#sasha the promise of hope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sparky-is-spiders · 10 months

Text

If I may be weird and petty for a moment, I don't get AUs where Martin is the Archivist when Melanie and Sasha are right there?? I mean I get why: roleswaps are popular AUs and martin is a popular character. And maybe its just my specific headcanons re: archivist requirements but I feel like the other two would be so much better?

Yes, Martin reads statements and yes, he gets marked, but I really don't think those are the Only Requirements to do the big ritual? Cause at that point Elias could've chosen any web-marked dude off the street, especially if they have the mark of another entity as well already.

Melanie and Sasha shared several important traits with Jon, most notably a burning curiosity, a willingness to put themselves in trouble for information, and (in Melanie's case (and Sasha's too, arguably) an ability to antagonize extremely dangerous fear avatars. Sasha's whole statement is her putting herself in a dangerous situation without telling anyone or acquiring any help (remind you of any main characters?) and running face first into supernatural dangers (sometimes to protect her friends, sometimes out of curiosity). Useful for collecting marks, but also useful for collecting information and developing her own powers as the Archivist. Considering her seemingly unrepentant willingness to look through her friends' and coworkers' personal files via accessing their accounts, I'd argue that her curiosity and boundary crossing could easily get stronger when investigating supernatural entities. Obviously, this never happened because of how early on she died, but I think you could make a strong case for Sasha's strong curiosity making some avatars incredibly mad. Not to mention how incredibly Beholding it is of her. None of this is criticism btw, I think Sasha should have access to whatever personal info she wants and I love it when characters are so obviously Eye-aligned. I know "Sasha wasn't promoted because she'd solve all the problems and find a way to kill Jonah" is also a popular headcanon but please think for a MOMENT about her appearances in podcast. There weren't many, but there's a very obvious through-line in almost all of them. She's curious, she takes risks in the face of the supernatural, she wants to Know. It's literally what caused the circumstances of her statement. Those traits are arguably the ones that got her KILLED. I'm sorry this went off on a tangent. I just love Sasha very much and I'm constantly filled with Thoughts of Sasha.

Melanie also has curiosity about the supernatural AND a much more obviously antagonistic personality!! Her first appearance is being a total asshole to Jon, mocking him, the place he works at, the equipment they use, and what they do. But she also dedicated basically her entire career into uncovering the supernatural? She ran a Youtube channel about it, and when she discovered that everyone was sticking to the same "safe" sites, she started looking off the beaten path for the real stuff. And she found it! She went looking for ghosts of war and violence and even without access to statements, probably working alone and sifting through bunk on the internet, she found them! She got stabbed by a ghost and instead of trying to avoid ghosts in the future, she decided to look for more violent ghosts. The slaughter tendencies might be a drawback for her becoming the Archivist, yes, but by that point Jon had already survived multiple marks and was developing his powers. If he failed by that point, Elias might've wanted an Archivist who'd be better able to defend themselves. By S4 Melanie was probably far enough gone to the Slaughter (and hated the Eye enough) that she was probably off the table as a candidate. By that point, however, Jon was expected to fully Become and only needed a few more marks.

I understand that Sasha was approved for a transfer to the Archives because Elias let Jon choose who take with him and Jon chose Sasha. And Melanie was almost certainly chosen to keep Jon in close proximity of a Slaughter-aligned person who'd be likely to mark him but unlikely to kill him. But I think that they served a secondary purpose of being backup Archivists in case something happened to Jon.

Obviously this is more headcanon than theory (not to mention it relies on other headcanons to fully stand) but I'm very fond of it. I guess I think that, even if Elias wasn't really looking for another Archivist when Jon seems like the perfect candidate in every way (and I'm not saying this JUST because I love him), I think that if something did happen to Jon, they'd be Elias' next candidates.

#I hope this makes sense?#I've been rotating this idea for a while but I'm not sure if its fully baked yet #might need more time in the oven #if you're wondering why I opened with petty complaints about martin being the archivist #it's because I am Filled With Spite and I Do Not Like Him #and I think he'd be a bad candidate #which is its own post #anyway my Sasha opinions are almost as high as my Jon opinions #my Melanie opinions are... mixed leaning negative #but I think she has archivist potential #I think its important for the archivist to be curious #and for a majority of the marks to stem from active choices they made #to interact with the supernatural #anyway not maintagging this #I've only just started a relisten after not listening in a while #so let me know if I've forgotten something important #or missed a line that invalidates all my headcanon-crafting #I know I post a lot of jonship stuff but I PROMISE I care about other aspects of the show #I got some meta stuff thats been percolating in the brain soup so you can possibly expect more of that in the next couple days #anyway I gotta go now #goodbye

16 notes · View notes

ollieofthebeholder · 3 months

Text

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 98: February 2018

Martin had made a good effort to be cheerful for Christmas, but he’d been badly affected by his mother’s death and the statement he’d taken from her, and really none of them had tried all that hard to snap it out of him. Jon hadn’t known what to do other than be there for him, and while Martin insisted that was enough, Jon still felt like he should have done more. Melanie, too, had been upset by it, or at least Jon assumed that was what was upsetting her. It was hard to tell with Melanie these days. But it didn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to conclude that the revelation that Liliana Blackwood-King had orchestrated Roger King’s dementia in order to manipulate their children had not gone over well with her. Gerry’s attitude towards the whole thing was hard to read, but Gerry wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Unlike the previous year, they hadn’t spent New Year’s Eve all together; Sasha had somehow managed to convince Melanie to go see the fireworks with her, Tim and Gerry had gone off on some mysterious date of their own—the nature of which they still hadn’t disclosed to the others, and none of them had asked—and Jon and Martin had gone back to their flat and had a quiet night in. Actually, it had been pretty nice, listening to old records and dancing in the kitchen while they made dinner, and they had kissed right at midnight while the mayor’s fireworks exploded on the horizon. Martin hadn’t even had any nightmares that night, or so he said. For a moment, Jon had sincerely hoped, even believed, that the new year would mean a fresh start, that things would start getting better for them.

He still believed it, but he had also bowed to the inevitable and made a list of all the different “new years” marked by the different cultures around the world. Surely one of them would turn the page.

The Christmas decorations had gone down on the second of February, but Tim hadn’t even mentioned Valentine’s Day, much to Jon’s relief. He had to admit he’d been a bit jumpy as the anniversary of that day—the day the Not-Rosie had attacked, the day Jurgen Leitner had been brutally and extensively murdered with a pipe in what had then been his office, the day he’d been forced to go on the run alone—got closer. Martin had tried very hard to give him the day off, but Jon had refused to spend the day without Martin, and in the end Martin had closed the Archives down entirely and told everyone to take it off.

After all, it wasn’t like they could get fired for it.

Jon very much wished he could say he and Martin had come in smiling, holding hands, and refreshed from their day off. Or, for that matter, that any of them had. But neither Jon nor Martin had slept well—Jon because he kept waking up what seemed like every few minutes to reassure himself Martin was still there, Martin because he had evidently had serious nightmares—and it was apparent from the dark circles under Sasha’s eyes when they arrived that she hadn’t either. Although that could have been because she was up earlier than usual, since she’d actually beat them to the Institute.

“Sasha. You’re…early,” Jon said, trying and failing not to let his surprise show.

Martin managed a small smile somewhere between amused and sympathetic. “Melanie keep you up all night?”

“In a sense. We had a fight,” Sasha confessed. “Really nasty one, I don’t even know what started it, and it didn’t matter what I said, she just kept getting angrier and angrier. It finally ended in her storming out and slamming the door so hard she actually woke Nod up out of a sound sleep.” She shrugged out of her cardigan, and Jon winced at the claw marks on her shoulder. “Cat. Not Melanie…anyway, I figured I’d just give her some space and she’d come back eventually, but then I realized it was dark out and she never had. I called her, but then I realized I could hear the phone. She left it behind.”

Jon’s heart kicked into high gear. Martin stared at Sasha, all the color draining out of his face. “Did she ever come back?”

“No. I came early hoping she’d be here, but…”

“Jesus, Sasha, why didn’t you call me?” Martin reached for his pocket, then stopped as it evidently occurred to him that wouldn’t help. “Anything could have happened to her, not just the Fourteen.”

“I—” Sasha dropped her gaze, looking shamefaced, her cheeks flushing. “I don’t know. I should have, but…I just, I wanted to fix whatever I did wrong before I started calling you into it. I guess I thought that would just make her angrier.”

Martin sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “You’re probably not wrong, but she’s got to realize she can’t do this. Not now. Especially not now.”

Jon tried to think where he would have gone if he and Martin had had a fight like that. Not far, truthfully, because even at his angriest he didn’t think he could walk away for very long, but depending on how bad the fight was he might have broken down and bought a pack of cigarettes. Melanie hadn’t smoked as long as he had, but she still might have done something else destructive that she’d theoretically given up. But to be gone all night…

“Can you—” Sasha hesitated, then gestured vaguely at Martin’s eyes.

“Can, yeah, no problem.” Martin’s voice took on a slight edge. “Honestly, these days it’s stopping myself from doing something like that that’s the challenge. Should, absolutely not. It’s not a habit I really need to be getting into.”

“But if she’s in danger…Martin, please, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Sasha clasped her hands in front of her and looked up at Martin desperately. “Not when it’s something like this. I’ll take the blame if she gets mad about it.”

“It’s not Melanie I’m worried about being mad, but…fine. Fine, I’ll do it.”

Jon held up a hand. “I’m sorry, what are we talking about?”

Martin sighed. “Sasha is asking if I can use the Eye to Know where Melanie is and if she’s okay.”

A chill ran up Jon’s spine. “That…sounds like a very bad idea. Martin, you’re already so tightly bound in it—”

“I know, Jon. But Sasha’s right.” Martin ran a hand through his hair. “Melanie’s been missing for more than twelve hours, and she’s…she’s vulnerable right now. I won’t look long. Just a quick peek.”

Jon considered protesting further, but he knew it was useless if Martin had made up his mind. Anyway, he had to admit that he was worried, too, and if he had the power to Know where someone was like that, he’d be using it about now. “I’ll go find you a statement, then. You’re going to need one when you’re done.”

Martin gave him a crooked smile and bent down to kiss him quickly. “Thank you.”

As Jon headed deeper into the Archives, scanning the haphazard files on the shelves for something promising, he wondered when this had all become…maybe not normal, but expected. Just facts of life, just how things were. Gerry had come back from the dead and subsisted on souls. Martin could read minds and pull information from the ether like some kind of walking search engine. They’d traded in a boss who could plant memories in their heads and watch them without the aid of CCTV for a boss whom very few people had seen in person but could apparently make people who displeased him disappear in a rather permanent fashion. There was a makeshift bunker, complete with camp stove, down in the tunnels, which still held the Not-Them, presumably. Somewhere along the line, it had become just another day at the office. And something inside Jon mourned the fact that the best way he could think of to comfort his boyfriend was with a written record of someone else’s fear rather than a cup of tea.

The sound of commotion from the front of the Archives made every instinct Jon had fire simultaneously. Abandoning the statements, he bolted back towards the main area and skidded to a halt, gasping in relief—at least momentarily. Melanie was there, looking very much as though she had spent the night on the streets, but alive. She was also nearly purple with rage, her hands balled into tight fists as she shouted up at Martin. Sasha stood a few steps away, hands over her mouth and eyes wide.

“—stay out of it!” she bellowed. “You have no fucking right—”

“Melanie, I didn’t, I was only going to—” Martin began.

Melanie steamrolled right over him. “Spooky eldritch powers don’t give you the fucking right to just go in people’s heads whenever you want!”

“I didn’t.” Martin looked somewhere between anxious and angry. It was clear that he was trying to be rational and calm, but Melanie was pushing him to his limits. “You just vanished, you didn’t have your phone—”

“I’m a grown-ass fucking adult, and I don’t need you checking up on me every five minutes,” Melanie snarled, shoving at Martin and actually knocking him back a step.

Somehow, Martin kept his cool. “Melanie, it’s not safe—”

“Fuck you!” Melanie swung a fist and struck Martin in the stomach. He gave a soft grunt of pain and doubled over.

“Hey, hey, Jesus!” Jon rushed over to the group. Melanie whirled on him, and he took a step back on instinct. From the gleam in her eye, she liked that, liked that she’d scared him, which…wasn’t good. He held up his hands in supplication. “Melanie, come on, this isn’t like you.”

“Oh? What isn’t like me?” Melanie tensed her whole body again. “Choose your words carefully, Sims.”

Sims. Not Jon. She hadn’t called him that in a year and a half. Jon swallowed the sudden lump of emotion and tried to speak softly. “You know what I mean. Not you being angry. I know you well enough to know that’s your default state of being, like mine is being paranoid. But you never treat Martin like this, and frankly I don’t like it.”

“I bet you don’t.” Melanie sneered at him. Martin straightened and bristled, obviously as upset at Melanie talking to Jon like that as he was about her talking to Martin like that.

Jon shook his head, very quickly. Martin didn’t need to…he could handle this. He could. “What’s got into you?”

“What’s got into me?” Melanie repeated incredulously. She slammed her hand on the desk, making Jon flinch. “There’s nothing in me that I didn’t bloody well want there.”

Something cold trickled down Jon’s spine, and from the way Martin’s face shifted, he’d evidently had the same thought. He opened his mouth to say something, but Martin beat him to it. “Melanie, your leg. Is it—”

“Don’t you dare!” Melanie spun back around towards Martin and screamed in his face. “Don’t you fucking force me to answer your questions! You have no right! You have no right!”

“I’m not—” Martin began.

Jon jumped in before Martin could make things any worse. “Is your leg still hurting? Are you sure they—”

“And don’t you start either!” Melanie yelled, shoving Jon back. He stumbled and cracked his hip rather painfully against the desk. “You and your goddamn fucking compulsion, I don’t—”

“Melanie, stop,” Martin said forcefully.

There was no static in the word. It was just an order—from a boss, from an older brother, from a friend who recognized the destructive path currently being traversed and was desperate to save her from heading any further along it. Melanie didn’t seem to care. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Melanie, please, we’re—” Martin started.

“It’s bad enough that I’m trapped here, but—” Melanie ranted.

“If there’s still a—” Jon tried.

“—trying to help you—”

“—have a minute to myself—”

“—doctors couldn’t see—”

“—listen to me for one second—”

“—all calm down and—”

“—fucking irresponsible—”

“I’ll kill you!” Melanie screamed, lunging at Martin.

“Melanie, no, stop!” Jon leaped for Melanie, his heart in his throat.

Too late. The blade in her hand—a blade she hadn’t had mere seconds before, a blade Jon hadn’t noticed her holding until it was far, far too late—flashed as she plunged it into Martin’s shoulder, then withdrew it in the same swift motion. Martin cried out in pain, reeling back with a hand pressed to his chest, far too close to his heart for Jon’s liking.

There was clang as the knife dropped from Melanie’s suddenly nerveless fingers. To her credit, she looked absolutely stunned that she’d done that, all the color gone from her face. There was a heartbeat of silence as they stared at one another, wide-eyed.

Suddenly, Sasha loomed up behind Melanie, her own face pale. She threw one arm around Melanie’s chest and clapped a tea-towel over her mouth and nose with the other. Melanie stiffened for a second, then started to fight.

“Jon, help me!” Sasha shouted. “I can’t hold her on my own!”

Not sure what else to do, Jon lunged forward and grabbed Melanie’s wrists. She tried to knee him in the balls; somehow he managed to clamp onto her leg with his own knees and keep it down. Her attempt to kick him, or Sasha, with the other leg almost sent all three of them to the ground, but they just held on as she struggled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Sasha repeated, over and over. Jon was sure they were going to lose the battle any second, but slowly, Melanie’s struggles grew less and less, until she finally sagged against Sasha, boneless and unconscious, leaving the rest of them silent and worn out.

“What,” Jon panted, “the fuck just happened?”

“Chloroform,” Sasha said miserably. “I soaked the towel in enough to knock her out without doing too much permanent damage. Hopefully.”

“Why do you just happen to have chloroform lying around in sufficient quantities to knock her out safely?” Martin asked, sounding very much as if he were doing so through clenched teeth.

“I recommend not asking questions you don’t want the answers to.” Sasha shifted her grip on Melanie. “Someone help me get her lying down.”

“Can someone please get me up to speed here?” Jon asked, not for the first time that day and not, he suspected, for the last.

Martin came over and took Melanie’s legs from Jon, gingerly, then helped Sasha lay her on the floor. “You figured it out, too. I could see it in your eyes. The ghost’s bullet is still in her leg, infecting her with the Slaughter, and it’s only getting worse. We’ve got to get it out.”

Jon blinked. “How?”

Martin looked up at Jon and raised an eyebrow. “How do you think?”

Jon’s stomach flipped as he realized what Martin was implying. “Oh. Will—how long to we have?”

“Until she wakes up, which won’t be long. Chloroform doesn’t last forever.” Martin took a deep breath. “Someone get me a pair of scissors.”

“You’re going to do this with scissors?” Jon said, horrified.

Unexpectedly, the corners of Martin’s mouth twitched. “For the trouser leg, Jon. There’s a scalpel in the first aid kit.”

“I feel like that’s not exactly standard for a first aid kit,” Jon muttered, but he hurried over to the Archivist’s office to fetch a pair of scissors.

By the time he got back, Sasha had Melanie’s head in her lap and was holding her shoulders down, while Martin had spread the chloroform-soaked towel—probably not the cleanest in the world, but Jon guessed it was mostly for the blood—under the leg Melanie was always running. Jon tapped him on the shoulder with the handle of the scissors. Martin took them and nodded his thanks. “Do me one more favor?”

Jon sat on Melanie’s ankle without being asked. Martin smiled at him again, then began cutting away the pant leg. That done, he set the scissors aside, took a deep breath, and Looked. Soft static began gathering, then faded, taking what little color was left in Martin’s face with it. “Jesus.”

“Bad?” Jon asked.

“It’s poisoning her whole system. She’s not gone full avatar yet, but if I can’t get this out…God, I should have Looked at her ages ago.” Martin shook his head and picked up a small packet, then peeled the paper back to reveal a scalpel that was either brand new or had been cunningly replaced. “Right. Let’s do this.”

It was…messier than Jon would have liked, and he had to work hard not to be sick, but he made himself watch as Martin cut a surprisingly neat incision in Melanie’s leg, then dug into it with a pair of forceps. Melanie shifted and groaned, and Jon scanned her face anxiously. “She’s still awake?”

“No.” Surprisingly, it was Sasha who answered, not Martin. “People always used to think that, but it’s not true. She’s just restless from the anesthesia, but she’s asleep and can’t feel anything. Uh…maybe hurry, though?”

“I’m going as fast as I safely can,” Martin assured her without looking up.

There was an unpleasant wet squelching sound, and then Martin withdrew the forceps, seemingly empty…but when he opened them over the metal tray next to him, something landed with a clatter.

“Did you get it?” Sasha asked, her voice shaking a little.

“Yeah.” Martin exhaled slowly and laid the forceps gently in the tray next to the scalpel and, Jon assumed, the ghost bullet. “Let me close her up, and then you can take her back to the cot in Document Storage until she wakes up.”

“And then I want to look at your shoulder,” Jon said, unable to stop the anxiety from coloring his own voice.

Something infinitely sad flickered through Martin’s eyes for a moment, but he didn’t say anything, just concentrated on applying what seemed like an entire box of butterfly bandages to the gash he’d made in Melanie’s thigh. Finally, he was done, and he nodded to Jon to get off Melanie’s leg. The second he did, Sasha scooped her into her arms without a word and staggered towards Document Storage. Jon almost offered to help her, but one look at her face and he knew that wasn’t his place.

“Come here,” he said instead, turning to Martin. “Into your office. Let me see what she did to you.”

Martin gave him a sad smile, but got to his feet and headed for the Archivist’s office. Jon assumed it was the your office bit; even after ten months, he knew Martin still felt guilty about that. He swept up the parts of the first aid kit that hadn’t been used for impromptu surgery and followed him.

Once inside, Martin went without being told to the far back corner, where there was a sturdy floor lamp, and sat slowly down on the floor. He pulled off his torn and bloodied jumper, then simply tugged at the hole in the shirt underneath to make it bigger. Jon grabbed an alcohol wipe out of the first aid kit, hurried over, knelt next to Martin, and began wiping off the blood to see how bad the cut was.

Only to discover that it had already closed itself over, leaving only a shiny pink ridge about an inch and a half wide.

Jon sat back on his heels and stared at it. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Martin said quietly. “Same thing happened with Trevor stabbing me, kind of. Took a bit longer for that to stop bleeding, but, well, I wasn’t…”

“An Avatar?”

“I was going to say ‘Marked by the End’, but yeah, that, too.” Martin sighed and reached for Jon’s hand, then stopped, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. “Killing me won’t be that easy. Melanie wasn’t far enough along for it to be that simple.”

Jon shuddered. “She was so angry…”

“Yes. But there was enough of her left that didn’t mean it when she said she’d kill me that she couldn’t.”

He still wasn’t touching. Jon grabbed his hands and laced their fingers together, refusing to let go, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the spot. It felt hot to the touch. “I wouldn’t have let her. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Martin sighed and wrapped his arms around Jon. Jon snuggled against him and rested his ear against Martin’s chest just below the new scar. The steady thudding of his heartbeat reassured Jon in a way few other things could right about then.

The sound of a door opening somewhere behind him reminded Jon that Tim hadn’t arrived yet. He sighed and started to turn. “You missed quite a morning. Late night or—”

Martin suddenly stiffened and shot to his feet, dragging Jon upright with him and simultaneously pushing him back. Jon was about to demand to know what the hell was going on when he, too, turned and caught sight of the figure standing just a few feet away, far too close for comfort—one of the two men who had menaced them outside the House of Wax.

Only one?

“Come to make a delivery, have you?” Martin’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Maybe,” the figure—Breekon or Hope, Jon wasn’t sure—said. “Yeah. That’s right. Just here to deliver a—package.”

“Why?” Martin’s voice crackled with compulsion.

Unlike when Jon had tried, the Stranger answered immediately. “Realized that I’m not tied to it anymore.” He—it—knocked twice on a wooden box next to him, and Jon felt what little courage he possessed desert him as he realized it was the coffin—the Buried. “Not on my own. Thought you could have it. Pay your respects, like.”

“Our respects?” Jon asked, bewildered, his voice shaking.

Martin didn’t answer, or move from in front of Jon. He only stared down the man in front of them. “Why are you here?”

“Dunno.” The man actually seemed bewildered, maybe a little lost. “’S not right on my own. Not right. No point in doing it on my own. Dunno what happens now.” He tilted his head to one side. “Thought I might kill you. Missed my chance. Thought I might just deliver something. So…here’s a coffin. In case you want to join your friend.”

Horror seized Jon. Oh, God, Tim. Tim was in there, that was why he was late…

He tried to step forward, only to be barred by Martin’s arm. A sudden surge of anger struck him—not at Martin, but at the thing in front of him—and he snarled, “Get out.”

The wrong kind of static crackled. The figure in front of them only grinned nastily, and there was a whooshing, rushing noise that filled the air as it said, “Make me.”

What do you think I was trying to do? Jon wanted to scream, but the anger was gone, replaced only by horror and terror in equal measures. This thing was after him, after Martin, it was so close, and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide…

But there was Martin, who continued to stand in front of him, and the whooshing noise died instantly as he said, simply, “Stop.”

Static rose, not soft and gentle but heavy and oppressive, like a sudden torrential downpour on a summer afternoon. The weight of it almost bore Jon physically to the floor, and he saw the thing in front of them reel back from it.

“What are you—stop it,” it protested. “Stop it!”

Martin didn’t so much as flinch. “No.”

Jon watched, fascinated, as the thing before them cringed, literally shrank before Martin’s gaze. “Enough! Stop looking at me!” it howled. Suddenly seeming unable to take any more, it turned and fled across the Archives. A door slammed shut in the distance.

The static died that fast, and Martin sagged slightly, panting for breath.

The world rushed back in. Jon became aware of the situation—the bloody towel, the used scalpel, the small invasion of their workspace, their sanctum. The coffin in the middle of the floor of the Archivist’s office.

The coffin.

Suddenly alive, Jon grabbed Martin’s arm and tugged him out of the office. Martin shook off whatever stupor he was in and followed, and the two of them practically dragged one another to the trapdoor by unspoken agreement, tumbling pell-mell down the steps. They wound up in the small room where they’d spoken after Jon’s return to the Institute after Leitner’s murder.

There was no light. They didn’t need it. They simply collapsed onto the floor, clinging to one another tightly.

Jon trembled head to toe. The adrenaline had worn off, and he was suddenly aware that the Buried, the Fear Martin was most afraid of, was in the middle of the Archives. Tim was trapped in it, and oh, God, what were they going to tell Gerry…and Sasha, she’d be so upset…but what if it took Martin too…

“Tim—” he choked out, unable to say anything more.

“Wh—oh, Christ, we’re going to have to get out there before he gets in,” Martin murmured. “He’s, I don’t think he’ll open the coffin, but—”

Jon looked up at Martin, or at least in the direction of the vague black shape that was Martin, wide-eyed. “He’s…not already…I-I thought that was what…”

“No, Jon, it’s Daisy,” Martin said gently. He kissed Jon’s forehead and tucked his chin over the top of his head. “They…fed her to it. Or—it did. After she killed the other one. She’s in there, and she’s alive.”

“You’re—you’re sure?”

“Yeah. Knew she was still alive before…but yeah.” Martin sighed heavily. “I got its statement. I think.”

“How are we going to get rid of it?” Jon began ticking over possibilities. “It—it can’t stay here, it’s dangerous.”

“I suppose we could put it up in Artifact Storage, but…that won’t help. I don’t know what we have to do with it. We’ll probably have to go over that with the others, and…it m-might need to wait until Melanie’s conscious, at least.”

“You can’t go near it. You—it’ll kill you, or at least it won’t let you go.”

Martin was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “I am the Archivist, Jon. It’s my job to protect you all. And if that means keeping the Buried away from any of you, so be it.”

That wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. Jon was going to have to come up with a way to get Daisy out, and get rid of the coffin, without Martin going near it. But all he said was, “But Tim’s okay? You’re sure?”

“Yeah, he texted while I was getting the first aid kit, said he’d just woke up and he was on his way. Said there was something important he needed to talk to us about.” Martin sighed again. “Can’t say that fills me with confidence.”

Jon nodded slowly. He completely agreed. “So what are we doing in the meantime?”

There was a rustle as Martin got to his feet, guiding Jon up with him. “We’re going back up to the Archives. And…I think I need a pen.”

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #melanie king #sasha james #breekon and hope #manipulation #stress #fighting #anger #knife violence #blood #drugging #nonconsentual medical procedures #panic #mention of being buried alive

4 notes · View notes