leave him panicking.
So Jon focused on his debate for and against spreadsheet sabotage long enough for the box of a computer's screen to darken. A face that was not his own stared back, with Eyes that belonged to neither body, nor resident.
He scowled at it, that face he hated, and the reflection scowled back - because that's what a reflection is meant to do when not influenced by Fear. Even still, it was a new expression on Jonah- Elias's face. Jonah had never quite conveyed such a level of disdain for Jon before. Not openly to his face that is. Seeing the expression on the reflection was unnerving and upsetting.
He scowled harder.
‘Who pissed in your cheerios?’ Came a bitter and darkly amused voice, startling Jon. ‘ I'd like to give them a medal.’
Jon's expression of surprise was glimpsed for just a moment on the screen before his eyes were roving the office for a threat. He knew that voice, but that was impossible - he was dead - Beholding had told him he was dead .
Jonah. was. dead.
“Who are you?” Jon Asked, practically demanded. Though the room was empty, there came an Answer.
‘Elias Bouchard.’ The voice, Elias said simply. Confused and cautious he added quietly. ‘ What the fuck…’
Jon turned slowly back to the monitor, bafflement on the face as clear as in Elias's tone. Though the expression was all Jon's - minus the face it's packaged on. He shuddered. This was very Stranger territory and he was, to put it mildly, not a fan.
“... Elias?” Jon asked, disquieted.
Jon mentally poked around his brain. He felt his connection to the Eye, felt the edges between him and it, the unarchived Statements of Jonah Magnus still rattling around, being a nuisance even after death, and moved on looking for what he both fears and suspects he will find.
He Knew the moment he found him. It was like with Beholding, only much much smaller, as if trying to hide. Where Beholding was a grand door willing to fly open at the slightest jostle and flood his head with Knowledge, this door was not only trying to weld itself shut, but was shrunk to the size of a cat door.
Jon gave a tentative, curious poke. The cat door held firm, but Jon wasn't trying to break in. Continuing with the cat door analogy, it practically hissed at him to go away.
‘Back off, dickwad .’ It was Elias’s voice. The real Elias and not Jonah speaking in his voice.
Jon could hear the fear behind the scathing demand. Like he knew it was only a matter of time before his defenses broke. Like he expected it. And by the sounds of it, he did not expect what would happen next to be pleasant.
Jon winced. The dread knot in his gut tightening at the implications. Jon did not apply more pressure to the little door, but he did not leave it.
‘… Elias? Is that uh … you?’
There was a tense, confused pause as Jon's inner voice did not match that of Jonah, though it kept the low latent static quality he was used to hearing from the tapes.
‘What. The fuck.’ Elias said again, more emphatically.
Jon leaned back in Jonah’s chair in surprised contemplation. He couldn't agree more with Elias. What the fuck, indeed. That summed things up quite succinctly. He was also very glad he did not need to resort to verbally communicating with the voice in his head. His mouth was rather dry suddenly.
‘Took the words right out of my mouth. Er, your mouth?’ Jon sighed. In an endeavor to get foot out of said mouth Jon tried to give the good news. His tired reflection stared back. ‘ At least Jonah is dead? I'm just … here now instead. An unexpected development I very much did not account for, being as I expected to be dead. I never knew you were still alive.’
The following silence continues to be tense and Jon's mouth continues to be dry. Or, technically speaking, Elias's mouth. Yeah, no . Jon's just gonna call it his own from now on so he isn't glaringly reminded that it is, in fact not. A self soothing lie for simplicity and sanity. But an acknowledged lie, nonetheless.
There was a glass of water on Jonah's desk, and Jon took a nervous drink, not looking at his unscarred hands that are not his. Also not thinking about how Jonah could have very well already drank from the cup. It was the same mouth, but Jon would still rather not know.
One thing is for sure, the silence has dragged out and Jon wants to scream. He settles for dying a little inside, as per his usual alternative. Jon also refrained from continually mentally poking Elias' mental door like road kill in the hopes of gleaming what the previously thought dead man was thinking. He almost thought he had imagined the encounter had the mental door not still been there.
Finally, Elias speaks.
‘Well since you aren't Jonah and are presumably a really nice guy and not evil at all … ‘ He said something sarcastic. ‘ do you mind giving me back my fucking body!?’
‘…Can I even give him control back?’ Jon Asks the other presence in his head.
Beholding is silent.
‘… I uh … wouldn't Know how. The Beholding didn't give confirmation or denial so I would solidly say it falls under Unknown.’
‘Fucking hell you're another Eye Guy. Should have known.’ He practically sneered. ‘ Well if you can't or won't give me my body back and you aren't gonna scramble my psych, I'm going back to hanging out silently in my corner and trying not to think about a new driver behind the wheels of my body meat mech who still isn't me . Goodbye Eye Guy.’ He then carefully delivered the next lines for maximum levels of ominous and displeasure. ‘ I will be watching, and I will be judging.’
Well, Elias certainly has already metaphorically stabbed Jon right in the social anxiety he used to mask behind anger. And using unsettling phrasing. Meat mech? Jon shudders. Already Jon has no idea what to do with his hands and is feeling self conscious of every little move in the comfy chair, shoulders tense.
The sass on this man is impressive as it is grating. Jon can already tell Elias is probably going to be a menace. And Jon can't exactly fault it considering his previous … headmate? If Jon had Jonah living in his head, he probably would have ended up spiteful and feral. The image of Elias doing the same to Jonah was, admittedly, amusing; until he remembered the reaction to finding Elias’s mental door. Jon’s shoulders dropped.
Jon has come to the conclusion that Elias is valid in what little expression of freedom he can manage as a voice trapped in his own head. Even if it is choosing to be an annoying asshole. Jon had experience with annoying assholes - namely, himself.
And so, despite his nerves, anger and disquiet, Jon introduces himself. He really didn’t want to be referred to as Eye Guy forever.
‘… Jon.’
‘What?’ Elias asked in a cautious annoyed tone.
‘My name. Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Whether or not you use it … or not… you deserve to know the name of the person you're stuck with.’
‘… Noted, Eye Guy .’
Jon tisked, but decided to leave it, burying his head in his arms with a sigh, eyes half lidded. Now what? Jon is categorically terrible at plans. Martin always was the better planner. He wished he could just ask Martin-
“Wait- Martin!” Jon stood suddenly, hands pressed to the desk.
He was just with him at the Panopticon. Surely, he came back too?
‘Where is my Martin?’
Martin is in the Archives.
Oh thank the Admiral.
***
One second Martin is stabbing his omniscient boyfriend to expel the Fear Apocalypse from the world, the next he’s in said boyfriend's basement office in the Archives at the Magnus Institute. Another blink and Martin processes that his finger is depressing the stop button on a recorder. His other hand is holding the pages of a Statement and its follow up.
That was not his hands. Scarred and tanned, Martin was familiar with the hands, but they were not his. He had spent most of the Apocalypse wanting to hold them. Maybe he wouldn’t have been left behind in so many Lonely domains had he had that courage. Still, the hands were not as scarred as he remembered from mere moments ago. No burn in the shape of a hand print courtesy of Jude. And the ones from Prentiss’s worms there were not as old.
It wasn’t only the hand that wasn’t his. Martin shifted, uncomfortable, and felt a twinge of pain in his shoulder. He looked to see bandages. They covered where Jon had been stabbed by Micheal. Though when it had happened, Jon had claimed - unconvincingly - to have gotten himself with a bread knife.
O… kay. If this was a domain, it was a weird one. Though Martin wasn’t sure what kind of niche fear ending up in your boyfriend's body was. Wasn’t there even bodyswap soulmate fanfiction tropes about that? Martin blushed and shoved the thought of soulmates away. But if Martin was in Jon’s body, the reverse could be true, right? It would be logical. Otherwise if Jon wasn’t here …
Martin's expression hardened as the image from a moment before flashed across his brain.
He needed to figure out what happened and where he was.
Martin tentatively leafed through the pages to see what was just supposedly recorded - he didn’t trust it wouldn’t spontaneously turn into snakes or something. He couldn’t trust anything ever since the Apocalypse; not even tea.
Stabbing Jon was meant to end it, but he wasn’t here at the moment to just Know that and tell Martin if it worked. For all he knew they were sent to different domains or … regardless, Martin needed to be proactive. Investigate. And on the off chance this was Somewhere Else, he should try to blend in.
Martin put the papers in order and read.
Case #0100325 Statement of Andrea Nunis, regarding a series of encounters in the streets of Genoa, Italy.
He remembered this one from the follow up. It was concerning how many people went missing when traveling alone all the time - and now that he knew what he did, he had an idea why. Lonely travelers, Lonelier fog.
Martin looked at Jons unburnt hand and flexed it, remembering the fresh stab wound as well. A thought crossed his mind and he booted up Jons work laptop. He didn’t know the password but he didn’t need to - the information he wanted showed even on the locked screen.
12:57 pm. 9th October 2016.
Martin hadn’t just moved in space and body - but in time . After Prentiss and Micheal, but before Jude - before Jurgans murder, as Jon was at work. Right in the middle of when Jon had been stalking them in paranoia. After Sasha … shit, Sasha. Not -Sasha.
He now definitely needed to be cautious. Sure, this could be an alternate dimension where things are similar but different, or a Fear Domain messing with him, but Martin has decided to act on the assumption that what he’s seeing is real, and similar enough to his memories. He needed to tread very, very carefully.
Jonah bloody Magnus wasn’t dead. And until he is, the threat of another apocalypse was possible.
‘Would stabbing Jonah’s eyes out work?’ He wondered. Get the jump on him, as it were.
Walking into Jonah’s office with a pointy object wouldn’t exactly be subtle. Martin shook his head and decided to hold out on his murder plan. For now. Just until he had a better one. Martin took steadying breaths. Besides, he needed to confirm whether or not Jon was here first, whether the Apocalypse really ended in time travel, all without alerting Jonah.
Fuck.
He didn’t want to do this alone.
***