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Martin sobbed. “Are you sure about this?”
Around them, the Panopticon was crumbling. Large chunks of stone crashed into the floor, the force almost knocking the pair over.
“No,” Jon answered softly. He cupped Martin’s face. “But I know I love you.”
That put a little sad smile on Martin’s face. “I love you, too.”
Jon closed the distance between them and kissed Martin. He could feel the tears on his own cheeks. Then a piercing pain in his ribs—not as bad at Jared Hopworth’s work, oddly enough, but Jon gasped all the same. He heard Martin sob again, loud and wretched. Static filled his ears.
And it was dark.
Jon jolted awake, his heart pounding. He clutched at his chest and found it miraculously intact. His clothes were even clean, and… not what he had been wearing over the course of the apocalypse. Instead of the borrowed—stolen, Martin insisted—saffron jumper and dusty jeans he’d had for that endless hell, he was wearing a neat button down and slacks. Something like he would have worn in the office. He felt his eyes widen and jerked his head up to look around.
It was his office. His office back in the Archives, where he’d complained, been attacked by worms, lost his mind in paranoia… all of it. It was cleaner than he remembered it, though, and less cluttered. Slowly, he stood, and walked around his desk, on which he noticed a tape recorder. He glared at it. It sat there quietly.
Outside his office, the bullpen was empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed, almost comfortingly familiar. How many nights had Jon spent there in his… what, had it only been three years? The three assistant desks sat as he remembered them, each with their knick knacks. Martin’s stress ball shaped like a cow, some photo frames propped on another, and a few fidget toys on the third. He hadn’t remembered anyone having fidget toys before, but… the end had been a bit distracted, hadn’t it? Even in the office, where he should’ve known everything he could, Jon missed things.
He walked over to Martin’s desk and picked up the cow, giving it a little squeeze. It was a black and white cow, not like the highland cows they’d seen up in Scotland.
“Where is Martin?” Jon asked quietly, looking around. He didn’t Know the answer, which was unnerving. He hadn’t Known anything about Martin since… since finding him at Hill Top Road, perhaps? And then only his middle name—or lack thereof, as it were—before that.
Glancing around, something in the photos on the next desk caught Jon's eye. Something he hadn't seen in a long time, that formed a lump in his throat. He set the cow down, staring at the photo as he walked over. There were two smiling men in it, clearly related, and one taller than the other. Jon knew that the taller one was younger.
Tim had said so in his statement.
Suddenly lightheaded, Jon barely managed to catch himself on the desk before he keeled over. This predicament was… increasingly strange. Trying to ground himself, Jon thought out logically. His office had been, of course, his own. The first desk was Martin's. Easy. If this was Tim's desk, as the photos implied, then the remaining desk was either Melanie's, or…
Jon tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and found his mouth was too dry. He looked at the last desk and its fidget toys warily. He couldn't remember Melanie having any, when he'd finally come back to the Archives. No, Melanie had either paced or drummed her fingers on surfaces to get out her nervous energy, as far as Jon was aware.
He set the frame back down, gently, carefully. He didn't want to break anything. (Not again.) Walking over to the final desk, Jon picked up a plastic tangle toy with something like reverence. It was almost familiar, associated with a fleeting memory. Deja vu. Only Jon knew exactly what he had forgotten, who he had forgotten.
A thump followed by voices jerked Jon from his thoughts, blinking back the start of tears. There was someone in the break room—multiple someones, from the sound of it. He sighed shakily. There was no way that somehow, some way, he'd made it to a better time. More likely, this was a cruel hallucination put on by his dying brain in its last moments. Hell, maybe it was one last punishment from the Eye. Getting one last taste of fear and despair from Jon before they all ended up somewhere else.
Jon knew nothing good could come from investigating the sound. But like all the statement givers before him, he found himself walking over to the break room anyway, toy still in hand.
There were more shuffling sounds and muffled voices. Familiar voices. Jon gripped the door knob and carefully, ever so carefully, turned it. Holding his breath, he opened the door.
( I— open— the door! he thought hysterically.)
“SURPRISE!” Martin, Tim, and a woman shouted together as the lights came on.
Jon let loose one loud, wretched sob before slapping a hand over his mouth. His eyes stung and his vision blurred slightly, but there they were.
Martin’s expression had gone from cautious delight to utter terror. Now that he knew to look, Jon could see the wear of anxiety on Martin’s face. The slight bags and dark shadows, creases in his forehead that were pressed in a little too deeply. Had he caused those, or was it all from Martin’s mother? Jonah playing his games in regards to Martin’s CV? But even considering those familiar pieces, Jon was struck by how different Martin looked, how bright his eyes were. Jon swallowed down another sob as he realized that the spark there hadn’t come back after the Lonely. Not entirely.
Tim was wide-eyed, a noise maker hanging from the corner of his mouth like a cigarette. Although Tim was older than Jon was, even older than Jon was now, Tim still looked so young. He had some lines on his face, but as a whole, he looked… lighter. At the end, he had been so angry all the time. Jon had forgotten how much his own paranoia and the reality of the fears had weighed on Tim.
“Is… is that my tangle?” the woman asked uncertainly.
She was taller than Jon’s memory, and different in every other way, too—the only similarity he could pick out was they both had dark hair. Even the expression was one he’d never seen on her, an intense questioning thing. In his memory, she was always light and pleasant, detached.
Jon took a step towards her, trembling. He was vaguely aware of the sounds he was making, small muffled whimpers against his hand. Sasha came to his side, gently taking the hand holding the toy.
“Jon, are you alright?” She shook her head, seeming to realize how she sounded. “What’s wrong?”
Tim came to himself faster than Martin. That made a certain kind of sense, Jon supposed. Jon had known Tim longer.
(Jon was still Martin’s nitpicky boss at this point. Distantly, Jon wondered how early Martin’s crush had started. Maybe it was the emulsifiers. His Martin had liked to tease him about the emulsifiers and Jon's "old man ice cream.")
“Deep breathes, Jon, easy,” Tim was saying. “Come sit down. Easy does it.”
Tim and Sasha guided Jon to a chair and Jon collapsed into it. His vision was fully blurred now, tears smudging his glasses. He uncovered his mouth to push them up into his hair—shorter than it had been before the Panopticon, he noted—and wiped at his eyes. He managed to stop his simpering but didn't try to speak quite yet. What could he even say?
Sasha stepped away to give him space, but Tim stayed close with a hand on Jon's shoulder. No one spoke for a while.
Finally, as Jon remembered, Jonah walked in. He looked caught off guard, but only barely so. Jon suspected that Jonah had seen his outburst and taken the time to school his expression into something mostly neutral.
"What's going on in—"
"You," Jon snarled.
Tim jumped back. "H-hey, it's… uh—am I missing—?"
Jon glanced at the table, where the cake and knife to cut it lay. He couldn't tell how sharp it was, but it would have to do. He dropped Sasha's ( Sasha's here , she's alive ) toy and snatched the knife before rushing at Jonah. Jonah tried to dodge away, but Jon was a man possessed. Jon grabbed Jonah by the front of his shirt.
"Jonah Magnus," Jon said through gritted teeth. He heard his assistants start to speak behind him but he ignored them. He shoved Jonah into a wall, the knife clutched in his other hand, poised to strike.
There was a flash of concern and true confusion in Jonah's grey eyes, but only for a moment. He hadn't gotten this far by sheer dumb luck, Jon supposed. Static buzzed in his ears lightly and he realized what Jonah was doing.
"Stop it," Jon snapped, pressing the knife blade to Jonah's throat. The static subsided.
"Stop what, Jon?" Jonah asked, voice cool. The prick thought he could still talk his way out. What a fool. "I'm not doing anything."
"Shut it, you bastard."
"Uh, Jon? What the hell are you doing?" Tim asked slowly.
"Pre-emptive revenge," Jon answered, keeping his eyes on Jonah. Blood pounded in Jon's ears. It was the most together he'd felt since awaking in his office. Oh, what a horrid existence he'd left behind.
"And what's that mean, exactly?" Sasha asked. Her voice was pitched up. Scared? Probably. She was of a height with him, but that didn't help when he had a knife.
"Hopefully you'll never have to find out," Jon said. Speaking to Jonah, he said, "Any last words, Jonah? It didn't work the first time I killed you, but maybe you can convince me this time." Jon pressed the blade into Jonah's skin a little harder, barely breaking the skin.
Jonah inhaled sharply. The calm demeanor was fading fast, Jon was satisfied to see.
"Who are you?" Jonah asked quietly. His eyes darted over Jon's face, searching. "One of the Stranger's lot? Didn't think you all were this good at mimicking others. What have you done with my Archivist?"
"Oh, I am your Archivist, through and through, Jonah," Jon said. "And that's why I'm here at all."
Jonah made to speak, but Jon couldn't stand him any longer. He pressed as hard as he could and pulled, drawing a deep, jagged cut across Jonah's throat. As Jon stepped back, Jonah gurgled, clutching at the wound. At least one of the assistants screamed. Jon let the knife fall to the floor and soon he followed, barely keeping himself up on one knee.
"It's over," Jon said quietly. He felt his eyes prick with tears again.
Someone pushed past him to Jonah, nearly knocking him over. Distantly, he realized his glasses had fallen off his head when he'd run at Jonah. That didn't explain his vision darkening and the lightheadedness, though.
"Oh," Jon said, as he fainted.
When Jon came to, it was to the sounds of arguing.
"Listen, Jon will wake up, and he'll explain everything, okay? Trust me!" That was Martin.
"What the hell do you mean, trust you?" Tim shouted back. "He killed someone, Martin! I don't care about your stupid crush. Jon just killed a man in front of us."
"I know it looks bad, Tim, but there was a good reason, I know—"
"What, because he's hot?"
"Because I know the reason!"
"Then why don't you—"
"Oi!" Sasha interrupted. "Shut it, you two. He's waking up."
Slowly, Jon opened his eyes. He saw the blurred forms of Tim, Martin, and Sasha standing across the room. Martin had his arms spread wide, presumably blocking the door. On the floor was a fourth figure, a corpse. Jon barely stopped himself from smiling at the sight.
He carefully propped himself up, realizing he was on the little break room couch and that his glasses were tucked into his shirt. Putting them back on, he squinted as things came back into focus. As expected, Tim and Sasha were looking at him with a mixture of trepidation and anger. Martin, though, he was determined, and so tired– The spark, Jon realized. It was faded.
"Martin," Jon said, his voice cracking slightly. "You're here. You made it back, too."
Martin smiled sheepishly. Even though, in reality, he didn't look that different at all, Jon thought he could see a deep exhaustion in him. "Yep. Little late to the party, but here I am." He paused. "Where you go, I go."
"What does that mean!" Tim exclaimed, throwing his hands up.
Sasha glanced between Martin and Jon a few times before setting her jaw. "I think something spooky's on, Tim. Like, proper spooky."
Tim turned to Sasha, aghast. "Don't tell me you're with them. Jon killed Elias!"
"Elias has been dead since he ascended to Head of the Institute," Jon corrected. "Or, well, he died shortly before, I suppose. The man I killed is Jonah Magnus." Jon sucked on his teeth, considering. “Well, I started the process, probably. Need to check the Panopticon to make sure it’s taken.”
Sasha looked at him like a puzzle. Tim looked at him like he was mad. Martin hummed in agreement and Tim rounded on him once more.
“No! This is insane! You can’t expect me to believe—”
Jon saw Martin steel himself—he assumed preparing to stop Tim if he tried to push past. Instead, Martin spoke.
“I know about Danny, Tim.”
Tim froze. “What?”
“I know how he died, and about the Circus,” Martin continued. “I know because you told me.” He grimaced. “In… ugh, in the future. Jon and I are from the future.”
“Oh!” Sasha exclaimed, clicking her fingers. “That explains it.”
Between her reaction and Tim’s expression as he glanced between Sasha and Martin, Jon couldn’t help but laugh. It felt strange to do. But it was good.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” Jon agreed. He pushed himself to standing slowly, careful of his own lightheadedness. He supposed hurting Jonah might also affect him, even this early. Once he was sure he wouldn’t fall over, Jon focused on his assistants, determined. “I’ll explain everything while we take care of all of this.” He gestured to Jonah’s Elias-corpse.
Sasha nodded. “Right. There’s got to be some bleach under the sink here.” She started rooting around in the cabinets for cleaning supplies.
Martin barked a laugh at that. Tim looked confused, and defeated.
“I can’t believe this,” Tim said.
“Wait ‘til you see the tunnels,” Martin told him. Then he hummed, considering. “Wonder if we’ll see Leitner down there?”
That got both Tim and Sasha’s attention.
“ Jurgen Leitner?” Sasha clarified.
“Jurgen Leitner,” Martin confirmed.
“I hate it here,” Tim said, dragging a hand over his face. “I hate it here so much.”
“Me too,” Jon said. He crouched beside Sasha, pulling out rags and a roll of paper towel. “Good news is we can quit now! Well, I think. Probably.”
“We couldn’t before?” Tim asked, his voice strained. Jon wondered where Tim found the energy to keep his incredulity up. The fumes from the extinguishers must’ve tamped it all down the first go around.
“No, I’ve thought about it,” Sasha said. “I even tried writing resignation letters after Jon got promoted.” She grimaced at Jon and apologized, but he waved her off. “Never could get through one though. I thought it was just nerves, but… a supernatural effect makes much more sense. I’ve never been one to stick to something I didn’t like.”
“Yeah, that was Jonah—Elias,” Jon replied, ‘correcting’ himself for her and Tim’s benefit. “Or I suppose the Eye might be more accurate?” At her confused look, Jon clarified, “The evil entity that the Institute serves. It’s called the Eye, the Beholding, It Knows You.”
“The Ceaseless Watcher,” Martin added.
Jon glanced over at him, eyes narrowed. “Do you only remember that one because of—”
“The time you smote the NotThem and it was very hot? Yes, Jon, I do.”
Tim made a very short, high-pitched sort of noise before closing his eyes. He took a moment to himself and then opened them.
“Alright, I’ll help with all of this,” he finally said, gesturing to the crime scene. “But you have to explain to me how that”—he gestured to Martin with one hand and then to Jon with the other—”happened.”
Jon stared at Tim for a long moment, his mouth agape. Then he laughed, shaking his head as he tossed Tim a roll of paper towel.
“We can do that,” Jon said. “We can definitely do that.”
He’d missed them. Abstractly, he’d known that. There was a reason he’d memorized that tape back at the cabin and a reason he’d broken down just moments before. But having this again—being reminded of Tim’s coping with humor and relearning Sasha’s focus on truth, on answers—it got Jon deep in his soul. He’d lost that before, before he’d even realized what he’d had.
He wouldn’t let it happen again.