Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, Jon wasn't stupid. 

Nor was he stuck-up and boring, though he guessed that if people believed that, he'd done his job. 

He knew what leaving the Mechanisms would mean, and he knew the others would hate him for it. He also knew that he had to do it. 

It had been a solid three years now, since he disappeared and left himself to wonder how they reacted, if they looked. Nastya probably looked, he liked to think, but even that sometimes was called into question. He'd found a cushy job at some institute, somewhere no one would think to look for Jonny D'Ville. He took it mainly because it made him laugh, working at a place that researched the kind of thing he'd spent years causing. They knew so little, it was almost funny.

He didn't really know much either, but their ignorance was almost impressive.

When he got promoted, it was a little bit of a surprise. Jon really wasn't that good at his job. It really should have been that woman, Sasha, from Artefact Storage. But, hey, why was he complaining? 

More goddamn attention on himself, that's why. 

Jonny. Loved. Attention. So much. Literally anyone could tell you that. But Jon didn't. Heading up a department? Not really his style. 

But he's gotten used to it. 

The worms were...weird, but far from the worst thing that's ever happened to him. He didn't even scream. (Tim screamed. It would have been funny if Jon didn't actually like him.) 

But anyway. He's fallen into his role. It's...not exactly comfortable. Feels like he's being forced to sit still. 

But it's safe. And it's different, and that's all that matters. 

Some days he can forget about Jonny D'Ville entirely. 

(But that's not to say he doesn't miss him.) 

✶

Tim's doing paperwork. Again. 

He kind of misses Research a little bit. His coworkers were less cool, but at least there wasn't so much goddamn paper. (And, you know they never got eaten by supernatural creatures, but irrelevant, the paper was worse.)

It's the worst substance on the world. Waste of trees. This should count as corporate malpractice. Or collective punishment, or something. He swears to sue Elias for the third time that day. 

He turns to the woman next to him. "Sasha." No response. "Hey, Sash," he repeats, resting his chin upon plateaued hands and looking up at her like a dog begging for food. "Saashhaaaaaaaa. It's your pal Tim. He's sad. Devastated, even. Got 48 hours to live? Sasha. Sashmaster. Love of m--" 

"Yes, Tim?" she says, turning to him with an exasperated expression that Tim knows is fond. He flashes her a grin. 

"I'm bored." 

"Then go play with toy trains or whatever it is you do in your free time. I'm not your keeper." She turns away with a small amused smile. 

"I'll have you know that the trains I play with are far more sophisticated than mere toys. But really, I-- hey, who's that?" He drops his voice down at the end of his sentence, nudging Sasha in the arm. 

She looks up. A person in a dark green headscarf stands at the door, decked out in a police uniform with their hat in their hand. A badge shines on their lapel, and they glance around with a heavy, distrustful glare that might even stop Tim from being unserious. 

Key word being might. "Hello, welcome to the Archives. You want fries with that existential trauma?" The cop's eyes flick to Tim with an almost unbelieving stare. 

Sasha whacks him in the back of the neck. "Christ. Sorry about him. Are you here to make a statement?" She smiles warmly. 

The cop licks their lips. "Well-- you know what, yeah. Sure. What's the harm?" 

Sasha tilts her head, a bit confused, but whatever, it's the Magnus Institute. Weirder things have happened (see: worms.) 

"Right, well," she says, pushing back her chair and moving over to Jon's office door across the room, "our Archivist is just in here. Hang tight for a minute while I fetch him for you." The cop nods, looking no less on edge. 

Sasha knocks on the door. "Jon? There's a statement giver here to see you." 

There's a loud bang from inside the room, as if someone fell off a chair. Sasha doesn't even flinch. 

"Ah-- yeah, coming," she hears from behind the door, a few seconds before it opens, revealing a slightly disheveled Jon with a piece of paper stuck to his cheek, which he quickly peels off. She suspects he fell asleep on his desk again. 

Jon clears his throat. "Thank you, Sasha," he says, professional air once more intact, and she moves aside to let him out. "I'll just-"

He catches sight of the cop, and freezes instantly. 

✶

Jon swears he can feel all the colour drain from his face. 

He's got to be fucking hallucinating, because standing five feet away from him is Ashes O'Reilly. 

The pure terror that sweeps through his bloodstream might be unfounded, but it sure doesn't feel like it, because Ashes is glaring at him with the force of a thousands suns.

Jon's suddenly snapped back into reality as he becomes intimately aware of the increasingly confused and concerned stares of his assistants. He clears his throat again, feeling significantly more off balance than usual. 

"Right, yeah," he nearly squeaks, "um. C-come on back." 

Ashes clips his shoulder as they walk brusquely past him into his office. 

Jon closes the door. 

The minute it's shut, he gets the fist to the face he was expecting. 

"What the fuck," Ashes hisses as he rubs at his nose, eyes watering slightly. Guess he's out of practice, if by practice you mean getting beat up. "I repeat, Jonny, what the fuck." 

"Listen, Ashes-" 

"No. Don't you dare 'listen, Ashes' me. It has been three goddamn FUCKING years, and we have not heard from you once. Do you know how that felt? Do you know how Nastya felt? After you disappeared, bailed out on us, when we needed each other most, right after--" 

"Don't." 

There must be something in his voice, because Ashes stops, and just looks at him with red-ringed eyes, chest heaving with anger. 

"Just don't. I know...I know what I did, Ashes." He leans down onto the desk, suddenly too tired to stand. 

"Then why did you?" 

They change, then. All the anger drains out, leaving only a look of deep, hollow sorrow in their eyes that Jon hadn't seen since-- well. Since what happened. 

A sudden stab of guilt wraps around his metal heart. "Because it was my fault! Because... because..." 

"Say it, Jonny!" 

"Because I thought you'd be better off without me!" he nearly shouts. 

Thank god for the surprisingly thick walls.

He sees it dawn on them, then. The uncharacteristic protectiveness and shame he'd felt. They know him better than almost anyone besides Nastya. They knew he would have been too cowardly to face them. 

They shake their head. "You stupid, stupid man." 

There's a silence, then, a terrible silence. Jonny feels his own frustration rise within him. At himself, at the crew. At Carmilla. 

And then: 

"No aces, deuces, spades, hearts, diamonds or clubs. 

No suicide kings, no one-eyed jacks. 

No royal flush, no dead man's hand...?" 

...

Well.

"...and definitely no jokers."  

Ashes grins. 

"There he is." 

Next thing he knows, Jon's being crushed in their arms, and he's crushing them just as fiercely back. 

Ashes pulls back, and they study him at an arm's length. They laugh. "God, Jonny, what happened to you? Y'look like the patron saint of stuffy old white men possessed your wardrobe." 

Jon rolls his eyes. "Believe me, not like I like dressing like a right prick." 

They smile, then catch sight of the worm scars, poking at one. "Huh. Any reason these haven't healed yet?" 

"Dunno. Probably some of that spooky shit. Pretty glad they haven't though. It'd look kinda weird otherwise." 

Ashes, as one does after a life like theirs, correctly reads 'weird' as 'suspicious'. They glance back at the door. "Yeah, alright, I can see that. Still. Better not tell Raph about those, or she'd go ballistic and strap you to a table." They laugh, but then see Jon's grin fade. 

"Wha-? Oh, no. Jonny, you dick, you better not be thinking of still keeping this a secret." 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Swallows, then tries again. "I...Ashes, they'd hate me." 

"You don't know that." 

"Yes, I do! You said it yourself. Three. Years. We're the Mechs. Mechs hold grudges." Bitterness creeps into his tone. "Not to mention everything else I did." 

Ashes just looks at him, unimpressed. Then they sigh. "You have to at least let me tell Nastya." 

"No." 

"Yes, Jonny. She's your sister. She deserves to know." They pause. "And she misses you." 

The Mechanisms are generally not good with emotions. It's one side effect of being immortal, and partially machine. But Jon feels for Nastya, then, and he knows how sad she must have been. Three years is nothing in their lives, but it's long enough to feel the sting. 

"...fine. You can tell Nastya." 

Ashes grins again and claps him on the shoulder, and they walk towards the door together. 

"And another thing, you ass. Enough with the self-loathing stint. I know deep down you're still the same lovable egomaniac."

"Oh, fuck you, O'Reilly." 

✶

ASHES O'REILLY to NASTYA RASPUTINA

walking campfire: nastya?

walking campfire: i found him

ms nasty is typing...

Chapter Text

NASTYA RASPUTINA to ASHES O'REILLY

ms nasty: what. 

ms nasty: ashes you better not be fucking w me or istg i'll pour water over evrey single box of matches u own

walking campfire: im not i promise

walking campfire: hes

walking campfire: got a new gig? working at the mag 

walking campfire: hes sorry. i could tell

ms nasty: ashes u know full well thats not enough

walking campfire: I know, i told him

ms nasty: you

ms nasty: you talked to him????

walking campfire: yeah.

walking campfire: he was,,,, wearing a sweater vest???

walking campfire: almost didnt recognize him for a second

walking campfire: with only one belt on

walking campfire: but he

walking campfire: he wants to see you nastya.

ms nasty: sure as hell not acting like it.   

walking campfire: i know believe me. but he, had his reasons. i should let him tell you.

walking campfire: but I think he feels guilty. for what happened.

ms nasty: huh.

walking campfire: are you gonna go see him?

ms nasty: of course im going to see him.

ms nasty: hes my brother

ms nasty: more than that, hes a Mechanism

ms nasty: whoever he thinks he is, he wouldn't forget that. 

walking campfire: yeah.

[walking campfire sent a location]

ms nasty: thanks. 

ms nasty: ... 

ms nasty: did u punch him? 

walking campfire: honestly nastya, who do you think I am

walking campfire: of course i punched him

✶

Jon was acting different. 

It'd take an idiot not to notice, of which Martin was not. Some people (Tim) might have said it was just because he spent so much time watching him. Which, okay, yeah, maybe that was part of it, but he could tell Sasha'd seen it to, and Tim by extension, since those two tell each other everything.

He wasn't there when the police officer came to give a statement, but Sasha told him about it afterwards. Jon was determined to admit it had never happened, and fervently denied having any interaction of the sort. 

However, Jon's a shit liar. 

He was...more relaxed, but also apprehensive? He'd laughed at something Tim said the other day, but also jumped a good metre in the air when Martin came up behind him to offer tea. Martin would be tempted to say it's just because of his obvious preferences when it came to his assistants, but something tells him it isn't that. 

Jon's expecting something. But he's not sure if it's good or bad. 

He doesn't dare ask, obviously, or risk getting his face verbally chewed off. But Jon'd promised to share more with them after Prentiss, so assuming he's held his word (and Martin very much would like to think he has) it probably isn't important enough for it to be occupying such a large space of his mind.

God, he's taking after Rosie now, isn't he? Her and Sasha are bad influences. He swears they collectively know the passwords to half the people at the institute by now. 

He shakes the swirling theories out of his skull and returns his attention to the statement he's looking into. Some guy who swears the ghost of his dead grandma keeps stealing his socks. It's pretty obviously fake, considering he walked in stoned. Also, frankly ridiculous. Even after discovering that Jon's skepticism was a front, he could definitely see how easy it would be to doubt everything here. 

The man in question slinks out of his office now, going over to the Archives' shared filing cabinet, presumably to find a statement he's working. Jon's hackles are clearly raised, so Martin makes no comment or hellos. Sasha and Tim are both silently engrossed in their research, the latter certainly more surprising, but Martin thinks he speaks for the whole group when he says they'll take what they can get. 

Just as Jon closes the cabinet with a file in hand, the door swings open at an alarming speed, hitting the wall with a dull thud. 

Everyone looks up. Standing in the doorway is a woman with sharp features and short hair, wearing a gray jumpsuit and looking directly at Jon. 

The others must pick up on this too, because they all turn to look at the man. 

His eyes are wide, knuckles white on the file he's holding. 

Sasha feels a bout of deja vu. 

After far too many seconds of silence, the woman curses, then walks straight up to Jon, yanks him by the ear, and starts berating him fiercely in Russian. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Tim says, quickly rising from his chair. The other two make similar noises of confusion and concern, and they're all about to intervene when they realize Jon is laughing. 

Martin's hit with a sensation akin to whiplash. He's only ever seen Jon smile twice. But here, with this strange woman practically shouting at him, Jon's laughing like he's got nothing to lose. 

The woman lets him go and crosses her arms, leveling him with a glare she's clearly fighting to maintain. 

Jon rubs at his earlobe and smiles sheepishly. If Martin didn't know better, he'd say that Jon almost looked sad. 

"Hi, Nastya." 

The assistants are all frozen in place, too confused to say anything. Even Tim, which is probably a medical marvel. 

The woman--Nastya--just scowls harder. 

"Будь ты проклят, брат. Three years. I swear, Jonny..."

Jonny? Martin sees his look of shock reflected on Tim and Sasha's faces. It had taken them a solid year to be able to call him 'Jon'. They'd thought someone calling him 'Jonny' would be a sure way to get brutally destroyed. 

But apparently not.

"Yeah, yeah, Ashes already chewed me out." 

Nastya slaps his shoulder, and then pulls him into the fiercest hug Martin's ever seen. 

Tim seems to break out of his stupor just then, and clears his throat. "Um, not to interrupt what's clearly a heartwarming reunion of some sort, but, sorry, Jonny? And who are you again?" 

Jon releases the woman, and then, looking largely more uncomfortable than before, turns to face the others. "Ah. Yes, um. This- this is Nastya, my, er... associate." 

Martin's heart skips a beat for a second, before Nastya punches Jon in the arm again, and says, "Brat." She smiles at them. "I'm his sister." 

Martin swears Tim chokes, and even Sasha's eyes go wide. "Sister?!" 

Nastya fixes Jon with a look of amusement. "Oh, what's this, Jonny? Did you not tell them about me?" 

Jon fidgets, a look of deep and mortal terror affixing itself in his eyes. "Uh--" 

Tim cuts in. "Sorry, yeah, but Jonny? Boss, since when do you let anyone call you any kinda nickname?" 

Nastya raises her eyes, turning to her - brother, apparently. "'Boss?'" 

"Ohkay!" Jon all but yelps, taking Nastya by the shoulders and beginning to steer her back towards the door. "Many apologies, but Nastya and I should have a chat." 

Martin thinks he hears her mutter something like that's an understatement, but they're both out the door before any further questions can be raised.

There's a moment of silence in which they all try to process what just happened. For the second time in a week, someone had come in who apparently knew Jon, the same guy who they were lucky to see at holiday potlucks, much less socializing.

And a sister? 

Sasha must have been on a similar train of thought, because she all of a sudden blurted out, "He's lying." 

Martin blinked. "What?" 

"He's lying," she repeated, hurrying over to her computer with a determination he knows means she's figured something out. "About having a sister." 

"Yeah, I agree with Marto, what?" Tim says as the two of them crowd around next to her. 

"I've seen his records," Sasha says, typing something into the company database's search bar, "and he doesn't have any siblings." She presses enter. It's the employee list. She clicks on Jon's name, types in a passcode that she surely obtained through less-than-legal means, and his files fill the screen.

At the very top: Jonathan Sims, with a picture of him, staring flat-faced at the camera. And next to that; age: twenty-eight. family: mother (deceased) father (deceased) paternal grandmother (deceased). siblings: none. 

After another brief silence (there were a lot of those today, weren't there?) Tim pipes up. 

"Okay, ignoring the obvious questions about how you got into his files in the first place, just because she's his sister doesn't mean it's biological. Maybe she's just a really close friend or something." 

Sasha raises an eyebrow. "Does Jon seem like the type to have really close friends to you?" 

Tim opens his mouth, then hesitates. "Point taken." 

Martin feels like he should probably speak up about that or defend Jon or something, but he can't deny they're right. Jon with a friend that close feels improbable at the least. 

"So what does that mean?" Tim asks the elephant in the room. 

Martin does say something, then. "Whatever it is, it's clearly none of our business. Jon's personal life is his own." 

Tim backs down, albeit reluctantly. "Yeah, yeah. I suppose you're right." 

But Sasha's quiet, mouth pressed into a thin line. Martin can tell she's not about to let this go. 

"Oh no. Sasha, don't." 

She looks up at him with a smile screaming faux innocence. "Don't what?"

"I know what you're like. Leave it alone."

Her face drops a bit. "Yeah, I know. But I really don't like the idea of Jon hiding things from us. If anything bigger than this comes up, I can't promise to leave it."

Tim thinks for a second. "That's fair. Honestly, I'm curious too. Wonder if he's got some sort of secret edgy past he doesn't want us to know about," he jokes.

Martin snorts. "Jon, edgy? Maybe when pigs fly."

Tim gives a surprised laugh as they both move back to their respective desks. "Marto, savage! You've got some hope in you left!"

"Oh, bugger off, Stoker."

Martin goes back to his papers with a smile and a sigh, and tries to ignore his own curiosity burning in the back of his brain.

✶

[ JONATHAN SIMS created a chat ]

[ JONATHAN SIMS added NASTYA RASPUTINA and ASHES O'REILLY ]

JSims: so

NastyRaspy: 'jonathan sims' ??? really??

[ NASTYA RASPUTINA changed JONATHAN SIMS's nickname to: bitchass mfucker ]

bitchass mfucker: fuck yiu 

[ JONATHAN SIMS changed NASTYA RASPUTINA's nickname to: robot apologist ] 

[ JONATHAN SIMS changed ASHES O'REILLY's nickname to: hypocrite ]

hypocrite: ????? 

bitchass mfucker: cop

robot apologist: cop 

hypocrite: damn 

hypocrite: did you guys talk ? 

robot apologist: if by 'talk' u mean 'jonny makes a bazillion half-assed excuses so he doesn't have to admit he has emotions until i finally drag it out of him' 

robot apologist: yes

bitchass mfucker: HEY

bitchass mfucker: I TLOUGHT THDAT WAS A HEART TO HEARRT 

hypocrite: glad to see jonny still cant type

robot apologist: no he can type just fine 

robot apologist: he js chooses not to 

bitchass mfucker: ok firdst of all fuck yoiu 

bitchass mfucker: second of all 

bitchass mfucker: . . .. .,, i missed u gys

hypocrite: and thats a grand total of 4 screenshots in my 'jonny admits he feels things' folder

bitchass mfucker: now thats just mEAN 

hypocrite: and we missed u too. idiot. 

robot apologist: and so did the rest of the crew cough cough

bitchass mfucker: no

robot apologist: jonny. 

robot apologist: you have to tell them 

robot apologist: its not fair to them. 

bitchass mfucker: nastya u know thyed hate me

robot apologist: yea

robot apologist: they might

robot apologist: but they at least deserve to know youre alive. 

bitchass mfucker: nastya

bitchass mfucker: nastya we cant die

robot apologist: NOT THE POINT JONNY

bitchass mfucker: yeah 

bitchass mfucker: I will

bitchass mfucker: just

bitchass mfucker: not n person 

hypocrite: jonny

bitchass mfucker: I KNOw 

bitchass mfucker: i know

bitchass mfucker: but u hve to admit its the only way we can tell them all together

robot apologist: u just dont want to get decapitated again

bitchass mfucker: i also dont want to get decapitated again

bitchass mfucker: oh fujk you nas 

robot apologist: ;) 

robot apologist: but ok. 

robot apologist: do it. 

✶

[ its the aurora bitches ] 

[ NASTYA RASPUTINA added JONATHAN SIMS to the chat ] 

[ JONATHAN SIMS changed their nickname to: captain ]

captain: uh

captain: surprise??

8 people are typing...  

Chapter Text

[ its the aurora bitches ] 

[ LITERAL GEARHEAD added JONATHAN SIMS to the chat ] 

[ JONATHAN SIMS changed their nickname to: captain ]

captain: uh

captain: surprise??

boom boom mcgee: first mate 

boom boom mcgee: wait

"doctor": what.

"doctor": the. 

"doctor": and i cnannot emphasise this enough

"doctor": FUCK. 

caw caw: ^^^^ 

only dead outside: FUCKING

only dead outside: JONNY?????1?1????1?!?/!??!?!?/1

captain: hi

boom boom mcgee: no

boom boom mcgee: absolutely fucking not "hi" u fucking fuckjhwad of a not sdhfuman being i swweaa r t o rain bow bigbboy

im gfnnhonnana fuckinnnnnggggwasffgsdsggsg

literal gearhead: oh good job jonny u broke tim 

captain: FCUKC YUKOU NFASTYA 

the scary one: *sigh* 

"doctor": ashes??? nastya??? u knew abt this??? 

"doctor": oh wait never mind of course you knew abt this 

"doctor": id bet a shot to the head y found him like a week ago and had to drag him back by the fingers

the scary one: as strangely graphic as that is

the scary one: yes

the scary one: that is pretty much exactly what happened 

caw caw: jonny. get over here so i can slap your stupid brain out

captain: nty ??? ? 

boom boom mcgee: i feel like were getting OFF TRACK from the facct tdhat jonny fucking dares to even show his goddmamn face over here after what he di d/. 

caw caw: I mean

caw caw: technically he isnt

captain:  tHANK u raph

caw caw: dont u 'raph' me

only dead outside: damn

caw caw: i'm fucking furious at you 

caw caw: you LEFT, jonny 

caw caw: with impressively bad timing 

caw caw: and honestly it would have been funny if i wasn't so mad

caw caw: so fuck you for that as well I guess

librawrian: Everyone, stop. 

librawrian: This is 

librawrian: a surprise. 

librawrian: But, I think we should let Jonny tell his side of the story. 

librawrian: And, Jonny? 

librawrian: It'd better be a damn good one. 

captain: yeah, ok. 

captain: so i 

captain: yeah, i killed carmilla 

captain: id say im sorry but im not , im really fukcing not

captain: for amoment there I was like

captain: relieved??? maybe? sometinhing 

captain: but then i saw u guys ajnd your faceds and I just

captain: I freaked

captain: i thdought tha t if i left

captain: if she or any of the

captain:  others

captain: somehow came back then theyd

captain: idk

captain: come after me indstead

caw caw: i

caw caw: wow 

"doctor": that is

"doctor": shockingly not selfish for u jonny

"doctor": are u alright

captain: shut fhe hel l up marius befoere i tear ur stupid arm offf 

"doctor": aaaand there it is 

"doctor": but in all seriouslness (if youll survive) 

"doctor": i think i speak for all (most???? tim???) of us when i say that

"doctor": yea that was stupid as shit.

"doctor": but I see why you did it

"doctor": so

"doctor": forgiven?? 

literal gearhead: forgiven

only dead outside: forgiven

caw caw: I guess

caw caw: forgiven

librawrian: Forgiven. 

the scary one: forgiven

the scary one: tim????

boom boom mcgee: ....

boom boom mcgee: ...forgiven

captain: oh thnkank rainbow bigboy

boom boom mcgee: BUT

literal gearhead: oh no

boom boom mcgee: uve got to do something to make it up to us

captain: ...............what

[ BOOM BOOM MCGEE changed CAPTAIN's nickname to: first mate ] 

first mate: i hate you. 

Chapter Text

Sasha was going to get to the bottom of this. 

She knows she should leave it alone. Whatever it is, whoever all those people were, is entirely Jon’s business, of course. But she just...she can’t. She has to know.  

(Deep down, she knows it’s something with this place.  She’s not a nosy person, never was. She blames it on her friendship with Rosie, the notorious gossip, but she knows that she and Ro were friends long before Sasha got the job. She knows that the tugging feeling at the back of her skull wasn’t there until then. She knows it’s not Rosie, of course, but we know she won’t say it. We know Sasha.)  

But regardless! It’s important, Sasha can feel it, deep inside her bones where her intuition lies. Jon’s not like this. He doesn’t hum in the breakroom, he doesn’t leave work early, and he doesn’t even laugh. Not that she’s not happy that he is, of course, but...it’s out of character. It worries her, in a weird way, worries her that maybe he’s in danger and hiding it.  

(Or maybe, and worse, he’s the danger and he’s hiding it. Sasha doesn’t really want to think about that possibility. Fucking analytical brain.)  

But she promised Martin she’d leave it. She promised, and Sasha Maria James doesn’t break her promises.  

However, there’s nothing wrong with just...bending them a bit.  

It was Tim, yeah, she was gonna use Tim.  

Okay, using Tim sounds bad. Sasha would just...plant an idea in his head and then tell him not to do it. Which, by the way, is a surefire way to get Tim to do anything, judging by the time she walked in on Martin trying to stop him from snorting raw coffee grounds. Twas a mark of true friendship, using one another as a guinea pig.  

With her genius (read: barely thought out) plan, Sasha went to work.  

✶ 

Tim sits at his desk, doodling boredly on a sticky note, empty spreadsheet laid open on his computer screen. It’s Friday, and as usual, he can barely sit still.  

He checks the clock again, like he’s in secondary school once again. Tim’s going to lose his fucking mind if time does not bend to his will within the next five minutes.  

Sasha looks up at him, just then. (Later, he’d think back to the glint in her eyes, and smack himself in the face for not noticing she was planning something. But now, he was just too bored to notice much of anything, really.) 

“Tim, what time are we going to the bar tonight, again?”  

Tim perked up. He’d forgotten about that. “Literally, as soon as work ends, Sash. It’s Friday, and I want to get so drunk, so fast.” He threw up a hand against his chest and mock-fainted.  

Sasha snorted, then went back to whatever she was dutifully typing. Sasha, you see, dear reader, actually worked. Quite a useless habit, if you asked me. Or Tim. Or really anyone at the Institute, besides Jon, and maybe Martin, out of sheer loyalty.   

She soon stopped again, though, and cocked her head as if in thought. Hmming slightly, she said, “I wonder how much of a lightweight Jon is?” She laughed softly to herself at the thought.  

Tim just stared at her. “Sasha. Sasha Fucking James--”  

“Not my middle name--”  

“--you say that as if you didn’t just have the best idea in the entire damn world.”  

She just looked at him with familiar fond exasperation. “And that would be...?”  

Tim slammed his hands down on his desk for dramatic effect. “We’re taking Jon drinking.”  

Pause. “No.”  

“Oh, come on, Sash! It’ll be fun! And by ‘fun’, I mean we can make bets on how many drinks he’ll last. Also, now I’m curious, and I’m sure you are too! I mean, like, what kind of drunk even is he? Oh my God, can you imagine if Jon’s an emotional drunk? Since we’re bringing Martin...Christ, Sasha, I would literally pay so much money to see this, and we get to do it for free.” Tim has to take a breath.  

Sasha just raises an eyebrow, and sighs, perhaps a bit more dramatically than needed, judging from the amused tilt to her mouth.  

“You know what, fine, if you’re so determined.” She pauses. “Also, 30 quid that he’s passed out after one shot.”  

Tim cracks up laughing.  

✶ 

[ archive shmarchive ] 

human cheeto: heyyyyy bossssssss  

bossyman: No.  

human cheeto: >:/  

human cheeto: so me, sash and martin are goin out for afterwork drinks tonighgt   

human cheeto: would youu  

human cheeto: want to come??????  

bossyman: Tim, that wouldn’t be very professional of me.  

human cheeto: oh budge off with the “oo fancy professional man” for a second and hav some fujn with us!!!  

sassysash: we would really like to have you, jon ! :) 

human cheeto: I'll even pay for the drinks with sashas money myself ;))) 

bossyman: ..  

bossyman: fine. 

bossyman: Since you’re buying.  

bossyman: I suppose I might as well.  

human cheeto: yessssssss! ;DD  

[ human cheeto sent a location ] 

human cheeto: meet us after work !!  

[ ASSISTANT SQUAD!!!! ]  

k is for kartin: tim.  

k is for kartin: tim what are you doing ?  

call the police and the fireman: inviting jon out to drinks with us :-) 

k is for kartin: that was the most passive aggressive smiley ive ever seen tim what have i ever done to you to deserve this  

the queen fears her: lmao tim we forgot about martins hopeless schoolboy crush on our superior 

k is for kartin: what. i 

k is for kartin: i do n ot  

k is for kartin: idont have a  

k is for kartin: i 

k is for kartin: schoolboy?????  

call the police and the fireman: see now look what u did sasha u broke martin  

the queen fears her: say that again??  

call the police and the fireman: see now look what u did sasha u br  

call the police and the fireman: oh wait i see it now  

the queen fears her: uh huh 

k is for kartin: GUYS 

k is for kartin: BACK ON TRACK 

k is for kartin: you realize that jons gona see us all drunk. right.  

k is for kartin: hes gonna see sasha go off about conspiracies , tim get hyper, and  

k is for kartin: oh dear 

the queen fears her: “and here we have the wild mr. blackwood, realizing the fact that his boss will witness him become hopelessly sappy whilst drunk”  

call the police and the fireman: “whilst” 

the queen fears her: shut up  

the queen fears her: not my fault you have the vocabulary of a second grader 

call the police and the fireman: now thas just simply untrue 

call the police and the fireman: but a n y w a y s  

call the police and the fireman: martin 

call the police and the fireman: martin think of the possibilities 

call the police and the fireman: drunk. jon.  

call the police and the fireman: what do u think its like??? thsi is a holy experience, martin,,,, 

call the police and the fireman: our eyes and minds will be blessed tonight, dear martin sir 

call the police and the fireman: not to mention the BETS 

call the police and the fireman: u cant just pass it up  

the k is for kartin: ,,,, fine. yea alright.  

the k is for kartin: ..........20 quid on one beer 

call the police and the fireman: THERE HE IS!!!!!!!!!! 

[ MKBLACKWOOD to SASHA_JAMES! ] 

martin !!: i know youre behind this 

sasha !!: oh martin 

sasha !!: im sure i have no idea what you mean :)  

martin !!: i would say i hate you but that’s mean :((((  

sasha !!: oh come on now that's just not fair 

sasha !!: now I feel bad 

martin !!: good 

Chapter Text

It’s dark outside. Not the kind of dark like midnight, where the sun sucks away all the warmth and leaves you feeling like you’ve jumped into the deep end of a pool. Nor the kind of dark that happens in the early morning, when no one’s awake to see the stars sing and hear the leaves rustling become the only sound that matters. It's more of a dark that hangs down like a weighted blanket, draping softly over rooftops and making the world seem smaller. 

It’s not like that’s abnormal for London at 7 P.M., especially since it’s cloudy. It brings Nastya a sort of comfort, in a way. Growing up where she did, Nastya’s quite used to the night sky. It’s a sort of maddening coincidence that she moved over back from Russia when she did. Maybe the nostalgia that led her here was more intuition, some kind of pinging on the radar of familiarity that sat in the pit of her stomach, the one that formed when Jonny left.  

Nastya’s lived a long, long time. She doesn’t even remember how long. Even if she did, it’d be something she holds close to her, somewhere tucked inside her ribs. But if her age has taught her anything, it’s that it really, absolutely does not come with wisdom.  

Oh, no, she’s not talking about herself, though. No, Nastya’s perfectly wise.  

It’s Jonny, yeah, she’s talking about Jonny.  

Nastya could think of a thousand English curse words that wouldn’t even come close to the kind of emotions still roil whenever she thinks about the...recent developments. Her brother was an idiot. An absolute fucking idiot.  

So the least he could do was let her crash at his flat.  

Hey, what could she say? Even a murderous immortal violinist can’t afford London rent.  

Anyway, on this night at 7 P.M., when the dark drapes over rooftops like curtains, Nastya’s peacefully absorbed into one of the few (good) books in the world she hasn’t read yet, when her brother --- her brother, her darling baby brother --- kicks down the door of his own house.  

Nastya has never been so glad that they don’t share DNA.  

Jonny’s breathing hard, his dark hair frizzing into the curls he tries to pretend he doesn’t have. Without saying anything, he drags a hand across his face and practically trips into the apartment, promptly faceplanting onto the ratty sofa Nastya’s sitting on. It squeaks angrily, and Jonny only groans dramatically in response.  

“What,” she said.  

“Kill me,” Jonny replied.  

She patted his shoulder, as patronizingly as she can manage. “Buddy, I would if I could. Literally. God knows I’ve tried.”  

He swatted feebly at her calf, and Nastya just rolled her eyes and put her book down. Any further hope of relaxation was a lost cause.  

“Well, you can’t just leave it at that. What’d you fuck up this time? Accidentally spouted some godawful quadruple Texan conjunction in front of a cashier again? Disemboweled Tim without realizing there was someone watching behind you the whole time?” 

Jonny snorted and pathetically lifted his head up from the couch like a worm. “Okay, A, I’ve lived in Britain for so long I barely even remember any of them, so ha. B, that was one fucking time, I swear. Should’ve never told you about that...” he descended into mumbling, hand twitching in a way she knew meant he was probably holding in a stim. Poor, poor Jonny. Still determined to believe he was typical in any way.   

She flicked the side of his head to bring him back on track. “Yeah, okay, what happened?”  

Jonny hesitated. This would be good. “I’m being...coerced...into...unwanted activities with...my...coworkers.”  

Nastya had to restrain herself. Luckily, she’s had decades worth of practicing her poker face. Good practice, too, spending as much time as she does with this nitwit and the rest of the Mechs.  

“So, your friends asked you to hang out with them, you agreed, and then promptly panicked at the thought of having to be seen outside of work.”  

Jonny opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then sighed. “I---yeah. That’s...that’s pretty much it. We’re not friends, though,” he tacked on, an almost hilariously surly look crossing over his face.  

“Uh huh. So, what is it? Bingo? Drinks? Crime?”  

“It-- wait, bingo? What? Also, pretty sure that crime is a Mechs favorite friendship bonding activity, and that the Mechs should not be taken as a good example of that.” 

“Oh, budge off. Drinks, then,” Nastya said, tapping a finger against her chin. “Hm. So, what’s the deal then? You love alcohol.”  

“Yeah, I know. That’s part of the problem. Nas, do y’know how hard I’ve worked to make them see me as a prickly boss with a ten-foot stick up the arse? It’s my image. I’ve got to maintain it! But if they see me down ten whiskeys in a row, well, that doesn’t exactly work, now does it?”   

Nastya sighed. “You are a silly, silly man.” She rested a hand atop Jonny’s head.  

Her brother wasn’t a fan of touch in general. He always seemed uncomfortable even talking about it, but she knew it unsettled him, especially from someone he didn’t know well. She’d seen him have to psych himself up for hugs, and sometimes even handshakes. But Nastya had worked out that he was like a cat. He had his people, and when it was the right time, he’d lean into them (of course, later pretending he hadn’t.)  

Right now, he just grumbled, though his shoulders relaxed a little bit. “I know, but...” He raised his head and looked at her with the most pitiful, obvious puppy eyes ever. “Can you just...fatally injure me, or something, so I don’t have to go?”  

Nastya stared at him. Then smacked him on the back of the head, and grabbed the keys to the car.  

Her baby brother was about to have a good fucking time, whether he liked it or not.  

✶ 

Later: 

The bar was loud, his friends were Tipsy-with-a-capital-T, and Martin was losing his mind.  

Jon was coming. Jon. And, yeah, maybe Martin had convinced Sasha and Tim into letting him be the designated driver, but it still made him nervous. God knows he made enough of a fool of himself without alcohol.  

Hopefully Tim and Sasha would instigate most things. Sasha wasn’t too bad yet --- he suspected she wanted to be sober enough to appreciate whatever everyone was going to get up to --- but Tim was right and proper drunk. Not slurring-words-and-tripping-over drunk, but drunk enough that his eyes were a bit unfocused, and his signature brand of beer-induced hyperactivity was buzzing around his limbs.  

The whole scene would be a bit funny if he wasn’t so apprehensive.  

Eventually, after Martin had had a solid hour to wallow in his nerves and had almost convinced himself that Jon wasn’t even coming, he spotted a familiar short figure slinking its way through the crowd like a cat, and experienced several heart palpations and at least two of the stages of grief before collecting himself and hesitantly waving the other man over. Jon caught his eye, and, the smallest bit of relief showing on his face (which did not do anything to Martin, thankyouverymuch), he made his way over.  

Tim waved animatedly and Sasha smiled as the other man pulled up a stool at the bar next to Martin.  

“Glad to see you, boss!” Tim practically shouted. Jon winced a little, but raised his eyebrows and said something sarcastic in Tim’s ear that Martin couldn’t hear over the noise. Tim laughed and clapped Jon on the shoulder.  

Sasha leaned over. “So, Jon, what’re you gonna get to drink?” she asked, eyes twinkling a little bit.  

Tim perked up. “Oh, yeah! Dunno, man, Sash here pegged you for a wine dude, but you almost seem like a vodka kinda guy to me.” He grinned.  

Jon blinked, then laughed a little bit, just a short, fast exhale through his nose. There was something in his eyes that made Martin pause, a look almost...cocky? It looked strange on his face.  

“Well, you’re both wrong,” he said, shrugging. Jon turned to the bartender and said, “Two whiskeys, please.”  

Oh, boy.  

✶ 

Jon drank quite a bit more than two whiskeys.  

It was honestly uncanny, the tolerance he had. Martin had promised to take videos for Tim and Sasha’s bet, because even he enjoyed the occasional bit of chaos, so he’d been sneakily filming here and there. It was only after the five-drink mark that Jon started to slip a little bit, and by eight he was rambling.  

It was exactly the kind of thing Martin had figured Jon would do while drunk, only funnier. At one point he spent fifteen whole minutes talking about polyamoury in Arthurian legend. Which, well, Martin knew Jon wasn’t straight, but if he needed any more conformation whatsoever, that was it. He got some good videos from then.  

But it was almost weird after a while. If Martin didn’t know any better, he’d say Jon knew about the bet, because he seemed like he was determined to out-drink Tim---who, for his part, wasn’t doing too bad (although Martin was pretty sure Sasha had been stealthily watering down his beers).  

“Isn’t that your twelfth?” Martin asked, hand twitching as if to take the drink away.  

Jon shrugged, smiling sloppily. “D’worry, Mahtin, I’ve...” he yawned. “...drank a lot more tha – than thisssss.” His forehead knocked against the bottle.  

Martin fought the urge to laugh and looked over at the other two. It was getting later, and even Tim was winding down. Sasha, who was sober enough to at least be sensible, caught his eye and nodded, poking Tim in the shoulder to get his attention. Martin turned back to Jon.  

“I think we should probably get going, Jon. Uh,” he hesitated, realizing he didn’t know the other man’s address. “D’you have someone to take you home?”  

Jon thought for a second, tapping a finger against his jaw comically. “Mmmm...yesss. Nas- Nastya!” He perked up, looking around like an excited puppy. It was kind of adorable. “M’sister. Martinnn, d’you know where Nastya is?” He yawned again, looking up at Martin with slightly glazed eyes.  

“Uh---I mean, she’s probably out front?” When Jon nodded enthusiastically, Martin shrugged and pushed himself off the stool. 

Jon tried to do the same, but lost balance and promptly fell off. Without thinking, Martin rushed to catch him and looped an arm around his shoulders. Jon looked up at him in wonder.  

“Martin,” he said, patting him on the shoulder and smiling contentedly.  

Martin inhaled, trying to ignore the flush of warmth that spread through his chest. “Ah---yup, that’s me, Jon,” he said, awkwardly hoisting the other man back onto his feet. Jon stumbled a bit when they separated, so Martin kept an arm over his shoulders for good measure as they followed behind Sasha, who was leading Tim in a similar manner.  

“God, you’re so drunk,” he muttered, and Jon just giggled and poked some more at Martin’s shoulder.  

When they got outside, Jon poked at him more aggressively and pointed to a gray van with the headlights on. Martin could just barely make out a figure leaned back in the front seat.  

“Uh, you sure, Jon? That looks like the kind of thing someone would get kidnapped in.”  

Jon laughed. “Kidn’pped? Nnnnooooo... crime, though. Crime, crime, crime...” he laughed some more.  

Martin was so confused.  

The person in the front seat caught sight of them as they got closer and rolled down the window. After a few minutes, Martin recognized her as the short-haired woman who’d come to the Archives that one time. Jon’s sister. This must be Nastya.  

Nastya reached over and opened the back door, tsking at Jon as he stumbled inside the van. “Okay, Jonny, how much did you drink?” she said in a thin Russian accent.  

“Purple,” Jon said.  

Nastya sighed, then, seemingly just realizing Martin was there, asked almost sheepishly, “Sorry, do you know how much he drank?”  

Martin blinked. “Uh...honestly, I don’t know. Kinda lost count around the ten mark.” 

Nastya dragged a hand down her face. “Christ. Okay, um... I’m gonna take him home.”  

“Oh. Um. Alright, then. Uh, bye, Jon.”  

Jon waved exaggeratedly. Then he paused, reached (read: threw himself) over, and gave Martin a loose hug.  

It lasted three seconds at the most, but it was enough to make Martin’s face feel so warm he concluded he must have blood flow issues. Jon pulled away, then yawned dramatically, and promptly passed out where he was sitting.  

Nastya snorted, muttered something along the lines of “he’s gonna hate himself for that in the morning”, and gave Martin a knowing smile. He felt his face turn redder.  

Martin mumbled a quick thank-you-goodbye and turned back to where Sasha and Tim were waiting by his car.  

✶ 

[ NASTYA RASPUTINA to MKBLACKWOOD ] 

Nastya Rasputina: hello, is this martin?  

Nastya Rasputina: sorry this is jonny’s sister, I got your number off his phone 

Nastya Rasputina: just wanted to make sure u knew he was home ok!  

[ NASTYA RASPUTINA attached 1 image(s)  

Image ID: A picture taken from an angle of Jon fast asleep, clearly snoring, on a couch. He looks content, and not at all like he’ll wake up with a hangover the force of a thousand sun. ] 

MKBlackwood: yes, this is me!  

MKBlackwood: ah glad to hear it haha 

MKBlackwood: he drank 

MKBlackwood: a lot 

MKBlackwood: im honestly surprised, i didn’t think he had that high a tolerance 

Nastya Rasputina: really?? huh well i guess he did act like kind of a stiff around you guys 

Nastya Rasputina: let’s just say he’s had some practice haha  

Nastya Rasputina: nice of you to look after him though 

Nastya Rasputina: it was surprising 

MKBlackwood: well, you know 

MKBlackwood: i try and help people when i can 

Nastya Rasputina: oh no, shit sorry that came out wrong 

Nastya Rasputina: i meant that Jonny doesn’t really let people touch him 

Nastya Rasputina: like ever 

Nastya Rasputina: especially while drunk when hes lost the pathetic thing he calls a filter, once saw him punch a guy in the face because he tried to shake his hand 

Nastya Rasputina: its really only the people he feels the most comfortable with 

Nastya Rasputina: i guess what i’m saying is that ik he doesn’t give out compliments readily, so he probably likes you more than he lets on  

MKBlackwood: oh!  

MKBlackwood: i  

MKBlackwood: didn’t know that 

Nastya Rasputina: don’t stress over it, jonnys not the biggest sharer, as im sure you’ve figured out by now  

MKBlackwood: oh, i’ve been meaning to ask 

MKBlackwood: why do you call him jonny? the police officer the other day called him that too  

Nastya Rasputina: ah, i should have figured youd notice 

Nastya Rasputina: you all seem like a perceptive lot 

Nastya Rasputina: i can’t answer that in full, but there is more to it than you think, i’ll tell you that 

Nastya Rasputina: long story short it’s what he used to go by 

Nastya Rasputina: and i’m sure u have questions about more than that, and im sorry i can’t tell you more, it’s not my place. But i think if Jonny knows what’s good for hiim, youll know soon enough 

MKBlackwood: it’s alright, i get it 

MKBlackwood: i am really damn curious now though!! stupid privacy!!!  

Nastya Rasputina: and that’s why my brother is the most infuriating person in the world to befriend  

Nastya Rasputina: anyway, go to bed!! i know you were’nt the one drinking but it is still too late to be functioning >:| 

MKBlackwood: haha yes yes alright  

MKBlackwood: let me know if he’s okay in the morning though 

Nastya Rasputina: will do.