Series: The Magnus Archives
Pairing: One-Sided Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Summary: Jon and Martin reach the Panopticon. It doesn't have the answers they're looking for, and it doesn't go how Elias expects.
for days 6 & 7: beholding and dynamic shift
Notes/Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Reluctant Relationship, Manipulation, Dynamic Shift, Body Horror, Eye Horror, Discussion of T erminal Illness, Jealousy
AO3
The tower looms overhead, ostentatious and as daunting as it was when only a blip in the distance. A horrid beacon that Jon knows they’ll have to enter, however much he’s torn on it. He’s being called—has been presumably by both Elias and the Eye itself, but he doesn’t know what awaits them up there, nor if it will help anything.
He wants to know what’s up there.
He doesn’t want to know his place up there. Acknowledge the burning desire to see it all.
“So this is it,” Martin’s voice breaks his thoughts, and it’s grounding to hear against the stress of the impeding climb.
“Yes, this is it,” Jon reiterates a bit pointlessly. He’s done his best to avoid looking directly, but it’s obvious Martin has more questions for him. All he can focus on is trying to steel himself for whatever remaining trap Jonah might have for them, and what Martin might expect him to do once they’re up there. There are so many more people he owes it to, to fix things, but he can’t think of them right now either. If he even can do anything about Jonah, there’s no guarantee it would fix anything or mean anything beyond petty revenge.
Whatever he expects Martin to ask, he’s instead surprised to see his outstretched hand.
“Ready? Walked long enough to get here, couple of flights of stairs can’t be that much worse.”
Jon only offers an uneasy smile back, but accepts his hand as they enter.
It is a quiet climb. Stained glass surrounds the outer walls of the spiral staircase and the eyes painted in them watch as they ascend. Jon is long used to the gaze of eyes, but this time he is keeping a secret they want to feed on.
“So, can you see any better, now that we’re here?”
“No, but I can feel him still. He knows we’re here.”
“Great,” Martin mutters, unsurprised. It’s not like coming in with the advantage of surprise would be helpful anyway. As they round the corner, the glass gives way to cobbled walls and iron fixtures befitting the prison the old Panopticon was structured in.
“We’re close,” Jon warns, though there is little either of them could do to prepare. He thinks Martin might ask him once more, what their plan is, but either he’s tired of Jon’s ominous and unsatisfying answers or like him, knows there isn’t one. They climb a few more floors until there is only one large door left to open. Inside is a wide room that more closely resembles the top of a lighthouse, its windows giving the perfect view of countless domains, not that Elias needs them for a proper look considering anyone on the ground floor could give it if they still have eyes to spare.
Yet, there he is, as perfectly composed as always and staring down at the ruined world below them. He turns to greet Jon and Martin, and as he does, the cascading blinking eyes trailing down one side of his face and speckling his neck widen and stare.
“Have a nice trip? Breathtaking down there isn’t it? Of course, I only have the bird’s eye view, but from what I can tell it’s quite lovely.”
“Mhmm, people suffering over and over while a big eyeball in the sky watches. It was wonderful. Might have even seen a cow at one point,” Martin answers him with an eye roll. Despite his new monstrous form, Elias at least doesn’t seem to have changed much.
“Come now, Martin, it couldn’t have been that bad. You and Jon seem fine. If I’m not wrong, you even had a bit of fun on your way here. How does it feel, Jon? You can do so much more than just compel now, enthralling isn’t it?”
“I-It wasn’t fun. I only wanted to settle a score, nothing more. I didn’t enjoy doing it.”
Elias’s multitude of eyes settle on Jon and his skin crawls again. It was one thing when Helen insisted otherwise—the Spiral is centered on lies meant to hurt. They both know he didn’t find it fun, but to say he doesn’t enjoy it entirely…
“Mm, feels nice to not be so helpless, doesn’t it? Which reminds me, I’m supposed to be the last stop on your little hit list road trip, correct? Is there anything you’d like to discuss beforehand? I’m all ears,” he asks, his smile dancing on the edge of a joke that for once Jon understands and almost flinches at when he hears. Martin, however, doesn’t see.
“Do it,” he encourages, and while it’s something Jon hasn’t been pushed to do recently, he was waiting for it. Compared to Callum or Simon, this makes sense to do. Elias—Jonah—is the one who caused all of this. He’s caused so much suffering with his tugging of strings, but Jon is still shaking. It’s his fault too.
Beholding thrums between them, even nestled in the Eye’s blind spot, as Martin looks to Jon and Elias repeats Martin’s urging.
“Yes, Jon. Do it.”
The words feel like a compulsion even though they aren’t. Still, it’s the thing that draws the words from Jon’s lips.
“Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing!”
The static is loud and overbearing, but of course from where they are, how could the Eye twist itself in? Desperately it hears its Archivist calling, but the hunger it senses hardly comes from the one its stare is being directed towards. No, it is only Jon the Eye wants to devour right now. For when its heavy weight bears down on them, tries to bear down on Elias, he is absolutely thrilled. He’s watched Jon’s other ‘smitings’, and like all the other times Jon has tried to channel the power of Beholding against the man before him, he takes to it proud and rapturous.
“Oh, Jon,” Elias breaks the silence, softly. His skin prickles with shame, embarrassment and Martin’s heavy stare beside him.
“That was exhilarating. I wasn’t sure if you’d really go for it, but surely, you knew it wouldn’t work.”
“Wouldn’t work?” Martin asks, the words pointed and sharp. Their accusing tone isn’t directed at Jon, much too infuriated that Elias is still alive no doubt, but they punch the air out of him nonetheless.
“He’s too… it’s Beholding, of course…” Jon stammers, guilt clawing at his veins because he had a suspicion, if he could call it that by this point. He couldn’t tell Martin—perhaps maybe didn’t even want to, but as a result it only gave him false hope. Something Jon continuously felt awful trying to pry away from him.
A dry laugh cuts him off.
“No, no, of course. With the way everyone talks about you here, it makes sense. It’s just, of course.”
“M-Martin…”
“Yes, of course, Martin. Jon would never want to crush that precious optimism of yours, but it’s merely a wonder this place hasn’t managed to do so. Are you starting to get it now though?”
“Elias—”
“Aren’t you tired of it Jon? Had enough of the guilt? Plus, Martin really deserves to know doesn’t he? There’s so much you keep not telling him and that frustration must surely be wedging between you.”
“Know what Jon?”
It always came down to secrets and trust, didn’t it? And in the end, as much as he asked from Martin, Jon has never really been adept at sharing—giving back to make up for what he takes.
“He’s like me Martin, w-we… I can’t kill him. I know I told you I wouldn’t hesitate, and I thought maybe, I would still be able to do something but…”
“You can’t,” Martin finishes for him, soft and brittle. He isn’t angry. Jon, out of fear, breaks that respected boundary not to look, but the disappointment is crushing and painful. His attention snaps away when he hears the telltale click of Elias’s shoes on the floor.
“No, he can’t. And he wasn’t going to tell you, but really Jon what did you expect to happen when you got here? Were you hoping to be wrong?” He laughs at that considering just how much both of them know about the world and its inhabitants now. His hand reaches for Jon’s shoulder and Martin reaches out to try and stop him or put himself between them, but falters, pinned when Elias’s eyes glance towards him.
“Are you ready to join me now, my Archive? You may not be able to die, but it’s unpleasant to keep denying yourself from looking isn’t it?”
The possessive note in his tone makes his want to run because it only adds to the things he doesn’t know how to talk to Martin about. For as much as he loves him, there is a connection forged here and twined in spider’s silk that Jon hates and craves like the air he used to need to breathe. He is hungry, especially after that failed attempt to use the Watcher’s gaze, and Elias is trying to goad him not so subtly into doing something cruel, not realizing there is another option. One he does have the power for now.
He raises his scarred palm and cups Elias’s cheek. The voices and sights and pain and misery are a wafting miasma and while it serves to remind him he’s hungry, they are not the meal he is looking at. Jon tries not to think of Martin—not to dive into the desire to know just what this must look like and what he must be thinking as Jon reveals his intentions.
“Jonah Magnus, tell me about the first time you thought you were about to die.”
The pupils in Elias’s eyes shrink, and Jon feels ravenous as he drinks in for the first time fear evident in that normally arrogant expression. They may both be connected to the same power and share it’s horrible gifts, but its desire for terror is indiscriminate. There’s a crinkle in the line of Elias’s mouth and Jon watches his throat bob with a painful looking swallow as he tries to resist.
“Tell me. Tell me about the many days in that sick room. How the doctors said you wouldn’t make it.”
“A-Ah, but it was a chance recovery. Quite lucky, right?” Elias strains, still evidently in pain. Jon’s grip tightens, and he gasps.
“How did it feel to have them discuss your own funeral thinking you were asleep? Knowing you were so young and helpless. Your whole life falling to pieces right before your eyes and you could do nothing. How every cough, every wheeze, you thought might be your last. How sometimes you wondered if you would go to sleep to not wake again. Even long after you no longer felt that weak, your lungs never quite felt right, did they? And each mild cold after only served as a reminder it could happen again. That maybe it was already happening.”
Jon doesn’t want to think about how good this feels. To see the very man who’s driven him to this point crumple before him over centuries old memories. To watch him be the one full of fear for once.
Elias’s body can’t seem to make up its mind on whether it wants to flee or lean into this. He’s captivated by Jon using his power in this manner, but also it’s his own painful memories dragged to the surface.
“You may not be able to die now, but if you’re going to push me to it, you will remember how afraid of it you were—not even kings are exempt from fear. Now let me go.”
Jon moves to pull away and is more than grateful Elias doesn’t try to hold onto him or use him to help himself up. It’s uncomfortably satisfying to see him on the ground like this and Jon takes another shaky breath before turning to Martin.
“We’re done here. Whatever it is we could do to fix things, it isn’t here.”
Martin stares between Elias and Jon who’s steadily heading back towards the door, still unsure what to make of what just happened. Getting out of there and away from Elias isn’t something he’ll say no to though and follows. The jealousy is still stirring somewhere, but it’s clear that whatever weird claim Elias thinks he has over Jon, it isn’t reciprocated. At the very least, it’s something Jon is demonstrating he wants no part of, and that’s enough for Martin right now. However, Elias’s voice stops them before they leave.
“You’ve done well, Jon. When all’s said and done, I’ll be here. The Panopticon is partly yours too, after all. None of this would have been capable, if not for you.”
Jon lingers at the door for a moment listening, but doesn’t deign to answer him. Martin catches up and is happy to let the door close behind them. The silence lingers for a few minutes as they make their way back down before Martin breaks it, needing to ask the obvious.
“Where do we go now? Do we… try meeting up with the others again? Come up with a new plan?”
“I don’t know,” Jon doesn’t mean to sound dismissive; he’s just drained from the encounter. It’s easier to not think of the others and try to see where they are or what they’re doing right now.
“We’ll figure it out when we’re out. I just… I just need a minute.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Jon has started working late, and sleeping sometimes in the Archives. Elias takes advantage of the situation. (Noncon badwrong & explicit; mind the tags and happy jonelias week!)
For #JoneliasWeek2020 Day 6. Beholding
Read on AO3 here
I am vast, but not Vast. I am lonely but not Lonely. I corrupt but am not the Corruption. I leave destruction in my wake, but am not the Desolation, nor the Slaughter. I hunt but am not the Hunt. I have 13 brethren and yet they are me and I am them. I am that which watches and knows and sees all. I am secrets and fear. I am It-knows-you and I am the Ceaseless Watcher. I am the Eye to some and the Beholding to others.
I watch.
I watch all.
I watch what is mine most carefully of all.
The Heart is mine. The Archivist, the Archive, is mine.
And they are theirs.
They belong to me as much as I belong to them as much as they belong to each other.
And yet… they do not see it. They do not know it. They believe themselves bound to me and I bound to them but do not see the strands that bind them together.
The Web controls strands, not I, but I could always make an exception.
The Heart has worshipped me for so very long compared to the mortals that surround him, and yet not so long at all in the grand scheme of things. He will bring about our ritual and bring me fully into this world.
The Archive is the key, the bright light that will guide me and my brethren into this world. He will open the door and lead us through, guided by the Heart.
But until then… perhaps they could do with a little nudge.
Surely it could not be too difficult, a vision of the Archive suffering in his office sent to the Heart. Quickly acted upon, I watch as the Heart comforts our Archive. Directing the Heart’s mind towards the Archive while they are both inebriated. A night spent together, physical affection strengthening the strands that bind them.
They shout and argue and fall back to each other time and time again.
They doubt each other, they doubt me.
They fall together again.
The Heart sees the Archive in all his perfection and future glory, but will not allow himself to be vulnerable, to bridge the gap between them.
The Archive sees the Heart as he is, manipulative enough to be of the Web, intelligent and charming. He refuses what he knows, refuses the affection he feels for our Heart.
I can only do so much.
Damn.
I’ll need to talk to the Web.
They can sort themselves out in the meantime.
For #JoneliasWeek2020 Day 2. Caretaking & Manipulation
Read on AO3 here
The static hiss of the tape recorder cut through the silence of the Archives. Everyone else had long since left, if they had even bothered to turn up at all in Tim’s case, and Jon was left alone in the empty office.
The Archivist himself was curled up under his desk, head pressed between his knees as pain stabbed behind his eyes. A low whine ripped from his throat as he curled himself into a tighter ball.
He wasn’t stupid, he knew that with each statement he read, his dependency on them got worse and worse, causing increasingly painful migraines whenever he went too long without reading one. The only way to make the pain recede was to read another statement, but he knew that was just making the problem worse.
Maybe if he just waited it out, the pain would fade. Just a few more minutes he told himself, and then it will feel better.
The static covered up the sound of the door opening and expensive shoes walking up to the desk. He flinched as he heard a voice from above him. His name? He couldn’t make out the words, just gentle words and smug concern. A hand reached down and pulled his head away from his arms, gently shifting hair away from his eyes.
Soft shushing as he felt himself be dragged up into the familiar sharp cologne that Elias favoured. Jon rested his head on Elias’ suited chest as he was sat onto his lap, his boss cradling him against his chest. A hand ran through his hair, detangling the knots and snags as it went. A click and the static abruptly cut off.
“-on? Jon?” The pain slowly receded and Jon was left feeling fuzzy and confused.
“...’lias?” A soft sigh.
“Ah, there you are. Come on Archivist, as pleasant as this is, you should probably be on your way.” Jon scowled and shoved his face further into the fabric beneath him, clutching onto Elias’ shirt. Unwilling to abandon this unexpected relief. A soft chuckle sounded next to his ear as Elias carefully pried Jon’s fingers away from him.
“Alright then, I can stay for a little bit longer. Hmm, how about a statement? Yes, I think that will do quite nicely.”
Jon tried to protest. He didn’t want another statement, he didn’t know what they were doing to him but everyone in the archives knew it was nothing good. The sound of papers shuffled before Elias picked one out and started reading. Jon felt himself forcibly relax as he was pulled into the story, any remaining pain fading swiftly. He drowsily tried to pull himself away from Elias, maybe if he didn’t listen to the full statement, it wouldn’t change him so much. Maybe he could stay human if he just blocked out the sound. Maybe it would have been better if he had just not started reading the damn things in the first place!
It didn’t matter, his struggles were pointless.
The statement finally ended. Jon felt drained and relaxed and oh so guilty.
A brief press of lips to his temple, a smug grin.
"Sleep, my Archivist"
Jon made a weak attempt to stay awake, before the release of pain and stress finally overtook him and he fell asleep with Elias' fingers gently tugging at his hair.
