Chapter Text
Agatha Harkness slipped into the role of antagonist witch like a pair of broken-in shoes. Gone was gossiping and giggling Agnes, who Jon had counted as a friend even when Martin had begun to wake up.
I should have known better. Why didn’t I know better?!
“My abilities will work out here,” Jon said, glaring at Agatha as she floated above him, still grinning far too wide. “Or did you forget?”
“Oh, no, dear,” Agatha said. “I’m counting on it.”
”Ceaseless Watcher, see this witch-gah!” Jon gasped as he felt something shifted within himself, oddly like when Jared Hopworth had taken his ribs. It was like there was a straw inside him, slowly draining him.
Agatha contorted slightly, and Jon saw her mist curl with traces of green. She let the mist trail over her fingers, looking at it almost lovingly. “I take power from the undeserving,” She shrugged, looking amused. “It’s kinda my thing.”
Jon groaned, trying not to fall to his knees, and felt bile rise in his throat when he caught sight of his hands. His fingers were gray and dry, like a mummy’s desiccated, corpse-like hand. And it hurt.
Agatha’s fingers twisted, and the purple and green mist shot at Jon like a bullet, hitting him roughly in the stomach and tossing him down the street like he was nothing. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him, and felt the tingling pain travel down his hands a little more. “S-stop-” He tried, but it came out as a breathless whimper.
“You’re clearly in over your head.” Agatha said, walking towards him. The magic around her rose, and the thunderclouds drew ever closer. “So why don’t you surrender your magic to someone who knows how to use it, and I’ll let you keep this pathetic little corner of the world all to yourself?”
She rose into the air, the unspoken threat of or else loud and clear. “Whaddya say?”
“Fuck off,” Jon said, and Agatha looked slightly less amused. “Fuck off.”
The Compulsion was vague, and Jon didn’t even realize he was doing it until Agatha was yanked out of the sky by an invisible force and thrown through a window. Glass shattered, sprinkling through the air like jagged stars, and he saw Agatha’s ornate boots dangling over the edge of the window.
Jon forced himself to his feet, feeling weak. He stumbled to the boots, frowning when he realized that there was no body. She had left her boots, probably thinking herself witty for the Wizard of Oz reference.
He heard a faint whirring behind him, and turned, seeing a tiny drone floating in the air. Jon paused, scared for missiles, but there was no way this thing could hold such a weapon, and the design made it look as though it couldn’t possibly be armed anyway.
It almost looked like a toy.
As if to prove him wrong, the drone suddenly zoomed towards Jon. He yelped in surprise, diving out of the way just in time, noticing two metal spikes positioned somewhere in the middle of what he now recognized as a helmet-like shape.
And in a second, he Knew exactly what it was meant to do. He felt nauseous.
“W-wait-!” He shouted uselessly, knowing the drone couldn’t hear him. It began to zoom back towards him, and even as Jon scrambled to his feet he knew he wouldn’t have enough time to flee before the drone caught him, locking around his head and forcing the spikes through his head like a kebab-
“HEY!” Martin appeared out of nowhere, hitting the drone with a baseball bat as hard as he could. The drone was thrown through a window, glass spraying once again.
“Martin!” Jon gasped, scrambling to his feet. “Where did you-?!”
“I sort of borrowed this from someone’s yard,” He gestured to the bat vaguely, looking breathless. “I-I’ll give it back after, I just needed something right now-”
“I’m sorry,” Jon blurted out, feeling awkward and rushed. “I...I should have told you everything, the moment I realized what I’d done.”
Martin’s face fell, and he looked away for a second. “You should have,” He said after a moment. “I know...I know why you made this world, but-”
“I can fix it.” Jon said immediately.
“Can you?” Martin asked, genuinely asking, but to Jon, it felt like further condemnation.
“Oh,” An amused voice said, and Jon whirled around to see Agatha hovering over the roof of his head. “This is awkward. Martin and I barely even know each other.”
Martin’s eyes widened, and his grip on the bat grew tight. “Sorry, is that...is that Agnes?”
“Agatha Harkness,” Jon growled. “A witch who’s been lying to us the entire time.”
Martin sighed, looking exasperated. “Yeah, well, what else is new?”
There was a whirring sound, and Jon saw the drone rising drunkenly from the rubble. “Martin-” He said, but Martin nodded.
“I’ll take care of...whatever that thing is. You deal with her.” Martin said, prepping himself to beat the drone once again.
“Are you sure?” Jon asked.
Martin smiled, though it was thin. “Hey, we trekked the apocalypse, right? A witch and a robot aren’t so bad.”
Jon laughed weakly. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Martin said, swinging the bat threateningly at the drone. “Go!”
Jon glanced back, seeing that Agatha had disappeared, but the storm was gathering over what he assumed was on or near the town square.
He cast one last look at Martin, and ran.
*** *** ***
“Jon!” Monica pounded on the window, trapped in the attic of Agnes’ house, and what she assumed was Tim’s bedroom. “Jon! Jon!” She pounded the window again, trying to get his attention as he ran after the witch.
That’s not Agnes.
How do I know that? Who is it then?
“Don’t waste your breath, babe,” Tim said, strumming a guitar idly from a beanbag chair. “No one can hear you from in here.”
Except that’s not Tim either. Who is it?
Monica glanced back, seeing the door cracked slightly. She made a break for it, only to feel herself thrown back by the same purple mist. “That’s, what, like the eighth time you’ve tried that?” Tim said lazily, his eyes flashing violet. “Give it a rest, toots, you’re gonna break your arm at this rate.”
Monica glared, staring at the mist surrounding Tim. She felt power rise in her, but a couple seconds later, it was gone.
Come on, Rambeau.
*** *** ***
“Sir!” Hayward heard a soldier behind him, and looked up, grinning when he saw a miserable looking Jimmy Woo escorted by two others.
“If it isn’t my favorite member of the Bureau.” Hayward chuckled. He glanced at the computer in front of him, smiling when he saw Project Polyphemus on the move again.
“You’ll never be able to cover this up.” Jimmy piped up.
“I won’t have to,” Hayward said, still watching the tracker on the drone move about. “Jon cancelled his show, so there’s nothing proving this fiasco even existed.”
“Oh, there’s security tape and recorded episodes of it’s existence, no doubt.” Jimmy argued.
“No one’s gonna care after I eliminate the problem.” Hayward said.
“By murdering Jon and putting countless civilians at risk?” Jimmy asked.
“Why-” Hayward snapped his gaze back to Jimmy. “What the hell is with you and those other two continuing to defend that freak?! He’s dangerous, an unknown variable, and sure as hell won’t give you the benefit of doubt that you’re giving him.”
“Hm,” Jimmy said. “My friends at Quantico will probably have a few things to say about how gun-ho you are about playing with lives. When they arrive inside the hour, anyway.”
Hayward blinked. “...you’re bluffing.”
Jimmy met his gaze evenly. “Am I?”
Hayward’s eyes flicked over Jimmy, and he scowled. “We’re done here.”
Apparently, ‘done here’ meant ‘toss him out back with handcuffs on’. Jimmy winced, roughly pushed behind hay bales as though he were an eyesore to be removed. For a second, he was worried that they were going to shoot him, but the soldier simply gave him venomous looks, and then left, locking a gate behind them.
Jimmy wriggled, fishing a safety pin out of his pocket. After a few minutes of wriggling and stabbing himself with it, the handcuffs fell off with a satisfying click. “And flourish.” He muttered, pleased with himself.
Hayward was exceedingly oblivious to his surroundings, making it too easy for Jimmy to swipe a phone off the table while the director had been talking. Jimmy looked around nervously, and when he was confident no one was watching, he opened the phone app and punched in a number.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end asked.
“Cliff,” Jimmy whispered. “It’s James Woo. Look, I’ve got a situation, and was sorta hoping you could be here within the hour?”
*** *** ***
The Westview main street was always quaint, and Jon still loved it, even now.
London was crowded, smelled like smog and desperation, and was loud and mean. Jon always thought that it wouldn’t be an avatar that finally got him, he would simply get mowed down by a car or mugged by the wrong person. The End might find that funny, as much as it was capable of finding things funny.
He had told Martin he knew how to fix it, and while it was mostly correct, the truth he was only starting to realize now was that he didn’t want to. He wanted the fantasy badly, and even now wondered if he was giving it up because it was the right thing to do, or because Martin just wanted him to.
Here, people smiled at him. They greeted him by name. He was well-known and well-liked as the slightly reclusive new face in town. The man at the deli knew his order, for God’s sake. He had neighbors, friends, a circle of people he liked being around. As pathetic as it was to admit, Jon couldn’t remember ever feeling this at peace, this happy, even before all the events of the Magnus Institute. He had always been an outsider, but here, he was welcomed. He was wanted.
And he really didn’t want to give that up.
As if to punish him for dreaming, he heard a small “ha!” behind him before he was thrown forward roughly once more by Agatha’s magic, feeling the same awful feeling of draining coming back to him. His hands cramped and his fingers hooked, and he gasped in pain once more when the shriveled blackness traveled farther, down his palms now.
“Oh, Jon…” Agatha cooed, on top of the public library now. “You’ve never been against a witch before. Where did you learn your cute little tricks?”
“They’re not tricks!” Jon snapped, climbing to his feet. He noticed the sweater he was wearing was torn, and felt a flash of guilt; it was Martin’s. “No one taught me this! It’s not magic! I’m not what you say I am!”
“Oh?” Agatha’s eyes flashed, and she muttered something, purple mist leaving her hands. Jon tensed, but it sailed right past him and into another woman walking down the street. Dottie, he recognized.
Dottie stiffened, and then blinked, looking confused. She locked eyes with him, and started towards him quickly, looking determined. “Jon?”
“Dottie?” Jon stepped back nervously. “I-”
“My name is Sarah.” She said, her voice already going tremulous. She stopped a few feet in front of Jon, seeming to notice his hesitance. “I-I have a daughter, she’s eight. Lily, you might have seen her, she was wearing a princess outfit during the Halloween special.”
Sarah’s hands were shaking as they went into her pockets, pulling out a thin wallet. Tears were forming in her eyes. “I-I don’t have her picture anymore, she’s gone, but I...I promise, she’s sweet and kind and she could be in another episode, maybe mow your lawn or something, if you like that storyline-”
“Sarah-” Jon said softly, but she was struggling to keep herself from sobbing.
“-if you just l-let her out of her room, please, so I can hold her a-and…” Her voice cracked painfully. “She’s so s-scared, Jon, I-I just want to hold her, please…”
Jon stepped back, glaring at Agatha. “W-what are you doing to her?! You’re making her say this.”
“She’s your meat puppet, I just cut her strings.” Agatha said, smiling when Jon flinched heavily at ‘meat puppet’. She flicked her fingers carelessly, and more mist zipped past Jon and around those gathered in the square. They all blinked and straightened, noticing Jon at once.
“Wait, wait.” Jon said, though it was too quiet for anyone to hear. They were approaching him, quickly and with the same determination as Sarah, and there were too many for him to keep his eyes all on at once so they didn’t hurt him.
“Jon,” Herb said, and Jon tried to back away from him. “I don’t recognize my face in the mirror, my voice when I speak! I used to try to resist you, but now I don’t remember why. Do you?”
“Wait, no, I didn’t want-” Jon tried, but nearly bumped into Beverly.
“My husband’s on a business trip,” She said tearfully. “Please tell him I love him. Tell him never to come home. Ever.”
“No no, I don’t want to-”
“I’m exhausted.”
“No, you’re fine.” Jon told the mailman, the infamous ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ mailman looking limp and hopeless. He spun around, trying to look at everyone and give no one an opportunity to attack. “Y-you’re all fine, you’re all going to be fine.”
“When you let us sleep,” Norm said in a blank voice. “You give us horrible nightmares. And you’re in them. Watching it.”
Jon felt panic begin to rise in him. “No, that’s impossible, that’s not true. I-I’ve kept you safe here. Y-you have no idea what’s out there, what’s here-”
“We do know!” Norm protested. “You showed us!”
“No no no,” Jon said desperately, his voice wobbling. “You’re all fine, you feel...you feel at peace.”
“We feel your pain.” Sarah said.
“No. No no no.” Jon said desperately, his legs shaking.
“Your guilt is poisoning us.” Mrs. Hart said.
“No, stop. Please.” Jon was begging now.
“Let us go!”
“I wanna get back home.”
“Please end it, just end it!”
“I never meant-” Someone grabbed Jon’s arm, and he rocketed backwards as though shocked. “DON’T TOUCH ME!”
The reaction was immediate. The gathering storm cloud flashed green, and Jon was pretty sure he saw the outline of a staring eye before the gathered crowd dropped back, shouting in panic. Jon Knew they were seeing flashes of the fear he had consumed, as if he were regurgitating a parasite that was latching on to them now.
“No no!” Jon gasped, knowing he was crying but not caring. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“If you won’t release us,” Mrs. Hart said, utterly hopeless. “Just let us die.”
A cold pit formed in Jon's stomach, and he shook his head. “No no no, no, I-I…”
They were never his neighbors and friends, after all. He had simply made them that way.
“I will let you go, I will, I will.” Jon said, feeling dizzy, but he couldn’t go on like this.
“What’s stopping you?” Agatha asked. “Use your power and do it now.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Good people don’t feed off of other’s pain.”
Jon took a shaky breath, and stared at the gathering storm clouds, seeing the dim outline of an Eye, waiting for his choice.
He took a deep breath, and let his iron grip on the Entities slowly unclenched.
*** *** ***
“Christ!” Martin gasped, beating back the drone once again with the bat. The bat was covered in dents by this point, and the drone was beginning to dodge him.
It also seemed to be getting sick of his games, as the next time Martin swung at it, it dodged him and knocked the bat from his hands. Unwisely, Martin grabbed it, and the drone made an odd whirring noise, trying to pull away.
“I’m…” Martin grunted, trying to yank it back. “Not going to let you get him!”
The drone whirred again, and Martin yelped when it abruptly changed directions, and he was suddenly and desperately trying to hold the drone back from latching onto his own face. Evidently, the drone agreed with not going after Jon-it would simply go after Martin.
Martin gasped as the drone pushed against him, getting closer and closer. “Wait-”
Something whacked the drone, and it fell to the side. Darcy stood over the drone, and discarded the baseball bat, pulling out what looked like a strange, box-like contraption. Before Martin could ask what it was for, she thrust it against the drone, and a loud flash and crackling erupted from the box.
“Y-you have a taser?!” Martin gasped, watching in shock as the drone sputtered and died.
“Sorry about that,” Darcy said, not answering the taser question. “They sent that thing after Jon to put his eyes out and stuff.”
“To...what?!” Martin blinked, feeling sick.
“By the way, how’d you get here before me?” Darcy shrugged, looking far too nonchalant. “TV show logic, I guess. Doesn’t matter.”
“How did they know to put Jon’s eyes out?” Martin asked, but before Darcy could answer, the ground began to rumble, and Martin saw the clouds over town square begin to swirl.
Darcy’s eyes widened. “That can’t be good.”
*** *** ***
“What is this stuff?” Monica asked, holding her arm, sore from her last escape attempt.
“It’s my man-cave,” Tim said, looking around at the gathered junk in the room. “A place to, you know, chillax when the missus is stirring up trouble. You a fan of Steven Seagul?”
“The missus…” Monica repeated, gears turning in her head. She spotted a bit of paper tuck away under a few Playboy magazines, and snatched it up. It was a bank statement, not for Timothy Stoker, and not for the woman using the name Agnes.
“This is your house, not Agnes’,” Monica said slowly. “You’re…” She squinted at the name on the statement. “Ralph Bohner?”
Tim’s-or rather, Ralph-eyes lit up like he had been waiting for her to say that. “Heh. You said boner.” He chuckled.
Monica had no such time for genital humor. “How is she controlling you?” She asked, slowly standing up.
Ralph noticed, grinning again. “What, you wanna tussle again?” He took a few practice swings, winking at her flirtatiously.
Monica ducked down and charged him, tackling him with ease and pining his arm behind his back so he couldn’t move without risking injury. Ralph yelped, but grinned, his face smushed into the carpet. “Me-ow, she’s feisty!”
Monica took a breath and closed her eyes, willing for her Sight to return. When she opened them, she saw the puka shell necklace that Ralph was wearing had a fine purple mist clinging to it. She ripped it off, and instantly Ralph’s expression went from annoying to terrified.
“Oh my God!” He yelped, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Please don’t kill me!”
“Nice to meet you Ralph.” Monica smiled.
Her smile, however, instantly disappeared when she noticed the sky shaking outside.
*** *** ***
Hayward’s head jerked up at the sound of an alarm, and a slow smile spread across his face when he saw the boundary coming apart. Annabelle hadn’t disappointed in her predictions, it seemed.
“This is it,” He called out to the other, watching his team rush around to prepare for entry. “We’re going in!”
*** *** ***
“Everyone, go!” Jon shouted, trying to shout the best he could over the roaring in his ears and the shaking earth. “Now!”
The mob didn’t need to be told twice, dispersing in a panic. He heard Agatha laughing, as though she found the fear hilarious. She probably did. “Now you’ll see!” She crowed.
Shut up, Jon wanted to say, but he was too busy fighting off the edging blackness of his vision.
Sudden agony wrenched in his chest, and Jon gasped in pain, falling to his knees. He felt the Entities fighting to get away from him, and immediately gathered them back, afraid of what would happen if he couldn’t control it. Almost instantly, the pain in his chest began to fade away, and he yanked the sweater down to see an angry red scar, swollen and throbbing, right where Martin had inserted the knife.
Jon’s blood went cold, and Agatha laughed again. “You tied yourself to this twisted world. Now one can’t exist without the other. Save Westview or save yourself. What a predicament.”
“S-stop, stop stop…” Jon choked, trying to catch his breath. The green boundary was knitting itself back together, albeit slowly, and Jon felt as though he hadn’t had a meal in quite some time; dizzy and weak.
“Jon!” Jon’s head snapped up to see Martin jumping out of an ice cream truck (whatever, they could discuss that later) and sprinting towards him. “Jon, what-”
“MARTIN LOOK OUT!” Jon threw himself in front of Martin when Agatha sent out her magic towards him, and instead of hitting Martin, it hit Jon directly in the back.
Jon screamed in pain, toppling forward as he felt the magic begin to drain him once more, taking a larger piece than ever before. Martin caught him before he hit the ground, shouting something at him with a terrified expression, but the roar in Jon’s ears made him impossible to hear.
Jon gasped when the magic finally let up, and managed to look back to see Agatha with a self-satisfied smile, watching green mist weave between her black-stained fingertips.
“Jon,” Martin gasped. “Your hands.”
Jon looked at his hands and groaned in pain. The decay had completely enveloped both hands, and he couldn’t do more than a twitch without a wave of burning agony racing through them, not unlike when Jude Perry had marked him.
“How sweet,” Agatha said, swooping down on the two like a bat. “But I think we’re running low on time. You’re somewhat a marked man by the military.”
Jon heard tires squealing, approaching closer. Agatha tsked. “Same story, different century. There’ll always be torches and pitchforks for people like us, Jon.”
“Guys!” Darcy, in the driver’s seat of the ice cream truck, yelled at them. “We got company!”
“Come on, we have to hide, now.” Martin helped Jon to his feet, but shouted when Agatha jerked her hand back, and Jon flew backwards like a puppet having his strings yanked. “JON!”
Jon disappeared in a puff of black smoke, along with Agatha. “JON!” Martin screamed, panicked.
“Martin, we have to hide!” Darcy grabbed his arm, dragging him away.
“JON!”
*** *** ***
Jon yelped when Agatha unceremoniously threw him to the ground on top of the movie theatre. “Come on, Jon,” Agatha rolled her eyes. “At least try to act like a challenge for me.”
“Stay back, or I’ll-” Jon forced himself to his feet, but Agatha hit him with magic again, throwing him against the billboard on top of the theatre. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him.
“Or what?” Agatha mocked. “You’ll whimper at me?”
She attacked again, almost playfully, like a cat batting around a mouse. “Come on! Where are these abilities? Come on, Puppeteer, make me dance!”
She was standing right over top of him now, looming like an omen of death. She reached down, planning to yank him up by the front of his sweater. Instead, Jon’s shriveled hand reached out and grabbed her wrist.
“Show me,” Jon said, his voice tight with pain but his eyes ringed with green. “Show me that night.”
Agatha’s eyes widened, and suddenly Jon was standing in a dark forest, his breath visible in the moonlight. Agatha was in the center of a tiny clearing, her hands bound behind her back, looking at Jon with a terrified expression. He felt a sick surge of satisfaction that quickly turned to disgust when he saw corpses surrounding him, shriveled just like his hands. He Knew exactly what had happened.
“You did this,” Jon asked softly. “And you still lecture me? Hypocrite.”
“No, wait-” Agatha said, and gasped when the corpses began to twitch. “No no, Jon! Jon, please, I beg of you!”
The corpses stumbled to their feet, and Agatha began to thrash. “Please, help! Someone help! Don't do this!”
Jon watched her with no pity, and Agatha screamed as the final corpse stood up. Jon waited for them to descend on her, but instead they stood still, as if waiting.
Agatha’s fear quickly faded, turning to amusement. “Oh, Jon, you bought that? Tell me you’re kidding. Please, tell me you saw through that.”
“What? You…” Jon trailed off. All the corpses were looking at him.
“This was probably one of the best days of my life,” Agatha said. “The day I finally broke free. If only you had done the same. Instead, you chose to cling to a scrap of humanity and make yourself vulnerable.”
“Puppeteer.” A corpse muttered, taking a shambling step towards Jon. He jerked away, but she was soon joined by the others, muttering darkly.
“Puppeteer, Puppeteer.” They chanted, and Jon looked around wildly, panicked. One grabbed his wrist, and Jon shouted, partially out of pain and partially out of fear, trying in vain to wrench himself away. It was no good, and soon the other witches had grabbed him, dragging him to the pole where Agatha had been bound. Agatha stepped out of their way, freed and laughing at his fear.
“You can’t win, Jon,” Agatha said. “Power isn’t your problem. Ironically, it’s knowledge. Your power is mixing with mine, with the world’s, and neither you nor your patrons know how to deal with it.”
Jon tried to thrash, his hands magically bound, and the witch corpses suddenly paused, backing away from him in awe. Jon saw something in his peripheral, and craned his neck up to see the green outline of an eye hovering above him, the iris covered in a criss-crossing web design. Other symbols appeared, surrounding it. A lightning bolt, a multicolored spiral, a flame, and others Jon couldn’t recognize on the spot, but could assume what they stood for.
Agatha’s mouth fell open, and she looked at the spider eye fondly. “Give me your power, and I will correct the flaws in your original spell. And you, Martin, and the people of Westview can all live in peace.”
She took another step forward. “And no one will ever have to feel this pain again. Not even you.”
Jon swallowed, shaking and on the verge of hyperventilating. “You’re insane.”
Agatha frowned, and the symbols began to glow. “Wrong answer.”
*** *** ***
“Darcy, let-” Martin wrenched his arm away from her. “-go of me, Jon’s in trouble-”
“And you won’t be able to help him if you’re full of bullet holes!” Darcy hissed, ducking down behind the ice cream truck. As much as Martin hated to admit it, she was probably right. He sat next to her, silent with his legs tucked against his chest, scanning the sky for any sign of Agatha and Jon.
He heard the military trucks screech to a stop, and a familiar voice shouting at soldiers to fan out. His blood went cold. It was the same man who had tried to shoot him. Darcy must have noticed his fear, because she leaned towards him, her voice in a whisper almost too quiet to hear. “Hayward. The new S.W.O.R.D director. Class-A dickwad.”
She grinned. “Hey, I can swear now!”
“What’s S.W.O.R.D?” Martin whispered back, but froze when he heard Hayward’s voice again.
“I know you’re here, Blackwood!” He shouted, and Martin winced. “It’s no use hiding from me. Sims is here, and I know you’re never far behind.”
How does he know Jon’s last name?
“Listen, if you come out, we can try and think of a solution,” Hayward said. “I panicked the other night, and I apologize. You’re not who we’re concerned about. There can still be a bloodless solution to this.”
Martin glanced up in the side mirror of the truck and saw that Hayward was alone, looking around with a stern expression. His arms were crossed, and he looked impatient. “This is the only time I’ll offer an olive branch.” He said.
Martin swallowed, staring at the mirror. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Martin,” Hayward said, looking directly at the mirror. “I just need to talk.”
“Martin-” Darcy said, but he shook his head.
“I have to try. Or else he’ll kill Jon.” Martin whispered.
“Martin-!”
He stood up.
*** *** ***
Monica was already breathless when she darted into the Westview town square. She froze when she saw Hayward, worried he would see her. But he seemed preoccupied.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Martin.” He said. “I just need to talk.”
Monica could See the lie, as if smoke was exiting his mouth. The lie was sour and sickly, and tinged with malice sharper than a knife. She didn’t know how she could See the lie like it was a physical aura, but it didn’t matter, because she saw Martin starting to emerge.
She was already running towards Hayward by then, watching it in slow motion as Hayward instantly reached for the gun hidden in a holster behind him, watching Martin’s eyes widen and his hands go up, as if peace were still an option.
“NO!” Monica shouted, and tackled Hayward.
The gun went off with a BANG, the bullet harmlessly hitting concrete. Hayward yelped when he hit the ground. Monica reached for the gun, but he kneed her roughly in the stomach. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her, and Hayward shoved her off, regaining his footing quickly.
“You chose the wrong side, Rambeau.” Hayward snarled, his perfectly gelled hair wild and haggard. There was a spider on his cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. “And now you’re gonna pay for it.”
Monica didn’t wince when he raised the gun, aiming for her forehead-
There was a sound like a harsh buzz, and Hayward stiffened, his eyes going wide. He dropped the gun, and Monica snatched it up immediately. Hayward choked out something incomprehensible and collapsed, twitching.
Darcy stood behind him, clutching her taser. “Have fun in prison.” She said, and stomped on the scuttling spider.
“Darcy!” Monica gasped. “You’re alright!”
“Sasha?” Martin asked. “Why...how did you get back in here?”
“It’s Monica, actually,” Monica smiled. “Monica Rambeau.”
There was a shout above them, and Monica jerked her head up to see two people flying up into the roiling sky, one with black robes and surrounded by swirling mist, and the other limp. “Is that…?”
“Oh, God,” Martin said, looking horrified. “She’s got him.”
*** *** ***
“Come on!” Agatha screeched. “I want it all!”
Agatha howled with laughter, and lightning flashed around them. The boundary was flashing as well, and Jon struggled to maintain his hold. Green eyes and creeping spiders were most prominent inside it, but screaming faces appeared as well, some Jon recognized, and some he didn’t.
Agatha’s magic surrounded him, racing through him like Jane Prentiss’ worms, draining him like he was a cracked shell. He screamed, feeling his skin shrivel and his body grow stiff, becoming the same corpse he had seen in Agatha’s memories. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to pass out. “You’re making-” He gasped. “A mistake.”
Agatha cackled. “Oh, no, Jon. I’m about to win.”
The magic suddenly shot back to Agatha, and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to scream anymore, watching the violet mist turned to bright green, taking anything else he could find. Agatha caught the magic, letting out a sigh of contentment, feeling his power course through her.
Jon hung limp, trying to remember how to breathe.
“Now…” Agatha drawled. “About our deal. Once cast, a spell can never be changed. This world you’ve made will always be broken.”
Her eyes sparkled with cruelty. “Just like you.”
She chuckled. “But you won’t have to worry about that for much longer.”
Her smile turned bloodthirsty, and she threw her hands down, intending to throw Jon to the ground where his body would shatter into a million pieces, and the world and all it’s power would be her’s.
Except Jon didn’t drop, still suspended and limp.
Agatha blinked.
She tried again, and again, still with no success. She stared at her stained hands, unbelieving, and thunder rumbled like a laugh.
Jon slowly lifted his head, his shriveled appearance fading away slowly, little more than an illusion. He waved his hand, almost lazily, and a rune appeared in the green boundary, replacing the eyes, spiders, and faces.
The same rune Agatha had used on him in her lair.
“In a given space,” Jon said, dully echoing Agatha. “Only the witch who casts the runes can use her magic.”
Jon took a breath, and lightning flashed again. “I’m no witch, but I’m a fast learner. Thanks for the lesson.”
Agatha gritted her teeth, and nodded stiffly. Jon’s eyes grew brighter, more emerald. “But I don’t need you to tell me who I am.”
Agatha’s eyes widened. “No. No no no. No, no!”
Jon reached out, and magic, both Agatha’s own and stolen, burst out of her like a bomb. She screamed, mostly out of fury, and the magic swirled around Jon, eager for a new host. “NO! NO! NO, NO!”
Jon took a breath, watching the magic slowly turn to a bright green, refusing to slow down. It was no longer a mist, and looked like it had the same texture as liquid mercury. But when he reached into it, it circled his hand almost playfully, like it was alive. And it was, in a way.
He took a breath, feeling stronger than he had in years. The roar in his ears built to a crescendo, and the magic exploded around him, free and joyous, every color imaginable. Terrifying, but oddly beautiful. Like a hurricane’s form from the sky, swirling and perfect.
And Jon was the eye of the hurricane.
“NO!” Agatha wailed. “Give it back, it’s mine!”
Jon didn’t bother answering her, slowly lowering himself and Agatha back to the ground, banishing the storm. The magic faded away, at least visibly.
Agatha collapsed as soon as Jon released her, and stared at him with hate so potent it nearly stung. “You…” She snarled. “You have no idea what you’ve done. You’ve signed your death certificate.”
Jon merely tilted his head, staring at her as though she was a curiosity.
“So what now?” Agatha snapped. “Are you just gonna lock me up somewhere? Kill me?”
She spat at Jon. “If you kill me, you’re no better than I am.”
“That is such bullshit,” Jon said, looking mildly amused. “But I’m not going to kill you. You’ll stay right here.”
Agatha blinked. “...here?”
Jon stepped forward, and Agatha leaned back. “I’ll give you the role you chose,” Jon said. “The nosy neighbor.”
Agatha paused, and then her eyes widened as she understood. “No. No no, please.”
“I’m sorry.” Jon said.
“No, you’re not,” Agatha spat out. “You’re cruel.”
Jon took another step forward, and Agatha tried to scramble back. “Y-you released those things! They’ve already got her-” She pointed wildly at Monica, who merely raised her eyebrows. “-and they’ll mix with the power that’s already in this world. You need me! You’re all gonna need me!”
“And if we do,” Jon said, reaching out for her. “We’ll know where to find you.”
“Wait-”
Jon touched Agatha’s head gently, and her appearance flickered. No longer clad in black robes, she smiled at Jon blankly, looking like a perfect PTA soccer mom. “Hiya, hon!” She said cheerfully. “Say, where’d you come from? There’s not a face in town I don’t know, and I’ve never seen you around here before!”
Jon smiled slightly. “You live here now,” He said. “No one will bother you.”
“Okee dokee, artichokee!” She said brightly, and chuckled.
“Goodbye, Agnes.” Jon said, leaving her to make her own way.
That broke the spell for Martin, and he sprinted forward. “Jon!” He cried, immediately enveloping Jon in a strong hug. Jon returned the embrace, and tried to keep himself from trembling. “Oh my God, are you alright?”
“I-I’m alright, Martin, honestly,” Jon said. “...thank you. You saved my life.”
Martin let out a shaky breath, and then paused, pulling away slightly. “What...what Agatha said. About the death certificate. Are you…”
The ground rumbled, and the boundary began to fall, slowly and carefully, like water boiling a frog. Jon swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Martin.”
Martin’s face turned white. “You bastard.”
“I know,” Jon said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Martin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if willing The End to leave them alone. Jon took his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Should we...go home?”
Martin sniffled. “...yeah. Let’s go.”
Jon caught Monica’s eye and paused. After a moment, he nodded to her. “Be careful.”
She nodded back. “I will. And...I’m sorry.”
Monica watched them leave, Seeing the magic and power slowly leak off of Jon to join the escaping Entities.
*** *** ***
It was dark when Martin and Jon finally arrived home, the streetlights casting them in a warm glow. They held each other’s hands tightly, refusing to let go in their final moments together.
They were silent, their mere presence more than enough to speak for itself.
“This doesn’t seem fair,” Martin said, the two of them standing alone in their living room. “To have to do goodbyes all over again.”
“It doesn’t,” Jon agreed softly, drawing close to Martin. “But it’s quieter this time, isn’t it? That has to count for something.”
“Right,” Martin scoffed tearfully. “If you ignored the green beacon of doom outside it almost feels like any other evening.”
Jon pressed another kiss against Martin’s knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for this time?” Martin asked, only slightly bitter.
“Everything,” Jon said. “But mostly...mostly that I couldn’t give you this.” He gestured around their home, the perfect picture of domesticity.
“You deserved this.” Jon said.
Martin squeezed his hands, anger replaced with harsh, heavy grief. “We deserved it.”
“I don’t…” Jon swallowed hard. “I don’t regret our time together. Even the short bit we had. I’m a better man for having met you, Martin. I can’t…” He smiled, watery. “I can’t thank you enough for loving me.”
“Oh, Jon.” Martin said softly. He gently cupped Jon’s face, leaning his forehead against his. “I love you so much.”
He saw the shining green in his peripheral vision, and felt his heartbeat pick up. He held Jon closer.
“Are…” Martin felt tears streaming down his face. “Are you scared?”
“No,” Jon said, ignoring the boundary right outside the window. “I have you here with me.”
Jon’s boundary swept over them, and Martin felt a slight tingle. The house around them began to fade into static, going through the decades, and Jon’s body began to fade slowly, almost like he was a mirage. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, and for that Martin was at least glad.
“Do you…” Martin choked, struggling to stay strong for just a few more moments. “I know you said you couldn’t see it, but...do you think there’s something? After this?”
Jon was quiet for a moment, thinking. “If we can believe in fear gods and multiverses,” He said softly. “I don’t think it’s so crazy to believe in something after this.”
“You think so?” Martin asked.
“Maybe,” Jon said softly, stroking Martin’s cheek gently. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? A mystery.”
“You said you didn’t want to be a mystery,” Martin couldn’t hold back a sob. “You hate mysteries.”
Jon smiled slightly. “I’ll make an exception for this one. I’ll say hello, watch over you, all that bullshit.”
“You’ve done enough watching, Jonathan Sims.” Martin said, laughing weakly.
“Blackwood.” Jon said, his grip growing weak.
Martin blinked, tears clearing long enough to see Jon’s face clearly. He had never seen anyone more beautiful. “I love you, Jonathan Blackwood.”
“I love you too, Martin Blackwood.”
Martin leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him. Jon returned it, leaning close to Martin as he faded quietly, oddly at peace, nothing more than a man in love. No Archivist, no Puppeteer.
Just the two of them together, one last time.
When the Cornea faded, Martin stood alone in a vacant lot, birds chirping around him, embracing the air.
*** *** ***
Hayward’s head faced down, refusing to look at the FBI agents tasked with watching over him. They had set up tents to work through the evidence and make medical centers, and now a tent served as Hayward’s temporary prison before he was shipped off to God knows where.
“Hey, Director,” An agent said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“Tell them to go to hell.” Hayward snarled.
“And I came all this way.” A familiar voice said, and Hayward jerked his head up to see Annabelle Cane, smiling slightly. She was clad in an FBI jacket, with a badge hanging around her neck. She nodded at him, looking far too happy for someone who had lost.
“I’ll take it from here.” She nodded at the other agent, and Hayward was alone with her.
“Where did you get the jacket and badge?” He asked.
“Does it matter?” Annabelle asked, taking a seat.
“What are you doing back here?” Hayward leaned away from her.
“To tell you I forgive you for failing,” Annabelle said. “You should count yourself lucky. In the old world, I would have filled you up with spiders for punishment. I’m still considering it.”
Hayward leaned forward. She was tall, sure, but he dwarfed her in musculature, and frankly, he was sick of her casual power, so sure and confident in herself. “Is that a threat, Annabelle?”
Annabelle’s easy smile fell, but she didn’t look afraid. She looked irritated. “Yes, it is, Tyler.”
A spider with shining eyes scuttled out of her mouth, and back into her ear. Hayward made a small noise in the back of his throat and jerked back, horrified. “Let me make something very clear before we continue this conversation.” Annabelle said, leaning forward. It might have been Hayward’s imagination, but for a moment, her shadow upon the wall looked as though it had eight limbs. “You are in no position to have the attitude you do. You have no power anymore. So I suggest you shut up and try to be civil. Are we clear?”
Hayward didn’t answer, staring at her shadow, and Annabelle’s easy smile returned. “Good. Glad to hear it. I’m also going to leave you alive because you still helped achieve half the objective. Jonathan Sims is dead, and I was more concerned about him.”
“Why did you want them dead?” Hayward asked.
“It wasn’t anything personal, honestly,” Annabelle shrugged. “Really, they did me a great favor not long ago. Didn’t expect them to survive the trip here. But they did.”
She drummed her fingers on the table. “I have plans for this world. It’s a fascinating place, and I’m excited to learn and discover the people here. But Jonathan and Martin knew a bit too much about the old world for me to feel comfortable with their survival. Thus, I recruited you to dispose of them to keep them from messing up any future plans.”
“What-” Hayward shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?!”
“It doesn’t matter if you understand or not,” Annabelle shrugged. “All you needed to know was that they couldn’t leave this town alive.”
“But you failed.” Hayward said.
“You failed, and only part-way. Though Jon’s death can hardly be credited to you. Shame about Agatha, really. I would have liked to get to know her. But in any case, that was only Plan A. And you should never expect Plan A to work.” Annabelle chuckled, looking pleased with herself.
“So what’s Plan B?” Hayward asked.
“Nothing that you need to concern yourself with,” Annabelle stood up, straightening out her jacket. “You know, I’m actually rather pleased with this the more I think about it. It’s more interesting. The end of this story, but the beginning of something incomprehensible.”
“S-so you’re just gonna leave me here?! After I helped you?!” Hayward asked incredulously.
“If I need you,” Annabelle winked. “I’ll be able to find you.”
Hayward sputtered, but Annabelle ignored him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” She said. “I have an interview with a little company called Stark Industries that I’d rather not be late for.”
And she left, leaving a fat spider creeping slowly across the table.
Hayward was too afraid to squish it.
*** *** ***
“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Hey, Carol.” Monica said quietly into her phone, standing outside a three-star hotel at about two in the morning.
S.W.O.R.D had gotten them rooms at the nearest place they could find, as if they were offering a shitty apology for everything that had happened. Darcy, Jimmy, and Martin had turned in almost immediately as far as Monica knew, and she had been able to hear Darcy snoring like a lawnmower through the thin walls. She wasn’t sure why she had ventured outside to make her call. It felt more private as opposed to her room.
“So…” She paused, unsure what to say. “You said to call this number if I needed anything, or needed you. After the funeral, I mean. You probably remember that. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. It’s been...it’s been a rough few months. There’s a lot to catch you up on, actually.”
“If you call Fury, I can set up a meeting to fill him in. He should probably know what’s going on too, ‘cause his job is about to get a lot harder.” Monica chuckled slightly, imagining his exhausted sigh when she explained everything. The chuckle turned into a slight choke when she realized how much she missed Fury. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t realized how lonely she was until recently.
She shivered in the freezing night, feeling tears spring to her eyes. “And...and I miss you. I miss my mom. I thought...I thought if I threw myself back into what I knew, the pain would go away. But I...I sort of got a rough lesson in what happens if you try to ignore that sort of thing.”
“I’m okay,” She said quickly. “I’m different, but...okay. I…I miss you, Aunt Carol. I know you’re off doing heroic things, but Goose misses you, and you know how he gets. Just...call me back when you get the chance? We...we can get coffee or something.”
She let out a shaky breath, feeling as though a massive weight had been taken off her shoulders. “This is Monica, by the way. Monica Rambeau.”
She tapped the red button to end her message, and took a deep breath, her heart throbbing with grief. But she found that she no longer felt horribly nauseous.
Monica paused when she heard muffled sobs, and peeked around the corner of the hotel to see Martin, curled up on a bench, sobbing into his coat.
“Martin?” She asked softly, and he jerked up, startled.
“Monica!” He coughed, scrubbing his eyes. “S-sorry, I just...I just needed a breath of fresh air.”
“At two in the morning?” Monica asked.
Martin huffed. “You’re up too.”
“I had to make a call,” Monica said. “But I guess you’re right.”
Martin turned away from her, and Monica opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, but stopped. She hated it when people asked if she was okay. Obviously she wasn’t. Her mom was dead.
And obviously Martin wasn’t. His husband was dead.
She tried to think of what she had wanted when she was sobbing over who she had lost. When someone discovered her at her lowest.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?”
Martin looked up, surprised. For a moment, he was still, and then nodded, moving over on the bench to make room for her. She sat down beside him, cross-legged. “I know…” She took a breath. “I know how little these apologies mean, but I’m sorry. For everything that happened.”
Martin sniffed, and wiped his nose. “You lost someone?”
“My mom, a few months ago,” Monica said. “Cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” Martin said, and then made a face. “Damn, now I said it.”
Monica chuckled. “It’s pretty instinctual.”
Martin smiled, but it was quite clearly forced. He dropped the facade after a moment, and sighed. “Does it...does it ever go away? The grief?”
Monica was quiet for a moment. “...I don’t know,” She admitted. “It still hurts. It still hurts a lot. There was a while at the beginning where I didn’t think I was gonna make it. I thought I was gonna drown. And I know there wasn’t anything I could have done, but nothing prepared me for the guilt. I was asleep when she died, and I thought...I don’t know, if I had been awake, I could have stopped it?”
She rubbed her eyes, feeling ancient. “It doesn’t...it doesn’t leave in a way you notice. It’ll twist you up, it’ll rip you apart, it’ll make you feel like your body is made of rocks. And then one day…” Monica leaned against the back of the bench. “...one day you’ll laugh at a shitty joke your coworker made, or you’ll taste some really good takeout, or you’ll just be content to be around people you know care about you, and you’ll realize...you’ll realize you survived.”
She laughed bitterly. “And then there’s the crushing guilt in being okay, and honestly, I’m still working through that part, but I...I know my mom wants me to survive. She believed I could survive. And I know that Jon believed that you can survive.”
“The pain never really goes away, not really,” Monica admitted. “But...eventually, the love outweighs the pain.”
Martin made a small, broken noise in the back of his throat. “I...I just miss him so much.” He said, his voice thick.
“I know.” Monica said, and offered her hand.
After a moment, Martin took it, and broke down into harsh, hacking sobs.
They sat there for several minutes, Monica simply holding Martin’s hand as he cried, occasionally squeezing it to remind him that she was there, and didn’t plan to leave. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Martin took a shaky breath, coughed, and sniffed. “S-sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Monica said.
“R-right,” Martin swallowed. “S-” He stopped.
Monica smiled slightly, and then frowned when her phone buzzed. She frowned further when she saw the number, though it was unmarked. “Oh for God’s sake...damn vultures.”
“What was that?” Martin asked.
Monica shook her head. “It’s not important. Don’t worry about it.”
“What? No, now I’m curious.” Martin turned to her.
Monica shuffled. “Some of...some of the S.W.O.R.D higher-ups were pushing me to talk to you about recruitment.”
“Like...a job offer?” Martin asked.
Monica nodded, looking guilty.
Martin blinked. “...why?”
“Frankly, we have no idea what we’re dealing with,” Monica said. “These...things that are just out there now are bad enough, but we already had a ton of shit going on-”
“Darcy told me about that.” Martin interrupted.
“She doesn’t know half of it. People like me keep it that way, keep people safe from it. There’s a lot of forces out there already, good and evil, and evil just got a big upgrade. And you’ve clearly got some kind of handle on what we’re dealing with. So they wanted me to creep up on you.” She sounded bitter.
“...what do you think?” Martin asked.
“I think it’s disgusting that they would send me to use your grief against you, and I’m going to find whoever’s in charge and Darcy and I are going to yell at them until their ears bleed-” Monica started, but trailed off when Martin shook his head.
“T-that’s very kind, but I meant...what do you personally think of hiring me? From an objective standpoint.” He said.
Monica paused, thinking. “...I think you’d be a big help.”
“Oh.” Martin said, chewing on his lower lip.
“Look,” Monica said. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I’ve seen...bits and pieces of it, and it’s...it’s rough, to say the least. If you want out, I don’t blame you one bit. I can set you up for life anywhere in the world you want, and none of us will ever bother you again.”
Martin was quiet, thinking. Somewhere, deep inside him, he knew that if he took Monica’s offer, it would only be a matter of time before the Lonely took him. And honestly, it was sounding pretty sweet at this point. The numbness of the Forsaken against the pain that felt like steel in his heart was a no brainer.
Monica squeezed his hand gently again, and he blinked, not realizing he had been zoning out. He thought of Darcy, eager and excited to meet him, who risked her life to save him from an eye-gouging drone after knowing him for a grand total of an hour. He thought of Jimmy Woo, who didn’t know him at all, but offered him kind words, and made him tea, remembering he liked it from the show. It was awful tea, but Martin knew he had tried his damndest, and it wasn’t oolong.
And Monica, holding his hand on a freezing cold night.
And I know that Jon believed you could survive.
“This…” Martin swallowed. “This job. Can I quit whenever I want?”
Monica did a double take. “Um...yeah? Why is...why is that a concern?”
“It’s a long story,” Martin forced himself to sit up straight. “I accept.”
“Woah,” Monica looked surprised. “Wasn’t really expecting that. Are you sure?”
Martin nodded. “I’m positive. I want to help people. That’s what we’ll be doing, right? Helping people.”
“Saving the world,” Monica smiled, and held out her hand. “Welcome to S.W.O.R.D, Martin Blackwood.”
He shook her hand, feeling oddly better. He had a plan. That counted for something.
Monica shivered. “Should we go inside?”
“Yeah,” Martin nodded, standing up. “I’m exhausted.”
“We’ve had quite a day,” Monica said, and then focused on something behind Martin. “Aw, look!”
Martin glanced behind him, surprised to see a gray tabby Maine Coon cat sitting under a streetlight, looking at them with interest. Maine Coons happened to be Jon’s favorite kind of cat. They had discussed it at great length.
It was probably a coincidence that the cat was there. It was probably a coincidence that it was the kind of cat Jon always wanted. It was probably a coincidence that it was sitting there as though waiting for a signal to leave. It was silly to believe that Jon had sent a cat after him to let him know he loved him.
But it was several coincidences in a row, and if Martin wanted to believe that it wasn’t an accident, who was going to stop him?
Martin smiled at the cat, a real smile, and the cat meowed. It stood up, stretched, and then trotted off into the night. Despite feeling like he was drowning, he took a long, deep breath of the cold, January air.
And Martin Blackwood survived.