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Many hours had passed since the setting of the sun, and the night had firmly settled. Jon had no real way of knowing this, though, other than through his trustworthy clock, which sat on his desk atop of a pile of statements, the minutes quickly ticking away.
The Archives were silent, unchanging in their constant dimness and the flickering of artificial lights. The complete lack of windows may have induced a hint of claustrophobia in anyone else, and perhaps the Archivist himself had felt that at the beginning, but that was no longer the case. Now, he worked with ease, surrounded by the peaceful quiet.
The entirety of the staff had long left the building, their shifts ended, nothing left to keep them from returning to their homes and those who awaited them, be it family members, partners, or even pets. Nothing of the sort expected Jon, just a cold apartment void of personal touches, and a fridge filled with nothing but rotten food which waited to be thrown away.
Thus, there he sat, the hours of the breezy summer night flying by as he sorted through the mess his recently passed predecessor had left. He had been promoted to the role Head Archivist recently, but the weight of the responsibility already pressed heavily on his tired shoulders. He had spent the day lost in the details of the case of a woman who claimed her garden gnomes had been moving by themselves and following strange patterns.
He absentmindedly fiddled with his hair while skim reading the details of the woman’s mysterious disappearance, neatly compiled by Sasha, whom he considered to be his most qualified assistant by far. His hair had recently passed his shoulders, the streaks of grey becoming even more noticeable both due to the length, and their increase, which had no doubt been caused by his stress-inducing work ethics.
Jon sighed, the tiredness quickly catching up to him after hours of pouring himself over his desk. He was about to lay the notes back down and finally head home, when a creaking noise surprised him.
“It is quite late to still be here, Jon,” the words came in a smooth tone, as the lean figure of Elias appeared from behind the door. He was as put together as always, his suit looking as if it had just been ironed, and Jon was not sure why, for a second, he was taken by an overwhelming feeling of terror at the sound of his boss’ voice. The fear subsided almost immediately, and Jon simply decided to shrug it off as a symptom of his tiredness. It seemed he really did need a good night of sleep .
“I was just about to head home,” he replied, rising from his chair, his back producing multiple cracking noises as he did so. He quickly gathered his things, feeling as if he needed to leave as soon as possible. He was not sure why. It wasn’t like he and Elias were on bad terms, if anything it was the opposite.
Ever since the older man had given him his position as Head Archivist, Jon had found himself relying on his expertise more often than he would’ve liked, seeking Elias out in his office at various hours of the day. And every time, Elias welcomed him with a pleased smile, as if Jon constantly needing his help was in any way appropriate.
“I am leaving as well. Allow me to drive you home,” offered Elias, still standing in front of the door, blocking Jon’s way.
“I couldn’t possibly accept—"
“I insist. It is in everybody’s best interest for you to arrive at work rested, and this is truly the least I can do. You needn’t worry, your apartment is not a far way from mine,” interrupted him Elias. For a second, Jon wondered how Elias knew where he lived.
“If it truly isn’t a problem for you…” relented Jon. He had to admit, every passing minute he was growing more and more exhausted, his vision vaguely blurry at the edges.
“Of course not. Please make sure to put your seatbelt on”.
Jon blinked. They were sitting in the car, Elias looking at him calmly but clearly waiting for him to move. To secure his seatbelt.
Jon couldn’t remember leaving the Archives, nor getting into the vehicle. Could it be possible he was so tired he hadn’t realized they were moving? Still, it was certainly not his first time almost pulling an all-nighter, his insomnia a persistent problem which had followed him most of his adult life. He blinked rapidly; a headache was starting to form at his temples. But it wasn’t a headache, not exactly. More like a low thrum, a buzzing energy, and it was—
“Jon? Is everything ok?”. Elias was still smiling at him, however his expression had grown slightly concerned, his tone taking on a strange note.
“I—yes, I’m sorry. I must be more tired than I had realized.” Jon hurried and put on his seatbelt.
“It is quite alright. I remember, when I had recently started working at the Archives I used to get particularly engrossed with the statements myself,” as he was narrating, Elias started the engine and left the parking lot.
Jon perked up. It wasn’t often Elias would mention his time as an Archival assistant, and Jon had ever only known him as the austere Head of the Institute. Before he had the chance to ask anything, though, Elias continued.
“What were you working on, Jon?” he asked, glancing towards him. There was something about the way his name came out of Elias’ lips which made Jon slightly shiver, despite the warm temperature.
“I was reading over some notes I asked Sasha to compile for—” Jon stopped abruptly.
Sasha? Sasha had been gone for months, her place taken by that hideous creature which was now –hopefully—dead. How could she have gathered anything for him? How could he have forgotten what had happened? The buzz in his head grew louder, the pain sharper. Outside the car window the landscape stretched unfamiliar, but every time his eyes tried to focus on a particular detail, everything seemed to escape him.
There was something very wrong. If he could just remember, there were whispers nagging at his mind, telling him to focus, but the pain in his head prevented him from doing so, and he was so, so confused—
“I’m sure a good night sleep is all you need, Jon”.
Elias’ calm voice snapped the world into focus once again. The two were now standing in front of Jon’s apartment building, the car seemingly long gone, except it wasn’t his actual apartment, not really. There was something inherently off. Had the door always been that color? Was there someone hiding behind the curtains of the upper floor windows, or was it simply the wind, a trick of the eye?
Jon felt sick, and lightly swayed on his feet. However, before his knees could give up and let him tumble onto the pavement –which felt… softer, than usual–, Elias gripped him firmly at the waist. His hand felt warm, his hold unwavering. Jon slowly blinked at him, the fog which had been overtaking his brain lightly dissipating the moment his gaze met the other man’s.
Elias wasn’t smiling anymore. His grey eyes were locked on Jon’s, and the expression behind them was one he had never before seen on the other man’s face. It was almost melancholic. Fond.
Jon scrambled out of the hold and straightened his spine. He took a step back, desperately needing to put some distance between himself and the other man, who reluctantly lowered his hand.
“What’s going on?” asked Jon, his voice shaking, his pose guarded. He needed to know.
“Jon, it’s alright. Let’s just go into your apartment and get you to bed, you seem to be really—”
“I asked, what is going on?” Jon repeated, this time not bothering to put a hold to the compulsion, which rushed out of him like a wave. It felt right.
Elias blinked and took a deep breath. Then he moved a step forward. Jon tried to take a step back but something got in his way, preventing him from doing so. He quickly realized that something was his kitchen counter. Once again the scene had changed right before his eyes without him even noticing. Or perhaps it wasn’t space that was wrong, it was the concept of time itself, changed into something unrecognizable. Jon wasn’t sure.
Elias’ sigh snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, and Jon looked back towards him. Elias was still looking at him, as always, and his fingers were lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed annoyed.
“It seems you are unwilling to accept the reprieve I was offering you,” Elias said.
“I don’t understand,” replied Jon. But it wasn’t entirely true. His conscious mind, perhaps, was confused, but there was something deep inside him which knew exactly what Elias was talking about. Which understood that if there was to be “reprieve” then there existed something to escape from as well, and if he could just remember, surely he’d know what to do, how to act.
Instead he was left there, mouth agape like an idiot trying to figure out why the laws of the world seemed to work differently all of a sudden, unable to move as Elias slowly began to approach him once again. There was nothing inherently threatening about him, but the closer he got, the more that fear Jon had felt coming in waves throughout the night resurfaced.
Soon enough, Elias got so close he could have been able to fully cage Jon by simply reaching out and taking a hold of the counter at his sides. Instead, he raised one of his hands, and gingerly cradled Jon’s cheek, his two eyes, which felt more like a hundred, still fixing him in place.
Jon tried to open his mouth, but before he had the chance to do so, Elias finally spoke. “You know, I was mostly doing this for you. It was meant to be a gift, but it seems you aren’t willing to accept it,” he paused. “Aren’t willing to trust me.”
“What gift? What do you mean?” Jon’s voice was tinted with exasperation. He raised his own hand, taking a hold of Elias’ wrist, who was still cradling his face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and Jon couldn’t take it anymore. Elias didn’t let go.
“No reason to delay the inevitable, I guess,” Elias continued, undisturbed by Jon’s questions. He leaned in, fully entering Jon’s space, their breaths mingling. Jon couldn’t move.
“My precious Archivist,” he said. Then he kissed him.
Before Jon could process what was happening, the pain in his head came back to full force, stronger than anything he had ever felt. He gasped in Elias’ mouth. The sound of static had gotten so intense he felt his knees buckle, but he was trapped between Elias’ sturdy body and the kitchen counter, so he stayed put.
Jon’s head felt as if it was being split open, the rush of pure knowledge roughly making its way through his brain, leaving him breathless. The slow sliding of Elias’ lips against his did not help him in centering himself. Images flashed behind his closed eyelids, and all of a sudden… he knew. He remembered. He saw.
With the pain receding as quickly as it had come, Jon’s rational part found it in himself to push Elias away. It was a weak attempt, but the man conceded it easily, calmly taking a step back. He was still smiling.
Jon was furious. He realized now, it was nothing but a dream. Although he had not felt the need to rest ever since The Watcher’s Crown, that afternoon, after Martin had left the hut in search of food at the nearby village, Jon had fallen asleep. The desperate need to close his eyes and lay down had hit suspiciously quickly, and he now realized it hadn’t been anything natural. Of course it hadn’t. Nothing was natural anymore.
“Why would you bring me here?” he asked Elias, furiously lacing his words with compulsion. The bastard shivered slightly, but didn’t reply, still looking at him with that infuriating smile, which had grown.
Jon was sure his powers were dimmed because of the exchange taking place in this dream world. He doubted Elias would have been able to resist him otherwise. He had gotten stronger. The strongest. And it was all Elias’s fault.
“I don’t get it. Aren’t you satisfied? Is this not what you wanted? The world is over, isn’t it?” Jon could hear how pathetic he sounded, but he wasn’t able to stop himself. “Why do you still need to torment me?”
“Oh, Jon,” Elias finally deigned himself to reply. He tilted his head lightly to the side. “I meant what I said before, you know? This really was intended to be taken as a gift”.
“Don’t even start,” Jon stopped him. “I know whatever you’ll say will be a lie. Why would I ever trust you?”
“Is it not a relief?” Elias continued. “To not be constantly aware of everything, all the time? To not know? I thought this was what you wanted”.
“What I wanted?” Jon couldn’t believe his ears. “What I want is for everything to go back to normal. For the world not to be destroyed because—” he stopped to take a deep breath. “Because of me”.
Elias opened his mouth, but Jon couldn’t let him speak, let him twist the situation to his advantage, manipulate him, as always.
“Do not pretend anything of what you do is for my sake,” he continued. “You have never had anything but your own selfish interests at heart, and I don’t believe that has suddenly changed, Elias, so tell me; why am I here? For you to boast about your genius plan? Remind me of how I brought the entire world to its demise, killing almost everyone I cared about, undoing all of Gertrude’s hard work?” Jon felt out of breath, the words spilling out of him like blood out of an open wound, but he needed to know.
So, Jon asked one last question, which he made sure to lace with all the compulsion he could muster.
“Why did you bring me here, Elias?”
During the delivery of Jon’s brief monologue, the setting had changed once again, and they were now standing in a place he didn’t recognize. He thought they would eventually end up at the Panopticon, or alternatively some other place which held similar significance.
Instead, they were standing in an open field. It seemed to endlessly stretch, the flat horizon far into the distance, peeking through the wisps of fog which surrounded them. There was no sun, but it was hard to identify whether it was day or night. Most likely neither. The sky was grey, dense of what, at first, seemed to be clouds, but looking more carefully revealed strange patterns in the way they moved. They appeared to be dense, and moist.
Elias was still standing in front of him. The light breeze had made his short hair uncommonly unruly, and from the tense expression on his face Jon knew he would not be able to resist the compulsion.
“You are right, this was more for me than for you,” Elias finally spoke. Jon wasn’t sure how, but he could tell that finally he was going to get the truth. He could feel it. See it.
“Elaborate,” ordered Jon, staring the other man down. He hated how, even then, his voice didn’t feel as authoritarian as he would have liked.
“I…” Elias hesitated. Jon blinked. He was not used to the other man ever being unsure of himself.
“I am not as… satisfied,” he sighed, “as I thought I would be”.
“I don’t follow,” replied Jon, his brows furrowed.
“I had not foreseen that a world ruled by fear and terror would be so… dull. Uninspired. Uninteresting,” elaborated Elias. He had finally turned his gaze away from Jon, looking at the vast space that surrounded them, his expression contemplative. Jon hated how something inside him wished Elias’ eyes would remain on him instead.
“So you decided that messing with my head instead would be more entertaining, is that it?” Jon’s voice was laced with irritation, but somewhere deep within him another emotion stirred. Disappointment.
Elias’ gaze turned on him once more, and Jon felt he could breathe again.
“Perhaps I was feeling nostalgic,” was the response.
“Of what, having me wrapped around your finger, controlling my strings like a puppeteer?” Jon could feel that was not the actual answer, but it was easier to pretend than to dig deeper. Having a hunch, however, could not have prepared him for Elias’ reply.
“Of having you by my side, Jon.”
Jon’s breath hitched. Elias had said it so matter-of-factly, as if Jon’s world hadn’t just slightly been tilted on its axis. His mind wandered back to the earlier kiss; he hadn’t given it too much thought, had brushed it off as some kind of demonstration of power, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“You can’t possibly mean that,” he said, trying to keep his voice leveled and only partially failing. He had had a lot of experience with lying to himself.
Elias sighed again, looking more exhausted than annoyed. He passed a hand through his hair, completing the work the wind had started and fully messing it up. A strand fell on his forehead, and he looked so different from the put-together, unshakable man Jon had come to know, he almost fooled himself this really was all a fragment of his imagination, after all.
Before Elias could reply, however, either by laughing at Jon for being so incredibly gullible, or by confirming what couldn’t be true, thunder echoed in the distance. Both men looked in the direction of the sound just in time to catch lightning rippling through the sky, drawing disconnected lines through the wrong-looking clouds.
Jon was still staring at what seemed to be an upcoming storm, when he felt his jaw being grasped and his face getting forcibly directed towards Elias’. He hadn’t noticed the other man crossing the small distance that separated them, who was now holding him with one hand, staring directly into his eyes. Before he could open his mouth or take a step back –why wasn’t he moving?– Elias spoke.
“It appears our patron has finally grown tired of our antics and expects us to return to our rightful duties,” he said, his voice firm.
“Our duties?” asked Jon, and he sounded more breathless than he would’ve liked.
“What good is a world of terror if there is nobody to witness it? You and I both need to keep watching, and the Beholding will not allow us to close our eyes, not even to dream.”
Elias moved his hand, and he went from gripping Jon’s jaw to holding his cheek once more. His pinky brushed against Jon’s earlobe, and he found he couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to.
“I need you to listen to me, Jon, and for once, to believe me,” Elias continued, this time with more urgency. Jon could see more lightning in his peripheral vision, which was getting increasingly closer. The air had turned cold, and thunder reverberated around them.
Jon wasn’t sure of what compelled him to nod. Elias’ request was, quite frankly, ridiculous; when had the man ever said anything truthful? He was the cause of not only Jon’s suffering, but of every person on the planet Earth, all in the pursuit of… what? A greater power? Jon should’ve pushed him away again, demanded more answers, enact a revenge. And yet he stood still, and nodded.
Elias seemed satisfied by the reaction, and a corner of his mouth lifted. His expression turned back to serious soon after.
“Once you wake up, you need to come find me,” he said. “I believe there is a way to stop this madness. A way to… reverse the ritual. But I cannot do it alone.”
“And how can I be sure you’re not lying to me?” asked Jon, desperately trying to find his footing in the conversation, which seemed to be slipping further away from his grasp every passing second.
“You cannot,” was Elias’ response. “But what do you have to lose? Is your intention to simply remain hidden in that hut, avoiding the watchful gaze of our patron? You cannot escape it forever, Jon, soon it will claim you even further. And at that point no part of you will be left to attempt even stopping what is happening.”
A drop hit Jon on the forehead, and slid down the bridge of his nose. Soon, others followed, in rapid succession. The storm had finally reached them, and Jon knew their borrowed time was over.
Elias looked up at the sky, then back at Jon. His expression seemed calm, but Jon could see there was desperation beneath it. He couldn’t make sense of it.
“Please,” Elias said. Then he leaned in, and his lips brushed against Jon’s forehead in a feather-light kiss.
---
Jon’s eyes opened. He was sitting on the armchair he had fallen asleep on, and outside the hut he could hear a storm raging. The watchful eyes were still in the sky, undisturbed by the weather, unblinking and observing as always.
Jon brought a hand to his forehead. The spot where he had been touched by soft lips felt warmer to the touch, but he knew it was nothing but an impression, a trick of the mind.
He looked outside the window again. He decided he’d wait until the storm calmed down to leave. After all, Elias was right.
What did he have to lose?