Work Text:
Jonathan Sims hated Jurgen Leignter. He hated his self-important library and its fucked-up books. He had hated them since he watched his bully swallowed by a spider that wasn’t truly there. Since it sung to him, a song with words he couldn’t understand, a longing to consume him too.
He hated that it stuck open his eyes, that it left him with a cooing knowledge in his brain. So eight-year old Jonathan did the only thing that made reasonable sense; he picked up the book listening to what was watching in his brain instead of the spider that waited. He took it into the dusky place next to the riverbank and used the lighter he stole from his grandmother’s bedside table. It went alight.
Both parts of him screamed out for him to smother the flame, that he was losing something that could mean something, he ignored it. The stark illustrations became ash as flame licked the stupid nameplate. Once it was thoroughly nothing, he stamped out the remaining sparks and dumped the ash into the river. It was gone, now it couldn’t eat anybody else. A library meant there was more, wasn’t there?
“Yes.” the thing in his brain whispered.
“Oh.” he curled his fingers in his pockets, “That’s not good.”
“It is not bad either.”
“Isn’t it?” he snapped, “It means more people could get hurt or whatever’s happening to me.”
“This bothers you.” It noted.
“Of course it does, I don’t want anyone else to die.” he scrunched up his nose, “That would be wrong.”
“I wish you no harm.”
“Yeah, well. What are you anyway?” he had always been too curious.
“I am the feeling of not being alone when your room is empty. I am the ever present. I am the curl in your gut to consume and know, and desire. I simply see, and note. I am knowledge itself. Some call me the watcher, beholding, or the eye.”
“Cool.” he said because there was nothing else to say, “Do you know everything?”
“I know most.”
“Can you help me find more books or other things like you?” It was a longshot.
“I could but-”
“If you did, what would I have to do?” Jon knew all about deals, if you do something for them, people will do something for you.
“You keep track and you learn. Take notes and statements. Do not destroy without purpose.”
“So I’m like an archivist?”
“One day.” the eye almost sounded amused. “Do we have a deal Jonathan?”
Jon paused, this was probably stupid. His grandmother always said he rushed into things. “Yes. But it's Jon. Jonathan makes me sound old.”
“Very well, Jon. I look forward to our partnership.”
Time went on like it does and Jon grew used to the Watcher in his brain. It was wrong in some fundamental way but sometimes the Eye even felt like his friend. It poured ideas and hissed gossip at him. It was almost comforting to know he was never truly alone.
He graduated three years early and jumped directly into Oxford, majoring in English, Paranormal Studies, and Physcology.
“Why are you bothering with this human drivel? You know I can give you what you need.” the Eye complained.
“Cause I’m human-” he pointed out, twisting the eye pendent around his neck. “And anyway I like learning, it doesn’t suck here as it is.”
As it turned out Oxford had many fear related situations he could investigate and log in his increasingly growing collection of notebooks.
“Maybe not. Still you could be doing something else.”
Jon rolled his eyes, “Right. You have something for me then?”
“Of course. A Lightner at some bookshop and an evil vase.”
“A vase?” he huffed out a laugh as the eye split addresses and names into his head. “Ok, ok. Let's go then.”
When Jon finished school, nineteen years old he moved to Londen and continued his rapid purge of objects related to the fourteen. A tape recorder was added to his notebooks and investigations, it had the perk of flicking on whenever it thought something interesting could happen, it was a good warning. Less than a year later he was informed by someone he would tentatively call a friend that The Magnus Institute had full shelves of Leitners. So Jonathan Sims, in all his rationality, got a job as a researcher using his stupid amount of schooling and blatant connection to the eye, it turned out to be a wonderful idea. Where is better to learn than a place that studied things like him. He waited until the weekly meetings to waltz into artefact storage and pack up all the Leitners in a plastic bag and simply walked out. He had never been so grateful for bad security in his life.
Gerry Keay hated Jurgen Leitner. He hated his books that leached off people without any understanding of what they were getting into. He hated the way his mother held him up with reverence, a new god. So the moment he realised he could he began trying to help, burning and destroying, warning and advising. This went on until his mother tried her final revenge.
Sitting behind a thick plain of glass, he met the woman calling herself the archivist. A woman with eyes more brown then green and a look that pinned in place.
“Gerard. It’s nice to meet you.” he tone was ice. In time he understood that she said everything severely.
“Sure it is. What do you want?”
“You didn’t kill your mother.”
“Of course I did.”
“You did not. It was not a question.”
“Fine, if I’d done it at least I could get the satisfaction.”
“You know I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” Gertrude continued idly.
He shifted, “Been talking to mommy dearest have you?”
Gertrude hummed, “I did. Once or twice. But most of it was from reading statements. You show up in them from time to time.”
“I do?” he couldn’t help the way he leaned forward a little, some quiet joy blooming in his brain. “Were they able to get out of dying then?”
“Some of them. Onto matters of business, I have an offer for you.” she paused just levelling him with her hard eyes. “I can get you off your charges.”
“If I do what?” Gerry had spent enough time with entity people and his mother to know that people don’t do things for free.
Gertrude smile, it wasn’t a kind smile. “You work with me. I think our goals align and I don’t trust my assistance with my work.”
“I won’t work for the institute.” he stated.
“Good, I don’t want you too. Having someone on the outside will do some good.”
He nodded and ignored the way his stomach twisted.
“Do we have a deal Gerard?”
Gerry blinked to himself and silenced the shrill voice of his mother clawing at his ears. “Yes. Yes I think we do.”
Gertude’s smile was sharper, “Excellent. I will be in touch.”
It was half a week later that he was released. His first movement was to take a taxi to a convenience store and then to the institute. He strode in easily and ignored the way Brouchard’s eyes burned acid into his back. Most of Gerturde’s assistants were pleasant, if clueless. Really anybody in this business should know about the fear’s in his opinion. Gertrude forbade him from telling them.
“I will tell them when it comes up.” She cut him off.
“You’re going to get them killed, they deserve to know.” He argued.
“I don’t recall hiring you to give me advice.”
“I don’t want anyone else dead.”
“Gerard, sometimes the few must die for the many.” she told him like he was a petulant child.
“Not without understanding they shouldn’t.”
Gertrude sighed and pushed up her glasses. He sank into a chair and threw his feet on top of her neatly organised desk. Dirt stained the pages of the statements, neither of them moved or said anything. The fuse in both of them almost out. They sat like that until Fiona rushed in and dropped a stack of paperwork on her desk. Gertrude sighed again, like her disappointment was going to change his mind. She flipped over the forms.
“Did your follow up about that house lead to anything?”
“Statement giver dead, house demolished.”
Gerturde hummed and handed over a file. “Look into that next would you?”
He flipped through the statement blankly and nodded, “You got a smoke?”
She handed him a cigarette and lit it. “These things will kill you, you know.”
“In our line of work, that’s a favour.” she chuckled.
“Well make sure you call once you get the information.”
He gave her a wave half out the door, cigarette hanging from his lips, “Sure thing Gruty. Don’t die when I’m gone.”
A few years passed in a blur of near death experiences and dead assistance. Once a year they would argue about it and nothing would change. Some days Gerry wanted Gertrude dead, some days he was glad to have a friend, even if it was an old woman with a gun and a tentative connection to the Eye. He was almost Eye himself, he was careful to avoid becoming any further. Gertrude was put out to say the least, when new avatars showed up. In recent years they had a new vast and a few things they couldn't exactly place. It was just business and life for people like them. At this point it was too late to step out of it. Either way he wasn’t exactly sure he knew how to be normal anyway.
One day after a close call with a hunt dog in an abandoned house he was dragging himself back to the archives to inform Gertrude when he felt a shot of adrenaline through his spine. He spun around fast, trying to catch whatever he felt, finally his eyes caught on the alley next to the Institute. Standing with his back to Gerry was a young man, he barely looked adult, dark hair piled up into a rapidly falling apart bun and a yellow cardigan hanging off bony shoulders. That's not what caught his eyes though it was what he was holding, in gloved hands he began tipping a grocery bag over. Out from it fell piles and piles of Leigtners. Gerry froze, what it hell would a teenager be doing with so many, he was going to get himself killed. The boy didn’t look up as he rushed towards them, he just bent down and began arranging the books along with what looked to be large wads of newspaper.
“Hey! Hey, kid!” The boy glanced back, “You shouldn’t have those. They are dangerous.”
“Yes. The boy agreed, he hadn’t moved from his task, “That would be why I’m wearing gloves.”
“They can still cause harm if you aren't touching them.”
“True that would be why I’m trying to get this over with. I would be done if you hadn’t interrupted me. I appreciate the concern, but it is misplaced.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“Destroy them, wretched things. At least the other fear must work to scare something.”
Gerry pointedly ignored the last statement, instead he leaned against the wall as the boy stepped back to admire his work.
“Where did you even get so many of them?” Unfortunately he thought he knew the answer.
“The Institute. You know that.” The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out an old beat up lighter.
“Right. So I’m going to regret implementing myself in this but how did you get them, you know without being caught.”
The boy grinned, it was too wide, too sharp, and too cold. He held up the alien themed lanyard, which showed an ID. Gerry paused, a gold chain slipped out from under his shirt, on it was a small eye, for a moment he thought it winked at him.
“I work there and they have meetings every Monday.”
Gerry was suddenly very alert, shoulders tense and eyes wide. Why was a child working at an evil research institute?
“You're only a few years older than me, you know.” he muttered and flicked on the lighter a few times.
“Ok, sure. So let me get this straight. You desided to get a job, found out they have fucked up books and stole them to commit corporate arson.”
“It was the other way around.” he corrected, bending over to light the newspaper on fire. “And anyway it's not like you haven’t burned one of these things before.”
“How did you-”
“I was chatting with someone who specifically said some “goth with shitty hair got rid of the book for me but then I lost my bin”, there's only so many people fitting that description.”
Gerry almost laughed and then he comprehended what the boy said, “Sorry what do you mean other way around?”
The boy flicked his hand. “I was tracking down something, talking with an acquaintance, and found out this place though it was a good idea to keep Leitners. Got a job so I had access.”
There were so many problems with that statement, he began to get a headache. “You do realise that this place is also sort of-”
The boy set another ball on fire, “A stronghold of the Eye? Yeah. That won’t be a problem.”
“Don’t say shit like that. You’ll get the entity's attention.”
The boy laughed, like he was sharing a private joke, he cut himself up looking up towards Gerry and frowning. “Would you like to finish the job?”
“Sorry?” He could feel the lighter in his jeans pocket.
“You know what I said. Would you? I wouldn’t blame you. I would too if I was you.”
Gerry took his lighter to the remaining books and watched with a curling satisfaction as the fire roared upward and consumed the last of the paper. He stepped back next to the boy. They watched their work as the books seemed to scream and the fire danced with too much precision, twisting in a spiralling dance.
“It’s almost beautiful when the entities leave the books.” the boy glanced at him.
“I guess, in a way it is.” he longed for a cigarette or a drink or Advil.
“Thank you for not stopping me.” He sounded sincere, voice quiet.
“I wouldn’t have stopped you, those things need to be purged.”
“ Why didn’t you do it yourself ?” the words distorted and boomed in his ears.
“I didn’t want Mr. Bitch-ard to catch me because then I could go back to jail even though my mother framed me for her death.” he froze as the static fell from his tongue.
The boy looked at him, his eyes were wide and green. So green, they seemed almost the colour of acid. He looked scared and mortifided, eyebrows pinched. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to. I try to keep control of it but it happens sometimes.” His hands were shaking.
“Hey it’s okay.” Gerry comforted, and he found he meant it. The kid was wrong in so many ways but he wasn’t Brouchard or Gurtrude. He was just a kid, all angles and bone wearing too big clothes and stuck in something too dangerous for anyone. He had been there himself “What’s your name?”
The boy blinked, once he did it Gerry was fairly certain he hadn't before.
Then he stuck out his hand, the palm was warped with burn scars. He was going to half to worry about it later.
“I’m Jon Sims. You are?”
Gerry shook his hand, “Wouldn’t you already know?”
Jon shrugged, “Maybe, but it’s polite to ask.”
“Well that’s very nice of you Jon Sims. Gerard Keay at your service.” he gave a half bow. Jon smiled it wasn’t anything like the other one, this was small and lopsided, it fit him much better.
“So you think the books are dead yet?”
Jon looked back to the still burning fire and muttered something to himself. He strode to the wall next to the institute, a satchel leaned against it, he pulled out a bottle of water and dumped it over the remaining fire. He nudged the drowned ashes with the tip of his green sneakers.
“Seems dead.”
“Great. That's very good.” he clapped, “So out of curiosity will Mr. Bitch-ard storm down to yell at us about respecting company property?”
Jon cocked his head like an intrigued owl, “Do you mean Elias? If so, no, he’s dealing with Dave from accounting. He wants better dental benefits.” Jon’s eyes glowed neon green as he watched the scene in the boardroom. Suddenly he snickered, “Oh, he’s punched him. Look at that. Elias is bleeding.”
Gerry cackled startling Jon back to the alley. “That is brilliant! Prick deserves it.”
Jon nodded and began gathering his things. Dusting ash off his slacks and crewing his lip. Gerry felt a pang of sadness, this had been a refreshing interaction, one without any strings attached.
Just two young adults bonding over shared hatred of a crusty old man.
“Hey Jon.” Jon looked up, eyes wide. “Would you like to get coffee and chat?”
Jon blinked again, “Would I…I’m sorry Gerard but I do actually have to do work.”
He nodded and shoved his hands in his coat pockets, “That's fine I should probably report to Gurtrude anyway.”
Jon stood halfway through the door, “I’d like to. Some other time if the offer stands.”
He smiled, “It does stand.”
Jon turned red around his ears and gave him another lopsided smile, “Thank you Gerard.”
“You know I’ve always wanted my friends to call me Gerry.”
“Gerry then.” Jon stated firmly, then he waved and turned into the building.
He swore he heard Jon mutter, “See I told you I’m making friends.”