Archive of Our Own

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Baby Mine, Don’t You Cry

1
             Martin came to himself with a start, staggering into the wall and feeling oddly light as he held himself there, desperately trying to work out where he was.             He’d been in the Panopticon. He’d climbed the tower, planning to help Jon kill Jonah Magnus and end the apocalypse, only for Jonah to already be dead, kicked to the side like a bloody afterthought while Jon hovered above, a mess of eyes and static. When Martin had begged him to come back, called him an idiot for going off on his own, yelled at him for refusing the solution the rest of them had voted on nice and proper, he had stuck fast.             “It’s better this way, Martin,” Jon had said. He’d sounded tired, exhausted far more than a mortal man was capable of, but firm as iron. “The fears will die, and we can be together as it ends.”             That would never be good enough. Martin had ended up leaving in despair, only to find Annabelle Cane again in the halls, clicking her mandibles in disappointment at their failure but then offering him something he hadn’t thought he could get. Another chance.             He didn’t ask enough questions.  He never did. Jon always asked more than enough for both of them, and now he was in some mysterious place he'd never-             No… no he did recognise this place, he realized. Though it faded in and out of the edge of his memory like a dream. The off-white, unmarked wall at the top of the staircase read as a rental, though he hadn’t lived in a two storey rental since he was too little to remember clearly. Before his dad had left after months of yelling and things thrown about.             Martin’s thoughts were interrupted by a scream that he immediately clocked as belonging to his mother. His dead mother. Martin took three automatic steps to the top of the stairs and then froze.The view of the front door at the base of those stairs, right beside the turn into the kitchen tiles bathed in yellow light overcame him with a surreal sense of déjà vu that left him staggering again, reaching above his head to hang onto the railing.             …above his head? Now that he thought of it, the railing was unusually high.             Glass smashed somewhere downstairs and jerked Martin back into action. He hurried down the unusually steep stairs, watching his feet that wore a pair of tiny socks covered in yellow rubber ducks.             He stopped again halfway down. His feet were small. Really small. He looked at his hands. They were small too, and soft, lacking the deep scar that had run along the webbing since he was nine years old and had been too small to work the carving knife properly, but he’d had to since his mother wasn’t able to-             More yelling, this time a man who didn’t sound as familiar as his mother but still left him feeling something odd. Was he dreaming? He wondered as he slowly picked his way down the rest of the stairs. He hadn’t dreamed since he and Jon had been with Salesa. When had he fallen asleep?             Then a man stepped into view. He was tall, and Martin had to crane his neck to catch sight of his face, and after a moment of shock he could only think:             ‘Fuck, he really did look like me.’             Tall and broad shouldered, more than a few extra pounds, large glasses and bright red hair over a freckled face with rosy cheeks. Martin’s father’s shoulders shook with anger as his hand darted out to clutch the doorknob.             “If I walk out this door, I am never coming back, you hear me?!” His father roared, and Martin couldn’t help the whimper that came out of his mouth though it was drowned out in his mother’s reply.             “GO then!” she shrieked, still out of view. “Who needs you? Can’t hold down a job, can’t do a damned dish without leaving food stuck to the edges!”             “Well maybe that wouldn’t matter if you weren’t always faking sick!”             “I’m not FAKING you fucking dickhead! My hands can barely move!”             “They moved enough to throw that glass at my fucking head!”             Martin blinked slowly. They both sounded so young. Were they really arguing over doing the dishes? No, surely this was only one argument on top of a million other slights. Still, his hands stung in a ghostlike memory of his mother slapping them whenever he left a dish less than sparkling.             He’d missed what his mother had said next, but then his father was grabbing a bag that had been hanging by the door, slinging it over his shoulder. Without thinking, Martin’s hand darted out and grabbed his father’s jacket where it hung near his face. Though he had grown into an overly large man, when he was a kid he’d been small for his age.             “Dad?” Martin squeaked and then froze, startled by how tiny and high pitched his voice was.             His dad looked startled too, peering down at Martin as though confused why there was a child in the house let alone clinging to him.             “Where are you going?” Martin finally managed as his dad tilted his head, appearing to consider him before reaching down to ruffle his hair.             “I-“ he started before he was cut off by another glass flying from the kitchen and shattering against the wall by his head. Martin yelped as a shard struck his cheek, leaving a shallow cut as his father turned away from him furiously.             “Don’t you FUCKING touch him!” Martin’s mother screeched.             “Fine! Crazy bitch! He’s your problem, then! Don’t expect any help from me!”             “Like you’re any help anyway! I thought you were LEAVING!” his mother let out a hysterical little laugh and Martin saw his father’s teeth grind just the way his own did when he’s properly furious. The door heaved open, slammed, and he was gone.             Martin stared at the shut door for a moment, then turned to the kitchen. His mother was leaning hard against the kitchen counter. She looked exhausted, nursing a puffy, split lip. Immediately Martin felt the urge to go to her though she looked honestly surprised as he did so, guiding her with tiny hands to a rickety chair and using cold water to wet a cloth since he was too short to reach the freezer. His mother took it wordlessly to press to her lip, eyes vacant. Martin took the opportunity to really look at her face. She was younger now than he had been when he’d been transferred to the Archives, though her eyes still carried the dark circles he couldn’t imagine her without.             Once the bleeding stopped, Martin swallowed. He knew it was probably a bad question, but he had to know.             “Is he coming back?” Martin asked quietly. When there was no response, he raised his voice slightly. “Mum?”             Just when he was ready to believe he was only speaking to a ghost after all, his mother startled and looked at him blearily.             “I… I don’t know,” her voice was flat. “Go to bed.”             “But-”             “ I said go to bed!” she snapped. Puppeted by a deeply entrenched fear response and muscle memory, Martin leapt to his feet as though on strings and ran up the stairs. Just when he reached the landing at the top he heard loud, wracking sobs start up from the kitchen.             He opened three doors before finding the one that still bore a baby’s mobile on the ceiling and a mix of second hand toys spread over the floor. He didn’t bother looking for pajamas, just getting straight into bed and pulling the pillow over his head to muffle his mother’s cries while he tried wildly to think.             This wasn’t what the deal was meant to be. The Mother had told him she’d get him another chance to change things, fix the ending or whatever. But how was he supposed to do that when he was seven bloody years old and his mother needed him?!             “Though, I guess no one would think to suspect a seven year old trying to murder someone?” Martin whispered into his pillow, furrowing his brow. “Could that be it? I get a knife, cross London to the Institute, stab Elias when he doesn’t expect it? Or well, I guess that wouldn’t kill him permanently, but it might ruin his current body and then- wait, is he even in Elias yet? Who was he in before? James Wright?”             It sounded right, but Martin wasn’t certain. “Could I kill him like that? Maybe if I got him in the neck. I’m only seven, even if I’m caught I couldn’t be tried as an adult, right? At worst I’ll go to juvenile detention for ten years and lie on my CV again maybe?”             He thought about that, chewing his lip. If he ended up in prison he couldn’t help his mother with the bills. But, she was always saying that he was too expensive. Maybe without him around she would have an easier time saving money?             “And when I get out, I could maybe get a scholarship? I’d have more time to study without working multiple jobs and well, dropping out won’t be an option there, probably. And maybe I won’t get caught at all, and I can just figure it out from there.”             The thought of getting a do-over was intriguing. Maybe he could convince his mum to invest before the dotcom bubble bursts? He had to deal with Wright first though. Jonah Magnus might not have been the cause of every misfortune in Martin’s life but he’d caused enough misfortune for the world that his death could be nothing but cosmically satisfying.             “So I just need to work out how I’ll do it,” Martin mumbled to himself as his child body began to sag with sleep. “But maybe I’ll wait a few days at least. Dad just left after all, mum probably needs me more than ever.”
*
             It seemed though, over the next several days, that his mother hardly noticed him at all. She didn’t go to work, spending her days curled onto the sofa in a daze while Martin tried and failed to get her to eat anything, only to find her hours later having devoured two full sleeves of soda crackers while staring listlessly at a soap on the telly. She seemed to ignore his presence entirely, certainly making no comment on the fact that Martin hadn’t so much as attempted to find out what school he was supposed to be attending at the moment.             It was strange. He remembered his mother being sad a lot after his father left, but he didn’t remember it being this bad. Maybe he hadn’t been around to see as much of it, or maybe it had cleared up after a few weeks and he’d simply managed to forget this in the years between. It was hard to believe he could ever have been oblivious to his mother suffering so much when her moods had been central to so much of his young life.             At last he was forced to concede in his efforts. Maybe it would be easier on his mum if he wasn’t there at all. She definitely wouldn’t notice if he left for a while, and if she did he could just tell her he’d gone on a school trip or something.             And after that, maybe he could get a second chance at the rest of it, too? He knew how to cook without burning things now, maybe his mother would see him as a good son this time? Maybe…             He shook his head. One thing at a time. If the Web sent him this far back, it was for a reason. This was the time to act.             So one morning he got up before his mother snored herself awake on the sofa and carefully took the first grade homework out of his backpack and filled it with a couple of squishy granola bars, a water bottle, a paper map of London (it would be tough getting used to the time before everyone had internet) and the sharpest kitchen knife in the house wrapped in a linen tea towel.             He considered shaking his mother, to at least give her the courtesy of knowing he was going out, but decided against it. She might need the sleep. Instead he shouldered his bag, took a deep breath, and opened the door.             “… man I hope I don’t get kidnapped by a pervert,” he mumbled to himself as he stepped his tiny, seven year old body out into the street.

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2
             James Wright had been having a typical Friday morning. He was wearing his third favourite suit with a deep violet shirt as his version of ‘casual’ as he double checked his schedule for the following Monday. He was listening to the omnipresent tick of the clock that he was never able to completely ignore as he took a sip of lukewarm coffee. Every once in a while his gaze would flicker to other parts of the institute, though thus far nothing unusual had occurred.             Research was running in circles trying to figure out if the reported sea monster in the river Thames had any historical precedent. It did, Simon Fairchild enjoyed setting one of his pets loose in there for ‘walkies’ every twenty years or so, but James doubted they would find anything in Gertrude’s mess of an archive.             Speaking of Gertrude, obviously the archives were beyond his sight since she had studiously carved out every image of an eye in the place three years ago. Extremely annoying, but if anything attacked the archives through the tunnels and got her it would honestly be doing him a favour at this point. Overpowered old bat.             The front desk was innocent enough. His secretary, Miss Esposito, was doing paperwork while a young boy with bright red hair sat quietly in one of the chairs for the public to use while waiting to make a statement. He was holding a paper and scribbling something on it, though James’s gaze slid over him without much thought.             He clicked his tongue as he noticed his new hire in artifact storage handling a slaughter-aligned knife with a skeptical expression until a glint came to her eye. He made sure to add ‘interview for three more positions’ into his schedule for next week and opened the paperwork to transfer one of his more useless librarians to storage on Monday. Couldn’t leave the place entirely unmanned after all.             He checked the hallways rapidly. They weren’t well travelled once everyone had arrived at their work stations, given that James liked to encourage a segregation of his departments to discourage too many employees noticing anything amiss such as mysterious disappearances or a strange overall lack of employee turnover.             With a soft sigh and shift in his seat, James was about to get back to his scheduling when something niggled at the back of his mind and his brow furrowed. His gaze went back to the hallways. Nothing, nothing…wait, there, wandering the second floor. A little flash of red.             No, not a flash, a child, toddling down his hallways wearing an oversized backpack. The red headed boy from the lobby if he wasn’t much mistaken. How had he gotten past his secretary? She was normally better at controlling the door than this. Though even as he thought as much, his eyes were already sliding over the boy and he had to force himself to concentrate on him.             It was then he noticed the slight aura of fog discolouring the air around the boy’s head. Touched by the Lonely strongly enough to be visible to him? To provide cloaking at his age? He couldn’t be more than eight or nine.             Could he be a Lukas? It would be odd, they’re usually kept rather sequestered for at least their first decade of life. Seeing one outside the family manor, particularly on their own, would be unprecedented to say the least. A legitimate child would be nearly unthinkable, but could a bastard be this strongly aligned?             The boy was walking down the halls purposefully, as though he knew exactly where he was going although James was certain he had never been in the building before. He also appeared to be making a beeline for James’s own office.             The Eye was aligned with the Lonely, at least at the moment. There was no reason to believe a Lonely-touched child meant harm here, and he could hardly help the curiosity bubbling under his skin. He would need to investigate. If worse came worse, he was hardly defenseless against a child, even if he was a blossoming avatar. Given his lack of information, however, he was not going to wait to be cornered in his own office.             So James left his office, taking the long way around and ducking into an unused testing lab just as the boy walked by the door. He’d wondered for a moment if the boy might notice and pause, but no. He continued his dogged march toward the Head’s office.             When James opened the door and fell into step behind the boy, keeping as quiet as possible, he savoured the bright stab of fear as he managed to startle his unexpected guest.             “Can I help you, young man?”             The boy nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around so hard he stumbled and nearly fell, holding out his arms to balance. He took his time looking up James’s body until his wide blue eyes met James’s from behind round, thick-rimmed glasses. He was on the husky side, but his facial features were charming enough, James supposed. Though the freckles and hair rather reminded him of the more irritating side of American musical theatre.             The look on his face was mostly blank at first, then searching as he chewed on the inside of his cheek as though he almost but not quite recognised him. James waited for a response, but as seconds dragged on and none were forthcoming, he made a cursory attempt to look into the boy’s mind.             It was foggy. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter how many Lonely-aligned avatars James allied with, the Lonely never became much easier to sift through. That didn’t mean he was wholly pushed out, however. He could read the undercurrent of fear there, some curiosity which was common enough in most children. A few thoughts, wondering who James was and a stray image of a woman’s face whom James might assume was the boy’s mother. Most of the thoughts he was receiving were disconnected and hard to follow the threads of as they floated in and out of the mist.             Threads… yes there certainly were threads, glimmering and catching light in the gloom to direct James’s search. Could the boy also be web touched?              A stab of recognition lit the boy's mind like a firecracker.             “James Wright,” the boy said, nearly breathless as he began looking up and down the empty corridor, expression darkening by the moment. James was soon knocked breathless as well as the fog lifted partially for a moment in the wake of a single powerful emotion.             Hate. Absolute, unrelenting hate. This boy, whom James had never met, hated him more than anyone else in the world. How absolutely fascinating.             Still, it wouldn’t do to show his hand and reveal how much he Knows right away. Instead he smiled professionally and bowed his head.             “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you? Are you lost?”             He reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder. Physical contact normally made mind-reading a bit easier, though in this case he only kept his fingers there a moment before jerking back. The touch didn’t give him any more insight except to feel an even more raw and painful burst of hatred and revulsion. What on earth had he done to earn this much ire?             Well, many things perhaps. But not from some strange child, surely.             To James’s surprise, however, a moment later the boy had schooled his face into something more neutral. He lowered his head before taking a deep breath and looking back up while biting his lip and widening his eyes. It was far too cute to be anything but intentional.             “Um, yeah, I’m lost,” the boy said, blinking innocently. What a little liar.             “Mm, well, that won’t do. Should I call your parents?” James asked reasonably, wondering what the child would do. To his surprise, the boy’s hand darted out to grab his wrist, and in so doing he received the brief flash of knowledge that somewhere in the boy’s backpack was a very sharp kitchen knife.             Interesting.             “Y-yes um, c-can I go to your office to wait for them with you?” Then the boy, in a move that made James’s lip curl in distaste, reached out and grabbed hold of his belt with his other hand and gave it an oddly meaningful tug. “Please?”             More stray thoughts. He wanted to get James alone, likely to attack him with that knife. He had assumed, very incorrectly, that James would have any interest in a child seducing him. Not that James felt a particular revulsion against paedophiles, they only spread more fear and horrible secrets into the world after all, but it’s never been something he had considered himself to be. Apparently the boy thought he was so repugnant that not even the worst thing his tiny brain could think of would be out of his purview. Well, he could play along to set a trap of his own, at least.             So James reached down to curl his hand around the boy’s on his belt and squeezed it lightly before taking it in his own while sending him an indulgent smile.             He had to credit the child for not letting it show on his face as his mind screamed that James was a pervert. What an overreaction, as though the boy hadn’t blatantly come onto him!             “Now how could I say no to a face like that?” said James indulgently, adjusting his grip on the boy’s hand (he really wished the Eye would tell him what the boy’s name was) he trod down the halls toward his office, trying to subtly shift aside the fog and hate long enough to get some kind of usable information. Nothing was forthcoming by the time they reached his office, however, save for his certainty that the knife was the boy’s only weapon and means of attack. No back up plan? How like a child.             They entered his office, decorated in oak and numerous delicate books, instruments and grotesqueries. The boy barely glanced at his surroundings, only stiffening at the heavy sound of the door lock clicking into place and James dropping his hand to circle his desk and drop into his chair, surveying the boy with his chin resting on his steepled fingers.             “You were going to call my parents?” the boy asked after a moment.             “Ah yes. I’ll need their names and number, of course?”             “Right um… sorry, I don’t know my number, but I have it on a paper in my backpack.”             “Of course,” James continued to smile indulgently. The boy slowly slid the bag off his shoulder, licking at his chapped lips and James didn’t need to read his mind to see him trying to work out how he was going to get the knife out of his bag and into James’s neck before he knew what was happening. It was amusing enough.             He opened the bag and stuck his hand in it, feeling around for a moment before taking a breath and smiling up at James again.             “Can I sit with you while you call them?”             James positively grinned. “Oh I’m sure you can. How about you come around this side of the desk?”             If James thought the boy would play coy, he was quickly proved wrong as he circled the desk and climbed directly into James’s lap, one hand still blatantly buried in his bag as he kept eye contact like a cobra waiting for its moment to strike. James leaned back and considered him.             “Hello there,” he said after a long moment.             “Hi, sorry just… scared to be alone,” the boy shivered and spoke in a small voice, the fog around him momentarily thickening enough that James would bet even a normal human might see a wisp of something. He wondered how many adults this boy had lured to the Lonely with such tactics.             “I’ll bet you are,” James hissed as the boy leaned in closer, closer, and then laid his rosebud lips against James’s own. At the same time, through the eyes of the portrait he kept above his office door, he saw the boy’s arm tense as he rose the knife.             A moment later James’s hand darted out and grabbed the boy’s wrist, crushing it in his grip as the boy choked, shrieked, and immediately began to jack-knife and struggle in his grip while James pushed in his chair with a swift motion, pinning the boy between James’s own body and his desk as he wrestled the knife from his grip.             “NO NO NO!” the boy screamed and yelled as he pushed uselessly at James’s chest, as though he expected his small body to stand a chance against a fully grown adult man. Poor thing, he didn’t know his own weakness. Luckily he had James to educate him.             It took little effort to wrap the boy up close to his chest with one arm, pinning the boy’s own arms to his sides and his mouth into his lapel as he examined the knife with his own two eyes. It was awfully large, he wasn’t sure the boy would have managed to kill him with it unless he meant to slash his jugular vein. Not that it mattered much now. Perhaps James would end up using it instead… he’d rather not risk killing a Lukas boy, however, if he could avoid it. And he was still curious after all.             “Now this is a dangerous weapon for one so small,” James commented lightly as the boy turned his head, spitting as he continued his useless struggle.             “Give it BACK!” the boy hollered, and James felt thankful, not for the first time, that his office was sound proof.             “Oh? And what do you need it for?” James asked with false innocence.             “FUCK YOU!” The boy shrieked, and James scowled. The word sounded especially foul in such a young voice.             “Language!” James snapped, only to be met with a more violent lurch that he had to put some effort into quelling.             “I’m going to KILL you, you sick fuck!”             “And there it is,” James clicked his tongue. “I believe we ought to have a chat about this little outburst and what brought it on.”             “We do not!” The boy insisted, switching tactics and moving his arms to try to hike up James’s shirt and pinch his stomach. James pushed out his rolling chair and pulled it back in hard, slamming his desk into the boy’s back and the shout of pain swiftly ended the pinching assault.             “Oh no?” James said with a chuckle, “I do have a knife, you know.”             The boy finally stilled entirely as James released him, only point the tip of said knife directly into the underside of the boy’s chin.             “Now, tell me, what has brought a little thing like you out to my institute, all alone, to murder me?”             “I don’t need to tell you anything!” the boy snapped, oddly brave for his predicament, though he remained still otherwise. This apparently hadn’t gone the way he had expected, as his furious face was giving way to shiny eyes and reddening cheeks. Urgh, James hoped the boy wouldn’t become hysterical. That would make him harder to question.             Unfortunately, James was not the archivist. He couldn’t force people to answer his questions. He could Know the answers, or search minds for them, but he couldn’t simply Ask and as such if he didn’t know where to look for the answers, or a mind was hidden from him, he couldn’t force the answers from an unwilling source. Willingness could be molded, however.             “P-please don’t kill me,” the boy whimpered, a bubble of snot becoming visible from the way he was holding his head. James narrowed his eyes, giving one more attempt at reading the boy’s mind and feeling a too-familiar fear for his own life and a thrum of self-hatred as well. Why? …failure? He’d failed his task. Obviously. Useless. Why was killing James his task in the first place? It would drive him mad not to know, even if the threat was neutralized.             He thought through his options. If he used too much force the boy might dissolve into hysteria and become unable to answer, and even if he did answer he might be lying and he was so Lonely that James might not be able to tell. He clearly wasn’t going to be able to charm the boy with that much hate radiating off him.             Perhaps he could make a contract of sorts. They were in his office, after all.             “I may be able to agree to that, if you agree not to kill me,” James said after a moment.             The boy sniffled, blinking and yes, there were two tears tracking their way down his cheeks now. “W-what?”             “I propose a truce,” James said clearly, not moving the knife.             “What kind of truce?”             “Neither of us kill the other, for one thing,” James smirked. “Can you agree to that much, at least?”             One deep breath, then two as the boy clearly forced himself to calm down in a way that surprised James. He admitted he hadn’t spent much time with children in the last several decades. Were all the kids these days so capable of controlling their emotions? Perhaps it was loneliness, or that wisp of the web he’d noticed?             “Fine,” the boy said, and James drew back and held out his hand.             “Shake on it?”             The boy scowled but after a second’s hesitation he did so. This was followed by a pointed look at the knife, to which James nodded and opened his desk drawer, placing the knife inside before shutting and locking it.             “Great, now let me go,” the boy said flatly, pushing at James’s chest again. He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing the boy’s wrists in his hands again and pushing him back toward the desk.             “Oh no, I think we can stay nice and comfortable like this.”             The boy glared harder. “I knew you were a perv.”             “Oh hush, you got into my lap yourself,” James rolled his eyes and moved to hold both of the boy’s wrists in one hand. “Quite a tactic, it might have worked if I had any interest in prepubescent children. Which I do not.”             The boy snorted and shook his head, sniffling harder. “Right, of course. The one time I actually think you’re worse than you are and you- I hate you.”             “I can tell,” James agreed, “Though I certainly don’t know why. Now, I would like to propose an exchange of information. Do you agree to tell me the truth?”             The boy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not agreeing to anything. Not interested in any magic contracts.”             James’s eyebrows went up. That was, indeed, what he was hoping for. If the boy agreed to be truthful in James’s place of power he couldn’t do otherwise. “And what made your mind jump to that?”             The boy huffed, pulling at his wrists for a moment before rolling his eyes. “This place is all about spooky magic stuff, isn’t it? You’re the boss, obviously you know all about magic rituals. I’m not agreeing to tell you anything.”             James sighed, clicking his tongue as he reached down to unlock his drawer. He wouldn’t try to kill the boy, that bit of the contract was now already in place. There were other ways to dispose of the child besides murder, less pleasant ways, but to keep things simple the boy surely didn’t know he was already bound by something.             The knife glinted as the drawer was opened and James reached for it.             “Pity. If I can’t determine how much of a threat you are, I suppose I’ll just have to get rid of you. To be on the safe side, that is.”             “W-wait, you- you don’t have to…” the boy trailed off and silence dragged out between them as the boy began to shake and sniffle again. What a pain. Perhaps James could switch tactics slightly. He sighed and shut the drawer again, making a soft shushing noise and bouncing his knee lightly until the boy began to scowl again.             “Stop that.”             “Perhaps we can do an exchange,” James suggested. “For every question I ask you and receive an honest answer, you will get to ask me one in return. The questions must be intentional, rhetorical ones don’t count. I do know, heh, quite a lot of things. Surely there’s something you’ve been dying to know? Some answers about this terrifying world you’ve found yourself in?”             The boy gnawed his lip, clearly still rebellious. James sighed and shook his head, moving for the drawer again.             “Suit yourself.”             “No! That- f-fine. Fine, I agree. Damn you.”             “I don’t suppose you’d agree not to swear, as well?” The mutinous glare convinced James not to push his luck just yet. “Very well. I’m glad to have your cooperation. Let’s start simple. What is your name?”             “Martin Blackwood.”             The boy stiffened immediately, face twisting in revulsion. Not used to being compelled, clearly. He’d have to get used to it, though.             ‘I’ve ruined everything.’             The words floated unbidden from Martin’s head, and James considered them briefly before deciding he could investigate them later.             “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it Martin?” James patted the boy’s head, ignoring the way he tried to avoid his hand.             “Stop it! I-I don’t like this!” Martin spat, and James clicked his tongue.             “There there, let’s not fuss. You brought this on yourself, you know. Besides, it’s not as bad as all that. You get to ask me something now, don’t you?”             Martin bit his lip, clearly thinking. The fog and faint threads now seemed to be hiding those thoughts from James deliberately, which was as fascinating as it was frustrating.             “Why… why are you doing this?”             Ah, an easy one in return. He barely felt a tingle. Such an accommodating child, aside from the homicidal tendencies. “I’m interested in you. You’ve come into my institute touched by powers I doubt you understand and looking to kill me. I am a naturally curious man, and you are a curiosity.”             On a whim, James stroked Martin’s side with his free hand and relished in the way he shuddered, hate and fear flooding him again.             “Now tell me Martin, when were you first touched by the Lonely?”             The boy’s eyes widened immediately, his cheeks flushed. “No- no I can’t tell y-”             The words choked off as he struggled visibly against the compulsion, doing far better than a novice should be able to before he coughed loudly and the statement burbled up like vomit, beyond containment.             “My father left when I was seven years old,” the boy said, voice oddly flat for a child. “My parents had been fighting for a long time, longer than I can remember. But something about that night was different. The house had felt cold the whole night, and the fog pressing in on the windows was so thick I couldn’t make out the street lamps across the road.”             The boy’s eyes widened as though in disbelief as the statement continued, mouth moving heedless of its owner’s distress.             “I went downstairs when the screaming got louder than ever. My dad was at the door, a bag slung over his shoulder. I didn’t know what it meant. Not really. I stood watching, but neither of them noticed me. They never noticed me when they were fighting.”             “My dad passed by me as he was going out the door. I called out to him, but when he looked at me his eyes felt off. I didn’t know what the emotion was at the time. I’m still not sure. It felt distant, as though he had already left us. I’m not sure he knew where he was going either.”             “He turned away and left the house, and when I asked my mom when he’d be back she yelled at me to go to bed. Her voice was broken, though, and she wasn’t looking at me anymore. She was sobbing on the sofa.”             “I thought if my dad could just see how sad mum was, he couldn’t leave, right? I thought that’s all I’d need to do to fix it. So I ran outside instead, into the ever-deepening fog. This was London, the fog was normal. The dead quiet wasn’t, but I was too frantic to notice.”
             “I saw a figure not too far ahead in the gloom and I was sure that it had to be my dad. He’d only just left after all. I started yelling, running after him, but my words were muffled and quiet as though my ears were clogged.”

“It was quick, when it took him. One moment I could see him, my heart pounding as I thought I might still catch him, that if I could just catch up we could walk home together… but no. The fog had closed in around both of us, and the figure ahead faded away leaving me adrift. I heard waves in the distance even though we were nowhere near the sea, and something heavy settled in my heart, whispering that it might be better if I stayed there. My parents didn’t want me anyway, didn’t care enough to not fight in front of me, surely it would be better if I just left their lives forever.”

“But then I remembered mum, crying on the sofa. She’d just lost dad, so surely she would need me home? If only to remind her to take her medications. She rarely did on her own. As soon as I started to turn around, calling for her instead, my voice began to clear in my ears and the fog parted enough that I saw the house rising up in front of me. There was a cop car outside of it.”

“When I ran in, my mum was talking to the cops. I called her name and she looked at me with shock and anger and immediately ran to me, slapped me, and drew me into the tightest hug she’d ever given me before or since. The cops asked me where I’d been for six hours. It hadn’t felt like six hours.”

“I told them I didn’t remember. I didn’t. I just remembered leaving the house and coming back, nothing in between. My mother never spoke of the night my father left again.”

The statement ended, and the boy slumped back against the desk, panting in effort to get himself back under control as his face pinched in fear and confusion. Not the usual response of a child to giving a statement, but then, James rarely took them this way.

“Wait, no I didn’t- I didn’t remember that. I

don’t

remember that. That didn’t happen. …did it?” the boy sounded lost. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time the Eye pulled out memories forgotten to all including their bearer.

“Ah yes, a young boy left by his father would be very lonely indeed,” James stated, satisfied as he ruffled Martin’s hair. “It's a shame to lack a strong male figure in your life.”

“Fuck off! Ow, quit pinching me!”

“Then let’s try to avoid foul language in the future. It’s disgusting from anyone, but much worse from a child,” James instructed firmly to Martin’s incredulous expression.

“You’re a murderer, but you think foul language is disgusting. Unbelievable.”

“A murderer?” James’s brow furrowed. “Now why do you think I’m a murderer?”

The boy froze for a moment, but as seconds ticked by he relaxed. No compulsion?

“It’s my turn,” the boy said faintly, “I have to ask a question first before you can go again. That’s the rule.”

“…so it is,” James admitted reluctantly. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so kind. “Fine then, ask your question.”

“I-I don’t have any more questions,” the boy said quickly, and James flared in irritation.

“I sincerely doubt that. All children are curious. Perhaps you’d like to know what happened to your father?” James knew his eyes glowed with the desire to show him

exactly

what had become of him, how it had felt to fade away, but the boy only shook his head numbly.

“No, no I-I know what happened to him.”

He did? That was annoying. “Really? How do you know?”

“Still my turn.” The boy’s lips twitched into something nearly smug. James was about to reach for the damn knife again when the boy opened his mouth again. “What’s the easiest way to kill you?”

James huffed out something like a laugh. “Gunshot to the head.”

The boy squinted at him. “I don’t have a gun.”

“Still, that would be the easiest for you. Harder to overpower you if you can attack from a distance.”

“How am I supposed to get a gun in the middle of central London when I’m seven years old?!” Martin demanded, only to be met with James chuckling and ruffling his hair again. “Quit it!”

“Ah ah, it’s my turn now. How did you know how to get around my institute so well?” he asked.

“I work here,” Martin answered easily and then immediately clammed up. James gaped at him and he simply looked back, lips stubbornly pressed together. Apparently that alone was enough to satisfy the compulsion, but it certainly didn’t satisfy James.

“What on earth does that mean?!”

“My turn,” Martin smirked. “How do I-”

The phone on James’s desk began to ring, and he Knew it was Gertrude. Of course, one of the few he couldn’t afford to ignore. He huffed and held up a finger.

“One moment, I actually have to take this. Stay quiet if you value your life.”

The boy grumbled but did quiet, which was actually something of a surprise. Still, James picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, twirling the cord around his finger.

“Hello Mr. Wright.”

“Ms. Robinson, to what do I owe the pleasure?” James asked smoothly, only for whatever she said next to be drowned out in the sudden, extremely LOUD thought broadcast like a siren from Martin’s head.

I CAN TELL GERTRUDE THAT JAMES WRIGHT IS JONAH MAGNUS!

James gaped at the boy in his lap as his mouth opened, and only just managed to slam a hand over that mouth in time, turning his damning words into a stream of muffled profanities and bids for release.

“…is this a bad time, Mr. Wright?”

“Ah yes, my apologies. My nephew is visiting and has a rather-”

“HELP I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED BY A PERV!” screamed Martin before James managed to grab his hair and force his face against his chest to muffle him again.

“A rather unfortunate sense of humour. Not the best time, no.”

“Mm, and yet, I still need funding for myself and my assistant to travel north for a particular project. Regarding the Spiral? I intend to meet Mr. Lukas in port, but I need to reach that port first, you see.”

“Yes yes, of course I’ll forward the money for the tickets to your work account. Goodness that will be quite a long journey, you’ll likely be gone for weeks. And you’ll leave today, I imagine?” James queried while grinning at Martin like a triumphant wolf.

“…eager for me to leave, Mr. Wright?”

“Oh no, I’d never want to get rid of you,” said James, rolling his eyes, “I simply hope the trip is fruitful for you.”

Gertrude grunted and hung up the phone with a click. At the sound of the dial tone, Martin deflated but James flared with intrigue and certainty that whatever happened next, this boy could not be allowed loose in the world with that kind of information at his disposal.

“Ask your question. Now.” James stared at the boy with the power of a thousand suns, watching him squirm under the weight of the Eye, his face growing red as a tomato under its gaze.

“No,” he squeaked.
             “Ask it!” James demanded, going for the knife again as the boy already began to hiccough. The ticking of the clock only added to his annoyance, and a glance at said clock showed him it was time to pack up and leave for the weekend. If he failed to pass his secretary at his usual time it would be noticed.  James rubbed his eyes to calm himself and then ran a hand back through his gelled hair. “Fine. I see this is going to take more time than I have today. In that case, I’m going to have to take you home with me to interrogate you further.”             “T-take me-? No! No that- that’s kidnapping!”             “Yes, it is,” James said briskly, getting up and carrying the freshly struggling boy with him. He really needed to get him restrained properly, his arms were getting tired. “If anyone asks, you’re my nephew and I’m taking you home to your mother.”             “I am NOT related to you!”             “And no one will believe a whining little brat, will they?” asked James as he threw the boy over his shoulder, holding down his legs as he tried to kick and enduring the pounding of tiny fists raining punches against his back. “Enough, you made yourself a threat and now you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”             The boy did fall into hysteria then, shrieking in a full tantrum as he declared he was being kidnapped to every staring, concerned employee they passed in the hall.             “Yes, apologies, the lad’s my sister’s child. Yes, he has a poor sense of humour and snuck out of classes to visit. I’ll be bringing him home now, apologies for the racket.”             “Poor thing. My neighbour’s son’s the same way.” Miss Esposito waved them on with a sympathetic face, provoking the boy into absolutely bellowing in rage. It was almost funny, watching him realize how utterly powerless he was.             James was already editing the security footage as they left, ensuring the boy wrapped in his arms would look different in it. If he was reported missing and someone happened to report a child of his description claiming to be kidnapped being carried out in his arms, the video would prove the fallibility of the human memory and nothing more.             As they moved out to the parking lot, James let more of his irritation show. “You know in my day, children were whipped for behaving this badly in public.”             Martin scoffed through his tears. “In YOUR day you’d be burnt at the stake for being a BITCH!”             James’s eye twitched. “I believe you mean a witch.”             “I DON’T!”             The passenger side door was heaved open and Martin was dumped inside.             “I’m just going to get out.”             “And if you run, I will find you and kill you,” James promised, unsure if it was empty or not. It was hard to tell if a verbal contract would hold outside the institute which is why he usually insisted on a physical signing.             “Maybe that’s better than whatever torture you’ve got planned,” the boy shot back. Really, were all children these days so bleak? Must be those violent television shows.             “Martin, behave,” James said with finality as he opened the glove box and pulled out a collection of zip ties.             “Why do you have that in your car?!” Martin demanded, horrified as James grabbed and wrestled his arms behind his back and zip tied them together before drawing the seatbelt across his chest and buckling him in.             “It pays to be prepared,” James said, intentionally cryptic to see the look of fury on the unruly boy’s face before shutting the door on him and moving around to the driver’s seat.             “M-my mother will come asking where I am!” Martin tried as the engine fired up.             “Will she now? Did your mother tell you to come kill me? Should I be prepared for her, too?” James asked lightly as the boy’s fear instantly intensified. It was such a sweet fear, too. Not weak and unformed like most children’s, but sharp with knowledge of how bad things actually were. Delightful.             “No! No she didn’t- she doesn’t have anything to do with this!” the boy insisted.             “And yet she knows where you are?” the boy’s silence was telling. “You’ll find lying to me isn’t going to work.”             The silence continued to stretch, and other than the boy occasionally slamming his forehead into the window he seemed to have given up for the moment. James leaned back in his seat and turned up the after work traffic report on the radio to drown out the thumping and hear himself think. He had an interrogation to plan, after all.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

3

Martin couldn’t believe how badly he’d fucked up. He’d been so caught up in the fact he couldn’t be punished too harshly as a seven year old murderer that he had somehow forgotten that killing someone with a knife took a lot of physical strength. Strength he decidedly lacked as a seven year old. How had he been so

stupid

?!
             Now he was tied to a chair in Jonah fucking Magnus’s over-decorated Kensington kitchen (Martin had a feeling every one of the handles on those carved wood cabinets were worth a minimum fifty pounds apiece), after the humiliation of being carried to it. It didn’t matter that James Wright wasn’t especially tall or broad, he had overpowered Martin utterly and had him entirely at his mercy.             Why had the Web sent him here?! He was useless at this age!             “There, nice and cozy,” Wright’s voice was too amicable, and filled Martin with a fresh wave of rage. “Should I offer you a cup of tea, or are we still feeling unreasonable?”             The man was leaning over him, looming really, and despite his precarious situation Martin couldn’t stand it. He wasn’t meek anymore, not like he was when he started working in the archives and not how he was as a child.             He horked and spat directly onto Wright’s wrinkled cheek. It splattered, a wad sliding slowing down its mark as James first looked surprised, and then he laughed. Martin’s jaw dropped open in indignation and he was about to swear again when James straightened and abruptly slapped Martin across the face hard enough to whip his head to the side.             “STOP!” Martin hollered on reflex as he pulled on his bindings until his wrists began to sting and ache. He fell silent when Wright’s large hand wrapped around the underside of his face and squeezed, forcing Martin to look at him.             “You can scream all you want, I assure you there will be no interruptions now.” His tone was menacing and reminded Martin immediately of the night of the Unknowing, when Elias had shown him the true extent of what he could do to him. Well, do to him while he wanted to keep him alive as his ‘back up’ anyway. God knew he’d probably just kill him now once he thought he’d gotten everything out of Martin worth having. “You’re going to answer my questions, and then I’ll decide what to do with you. If you would like to survive the night, you would do your best to contain yourself. How about you go back to pretending to be a sweet, innocent little boy again, hm?”             Martin couldn’t help but cringe in disgust at himself for even trying such a tactic on Jonah Magnus of all people, but he’d needed a reason to get him alone and it was the first thing he’d thought of.             “I want to go home,” Martin whispered, though he sounded hopeless even in his own ears.             “And perhaps you shall, that will depend on how the rest of this little conversation goes,” James said, condescension dripping from every word. “Now, ask me something so that I can ensure your truthfulness. If you do not, I have plenty of knives of my own, and there’s plenty of things I can cut off before you lose the power of speech.”             A thrill of fear raced up Martin’s smile, and he say Wright inhale and his eyes sharpen. He knew this was no bluff and… damn, if the alternative was losing a finger... “Why bother making me answer questions when you can just read my mind?”             “So you know that too, hm?” Write frowned, and Martin hoped the compulsion felt half as bad to him as it did to Martin. “Well now, that’s really the puzzle, isn’t it? I can read your mind, but not as well as some. Believe me, most minds are quite easy to pick apart and see every secret laid bare. It seems, though, that the Lonely has a far better hold on you than it does most children your age, even those raised with it. I can see some of your thoughts, the loudest ones, but most are obscured.”             Martin’s eyes widened. He’d hoped that Wright just wasn’t looking too hard, or that maybe the Web would help hide anything too damning, but it was good to have confirmation that Wright wasn’t getting much from him at all.             “That’s something,” Martin mumbled to himself as James released him and leaned back against his table.             “Not that it matters when I can ask you whatever I please and you have to answer.”             Martin chewed carefully on the inside of his cheek. That was true, but if he could hide his thoughts then the reality of his situation was probably too weird for Wright to ask the right questions to reveal exactly what was going on. To be on the safe side, Martin examined his inner loneliness, imagining the fog that was apparently blanketing his thoughts. He concentrated on his past and present isolation, away from everyone he knew and loved, and imagined the fog thickening.             Wright’s eyes narrowed. “Brat. I can feel you doing that.”             Martin sent him an innocent smile and relished in the responding eyebrow twitch.             “Fine. My turn. Who sent you to kill me?”             “Mother,” Martin said automatically and then paled. He didn’t want Wright misunderstanding and going after his own mother. “Not- not my mother but… the Mother.”             The reaction was instant as the colour drained from Wright’s face. It would be satisfying if he didn’t feel as though he’d just sealed his fate.             “Surely not!” Wright ran a hand nervously through his hair and began to pace the room. This got Martin’s attention, he’d certainly never seen Elias worried about anything before. He’d actually managed to get him on the back foot for once. “The Mother couldn’t have- not directly! Though… the threads.”             Wright stopped and stared at Martin’s face, brow furrowing as Martin nervously licked his lips, feeling cold as he waited to be declared too dangerous to live.             “No,” Wright said finally, shaking his head as he walked up to Martin again, looking him up and down. “If the Mother wanted me dead at the hands of a child, I would be. This is too messy for her. No, if the Mother sent you to me there’s a bigger reason than simply wanting me dead. Perhaps you’re a gift.”             Martin flushed as a hand landed much more gently on the side of his head, a thumb running over his temple.             “E-excuse me?!”             “A child already touched by two fears, and strongly at that. Powerful in your own right but clearly in need of guidance,” Wright hummed thoughtfully. “It’s certainly not impossible.”             He straightened, putting a hand to his own chin as he surveyed Martin yet again. “Mm, yes I believe that’s right. The mother wanted you to try to kill me, but if she wanted me dead you would have succeeded. Therefore she merely wanted my attention on you. Well, success there, though you’re still difficult to see clearly. Let’s take a closer look.”             And then there were fingers all over Martin’s scalp, picking through his hair and massaging in places. It was extremely weird, and ducking his head only led to the fingers following him.             “Stop it!” Martin complained, feeling like a broken record. “Are you doing phrenology on me you- you freak?!”             “That’s a big word for you,” Wright said dismissively as he continued to paw at his skull. “And to answer your question, I’m checking for webbing. You would not believe how many of their servants have entire pieces missing from their skull and cottoned up with spider webs and no one notices because they don’t bother to check. Ah, there.”             And then James’s hands were coming away from Martin’s head with faint traces of web extending between them and somewhere just out of Martin’s field of vision. His eyes flew wide in horror.             “Th-they’re in my SKULL?!” Martin yelped, whipping his head back and forth rapidly as though he had any hope of dislodging a nest full of spiders in his head. “Oh my god! No no no- they didn’t say they’d do that! I didn’t agree to that!”             “There there, it’s only a little webbing,” Wright chuckled, wiping the bit of web off on Martin’s collar. “It was right behind your ear. There may not be any pieces missing at all. The spiders could have gone right in here.”             And then Wright licked his finger and stuck it in Martin’s ear. He proceeded to shriek again and kicked out wildly, every blow neatly side stepped as Wright drew back with a sharp laugh.             “Did you just fucking WET WILLY me?!” Martin demanded.             “Well, you did try to stab me with a knife.” Wright was still smiling in clear good humour over Martin’s frustrated grumblings. “At any rate, I’m not feeling any soft spots so I doubt the spiders are going so far as to keep your body alive when it shouldn’t be. That’s good. As much as I respect the Web, I’m not sure it would be wise to keep a fully puppeted child in my home long term.”             Martin’s stomach dropped into his shoes. “Keep?”             “You are a curiosity, as I said,” Wright smirked, “And it would be rude to refuse a gift from the Mother.”             Martin gaped, trying frantically to first wrap his mind around the fact James Wright wanted to… what? Adopt him? And then to think of some reason for him to do anything but that. “You can’t- I’m not a gift! My mum- my real mum- is going to want me home! This is kidnapping! She’ll look for me, and when I escape I’ll go to the police and get you arrested!”             That only earned him another condescending head shake. “No one’s put me in prison yet.”             “Then I’ll be the first,” Martin said firmly, trying his best to look deadly serious. It must have worked, somehow, as Wright’s smile dropped and he actually looked a bit concerned again.             “Hm, in that case you can tell me where your real mother is and we can go visit her.”             Another flood of fear and Martin rapidly shook his head.             “Fortunately for me, you don’t get a choice. It’s my turn,” Wright narrowed his eyes and Martin felt the weight of the Eye boring into him. It burned. “Where is your mother?”             He thought of his mother. That young, sickly woman was left on the sofa, utterly devastated and alone. Martin wanted to plead for her, but the first thing to flee his mouth when he opened it was his home address.             The pleading followed. “Please don’t hurt her! Just- just tell her you want to take me off her hands and she’ll let you!”             “Oh?” Wright’s eyebrows rose skeptically and Martin hurried to elaborate.             “M-my mum hates me,” Martin winced. It still hurt to admit, even after knowing it for so long. “Just tell her I- I did well in my classes and you’re taking me to a free ride boarding school or… urgh, just make up something convincing! She’ll let me go if you ask.”             Martin hung his head as Wright clicked his tongue. “Dear dear, poor thing. Hated by your own mother.”             Martin bristled, but didn’t look up. “I-I didn’t say that! It's just… she’ll have an easier time of things without me. Easier to support one person than two.”             Wright appeared to consider this. “I think I’d still like to meet her first. Then I’ll decide how to handle things.”             That wasn’t good enough, not nearly. “If you hurt her, I’ll get back at you for it! I swear I will. Even if I can’t kill you I’ll make your life hell! I won’t listen to a thing you say!”             Wright clapped his hand and grinned. “Excellent. Then I assume if I let her live, you’ll behave yourself perfectly lest I change my mind?”             Martin’s heart sank. He was cornered. Overpowered, captured, and his mother’s life in the balance. He fought to control his breathing. “That- you can’t just- damn it! Damn you! OW!”             “Language,” Wright chided as he flexed his pinching fingers. “Now I’m going to untie you, and we’re going to your mother’s house. If you fight, or try to run, I will go there on my own and you will have nothing to go home to. Am I clear?”             Fighting back tears, Martin nodded. He couldn’t believe how bad things had gotten so quickly. James Wright had to be wrong about the Mother. Why would the Web have wanted this?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

4

James had no reason to think the boy, Martin, had been lying about how easy it would be to get his mother to let him go. Lord knew she wouldn’t be the first parent that found her child had become some flavour of monster after a brush from the fears and turned it out on the street.

At worst, James expected a bit of posturing about it. Maybe some kind of demand for compensation that he would pay if only to smooth things over with minimal fuss. It wouldn’t hurt to try picking her brain before he left as well, to see if he could discover if she was the source of Martin’s information about the Fears, or at least to get more information about Martin and how he might have met someone who told him so much about them. The Web was one thing, but it wasn’t known to dump information directly into her servants and James would like to know which of her children had been filling his new child with proprietary information. The fewer people spreading around his identity the better.
             The boy’s house was humble, though from his worn, second hand clothes he should have guessed he didn’t have access to a fortune like the Lukas’s. It was a simple row house, narrow, likely a two bedroom without a square meter to spare and  a likely mold problem. Honestly, the boy should have gotten on his knees and thanked him the second he suggested getting him out of this cesspool of a dwelling, instead of trailing behind him with eyes downcast as though he were going to the gallows. Ah, but poor children rarely appreciated how badly they had it until they’d been spoiled with more. He would learn.             For now, James straightened his tie, stood at ease by the door, and knocked three times politely.             The woman who answered the door looked no older than twenty six, her red hair wild and half-plastered to her head, her eyes bruised deeply from lack of rest and had a haze to them. She smelled like she hadn’t bathed in a week, and James resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose.             Her brow creased in confusion as she stared at him for a moment before her eyes slid down to his side where Martin stood slightly behind him and then she frowned hard.             “What did he do?” Mrs. Blackwood asked, her voice raspy and quiet from lack of use.             “Nothing!” Martin squeaked so fast it must be an automatic response. Mrs. Blackwood snorted in disbelief, so perhaps the boy’s talent for lying extended to his home here.             “School day isn’t over yet and you’ve been sent home with one of your teachers,” she said, voice low and promising a world of hurt. “But you’re telling me you didn’t do anything?”             “I didn’t!” Martin said fast before wincing and shooting a glance at James and visibly forcing himself to calm down. James had to credit him for prudence, realising giving his mother reason to worry would only complicate matters. “I-I was just talking to Mr. Wright at… at school. H-he said he wanted to talk to you, that’s all.”             James put on his most charming managerial smile, and Mrs. Blackwood’s eyes immediately fell into suspicious slits.             “What the hell has he been yammering about?” she grunted, and James drew breath.             “You have a very special child Mrs. Blackwood,” James said smoothly, “He’s come to my attention and I thought-”             “Martin, get inside,” Mrs. Blackwood spat, moving aside in the doorway just enough for a small boy to slip past her. Martin looked from his mother to James and back again, eyes widening in fear and James groaned internally as his mother noticed. “Now!”             “But Mum-”             “You heard your mother, Martin,” James said, grin only widening. He would rather they didn’t have witnesses for whatever had to happen next. “Go on.”             Martin bit his lip but nodded, and his mother only looked at James with budding hatred as her son obeyed him and slipped past her into the dimly lit house beyond. She made to slam the door in James’s face, but he got his foot in the way and the woman was weak. He easily shoved the door back open, closing it behind him instead as he strode toward her with an ever-present smile as she backed up so fast she nearly tripped up the stairs. She edged around them into her kitchen where Martin was already quaking.             “Get the FUCK out of my house!” The harpy shrieked as she put herself between James and Martin. Irritating of her. The boy did little more about it than look utterly shocked at his mother’s actions.             “Ah, you must be where Martin gets his charming vocabulary,” said James, “Why don’t we all sit down for a moment? I’m only here to talk to you about your son’s future. My proposal will benefit all parties, I’m sure.”             “Martin, go to your room!” Mrs. Blackwood snapped, though James didn’t know what she thought that would accomplish as her rightly supposed monster was between them both and the stairs.             “Don’t do that, Martin. I think you should stay right here where we can see you,” James said firmly, and the boy froze. Mrs. Blackwood looked at him, shaken by the effect James was having on him no doubt, and then lurched for the counter and the old phone sitting on it.             “I’ll call the police!” Mrs. Blackwood snapped, fingers curling around the receiver.             “Will you, though? Has that worked out for you in the past?” James asked. The Eye informed him of all the times she had called the police on her own husband only to end up getting warned against wasting people’s time with false accusations.             “Mum, please just listen to him!”             “What if I told you I could take your son off your hands?” asked James, deciding to get straight to the point so he could start driving it home.             “Excuse me?!” It was amazing how that look of horrified rage was nigh identical to Martin’s.             “It’s difficult, isn’t it? The prospect of taking care of a child all by yourself as a poor single mother is hard enough,” asked James, walking casually across the kitchen and inspecting one of the spotty glasses in the dish rack before deciding to forgo a glass of water. He paused to gather some information from the house, the woman, the Eye before continuing. “Your husband won’t be coming back of course. I doubt you’ll ever hear from him again so there’s no expectation of child support. And with your health as it is and deteriorating by the year, who knows how long you’ll be able to work to support you both? Wouldn’t it be easier to simply give him away?”             The woman sputtered, clutching wrinkles into her pant legs. “What? Y-you think I’d just what, give him up? To the government? To you?”             “Yes,” James said simply, spreading his hands against Mrs. Blackwood’s incredulity. “If you’d like, I can show you the home I’ll be keeping him in. I’m quite well off, so he’ll hardly be a burden to me. You can go on with your life, start over and live the single woman lifestyle your teenage pregnancy denied you. You could even finish high school, get better than factory work. No child around to remind you of him. You can just move on. Pretend neither of them ever existed, if you’d like. Wouldn’t that be easier?”             James felt the woman hesitate more than saw it. He could read every thought rapidly flying behind her eyes, every thought she’d had since her unwanted pregnancy. The pressure from her now deceased family to marry the man who knocked her up, regardless of their compatibility, ‘for the baby’. The constant desire to walk out on them both, if only her husband hadn’t beaten her to it.             Then her eyes landed on her son who was too obviously frightened, too small and helpless. The last connection she had to anyone in this world… and a consistent source of income.             “Ah I see, you would lose those baby bonus cheques,” James acknowledged briskly, relishing the way she flushed with embarrassment. “Well, if money is such an issue I can always give you some to soothe the ache. Enough to leave the city entirely if you’d like. You could move back to Devon, where you grew up. Much cheaper to live there than London. Much quieter. And so much easier to move without a child underfoot.”             The woman licked her lip and glanced at Martin again, noting the way he wasn’t looking back at her, staring at the floor as he accepted every word James said. Well, naturally. The boy clearly knew his mother didn’t want him already.             And yet, for all that James could see, it seemed there was enough maternal instinct left in this woman that she was genuinely conflicted. Even the promise of money wasn’t enough to push her over the edge. Perhaps she needed to see it?             “Here, I’ll write a cheque,” James withdrew one from his jacket pocket with a flourish along with his engraved pen and set it on the table with a flourish. “How much would you like for him? Five thousand pounds?”             The woman gaped.             “No of course, you’ll need to get your high school equivalency. Perhaps even a college course! Let’s make it an even ten thousand.”             James had been focusing on his signature a touch too closely as he missed the mug thrown at him until it had already smashed against his forehead. The shards scattered and left a dull ache as he slowly looked up at Mrs. Blackwood, his eye twitching wildly.             “Get OUT!” Mrs. Blackwood screamed, another mug already in her hand. When had she gotten to the cupboard? “I’m not handing my son over to some rich, empty suit! I don’t care what agency you work for but I don’t trust you, and I’m not letting you just walk in here and take my child away!”             Martin finally seemed to break out of his shocked paralysis long enough to race to his mother’s side, grabbing her shirt with wide eyes. “Mum, don’t fight him! Y-you don’t need to do this, I’m fine! It’s fine!”             And maybe his pleas would have worked if the boy had been able to hold back his hysteric tears for five minutes. One look at her son’s crying face only solidified her damned self-righteousness.             James straightened, taking the cheque with him and tucking it back into his pocket, cold tea still dripping down his forehead as he cricked his neck in a practiced motion. He could understand Mrs. Blackwood’s reluctance, but he would not have things thrown at him by a low life. “I can, in fact, take your son away. I was going to be generous about it, let everyone go home happy. But now I think I’d rather go with Plan B.”             “I don’t want your money,” Mrs. Blackwood hissed. “And you- you can’t take him without paperwork! I haven’t even seen your ID! You have no right to take him!”             “I will,” James knew he was grinning wide enough to be unpleasant, and watching her recoil from him was extremely satisfying. “Because your neighbours have outdoor cameras, Mrs. Blackwood.”             That gave her pause. “…what the hell does that matter?”             “Simple. Because those cameras will show that a few minutes ago, when you opened the door for myself and young Martin, you physically attacked your own son before dragging him inside. I, of course, followed to protect him from you and to call the police. Which I will be doing in a moment if you don’t call them first. Of course if you do, the evidence will correlate with my version of events.”             “What the hell are you talking about?” Mrs. Blackwood spat, pointing at her unmarked son. “I didn’t touch him! Anyone can see he’s fine!”             Fine wasn’t quite the word, but James had to admit she had a point. This didn’t look like a beaten child. Well, time to see how much the boy cared for his mother.             “Yes, fair point. Martin, bash your face into the wall for me.”             “W-what?! No I- I won’t!” Martin stammered as his mother merely looked stunned at such an outlandish request. Still, James held cards neither of them could imagine.             “Or if you prefer,” James said, eyes fixed on the child, “I could have the cameras show your mother killing herself in front of you. I would have the same result either way.”             He knew the boy already thought him a murderer, and his rapidly blanching face showed he took his threat very seriously. Good, he’d already wasted enough time here. The boy nodded. His eyes were vague and distant as he walked to the wall, screwed them shut, and slammed his head into it so hard his nose instantly began to bleed.             “Fuck!” Martin swore, covering his face before bursting into tears. His mother screamed, but didn’t go to cradle her bleeding son as James would suppose most women would. Instead she ran at James, her hands curved into claws as she attempted to strike him. He grabbed her flailing wrists, only to stagger and gasp as she got in a kick to his crotch.             “I’LL HAVE YOU ARRESTED! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON!?” she screeched before James finally managed to recover enough to force the weak woman up against the kitchen counter and pinned her to it, slapping her firmly across the face as she gasped and screamed at the top of her lungs for someone to come.             James did a quick sweep to be on the safe side, but none of the neighbours were coming. Why should they? This woman had screamed like this at her husband weekly for two entire years, they were well used to it. All the better for him as he pulled the woman’s arms up painfully behind her.             “No, don’t hurt her!” Martin sobbed, and James felt him tugging desperately on his pant leg, but he pushed him aside.             “She attacked me first, but if you want me to refrain from doing anything permanent you will go to your kitchen phone and dial 999 for me. Tell them your mother has attacked you but your… your father’s friend has her restrained. Then bring the phone to me and I’ll take it from there.”             “Don’t you dare!” Mrs. Blackwood gasped, the counter digging into her stomach and restricting how much air she had to speak with. “Martin you- stop!”             “I-I’m sorry mum,” Martin whispered, pushing a chair beside the counter to climb up and grab the phone, fingers shaking badly as he made to dial it.             “Wait! Martin, wait you- who is this? Why are you doing what he says?!”             Martin paused, finger hovering over the nine as he looked at his mother with an expression that James could only describe as utterly broken. He wore it well.             “He’s a monster, mum,” Martin whispered, and James scoffed. “He- he can do awful things. Just let him take me. Then you won’t need to suffer because of me ever again, okay? You won’t need to buy me clothes or food, and I won’t talk too loudly when you have a headache and- and I won’t be a bad son for you anymore. That’ll be better for you, right?”             Mrs. Blackwood’s eyes rounded as her son picked up the phone and finished calling the police, speaking James’s words mechanically into the receiver. Mrs. Blackwood shook in James’s grip.             “I’m dreaming,” she mumbled to herself, “This is a nightmare.”             “Not yet,” James said lightly, “We’ll see if it needs to get worse.”
*
             The cheque remained buried in James’s pocket as the police arrived and carted Mrs. Blackwood away in handcuffs, her son taken and wrapped in a blanket while he was questioned by a woman cop who was routinely brought along for domestic violence cases involving children. James was sure Martin was frightened enough of him by now that he wouldn’t say anything to ruin things, but he kept an eye on them while answering his own questions all the same.             “And how do you know the family in question?”             “Ah yes, I’m a long-time friend of the family, James Wright,” James smiled pleasantly. “Or rather, I was a friend of his father before he left town a week ago without telling anyone where he’d gone. The mother never cared for me much, but when I saw Martin walking around outside of classes I assumed there had been trouble at home and brought him back hoping to help smooth things over. Obviously that went awry.”             “Seems like it,” the officer sighed, “We’re in the process of collecting the security camera footage from next door, but it seems pretty open and shut. You might end up in court for assault, but given the lady doesn’t have more than bruises and her son’s got blood all down his shirt a half decent lawyer can get you out of having to pay out anything for stopping her beating the kid to death.”             “Oh I doubt she would have gone so far as that,” James said equitably, glancing toward the boy who had finished his story and was sipping at the tea he’d been given with the same thousand yard stare he’d given his mother. “Still, seeing as I doubt Mrs. Blackwood will be deemed fit to care for young Martin anytime soon, I think it would be best if the boy were to stay with me, a known friend, until other arrangements are made.”             Not that other arrangements would be, but one step at a time.             The officer’s face pinched and James sighed, already knowing he was preparing to inform him that he cannot pass a child off to a temporary guardian that wasn’t a blood relative without any pre-arrangement, but James cut him off.             “Ah yes, I should also mention I am James Wright, Head of the Magnus Institute,” said James, “If that means nothing to you, I would recommend consulting with any sectioned officers you have on staff tonight. I assure you, they would prefer I handle this situation personally.”             Of course, James Knew this particular officer, while not sectioned himself, knew enough about it to not want any chance of being so. He paled and shot Martin a worried look, wondering what horrible reason might exist for the Head of the snake pit he viewed the institute as to have taken interest in him.             “…understood. I’ll… I’ll ensure the right paperwork is filed,” the officer said with a brisk nod. “We’ll- well, someone will be in touch.”             “Wonderful,” said James, turning his full attention to the boy again. He looked a mess, his stunned silence giving way to quiet hiccoughing and shakes that the woman officer sitting with him chalked up to shock, the poor lamb. James waited for the officer he was speaking with to spread the word of the new plan regarding Martin before approaching and placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.             “Martin, get into my car and wait for me,” he said with authority, and the boy wordlessly nodded, took the offered key, and toddled off on quaking legs. James could only hope he continued to be this obedient in the future but, well, it was often said that raising a child was a series of trials. Nothing he couldn’t handle though, he was sure. He just needed a firm hand.             By the time James had finished up and joined Martin, sliding into the driver’s seat with triumph, Martin had curled into the fetal position. His head was heavy against the door and his arms wrapped tight around his knees. James had to prod him into moving so he could buckle his seatbelt and start the engine.             “Things will settle down within a few days, no need to worry,” James said smoothly as he moved back out to the main road and away from the hovels. “I’ll have official guardianship papers drawn up by the end of the week.”             “You didn’t have to get her arrested,” Martin mumbled.             “Would you rather I left her dead? Or swimming in a waking nightmare of her worst fears?”             “…no,” Martin mumbled more softly, miserably.             “It’s baffling really, so much effort for a child she never even wanted,” James tsked and reached over to pat the boy on the head, heedless of his choked noise of disgust. “There, there. She’ll get over you quickly I’m sure. And she wasn’t much of a mother to you anyway.”             “She’s still my mum, no matter how good she was at it,” Martin hissed, voice thick. The blood had dried and been wiped away but his nose was still swollen. They’d have to ice it when they got home.             “You’re just emotional because you’re seven,” James said lightly, “It will pass. And goodness knows being away from that unpleasant harpy will likely do wonders for your abrasive personality.”
*
             Entering his home with Martin for the second time that day felt very different from the first. The first time, James was dragging in an annoyance that he expected to torture, gain information from, and eliminate. This time, he was bringing in a guest. No, not a guest, a child. …family? No, definitely not. He’d spent almost two centuries without any family connections, he doubted he had the ability to make one now. 
             A project, maybe. Yes, he was starting a new project. A project that would require careful attention.
             “We’ll get you set up in the guest room for tonight,” said James as he got Martin settled in a chair, shuddering and refusing to look at him. He hadn’t bothered to get the boy to pack a bag of belongings from his mother’s home and the boy hadn’t asked for the opportunity. It was for the best, he wanted as few reminders of that boy’s old life around as possible. “You’ll feel better after some dinner and sleep.”             He hadn’t actually picked Mrs. Blackwood’s brain as much as he’d planned, but he did manage to get a short list of foods the boy apparently liked and hated and that, if the boy had any link to the fears before his father vanished into the fog she hadn’t noticed anything. Unsurprising, he doubted the dull woman noticed much about her son.             There had to have been something though, James was sure of that much. There is no way the fog could have sunk so deeply into Martin if he hadn’t been prepped for it, most likely by the Web for some reason.             James ran a hand through Martin’s hair again before going to his cupboards and finding something easy to prepare. The most important thing he’d learned from his mother was his father’s name and face. He was certainly not a Lukas, bastard or otherwise, and that meant he was free for the taking. James alone would choose how the boy would be raised, and what to use him for.             Who knew what the Web intended for James to get out of Martin? He might be the key to the next ritual for the Eye, or something similar. Or perhaps he would take over the boy’s body one day when he’s old enough, to pass his legacy on more directly. He could even be the next Archivist, there were so many possibilities with children.             As James stirred the pasta he’d poured into the boiling pot, he began humming to himself. He’d never had a child before in all his lifetimes, and he had to admit he was getting a little excited about the prospect. You could have so much power over them, much more than one did with an employee. You could control where they go, what and when they eat, and what they’re allowed to do at their leisure. What they wear… hm.             James glanced over his shoulder at the boy and took note of his frizzy hair, smudged glasses, and second hand clothes. No, that wouldn’t do if James was to be associated with him.             As the boy poked listlessly at his dinner, James excused himself to the next room to make a call.             “Miss Esposito? Yes, I need you to book some stylist appointments for me tomorrow. I want to get my nephew outfitted. Yes, it seems he will be staying with me for quite some time.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

5

Martin woke up in a bed that was truly over-large for how small he was, though he supposed there would be no reason for James Wright to own a child sized bed and it’s not like Martin wouldn’t grow into it eventually. Since apparently Jonah Magnus had decided to

keep him.

He had seriously fucked up. Not only had he gotten himself captured, but he’d seriously misjudged how his mother would react to him being taken away. Would she have always reacted like this if Martin had been ripped from her, or was it because she’d just lost her husband and was more emotionally fragile? Or maybe she liked Martin better when he was small like this, grew to hate him more as he got older and more… more like his father? He didn’t know. Maybe he never would, now. Just another thing to haunt him.             One thing was certain, Martin couldn’t let his mother go to prison. She was tough in many ways but he couldn’t imagine her suffering in a cell. He was sure Wright could get her out if he wanted to, but god knew what kind of efforts Martin would have to put in to convince him to help her. Even if she did get out, she would still be in danger as Wright could threaten to hurt her again if Martin even attempted to disobey him.             He’d have to try to cooperate for now. He’d play the part of an obedient, meek child again. Then, with any luck, he’d get an opportunity to take out Jonah Magnus once and for all. It was the best he could hope for.             Martin slid out of the bed and frowned down at the oversized night shirt he was wearing. He had wanted to refuse borrowing Wright’s clothes, but it was the only thing that had been left outside the bathroom door after he’d insisted he could bathe himself and he sure as hell wasn’t going to traipse around enemy territory naked whether or not his captor was a paedophile.             He was a bit surprised to find his clothes from the previous day folded on top of one of the end tables in easy reach, clearly having been washed and possibly ironed which just seemed like a waste of time for something a primary school student would be wearing. He pulled them on and made for the door, almost reaching it before there was a knock on it and it was creaking open before Martin could even consider answering it.             “Ah, you’re awake. Ready for breakfast? We have a big day ahead,” James Wright said with a smug little smile. Martin hated it. Hated his wrinkly face, greying hair, and green cardigan. He looked like old money and everything about him set Martin on edge. He looked like the sort of man who would look at Martin and ask why he wasn’t making himself useful by cleaning a chimney. He wanted desperately to kick him in the shins and spit in his face again.             But he could hurt his mother, so all he did was avert his eyes and nod.             “I see you’re much quieter today. I hope this isn’t part of a misguided plan to catch me off guard. It won’t work,” said Wright before gesturing for Martin to follow him out of the guest room, down the stairs, and into a formal dining room. The table was wide enough for eight, but only the places at either end had been set. Wright drew out the chair furthest from the door and indicated for Martin to sit there in front of a breakfast of oatmeal with fresh cut fruit, scrambled eggs, and a glass of milk. Like a cereal commercial’s idea of a balanced breakfast.             “You didn’t make this,” Martin commented with certainty as he took up his spoon. He was hungry around the pit in his stomach, and knew he had to be logical and pick his battles. Denying himself calories and energy would be foolish, the kind of protest that couldn’t co-exist with the intent to finish his murder plot.             “Welcome to the wonderful world of being able to afford domestics,” James smiled blandly, “I only have the one of course, she handles the cooking and cleaning. Don’t worry if you don’t see her at all, she came highly recommended by the Lukas family.”             He looked as though he were waiting for Martin to ask what that meant, but seeing as he could guess easily enough Martin merely shrugged and took a bite of the oatmeal. For Lukas fair, it was pleasantly sweet. Though he supposed just because Peter Lukas preferred his food bland that didn’t mean every Lukas did.             They ate in silence for a while, though Martin felt more and more uncomfortable as Wright seemed determined to closely watch his every bite. It was more than unsettling, and Martin wished he knew why he was so damned fascinating.             …was it his turn with the questions? He couldn’t remember, but he thought it would be safe enough to try one. Wright hadn’t tried to question him again since going after his mother, so he probably thought he knew as much as he needed to.             “What are you going to do with me?” Martin asked after a heavy swallow of eggs.             Wright hummed around his toast, putting it down and managing to pat his mouth politely with a cloth napkin before he was forced to answer. “I have a few things in mind for today. A haircut for one. Clothes shopping for another. Making you presentable is the first priority.”             “Presentable for what?” Martin asked, apprehensive.             “Mm, we shall see,” Wright’s eyes shone disconcertingly as he decided not to answer if he wasn’t forced to. He didn’t ask a question of his own either, though, so it seemed he was the one who wanted to keep secrets now. Arsehole. “Now finish your breakfast.”             “Maybe I’m not hungry anymore.”             “Lying to me won’t work. Eat.”             Martin huffed and the thought of throwing up on Wright’s shiny shoes fluttered through his mind.             “Charming thought. I wonder how long your mother can stay in prison for?” Wright asked, showing he had been listening. Martin gasped and lowered his eyes to his food, quickly pulling the fog back over his mind and fighting back tears again.
*
             The haircut had been fine, aside from having to come up with a number of little lies to tell the nice lady who kept asking him about a school he’d gone to far too long ago to remember anything specific. It wouldn’t matter, he doubted Wright was going to be sending him back there anyway. His hair was clipped and neat, though a little longer than he had expected.             “I wouldn’t want to lose your curls, they’re appealing at your age,” Wright filled in when Martin had asked why it was still so long. “We’ll darken it when you’re older and are less likely to have a reaction to the chemicals.”             “I like my hair colour,” Martin lied. He didn’t actually think much of it one way or another, but he didn’t want someone else in charge of it.             “It’s difficult to coordinate with,” was Wright’s only elaboration as they made their way from the hairdresser to a children’s clothing shop. A fancy children’s clothing shop, though given they were shopping in fucking Harrods of all places he doubted they had any other kind there. It was the sort of shop  his mother would laugh nastily at and say it was just wasteful to buy children new clothes when they grow out of them so fast. Martin had grown to privately agree with her on that point, though as a kid he’d occasionally longed for a pair of shoes that didn’t smell like someone else’s feet.             Now he followed along behind a man who clearly had more money than sense as he had no qualms about pulling a full dozen pairs of tiny trousers and shirts off their hangers and draping them over his arms. When one slipped out of his hand to a tiny hissed swear, Martin instinctively picked it up and, before holding it up for Wright he held it against himself and frowned.             “Are they all this size? You should get some a bit bigger, so I can grow into them,” Martin said sensibly.             Wright snorted, “I will not be sending you to school in oversized clothes. In fact, we’ll be taking these to be tailored to fit you better.”             Martin sputtered as Wright plucked the shirt out of his hands. “That- that’s a waste of money! I’ll just grow out of them faster!”             “Since when are children so worried about growing?” Wright asked rhetorically, shaking his head. “When you grow out of them we can get them tailored again, or just buy new ones.”             The waste grated on Martin almost as much as being around this odious man at all and he folded his arms to show his disapproval. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t have to do that!”             “Of course I do. Clothes make the man as they say- or the boy, in this case. Your appearance reflects on me, you are my son now after all.”             The gears in Martin’s brain all ground to a halt as he began to breathe harder, sputtering wildly. “Wha- but- that- n-no! I’m not- I’m not your SON!”             Wright shrugged, picked up a plain blue button-up to add to the pile. “By the end of the week you will be. You’ll find I have a gift for expediting paperwork and forcing through an adoption with my connections will be, mm, child’s play. You’ll be Martin Wright before you know it. Feel free to call me, heh, Dad. That's what the kids say now, isn’t it? I recall ‘father’ is considered overly formal these days.”             Martin made a face. “Martin Wright sounds weird. And I'm not calling you that, ever.”             “We'll see about that,” Wright hummed. “If you think the name sounds odd you can use a middle initial to soften it.”             “I don’t have a middle name,” Martin huffed.             “You don’t?” Wright shot him a curious look. “Would you like one? I can probably think of one for you.”             The thought was revolting, mostly, but he was a little curious. “Like what?”             “Barnabus, perhaps. After an old friend.” That man’s enigmatic smile would be the death of him.             “Ew,” Martin said firmly, “Do not name me that. In fact, don't name me anything.”             “You’ll find you don’t have a say in this. I think it will grow on you. Martin B. Wright sounds better, doesn’t it? Like a little pun.”             Martin shuddered badly, wrapping his folded arms further around himself at the thought. Not only was he being held captive in some sort of foster situation, but Wright planned to make it legally binding? Changing his name, his very identity to suit his own pride. God, he promised himself to never sign anything this man handed to him if he could help it. Not ever.             The clothes shopping dragged on far longer than Martin thought it should have, given that apparently Wright Knew his sizes and didn’t need to make him try anything on in the dressing rooms. Eventually Martin had thought they were done only for Wright to bring him to ANOTHER store.             “Urgh, why is this taking so long?! You have plenty, I won’t even be able to run through them all before I’ve outgrown them!”             “I’m sorry, am I keeping you from an appointment?” Wright joked mildly.             “No, I just hate you, and this,” Martin grumped, freezing as he waited for Wright’s reaction, but the man only chuckled as he pulled down another shirt.             “So I’ve heard. Hm, no, orange clashes terribly with your hair,” Wright commented as he hung the shirt back up. Martin scoffed.             “Obviously! I’m a winter.”             Wright did pause at that, turning to look at Martin with a raised eyebrow.             “Um. I heard that on TV,” Martin lied robotically. Wright narrowed his eyes, likely wondering why on earth Martin would be lying about that.             “…I see. Yes, I suppose you do look better in neutrals and cooler shades. A pity, there’s a lot a man can do with a splash of bright colour in his wardrobe,” Wright said finally, and then he smirked. “Especially a gay man.”             Martin’s thoughts screeched to a halt once again as he gaped at Wright.             “Of course you’d be too young to know about such things,” Wright said smoothly, “I suppose that talk will have to wait a few years.”             ‘HUH?!’ Martin coughed, reaching for the fog to bury his racing mind. “I- uh, I’d rather not stand out at all. Thanks.”             Wright hummed. “That would be the Lonely I think. Now come along.”             Martin decided to disassociate rather than try to make conversation this time. Instead he retreated inward and thought about Jon. Stupid, hard-headed, beloved Jon. Jon who was so self-sacrificing and so pig-headed that he decided to sacrifice himself and his whole world and everyone he loved for a bunch of strangers in some other universe! If he’d just listened to Martin they could be living happily ever after right now but noooo now Martin was shoe shopping with Jonah Bloody Magnus in the 1990s!             Martin spent a few minutes fantasizing about running away from Wright to Bournemouth. Meeting Jon there, becoming childhood friends…             Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Aside from how hard it would be to evade getting picked up as a runaway child and returned to Wright, it wouldn’t be a real friendship. He wouldn’t be able to be honest with Jon, and he wasn’t really a child so befriending him knowing what they would become… Either he’d sabotage his own relationship or else he could end up grooming him and he’d never be such a monster as that.             That didn’t mean he couldn’t meet Jon one day when they were both adults again, though that would be a long time to wait for the love of his life. He could do it, he thought, but this train of thought wasn’t as pleasant a distraction as it had started as.             Instead he looked down at the shopping bags hanging from Wright’s free hand as he examined and chose some plain white tennis shoes. It occurred to him that when he was a kid he would gravitate to things like his duckie socks. Bright colours and garish patterns, which were luckily plentiful in the charity shops his mother brought him to. Wright wasn’t choosing anything like that, Martin wasn’t sure anything he bought had so much as a prominent logo.             Martin couldn’t say he cared much, but it was a bit funny to think how much he would have been made utterly miserable by this if Wright had gotten his hands on his actual seven-year-old self. He probably would have fallen in love with sneakers with a dinosaur on them and driven Wright crazy insisting on them.             Martin trailed off on that thought and began scanning the shelves. There, near the front!             “I want these ones,” Martin said firmly, pushing the bright green jelly sandals onto the till. Wright looked like he’d put an actual pile of mucus under his nose.             “Oh yes, those are very popular with the youth right now,” laughed the lady behind the counter. “They’re on discount, leftover from the summer. You’ll want a size up if you’re going to wear them next year.”             “I don’t think so,” Wright said firmly, pushing the jelly sandals away.             “I’ll wear them in the house,” Martin said innocently, pushing them back, “So I won’t embarrass you with my bad taste in clothes.”             The falling smile on the lady’s face said it all, and Wright’s face twitched as he clearly heard whatever poor thoughts she was now thinking about his relationship with his apparent ‘son.’ Wright sighed.             “I never said you had poor taste. Fine,” Wright grumbled, adding the sandals to the pile. Martin vowed to wear them as much as possible, into the winter if he could. Any small rebellion was worth it at this point.
*
             It seemed that even though Martin had an adult man’s mind and memories, he still only had the stamina of a seven year old and it had been an excruciatingly long day between the haircut, shopping, food court lunch and a private school meeting in the afternoon. Apparently Wright moved fast, and didn’t think Martin’s education could wait so much as a week. He was talking about private tutors in the car when Martin fell asleep pressed against the door.             He came to while experiencing the incomparably warm feeling of being carried into a house while asleep. He was being cradled, undoubtedly by Wright, but his eyelids and limbs felt so heavy he could barely bring himself to feel indignant about it.             Still, for the sake of it, he forced himself to open his eyes and squirm in the man’s grip.             “Put me down,” Martin grumbled, voice still slurred with sleep. He gave an indignant yelp as he was squeezed tighter.             “Calm down, I don’t mind really. You hardly weigh anything you know,” Wright chuckled as he carried Martin over the threshold and shouldered the door shut behind them. Martin flushed. He really couldn’t remember anyone ever calling him light. Even now he knew his mother would tell him he was too fat to carry home if he’d scraped a knee. Then again, his mother was sickly. Wright, despite his age, clearly had enduring physicality. Good genetics, Martin supposed, the benefits of getting to choose your own body to steal.             “I’m not a baby, I can walk by myself,” Martin muttered as he was brought back to the dining room and set back at the table that had already been laid with a mouth-watering feast of chicken and dumplings, his favourite. “…thanks to the chef I guess.”             “I left her a note this morning requesting your favourite dish,” Wright said indulgently, “I thought you’d appreciate it after a trying day.”             Martin abruptly glared at the meal, poisoned by Wright’s participation in it. “Urgh, can you stop pretending to be nice? I’m not going to forget that you’re a monster.”             “Am I?” Wright hummed. “Because of my association with the Fears, I presume. Why do you know so much about the Fears, Martin?”             Martin was startled by the sudden compulsion, and had to spit out a mouthful of dumpling onto the tablecloth before answering. “Jon told me.”             Wright frowned at the mess, but pressed on. “Who is Jon?”             Martin considered lying, but if he did that Wright would just use his next ‘turn’ to ask and god knew what the compulsion would make him say as explanation. But if he lied directly, there was every chance Wright would be able to tell.
             “He’s… a boy I met,” Martin licked his dry lips carefully. What would satisfy Wright? “He… he found a book with a spider in it that ate a kid that bullied him.”

“A Web avatar, then. Well, that’s to be expected,” Wright sighed, “I look forward to learning exactly why the Mother is so interested in you beyond your affinity for The One Alone. Tell me Martin, if I’m a monster, what does that make you?”

“A monster,” Martin said without hesitation. He didn’t need the compulsion, he’d known he was only another flavor of monster ever since he’d seen his domain in the apocalypse. There was no escaping that. “Just less of one than you are.”

“You think so, do you?”

“I haven’t hurt anyone,” Martin said, the truth even though it tasted like a lie.

“Oh? I’d say you hurt your mother quite badly,” Wright hummed as he took a swift bite of chicken.

“That was you,” Martin bristled.

“Was it?”

“

Yes

.”

“Hm, if you insist.”
             Martin truly hated this man.
*
             “You’ll look darling in this, try it on,” said Wright, passing Martin a set of frilly pajamas as he was settled back into the guest room for the night. Martin suspected this was going to be his permanent bedroom as the clothes they had bought had mysteriously migrated into the drawers and wardrobe there. Martin looked at the long white nightshirt and cringed.             “This looks like something from the Victorian era. No one wears this.”             “We’re in the house, no one will see but me. And the Eye of course, but it won’t tell,” Wright reassured him. Martin did not find it reassuring. “Now get changed, you can’t sleep in your clothes.”             “Urgh, fine, leave then and I will,” Martin sighed, untucking his shirt but pausing when Wright didn’t move. “I want privacy.”             “Oh come, we’re all men here and you’re seven. We’ll talk about privacy when you hit puberty.”             Martin cringed again, harder, “I knew you were a perv!”             That earned only an eye roll as Wright stalked toward the boy, Martin quickly getting backed into the wardrobe. “There’s nothing untoward about dressing a child for bed. You’ve far too much independence for someone your age. Symptom of your neglectful parents no doubt. Well, let’s correct that.”             “What do you mean by- NO! LET GO!”             “Hold still!”             Martin proceeded to yell and thrash futilely as he was manhandled by Jonah FUCKING Magnus out of his clothes and into a frilly white nightgown.               “I think this is for girls,” Martin muttered, curling his fists into the skirt.             “Is it?” Wright hummed, tapping his chin before nodding in satisfaction. “Well, you look adorable either way. Now go brush your teeth and wash your face. I’ll be back in a moment to tuck you in and read you a bedtime story.”             Martin made a face. He suspected Wright was only saying it to humiliate him, but hearing the word ‘adorable’ from Wright was both disgusting and rage inducing. “You really don’t need to do that.”             “Oh but I’d like to. Such an excellent bonding activity, reading to children,” Wright grinned and ruffled Martin’s hair again before nudging him toward the door. “Now don’t go wandering off, I’ll have my eye on you.”             After brushing his teeth hard enough that his gums bled as he imagined sawing Wright’s head off his shoulders, Martin returned to the guest room to find the bedclothes turned down and Wright sitting on the edge of the bed holding a handwritten paper. Martin’s brow furrowed at that, but he crossed the room when Wright patted the bed, rolling his eyes as he got into it.             Martin endured, red-faced, Wright pulling the blankets up under his chin and tucking him in like a burrito. He couldn’t remember being tucked in by his parents. It probably felt less menacing than this did. Especially as Wright straightened himself where he sat next to him and brandished the mysterious paper, clearing this throat.             “Statement of Carol Hathersham, regarding an entity at her grandmother’s cottage.”             Martin immediately started to struggle against the blankets, to no avail. “That’s not a story, that’s a statement!”             Wright laughed and ruffled his hair. “Hush, just pay attention and it will be over before you know it.”             “Are you trying to give me nightmares? I’m not listening to that!”             “You will,” was all Wright said before starting again, and try as Martin might to ignore him, he listened to every word and sure enough they chased him into a most horrific host of nightmares.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

6

The routine that James had settled the boy into was perfect. He ate well and at regular hours. His clothes were laid out for him every day and he wore them without complaint.
             He attended the best private school in the area, and appeared to be doing far better in his classes than his transcripts would have suggested. James had to assume it was the superiority of elite private schools if even a commoner  like Martin would improve so much there in such a short time.             James insisted Martin sign up for after school activities as well. Inter-mural football for his physical health, though he seemed to dislike the activity. He had some inclination to send him to music lessons as well once he’d decided what instrument he’d like him to play and found a suitable tutor. He was leaning toward piano, but all the best piano instructors in London were already booked full and it was difficult to arrange enough accidents to eliminate the current waiting lists. It wasn’t the highest concern, but James did believe if Martin was to succeed in his new life then a well-rounded education was paramount. If he was to reflect well on James, he needed to be intelligent and talented in all aspects. Surely that would make him the envy of his peers and open connections!             He really had underestimated the effects of the Lonely.             “What is this?” asked James coldly as Miss Esposito ushered Martin into his office at the Magnus Institute. This was part of the routine, the boy being picked up by James’s secretary after school and left to do his school work in the corner of James’s office quietly until the work day was over. The system was so reliable that James had stopped bothering to supervise it after the first few days.             That day he had clearly missed something important as it was impossible to miss the growing bruise under Martin’s eye. He stood from his desk and circled it, reaching for the boy’s face and grabbing it as he tried to turn away.             “I’m not sure Mr. Wright, Martin had it when I picked him up but he hasn’t said a word. I asked him over and over but he just said it was fine. I think-”             “Thank you Miss Esposito, I’ll take it from here,” James shooed the overly-concerned woman out of the room before pressing two fingers directly into the bruise. The memory of the event flared bright and painfully across the boy’s mind as a cry erupted from his throat.             He had been outside the school waiting to be picked up with the other boys from his class. One, a weasel-faced son of a bank’s junior partner, had been shoving him all week, believing a ‘charity kid’ shouldn’t be at this school. Martin had turned around and told him very calmly that if he had any choice in it he wouldn’t be going there at all.             Apparently that had incensed the weasel and his rat-like friends that had been hanging back. They had rushed Martin and gotten in one good punch to his face before his ward had struggled free and run to the waiting parents with the hounds of hell on his heels. They hadn’t pursued him into view.             The vision faded into white fog as James drew his fingers away and his eyes narrowed, though he wasn’t glaring at Martin. He was Knowing the names of the boys, their parents’ names, everything they feared.             “Leave them alone, they’re just little kids,” Martin mumbled, as though he knew anything about it. He rubbed the side of his face as he looked at the floor. Of course. Even with the new clothes, the good grades, the neat haircut, the brats at that school had sniffed out his lack of breeding in an instant and made him a target.             “So are you,” James said with a scoff. “At the very least, I will be speaking with the school about the lack of teachers present while waiting at the school gates. You’re lucky someone in an older grade hadn’t decided to take a crack at you.”             The noncommittal shrug did nothing to assuage James.             “You should take this seriously, if you don’t get ahead of bullies early they won’t let up. Ignoring the problem never helps,” James frowned faintly. “I ought to sign you up for boxing. That would probably be better for you than team sports. I assume the Lonely is why you’ve yet to make any friends.”             Martin snorted, and James left aside learning the tax evasion history of the weasel boy’s family to focus back on him.             “You disagree?”             Martin sobered quickly, but shrugged. “I’m a poor kid at a rich school, and my ‘guardian’ runs an academic institute that is considered full of kooks and weirdos. I don’t think anything is going to make me popular, even if I wanted to make friends.”             James harrumphed. “Have you been trying?”             “I don’t want to make friends at school. I don’t… I can’t relate to them,” Martin said in a voice too flat, his eyes dull behind the bruising. “Maybe it’s the Lonely like you said, but I don’t. Are you going to force me to do that, too?”             “…no,” James said after a pause. “Given your deep connection to the Lonely, I suppose weakening that would only leave you more vulnerable.”             “Great,” Martin said, his tiny hands moving to take off his backpack – a new one far better sized to him – and pulled out a colourful math workbook and his pencil case. “In that case, I’m going to get started on my homework. Should only take a few minutes. I’ll go- mm – may I go to the library to read, after?”             James had had to train the boy into asking permission rather than simply telling James where he planned to go next. If only the training to make the boy address him as his father was going as well. 
            “May I, what?”

“May I, sir.”

“Wrong.”

“May I,

daddy dearest?

”

Then the boy folded his arms and stood in stoney silence after that clearly sarcastic response. Well, it wasn’t the worst response but it did demand some pushback. Usually James granted permission for the institute library, but his eyes lingered on the bruising. 
             “Let me clean that up first,” James said firmly, “In the toilet.”             Martin made a face. “I’m perfectly capable.”             “Humour me,” James intoned, grabbing the boy by the upper arm and taking him to his en-suite. Martin fell silent as James cleaned the area with soap and water before drying it thoroughly and getting his stash of concealer that he used on his own dark circles on nights he had perhaps stayed at work too late. It had been less often since he’d taken in the boy so as to keep with his routine, but it seemed it would come in handy here. The boy was a bit fairer skinned than he was, and his freckles were difficult to work around on their own without the boy scrunching his cheeks in irritation.             “Is that make up? What, are you scared someone will think you beat me?” Martin sneered and James took a moment to restrain the urge to hit Martin himself. He was doing quite well with the precocious child, he thought, for having barely interacted with any for the last century or so.             “Not at all, the bruise is far too small to have been my hand,” he said finally as he thumbed smooth the cream and turned the boy’s head left and right. “There’s some discolouration, but it’s not as noticeable. You may go to the library.”             “Thank you,” Martin said robotically, neglecting James’s title as he gathered his books into his bag and slung it over his shoulder again. He’d left before James could recall he’d asked to go after finishing his work, but a quick check on the library a few minutes later showed Martin sitting at a table doing his work there, looked on fondly by the elderly librarian Mrs. Price. Well, James supposed that was fine as he settled back at his own desk.             He did feel a tug of wrongness, though, each time he glanced at the corner and remembered Martin wasn’t there.
*
             James Knew the contents of several parenting books, and he thought he had an idea where he was going wrong now. Fulfilling basic needs and keeping to a consistent routine were agreed as being good starting points, but children needed to bond with their guardians to feel fulfilled and safe.             Not that James was used to making others feel safe, it certainly wasn’t his usual goal. However, in the small amount of time he’d spent around the boy he had noticed he had a great amount of potential. He’d paid more attention to the boy compared with his peers and not only was he clearly more intelligent than them, he also seemed to have maturity beyond his years that went hand in hand with his advanced affinity for the fears.              It was entirely possible that he would be a powerful ally when he was an adult, which would be ideal to secure with a strong family tie. But if James failed to create a bond between himself and the child then he could make an equally powerful enemy.             Well, no, not an enemy. If things were becoming that dire, James would find a way to dispose of him before he could find a way around James’s verbal contract and threats against his mother, Web be damned. But it would be a waste if things went that way. He would need to start forming a positive bond as soon as possible.             Of course, he was starting off on the back foot. The boy had already hated him before they had formally met for some godforsaken reason, and traumatically threatening him with a knife and taking him from his mother certainly hadn’t endeared himself to the boy. Still, he had all the power and years’ worth of time to fix this.             Luckily, James had cleverly identified the boy’s burgeoning identity as a future gay man (surely no straight child had any sense of colour coordination) and so he had the perfect means to bond.             “I don’t like live theatre,” Martin grumbled as James straightened the tiny tie on the tiny suit he had bought him. He didn’t buy box seats to look like the slovenly masses after all.             “Nonsense, as if your parents ever had the money to take you before,” James clicked his tongue as he got out of the car and strode around to get the grumpy child out of the passenger seat. “Everyone likes Shakespeare. It’s culture.”             “It’s boring,” Martin rolled his eyes as his hand was taken and James tugged him toward the throng outside the ornate London Coliseum. “Only you would think Macbeth was appropriate for a grade schooler.”             “Ah ah, you aren’t to say that word in the theatre. Bad luck, you know,” James smirked down at the child, only to receive another eye roll. “Oh I suppose if you want to curse the actors, feel free.”             The boy didn’t speak again until after their tickets were checked and they were led to their box. They soon were settled with a glass of wine for James and a sparkling juice for the boy.             “It’s not really cursed, is it? That’s a myth,” he squeaked, and James raised an eyebrow. So the boy already knew about the Scottish Play then? Clearly James wasn’t so off with his decision to bring the boy here if his own parents or school had already exposed him to it.             “Is it?” James couldn’t help returning the question, and Martin only gave him a scathing look before focusing on the elegantly decorated theatre around them with at least some suitable interest. At least the hopeless child had a healthy interest in interior design. “Don’t pout. Just give it a chance, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”             Martin gave him the most skeptical look he had ever seen on anyone under the age of twelve before the lights began to dim and the show began.
*
             “So what did you think?” James asked the boy as he helped him back into his suit jacket that had been shed partway through the production.
             Martin groaned, rubbed his face, and admitted: “It was better than I thought it would be.”

“Oh?” prodded James, feeling a little rush of elation. He knew it.

“I mean, I didn’t understand all the dialog, but it was easy enough to follow. The woman who played Lady Macbeth was really good,” Martin shrugged and fiddled with his fingers. “It sort of dragged on at the end, though. And the prophecy of ‘no man by woman born’ thing was confusing.”

James nodded along, seeing an opportunity to shape the young mind before him. “I always liked Lady Macbeth. A woman of ambition. A bit sloppy, perhaps, but pushing her husband to greatness is quite an admirable trait in a woman.”

Martin frowned. “I think if Lady Macbeth wanted to be queen so bad she should have just taken it for herself, then. No need to drag her husband into it when he didn’t want to.”

“Well she hardly had a choice, he was the one the prophecy was about. She had no guarantee of queendom without him,” James pointed out as they joined the queue of box patrons filing down to the lounge.

“I think if you want to be a good partner for someone, you need to pay attention to what

they

want. If Lady Macbeth was trying to be a good wife, she would have seen that Macbeth didn’t really want to be a king,” Martin insisted, and James made a disapproving sound.

“Of course Macbeth wanted to be king! If he really hadn’t wanted it he would have fought the very idea of the prophecy. No, he was merely frightened of the idea and his wife encouraged him to leave his fear aside and seize his destiny.”

“And look how that turned out,” Martin sniffed.

"Now see here-” James paused and shook his head, reminding himself this was a young child he was talking to. A quick check of the minds around them showed some onlookers doing double takes at the oddly mature conversation between the two of them. He needed to get a handle on this. He reached down to take Martin’s hand, ignoring the grunt of frustration and furious tugging this earned. “There’s too many people here, it won’t help to get separated.”

“Fine, whatever,” Martin grumbled as James led him toward the edge of the crowd.

*
             Given the boy’s demonstrated high intelligence, it hadn’t exactly come as a surprise when the school called him three months into term to recommend he be skipped ahead to second year as he had ‘the highest scores ever seen in his age group’. James wouldn’t be surprised if he was skipped again before the end of the year, but had put forward his agreement. He was already considering getting him private tutors, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get too far ahead of himself. It wasn’t as though he could employ a child in the institute, and he wouldn’t want the boy left idling for years if he finished his studies too quickly.             Still, now that it had become clear that Martin would be a credit to him (occasional rebellion aside, he couldn’t wait for him to outgrow those jelly sandals), James was eager to show him off to those outside of the Institute. The upcoming holiday donor event would be the perfect opportunity.             Martin stood next to James in a tiny tuxedo, stone faced and clearly wishing he was anywhere else.             “Aw, he glares just like his father!” came the booming voice of Simon Fairchild, followed by the sharp knock of his decorative cane slamming against the floor too close to James’s foot and making Martin jump badly. Simon burst into cackles before holding out a hand to shake James’s. “So this is the new apprentice you’ve taken in, hm? Well let’s have a look at him. This is unusual for you!”             Martin bit back most of his reaction as Simon peered down at him. Simon wasn’t a tall man, but he didn’t stop him from looming over the boy. To his ward’s credit though, he didn’t cower at all even as James Knew Simon was making the boy feel like he was shrinking in his shoes. In fact, as James watched he could see fog curling around his feet and dusting over Simon’s, leading the old Vast Avatar to shiver. Though that was more from surprise and delight than anything approaching fear.             “Ooh, a feisty one! And how old are you, Martin?” Simon asked gleefully.             “Eight,” Martin replied stoically. James’s brow furrowed.             “You’re most certainly not. You’re only…” James paused and frowned sharply as the knowledge settled into his head. “…your birthday was a month ago. Why on earth didn’t you say anything?!”             Martin shrugged, eyes still frustratingly dull. “Didn’t think you’d care.”             “Oops, domestic trouble. You know kids these days, always keeping secrets,” Simon’s eyes twinkled and James grunted, angry at the insinuation that anyone could keep secrets from him under his own roof. “I will admit, this is an odd case! Taking in an avatar from a different fear is very unusual. Doesn’t usually work out well! You remember the Montague girl of course?”             “This is not like that,” James said with certainty. For one thing, he was actually active in Martin’s rearing and wasn’t letting him run wild in a house full of ragamuffins. “I consider him an interesting experiment. Can an avatar of one fear be raised to serve another?”
             “Ooh, now that does sound interesting. Reminds me of my own experiments with- Oh, I’ll get back to you, I see Maxwell just arrived and I have some cosmic business to discuss with him. Oh Maxwell!”
             Simon danced off and James took the opportunity to lean down next to his adopted son and pinch his ear so he winced. “It seems we’ll have to throw a little birthday celebration.”             “We really don’t,” the boy hissed, twisting from James’s hold.             “Nonsense, all little boys want a birthday party.”             “I don’t,” Martin said stubbornly.             “Well you don’t get a choice,” James leered.             “When do I?” Martin retorted, huffing and averting his eyes. James frowned again and was about to reprimand him when a clatter of the double doors and a few words of greeting summoned his attention to the entry. A tall, broad shouldered man with dark blond hair, pale blue eyes and a sea captain’s hat was striding in and very openly pulling out and lighting a fat cigar.             “Urgh, Peter, put that horrid thing out,” James grimaced. When one was trying to stretch out a body’s longevity, it wouldn't do to risk inhaling second hand smoke. Lukas rolled his eyes.             “Oh piss off, Wright. You’re lucky the family sent anyone to this miserable little holiday party. I bet you aren’t even serving caviar.”             “Mm, well if the Lukas family cares to increase their donation I’m sure I can include it in next year’s buffet,” James said with a very forced smile. “I’d rather you didn’t smoke around my son, thank you.”             Martin immediately stiffened beside him, as he always did when James called him that. He would get used to it eventually he was sure, but it was irritating that he was still so visibly repelled by the idea.             “It’s not my fault you brought a toddler to a Christmas party,” Peter jeered.             “It’s my event,” James ground out.             “For my family.”             “For my donors, which do include your family,” James allowed, “Given that my son will likely be dealing with them directly one day, it seemed prudent to introduce you early.”             Peter scoffed, but finally looked down to lock eyes on Martin, and for the first time James wondered if it had perhaps been a mistake to bring the boy out so soon. The way those cold Lukas eyes lingered on Martin’s dull ones, on the wisps of fog still curling around his feet, it felt… covetous.             “Hm. Your son, you say? Sure he’s not one of ours, Wright?” Peter asked, and to James’s surprise the boy actually took an automatic half step behind James’s leg. Seeking protection?             “Quite sure,” James said firmly, his smile returning to cordial politeness. “If you insist on smoking, I recommend doing so at the open bar.”             “Open bar, huh? At least you do something right around here,” Peter laughed, smoke billowing vilely from his mouth as he turned and strode away without a backwards glance. With any luck, he would forget Martin entirely.             And so it went for most of the night, introducing Martin to one donor after another. Most saw fit tease the boy a little, to scare out wisps of power and measure the worth of the young man James had been casually bragging about for weeks.             “I hope you’re remembering all these names and faces,” James asked suddenly as they moved on from the last pair.             “Why should I?” Martin asked, and James felt a light tingle. Apparently it had been the boy’s turn. It was interesting how quickly he lost track of that.             “You’ll likely be expected to host events like this one day, and the host must know everyone,” James easily explained. Martin did not seem mollified by this.             “I’m not going to do that.”             James sighed. “Yes, you will.”             “I’m not going to do any of this,” Martin insisted. The bags under his eyes told James to suspect this was merely grumpiness brought on by the unusually late night, but it didn’t stop his exasperation.             “Why not?” James asked, “What harm would it do to host a simple party?”             “I don’t want to be a part of your world!” Martin snapped, luckily keeping his hysterical voice down to an angry hiss though he gestured widely to the ignorant crowd around them with his pudgy little arms. “I know what these people are! They’re all monsters! They’re all talked about in statements from the ar- from your bedtime stories.”             “Ah, you picked up on that,” James nodded. He expected as much, though he hadn’t quite anticipated this much venom over it.             “Well I don’t want to be one of them,” Martin said with a conviction that James didn’t care for.             “You don’t get a choice in that, I’m afraid,” James informed him, “You’re already well on your way to becoming. Any of the supposed ‘monsters’ here can tell that much. If they couldn’t they would have fallen upon you in a feeding frenzy. Is it wrong to be a wolf among wolves? You already admitted that you, too, are a monster.”             Martin went quiet for a moment, mulling this over before he said, “I might be a monster, but I don’t need to be one like you.”             Truly this child was infuriating. Well, James would just have to up his game.
*
             Martin had insisted James was too late, and that he didn’t want anything for his birthday. However, if there was one thing James had learned about the boy was that he was an excellent liar. Given the context and what he knew about little boys, the very idea that he didn't care about his birthday sounded like the most obvious lie in the world. He wouldn’t believe it for an instant.             James knew Martin would be confused when Miss Esposito took him directly home instead of to the Institute as usual. This culminated into a look of sheer shock when he entered the dining room to find a happy birthday banner and a fancy German chocolate cake waiting for him alongside a modest pile of presents. Among those were a book of poetry he had seen the boy linger over the last time they had been at the shops, and a scarf of dark green.             Martin had picked lightly at the cake, but had laughed a little at the scarf, pointing out it would match his jelly sandals. When he’d opened the poetry book he had looked dangerously close to being touched, his hand running over the hardcover.             Then he opened the birthday card congratulating him for the day and announcing, because of Martin’s good behavior, Martin’s mother would be released from prison and allowed to return to her home that afternoon. James might have arranged this at any time, but it seemed a good gesture to mark this special occasion.              When Martin burst into tears, James was quick to wrap the boy in his arms and comfort him. This was the sort of memory that binds children to their parents, surely. He revelled in the way the boy automatically clutched at him and buried his face in his shirt. James’s grin was as blinding as it was menacing.             “Not such a bad monster now, am I?” asked James.             “Thank you,” said the boy, quietly, still avoiding addressing James by any fatherly moniker but not moving back as James had expected. Awkwardly, James patted the boy’s head and wondered if he should be concerned by whatever was stirring in his chest.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

7

It was becoming evident that rather than simply holding Martin against his will and raising him for some mystery purpose with no regards to how he felt, James Wright had decided he wanted Martin to

like

him. He wasn’t willing to take suggestions on how to achieve this, but he was very clearly trying.

Martin wasn’t going to let it work, of course, but it was unsettling.
             Being asked about his day was one thing. The little gifts, the ‘bonding activities’, were worse, especially the few times he’d managed to get Martin something he actually liked and he was unable to hide his pleasure. Wright would get unbearably smug every time. 
             Frustratingly, Martin losing his composure from Wright

allowing

his mother to be released from prison had made the man insufferable. He would bring up his supposed generosity at every opportunity as if he were preening over Martin enjoying a toy he’d bought him. He really needed to start thinking of ways to get rid of Wright once and for all. The man clearly owned a gun by the time he had shot Gertrude. Did he have one now? Could Martin find it?
             Martin had been mulling that over as he left school one day in mid-January, a few stray flurries of snow spiraling from the sky and clinging to his eyelashes as he trudged to the gate where Miss Esposito would meet him. He hadn’t had trouble with child bullies since being moved ahead to the third grade in the winter semester. He had a feeling Wright had met with his new teacher, because he had been put at the front of the room and the one spitball that landed on the back of his head was followed swiftly by a protesting boy being dragged to the principal’s office. 
            The gate was now patrolled by two teachers at all times as well. Martin wondered vaguely if the other students suspected Martin was the reason for the heightened security. He couldn’t know for sure, he neither spoke to nor paid attention to the children around him. It felt wrong pretending to be a kid around other kids, like being some creepy guy in a kid’s chatroom online. And these kids haven’t even had to worry about internet safety yet, though he supposed they would in a couple of years.
             Martin had just gotten in view of the gate when a loud shriek ripped through the air and he startled badly. A woman in a long brown coat was suddenly pushing through the gate, knocking uniformed boys aside as she hurled her way onto school grounds. One of the teachers on duty ran after her, grabbing at her elbow only for the woman to jerk it from her grasp and elbow her in the side before dashing forward again.             Martin paled. He knew that move, though it was a lot stronger than the elbowing she would give the nurses many years from now. “Mum?!”             “Martin!” His mother’s voice rasped hard, like it did after a particularly fierce coughing fit, and Martin looked on in dawning horror of her state as she pushed her way toward him. She was clutching a brown paper bag in a white knuckled grip, her fingers cracked to match her chapped lips, accented by deeply lined, wild eyes. Martin recognised the brown coat she wore, though he recalled it in a far more moth-eaten and worn state than this. The rumple of it still made it look shabby on her shoulders.             The worst was her hair, hung loose in greasy ringlets instead of the firmly knotted bun he had grown used to in his adulthood. She used to say that women who left their hair loose like that were just asking for someone to grab it and drag them around. She did her knot every morning he could remember in the original timeline. Though she hadn’t, he’d noted, during the few days he’d seen her recently after his father’s departure.             She crouched in front of him and Martin automatically grabbed her forearms to steady her, worried about her knees that hadn’t yet started to give out on her. She didn’t scold him though, only grabbed his own upper arms in return as she searched his face. He didn’t know if she found what she was looking for. She didn’t move to embrace him further at any rate.             “I brought you a birthday present,” she said the words, but Martin wasn’t sure he’d heard them right. It sounded bizarre to him, like his mother was reciting a script for a character in a play. It certainly wasn’t anything he’d ever heard from her before.             “It’s not my birthday,” was all he could think to say, aware of the ring of staring children and uncertain teachers around them but unable to register why they would be staring.             The annoyed scowl on his mother’s face was a lot more familiar. “I know that! I was in jail, you ungrateful… here!”             The brown paper bag was pushed into Martin’s hands. Martin numbly looked down at the bag and then back at his mum.             “Well, open it! Go on!” her voice was shrill, hurried, as though she was doing something illegal. Was she? Wright never bothered to elaborate on the exact terms of her release. Still, he couldn’t see the harm in humoring her. He opened the bag and peered inside, seeing soft grey and black fabric.             “A badger,” Martin said softly, taking out a small stuffed toy from the bag. It was wholly fabric without any faux fur, but it felt warm and comforting in his hands. “I love badgers. You remembered.”             “Of course, I’m your mother, aren’t I?” his mother blew out a breath, but seemed satisfied enough when he held the toy to his chest. “Right, happy birthday. Now come on, I-I’m going to take you for ice cream.”             Martin paused and cocked his head to one side as it occurred to him that his mother was attempting to kidnap him. That was so unexpected he wasn’t sure how to react so instead he just wondered if he should let her or not. If he did, where did his mother even intend to take him? Did she even figure things out that far? He’d already seen the adoption papers, she had no legal rights to him now nor did she have money to fight for them.             He shook his head, tears of shame already springing to his eyes. “I can’t, mum. I’m sorry, you should go.”             His mother’s face pinched and Martin felt her tug him closer by the arms. He couldn’t quite bring himself to pull back, not just yet, though tears slid down his face silently. “It’s okay, your… guardian said I could take you out for the day.”             “He wouldn’t do that,” Martin said flatly, shaking his head again and his mother’s grip turned painful.             “You don’t know shit! You’ll listen to me and come home right now!”             “I c-can’t!” Martin’s voice broke, then, just in time for a whistle to be blown and then bigger pairs of hands closed on his mother’s arms, pulling her back and away from him as she swore and spit. Martin drew a big breath as another cop came up next to him and set a hand on his shoulder. “Mum, I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”             “That’s my SON!” Martin’s mother shrieked and kicked as she was put in handcuffs and pushed out of the school yard. “That’s my son, do you hear me?! That monster kidnapped him! I’ll get him back, I swear I will!”             Martin didn’t know what to do. He was in the body of an eight year old. Nothing he could say would help here, no one would listen to a kid begging the police not to take his mum right back to jail. So he watched helplessly, clutching the badger as his mother was carted off.             “Don’t worry, son,” said the cop at his side, “Your guardian called us, he’ll be along to pick you up shortly.”             Martin had the feeling he should be very worried about that.
*
             James had taken the badger. (Martin wasn’t sure when he’d become James in his thoughts. Maybe ‘Wright’ felt too painful when he had to write the name on his own school work.) Martin had protested, screamed really. He wasn’t sure why, maybe it was just having tangible proof that in some universe his mother had cared enough to get him something frivolous he would like. But when James had announced that Martin didn’t need ‘reminders of that harpy’ and took the thing away, it had filled Martin with more anger and spite toward the man than he’d had since he’d first tried to kill him. Something in Martin snapped.             He’d tried his damnedest to jump James, then. Kicking, punching, biting his hands when he was peeled off his legs and hollering when he was thrown into the guest room with the door slammed and locked behind him.             “You can stay in there until you get hold of yourself!” James snapped. “Your mother’s been taken back into custody for breaking her restraining order, and I want you to think very carefully over how long you’d like her to stay in there!”             “You’re AWFUL!” Martin yelled, pounding on the door with his useless, tiny balled fists. “YOU should be in jail, not her! Not- you can’t just- she just gave me a toy! That’s nothing! I didn’t disobey or anything!”             “You refused to give me the doll, and threw a fit when I took it!”             “It was MINE!”             “You’re a child, you don’t own anything!” James growled. “I own you, and have the paperwork to prove it!”             “F-fine,” Martin choked. “Fine, take it, who cares? You’ve taken everything else! Just… can I write to her? Just- not see her, just write to her? So she’ll know I’m okay and then-”             “You, my dear boy, are in no position to be asking for anything,” James’s voice was cold. “Especially after biting me. Feral dogs do not get to bargain.”             That hurt. Martin felt a twist of shame that bubbled up from another life, another childhood where he was yet again the poor kid at admittedly a much less fancy school and when the words of other children meant a lot more. Martin fought back tears but failed miserably, and why should he fight them? Why not give in to misery? What dignity did he have left to defend?             He wept. He sobbed as he listened to James sigh irritably and walk away, leaving Martin trapped in the room. He cried and cried until there were no tears left. Then he crawled into bed, pulled the covers over his head, and shut his eyes tight.             The rush of cold air and silence beside his bed led to him peeking to find a tray with a simple dinner left on the side table.             “Not hungry,” Martin whispered over his growling stomach, and pulled up the blankets again.
*
             Martin couldn’t say he consciously decided to try a hunger strike, or a strike of… inactivity? Logically, he knew he was simply too depressed to bring himself to do anything, no matter how much James yelled and pinched and threatened him and his mother. He couldn’t find the will, and really, did that matter? He’d clearly failed in his mission, he was utterly powerless, so maybe it would be better if James lost his temper and let him starve. If he were dead, surely he’d leave his mother alone then. He’d gain no benefit from her then.             Still, under the fog of apathy, Martin did gain a little bitter satisfaction watching James get more and more frustrated with him.             “What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” James finally asked one day in his office, Martin sitting listless in the chair he’d normally do his homework in. He didn’t care how easy a sheet of multiplication tables would be to finish. He had no desire to even try them. Apparently the school had called James that day to talk about Martin’s lack of energy and the fact he had entirely stopped even pretending to pay attention in his classes. “I’d take away your privileges, but you never asked for anything to start with! I can’t deny you desserts if you won’t eat unless forced. I threw out those awful sandals and you barely blinked! Your mother is still rotting in a cell with three other women who openly hate her, which I showed you, and still you persist on being difficult!”             Martin let out as long of a breath as his small lungs would allow. He rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t felt this exhausted since he and Jon had arrived at Salesa’s. “Give me a privilege then. Let me talk to her on the phone. Just talk. You can be in the room, on the line even. You can read any letters we send each other, and if I act up you can threaten to end communication. Easy solution. Just let me stay in contact with her.”             It was logical. In his previous life, Martin would have thought Elias could have gone for this method. Maybe it was because Martin was the one to suggest it, maybe he was just on a power trip, but James didn’t look even slightly inclined to give in to him.             “This is absurd,” James said instead. “We both know you hate her. Or, well, you can’t tell me you genuinely enjoy being around that woman. You want to talk to her out of what? Spite for me? Or pity? Pity for a woman who would hate you if no one had bothered to take you from her? I’m not going to nurture delusion and allow her influence!”             Huh, so it was some sort of need to have total control of Martin’s ‘upbringing’. Didn’t want to share. What an overgrown brat. Still, all Martin could do was keep trying to reason with him and hope he would see it. It already felt futile to try but why not be a little honest, just for variety?             “No, it’s not pity exactly,” said Martin. He sighed again and went on as James raised an eyebrow. “My mum she- she never wanted to talk to me. Now she does. I know if I was with her she wouldn’t want that but I don’t want her to feel what I felt. Trying to contact someone who won’t answer.”             Silence stretched between them before James sighed, rubbed his forehead and then leaned across his desk to rest his chin on his steepled fingers. “Compassion, then. Even worse. No. Do your homework.”             Martin couldn’t say he expected any different so he turned away from him, making no move to fetch his book bag. He only shut his eyes when he heard James’s chair rolling away from his desk and the tap of polished shoes making their way toward him. Even his yelp was muted when he was abruptly grabbed by the hair, head wrenched backward.             “That’s enough!” James sounded harsh, but distant to Martin. After Jon, he’d nearly forgotten how kind the Lonely could seem, keeping things like this soft. Hiding the sharp edges of reality. “This feeble protest is going to end. By law, I am your father and you are meant to obey me! If you won’t respond to any of these ‘modern’ punishments, we’ll use the methods we had when I was a boy. They worked fine on me.”             If he’d felt any less bleak, he might have chanced a morose laugh at that. As it was, he couldn’t bring himself to react at all as he was heaved from his seat and dragged back to James’s own chair. James flung himself heavily into it and dragged Martin up and over his knee, face down. That stirred Martin momentarily from his stupor, blinking stupidly as he tried to work out what was happening now.             It wasn’t until his trousers and pants were being yanked down that he gasped and began to struggle. “STOP! What are you doing?! Don’t!”             “You brought this on yourself,” was the only explanation he got before the first open handed blow landed hard on his backside. The sound was more startling than the pain at first, but as blows continued to land he began to choke as the pain only built on itself.             “Stop! It hurts!” Martin cried. Surely this was too much, even for a spanking? This didn’t feel like correction, it felt like James had decided to take all his frustration out on Martin’s tiny fragile body and as the pain began to sharpen and travel up the base of his spine he began to get frightened of something he hadn’t even thought to be frightened of.             James didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know how to raise a child, how to deal with one reasonably. Even a child with the brain of an adult was apparently a complete mystery to him, and that meant if he decided to go too hard…             “STOP, PLEASE!” Martin shrieked, tears spilling automatically down his face. “TOO HARD! IT HURTS!”             A pause. His hair was grabbed and his head dragged back until he was making eye contact, eyes wide and probably red and puffy. James’s expression was wild at first, then became ever so slightly pinched. He grit his teeth and let him go, half pushing him out of his lap and forcing him to stand, pulling his pants back up in the process.             Martin was left heaving for breath, leaning heavily against the wooden desk behind him on his hands so as to avoid touching his arse to anything. He doubted he would be able to sit without lancing pain anytime soon. James was still sitting, looking at him. His face was now carefully blank, while Martin’s mind felt clear of fog but full of live wires.             ‘I should show my teachers at school the bruising. It’ll be obvious what it is. Everyone would know, they couldn’t leave me with him then.’ Martin knew James could hear the thought before it had finished by the look on his face, and he braced himself as cold eyes narrowed at him.             “And then what?” James asked, deadly soft. “They won’t return you to your mother, even if they believe I did it. You’ll go into the foster system. Would that really be better? There’s plenty of monsters from your bedtime stories that love welcoming foster children into their homes. Do you want to know the sorts of horrors that could happen to you in their clutches?”             Martin cracked then, face scrunching up as he began to weep again uncontrollably.             “I’m sorry!” Martin gasped, shaking badly. “I’ll do what you say. I w-won’t ask for my mother anymore just… just stop.”             James’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then smirked and ruffled Martin’s hair. He flinched at the touch, and James only doubled down by running his hand down to cup the side of his head. His hands were so big, and Martin wondered if he was imagining crushing his head like a grape between them.             “Good boy,” James said finally, and Martin shivered. “Now, go sit in the corner and do your homework, no slacking.”             Martin stiffened. “But-”             “If it hurts to sit, that’s simply the consequence of your own actions. It will help the lesson sink in,” James’s voice dropped, “Deeply, one should think.”             Martin took another few gulping breaths before attempting to make his way to the corner, hobbling very badly as he did so.             “You’d better learn to hide that,” James said, voice horribly reasonable as he returned to his paperwork. "If your teachers see you and ask after your health… well, you know.”             Martin took another gulping breath, straightened up, and through the blinding pain he took some steps that were nearly normal if someone wasn’t looking too closely. 
             ‘

The Lonely would help with that

,’ Martin thought idly as he reached the chair and sank into it, wincing badly as he did. Already his thoughts were growing murky, distancing him from everything that was hurting him. He sat straighter, took out his homework, and began to fill out numbers mechanically.
             “Nearly there, keep practicing,” James said in mock encouragement. Martin could hear a fog horn calling in the distance.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

8

James had felt pride when Martin finally stopped his petty protest and started doing his homework again. He was eating without threats and going to school without a fight, finally.
             Of course, he hadn’t entirely brightened up just yet. His mother’s unexpected attempt at contact obviously set them back a bit. Maybe more than James would have expected. But he’d removed the evidence and smacked the child until he’d stopped moping to the point of idiocy. Now things could only improve with time. Surely his efforts to bond with the boy prior to his disciplining would have softened him enough to understand the necessity of the action. Children were easy to manipulate this way, or at least James always thought they were.             The boy had lied smoothly at school, claiming he had a bad fall to explain the hobbling he hadn’t managed to entirely mask. Perhaps James had gone a little harder than the situation warranted, but at least his point had been made. He was still more subdued, which was saying something considering he hadn’t been an especially rambunctious child before.
            James hadn’t noticed how quiet the boy had become until he had taken him to another theatre production as a reward for his return to good behavior. Martin had watched it dull-eyed and when James commented on the production after the boy had only nodded and made affirming noises. A stark contrast to how brightly and intelligently he’d spoken of Macbeth.
             James told himself that was fine. As they went home in a silent car after all his attempts at conversation were given brief, half-hearted responses, it seemed James had gotten what he wanted. A meek, obedient child wouldbe easy enough to maneuver into whatever position he needed him in.             As he watched the wisps of fog curling around the boy’s head from the corner of his eye, though, he remembered the fire and snide remarks that had drawn his attention to the boy in the first place. This could be an entirely different child from the one that had tried to kill him on their first meeting, but it wasn’t a child that hated him any less. 
             His grip tightened on the steering wheel as the truth settled unpleasantly into his mind. He hadn’t won the boy’s favour, he’d merely broken his will. He was no closer to calling him father without prompting. That hadn’t quite been the end he’d wanted from this.
             After reading the silent boy a statement about the Lukases before bed he’d wondered if perhaps it had been a bad choice, to immerse the boy in the Lonely that followed him so closely.             His wonderings were confirmed when James awoke in the middle of the night to find his home entirely filled with rolling clouds of fog, so thick he could barely make out the digital clock at his bedside calling the hour as just after two in the morning.             “Martin? Did his powers come in or did someone- MARTIN!” James called, sitting up in his bed and peering carefully into the gloom. His voice was muffled, as was characteristic for the Lonely, but as he slid out of bed and blindly felt around himself it was clear that his bedside table, the rug, the walls were all still there, just obscured. This was not the way the Lonely normally behaved.             He didn’t seem to be inside the Lonely, at least not all the way. He couldn’t See anything inside his home, but when he expanded his view to the outside of his abode everything seemed normal enough in Kensington. It was as though the Lonely were simply leaking into this plane somehow, likely through its conduit though James would need to find Martin to confirm that.             He edged his way down the hall, not necessarily expecting the boy to be in his room and not in the basement having drawn a ritual circle in blood to usher in his own Lonely apocalypse. The room itself was inscrutable, but when he reached the bed and felt around it there was a distinctly child-shaped lump under the covers.             “Martin?” James asked to no response. Asleep, then? “Having a nightmare, I take it. Hm.”             He felt the boy’s face and paused at how icy cold it was. He could feel the pulse softly thrumming in his neck, but his skin was freezing. With a bad feeling rising in his chest, James began to shake the boy’s shoulder, calling his name as loudly as he could in the dampening fog.             Just as he began tugging down the covers, there was a gasp and a gurgle from the boy and James abandoned the blanket to cup the boy’s face, squinting desperately to try to see it and failing. The boy continued to make noises like he was underwater.             “Martin, you need to control yourself!” James said in a rush, rubbing the boy’s cheeks to try to get some feeling into them.              “H-huh?” the voice was soft, weak, and came through chattering teeth. “I-I don’t… who… Jonah?”             “Father, or Dad if you prefer,” James corrected automatically through gritted teeth, pulling the blankets back up around the boy. “You’re freezing. Shit.”             Without a thought he scooped the boy up in the bundled blankets and into his lap, rubbing any exposed skin he could reach. This couldn’t be good. If the boy had simply been lost in the Lonely he could have retrieved him, but this wasn’t being lost. This was like an illness, perhaps. Or if not that then…             James let out a sharp breath as it hit him. “Damn it! How long have you needed to feed?”             “Hm?” Martin’s head was lolling backwards and James moved to support it, slapping at his cheek as hard as he dared. “…ow.”             “Don’t you dare fall asleep! The Lonely is feeding on you. How long have you needed victims and didn’t tell me?! Surely someone at that damned school of yours could have-”             “Dunno,” Martin whined, and James wondered at how he could hear him at all with how small that voice was. James let out a frustrated growl.             “Fine, we’ll discuss that later. For now, we need to get you out of this fog and get you a proper meal.”             “No…” Martin whimpered and James squeezed him tighter, imagining how satisfying it would be to squeeze the ungrateful brat until he popped.             “Martin, you will be punished if you don’t cooperate with- oh you brat!” James snapped as the fog got colder, clammier, clinging to his skin and making him shiver from the hollow it was carving beneath his ribs.             “I-I’m sorry,” Martin whimpered again, barely more than a breath. “I’m just… scared.”             James took a deep breath, shutting his eyes to look outside the fog and ground himself before re-opening them to the current crisis. If only it could be as simple for the boy. “Scared. Of course you are. This is the Lonely, but you’re not alone now, are you? Just think about me and all will be well.”             “About… you?” The boy sounded confused.              “Obviously,” James said testily, “I’m the only one you have now, aren’t I? You don’t have any friends or other family, so I’m the only option you have for an anchor.”             A soft gasp that bordered on a sob wrenched itself from the boy’s throat. A wash of freezing tears formed against James’s hand. The fog stayed opaque, but James could feel it pressing on him, thickening in his lungs. It was getting harder to breathe. Since when did the One Alone steal breath like the buried?! What was Martin doing?             James swore again, hauling Martin closer and rubbing his back as he fought to find the right things to say. The outside world was starting to fade in his mind and he felt prickles of his own fear. He couldn’t afford that.             “I’m here,” James whispered frantically into the boy’s ear. “You’re not alone, can’t you see that? Am I not always here for you, keeping you safe and provided for? There’s no need for this nonsense!”             James adjusted his hold on the boy and realised with a start that he felt noticeably lighter. That couldn’t be a good sign. This was ridiculous! He’s an agent of the Eye, he couldn’t lose his own ward to the Lonely!             “Damn it boy, what do you need?!” He demanded. If he was an archivist he could Ask, but it seemed it was Martin’s turn in their exchange because there was no power in the question. Figures, the brat always seemed stupidly incurious. “Damn it! Why can’t you just do as you’re told? You have to think about me, you don’t have anyone else!”             “I know,” Martin breathed.             “Well if you Know, then-”             “There’s no one. No one cares about me,” the boy let out a little sigh and his weight dropped again. If he couldn’t still feel the shape of him he’d wonder if he was holding a hollow doll. “Better to disappear.”             James surged to his feet, walking blindly toward the door as he held the boy in one arm with far too much ease. “I care, damn it! I don’t want you to vanish you little-”             “You don’t care,” the boy was so quiet now that James had to hold his ear near where he assumed his mouth was to hear him. “You’re using me. You’re not my dad.”             James flushed, cheeks purpling even as he felt a wave of dizziness alongside a renewed shortness of breath. “I am your father you absolute- no it- urgh FINE have it your way you…”             He steeled himself. He hated to give ground like this, but he would hate for his pet project to be devoured needlessly by the Lonely even more. Especially after introducing him at the donor party.             “Your mother, then. Think of her.”             “She hates me.” The words were practiced and automatic, and the boy was still light as straw.             “Clearly not,” James said, clipped and precise as he groped down the hallway and winced at the top of the stairs, edging down them while clutching the bannister for dear life. “She’s been hounding the police and social services for months to get you back, and then to learn where you went. I’ve screened dozens of letters she’s tried to send you, and burned them all of course.”             The boy shifted for the first time since waking, but it only felt like he was shaking his head. Urgh, could he stop being contrary for five minutes?! “She wouldn’t do that. She hates talking to me.”             “She broke into that damn school with its lax security to talk to you, didn’t she? And she gave you that toy you liked so much!”             “Why would she do that?” The question was flat, but it counted, and James felt the answer stir.             “Because, although your mother resents you for symbolizing the death of her youth and tying her to a man who continually made her life hell, she still feels responsible for you and your welfare. She knows I’m a monster and have clearly hurt you, and as your mother she cares enough that the idea of you being trapped with a dangerous man horrifies her and makes her feel like she’s failed in something fundamental. Because she’s a harpy but she’s also your mother. Because even though she hates you, a part of her still loves you even then. Perhaps that might not always be so, but for now it is.”             Martin didn’t respond to that for a while. Then: “You’re lying.”             James scoffed loudly. “I am not! You Asked me, you brat! I was incapable of lying! Think of your damn mother because you need an anchor and… an anchor. Right. Proof. You need proof.”             James diverted from his course toward the front door and turned toward the kitchen and the pantry where he’d absently thrown the stupid badger. He’d intended to get rid of it properly later, but now he supposed that was out.             It took a lot of guesswork and he knocked half a shelf of canned goods onto the floor while looking for it, but his hands finally closed around the cheap fabric and he wasted no time shoving the doll into the boy’s chest and folding his arms around it. The boy shuddered but, James thought, he felt a little heavier.             “Do you feel that?” James hissed. “That’s proof your mother wants you, isn’t it? She gave you a birthday present. She broke into your school. If you vanish forever, who will insure her welfare?”             Martin cut him off with a gasp as he suddenly clutched the toy while instantly gaining back all the weight he’d lost, making James nearly drop him in surprise. He just barely caught him in a tight grip, but still ended up sinking to his knees to stable himself as the boy burst into tears. He quickly got to work stroking his hair and back.             “Yes, that’s right, you can’t disappear on her, can you? You have to stay here to see her again.”             “G-gotta stay,” the boy squeaked, “Help m-mum.”             At last the temperature began to climb and as the fog began to dissipate enough to make out a few meters around them, James could see the flush to the boy’s still-cool cheeks. He groaned in relief as Martin sniffled and sobbed in his arms, clutching that damned badger that he definitely couldn’t justify throwing out now. He couldn’t believe he’d given in to this nonsense. He was going to spoil the child at this rate.             Well, in for a penny. He reached past Martin into the pantry again to grab a box of tea bags.             “Come now, let’s get you a herbal tea and warm you up.”             The boy drank his tea slowly, hiccoughing around a few sips. Once James could set a hand to his cheek and feel it had warmed, he led the boy back up to his room and tucked the blanket back around him. Then he paused as he watched the boy holding his badger close. Something odd prickled in his chest, annoyance perhaps?             “If… if you’re still lonely, perhaps you ought to sleep in my bed tonight,” James suggested absently. It did seem like a sensible course of action. The boy had just been attacked, he needed more than a cup of tea to ensure he’d recover.             “No thanks,” said the boy, looking vaguely nauseated as he clutched the badger closer to him. Apparently the damned badger got to go to bed with Martin but not his father.             Well, that cinched it. “No, I think it’s best you stay with me, just in case. The Lonely is dangerous after all.”             “I’ll smother you in your sleep,” he muttered, and James smirked. There was his little monster. Counter to his words, he barely fought as James lifted him from his bed and carried him to his own room, though that might be the result of sheer exhaustion.              “Just for tonight,” said James as he settled the boy into his own bed where he quickly turned away from him and curled into a fetal position.             “Good,” Martin huffed.             “Brat,” James shot back, though there wasn’t fire in it as he got under the covers and watched the boy in the darkness for a while. He knew he wasn’t asleep yet, but he was surprised when the boy spoke.             “Why didn’t you just let it take me?” Martin asked quietly, “You wouldn’t have to worry about me plotting against you if I was gone.”             James considered the boy in front of him. “…ah yes. Paying for your schooling, food and clothing is all about making sure you don’t plot against me. Honestly, Martin.”             Martin huffed, curling in on himself and the badger more and not turning to look at him. “What do you want from me, then?”             It was James’s turn, but he decided to indulge the boy. “Right now, I want you to work hard and do well in your lessons.”             “And then what? I won’t be in school forever.”             James hesitated, but decided it made sense for the boy to worry about such a thing even if it would be a ways off. “….you’ll come work at the institute, when you’re ready for it.”             Martin scoffed, finally turning over to scowl in James’s direction. Blindly, of course, as he couldn’t see in the dark as James could. It was a bit cute. “You’ve got lots of employees, you don’t need me for that.”             James huffed. “Perhaps a successor then. An heir.”             Then the boy stiffened and started sitting up, moving backwards rapidly. “You want to steal my body?! You freak- I won’t let you!”             James gaped for a moment but quickly heaved himself up to follow the child, grabbing him and dragging him back into the bed he’d almost managed to leave and dragged him into his chest to hold him down with him.             “No!” James hissed into his hair. “I didn’t mean- damn it Martin how do you even know about that?”             Martin struggled but the words were ripped from him. “You told me!”             James scowled. “I most certainly did not.”             The boy made an odd noise then and stilled in James’s grasp, softening against his torso as he tangibly relaxed. “But if you did that, that would kill me, wouldn’t it? The contract went both ways, you couldn’t do that.”             James blinked. He wasn’t sure if that were true, if it would count as a murder. The host consciousness did tend to exist for a while after transfer but then, it was only to his advantage if Martin thought he was safe.             “Well that simplifies it, doesn’t it? I’m not going to kill you, or take over your body. There’s nothing to worry about.”             Martin let out a frustrated groan as he tried to push himself backward to no avail. Children were truly weak and fragile things, weren’t they? So easy to lose. James held him tighter until the struggling ceased with another angry little huff.             “I still don’t know what you want.”             “And you don’t need to know right now,” James said reasonably, “Just concentrate on doing what you’re told. Trust that I know what’s best for you.”             Martin looked up at James like he was stupid. James did not care for that look.             “Do you doubt it?”             “I was almost swallowed by the Lonely,” Martin spat, “Whose fault was that?”             “Yours I should think, for failing to feed when you needed to,” James ground out, “And I got you out again, which I have yet to be thanked for, incidentally.”             “Got me out by reminding me of my mum, who you previously did your best to make me forget about!”             This boy was so irritating. Especially since, terribly, he had a point. Clearly James had mis-stepped somewhere regarding handling the boy’s mother. Still, he could fix this. It couldn’t be that difficult. He took a deep breath.             “Then you will have to contend with the fact that I will allow her memory in your life if I think you need her. You may keep the badger and…” he cringed, grateful the boy couldn’t see it, “I will consider allowing a monitored exchange of letters. Though you will have to remain on your best behavior to continue receiving them.”             “Really?!” The boy’s eyes went round as saucers. “You swear?”             James frowned at the excitement. “I said consider, so it’s not-”             The boy’s hands curled into James’s pajama shirt and he buried his face in James’s chest, sniffling hard and murmuring a nearly inaudible thanks as the dampness of tears began to sink through the fabric. Perhaps the boy was still too emotional from the Lonely to be having a conversation like this.             James sighed and stroked the boy’s hair again. “Just go to sleep. That’s enough emotions for one day.”             Pressed to his chest, the boy fell asleep within a few minutes and James found himself stroking his hair long after he was beyond feeling it. After some contemplation, he decided to chalk this up as a victory.             He’d faced this little trial and gotten the boy back from the Lonely. He may have to allow a little contact between the boy and his mother, but it would be entirely on his terms. A little carrot to balance the stick.             Parenting wasn’t so hard, James thought. And now because of his actions, the boy was thanking him and pressing against him for such a small allowance. Clearly keeping him deprived of what he wanted was a good way to make him properly grateful for what little he was given. If only he had some other reward for him than just his mother. He’d have to work harder to find things that Martin would enjoy. Perhaps he could search his mother’s mind again, or some former teachers and classmates from his old school for ideas. How difficult could it be?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

9

Martin wasn’t sure exactly how James had started to get alarmingly good at love bombing him, though he suspected Eye-related spying was involved somehow. One thing he was sure of was that he was absolutely not going to let it work on him.
             “Consider it a late birthday present,” said James as he handed Martin yet another book of poetry. Children’s poems, but the binding was beautiful.             “Late hm? Like all my presents this year,” Martin huffed as he took the book to his usual seat on the leather sofa and flipped through it. James scoffed and to Martin’s chagrin he sat next to him.             “That is hardly my fault when you didn’t bother to remind me.”             “You adopted me. Pretty sure my birthday would’ve been on the paperwork. Not my fault you didn’t consider it important to remember.” Martin knew he was being petty, but he was determined to make sure the man didn’t think he’d made him happy with such a small thing. He was only going to thank James for things he really needed him to keep doing, like giving him letters from his mother.             There was a moment of silence, and then Martin found himself swiftly scooped up into James’s lap, the book torn from his hands.             “Hey! Let me go- give that back!” Martin squirmed and struggled, only to be pulled back against the old man’s chest and pinned there as the book was opened in front of them.             “I think, if the book itself is too late coming, we might as well use it as bonding time. I’ll read to you.”             “I don’t want to bond with you!” Martin snapped. “OW! You can’t just pinch me whenever you- ow ow!”             “Just settle down and enjoy yourself,” James suggested and Martin folded his arms furiously as the man started to read.             In another life, Martin had often wondered what it would be like to be read to by a parent. To be sat on a lap, dozing and warm and letting the words wash over him. Perhaps, if he closed his eyes, he could pretend James was anyone else and let himself enjoy it.             When he woke up an hour later he was laid out on the sofa, a cushion under his head and a throw blanket tucked around him. His stomach churned.
*
             “You know parents who personally teach their kids piano are the worst, right?” Martin said flatly as he sat on the shiny piano bench. He’d already known James owned a grand piano which sat on display in the front room, but he didn’t think he actually knew how to play. “You’re not a teacher. I’m not going to learn anything.”             “Perhaps you could try having a little faith. I’m not like other parents,” James said casually as he stood too close behind him and took to positioning his hands on the keyboard. “Now, let’s start with learning scales. This is middle C…”             Martin burned with quiet fury upon finding James to be an oddly skilled piano teacher. He was probably using the Eye to cheat. Still, he was patient, and patted Martin on the back warmly and praised him when he played the notes correctly.             The lesson probably went on too long for an actual eight year old, but with his adult attention span Martin actually got into it. He’d never really had the opportunity to learn an instrument before, though he’d always sort of wanted to. By the end of the lesson he could play a few simple nursery rhyme tunes, and was told he could come to the piano to practice whenever he wanted. He was also told he was required to practice for at least a half hour every evening. 
             It wasn’t the worst order he had to follow.

*

“That man there, standing in the alley. He’s been on the streets for weeks now, no one to turn to. You’ll be doing him a favour to gift him to the Lonely,” James pushed Martin gently, his eyes held a faint glow in the early evening. Surely enough, in the alley near the dockyard was a man wrapped in a tarp, eyes glassy with liquor. Martin wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

“I can’t, I don’t want to hurt him,” he whimpered, but was pushed again and felt a part of him yearning, fog flickered from his feet and crept along the ground. He knew the man was lonely. He could feel it.

“The Lonely is a gentle fear,” James reminded, “And no one will miss him.”

Something within Martin growled with hunger. He was walking forward as though on strings. When he returned in tears, James picked him up and cradled him on the way back to the car, whispering praise in his ear.

*
             When James caught Martin doodling on his homework one idle day, he’d immediately signed him up for formal art lessons. Martin had been ready to paint terribly forever out of spite, but unfortunately the instructor he’d hired was a very sweet old lady and even as a kid Martin could never willingly disappoint a sweet old lady. She kept telling him his colour choices were ‘inspired’! What was he supposed to do?             So Martin learned to draw. First it was simple abstract colours, then Bob Ross style landscapes. Finally when he expressed interest in learning to draw people his teacher had cooed, called him a prodigy, and started teaching him sketches.             It took some months of work, but by the time the school year was ending he had started drawing Jon.             It had started with a face that just looked familiar. Then when he’d placed the similarity, he drew in more details. The pock-marked, dark skin. The big, heavy brown eyes.             Then as a posing exercise, he drew Jon at a desk, hunched over after working far later than he ought to be. Lying in bed curled up with his eyes open in that creepy way of his. Standing at the kitchen sink with his mouth open as though he were singing to himself while doing dishes.             Sometimes he would look at the pictures and his heart would ache. He missed Jon more than he could say. He’d been with him for such a short time, and he’d already been trapped in the past for over half a year. Longer than he and Jon had had as a couple. It was horrible to contemplate, the number of years he would have to live like this before he even would have a chance at reuniting with him.             Other times he would simply draw him over and over without thinking too hard about it. It was simple compulsion, and it comforted him to know he still remembered Jon so well.             Until James finally took notice of it when he had finished his homework early and decided to draw a bit before heading to the Institute library.             “Who is that you’re drawing?” James asked from his desk, well out of view of Martin’s paper but, well, nothing in the Institute was really out of James’s view, was it? Martin sighed and answered, hardly registering that it was forced. What did it matter if James knew?             “Jon,” said Martin.             “And who is Jon?” asked James. Martin sighed and rolled his eyes.             “Why do you care?”             “You’ve drawn about a dozen pictures of him in the last hour,” James answered smoothly, with only a hint of irritation. “Now tell me, who is Jon?”             “My boyfriend,” Martin spat out and then snapped his jaw shut. The ensuing silence was, admittedly, a bit funny.             “…what?”             Martin smirked a bit as he shaded Jon’s eyebrows and refused to elaborate.             “You’re eight. You’re far too young to have a boyfriend.” James was actually looking at him now, and his eyebrow was twitching like it normally did when Martin was really annoying him. It was satisfying when it was the result of something he couldn’t justify directly punishing him for.             “Says you,” Martin hummed, not looking up from his sketching.             “Yes, says me!” James snapped. “You’re not allowed to date until you’re finished college at least.”             “College? That’s strict. Most parents say sixteen,” Martin glanced up, a little amused at how red James’s face was.             “Dating would only interfere with your studies,” said James. He growled when Martin only shrugged in response and got that blank look on his face that he got when he was looking through Other Eyes.             “You… have never met anyone who looks anything like the man in your pictures.”             Martin shrugged again, still smirking as he pulled the Lonely further over his thoughts. It was gratifying, to be able to keep secrets from this man. Especially big secrets like Jon.             James squinted at him. “You said he was your boyfriend under contract. You have an imaginary boyfriend.”             “Says you,” Martin said lightly, keeping his face straight to hide his glee at vexing the man who was steepling his fingers and appearing contemplative.             “Imaginary friends are common in children, lonely children specifically,” James huffed, “An imaginary boyfriend is much the same, though more typical of older children. In spite of the fact we’ve been finding you opportunities to feed… I don’t suppose I could persuade you to make actual friends, at this stage?”             Martin made a face. He still felt weird even talking to the kids in his class as ‘peers’. That wasn’t going to happen. He shook his head.             “Fine. I’ll find another solution,” said James. Now it was Martin’s turn to squint. What was that supposed to mean? Solution to what?
*
             Martin had already been vaguely surprised when Miss Esposito took him straight home and not to the Institute after school. When James greeted him at the door and led him up to his bedroom he had been bracing himself for something terrible, like another victim left tied up for him to feed on. He hadn’t filled the house with fog again, but it had become an extremely unwanted routine.             This, however, was not that. Instead, when Martin was nudged into his bedroom he found a fancy plastic cage covered in colourful winding tubes. In the center of the cage was a tiny, golden hamster.             “Well, do you like her?” asked James after a long moment of silence. Martin glanced up at him briefly before crossing the room and staring at the tiny creature for a while. She looked scared, lost and uncertain of the twisting maze around her.             Martin used to ask his mother for a hamster when he was young, until she’d screamed at him enough times about how expensive pets were that he gave up on it. When he’d been old enough to get a pet of his own, it never felt like a good idea when he was stretching his budget to look after himself and pay for his mother’s care home.             But he had wanted one. He’d done research, extensively, once.             “That’s not a good enclosure for a hamster,” Martin said finally. “They need a large tank filled with shavings and enrichment objects. And you can’t just give them the mix from pet shops, they rarely have all the nutrients hamsters need.”             The loud sigh behind him made him turn his head to see James rubbing his forehead. Martin’s face pinched as he wondered if James would take the hamster away now out of spite.             “…thank you, though?” Martin said carefully. “It’s just- this is really not a good set up. I don’t want her to get hurt in the tubes.”             James took a deep breath and mouthed counting to three before nodding. “Fine. Make a list of what she needs, and we can get the proper equipment. You will be responsible for her after all, so you will need the right tools to care for her.”             “Well that’s good, because obviously you have no idea how to look after a small creature. Surrounding them with a maze and…” Martin paused, and looked back at the hamster. “Oh. You got me a pet.”             “Yes?” James said, clearly baffled by the abrupt change in Martin’s tone.             “Because I was lonely. To fix it.” Martin bit his lip. He didn’t want to feel touched. James was evil, he did this for his own ends. Just because Martin didn’t really understand what those ends were didn’t mean they weren’t there. But there was a part of Martin that once was genuinely eight, and nine, and ten, and had been so, so lonely. Who had spent endless nights dreaming of having a sweet little friend like this.             That Martin bubbled up abruptly from his stomach to his throat and tears sprung to his eyes. He swayed on his feet and stumbled toward James, reaching out blindly and clinging to his shirt.             “Er, are you alright?” James asked, clearly awkward as Martin buried his face into his side. He felt an overwhelm of gratitude that he couldn’t articulate, but for a moment it was all he could feel.             Some part of that feeling must have leaked out, as after a moment James had a sharp intake of breath and then was holding Martin to his side, running a familiar hand through his hair.             When James spoke, his voice was soft but oddly sincere. More sincere than Martin had ever heard it, anyway. “I want you to be happy here. Is that so hard to believe?”             Martin didn’t answer, pressed his face harder into James’s side to hide from the question. James sighed again.             “Come, let’s go shopping for these things together.”             “Okay,” Martin whispered. And so they went. James didn’t complain about the cost of anything, nor did he question Martin on anything he chose to buy. He carried the tank despite it being fairly heavy as well.             When they got everything home, James helped him set the tank up. He made a few suggestions on certain aspects, such as putting the water dish nearer the front of the tank to encourage the hamster to come into the open more often and putting it on a pedestal so it would be harder for wood chips to end up in it. Largely though, he left the decorating up to Martin. It felt good, making this space for the hamster. Knowing he was making this one life better than it might have been if Martin hadn’t been here.             When they put the hamster in the tank she seemed instantly more alive than she had in the plastic cage. She immediately ran across the length of the thing and started to burrow. Martin watched her, and the prickle on the back of his neck told him that James was watching him. For once, though, he couldn’t say he minded.             The hamster tried to climb the side of the plastic tree stump and fell off with a surprised expression. It was so comical that Martin couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out of his mouth.             “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh sincerely before. It’s oddly pleasant,” James said quietly, and Martin looked up at him. He seemed contemplative. “In all the time you’ve been here, you haven’t laughed. Not even in the theatre. I need to be paying more attention.”             “You watch me all the time,” Martin reminded him uneasily.             “Yes, but clearly I’m missing things,” James shook his head and then looked past Martin to the hamster who was discovering her bucket-style wheel. “I always assume you’ll react as I expected you to. But you never do, do you?”             Martin frowned. He didn’t know what to say to that.
*
             From that point on, even Martin had a hard time remembering to be lonely. It seemed every time he reflected too long on his isolation, James was butting his way into another aspect of his life.             Once a week James was picking him up from school at lunch to eat out at a restaurant. They would have ‘bonding nights’ where James would insist Martin sit on the sofa with him and watch television for at least an hour (though Martin was sure James was watching something else) with the man’s arm wrapped around him in a loose cuddle. It started out repugnantly strange but he eventually started to get used to it, even to appreciate the warmth in the colder months.             “Why do you keep touching me all the time?” Martin asked once, head resting in James’s lap as end credits rolled on an episode of Great British Bake Off.             “I read in a parenting manual that physical contact is important for forming bonds with children,” said James smoothly and truthfully.             “You read a parenting manual?” Martin snorted, but apparently James wasn’t finished.             “And it’s pleasant having you against me. It’s reassuring to know where you are,” James paused, then coughed, surprised at his own elaboration. “Er, to ensure you’re not getting into trouble, of course.”             “…you’re weird,” Martin huffed, shutting his eyes against the glare of the telly.             “Not evil?” James asked, hand back in Martin’s hair.             “Both.”             James hummed but sounded pleased, as if he’d won something. Unfortunately Martin was too tired to dissuade the notion.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

10

It was late in the first summer after Martin was kidnapped by James when Martin first got into proper danger. In the years following, Martin would blame James for bringing him around dangerous avatars and not paying more attention to them. James would blame Martin for not staying closer to his side.
             It was another donor party. Without school to tangle with, James saw no issue letting Martin stay up long past his bedtime during such occasions, though Martin found himself more often than not burrowing himself in a corner and falling asleep well before midnight and waking to James carrying him to the car. At least, if he remembered right, he went through his first major growth spurt when he was ten. That was one indignity he wouldn’t be enduring much longer.             This time, however, when he started to sway on his feet and found himself a nice dark corner to vanish into, he hadn’t been left alone as expected.             “Ah, you’re little Martin, aren’t you? Wright’s son.”             “Not his son. He’s not my father, no matter how many times he tells me to call him that,” Martin groaned and craned his neck up, then made a noise of concerned surprise. The man wasn’t unknown to him, his broad shoulders and dark sunglasses hiding much darker eyes could only be Maxwell Rayner, whom James had introduced him to a couple of times before and read him far more statements about. Not someone he especially wanted to speak to, alone or otherwise.             “Y-yes,” Martin admitted with a careful swallow. “How do you know? Er, just cause… you know, you’re um. Blind?”             “I know more than you might think,” Maxwell smiled banally. “Besides that, you’re the only one in this room whose breath and voice would be coming from waist height. Tell me Martin, would you like to experience something interesting?”             Martin made a face as he leaned heavily against the wall. “James says not to talk to strangers.”             “Aw, but I’m no stranger! Think of me as your Uncle Maxwell,” said Rayner in a way that set off every creep alarm Martin ever installed in his brain.             “Uh, no thanks.”             Rayner let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly. “Oh, alright. I suppose no one ever said I was a subtle kidnapper. Don’t worry, all children love a good Maze.”             “Yeah, pretty unsubtle to just- HEY WHAT-?!”             Martin squealed as shadows closed in, swathing him in darkness. He blinked his eyes several times before he concluded that the light was not coming back. The sounds of the party were gone, as well as the tempting smells wafting from the buffet. They were replaced by the sound of distant deep creaks and groans and the prevailing smell of dust. Martin had a sinking feeling he wasn’t at the Magnus Institute anymore.             Well, before he started to panic he needed to figure out where he was. He edged forward a few steps with his hands outstretched and hit a wall.             “Ow,” Martin muttered, feeling down the wall a bit before turning and walking a few steps away from it, only to hit another wall soon after. He edged back and forth between these walls for a bit before hitting a corner. “…a hall. I’m in a hallway. That’s… okay, so I don’t have the best history with hallways, but that means there’s somewhere to go at least.”             He had only just determined this when he realised the distant moaning sound had stopped. Instead he could hear shuffling and heavy breathing somewhere down the hallway back the way he had come. 
             Martin stiffened and wondered if Rayner would actually try to kill him. James had introduced him like an old friend, but the Dark was the antithesis of the Eye, wasn’t it? Sure the Stranger was about not knowing things, but the Dark was about not seeing things, so wouldn’t the Dark be their natural enemy? And if that was the case…
             The shuffling sped up, and Martin’s heart sped with it. A thud accompanied by an almighty cracking sound sent him scurrying, racing down the hall with hands in front of him, running into wall after wall and scrambling to turn and keep following these endless hallways until the scuffling faded again.             Martin slowed a little to catch his breath but didn’t stop. He’d realised by now that the halls had no breaks for rooms, and he remembered Rayner had mentioned a maze. He knew to escape a maze he had to keep his hand on a wall and follow it. That might not work as well with something pursuing him in the dark, but it was the only hope he had so he would cling to it.             That was until thirty seconds later when the solid smooth wall suddenly gave way to something wet, slippery and stringy that clung to his fingers like wet hair. A pungent, coppery smell suddenly filled his nose. Martin shrieked and gagged, jolting away from the wall instinctively only to hit the other wall and to find it, too, was covered in the same substance. He took exactly one step back the way he’d come before he heard the fast shuffling and a deep groan in that direction.             “Ah hell,” Martin whispered, shutting his eyes uselessly before turning and plunging down the hall away from the shuffler, not daring to touch the wet walls again. He didn’t want to know what he had been touching, but his mind was filling in anything from the skin of some unknowable beast to a severed human scalp.             Whimpering and rubbing at the tears clinging to his cheeks, Martin sped up his run. He couldn’t bring himself to hold his hands out, instead wrapping them around himself which made him woefully unbalanced when he next stumbled and sent himself tumbling to the ground. The scuffler, as though sensing his weakness, sped into a rapidly approaching gallop and Martin began to scramble forward on his hands and knees until he landed on something hard and oddly shaped. He thought it was a pebble at first, but his fingers closed on it and something within him filled in the idea that this was a child’s tooth. As the thought occurred to him he could feel the shape of it, the jagged underside and the gradual tapering of a tiny incisor.             Whose tooth was this? He didn’t think he hit his face when he fell, but when he reached up to touch his mouth it felt wet. Blood? He didn’t feel any sharp pain. Running his tongue along his teeth he couldn’t remember if they were always that far apart at this gap or if something was missing.             He’d been so distracted by this that the heavy breathing over his shoulder didn’t separate from his own in his awareness for several lingering seconds before he stiffened, the tooth falling from his fingers into the void around him.             He stayed still as stone as something long and clawed traced his ankle. His breathing was ragged and he couldn’t stop the cries that heaved from his throat as the claw slowly began to close. He couldn’t move.             “H-HELP!” Martin finally yelled as the claw closed around him and he felt himself yanked backwards, his fingernails scraping bloody on the cement floor. “JAMES! JAMES HELP ME PLEASE!”             He was pulled up, away from the floor as he twisted and bucked, all pretense leaving and his cries were wild and instinctual.             “PLEASE HELP JA- Jame- DADDY PLEASE DAD PLEASE COME BACK! COME SAVE ME DAD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!”
*
             It had taken James what was possibly an embarrassing amount of time to realise Martin had gone missing. He told himself the boy had always had a talent for slipping beneath notice, but usually at these gatherings James would pay a bit of extra attention to prevent this exact thing. The first few guests had already been seen off before he’d decided to check Martin’s usual corners, only to find him absent. The further he extended his search without fruit the more uneasy he grew.             His gaze flickered to the CCTV cameras, but he already Knew the boy hadn't left by any of the marked exits. He knew better than that, and had never even attempted such a foolish escape before. He was usually a pragmatic child and well understood that James could find him and would punish him for such a thing. He had nowhere to go anyway if he’d left.             Unfortunately, this likely meant one of his guests had taken him. Likely for a bit of fun or a bit of ransom, but either way it was at least supremely annoying but at worst…             James clicked his tongue and assessed his guests. The ones who had left already were unlikely suspects, whoever did this would want to stay to see James’s reaction when he noticed his charge was missing. The Lukases had most reason to be interested in Martin with his Lonely leanings, but he doubted very much they would make a move on him while he was still so young. Nathaniel had expressed interest in having him marry one of the Lukas girls when he was of age, and he had no reason to pursue him before he was of an age to involve himself that way.             Simon Fairchild was possible, he often had the whim to meddle. But James had a feeling that Martin had been gone for a while now, and if Simon stole him to throw him into the Vast he doubted he would take him more than the few minutes it would take to put the fear of his god into the boy.             Rayner… it was probably Rayner. Especially after Gertrude had taken out one of his chapters of The People’s Church of the Divine Host last month. Urgh, he should have known it wasn’t ‘water under the bridge’.             “Maxwell, might I have a word?” James asked testily, approaching the man who was standing with a bland smile near the punch bowl. The way the smile grew crueler only deepened his suspicions.             “Ah James, I do hope you’re enjoying your little party here. And I’m sure your young charge is having quite the experience as well.”             James let out an impatient sigh, tapping his foot and fighting the urge to raise his voice. “Yes, it does seem I’ve misplaced him. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you? There are so few places beyond my Sight, as you know.”             “Oh? One of the Eye asking one of the Dark things they don’t Know? How embarrassing for you,” Maxwell said with his usual disdainful chuckle. Urgh. “Well, I’m sure the little mouse is running about somewhere.”             James frowned. He tried again to See Martin but saw only darkness. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a riddle, it’s been a very long night.”             “Well now, I’d say having a little joke is more than fair for your archivist’s latest little transgressions. Really James, my people weren’t even launching a ritual at the time.”             “You know perfectly well the archivist does exactly as she likes,” James said testily, “And furthermore-”             James stopped mid-sentence, however, when he Heard something.             When one is capable of looking through any set of eyes, it can often be difficult to Know where one should be putting his attention. However, the easiest thing for anyone on the planet to hear is their own name being called. Especially by a child in one’s care.             The faint sound of his name being called first had James turn his head, staring into space as he tried to home in on the cry. Even as it changed from calling his name to calling for…             ‘Daddy PLEASE!’             James shivered, eyes widening as he focused on the dark, where superimposed in it he could just make out the faint silhouette of a child struggling upside down in the air against a much larger shape before twisting and falling, then scrambling back off at a run into the gloom. He was hollering for his father as well, voice thick with tears.             James slammed back into his body, then turned the full weight of his Gaze on Maxwell powered by the Institute around them. He could See the sweat forming on the man’s brow and only intensified his power as he felt licks of old searing fear.             “You will return my son to me right now,” James said slowly, enunciating every word so the blind man wouldn’t miss a syllable of his rage.             Maxwell cleared his throat, his fear fading as his own tendrils of darkness began to seep from his feet. Evidently Martin’s fear was invigorating. “My my, who would have thought Jonah Magnus would become such a family ma- OW! FUCK! Who punches an old blind man?!”             James shook off his hand. He hadn’t punched a man in the face in many years, but the situation warranted it. “I have no issue punching a blind old bastard. Are we currently enduring a truce or not? You will RETURN him, or I’ll sniff out every member of your precious church and See each of them so intensely they will be burnt into husks! Or I’ll send Gertrude to blow them up the old fashioned way, I’m not picky.”             Maxwell huffed and continued to rub his nose, checking for blood. There was blood. “Urg, fine. He’s in a section of your precious tunnels my people have corralled off into the perfect little rat maze. I’m sure you can work things out from there.”             James grit his teeth. Despite having his true body hidden within them, he tended to avoid the tunnels because he couldn’t see anything down there. “Get him out, then!”             Maxwell huffed, using a handkerchief to dab at his split lip now. “Oh no, I think the young man would much prefer to have his dear old daddy come for him. But not to worry, I’ll give you a push in the right direction.”             “What do you mean by- AH!” James yelped as the shadows he had somehow missed gathering at his feet grabbed his ankles and jerked him down into the floor, and his vision went dark. Then his feet slammed into another concrete floor, and after some brief exploration found the walls of the tunnel.             The Eye was almost useless to him here, but as attuned to his patron as he was he still held just enough of his power to attain some night vision in pure darkness. After a moment adjusting he could see the shadows of the walls, and when he got close enough he discovered the humanoid shape on the wall was in fact a plastic Halloween skeleton.  Of course, the Dark did often do its best work at transforming the mundane into sources of fear rather than wholesale creating monsters to terrorize with. This tended to be why children were most at risk from the Dark, though certain particularly fearful adults could also fall prey to it.             James was not afraid of the dark, but he was concerned that Martin might fear it. He clearly feared it enough for a monster of the dark to catch up with him here. He needed to find him quickly, but he also knew if he allowed himself to panic in his search the maze would feed off that and then the odds were that the boy would only end up led further away from him.             “MARTIN! Where are you?!” James called, his voice echoing through the maze. Somewhere far in the distance he was relieved to hear a response.             “Daddy? Daddy, help me!”             “Martin, I’m here! I’m coming!” James called back, jogging in the direction of the call.             Then, the voice came again from the opposite direction. “Daddy? Daddy? Hello? Help me, daddy!”             James slowed to a stop as the voice came again from the first direction and then behind him again. “…oh of course. Why make this easy?”             He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and focused on Martin again. He was near, he was sure of that, but the black silhouette was locked in a cycle of screaming, running, tripping, running into something, getting caught only to just manage to wriggle away and run again.             As far as James could tell, this maze would act like a waking nightmare. Martin wouldn’t need to eat or sleep there, but over time he would begin to waste away even if the monster pursuing him didn’t mean to eat him all in one piece.             So he needed to find Martin, but the maze was obscuring him. James needed to lure Martin to him. He needed to be a light in the darkness. Not exactly the purview of the Eye in most circumstances, but perhaps if the goal is to be visible, to be Seen in the Dark…             A lesser servant of the Eye would never be able to accomplish it, James was sure. But as he focused himself, reaching not for the Eye and fear of the world around him but rather searched inward for the fear that resided inside him, it bore fruit. For the Dark had two sides, and while one might fear what lurks within it, one might too take solace in the Dark, in the concealment it brings. And so James focused on his own latent fear of being revealed in darkness.
*
             Martin’s lungs were burning, his legs were aching, and he was sure he had blisters forming in his dress shoes, but still he ran. What else could he do as his mind devolved further into a beacon of terror, as he was caught over and over only to narrowly escape, running into walls coated in scalps and innards and loose eyeballs each painting him in gore and sending him into further flight. Surely if the monster pursuing him managed to catch him properly then it would be him that would be next dismembered to decorate the pitch black labyrinth he had been cast into.             “H-help… dad help… dad help…” Martin heaved out every so often, but his voice was as weak as he felt, and he said it more as a frail attempt to soothe himself more than out of any lingering hope to be heard.             But then, as miraculous as it was horrific, somewhere ahead in the gloom he finally heard an answer.             “Martin! My son! Come to me! See me, Martin!” came the most demonic, spooky, wavering voice Martin had ever heard in his life. As he skid to a stop and felt his way around the corner he’d come to, he found himself squinting against a ghastly light.             Somewhere far ahead was an eerily glowing, humanoid shape. It looked all the world like an enemy ghost from a horror video game that Martin would never have the stomach to play.             One limb extended itself toward Martin and he realised with horror that if he could see this creature, it could see him as well. “MARTIN… COME HERE… COME TO YOUR FATHER…”             Martin choked and felt something warm and wet leaking down his pant leg.             “It’s me, you’re father, Martin!”             “BULLSHIT!” Martin screamed, turning to run again, ignoring the stitch in his side.             But then, in the same horrible voice: “LANGUAGE! Honestly…”             Martin skidded to a stop again and peered back at the creature behind the corner. It hadn’t moved closer, but its hands were on its hips now and… was it tapping its foot?             “J-James?” Martin asked. A loud scoff followed, the voice losing much of its eerie vibrato.             “I told you, it’s been long enough now you ought to understand I’m your father. One does NOT refer to their father by their first name. Don’t be a brat, you’re lucky I came for you at all you- OOF!”             Martin had started running half through the scolding and had practically tackled himself into James’s stomach. As soon as he began to squeeze him, the glow softened. After a moment of stunned silence, Martin felt familiar hands in his hair and he broke down into sobs.             “Y-you came! You actually came…”             James scoffed again, but less pointedly this time, sounding more baffled than anything. “Well naturally. I’m your father and therefore invested in your welfare.”             James pulled Martin off of himself, no small feat with how Martin was clinging to him, but a moment later he was seized under his arms and lifted up. He locked his arms around the man’s neck, taking comfort in his normal solidity against the darkness around them. James held him, safe and sound.             With James still glowing, though softer, at last Martin’s eyes had the chance to adjust to the dark. Now that he could see, he felt a growing embarrassment as he looked at the tunnel walls that James marched steadily past. On the floor were a pile of peeled grapes. A few small legos. Sausages stuck to a wall. A number of slimy party store wigs. And there in the middle of the floor, a large plastic skeleton that had fallen on its face, unmoving.             “What is all this?” Martin whispered.             “The dark can be very creative,” James explained, voice measured as he stepped over the plastic. "By the nature of their work, they can make much out of very little. There’s a reason most of their victims are children.”             Martin’s cheeks blazed. “So none of that was real?”             “It was real,” James said, serious as the grave. “Make no mistake about that. Whatever you heard or felt, it wasn’t because you were fooled. But it was something that was summoned by your fears. The servants of the Dark merely had to blind your senses and dress this place up to make you invent them and invite them to you.”             “Oh,” Martin wiggled a little against James in discomfort and looked back into the vanishing darkness of the tunnel behind them. He wondered how James knew where he was going. “So, how did you make it stop?”             “Hm, well,” James huffed out a laugh, “I suppose you could say I was you, heh, night light.”             Martin groaned, burying his face against James’s shoulder. “You are a dad. Urgh.”             That earned a hum and a light squeeze. “Why yes, I suppose I am.”             Eventually they left the tunnels decorated with Halloween décor and reached cool stone walls that Martin found oddly familiar, before finding the truly familiar trap door which James lifted him through and into the Archives beyond. Said Archives were lit only by the tiny lights that led the way to the emergency exit. It must have been the early hours of the morning, and exhaustion weighed on him.             “…so how did you get Rayner to tell you where I was?” Martin asked as James continued to carry him through the quiet Institute halls. He had no inclination to be put down.             “Oh, I punched him,” James smiled.             “No you didn’t,” Martin rolled his eyes.             “Did too,” James lightly pinched Martin’s arse, making him yelp and squirm badly.             “Stop it! Like you’d do that when you could just use your freaky eye powers.”             “One day you’ll learn that no matter how powerful your god makes you, sometimes the best solution is brute force,” James advised, laughing as Martin made a face.
*
             The boy had shivered all the way home, and James wasn’t feeling at his best himself if the three car accidents he nearly got into were any indication. Having to use powers while cut off from the Eye had depleted him badly and he really needed to sleep, but unfortunately Martin needed to be put to bed first.             Warm milk and honey was enough to get the boy yawning, but when James finally had him tucked into bed and turned off the light he let out a scream so startling that James flicked the light back on instinctively.             “What’s wrong now?” James asked, blinking his grainy eyes as Martin sat up in bed clutching that damned badger to his chest.             “I- I don’t know I just…” another shiver wracked the boy’s body. “M-Maybe you could leave the light on? Or… or at least the hall light, and leave the door cracked?”             Ah, yes, of course. He really should have expected this. “Very well, I suppose for tonight we’ll leave the hall light on. Though you’ll really need to get over this trauma. Eleven is far too old for a night light.”             So James turned on the hall light, extinguished the one in Martin’s room, and carefully cracked the door. He made it all the way to his own room and had pulled back his covers when he heard another scream.             “NO! DAD- Ja- WHATEVER! THE CLOSET!”             James groaned and ran back to Martin’s room, throwing over the door and flipping on the light. He looked to the wardrobe and yes, it was cracked open. It certainly hadn’t been before. He grimaced and opened the closet revealing nothing but clothes inside.             “I swear, something opened it!” Martin said breathless, eyes wide in terror as he stood on the bed against the headboard. “Something scratched on the door and there was a shadow-”             “Yes, I believe you. The light does tend to banish these things but it will likely be back,” he sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Right, come with me. You’ll sleep in my bed tonight.”             Martin’s face turned conflicted. “Er, I don’t know…”             “Well I do. You’re clearly still too vulnerable to the dark to sleep alone,” James said as he swiftly strode to the boy and plucked him up yet again. It would be… inconvenient, when he got too big to carry like this. He carried the boy to the master bedroom and settled him on his own bed where the boy solemnly buried himself under the covers. He faced the wall for a moment, still shivering, before ever so slowly turned over with the blankets shucked up over to the top of his head to look at James. Apparently he no longer wished to believe he was alone.             “Things will look brighter in the morning. You’ll get over your little fright,” James said with certainty. The more certain he was, the better it would be for the child. “The Dark is a fear that vanishes easily in the daylight. It will all feel like a fading nightmare soon enough.”             In the end it would take two full weeks of appearing at James’s door in the night and crawling into his bed, of comforting the boy through night terrors and letting him cling to James’s neck in his sleep, for the boy to finally let the spectres fade and could sleep in his own bed again.             Time would pass, and the boy would soon hit his first growth spurt. James would often reflect on this period in the future. The last time he was able to carry the boy at length without a fight. The long nights holding him in his arms. He would come to decide that this misadventure was when he first felt truly attached to that fearful little boy.

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In The Cat’s Cradle11             Writing poetry came back to Martin the same way it had come the first time, wrapping itself into the margins of his school workbooks whenever he’d gotten ahead of the class. This was more often than ever on his second time through eighth year. At least he knew when he inevitably got promoted early to eleventh year he’d finally start learning something new, since that was when he’d dropped out the first time around.             For now he was still finishing multiplication tables easily enough that he would find his mind drifting and he would pen pages and pages of flowing words about time, about pencils, about the scratch of chalk on a board. None of it was very good, of course. He’d never consider showing other people his poems. But they came naturally, and it was a distraction from the boredom that haunted him more than the ghosts of the past that floated by him whenever he glanced at a newspaper or listened to the radio.             At least since he turned twelve James had let him go to the Institute library directly after school instead of having to spend time in his office to do his homework, but that didn’t mean the micro-manager didn’t have an Eye over his shoulder. He certainly delighted in ‘surprising’ his adopted son.             “What is this?” asked James who had appeared over Martin’s shoulder as he was in the middle of crossing out the last line of a poem draft, his homework on the opposite page. Martin startled badly in his seat and made to cover the poem with his arm but his abhorrent guardian managed to worm a hand past the barrier and snatched up the workbook.             “It’s nothing!” Martin’s face flushed and he ground his teeth as James didn’t even acknowledge his protests, only read what he had been writing and made a curious noise at the back of his throat.             “And so the cat did hold the mouse/ Trapped within his horrible house/ No matter how the mouse did cry/ The cat did watch him day and night. So you’ve started writing poetry. Mm, not the worst hobby. This isn’t terrible for your age.” Martin’s face turned from pink to purple at the back handed compliment. It was barely a compliment at all really. Evidently Martin wrote at the level of a talented twelve year old with the experience of a man in his thirties. Not exactly something to take pride in.             “I was mostly finished, I was just taking a break,” Martin swallowed back his rage masterfully. “I’ll go back and-”             “Here, your rhythm is a bit off on the second line. ‘Horrid’ would be a good substitute for horrible that would fit better. And you’re right, that last line is all wrong. You shouldn’t need to rely on a half rhyme for a word as simple as ‘cry’,” James lectured, and it took a moment for Martin to realise that’s what he was doing. He scowled and snatched back the book when it was offered to him.             “Yeah, I get it, I’m no good at poetry. I write for me, it’s not like I’m trying to get it published. I’ll make sure I finish my work first in the future, alright?” Martin grumbled, tearing out the page and turning resolutely back to the multiplication tables.             “You misunderstand,” James’s voice was softer than Martin expected as he pushed the torn paper back under Martin’s nose. “I am telling you that this has potential, with some editing. Follow my advice and you’ll see.”             Martin looked dubious. “Why? It’s not like anything will come of it. Even if it gets better, it’s not good. I’m not submitting it anywhere.”             “Martin, listen to me. I am telling you this has potential. Fix it,” his voice was firmer now, “I see no reason why you can’t submit it to a magazine or some such. If you enjoy writing poetry, there’s no reason not to pursue it. As I say, it’s a perfectly respectable hobby. Being published will also look good on a university application one day.”             “Of course,” Martin sighed, putting his cheek in his hand and rolling his eyes dramatically. “Fine. I’ll make the changes to the stupid poem. But there’s no reason to submit it somewhere. It’ll only get rejected anyway.”             “We’ll see,” James smiled as Martin picked up his pencil and then narrowed his eyes.             “It doesn’t count if you bribe them to accept it.”             James snorted. “I won’t have to.”             “OR threaten them!”             “You’re being silly,” James ruffled Martin’s hair, to his endless chagrin. “Back to work now.”*             Martin stared at his name in print on page 17 of New Wave Poetry issue 87 with his guardian standing over him, expression incorrigibly smug.             “How much did you pay to get them to accept it?” asked Martin finally. “Or what did you do to them? That’s probably more likely.”             James sighed, his mouth tightening up in irritation. “I did nothing of the sort, you brat. As promised. Your poem was exceptional thanks to my guidance, and so it was accepted.”             Martin tsked and looked at the poem again. James had helped with the structure, sure, but it was still his usual mediocre work. “It’s probably because I’m eleven. There, see? It even lists my age. It just seems impressive because of that. It wouldn’t have been accepted if I was- if they thought I was an adult.”             James rolled his eyes and snatched back the magazine, tucking it back inside his suit jacket. Martin didn’t bother to stop him. “I don’t know where this lack of confidence is coming from. I saw your potential and nurtured it, so why shouldn’t you be good enough to be published? There’s nothing wrong with taking a little pride in yourself.”             Martin frowned, mulling that over. Maybe he had been better than he’d thought? Only no, that didn’t matter. He shook his head. “It’s only poetry. Even if I’m okay at it, it’s not like it’s a huge accomplishment to have a poem in a magazine. Most people think poetry is boring anyway, don’t they? It’s not like I made a great painting or anything.”             “Would you like to take art lessons again? I suppose you did enjoy them before your former instructor retired,” asked James, and Martin hesitated just a moment too long. “Well now, with poetry and your piano lessons you’ll be having a very well rounded education. I’ll find the best atelier for you.”             Martin flushed and mumbled, “You really don’t have to.”             James raised an unamused eyebrow and cuffed Martin’s ear, but didn’t drop the subject. By the end of the week, he had a new after school activity for Miss Esposito to ferry him to.*             If Martin had been asked what he expected the results of being trapped in James Wright’s ‘care’ for seven years to be, he might have suggested the diminished guilt of being taken to various lonely haunts to imbibe the sorrow of widows and divorcees. He wouldn’t have been surprised by his extensive knowledge of countless paper statements that he’d been read as bedtime stories most nights in that time.             He doubted he would have imagined becoming a published poet, playing Fur Elise flawlessly on the piano, or knocking out a boy a full inch taller than him in a boxing ring. He certainly wouldn’t have expected to gain early admittance to college level art courses and find himself in a thirteen year old body sketching nude models alongside people twice his age, but there it was.             There was still a wall between Martin and James, but as time wore on them both Martin was forced to see the man behind the monster. The man who wore bags under his eyes and yawned after working late nights. The man who laughed uproariously when an actor missed his cue and stumbled headlong off the stage during a performance of King Lear alongside half the audience. The man who, in spite of having no issues with striking and threatening Martin when he displeased him, was just as quick to reward and compliment him when he did what he wanted. He was downright encouraging and took genuine pride in Martin’s achievements when he found them to reflect well on his parenting, which was often. *             He wasn’t sure what possessed him to actually get James something for Christmas following his supposed thirteenth birthday. He certainly hadn’t done anything to particularly earn Martin’s consideration and he hadn’t bothered to give him anything so much as a handshake before in spite of the respectable pile of new clothes, books, and school supplies he had been receiving to that point.             In his defense, it had been a painting he had made for class and something about it had reminded him of James. He wasn’t sure what it was at first, it had seemed like a standard exercise in drawing buildings as he had more or less copied a photo of the London skyline. When he took a step back from it though and squinted, there was something in the shape of the clouds, in the curve of the buildings, in the shadows in the water, the placement of that iconic Ferris wheel by the Thames that turned the painting into something vaguely resembling an Eye. He hadn’t wanted to keep it after that, but it had felt a shame to bin it when it had received a good grade. So… he gave it to James for Christmas.             The smile that had lit upon his face upon Martin descending the stairs with it was blinding. Martin insisted it wasn’t very good, but that didn’t stop James from praising his brushstrokes and attention to detail until Martin’s face dusted red. Then he’d hung it over the fireplace in the parlour, supplanting the standard, bland abstract that had previously occupied the space.             For a while, Martin assumed James had simply been humouring him. Or, in his way, decided that this was the equivalent of hanging your child’s shitty stick figure drawing on the fridge to ‘boost their confidence’. But during one of James’s rare home meetings with some of the other local avatars that Martin usually stayed well away from, he had overheard their low conversation turn to the new piece.             “The technique is definitely competent,” Simon Fairchild’s voice still prickled in Martin’s ears and made his stomach swoop unpleasantly. “A bit amateurish, if I’m honest with you. And not nearly enough sky for my taste.”             “Well, to your taste there would be nothing but sky, and I prefer to watch the ants on occasions,” James sounded in good humour, but Martin could detect the strain in his tone. “Though it’s a bit more impressive when you consider it was painted by a thirteen year old. My son, Martin.”             “Oh?” Simon’s voice took on far more interest and a chair scraped the floor. “Well now, that does make it far more impressive. You’ve got him a tutor then, I assume? A gift like this needs to be nurtured, there’s quite a lot a young avatar can do with a sense for art. I could recommend someone more appropriate for the task if you’d like?”             “No, I think we will be continuing as we are,” James was quick to assure. Of course, he never liked it when others made suggestions about his parenting choices. “He’s talented, yes, but his future is in the institute. A well-rounded education is important, but I don’t need him ending up in some sort of trap house for people who insist they can make a living off their art.”             “Oh boo, trap houses are fun! Lots of big ideas floating around…”             Martin crept to the stairs with his plate of carrot sticks and crackers, unable to wipe the grin off his face. He wanted to. He hated both the men discussing him and his work, but they really thought he had something special to him. It was hard not to feel good about it. Hard not to feel pride in his work, in himself. He wanted more of that.             God help him, he wanted James to be proud of him. That made the grin fade, but only slightly.*             James took a sip of his brandy as Simon nattered about trap houses for several minutes before abruptly changing the subject.            “Well, it’s nice to know young Martin is making art so beautiful. He’s growing into quite the handsome young man himself,” Simon’s eye twinkled in an odd way, and James pursed his lips.            “I suppose,” James allowed, picturing the boy. He certainly did clean up well these days. “I do insist on good grooming, and the boxing has kept him fit.”            “I’m sure you’ll be beating off the young ladies with a stick soon, if you’re not already,” Simon teased and James scoffed.            “The boy is clearly a homosexual, Simon.”            “Oh so you have noticed,” Simon giggled, “Well, even worse! Imagine the young men fighting for his hand one day! Human life is so short, soon enough he’ll find the One and be out on his own, wrecking havoc for the gods. Ah, the trials of apprenticing the youth.”            James frowned sharply as the idea pressed heavily on his mind. He hadn’t much dwelt on that part, on what he would do when Martin was old enough not to need a father anymore.            “Well, trials are to be met with consideration. I’m sure I’ll have a solution when the time comes,” James said carefully, taking another sip as Simon’s eye continued to glint.

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12
             As he dated a letter to his mother a month before his fourteenth birthday, it occurred to Martin that the timeline was wrong. Well, obviously it was wrong in that Martin was living with James Wright and not his sick mother whose letters were written with an increasingly shaky hand these days. More than that though, shouldn’t James be dead by now?             He’d spent a while thinking about it. Certainly James wasn’t ancient, but his hair was nearly white as he was quickly pushing into his early seventies (looking good for his age but still) and people in the library speculated about when he was finally going to retire or if he planned to just keel over at his desk one day. They likely wouldn’t have said such things in Martin’s presence if he wasn’t cloaked by the Lonely, but the point stood.
             James was over his time. Why? Did something happen? Some kind of butterfly effect, where Elias wasn’t available to hop into? He hadn’t even brought it up, even knowing that Martin knew about his body hopping.
             It took a while to finally decide to bite the bullet and ask. He waited until after their nightly piano practice, which usually put James in a pleased and sociable mood, and looked up shyly at the old man sitting next to him on the piano bench. It wasn’t that far to look up these days. His latest growth spurt already gave him the appearance of a typical ninth year, and no one questioned him being in tenth year unless they saw his actual transcripts.             “So uh, you’re still James Wright,” asked Martin.             The pleased look on James’s face drew in on itself in that particular way that told Martin he was prodding at the ever-present fog of Martin’s mind.              Finally James sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid, though I am a mind reader, yours continue to elude me.”             “Why are you still in James Wright’s body?” Martin clarified and watched the man’s wrinkled face open in surprise. “He isn’t- I mean, people are already talking about how you should be retiring, and you’ve been taking medication for back pain, and I thought you’re afraid of dying?”             James frowned now, but it was more thoughtful than upset. “I wish to maintain your continuity of care.”             Martin blinked, brow furrowing. “What the h- what does that mean?”             “Simply put, children do better without undergoing massive life disruptions in the middle of their schooling,” James explained patiently. “Believe me, while it would be simple enough to transfer guardianship to my future identity it is always a complicated process. I need to focus a lot of time toward transferring property and possessions in a non-obvious way. Often there’s a change of address involved. Rather than subject you to that, I decided to postpone my normal hm… moving day, until after you’ve finished your education and signed on with the Institute.”             Martin made the same face he normally did when James announced his future career path, but decided not to buck back against it this time. “Really? But- I don’t know, isn’t it inconvenient being this old?”             “Well it’s not easy, but I’ve aged before. Several times.” James’s smile was wry. “There’s plenty of medications for aches and pains, and I’m not that old just yet. By your current rate of progress I imagine you’ll finish an accelerated college experience by twenty. It won’t be a particularly pleasant six years, but I’m not too worried about this body expiring in that time. I’ve kept it in relatively good condition. It pays to plan a transfer long before an expiry day, just in case of a complication such as this. Nothing to worry about, my chosen body isn’t going anywhere.”             “Guess not,” Martin sighed. Of course, his inclusion in the timeline wouldn’t have stopped Elias Bouchard from being lured to the Institute and signed on to do menial labour in its bowels until his meat was needed. A fly kept in a spider’s larder.             “My turn,” James smirked, “How do you know I fear death?”             Martin looked up at him, “It was in your statement.”             “My statement?” James’s eyebrows drew together. “The same one that apparently told you I planned to be the King of a Ruined World?”             “My turn,” Martin shrugged and didn’t continue. James scoffed and rolled his eyes, but only shooed Martin off the bench with his usual muttering about how Martin couldn’t help but be a brat. They were used to each other, this way.
*
             Ironically, it was only a few days later that Martin found himself standing in the alley out back of the Magnus Institute to get some air after reading his mother’s latest letter when he met his guardian’s future meat suit. He’d hid his emotions in James’s office while reading his mother’s insistence that she didn’t need half of her prescribed medications, and had managed to flee outside just as James was called into a meeting. He had time for a little breakdown, and he half buried himself behind the bins to indulge.             He’d only been there about five minutes when he saw polished shoes step into view and hurried to wipe his eyes.             “I-I’m fine, I’m coming back in. You don’t… oh you’re… oh,” Martin couldn’t place the feelings that fled through his overwhelmed mind as he looked up and saw a young Elias Bouchard peering down at him, a joint half-hanging out of his mouth. Seeing that face peering down at him, remembering he was just as helpless to save this person as he was his own mother, Martin immediately teared up again.             Elias seemed startled, fumbling in his pocket and then pulling out a second joint before, bizarrely, offering it to Martin. “Hey kid, no need to cry, alright? Life sucks but uh, try a hit of this!”             Martin sniffled again, staring at the joint with incredulity before mechanically reaching out to take it. He looked back at Elias in question until he pulled the joint from his own mouth and used it to light Martin’s and Martin, deciding it couldn’t well make him feel worse, put it in his mouth and inhaled.             Weed. He’d been so stuffed up from crying he hadn’t smelled it, but now he could taste it. Damn, he hadn’t had weed in decades since he stopped working retail. Never got a taste for it really, and it probably wasn’t great for his thirteen year old brain but… god he wasn’t sure he cared. He inhaled again, slower this time.             “Really hits the spot, right?” Elias smiled, lighting his whole face in a way Martin never saw when Jonah Magnus wore it. It made him look boyish, even though he had to be… early thirties? Not much younger than Martin would really be, if he counted his life in both timelines.             “Guess so,” Martin took the joint out of his mouth to lick his lips before taking another drag. “Er, I haven’t tried this before.”             This body hadn’t, anyway. It was a small lie. Elias didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he grinned and helped Martin to his feet, patting him warmly on the shoulder.             “That’s the spirit. I remember my first time, really takes the edge off it all. What’s your name, little dude?”             “Martin.”             “Cool. I’m Elias,” said Elias, unknowing of how needless his introduction was. “How old are you, Martin? Sixteen? You look sixteen. Yeah I was about that old when-”             “Thirteen,” Martin corrected flatly, taking another drag. Elias stumbled, eyes widening.             “Wha- really? You looked- fuck, well uh… you… hm. Ah, kids grow up fast these days,” he finally shrugged and sucked on his own joint again, eyes hazy. “So what’re you doing out here at the Institute? School’s gotta be out for the day by now. Shouldn’t you be shooting up at a park or something?”             It was probably the haze softening the edges of Martin’s own thoughts that made him more honest, but the appeal of seeing Elias panic also pushed him to respond, smirking wryly. “My legal guardian runs it, actually.”             Elias’s brow furrowed for a moment. “Wha- you’re saying you’re Wright’s kid?”             Martin’s eyebrow twitched. “He is my legal guardian.”             “No… no, no way you’re having me on. I saw Wright’s kid! He was this tiny little guy in the library! With red hair!”             “Growth spurt, and da- my- mm my guardian made me dye it. Said red hair was ‘garish’,” Martin supplied sullenly. It was true, he’d been dying it for the past few months into a light chestnut colour though James kept tweaking the shade every time they touched up the roots. He hated it on principle of course, but what could he do?             “No shit?” Elias looked properly worried now as he glanced at the joint. “Come on, say April Fools man.”             “It’s not April,” Martin smiled properly now, though he imagined there was still weariness in it. When Elias started eyeing the joint in Martin’s fingers like he was going to snatch it back he tightened his grip and his smile. “I’m not gonna tell him.”             Elias’s shoulders slumped in instant relief. “Oh, good.”             Martin grimaced. “He’ll probably find out anyway though.”             Elias was starting to look green so Martin decided to try to placate him at least.             “It’s alright, he won’t care,” Martin paused, “Well, he might be mad at me. But what’s the worst he can do to you?”             That he wasn’t already planning to do, Martin didn’t say. Elias let out a nervous laugh.             “Fire me?”             Martin laughed back, more genuinely but with a sharper edge. “I’m pretty sure he won’t.”             Martin’s jacket pocket began to jingle and he fumbled to pull out the blocky Nokia 3390 that James had insisted he carry with him. Only one person ever called him on it, and sure enough the display read FATHER in all caps (James had programmed it for him which was just as well. Martin certainly never owned a phone like this when he was thirteen the first time).             So James had finally figured out what Martin was doing. Martin pressed the button to send the call to voicemail and then silenced it.             “Was that him?” Elias asked, oddly hushed. Martin looked up and was struck once again by how young this man looked, more like a teenager scared of getting into trouble with his dad.             “Yeah, whatever, if he wants to yell at me he can do it in person. Though I guess I should head back in anyway. Thanks for this,” Martin yawned a little and stabbed out the joint before carelessly tossing it into the bin beside them. He raised his voice pointedly. “Don’t worry, there’s no reasonable explanation for him knowing you gave me weed unless I tell him, which I won’t. So nothing’s going to happen to you.”             Yet, Martin didn’t say as he walked away from Elias Bouchard.
*
             When Martin crawled into bed he had to lay face down to nurse his bruised arse as James settled beside him, still clearly livid that Martin refused to so much as breathe Elias’s name in connection with the weed he could ‘clearly smell’ about his person. That wasn’t going to stop their nightly ritual as James was determined to keep Martin as bound to the Eye as he could under the circumstances.             “You’re getting off lightly with spankings, I hope you realise,” James said grumpily as he pulled out the statement for the night. “When I was a child, such behavior would have you beaten.”             “Pretty sure thirteen years olds were smoking in the eighteen hundreds,” Martin quipped hoarsely into his pillow. “And cigars are worse than weed.”             “Urchins smoked at thirteen,” James said harshly, “Respectable children didn’t have their first cigar until their father deemed it appropriate.”             “Oh like you never snuck one,” Martin narrowed his visible eye at James, who did look ever so slightly mollified.             “I was never caught.”             “Your dad probably wasn’t an all seeing monster.”             “Touché,” James allowed, “But as yours is, you ought to know better than to step out of line. You are not to ruin your body with substance abuse this young. We can revisit the idea when your brain is finished developing.”             “Yeah, yeah,” Martin yawned pointedly and James clicked his tongue, finally shaking out the paper and getting to the nightly horror story. It was fine, Martin had long grown used to the nightmares.
*
             If in the next several months and years, Martin struck up an odd friendship with Elias Bouchard, who could blame him? He couldn’t connect with his peers his age, nor those in his classes, nor with the adults surrounding him at the Institute save this one. This man who was old but acted young, and who knew well the pains of being under the thumb of a rich and powerful parental figure.             It was getting harder and harder to kick back against James these days. His praise sounded too sweet. It was easier to chase that and avoid the pain of avoiding his lessons and statements and hair dye. It was good to have a bad influence around constantly offering him weed and telling him he didn’t have to live the life James wanted for him. Even if he never smoked another joint, knowing he was brushing the line of James’s rules right under his heated gaze felt good.             He had no way of knowing, as he leaned against brick walls holding an unlit joint in his fingers and laughing as Elias told him about the antics of his own uni days that he looked far older than his birth certificate would say he was. That as he reached his fifteenth year and another growth spurt he could now pass as a regular college student in his advanced placement classes.             He couldn’t know, as his child body began to suit his undeniably adult mannerisms and behaviours, that heated gaze was beginning to take on a different tone.

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13
             It had snuck up on James, the way these things do, that his adopted son was rapidly becoming a man. Accelerated classes aside, it seemed that Martin was destined for a physique that led to him filling out and passing for a young adult by his sixteen birthday. Before long his voice was deepening and he was leaving beard shavings in the sink. (When did he learn to shave so well? James hadn’t had the chance to teach him and the Eye refused to say where he’d picked it up. He did it well.)             He was lecturing Martin about how he still had to come to the Institute directly after his classes when it realised he didn’t have a good reason for the rule anymore. Martin was long past the age he could be legally be home alone, and at his height he’d be unlikely to end up snatched off the street even without the Lonely to cloak him and the Eye to guard his route. 
The truth was, James wanted Martin close to him simply because it was Martin himself that worried him. Or rather, Martin’s independence. Not that he would tell Martin that without compulsion.
             This was the problem with parenthood these days. Yes, one had absolute control over a child in one’s legal care. But eventually a child will come of age. He will grow too big to be carried around and wrestled into the clothes he looks best in. Even gifted with the power to continue strong arming the boy,  it hadn’t escaped James that Mrs. Blackwood’s health was declining more rapidly recently and at this rate she would likely pass before Martin finished college, if not much sooner. He could hide that fact, but not forever, and he would need another means to keep the boy from running off in that case. Somehow years worth of effort to bond with the boy still hadn’t resulted in his blind loyalty, and though that in and of itself should make him want to call the boy a failed experiment and look into getting rid of him so he didn’t cause him trouble later… he didn’t want that.             In spite of still being unsure where Martin Wright could fit in the tapestry of his second attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, he’d simply put too much effort into the boy. He was too good to let go of. He received nothing but compliments from Martin’s teachers, his fellow avatars and even his subordinates at the Institute about how polite and well-mannered the boy was. His excellent grades, his growing skill in boxing and of course his artistic achievements all displayed the ways in which he’d succeeded as a parent. Martin had become an exemplary young person and a deep credit to his father.              Despite Martin’s initial insistence that pimples were a normal part of puberty, he’d eventually given in and allowed James to take him to a dermatologist when his teenage acne began to become unsightly. He had then seemed surprised when after the rounds of antibiotics and tretinoin he had become paler, and had asked James in an accusing tone if he was trying to get rid of his freckles.             “Of course not, your freckles are adorable,” James had said plainly, smirking at the way it made Martin’s cheeks colour as he mumbled denials. Adorable, indeed. “Your cheeks aren’t as ruddy because of the antibiotics. You had rosacea.”             “I-I had a normal amount of red in my cheeks!” Martin had snapped, his flush growing worse and James couldn’t help but reach out and cup one of those cheeks, clicking his tongue as he met the boy’s eyes, glittering behind his fashionably oversized glasses.             “Yes, that was the rosacea,” James explained, giving the cheek a pat before drawing away, leaving the boy to sputter endearingly.             The boxing had been good for Martin’s physical health of course, but at the rate he was growing and the appetite he gained with it, James knew he would need more than that to stay fit. Aside from routinely ensuring his meals were balanced and healthy, he also began to insist Martin work out with him in his home gym, even expanding his collection of exercise equipment to include a rowing machine when Martin had mildly expressed an interest in it. While James gave Martin a nutritional allowance that would keep him soft around the edges – he didn’t want him over-toned like an air-brushed magazine model after all – he could now watch and appreciate the development of thick muscles in the boy’s upper back and arms. He was padded, but strong. Solid. It was… intriguing.             It also meant people were beginning to look at Martin. He didn’t seem to notice, luckily, the stares of the women and men around him. The way they spoke to him in honeyed tones. He would dismiss their interest before they could even work up half the nerve to ask him for coffee, but James stayed on alert. This might be an area in which his son was a late bloomer, but it was bound to be an issue eventually. 
             If only there was a way to keep the boy to himself, keep him under his wing beyond simply ensuring he would work at the Institute. That contract would only go so far to keep him close. It would be too much of a shame to let the boy go after he’d put so much effort into making him such a perfect specimen, after all.
             James mused on this as he penciled Martin’s next root touch up into his calendar. He really did look more handsome as a brunet. Even the boy had admitted it, eventually.
*
             Martin stood by the bins in the alley in his usual moping spot. It was near enough to the Institute that James didn’t penalize him for going there, even though he knew he could see him if he checked. It was the only place Elias dared approach and talk to him, so it was worth coming by sometimes. Even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to anyone else, he found an odd comfort with Elias.  The man always looked happy to see him, was quick to offer some bad advice and give him something to laugh at. He needed that, sometimes desperately.             “Ah, out here again? Times must be rough, it’s the third time this week you know,” Elias smiled as he turned around the bin, clearly having been looking for him before settling into his daily joint. “What’s the old coot done to you this time?”             “…everything, I guess,” Martin said sullenly as he took the joint offered and held it unlit between his fingers. It helped, just having something for his hands to do and James would Know he didn’t actually smoke the thing. “It’s like- I told you I’m adopted.”             “You did,” Elias nodded easily, leaning against the wall never to him. Martin was about his height now, though he knew by the time he finished off he’d be about fifteen centimeters taller. “Tough break.”             “Yeah well,” Martin shook his head, “I look in the mirror now and it’s like who I was before never existed. Martin Blackwood just… doesn’t exist in this world. I’m Martin Barnabus Wright, which I didn’t choose but… but he’s more accomplished than Martin Blackwood would ever be. It’s stupid to be upset that I- that I can dress well and work out regularly and get into Oxford. But it’s like I’m not me anymore, you know? After all these classes and getting my hair done I don’t even look like me. It’s like looking at a stranger.”             Elias wasn’t looking at Martin, which for a person as constantly under scrutiny was well appreciated. He was still quiet though, and listened intently before nodding and smiling sadly down at his shoes, eyes a little misty beyond their usual haze.             “Heh, yeah. Men like that… like Wright, I guess, and my dad. They want us to be just like them, you know? Just little copies running around so they can have someone take over for them and leave a legacy. Obviously you’re better at being what your dad- sorry, your guardian wants than I was but, well, I saw kids like you who were good at it and it didn’t make them any happier. It’s just stressful, having something to live up to like that. Constantly feeling like you have to be perfect. That you can’t just be, you know, you.”             Martin chewed on his tongue. That wasn’t quite it, for him. He liked James’s praise, but he didn’t feel a need to be like him. He certainly didn’t want to be perfect for him. He still knew the sort of person felt like he was inside. The big fat guy with rosy cheeks and old comfortable sweaters, who made everyone tea and couldn’t do anything right. 
             Now he was none of those things, which wasn’t so bad except he hadn’t chosen to change anything it was all forced on him. And the one responsible for that change was a horrible monster who lived off fear, was making Martin live off fear alongside him, and couldn’t care less what Martin’s opinion on the matter was.
             He couldn’t say any of that though, so he nodded.             “Yeah, guess so.” Martin huffed out a sigh and Elias pursed his lips, clearly sensing he wasn’t quite hitting the mark but unsure where he went wrong.             “Sure you don’t want me to light that for you?” he gestured to the joint instead, and Martin looked at it longingly. Sure, he’d be in for another beating if he did. But what did that matter?             “Alright,” Martin was already switching off the Nokia in his pocket as he held out the joint for Elias to light with his own. The first inhale was heavy, but the clouding of his thoughts was welcome. They stood in silence for a while, smoking until Martin’s thoughts wandered back to everything James had done to him. Trapping him, turning the love of his life into a monster, destroying the world, getting his boyfriend killed, trapping him again, hurting his mum, turning him into a monster, turning him into a- a trust fund kid.             He looked up at Elias through bleary red eyes and sniffled. Elias was his only friend now, and James was going to take him away too, wasn’t he? He was going to kill him and shove his own consciousness inside him like he had some right to it, like he shouldn’t be rotting in a two hundred year old cemetery somewhere.             “Y-you can’t trust him,” Martin mumbled, and Elias looked at him oddly. Martin struggled for the right words that would save him before it was too late. God it had been so long since Martin had tried to do something useful. “Wright. James. My- you can’t trust him. He’s gonna hurt you.”             Elias paled. “You mean for the…?” He waggled his joint and Martin snorted a half-hearted laugh that ended up a sob as fat tears were abruptly rolling down his face. “Jesus! Martin, kid, you okay?”             “No! No I’m not! Elias he- James is gonna kill you! He’s gonna- he’s gonna tear out your eyes!”             “Ah shit what joint did I give you? Fuck my weed dealer- give me that!” Elias tore the joint from Martin’s hand and stomped on it, but Martin didn’t care as he reached out and dug his hands into Elias’s sleeves, tugging him closer and looking at him with wild eyes. He needed him to understand!             “He’s a MONSTER! He’s not human. He wants to kill you and put his eyes in your- in your HEAD and then- and then he’ll be you, and I can’t stop him so you have to run away! You can- if you cut your eyes out first then he can’t do it and then…”             He was babbling now, Elias's brow creased in worry as he stroked his face, his hair.             “Hey man, it’s alright. It’s okay, just a bad trip. Nothing bad’s gonna happen like that. We’re all safe, yeah?”             “You don’t believe me!” Martin let out a wretched sob. Elias was such a nice person, and he was nothing like what James was going to make him be and it wasn’t fair at all.             “I don’t think you’re lying! Just think about it, yeah? If Wright wanted to um… be someone else? He wouldn’t pick me. I mean, I’m smoking weed on the clock with his son. I’m not exactly someone anyone would want to be, you know?”             “You don’t understand! He already picked you! It’s too late, and now you can’t quit, and I- I want to do something but I can’t cause my mum’s sick and he’s gonna hurt her if I don’t… don’t…”             Martin burst into hysterical tears as Elias whined and pulled him in for an awkward hug, rubbing his back frantically as he tried to calm Martin down, knowing if James saw him like this he'd go ballistic. Martin let out another flurry of sobs as Elias pulled him further behind the bins.             “Look, let’s just sit here for a while together and we’ll wait till you calm down. You didn’t smoke much, you’ll come down soon.”             Martin nodded, part of him already giving up as he continued to cry, taking only a little comfort from the hand soothing over his shoulders. Within an hour he’d come down enough to feel embarrassed over everything. Why had he even tried to warn Elias? He’d already signed the contract. He was already trapped. There was nothing he could do, now.
*
             James had been sitting in his office, contemplating. He’d glanced at Martin sitting in the alleyway several times in the last hour, concerned over the emotional breakdown he was clearly having. He hadn’t paid enough attention to catch exactly what the problem was, but it seemed to be manifesting as some sort of confusion over his sense of self and, while he had certainly broken the rules in revealing James’s plans to Elias, it was clear that beating him alone wasn’t going to solve whatever this new rebellion was. Not that he wasn’t going to beat him, but he definitely needed more.             He was surprised when a tentative knock on his office door broke him from his musings and he Knew it was Elias Bouchard. When had he left Martin? A quick check showed the boy had been left in the downstairs public washroom to clean himself up, which was well enough.             “Come in,” said James, honestly curious. Elias entered with trepidation, but refused the seat offered and actually drew himself up a little taller.             “It’s about Martin,” Elias swallowed before steeling himself, “I think he’s under a lot of pressure.”             James steepled his fingers and raised his eyebrows, a subtle suggestion for Elias to go on. He did so. James knew well what had happened outside, but Elias made no mention of Martin’s mental breakdown. Instead he merely highlighted how so much focus on school and studying can cause strain on a growing mind. Maybe Martin is afraid to tell James about his struggles for fear of disappointing him.             “And what would you propose I do, then?” James said finally, when Elias had finished. “His studies are important.”             “Yeah but they aren’t everything!” Elias said quickly. “Like, he’s only sixteen but he’s already taking college courses? He doesn’t get a chance to hang out with friends. He says he doesn’t play video games or do anything to unwind!”             “He has his poetry, his music.”             “Sure, but that’s still kind of work, you know? He’s not relaxing, he’s making, that’s different! Art is a job too. Honestly, the kid probably needs therapy or- or a year off maybe? Some kind of outdoor camp so he can be more independent. Hell, at least a vacation!” Elias threw up his hands as James chewed on his tongue and considered it. If another glance hadn’t revealed Martin breaking down in the bathroom again he might have dismissed these concerns entirely but as it was it might behoove him to think about it.             “Well, a whole year off simply isn’t practical,” James said after a moment, “But you are correct. I, too, have noticed he’s been stressed. Therapy and a vacation might be just what he needs. Thank you for your concern, Elias. I think I will take your advice.”             Elias brightened. “Oh, good. And- hey, don’t tell him I was here, yeah? I just want him to be okay.”             “Mm, yes I appreciate that. Continue to work in my son’s interests and I suspect you’ll find yourself in a much more desirable position here. You may go.”             James shared a private chuckle at Elias’s prideful grin as he took his leave. Meanwhile, James began to search his rolodex for the therapists he normally directed his artefact storage employees to when they began to get a little too close to unionizing. Therapy would be a good way to get into Martin’s head without being able to do so directly.             As for a vacation, James hadn’t had one in a while either. He’d often heard a week at the seaside could work wonders, perhaps it was worth a try. Besides, bringing Martin someone nice and secluded would be excellent for making it clear to him that if he EVER did anything to interfere directly with James’s plans again he would be punished worse than he could possibly dream.             Then some rest and relaxation. Yes, that sounded like it would be quite agreeable for the both of them.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

14
             It had been a surprise when James announced they would be going on a holiday. Doubly so since it would be the first time James had even brought up the concept of a proper holiday in all the time Martin had lived with him. Even the summer holiday was filled with tutors and private lessons. Martin had been expecting to be beaten for his slip up with Elias when he’d gotten home that night and instead he was told to pack a bag. They’d driven for an hour and a half, and now they were at the seaside.             The seaside cottage that James had rented out was beautiful. It wasn’t overly spacious, but it was undoubtedly elegant with modern (for 2002) appliances in the kitchen and bathroom and airy pinewood furnishings. Rustic but modern. It was also more isolated than Martin thought possible on the south coast of England. A holding of the Lukas estate according to James. As he told Martin, the owner rarely agreed to rent it to more than a single occupant at a time. Hence the single bedroom, presumably. The King sized bed was small comfort. Martin had long outgrown being forced into bed with his guardian, or so he thought. Though he supposed he would endure it, its not like James had ever tried anything when they’d shared a bed before.             He’d just finished unpacking his bag into the wardrobe and had sat on the bed, wondering distantly if this holiday would be nice apart from the sleeping arrangements. It seemed like James had actually decided to value Martin’s mental state for once, at least enough to break him out of the slog of studying and lessons he normally stumbled through with only the webbing and fog in his mind to hold himself together.             Then James entered the room, holding a sturdy looking cane and slapping it threateningly into his palm and Martin stiffened. He should have known better. How many times did James need to prove he was a monster before Martin would stop forgetting?             “Pants down, bend over the side of the bed,” James instructed, and Martin’s jaw dropped.             “Why?! I thought this was a vacation!” Martin squirmed up the bed, eyes wide on the cane. He felt betrayed, and then felt stupid for feeling that way. “You bastard! That’s not going to make me feel better!”             “I don’t expect it will,” James said simply, eyes hard, but he wasn’t quite hiding his smirk. The prick was enjoying this, enjoying the deep chill settling into Martin’s bones. “However, you directly disobeyed me. You got high, and then you interfered with my plans. Not just any of my plans, but the one directly involved my continuation of life. Surely you didn’t think you could get away with that?”             Martin turned his head away, heart pounding a frantic tattoo in his chest. “So what did you drag me out here for? You could have punished me just as easily at home!”             “Oh, but I’ve never caned you before, have I? I don’t expect you to be quiet for this, even if you have put on some weight since the last time I spanked you,” James hummed as Martin flushed angrily. “Here, no one will hear you screaming. And since we’re getting this out of the way early, the bruises and welts will be healed enough to hide them by the time we return in a week.”             “Clever,” Martin huffed, folding his arms, “You’re right though, I am bigger now. Maybe I just won’t let you cane me. No one’s out here, no one will hear if I get that thing and smash you over the head with it.”             “No killing. If our little questions contract has lasted us this long, our mutual truce has as well. Now. Get up,” James instructed. “I won’t ask nicely again.”             “Then maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll knock you out and leave you by the water just before high tide,” Martin raised his voice, “Not so fun when you’re the one who can get helplessly hauled around like- NO!”             Martin’s vision whited out and something else flooded behind his eyelids. Nothing as specific as Jonah had used on the night of the Unknowing. His mother wasn’t featured. But he had many years’ worth of statement-fueled nightmares to draw upon. Within seconds he Knew what it was to be eaten alive by spiders as they buried under his skin and chewed through his intestines, to be trapped in mosh pit where everyone around him began to rip each other apart and having no other thought but to join the fray, to be swallowed by a monster bigger than reality itself without even the honour of being noticed.             “STOP! STOP!” Martin shrieked and finally the visions ceased, leaving him panting with tears streaming down his face. He looked up at James, who had moved to stand over him on the bed, with abject horror.             “I could do that all day,” James said simply, “But I doubt there’d be much left of you if I did. This is not my preferred way to discipline you. I am only doing it now to ensure you realise exactly how serious I am about this transgression. You will not be sabotaging me in any way that might jeopardize my life. In light of that, I suggest you follow my orders like a good little boy. What do you say?”             “You’re sick,” Martin mumbled, pressing a hand to his aching forehead, fighting back yet another flood of tears. “You’re a twisted monster. I hate you.”             “More? You’d like more, you say?”             Martin heaved a sob and shook his head. “Fine I- fine. Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better. Hitting kids doesn’t actually teach them anything, you know.”             “I disagree. I think this has been very instructive for you already. Now, get up. Pants down, and bend over the bed.”             This time Martin complied. He hated how close his guardian stood to him as he slid off of the bed and began to fumble with his belt and zipper. Eventually his shaking hands were batted away and Martin felt something twist in his stomach as James took over, expertly sliding the belt from the loops and unzipping his trousers. Soon he was bending him bodily over the bed, his forearms taking his weight as both trousers and pants were slid down his thighs to bunch at his knees. It was only then it fully hit him how weird it was for James to be doing this to him as a teenager. He was taking college courses. He was taller than James. When had being stripped and hit gotten so normalized that he got all the way into this position before he realised how absolutely disgusting James was for doing this?             Martin couldn’t stay quiet for a caning. He had never thought being hit on the arse could hurt so much, and James wasn’t holding back at all. It seemed that he took Martin’s grown body as an excuse to thrash him as hard as possible, and Martin was terrified he would miss his mark and actually break his tailbone, or back even as the blows landed fast and harsh. But no, he aim was precise as he kept to his arse and thighs, and though it hurt horribly and fostered impressively dark welts, the strikes didn’t quite draw blood.             That didn’t stop Martin from screaming himself hoarse, clawing at the bedsheets and trying to pull away out of sheer pain several times only to be paralyzed again by more visions that flashed across his eyes just long enough to still him before he was brought back to the moment.
             Every moment was a nightmare come to life whether it was his own or someone else’s being fed to him by James. No matter what the man said, this wasn't a correction of bad behavior. This wasn’t to stop him from acting out again, not really. Martin was old and wise enough to tell that much even if James didn’t know it.

This was anger. This was James getting revenge on Martin for daring to try and stop him taking what he thought he was owed. This was for James’s enjoyment, excused through the fig leaf of Martin’s behaviour. James was a monster before he was a father, and he couldn’t help but revel in causing so much pain and fear, even in his own adopted son. Perhaps especially so. Martin bit his lip until it bled.

When James’s arm got tired, the beating slowed. The ache was still awful even without the assault and Martin collapsed harder into the bed, crying freely into his arms for a good minute before he felt a large hand running over his bruised ass and his sobs choked off in his throat.
             “What are you doing?” Martin’s hoarse voice was barely more than a whisper. James didn’t answer him for a moment, caressing his thigh instead in a way that made his stomach twist even harder. He squeezed his legs together, only to groan at the pain of even that small movement and was forced to relax again.             “My goodness your arse has plumped up nicely,” James murmured, and Martin coughed in shock.             “W-what? No that- don’t say sh- stuff like that. God that’s creepy,” Martin shifted away, but James tutted and he stilled again, terrified of another assault. His arse was squeezed for his trouble, provoking another groan.             “Why should it be creepy?” James asked distantly, as though he were genuinely considering the question. “Is it so much stranger than commenting on your improved grades, your better aim in boxing?”             “Yes, it is!” Martin growled through clenched teeth.             “There’s no need to be so hostile toward a simple compliment,” said James decisively before leaning over Martin’s back to plant a single, searing kiss into his hair. Martin shuddered badly as he was patted on the back.             “Your punishment is over. Let’s not have any more disobedience, yes?”             “Right,” Martin said quietly, fighting the urge to curl in on himself and instead slowly forcing himself to look over his shoulder. James looked awfully satisfied as he reached up to pat his cheek.             “That’s a good boy. Now then, I’m sure those bruises will be painful. I brought some numbing cream, though of course I would need to apply it. I’ll be able to reach all the problem areas better than you could on your own.”             Martin shivered, the look on James’s face was hungry again, and it occurred to him that for all he had considered James a monster, some part of him had long ago dismissed this as being an issue. James wasn’t a paedophile, he didn’t like children like that way. He’d never, not in all the time he’d been ‘raised’ by this man felt his boundaries pushed like this.             But Martin wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d grown a lot the past year, and though he didn’t look as old as he had when he applied to work at the Magnus Institute at age seventeen he could pass for a college student now. Plenty of adults came onto college kids who wouldn’t go after an eight year old.
             He’d gotten used to being seen as a kid. Especially by James. Having that change now, having the man who insisted he bathe, and eat, and do his homework now turn that kind of gaze on him… it was unsettling. Sickening. He shook his head rapidly.
             “I’m fine. I don’t want it.”             James clicked his tongue, but shrugged. “Well, if you change your mind you’ll let me know, won’t you? There’s nothing wrong with accepting help from your father.”             Martin let out a short, strangled breath. “I’m sixteen.” He took a breath. “Dad.”             James paused, cocking his head to one side like a bird. A small smile twisted onto his lips. “Ah yes. You know, there was a time in history when you would be married by now.”             Martin didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like it at all. Something of that revulsion must have shown on his face, or blown past the fog in his mind because James’s smile grew wide enough that he laughed, shaking his head.             “Oh well, I suppose despite your body you still have a little maturing to do. The time will come.”             “What does- no, I don’t think I want to know. Creep,” Martin shook his head and curled in on himself properly this time, cringing as his head was petted freely like James had every right to touch him any way he wanted.             Martin was able to last through one walk on the beach and sitting for exactly three card games and a meal before the pain in his arse made him break and in a whisper he asked for some painkillers. Apparently there were none, only the cream.             To give James the smallest credit, he kept his touch medical and brief when he applied the cream. The caresses almost felt like an apology. Almost. But in the end, Martin was only trading the sting of the welts for the sting of humiliation as he followed James’s instruction to bend over his lap. He made no commentary, knowing James would only draw it out more. He was beaten down again.
*
             After three days of cream application, sleeping in the same bed (which always seemed to lead to him waking in the night with a hand on him that he had to shake off), and enforced bonding with idle card games, the sun came out and Martin was granted permission to sit by the ocean with his sketchbook alone. He felt embarrassed, trapped, and strangely sentimental. Even now, when he needed a reason to keep living, he could only think of Jon. He indulged.
             It had been many years now since he’d seen Jon, but he still remembered him as if they had been travelling the apocalypse together only yesterday. At times like these, those memories were the only thing that kept him moving forward. Knowing that one day, he might see him again. Maybe they could get more time together this time around…
             He’d been drawing Jon’s face for years now. It was how he made sure not to forget it. James never understood it and made snide comments about Martin’s supposed ‘boyfriend’ that he’d never actually met but he never told Martin to stop. So he never did. When feeling as unmoored as he did now, all he could do is obsessively draw his anchor, over and over again. Jon doing the dishes. Jon in bed, sleeping with his eyes open. Jon asleep at his desk, drool on his chin. Being able to draw him so beautifully made all those art lessons well worth it. Could he show Jon these one day? No, that would probably be creepy, showing a guy who didn’t know him sketchbooks full of him doing things so intimate.             Martin stopped in the middle of shading Jon’s thick eyebrows and stiffened. He was never going to actually be with Jon again, was he?             All this time, these past seven years, some little part of him thought that when he met Jon again he could just ask him out and they’d pick up where they left off. But that could never happen, could it? He wasn’t even Martin Blackwood anymore, he wasn’t the person he was then. Could Jon even love the man he was now? And Jon… when he met Jon again, it wouldn’t be the Jon who had gone through all the pain and suffering of being the archivist.             And that was good! Martin wanted that. He wanted Jon to avoid suffering, but Jon had needed the threat of an apocalypse to love Martin Blackwood. And it’s not as though it had been love at first sight from Martin’s side either. Could Martin Wright love Jonathan Sims as he was when they met the first time? Even if they did meet again, it wouldn’t be like his sketches. It couldn’t be. The man covered in scars wasn’t the Jon of this world. It would never be. That Jon was dead. No, worse, he was unmade. He would never become.             Who was Martin here for? What was he trying to do? Why was he sitting on a beach with a numb arse, dreading the moment the worst man on the planet called him in for dinner?             He hadn’t realised he was crying until drops landed on his drawing, smearing the pencil marks. Then he drew the book to his chest, buried his face in his knees and began to cry again.             Distantly he heard the cottage door slamming open and the hammer of running feet on the porch steps, down the boardwalk and then dampening as James reached the sand. Martin tried to calm down, to wipe away his tears and swallow his cries but he could only curl up and away from the man whose hands landed large and oppressive on his shoulders, trying to pry him open and make him look up.             “Martin? Come now, nothing’s happening to you. There’s no need for tears. Are you still in pain? I might have additional painkillers if you just wait- no, no it’s not about that.” James’s expression closed in the way it did when he was actively searching for information.             Martin shook his head rapidly, rocking back and forth as he hunched over his sketchbook. He wasn’t going to let James see it, he would misunderstand. James let out a huff and Martin was soon dragged into the man’s chest, a hand running through his hair now as his guardian made soft tutting noises in his ear.             “There there, you’re safe. Nothing bad is happening to you,” James assured him, though it earned him only a strangled, disbelieving laugh. He sighed irritably. “Well tell me what’s wrong then, so we can address it.”             “Why do you care?” Martin spat wetly, flushing at the power behind the words.             “Because I’m invested in your wellbeing and you are clearly not well. The punishment is over, but if you cannot learn to keep hold of yourself that is a liability that I won’t allow,” James hissed, his hold tightening as he gained the upper hand. “Now what’s wrong?”             The keen Martin let out was loud and humiliating, but he had to answer. “I’m never going to be with Jon!”             His chest heaved rapidly as he fought in vain to control the fresh wave of blubbering cries and hiccoughs that rocked his body. As he did, the hand in his hair slowed its stroking and a chanced glance upward showed James looking at him with pure confused disbelief.             “Your imaginary boyfriend?” James blinked rapidly, trying to come to terms with what must seem like the most bizarre explanation Martin’s tears could possibly have. “You do understand Jon isn’t real, don’t you? You made him up.”             That only made Martin cry louder, his tears running hot, head pounding as his throat croaked in effort to keep up with his hyperventilation.             “Maybe you do need a vacation,” James muttered as he forced Martin’s chin up at last. “Now, breathe with me Martin. Count to three and breathe in. One, two… there we go. Out, in…”             Out of desperation for calm if nothing else, Martin followed James’s commands and ever so slowly his breathing evened out. He still felt like he was on a hair trigger, but focusing on the arms still heavy around him helped despite whom they were attached to.             “There now,” James let out a long breath of his own. “It’s not as bad as all that, is it? This Jon, he wouldn’t be worth your time even if he did exist. Bit of a weasel-looking thing. You could do better.”             Martin snorted, looking down as he shook his head again. “Jon’s wonderful.”             “…I see,” James said, though he definitely did not.             “But you’re right,” Martin sniffled, light headed in the wake of his weeping. “I would be wasting my time looking for him. He wouldn’t love me now anyway. I’m too different.”             Now it was James’s turn to snort. “If that’s true, then he’s a fool. You’ve grown into a lovely young man that anyone would want. Though, this is a bit of an odd conversation, you understand. Given that your Jon doesn’t exist?”             That hurt. Martin covered his mouth and doubled over, trying desperately to muffle the fresh croaking sobs as James hurried to wrap him up in a hug again.             “What on earth-? It doesn’t matter, does it? Either way, you don’t need that weasel boy to love you. You’ll always have me here with you. You have no need for a boyfriend, imaginary or otherwise.”             The vivid memory of James caressing his arse slammed into him like a truck and froze the tears on his cheeks as he pulled the worst face in his repertoire. Unfortunately James had his face in his hair, inhaling deeply, and didn’t notice it.             “That’s it, nice and calm. That’s my boy,” James cooed and planted a kiss on Martin’s temple, drawing out a shudder. It was hard to believe he’d been trapped with little company but this odious man for almost nine years. They’d flown by, but they weighed heavily on his soul. That was five years longer than he had even known Jon, no mention of the heart-breakingly brief time he’d been allowed to hold him the way James was holding him now.             “How about we go inside and put dinner together? We can make one of your favourites,” James suggested when it finally seemed Martin’s tears had properly petered out.             The warm touch and words soothed something in Martin’s chest, and he let out a shaking breath. “Why do you have to be nice to me, too? It’d be easier to hate you if you were just awful all the time.”             The long pause reminded Martin it wasn’t his turn, but James answered him anyway. “I told you once that I want you to be happy here, with me. That’s still true.”             Martin shifted in the sand, bracing at the sting. “Getting caned didn’t exactly help with that.”             James clicked his tongue, moving to stand and helping Martin up with him. “I can’t have you ruining my plans, and you attempted to do so while knowing full well how out of line you were. But tell me, have I ever hurt you when I didn’t think it was a serious matter?”             “Yes,” Martin sniffed.             “…recently?”             A pause, and Martin shrugged.             “That’s what I thought,” James said pleasantly, reaching up to pat his cheek pleasantly. “I’m proud to be your father.”             Martin stilled. James had never said that before, not in those exact words. In fact, those were words Martin had never heard nor dared to hope he would hear from anyone. They stabbed at his heart, and though he should have long run dry he felt his eyes prickling again.             The look on his face must have encouraged the man in front of him because James smiled and elaborated.             “You’ve grown into a handsome, accomplished young man. Anyone would be proud to have you as a son. Yes, you still need the occasional correction,” James allowed with a decisive nod, “But these past years you’ve been largely amendable and obedient to me which are highly admirable qualities in a child. If I’ve been nice to you since taking you under my wing, it is because you’ve done little to deserve otherwise. You’re a good son, Martin.”             That did it. Without anything approaching a thought, Martin flung his arms around James’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder, fresh tears surely ruining the stupid suit his guardian insisted on wearing to the goddamned seaside.             It was an unfortunate testament to his upbringing to acknowledge that James might be better at being a parent than his own parents were. The bar was admittedly on the floor as his own father walked out into the Lonely and his mother openly disliked him, was too sick to look after him much of his childhood, and would often scream at and hit him for failing to do things a child simply shouldn’t have had to do.             Yes, James hit him and threatened him as well. Martin was under no illusion that he wasn’t living the life of an abused child even with the advantage of being able to use his adult knowledge to evade the worst of it. Still, James never told him to do anything he was physically incapable of. Martin never felt unsure if they would lose their home or if there would be food in his lunch box. James encouraged his success in ways his mother was never capable of due to both her illness and her inherent pessimism.             He still loved his mum. Of course he loved his mum, he still exchanged letters with her after all. But even now with his arse still stinging from the cane and heart aching with loneliness, Martin was horrified to realise some part of him might be growing to… not love. Never that. But he was starting to appreciate James. He was strict and demanding, but fair with him. He took his time and cared enough to try to comfort him. He appreciated James, and that sickened him. He couldn’t turn it off.             It wasn’t a fair comparison, he knew that. His mother lacked a lot of the resources James had. His mother was struggling to make ends meet while sick and alone. If she’d been rich, maybe she and James would have been much the same. After all, now that he wasn’t with her and she only had to support herself, her letters were full of pretty words of praise and longing to see him. Maybe, if they’d had a more stable life…
             Oh who was he kidding? He’d grown up with this woman, he knew she’d never have said such things in person no matter how much money they had. He didn’t recognise the woman in the letters he kept in a shoebox under his bed. He hardly recognised the man holding him now speaking equally pretty words. He definitely didn’t recognise himself as he melted into those arms.

Martin must have grown into a truly terrible person, to let himself be comforted by a monster like Jonah Magnus.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

15             Martin wasn’t sure what prompted him to ask James to see his mother in person. He hadn’t seen her in many years, not since she'd given him the badger that still stood guard on his bedroom side table, though he exchanged letters with her each month like clockwork. James monitored the exchange of course, so he couldn’t talk about anything important. He’d update her on what he was studying at school, his lessons, and ask about her health. She would in turn dismiss his concerns and tell him she was doing just fine, often complaining about government welfare programs and then a number of things that James saw fit to black out with marker as though it were a government file being redacted for the public. That didn’t bother Martin so much, if anything that helped reassure him the letters were genuine. Certainly he wouldn’t have put it past James to fake the letters, but if he wasn’t then he at least knew his mother was still alive and capable of writing. It was something, anyway.             But then, his mother sent a letter two days after Martin’s birthday where she didn’t mention the occasion at all. This shouldn’t have sparked the concern that it did. He felt no offense about it, certainly in the old timeline his mother had never cared to mention his birthday. But in this timeline it was different. Every year she had sent a letter, referencing a gift she enclosed with it that James never saw fit to pass on. It was possible she had just forgotten this year, of course. It could happen to the best of people. Still, it made something itch at the back of his skull, and that itch swelled into a lingering worry. In the end he decided it was worth risking physical discipline, at the very least if James refused to answer him he could say he tried his best.             The conversation didn’t go as he expected, however. He’d waited for bedtime and for James to finish his nightly statement, this one about a slaughter-aligned accordion in Germany. Perhaps the quiet atmosphere worked to his advantage as James always seemed a bit softer after feeding the Eye with Martin’s fear. Instead of snapping to anger, smacking Martin over the head and scolding him for even mentioning his mother when it wasn’t strictly necessary, he began by giving him an unreadable expression. Then he looked down at the statement and, bizarrely, chuckled.             “After all this time? And with no prompting. Well, I should expect as much by now,” the man said in a low voice, almost to himself. “Very well, I’ll make the arrangements. Go to sleep, you’ll see her before the end of the week.”             Martin was too surprised and scared of the promise being retracted to respond. He endured the kiss to his forehead and could only stare in wonder as James smiled at him from the doorway before flipping off the light. It was worrying.*             To add to Martin’s disbelief over the situation, James did not accompany him to the meeting with his mother. Maybe it was because Martin was too large now for his mother to drag away. Perhaps he actually trusted Martin not to run off with her. But Martin suspected there was some sort of failsafe in place to stop him getting that far. Maybe this was a test. He could make some sense of that, at least.             The meeting place was a quiet room in a library in the middle of London. Presumably considered a neutral territory, where Martin’s shined shoes would be just as at home as his mother’s second hand jacket. Martin had arrived first and had stood up when the door flew open to reveal his mother and, for a regrettable moment, he barely recognised her.             Not only was her hair greasy, it looked as sparse as it had in the care home when she’d given up combing it as every brush only seemed to pull out more strands she never got back. Though surely she wouldn’t need that for another decade? She was thin as well, her cheekbones stark. God, had she even been eating? And the dark bruises under her eyes were pronounced so much it gave her the shadow of a skull on her face.             It was clear at that moment that she didn’t recognise him at all. Her eyebrows drew together into a scowl and she checked the paper she had clutched in her fist, backing out of the room to check the room number again without a word to Martin. He cleared his throat and forced a smile.             “Hi Mum. It- it’s me. Sorry, I probably look pretty different,” Martin said, raising his voice halfway through his sentence as it didn’t seem like his mother was listening. She finally turned to him with a blank look, then searched his face before her shoulders slumped.             “Right,” she said dully, shuffling into the room properly and letting the weighted door shut automatically behind her. “Why the hell are you wearing a suit? Are you dying your hair now? You didn’t tell me that in your letters.”             “I didn’t- um, wasn’t sure if it would matter? It wasn’t my choice,” Martin winced under his mother’s hard look. It didn’t matter how many years passed, that look always would hold sway over him. “I mean, I don’t mind it either! Just Da- James said it would be uh, better this way. He doesn’t really go in for casual clothes.”             “Feels like I’m at a job interview with my own son,” his mother muttered, taking a seat haphazardly and Martin hurried to sit as well. He pretended it didn’t hurt that she hadn’t even tried to embrace him after all this time. His mother had never been fond of physical contact. It was enough that she had come to him, wanted to talk to him. He told himself it was enough. “So, what did you want? That bastard didn’t say what this meeting was about, just said I’d better be here. You’ve got to want something, if you could’ve talked to me in person all this time and only asked now.”             The glare was levelling, but Martin swallowed against the way his throat was closing automatically. He might not get a chance to speak to her again and he wasn’t going to waste this time telling his mother how tight a leash James had on him. He didn’t want her to worry about him. Yes, if he should be doing anything with this meeting it was reassuring his mother that he was alright and didn’t need her to worry.             “Just um, just wanted to see how you were doing? You’re keeping up with your medications and-”             “Yes yes I’m fine. Christ, a teenage boy doesn’t need to be asking after his mother’s health like I’m some kind of invalid,” his mother punctuated her sentence with a coughing fit and punctuated that with a steely glare as if daring him to say a word about it. He refrained and so his mother went on. “So what’s it like living with a monster, then? He hasn’t been starving you anyway. Never would have expected you to get so… big.”             He was intimidating to her, Martin realised with a start. Even sitting down he towered over her. Well, he always had, but now that he was more muscle than fat he felt even more imposing. He tried to shrink in his seat and her posture relaxed minutely. He cleared his throat, schooling his face into something mostly neutral.             “It’s not bad, actually,” he chanced a smile knowing it wouldn’t be returned. “Monster is a bit harsh. Yeah, I know he was… forceful, at the beginning. But I can’t deny it’s been to my benefit in the long run. I’m already in college for one thing, James has been getting my private tutors since- well god knows when. And h-he says he has a job lined up for me after at his Institute so...”             He trailed off, stomach sinking as his mother’s twitching mouth told him he’d said the wrong thing entirely.             “Oh I see. Right, of course. Doesn’t matter he’s a rich suit that ripped you screaming out of your home. He’s got money so why would you ever want to leave?” she mocked him, adding a nasty laugh and Martin couldn’t help the way his lips twisted in revulsion at its broken edges. “Stupid. This was stupid. All these years sending you letters- what did you do, laugh at them? Sit around having a big laugh that this crazy lady kept trying to take you away from the lap of luxury?”             “No, nothing like that!” Martin said quickly, wondering how he could salvage this. He’d forgotten how quickly a conversation with his mother could turn sour. “I appreciated those letters more than you know! I kept every one of them!”             That seemed to give his mother pause and her rant died away as she viewed him pensively again even as she drew her arms around herself and shivered as the air conditioner kicked on noisily overhead. “You didn’t answer my question. Why now? Why did you want to see me now, after all this time?”             Martin looked at her helplessly. “I… I don’t know. I had a bad feeling, I guess.”             His mother chewed her lip, glancing down at her lap. “Did… did he tell you something? Give you reason to… do you know about…?”             “Know about what?” Martin straightened in his seat, eyes wide as something crackled on his tongue. His mother jerked.             “The centipedes they...” his mother stiffened, hacked, and shook her head fiercely as Martin jerked backward and slapped a hand over his mouth. Did he just compel his mother? The statements… had they already tied him to the Eye that much, even when he didn’t read them himself? Had the Lonely finally eroded enough to let the Eye in?             “W-what about the-” Martin shook himself and forced back the question, but his mother inferred it regardless and quickly began waving it away.             “Nothing, just- my landlord’s worthless is all. What else is new in this city,” his mother hacked again. “Always hated house centipedes, and they keep coming out of the bathroom sink. The exterminators he sends aren’t helping a whit either. They’re nasty things, probably why I’ve got a cold again. I just thought maybe your- that man knew about it is all.”             Martin frowned, remembering his mother telling him about the studio flat she was renting on the cheap to save money. What she was spending the extra money on he didn’t ask. It wasn’t clothes and skin care products. Maybe she was saving it all for a rainy day; that would be like her. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know, but maybe I could ask James to help? At least find a more effective exterminator, put you up in a hotel for a couple of weeks?”             “I don’t need handouts!” his mother barked, curling fists into her sleeves. “I just- I’d wondered is all. Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about me and I won’t worry about you, I guess. Since you don’t need me, who does?”             “Mum…” Martin said weakly, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his mother’s shoulder only for her to flinch away from it. He drew back on himself, wincing as his mother scrambled shakily to her feet.             “No, no, don’t try to stop me!” she hissed, making for the door. “I’m ugly, and old, and useless, and there’s no point to any of it, is there? Thought at least my own son would give a shit but you just think I’m some- some charity case, don’t you? Well don’t forget you’re one too, boy! You’d be nothing if that bastard didn’t pick you off the street like a stray dog, and he’ll be as quick to drop you if you bark too loud! You’re just his little pet street urchin. I gave birth to you! Don’t forget it! Don’t you ever forget the dirt you came from!”             “I won’t,” Martin whispered, his eyes prickling with tears as his mother watched him with a hand on the door. They looked at each other, the mother and son who could never manage to be good enough for each other.             “…good luck,” his mother mumbled, and slammed the door behind her. Martin expected to cry then, but didn’t. Maybe he’d used up all the tears he had for his mother long ago.*             He still didn’t cry a week later when James sat him down on the piano bench in the front room and told him very matter-of-factly that his mother had been found dead in her flat that morning. He didn’t elaborate on the cause of death, but did say it was due to a ‘worsening of her conditions’ and Martin decided that was all the detail he wanted. He hung his head as a hug was bestowed on him like an obligation, and his lack of response made James draw away with furrowed eyebrows.             “You may cry, if you need to,” he said after a moment, “I won’t punish you for displaying emotion over your mother’s death. It’s healthy, I hear.”             Martin shook his head. He felt hollow, a shell with nothing inside to cry out.             “Well, what are you feeling then? Guilty?” James blinked, clearly confused at the emotion that Martin clearly hadn’t worked hard enough to cover up. “Why on earth would you feel guilty?”             Martin shuddered and his mouth opened. “If I’d been with her, she wouldn’t have… I could have made her take her medications. If I’d been there, she would’ve had longer. So much longer.”             James frowned. “I hardly gave you a choice about that, you know.”             “I should have stayed home. I never should have gone to kill you in the first place. That was stupid,” Martin whispered, and James stiffened. It occurred to Martin that this was the first time he’d expressed regret for that, out loud at least.             “That… was the will of the Web,” James said slowly, reaching out to set a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “You were a young child when you came to me. Even if you’d grown up with your mother, you couldn’t have done anything to change her fate.”             Martin shut his eyes. How many times had his mother told him he was useless, that he could do nothing right? That he’d ruined her life? But here, now, was proof of the opposite. “I could have helped her.”             “No, you couldn’t have,” James' voice was so firm and certain that Martin could have believed it, if he hadn’t had another timeline to show him the awful truth. He’d always assumed that his mother would have been so much better off without him in her life. She’d always said he was the reason for all her problems. But without him, she’d died before Martin would have even dropped out of school to care for her in the original timeline.             He should have known. He could see how devastated she was when his dad left, and yet he’d left right after without a thought. If he’d waited until he was older, bigger, stronger, James might be dead by now and his mother would be alive. Maybe happier than she’d been the first time around, with Martin better able to care for her. She’d needed him and he’d left. He… he was a bad son.             “There it is,” James muttered, and then pulled out a handkerchief to pat at Martin’s suddenly wet cheeks, drawing him into a tight hug as he broke. Apparently he had some tears left after all.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

16
             In the first timeline, Martin had been seventeen when he’d joined the institute. Young, terrified of the lies he would need to tell to get the job, more terrified of having to go home without the security an academia paycheque would provide him and his mother.             In this timeline, his mother was dead. He had yet to hold down a job at all given James’s insistence he devote himself to his studies, and in that vein James had been firm that Martin would be finishing his degree before he would be signing his contract. Martin still intended to find a way out of that but he couldn’t deny he would have an easier time if he let himself get a degree before making his escape.             He would be making an escape, though. His mother was gone, and couldn't be threatened anymore. That’s what he told himself over and over, he would get his degree and run as far and as fast as he could.             It had seemed natural, once the time had come for him to decide on where to go for his full time degree. Anywhere he wants as long as it’s in London, James had said. He chose Oxford University. He actually had the grades to get in, and on top of that some tiny, irrational part of him hoped he’d run into Jon there. Sweet, college aged Jon.             Of course, it was a slim chance. James had insisted Martin take business management as his major, so Jon’s English classes wouldn’t overlap even if they were in the same year. Martin had early acceptance, so they didn’t even have that much going for them. He was in accelerated classes too, so he wouldn’t even be at the school for a full four years as was typical, narrowing that window of opportunity even further.
On top of that the campus was huge but he thought if he got very lucky, he might get a chance to find Jon just once and warn him. To tell him to stay as far away from the Magnus Institute as possible for the rest of his life. Maybe that could be enough to stop the apocalypse from coming. Maybe that would be enough, to have suffered under James just for the chance to keep Jon safe from him forever.
             In a twist of luck that no one saw coming, Martin B. Wright would in fact meet Jonathan Sims at Oxford exactly once. 
When he was crossing campus to get to his accounting class, he’d spotted the man marching neatly past him. His mouth had fallen open in shock and he’d taken a half step toward Jon without thinking, their shoulders knocking into each other painfully.
             “S-sorry!” Martin gasped out, breath knocked from his lungs at the mere sight of Jon. He might not have recognised him if he hadn’t seen him go through so many changes over the four years spent with him at the Institute. His hair was short, cropped and faded around his ears far more neatly than it had been in the apocalypse, yet far more youthfully than when he’d first taken on the job of Archivist. He wore a green corduroy jacket that looked beautiful against his unmarked brown skin. And his eyes… his eyes were just the same. Bright and alive in spite of the dark circles that suggested he’d only vaguely heard of sleep.             “Close your mouth, you’re attracting flies,” said Jon in a posh, steely voice that Martin barely remembered. Martin blinked and slowly closed his mouth, mind racing for something to say that would help the situation and not make him look completely insane.             ‘I love you. I’ve missed you. I could kiss you and never stop.’             “Jon, that’s mean! So sorry about him, really.”             Martin was startled. He’d been so distracted by Jon he hadn’t even noticed the man was walking with someone. Walking hand in hand with someone. A black woman with long hair curling around her charmingly round cheeks. Georgie Barker. Right, Jon dated Georgie in uni. Which they were now in. Martin’s stomach sank rapidly.             “Right I… no, it’s my fault. Wasn’t paying attention. Up late and zoned out, you know?” Martin stammered, eyes flickering from Georgie to Jon, to their linked hands. He wanted to scream. His chest felt tight.             Jon’s eyebrows drew together in a tell-tale scowl but before he could tell Martin not to make excuses for his incompetence, Georgie shoved her hand between the two of them for a handshake.             “I’m Georgie, and this is Jon! We’re first years. I’m in communication studies!”             Martin forced a smile at her, feeling horrifically awkward and shy. When was the last time he’d had a casual conversation with anyone new? Why couldn’t he remember? “I-I’m Martin. It’s my uh, my last year, actually.”             Jon, apparently surprised he was talking to an upperclassman, had the decency to flush a bit. It was fetching on him, and Martin’s heart ached. “Oh, what’s your major?”             Martin licked his dry lips. Of course, what other question do you ask someone in university? “Er, I’m a business major. Minor in paranormal sciences. Weird, I know. You?”             Jon made a rather obvious face that made Martin realise that, somehow, this man had actually become better at hiding his distaste between college and being the Archivist. “English. Sorry, minoring in paranormal studies? Why?”             He sounded so incredulous that Martin almost laughed. Why would he care so much? He just met Martin! “Yeah, weird like I said. It was my guardian’s idea actually.”             “That sounds fun! I didn’t even know they offered enough courses to minor in that here!” Georgie said brightly. “Maybe I’ll minor in paranormal science too!”             Jon twitched, and there was an awkward pause as Martin realised he had no idea how to keep this conversation going, let alone how to warn Jon about the institute in such a way that it wouldn’t just make him think Martin was having him on. He might even apply sooner just to spite him. That was definitely something Jon would do.             The interaction ended a moment later when Jon tugged on Georgie’s hand to tell her they would be late to their next class and Georgie waved a happy goodbye. They hadn’t even exchanged cell numbers. Martin might not see them again until the Institute. He made an aborted motion to ask him to wait, to come back, to let Martin look at him just a moment longer.
             He couldn’t bring himself to speak. It was almost like something was tightening around his throat as he tried. Would he ever get another chance to speak to Jon before it was all too late?
             He went through the rest of his classes in a haze.
*
             That night Martin barely said a word to James. He nodded and made noises in the right places as James told him about his day, but excused himself from the table before he could be questioned in turn. He’d almost thought he’d gotten away with it until James came to his room that night only to stand over his bed tapping his foot instead of brandishing a statement.             Martin winced. “Something wrong?”             “What happened?” James asked, then scowled as he realised that in spite of all the talking he did at dinner, it wasn’t his turn. Martin had gotten better at getting James to talk without questions. Well, it’s not like he wouldn’t force Martin to answer anyway if he bucked back too hard. Better to deflect him.             “Nothing happened.”             “Wrong,” James hissed, reaching down to pinch Martin’s chin between his fingers and tilting his face up to search it. “I know you better than anyone else does, Martin. You’re moping.”             “I’m not!” Martin jerked his head away, but could feel the way James’s skeptical eyebrow was rising. “Urgh, I-I don’t know. I just- I spoke to someone today and I embarrassed myself a bit. That’s all.”             “Embarrassed yourself in what way?” Of course James couldn’t leave it alone, curious bastard. Martin flushed with frustration.             “I-I’m not good at talking to people, okay? Is that any wonder? It’s not like I’ve had any friends since you took me in!” James tilted his head and Martin flushed harder. “Since you kidnapped me, I mean. Obviously.”             “Nonsense, you’re friends with Elias, aren’t you?”             “Not really,” Martin shrugged bitterly. “We talk at the Institute but we don’t hang out.”             “Well there, you do talk to someone,” James said smoothly, “Anyway, you’ve always spoken fine to me.”             Martin shot James an unimpressed look. “That’s because it’s you.”             For some reason, that earned Martin a small smile from his guardian. Bastard. “Quite. Well, I’m sure whatever you said needn’t be worried about. Even if you burned a bridge today it won’t matter in the long run, will it? You have a job waiting for you after school is done regardless. God bless nepotism.”             Martin decided to lead the conversation further away from the original topic. “Nepotism, right. Like I even need that. You’d hire just about anyone, wouldn’t you? Anyone touched by the fears anyway. Or anyone easy to scare.”             “Is that so?” James folded his arms, but didn’t seem offended.             Martin huffed, shaking his head as his lips upturned pitifully. “Sure. Even if I’d never met you and turned up in your office today, freshly dropped out of high school and reeking of Lonely, you’d hire me on the spot.”             James hummed, stroking the side of Martin’s face in a way that made Martin want to shudder. He’d been doing that more often, lately. It was disconcerting, but not worth fussing over. Not yet.             “Perhaps you’re right,” James allowed, “But that’s more the credit to you. You would make an excellent employee all on your own. Though with my tutelage, I’m sure you’ll be the very best.”             James left him after the statement with a kiss to the forehead as usual. Over the last few months of school, Martin would search for Jon in the halls of Oxford but wouldn’t spot him again. He would fantasize constantly of what he might have done that first time to have changed that. If he’d only asked for his number (yeah, like he’d have given it to him) managed to make friends with him (while secretly pining for him? While Jon had a girlfriend? Pathetic to even think about.)             As he entered the month before his last exam period, Martin found himself thinking of Jon almost constantly, to the point he’d started writing his name over and over instead of writing notes in his notebooks. He had to get his mind off this. He’d realised years ago that he and Jon weren’t getting together in this timeline. He should have accepted that reality by now.             He was almost twenty. He had options other than under-aged classmates. He’d never been huge on gay bar hookups, but he’d done it before when he felt especially lonely in the first timeline. James would disapprove but if he timed it right, he wouldn’t know until it was too late. If it made him forget Jon for a night, it would be worth whatever the punishment for having sex at a bar was. If he got beaten, maybe it would give him the courage to make that final dash out of James Wright’s life forever. Maybe then he could find Jon again, convince him not to join the Magnus Institute and to leave Georgie and run away with him to…
             God, he really needed this distraction.

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17
             As Martin was due to finish school at the end of spring, James was getting affairs in order for his transition. This meant arranging for a position to open up in the Institute, writing up a fresh employee contract to present when the time was right, and of course, arranging for hopping into Elias Bouchard’s identity while keeping control of his young charge.             With Martin’s mother dead, he would need something else to ensure the boy stayed in his grip. He’d hoped by this point Martin would be emotionally attached enough to him that he wouldn’t want to go running off, but it seemed that teenage rebellion was an unavoidable part of growing up. Irritating, but there were methods. The contract binding him to the Institute would ensure he couldn’t cut contact and run away entirely, but he might still move out of James’s house and that…             He told himself it was about safety. That the avatar community knew of Martin’s importance and might target him any moment he wasn’t in James’s protective custody. But in truth, that had been the case for years now and Martin was allowed to go to school unprotected. He was close enough to the Lonely, the Eye, and somewhat to the Web that he had his own defenses. No, the fact of the matter was that James simply didn’t want Martin to go. So he wouldn’t allow it. Simple as that.             This meant that, as Martin closed in on the end of his schooling, James was paying much more attention to his son’s activities. He had kept to his habitual solitude, so he didn’t have to worry about a friend offering him a place to stay. He hadn’t been withdrawing money from the bank, meaning he had no nest egg to live off of. He hadn’t so much as Googled job sites, so he hadn’t been looking into how he would support himself. This all worked to James’s advantage, though something in the boy’s eyes told him he still had some kind of plan to get out from under James’s thumb.             He really, honestly never expected Martin to rebel by having sex with a stranger. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Though he had identified Martin as gay in his youth and he’d grown up with his ever-baffling imaginary boyfriend, he’d never shown any interest in any of his classmates or teachers. Not in anyone, as far as James could tell. He’d never gone out of his way to meet anyone, so why would James have even considered this a risk? If there was a risk of Martin fucking anyone James had pegged the potential culprit as Elias, though it was clear the man only viewed Martin as a child in spite of his newfound maturity.              The rebellion was discovered when James was in the middle of a meeting and checked in on his son, expecting him to be in one of his late classes. Instead he found him gyrating against a man to the thumping beat of music in a cheap bar. The worst part was that this man wasn’t anywhere near Martin’s type. Assuming his imaginary boyfriend was his type, slighter, lean-built men were what he leant toward (a bonus of choosing Elias for his next vessel). This man was burly, much older, and had bad breath by the way Martin’s nose wrinkled whenever the man leaned in for a filthy kiss.             James’s hands clenched at the meeting table. How dare Martin let such a man kiss him? He had no right to give his first kiss away to someone so unworthy of him!             “Can we go back to your place?” Martin whispered in the man’s ear, and James was already on his feet, making half-baked excuses to the donor who would no doubt reduce funding due to how rude he was being. But this was an emergency, he’d take the hit.             “Only if you can handle it, rich boy,” the man growled back, grabbing Martin’s arse as his son’s face twisted in distaste at the title.             James had hoped the man’s ‘place’ would be further away, but the drug den he crawled out of was only around the corner from the bar. It was dirty and had four roommates crammed into its three bedrooms, and definitely harboured some kind of illegal drugs. Good, James wouldn’t get there in time but this gave him the perfect excuse to send someone ahead of him to put a stop to this.             He would need to hurry though. Martin wasn’t off-put at all by the dirty surroundings, and was already shirtless and sporting a hickey as James drew out his phone.
*
             Martin had expected James to be pissed off. He didn’t expect his guardian to call the cops on him and his hook up.             The timing was the worst, with Martin fully naked and ready to suck cock only seconds before the door to the flat was beaten down. Dwayne and his roommates were rounded up and handcuffed, and Martin was right alongside them. Martin refused to believe it was protocol for the police to force him to walk out in the cold to the cop car without giving him a chance to put some pants on.             At least the cell he was put in at the station was empty and in a separate section of the jail from the others. He wasn’t worried about getting put in prison for whatever charge James had him arrested for, that wouldn’t fit with whatever plan the man had for him. Still it was cold, and his pleading for a blanket went unheard. He didn’t bother asking for a phone call. Obviously James already knew where he was and it wasn’t like he had anyone else to call. A lawyer seemed laughable. Sure this is illegal as hell, but James controlled the police so what was a lawyer going to do?             It would have been nice if the handcuffs had at least come off, but of course he couldn’t be offered even the slightest comfort. Part of his punishment, Martin supposed. He hoped that he could convince James to leave Dwayne and his friends unharmed beyond the drug charges. It’s not like they knew what Martin was risking with that would-be hook up.             So there he sat, hands growing slowly numb in their cuffs and shivering for a couple of hours before he heard the sound of a heavy door opening and shutting, and familiar fancy shoes tapping briskly across the tile floor and stopping in front of his cell. A key shoved into the lock and opened it with a screech. Martin wished he could be surprised that James wasn’t accompanied by an escort, but of course he wouldn’t want a witness for whatever abuse was coming next.
             Maybe Martin would be beaten with a police baton this time… no, he noted with a twist of resigned fear. It seemed that James was carrying a fancy, heavy cane with him. He leaned it against the wall as he entered the cell, but Martin couldn’t help eyeing it when James stood in front of him, wasting no time in cupping his cheeks to tilt his head up toward him. He only looked at his guardian with dull, sullen eyes.
             “Oh Martin, thank goodness you’re alright!” James said, eyes too bright to be genuinely concerned as he mimed care, stroking his cheekbones delicately.             “No thanks to you,” Martin huffed, pulling away from the touch in aggravation. “Did you tell your goons not to give me any clothes?”             “Now Martin, let’s not talk that way about the police. They were only ensuring you were out of that den of squalor as quickly as possible,” James smiled, not answering the question. Which, Martin supposed, answered it just as well.             “What the heck is your problem?!” Martin snapped, drawing up his knees as he noticed James’s eyes starting to roam over him. “This had nothing to do with you! You never said I couldn’t go out with anyone! I wasn’t disobedient or whatever you- hey, what are you d-doing?”             Martin stammered as James laid a hand on his bare side, tracing over bruises there from when the police were manhandling him into the police car and following them down and then up Martin’s raised thigh to rest on his knee where he squeezed lightly.             “Oh you poor, delicate thing,” James murmured, eyes still bright as he squeezed Martin’s knee harder and attempted to ‘subtly’ push the leg down and apart from where it was covering him. Martin tightened up his fetal position in protest.             “Stop that!” Martin snapped, wishing he at least had his arms pinned in front of him. He might have better leverage that way, it was hard to fend the man off with just his legs while off balance. “Why would you call the police on me for having sex?! That’s none of your business!”             “I didn’t call the police on you for having sex Martin, honestly,” James clicked his tongue and rested his other hand on Martin’s other knee, nudging that one as well. Exhaustion catching up with him, Martin had no choice but to let his knees sink down to the floor. He flushed madly, refusing to make eye contact with his guardian. “I called the police because there were illegal drugs in that filthy place, and because I knew that ruffian was only taking advantage of you. Just look at these bruises on your poor skin.”             Then James’s hand was on his chest, tracing a few of the hickies that Dwayne had left there. Martin shivered under the horribly gentle touch, heart sinking as he realised he might well have signed the poor man’s death warrant with his actions. “H-he wasn’t taking advantage of me.”             “Well, virgin that you are, I hardly expect you to know the ways of lustful men,” James said breezily, now roving Martin’s chest with both hands as his son sputtered and tried to turn away from the touch to no avail. “But I assure you that man fully intended to compromise your virtue.”             Martin could have choked. “Sorry, my what?”             James hummed his affirmation, one hand tracing up Martin’s neck and lingered on one of the bruises there critically. “Of course such a man is entirely unsuited to you, you have to know that much. Your first time really ought to be with someone special, who will treat you as you deserve.”             Martin didn’t like how James was looking at him, not at all, but he would play dumb as long as he could. “So you called the cops because my hookup wasn’t good enough?! That’s not- that’s fucking weird, DAD!”             Martin nearly shrieked the word as his nipple was pinched harshly. He looked at the man with wide, terrified eyes as he wondered if, in the anger he was clearly concealing, James was going to rape him right there in his prison cell. Maybe it was some sort of sick irony, that he had sent James to prison in one timeline only to be utterly humiliated and assaulted by the man in the same setting.             “How does that make you feel, Martin?” James asked, voice distant as Martin jerked to answer.             “Scared.”             “Ah, of course. So young, but eager to grow up aren’t you?” James pinched Martin’s other nipple and Martin fought against the tears forming in his eyes.             “What are you doing?!” Martin wailed, trying to pull backward from the assault only to hit the wall behind him.             James shivered, licking his lips before answering. “I’m touching you, as I’ve wanted for some time now. And why should it matter to you? Clearly you’d let a dirty stranger touch you without my interference, so your standards aren’t that high. Even an old man like me must be appealing to a little whore like you.”             That stung more than Martin might have imagined. Still, he had to answer even as tears began to leak from his eyes and his voice wobbled dangerously. “I-I care because you raised me since I was seven. Because you’re my Dad so- so stop!”             “Poor thing, to think I’ve been so neglectful in my fatherly affection that you’d seek such company.” Martin’s stomach heaved as James leaned in to whisper, his breath hot and moist against the shell of his ear. “If you need to find a welcome touch in a seedy bar, I’m sure we can find other means to-”             “I’m sorry!” Martin yelped, jerking away from James again, “Sorry I dared sully myself with the poors, okay? I won’t try to have sex with creeps in bars! I’ll find some smarmy, closeted politician’s son to nail me! Is that better?”             “Definitely not,” James scoffed.             Martin whined in frustration, overwhelmed and tired and wishing he was anywhere else, with anyone else. “Then what sort of man am I meant to- no. No you can’t seriously- damn it, you said I was your son!”             “You are, legally,” James supplied readily, and Martin shook his head.             “W-well wanting to have sex with me is illegal, then!” Martin wormed his way backwards as best as he could on the cold metal bench, but there was no way to get any space that James couldn’t effortlessly close. “That’s incest you sick fuck!”             “For now,” James allowed, “Though as you know I plan to inhabit a new body and identity soon enough, and that will no longer be an issue for us.”             Martin’s heart was going a mile a minute. Was this really happening? “That- it’s still an issue! I’m still going to know it’s you! Y-you spend all this time making me see you as my dad and now you intend to… to… and why are you doing this now, if you were going to wait before?!”             “I thought perhaps you were going to be sensible and wait until you finished school to look for a partner, and I could step in as Elias to fill the void at that point. But if you’re this impatient, I can be too.”             Then James’s hand landed firmly on Martin’s dick and something in him snapped. He spat directly in James’s face, making the man freeze and release his prize to slowly reach up and wipe the glob of spit from his cheek. His expression was unreadable as he slowly straightened up, eyes not leaving Martin’s for a moment.             Then James’s hand shot out at the speed of light, grabbing Martin’s hair and jerking him forward. Unbalanced as he was, Martin could only follow the motion and was tipped off the bench, landing hard on the floor with his cheek on the tile and his bare ass in the air. He had barely gotten his bearings when he heard the click of James’s shoes crossing the floor and glimpsed the man taking up the cane from where it leaned by the door.             Martin’s eyes widened with fear as the end of that cane was jammed under his chin, forcing his head up at a painful angle to look at James. He was smiling down at him. It was not a nice smile.             “That, my boy, is no way to show gratitude to your dear father who just defended your virtue. Perhaps you need to learn your lesson.”             “N-no,” Martin whispered, the jab only reminded him of his last caning in sharp detail. It was easier to say he didn’t fear James’s punishment before he was faced with it so directly. “Please don’t! I’m sorry!”             James hummed as the cane traced from his chin to his neck, digging into the side of his Adam’s apple so hard he was forced to cough. “In that case, I think you ought to try showing your gratitude again. What do we say when someone does you a favour, Martin?”             “Thank you,” Martin quickly rasped. James clicked his tongue and Martin knew it wasn’t good enough. “Thank you for you protecting my virtue.”             “Thank you, what?” asked James, and Martin flushed.             “Thank you… sir?” The cane withdrew only to smack harshly against the floor by Martin’s head and he yelped loudly. “Thank you dad! Thank you for protecting my virtue!”             James smiled wider, tapping the cane more gently against the side of his face “Good. On your knees, now.”             “No… no wait, y-you can’t… eep!” Martin cringed as the cane smacked the back of his thigh, just hard enough to sting.             “That doesn’t sound as though you’ve learned your lesson, Martin.”             Fear coursed through Martin’s blood as he began to squirm, trying and failing to get his knees under him without the use of his hands. Eventually James took pity on him and grabbed his shoulder to help force him up, his feet quickly growing numb under his own weight as James used his cane to begin correcting Martin’s posture.             “What are you going to do?” Martin whispered, shivering violently once James reverently declared his position was ‘perfect’.             “I think what we need to do is get some of that mm… pent up adolescent energy out of your system,” James downright grinned as he brought the tip of his cane to Martin’s lips, prodding against them for entrance. “How about you suck this? Perhaps it will satiate that desperate urge for cock you have.”             Martin shut his eyes against the tears that were so close to overflowing, his lower lip trembling violently under the strain. Once again, James saw fit to remind him he was in the care of a monster. A monster that intended to use him for his own purposes and hang whatever Martin might want from his life. He certainly didn’t expect James to want him for this after everything but maybe he ought to just be grateful the cane wasn’t James’s wrinkled cock. He took a shaky breath and opened his mouth to let the dirty rubber grip and unyielding wood inside.             He suckled the tip, grimacing at the taste as grit found its way between his teeth and tongue. It was filthy, and his stomach rolled in protest, but he forced himself to bob his head and lick the bottom as though he was fellating a real cock. He could feel James’s eyes burning into the top of his head.             “Goodness, I ought to have paid more attention to your internet history. Or perhaps it’s instinct for you, to treat a cock like that,” James asked and Martin groaned softly. Of course, he was supposed to be a virgin. He wasn’t supposed to know how to do this. At least James didn’t seem to find it suspicious. “To think you were once such a sweet and innocent little boy. So fast does the time go.”             Martin’s eye twitched. Sweet and innocent seemed quite the stretch when the first thing Martin did when James met him was try to stab him to death with a knife. Though Martin supposed it had been a long time since he’d posed even a laughable threat to James.             There was another issue. Though he hadn’t done it more than a handful of times in his original timeline, Martin really enjoyed giving head. It showed in the way he was still able to put on a show with nothing but an unfeeling piece of wood as a partner. The revival of the familiar action, combined with the cold humiliation of being watched by someone in such a position also reawakened the part of him that was attracted to men in positions of power. 
             Not that he’d ever been attracted to Jonah Magnus before, and truly he wasn’t now. Still, the scenario felt like something from a porn best viewed drunk at three in the morning, and Martin’s cock began to respond to it.
             “Oh now, look at that. Perfectly natural for a boy your age of course. I really have been neglecting this part of your… education,” James whispered, and Martin broke out in gooseflesh. He pulled back from the cane, shaking his head violently. He couldn’t hold back his sobs anymore.             “No, please don’t! Not now I’m not- I’m not ready you can’t-” Martin gasped, crying loudly as fingers twisted into his hair again and forced his mouth back down on the cane that pushed in far enough to brush his uvula and leave him gagging.             “Hush, it’s alright,” James cooed in stark contrast to the rough way he began to fuck the cane against the back of Martin’s throat with sharp, even thrusts. “I won’t be having sex with you tonight.”             Despite knowing full well that what James was doing now could very well count as that, Martin still sobbed again in relief as the cane was removed. That relief fled, however, as James trailed the cane down between Martin’s legs to tease against his half-hard cock.             “W-wait…”             “But it simply wouldn’t be right to leave you wanting like this. Let Daddy fix it for you,” James couldn’t keep the glee out of his voice as he began to slide the cane between Martin’s cock and testicles, stimulating him with the friction and adding pressure and speed until Martin’s mouth hung open like a dog's. When he felt a glob of saliva drip freely to the floor like a raindrop he couldn’t help but hang his head and follow it with another smattering of shameful tears.             This torment continued until Martin was straining, erection twitching madly against its assault. At the critical moment his head was pulled back by the hair again, his vision filling with James’s gleaming, grey eyes before whiting out as he came harder than he had in either of his lives.             “There now,” James murmured, stroking Martin’s cheek as he came back to himself in shuddering bits and pieces. “Tell me Martin, was that satisfying?”             Martin coughed, throat sore as it moved to answer. “Yes.”             Because it was, wasn’t it? The evidence was on the floor between his aching knees.             “Wonderful. Now, how about we get you dressed and go home? You have classes in the morning after all.”
*
             Martin numbly followed their nightly routine as James hummed and made one-sided small talk as though nothing was wrong. As if this were a normal, if late, evening. He had the ever-unseen domestic serve them a quick dinner. He told Martin he hoped that he had all his assignments ready for the next week. After a burning hot shower, he still came to Martin’s bedroom to read him a statement and kissed him on the forehead, ignoring his flinch as usual.             This time though, James didn’t leave immediately after. He stayed at Martin’s bedside, and when Martin looked up he flinched again as he realised he was getting leered at.             “What do you want from me?” Martin whispered, the words curling with electricity between them. James shivered pleasantly, the leer softening into another of his awful little smiles.             “At the moment? I simply want your affection and happiness.”             Martin flushed, burying himself further under his blanket as if it offered anything but the semblance of protection from those eyes. “Affection? As if I could ever- you don’t want my happiness! You just want me to be happy with you!”             “Well, yes. Not such a bad thing, you’ll find.”             “I’m an adult now. You can’t just keep me as a pet forever,” Martin took a breath, finding it hard to look at James as he tried a feeble attempt at protest.             “I’ve never kept you as a pet,” James said too lightly as he reached out to tousle Martin’s hair. “I keep you as a pampered son, and in my next body I’ll keep you as a pampered lover.”             There it was. James openly admitted he was never going to let Martin go, and his solution was to ‘keep him in the family’ so to speak. God knew what he was ready to do to ensure his plan came to fruition.             “But why?” Martin’s voice cracked. After the abuse that night, he wanted nothing but to stay quiet for a week, but he couldn’t help the question that haunted the back of his mind so much this past decade spent with this odious man for no good reason he could discern.             “My son deserves the very best,” James nearly sing-songed, tousling his hair again before withdrawing and finally heading for the door.             Martin knew the window of opportunity to escape was closing. He would never be with Jon, and with the stupid contract he was tricked into agreeing to, he couldn’t kill Jonah. Even if he ran, he had no resources and nowhere to go that James couldn’t find him.             That did leave one option, even if it was drastic to a point he never would have considered it before this. But if James was this evil, this willing to ignore what Martin wanted, to go this far… maybe he would be better off dead.

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18

Martin didn’t jump directly into a suicide plan. He thought he owed it to himself, Jon, and the world at large, to at least look for other avenues first. But, as expected, James was paying attention.
             He would try to look up out of town bus schedules on his phone, only for the WIFI to cut out and a text to come in from James that simply said ‘None of that.’ Bastard.             He would talk quietly to one of his professors that usually gave him positive remarks on his essays, asking if she knew anyone offering paid internships to recent graduates, only for that professor to mysteriously stop answering his emails and showing up to class. She was replaced by a harried TA who had no idea where said professor had gone or when she would be back. James didn’t make any comment about that, but had a smarmy grin on his face all night. Martin could put it together easy enough, he wouldn’t dare try to ask anyone directly for help again.             Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t just cut and run on his own. He could take a bus to the station without looking at a schedule, or take any train out of the city he could. Brexit hadn’t happened yet, he wouldn’t need a passport to get out of the country and onto mainland Europe. As long as he did it before James forced him into signing an employment contract, nothing could force him to come back. He was of age, it wasn’t like Interpol could drag him back against his will. If he could just evade James’s gaze for a few hours…
             Maybe he could just… sacrifice someone to the Lonely? Just one person, and then he might have the power to hide himself, slip away from it all. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken someone now, though it would be the first time he’d done it on his own.
             But as he started looking for opportunities to cut and run, his avenues to even that were closing. He checked on the nest egg of cash he’d been saving in his bedroom only to find it missing. When he’d confronted James, he’d said loftily that it was silly to keep large sums of cash in one’s bedroom and it had been deposited into his bank account. Where James could monitor any spending, of course, or cut access if need be as his name was on it as well. Suddenly James was insisting on dropping Martin off and picking him up after classes, and every step he took felt dogged by the burn of the Eye.             He’d tried to feed on someone. An international student who was having trouble making friends when he could barely speak the language. Martin hadn’t intended to drain him, or send him into the Lonely forever. Just prod him a bit, remind him how alone he was, stoke the terror for enough of a pick-me-up to hide from the Eye for just an hour. The goddamn fire alarm went off before Martin could so much as say hello.             “So what, am I not even allowed to feed my patron anymore?!” Martin seethed when James picked him up after his next class that he’d sat through incensed. “I thought you agreed I needed to do that regularly so I didn’t fill the house with fog again!”             “Yes, but you aren’t due for another meal for oh, another month or two surely. You’ve never been especially voracious in that regard,” James said lightly, not looking at him as he started the car. “It does make me wonder why you were suddenly so keen for it. I thought you didn’t want to be a monster. If that’s changed, I’m sure I can find you any number of victims.”             Martin had stewed but let the subject drop. He didn’t want to return to the endless unwinnable argument where he told James he didn’t want to fuck him and James would say he was just scared because he was a virgin and would enjoy it when it happened. Fat chance of that, and Martin didn’t want to fight about it again.             Hitting nothing but walls at every turn, Martin was quickly beginning to wonder if it was hopeless after all. He’d spent over a decade in the past under Jonah Magnus’s thumb. He’d made no progress saving anyone, in fact he’d made his mother’s life inarguably worse by failing to be present for it. He’d been trapped in this situation longer than he’d known anyone he was supposedly ‘friends’ with in that former timeline and of them… were any of them really his friends? Did going out for drinks with someone make them your friend? Jon, of course, if he had the chance to save Jon he would. But hadn’t he been given that brief chance to try and lost it without even an attempt?
             Maybe he couldn’t really do anything. Maybe the Web only sent him back to make things worse somehow. If so… Martin didn’t know what the Web’s plan was, but he was pretty sure him dying wasn’t it. Probably.
             So Martin began to think of how to kill himself. He didn’t have access to firearms, so that was out. He was under watch and couldn’t run to the train station so finding a bridge to jump off was likely out. He could climb to the top of one of the campus buildings and jump off, but he didn’t like the idea of traumatizing a bunch of college kids who would witness it since he couldn’t exactly do it after hours.             An overdose wasn’t a bad idea. He did like the idea of just going to sleep and not waking up again. That said, he would have to make sure whatever he took would act quickly enough that James wouldn’t catch him and send him to the hospital.             …well, he was in college. He was a rich kid now, and James had only taken one of his cash stashes. He knew where he could go to get heroin. The trick would be getting it without James noticing, but here was where Elias came in handy.
*
             “Just keep him busy?” Elias blinked.             “Create a diversion at exactly two o’clock tomorrow,” Martin had clarified, reassured that James rarely glanced at him and Elias when they met behind the bins anymore. As long as they didn’t move, they were safe. “Something he can’t ignore, loud and annoying that requires his full attention.”             “Okay… still not going to tell me why?”             “Better you don’t know.”             But Elias had agreed, and Martin could only hope he would follow through. Any diversion wouldn’t last long enough for Martin to get out of town, but if he had ten minutes he could get the goods and paraphernalia and then…             “Thanks Elias,” Martin had said softly, “For everything.”             Something like concern had passed over the man’s face, but he’d nodded along. Elias was a good person. Martin was sorry he couldn’t save him. Turns out he couldn’t save anyone.             When the time came to lock himself in one of the single stall washrooms in the seldom-used top floor of the school library and set up his equipment, it wouldn’t be right to say he wasn’t scared, or conflicted. But he was determined, and knew he’d worked hard for this moment. That when he died, at least he wouldn’t have to keep martyring himself and playing the Web’s sick game anymore even if his death itself was part of that.
             Most importantly, as he turned away from the fog quickly obscuring the mirror and slid the needle into his arm, he knew no one was going to care if he was gone. Not really.

‘

This will be better for everyone

,’ was Martin’s last coherent thought as he sat against the far wall and nodded forward, just as someone began shouting out of sight, and something heavy began to slam against the door.

*
             Martin’s dreams were largely incoherent, but full of lurking terrors. Screams, intense pain, creeping legs crawling over his skin and burrowing in. Wind rushing by his face, a burning heat and an icy chill all at once. 
             Occasionally everything would stop, but Martin only found himself more terrified in the absence of horrors. Wondering when they would be back. Wondering if this was it and he would be left floating alone in the dark with only the memories of every evil in the universe as company for eternity.
             It was in that state that Martin felt something moving under his head. Anticipating the return of fear, Martin cringed and used all his strength to try to turn away from the incoming assault.             “No… no…” Martin’s tongue felt unimaginably heavy in his mouth. He heard someone very familiar scoff above him as something wide, flat and warm pressed against his forehead.             “Honestly, is that the only word in your vocabulary? I’ve never known a boy who can be so- oh good Lord you’re awake. Martin!”             The warm thing moved to his cheek, a hand. A second cupped the other side of Martin’s face as he fought to open his eyes into the glare of fluorescent lights only partially blocked by James Wright’s uncharacteristically mussed grey hair.             It took a moment for Martin’s brain to catch up with the moment. He’d been in the bathroom. He’d injected the heroin. It was supposed to act fast, if he was found after… but no, no there was someone at the door just after his eyes shut. Fuck.             “You,” Martin croaked, only to let out a choked off groan as his cheeks were both pinched very hard and then he was being shaken violently.             “You awful brat!” James snapped, and Martin realised his voice was oddly hoarse. “What were you thinking?! Heroin? Don’t think I don’t know you overdosed on purpose, you rotten thing! As if I’d let you do that to yourself! You have every comfort money can buy and yet you’re so spoiled you’re convinced you’re in some awful situation!”             The man growled and then Martin’s limp body was gathered up into his arms for a tight hug. Something buried in Martin’s arm was tugged and pain laced up it as Martin grunted again, his head starting to ache as he fought to maintain consciousness.             “You are to never scare me like that again!” James hissed in his ear. “Never. Do you have any idea how close that was?”             “Wish it was closer,” Martin muttered, only to groan again as fingers drove into his side to pinch him again.             “Enough!” James drew back, glaring at Martin the same way he had back when Martin had been shutting down with depression, told he couldn’t contact his mother ever again. “We’re not talking about this here. All I want to hear from you is an apology.”             Martin’s head fell back against the pillow, his own glare darkening across his sweating forehead. “Fine. Sorry I almost made you waste over a decade of school tuition.”             James’s gaze hardened as he pulled back, but Martin admittedly didn’t expect the slap that followed, powerful enough to throw his head to his side.             “STOP!” Martin shrieked automatically, his vocal chords burning with the strain.             “It’s not about the money, you oblivious brat!” James seethed above him as Martin fought back tears. “What do you think I’ve spent all this time raising you for?”             “I don’t know!” Martin spat, lip wobbling dangerously. “Based on how you’ve been acting lately, I assume you want a perfect little employee and part time fuck toy!”             James looked murderous, and in spite of the contract Martin wondered if he might drive James to finish what Martin started right here in his hospital bed. Maybe he could push him over that edge.             “I don’t know what you want!” Martin shouted, “I never did! I just know I don’t want to be trapped with you!”             The murderous look softened, but only slightly. He was still obviously pissed, but the line in his eyebrows told Martin he was actually considering what Martin had said. Somewhat, anyway.             “I want…” James started, then paused, eyebrows drawing together as though unsure how to continue. Martin waited for a few seconds before scoffing and turning away. A frustrated snort later and there were rough fingers on his chin, yanking him back into eye contact. “Look at me! I want you to be the best version of yourself. I want you to have the best life I am capable of providing for you, and I want you to be my companion in that life. Is that so wrong?”             “It is,” Martin huffed stubbornly. “I’m your legal son and you want to fuck me. That’s wrong.”             James pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in and out deeply. “Martin, this is about more than sex. Perhaps I was a bit… hm. Perhaps I came on too strong.”             “That’s one way to put it,” Martin sneered, only to wince as his cheek was pinched again.             “Quiet you miscreant,” James shook his head, “I only mean- our relationship is not defined by anything as simple as familial laws. Even when sex becomes a part of it, there will always be more to it than that. I’m not planning to make you a mere sex slave. You are… important to me.”             Skeptical did not begin to describe the look Martin gave his guardian. It was returned with something oddly pained.             “Yes, I know that is hard to believe for you given you’ve never had anyone else treat you with kindness as I have,” said James and Martin scoffed and rolled his eyes. “But you were a gift, Martin. For all the trials you’ve put me through over the years, I’m not going to lose you now. Yes, the wasted time and effort would be a shame. But there’s always a serviceable person looking for a job. Sex can be purchased anywhere. You, Martin, are simply not replaceable.”             Martin stared at James as he turned that over in his mind. Not replaceable? He couldn’t mean it from an emotional perspective. Jonah Magnus was a monster through and through, he’d proved that enough times. No matter how human he seemed, it wouldn’t stop him from turning around and doing something horrific at any opportunity. He wasn’t capable of tender emotions, as evidenced by the fact he could raise a child and decide he could just start harassing it for sex the second he decides that’s something he wants.             But that would mean he wasn’t replaceable for fear-related reasons. Sure Martin was touched by multiple fears, but he’s hardly the first person to be so. He was touched from a young age, but he wasn’t alone in that sense either. So that meant James was full of it. Martin scowled.             “Yes I am,” he insisted, “There’s plenty of lonely kids in the world.”             James straightened up, folding his arms briskly and looking down his nose at his son tucked up and sweating in a hospital bed. “Would you rather I did that? Found a new child to raise into your position?”             Martin abruptly paled. James was bad enough raising him when he wasn’t even a real child, but an adult in a too-perfect disguise. He would never, ever want a real child put in his position. Not ever.             “No, please don’t,” Martin whispered, and James snorted.             “Well, that’s that then. The point stands.”             Martin shut his eyes, shaking against his overwhelmed feelings, sick and scared and wishing James would just go away. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to be with you for the rest of my life. I don’t want to.”             He didn’t care if he sounded petulant, like a whining child. Maybe if he acted more like a child James would realize how much he didn’t actually want Martin like that. Maybe…             “And what do you expect to have without me?” James snapped, because of course Martin couldn’t come anywhere close to an escape in any direct way. “You’d have nothing without me. You would be nothing.”             “I know that!” Martin cried, “Why else would I have just tried to die?!”             “Now that is the question, isn’t it?” James hissed, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t believe that explanation, or you wouldn’t have tried to escape conventionally at first. Initially you were going to simply run away like the child you are, this ‘solution’ is new. Tell me, why did you try to kill yourself?”             Martin’s lips moved on their own, but the raised volume was his choice. “I have no FREEDOM, Dad! I have nothing of my own, nothing under my control, and I’m apparently never going to! You’re controlling my entire life and it’s CRUSHING me!”             “Silly, as expected,” James said so flippantly that Martin wanted to throw something at him. “You know being able to control one’s own life is an illusion. It was after all the Web that brought us together in the first place.”             “Then I should at least get to have that illusion,” Martin ground out. James rolled his eyes.             “Whatever for? So you can go through life worrying where your next meal is coming from, or if you’ll be able to afford rent? You’ve never even learned how to rent a flat, nor will you ever have to. Believe me, there are billions of people in this world who would kill for the chance to live the life you do, and would think you are an idiot trying to throw that all away.”             “Well I’m not one of them!” Martin spat, only to have a finger jabbed into his blanketed chest.             “You, my boy, are spoiled.”             It was too much, and it seemed in his effort to hold back sobs they turned around on themselves and Martin started laughing wildly. James actually drew back in alarm as Martin began to wheeze and chortle.             “Fine! I can accept those problems, you know? I’ll worry about my next meal myself, and affording rent, because damn it I am NOT staying with you anymore! You can’t keep me! I’m an adult now, and the second I’m released from this hospital I’ll head to the nearest homeless shelter and figure it out.”             James looked utterly scandalized, resulting in more spasms of hysterical laughter from his son. “You haven’t even finish your degree, you’d never-”             “FUCK the degree!” Martin shrieked triumphantly, “And fuck YOU! I don’t need you, or a degree to make it!”             “Oh really? You don’t need me at all?” James sniffed, glaring down at him. “We’re at a private hospital, Martin. If I left right now, can you afford the bill?”             “I can try to pay it off in installments. I can try to get declared bankrupt so I don’t have to pay it. I could find a pro bono lawyer willing to take my case that you should have to pay it off regardless since you had no actual reason to bring me here instead of a standard emergency room,” Martin listed off, and then sneered, “But if that doesn’t work, I guess I could always just find another drug to kill me.”             James actually looked stunned, for a moment. Clearly he hadn’t expected Martin to know what his options were in such a circumstance. As always, though, he was quick on his feet and his expression flattened.             “You’re not going to be doing any of that.”             Another giggled bubbled up painfully from his chest. “What are you going to do? Threaten my dead mom? Make me see awful shit again? Beat me? All I need is one opportunity to slip away and I’m never coming back. And if you want me to finish my degree, there’s gonna be one eventually. I’m going to get away from you one way or another, and if I can’t do it alive I’ll kill myself. You can’t stop me forever.”             “You’re such a child,” James said sharply, “You don’t know half of what I can do. This is not your choice to make, as you will see.”             Then James raised his hand again and Martin flinched badly, but it was only laid against his cheek again. His hair was stroked once, and then James was pulling away, already retrieving his cell phone as he headed out the hospital room door without another word.             The laughter died in Martin’s throat and sank out of existence.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

19

“I’m sorry Mr. Wright, but you cannot check yourself out of the hospital. I’m afraid due to the circumstances of your admittance, you’ve been sectioned.”
             Martin stared at the nurse with confusion and deep concern, his mind flashing to Daisy and Basira. Did he do something while he was unconscious? Manifest fog? Did they contact the police and James decided to lift his ‘protections’ of him to teach him a lesson?             “W-what do you mean ‘sectioned’?” Martin dared to ask, heart hammering as he looked at the nurse he’d gone into the hallway to find the second he felt he had the strength to walk. He was still in a hospital gown. God knew where his clothes were.             “It was determined that you overdosed on purpose, Mr. Wright,” the nurse said in a weary voice. She’d been on shift almost 24 hours now and was ready to call the orderlies to detain Martin if he made a scene. …how did he know that? “You’re being detained in hospital under section 2. Later today you will be moved to psychiatric care for twenty-eight days of observation and mandatory counselling sessions. After which you will be re-evaluated and it will be determined whether or not you are still a danger to yourself.”             That brought Martin up short. It wasn’t an angle he’d expected James to take. He’d be losing out on twenty-eight days of classes, his graduation would be deferred at least a semester. Also at the end of it, as long as Martin pretended he was fine now and the overdose was an accident, they’d have to let him go anyway. Maybe James just wanted him out of the way while he set up something else?             “I… I see,” Martin said weakly, “Then I guess I’ll just go back to my room now?”             The nurse’s look softened, as much as it could behind her bruised eyes anyway. “It’s going to be fine. The head of our psychiatric department is very good. Works miracles, or so I’m told. Doctor David is his name.”             “Doctor David?” Martin frowned, the name ringing a very distant bell. “Was he on TV or something? The name sounds familiar.”             “It’s not an uncommon name, but I don’t think so. Anyway, he’d always seemed perfectly nice to me. You just go have a lie down, watch some telly. You’re not the first college student to burn out under pressure and you won’t be the last.” She leaned forward with a soft smile, “You know, I deferred my own graduation by a whole year because I had a breakdown. Didn’t turn to drugs over it, but if I’d had the money for it I might’ve. A break might be just what you need.”             “Right,” Martin said, swallowing the urge to laugh in the woman’s face.
*
             He had a private room in the psychiatric unit, which he could only assume James was paying for. Or would, if Martin didn’t go through with his escape as planned anyway. Whatever, he didn’t have a choice given the tight security and the ongoing refusal to provide him with anything to wear more substantial than the gown he’d worn the first day. Still, if all he needed to do was act like the treatments were working then he could do that.             It really did feel almost too easy. As promised, Doctor David was very kind. He had one of those faces it was hard to describe for how ordinary it was, but he had a bright smile and excellent bedside manner. Like the nurse from before, he seemed convinced that Martin’s problem was related to school stress and a ‘lack of outlets’ which was stupid because James ensured Martin had plenty of creative and physical outlets with his myriad of extra-curricular activities throughout most of his life with the man, but instead of bringing this up Martin had only shyly nodded and agreed to attend the group painting and dance classes provided. He was polite, courteous, cooperative and most importantly only spoke about drugs or death during one on one sessions with Doctor David when the man brought it up first.             “Oh, that,” Martin would wave him off with an embarrassed laugh, “Sorry that- I know why everyone would panic, but it’s really a misunderstanding. I didn’t actually mean to overdose. The drugs were- yeah, I was under a lot of stress and I was coping in a bad way but I never actually meant to kill myself over it. I figure after this month I’ll have kicked the habit and you won’t need to see me again.”             “Of course, I understand completely. Guardians can be overprotective. But really, there’s safer drugs to play with than heroin, Martin. Do you want some recommendations?” Doctor David asked banally.             Martin twitched. “Uh, seriously?”             Doctor David hummed and made a note on his clipboard before changing the subject. Altogether though, Martin knew he was coming across as sane and consistent.             During the full twenty-eight days of his sectioning, James didn’t visit Martin once. He didn’t miss him, not exactly, but it was strange not having the man hanging over his shoulder every day. At least the structured environment kept him from dwelling on his loneliness too long.
*
             When Martin walked into the room with the case worker who would be giving him his evaluation at the end of the month, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised to see James there, giving him a warm, if tempered smile. In front of the stranger sitting behind the desk, Martin knew he had to keep up appearances so he allowed his guardian to approach and draw him into a hug.             “Ah Martin, I missed you. How are you feeling?”             “Fine,” Martin said stiffly, then cleared his throat and forced a smile. “No, sorry that- I’m good. I’m good, Dad.”             “Excellent. Here, let’s have a seat and hear what the case worker has to say, hm? I’m sure it will be… enlightening.”             Martin had a horrible feeling as he sank into the seat next to James’s and turned his attention to the squat older man behind the desk. He levelled him with a steady, displeased look and Martin was suddenly quite sure the thick file on the desk contained nothing good. But how could that be? Martin hadn’t done anything wrong!             “I’ll be blunt, Mr. Wright. It should be no surprise to you that we cannot declare you mentally sound and independent at this time,” said the case worker, and Martin stopped breathing for a moment, mind racing as he fought not to explode.             “I- why?” Martin asked, mouth unbelievably dry.             The case worker tapped the case file. “Four separate suicide attempts since entering the hospital would be a start.”               Martin gaped. “What?! But I didn’t!”             “Signed off on by Doctor David, your primary practitioner and four separate department nurses,” the case worker went on gravely, “Two instances of stealing drugs off orderlies and ingesting them, requiring your stomach pumped. One instance of tying bedsheets together into a noose that broke when your weight was placed on it. One instance of getting hold of a scalpel and threatening to cut your wrists if you weren’t released from your room and were talked down over the course of an hour. Sound familiar?”             “No!” Martin gasped, looking wildly between James and the man at the desk. “I didn’t do any of that! None of it!”             “I have to admit this is hard to believe,” James said carefully, face drawn in what had to be false contriteness. “Have you been having other troubles with your memory? That’s quite a lot to forget.”             “I didn’t forget anything! None of that happened!” Martin insisted, voice beginning to shake as he realised that if that’s what it said in his file then… then the doctor, the nurses, were they all on James’s side? Were they- they were. Martin didn’t know how he was so sure but he knew every hospital worker in the psych ward of this hospital knew full well who Martin was, why he was there, and were doing exactly as James wanted. How had he been so stupid as to think James would give him even the slightest chance at a real escape?             “I’m afraid I’m more liable to believe the doctor and nurses in this case,” said the case worker. “If you would like to submit your own testimony you are free to, but I’m afraid it won’t hold much weight.”             “S-so what?” Martin choked out, “I’m going to be trapped in a- an asylum forever?!”             “Oh, goodness no!” the case worker clicked his tongue, “No no, the nurses were also clear that apart from the attempts you were a very well behaved patient and a danger to no one but yourself. Your guardian has been very clear as well that he’s willing to fulfill all the requirements to have you released to his custody for the foreseeable future.”             Martin shot James a look. Of course he did. He probably wrote the requirements himself, if he had this much control. “What are the requirements?”             “You’ll be fitted with a tracking device in your phone and required to carry it outside your home. You will be required to be escorted outside your home either by your guardian or a health aide at all times,” the case worker glanced at James. “You will be allowed to hire the aide of your choice, but the hospital has a number of good candidates on our register.”             “Oh I’m aware,” James smiled, and Martin grimaced. No doubt whomever James hired would be in on everything. Another monster in disguise.             There were a few more things. Requirements to return to the hospital for evaluations every six months until he’s deemed mentally sound (fat chance James will let that happen), and therapy sessions. By and large though, Martin would be back to having the same rights as a child. He couldn’t open a bank account or apply for a loan or a lawyer without his guardian’s approval. Legally, he still belonged to James Wright, exactly as the man wanted.             “As I was telling your guardian, this outcome isn’t unexpected,” the case worker said after a moment spent watching Martin hang his head and clench his fists to prevent James’s attempts to take his hand. “After all, looking over your file at large it’s clear this goes much deeper than school-related stress. Being abused by your mother at a young age, the bullying and isolation in primary school. Your father’s reports of your… outbursts. This-”             “His reports?!” Martin scoffed, eyes full of tears, “How about all the times he caned me? How about threatening to rape me, did he report that?!”             “Martin!” James gasped, looking scandalized as the case worker wrinkled his nose.             “It’s quite alright. As said, you did report his outbursts,” the man shook his head, “It’s not uncommon for patients to lash out upon such news-”             “You bastard!” Martin cut him off, hugging himself as he shook his head rapidly. “You utter- are you in on it too? Did James pay you off, or offer you something? Fuck, are you a monster too? Are you-”             “Martin, you’re okay. You will be fine,” James hissed, rising to pull Martin against him in an embrace again, tight enough to hiss into his ear, “You are only making this worse for yourself.”             “No!” Martin yelled, pulling away frantically, “No that- no! Send me to the asylum! Or long term care- whatever! Send me there, don’t make me go back with him! I don’t want to be with him, okay?! That’s why I tried to kill myself, to get away from him!”             Martin pointed at James, whose face twisted in a very convincing semblance of hurt. Martin knew better though. He looked at the case worker with desperation, but only received a tired look in response. It was then Martin noticed he was pressing down on a button on his desk. A moment later the door to the office opened and an orderly holding a needle entered. Martin froze.             “Wait… no that- that’s not necessary,” Martin whispered. James hummed, looked at him, and then nodded at the case worker who held up a hand to still the orderly. Martin fell limp, letting James rock him slowly as tears dripped sluggishly down his cheeks.             “Not to worry,” James hummed, “You’re nearly done with classes now. I’ve already spoken to your school. You’ll have a tutor and will finish your classes and exams and graduate at the end of spring. Your little fit hasn’t even changed your graduation timeline. Isn’t that lovely?”             Martin couldn’t even find the will to sob.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

20

It was not that James was unaffected by his son’s continued reluctance toward his attentions. Ideally, he would be, well, perhaps

eager

would be too fanciful to entertain. Retiring toward them, maybe. Obliging. Accepting, at least, in their inevitability. It certainly would make things much easier if Martin merely registered his reluctance with silence and a bowed head. Instead, just that morning James had had to pull the boy kicking and screaming from the pocket of Lonely he’d tried to hide himself in. James had informed him that due to their nightly statements he’d enjoyed for the last decade, he was too Eye-aligned to hide from James that way now. James could find him in the Lonely. Or well, he could if he followed him in quickly enough, though he neglected to give Martin that detail. The boy had cried for well over an hour, and standing guard over him to ensure he didn’t try to disappear again had really eaten into his morning.

James had quite enough to be doing with making his re-bodying arrangements, and he barely had time to waste interviewing health aides. Still, needs must, and at least he could use the Eye to streamline a background check.

*
             When Martin was introduced to Nurse Bea, he quickly sussed out why she’d been hired. She was huge, broad and tall with biceps nearly as big as Martin’s head. Her hair was in a severe bun, and though her face was round and friendly enough he could attest that wasn't proof that nothing monstrous was lurking underneath. He was sure that this woman under James’s payroll was just as ready to throw him under the bus at his bequest as every other health professional that signed off on him needing an escort to his classes in the first place.             The only reprieve that Martin was given was that she wasn’t dressed like an orderly. Instead, James had her outfitted with slick sunglasses and a suit. She looked more like a standard bodyguard for a politician than a nurse for a kid who tried to kill himself, which meant that though his classmates kept a wider berth from him than before they at least assumed he’d witnessed a crime or was wanted by the mob. He wasn’t sure why, but the idea of everyone knowing he’d tried and failed to kill himself felt embarrassing. Like he couldn’t even do that much right.             Just because Martin was forced to spend his days followed by this largely silent woman, however, didn’t mean he needed to play nice with her. Certainly his ‘father’ hadn’t insisted on it, and he would take what rebellion he could get away with, even if it was petty.             “Martin, it’s time for your medication,” Nurse Bea had whispered discreetly in his ear during library study. Martin bristled.             “Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snapped loudly, causing a number of heads around them to jerk up and look at him. He didn’t care. “I’ll take care of it in a minute! Just let me finish this fucking chapter first, god!”             “Alright, I’ll remind you again in twenty minutes if you forget, but then you really will have to take it,” Nurse Bea said, even more quietly so the new attention of his fellow students still wouldn’t pick up her words. It was very considerate. Martin hated her.             “Oi, what’s your problem, man?” asked a boy sitting nearby. Martin sent him a nasty smile.             “I’m a misogynist,” he said, ignoring Nurse Bea’s nearly nonexistent scoff. At least that seemed to shut the boy up, though he made an odd face before rolling his eyes and turning away. Whatever. Martin had long given up the slightest hope of making friends.
*
             When Martin was home and Nurse Bea off duty, James had become oddly tactile. He didn’t go so far as groping him, as he had with abandon in the prison cell. Still, it seemed every time Martin passed him by he would reach out to tussle his hair, stroke his arm, or caress his cheek. He’d begun welcoming him home with a deeply unwanted hug, even. It was more disconcerting by the day.             “Why are you touching me so much?! Like, yeah you were always kind of touchy but it’s like I can’t get rid of you! It’s weird!” Martin finally blew up at him after one particularly long and unescapable embrace. James only held him tighter before leaning into his ear and making him shudder.             “I’m warming you up, obviously,” Martin could hear his smirk, “I’d hate to overwhelm you when we break in my new body after all.”             Martin nearly choked and struggled away in earnest. He was actually surprised that James finally laughed and let him go, smiling like Martin was merely playing coy. “You- you’re sick, you know that?”             “So you keep saying. Now, what would you like for dinner tonight? We can order in, whatever you’d like.”             “A pizza isn’t going to make me love you, you know,” Martin snapped, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want to eat with you or- or anything!”             “Pizza it is,” James said as though he hadn’t listened to the rest of Martin’s sentence. Martin could have screamed. “Go do your homework and I’ll call you when it gets here. We’ll eat together as a family, or you shan’t be eating. And you know how I feel about you choosing not to eat. Or do you need a reminder?”             The memory of his bruised tailbone, his earliest terror spent over James’s knee, rose sharp and intrusively to the surface of his mind. James’s work, no doubt. Martin shut his wet eyes tightly.             “Fine,” he whispered, turning to scamper off to the false safety of his room for as long as he was allowed to.             “So dramatic over nothing,” James clicked his tongue fondly behind him.
*
             When Nurse Bea was unavailable, and god knew what she did with her free time, Martin was required to be at the Magnus Institute. At least James didn’t require that Martin stay in his office for hours bored out of his skull, but the building wasn’t big enough to do something in an area he wouldn’t be reached right away. Thinking he could get away with anything in James’s place of power was a fool’s gambit.             But maybe Martin was a fool, as he began to spend his time searching the Institute for Elias Bouchard. Maybe he couldn’t escape James entirely, but it would throw a wrench in things if Elias went on a surprise vacation for a few months at a critical moment. Or if he failed to convince him, Martin could try overpowering him and stabbing out his eyes with his thumbs? He wasn’t sure he could go through with that, but if he did, it would be a mercy compared to what was coming for the man.             “Elias! I’ve been looking everywhere. I need to talk to you,” Martin smiled in relief as he stumbled across the man in the halls. He’d waited by the bins in the alley for many days, surprised he never seemed to come out. He’d wondered if something had happened to him, if James had already kidnapped him and secreted him away somewhere in anticipation for the transfer, but finally he’d found him.             Elias looked less than happy to see him. He bit his lip and looked around shiftily. “Hey uh, sorry bud, I’ve got a lot to do today. Maybe I’ll see you later?”             “Just for a minute! I just need to tell you- or try to… you’ve been avoiding me,” Martin blinked, eyebrows drawing together in pain, “Why? Did I do something?”             “Uh, sort of…” Elias cringed, glancing up and down the otherwise empty hallway and shoved his hands awkwardly in his pant pockets. He was wearing a suit. Martin remembered James mentioning he’d had Elias promoted recently. No doubt one of his preparations. “Martin you… look, I don’t know how exactly but… when you told me to distract your dad, it was so you could try to- to hurt yourself, wasn’t it?”             Martin immediately flushed, unprepared for the rush of shame that flooded him. “H-how do you know about that?”             Elias hunched in on himself and shook his head for a moment before he answered all at once. “I- Wright told me. I mean, he called me to his office after you- after he’d seen you in the h-hospital. He wanted to know if you’d said anything to me before… if you’d said anything about k-killing yourself or… or if you’d gotten the heroin from me. I mean, heroin? Dude that… was that me?”             Martin startled, eyes widening. “Huh?”             “Did I get you into that shit?” Elias shook his head again, shoulders shaking. “I gave you your first joint when you were thirteen, and now you’re into heroin and all that. It was my fault, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean- I never wanted you to end up like that, you know? I just knew you were struggling and I thought… fuck I don’t know. I wanted you to feel better, but when did drugs do me any favours? But I still-”             “Woah, hey, no!” Martin said quickly, waving his hands. He never expected this outcome, for Elias to blame himself for this. Hell, Elias wasn’t meant to know at all! “You didn’t- it was nothing to do with you! I promise, you didn’t do anything wrong.”             Elias let out a clearly disbelieving laugh, taking a step backward. “Pretty sure I’ve done a lot wrong, actually. Look, kid I… I don’t want to drive you to- no. Martin just- you’d got a lot to live for, you know? You’ve got a dad that loves you, is willing to go out of his way to keep you from hurting yourself. I know that face, but it’s true okay? People care about you. That matters, and I… I’ve been a shit influence on you.”             “That’s not true!” Martin said quickly, reaching out only for Elias to pull away. “Elias please don’t- don’t do this. I have to warn you about-”             “Martin, I’m sorry, but I think it’s better if we don’t talk anymore okay?” Elias gave a strained smile, backing up further, toward the emergency exit door by the stairs. “It’s not you, you’re a great kid. Really. I just… I don’t want to be responsible for hurting you more, okay? I’d never want that. I know you’ll probably be working here someday soon, and when you are… maybe one day when you’re in a better place mentally we can… I dunno. I just don’t want you hurt because of me, that’s all. There’s better role models, you know? I-I’ll see you around I guess but… yeah. Sorry.”             Then, before Martin could get out another word, Elias slipped through the exit door and was gone and out of sight before Martin could run out after him.             Martin would never speak to the real Elias Bouchard again.
*
             It would only be two weeks later that Martin crossed the graduation stage in a cap and gown, not even a trace of a smile as he took his diploma, only doing so when softly threatened by James as he passed him the fancy watch he’d gotten him as a graduation present while Nurse Bea took their picture to commemorate the occasion. The watch felt like a shackle.
             He was taken out to dinner, wined and dined and celebrated. James had banished any talk of the future, telling Martin he deserved one evening to simply be happy about his accomplishment before worrying about all that.

Truly it was only the one night, as the next morning Martin awoke to find James sitting on his bed holding a stack of papers. His hand was resting on Martin’s knee, and his breath caught as he jerked out of the hold.

“What do you want?” Martin groaned, hurrying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He hated when James caught him off guard. He should have known the ‘one night of celebration’ was only to get him hungover, his pounding head was making it hard to think. James clicked his tongue.

“I have the second part of your graduation present,” James nodded toward the Rolex on Martin’s bedside table as he shoved the stack of papers, topped with a fancy pen, into Martin’s lap.

“What is it?” Martin’s brow furrowed as he took up his glasses and peered blearily down at the papers. Familiar papers with the Magnus Institute insignia at the top. He shoved the papers back at James in disgust. “

No!

”

“Yes,” James said simply, pushing the papers back into Martin’s lap without a care, “What better graduation gift than a job, hm? What else is it all for?”

“I don’t want to be bound to the Institute and YOU for the rest of my life!” Martin snapped.

James sighed and rubbed his forehead as though Martin were merely throwing a childish fit. He probably saw it as exactly that, Martin thought with venom.

“Martin, you’re already bound to me by law. This is more or less the same thing, really. It’s set dressing for our deeper connection, you’re making too big of a deal out of it.”

“Oh that’s rich!” Martin scoffed, throwing up his hands. “If it’s no big deal and just ‘set dressing’ it shouldn’t matter if I don’t sign it!”

James leveled him with a nasty look that made Martin’s arse sting with phantom pain. “Don’t be cute. This isn’t negotiable, Martin. You will sign.”

Martin knew he hadn’t a leg to stand on, but he still folded his arms and glared in stony silence. He wasn’t going to just hand James what he wanted. Not in this. He wouldn’t let James think he had Martin’s willing obedience.

The silence stretched between them until James had enough and switched tracks, drawing up a knee and turning on an unsettling smile. “Come now, it’s quite a nice deal if you actually read it through. You’ll have a much better starting salary than most entry level positions offer, and an excellent benefits package. We’ll be starting you off in the library, a nice safe area you’re familiar with where you can find your footing until a higher ranking position frees up.”

“Dies, you mean. It’s not like you ever need to follow through on your ‘generous retirement fund’,” Martin huffed, and did not unfold his arms.

“However it happens, you are sure to advance easily,” said James charitably, “Sign that paper, and your future is guaranteed.”

“Guaranteed to be miserable, you mean,” Martin hissed, drawing up his knees and turning as though to get out of bed. James’s hand darted out and grabbed his wrist, fingernails digging into his veins. “Ow! You’re hurting me!”

“This is already your world, Martin. You can’t escape it now, nor ever. If you aren’t a part of the Institute, you are still a monster. You still need to feed, and you are still aligned with Beholding at least as much as the Lonely. You’re involved. By joining the Institute, you’ll at least have protection. As much as I can provide you, anyway,” James huffed, loosening his grip as Martin stopped struggling to get up but didn’t let him go. “If you hadn’t come to me all those years ago, I’m sure the Lonely would have taken you by now. One way or another. Or if not the Lonely, some other entity that smelled all that fear in you. There’s no scenario where you would have been safe from them forever.”

“Oh shove it!” Martin spat, “I’m not stupid, or a child. This isn’t about protecting me. You just want to control me.”

James hummed, tilting his head obligingly. “Yes, well, protecting you from yourself is also important given your penchant for self-destruction.”

Martin grit his teeth, staring at James’s hand on his wrist with loathing. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to belong to you. I don’t want

you

.”

“And what do you want, then?” James snapped.

“I want you GONE! I want you out of my LIFE damn it!” Martin shouted, and James’s grip tightened to the edge on painful again.

“Do you have another plan?” James hissed, “Thinking of another way to get rid of me, then?”

Martin effortlessly pulled the fog over his flurry of thoughts regarding finding Jon and warning him off the Institute, of finally getting a chance to speak to Gertrude and warn her about Jonah Magnus (somehow in all these years he hadn’t managed to cross paths with her, she seemed to be out of the country constantly and James never let him near the Archives), of finding some way around his promise to get rid of James once and for all.

“No,” Martin lied smoothly, “But I’m never going to get the chance to make one if I sign that.”

“True,” James allowed slowly, though anger still crackled on every word, “But that’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Martin ground his teeth, trying desperately to think of something that would get him out of this. Direct confrontation didn’t work, could he bargain? “Why- it shouldn’t have to be now. I just spent my whole life in school, can’t I get a gap year before I jump right into working full time? Hell, even just a vacation between studying and lifelong servitude to the Eye?”

“You already serve the Eye, Martin. There’s no escaping that either.”

Martin let out a slow, deliberate breath before lowering his head and glaring up at James through his eyelashes. “Serving you, then.”

He watched his guardian’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It worried him, he hoped the man would keep his inclination to not rape Martin while still wearing this face. “I’m afraid the signing cannot wait any longer. There are things I’ve needed to do for quite some time now that I’ve been putting off until you were protected by a contract with the Institute and putting them off has been… difficult. I wanted to insure you were educated first, and now you are. But every moment I wait on these things is a risk.”

Martin shut his eyes and shuddered. A hand on his chin tilted up his head and his eyes fluttered open again. He was surprised to see James’s face pinched in rare concern.

“Oh, I suppose if you’d like once you’ve signed the contract I can give you a starting date a month from now. You can relax and get that vacation. See? I’m not so heartless. I can even give you a nice signing bonus, you can get some fancy bauble as a reward for all your hard work.”

“Oh how gracious of you,” Martin said with obvious sarcasm. James’s fingers dug into his chin now as well, and he winced as tears automatically sprung to his eyes, trapped staring into James’s own.

“Martin, I am exceedingly patient with you,” James said slowly, and Martin wished he had the breath to laugh in his face at the assertion. “But I really must insist. Sign. Now.”

“I won’t,” Martin grumbled through pursed lips. He knew he was pouting. He didn’t care. He even felt a sick rush of satisfaction along with a plunge of icy fear at the snarl his refusal earned.

“What must I do, then?” James asked, closing into Martin’s space so he could smell his disgusting ancient breath. He was too strong for his age, Martin thought. The benefits of an evil patron he supposed. “Should I lock you in this room and starve you until you give in? Cane you into a snivelling mess?

Show you things

?”

Martin flinched. He couldn’t hide it, and James smirked as his pinching fingers turned into a light caress of his cheek.

“We both know how this will end,” James said, voice dangerously hushed. “You can be reasonable and skip the unpleasant road to get there, or you can be stubborn. And the only thing being stubborn will gain you is pain and discomfort. You will come to heel on your own, or I will make you come to heel. There is no option where you don’t sign, only whether you do it with a bruised arse or not. And it is a lovely arse, I’d hate to ruin it so soon.”

Martin’s lip twisted in disgust. “God, then- why did you have to make it weird though? Even if I have to work at the Institute can’t you… can’t you just be my

dad

? Let me have my life and check in with me, have lunch on Fridays to catch up and just be normal about it?”

That seemed to bring James up short, oddly enough. He was quiet, mouth moving silently as it did when he was trying to fight the compulsion of saying the first thing that came to his mind and then finally drew away, giving Martin some much needed breathing room. “Martin I… I have enjoyed being your father. Far more so than I might have thought I would, having never had the inclination to raise a child in two centuries of life. But you are a young man now. You aren’t going to need a father any longer, nor can I reasonably remain in that role when this body expires. After that, I will look after you in other ways because you will still need someone present in your life. Even with Beholding at your side, the Lonely will remain at your back. You need an anchor, and that is what I’ll be for you. Always. I want to be that for you.”

Martin’s breath caught as his mind spun its wheels on a retort, but James wasn’t finished. He abandoned Martin’s wrist to cup his face in both hands.

“This isn’t a punishment. It’s not a bad thing, Martin,” James said, gentle in a way Martin didn’t think was possible for the man. “You will be safe and protected. Treasured. The envy of your peers with every comfort imaginable.”

“I… I d-don’t-”

“I know,” James placed a finger over his son’s lips. “I know you don’t think you want it. But I’m telling you this so that you understand I am not enjoying forcing you into this. But if you insist on being difficult, then I will do what I need to.”

“What does that me- no… no no no no NO NO NO NO

NO

!”

Martin shrieked and reared backwards, slapping his hands uselessly over his eyes as he saw his mother in an apartment he’d never seen before but Knew was hers. It was grubby, and cramped, but most horribly it was

teeming

with house centipedes.

Such an infestation was impossible. This species didn’t live this way. There weren’t enough cockroaches in the world to satisfy this hoard that blanketed the sofa, the walls, and flowed over the tile floor like a living carpet. His mother knelt on her bed, screaming out horrid insults at the writhing beasts and coughing violently, slapping her hands down on them as they crawled up her bed posts.

But there were too many. Far, far too many for two hands to combat. They reached her feet first, and when they bit into her flesh her shrieks turned to cries of anguish far too painful for Martin to bear. He could hardly believe this was real, that it had happened. James had never given Martin details about his mother’s death and he hadn’t asked for them. He’d just assumed it was the illness, why wouldn’t he? She’d been sick as long as Martin had known her, and wouldn’t take her meds without being reminded.

Had James known she was targeted by Corruption? Surely he must have, and yet he’d let her die like this, horribly. Why? And why had he kept this from him? It wasn’t to spare him, surely. No… it was for this moment. To have leverage over him, when the time was right.

He was watching his mother die in the most horrible way he could ever imagine. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop watching. He didn’t want to see it, James couldn’t be so cruel.

“STOP it!” Martin yelled, kicking blindly at his own bedsheets in mirror to his mother leaving bloody footprints against her own. “Dad- dad

please

, you don’t- you don’t need me! You don’t need me, just leave me alone! Just make it stop…”

He felt the arms wrapping around him, a warm hand soothing up and down his back, but the images didn’t stop and they were no comfort. Martin sobbed wildly.

“I’m nothing to you! I have no use! I’ve done nothing but drain your bank account and fight you at every turn! If you won’t let me go just kill me! I tried to kill you- I WOULD kill you, if I could! Just let me GO, damn it! And stop- MUM! Fuck, don’t make me watch this! You’re evil! You’re horrid and evil and- and-”

“No, Martin, I won’t just make it stop,” James hissed in his ear, his voice cutting clean and clear through his mother’s blood curdling screams. “It’s this, or accept your life with me. This isn’t like caning, Martin. My arm isn’t going to tire of this. I can do this forever. I can even give you different perspectives. If third person omniscient isn’t doing it for you, we can see it through her eyes instead. Or perhaps you’d prefer the centipedes’?”

Martin thrashed once, but it took only a few seconds of his gaze split between ten thousand hungry, bisected eyes as they gazed at his mother as though she were the most succulent cockroach they had ever seen for him to break.

“NO! Fuck- you WIN you win I-I’ll sign it! I’ll sign just… no more, God please no more…” Martin curled in on himself as the vision finally fled and he was left to the blessed darkness of his own eyelids. He was shaking horribly, his mind left focused on what he had just witnessed, filling in its own gaps. Those images wouldn’t be leaving him for a long time, perhaps not ever.

James held him and stroked his hair and shoulders for a little longer before drawing back to press the contract into his hands again. He placed his hand on Martin’s to help steady the pen in it, and they traced his signature together on the page.

Martin Barnabus Wright,

punctuated with a wayward teardrop.

“There we are. Good boy,” James grinned and pressed a kiss to Martin’s temple.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

21

Martin had a sinking suspicion as to why James wasn’t accompanying him on his ‘vacation’. A month at a resort in Nice, France accompanied by his muscle-head security drone without James hovering over his shoulder with his hand on his arse wasn’t unappealing. But as Martin stood on the balcony of the picture-perfect hotel suite overlooking the sea, he couldn’t help but reflect darkly upon the goodbye he had been given at Heathrow airport.
             James had drawn him close, pulling him down by his shoulders so he could kiss his forehead and gave him a constricting hug.             “You’re a man now, Martin. It has been an honour to raise you and be your father. I’ll see you when you get back,” James had declared with a wink as Nurse Bea smiled on with seemingly benign approval.             Martin shivered in the sea air. Nurse Bea was beside him, of course. Always in arm’s reach when he’s this close to a precipice. She had the key to the balcony doors and while she had told him he only needed to ask to be let out for some air, it was yet another reminder that even across the English Channel in the south of France he was still a prisoner.             “Look how blue the sea is,” Nurse Bea said with so much warmth Martin thought he might drown in it. “It will do you good, getting a rest and a change in scenery. Things to remind you how good life can be.”             Martin scoffed and flipped the nurse off. It became clear early on in their relationship that the nurse didn’t retaliate to petty displays of reluctance and hatred on Martin’s part, and she didn’t break the pattern now. Instead of acknowledging the gesture, she only smiled and leaned against the railing beside him.             “Maybe you’ll even meet a nice boy,” she said cheekily, “Who knows?”             Martin twitched badly. Did she not know James’s full intentions? More likely she did and was poking fun at his open wound. So much for not retaliating. Martin shot her a glare and flipped her off again before storming back into the room.
*
             It seemed that Nurse Bea was also a licensed chauffeur, and in the time not spent on the beach she ferried Martin around the city and neighbouring areas to different museums. She was fluent in French so Martin didn’t need to attempt to talk to a single other person.             He’d assumed Nurse Bea had to have some sort of strong Fear powers as well, if James had entrusted him to her entirely like this, but she showed no sign of them nor any indication of which she might serve. He’d side eyed her hair for traces of spider web or insect holes, had tried to listen for if she asked anyone a question they shouldn’t be answering so easily… nothing concrete. No smell of ozone like Vast avatars often had, nor the smell of dirt. She wasn’t of the Lonely, Martin felt sure he would be able to tell if she was.             He did come to learn he hadn’t been entirely left alone with the woman, however, late in the second week when he was being made to eat lunch at a seaside café near the hotel and Nurse Bea clicked her tongue and produced another dose of Narcan when Martin thought he’d discreetly dropped and stomped on the last dose she’d tried to give him. He’d been arguing he didn’t need it since Nurse Bea wouldn’t let him within ten meters of an opioid anyway when he’d trailed off and sensed there was prey nearby. The homeless man staggering toward the public washroom was reeking of Lonely, it was horribly distracting.
Right, he’d been overdue for a bit. If he managed to get close enough to feed, he might get enough juice to vanish, run into the sea and drown himself. Worth a shot.
             “Um, I have to use the bathroom,” Martin said after obediently taking his medications. Nurse Bea frowned, but nodded.             “I’ll be outside the door. If you exceed five minutes I’m required to call in after you.”             “Yeah, I know the drill,” Martin nodded, forcing himself to walk evenly so as not to arouse suspicion. The bathroom was small, and smelled bad, but that might have been because of the man in the corner. He didn’t have a friend in the world, poor thing. It might be a mercy, really, to send him to the Lonely. He had nothing to live for, and neither did Martin.             “Hey, it’s okay now,” Martin whispered, and the man – who had been standing at the urinal zoning out and likely high on something – jerked and turned so fast a dribble of piss landed on his shoes. Martin grimaced, but couldn’t stop the urge to walk toward the man, to reach out toward him and take his free hand. It burned like a brand, and he knew it was because his own was icy cold. “Let me send you along. This world is hard, isn’t it? I think you might like the quiet, on the other side.”             The man mumbled something in French, and Martin was ready to give him the final push when a sharp English voice broke the stillness.             “Right, none of that now.” And Martin was grabbed from behind and pulled physically away from the man who reared back, shouting in surprise. The man at Martin’s back made a disagreeable noise and waved his own hand, and Martin gasped at the roll of fog and extremely familiar foghorn that rang in his ears as the homeless man was enveloped and vanished before his eyes.             Behind him, Peter Lukas breathed in deeply as their patron’s power flowed into him.             “YOU!” Martin gaped, whirling around and out of the man’s grip. “What the fuck- you stole my- my-“             “Stole your prey? Yeah, sorry, doing a favour for your guardian I’m afraid,” Peter shrugged, “Seems he’s put you on a diet this vacation. Seems a bit cruel in my opinion, but then, he is a monster.”             Martin made a noise of frustration. “Well- well what does it matter then if I’d gotten him? You could’ve just followed me into the Lonely and plucked me out again if I tried to hide!”             Peter made a face. “Urgh, last resort. You’re too young to know this, but nothing itches more than going into another avatar’s Lonely. Too… companionable. Besides, I’m not about to pass up extra snacks and a nice vacation when the alternative is being dragged into a meeting with Nathaniel about my shipping company ‘not being a real business enterprise’ and ‘is losing the family millions’. He just doesn’t understand the art of it. But anyway, Wright’s getting me out of that as long as I keep you from running off while on vacation. Who says I can’t make a good business deal?”             Martin’s fists curled and shook in rage. “You can’t be serious. Can you do anything other than be a pain in my arse?!”             “Well that’s not very fair. We barely know each other. I’m sure I could do worse, given the chance,” Peter hummed as there was a knock on the door. “Ah, I’d best be off. That’d be your nursemaid, I imagine.”             Peter vanished just as Nurse Bea barged in, calling Martin’s name. He immediately coughed and claimed he had called back but she must not have heard him. She didn’t believe him, but at least she pretended to. A small mercy. It didn’t make him like her any better.
*
             As the weeks slipped by, Martin kept expecting to be interrupted by a call from James, even just to check up on him, but it never came. He supposed it wasn’t as though he needed to call to check in if he could just use the Eye to spy on him, but the lack of contact was setting him oddly on edge.
             Even with Nurse Bea attached to his hip and Peter Lukas peeping on him from the Lonely, he felt alone and unmoored. He was glad Nurse Bea would occasionally take him places unprompted because he was coming to realise he just didn’t know what to do with himself all day anymore, without someone handing him a schedule to follow.
             By the time the last day in France rolled around, he didn’t feel relaxed but he had gained a tan and gotten a little soft around his middle. He’d gotten to see the south of France. He’d never done that in the first timeline. Maybe if he ever felt less ready to die he might come to appreciate that. He doubted that would happen, but it passed the time to speculate.             It was as Martin listlessly watched Nurse Bea bustle around the suite packing his bags for him (he might as well get some use out of his prison guard, he figured) that her phone began to ring. That phone only rang when James was giving her instructions as far as Martin had seen, so he assumed this was the case until the nurse’s face pinched and she covered her mouth.             “Oh no, that’s terrible news. I… no, it’s best to be frank with such things. Thank you for informing me, I will pass that along. We were leaving today actually. Obviously we can take a cab back to the property, but do you know who- ah, I see? I can’t say I know- I see. Mm, yes. No, of course I’ll stay on. Yes. Alright, we’ll be back by- Good. Thank you.” Nurse Bea hung up and took a deep breath before turning to Martin. “Martin, I need you to prepare yourself.”             Martin shut his eyes against the explanation. How James Wright was found dead in his office, and his new guardian, Elias Bouchard, would be awaiting him when he returned.             “I trust you know who that is?” Nurse Bea asked delicately, and Martin snorted.             “Of course I do. Do you?” Martin sneered.             “I’m sure he’s a lovely person,” she said finally, and then gentled her tone. “Now, I know this must be quite a shock, and with you already so low… if you need sedation for the flight, I can adjust your medication doses for the day to allow for that. Even in first class, I’m sure you aren’t eager to break down on the flight.”             “I’m not going to break down,” Martin muttered, keeping his eyes shut. “It’s not like he’s really gone, is it?”             Nurse Bea’s eyebrows drew together. “Sorry, what do you mean?”             “Oh as if you don’t know. Elias is…” Martin trailed off as it occurred to him that Jonah Magnus might still live, but if he did, then that meant Elias Bouchard was dead. The knowledge slammed into him like a train and he slapped a hand over his mouth as a dry sob heaved out of his chest and his eyes flew open in time to see Nurse Bea looking at him with a damnable amount of sympathy.             “Poor thing. Took a moment to hit, hm?” she said softly, sitting with him and rubbing his back as he fought to hide his utter despair and failed abysmally. He cried on and off for nearly an hour and Nurse Bea didn’t move an inch until his cries petered out and he was left to shiver and think in the dull emptiness his mind was left with after that storm of emotion.             Elias was gone, and Jonah’s disgusting body-stealing eyeballs were one short plane ride away. This was his last chance, and he had nothing to lose.             Nurse Bea caught his hand when he drove for the key to the balcony, but she hadn’t expected him to pull away and then run at the glass door full steam, only to slam against it and leave a massive crack in the panes for his trouble. She’d sworn and jumped up to gather him up and away from the glass. She scolded him lightly, wrapped his bruised head in bandages, and told the hotel staff to charge the room, that his father’s estate ought to cover the damages. 
             “I understand you’re upset,” she said through her teeth as she measured out his medication while holding him down with her powerful thighs. “But you

must

take your pills. Please don’t do anything rash here, I promise everything will be alright if you just let us get back to England safely.”
             He didn’t listen toher. They went out to catch a cab to the airport and the second Nurse Bea let go of his wrist to heave the bags into the boot, Martin ran into traffic. He looked up at the semi-truck approaching at high speed with its horn blaring, only for something to catch the back of his shirt and icy fog enveloped it, letting the truck pass through he space he had been in while he gasped for air, a foghorn blaring in his ears before he found himself standing at the edge of the road again. Nurse Bea was running toward him and grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling him forceflly back to the irritated cab driver.
             At the airport he screamed that he had a bomb while in the customs line, and they were delayed for several hours while Nurse Bea had to make calls and explain that Martin was having a breakdown and needed to get home so ‘proper doctors could see to him’. It was after that fiasco that Nurse Bea gave up on him listening to reason, and simply had him sedated for the flight as she’d threatened.
             It was sort of nice, not being able to think properly. He’d fallen in and out of consciousness the whole flight, and by the time they landed and got into yet another cab he was so exhausted he gave in entirely and fell asleep leaned on his nurse’s shoulder, her hand slowly stroking his hair. What did it matter, he thought disjointedly, if he took comfort in that? In the hands delivering him to his doom?             “I know you’re upset your father’s gone,” she whispered to him as the turning of the cab in traffic rocked him into sleep. “But you have to know he loved you, and wanted you to live more than anything, right?”             Martin let out the world’s softest laugh as he drifted off. What a load of shit.
*
             When Martin woke, it was slowly. His eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each, and he couldn’t find the will to fight to move an inch against the thick, soft blanket covering him to his chin and the worn indent cradling him. His mouth was dry as a desert, so his first movement was his tongue sluggishly licking his lips.             The low chuckle near his head stirred him into cracking his eyes open. The sight of his own bedroom ceiling confused him at first. Had he really slept through being carried inside? He was surprised he still had a bed to be deposited back into. He would have thought there would be more fuss, if James Wright was dead. How could Martin be allowed back into the house when its owner was gone?             “I’m not sure why you’d be surprised. You are James Wright’s heir apparent after all. You’ve inherited all his property. Convenient, honestly. I didn’t even have to arrange anything to be stored off site and collected later.” The voice cut through Martin’s musings like ice water, and his gaze flickered to the man sitting at his bedside. Elias Bouchard. Or well, not so much. The Elias that Martin had come to know never would have looked at him that way. Like he was an amusement. Like a favoured pet. Like something to eat.  Elias was dead, long live Jonah Magnus. “Of course, as your newly appointed guardian, I will determine when and how your inheritance is to be used until you are deemed capable.”             “Which will be never,” Martin filled in with his cracked voice as he squinted in disgust. The look was returned with a glinting grin. Elias had always smiled hesitantly, like he was a little worried how it would be received. Martin had forgotten how menacing this face could be with someone else behind it.             “Oh Martin, it won’t be as bad as all that. Here, I’ll show you,” Elias said, voice low and filled with dark promises as he stood from his bedside chair and leaned over Martin’s face. He hovered there as Martin turned his head away. Unfortunately the sedative hadn’t fully loosened its hold. The monster easily cupped his face and turned it back toward him, as though he were weak as a kitten.             Then he kissed him. Martin yelped and tried to struggle, but the blankets left him easy to pin down as Elias climbed up onto the bed, knee across his stomach and one hand on his shoulder. His mouth still tasted faintly of smoke, a remnant of its prior owner, and Martin could do nothing but endure the assault breathlessly.             At last Elias drew back, grinning triumphantly down at Martin who was left red-faced and panting in his wake.             When he’d caught his breath, Martin made a face.             “Yuck,” Martin said decisively, and Elias snorted and gave his cheek a pat.             “I'm afraid proper kisses take some getting used to. But we have plenty of time to practice,” Elias breathed out and Martin saw him shiver in anticipation. “If you give this dynamic a chance, keep an open mind, you will come to enjoy it. It’ll be just like the theatre. Remember? You thought you wouldn’t like that at first either.”             “I still don’t really like the- urgh!” Martin grunted as Elias got on the bed properly now, straddling his waist. A second later the blankets were being pulled down, and Martin realised with a start that he was shirtless. “W-wait, wait no- stop!”             He jerked as Elias reached out and tweaked his right nipple, his hand rising to bat at it uselessly. It took only a moment for his guardian to gather up his wayward limbs and pull them above his head. There was a clink of metal and Martin craned his neck in horror to find he had been handcuffed to the headboard. When had Elias even gotten those?             “Ja- E- DAD! Dad, stop- STOP!” Martin shrieked and weakly thrashed again as Elias descended on him, laying hot, wet kisses across his mouth, his cheeks, down to his throat where he lingered and began to suck a dark hickey into his skin. He wasn’t even slowing down, and Martin was awash in fear, heart pounding wildly. “Dad, please, please don’t- I-I’m scared. I’m not ready. I don’t want this! I-if you do this, it’s rape! You’re going to rape your own FUCKING son you! OW!”             Martin bucked up on reflex as his side was pinched viciously, and he filled with dread as his crotch made contact with the solid, hard weight straining against Elias’s suit pants.             “Language, Martin,” Elias whispered dangerously, though his eyes read more amused than anything as he dipped down to nip at Martin’s ear again, his hand soothing over the purpling bruise in Martin’s side. “I know you’re scared. Think of it as a roller coast- ah, I suppose you’ve never been on one. Well, this will be even more educational then. Sometimes, you need to rip off the band aid to learn there’s nothing to fear.”             Martin whimpered as Elias drew away to lick a long stripe up his chest, nibbling on his left nipple before changing course to bury into his armpit, breathing in deeply there.             “I had thought of waiting longer,” Elias mumbled into the coarse hair beneath his nose, “But I’ve been patient too long to bear waiting when you’re so sweet and lethargic from the sedative. It’s time for a little indulgence, I think.”             It was too much. This was Elias’s corpse, his friend’s corpse, piloted by the man who would use it to hurt Martin and destroy the world. The same man who had been Martin’s only companion for years. Who had acted like a far from perfect but at least a somewhat effective father until he decided he wasn’t satisfied. He would never be satisfied. And through all the unwanted body worship, Martin still couldn’t quite understand why Elias would want him of all people this way.             His confusion and fear overflowed and Martin began to whimper and sniffle, turning his face to burrow into his bound arm, muffling his shame but not hiding it well enough. Elias soon rose and dug his hand into Martin’s scant hiding place to turn him out again into yet another searing kiss.             “Let’s not fuss.” Elias stroked Martin’s cheek, breaking the thread of saliva that linked their panting mouths. “You’ve known this was coming for a long while.”             He had known. This was why he’d been trying so hard to kill himself. Martin thought about saying so, kicking back yet again. Yelling out something that would really cut into the man and trying to weakly evade this to the final moment. 
            But as he watched Elias lean back and begin loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, it occurred to Martin that it wouldn’t matter. This was going to happen, and there was

nothing

he could do to stop it. If he kept protesting, all that would happen is he would be punished. This would only last longer, and there would be more pain, and more horrible images haunting his nightmares.

There was no benefit to fighting. If he just let it happen, it might be over faster. Elias might be gentle. Maybe that’s the best Martin could hope for, now. Maybe all he could do was endure, and keep entertaining the vague, distant hope that he would one day get the chance to put an end to this monster once and for all.

So Martin looked at Elias, bit his lip, and gave a tiny nod. “Yes, I know.”

Elias looked surprised for a moment, but then his smile widened. Closed lipped and eyes crinkling like James’s had. Not the real Elias’s silly grin. “You’ll be a good boy, then?”

Martin shut his eyes, but nodded again, and was rewarded with another deep kiss.

“That will be a nice change from lately,” Elias said casually as he finished shucking off his shirt and pulled the blanket down further, revealing that Martin was, in fact, entirely nude. Already debased as well, most likely. He took Martin’s soft cock in hand and began to warm it with gentle squeezes. “Now relax and let me take care of you. An obedient child is a happy child.”

Martin nodded again, kept his eyes shut, and obeyed.

His reward for obedience was being tenderly, lovingly, raped by the man he’d called father.

In the aftermath, Martin’s wrists were released and he drew them to his chest, trembling badly. His arse was aching in spite of the long preparation, and both mentally and physically he was exhausted. When Elias settled at his side and drew him close, Martin broke. He needed comfort, and in spite of the evil he’d just undergone at his hands, Elias was the one offering it.

He pressed into Elias’s side, clinging to his waist and nuzzling into his neck like a newborn puppy seeking warmth. The man was vile, but he was warm. He was evil, but he was Martin’s only anchor in this world.

“There, I knew you’d enjoy yourself. See how nice things are, when you aren’t being a stubborn brat?” Elias murmured into Martin’s hair before letting out a contented sigh. “Ah, but I suppose even as a brat you’re endearing.”

He pressed his usual kiss to Martin’s forehead and his son went limp in his arms.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Careful the Things You Say22             There was a time long ago, when Martin was an actual teenager lying on old bed sheets in a tiny apartment pouring over sonnets for English class, when he would fantasize about being quoted such poems by a lover. First he would imagine a faceless girl reading the lines, but that rapidly evolved into imagining his English teacher with the deep voice, or the handsome Irish boy in his biology class. It was a favourite cozy fantasy to return to whenever he read something particularly syrupy and romantic, to think that maybe, one day, he could have something like that.             Jon had never read poetry to him. He wasn’t a fan of poetry, in spite of having an incredible voice for recitation, and there never seemed to be a good time for Martin to petition him into reading some in spite of his disinterest. Maybe he would have done it if he’d known how much Martin had wanted it, but Martin hadn’t mentioned it and had expressly forbidden Jon from reading his mind, so that had never come to fruition.             Elias, however, had no qualms butting his way into Martin’s mind whenever he let his defenses down for an instant, and so it shouldn’t have surprised him that he began to whisper particularly sweet lines in his ear after bidding Martin join him in bed after a long day.             “Now at the last gasp of Love’s latest breath, when, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies. When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death and innocence is closing up his eyes. Now if thou woudst, when all have given him over, from death to life thou mightst him yet recover,” Elias said in measured tones before licking a stripe up Martin’s sweaty neck, leading him to shiver.             “Michael Drayton,” Martin whispered in disbelief as Elias hummed in affirmation.             “Very good. Do you know this one? How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…”             “Elizabeth Barret Browning. Now shove off with that,” Martin growled, turning his face away as Elias tried to kiss his mouth and landed on his cheek instead.             “And this one: What is all this sweet work worth, if thou kiss not me?”             Martin flushed, “Percy Shelley. And how should I know?”             He said that, but when Elias began to kiss him slowly he couldn’t find the energy to turn away again.*             Elias was happy enough with his new body. Not that it ever felt like a choice, when the right host came to him he always Knew it would be the best fit and acted accordingly. But Elias Bouchard was lean, tall, and aside from the little narcotic habits he had to break he was low profile. Any change in personality was chalked up to his coworkers simply not knowing him well enough to realise what he would be like in a position of power.             He also felt confident that his young charge was not put off by it. Surely having a handsome face would be all he would need to dissuade Martin from whatever mental blocks he might have regarding feeling attraction to his parental figure. In some ways he thought it was working. That first night when Martin had given in to him seemed evidence he wasn’t as reluctant as he had been before. He just needed a strong push in the right direction.             During this crucial ‘honeymoon’ period, Elias had been doing his best to woo the boy. To shower him in little gifts and outings to all the little museums and art galleries he knew Martin enjoyed. He didn’t resist when Elias would hold his hand or waist when they had moments alone in public. He would take any opportunity to compliment his former son and new lover on both his appearance and accomplishments, heedless of any of the boy’s natural bashful rebuffing.             He had been sure that over time this would wear the boy down. He was a romantic deep down, Elias could sense it, and Elias was being the perfect lover. The sort of partner any strapping young gay man ought to dream of. Now that they had been intimate he shouldn’t have those natural virgin fears anymore.             But even despite all this, Martin never quite stopped grimacing, even if he’d stopped pushing his lover away. More infuriatingly, the only thing Martin would initiate was the occasional cuddle after the fact. He never asked for sex, never initiated a kiss, never so much as brandished a side-eyed flirtation. It was infuriating! Though, Elias knew, it couldn’t exactly be the boy’s fault despite how much he’d like to throttle him for the lack of boldness.             He was missing something, he had to be. It surely wasn’t his appearance, or his behaviour that was leaving Martin cold toward him. If the boy would just let his guard down enough for Elias to check his mind for the cause… ah, but if he could do that he wouldn’t be his endearingly stubborn young charge. There was nothing for it but to keep trying to wear him down until he found a crack.*             Martin had long ago learned as much about playing the piano as Elias had to teach him. Now, when Martin would play in idle moments, Elias would sometimes join him. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, they would play together, weaving more complex music than either could have managed on his own. They moved in sync, Martin barely having to think as he reached delicately over his legal guardian’s hand to hit a key just out of his range. Elias would lead from one song to another easily, some that Martin knew from his lessons and followed easily. Others he didn’t think he knew, but somehow his fingers would find the right keys anyway to weave something sweeping and emotional through the room.             When the songs would end and they sat in silence, basking in the echoes of what they had made, sometimes Martin would feel a wave of exhaustion and he would give in to temptation to lay his head quietly on Elias’s shoulder.*             Nurse Bea remained employed as Martin’s health aide which, well, of course she did. It’s not like her employer actually changed. Rather than follow him to classes now, though, it seemed Elias had decided to dress her in office wear and blend her into the Institute staff. Whether she’d actually signed a contract of employment there as well was unclear, but she seemed content enough shelving books in the library and only keeping an eye on him most of the time, only approaching to remind him to take his medications or when he looked at a letter opener a bit too long. There were some whispers that Nurse Bea was Martin’s bodyguard, or some kind of personal assistant, but everyone already knew he was the son of the former Head and got the position with nepotism. The idea he had a personal assistant was less weird than the idea he would hide it. As a result, the rumours didn’t get much traction.             When Martin had finally gotten curious enough to ask about it, Elias had told him he wanted Martin to live as normal of a life as possible, which was a laugh. Still, he had truthfully told Martin that Nurse Bea was under about a million NDAs not to explain Martin’s situation to anyone and protect his privacy on the subject. No one at the Institute would even know she was medically certified. A very small mercy.             At least she hadn’t changed how she treated him after witnessing him try so hard to kill himself on vacation. She still gave him his space and only appeared when required by Elias. She hadn’t tried to comfort him about James’s death again, and that seemed a much larger mercy.             In this way, Martin fell into the familiar pattern of daily work in the library. He listened to Hannah gossip warmly as she taught him the ropes of a job he’d long known how to do. He saw ghosts from the past come and go through the stacks. He rarely saw Elias during the work day, with some notable exceptions, but would meet him in his office after work and would return home with him at night to endure whatever sugary fairy tale romance his evil captor thought they were having.             He would occasionally wonder when something would change. If something would happen to make things different, and finally give him the chance to save the future of the world in a tangible way. If such a thing were even possible, now.*             When Elias Bouchard saw the name Jonathan Sims on the paperwork for his next interview, he thought nothing of it. In fact, he was barely looking at the resume, his gaze fixed on the library and Martin leaning over a box of documents. It had taken longer than Elias had expected, but over the past two years the young man had become much more accommodating. He’d long ago stopped trying the silent treatment and was snarking to him about the news or in the theatre again. He hadn’t made a genuine suicide attempt in months.             As Elias had thought, he couldn’t keep up his tantrums forever. He still didn’t appear to be happy with his situation, but he thought they had plenty of time to work on that. After all, it wasn’t as though Martin had any other options for romance. He was too introverted to actually form a genuine relationship with someone else. There was no competition.             That’s what Elias thought, until there was a brisk knock on his door and in walked the flesh and blood version of every bizarre, intimate image Martin had ever drawn and had the nerve to call his boyfriend. His boyfriend who didn’t exist.             Except, apparently, he did exist. He was standing right in front of Elias’s desk in fact, barely holding in his nerves with his forced-serious face, hand held out ramrod straight for a handshake. Elias stared at it in dumbstruck bafflement for a good few seconds before hurriedly clearing his throat and returning the gesture. Jonathan’s hand was sweaty as Elias’s eyes raked over him. This scrawny nerd was not worthy of Martin, not by any measure.             “Sir?” Jonathan asked, his overly large eyebrows drawing together as Elias realised he’d held the man’s hand too long. He let go as though electrocuted and cleared his throat again, shuffling the paper in front of him and gesturing at the guest chair for the interviewee to sit.             “Ah, yes, Jonathan Sims was it?” Elias clarified to buy time for his nerves to settle. “My apologies, I fear I did not sleep well last night.”             A lie, of course. He hadn’t had a single poor night’s sleep since he’d started spending all of them with Martin wrapped in his arms. Jonathan laughed nervously regardless.             “Oh yes, ah, I tend to burn the midnight oil myself,” he took his seat and shuffled his own resume in front of him. “And it- sorry, I prefer Jon if it’s all the same.”             Elias folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward, giving Jon another once-over. He’d thought this before looking at Martin’s drawings, but he really wasn’t very handsome. Certainly not enough to suit an imaginary boyfriend. Should that have been a clue that the man did, in fact, exist? But Martin had never met this man before…             …only he had? A brief flash from the Eye, Martin had met this Jonathan Sims! …once. Briefly. Notably in college and long after he had stopped drawing him. That was especially strange. Could it have been a manifestation of Martin’s blossoming Eye powers? But then why did they focus on this man in particular…             “Sir?” Jon asked again and Elias shook his head minutely, leaning back in his seat and blinking hard.             “Ah, right, the interview. Mm, tell me why you want the position of er… ah yes, research assistant.”             As Jon began his long-winded and pointless answer to that question, Elias tuned him out. The answer was an embellished lie, it was easy enough to see the man was a recent graduate looking for any job he could find in a difficult hiring market. The real question was why Martin had been so obsessed with this man. There was something there, something the man wouldn’t want to mention but Elias knew what might draw it out.             “So because of my interest in preserving folklore, I-”             “Tell me Jon,” asked Elias, cutting through the lie so sharply the other man nearly bit his tongue to silence himself. “What is your greatest fear?”             The change was predictable, but as the man’s eyes widened and his breathing picked up speed Elias began to see a small amount of appeal in him. Jon wore fear well. Very well. Could that be it?             “I-I think…” Jon wet his lips and swallowed, glancing around the room briefly at the corners of the walls. “Spiders.”             There was a pause, and the man flushed dark enough even his brown skin couldn’t hide it.             “Sorry, that- I know that might seem childish but er… childhood fear. Never… never had a chance to get over it, really,” Jon over-explained, hands fidgeting as he was blatantly wondering why he’d said spiders and not something safe like ‘not reaching his goals’.             But the answer was eye opening, so to speak. The Web had been involved with Jonathan Sims since childhood. The Web had also marked Martin as a child, though he had always been dicey with the details of that encounter. It seemed clear that the Web was responsible for Martin knowing about Jon, the reason for their tenuous connection. But why would the Web want Martin to think of Jon as his boyfriend?             Well, the Web had also made Martin think he needed to kill James Wright, and he had failed in that regard. In that case, the Web only meant for Elias to put his attention on Martin. Since then it had become clear that Martin had become an unexpectedly perfect companion though his full use was likely unknown. If he was meant to remain with Elias, as he must be for the Web to have allowed him to keep him as he has, then this Jon couldn’t actually be meant to be Martin’s lover.             In which case, there was another purpose for Jonathan Sims. If he hadn’t just re-bodied himself two years ago he might have assumed he was meant to be his new host, but that seemed unlikely at this point. Still, it would be unwise to let him walk out of here without a contract. Perhaps he could find a job for him that would keep him out of Martin’s sight, then he could keep an eye on him without the risk of-             Elias’s thoughts and Jon’s stammering were cut off by a brief, familiar knock on the door that was abruptly opened. Only one employee was ever so brazen as he knew Elias never turned him down when he appeared without invitation, a policy Elias regretted now.             “Hey Elias,” Martin nearly sighed as he let the door swing behind him, “Sorry to barge in, but the library really needs you to sign off on funding for the new computer system and Lisa knows I’m the only one who can ever get you to actually get off your…”             Martin trailed off, eyes widening as Jon looked over his shoulder. Elias stiffened as he watched his son, his lover, gasp and cover his mouth. The gasp sounded very close to the name ‘Jon’.             Jon, for his part, narrowed his eyes. “What on earth are you doing here? This seems very unprofessional for an interview.”             “Ah, yes the library. Stay here Martin, I’ll speak to you about that in a moment,” Elias said loudly. To his credit, Martin merely nodded and retreated to the corner, though Elias could see he was still shaking. “Jon, thank you for your application. I’ll have my secretary contact you with details regarding your new position and you can start within the next three days.”             “Wha- I got the job?” Jon looked back at Elias, startled but clearly delighted.             “NO!” Martin yelped, and Jon bristled, shooting him a glare. Martin didn’t stop, though. “Don’t do it! Don’t sign! It’s a trap, it’s bad here! Worst job ever, just don’t-”             “Martin, that is enough!” Elias snapped, rising to his feet and forcing a fresh image of Martin’s mother’s face twisted in pain into the boy’s head. He gasped and fell to his knees, moaning loudly. “Ah, Jonathan I’m sorry. Martin has- has a few issues he’s dealing with right now. I appreciate your understanding. I would still like to offer you the job. See Rosie and ask her to have you sign the standard research assistant contract.”             Martin was beginning to loudly sob and Jon was looking at him with a mixture of disgust and confusion. However, the man was a new graduate and had braved too many failed interviews to give up a job offer now, no matter how strange the circumstances.             “I… I’ll do that. Should- are you going to call someone for him?” Jon asked hesitantly. Elias raised his eyebrows and Jon shook his head. “Right, of course you- sorry. I-I’ll see you in three days then, shall I? Thank you for the opportunity to um… bye?”             And Jonathan Sims scurried away, carefully shutting the door behind him. As he left, Elias lifted the image from Martin’s mind, watching the boy cry for a minute at his feet before nudging him with his toe.             “Look at me, Martin.”             Martin swallowed a few times but eventually complied, looking up through watery eyelashes, his face flushed fetchingly. It was the sort of face that Elias longed to sooth with his lips and tongue, but he wanted answers first.             “How do you know Jonathan Sims?” Elias asked, voice crackling. Martin’s answer came crackling back.             “He was my boyfriend,” said Martin, and Elias grit his teeth.             “He wasn’t. He doesn’t even know who you are. I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had!” The declaration only earned him a half-hearted shrug. It wasn’t good enough. “He’s not even good looking, Martin, honestly. He’s completely unworthy of- never mind.”             He wasn’t going to entertain insanity. He bent down to cup Martin’s chin tightly in his fist. “You are not to speak to him, understood? I don’t know what that little outburst was about, but you are not to speak to him again about anything.”             Martin let out a slow breath, “Yes sir.”             “Good,” Elias allowed, releasing his chin and reaching out to help him to his feet. He led Martin to Elias’s own chair and sat on it, drawing the boy into his lap where he stroked his back lightly as he calmed himself down. Things had been going so well lately, it would be a shame to have to punish Martin over such a small outburst. He wasn’t in the mood for it. Besides, it was nostalgic, holding the boy like this in the same place they had their first confrontation. How times changed. “Now Martin, you said the library needs funding signed over?”             Martin sighed, nodding in relief as he slid into what he had expected to face coming to Elias’s office during work hours. “Do I need to convince you?”             “I would appreciate it,” Elias hummed, smiling indulgently as Martin began to list off the bullet points Elias already knew of the merits of a new computer system, blatantly stalling as Elias stoked his sides and slowly untucked the boy’s shirt from his trousers.             “Hm, it does sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Elias announced when he grew tired of this part of the game, “But I’m still not sure. Do you have any points that might seal the deal?”             Martin, well trained as he was, leaned in. “If you insist.”             Martin let Elias pull him into a deep kiss, groaning as Elias thread a hand into his hair. He held him there for nearly half a minute before allowing the boy to draw back as their breath grew short.             “Mm, you drive a hard bargain. I’ll sign over the funding.”             “Thank you,” Martin sighed, drawing back and almost getting off Elias’s lap before getting grabbed by the hips.             Elias ignored the boy’s frown and wiggled his eyebrows invitingly. “Now I think you can show your gratitude better than that.”             “...yes sir.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

23
             Martin knew, for both his sake and Jon’s, that he needed to keep the man out of his head. Elias was jealous, and with both of them bound to him by contract he had plenty of options to hurt both of them if he felt they deserved ‘correction’. So Martin couldn’t let slip for a moment how desperately he wanted to be with Jon. To speak to him. To protect him.             That was a task far easier said than done. Jon quickly became his white elephant and he struggled to cover up intrusive thoughts, wondering if Jon was still dating Georgie or if he was single now? If he was enjoying being in research, had he met Tim and Sasha yet? Martin had seen both of them in passing in the library by now and had carefully avoided them. What could Jon think of him now, seeing him break down in Elias’s office? Did he remember meeting him at Oxford?             These questions and Jon’s beautiful face turned circles in Martin’s head at all hours, and it was only a matter of time before he slipped up.             Martin had been in the living room, curled up with an episode of The Great British Bake Off playing idly on the TV as Elias made a phone call in the other room. He knew he could be back at any time, but seeing as cooking together had been one of the few joys he’d been able to enjoy with Jon before losing him, it was only natural that watching the show would lead to him imagining being in a cozy kitchen with his boyfriend. Watching him dicing onions with tears streaming from his eyes. Laughing as they threw bits of floury dough at each other when they tried baking cookies and laughing more over having later burnt them to the cookie sheet.
             He fell so deeply into the daydream that he didn’t even notice how close to the surface of his thoughts it was, until suddenly his hair was grabbed from behind and his head was swiftly yanked backward. His daydream fled instantly as his wide eye filled with the angry face of Elias glaring down at him.

“Must you?” Elias asked through his teeth and Martin paled.

“Sorry! Sorry I didn’t mean to- I can-” Martin hurried to pull the fog back over his mind, but the damage was done and Elias’s glare only darkened and his hair was yanked harder. “Ow!”

“He’s not good enough for you,” Elias ground out, “He doesn’t know you or want you. I don’t know why the Web implanted his face in your mind, but you shouldn’t be dwelling on him like this. This isn’t some… star crossed lovers thing! You are with

me

, and that isn’t changing!”

“I know!” Martin cried, reaching up to hold his scalp against the assault, “I know nothing’s going to happen! I don’t- I haven’t spoken to him! I haven’t looked for him or- or anything! But I can’t stop thinking about him, that’s not how thinking works! I- I don’t know what else to think about!”

“Well that’s easy,” Elias snorted cruelly, releasing Martin’s hair and circling the sofa to ease himself into Martin’s lap, knees bent on either side of his thighs. “You can think of me.”

Elias descended upon Martin’s neck, and he groaned loudly in response, unable to stop himself bucking. “I- w-wait…”

“You have no reason to think about anything but me,” Elias murmured between nips and suckles. “At least for now.”

“F-for now?” Martin questioned as he let his hands land on Elias’s hips, as though that would give him even the illusion of control.

Elias leaned in to kiss Martin fully and then pulled away to look him in the eyes. “Perhaps you’ll have more responsibilities one day, but I would like to enjoy having you to myself for another year or two. I have plans in the works, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the downtime before they take shape.”

Martin whimpered, but didn’t resist when Elias leaned in for another kiss. He rarely bothered resisting anymore. It kept Elias doting and gentle and Martin hated having to hide a limp at work. Elias had already started angry, one wrong move and he could be set off again. He concentrated in drawing more fog over his mind as hickies were sucked into his neck. He stiffened a bit, though, when Elias moved up higher, too high for a turtleneck to cover.

“Wait… wait Elias, someone might see!”

“Good, I’d hate them to think you’re available,” Elias said definitively as he went back to work. Martin grunted in frustration, but tilted up his chin to show his surrender.

“I’m not going to do anything with anyone else,” he muttered, “I’m not stupid.”

Elias pulled back to survey his work with pride. “Mm, yes. I know you’re not stupid, but you are young. Hormones and all.”

Martin huffed. “The risks of dating your son, I guess.”

“Hush, cheeky thing,” Elias clicked his tongue and kissed him one more time before beginning to unbutton Martin’s shirt. So they were doing this on the sofa. Martin sighed as he let his shirt slide down his shoulders, and abruptly remembered the few times Jon had given him a massage, taking off his shirt similarly to this, soothing over his shoulders so sweetly. The image was too bright, and Martin was slapped sharply.

“Damn you! I won’t have you thinking of that- that

homewrecker

when we’re like this!” Elias snapped. Martin had a wild thought wondering if Jon would laugh at being called a homewrecker and was slapped again.

“Ow!” Martin yelped, slapping his own hand over his cheek to defend it and a thread of angry defiance he thought he’d buried reared its head. “You know, maybe I wouldn’t have a reason to think about other men if you were actually NICE to me!”

“Excuse me?! I’ve been unbelievably nice to you!” Elias’s mouth fell open in fury as he grabbed Martin’s bicep and dug his nails into it. “I gave you a house! Food, clothing, education-”

“Which you legally had to as my guardian!” Martin spat back, “Which I never asked you to do because you KIDNAPPED ME as a child! Because you wouldn’t let me leave even when I grew up!”

Elias narrowed his eyes. “Just because you didn’t ask for my kindness doesn’t mean-”

“You NEVER ask what I want to do anymore!” Martin cut Elias off again. Damn it, if he was already getting punished he might as well say his piece now. He could never talk himself out of a punishment Elias had decided to give him already. “All you’ve done since being Elias is parade me around and tell me what you want me to do ALL THE TIME! If I refuse, you hit me! If I don’t pretend to want it enough, you get mad! If I so much as THINK about a man that- that you SAID the Web MADE me think about, you fly off the handle! None of that is NICE, Elias!”

Elias’s mouth opened to snap back, but Martin’s face crumpled in that moment, tears flooding his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.

“You

used

to be nice.”

At that, Elias paused. His brow furrowed, mouth tightening. “…oh? How was I nice before, then?”

Martin took in a shaking breath, “As James, you… sometimes it- it was nice. When you gave me Goldie, my hamster. E-even though she was only around a couple years and… and you were there when she died. When you talked about silly things with me, or… or when you sent me to art classes just because I liked them. When you taught me piano. When it was just… when you were just my

dad

, and  you said you just wanted to bond with me. And now- now it feels like all you want to do is fuck me. Like that’s all I’m for now. I don’t even like it, you

know

I don’t like it.”

Elias pursed his lips, clearly trying to think of an example to refute him. “...I still take you to the theatre.”

“And try to touch me without being noticed the whole time,” Martin huffed. “It’s constant, and unwanted, and that’s not nice

either

.”

Elias considered Martin, his trembling lip, the gooseflesh rising on his bared arms. He eased his grip and leaned back properly. “I suppose I can see how such attention could get overwhelming for you. I’m afraid I can’t seem to help myself.”

“You said you want me to be happy with you,” Martin’s voice cracked badly as he sucked in another shuddering breath. “But I’m never going to be happy if all I am to you is a sex toy!”

Elias blinked, eyes unfocusing for an instant before meeting Martin’s again. “You believe I don’t see you as a person anymore.”

“Don’t you?!” Martin practically squeaked out the words, shaking his head against another wave of tears. “Did you

ever

see me as a person? Honestly?”

“Yes, of course I did. I do,” Elias groaned and ran a hand back through his hair. “You have to understand, I’m not particularly used to cohabitating with another person. Caring about and for a person doesn’t come naturally to me.”

“That doesn’t make it any better! You’re two hundred years old with Knowing powers! You should know better!” Martin sniffled, and Elias paused again in apparent thought.

“It appears in my eagerness to educate you in the ways of pleasure,” Elias began after a moment, ignoring Martin’s grimace, “I have neglected other parts of our relationship. That may be a fair assessment. Very well. After this, we can play chess together. You can show me if your skills have improved there, and tonight we can watch a movie together like we used to. No sex shall be required for the rest of the night.”

“…but sex is still required

now

,” Martin filled in, stomach sinking in disappointment. He’d almost let himself believe Elias might listen to him, but of course his wants would always outrank Martin’s.

“Yes, we are going to finish what we’ve started,” Elias said firmly, reaching out to run hands over Martin’s chest, soothing over his pectorals. “I will work on getting more platonic activities back into our schedule, but you’re not using them to get out of sex entirely. This is a part of our relationship now, and that’s not going to change no matter how much you pout. This is a compromise, to prove to you that we can have a healthy relationship without either of us giving up anything truly important.”

“...I’m not pouting,” Martin grumbled after a moment, deciding it wasn’t worth continuing the full argument. He winced as his nipple was pinched.

“You are. Now be a good boy and obey for the next ten minutes, and then you can have your break.”
             Oddly, it seemed that Martin’s words did at least make this rape one of the more indulgent ones. Elias even managed to make Martin come twice somehow. If it wasn’t so invasive it might have been pleasant. 
             At least it successfully distracted his wandering mind for a bit. But he enjoyed the quiet evening smattered with meaningless work gossip and lying on the sofa with an innocent arm around his shoulder infinitely more.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

24             Jon was enjoying the Magnus Institute well enough. The incidents and tales he researched were interesting, his supervisors were generally positive about his work ethic, and his coworkers were… fine. Some, such as Sasha James, he had great respect for as she seemed very focused on results-based methods and had been very nice helping him set up his laptop to interface with the Institute systems.             Some, such as Tim Stoker, were perhaps lacking in focus but were ultimately friendly toward him and were willing to help introduce him to others around the office. It was clear Tim was well liked, and Jon knew the advantages of networking well enough not to completely dismiss his overtures of friendship. He might not go out to drinks with the man, but sitting with him and Sasha in the canteen was pleasant enough.            There was one coworker that disgruntled Jon, though perhaps calling him a co-worker wasn’t exactly accurate considering they were in very different departments. Martin Wright was a mystery, and not the sort that Jon would prefer to study at the Institute. Mostly because the answer to the mystery seemed to be ‘nepotism’.            When Jon had first seen Martin during his interview, it was a baffling experience to say the least. Something of that face seemed very familiar, but before he could even attempt to place him he’d gotten the job, only for the man to instantly demand he not take it? Jon had barely processed whatever the man had yammered about afterward and the subsequent breakdown convinced Jon that, odd as the event was, surely it would be resolved with this strange man being reprimanded. Perhaps even dismissed. If nothing else, an enforced leave of absence to deal with a nervous breakdown seemed like the logical conclusion if there was an external reason for such an outburst.             And yet when Jon started work three days later and was toured through the library, there was the man. Shelving books without so much as a glance in his direction.             “Er, that man there, what’s his… deal ?” Jon had asked Tim, the man who’d enthusiastically volunteered to play tour guide.             “Ooh, you mean Martin? He’s single as far as I know,” Tim wiggled his eyebrows and Jon scoffed.             “Nothing like that! He just- he acted strangely at my interview is all.”             “Huh? Why was he at your interview?” Tim blinked, “Are they moving him up in the ranks already? I guess it was only a matter of time…”             “What do you mean?” Jon asked with a frown.             “Well, his dad was the previous head. He got this job straight out of uni. Not really a secret around here. He’s nice enough, quiet. Doesn’t stand out much. Rumour is he’s just in the library until something better frees up,” Tim explained, and Jon’s scowl deepened at every word. So, a rich kid who got a job without having to lift a finger. Lucky him.              It seemed whenever Jon ran into the man after that point it only drove home how much he didn’t deserve his role. The dreamy look he wore as he wandered around the bookshelves, the ages he would spend leaning on the reception counter, listening as the other librarians gossiped idly. He hardly seemed to do anything at all that Jon saw (admittedly he didn’t see him often, and he knew nothing about what library work really entailed, but it didn’t look like much to him).             When Jon would catch Martin speaking, he found him equal parts banal and infuriating. He would joke with his co-workers about intentionally blowing off responsibilities and that ‘nothing they did at the Institute was important anyway’. It was insulting, in Jon’s opinion. He was acting as though anyone could get a job there, as if this entire facility was a joke! Jon had enough trouble when he had to reveal his job to the bank or insurance agencies and dealt with their condescending looks.             “I know the Magnus Institute doesn’t have the strongest academic reputation. But to spread that mentality within its walls is… well, it’s bad for morale at least!” Jon griped over lunch one day as Tim attempted to make his beans on toast into a messy sandwich and Sasha held her chin in her hand, eyes bright as Jon ranted to them.             “Have you noticed his personal assistant yet?” Sasha asked, and Jon paused, looking at her incredulously which she took as an excuse to continue. “She’s the really buff lady who’s always working when he is. I checked the employment records, and she’s actually directly employed by the head’s office, not in the library staff officially. Technically that makes her a floater employee but she only works when Martin is and I’ve seen her bring him coffee and things.”              “We don’t know she’s his assistant,” Tim clarified, “Though if she is I get the appeal. She’s hot as hell. I’d climb her like a tree if she’d let me.”              “But she shot you down,” Sasha pointed out.              “Can’t win ‘em all,” Tim shrugged, “But yeah, Bea’s hot.”              “Wait, hold on, I… I think I know who you’re talking about,” Jon frowned, thinking of the woman he was sure he’d seen Martin glaring at several times. Whenever he’d spoken to her he was oddly curt and cold. Jon never thought much of it, but if she were his assistant that was especially odd. “But he’s not- he doesn’t treat her very well.”              “Exactly!” Sasha snapped her fingers, “Yet she keeps bringing him things and talking to him! Why would she do that if he’s not even nice to her? She’s being paid to do it, obviously.”              Jon huffed, folding his arms. “If that’s true, I’d say it speaks poorly of the man’s character. What kind of man treats his assistant poorly? That’s just evidence of his entitlement.”             “Maybe she’s bad at being an assistant?” Sasha suggested.             “Impossible, she’s too hot. Hot people are good at everything,” Tim quipped, and Jon rolled his eyes.             “In that case if he’s her superior it’s his job to instruct her on how to do her job properly,” Jon sniffed, “If an assistant is doing poorly then that is the fault of the one assisted, in my opinion.”             “If you say so,” Sasha hummed, “Personally I think he’s alright. Maybe he got the position from nepotism, and maybe he’s got some kind of secret assistant, but he’s not exactly living it up as management. And he’s never acted snooty to me. Though you did say he had a breakdown and told you not to take the job you’d just got so… who knows.”             “Oh I know, maybe Martin’s working here against his will ,” Tim whispered, a giant grin curling over his face. “Maybe he’s being haunted by the ghost of old man Wright, driving him slowly insane and making him keep a job he doesn’t want so the ghost can keep reading all his favourite ghost stories.”             Jon rolled his eyes again as Sasha giggled Tim wiggled his fingers and tried to explain why a ghost would want to read ghost stories. All Jon knew for certain was that Martin was infuriating, and didn’t deserve his position, and didn’t respect his position, and Jon couldn’t stop thinking about him.            “Well if he doesn’t want to be here I wish he would get out of my workplace already,” Jon grumbled to himself, just loudly enough that Tim turned a curious eye and knowing smirk his way.*             Martin didn’t speak much to the researchers, preferring to get his gossip second hand from the library ladies. As a result, he only vicariously heard of Tim’s rash of office pranks that he was slowly unleashing on his co-workers. First it was the rubber mouse in Kevin’s desk drawer. Then it was spreading Vaseline on all of Sasha’s pens (retaliated against swiftly as Tim was glitter bombed half an hour later. No one knew how Sasha worked so fast and Tim still sparkled in the light at some angles).             It was nice, actually, hearing about Tim being young and acting silly. Martin hadn’t known about the prank war until after the fact the first time around, hearing about it as it happened was a bit exciting. He wondered if there was anything he could do this time to stop Tim from having to lose this part of himself. To soften things, or maybe keep him out of all of this entirely.             Given the fact he’d barely spoken to Tim, he really didn’t expect to be on the receiving end of one of his pranks. It made him an easy mark, perhaps.             He’d been heading up to Elias’s office with a quick question from his direct superior, who had long ago noticed that getting Martin to ask was much quicker than an email when Tim had appeared as if from nowhere, a giant smile on his face as he cut off Martin’s path and put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. Martin froze up instantly, no idea how to respond to the sudden invasion of his person, but he didn’t have long to think about that before Tim was steering him off down another hall into the research department.             “Tim? Er, I mean… you’re Tim Stoker, right? Ah, sorry, what are you doing?” Martin stammered as he fell into step, everything happening too fast to respond normally to.             “Soooo, I heard you and Jon got off on the wrong foot when he was hired, yeah?” asked Tim, and that left Martin stumbling over his own feet, only staying upright with Tim nimbly grabbing him and pulling him forward once more.             “I- I don’t- I haven’t even spoken to him!” Martin stammered out, cheeks flushing with horror as he tried to figure out how to disengage from this. “Sorry, but I’m in a hurry I don’t have time to-”             “Sure, I get it! But this will just take a second, the library can wait,” Tim started to walk faster. Martin had to stop walking and pull away, why wasn’t he pulling away?! “Point is, I know you’re a good guy, Jon just needs some convincing! So that’s where I come in.”             “What are you talking about?! That’s nothing to do with you!” Martin squeaked.             “Maybe not, but in my defense, it’s also a bit funny how much he goes on about you. I think it’ll be good for you.”             “You think what will be good for me?” Martin was scared to ask, and Tim grinned.             “Getting locked up together for a bit. Jon’s been routing through the recently debunked topics cabinet all morning and won’t come out. It’s in a convenient closet, you couldn’t have a better time to talk it out,” Tim explained easily before his smile dropped slightly. “Huh, guess that sort of gives the game away. Didn’t mean to do that. Oh well, here we are!”             “Here we- hey!” Martin yelped as he was pushed through an open door, only for the door to slam behind him and there was a scrap of metal as it was locked.             “Who’s th- YOU!” a voice came from behind Martin and he turned slowly on the spot, terror rising as he assessed the situation.             Tim had shoved him into some kind of document storage closet, about the same size as the one in the archives he’d lived in during the aftermath of Jane Prentiss’s two week assault in the first timeline. Obviously this sort of room was also used in the library, but Martin was a little surprised to find one in the research department as well. Nonetheless, the shelves and cabinets full of paperwork were familiar. So was the short man on the far end of the small room, arms full of papers which were also scattering around the floor and on top of a number of the cabinets around him and looking at Martin with what seemed to be a mixture of surprise, fear, and incredible annoyance. It was very cute. Martin needed to get out of this closet as fast as possible.             “I-I’m sorry,” Martin licked his suddenly very dry lips and turned back to the door, rattling the handle to no avail. Definitely locked. Shit. “Tim- Tim locked us in I think?”             “What? Why?” Jon sounded incredulous, and Martin shrugged one shoulder.             “Er, cause it’s Tim? A prank, probably,” Martin swallowed. “Sorry, I don’t really want to talk to you so-”             “Excuse me?!” Jon sounded even more incredulous, which was impressive. “I had nothing to do with this supposed ‘prank’ I assure you. Or do you have some sort of problem with me?  You didn’t want me to take this job at all, if I recall.”             “Ah yeah that um, I was having a bit of a breakdown day. Whoops!” Martin laughed nervously, rattling the doorknob again and then banging on said door. “IS ANYONE OUT THERE? HELLO?”             He had his cell phone so it wasn’t as though they couldn’t call for help, but every moment spent alone with Jon in this room talking to him was a massive risk. He didn’t trust Elias to listen to reason, and even if he did, god knew what he’d do to Tim as revenge for leading to this scenario. He needed to get out before Elias decided to check on him, full stop.             “A breakdown, sure,” Jon sniffed, folding his arms and leaning on the cabinet. “Am I really supposed to believe that?”             “Why shouldn’t you? You don’t know me, why wouldn’t it be a breakdown?” Martin asked, pausing in his door hammering to look mystified over his shoulder.             Jon’s cheeks darkened and he swiftly looked away. “W-why would a breakdown make you tell someone you don’t know not to take a job?”             “Ah, work stress?” Martin spun quickly, “Feels like a curse to be here some days, ha. In the moment I guess I just… wanted to cause problems. It was nothing personal.”             Jon narrowed his eyes and then, to Martin’s horror, walked up to him directly and began to reach out and lean over at the same time.             “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Martin shrieked, jolting out of Jon’s reach.             “There’s no need to shout!” Jon snapped unhelpfully. Martin really wanted to scream even louder when the man bent down to examine the door handle. “It’s a two way lock. That’s a bit strange for this type of closet. I should be able to pick it.”             Then this absolutely mad man that Martin still loved with all his heart pulled out a straight up lock pick from his pocket and got to work.             “Do you always carry lock picks?” Martin asked in surprise, and then winced. He shouldn’t be asking questions!             “Yes,” Jon answered easily, “They’re useful in this business.”             Martin huffed, but quieted as Jon got to work in earnest and Martin was given the chance to just… look at Jon. He hadn’t gotten the chance to properly look at him since that chance meeting at Oxford, and it was incredible how young Jon still looked even if his hair was cropped more neatly than in university. Martin hadn’t known Jon when he’d worn this pair of glasses. They were rounder than the ones he’d worn in the archives, and made his eyes look bigger and softer. His sweater vest even had a pocket protector in it. That was adorable. Jon was adorable.             God he missed Jon so much.             “Are you crying?” Jon sounded borderline horrified at he glanced up at Martin, and Martin scrambled to wipe his eyes as his nose abruptly stuffed and a lump formed in his throat.             “No,” Martin whispered, his worst lie yet. He wiped at his eyes again.             “You are!” Jon was fully gaping at him now. “Why are you crying? I didn’t- did I say something to…?”             “No you- you’re fine I just- I-” Martin flung about for an explanation, “I’m claustrophobic! The… the space is getting to me. Is it hard to breathe in here? I think it’s airtight. Not good, right?”             The real notes of panic in his voice must have lent him credibility, because Jon abruptly nodded and focused back on the lock. “There’s plenty of air. Just take deep breaths and I’ll be finished in a- ah there.”             There was a click, and then the door was open. Martin fled into the hallway only to immediately slip and fall. Apparently the closet wasn’t all of the prank, and Tim had spread some of his extra Vaseline on the floor. Martin groaned and turned onto his back, making a note to yell at Tim for being a danger to society.             “Martin! Are you- AH!” Jon tried to hurry after Martin, only to slip and fall as well, landing squarely on top of him with his face directly planted in Martin’s chest. “Ow.”             For a blissful moment, Martin couldn’t speak for how elated he felt. Jon was touching him. Jon was laying on him. That slight weight, warm and breathing and alive. Jon was here, and safe, and Martin wanted to wrap him in his arms and never let him go again.             “What are you doing?” asked Jon, and Martin looked down and found Jon looking right back at him, cheeks ruddy as Martin took in the fact his hand was on Jon’s back, rubbing it gently. He stilled.             “I… I uh-”             A shadow fell over both of them. “I could ask the same question.”             Martin gasped and pushed Jon off him violently. The man yelled as he rolled onto the floor and Martin hurried to sit up and get his feet under him as Elias watched him coldly, arms folded and tapping his foot in a chilling rhythm. Martin had a sinking feeling that the ‘platonic date night’ he’d bargained for wouldn’t be happening that week. Or maybe never again. He could feel the anger radiating off the man. Martin wanted to defend himself, defend Jon and Tim, but all words died on his tongue. He didn’t know how much Elias saw, but all could think was that it didn’t matter if he knew the context or not. Pain was coming.             Elias’s eyes snapped off Martin to Jon, who was only just getting to his own feet. “Jon.”             “E-Elias! Sir, I uh,” Jon cleared his throat, looking from his clearly irate boss to Martin and back again. “I… can explain! I was looking at documents in storage and Tim just-”             “I am aware of the situation,” Elias’s voice was strained and clipped. Martin shivered violently and shut his eyes. “Get back to work. Martin, I believe you were on your way to my office. Now.”             Martin shivered harder, tears already pricking at his eyes. A sideways glance saw Jon looking at him and he turned away.             “Yes sir,” Martin said, subdued as he swiftly began to walk away. After a moment, the sharp click of Elias’s shoes followed him.*             Really, Martin should have known he was getting off too easy just being spanked with Elias’s belt over his desk. He’d been given a leather glove to silent himself, and had nearly bitten through it, but he hadn’t yelled until Elias leaned over his shoulder to tell him he would be transferring Jon to Artifact Storage.             “You can’t!” Martin wept after gagging and spitting out the leather. “Elias please, don’t! It wasn’t his fault! Tim locked us in! It was a dumb prank but- but I should have seen it coming! It was all my fault, just punish me more!”             “What do you think I’m doing, I wonder? Of course sending Jon to Artifact Storage is part of your punishment,” Elias growled, grinding against Martin’s arse and driving him hard into the wooden desk. “You’re lucky I don’t feed him to an artifact directly. And if you don’t stay away from him this time I’ll do just that.”             It was too much. Not Jon. Elias could threaten Martin with all the pain in the world but Martin couldn’t lose Jon. This Jon, any Jon. Never again. With a great heave of strength from years of building his body, he planted his hands on the desk and pushed up, successfully pushing Elias backwards and off of him.             “Martin-”             “NO!” Martin shouted, turning around sharply and yanking his trousers back up over his arse. “If he dies down there I will NEVER forgive you!”             Elias’s hand flew out towards him for a slap, but Martin caught it in midair and pushed it away. He took one step toward Elias with his own hand raised before his vision blinked out and was replaced by his mother full of holes with centipedes crawling in and out, her screams in his ears. He fell to his knees instantly, awash in tears and begging for it to stop.             “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Martin cried, fingernails clawing at his cheeks.             “Sorry for?” Elias’s voice, as usual, cut through the scene.             “I don’t fight back! you can hit me whenever you want, I don’t fight back!” Martin cried more in relief as the vision left, but he choked on his tears as he was grabbed by the hair. After a moment though, the grip eased.             “You really care so much about his life, even if you can’t speak to him?”  Elias asked quietly.             Martin gasped, shutting his eyes. “I… I don’t want anyone to die.”             “He will still be moved to artifact storage,” said Elias, “But I can still ensure he survives the position if I so desire. It would, however, be just as easy to lead him to his death.”             “I know,” Martin whispered hoarsely and Elias’s eyes brightened.             “In that case, I suppose we’ve found a use for your Jon. You will behave yourself. There will be no speaking to Jon, and no acting out. There will certainly be no more attempts on your own life. If you were to kill yourself, I assure you he will follow you to the grave. Am I clear?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

25
             “I cannot believe Martin tattled on us,” Jon seethed as he and Tim walked side by side down to the first basement, the lowest part of the Institute besides the Archives down in the sub-basement. Security cameras tracked them down the hall, and Jon’s neck prickled as he felt their gaze like a dozen pairs of eyes.             “Tell me about it. I would have thought at worst I might get a write-up, but you must have seriously pissed Martin off if he demanded we both get transferred to this dungeon,” Tim huffed, hands in his pockets. Jon tsked and rolled his eyes at the jab. “I wouldn’t have expected that of him. I always thought Martin was alright.”             Jon snorted. “Based on what criteria? I never saw you speaking to him.”             “I had once or twice, but I guess I can’t say I ever knew him that well. He only seems to talk to women for some reason,” Tim shrugged, “Guess we’re finding out what he’s like the hard way. Could be worse though, at least the pay’s the same.”             They entered through the usual scanners and reported to the check in desk for Sabrina to hand them their safety equipment for their first shift.             “There’s one more new transfer in today,” said Sabrina idly, loudly chewing gum as she arranged a third set of gear. “A Sasha James?”             “Sasha? Why’s Sasha here?” Tim was on alert immediately, “She wasn’t in on the prank! She didn’t know anything about it!”             “Yeah, I’m here for unrelated reasons,” Sasha sighed as she sidled up out of nowhere next to them and grabbed the third set of gear. “I got caught going through personnel files to settle a bet. Again. Apparently there’s a three strike rule and the second strike is getting moved down here. What prank crossed that line for you?”             Tim didn’t look happy, but he nodded as he started to pull on his scrubs. “I locked Martin in a closet with Jon and apparently he didn’t take it well.”             Sasha hummed and glanced at Jon. “And what did you do?”             Jon quirked an eyebrow. “I got him out of the closet.”             “I didn’t know Martin was gay,” Sasha quipped and Jon snorted.             “He’s not.”             “He’s not?” Tim sounded so honestly surprised it made Jon immediately question his own certainty.             “…he is?” Jon ventured and Sasha perked up. “But you said he only speaks to women.”             “Some gay guys are like that,” Tim shrugged, “He might be too shy to talk to all of us hot blokes.”             Jon turned that over in his mind for a moment, picturing Martin before shaking his head. “No, he dresses far too conservatively to be gay.”             Tim scoffed. “He’s at work! You don’t know how he dresses in his off time. We queer men can’t wear our bedazzled booty shorts and see through tops all day every day you know, our nipples chaff.”             Sasha snorted, and Jon turned to see her holding her phone and flicking through something, her eyebrows drawing steadily closer together. “Huh, just checked his Facebook to see if there was any evidence and it’s kind of weird?”             “Weird how?” asked Tim as the three of them began shuffling away from check in. They would need to find the head of the department, but apparently none of them were over-eager to get started in what amounted largely to a security job they were only doing as a punishment.             “He has no friends? Well, one friend. Elias,” Sasha made a face, “Who has one friend on Facebook? And look at this profile, it’s like it was put together by a publicist. It’s so sterile. Even all the photos are professional headshots. No selfies or friends, there’s only a few posts and they’re all just ‘inspiring’ quotes.”             “It might just be a work account,” Tim suggested, “Maybe Elias made him get an account and add him for work reasons?”             “Do you have Elias as a Facebook friend?” asked Sasha.             “Well no,” Tim admitted, “But it could still be a work account. Maybe his real account is private.”             “Maybe…” Sasha didn’t look entirely convinced, as though she thought if he had a private account she could still find it if she tried hard enough.             “Ah, you three must be the new transfers,” sighed a young woman in a full hazmat suit with a helmet under her arm, the suit covered in some sort of unknown viscous liquid that was emitting green smoke. Jon took a step backward. “Suit up. We had a flesh-eating plant explode in the back and we need all hands on deck mopping up the mess.”             “Yep, this is definitely what I got out of publishing for,” Tim quipped in a strained voice. Jon understood the sentiment.
*
             In the days following Jon’s transfer, Elias had noted that Martin was getting listless again. He was dragging his feet doing his duties at work, and though he didn’t protest anything Elias did to him, he still wasn’t initiating. He was still unhappy.             This was frustrating. Elias owned Martin in every way that mattered, or so he thought. But it was evident that the boy had somehow found a way to withhold something from him. Where before Elias could see Martin becoming more complacent and finding things to enjoy about their relationship, especially since Elias had started focusing more on the non-sexual aspects of their intimacy, this new development seems to have sent them on a negative trend again. The glimpses Elias saw of Martin’s mind now showed a rise in resentment and despondency.             Perhaps he had been too hard on him, Elias thought as he watched Martin blink back tears in the middle of re-shelving a volume of a monster encyclopedia. He thought vaguely of the original Elias Bouchard and his insistence that children needed vacations and therapy when they got to this state. Martin wasn’t a child anymore technically, but still, between he corporal punishment and sending a man he liked (along with Tim because Elias saw the footage where Tim grabbed Martin and forced him off his course to meet with Elias that fateful afternoon) into a dangerous job with a high mortality rate, it was obviously wearing on the boy’s mind.             Unfortunately it was not a great time to take Martin on another bonding vacation. That left another option. Therapy. Of course, he couldn’t just send him to any therapist. It would have to be someone in the know, someone who wouldn’t raise any alarms if Martin was candid about his situation. Someone who would be able to advise Elias on effective ways to improve Martin’s attitude without any nonsense about giving him control of his life back.             Luckily, Elias knew just the therapist. Mr. Webb had been on his referral file for many years now. He was certainly not a subtle avatar, but he was very good at his job. When he brought up the concept of a therapist to Martin, however, his response had been less than enthusiastic.             “You mean like the one I had to be sent to legally for the first year after my suicide attempt? The one I just lied to until they let me stop seeing her?” he asked flatly, “You know therapy only works if you actually want it to, right?”             “I don’t believe you don’t want it to work,” Elias said equitably, and Martin snorted from where he sat on the kitchen chair, half-eaten oatmeal and an open poetry book in front of him.             “Believe what you want. It’s not like I can actually be honest with a therapist anyway, so let’s just make the whole thing a farce.”             “You can be honest with this one, he’s one of ours,” Elias assured. Martin’s glare wasn’t exactly encouraging, but he didn’t protest further. It would have to do.             Getting an appointment with Mr. Webb was easy enough. Apparently he’d had a recent cancellation and could pencil them in. He drove Martin to the office himself, pacified by the professional, modern glass exterior of the building, He was not especially worried by the cracks in the glass that branched into web-like patterns. That was par for the course with this particular fear.             Elias strode into the deserted reception room with purpose, Martin obedient and silent on his heels as he approached the reedy old man with somewhat overly-long arms hunched over an ancient Mac computer at the counter. He gave their names, and the old man nodded slowly.             “You are expected,” said the receptionist, “Mr. Webb has requested a brief private meeting with you prior to your ward’s appointment, to get a better idea of your goals with these sessions.”             Elias ignored Martin’s irritated scoff as he agreed to this. It sounded reasonable enough. Even a good thing, as he would have the chance to arrange exactly the sort of conversations he wanted Martin to be having with his therapist. Martin was directed to sit on one of the threadbare chairs in the lobby where he absently picked up a dusty magazine to flip through while Elias walked further into the domain of the Web without a single fear of danger.             After all, though there was nothing official, he’d always felt strongly that the Web was the Eye’s natural ally. How could one have control without surveillance after all?             When he sat across from Mr. Webb in his office, Elias took stock and found himself faced with a man quite akin to his receptionist, spindly and slightly out of proportion. Unlike the receptionist, Mr. Webb wore glasses. Specifically glasses with hairline cracks spiderwebbing the edges, at certain angles making him appear to peer at Elias with eight glittering black eyes. Perhaps not very subtle to the trained Eye, but in a world where most were ignorant to the true gods these tells would not deter a client. They only served to unnerve unknowing humans, and that would always be a benefit.             “Elias Bouchard,” Mr. Webb pronounced the name as though tasting it and finding it satisfactory though not inspiring. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve appreciated all the little flies you’ve sent my way in the past, though I must assume sending your own ward to me isn’t meant to lead to the same sticky end?”             “Assuredly not,” Elias said briskly, “My goal in bringing Martin to you is simple. I need him to accept his position. I need him to learn to find satisfaction and happiness within his role and within his service to the Fears. Most importantly, I need him to give up this ridiculous notion that he would be better off free from control. I’m sure you could provide methods to this end, it’s certainly in your purview.”             Mr. Webb tilted his head curiously, many eyes narrowing between the cracks in his glasses. “So you would like him to become your puppet entirely? To remove his free will?”             Elias’s mouth opened and shut, twisting in instinctual distaste. That wasn’t quite his intent, and the interpretation displeased him. “No, not at all. Martin is perfectly intelligent and I have no interest in a doll. He is an asset on his own, as the Mother is well aware. I appreciate the gift she gave me, I simply wish to make use of him to his fullest extent. I want him to choose this, and I’ll admit I have found it difficult to guide him in the right direction.”             Mr. Webb considered Elias, and then took off his glasses to wipe them slowly on a white cloth he pulled from his pocket before sliding the glasses back onto his face and fixing Elias with a piercing stare. “If you are looking for advice, you may not like what I have to say. Simply put, you’re being far too controlling.”             That, admittedly, was not what Elias expected to hear. He looked at the therapist with indignation, though gestured with his hand for the man to elaborate.             Mr. Webb tilted his head, which made an odd clicking sound, and went on. “No one has free will of course, that much we both know. Individuals, much like society, do better when given limits and instructions. Law and order do make everything much more predictable and give the illusion of safety which humans respond well to. But your methods with Martin have been far too direct. I suspect this is due to having raised him from childhood, as reasoning with children can be difficult to navigate when unused to conversing with them. Still, you have headed your Institute for nearly two centuries. You know perfectly well how to keep your indentured employees working for you without feeling the need to threaten and beat them into making every decision you want them to. You set them up so their own character leads them into doing what you want. A very Web-like trait that the Mother appreciates about you.”             “Well, every manager needs to keep control of things,” Elias allowed, though he remained a bit skeptical. “Do you have a point? Martin is not a usual employee.”             “He’s not,” Mr. Webb nodded, “But still, the way you are controlling him now is only going to lead to resentment. Using your powers against him, beating him, taking his legal rights and holding money over his head? It all works, don’t mistake my meaning. All these methods keep him under control and performing the actions you desire of him. But none of that is going to manipulate his affection. It’s not going to make him want to stay with you. You, Elias, have never tried to make someone like you beyond a superficial level before, and it shows.”             Elias scoffed, folding his arms and crossing his legs huffily. “Are you seriously telling me that I’m the problem?”             He stiffened when Mr. Webb barked a laugh, a too-wide grin full of needle-like teeth spread over his face, and even Elias couldn’t stop the chill that raced down his spine at the sight.             “Oh Elias, we are servants of the Fears. Of course you’re the problem. Being the problem is in our job descriptions. It comes naturally to us,” Mr. Webb’s lips barely moved as he spoke, “Using kindness and empathy to meet our ends must be learned and employed with intent. Not to worry though, that is why you are here. I will guide you in this. Let’s start by discussing the benefits of negotiation and allowing small victories.”             Elias’s mouth hardened into a line, but he nodded his agreement. As much as the idea rankled him, that he somehow hadn’t been ‘kind enough’ yet to earn Martin’s real affection, he knew he’d hit a dead end. If the Web was willing to help him in this, he would be a fool to refuse.
*
             When Martin passed an oddly grim-looking Elias to enter Mr. Webb’s office himself, he quickly noted how the furniture was arranged. The filing cabinets, side tables and knickknacks not quite flush with the walls, everything subtly turned and pointing toward the center of the room where the man sat with his odd limbs and glasses. A glance into the corners of the room found tell-tale spider webs surveilling the space. One was even complete with a fly struggling for life, just waiting for the fat, bulbous spider hovering above it to close in.             Martin took his seat, looked directly at Mr. Webb, and raised an eyebrow. “Do real people honestly come to you for therapy? I can’t imagine you getting many referrals.”             Mr. Webb inclined his head, a small, closed lip smile tugging at his lips. “There are many little flies in the world. I don’t need to eat all of them to survive.”             Martin huffed, folding his arms and crossing his legs. He really didn’t like the way Mr. Webb’s multiple eyes glittered with interest at his position. “So what is this session going to be about? Am I supposed to tell you about my childhood? Or are we skipping to the part where you tell me I need to give in to the wonderful feeling of being controlled?”             “Oh no, I’m well aware such methods would be wasted on you,” Mr. Webb said with a note of humour, “Actually, I was going to give you some suggestions on how to manipulate your manipulator.”             Martin pursued his lips. “…I’m listening.”             “Excellent,” Mr. Webb steepled his fingers and leaned in conspiratorially, “The first thing you need to do is remember that what Elias wants most is your cooperation and obedience. As long as you give him a route toward that, I think you’ll find him much more open to negotiation than you think.”             Martin sat and listened to Mr. Webb for a full hour session, nodding in all the right places. Apparently Mr. Webb had a lot of suggestions on how Martin could control Elias from his current position. A suspicious amount of suggestions, really.             “Do you know?” Martin asked as Mr. Webb made his closing remarks, “About why I’m here? About what the Mother did for me? About what she has planned?”             “Who can know what the Mother plans?” Mr. Webb spread his long, long arms and smiled his closed-lipped smile again. “I know she led you into your current position, and she led you to me so I could give you advice. Beyond that, I have no need to know the full picture and so I don’t.”             Martin sighed. It was the best he was going to get. “Well, you’ve been more useful than most Web avatars I’ve met. Thanks I guess.”             “My pleasure, Mr. Wright,” Mr. Webb winked. Only one of the eyes reflected in his glasses closed. Martin shivered, nodded, and left the room to meet Elias in the lobby.             “Ah, Martin. Was your session productive?” Elias asked carefully as he set his dusty magazine aside and rose to fetch the expensive jackets they had left hung by the door.             “I think it was,” Martin said equally carefully, “I’m prepared to negotiate with you.”             “Negotiate?” Elias sounded genuinely confused by the word, which reassured Martin that even if Mr. Webb was controlled by others with their own agendas, he wasn’t controlled by Elias. That was as much reassurance as he could expect under the circumstances.             “Yes,” Martin took a deep breath, “I know you want to punish me for being locked up with Jon. You’re… right. I should have gotten away from Tim the moment he started to take me to another location. It was stupid of me not to.”             Elias looked a little suspicious, but nodded slowly, “I’m glad you’ve seen sense. But a negotiation implies you have a request you’d like fulfilled.”             “It does,” Martin kept his voice level. Rational. Elias would view crying as manipulation. He couldn’t risk letting himself get emotional here. Not yet, anyway. “I realise that I need to work harder at staying away from people who would um… lead me astray? I’m willing to work toward that end. But I also know that you’re not stupid, and you know that neither Tim nor Jon actually intended harm or did anything deserving their current fate. You said yourself that transferring them to artifact storage was meant as punishment to me, but I… I think that is the sort of punishment that ultimately hurts the Institute more than me, and I don’t think either of us wants our personal grievances to affect productivity in the workplace.”             Elias definitely looked suspicious now. Martin wasn’t sure if this was going to work, but he had to try. For Jon.             “Tim is a great asset for the research department. He’s good for morale and for getting information from sources that are normally unwilling,” Martin said as plainly as possible, “And Jon is one of the most productive workers you have, doing a lot of unpaid overtime. Which I know because anyone who listens to workplace gossip could tell you as much. Not only would keeping them in artifact storage prevent them from fulfilling their potential to the institute, but it lowers overall morale as the staff see artifact storage as even more of a punishment station than they already do, and sending one of the most popular staff there… not to mention sending someone there for, as far as they know, only being the victim of a prank… well, suppose some of them decide they need to try to find a new job over it? And suppose they discover they can’t?”             Martin watched Elias’s eyebrow twitch in irritation, and immediately softened his tone to appease him. “Just transfer them out again. Say there was a mistake. I’m going to work harder to be obedient and… and I’m going to try harder to enjoy myself with you. But if I’m going to do that, I need you to listen to me sometimes. I need you to try to be reasonable about how you punish me when I- when I make mistakes like this. I can’t be happy if all I am is a sex toy, and I can’t be happy if I’m constantly afraid that even a small error means I’m going to end up whipped within an inch of my life.”             Elias’s eyebrow twitched again, but his stance relaxed a bit. Martin mirrored that, and Elias relaxed more. It was fascinating to watch. “That may have some merit. You do understand that the reason I’ve been harsh to you is due to your own past history of having extreme reactions to relatively harmless requests on my part?”             Martin bristled internally. Elias was testing him, trying to find cracks in this new ‘rational negotiation’ approach. Trying to see how much Martin would bend to him to get what he wants. There were circumstances in which Martin would not bend an inch, he thought. Circumstances where he would give up on this and fight back against this reinterpretation of reality.             But Jon’s life was on the line. Martin would allow the lie to stand to some extent. He wouldn’t argue, but he could be vague. He nodded.             “Yes I… I know I brought it on myself,” Martin took another deep breath to steel against his boiling anger, “I want us both to be civil about this. We have too much history together to fight like we have been lately. I want to meet you in the middle. Please reconsider your transfer of Tim and Jon.”             Elias regarded Martin for a long moment. Then he leaned in and settled his lips against Martin’s in a long, chaste kiss. When he pulled back, Martin’s eyelids fluttered back open and looked directly into Elias’s, widening in a way he hoped read as innocent.             “Very well. I’ll consider your request,” Elias said softly, “But if I decide against it, you will need to accept that decision as well.”             It wasn’t good enough, but it was the best Martin would be able to get. He hoped Mr. Webb was right about Elias being open to negotiation. He leaned in and kissed Elias again, opening his mouth and deepening it this time.             “Thank you,” Martin said as they pulled back. He barely noticed Mr. Webb’s receptionist watching them raptly as they left out the front door.
*
             “Hey Jon, check your phone!” Tim said excitedly, sweat pouring off his forehead as he leaned against the wall beside Jon and Sasha. All of them were taking a well-earned break after a morning spent carrying buckets of muddy water out of artifact storage as there was a strange, dirt coloured sponge that had come in that wouldn’t stop leaking the stuff. The more senior staff still hadn’t found a way to neutralize that yet. “I just got an email from head office, Elias says the transfer to storage was a mistake and I’m going back to research!”             “Really?” Sasha perked up and checked her own phone, only to make a noise of disappointment. “Damn, I didn’t get one. Lucky you.”             “Well, you did actually commit a crime technically,” Jon commented as he retrieved his own phone, having to grip it extra hard as his still-grimy fingers slid over the screen. There was an email from Elias. He brightened considerably as he opened it, only for his eyebrows to draw together in confusion. “Huh. That’s unexpected.”             “It is? I would think having you transferred here was more of a mistake than moving me,” Tim was already stripped off his scrubs and heading for the door, evidently not eager to spend another moment in the dungeon.             “Yes, it does say it was a mistake,” Jon clarified, “Only, apparently I’m not going to be transferred back to research. I’m moving somewhere else.”             “Really? Where?” Sasha asked curiously.             “The Archives,” Jon said, utterly baffled. “I’m to report to Gertrude Robinson immediately.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

26
             Martin hadn’t been given the opportunity to interact with Gertrude in all the time he had lived with Elias and worked at the Institute. Truly, it seemed the woman was rarely in the building at all and whenever she was, it was nigh impossible to find a reason to go looking for her. He had no doubt Elias had a hand in things, and Martin was mostly resigned to the fact that Gertrude’s eventual death was going to be a Fixed Event and nothing he could do would evade it.             And then, like a bolt from the blue, the day after meeting Mr. Webb and before Elias told him his verdict on his ‘workplace suggestions’, there was an opportunity.             It was just after Martin had come from Elias’s office, arse aching in an unwanted but familiar way as he re-entered the library, only for Hannah to smile and hand him a short stack of hardcover books, smile twitching slightly.             “Hey Martin! Sorry, I know you don’t get on with Gertrude,” Hannah began and Martin wondered when she’d gotten that impression given he’d never spoken to the woman in any timeline, “But I’m really in a bind here. One of the donors needs help finding something and won’t let me leave, and Gertrude says she needs these files in her office immediately. You just need to drop them off and come right back, is that okay?”             “It… it is. Be right back?” Martin felt slightly baffled as he took the book pile, shifting the weight up against his chest as he glanced at the top cover and found it glossy and red with the symbol of a flame on the cover. Disconcerting, but maybe not unexpected for Gertrude. He made brief eye contact with Nurse Bea, who gave him the smallest nod before going back to shelving volumes. Well, he’d take that as permission?             The walk down to the Archives felt like treading on eggshells. His phone felt like a lead weight in his pocket as he just waited for it to ring. He was giving every doorway a second glance and looking over his shoulder at every turn, waiting for Elias to come out of nowhere and tell him to stop. At some point Martin wondered if this was a test. Was he supposed to throw a fit and refuse to go? Or maybe it was a test to make sure he wouldn’t say anything dangerous when given the opportunity? Weird, Elias had never given him a test like that before. What was he playing at?             The scent of musty papers hit him as he rounded the corner at the very bottom of the stairs and spotted the translucent glass window set in the door of the Archives, a brass plaque on the doorframe labelling it as such. He shifted the books into one arm as he reached out to knock, then decided against it and went straight for the knob, pulling the door open as quietly as possible.             The differences between Gertrude’s Archives and Jon’s were fairly stark. Martin had nearly forgotten Gertrude’s preference for an unusable workspace as cleaning out the bullpen had been the first priority when Jon had taken over as Archivist. Seeing it now, with most of the assistant desks absolutely buried by file boxes and loose papers, it was enough to miss that one of those desks appeared to be half cleared with a laptop plugged in on the one vacant corner. He bypassed this on his way to the Archivist’s office, the door firmly shut but Martin could hear a steady, cool female voice behind it. Gertrude Robinson, reading a statement it sounded like.             Martin waited until the voice stopped before raising his hand to knock. There was a shuffling sound before the voice rang out again, much clearer.             “Hm? Oh yes, come in.”             In spite of the voice, when Martin opened the door he half-expected to see Jon seated at the desk. Grey in his hair, a stiff suit collar cradling his sharp chin, eyes ready to pierce him straight through the heart.             The piercing eyes might be a trait of Archivists, as that was the only part of the image that was familiar as Martin took in the sturdy frame, wide-set shoulders and stark white, voluminous hair of the frankly intimidating woman sat before him. As seconds stretched between them without Martin able to speak, Gertrude inclined her head.             “Martin Wright, I presume,” she said finally, “With the books I asked for. I’ll admit I’m surprised to see you, I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”             “We haven’t,” Martin licked his dry lips as he settled the stack of books on the desk and glanced around the room. There were no photos or paintings, not even the slightest trace of an eye image anywhere. That wouldn’t stop Elias from looking through Martin’s eyes however, or possibly even Gertrude’s. He wondered again at having been allowed to get this close to her. What the game was. His eyes settled on a cobweb in the corner of the room. Was it just an ordinary web? Or was this a sanctioned meeting? “…if you want to talk at length, I’d rather do it in the tunnels.”             Gertrude’s eyebrows rose immediately, and Martin felt a shiver as the woman immediately looked toward the filing cabinet that Martin knew stood next to the fateful trapdoor down to those very tunnels. “I see… well, though I admit that is an unorthodox request, I can’t deny my own curiosity in this matter. Though I’ll warn you that if this is an ambush, I’m not as helpless in those tunnels as you might expect.”             “I would never consider you helpless,” Martin assured. Of the two of them, Martin knew he was the one with severely limited options. He didn’t know why the Web wanted this, especially now as he knew Gertrude’s death date was approaching, but he did know that giving Gertrude information was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to pass up. Gertrude stood and opened the trap door.             The second the door was shut behind them, Martin launched into his statement. He told her everything. From the former timeline, all the way through to inhabiting his own seven-year-old body and his imprisonment by Jonah Magnus. He did neglect to mention the sexual turn of their current relationship, and emphasized Gertrude’s own demise and the reason for Elias’s betrayal. By the time he reached the end, though, he felt drained and frustrated as Gertrude’s expression barely changed.             He wondered, suddenly, if Gertrude somehow knew about him being sanctioned. Did she think he was crazy and raving at her? Or just… lying?             Presumably when she realised Martin had finished, she gave him a brisk nod and turned back to the ladder. “I see. I’ll take that under advisement.”             “You don’t believe me.” Martin’s shoulders slumped.             “I said I’ll take it under advisement,” Gertrude repeated before ascending the ladder. Martin shut his eyes and took some deep breaths before following. Maybe she didn’t believe him yet, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still make use of the information. It wasn’t necessarily over yet. Maybe Gertrude could fight back against Elias now, even kill him, or incapacitate him! Maybe…             Though that would be an enormous stroke of luck if so.
*
             Jon was working in the Archives, still in the process of clearing off his own desk three days into this new assignment. He couldn’t say he thought much of how Gertrude ran an Archives and was already imagining how he would do it better once the old woman inevitably retired and Jon would presumably take over, given he was the only assistant assigned to work down here with her.             He was half hidden by a pile of file boxes when Gertrude’s office door opened and none other than Martin Wright stepped out, looking oddly pale as he crossed the room and left the Archives without so much as turning his head in Jon’s direction. Had he come in while Jon was running an errand in the research department? Always inconsiderate…             “Jonathan?” Gertrude’s clear voice rang from inside her office and Jon was quickly on his feet. Just because she was a dotty old woman didn’t mean that Jon didn’t owe her respect as his superior after all. She stood in her doorway and surveyed him with an expression that certainly didn’t appear dotty. “We’ll be flying out of the country tomorrow. I’ll be giving you the Institute credit card. I’ll forward you my flight details, ensure you pick the same plane and destination. Then I want you to come to me and we’ll go over the equipment we will be using in our mission. I believe the more information about our enemies I hand you, the better.”             “Mission? Enemies? Like… rival research institutes?” Jon’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Gertrude only gave him an unsettling smile.
*
             The following six months passed at a snail’s pace, and Martin was starting to conclude that while he was lucky Elias seemed to have no idea about his info dump to Gertrude, said info dump had also given him absolutely no advantage whatsoever. Gertrude hadn’t believed him, he was still trapped, and nothing had changed.             This was driven home one night as he laid under Elias in post-sex haze. Elias’s penis hung heavy and limp on Martin’s leg as Elias left his full weight on Martin’s torso, staring at his face and tracing his cheek idly with his finger. It wasn’t unusual that Elias wanted to stare at him disconcertingly after sex.             “Oh, this reminds me,” Elias said after a moment, a cat-like grin stretching across his face, “You’re being promoted.”             “Promoted?” Martin blinked, frowning, “To what?”             “Head Archivist,” Elias supplied easily, and Martin stopped breathing. He shivered violently as he realised that Elias must have already killed Gertrude. Earlier that day, most likely. He hadn’t even gotten word she’d gone missing yet, though she’d been out of the country again for the past few weeks. He really hadn’t changed anything. “Well? Gratitude, Martin.”             Martin wet his lips, forcing his frozen vocal chords to work. “Th-thank you for giving me the most dangerous position in the institute I guess?”             That earned a scoff. “For you? Hardly. You already have powers of your own, so you have quite the head start. Incredibly qualified for the position. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”             “But-”             “It’s already done, Martin,” Elias said lightly as he brushed Martin’s bangs away from his sweaty forehead. “Close your eyes. Can’t you feel it?”             Martin’s frown deepened as he shut his eyes for a beat. Then he opened them and let out a groan. “It’s like I’m getting stared at even harder. Great.”             “Beholding will favour you even more now. As it should, you beautiful thing,” Elias praised as he leaned down to pepper a few kisses on Martin’s cheeks, making him wrinkle his nose. “The Archivist and the Heart of the Institute… you know, if there were ever such a thing as soulmates, I think we’d be a good candidate for a pair.”             “I’m Archivist because you made me one,” Martin couldn’t help but point out, though Elias didn’t seem put off by it.             “The Web chose you for me, I’m sure it saw this end.”             “Does the Web get to pick soulmates now?” Martin asked in deadpan.             “Well, who else would do it?” Elias hummed and Martin made a face.             “I don’t think I like that.”             “You don’t have to like the source to enjoy the result,” Elias chimed as he initiated another deep kiss, his hands beginning to wander as he positioned Martin for another round, this time while baking under the enhanced gaze of the Eye.             As Elias pounded slowly and steadily into him, this time Martin felt his cheeks begin to burn with a humiliation he’d long thought had been burnt out of him. It felt like Elias was fucking him on live television, and his skin prickled badly.             “Wait… Elias wait, please just- this feels bad,” Martin whimpered, only to be soundly kissed once more.             “Hush, just bask in it,” Elias hissed as Martin squirmed beneath him. “If you learn to enjoy your patron’s gaze, it can never burn you. The Eye has judged you worthy. It is looking at you because you are worth looking at. Perfect and mine.”             In that moment Elias managed to drive directly into Martin’s prostate, drawing out a long and shaky moan. He tried to cover his face, but Elias grabbed his wrists and pinned them hard above his head.             “None of that, now,” Elias hissed as he picked up the punishing pace, “There’s nowhere to hide and no reason to now that you’re so aligned with the Eye. Be known. Be seen with me. You’re exactly where you belong.”             Another jab at his prostate and Martin moaned again, thrashing against the assault as he fought against Elias’s words rattling in his over-stimulated mind. He didn’t belong there. He didn’t belong anywhere near this situation. This was all wrong wrong wrong…             “It’s too much!” Martin yelled instead, “T-too much, please!”             “You can take it. You can take this and so much m-more,” Elias stammered as he rapidly approached his peak, “And you must. You will.”             Martin thrashed and fought for a few more seconds before coming violently with a shout, dropping back limply against the pillow as Elias released his wrists to bury his hands in Martin’s dyed hair instead.             “That’s it, that’s my beautiful boy. Raised in my arms and here to stay,” Elias babbled into Martin’s ear, “My treasure, the keys to my kingdom, my- ah!”             Martin felt Elias come deep inside him, and couldn’t stop the tears that leaked freely from his eyes. Elias wiped them away without comment before drawing out and pulling Martin to his chest for the night. At least it was over. Though the gaze of the Eye lingered into their dreams.
*
             When Martin arrived at work the next day, Nurse Bea informed him she had already moved his belongings from the library to the Head Archivist’s office.             “I’m very proud of you,” she said warmly, and Martin refused to look at her. “You go on ahead, I’ll be down with my own affects and your medication in about half an hour I’ve been assigned to assist you as usual. No one will know my status.”             “Whatever,” Martin grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked away from the book shelves and headed off for his fate.             When he pushed open the door to the Archives, he expected them to be empty. But there was someone sitting at the single cleared assistant desk who nearly spilt his coffee mug when the door squeaked open. As they looked at each other, Martin felt the pressure of a million eyes settling on his shoulders.             “…hi Jon.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

27
             When Jon had arrived at work that day, he’d found a cassette tape inside one of his desk drawers that shouldn’t have been there. It wasn’t labelled, which wasn’t unusual in Gertrude’s archives.Jon understood the reason for that after six months of working under the woman and so instead of complaining to no one he merely picked up the tape and guided it into the player. Gertrude’s voice was familiar, but her words chilled him utterly.             “Jonathan, if you are listening to this now, I am to be presumed dead. With any luck, Elias will make you the next Archivist in my stead. But I believe in luck as much as I do the good will of spiders, and so I suspect you will be passed over in favour of someone now far more suited to Beholding’s ends, Martin Wright. As such, I need you to be on your guard. You may be offered the opportunity to leave your post, and you are free to take that opportunity. But if you do not, if you choose to stay, remember what I have told you in the past. You will not be safer, but you will be more prepared. If you choose to leave, I cannot blame you for it. This is not a life I would wish on anyone. Goodbye, Jonathan Sims.”             Jon stared at the recorder for a long time. Then he slowly opened it, removed the tape, and tucked it into his pocket to listen to later. He felt like he was in shock. He wouldn’t have considered himself close to Gertrude, he wasn’t sure anyone on Earth could honestly declare as much. But the sudden loss of her did weigh heavily on him. Gertrude had felt untouchable, unassailable. She knew so much. How had she died? And if she had died, how did she ensure this tape reached him? He had to find out. He had to-             The door to the Archives opened and in walked Martin Wright wearing a tweed suit and tie. Jon’s mouth dried instantly as he jerked to attention in his seat. Martin’s eyes settled on him and widened in obvious surprise. Did he not know Jon was going to be here?             “…hi, Jon,” Martin said after a long moment, and Jon folded his arms, a frown settling on his face.             “What are you doing down here?” Jon asked, a note of accusation in his tone.             Jon watched the man’s throat bob as he swallowed and began to cross the room. He stopped at one of the still-buried assistant desks and leaned on it in a way that could almost be interpreted as casual if every line of his body wasn’t so tense. “So erm, Elias was going to send around an email about it today? I don’t know if he has yet but er, I’ve actually been promoted to Head Archivist.”             A shiver raced down Jon’s spine at the declaration. Elias had apparently learned of Gertrude’s demise even before Jon had, and had already acted to install his own stooge into her place. If there was one thing Gertrude had been clear about, it was that Elias was not to be trusted and if he put Wright down here, it meant he wasn’t to be trusted either. Jon’s fingers dug into his elbows.             “This is all a bit sudden,” Jon ground out, “I heard no word of Gertrude being fired or being on probation or quitting. Nor have I heard she’s deceased through any official channels. Did they find her body? Because until there’s some evidence that the position is vacant, it doesn’t make much sense to replace her.”             Martin made an odd expression before grumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. “…yeah well, whether it makes sense or not, Elias already made his decision. It’s done. And… sorry, I didn’t realise you’d been put down here after… everything.”             “It’s fine,” Jon spat, and Martin cleared his throat.             “I- you know, you were always very good at research? Now that I’m head down here, I’m pretty sure I can get you transferred back there? I can get started on that right now,” Martin looked startled as Jon’s featured twisted into something poisonous. “What? I- I thought you liked working in research?”             It was too much on the heels of Gertrude’s death. Jon wouldn’t let Martin Wright get the better of him. “You’re used to just having to snap your fingers and having the world warp to your will, aren’t you?”             Martin’s eyebrows nearly rose off his head. “Not really. Are you feeling alright?”             “Fine. I’m just fine,” Jon hissed through his teeth as he unfolded his arm to draw his laptop closer to him and opened it defiantly. “And, short of Elias himself ordering my transfer, I’m not budging.”             “What? But you- why not?!” The sputtering was unexpected, and Jon looked up to find Martin staring at him as though he were out of his mind. It was more than a little insulting.             “Because I’m not going to let you boss me around, that’s why!” Jon snapped, and Martin’s shoulders slumped in apparently disbelief.             “Jon, if you stay, I will literally be your boss.”             That… was a point. Not one Jon was willing to back down on, however. “Nonetheless, I’m staying. If you don’t like it, you can take it up with Elias. I will not be uprooted by your entitled attitude.”             “Entitled atti-? Urgh, fine. Fine! Never mind, enjoy your servitude then,” Martin spat as he headed for Gertrude’s office. Former office. “This isn’t my fault, I hope you’ll remember.”             Before Martin could slam the door, the door to the Archives opened and Jon startled to see Sasha James and another, dark skinned woman he thought might work in the library entering with boxes full of personal effects. Martin seemed just as surprised as Jon as his eyes darted from one to the other.             “Can I help you?” Martin asked after an awkward pause.             “Oh, um, Elias said he transferred us down here,” Sasha said after a moment, “Did he not tell you?”             “Seems a bit of an oversight,” said the other woman in a much softer voice. Martin flushed.             “I… I’d told him I didn’t want to request any- guess he decided to- hm,” Martin sucked in a long breath, “Right. I must have missed the email. Just er, pick a desk and start clearing it off I guess? I’m still getting my bearings myself. Um, this is Jon. Jon, this is Sasha and Hannah- you’ve met Sasha, sorry. Anyway, I guess we’ll all be working together. Um, just give me a minute to- just give me a minute?”             With that, Martin disappeared into his office and shut the door, leaving the three assistants to exchange looks.             “So, what happened to Gertrude?” Sasha asked Jon after a moment. Jon’s hand went to the cassette in his pocket for a moment before diverting course and gripping his quivering knee instead.             “…I don’t know. Not for certain,” Jon said quietly. He wondered how much he should tell Sasha and Hannah. How much he would be believed. It wasn’t as though he had evidence for a lot of it beyond the statements. Sasha would probably at least consider how serious things were, but he didn’t know Hannah. “It does seem she won’t be back, at any rate.”             “Ah. Sorry to hear that. I met her a few times, she seemed… I don’t know,” Sasha’s tone turned thoughtful, “She was one of a kind, I think.”             “That’s an understatement,” Jon snorted, shaking his head. He startled again as the Archives door opened and Bea, the woman rumoured to be Martin’s personal assistant, walked in carrying a steaming mug of tea in one hand and what looked like it should have been a heavy box of files under her other arm without much trouble. Jon had never been this close to her before, and though he’d seen that she had several inches on Martin, being next to her now did leave him craning his neck and realising just how much of a giant this woman was. “Er, can I help you?”             “No need, but I appreciate the offer,” Bea said in a smooth, professional timber. “Hello Hannah, it will be a pleasure to continue working with you I’m sure.”             “Likewise,” Hannah grinned, walking to one of the desks and letting out a sigh at how buried it was. “Looks like we’ll have our work cut out for us! Don’t worry Jon, if Gertrude was really working with just one assistant down here so long it’s no wonder you didn’t make headway in cleaning up around here. Four of us should be plenty to get things usable! Organizing paperwork is my specialty.”             “Organization… wasn’t exactly a priority under Gertrude,” Jon said carefully, though he couldn’t keep the note of annoyance out of his voice, “She had more important things to be working on.”             “Like what?” Hannah asked, openly surprised. She paused as Bea set down her file box with a thud and began moving large stacks of books and papers off her chosen desk with a series of softer thuds. “An Archives is basically like a library, isn’t it? Keeping a library organized is one of the core parts of the job.”             Jon flushed. “Well, this job is- Gertrude had- there’s more to it than you’d think.”             The three women paused to give him looks of varying intensity before Sasha broke the silence.             “Looking forward to getting the rundown then,” she said finally, choosing her own desk and pulling out the chair to have a seat, “How long do you think it’ll take for Martin to get hold of himself and come out of his office?”             “He’s here?” Bea stood up straight, gaze turning sharply to the shut door labeled Head Archivist’s Office. “I thought he’d been held up. How long has he been in there?”             “Just a few minutes,” Hannah reassured, and Jon watched Bea’s shoulders relax with suspicion. It was clear this woman was genuinely interested in Martin’s welfare beyond a co-worker or not subordinate. “I’m sure he’ll be out soon. It seems like he’s as surprised as we are? He didn’t get informed that Sasha and I were transferred here. Did he request you? I know Jon was here already.”             “I was requested,” Bea said with a soft smile, though Jon didn’t miss the way she glanced back at Gertrude’s- now Martin’s- office door before returning to cleaning.             A moment later the door opened and Martin stood with a large, almost definitely fake smile on his face. He loudly clapped his hands before striding into the middle of the bullpen and set his hands on his hips.             “Right! Nice to have you all here, though of course I apologize if you didn’t want to be transferred. Please believe I didn’t request any assistants and Elias made this decision on his own. I won’t be complaining as I know you’re… mostly lovely people.”             Jon also didn’t miss the side eyed glance he shot Bea before moving to partially have his back to her. She didn’t seem bothered, though Jon was.             “As you can tell, Gertrude obviously left this place a right mess,” Martin laughed and Jon stiffened in anger. “So I think first we should-”             “Gertrude did more in this job than you ever will,” Jon snapped, and held firm, wide-eye contact with Martin as a very awkward silence grew around them. The girls were looking between the two of them in an uneasy attempt to decipher exactly what this was about. Jon fought against his embarrassed blush and pushed on. “You have no right to criticize her. She was a great Archivist.”             Martin did look thrown, but after blinking a few times he seemed to gather himself and rounded on Jon properly with a tight-lipped smile. “Well Jon, I did tell you when I got down here you were free to transfer back to research if you wanted! You refused.”             “No,” Jon said icily, “What happened was you were going to transfer me back to research without even asking my opinion, and I refused.”             Martin blinked again, brow furrowing. “I was trying to ensure you would be in a department you feel comfortable in. But if that’s not good en- urgh, if you have some… issues with how I handled that conversation, feel free to take it up with Elias.”             Jon could hear the frustration bleeding into Martin’s voice and felt a surge of righteous satisfaction. Good, he wanted Martin to know he wasn’t going to just roll over and kiss his Elias-appointed nepotism feet. Jon folded his arms and felt smug as Martin rubbed his forehead and turned again so as to include Hannah and Sasha back in his focus.             “Anyway, I’m going to figure out the best way to deal with all the mess, so I figure the rest of you can take it easy for today and just clear your desks off. Just put all the junk in a pile to deal with later,” Martin smiled, “It might take months, years even, but with everyone focused on filing we might have a workable archive. That should be our focus.”             Sasha made a noise and Martin gestured for her to speak. “Right, so, in the email Elias sent us he mentioned he specifically wanted the Archives to work on a recording project? Making sure there were audio records of all the statements for accessibility purposes. Maybe some of us should be assigned to start on that?”             Martin’s face changed then, drawing in on itself. Jon watched curiously as his new boss’s fingers twisted around the hem of his tweed jacket and pulled at it nervously. “Right that ah, yeah I don’t think we need to be prioritizing that.”             Sasha frowned. “Really? That’s bold. Elias seemed pretty clear that’s what he wants us doing.”             Martin winced. “Yeah, I know that but I think maybe Elias doesn’t know exactly what state things are in down here. Recording statements first doesn’t really make any sense when the Archives themselves are unusable. I’m not saying we’ll never do it, but we need to organize everything first. Probably by date, but I need to work on that.”             “I guess that makes sense,” Sasha didn’t look fully satisfied. Hannah, however, brightened up.             “I can put together a great system! Or help you with one, I mean, if you’d like,” she offered eagerly, “Date is a great start, but we can make sub categories for names and subject matter… I actually know some great computer software options that we could use to create digital records for even easier file retrieval-”             “Woah, okay that’s great but um, maybe we can slow down for a second?” Martin held up his hands and Hannah stopped, looking disappointed. “Let’s- let’s discuss that more later this week maybe? For today, let’s just set up our desks and then if you finish uh, I guess you can just start separating the files out by year? Seems like a decent start.”             Jon narrowed his eyes. Organizing the Archives was clearly a goal straight from Elias. Gertrude was always clear that her determination to leave the Archives a mess was in direct spite toward Beholding and Elias, so he could not support such a declaration from Martin. Not wanting to do the recordings was harder to understand, especially if Elias ordered it. Gertrude used to record statements. Not many, and she never said it was due to Elias’s order, but she did. She never drew much attention to them, aside from when she left Jon a few orders and messages via cassettes.             Was it reverse psychology? He wanted the staff to start recording behind his back, or push back to make him? Or did Elias want everyone to think they need to record things while telling Martin not to allow it?             He snorted. “It sounds to me as though you don’t want us to do our jobs as required. Are you trying to get us in trouble with Elias for not following instructions?”             “Not at all!” Martin groaned in exasperation, “As I said, if you have any issues you can take it up with Elias directly. You won’t be penalized for not following instructions if I told you not to! That- that’s on me.”             “Ah yes, Elias,” Jon clicked his tongue, “Truly an impartial judge of your work ethic.”             “What’s that supposed to mean?!” Martin’s voice held an odd edge of panic, but to Jon’s surprise it was Hannah to jump to his rescue, taking a step in front of him to face Jon directly and shook a finger at him. It made Jon feel oddly young, and his arms dropped as he was reprimanded.             “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with Martin, but I’m not going to stand here and let you backtalk him like this!” Hannah’s voice was strained, “He’s just focused on getting things organized! He has a degree in business management, and he always worked hard in the library! He’s going to do his best, but we’re all down here together to work on this project. We can’t be fighting like this!”             Jon squirmed under all the eyes that focused on him, waiting for his rebuttal. What was he meant to say to that? It’s not like he ever figured out exactly what sort of worker Martin was, and if he started proclaiming that Gertrude didn’t trust Martin he didn’t have any evidence to back him either his or Gertrude’s claims.             Instead, Jon bowed his head and scowled. “There’s no need to suck up to him either. It’s not as though he has some big intelligent plan for the Archives yet. All he’s said so far is that we should be taking it easy, and I’m responding to that.”             “I’m not sucking up! I just don’t like seeing people fight,” Hannah looked genuinely hurt, and Jon felt a stab of guilt. He might have apologized if Martin hadn’t finally snapped.             “You know what Jon, you’re absolutely right!” Martin’s smile was definitely fake now. Fake and nasty. “I don’t give a fig about this job. I’m planning on getting nothing done for as long as possible. In my completely honest opinion, I’ve done nothing to achieve this position or anything else I have in life, and I plan to keep doing nothing because it’s worked out so GREAT for me!”             There was a quiet gasp and Jon’s gaze flickered to Bea who had become oddly pale as Hannah and Sasha exchanged concerned looks.             “And there’s NOTHING you, or anyone else, can do about it!” Martin’s volume was rising fast, “I’m unfireable!”
             Jon, for his part, felt a great sense of unease as the man loomed over him, fists firmly balled at his sides. He looked ready to hit Jon, and Jon’s body tensed up in preparation to run. Martin didn’t raise his fist though. Before that he stopped, shut his eyes and took a long, deep breath. His posture relaxed minutely before he opened his eyes and pinned Jon’s under their unexpectedly piercing and yet oddly familiar glare.

“So, since you want

strong

leadership apparently, let me tell you what you are

not

to do,” Martin took another deep breath, “No destroying statements. If you do, you will be discovered, and it won’t be pretty. No investigating statements, either.”

There it was. Directly against Gertrude’s purposes. Jon opened his mouth to argue but Martin was quick to cut in and talk over him.

“We’re an archive, Jon, NOT research! If you wanted to investigate, you should have taken the offer to return there. As it is, if you hear about… I don’t know, a spooky bug lady, you are NOT to try to track her or anything related to her down. That is NOT what this department should be for and I- I’m going to fight to keep it that way!”

Even though it was probably a random example, Jon filed away the mention of a spooky bug lady into the back of his mind. If he found the slightest mention he would definitely investigate it, even if he had to work in his personal time. Even if it was just to spite this man who would spit on Gertrude’s memory.

Martin wasn’t finished. “You aren’t to- no. I suppose I can’t stop- fine. You are free to read any of the statements of course, you may have to when organizing them. But you are never to read them out loud. Not to record, not in general. Not ever. Do you understand?”

Jon was simmering with rage at the audacity, but Sasha was the one to speak up.

“Er, not really?”

Martin glanced at Sasha, flushed, and shrugged. “Just… just don’t, okay? I can’t… Bea! Bea, can you just- can you make everyone some tea and order a food platter from somewhere? I’m going to gorge and celebrate all my non-achievement, yeah?”

Bea opened her mouth, shut it, and then gave a nod. “Yes sir.”

“Great,” Martin said tightly, “Anyway, do whatever else you want. I’ll be in my office till the food gets here playing Candy Crush because I can. Make yourselves comfortable.”
             “…I wanted to suggest we could make a reference list for statements on localized legends?” Hannah asked softly just as Martin began to turn on his heel. He paused, and if Jon were more charitable he might have interpreted his expression as guilty.             “I- okay that’s not a bad idea but- well- I’ll think about it okay?” Martin licked his lips. “Food first. Go set up your desks.”             With that, Martin turned on his heel and disappeared into his office, slamming the door shut behind him. Jon bit his lip, nodded, and then started heading for the door out of the archives.             “Where are you going?” Sasha asked, clearly still catching up on whatever had just happened.             “I’m taking it up with Elias,” Jon snapped, and strode out into the hallway.
*
             “This is disgraceful!” Jon concluded after his tirade where he had paced angrily all over Elias’s office while the man watched him impassively the whole time, “He might as well be spitting in the face of the Institute! You cannot seriously believe he’s fit to be in charge of such a critical aspect of it!”             Elias hummed, and Jon was infuriated to find him smiling. “Ah, well. I’ve known Martin for quite some time. I imagine he just needs some time to warm up, and then once something mm… catches his interest, he’ll become the most successful Archivist we’ve ever seen.”             Jon’s cheeks coloured. He’d been ready for Elias not to believe him, but this was worse. He believed Jon’s testimony, but was going to let Martin have special privileges to fuck around until he feels like working? This was a nightmare, and Gertrude was surely spinning in her grave.             Well, Jon had heard her tape. He wouldn’t take this lying down. He was going to ensure Gertrude’s work continued, whether Martin wanted to be useful or not.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

28
             Martin had gone home with Elias on that first day expecting a punishment for his refusal to work. He didn’t receive one. Elias had only asked how the day had gone, Martin replied it went fine, and then he’d been taken out for a fancy dinner at a seafood restaurant to celebrate his promotion and was soundly fucked before bed as usual. Martin didn’t know what this new game was, but he couldn’t find the courage to ask. Not just yet.             Over the first couple of weeks in his new position, Martin fell into a routine that mainly consisted of briefly greeting his staff, telling them to work on sorting through the files with only the vaguest directions on how, and then locking himself in his office for hours, only interrupted occasionally by Nurse Bea checking to make sure he wasn’t killing himself presumably. At some point he would tell her to order everyone food, and would emerge briefly to grab some, answer any questions as quickly as possible, and then vanish back into his office where he dicked around on his phone until five where he would immediately leave the office and chase everyone out. Honestly it was ridiculous how hard it was to get Jon to go home. He’d once thought that Jon stayed at work so long to impress Elias, but now it was clear the man was just that much of a workaholic. He’d caught him trying to smuggle home statements several times as well, something he might have gotten away with as Archivist but as Archival Assistant, Martin wasn’t going to let him.             In retrospect, Martin should have expected regularly using the institute budget to buy food for his staff to attract a few hungry and overly bold staffers from other parts of the institute. He just didn’t expect it to be Tim, nor did he expect it to be as often as it was. He had to assume Sasha was just texting him whenever food appeared, but now every time Martin dared emerge from his office he ran the risk of Tim hanging around making half-serious announcements that he would be applying to transfer to the archives the second a space freed up.             Luckily, there were only four desks in the archives. Luckier, Tim was far too attractive for Elias to even consider allowing him to work under Martin. Unfortunately, this meant that Martin routinely would have to defend himself to Elias about the situation.             “I’m not inviting him down there!” Martin would say, purposely whining as he hugged Elias close in spite of wanting to shudder under his glare, “He’s just there to eat, I don’t even talk to him!”             “You’re walking on thin ice, Martin,” Elias would remind him, even as he ran a hand through Martin’s hair. He was in the mood to let Martin plead, then. “How can I trust you don’t want such an attractive young man more than me?”             “I could prove it to you…” Martin would trail off before debasing himself as hard as possible to keep Tim safe and out of danger. He barely remembered Tim from the first timeline. What he did remember wasn’t entirely likeable. But this Tim was kind, and thought well of him in spite of the temporary Artifact Storage transfer. Martin would have to debase himself either way. Protecting Tim at least made him feel a little heroic about it.             It was really silly, though. The only one Tim really talked to at length in the archives was Sasha. Sasha seemed the least distressed with Martin’s management style, taking the lack of direction as an excuse to do her own research projects which she shared at length with Tim in a tone that should technically be too low for Martin to hear through the shut door but he usually caught every word of. As long as it didn’t sound like she was investigating a statement, Martin decided to let it go.             Hannah was a lot more industrious than Sasha, and she had taken Martin’s lack of direction as permission to begin making her own filing system in the archives. It made a lot of sense, really, which ought to please Beholding. Martin had taken to staying back a few minutes after the assistants left to mix up some of the papers inside the files she’d already worked on. It was petty and a bit mean to Hannah, but she had been working faster than he’d expected on her own and he didn’t want the archives to be actually usable anytime soon.             Nurse Bea worked as usual. She followed Hannah’s filing plan and checked on him. Kept up her ‘polite and useful’ routine. Not to be trusted.             Jon was hard to pin down. Literally. He would come into work, read a few statements, then leave the premises for hours before returning and pouring over files until Martin chased him out. He was definitely investigating. Martin needed to confront him about that, but he had no proof, and he couldn’t actually stop him effectively without going to Elias about it. Needless to say, he wasn’t about to give Elias permission to discipline Jon under any circumstances.             Beyond trying to think of how to stop Jon doing the job Elias actually wanted them all to be doing, Martin was being diligent in his refusal to read a single statement in the archives for as long as possible. So far, Elias hadn’t mentioned it. But he knew, he had to know. Was he waiting for Martin to correct himself on his own? Or did he think something else would push him into following the instructions? Surely he wouldn’t just let Martin get away with it forever, but damn it, if Elias wanted him to launch the apocalypse then Martin would drag his feet and grant the world as much reprieve as he could manage.             It was watching cute dog videos on his laptop when there was a gentle knock on his office door. He checked the time and furrowed his brow when he noted it wasn’t time for Nurse Bea’s check in yet.             “Come in?” Martin asked hesitantly, and the doorknob jiggled. Hannah stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment before closing the door behind her with a quiet click. “Ah, Hannah! Um, can I help you with something? Question about the filing?”             “No I er, I wanted to ask if you’re alright?” asked Hannah.             “Y-yeah, obviously? Why do you ask?” he winced at his own stammer, which only seemed to make Hannah look more concerned. It gave him a stab of guilt for all this. Being a hands off, do nothing boss would be a lot easier if they all hated him like Jon clearly did.             “Well, you’ve been locking yourself up alone in here every day for weeks?” Hannah pointed out carefully, “And that’s… at first I assumed you were trying to get a handle on things? Or maybe that Jon made you feel less… less confident? But now- Martin, if this new position is overwhelming you, I’d be happy to help you sort out how to handle it? Like with the filing I- I just want to help if I can.”             “You can’t,” the words were out before Martin could think them through, and Hannah made a wounded noise.             “…if I can’t help, maybe I could listen? If you want to talk about anything-”             Martin blew out his breath and shook his head as Hannah fell silent.             “Hannah I… I really don’t mean to be rude, okay? But I- there’s really nothing you can do to help me. I mean, yeah I’m stressed. This job is a big change, and I didn’t really get a choice in it,” Martin ended on a bitter laugh, and Hannah tilted her head.             “Is that why you don’t want to do the work? You’re hoping Elias will transfer you back to the library?”             Martin shook his head, snorting lightly, “No, that isn’t going to happen and I know it. I guess mostly I just want him to know I’m not going to just do whatever he wants just because he wants it? Or I’m just… throwing a tantrum I guess.”             “A tantrum?” Hannah looked confused and Martin flushed. It felt like the right word, though. He was kicking up a fuss over something that would inevitably happen once Elias got impatient enough to force the issue. What else would it be? He shouldn’t have said it to Hannah though, obviously.             “Th-the point is, it’s a dig at Elias. It’s not about you or Sasha, I swear.”             Hannah appeared to be chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment. Then, “Just me and Sasha? What about Jon and Bea?”             “Bea is… urgh,” Martin couldn’t stop the groan and rubbed his forehead. “Bea is… not… well, in Jon’s case, I did tell him he could transfer out and he refused. It’s his fault he’s here now. Just- the point is, when Elias finally puts his foot down, I’ll make sure I’m the one who takes the fall for it. My fault, my fall.”             Hannah looked pained and Martin felt another stab of guilt. This really wasn’t fair on her. Hannah took pride in her work. He didn’t want to drag her down like this. No doubt that was a big reason why Elias damned her into service down here.             “You really don’t want to be in charge? I think you’d be good at it, really. You’re personable enough.”             Martin let out a strangled laugh. That was an odd take. “Ah, no, not really? I guess I’m just not very ambitious.”             “But… sorry, I’m just trying to understand, Sasha says you got your degree in business management?” Hannah said carefully and Martin inwardly cursed Sasha’s inability to mind her own business. “If you got a whole degree in that, you must have been ambitious once. Unless… did you… not choose your degree?”             Martin knew he was making a face. He didn’t know how to unmake it. “L-look-”             “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be prying!” Hannah winced, her big brown eyes making her impossible to fault for her nosiness. “I’m surprised though, you never seemed to dislike working when you were in the library.”             “It’s fine. The library was fine, it just… honestly this whole institute isn’t…” Martin trailed off and bit his lip hard. Elias could be listening to this. He couldn’t just say whatever he wanted, but he knew if he didn’t tell her anything she might go digging. Hazard of working with people aligned with Beholding. “I didn’t ask to be made Archivist. I didn’t apply for or choose this position. Elias just told me it was happening and expected me to go along with it and… I… well. I guess I’m just expected to want more responsibility with my- my dad having been the previous Head and all. But I’ve only been here for a few years and I might have the qualifications but I definitely don’t have the experience.”             “So you don’t think you deserve the position? You would have rather someone else had taken it?”             That thought, of someone else sitting at this desk, of Jon sitting at this desk waiting to endure all the hell of the archives all over again without help overwhelmed Martin for a moment and he rapidly shook his head. “No no, I don’t- I mean- it’s not really about that. I just think this job is going to be stressful and- and I didn’t want it but Elias gave it to me anyway. That’s all.”             “Well, if it gets to be too much, you can always quit I guess?” Hannah giggled, though her face fell as Martin couldn’t hold back his whine and slumping shoulders. “You… can’t quit? Sorry that- I mean, surely with your credentials you could get another job? And I know Wright had money, no offense, but surely he left you enough to get by for a while without working?”             “It’s not that simple,” Martin shut his eyes to think for a moment. He sighed and opened them. “My fath- my guardian. When he died, he arranged it so I only get to keep my inheritance if I worked here. So I can’t quit.”             “What?” Hannah’s mouth fell open, “But- that can’t be legal!”             “Well, he found a way,” Martin said flatly, “Elias can’t fire me, and I can’t quit. Impasse. And no, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried, believe me. But if you’re looking for the answer to the mystery, there it is. I don’t want to be here, but I have to be. Elias and I are in a… kind of a power struggle I guess. It’s over your head, and I’m sorry Elias dragged you into it, but that’s really all there is to it.”             Hannah looked very pitying as she worried her lip and picked at her manicured fingers. “That… oh Martin, I’m so sorry. It must be very hard, having to work here when you don’t want to. I didn’t realise you were pressured like that.”             It was cloying and Martin couldn’t take it. He didn’t want to be pitied. Hannah couldn’t help him, so he needed to get her to leave off. He forced a smile and a shrug, not making eye contact. “Lots of parents have a certain vision for how they want their kids’ lives to look. Some just have the power to make it happen. It wasn’t like he told me about it before he died, he probably just thought he was making sure I’d be ensured employment here if he ever died.”             “Maybe if you saved up enough you wouldn’t need the inheritance?”             “In this economy? Not looking to move into a roach-filled bachelor pad after a lifetime in a Kensington townhouse thanks,” Martin’s smile was already turning strained, “Which probably makes me sound like a spoiled brat, lots of people survive that way but yeah, not for me.”             “I wouldn’t think that about you,” Hannah said gently, and Martin ran a hand through his hair.             “No, you wouldn’t. But if you did it would be perfectly fine,” Martin said firmly, in a way he hoped signally the end of the topic. “Now, was that everything?”             “…it seems a little weak to bring it up now, but I wondered if you’d given any more thought toward my idea for making a catalog for local legends?”             “Right, that,” Martin blew out a breath. At least it wasn’t about his history with Elias. “Well, like I said, I do think it’s a good idea. We can do that, but I just need a bit to figure out how to do it without… hm.”             “Without giving Elias the satisfaction of you doing your job?” Hannah asked wryly, and Martin snorted unexpectedly, shaking his head again.             “I mean, given it’s not something he directly asked for I don’t think that’s a concern? But by all means if you can do it in a way he’d hate I won’t stop you,” Martin huffed, “But I was thinking more about making it in a way that won’t give Jon a list of death traps to run into head first in the spirit of skeptical inquiry.”             Hannah made an interested noise. “Really? I don’t know him that well, is he that reckless? Oh, is that why you were so firm about telling us not to run off investigating statements without permission?”             Martin had the sense he might have revealed too much, but in for a penny. “It… wasn’t unrelated? Anyway, um, if you’re bored, you can probably try looking around for any statements that took place in London specifically and see if they match with local legends, get a start on that list just… don’t share it with Jon for now?”             “I can do that,” Hannah nodded, and then in a move that made Martin’s heart stutter she reached across his desk and touched the back of his hand lightly. “If you need help with anything else, if you do start actually working and it’s too much, you just need to ask. You said this job is going to be stressful, but that’s why you have assistants, you know? To help.”             With that, Hannah left, and Martin covered his face with his hands and screamed quietly into his palms. He mentally cursed Elias with every foul word he knew for transferring Hannah to the archives. Goddamn it, it was a good play because she really made him want to be better at his job.             It wasn’t going to be enough to make him read a statement, but it was enough to make him feel bad about it.
*
             That night, as Martin and Elias wound down for bed and Martin settled naked and sated between the ground sheet and duvet, he was surprised to see Elias switching off the light and crawling into bed with him without a word.             “No statement tonight?” Martin ventured, wondering if Elias had somehow forgotten. It would be deeply strange. He couldn’t remember a night since moving in with Jonah Magnus when they hadn’t read a statement together before bed.             “I think you’re a little too old for that old routine now,” Elias said simply as he leaned over to wrap an arm around Martin’s midsection and he shivered as the older man’s lips moved in to press against the shell of his ear. “I think, if you feel the need for a statement, you can seek them out on your own. I’ve given you an entire archive full, after all.”             Martin paled in the dark. This move was unexpected, but it shouldn’t have been. He’d been taking in statements for years. He was the archivist now. Was he already dependant on them? How long could he go without entirely? Would starving himself of them kill him eventually? What would happen if he let himself get to that point? What would Elias do?             “…I’ll keep that in mind.”             “That’s all I ask,” Elias said with a lilt of humour as he pressed a kiss to Martin’s cheek and settled in against him. Martin let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, even as his heart began to beat hard and he felt himself begin to sweat.             He supposed he’d learn those answers soon enough.