Chapter Text
Jedediah knew the exact moment the museum woke up.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no flash of light or sudden rush of sound. It was a feeling—like tension slipping off the air, like the building itself taking a breath it had been holding all day. The overhead lights flickered, settling into their dim nighttime glow, and the silence shifted from artificial to real.
Jed stayed still.
He stood on the narrow wooden rail of his display fence, one boot hooked just right, hands resting on his belt as if he’d been carved that way. The painted desert backdrop behind him glowed faintly—sunset forever frozen in oranges and reds. Dust that never moved. A horizon that never changed.
On the other side of the wall to his left, metal scraped.
Jed’s jaw tightened immediately.
The Roman display sat right beside his—too close, honestly—but the low dividing wall meant they couldn’t see each other unless one of them climbed or leaned or deliberately invaded the other’s space. Which, annoyingly, Octavius almost never did.
Instead, Octavius polished.
The sound was precise. Measured. Every movement controlled.
Jed hated it.
“You know,” Jed said, raising his voice just enough to carry over the wall, “some of us are tryin’ to enjoy the peace and quiet.”
The scraping paused.
Jed waited, eyes fixed straight ahead, heart already thumping faster than it should have. He always started these things. Always. And he told himself every time that it was because Oct needed knocking down a peg, not because silence made room for thoughts he didn’t want.
“I’m maintaining my armor,” Octavius replied calmly. “The noise will stop shortly.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Another pause.
“You could simply ignore it.”
Jed scoffed. “You ever tried ignoring someone who thinks they’re better than you?”
“I don’t think I’m better than you.”
Jed laughed, sharp and humorless. “That might be the biggest lie you’ve told all night.”
The scraping resumed, slower now.
Jed felt heat crawl up his neck. “Real convenient, actin’ all noble while you sit there polishin’ yourself like a shrine.”
“It’s called discipline.”
“It’s called obsession.”
“It’s called pride.”
That one made Jed snap his head toward the wall, even though he couldn’t see through it. “Careful.”
“With what?”
“With sayin’ things you don’t understand.”
Silence fell, thick and heavy.
Jed stared out at the empty museum floor stretching beyond his fence. The place looked different at night—bigger, lonelier. Every display felt like an island. Even knowing the others were awake didn’t stop the quiet from pressing in.
“You always pick fights,” Octavius said finally.
Jed stiffened. “Only when someone deserves it.”
“And you decide that how?”
Jed opened his mouth, then closed it again. His fingers curled against his belt. “You talk down to people.”
“I speak plainly.”
“You judge.”
“I observe.”
Jed snorted. “Same thing.”
“No,” Octavius replied evenly. “Judgment comes with condemnation. Observation comes with curiosity.”
Jed hated that word.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he snapped.
“I’m not.”
“You always do this. Act like you got me all figured out.”
“I don’t,” Oct said. “You’re… inconsistent.”
That landed harder than it should have.
Jed’s instinct was to fire back, to cover the sudden discomfort with anger. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know you get louder when you’re uncomfortable.”
Jed bristled. “That’s a load of—”
“And I know,” Oct continued, unruffled, “that you mistake stillness for superiority.”
Jed’s laugh was brittle. “Funny. From a guy who treats standin’ still like a virtue.”
“It is.”
“For statues.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
The museum seemed to stretch around them, cavernous and listening. Somewhere far off, air vents sighed. A distant clock ticked.
Jed shifted his weight, irritation buzzing under his skin like static. He didn’t know why this bothered him so much. Why Octavius’s calm felt like a personal affront. Plenty of people were calm. Teddy was calm. Sacajawea was calm.
The thought of them brought movement at the edge of his vision.
Hooves.
Jed glanced sideways just as Teddy Roosevelt rode into view, mounted proudly atop his horse. Sacajawea sat behind him, steady and relaxed, her hands resting lightly at his waist. They moved together with practiced ease, as if the museum floor were made for them.
Sac laughed at something Teddy said, leaning closer. Teddy glanced back, smiling—soft, open, unguarded.
Jed’s chest tightened.
The feeling hit fast and unwelcome, like a sucker punch. He looked away almost immediately, jaw clenching hard enough to ache.
“That’s… good,” Octavius said quietly from behind the wall.
Jed’s hackles rose. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t comment on it.”
A beat. “Why?”
“Because it ain’t your business.”
Silence again.
“You looked away quickly,” Oct said.
Jed’s hands clenched into fists. “Stop watchin’ me.”
“I can’t see you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Octavius exhaled softly. “You’re the one staring.”
Jed snapped, “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Drop it.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Good,” Jed said sharply. “Because there ain’t anything to accuse.”
Another long pause.
Dexter’s shrill squeal cut through the tension like a knife.
Jed turned just in time to see the tiny monkey barreling across the floor dragging a ring of keys nearly his own size. Papers fluttered behind him like confetti.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Jed muttered.
“Dexter!” Larry Daley’s voice echoed as he came sprinting into view, boots slapping loudly against the floor. “Hey! No! Drop that!”
Dexter shrieked gleefully and skidded under a display case.
Jed leaned forward on the fence, watching.
He didn’t move to help. Neither did Oct.
Larry slid to his knees, reaching under the case. “Come on, buddy—ow!”
Ahkmenrah hurried after him, robes fluttering. “Larry, perhaps if you approach calmly—”
Dexter popped back out, climbed Larry’s leg, and smacked him on the head with the keys.
Jed barked out a laugh before he could stop himself.
The sound echoed, loud in the quiet museum.
He froze.
From behind the wall, Octavius said nothing—but somehow, Jed could feel the look.
“What?” Jed snapped defensively.
“You laughed.”
“So?”
“You only laugh when someone else is making a fool of themselves.”
Jed scowled. “That ain’t true.”
“You laughed earlier too.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Jed’s voice sharpened. “Stop pretending you know me.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“You think you see somethin’ you don’t.”
“I see what you show.”
That hit uncomfortably close.
Jed turned away from the wall, staring hard at the painted desert behind him. The sky was always sunset there. Always warm. Always safe.
“Why do you care?” he muttered.
“I don’t,” Oct replied. “Not in the way you think.”
Jed scoffed. “Sure sounds like it.”
Silence stretched again.
Larry finally managed to scoop Dexter up, holding him at arm’s length while the monkey screeched in protest. Ahkmenrah clapped politely.
The chaos drifted away.
The museum settled.
Jed felt restless suddenly, like the fence beneath his boots was too tight, too confining. He didn’t want to stand here anymore. Didn’t want to feel watched—even if Oct couldn’t actually see him.
“Night’s young,” Jed muttered.
He hopped down from the fence, boots hitting the polished floor softly. He didn’t announce it. Didn’t warn Octavius. He just started walking—away from his display, down the long stretch of museum floor.
Behind the wall, there was a pause.
Then the faint sound of armor shifting.
“I’m leaving my post,” Octavius said calmly.
Jed snorted. “Wasn’t askin’ permission.”
“I wasn’t giving it.”
They went in opposite directions.
Jed wandered without a plan. Not fast—he refused to give the impression he was running from anything—but not slow either. His boots clicked softly against the polished museum floor, each step echoing just enough to remind him how small he really was in this place. At six inches tall, the museum wasn’t just a building. It was a landscape. A whole damn country of shadow and stone and towering history that didn’t care one bit how he felt.
Good.
He preferred it that way.
He cut between the legs of a massive dinosaur skeleton, craning his neck as ribs arched overhead like the frame of a cathedral. The air smelled faintly of dust and old metal. Somewhere above him, the ventilation hummed low and constant, like the building breathing in its sleep.
Jed tipped his hat back, scanning the space.
“Figures,” he muttered. “Whole place to myself.”
He climbed over a fallen placard—one that’d been knocked loose God knows how long ago—and dropped down the other side, landing in a crouch out of habit. No danger. No enemy. Still, his hand hovered near his holster, muscle memory older than thought.
That was the thing about nights like this. Too quiet. Too much time for your brain to start askin’ questions you didn’t want answered.
He shook his head sharply and picked up the pace.
Jed passed through the edge of the Ancient Egypt exhibit, keeping to the shadows of towering statues. The stone faces stared straight ahead, eyes carved with eternal calm. He scowled up at them.
“Must be nice,” he said under his breath. “Knowin’ who you are.”
A soft clatter echoed nearby.
Jed froze.
He ducked behind the base of a sarcophagus just as a small group of Huns came charging around the corner, whooping and swinging tiny weapons wildly. They hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy chasing what looked like a wind-up toy soldier they’d stolen from somewhere else in the museum.
Jed watched them pass, unimpressed.
“Amateurs,” he muttered.
Once they disappeared, he moved again, slipping through narrow gaps between displays, climbing where it suited him, jumping where he had to. This was the part of the night he liked—the motion, the independence, the feeling that he could go anywhere he damn well pleased.
He scaled a fallen rope barrier and ended up atop a low platform near the Hall of African Mammals. The floor dropped away beneath him, a sheer cliff of polished wood. Far below, the shadow of an elephant loomed, frozen mid-charge.
Jed sat for a moment, legs dangling over the edge.
From up here, the museum felt less suffocating. Bigger. Less personal.
His thoughts tried to drift back—Don’t, he warned himself, jaw tightening. He wasn’t gonna replay that argument. Wasn’t gonna replay the look on Teddy’s face, or Sacajawea’s laugh, or—
He stood abruptly.
“Nope,” he muttered. “Not doin’ this.”
Jed hopped down and headed toward the central hall, navigating around a stack of crates left behind by the museum staff. Halfway across, something shifted beneath his boot.
Click.
He froze.
Slowly, he looked down.
A pressure plate. One of the old trap-style ones from the medieval exhibit—probably misplaced years ago and never properly disarmed. A tiny flag trembled at the edge.
Jed swallowed.
“Well,” he said quietly, “ain’t that just perfect.”
He lifted his foot carefully.
Nothing happened.
He let out a breath and stepped back—
The floor tilted.
Jed yelped as the entire panel gave way, dropping him into a narrow chute hidden between exhibits. He slid fast, arms pinwheeling, hat flying clean off his head as he shot downward in a controlled panic.
He slammed into the bottom in a heap, rolling hard and smacking into a wooden crate. The impact rattled his teeth.
“Ow—son of a—”
He lay there for a second, staring up at the thin strip of light far above him.
Then he laughed.
Short. Breathless. A little wild.
“Real smooth, Jed,” he muttered, pushing himself upright.
He retrieved his hat, brushing it off carefully before settling it back on his head. His ribs ached, but nothing was broken. He’d survived worse.
Always did.
The chute had dumped him into a forgotten storage nook behind the medieval exhibit—shields stacked haphazardly, spears leaning at odd angles, dust thick enough to leave footprints. Jed moved through it cautiously, weaving between oversized weapons that looked ridiculous and dangerous all at once.
One shield caught his eye—round, battered, scarred with dents.
Roman.
Jed stopped.
For a second, he considered kicking it.
Instead, he turned away sharply and kept walking.
The storage nook opened back out into the main museum through a narrow service gap. Jed emerged near the edge of the central hall, where the ceiling rose so high it disappeared into darkness. The place felt vast here—too big to argue in, too big to hide in.
He wandered toward a low stone pedestal near the wall, one used occasionally for rotating exhibits. It was empty tonight, cool and solid beneath his hands as he climbed up.
Jed sat.
He rested his elbows on his knees, staring out across the museum floor.
From here, he could see distant movement—Larry’s silhouette far off, Dexter finally contained, Ahkmenrah hovering nearby like a worried conscience. He could also see nothing at all of the Roman exhibit.
Good.
He leaned forward, hands clasped, shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing against something invisible.
The night pressed in around him.
For the first time since leaving his display, Jed let himself stop moving.
And that, he realized grimly, was the dangerous part.
That bothered Jed more than the arguments ever did.
He didn’t want to think about Teddy’s easy smile. About Sacajawea’s hand at his waist. About the way it had made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
He didn’t want to think about why that bothered him.
The museum lights shifted subtly.
Jed felt it before he saw it.
Dawn was coming.
Reluctantly, he slid off the pedestal and made his way back. He climbed his fence, settled into place, face going carefully blank.
From the other side of the wall, he heard armor being set just so.
Neither spoke.
The light crept higher, washing the shadows away.
Stillness took them both.
Enemies at rest. Displays restored.
But even as footsteps echoed and the museum filled with day, Jedediah couldn’t stop thinking about the wall beside him.
And what it hid.