Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When Micheal got nervous, he liked to focus on things with his hands. He focused on how the railing of the boat was cold. He focused on how his scarf was scratchy. He focused on how he managed to forget gloves and now his hands were stiff and pale. It always seemed to help him. Something to ground himself with, remind him that he was real, and he really was on a boat for a business trip with Gertrude Robinson. 

She was an odd little woman, he would admit. With the way her stare was always a tad too distant. Her stature a tad too rigid. Odd, was the only word Micheal could really think of. Not that he would ever question her. Miss Robinson knew what she was doing far better than Micheal ever would. So when she asked him to accompany her on this trip, he sprang to the occasion. It was rare for her to take him anywhere really. Which meant he wanted to be on his best behavior. 

The details on where they were headed were iffy at best. Somewhere in northern Russia, or was it further east? He was a bit more disoriented than usual. Normally, a lack of proper details was call for hesitation. You never went in without a plan. But Miss Robinson had a plan, and that could be enough for Micheal. 

Each breath felt like swallowing ice water, crowding out the lungs in a way that every exhale was in slow motion. It was getting harder to see. A thick white fog settled over the boat as they got closer to shore. A tremor set in his hands and he shoved them into his pockets to stifle it, the cold was only making it worse. 

They set foot on the island and Micheal felt like a live wire. Like two splitting ends trying desperately to be one. Like a mountain being constantly eroded away by the shore. Like a carefully placed stack of books on the verge of falling over. Everything felt so nauseatingly familiar. He felt like a kid again, exploring with his friend until everything changed. His stomach dropped into his lower intestines and he swallowed just to get the rot out of his mouth. This wasn’t the time for him to fall apart, Miss Robinson needed him aware and not having one of his ‘fits’. 

He tried to distract himself by adjusting his scarf but that only made him aware of how much his hands were shaking, the tremors intensifying the more he stared. 

“Let's go, Micheal.”   

“Of course.” He mumbled, barely heard over the sound of the wind as he followed her towards whatever she was trying to get to. 

The rising panic in his mind was getting harder to deny. The way his body shook with a familiar fear that he thought he’d never feel again. The panic of being forgotten, of no one believing him, of being just another loon in the insane asylum. His hair clumped up and froze to his face and still beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and over his back. He tried to shake off the discomfort. Tried to ignore the way shapes moved in the corners of his vision. How his eyes burned from the intensity of the blizzard. Gertrude walked on in front of him, holding something wrapped up with red ribbon in her usual cardigan like it wasn’t below zero. Maybe it wasn’t, surely that couldn’t also be only in his mind. 

It was when they had stopped in front of the yellow door that MIcheal was ready to break down. Ready to give into the fear that was clawing at his throat to scream and his limbs to run. To cry and cry over the grief of a friend that everyone claimed never existed. To lose himself to the insanity of feeling like everything you see is a lie. Right now it truly felt like a lie.  His head was spinning, a dizzy spell that left him swaying as he started to laugh hysterically. Maybe he was insane. Seeing a childhood hallucination of a door that was never there, that never would be there, despite how much he wished for even a shred of proof that he was right. That he wasn’t crazy. But now with it in front of him, Micheal Shelly couldn’t deny the terror that settled into his bones. Like a seed planted when he was a child that was now fully grown, red roses and bloodied thorns tainted with his sorrows, with his regrets, with his ache to be recognized now faded into a wish to be ignored. 

But he had a duty now. A purpose. Miss Robinson needed him here with her and sane enough to do whatever she asked of him, even as he trembled in his soaked through boots, sweat pooling uncomfortably even in the cold, he was needed. So he stood as straight as he could and looked over at her. Micheal wondered if she could even see it. If it was as visible to her as it was to him. It wouldn’t surprise him if she couldn’t see it. Adding insult to injury or maybe it was some sick form of mockery. He thought he was better too. Thought the endless medications had worked. Thought the years of therapy had made a dent in his episodes. Maybe he was cursed to repeat this cycle of dread. Of never being able to forget what people claimed he never remembered. 

“Here” She was beside him now, holding some sort of paper with scribbles on it out to him like he was supposed to know what it meant. And awfully enough he was pretty sure he did. To understand something that was by definition, not understandable. That had to be the definition of insanity. 

However he took it. He took it and held it between numb fingers that were starting to turn blue against the ice cold. He took and looked between Gertrude and the door and the map and for a moment he hesitated.  He hesitated and stared at her and even though she hadn’t asked him anything yet he knew. He knew and shook harder because he wanted so desperately to be useful but dreaded what that meant. What that would require him to do. Micheal Shelly would not beg, he couldn’t. Not in front of the one person who didn’t see him as useless. 

“What is- well, I mean, what do you- can I? What should I- with this- I don’t, well, do you have a plan? Well of course- by that I mean- I mean.” A tear ran down his cheek and froze there. He glanced between her and the door and to the map and let out a shaky laugh. “Won’t take me long- you’ll wait for me right? You’ll- yes, surely you’d- ok then” He started walking towards the door, towards something that shouldn’t have existed so plainly and simply out in the cold russian air and with one trembling hand he reached out to grab the door knob. 

A hand rested on his shoulder before he got a chance.

Micheal turned to look at Miss Robsinson. She wore an unreadable expression on her face as she sighed. “Wait. Give it here.” 

Silently he held it out to her and she took it. Holding it with a resolute expression. She looked at him and nodded. “Thank you Micheal. I will not require your services any more.” 

Micheal didn’t even have a chance to respond before she opened the door and closed it behind her.    

Micheal stood in the snow for a very long time. He stared at where the door used to be, where Gertrude Robinson had disappeared into. Where he knew she wouldn’t come back from. He stared and waited. The numbing cold had stretched through his limbs and up to his elbows. He couldn’t feel his lips or his nose. He could barely breathe but that wasn’t from the cold. He wondered if it was better to just let the cold take him. 

When he did finally move to leave, the sun had set below the horizon and each step sent shocks of pain up his legs. Micheal wondered if the boat had left without him. Without them. He hoped it had. 

Instead he was met with a blinding light as a big burly ship captain moved closer and towered above him. “By Christ and all that's holy what are ye’ still doin’ out here boy? I thought we was set to sail out quite a bit a go. Come’on now yer’ awfully pale. We’ll getcha a warm blanket and some hot tea for ye’ insides. Yer’ boss’ll kill me if I brought back a popsicle now wouldn’ he?” 

The older gentleman led Micheal by the shoulders back onto the boat and Micheal only barely had time to think about why he didn’t ask about Miss Robinson before he passed out cold.  

Chapter Text

The trip back to London seemed infinitely longer than the trip there. It was day two on the vessel and Micheal was looking out to sea, eyes blurry and hands wrapped tightly around the cup. It was early morning and the fog rested thickly over the ocean waves. The ocean used to calm Micheal, now as he looked out he swore he could see people, people who knew him, strangers to him, people crying out that he was a coward, a murderer. He watched people drown and float just above the fog as all he could do was stand and watch. They screamed and shouted and wailed all around the boat and Micheal worried if they could crawl over the barnacle encrusted edge of the boat and grab him- grab him and take him and abandon him to drown like he was doing to them-

The feeling of glass slicing into his palm shook him out of it and he looked down to see scalding hot tea and broken glass covering his hands and over the side of the boat. He blinked back tears as the sting gave him something to focus on. The red blurring in his vision. 

The captain came out of his quarters and made eye contact with Micheal. “You sure are an anxious one huh? My littlest has the same problem. Ye’ cut yer’seft awfully bad though. That’ll prolly leave e’ mark. Don’ worry bout the cup son, I’ve got plenty te’ go around.” 

Micheal didn’t respond, just watched as the gentleman bandaged up his hand, pat his shoulder, and made him another cup of tea, this time in an iron mug. 

He would end up sitting staring at the wall in the morning, picking at the fabric of his bandages. He replayed the moment again and again in his mind. She took the map. She opened the door. She shut the door. The door disappeared. She took the map. She opened the door. She shut the door. The door disappeared. Just like with Ryan. Gertrude Robinson was gone. Would they ask him where she went? Would they blame him for her disappearance? Would they jail him for suspicions of murder? Can you jail someone for a crime when you can’t find the body? What would Mr. Bouchard say? Would he fire him? Micheal wasn’t sure he’d be able to find another job.  

All of this felt like another stab at an already open wound. A friend he would never get back. And he terribly missed Ryan. He always knew what to do in odd situations, always knew how to handle himself. Never broke down. Never worried over Micheal’s odd personality or weird cracks of laughter when he was nervous. He didn’t mind how Micheal would cling to him and asked him to not raise his voice when he was angry. He didn’t comment when Micheal preferred activities that most people thought were ‘girly’. He was always kind to Micheal. Micheal could only do him the service of remembering him. It was the only thing in his control. 

And he felt so out of control. He tried to focus on what was in front of him but then his mind would wander and he didn't know who he was thinking about but he knew they felt the same fear he did. He would sleep and have nightmares about people being watched by glimmering eyes and spirals of madness. He’d wake up in a cold sweat swearing up and down that someone was watching him but then he’d find the captain in his quarters and he’d talk to Micheal about the stars and the ocean currents and for a brief second Micheal wondered if he could just stay here on the ship where he didn’t have to face the questions everyone at the Institute would have for him. 

“Hey, come on lad you’ve been sat there long enough, come eat somethin’ I cooked up the last of the meat, now don’t worry now ye gon’ be at shore in just a few hours, promise ye’ won’t be leavin’ hungry.” He brought Micheal inside his quarters and handed him a plate of steaming meat and vegetables. “Now, come on son, don’t cry on me, yer’ gon be ok. Maybe tell that boss of yers’ te’ stop sendin’ ye on fish hunts.”

Micheal just wiped his eyes and nodded. Better just not say anything. Better to not have anyone rely on him. 

Everything felt like a blur. He grabbed his suitcase and hugged the fishing captain probably a little too tightly before leaving, catching a bus to London Main and stopping in front of his apartment. He blinked. Since when had he walked here? Nevertheless he walked inside and threw his travel bag on the couch. 

His apartment was small. Barely two rooms plus a small water closet was all he needed. He always worried that if his space was too large he’d start seeing things again. At least that’s what his therapist suggested. Christ he hadn’t talked to her in ages. 

He sat on the edge of his bed and waited. And after not even a moment, he cried. He cried and cried and gripped handfuls of his hair and pulled just to feel real. But when he looked down at his hands- 

The cuts were gone. The gash that should have been against his palm wasn't there. No mark, no red line, no indication whatsoever. Just his hands trembling as a ringing started up in his ears. 

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. 

But Gertrude had driven the boat the way to the island. Just the two of them. Only the two of them. And Micheal had gone back alone. Just himself. 

He sobbed harder, laughing through every breath as his vision blurred and he could barely breathe but he didn't care. What if he isn't real either? What if he’s just someone else's fever dream. The thought didn't help with his nausea. 

°°°

He picked at the skin just over his knuckles. Scalding hot water from the shower beat down on his back but he barely felt it. His eyes were still puffy from crying but he at least wasn't shaking anymore. 

He stopped after he noted the blood dripping down his hand. His knuckles were red and scarred from all the other times he had picked at them. A little consistency. 

It took him two more days before he managed to put himself together enough to make it to work. 

The Institute was an old building. Micheal always liked older buildings. The longer the building had lasted the more history it contained. He appreciated history. Written records of important events that sometimes seem unimportant to the wrong eyes. Maybe that was what made him want to originally join the Institute, the idea that he could find some history to coexist with his own. With what he went through. 

He walked inside and greeted Rosie, who seemed overjoyed to see him. 

“Welcome back! How was the trip?” 

Micheal's throat went dry as he stared at her, managing a small uncommitted sound and a shrug. She simply grinned back.

“There's been a few changes I'm supposed to catch you up on, firstly Miss Emma Harvey quit just two weeks ago. Thought you'd like to know that since you were always such a sweetheart to her. Also, they finally hired a Head Archivist!”

Micheal stared at her a moment, his headache from earlier was back in full force. He rubbed his forehead. “I- yeah I'm sorry, so, you say, wait, what?”

“I know it's crazy, right? I thought your department was never going to get a Head Archivist, anyways his name is Jonathan Sims, also Mr. Bouchard hired a few extra mates on, so now you have coworkers! How exciting, yeah? Pretty sure you knew one of em, she used to work in Artifact Storage, Miss James I believe?” 

At least he knew for certain that she was real. However, he was still too busy giving Rosie the most dumbfounded expression to care. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. 

“I would like to meet him.” 

Rosie took him down the stairs to the Archival department where he saw a man about his height at the end of the hall in Gertrude's office. 

“I have to deliver some papers but that's him in there.” Rosie pointed before patting him on the shoulder and walking out. 

Micheal stared at the stranger at the end of the hall, quietly picking the skin on his knuckles as he debated his next move. Slowly he started towards her old office, noting again how the plaque on the wall read ‘Jonathan Sims Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London’ Not Gertrude Robinson. 

“Oh. You must be Micheal Shelly. Elias mentioned that you were getting back from a business trip. Supposedly you worked in this section before?” 

“Ah, yes well, I- uh, yeah I worked under- under Gertrude- uhm, I actually- ah, I actually have a question about that, you er, you are her replacement then? Then…” Micheal trailed off as the other scrutinized him. 

“Who? No, are you thinking of a different department? No Gertrude Robinson has worked in this part of the archives. Miss Harvey was in charge of keeping every box dusty before I was hired to take over. Not that this place is in any better shape since then.” He grumbled, gesturing to the usual mess of boxes Micheal was used to seeing everywhere. 

It occurred to Micheal that he might actually be losing his mind. 

“No. No. No, there- there was a woman- her name was Gertrude Robinson I've worked under her for at least 3 years and she, she, she took me on a business trip and, and, and, and, and-” He couldn't get the rest out. 

“Christ, are you mental?” Jon spat, staring at him like his hair was on fire. 

Micheal was having none of this. He ignored Jon's irritated bickering and walked into the office, shoving old books and empty case files to the side as he looked for anything signed with her name or marked with her stamp. 

He couldn't find anything.

Micheal was on the verge of tears again when a knock came from the open office. 

“Ah! There you are, hello again Jon, I'm just here to pick up Micheal, Mr. Bouchard would like to speak to you in his office.” She smiled and helped Micheal to his feet, Jon still staring wide eyed and scowling as he was led out and up through a different set of stairs. 

He had always made it a point to stay clear of Mr. Bouchard's office as he never wanted to be the cause of disciplinary action. Especially with how hard it had been to even get this job. 

“Don't worry Micheal, I'll explain to Jon that you are just a bit exhausted from your trip. Surely he'll understand that you just have moments, we all do!”

He wanted to explain to her that this wasn't one of his ‘fits’ or any other stupid name for when he couldn't handle his anxiety and he ended up unable to string together words or actions, but he held his tongue as he was dropped off at Elias's office. 

“Come in.” Said the usually calm tone of one Mr. Elias Bouchard. 

Micheal had half a mind to be hopeful. Surely if anyone would know about Gertrude it would be her boss. 

He walked in and sat down. Elias poured a glass of brandy and offered one to Micheal who refused. 

“So how was your trip? I hear Russia is extremely cold this time of year.” 

Micheal scratched at his knuckle. “You mean- I wasn't- I hadn't traveled alone this time. Miss Robinson- she, we left together, we left together.” 

Elias took a small sip of his glass, looking over Micheal with that same curiosity that Micheal hated. 

“Is this a friend of yours? I thought you usually traveled alone.” 

Micheal shot to his feet. The chair clattering loudly behind him. He dug his nails into his skin. He kept his tone low and his words quiet. “No. Gertrude Robinson. She's been the Head Archivist for God knows how long and working under you for triple the time I ever could. She's a shorter, wrinkly old woman and if looks could kill we'd all be dead. Just last month you called her in for some sort of orientation meeting. I am not out of my bloody mind.” his hands shook. He didn't realize he had balled them into fists. 

Elias calmly set his glass down. “I'm not quite sure who you're talking about.”

A lie. It almost shocked Micheal how easily he could hear it, could see it. Maybe it was the obvious smile hiding under his neutral expression, or the satisfaction in his eyes. Maybe it was just spite, but Micheal Shelly knew one thing for sure. Elias Bouchard was lying. 

Micheal wasn't quite sure of what he was doing until he was in the middle of doing it. Reaching over to grab the neck of the brandy bottle and throwing it against the far wall, listening to how it shattered. Watching it split apart as expensive brandy went everywhere. 

For a moment everything was dead silent except for the clock ticking away on the wall. Then Micheal spun on Elias. “I am not crazy.” He growled. “And you know she worked here, she hated you. And she hated everything about the statements, it got to the point where she finally started recording the damn things-” Micheal went completely silent. 

Gertrude would record statements. Micheal had one of those recordings because it pertained to another statement he was supposed to look into. 

He didn't say another word and instead ripped the door open, colliding straight into someone. He backed up a small step, looking over the guy in all black with a cigarette between his teeth and a half formed amused smirk over his pierced features.

“Apologies.” Was all Micheal got out before he was racing down the hall and out of the Institute. 

Micheal just about cried with relief when he opened his leather bag to find the small ancient looking tape recorder and equally ancient tape, labeled ‘Lidia Evans’ , some poor woman who was being terrorized by ghosts. He couldn’t blame her. With shaky hands he put the little thing into the recorder and pressed play, waiting. 

The usual buzz of feedback played over for a few moments before Gertrude Robinson's old yet stern voice came over the recording. Micheal let the recording play through as he sat there on the floor. He relistened to the statement he's heard at least three times and rested his head against the wall, chuckling airily to himself. 

He wondered absently if it was worth taking the time to bring the recording to the Institute for everyone to hear. But it didn’t change the fact that she was gone and if he continued rambling on about an old woman gone missing someone was sure to get suspicious. No one remembered her. In some tortured twisted rotten way this worked in Micheal’s favor. Not that he appreciated the irony of having someone he cared about eaten and forgotten about happen twice in a single lifetime. Doors weren’t supposed to come and go as they pleased. They weren’t supposed to eat people and then cause everyone else to forget about them. He had read statements like that too. Of people swearing up and down that someone they used to love and care about had changed. Had become a stranger to them. But this wasn’t that. Gertrude hadn’t come back as a stranger to Micheal, she was just gone. But one thing was for certain. He wasn't crazy, but he was probably out of a job. He should apologize, but instead he stood to his feet, grabbed his wallet and left his flat. 

The walk to the nearest morgue was a quick ten minute jog, in that amount of time he was able to put together a bit of his psyche, although his hands still shook when he greeted the older woman. 

“Hello dear, how may I help you?” Her cardigan reminded him of Gertrude. 

“Er- do you place gravestones even if there isn't - well, uh, even if there isn't a body?” Micheal's voice cracked just barely. 

“Well of course sweetheart, come, let me help you pick out a tombstone and I'll give you a paper where you write down the deceased person's details as well as your phone number so we may contact you.” 

The entire interaction took him about an hour. And he knew because he was avid to check the clock every five minutes or so, he didn't want to lose any more time if he could help it. He picked out a simple tombstone and paid the woman after filling out some information they needed. 

“I'm sorry for your loss dear, were you two close?”

He went to say something but his throat dried up. He managed a small nod and she smiled at him kindly. 

He didn't go home after that. Instead he walked into the park and sat down at one of the tables. 

From here it looked like a normal weekday. There was a family of four sat around a picnic basket and eating some fish and chips. A woman walked her dog nearby and a guy handed a girl a flower. Micheal wondered distantly if he would ever have something similar. A light breeze passed through his hair and Micheal exhaled, closing his eyes and breathing in the fresh air. 

He stayed there for a long while before he finally moved, checking his watch before heading back towards his loft. Micheal paced around, thinking about how he might try to find a new job. Maybe something even more remote than working in an Archives, maybe he could try his hand at fishing, something quiet for his mind with little stress. 

The phone ringing almost had Micheal jumping out of his skin. He walked over and picked up the phone. 

“Hello, Mr. Shelly?”

Micheal hesitated before answering. “Mr. Bouchard?” 

“Ah, I’m glad I got the correct number. I wanted to call you about whether or not you will be making it into work tomorrow or if you’ll need an extension on your vacation time.”

Micheal frowned minutely. “You mean- earlier I- surely what I did wasn’t-  I mean, You aren’t firing me?”

There was laughter on the other end of the phone. “I understand you have been under a lot of stress recently and we are all allowed one or two breakdowns in a season. I do regret the waste of Brandy but that's a loss I’m willing to take. My question still stands, will you be making it in tomorrow?”

At least he knew he hadn’t imagined the whole interaction. “Yes- I mean, well- I don’t think Mr. Sims would appreciate- Ah, haha- I guess, yes. Yes I’ll be in tomorrow.”

“Excellent, I will introduce you properly to your new team in the morning.” 

And with that he hung up, leaving Micheal alone in his flat once more.

It was another few hours before the kind woman from the morgue got back to him, explaining where the tombstone was resting. 

Micheal Shelly walked slowly to the flower shop, picking up a bundle of lilies before making his way to the empty cemetery. He found her tombstone right where the woman had said it would be. Resting at the foot of the old willow tree. There was a cement bench beside it and after he placed the flowers down at her grave, he sat down and looked on, silent. 

Surely in moments like this he was supposed to say a few words. Maybe comment on how she was ‘such a good friend’ or ‘a mentor to us all’ but loath as he was to admit it, he never really knew her further than the cracks in her facade. He wondered belatedly, as he stared at her tombstone, if things could have been different. He wondered what would have happened if he had been the one to walk through the corridors of his childhood instead of her. If he had been sacrificed instead. He wondered if she would have done the same for him as he was doing for her. He wondered if she would forget him, just another assistant under the rug. 

He knew he was supposed to say something. Some words of regret maybe, or remorse. But instead he stayed silent, looking at her tomb and yet a million miles away. The breeze passed through his hair as he breathed deeply. This would not be the first time he was made to be the only mourner at the funeral. Unspoken and unheard amongst the mass of people that swore their shadow never covered over the grass trail.

First Ryan. Now Gertrude. Once again he saw himself having to play the game dealt before him. He would not be seen as another loon. His grief would be private, as was everything else he did. Even though he knew he wasn’t the only one who knew she was gone. Even though he knew what he saw was real. He could play the game of deceit. He could play the role that left him alive and unscathed. But right now, under the shade of the old willow tree, Micheal Shelly mourned the only woman he put his loyalty into.    

Chapter Text

Micheal’s alarm woke him up at around 5:30. He let out a long heaving sigh before he got out of bed, staring at his ceiling. A small spider nested in the corner. Micheal never had really been afraid of spiders, with everything else constantly going on in his life he just never found the time to be unnerved by them. He wouldn’t go so far as to say they were cute but he could appreciate what they did for the ecosystem. A functioning part of the world. Maybe he envied that, just a little bit. 

He got up and dragged himself into the show, trying his best to keep moving. It was better that way, better to go quickly rather than space out and lose an hour right off the bat. Not that he was needed in the office until 9, but he liked to be prepared. 

When he got out of the shower the first thing he did was check the watch he kept in the crowded water closet. He hummed, satisfied, when he was sure that he hadn’t lost a lot of time. He rubbed the fog off the dingy mirror and stared at his reflection. His hair hung wet and curly around his head and down past his shoulders. Micheal frowned. Has it really grown out that much since the last time he cut it? The trip to Russia was barely under a month and yet his hair, which used to barely pass his chin, was down to his elbows. It seemed curlier too. But that couldn’t have been possible. Micheal shook off the thought. The simplest explanation was that he had simply neglected to cut it. And just because it looked more curly than usual didn’t mean it actually was.  

He brushed it out as best he could and dried it, only slightly frustrated with how the curls seemed to come back even stronger, if that was even possible. Instead of focusing on it he put the rest of himself together and checked the time again. He had well over enough time to make it in early. 

He didn’t own a car himself, instead taking the bus to wherever he needed to go. Technically the tube was quicker but he didn’t like the loud sounds that accompanied it or the large crowds of people. He always ended up feeling safer with the bus, taking his usual seat in the back and examining the peeled skin on his knuckles. 

Frankly he pouted, since he had almost completely dropped the habit a few months ago now only for it to return ten fold. He should get it treated, wrap it up in bandages and all that. But he also liked being able to see the red mark it left. A distinct shred of proof that he was real. That he could bleed. And as long as it was there he could count it as another bit of merciful consistency in his day to day life. Just like the bus. And just like the old brick building that was the Magnus Institute. 

It was an overall quiet morning, with only a few students in the main hall and a couple orderlies chatting quietly in the corner. He found the stairs to the Archives and descended them quickly, completely expecting to be the first one in. So when Mr. Sims almost ran straight into him Micheal couldn’t help but jump out of his skin. 

“Bloody hell what are you- Oh. Micheal.” His eyes narrowed as he took in the other. “You certainly look…better, from what I hear you’re the jumpy sort. I’d say that rumor was proven relatively quick. However I also heard you were the only one that ever tried to organize this God forsaken place. Good to know you’ll be useful for something at least, I want you to start in the 1800’s-1890’s and get those organized properly. That’s not too hard for you is it?” He stared at Micheal expectantly. 

Micheal stared back. For a moment it felt like his mind was buzzing with static. His headache was shooting towards his temple and everything Jon said sounded as if spoken through a tunnel. It took him a moment, his brain working to put all the words together in a nice orderly way that didn’t make Micheal’s head hurt, not that it was very well helping. 

Jon didn’t seem the type for patience as he rolled his eyes. “Great. Elias gives me staff only for two of them to be incompetent. You weren’t mute yesterday when you were blabbering on about a Gertrude working here before me now were you?”

“No, no-  I mean- well, ah- 1800’s through 1890’s- you want me to organize- well thats- by that I mean they really already are- but if you think it needs more attention-” Micheal cringed and nodded his head. “Yes, yeah I’ll get right on that.” 

He basically ran out of Jon’s sight and straight for the box of statements for the time period Jon was annoyed about. Which already seemed weird to Micheal. These statements already were organized, at least as much as Miss. Robinson had asked- Micheal froze, his breath stuttering as he sat half crouched on the floor in front of the box, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He swallowed thickly and let the thought die. No use thinking about any of that right now, instead he got to work about sectioning off the decades in smaller stacks. At this rate he’d need a different type of file organizer. Maybe Jon had access to some of those so he could start labeling. 

“Micheal! Ah see I knew you would be down here! Jon is so dramatic sometimes!” Before Micheal could turn to see the recognizable face of one Sasha James, he was enveloped in a hug that almost completely took his balance, it certainly took his breath. Sasha giggled, holding him tightly. “Great to know that you’re still as jumpy as before. I almost thought the trip would have changed you.”

“Ah, yes, that certainly, well- hello my friend, I heard that Jon replaced- I mean, not replaced,” Sasha leaned out of the hug and sat down beside him, still smiling as Micheal tried to collect his thoughts. “You work over here now.” He forced out. 

Sasha pulled her hair back and practically beamed. “Yep! It's so exciting, Artifact Storage is just so painfully boring and you always talked this place up. A shame Harvey quit though. I know she usually tried to make sure this place wasn’t in complete disarray. Jon’s having a field day about it.”

Micheal nodded, trying to make the words sink into understanding quicker than he seemed capable. The whole process was making his head fuzzy. Nonetheless he tried to offer her a smile. 

“I’m glad to have- to have a friend, a coworker, right then- It’s nice to have you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get down here quicker, Jon didn’t mention you until I started asking about a statement, speaking of, do you happen to have one concerning a Miss Margret Reacher?”

Micheal frowned. “Well you just got in right? I wouldn’t know where-” He looked over to notice half a dozen small piles that had formed around him. His features paled. 

“It's just after lunch actually. Time flies down here doesn’t it? Oh! There it is, on top of the pile too! How’d you know.” She laughed as she took it, opening it up to card through the pages. “Anyways I’m guessing that means you forgot to eat? Did you even pack anything? Come on. Let's get you down to the break room, a little food ought to help you concentrate.”  

Micheal nodded numbly as she helped him to his feet and gently pulled him down towards the break room. 

“Your hair looks amazing by the way.” Sasha commented, opening the door to the breakroom to reveal another person with his headphones in and staring at his tablet. He looked up when they entered, taking out his headphones and smiling. 

“Hi Sasha, who’s this?” Said the stranger. 

“Hi Tim, this is Micheal, he worked over here before the team was officially put together, he’s been held up organizing things for Jon.” She nudged Micheal’s shoulder. “You’re doing fantastic by the way. You made really quick work of that pile.” She picked up an apple from the fruit basket and handed it to Micheal. 

He held the fruit awkwardly, looking between Sasha and Tim. Tim was still eyeing him while Sasha had moved to grab a banana before sitting down at the flimsy looking table. Micheal nodded sheepishly towards his new coworker and took the third seat. 

After a moment Tim spoke up. “So did you guys read the statement Jon recorded today? Spooky stuff.”

Sasha spoke between mouthfuls of banana. “Jon doesn’t believe it's real. I’m supposed to check out some older websites that were referenced as well as cross check it against the statement I picked up from Micheal which supposedly also had something to do with the same meat market.” 

Tim hummed and turned to Shelly. “How about you? What do you think about these statements? Just a bunch of loons or is there something to it?”

Micheal stared back like a deer in headlights before swallowing. Shrugging his shoulders. “They can’t all be- it would be counter- counterproductive- if everyone lied, they can’t all be fakes.” He mumbled. Taking another bite to get the attention off of him. 

Surprisingly Tim seemed to nod in agreement. “See that’s what I’ve been saying! But Jon insists they are all fakes.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Yes, well Jon insists a lot of things. I wouldn’t worry about it all that much right now.”

Micheal sat silent as the two went back and forth on mundane subjects. He found it a little harder than usual to keep up, like his thoughts were in slow motion. Maybe he just needed to get back to work. He didn’t say goodbye as he left, just offered a semi-smile and half nod as he found his way back to the piles he didn’t remember putting together. 

He crouched down at his work and blew out a breath. There were about half a dozen stacks as well as a pile that contained statements that didn’t fit the time frame. He ignored the slight tremor in his hands as he put the statements in chronological order and then alphabetized them in the smaller groups. This would at least make finding a specific person a lot easier. 

He checked his watch religiously the rest of the hour or so that he worked on them. Making sure to check in almost perfect fifteen minute intervals. Finally he gathered them up and placed them correctly in the box, staggering to pick it up so he could drop it off in Jon’s office. 

When he got there he noted the door was closed and there was an obvious discussion happening inside. Micheal thought to wait it out but then the door opened and Jon stuck his head out, staring at Micheal with that same disregard as before. 

“What?”

Micheal sucked in air through his teeth. “I finished organizing- well reorganizing that is, the statements are in- are in a better-” Jon cut him off with a glare as he took the box from Micheal. 

“Come in then.” Jon said, setting the box on the counter and looking through it. Micheal immediately noticed the goth from the other day leaning against the back wall and having a smoke. 

The silence was loud as Jon looked through the box and Micheal rushed to fill it. “I organized, er- the statements are by decade from the 1800’s through to the 90’s, well the 1890’s, heh, obviously. Then, then I organized the individual, I mean- the statements are also alphabetized within the individual, uh, decades, yeah.”  

Jon seemed to flip through the folders a moment before looking up at Micheal. “You did this all in one afternoon?” Micheal wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that and instead nodded quickly, picking at the skin on his knuckles as he did so. Jon continued. “Good work then. Tomorrow I’ll have you start on the 1890’s through to the 1950’s. 

“Can I- since that's done and dusted I was wondering- well I know it's early but, uh, it's early” Micheal shook his head, wincing at his own inability to just speak normally. “Can I leave early? I have, uh, errands.” 

Jon nodded. “Yes. You’re dismissed.”

Micheal gave one last passing glance at the out of place goth before heading out of the building. 

He took the bus to the flower shop where he purchased another bundle of lilies before he got back on the bus. A lady sitting to the left of him nodded towards the flowers. 

“Your girlfriend must be very lucky.”     

Micheal just smiled, sputtering out a short laugh as he shifted uncomfortably. When the lady realized she wasn’t going to get a response she turned back towards the window. Micheal made a point to avoid eye contact the rest of the ride to the cemetery. 

When he got off the bus, he checked his watch for the time before heading through and towards the old willow tree. The flowers he had left the previous day were still there and only barely wilted as he replaced them. Holding the now day old lilies between trembling fingers and sitting on the bench, staring. 

“So, who’d ya lose?”

Micheal jumped out of his seat and wiped around towards the guy leaning against the willow tree. It was that same goth from before. “Wh- what? No, no one, just, just an old coworker- I mean, I mean friend.” He scowled. “You followed me, you followed me? Why, why are you following me?”

The goth lit a cigarette and rolled it between his teeth, a lazy smirk resting there. “A friend huh? I’ve lost my fair share of those too. Never really changes, that feeling. I saw you the other day too, aren’t you the one who was throwing things in that old guy’s office?” 

Micheal shook his head. “I- yes technically I did- you didn’t answer- why are you following me?”

The other took a step closer and Micheal had half the thought to take a step back. He held his ground however. 

“I’m sorry if it seems creepy or something. I’m just not used to running into someone so thoroughly marked by an entity, let alone the Spiral.” He offered the other a cigarette, but Micheal refused.  

He racked his brain to try and understand what the other was talking about, but every time he tried to think of a time Gertrude had used the same word his vision filled with static and his head rang out like the toll of a bell. 

“I’m sorry, what? You mean- what ?” Micheal wasn’t having any of this. “I don’t even, I don’t even know you, know who you are, I don’t.” He scowled further, going to walk away when the goth stood in front of him, holding out his hand. 

“You’re right. I’ve got terrible manners. My name is James. James Green.”

A lie. Micheal couldn’t even stop himself. “No, it isn’t.” Why the hell would someone lie about their name? No. it didn’t matter. It wasn’t any of Micheal’s business. 

The other seemed only taken aback for a second before he smiled wide. “No, it isn't,” He agreed. “And yours?”

“Micheal Shelly.” He shook the goth’s hand. “So, do you also work- er, are you from a different department than the archives?”

The other shrugged. “You could say I owe a bit of gratitude to this place so every once in a while I pop in to lend a hand, volunteer as you will.” 

Micheal guessed that was as simple of an answer as he was going to get. “So am I supposed to call you- well I have to call you something, James then? I could, could do that.”

The other laughed. “No, no that doesn’t sound right. Just between you and me, you can call me Gerry.”

“Gerry.”

“Yes.”

Micheal nodded. “Well Gerry, if you ever need, maybe not need, but if you ever want assistance, the statements tend to be, er, messy, I’m rearranging them currently- reorganizing? Well, something like that.” 

“I’ll see you around then, Blondie.” And with that he walked out and down an adjacent street. 

Blondie? Micheal threw away the thought and settled for walking back to his flat. Listening to the subtle sounds of the world around him.

He half wondered if Gerry was real or just another one of his hallucinations. Something his brain came up with to help him cope with everything. But then he mentioned something called the Spiral? And surely he had heard of that before, right? It sounded familiar. Maybe something Gertrude needed him to look into? Or maybe it was mentioned by a statement giver? Christ he was all out of sorts when it came to remembering the smaller details. 

He got back to his flat and picked up the newspaper left at his front door. He picked it up and walked inside, his attention caught by the front cover article. It was a page from a recently burned down insane asylum where there had been numerous records of patients screaming about some sort of ‘disappearing door’ that appeared and disappeared at will. Apparently none of the staff noticed anything but there were quite a few disappearances before the place burned down. Micheal read every detail of the article only to realize-

This was not recent. The building’s been burnt for at least four decades. The newspaper was from 1958. Static buzzed in his mind as Gerry’s words repeated in his head. 'thoroughly marked by an entity, let alone the Spiral.’ 

Micheal’s head throbbed with the implications of what it all meant. Belatedly he knew that if Gertrude was still around he could simply ask her. But she was gone. And now Gerry was the only lead to what it all meant. Micheal wondered who dropped the newspaper off, who thought it was important enough to give it to him? Maybe this was all just a sick prank made up by his mind. It surely wouldn’t be the first time. He shoved the newspaper into his bag to take with him tomorrow. For right now he needed to rest, and maybe cut his hair. 

Chapter Text

Micheal woke up the next day in a cold sweat, muttering incoherent complaints as he pulled himself together and stood in front of the mirror. He glared at his reflection, at how his blonde curls seemed to spiral around his head, heavy and chaotic. 

There was that word again. Spiral. He scowled and pulled out a pair of scissors, taking a large clump of hair and cutting it. He half expected it wouldn’t work. But there was his hair, piled on the floor beneath him, so he cut some more. It was a crude job, but by the end of it his hair was no longer than his neck. He doubted it would be that easy to flatten the curls since he didn’t own a straight iron, but it was enough for now. 

He checked that the newspaper was still in his bag before heading straight for the Institute. He didn’t want to waste any time whatsoever. 

He walked past the large double doors that went into the library and instead took the stairs downwards, stopping in front of Jon’s office, inside he could hear quiet noises as well as tape recorder feedback. He wondered belatedly what the purpose of digitizing the archives really set out to accomplish. His eyes fell back onto the plaque beside the door. It shouldn’t have mattered, but looking at it caused a small ache in his side. For now he ignored it. 

He decided against interrupting. Micheal wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at and he could always just ask where Gerry was later. He could wait. There wasn’t any rush. Still his skin felt itchy as he walked down the hallway. Half of a whole lifetime and he felt more anxious over a few questions with probably unsatisfactory answers then he ever did following Gertrude around. His mind buzzed and he swore he could taste static on his tongue, a foreign urge to know crashing against his instinct to keep his head down. He wasn’t even sure what he thought Gerry knew. But he had to know something, his comment from yesterday was proof. Either that or this was another sick joke aimed at his psyche. 

Once he found the box of statements Jon wanted organized he got straight to work, anything to keep his mind off the questions burning his temple. Technically, it was quite off how Jon wanted them organized, and not just because they previously were, although that also slightly bugged Micheal . No, what really made Micheal pause was the small quantities Jon was starting with. Yesterday he had organized a box filled with 1800’s through the 1890’s but that wasn’t all of the statements under that category. There were also the public records as well as the back storage that Miss Robinson would use to hold the ‘backed up and uncategorized statements’ as she would call it. 

Now that he was thinking about it, he stood up, staggering only slightly as he made his way down an adjacent hall and towards the back of the archives. There were two other places you could get to directly from the archives. Artifact storage as well as a rickety fire escape that Micheal was pretty sure wasn’t up to standards. However, in the far corner was a small room labeled “File Room 2B” Usually it was locked. Micheal gave the door handle a small turn, expecting it to not budge and leave him out of luck, but then he could hear a small clicking sound as the door opened, revealing a dark room. 

Micheal hesitated, checking over his shoulder before entering. He felt his arms tingle as he moved to turn on the light against the back of the wall. He rubbed his eyes as small bursts of color accompanied the nauseous feeling in his stomach. He ignored it and stared at the rows of filing cabinets. He wasn’t really sure he should be back here, Miss Robinson was the only one he ever saw leaving in and out- But she was gone- and he really did just want to check to see if he could find any more statements from the 1800’s. Plus the sooner he could leave the sooner he could deal with the dizzy spell that nagged at the back of his throat like a pestering sibling.  

He had hoped the statements would be organized by dates, but instead he came across other off putting words. ‘Desolation’ ‘the Dark’ ‘the End’. Looking at some of them caused his head to throb further. Inside the file cabinets were an assortment of statements dating from as far back as the 1790’s up to present day. He wasn’t just finding statements either, inside were old photographs and wax sealed letters, receipts, postcards, and all kinds of paper memorabilia. Micheal’s brow knit together as he tried to think of a genuine reason any of this would be down here sorted by weird labels that didn’t make sense. Surly Gertrude would have organized them more adequately?

“What are you looking at?”

Micheal jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to see Gerry near the doorway, another cigarette between his teeth. 

“I was checking, eh, looking for a-” Micheal turned back towards the filing cabinet, a deep sense of nausea rolling through his stomach as he stared at the empty drawer. But no. That couldn’t be right. He was just looking at statements, he was just- 

Micheal took a step back and looked for the label, but that was gone as well. He flung open another drawer but the whole filing cabinet was empty. “It's gone.” He said, looking over at Gerry. “They're all gone.” 

The other walked over to where Micheal was standing and peaked into the empty drawer. “Maybe it was moved?”

“No, no I was just- I was just looking at it. It was just here!” Micheal felt something akin to anger bubble under his skin. He felt like a clown. A bumbling idiot losing his mind. “Files organized under stupid names that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with anything.” He looked up at Gerry, expecting to see the same concerned look as he got from the rest of his peers. The same look that always told Micheal he was crazy. Maybe he was crazy. The last few weeks certainly didn’t seem to disprove the fact. 

But Gerry wasn’t looking at him with concern. Or dismissal or fear or disappointment of any kind. Gerry was just looking. Back between him and the file cabinet like he was trying to put something together in his mind that he couldn’t quite reach. After a moment he spit out the cig and snuffed it with his boot, picking it up and nodding at Micheal. “I believe you, and I’m curious, what were the names the things were organized under.”

Micheal nearly laughed with delirium, covering the sound with his hand as he shook his head. “I don’t- weird out of sort names- the desolation and something else, I don’t- I don’t understand why she would even- why these would even be back here.”

Gerry tilted his head. “Who's ‘She’?” 

Micheal stared at him, then looked back at the filing cabinets, then down at his feet, shaking his head. “She used to- she worked here- I was her- well, maybe not then.” He pointed back towards the door. “She’s gone. No one remembers her. No one believes- I can’t convince- doors can’t eat people. I should be- I should be wrong, but she's gone and I can’t fix, I can’t fix myself - I can’t do this.” 

He didn't look up. Hell he half expected the other to leave, to laugh at him or scold him for being so quick to break down. But instead he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder lightly. 

“I believe you. There’s a lot out there that defies explanation at the best of times. I’ve witnessed plenty of it, trust me. And while I can’t fully explain everything I’ll do my best.”

Micheal looked up at him and shook his head. “You’re just going to tell me, that I have schizophrenia- or some sort of, of brain disorder, but I’ve been- they gave me medication- they tried to fix me- but, It didn’t- I wasn’t- couldn’t fix it.”

“Sit down for a moment.” Gerry and Micheal sat down against the file cabinets and Gerry hesitated. “There's a lot I’m going to tell you. Don’t try to understand it all, just listen.”

“Ok?” Micheal worried his bottom lip. 

“The doors you see, the door that took her, it's not in your head. It's a part of something called the Spiral, and like the others I’m going to tell you about, it feeds off of people’s fear.” And so Gerry told Micheal, he told him about the horrors beyond comprehension and how they work and interact with the world they live in. He told Micheal about how the institute served one of those powers and each statement was a testament of fear. 

And Micheal listened, he didn’t understand a lot, especially with how much Gerry told him, but he listened all the same and by the end of everything Gerry told him, Micheal couldn’t help but feel like they were both a bit mad. 

Gerry paused after what felt like ages, staring at the other with a small look of concern. “So. Any questions?” 

Micheal stared blankly towards Gerry. His heartbeat sped up as his mind tried to wrap around the others words. Every time he tried to concentrate on one aspect his vision filled with static and his head throbbed. Gertrude must have known all this, why else would she keep a filing room filled with statements labeled under the fears Gerry just explained. But she couldn’t have known, because then she would have told Micheal and he wouldn’t be in this spot that he is right now. She wouldn’t hold that information back from him, especially since he confided in her and told her about Ryan. Maybe Gerry was lying but Micheal knew that wasn’t the case. Everything Gerry had told Micheal was uncomfortably truthful. How couldn’t Gertrude have known? But deep down, Micheal knew that she was aware of it all as well. Gertrude Robinson was well aware of the horrors around her, around them. And he was quite sure she had influenced a few things as well. 

“Hey, Blondie? Come on, snap out of it.”

Micheal felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He didn’t want to believe what he knew. He didn’t want to believe any of it. He didn’t need to ask. He didn’t need that confirmation. But still- “Do you think she knew?”

Gerry pressed his lips into a fine line. “I doubt she wasn’t aware.” 

Micheal felt another tear trickle down his face. “No- she couldn’t, she wouldn’t do that- she wouldn’t- she wouldn’t not tell me- not tell me what- what- she wouldn’t keep something from me- from me that- something that impacted me-” He was hyperventilating at this point, his hands trembling, balled into fists at his sides. “No- no you’re lying, lying- you don’t know- you can’t be sure- no, no, no, no.” He gripped clumps of his hair and pulled, hard, feeling the sharp pain pulse at his roots. 

This was some large elaborate prank. Some cruel joke because everyone thought he was crazy. This is what he got for ruining Elias’s brandy. This is what he got for stopping his schizophrenia medication. This couldn’t be real. But then, it explained everything. The doors, the disappearances, hell it even explained half to all of the odd statements that always felt a little too real. Years of therapy could never have prepared him for the brick of stone cold truth that hit him over the head. This must be some fever dream. Something from the fumes coming off of the smokestacks on the boat. Something he ate. He must be dreaming, or maybe he was coma induced and everything was different. Ryan and Gertrude were alive and waiting for him to wake up. He just had to wake up. Please God let him wake up. 

Sturdy hands wrapped gently around Micheal’s wrists and he was aware he was still pulling at his hair. He blinked, looking up into warm chocolate brown eyes that held his gaze softly. The world slowly came into focus around him and he blinked back further tears, sound returning to his ears. 

“Come on Blondie. Stay with me. I know it's a lot, you aren’t alone, I'm not going anywhere.”

Micheal half mumbled half sobbed. “I think I’m going to throw up.”  

“A pretty normal reaction, there's a bathroom down here if you really need it.”

Micheal shook his head and Gerry helped him to his feet, moving him towards the bathroom. Micheal staggered as he entered, closing the door and dropping to his knees, retching into the porcelain bowl. He couldn’t stop crying, large tears pooling down his face and over his chin. Bile rose from his stomach as he tried to make room to breathe. 

A small knock was accompanied by a question from the other side of the door. “Hey, you ok in there, can I come in?”

Micheal couldn’t help the pathetic whimper that managed to leave his lips. He didn’t want to be seen like this, on the floor of the bathroom covered in tears, sweat and vomit, but he also hated the idea of being alone. Of having to manage by himself, and he was so very tired of managing by himself. So he opened the door just barely and didn’t object when Gerry sat against the other wall. Silent except for the small hiccupping sounds Micheal made. 

Micheal picked absently at his knuckles, head laid against the cool wall tiling as he tried to focus on the numb feeling of skin between his fingers. He glanced over at Gerry who was staring off in a different direction. His hair was a pasty blonde except for the odd streaks of black that Micheal wasn’t entirely sure were intentional, the strands falling almost completely over his face, tattoos covered up and down his arms seemingly completely black against his skin. Smooth elegant lines that were easy enough to follow. Micheal noted the black nail polish, his gaze flicking upwards to meet Gerry. He hadn’t realized the other was watching him.

His lips quirked up into a small smirk. “What? See something you like?”

Micheal couldn’t help the small, nervous giggle that vibrated up and into the small space. His shoulders relaxed as another tear fell past a weakly parting smile. He felt safer here. Safer than he had been in a long while. Here, sat on the old probably dirty tile floor next to a toilet and looking at a guy that seemed to hoard the color black, he felt able to relax just a little bit more. Eyes tear stained, clothes dirtied and a blaring headache yet he couldn’t find the strength to really feel worried about it. There would be time for it. Time to panic and fawn over every detail he ever had even the smallest clue on over the past year and a half of working there. Time to cry and scream and maybe throw something. Time to process. He prayed this was real, and the thought made the question vocal faster than he could process how it would sound.

“Please tell me you’re real.”

Gerry didn’t miss a beat. “I’m real, Blondie. Probably the realest you’re gonna get.” A pause before his smile spread wider. “And you’re real too. In case you needed to know.”

 Micheal exhaled before rubbing his mouth with the back of his shirt sleeve, he could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead and over his back, aware of every fleck of bile that didn’t make it into the bowl. In fact he was quite sure he could feel every scrutinizing detail of Gerry’s stare. But Gerry was real, and so was Micheal. That didn’t stop him from feeling disgusting, however. 

“I should head home and clean myself off. It's only-” He checked the time, it was a good while after lunch. “You- you have got to be, got to be kidding- when, how, I just got here!” 

Gerry hummed, ignoring how Micheal seemed to curse at his little clock. “Do you have a car? I could drive you, where do you live?”

Micheal mumbled irritation at his watch before he turned to the other. “Oh, oh! You don’t, by that I mean, uhm, You know the London Stacks? That's close to where, I mean, behind them-”

“Yeah I know there that is, there's a few smaller bookshops over there that I like to frequent, come on, we’ve been here long enough.”

“Oh, well, alright, but what about- isn’t Jon going to wonder? I’m supposed to be organizing, er, reorganizing?”

Gerry helped the other to his feet and shot him a wicked smile. “If he asks about it later, we’ll just say you were helping me on assignment.”

“Ah, oh-” Micheal followed Gerry out of the building, blinking back the bright sunlight. No clouds today. Usually that fact would have helped him. “And, what exactly does that- what assignment?”

“In summary, I hunt for haunted books.”

Micheal stared quizzically at the other as he opened his car door and gestured for Micheal to do the same. “Oh, okay.” He said slowly, sitting in the passenger's seat.

The drive over to Micheal’s flat was filled with an unknown sort of silence. He felt just a tinge of embarrassment as they came closer to his apartment building. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call the peak of London fame. It was against the back of a large wall of industrial buildings mainly used for construction or office space. Most of the windows were covered over with iron bars and the graffiti that covered the wall didn’t necessarily count as ‘art’. It was cheap, however, and he was thankful enough to not have to deal with much robbery since he didn’t own anything besides a moth-eaten couch and a bowling alley rug he found off the market.

They climbed up the metal stairs to the third door and Micheal unlocked it, gesturing for Gerry to enter. He swallowed his embarrassment as Gerry had a look around. “It’s uhm, well, welcome in, ah, heh, you’re welcome to sit down, er, I’m just going to have, not have just em, a quick wash and- I’ll be back, back soon. Make yourself at home.” He didn’t wait for an answer as he quickly retreated to his cramped water closet.

He kept one eye on his watch as he washed his hair and body, and when he dried off he frowned slightly in the mirror. Surely his hair wasn’t long again, was it? But then just this morning he had cut it to his shoulders and now it was back by his elbows. Had he imagined cutting it? He decided to ignore it and instead threw on an oversized sweater and his favorite pair of jeans. 

He walked back into the main room mumbling apologies for taking so long when he realized he was the only one in his flat. A bout of disappointment and fear washed through his system. He really shouldn’t have expected Gerry to stay. Surely he had more important things to do than watch over him like he was Micheal’s damn mother. Of course there was the other theory, that Micheal had imagined the whole interaction, building stories in his head and creating scenarios where he even has a chance at friendship-

A short knock on the door was followed by Gerry appearing in the doorway carrying fast food from the shop downstairs. “Hi, hope I didn’t keep you waiting, thought we both deserved a bit of something to eat while we talked. And your fridge is dreadfully empty so I just picked some things from the shop.”

Micheal stared for a moment, blinked and tried to stifle the laugh that was threatening to topple him over. His chest trembling as the sound bled from his throat out into the flat. Delirious laughter that was more relief than anything else racked Micheal’s whole form as he tried to compose himself. He shook his head and beckoned the other to his couch. 

“I’m sorry, this is all- I don’t have- we’ll have to settle for putting the food on the floor. I don’t- I haven’t gotten to getting a coffee table.”

Gerry snickered and raised a brow. “What? Been too busy recently?” Micheal smiled at the comment as Gerry tossed his hand into the air, scoffing. “Sorry, dumb joke.” 

Micheal sat on the other end of the couch and managed a small smile as he reached for the bag of food. “I found it endearing.”    

He picked over the options before settling on a turkey sandwich. Gerry chose the pepperjack and pastrami. Micheal chewed through the thousands of questions his mind fought to ask. “So the statements-” He paused slightly when Gerry’s eyes flicked back over on him. They weren’t just brown, he could see little flecks of gold in there as well. Maybe even copper. Pretty. He coughed and looked back down at his sandwich. “They, they’re real then? At least, at least most of them?”

“Yep.”

A pause. “Does Jon know?”

Gerry hummed. “I don’t think so. I’ve been hanging around for the week or so that he’s been the Head guy and he seems to genuinely believe most of the stories are fake.”

“Why haven’t you explained it to him, I mean- you explained it to me?”

Gerry shook his head. “You’re receptive to this kind of thing. Jon isn’t. He’s not just skeptical, he’s flat out in denial. If I tried to explain any of it now he’d just think I was mental, probably have me kicked out.”

Micheal could understand that. Even still- “But what about Sasha- my coworkers- they, when they follow up on statements- don’t they- aren’t they in danger? They don’t know- what if, if they get hurt?” 

“Most of the statements are well over five years old. The chance of something still lingering is slim. But I understand your point, would they believe you? If you warned them, do you think they would listen?”

Sasha would. “I don’t-” Micheal shook his head. “Not all of them.”

Gerry nudged Micheal’s shoulder to get him to look at him. “Sometimes ignorance can be safe. I’m not going to stop you from telling them, I’m just saying that from experience, if you try and convince someone who hasn’t opened their eyes to it, you’re only going to get laughed at.” 

Micheal nodded gravely. He wanted to argue, to say it was his duty to keep his friends safe. But who was to believe him? Who would even take him seriously? Sasha would, but she was out numbered and he didn’t want to make her a laughing stalk as well. “You’re right.” He took another bite of his sandwich, looking over to the goth. “So you hunt haunted books? That is- that is what you called them, right?”

“Yeah. There’s a specific brand I look for but really anything dangerous.”

Micheal frowned. “What do you- how do you get rid of them- or, do you not- do you keep them?”

“Na, I burn them.” 

Micheal couldn’t help but find that oddly familiar. He hummed more to himself than Gerry. “I could have sworn- There was a statement I was supposed to- er, actually not really, I wasn’t supposed to. But I was following up, a woman who saw a man dressed up in black- she was talking, talking about a fire-” Micheal’s eyes shot up in realization, Gerry looked nervous. “You’re Gerard Keay!” 

Gerry scratched the back of his head, wincing at the other’s enthusiasm. “Jeeze, nothing gets by you, huh?” 

Micheal shook his head, a small nervous giggle breaking through. “Why lie?”

To his surprise Gerry almost seemed embarrassed. “My name gets a bad rap. I didn’t want anyone to treat me any differently.”

Micheal’s shoulders relaxed and he offered the other a small smile. “I won’t.” He tucked his hair out of his face. “Promise.”

Gerry grinned. “Appreciated, Blondie.”

Micheal pouted. “That’s not my name.”

“Seems fitting enough to me.”

“Oh hush.”

Gerry laughed. “Not a chance.” 

Micheal laughed as well, and his smile rested over his features the same way the sun rested over the horizon. Kindly, and without any pressure.   

Chapter Text

Micheal never really learned how to braid his hair. Once a lifetime ago his mother would brush it out and play with it, putting it in elaborate and often silly hairstyles. He always appreciated the attention, the feeling of fingers carding through his hair. He smiled at the memory as he brushed his hair before cutting it. Technically he didn't care how long his hair got, but the fact that it kept growing back was irritating enough to cut it out of spite. He wanted to look presentable today, he managed his entire morning without looking over at the clock. His smile came a little easier and he even remembered to buy a little breakfast at the shop downstairs before making it to the Institute. Some blueberry pastry thing that he shook the crumbs off of his blue sweater before heading down the stairs. 

He ran into Tim- he believed his name was- first. Sitting at his desk with his legs crossed on top one another and draped over the table. He wore a fresh yellow button up and was looking over someone from his laptop. Micheal couldn’t help but think he looked a little bored. 

Tim’s gaze flickered to Micheal and he grinned. “Hi! Thought you'd be too busy avoiding Jon to make an appearance up here, nice to see you again.” He set his laptop down and Micheal noted he had been playing checkers online, he seemed to be winning as well.  

Micheal smiled somewhat quizzically, quick to deny Tim’s claim. “Thank you! I'm not avoiding, avoiding anyone. No one, I'm just, just going about my own business.” Micheal hesitated before laughing, a quiet nervous sound that came out more as a breathy scoff than an actual laugh. “Is Sasha in?” He wanted to talk to her about his potential new friend. She was the best when it came to judging people’s character. 

Tim's own smile widened as he assessed the other. “She's currently talking to the boss about the next assignment.” He picked his laptop back up, setting it on his lap and looking at it absently. 

Micheal turned towards the closed door at the end of the hall. “Next assignment.” He repeated, just barely worrying his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, a follow up on that statement about the spooky meat market. She doesn't expect to find anything but I think they're talking about where it's located.” Tim added. 

But she would definitely find something. Something was still there . Waiting, festering, consuming- Micheal wasn’t sure where the thought had come from but it left him feeling faint. It was an odd assumption to make, it could be nothing. It was probably nothing. Except he knew for sure it was something. A dangerous something. His heartbeat picked up. 

Micheal was moving before he was thinking, walking towards the end of the hall and opening the door to see a scowling Jon and a smirking Sasha. Her smile softened when she saw Micheal. 

“Hello! Good to see you what-”

“I want to do the follow up.” The two of them stared at him and the attention made him nervous. Collapsing his overall confidence. “Well- I mean- I haven't had the chance to get some fresh air, er, and well since both of us don't need to- I mean- ah haha.” 

Jon raised a brow. “You want to follow up on a statement?” He didn't seem convinced. He was in a collared vest jacket that seemed excessive in this small stuffy room. His glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose and he appeared only slightly annoyed. 

Sasha hummed in approval, leaning against Jon’s desk as he shot her a frown at the action. It didn’t seem to stop her. “I'd appreciate that actually! I was just talking to Jon about if maybe someone else could go because my apartment is getting a renovation this week and I’m supposed to be there to coordinate the movers. So this works out perfectly.” She beamed as she nodded at Jon, waiting until he rolled his eyes and nodded in return before starting to leave the office.

“Good luck with the uh, with the renovation.” Micheal whispered as she walked out, leaving Micheal to feel like lion's prey in front of Jon. That part was easy at least. 

“If you're going to go make a fool of yourself I'm not going to stop you-” Jon started, Micheal noted the little tape recorder running on his desk as he shuffled about with some papers Micheal could only assume were statements. “-but take James or someone with you in case there's someone there for you to question, I don’t want to lose a possible witness statement because you can’t string a sentence together.” 

Micheal opened his mouth to object before thinking better on it. Instead nodding quickly and leaving the office. He swore it felt suffocating in there. As if the walls were getting smaller the longer he hung around. He tried to not pay too much attention to the plaque on the wall. 

He didn't particularly want to bother Gerry with something so silly but if Jon was going to insist he brought someone… 

He found Gerry looking through a book in the library section, he was leaning against the opposite bookshelf. His hair was somewhat up today, collected in a messy bun whilst the rest dropped around his face, making the one black bead of an earring pop. His eyes were half lidded as he scanned over whatever literature held his attention. Micheal noted that his leather jacket was different today, shorter up on his torso And more fitted than his oversized trench coat. Micheal thought it looked nice. 

“Is there a question you have for me or are you content with staring?” Gerry turned his head to smirk at Micheal. 

Micheal felt his face burn as he stammered out as best as he could. “No! I mean, no, I wasn't- that is- I was waiting for, uhm, I didn't want to interrupt- I do have a question- well- er, request.”

Gerry raised a brow, his smirk not falling from his face. “I'm listening?” 

Micheal couldn't hold eye contact. “Well-” He held out the statement folder to the other. “I offered to go- that is I wanted to- Sasha was going to but I got worried- er, well not- not worried but I offered to go and, and Jon doesn't uhm, Jon didn't want me to go alone, I- I thought you could maybe- well-” he shook his head and pointed to the statement Gerry was holding as if it held all his answers. 

“Sure. When do we leave?”

Micheal blinked as Gerry handed back the folder. He was smiling, why was he smiling? Now Micheal was smiling too. 

“Technically- Whenever- when, you're ready then? We could leave, there isn't any rush, no, no rush.” 

“Alright, let's leave then.” 

°°°

The ride to the location was quiet. Micheal read over the statement at least three different times just to make sure he understood. They were going to follow up on the disappearances surrounding the Hall’s Meat Packers and Delivery co. Police reports were only circumstantial and apparently most of the disappearances can be chopped up to the individual’s life choices and decisions outside of work. But that still left the inconsistency of how every one of the disappeared worked for the meat company, and that after the seventh disappearance and the statement of the almost eighth the whole place was abandoned. Not closed or shut down or broken into, just abandoned without warning. Without so much as a signed document in their wake.  

“It's the, the fear, with the meat- the flesh you called it?” Micheal asked as he flipped to the picture of the abandoned building. 

Gerry hummed from the driver's side. “Yep.”

Micheal checked the date stamped on the picture. He was half confused as to why they weren’t starting there, at the abandoned building, but Jon was dead set on interviewing the last known worker. “So, this one, this one is real?” 

“Yep.” 

Micheal nodded grimly and tried to ignore the implications. They pulled up in front of an easily twenty to thirty year old building. The walls were crumbling and vines slowly crept up the corner. Besides that all of the other foliage was dead. It didn’t look like much was growing there at all. The house seemed to sway with the wind, Micheal was almost certain it should have fallen down by now. It was a small loft style house, an odd color of mold or maybe water damage soaked and bled through the seams on the windows, making it appear as if the building was crying. He scrunched up his nose as they passed the building. Gerry parked just a little ways away although Micheal wasn’t entirely sure why. 

“You take the front door and I'll go through the back.” 

Micheal blinked as Gerry hopped out of the car, grabbing his backpack before heading towards the gate, Micheal quickly following and jogging to keep up. “Wait, wait- what?! No! No we are just here to ask, to ask them a few questions, why would you- we aren't breaking in!” 

Gerry's grin was wicked. “Exactly! You'll keep them busy at the front door and I'll snoop around inside!”

“What-” before Micheal could argue further Gerry had already hopped the fence. Great. He walked the rest of the way to the front door and knocked. 

It was the house of a supposed Jasmine Downs. A former meat packer in Hall Shop's meat packers and delivery building. She was the only connection they had left and based on her statement was almost the eighth person to disappear because of the company. Jon wanted a better account on why the place shut down, whether it was disease or something else. Micheal wondered why he didn’t want them to ask about her experiences with the company but he wasn’t going to argue with his already disgruntled boss, so here he was, about to try and get more information about a meat company that probably had ties with a fear adjacent to the flesh.  

The woman who opened the door was pale, her hair stringy and clumped wet and sticky over her face. Her features were hollow and her eyes sunken in as she looked over Micheal. He could smell something rotting from inside the house behind her. And almost forgot what he was going to ask when she smiled, revealing too few teeth stained a horrid yellow. 

“And how may I help you today?” 

Micheal ignored the chills running down his back as he shifted in front of the woman. “I've come to ask you a few, a few questions about your time working, your time working for the Hall shop.” 

“Ah yes! That was quite a fun time, but not a suitable conversation for out here in this dreadful weather. Please, come in, I just made tea and biscuits.” Her voice sounded wrong, like she was talking with her mouth full or something was caught in her throat and she needed to cough it out. 

The sound made Micheal uncomfortable as he stammered for any and every excuse to refuse the offer to go inside. “Ah well that's quite alright, I'm pretty busy today and and I don't actually uh, I don't have, have-”

“Don't be ridiculous!” She wrapped an arm around him and pulled him inside and Micheal fought the urge to vomit as the wave of stench infiltrated his nostrils. He ended up being sat on a way too squishy couch with a cup of something black in his hand. Great. Where the hell was Gerry? Micheal could use a little back up. 

Sitting where he was gave him a better view of the interior of the house. The walls were a faded, stained yellow color that peeled back whatever wallpaper used to be there a hundred years ago. The ceiling to the second floor was curving in and bowing downwards, as if it couldn’t stand the weight of whatever was above them. Micheal prayed it held just a little longer. 

“So young man, you said you were interested in that old shop? I must say there are plenty of easier ways to get what you are looking for, surely I can help you?” She sat on the edge of the coffee table, putting her way too far into his own space as he tried to get just one clear breath of air. 

Micheal's throat dried up as he fumbled for a response. “I didn't- I mean, well I don't really- I'm not here to- er well wait-” He tried to put the cup down but then she was moving and it froze him in place. 

The woman crept closer, grinning at Micheal like he was something she could eat. He wouldn't put it past her. “You are curious? Aren't you? What it tastes like, the craving? A carnivorous act as it goes down the throat-” she extenuated the point by pointing a sharp finger at his throat. 

Micheal's grip on the cup lighted as he leaned further away. “Miss Jasmine, I don't- I'm just here for some, some questions.” 

She leaned in close, close enough for Micheal to notice the scabs of skin missing on her face, over her eyes, on her neck. Her smile was glass shattering and he noted the lack of tongue, or maybe it was more like there was too much tongue. Her skin glistened in a way that hinted at layers of grease and as her eyes bored into his own he realized he wasn’t looking into eyes, just two deep dark spots with a faint glint of white in the center. 

“Who's Jasmine?” 

“Michael duck!” 

Micheal didn't even hesitate, folding into the couch as something struck the lady, there was a sound of glass hitting meat and a flash of light as the Molotov bomb exploded.  And Micheal froze. Pieces of glass and blood and cracks of fire bubbled over its skin. And it definitely wasn't human. Micheal watched in horror as it split apart, an amalgamation of meat and viscera and gore. It screamed and crashed backwards as the fire blazed on its back. 

Before he could even begin to fathom the creature in front of him a pair of hands were grabbing him by the collar and pulling his back out of the way and into something Micheal could only guess was the kitchen. He watched Gerry load another Molotov and light it, chucking it at the creature. It screamed again and thrashed backwards, hitting a curtain and oh- the building was on fire. 

Time for them to leave. 

Micheal moved first, gripping the back of Gerry's jacket and bolting for the back door. They got outside, just barely passing the threshold when another blast came from inside, knocking them into the grass. The explosion was followed by a bone rattling screech that ripped through Micheal's entire core. 

The screaming seemed to last forever before everything went completely quiet except for the crackling of the fire. The building was completely enveloped in flames. 

“Well that was exciting!” Micheal turned to see Gerry standing, putting one of his Molotov bottles back into his backpack before beaming at Micheal. “We should follow up on statements more often, great choice Blondie.” 

Micheal had meant to make a mental point of processing whatever the hell Gerry was saying, but he was caught by the absolute smile splashed across the other's face. His face was flushed, bright red from the exertion and sweat of getting out of the building. Gerry's hands were tangled in his hair, riding up his jacket and undershirt, exposing the barest hint of skin underneath. Overall Micheal was finding it a little hard to concentrate. 

“We almost died.” Micheal looked away from the other, trying to hide the red that was quickly blanketing over the bridge of his nose.  

“An average Tuesday in that kind of work.” Gerry teased. 

“That definitely, that, that did happen, we did just, that did just happen, right?” 

Gerry walked over and helped the other to his feet. “Yes, that was real.”

Right. They were just attacked by meat, and that was normal. “Well what- should we call the police? The fire- should we call someone? Someone surely- that just actually happened.”

“Don’t worry, the fire department will come, they always do.” Gerry shouldered his backpack and nudged Micheal. “Lets go get food, don’t know about you but that got my appetite going.” 

Gerry laughed at his own joke and Micheal laughed as well, and if it had something to do with the smile on Gerry’s face that was no one's business but his own. 

°°°

The coffee place was at the recommendation of Micheal. It was a nice place, soft lo-fi music played in the background and everything was set in earthy tones. It was busy this time of day, that is the usual three people that hung quietly in the corner reading were also joined by two others that talked near the fireplace. 

It was nice. Micheal was almost embarrassed by his choice, thinking surely that such a goth as Gerry would have no interest in something so vanilla, but then when they ordered their coffee the barista looked straight at Gerry and asked; “Your usual?” And Micheal didn’t feel as embarrassed. 

“Good choice. I love the little cake pops they serve here.” Gerry started, picking a seat on the couch closer to the window. Micheal sat in the leather chair opposite and grinned. 

“I always just get coffee.” Micheal grinned, glancing out the window. The seat was comfy, he didn't usually sit there, he would have to more often. 

“Sounds about right.” Gerry chuckled. 

Micheal frowned. “What does- what's that supposed to mean?” 

Gerry just chuckled further. Micheal ignored him and took a sip of his drink.  When Micheal looked back up he noted the way Gerry was staring. 

“What?” 

Gerry tilted his head. His smile returned as he chewed on his cake pop. “Nothing, just enjoying the view.” 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Right.” he focused on the warmth of the drink rather than the warmth from his face. “I- uhm, well- thank you I guess for, for coming, risking, ah, just er, thanks.” 

“Your welcome, Blondie.” Gerry snickered, scratching the top of his head. “Guess we'll tell Jon the house burned down.” 

“I don't like lying.” Micheal mumbled. 

“It's not a lie.”

“It feels like a lie.”

“Then tell him, tell him we were attacked by a creature and almost killed in the fire. Because I'll back you up, but you know he won't believe you, believe us.” 

“I know, I know.” Micheal set his glass down and rubbed his eyes. “I just- I just- no, no you're right. You're right.” 

“Hey, the day will come. Christ knows he's already looking into Lietners, I'm just waiting for the day he ties it back to me. I'm sure that'll be a lovely conversation.” He mumbled.

Micheal looked at Gerry, at the obvious discomfort in his face. He reached out and touched his hand, barely, just enough to catch his attention again. 

“I'll back you up, when, when that happens, I'll, I'll fight him for you.” 

Gerry smirked. “You'll fight Jon?” 

“Well, well, I'll-”

“I get it, Blondie” Gerry managed a smile as Micheal drew his hand back. “I appreciate it. Promise I won't make you fight him though.” 

Micheal laughed. And he swore the coffee tasted a little better than usual. 

Chapter Text

The week carried on and Micheal tried his best to adjust to his rapidly expanding world. Often he would look over past statements and try to categorize them based off of the fears Gerry had told him about, not that he could genuinely remember all of them at any given time, but he would label them as such, refilling up the storage room in the back that Jon only gave a small passing glance to, brushing Micheal off with some comment about ‘at least you’re working’ which was enough for Micheal to continue on, even if he didn't explain his organization system.

Micheal enjoyed the times he got to go follow up on a statement with Gerry. It wasn’t as often as he thought with three other members still on the team who were way more equipped when it came to asking questions and taking notes. In fact Micheal couldn’t count how many times he lost his pen while trying to jot down some extra info some older lady or younger gentleman would try to give him. 

He’d been losing quite a lot of things recently. Pens, shoes, his brush, books he’d try to start only to spend hours looking for them to find it right back where he left it. Odd, out of place locations for things he always kept on hand. Weird was a good word for it. Micheal refused to give credit to anything other than his inability to remember where he set something down. It couldn’t be more than that. It wasn’t. Even though he knew it was. 

He was moving a stack of statements into the back filing room when he heard a voice talking softly. A monotone sound. He peeked into the storage room to see a guy sitting and talking into a record player. Immediately the stranger stopped, blinking as he scrambled to his feet. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought this area wasn’t in use anymore.”

Micheal sat the statements down on a small table and offered a smile. “Ah, I’ve been using them to organize some of the older statements, make room for, well- just for organizing.”

“You must be Micheal then, I’m Martin, it's a pleasure.”

Micheal swayed on his feet. “Yes, nice to finally- er, nice to meet you too.” He laughed nervously, looking at the recorder still in the other’s hands. “What were you recording, was it another statement?”

To Micheal’s surprise, Martin’s face flushed red as he shook his head. “Nothing, nothing, I was just taking inventory and such. Once again I didn’t know this back area was being used so I was surprised to find statements and I just-” He cut his words off abruptly when there was a knock on the door and they both turned to see Gerry smirking. 

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked. Micheal noted he was in his trench coat today, a white shirt with some band name on underneath it. 

“Hello James, no, Micheal and I were just talking about the storage use back here.” He looked at Micheal one last time before smiling. “I’ve better go now, it was nice running into you guys.” Martin all but sprinted out of the room.

“Did I scare him away?” Gerry teased, walking into the room and looking through the stack Micheal had left on the table. 

“No, actually, actually, I think I did.” Micheal giggled, opening the filing cabinet to see where he could put the next ones. “Did your search turn up? Did- I mean - you found the book, or?”

“Found it, almost got buried alive, burned it.” He stopped fumbling with the statements and instead leaned on the filing cabinet next to Micheal, his smirk fitting his face, hitting all the right angles. 

“Ah,” Micheal smiled, his nerves on how close Gerry was were settling over his features like pausing the tv. “Well I’m glad you’re not buried.”

Gerry nodded, reaching out to push some of Micheal’s hair out of his face. Micheal forgot how to breathe. 

“Why don’t you ever put your hair back, I can’t stand it when it gets all in my face.”

Micheal stammered out a small squeak of a sound as Gerry hovered his hand next to Micheal’s cheek, still touching his hair, before moving away entirely. Still leaning against the cabinet looking insufferably smug. 

“Your- your hair isn’t up, isn’t up right now, plus, I don’t- I don’t mind it- it in the way.” 

“Lost my hair band in the dirt, but I get your point. Now come on, we got to go see about someone’s neighbor.” 

“What- what?” 

“Jon wants us to look into a guy by the name of Graham Folger, apparently there was a statement about him.”

“About- about him? He gave a statement?”

Gerry bared his teeth and shot Micheal a grin. “He was the statement.” 

°°°

They knocked on the apartment door and waited. Micheal wasn’t entirely sure what they expected to find out of the place. The outside was well kept enough and the location didn’t exactly scream ‘spooky’. The door opened and at first Micheal saw a guy with blonde hair, but then his vision blurred and-

Micheal froze beside Gerry. The thing that now answered the door was tall and lanky, its skin pale and glistening. Its face was blank but multiplied, features non-existent except for when you were looking out of the corner of your eye. Micheal could count five or six staring at him, it reminded him of a half finished painting, something the artist had worked painstakingly long on but then dropped the project just before finishing the final details. The details that would make it human. 

He blinked and it was gone. Instead a tall 20 something or other man stood at the door, looking between the two curiously. His gaze locked onto Micheal’s and he grinned. 

Gerry spoke first. “Hi! Hate to bother you, mate, but me and my buddy are new in town and a bit lost. We were wondering if it would be possible to borrow your phone?” 

Micheal's heart was in his ears as the stranger stared at him. Directly at him. He tried to offer the guy a smile back but he knew it was weak. Something about the way he was smiling. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Almost like this guy understood something that Micheal just couldn’t grasp. Micheal felt known, being stared down by this absolute stranger and for some reason it irritated him. This guy or creature had no right to make him feel that way, yet at the same time he still couldn’t place why. He dropped the eye contact first. 

“Sure. Come in.” He said after a moment, smiling. 

Micheal forced himself to focus. The plan was simple. Get in, find an excuse to look around, snap a couple pictures, get out. Of course the plan seemed a lot simpler before Micheal had looked into the eyes of a creature quite capable of taking them out with one blow. Still he walked in with Gerry and waited until they were sat in the living room to cough gently.

“Excuse me, I know this is all a bit silly but I was, uhm, I was wondering if I could use your facilities.” There was a small pause as the other looked him over, Micheal coughed again. “It would just be, just be a moment.” 

The stranger nodded. “Of course. It's just down the hall, take the right corner, you can’t miss it.” His smile reminded Micheal of an inside joke. He ignored it. 

Micheal tried to return the smile as he mumbled his thanks and walked out of sight. Easily he could still hear the other two talking in the other room. Good. That means Micheal wouldn’t have a hard time hearing the code word.

He inspected the hallway. It wasn’t anything special. Bland in more ways than one with a mirror on the wall closer to the bathroom. There were two other doors as well. Micheal pulled his camera out of his bag and carefully opened the first door. It was an office, or at least it was. Now it looked as if most of all of it was covered in cobwebs. He listened for signs that Mr. ‘Graham’ was coming this way before snapping a quick picture and opening some of the drawers.

He was supposed to look for any evidence that supported the statement giver’s claim. A younger woman who used to live across the street and swore this person wasn’t who she met. Of course Micheal believed her, but they would need some extra proof if Jon was also going to be convinced. He shuffled quickly through old boxes and worn through folders, carefully opening drawers to check for anything. He couldn’t find any pictures of people but he did snap a picture of a box full of empty frames. As if someone intentionally took them down off the walls and discarded the photos inside. 

“Is your friend alright?”

“Yeah, sadly this is normal for him. I think it was the food place we were at before this. Anyways, tell me what it's like living up here?”

Micheal needed to hurry. Quickly he moved down the hall and entered the bedroom. It was emptier than the office and in the same stagnant echo of no use. Cobwebs were on the bed and over in every corner. The blankets were moth eaten and the frame was beaten up from the sun that shined through the one window, and that was covered over with grime and mildew.

He took some more pictures of that room before fumbling to leave. The last room was the bathroom. Micheal felt just a little desperate. They needed something, some actual evidence. He gripped the door handle and turned it, listening to the click echo in his mind as he opened the door. 

It was a normal bathroom. The walls were a dull shade of white and the floor was an equally duller shade of white. Nothing was out of place and it honestly seemed like the most normal bit out of the whole apartment. The shower curtain was closed but Micheal could see something crowding the tub behind the curtain. 

He pulled back the curtain and dropped the camera, staggering backwards and tripped over the toilet, falling back and hitting his head. Micheal winced, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubbed the back of his head. A loud ringing in his ears made hearing anything over his heartbeat difficult. 

He blinked and stared at the thing in the tub. It was odd looking, a twisted mutilated thing of skin. It didn't have a face. Just limbs pulled at odd angles. Skin white as if the blood was sucked right out of it.

Micheal forced himself to control his breathing, he gripped the camera with trembling hands and took a picture, scrambling off the floor and stumbling out of the room and knocking straight into Gerry. 

“Hey, you all set to go?” Gerry asked, holding Micheal from falling further off balance. He was trying to catch Micheal's eye, a notable worried stare that Micheal almost didn't catch. 

Christ he couldn't stop shaking. “Yeah, uhm, thank, thank you for letting me use, use the facilities. We can, we can go, go-” Micheal mumbled out the last bit,  gripping the cuff of Gerry's jacket tightly. 

The stranger smiled and made direct eye contact. “I hope you found everything you were looking for.” Micheal decided he hated it. 

And they left. They got into the car and onto the road when Gerry finally looked over at Micheal. “What happened? What did you find?”

Micheal trembled as he grabbed his camera and started clicking through the pictures. 

“There was a- there was a body in the- in the bathroom- it wasn't- it couldn't- it was all strung out!” Micheal laughed slightly, the nerves of it all coming out in giggles as he tried to find the picture. When he did, his smile fell and he froze. 

“What? What is it?” 

The picture was of the tub, but it was empty. No body. No nothing. Just a boring white tub. 

Just a boring white tub. 

“I-” Micheal didn't have any words. 

Gerry ended up pulling into an abandoned parking lot. Micheal just sat there staring at the picture. He walked over to Micheal's side and opened the door, Micheal handed the camera to Gerry and got out of the car, walking towards nothing. 

Micheal was insane. He had to be. Losing his mind all over again and for nothing. Hallucinating things, always hallucinating. His hands trembled. Was any of this real? 

Gerry started walking beside him. “Slow down Blondie. Talk to me, please?”

Micheal stopped walking but didn't look at him. “It's not there.” He whispered. “I know what- I know what I saw but, but-” He shook his head. His hair fell in front of his eyes and he pulled it back, huffing. His frustration from that entire week seemed to crowd into his mind, suffocating him. 

A hand rested over his shoulder. “I believe you. I believe you.” 

Micheal picked at the skin on his knuckles and shook his head. “The rooms were all- they were all untouched- not, not abandoned, just not used. Just- left there- like- like the memory was trying to- to hold on.” 

“And what you saw in the tub?” Gerry pressed. 

Micheal let out a shaky sound. “It- dead- it was dead. It was dead and broken and wrong. I could see- it didn't have- he- he was missing.” Micheal scraped his nails over his skin. “He didn't have a face.” 

“Most people aren't able to see whatever's left. But I've heard a few accounts that sounded similar.” 

Micheal shook his head, drawing blood that dripped down his knuckles. “It didn't show up- when- on the camera-”

Gerry placed a hand over Micheal's bloodied knuckles. “You're hurting yourself.” He met Micheal's eyes. “Just because we are dealing with shit neither of us can understand doesn't mean you're crazy.” He tried for a small smile. “If anything it means I'm glad to have some backup while handling all this.” 

Micheal nodded but he wasn't sure about any of it. “It's not just- just today.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I'll see things- in- in my apartment, around- around me. Things will go missing or change- change locations and I know I'm- I am clumsy and forgetful but- but not like this, this, this is different.” 

“You aren’t crazy.” 

Micheal laughed. “It's hard not to- to think that- when- when you can't find the- the damn statement you put- put down on the kitchen counter only- only for it to- to- to show up right where you left it after searching, after looking for over an hour.” 

“Stop seeing it as you being crazy, see it as the Spiral being a jackass.”

“So much- much to understand but- but everytime I try, everytime I get- get just- any closer. It’s like, like I’m incapable.” Micheal let out a shaky laugh, it was true. So much so that the audible confirmation made his head hurt and mouth taste like static. 

“Stop trying to figure everything out. You got to give your mind a break.” Gerry used the hand that wasn’t still pressed over Micheal’s knuckles to push his hair back, exposing more of Micheal’s face. “Noticing one detail is better than nothing at all. That’s what my dad used to say.”

Micheal smiled weakly despite himself. The sky was a deep pinkish blue in the sky and Gerry’s eyes seemed highlighted with the color. His smile showed off his teeth. Micheal didn’t like how easily distracted he felt, just looking. He shook his head and gestured towards the direction they came from, anything to stop the staring. “But we were looking for proof?” 

“Technically yes. And we did collect pictures.”

“Of nothing substantial.”

“Maybe not, but it's more than nothing. Plus we know it's not human, now we just got to work on killing it.”

“What- what?”

“My original plan was to burn it, but we couldn’t try that at the flat since there's like three apartments above him and I’m not in the mood to murder a bunch of innocents.” 

“You want to kill it, it's- it’s twenty feet taller, taller than us!”

Gerry lit a cigarette and gave Micheal an interested glance. “You could see it?”

Micheal shrugged. “I saw something. Just- just for a moment.”

“Interesting.” Gerry hummed, looking over Micheal in a way that made him want to squirm. “Well no matter its height it's weakened right now-” he walked over to the car and pulled out his backpack. “There’s a table in there. I couldn’t see it and your pictures don’t show it but it’s there. An artifact of the web that binds it further with its disguise. Weakens it.”

Micheal tried to wrap his head about what that all meant. “Could we destroy the table? Destroy it?”

“No. That would only make it stronger. The only thing I can think of is trying to kill it in its disguise, but that brings up the topic of how yet again.” 

Micheal tried to think but every time he got close to something his vision filled with spots and his headache got a little louder. He thought over what it was, how it looked, how it looked at him. “It's lying.” He said bitterly.

Gerry shrugged in agreement. Taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Micheal’s eyes shot up as something clicked. “You said, these things, these creatures, they, they feed off of fear- this statement- like the others, the others you showed me, the guy and his cousin, the, the woman and her mother, its- its the fear of knowing something’s wrong. It feeds off of, off of that so what- what if we took, what if we took that fear away?”

Gerry’s gaze perked up as he hummed. “Go on.”

Micheal rubbed his temple. A ringing in his ears highlighting his headache. “If- if we could bind it, to the lie, to its form, the one, the one it's taking now, it would, it would remove the wrongness, maybe, maybe it would reverse what it was- maybe, maybe it would kill it?”  

Gerry let out a long sigh. “I think I know where we can get something to do just that.” 

°°°

Micheal jolted awake as the car hit a divot in the road. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so exhausted. His head still ached from his headache earlier and he tried to pull himself together as he rubbed his eyes. 

“Rise and shine Blondie, we are almost there.”

“And we’re headed to- uhm,” Micheal scowled as a wave of static stuck to the back of his mouth. 

“A bookstore that has a Leitner that will help us.”

“You said- I thought you didn’t like Leitners?” Micheal looked out the window, They were in an odd part of London he usually didn’t frequent. 

“I don’t.” He said bitterly. “But, we can burn the book afterwards.” They pulled into a small alley and Gerry got out of the car. “Wait here.”

Micheal watched him climb a set of stairs up and into a backdoor. The sign on the door read; ‘Pinhole Books employees only’ He couldn’t remember where he recognized the name from. He didn’t have much time to think it over when he found himself staring at a door on an adjacent building. 

It was yellow. Bright and staring at him like a haunting memory. Micheal’s throat went dry. It didn’t move. Not that he would put it past the thing. It wouldn’t even surprise him if it grew legs and arms and charged at him. But it didn’t. It didn’t even open, just sat there, taunting him. He wondered if it would be possible to burn that. Watch it simmer down into ash. He wondered if it would help with his problems. 

He knew it wouldn’t.

“Alright I got it, hey, Blondie? Come on.” He nudged Micheal’s shoulder, drawing his attention to the book, when he looked back, the door was gone. He glanced back up to the bookstore and saw a woman staring out the window at them. Micheal noted the lack of hair but it was hard to make out any other features. 

“Yeah, yeah lets- lets go then.”  

°°°

Once back in the car, the ride back to the apartment was quiet. Gerry seemed notably bothered. His knuckles were white and there was something behind his eyes. Micheal couldn't tell if it was anger or sadness. 

He held the Lietner in his hands. Gerry hadn't explained what it was going to do yet but Micheal was sure it was something reckless and dangerous. 

Micheal exhaled. “How did- what uhm, was that a friend’s bookstore or-?”

“You don't know?” 

Micheal managed a small chuckle. “I'll add it, add it to the list.” 

Gerry smirked. “Touché.” He tilted his head, breathing through his teeth. Micheal pretended it didn't affect him. Gerry continued. “It's my mom’s.” 

“Ah.” A long pause. “Thank you, er, for trusting me, I know- I understand how it feels, when, when you are regarded poorly- maybe not- not exactly.” 

Gerry's smile lifted a bit more. “Thank you, Blondie. It's been a while since I've regarded anyone as a friend.”

The ride seemed a bit shorter after that. When they got back to the apartment they parked a bit away and sat there. 

“Ok. This book is simple enough, you carve an eye onto the surface of whatever you are trying to bind, as well as another on what you are trying to bind it to. Which means one on the Stranger and another on the desk.”

“And we don't know- we don't know where that- that is?”

Gerry shook his head. “There's a door in the kitchen that leads into the basement where the laundry is. I'm betting everything that it's in there.” 

“So, so, one of us needs to get to the basement, while, the other needs to.. To…” 

“Yeah.” Gerry almost sounded apologetic. He handed out a switchblade. “Which do you want to do?” 

Micheal shook his head. “Wait, wait- if it's, if there's a basement then, then there's an emergency exit, probably, probably in the back, or, or on the side of the building. I'll, I'll keep it distracted, I'll take care, I'll cut the stranger, just, just gotta be faster than it is.”

“Are you sure?” Gerry almost seemed impressed. 

Micheal took the switchblade and nodded. “I'll wait- wait until you get your end done, you said, mentioned- you have to read the book out in front-  in front of it, correct?” 

“Yeah.”

Micheal smiled. “Then just be faster than it.” 

Gerry laughed, and Micheal felt just an ounce less terrified. 

He waited until Gerry was out of sight to knock on the door, tucking the knife under his sleeves. When the thing answered, it had a smug smile. He was really going to do this. He was really going to fight a creature of the uncanny. 

“You came back?” It hummed, tilting its head. Micheal knew what it was, and what it wasn't. And staring at it made him hate it all the more. 

“Yes, I wanted to- to have a chat.” Micheal responded. 

“Of course.” The Stranger grinned wider and led him into the living room, and Micheal sat opposite him. 

Micheal looked him over. The lie was so plain, so understandable. Micheal wasn't entirely sure why it sickened him. The irritation that such a thing used its noticeable wrongness to create fear instead of just being imperceivable made something inside Micheal angry . 

His head buzzed as the previous headache came back in full force. He stared at the thing and it stared back, a smug smile plastered on its face. 

“I know what you are.” It said, its voice slightly warped. Micheal frowned but didn't answer, he waited, every nerve on fire, coiled up like a spring. It continued; “Why do you hang around the ones that need to know? Or is this some new twist entirely?” 

“Why do you flaunt what you aren’t? Why do you let people know what you are?” Micheal wasn't sure where the question came from, but he felt it with every bone in his body. 

The thing simply chuckled. “No need for denial when the fear tastes the same.”

Micheal flexed his fingers, he didn't want to try and pick at his knuckles in case the knife fell. He almost felt uncomfortable with the anger that seemed to bubble under his skin. It wasn't even fear. It wasn't even his. 

Behind them came no sound, but the Stranger twitched and whipped his head around. Micheal took it as his cue and dove at the creature while its back was turned. 

Everything happened in a tangle of limbs. Micheal managed to get the knife out, striking the thing in the back as they both clamored to the floor. 

It screamed, and it only barely counted as human. Micheal gripped the knife back and staggered as the thing crawled on top of him, slamming his shoulders into the floor. 

Micheal tried to use the knife to swing at the thing but he was already shaking so hard and the thing easily knocked the knife off to the side. Micheal moved to grab at it but it gave the thing leeway to attack. 

The thing tried to scratch at Micheal and nearly missed at clawing his eye. Instead he cut into Micheal's shoulder. The paint white hot and scalding as Micheal fought to keep it further away from him. Using all of his strength to keep the creature an arms length away. Sweat pooled on Micheal’s forehead as he strained, adrenaline the only thing keeping him somewhat steady. 

Out of nowhere Gerry knocked into the thing, pinning it to the floor and off of Micheal, giving the other time to back up. 

“Hurry! Carve the eye into it!” 

Micheal moved, rolling to grab at the knife. Gerry held the thing down as Micheal cut away at some exposed skin at its knee. It wasn't the best he'd ever done but it glowed green and the thing screamed louder. He wiped sweat off of his forehead as he helped hold it down. 

Gerry opened the book and started reciting some of the lines. It wasn't English but somehow Micheal understood. It undid what it was. Changing what was wrong with it until it was left with nothing to feed on. Leaving it seen. Gerry said another line and Micheal watched how the green glow started smoking. 

Both Micheal and Gerry were knocked back as the thing screeched and squirmed in front of them, its skin shedding like ribbons and turning inside out. The whole scene seemed to last for ages until the screaming stopped and the only thing left in the room was the bits of clothes strewn about. 

Gerry dropped the book with a scowl and Micheal scooted backwards until his back hit the sofa. 

“Did- is it done? Are we- is it done?” Micheal stood to his feet.

“Yeah. Yeah it's over.” Gerry lit his lighter and caught the book on fire. The two of them staring as the book turned to ash. Micheal felt his headache worsen up until the moment Gerry snuffed out the last glowing ends. “We’ll take the table to the archives. It's empty now. This one is gone.”

“ This one? There’s more then?”

“Yep. But we won’t worry about that right now. Come on, let's hall this out into the car before anyone else sees us.”

°°°

“You got a table ?” Jon asked exasperated as the three of them stood in artifact storage.

Micheal quickly stammered out a response. “Yes, yes! It was the, uhm, the one connected to the, the statement you had us follow up.”

“And what about Graham Folger, did you find him?”

Micheal glanced at Gerry, a panicked look in his eyes as Gerry held onto his poker face. Gerry answered,  “There wasn’t anyone at the apartment when we checked it out.”

Jon scoffed, scowling at the antique piece of furniture. “Fine. I guess if anything this is one consistency to the statement. She wasn’t a complete lunatic, only partially so. Maybe she should have gotten her head checked out after all.” 

Micheal refrained from saying anything and instead followed Gerry out. 

“You are still cut up from it.” Gerry pointed to the gash on Micheal’s shoulder that traveled down his collarbone. “Come on, I’ve got some first aid in the car, if we go back to your place I’ll pay for food?”

Micheal rubbed his forehead and managed a tired laugh. “Yes, that would- yeah, that would be fine.”

What Micheal hadn’t expected was being sat on his couch with his shirt just about completely off with Gerry pressing a cloth over the gash to clean the wound. It was everything Micheal could do to keep breathing and control his heartbeat. Gerry’s hands were cold, or maybe it was the disinfectant he was using. Either way it left Micheal having to force himself to remain still and not squirm every time Gerry moved his hands. 

From this distance it was easy to see the freckles speckled over Gerry’s face. They were small, like stars, and Micheal had half a mind to want to trace them. He looked away, swallowing hard. His face was burning. He coughed, just to try and clear his throat of whatever was making it hard to breathe. 

Gerry chuckled. “You doing alright, Blondie? I’m not hurting you am I?” He had one hand splayed against Micheal's upper collarbone, fingers almost touching his neck as the other carefully dabbed at the wound. Distracting was the only word Micheal would use. It was simply distracting. He wasn't used to someone helping him. An odd, out of sort feeling that wasn't sitting correctly in his mind. But it wasn't bad. It was almost comforting. 

Micheal almost hated how smug the other sounded, but still he smiled. How couldn’t he, with how nice the other looked, smiling at him without a care in the world. And in that moment there really wasn’t one. Just Micheal and Gerry sitting obnoxiously close together as Gerry tended to a wound Micheal could have very well handled on his own.   

Finally Gerry was done and set the bandage in place. grinning at his handy work as he moved back and Micheal fixed his shirt. 

“Thank- well- ha, I appreciate your help.” Micheal smiled at Gerry. 

“Maybe one of these days we'll go get coffee or lunch or something a lot less life threatening.”  

Micheal laughed. “Yeah- yeah, that would, that would be quite nice. I think- ha, I think I'd like that, like that a lot.” He took a small bite of the sandwich, his smile lighting up his whole face. He still couldn’t believe they had done what they did. He swallowed and glanced at Gerry. “That- that really- we really- that happened, right?”

Gerry smiled, raising his eyebrows. “Yes. And you really tackled the Stranger and carved an eye into its leg.”

“Right.”

“Pretty badass if you ask me.”

Micheal just rolled his eyes and shoved Gerry’s shoulder. “Don’t- no, don’t say that.” He laughed and Gerry snickered right back. 

Chapter Text

Micheal stared at the check he had received from the mail. It shouldn't have surprised him, as he always received his pay on the third Saturday of the month, specifically the one where he was off. Except the amount is what was shocking. It was almost a tad nauseating. And he would have thought it had been some mistake if it hadn't come with a note written directly from Mr. Bouchard. 

Concerning M. Shelly, 

Please accept this bonus as an act of gratitude for all your hard work. Ignorance is bliss as they say, wouldn't you think?

Sincerely the best, E. Bouchard. 

He couldn't fathom what it was supposed to mean but it left him feeling like he was being paid off. Maybe it would be smarter to quit. But Micheal was in no position to take a few weeks to find a new job considering he could barely pay for his rent, so he'd put the red flags aside a day longer. Plus it wouldn't cause any harm if he used the money to buy a bit of furniture, at least a coffee table. Especially if he was going to have a certain someone over every once in a while, he’d like the place looking somewhat lived in. 

Micheal set the envelope down and remembered the task at hand. He still was in his sleepwear with his toothbrush popped into his mouth and his hair messily done up in a before-shower bun. He had just stepped out of the washroom to put on some tea to be ready after his shower. Of course now the tea was long forgotten as he still stared quizzically at the check now sitting on the couch. He decided to leave it alone as he finished brushing his teeth and headed into the shower. 

It was only after he was dressed with his hair brushed and tea thoroughly drank that he approached the check once more. It felt wrong. Like he was committing some sort of crime. Surely this was ok? Right? Just an average pay day with an extra bonus. Nothing weird about it at all. Great.

Micheal pocketed the check and headed out towards the bank. There was always the chance he’d get there and it wouldn’t even be in his pocket anymore. Imagine his surprise when it was very much still there. Either way Micheal cashed the check and walked down the street. If he was going to spend his money he would at least spend it appropriately. 

The first place he checked was the antique store just a five minute jog away. It was called ‘Mary’s’ and fittingly was owned by an older woman named Mary. Micheal had known her for quite a while and she reminded him of Victorian silverware and the rich scent of leather and wax. He walked in, the usual chime of the bell greeting him as he checked the shelves for any new and intriguing trinkets. 

“Hello Dear! I almost started to worry-” Mary came over and wrapped Micheal in a hug. He giggled in return, smiling as she released him.

“Hello. It's been a minute- I know- I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“Yes well I expect the coots up above me to not care but I would like to be checked up on by my favorite customer every once in a while. Someone’s got to make sure I haven’t passed away surrounded by junk.” 

Micheal laughed. “I’ll come in- I’ll check up on you more often. I promise.”

She smiled, the lines on her face moving. As if her features adapted to the constant repetition. Muscle memory painted in wrinkles and creases. “I got some new interesting things in the back room if you’d like to check. It's unlocked and you know where it is. Unless you’ve been gone so long you don’t remember?”

Micheal rolled his eyes playfully. “I remember fine.”

He walked through old shelves and over carpeted wood floors. One vase had an intricate pattern of a dragon over the side of it. Below it was a stained glass decoration no larger than an average picture frame. It had a spiderweb detailed in the glass. Micheal thought it was pretty. But the design hurt his head. He continued on. The lamplight above bathed everything in a dim yellow hue that added to the atmosphere. Mary had some old timely music playing on speakers Micheal couldn’t see but he appreciated the background sound. Better than drowning in the silence. 

When he finally approached the backroom door he paused to look over his shoulder. An instinctive feeling. Less like someone was behind him and more like the feeling of leaving something out of place. Like forgetting something. But there was nothing to forget, and Micheal hadn’t set anything down. He hummed as he turned. Shaking the feeling off of himself as he twisted the doorknob. The click echoing in his mind as the door opened and revealed the dusty mildew scented backroom.

It wasn’t anything particularly huge, just another room lined with brick walls. He noted a few boxes of books, a stand alone mirror, a chess set, a rusted cleaver, as well as a fox hide draped over an antique chair. What really caught his attention was the coffee table in the back. It had plenty of things atop it but it was ornate in its design. Wooden, low to the ground. And even from where he stood Micheal could see the swirling designs in the legs. Beautiful. 

He stepped out of the room and walked over to where Mary sat checking numbers against her calculator. Her readers glasses low on her nose. The chain connected with little beads that reminded him of something Gertrude would use. He swallowed the pang of loss as he caught her attention. 

“I was wondering- well- is the table- the one in the back still for sale?”

Mary frowned, standing up and following Micheal towards the backroom. “I don’t believe I remember the table.” She pondered. 

When she opened the door again Micheal’s stomach all but dropped. 

The room was different. Or that is- changed. He still recognized some of the pieces from earlier but they weren’t where they were only seconds before. The fox hide was folded up on a shelf and the cleaver was barely visible from one of the boxes. The books were sorted not on the floor but on a bookshelf Micheal swore wasn’t there before and the antique chair was on the other side of the room, the chess board sat atop it. Even more so, the table was gone. 

“You sure you saw a table? You know that reminds me that I just sold the rest of that set I found a few weeks ago. Gorgeous collection. All homemade from oak. I wish you could have seen it. The last piece just sold a few days ago.”

Micheal forced a smile. “Ah, you know it- I must have- must have been a trick of the- uhm- well- A trick of the light I guess.” He looked between Mary back at the room and back at Mary again. If she noticed his discomfort she didn’t mention it. Micheal did not stay long after that. Eager for some fresh air. He was exiting out onto the street when he got a call. 

“Hello?” He checked his watch. Not even past noon. 

“You're not at work?”

Micheal recognized the voice as Gerry's. “No, it's my day- I don't work today.” 

“Well that's just boring. Where are you?”

Micheal snickered. “I'm out- I'm shopping.” 

“ Incredibly boring I see, how terribly domestic of you. Can I join?” 

Micheal rolled his eyes but smiled, the confusion from earlier leaving him as he answered. “I'm just across from the- er- not really actually- I'm at the market around Dexter Lane.” 

°°°

“You’re shopping for furniture?”

Micheal smiled, leaning over a short wooden coffee table. It had a little shelf underneath it. Gerry looked at it as well although Micheal suspected only to humor him. “Yes. That is- that is what I alluded to.” They were at an actual place for furniture this time, and Micheal was quite relieved that Gerry seemed to be able to see all the different items Micheal was looking at. 

“You said you were shopping.”

Micheal didn’t look up at Gerry as he spoke. “Well I don’t plan to- to steal it if that's what you mean.”

“It's a table, Micheal, either choose it or move on.” Gerry lit a cigarette.

Micheal giggled, turning to face his friend. “Someone’s impatient.”

Gerry rolled his eyes. “No, I am actually quite entertained. I love to spend my Saturdays watching someone else stare at tables.” 

Micheal moved to look at one with a metal frame. This one had drawers. “You are just jealous that- that you aren’t getting one.”

“I already have one, Blondie.” He argued back. 

Micheal stood to his feet, walked over to Gerry, popped the cigarette out of his mouth and sucked on it before snuffing it under his shoe, blowing smoke in a different direction. “Then stop complaining.” Micheal stated.  

Gerry stared at him wide eyed, mouth slightly agape. Micheal realized what he had done and heat flushed to his face. He went to stammer something out but the words weren’t forming in his mind and he ended up pointing at the coffee table, his words ten times higher in pitch than he would prefer as he spoke. “I’ll just take- I’ll buy this one.”

Gerry wore a small grin as he helped Micheal get the table to the front and paid for, before getting it out to his car to load it in. 

“What were you going to do if I wasn’t here? Just walk it all the way back to your flat?”

Micheal frowned. “Yes?”

Gerry rubbed his forehead. “You live behind an alleyway for Christ’s sake please tell me you had some sort of a plan.”

Gerry opened Micheal’s door first, before moving to the driver's seat, giving Micheal an expectant look as he stammered for something to say. “Well- I was going to- I hadn’t really thought- I mean- It- it would have been fine.”

Gerry barked out a small laugh. “Oh Blondie, what are we going to do with you?” 

Micheal didn’t like how his thoughts ran wild at the thought. Now was not the time to be thinking about anything other than shopping. “I- uhm- there’s a shop down near Brooks Ave- could we- I mean since you are driving- I wanted to stop there for a few- just a few things?”

Gerry lit another cigarette. “You’re in charge, boss.”

In total they went to about three different shops. Micheal looked over a few different night stands, some extra blankets, an actual clock for the wall, and a fun tapestry that Micheal thought matched his arcade rug nicely. Then Gerry insisted they stopped at the corner market and stocked up on some groceries that he claimed Micheal was missing out on.

It was when they were back at Micheal’s apartment setting up the new pieces that Gerry leaned against the doorframe and spoke. “So-” Micheal looked up from where he was fixing the nightstand. Gerry had draped himself on the doorframe, the leather of his trenchcoat shining from the window. “What now, Blondie?”

Micheal looked between the nightstand and Gerry, ignoring how his arm over his head pulled up the bottom of his shirt just barely. Showing just the barest hint of skin. Micheal was not staring. He felt the tip of his ears heat up nonetheless.  

“I don’t- I- uhm- well that was- that's all the shopping, done- done and dusted.” He tried for a smile. Gerry moved, looking almost bored as he took a seat on the bed, a bit closer to Micheal. He leaned all the way back, tucking his hands under his head as he looked up at the ceiling. Fire alarms were going off in Micheal’s mind. 

“Well you still have the whole other half of the day, of course I could get out of your hair if you’d prefer-”

“No! No you are welcome to- I mean you can- I would like you to stay.”

Gerry smirked. “Then what would you like to do, Blondie?”

Micheal stared from his spot near the nightstand. A single stride away from the bed. From where Gerry’s legs hung over the edge lazily, his hair resting against the covers like it was a natural thing. Like he belonged there. Just another piece of furniture. Was he allowed to think his coworker- his friend was pretty? 

“There was a thing happening over at the museum I’ve kinda been wanting to check out. They got a new avian exhibit. Birds, you know?” Gerry continued, one hand moving to scratch over his shirt. Micheal followed the movement, taking in every detail. He was hallucinating. No way this was real.

“Museum.” He repeated. His words didn’t reach above a whisper. 

Gerry leaned up, propped up on his elbows and smirked at Micheal. “Yes, you know, that place where they talk about old dead things and boring alive things?” 

Micheal managed a nervous laugh. “I know what a museum is.”

“Well? Do you want to go?”

“Absolutely.”

°°°

The museum Gerry mentioned was on the edge of London and seemed a bit smaller than what Micheal was expecting. The building was old, however, and that got his hopes up. 

They walked in and beelined it for the avian exhibit. Micheal appreciated how excited Gerry was. As they went by Micheal got a briefing on just about every bird they passed. 

“That one’s called a Tit. I know, wild name, technically they are also referred to as Chickadees but who would want to call them that when you can call them Tits? They are actually small passerine birds. They also live in Africa!”

Micheal smiled as Gerry pointed out another bird. “That one’s called a Thrush, you can tell because of the spots on its belly and brown ‘overcoat’ on its back. They are considered ground feeders and mainly eat berries and other fruits as well as worms. Its also been recorded that they eat snails! Neat, right?”

They continued. Micheal listened intently as Gerry listed off all the information he seemed to have about them. Micheal liked how Gerry’s face lit up when they came across a specific type of bird or how he used his hands as he spoke about their flight patterns and eating habits. After a while they passed into the art section, leaving the birds behind. 

They were looking at a painting of a waterfall when Micheal glanced over at Gerry, smiling. “So birds then?”

“Yep.” Gerry had enough sense to look smug. Micheal found it endearing. 

They moved to look at a painting of a mountain. It was high deserts and plateaus. Micheal wondered where the picture had been made. 

“I’m curious, what bird do I remind you of?”

Gerry stood for a moment, pondering the question. “you'd probably be a canary.” Micheal's smile flickered as he thought it over. Gerry continued. “They’re highly underrated birds, skilled with their sense of smell and ability to sing.” Micheal raised his brow and Gerry laughed, motioning for Micheal to let him continue. “Most people see them and instantly think tragedy, with their connections to the coal mine, but really they are quite persistent and persevering birds. Not many can survive as long underground as they can.” His smirk turned devious. “Plus your hair matches perfectly.” Gerry wiggled his eyebrows in mock fashion. 

“Oh shut up.” Micheal giggled, walking past one of the larger paintings. Some landscape he didn't recognize. “you'd- you'd be one of the crows.”

Gerry raised a brow. “How cliche” he joked, gesturing to his outfit. 

Micheal scoffed, playfully batting the other's hands away. “No- not like that, I meant- I mean more about your- your personality.” Micheal giggled again, shaking his head. “They are- they are very smart and- and they remember faces, people and objects. Studies- there was a study- scientists say that crows hold grudges. People- people only look at them on a surface level. But you got to look- look deeper to truly know who they are.” Micheal smiled, looking from Gerry to the painting to his shoes. “Look past the outfit, so to speak.”

Gerry smiled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah sure, really it's just the hair.”

 Micheal laughed, his own smile turning mischievous. “Right, you and your dirt blonde hair.”

Gerry whipped around to face him. “It's black!”

“It's dirty blonde at- at best- at the best of times.” Micheal teased. 

“Says goldilocks.” Gerry countered.

“At least my hair isn’t my most- most remembered quality.”

“Like hell it is!” Before Micheal could react Gerry reached over and ruffled his hair, the action caused him to stumble backwards as he tried to fight off Gerry’s advances, laughing all the while as his back hit the wall. 

Gerry caught Micheal’s hands and pinned them to the wall. “Take it back.” He teased, Micheal laughing too hard to answer and instead shaking his head. Gerry squeeze Micheal’s wrists lightly. “Take it back, Blondie.”

Micheal tried to swallow his giggles, letting the back of his head hit the wall. He opened his eyes and stared into Gerry’s brown ones. It started to dawn on him the position he was in.

“I- I take it- take it back.” He grinned, trying to tug his hands free. He tried to ignore how close the other was. How hard his heart was pumping. How weak his knees felt. 

“And?” Gerry pressed a little harder. 

Micheal rolled his eyes. “Your- your hair is dyed- dyed fine- it's great. A nice black color.” He laughed as the words tumbled out of his mouth. 

“Exactly.” Gerry dropped the hold he had on the other’s hands. Grinning all the while. Micheal tried very hard not to think about the implications. 

He moved to catch up to the other. “That's not fair- you can’t use- you just took me by surprise is all.” Micheal tried to argue, bumping Gerry’s shoulder lightly as he laughed. 

“Sure. Whatever you have to tell yourself, Blondie.” 

Micheal followed him outside and to a bench. It really was a nice day outside. Micheal missed having nice days. 

Gerry lit another cigarette and rolled it between his teeth, looking over at Micheal. “You don’t think it's that bad, do you? I guess I didn’t really give it much time to sit. Too impatient.”

Micheal looked over the unnerved expression over Gerry’s face. Like he was remembering something particularly unpleasant. He smiled and ran a hand through the other’s hair, bringing it up into the light. There you could really see the sharp lines of blonde. 

“I think it's perfect for you.” Micheal started, letting the strand drop as he carded his fingers over Gerry’s scalp. “It matches your eyes. Like hints of gold. It doesn’t take away from the black-” Micheal caught Gerry’s gaze and realized his hand was still in the other’s hair. He coughed as he pulled away, far more interested in looking at the grass below him. “Either- either way it's- well it's a good look. No need- don’t worry about it- I think it’s- it's definitely nice. You look nice- I mean- fine. You look fine.” 

Gerry chuckled quietly. “Thanks, Blondie.”

They sat there a moment in silence, Micheal absently picking at his knuckles. Peeling away the skin without so much as a thought about it. He wondered if Gerry had planned on going to the museum alone originally, either way it was nice that he brought it. 

“Thank you for- well the- the museum- it was nice. Thank you Gerry.” 

Gerry grinned. “Don't mention it.”  

A gust of wind blew Micheal's hair into his face, he snickered softly as he held it back. 

Gerry laughed and nudged Micheal's shoulder. “You want some help with that?” 

“What- oh, it's not a bother- I don’t- aha, it's-” 

Gerry batted Micheal's remark away. “May I?” He gestured towards Micheal's hair. 

“Oh, well- well alright.” Micheal shuffled so Gerry had better access to his hair. 

Micheal learned two things. One, Gerry had nails. He felt them move down his scalp, pulling his hair gently into order. The feeling exfoliating through his system. Like pins and needles ghosting over his skin. A lazy type of comfort. The knowledge that he wouldn't pull his hair or poke at him like some sort of experiment. 

The second thing he learned was Gerry was quite good at braiding hair. He wasn't sure if it was supposed to last this long, with how Gerry carded his fingers through like a brush again and again, the feeling tingling down Micheal's scalp, hitting all the pleasure points in the process. But he didn't care. Gerry could take as long as he wanted as long as Micheal could stay like this. 

The feeling wasn't just nice, it was reassuring. Gerry was really there. Micheal was really there. Each scrape of nails against the scalp was a small tick of the clock that promised Micheal wasn't dreaming or hallucinating. He could relax, maybe even let his eyes close. The sun was so dreadfully bright, surely it wouldn't hurt if he closed his eyes for just a moment. Just relax for the first time in what felt like years. 

Some more time went by. “Alright, Blondie, that should do the trick.” 

Micheal opened his eyes and blinked before moving to look at Gerry. He looked impressed and Micheal instinctively pat his head, feeling out the braid. It was long enough to hang over his shoulder. Odd. He could have sworn he had cut his hair that morning. 

“Thank you.” He said, for what felt like the fifth time that day. 

“No problem, most times I'm working with less hair, sorry it took me so long.”

“No- no it's ok. It was- I don't mind.” Micheal grinned. He checked his watch, humming. “It's- er- well it's getting a little late into- into the day, do you- do you want to drop me off then?” 

Gerry smiled as if Micheal had told an inside joke. “There’s one thing left that I want to show you.”

Gerry and Micheal got into the car and passed inner London into a small town bordering it. Micheal relaxed into the passenger seat. It wasn’t often he was able to just sit whilst someone else drove unless it was the bus driver, and even then he was constantly worried he’d miss his stop. 

The scenery changed from large cement buildings and old brick architecture into green hills and lofty pastures. And Gerry stopped only when they were in front of a long since abandoned building. Some cows had broken out of their pasture and were eating the grass near the entrance.  

“What?” Micheal started but Gerry cut him off with a wave of his hand, smirking. 

Micheal followed him out towards the abandoned building. It was obviously a factory of some kind, green crept over the concrete walls and Micheal could see obvious signs of decay. Gerry hopped the fence and Micheal followed, only barely stumbling as his feet hit the gravel. Micheal watched a small beetle creep over a moss covered rock, his attention pulled back as Gerry tugged him forwards. Still not telling him where they were going or why. He guessed the ‘where’ easily as they crept through a hole in the wall into the forsaken structure. 

He giggled. A small nervous sound as they crept up stairs and through hallways beaten by the sun and diminished by the elements. Old was the best word to describe the place. Old and worn through. Micheal could appreciate a building with history, but this place looked like all the history had left it hollow. Empty rooms with rust covered drawers and moth eaten papers littering the floor. Bugs that had made their home in the walls and over the remaining furniture. Animals that had eaten through the wiring and plaster, revealing the metal structure underneath. And still Micheal and Gerry climbed higher. Passing rooms smelling of mildew and walls covered by graffiti they finally made it to the roof and-

Oh. 

The sun was setting. It was obvious to see now, with how high they were, how the sun was dipped low and dripping orange and pink hues. A gorgeous array of blues and purples spreading outwards from the center. It coated over the concrete and foliage and forgotten rubbish and painted everything in striking gold. Micheal looked over to see Gerry, and he was silhouetted in the color. Bathed in light like some angel. And Micheal smiled, being beckoned to sit next to the goth on some old metal something that Micheal really couldn’t name but was sure it wasn’t supposed to be sat on. But he did. And together they watched the sun go down in silence.

Micheal was used to silence. To people being odd or slow around him. As if he was fine china willing to break over even the smallest thing. Condescending silence, where people walked on eggshells and pretended to appreciate who he was. But this silence wasn’t like that. Not that kind of silence at all. Not the kind of silence you’d find in the hospital or library either, nothing coated in hushed mourning or stilted air. More like a secret shared late at night between two friends. Something to be revered, seen as a gift. Maybe even a miracle. A comforting silence. 

Micheal watched the sun set, the colors moving from sharp and bold to deep and bashful, as if the sky was relaxing in the afterglow the sun had left. And why shouldn’t it? It almost seemed necessary. Micheal dared a glance at Gerry and wasn’t entirely sure what to say when he saw the other staring at him. But he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t dare to break the silence that was clouding his mind with a comfort he hadn’t experienced in ages. And he truly hoped it wasn’t a dream, or a hallucination, or any entity of madness or fear trying some sick trick on him. He hoped it was just him and Gerry. 

Just the two of them against the shadow of a sunset. 

Chapter Text

Mondays. They were usually relatively bad for everyone. That moment when you stumble out of the weekend and trip into your work chair. Except Micheal felt more as if he had fallen through a crack on the floor and was stuck somewhere suspended. Stuck in limbo. Stuck in place knowing that if he dared to move forwards it would only be acknowledging the snake ready to pounce and if he tried to move backwards he would hit a wall. Just stuck. 

He had a nightmare. That was the first start to it all. The beginning to the end as it were. He hadn’t even been sure it was a nightmare, especially since when he had woken up he was not in his room. Sleepwalking. Well maybe it wasn’t a nightmare. Maybe he had been awake and simply wanted to clear his mind by having a little walk about. But he didn’t remember getting out of bed, and he didn’t remember this part of town. 

He remembered the nightmare though. He had been walking, running? Nevermind that detail. He had been moving, going down something. Or was it up something? He had been moving after all, and direction must have been a factor. That would only have made sense. But none of this made any sense. And none of this was helping him understand his nightmare. 

Micheal tried again. The smaller details didn’t need to matter this time. They rarely did when it came to nightmares. Now waking up on an abandoned street in the middle of the night with only your sleep wear on, that is when the smaller details matter. In the end his only saving grace had been a bus driver who had taken pity on him. 

But no. That wasn’t right either. He hadn’t been that far from home at all. He didn’t need to take a bus to get to a place that was only a few steps away. And it had to be just a few steps away because he was home now, sitting in his living room with a cup of tea? No coffee. Something stronger maybe, but he didn’t own alcohol. So it must have been coffee. He personally hated the taste. In fact he only took the time to buy it because Gerry had mentioned his favorite flavor. 

Micheal was getting off topic. Now he was sat early on a monday still in his sleepwear shivering on his couch with a foul tasting cup of joe held between trembling fingers trying to remember a nightmare he probably didn’t even have. It was even harder with the mind numbing headache crashing through his head. Maybe he had a fever. That would explain the pain and chills. Except it wouldn’t explain the nightmare that he definitely had. The nightmare about being lost in a maze except he wasn’t lost. He couldn’t be lost. He wasn’t allowed to be lost. Ok, so he wasn’t lost. But he was in a maze all the same. Not a hedge maze either, or one of those hay mazes set up during the autumn months where children run through them laughing and playing. This maze was something else. Hallways? But hallways weren’t mazes. 

Micheal took another sip of the coffee. His eyes buzzing and watering as he tried to focus on one detail at a time. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to understand his nightmare but it felt right. Like maybe if he understood then he could figure out how to proceed with his day logically. 

It had definitely been a hallway. But it had also definitely been a maze. But was it a maze? It couldn’t have been because he wasn’t lost. You have to be lost to be in a maze. Right? Or was he misremembering again. Either way it was definitely a hallway. Had he been looking for someone? Maybe trying to find something? He remembered the feeling, the panic, the hopelessness, the blood running through his veins, or was that just right now? It was getting harder to differentiate. Yes, he concluded, he had definitely been looking for someone- no something- well, his mind hurt. He knew who he had been looking for, where he had been looking for them in, but he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to remember. 

Because the person he had been trying to save is now gone. They all are. They always will be. He should be gone too, he thought. A weird sentiment. He really wasn’t all that suicidal. At least he thought he wasn’t. The thought hadn’t been accompanied by hurt or sorrow. More just a truth. He wasn’t supposed to have survived this long. So why had he? What was keeping him here, running around in circles in infinite hallways that weren’t mazes but how could they not be? He couldn’t find an end destination. Isn't that the definition of a maze?

Micheal set his now empty cup on the coffee table. He didn’t remember finishing it. 

Mondays. They really were the worst for everyone. He couldn’t remember the rest of the nightmare. Hell he was still foggy on how he ended up in his living room and out of his bed at the ungodly hour of 3:47 a.m. Had he sleepwalked? He wasn’t entirely sure of that either. His mind was a mess. His headache curled around him like thick chains wrapped around his neck, around his wrists, around his head and chest. Is this what being hungover felt like? He never really drank enough to find out. Secondary was too busy forcing down answers for math problems he didn’t all that much care about and college was for staying up all night rereading the same sentence in the hopes that he’d pass an arbitrary test. Not a lot of opportunities to get wasted. He wondered if Gerry drank. 

He was getting distracted again. He checked the clock and wasn’t even surprised when the time now read 5:28 a.m. Was that his clue to get up? He surely took it as one, swaying on his feet and knocking into three walls on his way to shower. His hair was raggedy as a wet mop again. Honestly he was getting sick of cutting it. He got out of the shower and managed to brush it into compliance, wrapping it up into a messy bun and using bobby pins to hold it into place. A few strands fell down around his face but he didn’t mind. 

The rest of the morning was a blur of tripping movement to coax clothes over his thin frame and force another cup of coffee down his throat. He would be quite annoyed with himself if he got to work late because he wasn’t awake enough to focus. 

He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to work on this time. Every task Jon assigned him felt confusing and wrong. Like they were moving backwards. Maybe he was so far gone as to just forget how to organize. It honestly wouldn’t surprise him. 

He looked in front of the mirror one last time before leaving. He looked exhausted, shoulders slack and eyes hollow as he blinked back another blur of tears caused by yawning. He was in an oversized sweater that was loud with color and pattern. One of his favorites, actually. And some jean leggings, jeggings? Were they actually called that? What a silly name. His leather satchel hung off his shoulder and Micheal noted that with his hair up you could actually see his neck. He did have a lot of neck. Micheal frowned at the mirror before shaking his head and walking out the door. He wasn’t going to spend all his time scrutinizing himself when he was supposed to be in the office. 

°°°

His headache got at least ten times worse once he stepped into the archives. Maybe this was a migrain. Micheal never really had those either. Sure a headache every once in a while from forgetting to take care of his body was nothing out of the ordinary but this? This was ridiculous. Headaches were meant to be left at home so he could work properly. 

“Micheal. A word?”

Micheal tried to not flinch at the sudden sound, looking up to see Jon looking between him and some statement Micheal couldn’t see. 

He didn’t even offer a response, just followed Jon into his office. Sitting down in the opposite chair and appreciating how little lights were on in there. 

“This is you correct?” He started, handing Micheal a statement file that was more of a ‘I was here then I was there’ kind of thing that Gertrude had made him fill out from time to time. This one in particular was about a Lietner he was supposed to hunt down. Something related to shadows and ghosties at night. With his headache ringing deaf in his ears he couldn’t remember the name Gerry had given him for that particular fear. Did it matter? It was a haunted book and that was really all. 

“Answer me.” He repeated after a moment of Micheal not responding. Ah yes. Thoughts have to leave the mouth during conversation. Maybe he was sick? This headache was bound to pop his head open like a grenade eventually. 

“Yes. That's my signature.” Micheal confirmed. 

“You were after a leitner?” 

Michael rubbed his temple. Unironically he believed that was one of the ones where when he had gone to the person’s house, they had said they had already been visited by someone who promptly burned the book. Gerry, no doubt. The thought almost made Michael smile. 

“Christ almighty are you deaf?” 

Micheal jumped and looked straight at Jon, he had an exasperated expression written over his face that unironically also spelled out sleep deprived. Micheal almost felt bad. The headache was making it hard to feel anything other than pain at the moment though.

“No, I didn’t- apologies- headache. What- what was the question?”

Jon rolled his eyes and huffed, gesturing to the file a bit dramatically. “Why were you searching for a Lietner, and why does it suggest you found it but didn’t submit it?”

Micheal rubbed his forehead for what felt like the twentieth time that day. He shook his head slowly. “I was following up on a statement- a statement- something or other about- about those haunted books- missed it- didn’t get there on time. I found the guy who gave the- gave the statement but- but he didn’t have the book- it- the book was already burned- taken- taken care of.” 

“By Gerard Keay we presume? Since he seems the only other one stupid enough to deal with these books.”

Micheal really couldn’t hear whatever Jon was bickering about. His mind felt like an endless wave of static crashing into and eroding his mind. He tried to push the feeling down, swallow it. But that wasn’t helping. Like someone was poking the pain center like one shines a magnifying glass on an ant hill.  

“You think- does it matter? Why- why do you care about- about what I followed up on.” Micheal tried to hold some semblance of a conversation. 

“These books are a waste of time. A dead end. They probably aren’t even the cause of half of these people’s problems. Just a bunch of conspiracy.”

A lie. Micheal latched onto it, searching it out and feeling it settle the waves of static in his mind like merciful relief. That alone took him aback. Even further was what he said in response. 

“What? You think if you denounce them then what happened to you will just go away like it never happened?” His own words shocked him and he covered his mouth, scared he was going to just keep on with whatever nonsense he thought needed to be spoken aloud. 

Micheal made eye contact with Jon and he was sure he was about to get fired. Because Jon looked just as horrified as Micheal felt. His face was an unhealthy shade of pale and he looked like Micheal had just told him his deepest darkest fear instead of the nonsense that he had actually said. 

Micheal stood up and promptly left the room. He decided he wasn’t going to wait around to get fired and would hide in the library instead. He did notice his headache was gone. That was something. Maybe the only positive in his crash landing of a Monday. 

He walked into the library and took a seat close to the window. Here there was a little lamp as well as a stack of books unattended too. Micheal half wondered if he was taking someone's spot when he noted the yellow door on the other side of the room. 

Immediately he froze in place. Staring at it. Watching it. And then he remembered every aspect of his nightmare from earlier. He remembered getting out of bed and walking to a door that was not his and entering into a labyrinth that he understood but wasn’t supposed to. He remembered hearing laughter and scoffs and all sorts of sounds that surely shouldn't have been audible in such a place but he could hear them now as he sat paralyzed by a fear that wasn’t his own but gravitated towards him at every turn. He remembered choking on his scarf and falling on shaky knees and he remembered feeling so helpless because he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t do anything but watch. And now he felt the same way, watching the door, waiting for it to open up and swallow him as it had his boss, as it had his childhood friend. And why shouldn't it? This whole Monday had been a testament to his inability to do even the simplest of things. He couldn’t even answer his boss’s questions without fumbling out some nonsense that made him look like he was on something. He should  be on something. He never should have stopped his medication. He never should have thrown out the pills. But they hadn’t been helping, had they? They always had made him feel weird and off and soulless but now as he stared at a door that might as well have been his grave he knew this was worse. Seeing things that definitely weren’t there. Scary spooky fear entities be damned this wasn’t supposed to be happening to him. It just wasn’t fair. 

“Hey, loving your hair up, trying to impress someone?”

Micheal blinked and looked over at Tim. He was wearing slacks with a bright pink collared shirt, at least four books stacked up in his hands. He nodded towards the other seat and offered a smile. “May I?”

It took Micheal much longer than necessary to respond. “Yes- yes of course. Also- what- what?”

Tim sat the stack of books down near the other pile and sighed dramatically as he sat down. “Boss has me running all kinds of odd errands while Sasha and Martin are out following up on a statement. Is that why you are stuck here as well?”

Micheal shook his head, where Tim sat blocked Micheal’s view of the yellow door. Maybe it wasn’t even there anymore. He hoped it wasn’t. “I’m er- taking a break- had a- had a headache.”

“Ah well alright, I think I’ll take a short break as well, if you don’t mind the company?” He winked and Micheal wondered if he was just being polite. 

“I don’t mind.”

“So, you never answered my last question, you dress to impress?”

Micheal squinted at his coworker. Processing the question before glancing down at himself. Besides showing way too much shoulder to be considered decent he wasn’t in anything unusual. 

“No?”

“Really? I’d thought you’d be trying for the attention of a certain gothy guy.”   

Micheal felt color drain from his face. “No! No, no? I’m not- this isn’t-”

“Slow down, slow down, no one's here to out you. I was really just curious. You know with how often you’ve ended up going out with him to follow up on statements.” Tim shrugged. “I thought it was quite obvious.”

“I am not- this is not attention seeking- I’m not trying to draw- to draw attention to myself.”

Tim’s grin was smug. And it wasn’t helped by the way Micheal’s face burned under the accusation. Was it an accusation? Really Tim was just making conversation.

“Right, well I guess it doesn’t matter anyways since no one’s seen him at the office since saturday. I know he likes to come as he pleases but usually he’s back by now. Have you heard from him?”

“Not since Saturday.”

Tim shrugged. “A shame, I had almost convinced him to come grab drinks with me. I’ll have to revive the question the next time I see him. Anyways, how are you?”

Micheal couldn’t hold back the irritation in his tone. “Why?” It always started like this. A ‘harmless’ conversation until you realize that the undertones were trying to figure out if you were stable enough to do your job. Quite frankly Micheal was sick of having to look inbetween the lines. 

Tim didn’t seem bothered by his agitation. “Well you said you had a headache, and when I came up on you you looked like you were staring down death itself.”

Micheal’s shoulders relaxed as he rubbed his temple. “Didn’t sleep much last night. Sorry.” He mumbled. 

“No need to apologize, mate, I get it. Everyone’s a bit on edge around here, I don’t know how you handled it before Jon took over.”

Micheal managed a small chuckle. “I don’t either.” He glanced over at the stack of books Tim had sat down. “What are you- what statement are you looking up on? Or- or is this for something else?”

“I’m honestly not that sure. Boss just said to look up everything related to Lietner and his spooky library so I thought I’d start in the library.”

Micheal looked at some of the titles of the books. “These are all architecture books?”

“Yes, well one of the statements was traced back to an architect that I pay a lot of mind to, I thought if the two were connected then I could trace back his steps and run straight into Lietner.”

“You are going to read all those books?” Micheal inquired. 

“That sounds a lot more heroic than what I’m actually going to do.” Tim laughed. “In reality I’m just checking names and locations, so only a few chapters. I’m cross checking dates if anything. Boring work.”

Micheal found the tension leaving his shoulders as he listened to his coworker talk. He offered the other a smile. “If you- well- that is if you would like some- some help I’d love to lend- well- I’m not busy and if there's anything I can do.” Micheal’s words trailed off as Tim pushed the smaller stack towards him. 

“I thought you’d never ask! Here is a notepage. I just am going through and cross checking the dates as well as the locations to then see if any match the statements. That part I’ll do later, really all I need right now is confirmation on dates.”

Micheal smiled. “I can do that.”

In the end Micheal and Tim spent most of the work day going through old and older still log books on public records and receipts for construction materials. Micheal found an odd connection with a company called Breekon and Hope as well as a shipment made direct from the Lucas family which Micheal could swear he’s heard about before. Something he remembered Gertrude being particularly proud of. But beside that it was mundane work that seemed to have a bunch of rabbit holes but no rabbits. 

He couldn’t complain. Micheal found he quite enjoyed working with Tim. He was a lot more easy going than that of the others around the archives, besides Sasha of course, and he didn’t seem to mind the way Micheal twitched uneasily or jumped at usual library sounds. He might have just felt bad for Micheal but either way it kept his mind off of thoughts surrounding hallways and mazes and surprisingly they even managed a few different leads to look into.

A very productive Monday, which was much better than how it started. It was only once they were getting closer to the end of the day that Micheal felt nervous once more. 

“Alright, this is great! We found a lot! Let's give it to the Boss, and then we can leave this dreary place.”

Micheal felt something akin to nausea stir in his gut. “I don’t- well- I think Jon- I don’t think he’d be happy to see me right now.” Micheal mumbled out that last bit.    

Tim slung his arm over Micheal’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, just let me do the talking and you’ll be fine. He’s been on a short fuse recently because of all the extra work being piled on.”  

Micheal tried to mirror Tim’s nonchalant smile as they walked back down and into the archives. They almost completely ran into Jon on the stairwell. 

Jon frowned between the two of them before his sharp gaze fell onto Micheal. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Micheal went to respond when Tim cut in. “He’s been helping me. Speaking of, we found some damning leads to look into for those haunted books you’ve been going on about. We also cross checked dates and other things to try and narrow the search pool into something more realistic and I think this is as close to perfect as we could get if I do say so myself. Couldn’t have done it without this guy though.” He gave Micheal an appreciatory pat on the back. 

Jon’s gaze softened as he took the list Micheal and Tim had put together. “Thank you. We’ll look into these tomorrow. Tim you are dismissed. Michael, I need a word before you go.”

Micheal picked at his knuckles as he stood staring at Jon. Jon, in question, was still reading over the notes they had handed him.

“You helped with this?” Jon asked. 

“Yes.”

Jon opened his mouth to say something but then stopped, hesitating. “Fine. You are also dismissed. But Micheal.” He looked straight into his eyes, making Micheal feel small. “If you invade my personal life again I will have you suspended. Am I clear?”

Micheal wasn’t sure what the hell Jon was talking about but he nodded nonetheless. Quickly leaving the other’s sight and heading out of the Institute. 

He should have gone home. Maybe that was the issue, that he hadn’t gone home. That he had stopped at the cemetery and sat next to Gertrude’s grave for what must have been hours since the sun was well below the horizon when he snapped out of it. That must have been the issue. That must have been it. Because if he had gone home earlier, then he wouldn’t have seen the yellow door again, against the back alleyway wall and way too close to his home for comfort. That must have been why. And after a long moment of staring at it, at making sure it wouldn’t move or change or do any of the other things doors weren’t actually able to do, he went up the side stairs to his apartment. Maybe that was his next wrong move. Although that he was less sure about. How do you avoid something when it's right next to the place you try to call home? What do you do then? 

Micheal really should have gone home earlier. Because that's the only way he could explain why he opened his apartment door only to be met with a yellow one against his living room wall. A door that shouldn’t have existed where he was supposed to feel safe. Where he was supposed to be able to go at the end of the day and not worry about any of the horrors he experienced during work.  Now he dropped his satchel somewhere on the floor, his eyes unmoving from the mustard yellow door impossibly in the middle of his flat mocking him like he was the brunt of some inside joke.      

And that’s what this whole day felt like. One large joke played on him for the sense of comedic irony. Micheal Shelly did not move from his spot near the entrance, his eyes fixated on the door that wasn’t supposed to be there. The door that was only supposed to exist in his nightmares or in the desolate snow, not his living quarters. 

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Surely once he opened his eyes it would be gone. It would be gone and he’d be able to try to get a better night's rest than before. Surely. 

One. Micheal steadied himself on his feet. 

Two. He took a deep breath in. 

Three. Deep breath out. 

Four. It’s all in your mind. 

Five. Doors don’t just appear in places. 

Six. And either way it would be gone once he opened his eyes. 

Seven. It would be gone. 

Eight. Then he could sleep. 

Nine. He just wanted to sleep. 

Ten. He opened his eyes. The door was not gone. But now it was open. 

And Micheal Shelly could see someone inside.      

Chapter Text

Micheal froze, the person he stared at was far inside the hallway, too far to make out defining details, still too close for comfort. He took a panicked step backwards, his back hitting the wall as he stifled a small cry of something that tried to protrude outwards into a scream. Or maybe a sob. 

The person stared at him for what felt like hours before it’s head tilted to the side and it came at him. 

And this time Micheal Shelly did scream.

Every movement he watched seemed to happen in snapshots of slow then fast. Stilted movements that rolled to try and correct themselves. Chaotic miscorrections that seemed to have it vaulting off the walls. And Micheal could only watch in abject horror and the thing took shape inside his flat. Large shuddering movements that didn’t connect with the main body. Too many arms, too many limbs, too much physicality. An amalgamation of joints and repeating segments as if time was playing itself on repeat. It tipped over his pathetic couch and scratched at the walls to pull itself close to him, choking him with its very presence, one long hand wrapping infinitely around his neck and knocking him further against the wall. He let out a stifled sob as the taste of iron flooded his tongue and consumed his nostrils. 

The thing surrounding him shifted and blurred, each minute detail accompanied by a clicking sound, as if the bones were being struck together repeatedly. Micheal tried to grab at the arm around his neck, but there wasn’t anything to grab. Nothing was there, but he still couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think clearly, looking at this thing that still wasn’t anything he could differentiate. No single point of detail to understand. 

“So you are the pathetic thing she took pity on?” Micheal finally could see its face- but that couldn’t have been right- because she was, she had to be dead. And yet- and yet-

Micheal Shelly stared into the face of Gertrude Robinson, but that wasn’t right at all. It was her face, a flickering memory that seemed more a trick of the light. Shifting. And she was all eyes. A seething mass of repetition as every eye looked down at Micheal, judging him, pulling him apart. He was overwhelmed by them. And he realized the blood he could smell was not his own. Liquid poured out of every eye, every spot that was pulled apart before put back together. It was all over his walls, his floors, it was all over this creature in front of him that was definitely not Gertrude Robinson but was wearing her face, her voice. Micheal felt tears roll down his face. This was it surely, this was how he would die.

“I was meant to be beautiful, not seen. Your watcher has no place in What I am Not. That old hag was not ever supposed to claim identity where I reside.”

The creature trapping Micheal seethed and every word came out loud, distorted, wrong. Like a broken megaphone or stuttering record player each word was garbled and ripped at the seams. One of its many limbs reached out and dug into his side, dragging him towards the floor. Micheal sobbed as he felt his own skin peel easily and blood pour down around him. He could taste it on his tongue, in the back of his throat. On his stomach. He stared up at the thing that was not his Boss but held her likeness within eyes that melted and changed like a kaleidoscope and a body that ripped itself apart to expose viscera and black empty slick that Micheal couldn’t even comprehend. 

It leaned down, crowding Micheal to the floor. Its form shuddered and shifted and for a split moment he was just looking up at Miss Robinson, his head light and airy as more and more blood left him. She gave him the same look of disappointment he always feared but knew was coming, before liquid trickled down her eyes and they multiplied on her face, ripping open skin and letting blood drip down over Micheal’s trembling body. The thing touched his cheek and Micheal had the odd sense that it was looking him over with envy. And for a split moment Micheal felt that same envy, that is before a wave of dizziness replaced the feeling. 

“I’m- sorry” He mumbled, his eyes closing as his heart pumped more blood out of the wound. “I’m so sorry.” He felt the creature lean into him and distantly wondered if this was it. If this was what would take him. Distractedly, he thought about Gerry. Micheal hoped he wasn’t the one that would find him here, ugly and pale and pathetically dead. 

Micheal didn’t remember passing out.

—Gerard Keay—

Keay was having a relatively rough day. He would blame it on the end of the weekend. Now he sat at the far end of the bar with a glass he’d already emptied twice and a girl trying to catch his eye nearby. That alone was pretty comical. Most people were scared off by his attire and mannerisms. The girl in question was only two or three seats away in the by definition empty bar, and seemed to be drowning herself in liquor as well. Except she did look wasted, Keay only felt a light buzz in the back of his temple. 

He ignored her for a while longer. He wasn’t really in the mood for company, well, her company. He preferred stuttering blondes that would probably never frequent a place like this. Keay scowled at his own pathetic embarrassment. He wasn’t supposed to give a damn about what anyone else thought, so it shouldn’t have bugged him either way. 

He still set the drink down and paid his tab, walking past the now disappointed looking girl and out into the street. 

It was Monday evening, or Tuesday morning? He wasn’t all that sure. That time of evening where all the party goers were at afterparty’s at friends houses or already sleeping off hangovers. Avoiding responsibilities. Like he was. 

Keay really should have gone home, it would have been the smarter option. Smarter than hanging around empty streets just waiting to get stopped by some gang or tough guy trying to make a fool of himself. But he knew what awaited him at home. Who awaited him. And Keay wasn’t ready to face her just yet. He pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, blowing smoke into the London smog. He always found it funny how tourists called this place ‘beautiful’. Keay just found it loud and annoying. He thought about Micheal and his laugh. Well, he guessed not all of London was annoying. 

He rolled the cig between his teeth and pulled out the little paper where he had scribbled the address of a possible Lietner. That was his true excuse for being out there instead of sleeping. It was supposedly a corruption Lietner and he had read at least two separate reports of people’s homes having a bee infestation where their walls were basically turning into honeycomb. Sounded sticky and sweet. Keay smirked, surely there was some indecent joke to be made here. He let the thought pass as he headed towards the address.

°°°

Thirty and a half minutes later Gerard Keay was only a little bit sure that he wasn’t lost. On one hand, he was definitely at the address he had been given. Hell the sign was right there above him with a little street lamp illuminating the letters. On the other hand, this wasn’t a house. Just a plot of land. A ditch actually, once he walked a little closer and noticed how it dipped downwards. And there was definitely something at the bottom, considering he could hear the buzzing of insects. 

He blew out a breath, snuffed out his nearly dead cig and hopped into the ditch. He caught the wall and his hand came back sticky. Then he realized why. This wasn’t a ditch, it was a honeycomb. And there he could see someone in the middle of it, skin glistening gold from the layers of honey emitting from them. 

Keay took a tentative step towards her and noted how his shoes were getting caught in the honey. Great, that would take ages to get out. 

He took another tentative step towards her, pausing when she turned to look at him. 

Her eyes were hollow and Keay could see the details of the comb even from where he stood. Her hair trickled off in globs as honey pooled around her. Her skin was a pasty pale and reminded him of wax paper. It took him too long to realize that she wasn't attacking because she didn't have to. Honey was rising up around him and it was already to his knees. 

Great. He really was going to hate getting all this out of his clothes. He tried for another step but ended up stumbling forwards, his knees buckling and his hands falling into the honey when he tried to brace himself. 

Bees buzzed around his head as he tried to stand back up, but the honey was so thick all he could manage was to pull his hands free only to fall further into the mess of thick viscous fluid. 

The girl lifted his chin and the warmth of her touch startled him. 

“You are the book burner, no? You run and run to try and burn all your problems but where does that leave you? You are alone. Stuck in a never ending pattern of uselessness. I could help you. Here the bees listen and the honey is oh so sweet. We could take care of you, love you, here you would never be lonely.” She brought a hand up and thumbed over his cheek, he tried his hardest not to shudder. 

His eyes darted around wildly. Even the corruption wasn't this fast which meant there was definitely a book involved. The honey was up around his elbows now. He looked around in desperation, shaking out of her hold. She didn't stop him, just leaned back and stared at him. 

“Aren't you tired of running? Don't you miss being surrounded by things that love you? The scars on your hands, we can heal them, we can heal you.”  

Keay spotted the book piled under comb just a ways away. He started crawling over there, feeling clumps of honey stick to him, pull him under with the weight of it. 

He thought over her words and his mind immediately rested on Micheal. Micheal, who didn't seem to mind Keay's odd attire or crude language. Micheal, who wore his smile so damn prettily. He let his head submerge under the honey, taking one last deep breath as he fumbled to find the book. 

His hands wrapped around it and he grabbed it tightly. No use burning it down here, instead he ripped into it. Pulling as many pages apart as possible. Quite frankly it was getting harder and harder to breathe as he struggled to pull more and more of the Lietner apart. Somewhere above him he could hear screaming. 

The lack of air was becoming a problem and he pushed hard to reach air. It was a bit startling when it took barely any effort to reach the surface. The honey subsided. He coughed, the smell engraved into his nostrils. 

And there was honey in his hair. God damn it, and it was turning out to be such an uneventful night. 

He stood all the way up and looked back at the girl. She was melting, a void stagnant almost sad look in her eyes as she stared back at him. Unmoving, melting into the honey as if she wasn't even flesh and blood. 

He waded his way out of the honey filled ditch and walked down the still empty street. The damn sun was coming up. Great, and honey was trickling down his back and existing in places that honey really shouldn't be. 

Keay wondered if Micheal preferred his dessert sweet. The thought made him stop in his tracks, his mind swimming with the implications as a red hot blush spread over his face. He tried to shake it off, now was not the time to be daydreaming about his damn friends. What the hell was wrong with him? 

He threw the thought away and shuffled into the book store. 

It took him an agonizing amount of time in the shower before he was sure all the honey was gone. And even then he spent another hour under the scalding water just to make sure. 

He thought over the girl's words. It ricocheted in his mind like a headache. 

“Aren't you tired of running? We could take care of you.”

He watched the water trickle over his burns. Charred flesh. Ugly stuff. Mary made sure to remind him of the fact. Not like Michaels skin, smooth and clean. Pretty. Even with the callouses from the picking he did, Keay wondered what demons pulsing through his mind pushed him to tear at his skin. 

Keay had half a thought to brush his fingers over Blondie's knuckles. Feel his heartbeat through his wrist. 

He let the thought drop as he dried off with the towel and put on clean clothes. In the end it didn't matter. Micheal didn't need Keay getting all in his business. And Keay wasn't going to push. It was bad enough Micheal was keeping his little name a secret from the rest of the archives. He already knew Jon was going to be an asshole about it when it did eventually get out. 

Problems for another day. 

Keay threw his honey soaked clothes in the tub and left. He'd deal with it later. For right now he wanted to go see a certain someone in the archives. 

°°°

“He's not here? I thought he was off till Monday?” Keay stared at Rosie with only a slightly annoyed expression. 

“It's Tuesday!” She said brightly. “And Elias gave him today off. Something about him calling in sick.” she checked her notebook, still grinning. “Although if you need someone from the Archive staff both Martin and Sasha are in today!” 

Keay shook his head, rubbing his temple. Was it really Tuesday? Great. And here he thought he had shaken off his tendencies to pull an all nighter two nights in a row. 

“It's fine. I'll just take a number.” And by that he meant he'd go knock down Blondie's door and bug him about the trivialities of getting honey out of leather. 

—Micheal Shelly—

The knock on the door sent shocks through Micheal's system. He hadn't moved from his spot on the floor against the back wall, staring at the empty wall where a door used to be. Where Micheal knew it once existed. 

His stomach throbbed but he couldn't tell if it was phantom pains from a wound he never had or the fact that he hadn't eaten. Either way the pain was real enough. 

The knock came again and Micheal was quite content believing it wasn't real. Just like the large thing or creature or whatever you wanted to call it that had worn Gertrudes face and- and what? Scared the hell out of Micheal, that's what it did. Then it left. And there was no way it was real. No. Absolutely not. Micheal wasn't even going to try to believe it because every time his mind went there and then the tears started up again and- oh. Well there they were, the tears that is. He couldn't count the amount of times he had cried that day alone. He was pretty sure it wasn't Monday anymore. Surely Jon was wondering where he was. Just another reason to fire him surely. 

At the moment he didn't care. He could just sit right where he was on the floor, picking away at his knuckles so much that they bled freely now, and never leave the flat. 

Another knock. The sound made him flinch, his gaze flicking back over towards the spot on the wall. He waited for it to chance or move or kill him. Why hadn't it killed him? It should have killed him. Leaving Gertrude alone. 

Another knock. Micheal wiped away the tears and forced himself to stand, walking over to the door and ripping it open. 

“What?” He said rather bitterly and without thinking. 

There on the other side of the door was Gerry, his smug expression falling quickly off his face as he assessed the other. Which only made Micheal more self conscious, closing the door a bit more. 

“What?” He repeated, a bit weaker. 

Gerry pushed the door a bit further open. Tilting Micheal's chin up to look directly at Gerry. 

“You've been crying?” 

Micheal shook out of Gerry's grasp as another tear rolled down his face. 

“Why are you- what- what do you need Gerry?” He tried to sound stern, to sound like he had any control over the situation, but then Gerry was slowly moving into the flat and Micheal didn't have it in him to stop him. 

Gerry pushed some of Micheal's hair out of the way, trying to meet his eye. Micheal was trying to do the exact opposite. 

“When's the last time you've eaten? Christ, Micheal you look like a ghost.” 

Micheal rubbed another stupid tear off from his face. “I don't- why- what does it matter?”

Gerry moved him gently until he was sitting on the couch before moving into the small kitchen, running the tap. 

“Here” Gerry came back with a cup of water. “We'll work on getting food once you don't look like you're about to throw up.”

“You don't have to- I don't-” I want you to leave . But Micheal didn't want Gerry to leave. He wanted Gerry to stay. 

“Just drink. Please.” Gerry nudged the drink closer and Micheal took it with coarse knuckles.  

Micheal didn't fight him. Just took a few long sips, his parched throat reacting instantly once the water hit it. Christ he hadn’t realized how thirsty he had been. Gerry sat on the edge of the coffee table and watched him closely, an unreadable expression laced over gold kissed brown eyes. 

“So.” Gerry started after a long beat of silence. “Want to talk about it?”

Micheal couldn’t meet his eye. “Why?”

“It obviously upset you.”

“It wasn’t re- it doesn’t matter.” Micheal responded quietly. 

“It matters.” He moved to push more blonde hair out of the way. “Come on, talk to me here, give me something to work with.”

Micheal shook his head. More tears streaming down in the process. Gerry brushed them out of the way with his thumb. Micheal opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but besides a small pathetic sound nothing came out. He took another sip of his water before steadying himself. “I saw someone- something today that- that I cannot really- I don’t know- It might not have even been real.” He was shaking again, trembling so hard that it made his whole body shudder. Everything was ringing in his ears. A sharp sound that wasn’t helping his headache. He laughed, a bitter hysterical sound as he managed to look at Gerry with red puffy eyes. “I don’t even- I don’t even know if- if- what if you aren’t even real? What if-” 

Gerry moved, and before Micheal could react he was being hugged tightly by Gerry. “I’m real, Blondie, I’m real and I’m not going anywhere. And you’re going to be ok.”

Micheal sobbed into Gerry’s shoulder. “What if- what if I’m not- not real?”

“You're real enough for me.” Gerry carded a hand through Micheal’s hair. “Try to calm down. You haven’t eaten, you’ve had barely any water and probably even less sleep, the last thing you need to do is work yourself back up.”

Micheal closed his eyes, the weight of the day colliding into him. “Would you stay?” The question sounded pathetic on his tongue. He didn’t care. 

“Of course, Blondie, of course.”    

Chapter Text

Micheal blinked as the colors of afternoon blues were now sunset gold. The sudden and abrupt change startled him and he instinctively looked over to his left where his goth friend was passed out on the couch. Just to make sure he was real. Just to make sure Micheal hadn’t completely lost it.

Swallowing dryly, Micheal slowly reached out and dragged gentle fingers through the other’s hair. Just to clarify. Just to feel the solidity between his fingers. It was silly to think that in one blink the sun had completely lowered into the sky. He carded his fingers through Gerry’s hair, scratching his scalp. He must have just lost track of time. Micheal let out a small yawn and relaxed against his spot on the couch. His head was still ringing, less when he didn’t think, more when he tried to. Which was hard because his mind was still racing. He checked the clock; 2:30 a.m. He frowned and checked the window again. Now it was a deep black. He should sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he’d see…well…he still wasn’t sure what to call it. Gertrude would have some clever name for it. 

The thought made rot stir in Micheal’s stomach and he shifted on the couch, trying for a better position. It was quite useless trying to understand any of it. Micheal sure as hell wasn’t fit for all of this. The thought almost made him smile, delirious he presumed. Caught up in this never-ending chase with something he couldn’t see. A battle not meant to be won, just tormented through. He looked over at Gerry, his head was balanced, propped up by the back of his palm. Eyes closed, hair everywhere. It was still damp, not nearly as soaked as it was when Gerry had hugged him previous. Micheal thought it was a fun detail. He liked the smell of Gerry’s shampoo, even more when it was accompanied by strong hands holding him securely. Christ, when was the last time he had been held like that?

Micheal admired Gerry’s outfit, his usual trenchcoat was replaced by a black leather jacket. A torn-at-the-collar white shirt sat under it. He wasn’t in his layers of silver chains and black chokers today. His neck was bare, and burned, as Micheal could see. The scorched marks going down past the boundaries of his shirt. And now that he was looking, Micheal could see it on Gerry’s hands too. The skin was pale and rough over most of his palm and darker in some patches near his wrist. A pink outline marking the wound. It was clearly old, Micheal had seen a few different types of burn marks from his time volunteering in the ICU. Pale pink or scalding red wasn’t the only type. Like Gerry's, the healed burn skin was paler in color and a bit mangled. The more recent the burn the sharper the color. He wondered how far the burn spread.

Far, he supposed, since he knew from at least one statement concerning a nurse that Gerry came in as a burn victim. But Micheal didn’t like getting his facts from the statements. Gerry wasn’t some spooky guy that only popped up in files and ominous follow ups. He had a feeling Gerry was a bit conscious about all that. Which was almost silly, if anything Micheal had everything to owe to Gerry. He had no reason to feel uncomfortable about any of it. Micheal reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair out of his friend’s face. 

Micheal yawned, wiping away the tears that collected in the corners of his eyes. He was tired, that was an easy fact. He still hesitated before closing his eyes, terrified that whatever haunted his dreams would haunt Gerry’s as well. 

°°°

Gerry moved from the couch into the kitchen and back out to the couch, catching Micheal’s eye as he went. 

“Had you slept at all last night?” He inquired, crouching in front of the other and brushing Micheal’s hair out of the way. 

Micheal managed a wary smile. “A bit.” He paused as Gerry’s hands lingered in his hair. “You didn’t- I mean- I do appreciate you being- aha- thank you for- for being here but- I don’t- its not necessary.”

Gerry hummed, scratching Micheal’s scalp, it took everything in him not to melt into the other's touch. “I know.”

Micheal frowned at Gerry’s quip. “That's- that’s it?”

Gerry’s smirk grew. “You were looking for more?”

Micheal shook his head, leaning away and breaking eye contact. “No. I just- I- well- maybe? I just- you’ve been here half the night and- and now well- I don’t know- I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I’m not obligated to do anything, that's the whole point.” Gerry stood back up and grabbed something from the mini fridge, bringing back two waters and handing one to Micheal. “I’d still love a bit of an explanation, if you feel like providing one. If not, that's fine too.” His smile turned shy, patient. 

Micheal felt a pit grow in his stomach. He took a sip of water and stared at the bottle. What could he tell the other? What explanation would be fitting? That his boss everyone claims never existed came through a door that wasn’t there and then left without leaving a single mark that would prove the experience was anything other than a nightmare? Was it real? It sure as hell felt real. All the eyes…the blood- the thought made Micheal pale and he looked straight at Gerry. 

“I saw something- something I can’t- I can’t explain it.”

“That's definitely a start considering you work in the unexplainable.” The goth smirked. 

Micheal managed a small laugh. “I think it might- well the business trip- I think- I think it’s connected. I just- I just-” Micheal winced as a wave of static ripped through his temple. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “The details- they’re a bit- a bit foggy there.”

“You said the trip was Spiral related, yes?”

Micheal shrugged, shaking his head slowly. “She was gone- gone- but I didn’t- I couldn’t have seen- because I saw- no- I saw her. I know- I know that sounds- sounds ridiculous- but- but I- I did.” He stood up, pacing as he frantically tried to scrape together some semblance of truth within his mind. Everything seemed cloudy. Like static in a tv or how a record player sounds muffled. The details were right there; he just couldn’t reach them all that well.     

Gerry watched him carefully and nodded. “More doors?”

Micheal pulled on his hair, shaking his head. “So much- so much worse.” 

“Well!” Gerry grabbed his jacket and threw it over his shoulders. “I know exactly where we can find evidence.” He held out his hand to the other and grinned. “Come on, we’ll do this together this time.”

Micheal took Gerry’s hand and frowned. “What?”

“If anyplace is going to have the answers it's going to be the archives. So come on and get dressed, nothing about this is sitting right with me.”

°°°

Micheal pulled on his lemon yellow sweater vest over his orange polo and followed Gerry out of the building and down to the archives. Gerry only offered Micheal a small glance at his bright colors but didn’t make a comment. Micheal wasn’t much in the mood for wearing anything less. He always seemed to remember more when he was in bright colors, something he picked up from his mom, which would be important if he was going to try and understand what he had seen. 

The walk over was quiet. He hadn’t checked the time but he knew it was still early, judging on how no one else was out and the sun was quite fairly low in the sky. He did note that Gerry hadn’t driven his car to Micheal’s house which was slightly odd but he didn’t mention it. Instead he followed the other past the main doors that led into the main hall and into a side door closer to the archives. They would be going down into the lower section where Micheal had been working on organizing rather than the upper section where the offices were and where Gertrude- Jon’s office was. 

They worked alphabetically. Splitting up to work two shelves at a time. Micheal looked for traces of that creature he saw whilst Gerry looked for more cases of delirium and doors. Micheal stopped on a statement dated August 32, 1921. Which caught his eye for at least two reasons. One, the date was wrong. There was no August 32- in any month for that matter. And the statement didn’t list a name, just some documentation from the medical staff working late in a mental asylum, also not listed, about a patient they only referred to as ‘Patient X’. Micheal opened the file to the Nurse Lidah’s notes on August 32;

Patient ‘X’ isn’t doing any better than Patient ‘Y’ or ‘Z’. The patient was left alone in his bedchamber for a two hour increment where he could be heard screaming about something in the small mirror by his bed. I checked and rechecked the room but his quarters didn’t have a standing mirror or a hand held. When Patient ‘Y’ was checked up on she was reported sitting completely still for hours on end staring at some spot in the corner of the room. No matter what medication combination I have tried she refuses to speak to any of the staff, although Nurse Betty recalled hearing her talk to someone in her room late one night. When she went to check up on her, Patient ‘Y’ was completely alone. Stating she was talking to Nothing. And no, the capitalization is not a spelling error. Multiple other of my companions as well as the patients checked into the program report seeing a ‘Nothing’ distorted in the glass or out of the corner of their eye. Unable to truly describe the thing they are seeing, some of my more creative coworkers have gone on to call it a Distortion. However I believe there is still a rational explanation for whatever the participants are seeing, especially since Patient ‘Z’ has severe insomnia and Patient ‘Y’ is schizophrenic. 

I also want it noted to speak to a supervisor for whoever has gotten a hold of yellow paint and gone around painting the patient’s doors yellow. The bright color makes them irritable and less likely to allow nursing staff to distribute medication at the appropriate times. This practical joke is silly and I would like to think that the maturity level for this ward is up to par. 

The next notation was from October 12th;

Whoever has messed with my documents is about to get a mouthful from the head Supervisor. I have at least three patient folders missing and two others tampered with. Nurse Judice claims that we never treated a Patient ‘X’ and that we only have a Patient ‘Y’ and ‘Z’ but I know I wrote up a monthly summary about them just last week. Not only that but the room they stayed in- the one that the staff claims has been empty since early July, is cleared out of everything except the yellow door that I’ve tried twice to clean. 

As well as this I would like to remark that the Mirror Trials are inhumane and unjust. Both Patient ‘Y’ and ‘Z’ have claimed to see the so-called ‘Distortion’ multiple times and cry out to the staff to release them from the room. I couldn’t put them in together the second time though since the first test had them scratching at each other and sent to the infirmary for a quarter of the day. I ran individual tests with both participants, however Patient ‘Y’ has gone completely non-verbal and just rocks in place. Patient ‘Z’ is a bit more cooperative, but she doesn’t do well when we broach the subject of what she has seen. I know that the point of the trial was to slowly bring to light how the things these patients are seeing aren’t real in a safe and secure environment but I can’t help but feel we are worsening their state by continuing the treatment. 

The final log was from November 3rd. 

The trials have been shut down. None of the qualifying participants wanted to move to the research ward and the previous funding we were receiving from Hilltop’s private estate stopped once it was clear no new research was being conducted. Nurse Jane has been complaining that we moved departments too soon and that corporate hadn’t given us enough time to find willing participants. A shame, I was certain the ‘Mirror Trials’ were going to be our breakthrough. Maybe I can convince the Dean to give us another go but in reality I doubt it. I plan to change stations later this year. 

That was the last log. The only other thing attached to the file was a newspaper marking the disappearance of three locals from that area as well as the death of one Lidah Hearthswell, an acting nurse on the Hilltop and Phillips Asylum and Correctional Facility. Micheal reread the details in his mind until his vision filled with white and he had to lean against the bookshelf to stabilize himself. He needed to get the statement- could it really be called that? Either way he needed to get the file to Gerry. Maybe even Jon. Sparks filled his mind and static rolled like nausea on his tongue. He couldn’t work like this. He looked up from the folder, folding it with the intention of giving it back to Gerry when he was met with the distorted view of Gertrude Robinson. 

Micheal Shelly shrieked. He dropped the file and staggered into the bookshelf, the old sturdy wood striking his shoulder as his eyes never left her shifting form. 

The eyes were back, amalgamating and shifting and writhing on her changing form, they tore her skin open as blood pooled from each wound. But the blood wasn’t on her, or on the floor, it was in his lungs. Drowning him, filling his throat with iron and rust and cotton as he choked on everything and nothing at the same time. It took him a moment to realize Gerry was crouched and shaking his shoulders violently. 

“Blondie- Blondie please it’s ok you’re ok, I got you- please- Micheal just look at me.”

The minute Micheal focused on Gerry’s brown eyes the distortion was gone. The image was still burned inside his head however. All those eyes, watching- staring- judging- pulling him apart until there was nothing left of himself to hate. And oh how he hated it. He hated all of it. So much hate that he could feel and remember and know and understand and it was all too much. 

“I can’t- I can’t- can’t get it- get it out- please- get it out.” He tried to curl in on himself, a broken sob rippling through him as it felt like his mind was jumping through a dozen different hoops. Micheal Shelly felt known in the worst possible way. A type of trapped that made him want to hide, but he couldn’t hide here in this place of eyes and mirrors. 

He felt strong hands wrap around him and tighten and it was all he could do to grab back, pulling at Gerry’s shirt to try and get him just that much closer. He wasn’t even sure if he could call his thoughts his own anymore. None of it made sense. A bunch of mangled lies and truth and knowledge. Maybe it wasn’t just himself he hated. Maybe it was this place as well. 

Gerry whispered close to his ear. “It wants this. It wants you spiraling. It wants to see you go mad. But Micheal you aren’t insane. You aren’t insane and I am real and I am telling you that it wants to feed off of your fear and I won’t let it. It can’t hurt you while I’m here.” He got Micheal to sit up enough for him to wipe a stray tear off of his cheek. “I know what it feels like to have to be afraid alone, I won’t let you go through that.”

Micheal squeezed his eyes shut, tuning out all the extra information he swore was being fed into his ears. He didn't have to know, he didn’t have to understand. There was comfort in not understanding, in the insanity that came with it. It was at least familiar. Ignorance is bliss as they say, wouldn't you think? Elias had said that. Micheal believed he might have finally understood what he meant. He focused on the static in his mind, on the feeling, but instead of trying to understand it, he tried to ignore it. Micheal breathed evenly for a long moment like that. Focusing on what was real and what definitely couldn’t be real. He could work with that. The static subsided. 

He opened his eyes as Gerry looked at him worriedly. 

Micheal said the first thing that came to his mind. “Your eyes are pretty.” Gerry’s brow raised in shock and Micheal’s face burned red at the realization. “I mean well- I just! Ah, that's- that's really- Oh goodness me.” Micheal covered his eyes with his hand and managed to stand. When he looked back at Gerry for a response he found him smiling at Micheal like he was everything. MIcheal didn’t know it was possible for people to smile at him like that. He broke eye contact as fast as he could and crouched to pick up the folder now scattered across the floor. He only dropped the folder two times as he fumbled to hand it to Gerry who took it with that smile still playing on his lips. 

Micheal Shelly had no good reason to be staring at his friend's lips for as long as he did. Thankfully Gerry didn’t seem to notice as he read over the Nurse report. 

“The Distortion.” Gerry started, rolling the name on his tongue. “Think it’s friendly?”

Micheal rubbed his temple. It felt like there were eyes on the back of his head. Studying him. Elias Bouchard’s name popped into Micheal’s mind and he frowned. What did Elias Bouchard have to do with the Distortion?

“Doubt it.” Micheal replied quickly, trying to not completely tune the other out.

“Well we have a name now, that's something.” He started. Micheal gave him a curious look. Gerry seemed to understand as he continued. “This isn’t the first time I’ve come across this thing. I’ve seen cases- I always thought it was a trick of the light or a Leitner but I’ve encountered this thing before. The people always described it as someone they couldn’t remember or really see. And the messed up people described it as madness or a mangled frame of ideas.” Gerry made eye contact with Micheal, resting his hand on the other’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “It's real, Blondie, and you aren’t the only one it's focused on. Let me take this file home with me, my mom has a few contacts and I know I’ve heard the name Hilltop before. You aren’t alone on this.”

Micheal couldn’t help a relieved chuckle. He shook his head and exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “That- well- thank you- yeah- thank you for everything.”

Gerry grinned. “Hey, we’re partners after all. This is just another statement we are following up.”

Micheal smiled, nodding. Just another statement. And now they had a name for the creature. 

Chapter Text

Micheal Shelly read through a statement of one Jeremy Swanson concerning his encounters with doors and echoed hallways. Jon had dismissed the statement after it was found from a follow up that he was now in the psyche ward and under surveillance after he claimed there was something under his skin. Micheal agreed along with Jon that the man was definitely- well- ‘mental’ was the term Jon used, Micheal would have just called him a little sick- but either way Micheal did agree that his word should be taken with a grain of salt. However it caught his attention that the last name ‘Swanson’ had popped up a few times prior. 

Micheal found two accounts of the last name Swanson, one concerning a Mr. Damian S. Swanson who used to live in Liverpool and had a habit of forgetfulness after a few odd purchases with one Mikael Silesia, and a Miss Jasmine H. Swanson who used to work at the Hilltop and Phillips Asylum and Correctional Facility. The very same one from the file he had read over yesterday. He wrote the three names down on a sticky note, he wanted to confirm anything before he jumped to conclusions but the dates and locations would suggest that these were all from the same family. Micheal belatedly wondered if Sasha would be willing to hack into some of the medical documents on Mr. Jeremy. 

“I found an article online- or rather some report of a realtor finding yellow doors in the houses she’s been trying to sell. Complaining that the neighborhood watch isn’t doing their job well enough.” Gerry snickered, leaning back from his spot on the bed and looking over at Micheal with a sly grin. “You think she’s just a ‘Karen’?” 

Micheal blew out a breath. The two of them were sat on his bed with about a dozen files between them plus a laptop, that Gerry complained had to be from the 90’s, and a stack of records about the Hilltop Insane Asylum. It was midday with the summer breeze filtering through his open window and Micheal couldn’t help but appreciate the way Gerry had tied his hair up in a bun, exposing a bit more of his neck. Although today he was decorated in his usual crowd of silver and black necklaces. Micheal counted at least thirteen. 

“Here,” Gerry handed over the laptop and Micheal skimmed the article. They had come across at least a few others like it that Micheal wanted to investigate. 

“Lets print it out, if anything maybe- maybe we could follow up- or- or see if we can help- help at all.”

“Do you have a printer?”

Micheal stared at him, dumbfounded. “Printer?”

Gerry smiled easily, rolling his eyes. “Come on Blondie, don’t tell me you, of all people, don’t have a printer?”

Micheal snickered. “I didn’t have- I didn’t own a coffee table until last week, why would I have a printer.”

“Touché, guess I thought Mr. Catalogue would own a printer or some old fashioned fax machine.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling. “You strike me as the old fashioned type.”

Micheal wasn’t sure why, but the way Gerry said that left a soft red over his face. He rolled his eyes, and shook off the comment. “There’s a- there's a printer out in the library. I’ll print it- print it there- later.”

Gerry scoffed. “What about this, we’ve been at it for most of the morning and neither of us has eaten. Lets go print out the articles we’ve collected over at the library and then get lunch at the cafe next door. On me of course.”

Micheal frowned minutely. “On you?” He repeated. On him, like, on top of him? That provided one or two interesting pictures in Micheal’s mind.

“I mean I’ll pay, Blondie.” Gerry answered, his smile mischievous. Micheal hoped his face wasn’t really burning off his face because it surely felt like it. 

“Aha, yes- yes, I- I knew what- I mean- I do not mind going for lunch.” Micheal squeaked, turning away from the other to tidy up the stack of folders beside him. 

Gerry got up and threw on a leather black jacket that reminded Micheal of something from a biker film he’d seen on the telly growing up. He liked it. He thought it complemented Gerry’s necklaces. It only took him a second extra of staring to realize it was his turn to get up. Quickly stuffing his laptop into his satchel and grabbing a lightweight cardigan to go over his shirt. He was in all green today. Even his socks matched, not that they were very seen under his shoes and khakis but it was the thought that counted. 

The library was only a short drive away. Micheal thought he could get used to being driven around. He kept the thought to himself as they got out and entered the building, finding the tired looking copier stowed away in the corner almost completely covered in dust. 

“Do people just not- not want paper- paper copies anymore?”

“I told you Blondie, you’re old school.” Micheal made a face and Gerry laughed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Micheal hit his arm. 

“We are in- we are in a library! You aren’t supposed to have- to have that here!” Micheal half whispered. Gerry shrugged, blowing out smoke and offering the cig to Micheal.

“Would you like to take a hit?”

Micheal almost didn’t say anything. Staring between the cig and Gerry like it was a life or death moment. His heart was certainly telling him it was life or death. Didn’t you only share cigarettes with people you were close to? Or at least something similar. He didn’t particularly believe he fit the criteria. Alright he did forget to speak. Too busy caught up looking at Gerry like he was an alien speaking Chinese. Or maybe it was Micheal speaking a different language, moving in slow motion as Gerry’s smirk increased. Like he had expected the reaction. Micheal wondered if he was doing it on purpose. 

Either way Micheal managed a small shake of his head as he forced his mouth to make words. “I really don’t- don’t smoke.”

Gerry shrugged and popped the thing back between his teeth, making eye contact as if it was a normal thing. “Your loss.” He grinned. 

Micheal found that he was having a hard time paying attention to the printer. He managed to print three more things whilst only mildly shaking and the eye contact was only initiated twice. He had just finished printing out the last article when Gerry nodded towards the hair that was falling in Micheal’s face. 

“It's longer today.”

Micheal laughed as he situated his satchel back over his shoulder and they walked out of the library. “Is that- that a good thing or- or a bad one?”

“You’re nervous about something?” He moved, brushing a clump of blonde behind Micheal’s ear. Micheal couldn’t help but smile. 

“I'm very- I’m a nervous person, Gerry.” He tried to not lean into the contact. 

“Do I make you nervous?”

The question made Micheal realize that they were stopped on the side of the street in broad daylight only fifty or so steps away from food with Gerry’s hand still in Micheal’s hair. What an odd life he lived. 

“No.” Micheal tried for daring, if Gerry was going to touch his hair like it wasn’t anyone's business than surely Micheal could get away with- He brought his hand up to Gerry’s wrist, his fingers going over the bracelets carefully to not press too hard on the old burn scars. He trailed upwards, his fingers feeling the knuckles and joints in Gerry’s hand until he had followed it over his hair, pulling it all back and out of the way. “I don’t see what it has- what being nervous has to do with- with my hair.”

He liked the small half shocked expression over Gerry’s face. Liked it even more knowing he caused it. 

Gerry snickered. “No, I guess it wouldn’t have anything to do with your hair.” Micheal still felt like he was missing some inside joke. 

The cafe in question was a large popular one. They took a seat outside and looked over the menu. Micheal’s gaze flicked from the items on the menu to the way Gerry was biting his lip. His cigarette placed between two fingers. “I’m thinking the salmon.” Gerry looked up at Micheal, “Any thoughts?”

“Its- well- I mean its a nice- for dinner- er, well, wait, wait. What- what?”

Gerry’s smile was just not fair. “The salmon, Blondie.”

“Right, right-” Micheal looked back at the menu and giggled. “Its- its lunch time?”

“So what?”

Micheal made an exasperated sound. “It's not- not time for, for heavier meals- if you wanted- wanted salmon why didn’t- why don’t you wait- wait for dinner?”

“A heavier meal?” Gerry grinned. “Salmon is pretty light I’d think.”

“For- for mid- midday?” 

“Exactly!”

“No! No? I- tuna- a tuna sandwich maybe during- during lunch but- but- but salmon for- for lunch, Christ, Gerry it isn't- it’s not even on the- the lunch menu.” Now that Micheal was looking, salmon wasn’t on the menu at all. “Where do you- what- where do you see salmon?”

“I don’t.” Micheal looked up at Gerry, he had a smug smile on his face, his chin resting on his palm as he looked at Micheal like he had won a prize. 

Micheal laughed. A hearty one that foamed over into a sigh as Micheal rubbed his temple, running his hands through his hair. 

“Took you a lot longer to figure that out than I thought, honestly.” Gerry remarked, taking a drag from his cigarette. His tone shouldn’t have come out as fond as it did. “What are you going to get?”

Micheal looked through the menu again and hummed, still smiling. “The chowder looks nice. I normally- well- I don’t eat- I’m quite easy in this respect.”

Gerry’s brow shot up, “You’re easy?” Micheal hated the satisfaction in his tone.

Micheal rolled his eyes. “You know what- what I meant.”

“Oh, I’m sure I do.”

The waiter took their order and not long after their food arrived. Gerry ended up getting the same as Micheal and they ate mostly in silence. 

“So,” Gerry started, once their food was mostly eaten. “Have any family here?”

Micheal thought it over. “I’m sure- er, well- I have a sister but- I haven’t heard from- from her since- well, hah, we don’t really talk.” Micheal batted his hand in the air a moment. “I believe she still- still lives in the area. Do- do you?” It was a silly question, Micheal knew Gerry lived with his mum based off of the statements. But he thought it polite to ask. Statements could be wrong. 

Gerry was quiet a moment before he smiled. It seemed forced. “Just my mum.”

Micheal nodded, taking another sip of his soup. “Do you- is this- do you come here often?”

Gerry leaned back, looking over the decor and such. From his position Micheal could admire his necklaces. 

“Not really. There's this grungy Asian place off the corner, near the bookstore, that I frequent. It's a bit greasy but I like it.”

“That's nice.”

Gerry wiggled his eyebrows. “Old fashioned, like you.”

Micheal rolled his eyes. “Places like- like this too- too ‘pop-cultured’.”

“Pop-cultured.” Gerry snickered. “Colorful, for sure.”

“Nothing wrong- wrong with color.” 

Gerry’s gaze flicked over Micheal. “No, nothing wrong with color.”

Micheal took a sip of his water. “You’ll have to- to take me there.”

Gerry’s smile lit up like the damn sun. “Absolutely, Blondie.” He leaned back looking out and watching as some small butterfly flew past them. “Ah! That reminds me-” He turned to face Micheal once more. “-Since we are just about done with the day, I wanted to take you to this place I heard about.”

Micheal’s brow rose. “Oh?”

“It's a secret though.” Gerry continued, pulling out another cigarette. 

Micheal rolled his eyes. “Well, normally I don’t really like- like surprises- but I- I guess I’ll make an exception- an exception for you.” 

“Perfect.”

°°°

The ride over was quick, Micheal almost thought it would have been worth it to walk. He always thought it was a nice way to count the time, through steps. But this was nice too. Gerry had the radio to some rock band Micheal wasn’t very familiar with but enjoyed nonetheless. Once they were out of the car and in front of the building Micheal started to put two and two together. 

“Butterflies?” He asked, walking with Gerry into the building and into what appeared to be a green house. 

“Yep! Pretty cool yeah?”

Micheal looked around. There had to be over a dozen flying around. And even more hiding in trees. The garden they were in expanded outwards in a circle, a huge glass dome encasing the ceiling and walls. Micheal watched some small spotted ones fly from bush to flower to tree. A young girl sat on a bench with her mum and held her hand out, a bright green one landed on her until she laughed, shaking her hand and scaring the small creature away. 

Micheal looked over at Gerry. Gerry in his black leather jacket with necklaces and bracelets decorating his plain cream colored shirt. Gerry with his cigarette that had at least two other parents giving him side eyes. Micheal couldn’t help smiling at the sight. Especially when he held out his hand and some orange and yellow butterfly landed on his fingers. How his eyes lit up and he turned to Micheal with the most delighted grin. 

“Blondie! Look, I’ve been chosen!” Gerry whispered, holding the thing like it was the most fragile glass in the whole world. “It's beautiful.”

Micheal got a bit closer, looking between the butterfly and his friend. “Yeah. Beautiful.”

Turns out butterflies weren’t the only things in the greenhouse. Micheal also saw some exotic looking beetles, one of which Gerry got to hold, stick bugs, ladybugs and a few centipedes that were behind glass. A woman who worked there held an iguana that Micheal was able to pet. 

They found a place to sit under some tree that held what appeared to be thousands of butterflies. Gerry nudged Micheal’s arm.

“So what do you think, Blondie, does this check off an item from your bucketlist?”

Micheal laughed. “Something like that.” He looked around. “I forgot- well- I never thought to- to visit places like this.” They watched a bright blue butterfly land on a lily. “I was- was always so busy in- in the archives.”

Gerry hummed. “Well I promise to show you all the little hidden treasures of this place. However this is more of a tourist attraction if anything. You got to see the alleyway markets and hidden shops to really get the genuine experience.”

Micheal brushed his hair out of the way. “I- I always assumed mum- mum drove us out of the country- into the- the inner city because it was closer to- to the hospital- the mental hospital. I- I guess I always- always thought she would- would eventually drop me off there. Almost hoped- hoped she would.”

Gerry looked over Micheal’s face. “You don’t belong in one of those.” 

Micheal shrugged. “My- my sister told me- me once that- that was the original plan but- but mum didn’t want to pay for it.” He laughed, a bitter sound. “I guess- I guess in the- the long run, it- it didn’t change the- the reason for moving.”

Gerry looked confused and Micheal offered a sad smile, continuing. “She- she’s in there now- schizophrenia the- the doctors say.”

“Shit mate, that’s exhausting.”

Micheal shrugged. “It's a very old story.” He held his hand out and smiled when a small pink butterfly landed on his finger. “I refuse- refuse to only focus on- on the bad. Otherwise I’d miss- miss the beauty of the butterflies. Right?”

“True.” Gerry watched the little thing fly away. “Don’t you ever want to burn it all to hell?”

Micheal giggled. “I’m not- not a huge fan of fire. Don’t like getting burned.”

“You're a saint.” Gerry teased. 

“Says the goth in- in the butterfly dome.”

“Hey I’m a goth with standards!” Gerry argued, smiling as he moved his hands in dramatic fashion. 

“A goth who doesn’t even- doesn’t even dye their hair correctly.” Micheal shot back. 

Gerry made a mock offended expression. “My hair is perfect.”

“Right, right, How- how dare I say different.” Micheal’s tone was equal parts smug and fond. 

“Exactly.” Gerry folded his hands over his chest just as a bright orange butterfly landed on his head. 

“The butterflies sure- sure think your hair is- is perfect.” Micheal laughed.

“Oh shut up. I’m surprised none have landed in your hair with it being as close to a flower as it could be.”

“I consider- consider that a complement.” Micheal threw back. Outside the sun was slowly making its way down below the mountains in the distance. 

“Well yeah, you should.” Gerry hummed. 

Micheal thought the gold in Gerry’s eyes always shined brighter in the sunset. Made Micheal think about the abandoned factory they had climbed just to see the sunset. He smiled and leaned back against the bench, watching the colors of the sky. He used to make a habit of going on the roof of his apartment and watching the stars there. Maybe sometime he could bring Gerry. Since Gerry reminded Micheal of the stars just after sunset. The safest time of the day. 

“Thank you for helping me sort- sort through those files- and- and then the library- I guess- well- thank you for all of it- just- yeah, haha.” Micheal broke eye contact, looking away and smiling.

Gerry chucked, nudging Micheal’s hand with his own, just enough to get his attention. “I like the company. Plus, tomorrow maybe we can crack down on the things you printed out. Maybe follow some people up. How's that sound?”

Micheal’s grin spread as wide as his face allowed. “That sounds brilliant.” 

Chapter Text

“You want me to look into a realtor?” Sasha asked, pointing to the name on the article.

Micheal shook his head. “No, well- not at the minute- I want- er- the article lists a housing development but- but I can’t- can’t find it.”

The two of them were sitting in the archival offices- well Sasha was sitting. Micheal was leaning over her shoulder and pointing between the article and the names he had highlighted. It was a completely normal day in the fact that Micheal’s head was once again ringing and the tremor in his hands was stronger than usual. Although that may have just been from lack of food. 

“So you want me to do a deep dive into the supposed company? It might be a pseudonym for some other company, although that doesn’t make much sense does it?”

Micheal shook his head. “No.”

Sasha hummed. “Well it beats having to look into whatever newest statement Jon wants to debunk, is he the one that's got you working this? Or is it another side project?”

Micheal honestly didn’t know how to answer that. “It- well- surely it’ll benefit- well I think he’ll use the info eventually- probably.” He cringed but Sasha didn’t take notice. 

“What are you two working on?” Tim walked into the room and rummaged through his desk before leaning against it to stare at the other two. 

Sasha gestured to her screen. “The usual. Dead ends that lead into more dead ends.”

“Or dead bodies.” Tim added. “Say, Micheal would you mind giving me a hand? I’m trying to find more books related to one of the statements Jon read about spiders and such and I know you’ve been organizing things.”

Micheal glanced back at Sasha before offering Tim a smile. “Sure- yeah we should- we should check the back storage.” 

Tim and Micheal walked back towards the storage room that Micheal had been working on. It was a slow process, organizing all the statements as best as he could, especially since when he put certain statements together his head would ache and he’d feel so nauseous, but it also felt so correct. He couldn’t really describe it any other way. 

He went down the different filing cabinets until he found the one he labeled ‘web’. He wasn’t going to call them anything other than what they were. Jon’s skepticism be damned Micheal wasn’t going to feed into it. 

“You sure spend a lot of time down here, don’t’cha pretty boy?” Tim teased, looking through the filing cabinet with something akin to admiration. “I don’t think Jon’s accomplished even half of what you have. Maybe you should have been made head boss.”

Micheal blinked before chuckling nervously. “I- er- thanks?” He looked in a separate cabinet, passing statements dating back to the 20’s all the way to 2008. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for but…surely it was here?

“I’m surprised I found you in the archives and not out on assignment with your new boyfriend.”

Micheal tensed. “He’s not my- my- we are just friends.”

“Right.” Tim pulled out a folder and opened it, skimming through its contents. “Friends don’t strip people of their clothes with just their eyes.” He smirked at Micheal. “Can’t really say about you but James definitely looks at you like he wants to eat you sometimes. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

“He doesn’t- he looks- he looks at everyone like that! I’m not- not any more special- any different than anyone else.” Micheal felt his face burn. 

“Sure. I won’t push, I just say it how I see it. Maybe I’m wrong.” Tim’s smile was easy, simple. Micheal relaxed with the understanding. He was just making conversation, not trying to out him like he was on the stand and his life hung in the balance. “However, if I’m right Martin owes me 30 pounds so if you want a piece of the prize…” He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously and Micheal couldn’t help but laugh.

Micheal opened a file about a girl who worked on one of the houses on Hilltop road. Micheal wondered belatedly if the two were connected. “Is this what- is this helpful?”

Tim took the file from him and skimmed the contents. “It's a little odd how often we’ve run into Hilltop now, isn’t it?”  

“I’ve found that- that a lot of these things are odd once you- once you look into them.”

“True. Do you think we should bring it up with the boss?”

Micheal frowned. “He doesn’t know?”

“Well,” Tim shrugged. “He’s too wrapped up in whatever little mystery about the spooky books to bother with anything else. I don’t think he left at all last night.”

Micheal frowned, looking up from the filing cabinet. “He’s been here all night?”

Tim just shrugged again, adding the file to the pile he was creating. “He was like this in Research as well. Not good with dropping a subject until he knew all the facts about it.”

Micheal chewed on the inside of his lip. “Is there anything particular- I mean does he need help? Not like- well I mean- with anything- anything I can do?”

“I don’t know, you’d have to ask him. He isn’t very great about asking for help.” Micheal understood the feeling. Tim continued; “Here, I found it.” Tim gestured to the file, it was a statement concerning a Mr. Hoffner and his encounter with arachnophobia at Bill’s and Trinkets library. There was a photograph of a specific book he got.

“That’s the book you’re looking for?” Micheal inquired. 

“Not that one specifically but I think I will start looking for this bookstore. I may have heard about it before but I’m not entirely certain.”

“I’ll ask around as well.” Micheal closed the drawer, pulling out a small notebook he keeps in his satchel and writing the name of the library for later. 

“Thanks for the help, Mate.” Tim patted Micheal on the back on the way out. Micheal followed him back to where they had left Sasha, but Sasha wasn’t there. He had half the mind to check the break room. 

“Micheal can I have a word with you?”

He turned to see Jon leaning out of his office, a muted look of boredom laced over his features. Micheal thought it was almost uncanny how similar his expression was to Gertrude’s own. Not anymore of course. 

“Of course.” He followed Jon into the cramped office. It was a lot more crowded than the last time, boxes piled on top of each other in stacks whilst books lined the shelves, stuffed in as many as could fit. Micheal noted a statement that Jon had made notations about. He couldn’t see the title. 

“I need you to go with James on a follow up statement for a Mr. Carter Jackson. He's an old war vet that hallucinated on the field and got an honorary leave from the military.”

“Of course, what was he- were the hallucinations the cause of- of his leave?”

Jon scowled, picking up a file on a separate stack and handed it to Micheal. “Supposedly he was seeing ghosts. I’m not much interested in the details, I just want to know if he’s still alive and carrying a specific book he mentioned in the statement.”

Micheal fit the file in his satchel. “A Lietner?”

“Yes.”

“You want us to bring it in?”

For a moment Jon looked conflicted, a visual shift in his demeanor as he assessed the other, then slowly he gestured to the statement on his desk. The one he had highlighted and marked up. 

“This statement describes what Gerard Keay looked like. How he hunted the books before disappearing a while back entirely off the maps.”

Micheal couldn’t help but feel a tad uncomfortable. “Alright?”

“How close are you to James?” Jon asked, squinting at Micheal. His tone is barely below an accusation.

Micheal’s throat dried up as he stumbled for an answer. “I mean- he’s- well- I consider him a friend.”

“Do you think he fits this description?” Jon held up the statement. 

It was old. The woman was describing someone who couldn’t have been older than nineteen. But it was obvious she was describing Gerry. From the hair down to the aesthetic choices. He had burned a book for her, making some vague statement about how it was better burned than donated to Mary. Micheal didn’t feel great reading it, looking up to meet Jon’s piercing gaze. 

“Well?” Jon pressed.

“You think James is in this statement?”

Jon rubbed his eyes. Micheal could see the evidence of sleep deprivation. The bags under his eyes, the way he slouched. Jon was obviously stressed. Micheal couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Usually with Gertrude he was able to level out the work load by offering his services, but he didn’t really know how to do that with Jon.  

“I’ve suspected it for a minute. He’s technically not employed here. Just hanging about which is suspicious all on its own. How is he in the field? Does he act oddly or out of sorts about certain things?”

Micheal rubbed his forehead, trying to deflect the question. “Everyone I’ve met here has- has been a bit odd and- and out of sorts.”

“I don’t like being lied to. Or taken advantage of. If you have information on him, or who he might be, this is your chance to tell me.”

The ringing in Micheal’s ears got louder. Every instinct in his body wanted to lie. He swallowed the static building in his throat. “Have you asked him ?” 

Jon made some disgruntled sound as he tossed the file back onto his desk. “ I haven’t seen him since the last assignment I sent you two on. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was avoiding me. That's why I would appreciate it if you could ask him a few questions while on this follow up.”

“And the Leitner?"

“I know they are dangerous. Burn it if you find it or bring it here- I don’t care.” Jon scratched his head, muttering more to himself before turning back to Micheal. “I don’t appreciate being lied to. And I especially don’t like being left in the dark when I’m the one supposed to put the pieces together.” Jon dismissed Micheal with a wave and a frustrated huff. Micheal left the Institute for some fresh air.

He scratched at his knuckles, watching a fresh red bleed over the exposed wound. Like a drip from a faucet. Just enough to be annoying. He looked back at the Institute. It was such an unassumed building from the outside. Clean brick walls, stained glass windows, and clean double door entrance. Like any old respectable library. In a way it was. If you turned your gaze away from the basement or artifact storage. If you didn’t look too closely at the statements or the shadows in the corners. If you just didn’t look at all. 

He wished he could help more than he already did, wished he wasn’t a stuttering and stumbling mess of a guy, wished he could string more than two sentences together. He wondered if it would truly be so awful to tell Jon about all the things he knew. Even if Jon didn’t believe him. It felt better to tell the truth. Or maybe he was just uncomfortable with how nice it felt to lie. That he really didn’t want to think about. A problem to set aside on the shelf for a different day. He had well enough problems to worry about without adding four more new ones. 

Before Micheal could determine what was happening he felt something around his neck, pulling ever so slightly. He held his breath, starting to panic. 

“Breathe, Blondie, it's just me.”

Micheal felt Gerry’s breath close to his ear and he went as still as possible as the other fiddled with his hair before moving in front of Micheal. Instantly he touched his neck, frowning in confusion as he realized there was a choker necklace there. 

“What-”

“Here.” Gerry pulled out his phone and took a picture, showing it to Micheal. 

It was in fact a necklace. Pulled loosely around his neck and against his jugular. It was vivid purple with a bright blue and green charm in the middle. Little sparkly beads ran across the line creating a pattern along the larger charm. It was beautiful. Micheal looked up to meet Gerry’s shy smile. 

“Well?” He started. “Do you like it?”

Micheal smiled. “It's lovely. You know you didn’t- didn’t have to though?”

Gerry blew him off, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, his grin smug. “I don’t have to do anything.” He said in a sing-song voice. “I’m glad you like it.”

Micheal laughed, his face too red to be blown off by the weather. He tripped over himself when rummaging through his satchel for the file Jon had given him. “We’ve been put on assignment.”

Gerry took the folder and read through it. All the while Micheal swayed on his feet, chewing between what to do about the other thing Jon had asked him about. He wasn’t able to wait very long before the words came tumbling out.

“Jon may have found you out.” Gerry looked up from the statement and Micheal threw his hands up. “Well- not- not like found found you out- just- well he suspects- I didn’t say anything but- but he was asking questions I just thought- well I mean- I mean…”

“It's ok Micheal, really. I wasn’t  expecting to go long before questions or rumors started to spread anyways. It's not like I’m really hiding it that well.” To empathize his point Gerry gestured to his outfit. His smile not changing, his calm demeanor relaxed Micheal. “I’ll have a chat with him sometime later. Right now let's go see about this war vet.”

°°°  

Micheal and Gerry found that the address listed wasn’t a house, but a gunsmith shop just a little outside the inner city. They almost passed it, having to park in some abandoned lot not too far from the shop’s entrance. It was an old, unkept building. Moss ran up the worn cobblestone walls and the glass windows were fogged over and hidden behind thick metal bars. An abandoned building nearby had graffiti all over the side of it and Micheal saw the same signs of decay on this one. Nonetheless there was a sign that read open in dimly lit letters peaking through the door window. 

Micheal and Gerry exchanged glances before entering. A small chime signalled the door opening and somewhere inside a gruff voice shouted “Whatcha’ want.” 

Gerry found his voice faster than Micheal did. “Hello I’m here to speak to a Mr. Carter Jackson.”

“And who would you be?” The older man snarled. 

Micheal and Gerry passed a shelf full of ammunition and saw a shorter gent sitting behind a glass display of antique revolvers. He had a fat cigar sticking out between his teeth and a mangled ear from what had to be the explosion described in the statement. It wasn’t just his ear in bad form, the closer they got the easier it was to tell that most of the right side of his face was badly burned and scared, and it was evident that he was down one leg. 

“Hi, You can call me Gerard and this is Micheal, we are from the Magnus Institute, the one you gave a statement at? We are just here to ask a few follow up questions.”

For a moment the man didn’t seem to process the words coming from Gerry’s mouth, but then his sneer relaxed a little and he barked out a laugh. 

“You lot again is it? What could’it be this time? Need’n more horror stories to fill ur’ dead library with?” His accent was just as thick as the smoke coming from his cigar. 

Gerry gave him a patronizing smile that Micheal couldn’t help but think looked a bit silly with his black shoes, pants and shirt. “Like I said, we are just here to ask a few questions. See how you’ve been since last time. Things like that.”

The man nodded and got to his feet, shoving on a rickety looking prosthetic before gesturing to them to follow him into the back. 

“I guess I’m almost a bit’suprised at the whole matter considerin’ what I done went through jus’ this month alone. Thought I might’eh have to return to ye’ Institute just to complain.” He turned around back at Micheal and Gerry, frowning. “Well? Come’on then. I don’t have all day.”

Gerry glanced at Micheal before they followed the older man into a backroom. It didn't have anything too out of the ordinary other than a stairway into a basement and boxes all over the floors. Maybe an obscene amount of dust causing Micheal to scrunch up and resist sneezing. A dull light flickered above when he flicked a switch. 

“Found somethin’ when I was out ye’ know. When I was out on the field with ma’ mates, all lined up te’ die like ducks in a row. We was waitin’ behind enemy lines to light up a storm we was. But then came the bombs straight from them redcoats. They didn’t care who we was- which side ye’ was one. It was just raining hellfire.” 

“The statement spoke about- about hallucinations?” Micheal asked softly, shrinking under the glare he got in return. 

“Is that what yer’ boss is callin’ it? Hallucinations? Ye’ can bet my arse that was the last thing I was seein’ that night. No- no what I saw was no hallucination, it was salvation. All glowin’ and singin’ like bagpipes in June." Mr. Jackson turned and pulled open a drawer, examining something the other two couldn’t see. “That’s what I was goin’ on to tell ye about. Cause I saw it again as of recent. Right here in my own shop.” Before Micheal could ask any more questions Mr. Jackson whipped around with a revolver and shot Gerry in the leg. Micheal shrieked in time with Gerry as he collapsed on the floor, clutching his leg. 

“Now ye two aren’t the first yer’ boss has sent down here te’ die, and ye’ probably won’t be the last.” Micheal scrambled to stop the bleeding when he got a boot to the stomach, landing him in the dirt a few feet away from Gerry. He tried to stand up when he felt hefty hands fist his hair, pulling him roughly by the scalp and dragging him across the floor. “I wan’ te’ show ye’ two. How beautiful those bells sound. Salvation, you’ll get to see it, experience it, as well. Then ye’ll understand.” Micheal wasn’t able to form a retort before he was falling down the basement stairs, the door slamming shut above him. 

The ground was cement and knocked the air straight out of him when he finally hit the floor. Scrambling to his feet as fast as he could before doubling over in pain. Breathing was hard and getting harder. Jackson had definitely broken something. Micheal couldn’t think about that right now, all he could think about was getting the hell out of there. Then he thought about Gerry, about the blood seeping on the dirt floors- Micheal had to help him. 

Micheal Shelly was not about to die in the basement whilst listening to his friend cry behind a door he couldn’t open. Maybe it was that determination that made him notice a door on the opposite wall. He didn’t think about why it was out of the ordinary. He didn’t think about why it was the only other thing in the deserted basement, and he didn’t think about why it was a dull shade of yellow. All he thought about was ripping it open and rescuing his friend. All he could think about was Gerry. 

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t half as surprised as the old vet looked when he came tumbling through a door that couldn’t have been there, watching the guy lean up from his spot above Gerry to gape at Micheal before he threw himself at the burly guy with just enough spontaneity to knock the revolver out of his hand. 

There were two things Micheal knew about fighting. One, he was godawful at it, and two, he knew he was godawful at it. That wasn’t very helpful when he was fighting a guy that weighed more than three of him with enough strength to drag a man by his hair. But army vet or not Micheal thrashed, aiming at anything sensitive he could claw at before thick hands wrapped around his throat and he was slammed into the floor. The air was knocked out of him for the second time that day. He clawed at the guy’s wrists and then again at the guy's eyes, face, anything but he wasn’t letting up and it was getting harder and harder to breathe and…Micheal looked over enough to see Gerry kicking the gun towards him. Muscle memory was more than enough when it came to grabbing the old revolver off the dirt floor and he prayed he was aiming correctly when the shot rang out-

The man on top of him flinched, freezing with wide eyes before his face crinkled into something akin to sorrow as he slumped dead against Micheal, the hands around his throat going limp. 

Micheal breathed through his teeth as he used most of his remaining strength to push the guy off of him, revealing the gun shot that had gone straight through Mr. Jackson’s stomach, spilling blood over himself and Micheal. Micheal didn’t have time to think about that before he was crawling over to where Gerry was still struggling to stand up.

He didn’t hesitate, looking over the wound that seemed to have torn through the side of Gerry’s calf. He needed to stop the bleeding- he needed something-

“Take off your shirt.”

Gerry looked at him like he was crazy, but he did his best to help Micheal remove the shirt. Quickly and silently Micheal ripped it in half, using shaky hands to tie the torn cloth around Gerry’s calf and pulling it tight. Trying to ignore the whimper that fell from Gerry’s lips. He held it there and waited. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats. 

The bleeding stopped. Micheal let out an exhale that felt like it came from somewhere deep inside his bones. 

“That was my favorite shirt.” Gerry muttered weakly. 

Micheal looked at Gerry, his hair covered in dirt and soot and his eyes still closed tightly. His torso on full display along with all of tattoos. He realized Gerry had rested his hands over Micheal’s, when he wasn’t so sure. He looked over himself, not moving from his spot but glancing down at his blood soaked cardigan. Not his blood. 

That was my favorite shirt. The words rang in Micheal’s ears. Through his mind. He leaned back a little, staring at Gerry who’s eyes were now open. Gerry started to smirk, the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and before Micheal knew it they were both laughing. Drunk off of adrenaline and relief that they weren’t dead. Micheal leaned back, careful to not move his hands as each laugh pressed against his ribs and reminded him of the state he was in. He whipped a tear out of his eye and shook his head, still giggling along with Gerry. 

“We need-” Another giggle from Gerry, Micheal nudged his shoulder to try and quiet him, but he was giggling too. “We need to get you to a hospital and- and-” Micheal didn’t quite know what else. It wasn’t really processing that he had shot a man and now that same said man was  laying dead on the ground with the murder weapon not too far away. Christ, Micheal felt delirious.

“And how the hell are you going to get me out of here? You going to carry me?”

Micheal paused a moment before moving, making sure he had enough leverage before scooping Gerry up and off the ground bridal style, only swaying a little bit as he gathered his balance, trying not to think about Gerry’s exposed torso that was now almost flush against him. He dared to smile at Gerry who had the most surprised expression Micheal had seen. “Yes- yes I guess I will.” 

The walk out of the store and towards the car was slow, Micheal fighting not to flinch as he felt every bit of movement in his ribs. Once at the car he placed the other gently on the passenger’s side and got behind the wheel. 

“Wait, can you even drive?”

Micheal scoffed, almost offended. “Yes Gerard, I can drive. I have- have a whole license and everything.”

°°°

The hospital visit was a blur. Eventually they wheeled Gerry off into some backroom and convinced Micheal in for a few x-rays before determining that besides a small fracture, and a million questions about the blood on his shirt, he was fine. The waiting room was half empty and stayed that way for most of the afternoon and well into the evening before Gerry came out with a wrapped up calf and strict instructions to use the crutch until his third check up. Micheal handed him a shirt he had bought from the God forsaken gift shop, he was already wearing one himself, and Gerry put it on with a small smile and a muted “thank you.” 

The drive back was quiet. Micheal fidgeted with his new necklace as he looked out the window, Gerry had insisted on driving. Which Micheal was thankful for, even if he had argued at first. Gerry shouldn’t be using his leg if he didn’t have to, doc’s orders. But Gerry was stubborn and Micheal was exhausted, so there he sat in the passenger’s seat with his head against the window praying that he could have at least one moment of calm before another disaster. Which didn’t seem the case as they pulled up to the institute to see Jon waiting for them outside. Micheal was a bit surprised to see a cigarette between his fingers as he watched them get out. 

Gerry noticed the cig and grinned, leaning on his crutch as Micheal stood there awkwardly. 

“Bother to share? The hospital confiscated mine.” Gerry joked. 

Jon handed him one silently, offering his lighter as well. He even glanced at Micheal but he shook his head no. He’d never been one for cigarettes and his stomach already felt like it was going to spill out around him in a heap of distressing gore. 

Gerry took a long drag before blowing smoke out his nose, sighing. “We didn’t find a Leitner like the one discussed in the statement. Just a trigger happy war vet.” Jon didn’t say anything, Gerry glanced at Micheal before sighing again. “I heard you figured out I’m not who I’ve been saying I was. Figures, I’m not the best at saving face and all that.” Jon didn’t say anything and Gerry took another drag off his cig. “I know what the statements say about me, about my family. I didn’t want that stigma to follow me like a dead weight. Listen, I’d love to have a nice long conversation about how mad you are at me and about my audacity and all that drama, but I was shot in the leg today and Micheal was nearly rid of a rib or two so if you wouldn’t mind putting a pause on that conversation I’d greatly appreciate it.” He offered Jon a faux smile. 

Jon sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Bloody hell Gerard I’m not nearly as mad as I feel I should be, and you’ll get your conversation, but go home. I’m not your boss but I am his-” He looked pointedly at Micheal. “I want you home as well. And don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Christ I can’t just have one normal day where you lot don’t try and get yourself killed.” He snuffed out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe and walked back into the Institute, muttering to himself as he went. 

Gerry turned to Micheal and offered him a tired smile. “That went well, yeah?”

Micheal let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Yeah I guess- I guess it did.”

“Anyways I’m glad your necklace didn’t get trashed, that would have been a shame to replace.”

Micheal really didn’t know how to respond to that, shaking his head and letting out a small tired chuckle. “Right well- well neither of us have eaten and I think we owe it to- to ourselves to change that.”

Gerry smiled like it was just a normal weekday. Like they hadn’t almost died. Like Micheal was the only thing that mattered, which was a bit unusual for him. To see someone look at him like that, it was probably just a trick of the light. Either way Gerry nodded. “Lead the way, Blondie.”    

And Micheal Shelly smiled back.   

Chapter Text

Micheal was suffocating, drowning, falling. His entire body felt like it hadn’t eaten in years. His hands trembled and shook as he fought to stay conscious. He wasn’t sure of where he was, some bandwidth between sane and delirious. Caught it a web of his own making. Was it a web? Maybe a building or a corridor. Something long without end. Without beginning. Like an empty grave he dug deeper and deeper until he couldn’t see the sunlight. His body ached for release, to feel something worth understanding. And oh how he wished to understand, almost as much as he wished to live in the delusion of blissful ignorance. He felt the water rise over his eyes, into his ears, flooding his mind with the merciless call of static. The tug of war that continued on like a broken record player, repeating the same lines in the play until you couldn’t even understand what the people on stage were saying. He would die here in this black abyss with the excruciating knowledge that he had not only killed a man, but killed himself in the process. Or was he already dead?

Micheal woke up in a cold sweat. A sound tearing from his lungs as he stumbled out of the covers and throwing open the nearest window. Air. He needed air. A lot of it he presumed from how hard his heart was beating and how loud the ringing in his ears was.

The London air was cool and a light breeze filtered through his sweat soaked hair. Christ he was a mess. Tears streamed down his face as the implications of everything hit him hard. He had killed a man, and that man would surely be found at some point soon and the fingerprints on the revolver would trace back to him and he’d end up in a cell for the rest of his life because surely no one would believe him if he said it was self defense. Especially since he didn’t immediately report the incident with the police.

Micheal didn’t bother looking at the clock, walking into his living room and picking up his landline, calling Gerry. To which Gerry answered instantly.

“Hello”

“I killed a man.” Micheal wondered if it was possible to break his phone from how hard he was grasping it.

“Come downstairs.”

“What?”

“I’m outside. Hurry up I’ve been sitting in the cold.”

Micheal didn’t take the time to process before he threw on some semi-comfortable slacks and dirty shirt before stumbling out into the morning air. He blinked back at the blinding light of the truck’s headlights, only barely able to see Gerry waving him forwards. He got into the car and stared at the other in confusion.

“Took you longer than I thought it was. It’s only 2am.”

Micheal frowned as Gerry started down the empty road. “I’m sorry, have- have you been waiting for me?”

“Just for a little while, couldn’t sleep knowing we hadn’t fully taken care of the old bastard, thought maybe you’d be the same.”

Micheal made a quizzical expression. “So you decided to wait- wait for me in the dead of night?”

Gerry just shrugged. “Didn’t want you to have to wait for me to get to you.”

Micheal rubbed his eyes. His head was still spinning, but he couldn’t help but feel just a tinge of relief. “Gerard I cannot tell if- if you are insane or- or admirable.”

“Oh, jeez, I hope it’s neither, both sound boring.” He joked.

Micheal fiddled with the scab on his knuckles. “So what- what are we- well I mean what’s- what’s the plan?”

“We’ll burn him first. Then the shop. Fires happen all the time and he’s an avid smoker. Stuff happens right?”

The trembling in Micheal’s hands worsened and he scratched at his skin till he bled. Gerry seemed to notice and reached over to place a hand over the back of his palm. “Hey, stay with me Blondie, don’t worry, this isn’t my first time in this situation. It was him or us, you did what you had to do.”

“I’m a murderer.”

“No. If anything you saved me. He was on his way to chopping me up like a damn cow. Who knows how many other people he’s killed.”

Micheal swallowed thickly. “Right.”

“Listen. Don’t expect to feel ok about it right away. Give it time. Like a month or three.” He squeezed Micheal’s hand and offered him a smile. Micheal wasn’t really able to give him one back.

°°°

The shop didn’t look all that different in the nighttime. Same old degrading cobblestone. Same graffiti next door. Inside Micheal could smell gunpowder and ammunition. The air was thick with a new smell as well. Iron and rust and something rotting. He’d pick at his hands more if he wasn’t helping Gerry carry gasoline canisters.

Nothing was changed or moved. Mr. Jackson lay in the middle of the room, skin pale and blood dried around him. The sight was almost enough to have Micheal nauseous and dry heaving, but for the most part he managed to hold himself together. He dropped the canisters on the dirt floor and looked over at Gerry.

“Well?” Micheal asked, hating how much his voice cracked. “What next?”

“I’m going to grab a lighter from the car, come with me, you don’t need to wait here alone.”

Micheal held firm. “I’m not- I’m not five Gerard I can- I can handle this.”

Gerry looked like he was about to argue but thought better on it, instead leaving Micheal to grab a lighter.

Micheal stared at the body until his head was spinning. Every part of him wanted to leave. To run. Instinct was telling him that this thing that lay in front of him was no more human than a rat and would soon rise up like one. Scurrying across the floor and into the dark cold basement where he belonged. But this was not a rat, this was a man already taken apart from war now cold and empty and lifeless. He couldn’t hurt Micheal like this.

There was safety in the man’s death. Micheal knew this, but it didn’t help stop him from spiraling. His mind going over all the things he could have done differently. Could have changed. He closed his eyes and thought of something nicer, anything. His mind wandering back to corridors he didn’t remember but he understood and could feel safe inside. Spiraling hallways that shifted and changed to make sure no one could follow him. Somewhere in it he could hear the laughter from his childhood friend. He could remember the little sounds Gertrude would make when writing out details on a statement. People everyone else swore didn’t exist. But in those corridors Micheal could bask in the delusion that they were there with him. Laughing and happy and alive and safe and not stood above a dead body like an alter to some entity of fear that Micheal didn’t even serve.

He kept his eyes closed. Waiting on Gerry and thinking about doors and passageways and places you go to escape. It didn’t have to be real. The knowledge that it wasn’t real was almost a hidden relief, although why, Micheal wasn’t sure, but it was. He breathed in the scent of musty wood walls and drab floors. Of endless mirrors and pictures with no direct meaning or understanding. He thought about the mind splitting enigmas of existence and how deeply into the corridors he could hide within. He relaxed at the thought, his eyes still closed. He was still so tired, maybe it was alright if he drifted off a bit. Just until Gerry got back, surely he could find Micheal here? He hadn’t really left, right? Did he really want to be found?

The deep and utter truth of the thought shook him enough to open his eyes. Almost immediately Gerry whipped around to face Micheal before crashing into him, grabbing him hard by the shoulders and shaking him.

Micheal couldn’t help but notice the tears in his eyes.

“What the hell Micheal! Where did you go​?! I thought- God damn it Micheal I thought you had gone- the door was open and you weren’t here and I just- I just.” He wrapped his arms around Micheal, burying his face in the other’s shoulder. Micheal stood there in shock, a tear falling down his cheek as he listened to Gerry. “I thought I lost my only friend.”

Micheal sobbed. Crumpling to the floor alongside Gerry as everything hit him hard in the chest. Because Gerry was right. Micheal knew, somewhere deep down that he had tried to leave. Tried to run away. And a small part of him still wanted to. Still craved that endless feeling of content delirium that felt like a high through his system. He was so exhausted from trying to know everything. From trying to understand, to cope, to deal. He knew running was the cowards way out but in that moment he really hadn’t considered that anyone else would care. Who was there left to care? His mother certainly didn’t, wilting away in the hospital unaware of her own name. His sister didn’t either, too focused on forgetting about him the same way their mother forgot about them. Micheal guessed that really did leave Gerry. And why would Gerry care? He’d barely known Micheal more than a month. But Micheal knew he’d care if Gerard disappeared. So maybe it was the same. Maybe the sorrow would be the same.

“I’m sorry.” Micheal gasped. The words falling from his mouth like the tears that fell from his eyes. “I’m sorry- I’m- I’m sorry.”

Gerry just squeezed Micheal harder. They sat there, more or less crouched on the dirt floor for a long while. Micheal breathed through his nose, forcing the haze out of his lungs like it was helium. It felt like helium. He rested his own head against Gerry, blinking with bleary eyes. After a moment he noticed the burned remains of what used to be Mr. Jackson. He frowned, finally moving to sit up and catch Gerry’s gaze.

“How long was I gone?” He nodded towards the ashes.

Gerry rubbed his eyes before standing up, helping Micheal to his feet as well. “Two hours, maybe only one and a half but it was well enough time for the body to burn.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Enough about that.” Gerry bat Micheal’s comment away, his usual lax posture returning. “Come on, I already soaked the place in gasoline.”

Micheal followed Gerry out of the store and watched him strike up the lighter, the flame catching like a sunrise and extending into the building, Micheal could almost see the moment where the fire caught the gunpowder, the whole building expanding outwards in a huge explosion of fire and broken glass. He flinched backwards, shielding his eyes whilst Gerry stared with some expression Micheal couldn’t read. They watched it until it was clear the building wasn’t going to make it out of the fire, then they went back to the car.

The drive back was mostly silent. Micheal rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, not the physical kind either, that mental strain that left him dizzy to the world. He didn’t want to admit how much better he felt in Gerry’s presence.

They stopped at Micheal’s apartment and Micheal could tell Gerry was waiting for an invitation to stay. It wouldn’t be that weird, would it? Gerry had slept on his couch before.

“You can come in if you’d like. I wouldn’t- I don’t mind the company.” Micheal asked, not making eye contact.

Gerry hummed as he shut off the engine and followed Micheal up and into his apartment, taking a spot on the couch. Micheal sat only a few inches away, leaning his head back against the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

Gerry dared to snicker. “Now don’t go disappearing on me again, Blondie.”

Micheal chuckled back, opening his eyes to roll them at the other. His smile fond, appreciative. “I won’t.”

Gerry grinned. “Good.” He fidgeted with his hands, looking at the tattoos or the scars Micheal couldn’t tell. “Do they bother you?” He asked suddenly.

Micheal frowned. “What?”

“Yesterday you used my shirt-” Gerry didn’t meet Micheal’s eye. “-You must have seen the scars.”

“To be honest I was- was a bit busy focusing on- on you not bleeding out.” Micheal teased, Gerry grinned as well.

“True. You were too busy ruining my favorite shirt to notice.”

“Drama queen.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gerry laughed, shaking his head. “I know you stare at the ones on my hands, is it because they bother you?”

Micheal frowned. “I think they are lovely.” He said without thinking, his face immediately turning bright red.

Gerry seemed taken aback. “You- you do?” He looked away, contemplating Micheal’s answer. “Most people get scared or repulsed by them, as if they make me less human. Especially the ones on my chest.”

Micheal shook his head. “Well I don’t. If- if anything aren’t they a testament to all you’ve gone through? I always thought they should be- should be coveted.”

Gerry seemed to think something before smirking mischievously. “Want to see?”

The joke was obvious enough, but Micheal was tired and the question was lighting up all the lights in his mind and his answer came without him really thinking over the implications. “Yes.”

Gerry’s eyebrows raised minutely, his smile not changing and the eye contact heavy as he slowly removed his shirt, holding it awkwardly between his fingers as he finally broke eye contact.

Micheal sat straight, moving just a bit closer to see the lines in the scars. They really were beautiful, as beautiful as scars could be, dancing across the skin like home made constellations. Micheal wondered how many patters he could count just by looking. After a moment he met Gerry’s eye again, and there was something there, something in the way Gerry almost seem to just wait for Micheal to laugh at him, to call him ugly or broken or whatever names he had probably been called before. But instead Micheal just smiled softly.

“Just as I thought. Beautiful.” He whispered.

Gerry seemed to visibly relax at that, his smile widening. “You can touch them, if you’d like.” He whispered back. “I’m not as fragile as I look, they’re real, I’m real and I promise I won’t break.”

Micheal felt his heart get caught in his lungs. His breath stuttering as he dared to reach out and graze his thumb against Gerry’s shoulder blade. He wondered if it was really normal for one friend to trace their friend’s scars. He was too tired to care about that, too busy lazily tracing the outline of charred skin, bubbled over and obviously years old. Micheal yawned, noting how Gerry had closed his own eyes, leaning against the couch as if it was his own. Micheal enjoyed how calm Gerard looked. His torso on full display as Micheal swirled invisible patterns into the raised lines.

He stayed like that, feeling the other’s heartbeat beneath his fingers as he brushed over a tattoo of a bird he didn’t recognize. Not even realizing when he himself fell asleep, his hand still placed over the design on Gerry’s chest and their hearts beating in tangent.

°°°

Micheal woke up slowly, spread out on the couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He yawned, squeezing his eyes shut and turning to face the back of the couch. It took him a moment to remember the night before, the memory exfoliating in his mind like a bad dream. Well, it wasn’t all bad.

Slowly Micheal lifted himself off the couch and looked around. A small dread started to seep into his system. What if none of it had happened? What if the body was never burned? What if he had never really got to see Gerry’s scars?

Micheal didn’t like the implication that he was dreaming about his friend shirtless.

He got up and walked around before noticing the small note left on the coffee table.

“I’ve gone to go have that pleasant chat with Jon, didn’t want to wake you, when you wake up call me with your lunch order.”

Micheal smiled and rolled his eyes. Picking up the phone.

“Hello, you are calling Gerry’s food delivery service how may I help you today?”

Micheal laughed. “Are you my personal server now?”

“As well as anything else you require~”

Micheal rolled his eyes, he could practically hear the smug smile Gerry was no doubt wearing. “Right. How did the chat go?”

“A lot less yelling then I expected but then again Jon looks like someone ran him over so I think I got off easy. Also I ran into Sasha in the hallways and she says she might have found out about that company you set her on too.”

“Oh? What did she find out?”

“As your food service person I can’t answer that until you tell me a place and your order.”

Micheal giggled. “How about that pasta shop on fifth? It should be on the way back, I like their rice bowls.”

“Rice bowls at a pasta shop how exciting. Alright I’ll be back soon.” And with that Gerry hung up.

It didn’t take Gerry long, and when he returned he carried a folder in one hand and food in the other. Setting out both on the coffee table before he took a seat on the couch.

“So, I got a rice bowl as well since who goes to a pasta shop for pasta, if its horrible I blame you.”

Micheal rolled his eyes, snickering as he took his own bowl. “Dramatic.” He commented, to which Gerry made some mock offended gesture with his hands. Only for Micheal to laugh harder.

He opened the file. It was actually a journalist’s entry into some newspaper Micheal hadn’t ever heard of before. The entry was a statement on the newest home development in some town that the article didn’t list along with a sticky note from Sasha that noted she couldn’t find the town listing anywhere. Apparently the home development only went on the market for a few select weeks before it disappeared completely. No houses, no retail offices just nothing. Micheal flipped over the page to find another print out from the same newspaper that seemed to denounce the previous journal entry as some hoax or joke since no civilian records were listed for the housing development. Honestly both the articles seemed to play off a running joke that Micheal couldn’t understand. But one of the names listed underneath was highlighted; A woman from the rental agency Vivarium named Helen Richardson. The same Realtor that stood out to Micheal. The same Realtor that had complained about yellow doors in her show houses.

“Did you find something, your face is all scrunched up.” Gerry asked.

Micheal hummed. “I think we should talk to this woman, maybe- maybe there’s something we can do to help.”

Gerry nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He smirked down at his food. “By the way this isn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

Micheal straightened, starting back up on his own bowl. “Exactly. Never doubt me, I am never wrong.”

Gerry chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Blondie.”

Chapter Text

Gerard blinked back the tears that had formed from the yawn as he followed Micheal out towards the Real Estate Agency where Helen Richardson supposedly works. The place was quaint enough, a modern building in a modern part of town. It didn’t really take as a Real Estate office to Keay, more like some pop-cultured bookstore or ‘new age’ coffee shop. Oddly unprofessional. Gerry looked on unimpressed at the bright neon colors of the entrance that followed into the building and towards the reception desk.

He pulled out another cigarette as Micheal pressed down on the bell. Keay noted the ‘no smoking sign’ on the wall and smirked, blowing smoke towards it. A headache pushed at the front of his temple and he knew sucking on poison wasn’t going to help it. Not that it stopped him either.

Micheal sounded off the little bell a third time. Nothing changed. Against the achingly pastel wall was a vibrant blue door reading ‘staff only’. It was the only other thing in there that wasn’t decoration. Out of curiosity, Gerard walked over and tried the handle, only slightly surprised when it was unlocked. He pulled the door open, the hinges groaning slightly as a brick wall was revealed behind it. He couldn’t help the smirk that fell along his features as he turned to his blonde companion.

“Don’t think that was supposed to happen now was it?” He joked.

Micheal looked conflicted, staring at the brick wall like it was something tangible. Gerry felt a sick feeling in his stomach, forcing himself to remain calm. The dizzying words of that thing, that distortion echoed in his mind.

“You think you have any control over any of this? You think you have any chance with anyone? You are just as rotten as the tree you fell from. He will see it too. Delusion is nice, comfortable, but even pretty lies can’t hide the ugly truth of what you are and will always be. A tool to be used up and tossed aside. And once he realizes that you won’t be able to convince him to stay, and the Twisting deceit will devour whats left.”

Gerard took another hit off his cigarette. The chill of the words washing over him like a wave. He should have told Micheal all of what happened, he knew that. Knew that he should have mentioned that he saw the thing that Micheal had been seeing. Eyes and teeth and glimpses of a person Gerard never had the pleasure to meet. Maybe that was a good thing. But every time Keay opened his mouth to tell Micheal- no, confirm to Micheal- that he wasn’t insane, that Keay also saw the creature that had been haunting him, he’d hear the echo of its words in his head and everything else would rot on his tongue. He burned the cigarette down to the bud and lit another. His head swam with smoke and fog, dizzying unreality that he wasn’t sure was the effect of this god-forsaken place or just pure exhaustion. Christ, when was the last time he had actually slept?

He followed Micheal towards the other side of the reception desk, looking for some sort of anything. But nothing was there. The whole room reminded Keay of a set for television, neatly lined up and pretty but to no end. Only real in the sense that it collects dust. Creepy was a good word, but Keay was more unnerved and bored than actually freaked out. Not that he could say the same for Blondie, who looked paler that paper with a slightly frustrated expression laid out over pretty lips. Keay blinked, now was not the time to be focusing on Micheal’s damn lips. He rubbed his eyes and turned his attention to a clock on the wall, studying it a moment before deciding it was definitely broken.

“We came out- out here for nothing.”

Keay turned back to Micheal and nudged his shoulder, catching his attention. “Don’t say that, we found the place, and even if it isn’t being used right now doesn’t mean that it won’t be used at all.”

“And- and what if it always- always goes like this? Dead end after- after dead end.”

“Don’t think like that. Be patient, here, lets go back to the institute. You regroup with Sasha, try to get your mind off of all this for a moment.”

Micheal frowned. “Where will you go?”

Keay never really did like to lie. “I have a few contacts I want to check into about both this place and a few other things that might be related. I’ll meet up with you in a few hours at most.” He held his breath.

Micheal let out a sigh and nodded. “You’re right. Sasha will probably- probably have information about- about- and even if she doesn’t I can help out with- with anything else.”

“Exactly.” Keay offered Micheal a small smile and Micheal mirrored it.

°°°

Keay tapped his thumbs rhythmlessly on the steering wheel. His vision swam, the cars around him blurring into the environment in ways he was sure wasn’t healthy. He couldn’t really count the last time he slept. The days morphing together into one giant amalgamation that Keay couldn’t be bothered to pull apart and organize. He had really been trying to avoid going home, even going as far as using the gym showers. But he couldn’t keep avoiding her. Plus, he was out of cigarettes, and clothes, and he could barely keep his eyes open long enough to drive.

He parked his car in the usual spot in the alley behind the bookstore and swayed on his feet as he approached the door. He kept his head down as he entered, he was lucky as he could hear Mary talking softly to some client in the other room, giving him time to slip upstairs and carefully shut his door. He just about completely collapsed on his bed. His room didn’t have a window, this being one of the rare time he was alright with that. Falling into his mess of pillows and blankets without even removing his shoes, just shutting his eyes. Just for a few minutes, he told himself, just to sleep off the headache.

He didn’t want to admit how much easier and kinder sleep came when he was beside a certain blonde with just the sweetest laugh. He didn’t want to admit how nice it felt to have soft, safe hands trace over his scars. Something swelled in his throat and he swallowed back tears. Now was not the time to get sappy over something so silly. “You think you have any chance with anyone? You are just as rotten as the tree you fell from.” Keay’s whole body froze and he pulled the blankets up over his head. Words couldn’t hurt him. He was just tired. Although tired might be an understatement. He would not pay attention to lies told by a Distortion.

It was hard to fall asleep, his heart hammering in his chest over all the things he needed to do. He hadn’t completely lied about finding out information for Blondie. In fact it was the only thing he truly wanted to do, but he was home now, and things were never that simple.

He didn’t get to sleep for very long.

The footsteps sounded off alarms in his mind but the door opening is what woke him up, not that he moved. Maybe she would just leave. Maybe he could sleep for a few moments longer. His headache didn’t feel any different. Buzzing at the back of his temple like an annoying bug that he couldn’t shake.

The lit end of a cigarette burned into the back of his shoulder blade, right at the small of neck. He huffed out a sigh, knowing better than to flinch and biting back any sound of discomfort as he sat up and glared at Mary.

“What?” He snapped, moving to stand as the aftershocks of the burn settled into his skin like an old memory.

“Where have you been, Gerard?” Mary flicked on the light and stared at him, taking a drag of her cigarette like it was a weapon. “Did you bring me the book like I asked you?”

Keay set his lips in a fine line and rolled his eyes.

Mary continued. “No. Did you bring me information on Elias Bouchard and his newest lackeys like I asked? No. Did you even do the simplest task of delivering the package I had sent you out for from Mrs. Angela-”

“I actually burned that one.” Keay bit back. Anything to see the disdain in her scowl rest over her features. He had learned it was much easier to receive than anything close to affection.

“You useless, rotten thing. You’ve been gone for well over a week and have absolutely nothing to show for it. And who was that blonde thing waiting by your car? You so low on money you’ve gone to propositioning yourself?”

He felt his hands curl into fists as he scowled right back at her. “Christ, mom, no! He’s no one, just helping me on a case.” Gerard hated how red his face felt.

“And which one would that be? Since you are so dead set on ignoring the pleas of your own mother? What child are you to run off when I’m the only one that can face you?”

Keay rolled his eyes, staring at the floor in the hopes he could sink into it.

Mary walked over and dug her nails into his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “You’re pathetic. Now clean yourself up. I have a guest I’d like you to meet so come downstairs. Honestly you’re worse than your father sometimes. Maybe I should have kept him around and thrown you into a well.” She dropped his chin and stormed out of his room.

Keay stared at the door completely still a long moment before he dared to brush his thumb over where her nails had cut him. Not deep enough to bleed, the mark would be gone in an hour or so. Probably for the better he assumed.

Gerard stuffed himself into the stupid suit Mary had gotten him for the ‘special occasions’ when she would have some guest or client over. It was the only formal thing he owned and he hated it. Suffocating under the different layers with a tie that might as well have been a noose. He brushed off his pants and tried for as much of a neutral expression as he could muster as he walked down the stairs and into the back of the bookstore, hesitating only for a moment. Breathing steadily through his nose.

Showtime.

When he approached the table he immediately recognized the guest as some member of the Lightless Flame. He looked between the guest and Mary for permission to sit, to which she nodded.

“Wow I must say,” The guest began. “He’s very well trained. Does he do tricks as well?”

Gerard ignored the insult, letting it wash over him like he did for most others. Maintaining eye contact as he folded his hands together on the table, reciting the words his mother had taught him. The words that were burned into the back of his mind the same way the cigarette burns were carved onto his spine.

“And how can I be of service of Mary Keay?” The words tasted like cotton on his tongue.

The guest practically preened, turning to grin at Mary as Keay sat as still as possible, his heart hammering through his chest, his knuckles white.

“Well, well~ very, trained as it stands, tell me, you do business with that Magnus Institute don’t you?”

His fists clenched harder as words got caught in his throat. Mary blew smoke from her nose, leaning over to press her cigarette against his knuckle. “Speak boy.” She growled.

Gerard didn’t move his hands away, just watched the red mark form over one of his tattoos. He turned back to the guest and answered mechanically. “Yes, I do business with the Magnus Institute.”

The girl’s eyes lit up, followed by a sharp toothed grin. “Fantastic. We have a gift for a Mr. Elias Bouchard and would favor you deeply if you delivered it. Its a package and in return he should give you a specific statement we want. Your mother will be reimbursed greatly of course.” She slid a small brown package across towards Keay, who glanced at it minutely before re-initiating eye contact.

Mary spoke up from her side of the table. “Of course we would be more than delighted to help your cause and further grow our friendship with your people. The package will be delivered today and statement dropped off-”

“I would rather it sent directly to our chapel.” The girl interrupted. “Of course if it’s all done correctly no harm will become of your pet.” She gestured to Gerard. He remembered to breathe in through his nose and out through his teeth.

The woman stood to her feet and nodded at Mary before extending a hand out to Gerard, a mischievous quirk to her brow.

Keay didn’t miss a beat, standing and shoving his hands into his pockets, moving beside his mother. His headache was ringing in his ears at that point. “Not a chance in hell.”

The girl winked. “Smart. Well then I’ll be off, Mary you still have the address for where the Statement is to be delivered?”

His mother nodded and the woman left. There was a beat of silence before Mary hummed.

“Not bad Gerard. The suit was a nice touch.” She moved to smooth out the fabric on his shoulders. He was well over a foot taller than her, but that didn’t stop him from shrinking minutely at her movement. He didn’t say anything and she smiled. “Go change and get some shut eye before the bags under your eyes develop further. You are already an ugly thing, wouldn’t want to loose your only saving grace now would you?” Gerard hated how much his heart jumped at the slight look of something even remotely similar to admiration on her face, how it resembled something almost akin to pride.

He nodded and turned to head back up the stairs.

Once he was out of his damn suit and into something comfier he thought of Micheal, of the choker than hung around his neck, highlighting the curve of his collar bone. Keay thought about his laugh and how it sounded, how Keay wished to always be the cause of it. He tried to focus on how relaxed he felt around Blondie. How his hair bounced when he moved, almost hypnotic.

He set his head against the pillow and dared to relax. His headache was splitting him apart at the seems at this point. He leaned across his nightstand and grabbed at a pill bottle. Some pain relievers that really didn’t do anything more than take the edge off. But that was more than enough at the moment. Just enough to slow down his heart rate. Just enough to get him asleep.

°°°

When he woke up he half forgot where he was, groping around for the light switch before immediately regretting the decision once the light was blindingly on. He sat there a moment before groaning and rubbing his eyes. Throwing on his jacket and shoes and walking downstairs. At least his headache was gone.

Mary was sat at the table reading some Lietner Gerry hadn’t even known they owned. “Which one’s that?” He asked flatly, picking up the package still on the table. It was just a little smaller than your average book and heavy as well. Gerard didn’t want to think about what could possibly be in it. Hell he had half a mind to burn it out of spite.

“Would you like to read it?” She grinned, teeth black and yellow. Rotted out. “Its marked by the Web, I’m sure the Mother would appreciate you if you read it.”

Keay scowled at the book. “I’ll pass.” He turned to leave-

“Wait.”

Keay looked back at Mary who held out a fresh pack of cigarettes out to him. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

It was only then that Keay remembered that Real Estate Office he promised Micheal he’d look into. “Actually-” He hesitated before pulling out the address he had written down on a sticky note. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this place, would you?” Best to ask now whilst she was in a good mood.

Mary took the paper and looked it over. “Now I thought you’d be smarter than dealing with the Spiral, not that I should be all that surprised. What business do you have with them?”

“None. I’m just looking into this place specifically. Like any people who work there or tend to the place or anything like that.”

She sat the sticky note down on the table, her smile anything but kind. “And what’s in it for me?”

Keay rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“A better son for start.”

“Tough.” He growled back.

“I would settle for burning the Lightless Flame’s Chapel down.”

Keay’s eyes narrowed. “So all of that earlier was for nothing?”

Mary shrugged. “Not necessarily. But we don’t grovel to anyone, and I think it’s about time I remind them of that.”

“Not the best people to create enemies with you know, we are quite flammable.”

“You stupid boy, you don’t think I planned for that?” She scowled, shaking her head. “Everything to keep me safe is in place. Now do you want information on this address or not? I’ll decide later if you deserve the same protections.”

Keay stared at her a long moment, weighing his options before he sighed. “What do you want me to do about the package?”

“Deliver it still. But bring the Statement back to me. I’ll know if you burned the Chapel, only after I’ll supply you with the information you request.”

“Right. Sure.” Gerard didn’t hover any longer before getting into his truck, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. He ripped open the packaging on the cigarette box Mary gave him and lit one, holding it between his teeth as he drove back over to the Institute.

He kept the package hidden inside his backpack as he walked up the steps of the Institute. An ugly building in his opinion. Elias was definitely overcompensating for something. The thought almost brought a smile to his face.

Once inside he walked over to where Rosie stood doing whatever the hell paperwork Gerard didn’t bother to know or understand.

“I need to speak with Mr. Bouchard.”

Rosie’s gaze flicked up towards Gerard a second before looking back at her clipboard. “Do you have an appointment?”

Keay thought he’d just burn this building down as well. He swallowed the thought and managed to keep a level voice as he answered. “I don’t think so, but it’s important that I speak to him. I promise it will be quick.”

Normally he wouldn’t be so quick to beg for some assistant’s permission when he could just march right up in there. But He really wasn’t in the mood to get an avatar of the eye on his bad side, especially since Mary was so keen on him hanging around this damn place.

“Hmm, well since you don’t have an appointment…”

Gerard opened his mouth too- well scream seemed a bit over-dramatic but he did plan to use to a few choice words but was stopped by Elias’s door opening and the man himself leaning out into the hall, looking between Rosie and Gerard with an amused expression that Keay wanted to punch. So much for staying level headed.

“Is there something wrong?” He started, attention now fully set on Rosie.

“No Mr. Bouchard, I was just catching up Mr. Keay here that he needs an appointment to speak with you.”

“Ah, well he does in fact have an appointment with me.” Mr. Bouchard said cheerfully, nodding at Keay who tried to relax his breathing.

Rosie frowned and looked over her clipboard again. “Oh, my mistake, I must have not written it down in the books. My apologies Mr. Keay.”

Gerard didn’t wait to give her a response before he was following Mr. Bouchard into his office.

Elias closed the door behind Keay and took his seat, adjusting his tie and writing something down on a piece of paper before addressing the murderous goth in front of him. “So, how are you getting along?”

Keay didn’t waste time with formalities, he pulled the package out of his bag and set it on the table between them. It took everything out of him not to throw it at the smug bastard. “Here.”

Elias didn’t loose his smile as he picked up the package and turned it over carefully with gloved fingers. Stupid really. You look stupid.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as Elias frowned minutely at him before returning to looking at the package. “And what would you like me to do with this?”

“I don’t give a damn. I just want the Statement you’re supposed to have in exchange for it.”

Elias’s smile was quaint, as if they were discussing the weather. “I don’t have a Statement for this.”

Keay could see the challenge in the other’s eyes. Play the game, that’s all he had to do. He breathed through his teeth. “It’s from some friends of yours I presume? Some people that could quite literally burn this place to the ground.”

“Ah, yes, but the Statement isn’t going to them, is it?” He responded, pouring a glass of some stupid expensive crap and taking a sip.

Gerard Keay bit his tongue until he tasted iron. He wanted to be anywhere else in the world right then. Oh how he hated this damn office. “No. It wouldn’t. It would be going to my mother. Mary Keay.”

A long pause. “Well that doesn’t sound very safe for me, now does it?”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Gerard bit back.

Elias’s smile grew as he reached into a drawer and pulled out an old file, thick with paper. He held it out to Keay.

“Send my regards to your mother, and take care of yourself. Burning down a Chapel of the Lightless Flame sounds like a sure way to get your clothes dirty, you know if you ever needed any help-”

Keay didn’t wait for him to finish, snatching the manila file out of his hands and shoving it into his backpack. Storming out of the office and startling Rosie, not that he cared at the moment. He wasn’t really sure what about that place had him so angry but it almost had him running someone over on his way out.

He hadn’t realized who it was at first, crashing into someone’s shoulder only to hear them squeak when he grabbed them to keep both of their balances. He was quite ready to yell at the stranger who wasn’t looking where they were going before he was staring into blue eyes and blonde hair.

“Micheal-” He released his grip and took a small step back, shame flooding his senses like a bad trip. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to almost pulverize you.”

Micheal laughed and suddenly Keay wasn’t so angry. “It’s- it’s quite alright, I was- was about to call. I talked with Sasha and apparently a Helen Richardson came in- in sometime recently and talked with Jon of all people. She hadn’t- hadn’t left any information however, just talking about corridors and mazes.” Micheal looked at Gerard and then at where he had come from, a curious expression filtering over his face. “Where you talking with- with Mr. Bouchard?”

Keay’s throat dried up. “I-” Now really was the time to lie. Oh hell he hated it though. He nodded. “Just dropping something off.”

Micheal looked at him with that same look from back at the cemetery, back when Keay tried to tell him his name was James. For a second he didn’t say anything, then very quietly he rested a hand over Keay’s forearm, squeezing it briefly. “Can I help with anything?”

Keay wanted to fall apart right there. “You think you have any chance with anyone? You are just as rotten as the tree you fell from.” A chill ran down his spine and he quickly shook his head. “No, no, I’m alright Blondie, just have to do something. I may have gotten a lead on that Agency place, I’m still waiting for the details but I should have them pretty soon.” He would hate to see the disappointment on Micheal’s face as well. Just another person to be disappointed in him. He didn’t want that. He could avoid that.

Micheal seemed to be trying to read Gerard’s mind, he wouldn’t put it past his pretty friend. Not that he would much like it either. Finally Micheal let out a sigh. “Ok, just please- please be safe?”

Keay nodded. And it felt like the biggest lie he had told that day.

°°°

He sat in his truck and replayed exactly what he was going to do for the fiftieth time that hour. It was a mostly abandoned building, old rickety and wooden for starters. Practically falling apart on its own. He didn’t know the history, but he knew it had more to do with the grounds surrounding the building then the actual structure. It was guarded by three, maybe four, people in intervals of fifteen minutes. He had plenty of throwing knives, the only problem was whether or not these people were knife proof. He would suspect so, since it’s never as easy as he’d hope.

Either way the building was crumbling around them and Gerry had enough sticks of TNT to have the place turned to dust. It wasn’t really playing fire with fire but it left him with a better chance of living which was all he really cared about at the moment. He grumbled, lighting another cigarette and sucking on it until he choked, stubbing it with his boot.

Fifteen minutes to set up the TNT, light it off, and get out of there before someone tried to burn him alive. If he could manage it he would set the place ablaze afterwards but he wasn’t risking loosing his skin over it.

He waited until the two people he could see disappeared off into the tree line, then he bolted. Getting the TNT set up was somehow the easiest and hardest part about the whole thing. The minute he had set up the first one he noticed a third guy he hadn’t seen before running his way, shouting. Guess he wasn’t lighting them off all at once. He flicked his lighter and lit it as close to the TNT on the line as he could before jumping out of the way. The blast echoed behind him and he didn’t look back until he was at the next pillar, dropping the stick of TNT down sloppily and lighting it up. This one he wasn’t fast enough out of blast range and it catapulted him into the back wall, singeing the hairs on his eyebrows.

The air was knocked out of him and he groaned, fighting to shake off the pain that seemed to radiate from everywhere as he stood. There were two people he could see, one was one the ground, blood everywhere, and the other one had pulled out their phone and was screaming into it. Great, reinforcements. Maybe they were for him?

He brushed off his own joke and limped over to the next wall, flicking open his lighter only for it to sputter sparks. Must be his lucky day. The thought was short lived as scalding hot hands wrapped around his throat. And Gerard Keay screamed, his reaction time was only slightly hindered by the pain as he flicked open his switchblade and started slamming it into the guy’s side. It did the trick and Gerard was released, falling to the ground as he tried to remain conscious, coughing up blood in the process.

Shakily he tried his lighter again, not even getting the chance to celebrate when it caught fire, he lit the last TNT and threw it towards a different wall, curling in on himself as chunks of debris flew everywhere. The structure groaned in protest and Gerard could hear the remaining bits of structural integrity crumble under the circumstances, and fall straight on top of him.

He was wedged in between a large wooden beam and a piece of cement. Keay was pretty sure it saved his life- but he still needed to move. He wasn’t sure when the rest of the cult would arrive but he knew he was better dead now than alive when they found him. It gave him enough incentive to crawl his way through the rubble to where he had his truck hidden. Getting into said truck was a nightmare. His vision was filled with spots and he was pretty certain his leather jacket was melted into the skin on his collar bone. Just more scars to add to the growing gallery. If only he had a nickel-

He shook himself out of it. Blinking hard as he shoved himself into his seat and slammed the door shut, fumbling to start the engine. He should go home- hell it probably was the only safe place for him at the moment, but all he could think about was Micheal and the worried look on his face.

“Ok, just please- please be safe?”

Well he was alive which was a start. Now if only he could stay alive. He didn’t wait to think about it before he was tearing down the street towards Micheal’s apartment. In all reality it really didn’t feel like that wild of a day for him. Actually this was kind of calmer than his usual experience dancing with death. At least this time he could see. He dreaded having to deal with the Dark. So this was definitely a breeze. At least that’s what he told himself as he staggered up the steps to Micheal’s apartment. He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get there without hitting anyone but, hey, he certainly wasn’t complaining. Not when he knocked on the door to see the pretty blonde all dressed down in achingly bright colors. Like a damn preschooler’s book, he thought.

“Hi, Blondie” He slurred, leaning against the door frame and trying to ignore the look of absolute horror on Micheal’s face. “I was wondering if I could crash on your couch again? I know I’ve been doin’ that a lot as of late. Heh, you’ll have to start charging me rent I guess.” He wasn’t thinking straight, the pain biting at his bones and around his throat was also making it a bit harder to breathe. He brushed it off to nuance. Although it was getting harder to stand on his feet.

He blinked, expecting Micheal to yell at him or throw him out or really anything other than being laid out on the couch. He didn’t even remember moving.

He belatedly heard Micheal say something but it didn’t really register. The feeling of his jacket peeling off his body however, did register. And he really couldn’t help the whimper of pain that forced its way out of him as Micheal stripped him of his shirt. His charred skin hitting cold air. He knew he wasn’t supposed to flinch back, knew he wasn’t supposed to move or make any sounds, knew it would only be worse. He was well aware of the consequences if Mary caught him flinching away from her but-

“Hey, Hey- Gerry- Gerard please, I know it hurts, this will help- I- I promise this will help.”

Keay opened his eyes to see Micheal crouched above him, layering what looking like wet towels over his burns. It felt cool against the singed skin. He felt a tear trickle down his face as Micheal seemed to examine one of the cigarette burns on his knuckles.

Micheal set Gerard’s hand down over his scarred stomach. “Did you do that to yourself?”

Keay closed his eyes. “If I say yes will you let the question drop?”

Micheal didn’t respond to that. But Keay could still feel him adding and removing cool cloth to his skin. He felt one on his forehead, over his eyes, over his knuckles, over and around his neck and shoulders. It felt like being wrapped in a cooling blanket. It felt like pure relief, he supposed that’s what knocked him out. Or maybe he really was just still tired. Not that it really felt like falling asleep, not that it felt like anything at all. But he knew he was safe here, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Chapter Text

Micheal meticulously replaced the bandages he had layered over Gerry’s burns. More over the ones on Gerry’s neck, a bit less over the cigarette burns on his knuckles and back of neck. Medical supplies were scattered around Micheal as he knelt on the edge of the couch. It was well into the next day by now and he wasn’t sure if the tremors in his hands were from lack of sleep or stress. He mentally thanked his mother for his time following her around when she was a part time nurse. He still had to stop at the corner store to grab medical gauze and burn lotion. Now most of the burns had been treated and the more severe ones on Gerry’s neck had stopped bleeding, finally.

Now the sun peaked in through his window like blankets of gold as he brushed a few strands of hair out of Gerry’s sweat soaked face. Micheal froze when Gerry’s eyes blinked open, and he reacted as Gerry instantly sat up straight, looking around with a look of horror that made Micheal’s stomach turn.

“Calm down, calm- it’s- it’s ok. It’s just me- no one- no one else.” He touched Gerry’s forearm, making sure the other didn’t accidentally fall off the couch.

Gerry seemed to register who he was staring at. “Blondie?” He leaned back and winced. “How long was I out?”

Micheal shook his head, the tremor in his hands getting stronger. “You- you- you were out for most of- of the night, you woke up- woke up when I had- had to disinfect the burns- I don’t think you were really- really awake. Just sort of mumbling.” Micheal’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Crying that- that you wouldn’t- wouldn’t do it again.” Micheal felt nauseous from the memory. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his friend so terrified.

“Sounds like you had a great night then.” Gerry winced, leaning his head back against the cushion. He glanced at the look on Micheal’s face and seemed to hesitate. “I’m being sarcastic-”

“What happened?” Micheal interrupted, he clenched his fists as a means to calm down. “You have- have lied to me twice and now- now you come to me half dead and- and burned so badly I almost didn’t think-” He stopped, swallowing the words down his throat as he stared at Gerry. Didn’t think he’d make it out alive. He thought Gerry might have died. Micheal thought he was going to lose him.

Gerry pursed his lips a moment before looking away. “I hadn’t lied to you.”

“Like hell you didn’t. You said- you said that you were just going to look into a few leads about the address. You- you said you were going to be safe. This is not safe Gerard. This- this is not safe.”

“I did go to find a few leads-”

“Another lie.” Micheal almost yelled, his words cracked. He wasn’t sure if he could label the emotion as anger, but he clutched it like his life line. “You have- have bloodied my couch and- and ruined your clothes as- as well as my shirt. You scared the hell out of me because dammit it Gerard I care- care for you and I do not like being taken advantage of.”

“I wasn’t taking advantage-”

Micheal cut him off again. “Then tell me the truth. I deserve at least that- that much after fighting to- to- to keep you alive.” A tear ran down his cheek, he would blame it on the exhaustion.

Gerry didn’t meet the other’s piercing gaze. “I had to-” He visibly cringed. “I had to do a few things for my mum.”

“Things that included- included almost dying?” Micheal asked.

Gerry shrugged and mumbled under his breath. “Comes with the territory.”

“You didn’t- you still didn’t have to lie to me, I could have- I could have done something to help. I could have- You didn’t have to lie, I would have understood.” Another tear dropped down his cheek.

Gerry reached over and cupped Micheal’s cheek with his hand, brushing his thumb to catch a stray tear. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not- not useless you know. I’m capable of fending- fending for myself.”

Gerry didn’t move his hand from Micheal’s cheek. Micheal found himself leaning into it. “I know Blondie. I’ve seen you fend for me, it’s not that- I just didn’t want you to have to.”

Micheal rolled his eyes. His words are more teasing than scolding. “So you thought it was better to lie?”

“Simple lies over complicated truths. Sounds cliché, right?” He laughed but it came out dry. A silence stretched out for a moment. The only sound being Gerry’s ragged breathing. “Thank you.” Gerry said after a moment. “Thank- just thank you.”

Micheal rolled his eyes, another tear sliding down his cheek, Gerry caught it with his thumb. The silence continued. “You talk in your sleep.” Micheal whispered, his own hand laying over Gerry’s, tracing the bandages he had layered over the knuckles, drawing shapes in the tattoos.

“Oh, yeah?” Gerry hummed. “What did I talk about?”

Micheal pressed his fingers in between Gerry’s and held his hand there, not moving. “Distressing things. You wanted- wanted me to stop. Said something about flinching.”

Gerry closed his eyes, squeezing Micheal’s hand in his own. “Oh.” The words carried their own weight.

Micheal exhaled, moving Gerry’s hand off of his face and holding it, examining the bandages over his knuckles. “You had cigarette burns here,” Micheal noted, holding the other’s hand tenderly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Gerry-” Micheal paused before lifting Gerry’s hand up to press a small gentle kiss on the bandage. His face burning, he didn’t meet the other’s eye as he continued. “I don’t think less of you. On any of it. But you know- I could- well- you don’t have to go through any of this alone. You know- know that, right?”

Gerry sat up slowly, moving Micheal’s chin so that they were facing each other. Micheal met his eye for a moment before his gaze flicked down to his lips. He hadn’t really meant to, and it left his face a shade redder than before, but when he looked back up to Gerry’s eyes the other was already leaning in and-

Gerry kissed Micheal. A gentle sort of kiss that Micheal never imagined he would share with someone. Especially not someone as pretty as Gerry. He wasn’t sure how much of a kiss it counted as with Micheal making a scared-surprised sound that came out pathetically as a squeak more than anything. He didn’t even really get a chance to kiss back before Gerry was pulling away and standing up.

He wasn’t even able to form words in the time it took Gerry to exit his apartment door. Leaving him alone and red and hot in places he didn’t know could feel hot. Quietly he brushed his lips with the tips of his fingers.

°°°

Gerard Keay

°°°

Gerard Keay practically raced back to his car. Stupid idiot, he thought, slamming the car door shut. Barely recognizing the pain that tingled from his shoulders as he drove off. He wasn’t quite sure why the hell he had done that. Great, just perfect. As if he just couldn’t avoid making a mess out of everything he’s gone and screwed up another good thing. He didn’t even have a good excuse. Micheal just looked so...Micheal. What with his beautiful eyes and long hair and how much trust seemed saturated in every word he said. Gerard wasn’t sure he remembered the last time someone had talked to him with as much security as Micheal did. And now he’s gone and messed it all up as usual. Because there was no way Micheal would ever like Gerard that way. Micheal didn’t deserve Gerard. He deserved someone light and flowery and smooth skinned. He didn’t deserve scarred skin and rough edges and ugly hair dye that Keay could never seem to get correct. Micheal didn’t deserve a monster.

Keay drive home with clenched fists and a dry throat. He limped up the stairs to the bookstore and walked in with his head held low. He found his mother upstairs in the loft, sitting at the small kitchen counter eating some pastry from a box that sat open on the table.

“Hello Gerard, I almost thought you hadn’t made it.” She gestured for him to sit and he did. “Please, help yourself, surely you must be hungry. I’m quite proud of you, you know. I had really expected you to fail how you normally do when it comes to these more simple tasks, but you proved your worth greatly. Now eat.”

Gerard wasn’t sure if he could stomach food at the moment. Nonetheless he picked up one of the sticky pastries and took a bite out of it. Trying not to think about the bile resting in the core of his stomach. Coward. That’s all he was. That’s all he would ever amount to. He really was his mother’s son.

“You don’t normally patch up your ugly burns. Did someone help you?”

“Why?” He snapped back, instantly regretting it and shaking his head. His words closer to a mumble rather than a whisper. “Yes. Yes, I had help.”

“Well then-” Mary stood up and walked into her room, coming out with another Lietner. She sat it on the counter and tore out a page. Above them the light flickered just barely. “Here,” She folded the page and handed it to Keay. “The Lightless Flame doesn't take well with the dark. I’ve got pages like this lined around the bookstore as protection. Give this to your friend in case he is targeted, A reward for your efforts if you will.”

Keay shoved the page into his pocket and nodded. “You said you’d look into that address for me?” He held his breath.

Mary hummed. “Yes. As you held up your end of the deal so did I, here-” She tossed him a sticky note with a number. “She’s a realtor that operates out of that business firm. If that’s really what you want to call it. I suggest you be quick and careful. She’s marked heavily by the Spiral. I doubt she’s going to last long after.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Mary repeated.

Keay looked her in the eye. “Thank you mom.”

“Very good. Now go on up to your room and rest. You deserve it.”

Keay felt nauseous and hollow as he made it into his room and closed the door. At least he could still help Blondie talk to Miss Richardson. He wasn’t completely useless. He laid down and closed his eyes, breathing out. Micheal’s lips were so soft, and the sound he had made had Keay feeling something he wasn’t sure of. Christ, he wanted to kiss him again, to pin him to whatever surface and kiss him hard enough to hear Micheal’s laugh bounce down his throat. He wanted Micheal to see him as more than just a disgusting thing. A tool to be used. Or maybe he’d like to be used by Micheal-

Keay woke up in a cold sweat. He tore the blankets off of himself and threw the shutters open. Midday. Well at least he hadn’t slept into the evening. He pulled out his phone and checked the time to find a few missed calls. All from Micheal.

Great.

Keay swallowed hard and called him back, standing in the middle of his room looking like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Gerry?”

“I got Helen Richardson’s number.” He interrupted as fast as he could. Best to provide results before the disappointment had time to set in.

“Oh- Well- Alright- do you want to drop it- oh well-”

“I can come drop it off. Yeah.” Keay winced as the words came out, immediately hanging up. He could make this right. He could fix this. Surely there was still time.

By the time he had gotten back into his car and over to Micheal’s apartment he had burned through a whole box of cigarettes and had opened another. Anything to stop his hands from shaking. Anything to stop his mind from racing.

He hesitated before knocking, and the door opened a bit too quickly. And there stood Micheal, beautiful and flushed and, Christ, Keay couldn’t lose him too. He didn’t give Micheal a chance to speak.

“I brought the number. Oh, and this-” He pulled out the page and thrust it in Micheal’s direction. “It’s protection in case the people that may be after me try to target you. This will keep them away, just put it up somewhere.” Gerard hesitated, meeting Micheal’s eyes before looking at the floor. “I’m- I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid and a huge mistake and I’m so sorry. I can leave now if- if you want me to.” He prepared himself for a blow. When he glanced back up at Micheal, he was almost sure the other looked disappointed.

“Well, wait- wait no. No- I- I’d want- I mean you can- we can- we’re still a team right- right?” Micheal stammered. Keay thought Micheal looked almost devastated, but he wasn’t sure why.

He took another hit off his cigarette and nodded. “Still a team.” He repeated.

Micheal squared his shoulders a bit, gesturing to Keay to come inside. “Then- then I want you to stay.”

Keay exhaled and walked inside, watching Micheal fumble a bit as he set up the page before picking up the phone and dialing the number. Both of them were silent as it rang.

Keay couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, just Micheal. “Er- Well no- No- I’m calling to ask- ask you about- you had some complaints about doors?”

A bit of silence. Keay studied Micheal’s face, the way his brow was knit together. His eyes concentrated on something Keay couldn’t see. Keay caught himself staring and quickly looked away, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Yes- yes that would work- that would be- be nice actually. Does today work?”

Another bit of silence. Micheal nodded soundlessly. “Alright- thank- thank you.” He put the phone down and managed to grin at Keay. “We have a lead.”

°°°

Micheal Shelly

°°°

They ended up meeting Miss Richardson back at the same odd show house that they went to last time. Micheal couldn’t help but feel in over his head about this whole thing. He wasn’t even really sure what to tell her. How to help her. He was determined to however. He had to. He had to get this right. He wasn’t getting anything else right.

He was trying very hard to not think about the kiss. Trying even harder to not feel the dread at Gerry’s apology. An act of delirium. Something that meant nothing and would continue to mean nothing even as he yearned for it to desperately mean something. It had simply been a huge “Mistake.” A mistake. Micheal shouldn’t have been surprised or disappointed. This wasn’t some fairy tale that he used to read about in school. This was real life where people didn’t choose him. Especially not the people that he wanted to be chosen by. He swallowed the guilt as a woman with curly brown hair in a wine red suit walked into the room through the door Micheal had thought Gerry had proven was solid brick.

“Hello, are you the one I spoke on the phone with?” She looked warily between Gerry and Micheal and he tried to offer her a smile.

“Yes. Yes! I mean- well- I’m Micheal, This is my friend Gerry, we are here to help you with your door issue?”

“Oh, I don’t need any help with that. In fact recently all of the vandalism ended.” She responded cheerfully. Something seemed odd. Micheal couldn’t pinpoint why. She continued. “In fact I just got this new house on the market and it's absolutely beautiful. A perfect family home. Would you two be interested in checking it out?”

Micheal stammered. “Oh, so- so no issues at all? Well-” He turned to Gerry who was eyeing her closely. “Well that’s good then. We aren’t- aren’t looking for a place right now. But- but maybe next time?”

The woman just stared at them, smiling blankly in a way that could almost be defined as unnerving. Micheal still couldn’t shake the fact that something was off.

“Oh well, I really wanted to show you two my newest addition. It’s a real eye catcher.”

Micheal finally understood what he was seeing that was wrong. She wasn’t breathing. Or well, she wasn’t moving at all. It's a very normal thing to move a bit here and there, shift around and sway like lazy waves in the ocean. But Miss Richardson was as still as a board. Micheal wasn’t sure it was even possible for someone to be as still as she was. A bit of panic rose up inside of Micheal as a few things connected within his mind.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed something was off. “Actually I think we will take our leave.” Gerry set his hand on Micheal’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Micheal understood. They needed to leave. Right now.

The woman tilted her head just barely, her smile still plastered against her face. “Oh? But there’s no where to go from here~”

The threat was evident enough and Micheal felt Gerry tug on his shoulder, he didn’t need another cue as the two of them hurried towards the exit. But- It was gone? There weren’t even windows, just more brick walls. Micheal heard Gerry curse under his breath and he had half a mind to curse as well. But instead the only sound he was able to make was a small dreaded groan as he looked back and noted that the woman was gone. And in her place was the thing that wore Gertrude Robinson’s face. And it was all eyes. Flickering just barely before it charged at the two of them.

Chapter Text

Micheal couldn’t determine if what was happening really was in slow motion or if it was just the effect of the spiral. The thing that was the Distortion and that wasn’t Gertrude seemed to spasm. Or in the very least that was the only word Micheal could come up with to express the way the creature in front of him expanded into the walls and the floors and the space and the gravity and the air and completely encapsulating Micheal in one infinite moment. Eyes expanding and distorting into spirals distorting into something Micheal couldn’t express with words. Colors repeating and changing and multiplying before his very being to the point where he hadn’t really noticed when it had wrapped a hand around his throat. He did feel the collision of his back to something hard, knocking the shock out of him and replacing it with something more akin to fear. Something a bit more real.

He gasped for breath but there was nothing to breathe. Micheal couldn’t feel his tongue in his mouth or his heartbeat behind his ribs, just the steady throbbing of blinking eyes surrounding him, watching him in a way that made him want to hide under his covers. But there was nowhere to hide or run as the thing flexed around his throat and once again he was reminded of the fact that he very well could not breathe. Tears welled in his eyes as he clawed at its skin- no it wasn’t skin at his throat- bleary eyed and a throat full of sticks he staggered and crumpled to the floor. His perception of reality was tearing at the seams. He wasn’t entirely sure why the thing- the Distortion- hadn’t killed him yet. There, knelt on his knees and still coughing, he looked into Gertrude Robinson’s face that shifted and changed like a kaleidoscope made entirely out of eyes. He found that he didn’t like looking at her, but he couldn’t look away.

Further tears pooled down his cheeks as he reached a trembling hand out towards the loud mass of colors and shapes that he could barely define. “I’m sorry.”

The thing that was and was not Gertrude laughed and Micheal was pretty sure his ears were bleeding. “You’re sorry​? What a pathetic thing you are. Alive, dead- it doesn’t seem to matter does it?” Her words echoed all wrong in Micheal’s mind. A million disappointed frowns, a million heartbreaks. He was always destined for this, wasn’t he? Something grabbed his chin and forced him to look into the amalgamation of eyes and shifting coiling bits of skin on her- its face. “Your fear- your delusion- is beautiful. You still believe you have a chance. In this life, in this place. Surrounded by people that despise you and barely put up with you and yet you still live. How pitiful.”

Micheal shook his head out of her hold and backed up against a wall only to fall through something he supposed was a mirror. The breaking-of-glass sound shredded his skin until he could taste iron down his throat. He was free falling. Dying. Losing himself to something he couldn’t even really call familiar. It did feel familiar. The distant bite of the cold. The whistle of icy wind through the trees. The silent absent sound of snow falling.

Her voice echoed around him as he landed on snow. “He isn’t your saving grace or your salvation. He isn’t even real. You love an illusion.” In front of him he could see Gerry. But- was it Gerry?

“You’re lying.” His voice cracked. The thing that looked like Gerry turned to look at him, but if he could see Micheal he didn’t make any indication.

“Do you really believe that I’m lying to you? Do you really think you’ve made a friend that might have been worth the effort? How long did your mother go on before you forced her into that asylum? How long did you let her go on believing that your father would come home? That the things she was seeing were real? How long did you dwell in that illusion before you finally brought her back to reality? Is it really so different from this? From what you have led yourself to believe?”

Micheal swallowed thickly and the image of Gerry wavered slightly. He took a step backwards. Gertrude laughed loud and he knew she was behind him, he could see her breath in the cold air.

“Can’t you see dear? This isn’t even the first time you’ve built up someone in your mind, someone for you to lean against and trust in your moment of need. But was anyone ever really there?”

“No- no- we- we went on assignment- to- together- we- we”

“Did you?” Her voice echoed softer, almost pitying. “You went out to speak with a stranger, but you went alone didn’t you? You went to buy furniture, even treated yourself to a local museum, but you went alone- don’t you remember? You lie in an empty bed and return to it every day. Your own boss gave you sick leave after determining you unfit mentally- what makes you so sure you didn’t dream someone to talk to through it?”

Micheal sobbed, his knees going weak as he turned to face Gertrude. And there she was. Whole and looking at him with a sorrow only she could give him. He collapsed in her arms and shook his head violently. “No- no- I helped him with- with a follow up- we- we were almost killed- we had to- to burn the body-”

“Did you Micheal? Did you really​ ? I can assure you that man is still alive and still at that shop, unharmed by whatever you believed you had done. Honestly Micheal you have really let yourself go don’t you think. I mean when’s even the last time you looked at a clock, or remember walking into a room? He is not real. Gerard Keay is just another person you thought up in that head of yours whilst daydreaming.”

Micheal held onto her arms tightly as tremors ripped from his body. His hands were numb here, and he couldn’t feel the tip of his nose or the soles of his feet. Tears froze over his face as he looked away from the image of the goth- what was his name?

“I didn’t- I couldn’t have imagined-”

“But you did, my dear.” Gertrude continued. “Why, your own mind started to put the pieces together today. You think he kissed you, showed any sort of affection towards you, but then he was gone. How do you account for that? Even if he was real, would you want someone who teased you with affection but never actually gave it to you? Someone who called it a ‘Mistake’? Would you really want that Web of mistrust?”

“He didn’t-” Micheal felt a lump form in his throat, or maybe it was deeper, layered in his ribs and making it hard to breathe. Maybe he didn’t want to breathe. “He lied .”

“They all do.”

“No.” Micheal whispered. “He lied about it being a mistake.” He looked away from Miss Robinson and looked back at the faded visage of someone who used to be real. He blinked and the image got a little clearer. “He- he was scared.” Micheal swallowed, wiping a tear out of his eye to see the other clearer. The memory expanding in his head as the only source of warmth. “He apologized- and in his fear he lied. But he never really thought it was a mistake. Maybe that’s why-” The image got a little clearer. He stood to his feet, still looking at the image too far away to touch. “Maybe that’s why I held out hope.”

A surge of white hot anger and regret and understanding and pain ripped through his system all at once and he spun on the Distortion, scowling at its poor at being someone he once knew. “You are the lie!” He spat at it, watching it change and flinch back at his words. The voidless place felt a lot less cold and he found that he was in a hallway. A hallway he understood. A hallway that held Gerry somewhere he could find.

He didn’t give the thing in front of him any more time before he sprinted off in the direction of Gerry. His lungs felt like sandpaper and his joints were broken glass but still he ran through impossible geometry and blinding darkness that felt familiar and welcoming and safe. Like the arms of a thought-to-be-widower when her husband miraculously returned home from war. And that is how he crashed into Gerry when he found him. Suspended by nothing and eyes rolled back into his head and still Micheal wrapped his arms around the goth as tightly as he could.

“I’ve got you.” He said. He promised. He cried. Pulling Gerard out of that maze of wrong hallways and backwards rooms and out into his apartment. Collapsing onto the floor through a door that couldn’t be and yet was.

Micheal crawled over Gerry and brushed the hair out of his face, trying to find marks of injury. Trying to find something that he could fix, but he couldn’t find any open wounds other than the still bandaged burns at his collarbone. He checked Gerry’s pulse the same time his eyes fluttered open. And Micheal froze, still very much on top of the other, with both hands holding him up at either side of the other’s face, and still very much with tears staining his cheeks.

“Micheal?”

Micheal found he could have wept all over again at hearing Gerry’s voice. He blinked at the other before laughing, a tired, relieved sort of laugh that seemed to exfoliate over his skin and through his spine and all the way towards the tips of his fingers as Gerry cupped Micheal’s face with one hand.

“We aren’t- what happened to the realtor’s place?”

“You don’t remember?” Micheal managed to stop laughing, another tear making its way down his face, Gerry wiped it away with ease.

“I- I remember-” Gerry seemed to stare off into the distance for a moment before recognition bled into his irises. “I remember.”

For a second neither moved, then Gerry propped himself upwards with his other hand and lifted himself to meet Micheal. Sealing their lips in a kiss. Micheal leaned back just enough to give Gerry room, his arms wrapping around the other’s neck and pulling him closer. The kiss felt breathless. Micheal had the thought of feeling like he was gasping for air, reaching the surface of the water every time his lips met Gerry’s.

“It wasn’t a mistake.” Gerry muttered in between kisses, resting his head against Micheal’s and wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. Their chests heaving in time with one another.

Micheal chuckled against Gerry’s lips. “I know.”

“It wasn’t a mistake.” He repeated.

“I know.” Micheal breathed.

“I want this- I want you.”

Micheal didn’t respond with words, just kissed Gerry again with giggles filling his lungs and hopefully Gerry’s too. Gerry tasted like ash and cigarette smoke and Micheal couldn’t care less. Not when Gerry’s hands were shifting their way under his shirt and his mouth was praising his own. Moving in a rhythm that Micheal wasn’t sure he could keep up. He found himself laughing again, shivering as Gerry’s nails drew lines in his spine.

Gerry paused, lightly tugging on Micheal’s lower lip before exhaling. “Is this ok?”

Micheal blinked, looking at Gerry, looking at the blush layered over his face. “Yeah. Yes- this is-” He laughed again, burying his face in Gerry’s shoulder, his face burning. “More than ok. So much more than ok.”

He closed his eyes as he felt the other trace shapes in his skin, relaxing against Gerry with enough mind to kiss him where Gerry’s shoulder met his neck. Carefully of course, right over the bandage. He moved upwards until he was pressing kisses onto Gerry’s chin.

Gerry groaned and between one quick movement and a small yelp, Micheal found himself spread out on his back looking up at Gerry who wasted no time to crouch back down and kiss Micheal silly. Micheal giggled, breath ragged as he nipped at Gerry’s lips. He couldn’t really pinpoint the last time someone kissed him like this, like he was a drug and they were addicted. He found he quite liked the attention.

It wasn’t long before both their lips were red and kiss bitten. Micheal’s hair tangled from the way Gerry carded his fingers through it, sending tingles through his scalp. Finally Gerry moved to lay beside Micheal, throwing an arm around the other as Micheal pulled him closer.

He giggled and Gerry grinned. “What are you laughing about?”

Micheal just laughed harder, trying to stifle the sound by pressing a small kiss on the other’s nose. “We are- are still on the floor.”

“Do you want to move?”

Micheal shook his head and smiled. “No, no this is perfect.” A pause, he touched the other’s face. “Tell me you’re real.”

“I’m real.”

Micheal kissed the space above his eyes. “Tell me again.”

“I’m real.”

Micheal met Gerry’s lips and hovered there a long second, humming and relaxing beside the other. “You are real.” Micheal whispered, closing his eyes as Gerry rested his hand on Micheal’s chest. “I want you too.” He reassured, maybe he wanted Gerry a little too much.

“Good, cause as long as you let me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Gerry,”

“Yes, Micheal?”

Micheal yawned. “It's barely noon, we should get up- up and- and-” His words trailed off as he felt Gerry trace his collarbone.

“We should.” Gerry agreed, still touching Micheal like he was sacred china. “But we can lay here just a few more minutes.”

And neither made any attempt to move, tangled up on the floor in the middle of the apartment with their heartbeats sounding off a mutual rhythm.

°°°

When Micheal awoke he found himself nestled under Gerry’s arm, head resting on his chest in the perfect position to hear the other’s heartbeat. Feel it gently through his ears.

“Good morning.”

“Is it really?” Micheal mumbled, half stretching half moving up to tuck himself further under Gerry’s chin.

“Nah. Sometime after four I believe. Suns still up and all. Your phone’s been going off. Jon’s been trying to reach you about a follow up on a statement.”

“You answered?”

Gerry messed about with Micheal’s hair. “He called my phone as well. Seems he thought I’d be able to get a hold of you.”

Micheal smirked. “Quite a silly thought- thought indeed.”

Gerry managed to press a kiss to Micheal’s temple, humming in agreement.

Micheal smiled, relaxing into it only a moment before sitting up, going to get off the bed- when had they moved to the bed?- when Gerry swung an arm around Micheal’s hip.

“Where you going, Blondie?”

Micheal chuckled, turning to look at the other before gesturing to the door. “My boss- boss obviously wants a word with- with me.”

Gerry tugged on Micheal till he relented, leaning over the goth with a fond look settling in his eyes. Micheal thought the other looked pretty with his black hair spread out against his pastel sheets. His jean jacket still covered most of his arms, although the white of the bandages decorating his collarbone was very much still visible. Micheal touched Gerry’s cheek just to make sure. Gerry seemed to catch on.

“I’m real, Blondie. And I say you take the day off.”

“I’ve already angered him enough recently-”

“Blondie, he’s always somewhat annoyed. I doubt it really has anything to directly do with you.”

“Still.”

“Alright.” Gerry pulled Micheal even closer until he was caged between Micheal’s knees. Neither one really saw it as a cage. “You can go deal with Jon on one condition.”

Micheal leaned further in until their noses were inches apart, his smile mirrored Gerry’s. “Alright, spit it out.”

“You let me drive you over. That way we can pick up food on the way home.”

Micheal hummed, pretending to ponder the question as his eyes, and attention, flicked down to Gerry’s lips. “I think I can- can deal with that.” Gerry moved up to kiss Micheal and Micheal didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, letting his teeth catch on Gerry’s lips and swallowing the groan that it coaxed out of the other. Gerry snuck a hand under Micheal’s shirt and he pulled away, a teasing glint in his eyes at Gerry’s prompt pout.

“Come on. You said you wanted to- to drive.”

Gerry rolled his eyes. “Jon can wait five more minutes.”

Micheal laughed as he stood on his feet. “Come on, there will be time for that later. I want- want to get this out of the way first.”

Gerry stood up as well, meeting Micheal and pressing a quick kiss on his cheek. “Fine. But only because you’re pretty when you’re red.”

Micheal looked away, rolling his eyes as Gerry chuckled before the two left the apartment together.

°°°

Getting back to the institute was a simple drive. On the way there Micheal called Jon to let him know he was on his way, and while Jon seemed irritated, he didn’t argue too much before letting Micheal off the phone.

Inside the Institute Micheal once again felt the edges of a headache press at his temple. He ignored it as he entered the familiar musty hallway of the Archives, knocking on the door at the end of the hallway.

“Come in.”

He entered the small room, made even smaller by the mess of boxes and notebooks and scribbles that Micheal could only assume belonged to Jon. Everything seemed on edge, like the air itself was trying to hold its breath.

“Do you have the information on Amelia Herris?”

Micheal blinked before frowning. “I’m sorry?”

Jon shot him an annoyed stare. “The statement concerning a maggot infestation? The one you supposedly checked up on?”

Micheal’s brow knit together in thought. “You sent me to follow- follow up with a Miss- Miss Richardson?”

Jon’s small annoyed frown grew into a full agitated sneer as he scowled at Micheal. “No you absolute dottering idiot! You were supposed to go to 31 st street apartment No. 5 and follow up about a maggot infestation.”

Micheal held his ground. “No. No that’s not- not what you told me to do- you- maybe you assigned that follow up with- with someone else from- from the team?”

“Even if I did, I don’t know any Richardson around here. Whatever you are going on about is obviously wrong. What is it, you taking up on drugs or something?”

Micheal bit his tongue, choking on a retort. If Jon couldn’t remember her then it was almost no point to argue. Almost. That didn’t stop Micheal from losing it, balling his hands into fists, “Why do you have to be a bastard about everything you don’t understand! Your fear is not- not an excuse for your hostility.” Micheal scowled right back at Jon. It was so easy to see through it. Through the lies he didn’t dare to speak. Through the backwards pettiness that hid all his fear. Micheal could see it so plainly, so clearly. Just like before. Now in front of Micheal, Jon just looked stunned.

Micheal had too much of a heart not to feel bad. “Here just- just give me the file on- on Miss Herris. I obviously don’t bloody well have it.”

Jon looked almost like he was about to fight back. Shoot another damning insult at Micheal like a bullet to the head. But instead Jon opened a drawer and stared at a folder with a blank expression before holding it out to Micheal.

“I apologize. I must have been mistaken.” Jon seemed to really look at Micheal for the first time. There was a long silence for a moment before Jon exhaled. “I saw all the work you’ve done in the back filing room. How it's all sorted-” He hesitated, looking down at nothing. “Gerard- Gerry explained some...hard to believe things about this place, about everything, I’m still not sure I believe all of it but I appreciate you labeling things as such. Especially since so much of it seems to line up. I understand I can be an ass. I took it too far, I’m sorry Micheal.”

Micheal didn’t answer, shaking his head and storming out of the Archives, practically slamming Gerry’s car door earning a raised brow from the other.

“Sorry.”

“S’ fine.” Gerry hummed, turning on the car and heading away from the Institute. “Greasy alleyway Chinese food?”

Micheal smiled, small and honest and the most safe he’d felt all week. “Yeah. That sounds great.” 

Chapter Text

 “Did you hear they tore down the old gambling hall on Baker’s street?”

Micheal hummed. He was currently sitting hunched over a statement and his open notebook. His pencil twirling between his pointer and middle finger as he cross checked for names, dates and addresses. The glow of his old loyal laptop, which was left opened and neglected, illuminated the small crease to his brow.

He glanced up at Tim, who was sitting on top of his desk, leaning most of his weight on one palm propped up behind him, his gaze locked onto the book held in his free hand. His hair was pulled back out of his eyes in a messy pony, although it was barely long enough, instead looking more like some sort of man bun or tiny knot. Tim was pulling it off rather nicely.

It only occurred to Micheal that the other was waiting for a response when Tim’s gaze flicked up towards Micheal and away from his book.

“Ah- well, no. No, but wasn’t that some 1890’s home?”

Tim shook his head. “No Mate you’re thinking about the place on Wax Ave. about a quarter of a drive from Baker’s street. They tore that one down too. Odd really, I heard it had something to do with an infestation of mold.”

Before Micheal had the chance to make some comment about mold, Jon and Gerry came out of Jon’s office. Gerry rolled a cigarette between his teeth before tossing it into the waste bin. He wore some street band that Micheal never heard of, but had quite a lewd name in Micheal’s opinion, with his usual array of silver and black decorating his neck. No jacket today, leaving his arms bare and on display for just about anyone to gawk at. Not that Micheal was staring. There was quite a bit to stare at, theoretically of course, if he wanted he was sure he could make quite an argument for staring. What with the tattoos and burn scars trailing over the toned muscle like a tapestry.

Not like Micheal, who didn’t have much on his arms other than bone and just enough skin to cover said bone. For a while he had considered getting a tattoo or something similar but he never had the time. Not including all the times when he did have time. Those didn’t count. Now he was sure he was just too pasty for tattoos, sure that if he did get any it would simply highlight his gangly form and make everything worse. Today he didn’t have to worry about that however as his arms were mercifully covered by his favored lavender cardigan over a yellow sweater. It wouldn’t have been all that bad an outfit if the rest of the team wasn’t in blaringly loud summer attire made for breezy sunny weather. Not that he minded, he was always prone to getting cold even in the hotter months. He could never really shake off the bite of winter.

Micheal’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by Jon as he opened a file Micheal hadn’t seen before. Not that he was really paying attention to much besides the glances that were passing between him and Gerry.

“So since Sasha and Martin are following up about that Theater in Wail’s I’m handing this assignment off to you three.” Jon began, his voice carrying that unamused bored tone that Micheal used to associate with Gertrude. “Miss Regina Folly has had an apparent run in with a cockroach infestation and I’d like it checked out.”

Tim adjusted himself on the table so his legs were crossed. “Come on Boss, a roach infestation? What, could she not pay for the exterminator’s fee?”

“Her house is the only one left on her street. All the others were evacuated and smoked out also due to the presence of maggots and roaches. While I doubt there’s anything going on that can’t be explained, we should still check it out while we can. Better than having you two wait around down here being useless.”

Tim made some mock offended grunt, shooting Micheal a mischievous grin before hopping off his desk, walking over to take the folder from Jon. “You want us to bring you back a cock?” He asked, almost innocently.

Gerry snorted, which was the only sound he had made thus far, before Jon rolled his eyes and shot Tim a look that could kill.

“Just go make yourself useful instead of wasting time down here. I doubt you are going to find anything worth the Institute’s time but at least assure her that her roach problem isn’t to be taken further than face value.”

“Great.” Gerry cut in, shoving his hands into his pockets and nodding towards the exit. “Can we go then?”

Micheal and Tim looked between Gerry and Jon, waiting for something before Jon gave a curt nod and the three of them left rather unceremoniously.

°°°

Gerard Key

°°°

The ride over was anything but quiet. Tim rattled on about Smirk and architecture and any other odd ball subject he could come up with on the spot. Not that Gerard really minded. He liked Tim, a very spontaneous character that reminded Gerard of those narrators in info-graph shows he used to watch as a child. And it kept a light, almost fun air to the car ride, which was nice because Miss Folly had to live almost four hours away from the damned Institute. A detail Jon had sweetly decided to leave out when filling them in on the supposed cockroach infestation.

The ride over was nice enough. The scenery being different shades of gray until they were officially out of city limits, then equal shades of green. They passed a few pastures with cows and the likes which Micheal fondly pointed out as they went. Micheal, with his outfit covering just over eighty percent of his body like they were in the dead of winter. Gerard found it highlighted the smooth bare skin at his neck. Right where the cardigan and sweater cut off to reveal just a lick of collarbone. A humorous and distinct difference from Tim, who was in some Hawaiian t-shirt with his hair pulled back like he was a hip surfer from the coast. Honestly all three of them looked like they had stepped out of three separate stage plays. The thought made Gerard smirk.

Three hours and a u-turn later they were in the small town of Choke. If the building wasn’t overrun with graffiti it seemed abandoned and taken over by the foliage, leaving everything looking deserted and sad. Gerard would have liked to see it in his prime. He pulled down a side street near the house they were expected to evaluate and parked.

“Quite a lovely little town, eh?” Tim hummed, the first to hop out of the car and stretch. Gerard took great care in watching how Micheal extended himself, pinching his brow together as he drew his limbs out from the cramped space in the truck. If Gerard spent an extra moment staring at the small sliver of skin at Micheal’s waist that was revealed as he stretched, then that was no one's business other than his own.

“Bland. Have you been here before?” Gerard asked, having enough self control to stop ogling Micheal.

“As a matter of fact, I have!” Tim expressed cheerfully. “In fact I know a lad down at the bar a few miles from here.”

“This place has- has a bar?” Micheal commented, looking more than skeptical. Gerard thought the look was cute on him. How it scrunched up Blondie’s nose and highlighted his jawline. Honestly Gerard still couldn’t believe he had spent the previous afternoon curled up next to Blondie, kissing him like it was natural. The thought was followed by a tinge of regret. They had gotten dinner and Gerard had just dropped off Micheal at his place before driving home. Too much of a coward to ask to spend the night. Too much of an idiot to think Blondie would want the same. But what was it Gerard wanted? He was always a bit hesitant to take anyone to bed, not that he really had many chances before now to even consider it as an option. It still felt a bit early in his mind. He didn’t want to rush things, and he definitely didn’t want to scare Micheal off. Still the idea of just sleeping with the other tucked under his chin and their bodies breathing in sync made stupid cliché butterflies dance in his stomach.

He forced the thought down quickly. He needed to hold himself together, avoid any distractions, especially if they were dealing with something hostile. He doubted it was as simple as a few roaches.

Around him the conversation continued with Tim and Micheal until Gerard cut in. “Come on. We can speculate the morality of bars in ghost towns on our way out.” Gerard hesitated before leaving the can of bug spray in the car. They weren’t that far from the house and he could always come back for it. He still kept his switchblade handy in the pocket of his jeans.

The house was, well, ancient. Old historical buildings were no joke out here and Gerard was sure that if there wasn’t a horrible infestation rotting the walls and floors the city would have probably found some excuse to keep them standing. Now Miss Folly’s house was the only one on the whole street still standing. That was either a very good sign or a very bad one. Gerard held his breath.

Walking up the steps to the front porch it was evident that nature was really taking up the majority of the breathing room. Moss covered the old cobble steps and vines made a thick wall over and down the railing. The double door was faded oak with a hand carved design around the edges that was chipped from weather. The house wasn’t just old, it was huge, obvious from a distance and almost overwhelming up close. Gerard wasn’t the only one who noticed the change in atmosphere, Micheal and Tim also seemed to be holding their breath. All three of them were waiting for some invisible ball to drop.

Not seeing any other option, Gerard knocked three times.

They waited. Inside Gerard could vaguely hear the sound of someone or something shuffling closer.

When the door opened Gerard had to fight from covering his mouth. The smell was tangible in a putrid heavy sort of way. Behind him he was sure one of the other two had gagged, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight the urge much longer. It reminded him of a dead deer on the side of the road on a hot, humid day. The skin simmered under the merciless sun, cooking the rotted thing whilst the flies took their pound of flesh.

He blinked, trying to expel the smell from every orifice he could before he realized there was a woman standing in front of him. Based off of the smell alone he could have imagined the owner of the house looking how it seemed to smell. But the women, no doubt Miss Regina Folly, looked anything but fowl. She wore an old vintage dress that had to be from the 60’s with her hair down around her bare shoulders. Everything about her was clean and put together. Even her smile seemed perfect. Perfect in that uncanny blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type of way. Gerry wasn’t certain if that was normal for this town or maybe a mark of the stranger, although he couldn’t detect any mark of the stranger.

“Hello, are you Miss Folly?” Tim began, giving her his signature smile. Gerard refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Ah yes, are you three from that extermination place I talked to?”

“You mean the Magnus Institute?” Micheal asked carefully.

“Yes! Please, do come in, I’m sorry about the smell. I believe it has something to do with the roaches. Although it’s so bad you’d think my dog, Maggie, died.”

Once inside the house, Gerard could see that it appeared well kept. Everything, like Miss Folly, held that old Victorian-but-60’s feel. Wallpaper lined the foyer walls in an odd orange glow and once they entered the dining room they were met with a faded purple theme that hurt Gerard’s eyes. Ignoring the painful color choices Gerard couldn’t deny that the place seemed well kept and clean. Every surface was dust free and the pillows seemed puffed up and ready for use. It reminded Gerard of a showroom. Mary would have liked a place like this, except for the smell- of course.

Miss Folly went on about other odd happenings besides the roach infestation. Things going missing, doors being left open and other items that sounded a bit too cliché for Gerard. Not that he was paying much attention to what she was going on about, still scanning the rooms for any signs of distress or disarray. So far Gerard hadn’t even spotted a single roach. However as presented on the outside, the house was massive. He suspected it would take them half the day just to find the source. In a house this old he wondered if there was a chance she had any Lietners by mistake. It might account for the smell at the very least.

Or just their luck, it was something much worse. Gerard hoped for the former.

“Well I have to attend to something real quick. You boys feel free to look around. Both the downstairs and upstairs are available to you. I’ll be back down in a minute to answer any of your questions. Thank you again for your help.” And with that she disappeared up the spiral staircase.

Tim let out a low whistle. “What a place, huh?”

“Do you think whatever- whatever died is the cause of the- the roaches?” Micheal asked, hesitantly peeking into a decorative box on the shelf.

“Either that or this is all a ruse for her to kill up and pile us up with the other rotting things she no doubt has stored under the floorboards.” Tim answered, examining some wall art with a scrutinizing gaze you only see at art galleries.

Gerard lit a cigarette just to get rid of the taste of decay off his tongue. He mulled over the possible options before watching Micheal move towards the kitchen. He had his hair up in a bun today, which shouldn’t have been nearly as distracting as it was, a bundle of gold exposing the nape of his neck. Gerard thought it would look nice decorated with a plethora of bruises.

“Hey! Gerry!” He blinked, turning to face Tim who was giving him a knowing smirk. “I get it, he’s pretty. But can you undress him with your eyes some other time? This place is enormous on its own.”

Gerard felt his face heat up before nodding. “I’m going to see if there’s a library or something like one downstairs.” He left the dining room quickly, following the carpeted floor towards a pair of double doors on the other side of the foyer. It entered into a large sun room with a glass wall that bowed outwards before meeting the floor. Plants of every kind and size lined the glass, glowing green in the sunlight. On the other wall was a massive stone fireplace with bookshelves on either side. There weren’t nearly as many books as Gerard had hoped, but there was still enough to sift through.

Loath as he was to admit it, although it was more a pride issue than just disdain, he quite enjoyed books. He appreciated their distinct smell and the sound of a page turning. He liked getting lost in a world of make believe. A world with monsters that can be destroyed with protagonists that are able to fight back against their own upbringing. He loved getting lost in libraries and finding a favorite character to root for with their adventures. A good page turner, if you will. Libraries were a stark difference to bookshops. Bookshops that were too cramped for comfort and left no room for the imagination. Bookshops where instead of borrowing a book you paid twice its weight in pounds. Bookshops where he was forced to act a certain way in front of detested guests with a mother that did not know the loving kindness of a library, or the gentle whisper of endless bookshelves.

Gerard tried to ignore the thought, absently opening a cabinet to check for any hidden spots when he was met with stacked mason jars filled with something. He took one out carefully and reviewed its contents which were...not obvious.

On first inspection he almost thought it was wet cloth, but as he held it out into the sunlight it almost appeared to be meat. It certainly smelled like meat. He decided against opening the jar and instead put it back, he was half through with the motion when he heard the door open and shut again.

“Ah so you- you found some too.” Micheal came halfway into the room before freezing. Eyes trained on the jar Gerard was still holding, crouched down near the cubby where he found it.

“There’s more?”

Micheal scratched the back of his neck, gesturing towards where he had come from. “Tim- Tim found some in the dining room and there’s loads- loads more of it in the kitchen. We are pretty sure that’s why the house smells like- like it does.”

Gerard shook his head. Putting the mason jar back where he found it and closing the little door before standing to his feet, walking over towards Micheal. “Neither of you two opened them right?”

“No, of course- of course not. Tim went to check- check another room to see if there were more. We still haven’t found any cockroaches.” Micheal seemed to pause. “Did you think anything odd about- about Miss Folly?”

“Maybe.” Gerard responded slowly, “Why?”

“I don’t really know-” Micheal seemed to stop himself for a moment. “She just seemed- well- wrong.”

“Like how you felt about Graham Folger?” Gerard asked.

Micheal made a face of pure hatred. It dissipated instantly. “No, no- that was- that was distinct. This just feels…” Micheal seemed to struggle to find a word. “Changed.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Right now let's just focus on one thing at a time.” Gerard swayed in place, looking between Micheal and the door. After a moment he just couldn’t help himself, moving his hand to catch a stray strand of gold and tucking it behind Micheal’s ear, watching as Micheal practically melted into it.

At that he hesitated. Staring at Micheal with possibly the most pathetically hopeful smirk. Watching as Micheal glanced back at the closed door once before closing the distance between them. Gerry kissed Micheal breathless. Until they were both giggling like school girls.

“Can I touch you?” Gerry asked. Because he had to ask, because more than he wanted to show Micheal how much he ached to hold him, he wanted the allowance. Gerry wanted Micheal to want it too.

Blondie’s giggle was like inhaling sugar. “Tim’s probably waiting for us.”

“That’s not an answer.” Gerry joked, but still he took a small step back, minute but clear. He would not press, no matter how impatient he was.

Micheal just giggled again, hiding his face in his hands. Gerry thought he wanted to kiss Micheal there as well, along his calloused knuckles and long fingers, down his wrists and over his palms. He thought Micheal’s blush was quite possibly the prettiest thing he’d seen, maybe ever.

“Alright but- but we don’t have long so-” He was cut off with a small squeak as Gerry reentered Micheal’s space. Aiming kisses for his neck and feeling the shudder move through the other. Micheal buried his hands in Gerry’s hair and pulled hard when Gerry’s fingers brushed against Micheal’s side.

Gerry did it again just to feel the other jump before chuckling. “Ticklish? Really?”

“Shut- shut up.”

Gerry moved up, dropping his hands from under Micheal’s shirt to drape over his shoulders lazily, exchanging a long, much due in Gerry’s opinion, kiss that left them hovering inches apart.

“Hello there.” Micheal whispered.

“Hi Blondie.” Gerry whispered back.

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Gerry felt a tinge of embarrassment. Micheal seemed to catch on.

“What’s wrong?”

“I” Gerry paused to think through how he wanted to say what was on his mind. “I wanted to ask to spend the night, after dinner.”

“Why didn’t you?” Micheal asked softly, pressing a kiss on the other’s nose that made Gerry giggle like a child.

“I didn’t want there to be any obligation to do anything either of us didn’t want to do.”

Micheal’s expression was unreadable. “And what is it you do want?”

To wake up beside you for the rest of my miserable life. But Gerry couldn’t say that, so instead he said. “To wake up to you half asleep and snoring.” And it was every bit as true as the unspoken statement. And it still had Micheal making a small pout and Gerry laughed.

“I don’t snore!” He argued.

“You snore, and groan, and make all sorts of tiny sounds.” At Micheal’s aghast expression he topped it off with a kiss to his temple, speaking against his skin. “And it’s absolutely adorable.” Before Micheal could argue further he was already half out the door and down the hall. Smirking to himself and lost in thought enough so that he almost ran right through Tim.

“Ah! There you are! Did Micheal fill you in on the strange jars of meat?”

Gerard almost had forgotten the whole reason they were there. Right. Cockroaches and mason jars of meat. How delectable. “Yes. There were more of them tucked away in the sun room.”

“Great! Glad you’re caught up! Anyways I thought we could check upstairs now?”

Gerard nodded just as Micheal joined them, his face still burning red. If Tim noticed, and there was no way he didn’t, he didn’t comment.

“I agree.” Gerard led the way towards the stairs before turning back to Tim. “Have you run into any roaches yet?”

“No.”

Gerard blew out a breath before climbing the stairs. “Great.” He muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

Once upstairs Gerard splits off to see if he could find Miss Folly. He had a few questions he wanted to ask about both the jars they had found as well as where the roaches were that she had claimed to see. If there were any to be seen, that is, which Gerard was becoming more doubtful of by the moment. Still he walked quietly down a lime green wallpapered hallway with a deep wine red carpet until he was sure he could hear...something.

An odd wet sound that made him pause and move a bit more quietly. It wasn’t exactly wet really. More just thick. Like clicking your tongue or tossing a damp rag onto a counter, and that wasn’t the only sound he could hear. Gerard was sure he could hear what sounded like slicing, or maybe it was peeling. He entered a large bedroom and noticed a door ajar that led into what he assumed was the master bedroom. He moved slowly, creeping towards the door as the sounds of slicing got louder and more disturbing. Gerard still hadn’t been ready for what he saw.

There, in front of the mirror was Miss Regina Folly, and to Gerard’s horror he watched her take a scalpel with one hand and pull at the skin on her cheek with the other before cutting off a slab of skin and setting it into a jar. Instantly the skin on her face healed as if it hadn’t ever been cut. As if she hadn’t just sliced most of her cheek off. He was starting to understand what Micheal had meant by changed. Gerard didn’t have a lot of time to process any of the facts before he was making eye contact with Regina in the mirror.

Shit.

She was one step faster, crashing into the door and knocking Gerard to the floor, trying to get him with the scalpel that she flung around madly. Even with her full body weight on top of the other, she was surprisingly light, and Gerard didn’t hesitate to kick her off before booking it towards the hallway. He didn’t get far before crashing into Tim, having just enough sense to grab his shoulders and stop them both from falling.

“Whoa- what-”

“No time!” Gerard interrupted. Looking around until he saw Micheal quickly coming out of a neighboring room. “Time to go-” He wasn’t able to finish his statement when Miss Folly came catapulting out of the room, screaming and tearing towards them.

The three of them ran down the spiral staircase. Gerard was at the end of the line and forcing himself to not turn around. Despite her size and demeanor her screams echoed all the way down his spine and infused with his bones. He almost lost his footing, hearing the stairs groan beneath him. For a moment he thought she had broken the railing, hearing the distinctive sound of wood popping and cracking. He dared to look behind him, leaving him blindly running forwards until he was no longer running. He wasn’t sure what hit him, the air being knocked out of him as his vision blurred and changed, a wave of nausea accompanying the fall until he was laying on his back breathing in dust.

Gerard tried to sit up as best he could. Hacking up dirt and debris as he tried to make something out of his surroundings. They must have fell right through the floor- that much was obvious. Some large cellar as a cherry on top of their lovely adventure. Gerard rubbed his head before looking around.

He saw Tim standing and looking around as well, Micheal not too far away. It was only when he started towards them that he noticed a small pain in his leg. He would deal with it later.

“Are you two alright?”

“I scratched my knee up pretty badly but I can- can walk.” Micheal started. Frowning at Gerard. “You’re limping.”

“I’m fine. Tim?”

Tim was staring at something Gerard’s eyes hadn’t adjusted too yet. Gerard rubbed the dust out of his eyes, it almost looked like the walls were moving. But it wasn’t just the walls.

“I think we found the cockroaches.”

Gerard pulled out a small flashlight from his jacket and shined it at the wall. Instantly clumps of crawling legs and shining bodies and twitching antennas scattered from the light and revealed heaps of throbbing meat piled high over more jars. But it wasn’t just jars. Gerard looked in horror at broken glass containers, vases, old fish tanks, and other things that he couldn’t distinguish under all the meat. Inside the sticky, moldy heap Gerard could see that a few of the roaches hadn’t made it out, pulling uselessly to try and escape their prison. Gerard thought he was going to be sick. Tim turned around and heaved and behind them Micheal audibly shuddered.

Somewhere above them they could hear Miss Folly call out, her voice warbled and wrong. Gerard turned to help Micheal to his feet. “We got to get out of here.” He muttered. Behind them something else crashed and they both turned to see Tim knocking crates out of the way, shaking off a few roaches that had tried to escape the crash by climbing his legs.

A circular passage was revealed. Tim nodded. “Through here.”

“But what if its- its a dead end?” Micheal worried, but behind them they could hear Miss Folly crashing into the cellar, and she sounded a lot larger than before.

“It's a gutter system, it has to lead outside. Come on, there's no time!”

Tim went first, and Gerard followed behind Micheal. The tunnel was small and cramped but they scrambled as much as they could. Blind and breathing hard Gerard could have swore they were starting to tilt. Almost as soon as the thought passed through his mind his hands slipped and he was falling forwards. In front of him Micheal let out some strangled cry and he could just barely hear Tim screaming; “Hold your breath!”

The small pain in Gerard’s leg grew as he was tumbling, scratching up his hands as he grasped to regain his balance. In front of him he could hear the distinct sound of water but it was too late to react before he was thrown head first into the river. Crashing into light and water and not able to stop himself from automatically taking a breath, sucking water into his lungs in the process as he desperately clawed for the surface of the water.

One second felt like agony as his lungs screamed and he finally breached fresh air, coughing and sputtering as he fought to remain above the water. He hadn’t really done a lot of swimming in his lifetime and it was showing through as adrenaline took over and he struggled against the current. He caught a glimpse of Tim’s bright blue Hawaiian shirt near the edge and looked around frantically for Blondie.

He spotted gold bobbing near where he was and he forced himself in that direction, grabbing Micheal’s shoulder and pulling him up towards the air. Instinctively Micheal grabbed at Gerard’s shirt and the movement almost pulled them both back under, but Gerard managed to pull him close enough to the bank where they could both stand, crawling up the mud and dirt to where Tim was leaning over a tree heaving.

Gerard coughed up water as his lungs argued against every movement, the dull throb in his leg now full on aching, sharp and consistent. Beside him Micheal pulled his hair out of his eyes, his bun long gone.

“Everyone alive?” Tim asked, his words shaky and hoarse from coughing. Gerard didn’t doubt he sounded the same.

“What- what- what were- what-” Micheal couldn’t seem to string his words together, his tone on the edge of tears. Gerard didn’t blame him.

“Slow down Blondie.” Gerard reached out and caught his shoulder, squeezing until Micheal looked at him. “Breathe first, we are out, and it doesn’t look like that thing followed us.”

Micheal shook his head, he stood to his feet and looked between Tim and Gerard then their surroundings. “Where- where are we?”

“Don’t worry.” Tim started. “This whole town follows the river. We aren’t far from the road.”

“Great.” Gerard stood up as well, only wincing slightly. “We should try and get back to the car before nightfall.”

“We are soaking wet.” Micheal commented.

Gerard shook his head. He didn’t have a solution for that. The best thing they could do at the moment was get to the road, away from the bank. The river was only a small steep incline off of the actual field, but Tim and Micheal still helped Gerard up, which was only slightly humiliating.

One they made it to the road, five minutes or three hours later- Gerard wasn’t sure, Tim made an excited sound and pointed to a building with lights blinking just down the road.

“We’re in luck! That’s Josh’s establishment. We can get dry clothes there, and probably a drive to our car as well!”

Gerard scoffed, his face shifting to a relieved yet skeptical smile. “You really do just know everybody huh?”

Tim nudged Gerard with his elbow, smiling. “Comes in handy.”

An hour later they were in warm dry clothes and sitting at a bar while some sport played on a screen and some wasted guy muttered about his empty glass a seat over.

Tim chatted happily with Josh, who he had introduced them to before apologetically asking to borrow a change of clothes. Now Gerard was wearing some cream colored sports sweat shirt and matching sweat pants and Micheal was in similar attire. Both looking particularly out of their element. Gerard stared at Micheal who was wrapped up watching the game. His hair was braided halfheartedly and still damp. His eyes were tired but he was smiling, now that Gerard thought about it, so was he. Micheal looked over and his smile widened.

“What are you staring at?”

“Just a beautiful face.” Gerry said easily. Micheal rolled his eyes, but the blush that spread across his face made Gerry’s stomach do back flips. “It's true~” Gerry continued, unable to stop himself. “Now what do I got to do to take a pretty stranger like you home?” It was obviously a joke, and to Gerry’s delight Micheal snickered before full on laughing. Gerry was no scientist, but he thought that if he could bottle up the other’s laugh and get it under the microscope he’d find traces of pure ecstasy.

Tim came back a few moments later grinning ear to ear. “Great news! Josh got us rooms at the inn across the road. They don’t ever get any foot traffic anymore, cheap being in a small town, yeah?” He nodded to Gerard. “He’ll help you get your car over here if you want to do that real quick?”

Gerard smiled. “Thanks Tim.”

°°°

Gerard looked over the little motel room. It was… homely was the best adjective he could think of. The walls were wooden and made everything feel warm. A painting of a field rested over the bed and a clock ticked away on the wall. It had been about an hour or so after they had all said their goodnights. Gerard thought his bed would look prettier with a Blondie smiling at him with that cherry kissed blush, but he could deal without. Or so he told himself.

He did try to fall asleep, listening to the sound of the clock tick away the time almost mocking. But then Micheal’s room was right next door and it wouldn’t hurt to just ask, right? He sat up and rolled his eyes. Micheal was probably already asleep, probably didn’t want to be bothered.

He stood up and rolled his eyes, walking over to his door. Just a quick knock wouldn’t hurt anyone. He opened the door and blinked.

There stood Micheal, complete in his baggy sweats and hand drawn up towards where he would have supposedly knocked. A hot red blush coated over his face as he sputtered out some excuse that Gerard really didn’t hear.

“Hello.” He grinned, leaning against the door frame as warmth flooded his own face. “Would you like to come in?” He noted Micheal’s knuckles were red, a small bit bleeding.

“May I?” Micheal asked, his words were so small. Gerry thought it was cute.

“Absolutely.” He gestured towards the small room. “Welcome to my grand estate.”

Micheal giggled, humming. “It’s very- very nice.”

“Yes, well now it's perfect. Really needed a touch of blonde if you know what I mean.”

Micheal moved, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Gerry took the invitation to touch his hair, carding his fingers through the still damp strands.

“You are such a sap.” Micheal mumbled.

“That bad?” He brushed his lips against Micheal’s carefully.

Micheal kissed Gerry lightly, sprinkling little kisses over his lips and face, making Gerry laugh. “No, it’s perfect.” He snuck a hand under Gerry’s shirt and Gerry shuddered in response.

“Feeling foxy there, Blondie?”

“No.” He answered. Then paused, “Is this ok? I just wanted to make sure-” He cut himself off and Gerry understood.

“Here.” He smiled at Micheal, moving back to pull his shirt over his head- scars be damned- and folded it nicely to sit on the small dresser before getting onto the bed, looking at Micheal expectantly. Really it was just hopeful. Like a little kid begging with his eyes. His mother built him to never beg, but he thought he could get away with it just this once, here, safely tucked away in some abandoned town with a beautiful Blonde staring at him with the rosiest cheeks Gerry had ever seen.

“You want- you- you-”

Gerry patted the spot beside him. “To sleep, preferably with you, but you don’t have to stay.”

Micheal’s eyes were comically large, Gerard was pretty sure the other hadn’t stopped looking at his chest. He met the other’s eyes and Micheal seemed to burn.

“I don’t normally- ah- that is- I don’t- don’t sleep with- with my shirt off.”

“Would you like me to put mine back on?” Gerry asked tentatively.

“No!” Micheal practically shouted, which brought a small laugh out of Gerry.

“Then come on. There’s plenty of room for two.”

Micheal didn’t hesitate any longer, sneaking into bed beside Gerry, letting the other pull the blankets over them both. For a moment Micheal didn’t seem to breathe, then, slowly he moved a little closer and pressed a small soft kiss to Gerry’s collarbone. In return Gerry wrapped his arm over the other, scratching Micheal’s scalp lightly. He enjoyed the feeling of Micheal relaxing there against him.

“Good night, Blondie,” he whispered.

“Good night Gerry.” Micheal mumbled against his skin.

And it was. It was a very good night.

Chapter Text

Micheal woke up to the rhythm of Gerry’s heartbeat. His head resting over the other’s chest with one arm slung around Gerry’s waist. Gerry had one hand under his shirt, resting against Micheal’s back. He couldn’t deny he liked the contact. He kept his eyes closed a moment longer. It was so much easier like this, sprawled out on a bed in a motel on the edge of nowhere with nothing trying to kill them. Micheal couldn’t even remember the last time he was able to just rest like this.

“You awake yet, Blondie?” Gerry’s question had no right being as softly fond as it was. Draping over Micheal’s face in the form of burnt roses.

“Maybe.” He said, adjusting himself so he could curl further into the heat of Gerry’s torso. It amused him to feel his heartbeat speed up a notch.

“We should go, you are welcome to sleep in the car if you’d like?”

Micheal belatedly thought that Gerry would not be curled up, tattoos and scars exposed, in the car. Still he sat up enough to press a small kiss to the other’s chin. “Fine.”

Almost as soon as he sat up completely the vertigo was back, not only that but it was accompanied with a headache this time. As if one issue wasn’t enough. This wasn’t the first time he had felt this sort of nervous nauseous ache in his head. It had gotten really bad the night he went for dinner with Gerry, he had been slightly relieved when the other hadn’t asked to stay over, not that he didn’t want the other next to him in bed, he had just hoped that after a full night's sleep he would have felt better. And at first he did. At least for the first five minutes. It had been downright miserable in the Archives. He could barely hear Tim or Jon over the sound of ringing in his ears. The car ride had been a break only in the sense that he could close his eyes and force himself not to think, only breathe. But then they got to that woman’s house- if she really even was a woman- and all the pain in his head seemed to double.

Micheal was always prone to getting headaches. All through his youth he’d get migraines or small head colds that were more tedious than actually disarming. But for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what this was. And it wasn’t just a pain in his head, he felt like he could feel it everywhere. He could feel it bowing his ribs and tangling his intestines and knotting his stomach and it was accompanied by some feeling he couldn’t quite name. At first he thought it was hunger. It did remind him of hunger, that deep aching hunger that only occurs when you physically can’t stand eating but you are also starving on the spot. But Micheal had eaten. And yet the feeling remained. Maybe when they got back to inner London he could see a doctor.

The morning went by slowly. They ended up meeting Tim back at the bar and having breakfast before heading out. Not that Micheal really ate. He just couldn’t. He tried to give Gerry a reassuring smile when he asked why he hadn’t eaten anything. It almost scared him how convincing he sounded, even to himself. Micheal sat in the backseat and listened to Tim talk about some architectural fact.

It was hard to listen. Tim talked about architecture like it was a casual thing. He didn’t talk about how maddening it was to not be able to understand the obsession with exploring abandoned buildings. He didn’t talk about how destroyed the thoughts left him. The insanity of losing his family with architecture being the only understandable variable. He didn’t talk about the circus or his brother or how sick with fear he was about losing his mind over it all.

Micheal clawed at his legs through his sweats, biting down on his tongue until he tasted iron. That feeling was back, that knot in his stomach or his spine he couldn’t tell. He wanted to pick apart Tim’s lies until Tim couldn’t remember the original truth, blinded by the confusion-

That scared Micheal. He tried to calm down. He wasn’t quite sure where he had heard about Tim’s brother. Maybe he had given a statement? He definitely worked in the Archives before Micheal met him on the team so maybe he had heard some sort of rumor? But rumors don’t just magically pop in your head. He was just tired, he concluded, staring at his shoes to try and quell the thoughts that made no sense in his mind. In the end his head just hurt more and he was slightly worried he’d actually throw up. He just needed to relax.

When they were finally back at the Archives Micheal worried he wouldn’t be able to stand. Maybe he should go to the emergency room, or hell, just call the ambulance. Maybe he had caught something from all those thick smelling jars of meat, or maybe it was from the dust inhalation when they fell. Or maybe he had sucked up some parasite in the water when they were thrown head first into the river. But it wasn’t any of that. He knew it wasn’t any of that. He wished he wasn’t as certain.

“Hey-” Gerry touched Micheal’s arm and Micheal all but jumped out of his skin, looking at the other with a heavy glare before it fell into an apologetic wince.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, “You were saying?” Maybe it really was hunger.

“It’s fine. You just seemed so quiet in the car, and it didn’t really look like you were sleeping.”

“I’m alright, I was sleeping actually, just in small doses-” Micheal cut himself off and choked on his words. He did not want to lie. Not right now. Not to Gerry. “I mean-” He made eye contact only a moment before dropping it, looking down at the Institute steps. “Just have a bad- bad headache. After this I’ll just go- go home I think.” He focused on each word as he spoke, scared he’d say something stupid and wrong. He did not like how easily it was to get caught up in a lie. Could he book a same day appointment with a head specialist? Was that even possible?

Gerry just nodded, an unreadable expression lingering in his eyes. Micheal didn’t focus on it for too long, scared he’d say something or think up another disturbing fact or rumor.

Once inside the Institute he was slightly sure he was having some sort of attack. The static that once seemed bound to his mouth was now loud in his ears and over his eyes and choking him in a way he really couldn’t fathom. He felt irritated by the very being of the place. Like it was somehow in direct opposition to him personally. Maybe it was, he wasn’t so sure at the moment. His head was quite ready to explode off his shoulders.

He followed Tim and Gerry to presumably Jon’s office to discuss what happened, but they didn’t get that far. Instead running into both Jon and Elias in the hallway. He wasn’t paying attention to what Tim was saying, instead staring at Mr. Bouchard.

Mr. Elias Bouchard. A funny name, Micheal thought. An easy lie. How come no one else had noticed? The change in iris, in voice, in posture. A lie built off of the stone walls of the institute down to the core where the old prison lies buried in wait. He didn’t need an off handed rumor for that one. He’d seen the blueprints. The trap door in Artifact Storage. He knew the building’s history enough. He didn’t know much about his boss. Other than the lie that presented itself right to his face. What fun could he have in exposing it? Creating confusion and distrust and paranoia, a theme already building down in the Archives. Like an anthill that you could only see the tiny hole entrance when there was an entire labyrinth of layers hidden just beneath the surface. All he’d need to do is bring a few facts to light.

Micheal blinked. He hadn’t realized Elias was looking straight back at him. A panic rose in his chest about the other being able to read his thoughts but he shut it down quickly, looking back down at his shoes and rubbing his forehead. A ridiculous notion. Actually all of it was. Elias Bouchard was not hiding a secret alias. He wasn’t in a damn spy film for crying out loud. He was just tired and...hungry. Micheal excused himself from the conversation and walked outside. He needed air, and maybe a trash bin for when he did eventually throw up. Not that there was anything to throw up. He hadn’t even eaten anything since the night before.

He walked down the side street and tried to even out his breathing. He’d go home, eat something and then maybe try and schedule an appointment with a doctor. Although he really hoped it was just hunger. He tried to think about something he could eat once he got home. There was ham in the fridge still, maybe, or did he clear that out? He felt sick thinking about ham. Maybe not ham. Micheal had some fresh apples in a bowl he could try to stomach. But really the thought of eating made him even more nauseous. Maybe he was just dehydrated? That would account for the headache, but would it account for the way he swayed as he walked? Did it account for how his mind seemed to add odd details to conversations he didn’t remember ever knowing? Did it account for his craving of- of what?

His vision swam as he walked, colors separating out of each other and doubling his vision with spots. He couldn’t have been that far from the bus stop now, could he? He took a second to look around, freezing in place. This wasn’t a street he was used to. He turned around and squinted at a street corner sign. The words were all backwards and wrong. He rubbed his eyes and tried again.

“Lost?”

Micheal turned to face a girl smiling at him. It wasn’t comforting. “No- no I just- just-”

“Say, don’t you work at that Magnus Institute? I believe I’ve seen you around there. Are you following up on a statement on my street?”

Micheal swallowed thickly. Something inside him was clawing at his intestines, around his ribs and bones, ricocheting through his mind to get out. It was making it entirely too hard to focus on anything other than the spider webs behind her words. Pathetic, he thought absently, manipulation was so grueling .

“Surely you’ve got better things to do?” He asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone. He frowned, looking her over once more. “Do I know you?” He must have. Why else would he be so irritated over a simple question. Because she knows damn well she didn’t see him around the Institute. But how could he be so sure?

“Maybe. I get around pretty easily. Although I don’t think I’ve met you like this. ”

“What's that supposed to- to mean?” He choked down anything extra. It felt like all the words and thoughts in his brain were oil and water and he was continuously stirring the pot, frantically trying to get the two to mix, to cooperate. What would happen if he stopped fighting? Micheal wasn’t sure what he was trying to fight. Maybe it was the uncertainty that scared him.

“You don’t know? You poor thing, and no one to help you either?”

“I don’t need help.” Micheal bit back, the words cracking in his mind. He hated how certain she sounded. No confusion, no hesitance. He wondered how tasteful her delirium could be if her webs got caught in a knot. It wouldn’t be that hard, surely, and he was already aching for-

Micheal froze. He hadn’t even realized how close to her he had gotten until the panic set back in. Waves of pain rolled through his mind and body as he took a few steps back. He dug sharp nails into his knuckles just to remind himself he was in control. What was he aching for? He really didn’t want to know.

“Bus is that way.” She said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. He turned to see where she was pointing, and like she had said, there was a small covered bench seat with a bus sign next to it.

He didn’t say anything else as he walked away from her, his mind screaming for relief. He felt like he’d collapse, like his whole being was being eaten from the inside out. His knees felt weak and he just about buckled when he hit the bench. It wasn’t just pain, it was need. It was craving. He didn’t want to think about what he was craving. He didn’t want to think about why he could get it from her. Not just her. It wasn’t a reassuring thought.

It took him an agonizing amount of time before he finally collapsed in the fetal position on his bed, picking up his home phone to dial Gerry’s number. The line barely rang once.

“What is it, what happened?”

Micheal hated how distressed the other sounded on his behalf. He was not used to that yet. “I’m- I’m fine- well- well no-” He bit into his cheek until he bled. “-I think- think I caught something- from the- the- ah, it doesn’t- doesn’t matter. Could use a- a ride to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to take you now? You sound awful.”

“I’m hoping I can- can sleep it off. Avoid a- a bill- a hospital bill. Jus’- just wanted to keep- keep you in the loop.”

“Ok…” He sounded hesitant. Micheal tried to close his eyes, still clutching the phone. It was hard to hear Gerry over the ringing in his ears telling him something was very very wrong. Too long without something. Too long without taking- taking what? Micheal buried the thought. “Do you at least want me to come over and bring something to eat? Or at least make sure you don’t black out?”

“Don’t want you to- to catch it- it if I do have something. I’m probably fine- fine just need some- some sleep.” It was a lie. Sweet and spoken through his teeth like a broken prayer. Very minutely, his body relaxed.

“Ok fine, but if I don’t hear back from you tomorrow I’m breaking your door down.”

Micheal opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out and he just hung up instead. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could. Stupid idiot. He probably caught something at the Institute- since that’s when his headaches started- but were they? Micheal had had a pretty brutal headache on the first few days after the damned trip with Gertrude.

The thought of her sent a shot of grief straight into his lungs, choking him until a few tears pooled down on his pillow. No point in thinking about her right now. She was gone- or- maybe a bit worse than that, changed. He did not like that word. He did not like what it implied.

Micheal tried to drop the thought, and instead focused on breathing until he fell asleep.

°°°

A scream tore Micheal out of the dream he was having. Paralyzing him with fear as his senses told him he was standing- and his eyes told him he was looking at himself. For a minute Micheal thought he had officially lost it, but then his brain registered and he looked around to notice he was in a mirror maze. Now how he got out of his bed and down to a damn mirror maze was beyond him. He was getting off topic- because he wasn’t the one who screamed- Before he could have thought about what that meant something crashed into him, knocking him to the floor.

“Dammit.” Micheal groaned, whimpering as shocks of pain reverberated through his system as he stood back up and leaned against the wall. Feeling in his legs was coming back to him and his headache throbbed relentlessly in his temple. He scowled at the person on the floor that now crawled backwards, their back hitting the mirror making them jump.

“Is- are they gone? Did- is it safe? Do you know the way out?”

Micheal’s scowl dropped. He stared at the guy huddled against the mirror, looking left and right, their gaze flickering like a skipping disk. Micheal swallowed thickly. Clasping and unclasping his hands as he watched the other. They had been chased there, surely. Prey for some predator that was probably not that far away. A good sign for Micheal to leave while he still had his wits about him.

He tilted his head. “They are close, right on your tail, you are probably trapped here…” Each word flowed from Micheal’s mouth like honey, dripping over and coating the other with a tangible fear. Micheal could taste it. And suddenly that hollow ache in his stomach was something he could correct. He was shaking, and in the mirror he could see dark bags pulling heavy at his eyelids. Exhausted felt too small a word. “You are scared.” He commented, moving closer to the other, eyeing him like he was the cure to cancer and Micheal had stage four.

“I- it- I don’t know what to do.” Confusion. It washed over Micheal like a sample of pure euphoria. He shuddered, closing his eyes momentarily.

He caught the guy’s chin and tilted it upwards to get a better look at his eyes. At his fear. It was beautiful. Trapped in a house of mirrors and madness and surely the Stranger could have done better than someone so obviously marked by the Twisting. Micheal couldn’t remember where he had heard that phrase, Twisting. He liked the way it rolled in his mind, liked how it reflected in this guy’s eyes, liked it even more that his role was finally switched. He wasn’t a helpless assistant here. He wasn’t a coward wincing at every loud sound.

Micheal looked into the guy's eyes and dared to smile. Was it the irony? Delusion? Or maybe Micheal was just that tired, limbs on the verge of giving out underneath him even as he towered above this creature with fear.

“You need help.” Micheal whispered, the words followed by that push just past his rib cage. Something just out of reach. This time, Micheal Shelly didn’t hold it back. “You need...a door.” Ecstasy flowed through his veins as he dropped the guy’s chin, gesturing to a door that seemed to reflect endlessly in every mirror.

Somewhere behind them, or maybe it was above them, something shattered, and out of fear the guy sprang to his feet, looking back at where he came from and then towards the door. Micheal watched the desperation in his eyes as he realized there was no other option. No other way out. No other option. Micheal watched for an infinite moment as the man ran into the door. Into infinite hallways. Into madness itself. And Micheal collapsed to his knees with relief. Stars lit up behind his eyes as his whole body seemed to exhale. Warmth spread through his spine and his limbs and Micheal watched color return to his skin, his face no doubt flushing a deep red. His headache was gone and his mind seemed clear for the first time in actual years. He stayed there on his knees until the feeling settled into his bones confidently.

He looked up to see his reflection in the mirror- And this time Micheal Shelly did scream.

Instantly he was up on his feet and staring down at his hands looking for what he saw in the mirror but- they were just hands. Slowly he looked back up at the mirror, but it was just him, standing alone in a maze. The fright was enough to knock him out of the headspace he had found himself in and immediately his stomach dropped.

He just killed someone. Deliberately. For his own gain. Micheal Shelly used someone for their fear. Just like he would read about in the statements. Except, he knew the person he used wasn’t coming back. He was gone. Forgotten. And Micheal Shelly was to blame.

He should have felt worse. Maybe he did, somewhere in his mind he knew it was all wrong. That all the wires were twisted. He was wrong. Wrong for preying on someone who never had a chance. Wrong for taking the easy way. Wrong for giving into desires that he still didn’t understand. Not that he needed too. That part was evident enough.

The thought of it all made him shudder. He felt disgusting, worse with how good it felt. All of his pain was gone. All of it, gone just like that. And it wasn’t just the pain. Micheal felt relaxed. Like stepping into a hot bath after being out in the cold, the way everything unspooled. He could breathe. At the expense of another person’s being. He felt like a monster. He was, wasn’t he? That’s certainly what he saw in the mirror. A monster with too many teeth and too sharp of limbs. A monster Gerry would kill in a heartbeat if he found out. But he didn’t have to find out. And it didn’t have to happen again. Micheal couldn’t let it happen again. He didn’t like feeling so out of control in his own body. But surely he could control himself.

He just took a life. Micheal swallowed, he should have felt worse. And maybe that terrified him more than anything else, because every part of him was aching for more. And he knew that could be the end of him. He sucked in air through his teeth. He could handle this. He could avoid this. He had too, after all, he had no one else to blame.

Chapter Text

Micheal wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed this far without completely losing it. He should be losing it. Maybe that was the problem. Instead Micheal managed to get home and back into bed without any further issues, or cravings. He even managed to shoot Gerry a quick text that he was feeling much better and able to head into the office. Which- well it wasn’t technically a lie- he felt great. Again, maybe that was the problem.

Now he was down in the back file storage room sorting through a stack of statements pretending that he wasn’t reliving the previous night on repeat in his head. Pretending that he wasn’t savoring it. Like a delicacy you only find at those posh high end restaurants.

He froze in place. Staring at the pile as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Best to not think about it too much. He was much too aware of himself, in his own opinion. Too aware of how easy it was to breathe, how settled into his skin he was, how easy it was to tune out the static he felt in the back of his throat. Was he always able to tune it out? Like a song you’d prefer to skip rather than listen to for the fifteenth time.

“Hey, what are you working on down here?”

Micheal turned to see Gerry in the doorway. He smiled, a force of habit when met with someone as pretty to look at as Gerry was. And Gerry was- pretty, that is. He was in some cropped band shirt- although it looked purposely ripped as opposed to the design choice- with some fishnet shirt underneath, exposing skin that made Micheal’s face heat up. He wore baggy cargo pants and his usual combat boots. A striking contrast to Micheal’s pastel cardigan draped over a green button up. Gerry mirrored Micheal’s smile.

“Blondie? You hear me?”

Micheal shook himself out of staring and instead looked back at his pile of statements. “Ah- yes, well- just filing these statements. Tim or- er- I think Martin left them for me.” He hadn’t really seen much of Martin since the first time. But whenever he left a stack of paperwork for Micheal to go through it was always accompanied by a cup of tea. Micheal found it quite endearing.

Gerry walked and looked over the pile Micheal had. Leaning against the table and picking up a file. Micheal noticed a cigarette between his fingers and didn’t waste any time in stealing it, taking his hand with his own and bringing it to his lips, kissing over the knuckles. That caught Gerry’s attention as he looked down at the other, brow half twitched up in amusement or curiosity Micheal wasn’t sure.

“Hi” Gerry whispered, setting down the statement to use his other hand to cup Micheal’s cheek, leaning in for a kiss that Micheal reciprocated immediately, giggling into the other’s mouth like he was in secondary school again.

“Hello” Micheal said after Gerry had thoroughly kissed him, leaning away just enough for Micheal to speak against his lips. He thought he could stay there forever like that. Ignoring all the rest of the world just to savor the other's company. Gerry let out a breathy chuckle, Micheal moved in to press a kiss to his nose. Just to see the red that spread over his cheeks. Who knew a goth had such a pretty blush?

“You weren’t kidding. You look great.” Gerry complemented, leaning back as to get a better look at Micheal, who shifted back as well, trying not to think too hard about why he looked and felt like he’d been on cloud nine.

“Thanks.” He said.

“I wanted to check in about any statements that mention Amelia Deerwood. Supposedly she went missing.”

Micheal hummed, trying to remember if he had heard the name. Oddly it did sound a bit familiar. He just wasn’t sure from where. “Do you have anything else on her?” He asked, standing to check the filing cabinet to the left of them.

“Not much actually. Which originally made me think of the Lonely but I doubt it. Her facebook suggested she was the outgoing sort. Never seen without being surrounded by five to six people.

Micheal hummed in agreement as he opened up one of the drawers and thumbed through the files. Checking names- last names to be specific- as well as other supporting factors. He pulled out a file labeled Jackie Deerwood to see if there was any connection.

“Does the name Jack or Jackie sound- sound familiar?” Micheal inquired, setting the file down before flipping through another drawer.

“Maybe- her brother is the one that came in and his name is Jackson.”

Micheal turned to look at Gerry, frowning minutely. “He filed her as missing?”

“That’s what he said.”

Micheal looked back at the file he had sat down. “Did he go to- to the police?”

Gerry hesitated before dropping his backpack down and pulling out his laptop. “I can find that out right now.”

While Gerry searched records on his computer, Micheal read through the statement Jackson “Jackie” Deerwood had filed out. It was old, older than Micheal. Some paranoia concerning vandalism at his parent’s cabin in the eastern woods. Noise complaints, something stalking the house, but he never got a good look at it. Went on to refer to it as the ‘Shadow’ in the statement. A bit cliché for Micheal’s taste. Something seemed wrong about the statement, however, something Micheal couldn’t completely identify. Micheal almost swore he’d heard it before.

“I can’t find her in the public records- Unless he filed the report today, it doesn’t exist.”

Bells sounded out in Micheal’s head at that, and he remembered where he had heard the statement. “This isn’t the first- first time I’ve read this.” He walked over to a file drawer in the very back of the room. “Here-” He pulled out a file from the amalgamated pile he had made out of a bunch of statements that didn’t fit any particular category. A catch all if you will. “Look at- at this one-”

Micheal handed Gerry the file of one James T. B. Jones. The statement was the same. Not even just the same premise, but the same everything. Wording, grammar, articulation- like someone had recorded the thing once and played it twice. Two separate times. Except, these couldn’t be connected. Jackie’s statement was early 1930’s at best and James’s had to be late 80’s. Micheal didn’t dwell on it long before he was thinking about another case he had looked into, moving to rummage around in yet another drawer.

Matthew Jake, Gordeon Kraig, Jade Watt and Daniel Blitz also got added to the pile. All the same statement about their parents cabin, and at least three of them were recorded to have come back to the institute within two years to report their sister missing.

“Do you think it could be some manifestation of the Stranger?” Micheal inquired.

Gerry shook his head. “I met the guy, I would have noticed.”

Micheal mulled over the other possible options. None were great, a few were worse and Micheal wasn’t interested in finding out the same way they did for Miss Regina.

“I think I’ll start by bringing these files to Jon’s attention. I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“Alright.”

“Say- before I go- did you reorganize some of these?”

Micheal frowned at Gerry before glancing at the filing cabinets. “What- what do you mean?”

“Well it's just-” Gerry seemed to grapple for words a moment. “-Just that I thought you were going by fears or something but these you seemed to pull at random.”

Micheal offered a shy smile, his words coming too easy and too fast. “Yeah I guess I thought I’d try something new.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he lied.

He watched Gerry leave before letting out a long breath, feeling a chill of something wash over him. He walked over to the cabinet and opened one of the drawers, checking the contents. Gerry was right- he hadn’t organized them by fear- or by name. Hell, Micheal wasn’t entirely sure how they were organized, why he understood it. He took a small step back and braced himself against the table. He needed to keep himself under control. Like a jar of moths that he opened and now was scrambling to close- clawing desperately at the air to grab any of them and yet only able to watch hopelessly as they flew off into the night. It was in a moth’s nature to disappear into the night. What was his nature?

Did he really not know? Or did he just not want to remind himself.

He left the storage room in a hurry. He had half a thought to leave the building entirely- but he wasn’t about to run away from the Institute. He wasn’t a coward. He just needed to get out of the storage. Maybe he could check the Institute’s library for anything more on the repeated statement. Or maybe some recurrence of any of the other names? Surely they left an impact somewhere. He could find something, he was sure of it.

°°°

Turns out his theory had been more correct than he had anticipated. Jade Watt’s name appeared in a news article from the 70’s about construction work on a sinkhole in west Germany. City officials were worried that the sink hole would end up as some backwards political statement and wanted it filled as fast as possible. Micheal read that Watt had gone rogue, expanding the hole outwards another two or three hundred feet in the dead of night before disappearing inside it completely. Micheal half wondered if they were dealing with some sort of ghost.

He looked into the job sight as well as any other occurrences of large construction failures or even other odd natural disasters with names centered around it that he recognized. Nothing- great.

Micheal huffed out a bit of an annoyed sigh and frowned at the newspaper stand. Surely there was something he was missing. It was always the damned smaller details that he could never keep track of. Maybe Gerry had found something whilst talking with Jon. A second opinion never hurt anyone. Micheal picked at his knuckles as he looked over another newspaper that was from the 50’s. Reports of fires, robberies and the future queen’s birth took center stage for most of the larger headlines. Topics on prices of bread, the pound going down and small civil contradictions hogged the finer print and Micheal had just about had it with the endless loop of needless madness driven through the guise of controversy and humanities and-

“Hey Blondie, I thought I’d find you down here. Find anything?”

Micheal jumped, pulled out of his mind as he turned to Gerry from where he was leaning against the bookshelf. He hummed, handing the one article about Watt to Gerry. “Not nearly as much- much as I wanted to find. Was- was Jon able to help?”

Gerry looked through the article before turning his attention to Micheal. “He had a statement he recorded recently that matched all the others. It was the same story about the cabin but this time the guy- Rob Potter he called himself- was done with the statement he also dropped a polaroid picture of a house on the way out and Sasha had done some research to find out where it was. Turns out it’s located right outside of a mining corp. called Maylay that had a huge sinkhole incident.”

Micheal blinked, peeling a bit of reddened flesh from his knuckles. “Isn’t that- that in Norway?”

“Yep! Jon got us tickets for a flight.”

Micheal looked at the airplane ticket Gerry handed out to him. “That was- was rather fast, wouldn’t you- you agree?”

Gerry just shrugged, lighting a cigarette before holding it between his fingers. “He said something about how there’s a few other things he wants us to look into there as well. A lot of statements are coming in from Norway recently. Jon thinks it’s some sort of prank.”

Micheal nodded, pocketing the ticket before scratching the back of his head. “I think I’ll check out this newspaper article, see if there are any more connections I can make.”

Gerry’s grin gave Micheal half a mind to kiss him, even more so when he leaned in to whisper into Micheal’s ear, “If you get scared on the flight you can hold on to me.” He teased, kissing Micheal on the cheek as the other huffed out some muttered refute to the comment.

°°°

In reality, Micheal Shelley really did hate flying. It was almost as bad as the tube. Noisy, crowded, filled to the brim with people sweeping by one another and nearly hitting others in the process. Too much all at once. A truly tedious experience. Micheal found it was best to avoid flying. It wasn’t even that he was scared of heights, he just simply preferred less crowded ways of travel. He was too clumsy in his own body to meander around everyone, knocking shoulders and bumping into people. Even getting into the airplane itself came with its own set of problems. Crouching down and awkwardly shuffling through a line of people only to unceremoniously find himself between two strangers that look just as put off from the situation as he felt.

Maybe it was the look of nervousness that he wasn’t able to wipe fully off his face that caused Gerry to hook an arm around his waist, leaning in to whisper, “Is this ok?” quietly in his ear. Micheal nodded, the gesture a lot more grounding than he could ever have imagined. Still he picked away at the skin on his knuckles like there was something he needed to reveal underneath, something he needed to expose. He did feel quite a bit exposed. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was normal or maybe some new exhibition of guilt. Someone here is going to out you. Call you a murderer, do you even care? Do you mourn the life you took?

Micheal shooed the thought away. It was quite silly to think that anyone here even knew what he did. What he was. It was better that way. Nobody had to know. Nobody was going to know. He was fine. Subtly he leaned further into Gerry, relaxing as the other welcomed the embrace. Gerry wasn’t all that shorter than Micheal, maybe a forehead difference but not nearly enough to stop Micheal from tipping his head to rest against the other’s shoulder. He tried to ignore the feeling of eyes pressing like a gun into the back of his head. It was silly paranoia and Micheal knew it. Maybe more now than ever before.

And paranoia was such an interesting thing, wasn’t it? The aftertaste of poison in the air lingering like a bad thought in the dead of night. The double take when walking alone, half convinced the footsteps you hear aren’t your own. The panic that sets in when you enter a room, noting every pair of eyes that ever fell on you, watching you, eating you alive without even making a sound. A silent killer of the mind, paranoia. A fear that surely would be categorized with the Eye, Micheal had no doubt in that, but the afterthought of it, the consequences, the beads of sweat that dripped off the forehead like a warning. The way the mind tries to pick up clues off of every interaction, every hour of the day, feeding itself- gorging itself off the implications that do not even exist. Well, that, that was madness wasn’t it? Pulling yourself apart under the guise of safety, never truly aware if you are safe or not? The makings of delusion swaddled under the delirium that you are simply trying to take care of yourself. Out the silent killer that may not even exist. Eyes in the back of your head or are they in your mind? Constructed out of nothing but the fear you fed yourself. The fear that you have only yourself to blame for.

Micheal felt a gentle squeeze on his side, solid enough to pull him out of his thoughts as he stared into Gerry’s eyes.

“Hey Blondie, you alright?”

He blinked, aware of himself enough to look around and note that Micheal was not standing in line at the checking desk anymore but now sat beside Gerry inside the airplane. Had he really been zoned out long enough for them to board the plane?

Gerry moved a piece of hair out of Micheal’s face, letting his hand rest against Micheal’s cheek, soft and warm. Micheal leaned into it without hesitation. Gerry leaned in and kissed Micheal’s temple.

“What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?” Gerry hummed. Micheal was sure he could see the stars in the other’s eyes. He relaxed further into the seat and offered Gerry as genuine a smile as he could muster.

“I don’t travel by air very often.”

“Don’t like heights?” Gerry offered.

“No- no, more like-” Micheal struggled for a polite adjective. “-I’m not a fan of the crowd.”

“Ah,” Gerry grinned, tucking himself a bit closer to Micheal. “I understand. A bit silly- I would have thought you’d prefer the airfare.”

“Why’s that?” Micheal slipped his arm around Gerry’s shoulder and pulled him in a bit closer, as close as you could get in the ridged seats.

Gerry went easily, resting his head on Micheal’s shoulder. Micheal half wondered if the position was uncomfortable. “Well I don’t know. You’re the flowery type. You get along with people. They don’t judge your appearance.”

“The flowery type” Micheal repeated, chuckling slightly at the thought. “As opposed to- to what? You and your smoky exterior?” Gerry shrugged and Micheal continued. “Since when do you care about what other people think about how you present yourself?”

“I don’t- well-” Micheal couldn’t see the other’s face at this angle, but he could feel how Gerry squirmed subtly. “I still have feelings. And it's quite rude for people to openly judge and scoff at my outfits. No matter how off putting they are.”

Micheal hummed. “Well I think you look- look quite sexy with your black outfits and take-no-shit attitude.” That pulled a laugh from Gerry.

“Careful, flattery will get you everywhere.” Gerry joked.

“Noted. Although going back to the fact that you called me flowery.” Micheal pressed, his tone equal parts fond and teasing.

“Micheal you are wearing a painfully bright orange polka dot cardigan with a lime green button up underneath. You are a single shade away from a seventies crisis. You are the definition of flowery.”

Micheal snickered. “You can’t judge my fashion when- when you actively dress like the phrase ‘It's not a phase mom’.”

“Wow,” Gerry sat up a bit, a challenge flashing in his eyes as he leaned in to whisper close to Micheal’s ear. “You didn’t seem so upset with my outfit when you were ogling my midsection earlier.”

Micheal suppressed a shudder, giggling quietly. “I’m just making a point.”

“Yeah,” Gerry huffed, “You are all full of points.”

Micheal swallowed another giggle and pushed into Gerry’s space, mimicking what the other had done just a few moments before and whispering close to his ear. “You’re pretty hot when you’re annoyed.” Micheal’s grin spread into delight as the other’s face burned red and he rolled his eyes, leaning away from Micheal and pretending to look out the window.

“Shut up.” Was all Micheal got in response, which only added to Micheal’s joy.

Carefully Micheal took Gerry’s hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the tattoos carved over Gerry’s knuckles, watching as Gerry glanced back over at him.

“I apologize if it sounded as if I was insulting your taste in outfits. Like I said, I think your- your style is suiting.”

Gerry’s smirk returned and he reached out to gently tug at the necklace around Micheal’s neck. “I guess you must have a bit of a smoky side to you as well since you still wear this small thing.”

“It’s more- more colorful than anything you choose.”

Gerry raised a brow. “You would have rathered something black?”

Micheal tried to hold the air of confidence. “Maybe, I’d wear just about- about anything you’d give me.”

“Anything?” Gerry questioned mischievously, “I’d like to test that sometime.”

Micheal pretended to be unbothered. “Then I’ll have to find something for you to wear- to wear as well. Would you prefer a mustard yellow cardigan or a pastel purple sweater?” He teased.

“I think I’d prefer torture actually.”

Micheal barked out a laugh before lowering his voice. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Gerry rolled his eyes. “Yeah right, I know how it goes, your type is all flowery and innocent on the outside but you’re probably a freak behind closed doors.”

Micheal’s eyes widened as he stammered to find some sort of retort. Instead he batted the other's shoulder, trying to hide the way his face burned. “You absolute- you- you- I would never- I don’t even- I haven’t even-”

Gerry laughed, hushing the other. “Calm down, people are going to start complaining.”

“You are a meanie.” Micheal pouted.

“You haven’t denied it yet.” Gerry pressed.

Micheal rolled his eyes and offered a bashful smile. “I wouldn’t know. That sort- sort of thing takes practice- takes- experience.”

Gerry’s smile turned curious. “You’re saying that-”

Micheal cut him off, his face melting at this point. “-Yes Gerry, I’m saying I’m a virgin.” He said it like it was some sort of a disease. Best to get it out quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. 

Gerry leaned back and tilted his head, choosing his words carefully. “And? So am I, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.” Micheal’s brow shot up and Gerry continued, shrugging. “Don’t even see why that has to change. You could still be a freak though, and I’d love to get you in something of mine, if you’d wear it of course.” Gerry still had that lilt to his voice, the one that could probably get Micheal on his knees, but Gerry didn’t need to know that, and Micheal didn’t need to be thinking things like that when he was sitting on an airplane trying desperately to calm down the rapid blush spreading over his face. And it wasn’t even the implications that Gerry was obviously hinting at- not that that wasn’t having Micheal’s imagination soar- but the fact that he didn’t even seem bothered by what Micheal had just said- had just revealed.

Micheal opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say to the other. Offering a smile and another breathy chuckle as he scratched the back of his neck.

He had never really dated before, maybe once or twice but it never seemed to really work out. Once in uni he had met a guy just a bit younger than him, not that it had mattered, he was the jockey type and on the college football team. Micheal had told him quite early on that he was a virgin, and he would never forget how the guy had gone “oh well we can fix that soon enough.” The sentence had burned itself into his mind. Fix, like he was something broken and disgusting. And it wasn’t even that he was against the idea, being intimate with someone on that level always seemed daunting but within his reach, something to be cherished between two people that loved each other, but once he had said that- we can fix that- like his emotions didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter. Like he was just something to be used for someone else. It never sat right with him. And back then it didn’t seem to matter, since Micheal didn’t date much after that. The issue could never come up if he never pursued anyone. But now here he was, starry eyed and possibly in love with someone that didn’t care about the details. Someone that didn’t mind anything other than the fact that Micheal was there. That was enough for Gerry.

“Great-” Micheal said, another nervous laugh shaking through him as Gerry turned his attention towards the window. He didn’t have a problem with heights, but knowing that they existed in a world where there were people that could make heights Micheal’s problem left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d rather not think about any of it when they were thousands of feet above the ground. Micheal was thankful Gerry had taken the window seat. Still he watched the other, the way Gerry’s hair hung, the blonde roots seeping through a bit stronger now, and how his outfit hung on his shoulder, his torn hoodie exposing a bit of shoulder, showing off an old burn wound. He looked around, skimming over the different people also on the airplane. A girl to the left of him had on one of those fancy sleep masks that covered the ears whilst a guy next to her scrolled on his phone. A couple a few seats in front of him chuckled at some book they were reading together, a guy with short ginger hair wore headphones and watched a movie on his laptop- his neighbor caught Micheal’s attention, having light brown hair only long enough to use one of those short combs.

He had the same type of hair that the guy Micheal consumed had. Micheal swallowed the rot of guilt that racked through his system. He didn’t even know what their name had been. He only knew their fear, the taste of it. How good it felt.

Micheal bit the inside of his cheek and tried to shut out the thoughts. He looked back over at Gerry. Gerry was everything Micheal wanted to be and yet Micheal was closer to the things Gerry would find to kill rather than an equal. Micheal didn’t deserve him. He didn’t deserve any of this, surely, didn’t deserve Gerry’s kind words or affectionate hold. Micheal knew he deserved to be locked up- no- no, he could control himself. It wouldn’t happen again, he wouldn’t hurt anyone again. It wasn’t like anyone would be looking for them. He couldn’t stop the thought before it was seeping into his mind and sending chills down his spine. It didn’t matter. He remembered, and that was real enough. He wasn’t a monster, not yet, and he could control himself. He had a small slip last time but Gerry didn’t need to know that. Micheal tried to ignore the guilt as the airplane started its descent in Norway.

°°°

Micheal Shelly had never been to Norway before. He thought that maybe a year ago or maybe even just a few months ago he would have appreciated the crisp, cold air and inviting environment. How every building offered a warm fireplace and kind smiles. But now the cold just reminded him of a place he could never return to, a place where he had lost someone close to him. Another bad memory lost in the snow. He picked tirelessly at his knuckles, the red spot highlighted further by the fact that he didn’t bring gloves and his hands were stiff and quickly becoming numb. He really wasn’t cut out for the cold.

He followed Gerry, they passed through some information center in the airport before calling a cab to the nearest bookstore. From there it seemed like a game of tag. They would follow in the footsteps of Rob Potter through check in’s and out’s of bookstores and even a gym. Every new place they went to they would ask the clerk or receptionist if they recognized the house in the picture or the guy they were trying to find. Nothing. One woman squinted rather suspiciously when they asked about “Maylay” saying that tourists such as themselves shouldn’t go looking for ghosts. Which was definitely an odd thing to say in Micheal’s opinion.

“Maylay? You mean the old miners union down by the quarry? What’r you two tryin’ to find down there?” The old guy held his pipe in one hand as he squinted at the two, he reminded Micheal of an old sailor.

Gerry was quick to answer. “Well actually we had family that died in the accident a few months ago, now we are here to see if there is anything left.”

The old man sat back a bit, nodding as his gaze turned cold. “Grave diggers then.” He spat.

“No, No,” Micheal added, maybe a little too excited at the chance to lie. “Our aunt lived down there for most of her life. She wanted us to visit, something about making sure we knew better- you- you know how it is, she- she blamed the corporation for the- the fall. Now she wants us to make sure we don’t make the same mistakes.” The words came out smoothly, settling like honey over Micheal’s shoulders. He tried not to think too hard about the implications.

Gerry handed the guy the picture. “This is where she used to live before everything went to shit. Is the building still standing?”

The guy took the picture and looked over it for a long moment. “Yeah, it's still standing. Some old hobbit lives there now. Yer’ welcome to go talk to em if you’d with but I warn ye’ he's out of his mind that one.”

“Thank you.” Gerry answered before they headed back towards the exit. Once outside and back in the cold Gerry nudged Micheal’s shoulder. “Good thinking with the cover story. I really wasn’t expecting people to be as closed off about it as they are. You think it's superstition?”

Micheal shrugged. “Small community, they probably- probably just like their privacy.”

“I don’t know. Something still feels off here. Look around, no one's outside- every establishment we’ve checked in with has been empty besides the front desk, it's like the town is empty.”

“Are you thinking the lonely?” Micheal offered, a cold breeze causing him to shiver.

“I don’t know. It just feels wrong don’t you think?”

Micheal looked around and tried to see it from Gerry’s perspective. Sure it was empty. Not even a car to be found. But that could have meant anything. The town they were in was small. Hell, the drive from the airport alone had been a dreadful three hours- it didn’t surprise Micheal that there wasn’t a lot of foot traffic. The only real thing Micheal could focus on about the place was the cold. And it was undeniably cold, colder still with the wind. Micheal tried to remember all the signs of the Lonely he had learned from the statements. Cold could have been one of them, more so fog, little sign of people and the panic of forgetting yourself amongst the waves. And he guessed that on some level it did sort of feel empty and alone. But Micheal couldn’t help but like the atmosphere here. It wasn’t off for him. If anything, it was welcoming. But he wasn’t sure why.

“Lets find- find Mr. Potter and then worry- worry about this place.” Micheal offered.

“You’re right, no cab though, guess we’ll have to walk.”

The walk wasn’t actually all that long, although whether that was due to how far away the house actually was or a trick of the mind Micheal wasn’t sure.

The very first impression Micheal had of the house was that it was small, really small. Micheal wouldn’t have been surprised if it was only one room. It looked sunk in on itself, as if the building was tired. The old bricks were caked over in mud and grime. The windows were clouded and mostly covered by a thick vine that seemed to grow into the structure of the house. The soil under their feet was wet and seemed to grip on to them as they walked closer. Everything smelled of damp. Which was almost odd as it wasn’t supposed to be this humid this time of the year.

It wasn’t just the vines that covered the house, all kinds of shrubbery and foliage littered the yard, coming as close to the house as it could get, merging into one until Micheal wasn’t sure if he was looking at a wall or plant. It took Micheal a long moment to realize that the front door was completely covered over.

“This house looks nothing like the picture.” Gerry pointed out, frowning as he handed over the small polaroid back to Micheal. And he was right, in the picture the house was standing tall and prideful in front of a neatly trimmed lawn. But even with the discrepancies, it was obvious that it was the same house. The same front door, albeit covered, and the same small porch.

Micheal walked slowly around the side of the house, taking in more packed dirt crawling up the walls just like the vines, tripping over a few smaller bushes and going fully around the larger ones. He was nearly around the other side of it when he spotted what appeared to be a hand made cellar entrance attached to the side of the house, only half hidden in bushes.

“Gerry!” Micheal called, crouching over the rotted wooden doors.

“What?”

“I found something.”

Gerry crouched near Micheal and assessed the doors. After a moment he grabbed one of the handles and gave it a firm tug. It went easily, opening up into an oddly created doorway that seemed to lead into the main house, although it was a lot deeper than it needed to be.

Micheal pulled his flashlight out of his backpack and turned it on, flashing it tentatively down into the dark space.

“I’ll go first.” He stated. Micheal had never really minded the dark.

The opening was an oddly curved dip, as if you were going down a slope that leveled out far sooner than you expected. Inside was darker than he had anticipated, the torch barely making a dent in the darkness. It was obvious to tell that whoever had lived here had used mud to cover up all possible sources of light, yet it was still damp enough inside that Micheal could see a few different types of fungi growing in the corners.

Gerry followed close behind and wasted no time in looking around. Not that there was too much to see other than the trapdoor that lay open and unnerving in the center of the room. It was easily the only thing that distinguished the building from an actual hole in the ground, and even that definition seemed gracious. The trapdoor was wooden, only half as rotted as the doors that led into here, and it was free of grime except for the handle. Inside it was a spiral staircase that seemed to lead even further down into what Micheal guessed was a basement of some kind.

“Does this seem right to you?” Gerry whispered, looking between the trapdoor and Micheal.

Micheal wanted to make some joke about their job and things never being ‘right’ but instead he shook his head. “Guess we go down?”

If there was any time to turn back it was now. They both knew it, could feel it in the air as heavily as the moisture that collected on their temple. But they had come this far already, and Micheal could see it in Gerry’s eyes. They weren’t turning back now.

This time Gerry went first, holding out the torch in front of him like it was a knife. The stairwell was a bit deeper down for comfort in Micheal’s opinion but he kept his mouth shut. Something about this place demanded silence. The same way a library or funeral home did. Like the walls- the soil itself- was in mourning.

Finally Gerry hit the bottom and it seemed like they were in some sort of widened dirt tunnel. Everything was pitch black, even the light from their torches seemed to be swallowed up, still they continued. Somewhere ahead Micheal could swear he heard the sound of water dripping. A tunnel like this could have easily been used to smuggle goods. Tunnels like these could be found all over Europe surely, but Micheal doubted it was used for anything like that now. He almost hoped it was. Anything seemed better than whatever supernatural crap he was afraid to get used to.

They didn’t walk far before Micheal started to notice strange inserts in the walls, stacked almost like-

“Christ, Gerry, are we in some sort of catacomb?”

Gerry helped to shine light on the walls before letting out some short huff of a sound. “That is what it looks like. Best not to mess with anything. The last thing we need is zombies or ghosts or anything else of that topic to come out and ask for our autographs.”

Micheal looked at Gerry with pure horror before registering the smile on his face. Gerry was joking.

“Sorry.” He let out a small chuckle. “Bad time, yeah?”

“Gerard Keay I swear-”

Gerry pretended to wince. “Ough, the full name there too. Must’ve really got you. Sorry, it was just too good to not say.”

Micheal bat at the other’s shoulder and let out a small chuckle. He hadn’t even really noticed how much air he had been holding in, as if he was scared If he let it out he wouldn’t have been able to breathe.

“Dammed catacombs and you’re over here making jokes-” Micheal couldn’t keep a straight face, another laugh cut through his words, making his scolding useless.

“Hey someone has too.” Gerry grinned, starting to walk further into the darkness. Micheal didn’t want to think about what would happen if their lights went out.

For a moment they reverted back to silence. Micheal noticed a difference in texture on the ground. It had been mostly firm dirt before but now he could swear it was getting looser, almost like sandy mud, harder to walk through as well he noticed.

“Stop.” He said suddenly, shining his light on the ground to confirm his theory. “This could turn into- into quicksand for all we know.”

“It does not.”

Micheal felt a chill run down his spine. That was not Gerry’s voice. Both of them whipped their flashlights towards the sound, there further into the darkness seemed to be a person, but Micheal couldn’t make out any details from this distance.

“Who the hell are you?” Gerry questioned, his hand on his hip where there was undoubtedly a knife sheathed away.

“A bit of a silly question. Or was it a demand? I don’t normally talk much to the visitors I receive.” Her voice was soft like a whisper, calm for someone seemingly cornered. Or maybe that’s what she wanted them to think.

“So you live here then?” Micheal asked, moving to stand next to Gerry.

“I do. Are you here to stay?”

Both Micheal and Gerry hesitated at that. After a moment Gerry spoke up. “We are here for Rob Potter.”

She walked out from where she was and further into what appeared to be a circular room. The roof sunk in and she seemed to have to almost crawl to get all the way in. They stayed at the entrance for a moment.

“I don’t think he was expecting visitors.” She hummed.

Micheal and Gerry exchanged glances before relenting and following her. The mud was more than damp here, clinging to their skin and clothes, resting in the air and in Micheal’s lungs and everywhere. He wasn’t easily claustrophobic but this was definitely pushing it, half crouching, half crawling they made their way in and towards where the girl was sitting, still maintaining a bit of distance- although Micheal didn’t want to think about how much of a disadvantage they were if she did decide to charge at them.

Closer now Micheal could see her a bit more clearly, she was a lot older than she sounded, features seemingly pale- or at least the features he could see- she was more or less completely covered in dirt and grime. Micheal half wondered if her hair was naturally black or if she had simply not washed out the mud. Her eyes were covered over with a strikingly white bandage. It was the only bit of white on her. Mushrooms seemed to come out of her hair and cracks on her skin. He wasn’t sure where she began and the rot ended. He wondered if it mattered. As well as being able to see her, he could also see the body she was in front of, crouched over. It was covered completely in mud. But whoever was there was breathing, a subtle rise and fall of their chest that Micheal couldn’t wrap his mind around as their face and nostrils were covered over by the muck that seemed to cling to them all.

Now that he was looking, it wasn’t just the one person. The circular room seemed to contain at least three to four people covered in the substance, maybe more.

Micheal swallowed hard and only Gerry seemed to find enough reason to speak. “Are they dead?”

The girl hummed, leaning back and tilting her head as if she really was looking at Gerry. “They are, in a way, but they always come back, then they leave and then they return once more.”

Gerry shone his light over the body of presumably Mr. Potter. Mushrooms were starting to grow over the outline of his body just under the soil. “They come out of this?” He asked.

“There is power here.” She explained. “In the soil, in the mycelium. There is rebirth, but they do not understand why. They do not understand the cost.”

“You are talking about immortality?” Micheal asked, seemingly dumbfounded.

Slowly she looked over at him. “No.” She said in that same quiet tone. She sounded disappointed. “They all seem to think that.” Her tone bordered on distressed. “The soil cannot cure, it can only replace. These ones, they have their memory, their automatic responses, but they are hollow, repeating what was left of their soul before returning to do it all over again.”

Micheal thought of the statements. The people coming in and giving the same story again and again, word for word, before leaving for decades before doing it again.

“Why don’t you stop them?” Gerry asked.

She hummed, brushing a hand over what appeared to be the guy’s forehead. “If they want to return to the rot, who am I to stop them?”

Micheal’s question came out quiet. “What happens when they are completely hollow?”

At that she smiled. A sad smile, not malicious or evil, almost relieving. “That is when they lay down to rest. They die then, and their bodies aid the fungus here.”

Gerry hummed, Micheal could tell Gerry was coming to the same conclusions that he was, about her. “I’m Gerry and this is Micheal. We aren’t here to stay.”

She chuckled. “I assumed not. There was one other, he was different. Kind, he understood what this place was, what it is supposed to represent. He would not console those that came in, but sometimes he would whisper to them, offering them a choice my mycelium could not give them. The ones that agreed, they came out whole in a different sort of way.” She turned to look straight at Micheal. “You carry that same wholeness that they did. Did he also offer you a choice? Or am I mistaken?”

Micheal felt a chill run down his back. He didn’t mean for his response to be so defensive. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

She leaned back a bit, pulling her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. “I am sorry.”

Gerry cut in. “What’s your name?”

“Ophelia Rose.”

“Ophelia, do you know if Rob Potter will come back again?” Gerry pressed.

“No. He did have that choice. But he was not returning to extend his life, but a search. I believe he was grieving.”

“His sister.” Micheal said, looking at Gerry. “He was trying to find his sister.”

“I believe he found something, he was already gone by the time he got here.”

“Like something had killed him?” Gerry offered.

“Maybe, he was in deep sorrow. He did not need something to kill him, he had killed himself, on the inside.”

Micheal let out a small sigh, looking over at Gerry. “I guess that’s that then.”

Gerry nodded before turning back to Ophelia. She looked up a bit, as if they were holding eye contact. “Thank you for your help Ophelia. We are going to leave now.”

“Alright. I do have one question however- I do not get out much- is it pretty out there?”

Gerry turned to Micheal and smiled as he answered. “Depends where you look.” Micheal just rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his face heated up.

Ophelia smiled and waved them a silent goodbye as they trudged back up through the mud till they finally could see sunlight shining through the open cellar doors.

Micheal couldn’t deny that the sun felt good on his skin, bright and almost blinding after being six feet under. Gerry brushed off dirt and muck from his shirt, cursing under his breath as he noted his cigarette box was all muddy and useless.

“Don’t worry,” Micheal started, taking the box from him. “We’ll get you some- some more cancer sticks, I promise.” He joked, earning a roll of the eyes from Gerry.

“Let's just get home. Damned whatever else Jon wanted us to do. I could use a shower.” He hesitated, looking back at the house. “Should we really leave it?”

Micheal frowned. “As opposed to?”

Gerry looked at Micheal. “Burning it.”

Micheal swallowed rot. “Just- just because she’s an- an avatar?”

“In my experience that’s all that seems to matter, plus if more people are attracted to this place who's to stop them from doing something to it themselves?”

Micheal shifted slightly in place. That’s all that seems to matter. “Come on,” He nudged the other’s shoulder. “Lets just- just go. Please? We can- can check up on the place some- some other time.”

Gerry looked conflicted, hesitating a moment longer before nodding and turning to follow Micheal.

°°°

The ride back was quieter than before. Micheal tried desperately to blame the fact that they were both tired, covered in dried muck and uncomfortable in their clothes. But he couldn’t shake Gerry’s words. That’s all that seems to matter. He was right of course. Avatars had a track record of not being trustworthy. But it still made nausea rack Micheal’s stomach. He was just as bad as the rest of them. Inhuman. Wrong. Evil. Micheal wanted desperately to let the thought go. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t like them. He could control himself. He was ok, wasn’t he? The thought haunted him until they were back in London.

“If you give me an hour or so we could maybe get coffee? Some dinner maybe?” Gerry asked once they made it to the bus stop.

Micheal smiled, the sun was just about gone from the sky now, a small crowd laughing as they exited a nearby establishment, talking amongst themselves. “That sounds good.”

The little group moved to pass them, Micheal and Gerry gave them a bit of room.

“I was thinking about that cafe in the park?” Gerry offered, glancing at the group that now hovered almost too close.

“The park, you hear that? The doggie wants a walk in the park~” One stranger from the group said, moving even closer. Micheal had the churning suspicion they were being surrounded.

Gerry moved closer to Micheal, his hand resting on his hip. “We don’t want any trouble.” Micheal knew what Gerry knew as well. There were too many of them to take in a fight. He had originally thought there were only four to five but now surrounding them was closer to eight, maybe more. Micheal glanced around for a place to run, there was no taking them on here. 

“You know what else goes nicely in the park?” The stranger continued like he hadn’t heard Gerry, pulling out what Micheal registered a moment too late as a knife. “A bonfire.”

One member of the group closer to Micheal moved at the same time as the one with the knife did, and Micheal felt something hit him hard before his vision went black, he was out before his body hit the floor.

Chapter Text

Micheal’s eyes flew open and he tensed, his arms and legs meeting restraint from bindings he couldn’t see. He breathed through his nose, trying and failing to yell, his words muted by tape pressed over his mouth. He threw his head back in an attempt to see anything. It was useless. The room was pitch black. His breaths came out shaky and ragged as he tried to force himself to remain calm. Sweat trickled down his face and stung his eyes. Somewhere he heard a small sound and he snapped in attention to it.

A lamp was lit in front of him and he had to blink a bit to get used to it. It wasn’t particularly bright, but in the pitch darkness it seemed blinding. Now being able to see at least a fraction more he was aware of the stranger holding the lamp. She looked middle aged, somewhere around early forties although her eyes alone gave off the vibe that she had been around for much longer. Micheal wouldn’t put it past her after all the things he’s read in statements. Her hair was short, longer bangs in the front whilst the rest was almost completely shaved off, The flames of the candle licked at her knuckles as she grasped the handle, but Micheal didn’t see any sign that it bothered her. She was studying Micheal, like how someone would watch a cat chase a bird.

He tried to square his shoulders and fake confidence, but it was hard to maintain when his hands were shaking and his breathing was loud in the silent room. He wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t tied up in a basement everyday either. More sweat pooled down Micheal’s face, it was uncomfortably hot in there and Micheal’s state wasn’t helping any. He looked up at the girl with a bit of dread. It seemed he was the bird.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” She asked, her words came out silky sweet as she leaned in closer to Micheal, who tensed automatically. She brushed a bit of hair out of Micheal’s face and Micheal cried out- as best as he could with tape over his mouth- over just how hot her skin was. Her smile widened and a chill ran down Micheal’s spine as his breathing picked up. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “No use burning you, yet.” She leaned back further, despite how hot it was down there she was fully clothed. A long sleeved black jumper over what Micheal assumed were some sort of cargo pants. “I’m Eden, by the way.” She hummed, turning to flip on a light switch.

It took Micheal a long moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, even more so to try and understand where the hell he could possibly be. The room was pure white, almost like an abandoned business floor but ten times smaller. He didn’t think long on it before every other thought was dropped as his eyes fell on Gerry.

Gerry was laid limp in a similar chair to Micheal. His hands and feet were bound with ropes and he had a similar piece of tape placed over his mouth. Micheal tried to call out to him but it was useless. Eden chuckled.

“I wanted to talk to you first, do you know why you’re here?” She walked over near to Gerry, Micheal followed her with his eyes, his heart pulsed in his ears as he shook his head. She rested her hands on his shoulders and Micheal gave a firm tug against his binds, earning a small chuckle from her. “I presumed not.” She dropped her hands and circled Gerry again.

Micheal flexed his hands, testing the strength of the binds. He watched with rapt attention as she moved in front of the other, cocking her head to the side, watching him, studying him with a smile that made his stomach churn. Her arm raised and adrenaline shot through his system like a drug as she struck Gerry on the face, the sound echoing awfully loud, louder still was Micheal’s scream as he thrashed hard enough for the chair to groan in protest. He watched as Gerry blinked, his eyes opening slowly then fast as he looked around quickly, his eyes meeting Micheal’s in a shared mute conversation.

Eden smiled again. “I wanted him awake for this.” She explained, looking back at Micheal as she trailed to stand behind Gerry, pulling his black hair out of his face. Micheal saw Gerry flinch the same way he had. “See you are here because of this one.” She kneeled beside Gerry, leaning in to stare eye level at the goth. “Remember me~” She practically purred, excitement rolling off her body in waves as she traced a finger over his jaw. Gerry made a small sound.

She giggled before pulling off the tape on his face. “Should I tell him or do you want to do the honors?” She asked, standing to her full height and eyeing Gerry as if she meant to devour him.

Gerry’s words were fast and uneven. “He had nothing to do with it-”

“That’s quite enough.” Eden interrupted, catching his chin and tilting it up so he wasn’t looking at Micheal but straight at her. “Pets should know when to behave.” She jeered.

Gerry scowled, and the sound of him spitting in her face was nothing compared to the deafening silence that followed. Eden leaned back, wiping the spit off from her face, if she was agitated, she was damn good at hiding it. Micheal held his breath. Gerry bared his teeth, his knuckles white as he glared at her.

Eden smiled as if she had won, and Gerry’s sneer fell slightly.

“I see you forget your manners without your mommy present, that’s alright, a dog can always be taught new tricks.” She moved back into Gerry’s space.

“What are you-” Gerry’s words were stopped short as the both of them watched her pull a metal band out of her pocket, securing it around Gerry’s neck with a long chain. Micheal understood with horror that it was a collar.

For a moment Gerry seemed to freeze, watching her wrap the other end of the leash around her wrist, her smile nothing short of sadistic. Eden turned to smile at Micheal, buzzing with satisfaction. “Isn’t he perfectly suited this way?” She asked Micheal, gesturing towards the collar. “Almost cute.”

Gerry glared at her, looking between the leash and her with a mute hatred Micheal hadn’t seen before. If Eden was looking for a more visceral reaction she wasn’t getting it. Micheal swallowed thickly, his eyes trained on the chain she played with, watching with rapt attention as she wound more of it around her wrist before pulling it tight, forcing Gerry to strain against the restraints as his head was pressed to tilt upwards by the leash. Her grin leveled out as she watched him struggle.

Micheal tried to tug his arms free, shouting out to her to release Gerry but all that came out was a muffled cry. It did catch her attention, however, her smile built of mock pity as she loosened her grip on the leash. Gerry coughed, not that she paid him any mind.

“Do you see that, pet? He wants to help you~” She laughed. “Or maybe he just wants attention as well?”

Micheal heard a sound behind him and jerked his head to see another woman in similar attire giving him that same faux friendly smile. She rested her hands on his chair and Micheal could feel the warmth coming off of it.

“N-no leave- please-” Gerry tugged at his seat and Eden gave him a pitiful look. “Please, leave him out of this. He didn’t do anything-”

Eden clicked her tongue against teeth. “Now, now, did no one ever teach you only to speak when spoken too?” She nodded to the girl behind Micheal and in turn she grabbed Micheal’s hair and tugged his head back. Micheal whimpered in response, half at the sharp motion and half at the burn that was trickling down his scalp.

Gerry struggled against his binds, only stopped as Eden leaned in closer to trail a finger right over one of his wrists, humming like this was a bore to her. “I’ve never burned someone at the throat before,” She pondered, looking over at Micheal like they were in on some cruel joke together. Micheal’s heart was on the verge of coming up out of his mouth. “Do you think he’d bleed out before the burn did its work? Maybe he’d suffocate as the skin melted off, revealing the bone and viscera inside?” She turned away from Micheal to Gerry. “Maybe he’ll drown in his own blood before the burn really has time to grow. Would you like to find out?”

Micheal’s panic rose as the girl behind him slowly moved her hand towards his exposed neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to scream, determined not to make this harder for Gerry. He still felt tears fall from his eyes as his body jolted at her touch.

“Let him go! You witch!” Gerry screamed, it felt like a useless demand.

Eden nodded to the girl and the scorching hand at Micheal’s throat was dropped, leaving Micheal shaking with heavy breaths. Her laughter filled the air as she looked between Micheal and Gerry. “Aww, the dog has feelings for the twig, how adorable.” She burned one of the ropes at Gerry’s wrist, the pieces falling. It happened so quickly Gerry didn’t move. Eden continued. “I bet we could make quite a game out of this, wouldn’t you think?” She burned off the other bit of rope on his other wrist, grinning with all teeth. She crouched down to burn off the binds around his legs- Gerry was already moving.

He kicked her in the ribs faster than she could react, knocking her backwards to bolt towards Micheal. He didn’t even make it half way before he was ripped backwards by the neck, causing him to hit the ground hard. Behind him Eden laughed, standing to her feet and dragging him by the leash backwards. Gerry coughed roughly and Micheal couldn’t do anything but watch.

The girl behind Micheal laughed as well. “You caught a bit of a wild one yeah?” She spat, carding her fingers like wax through Micheal’s hair.

Eden nodded, letting Gerry compose himself enough to get to his feet and lunge at her. She moved out of the way easily, using the leash as a handle to change his momentum and sending him back towards the floor. Gerry groaned and Micheal heard a distinctive snap like that of bone, more tears blurred his vision and he quickly blinked them away.

“Stay down dog.” She said in an almost disappointed tone, kicking him as he tried to lift himself up by the forearms, making his whole body curl. Micheal shouted but she didn’t look his way. She used her boot to push him on his back, stepping on his chest harshly when he tried to sit up again. “Did I say you could stand up?”

“Bitch.” He spat, voice hoarse as he coughed up a bit of blood.

“You’re feisty, I’ll give you that.” She chuckled, leaning over him, pulling on his leash so he was once again forced to meet her eye. “Is that why Mary keeps you around? Her loyal feisty guard dog? All bark no bite?” She pulled on the leash harder and Gerry gasped for air, Micheal pulled against his restraints in vain.

He needed to do something, anything. Micheal looked wildly around the room but there was nothing. Nothing for him to use, nothing to help. He tried to focus on Eden’s mind, something for him to use. To distort. But all he could sense was that of hot candle wax. Nothing to use. He caught himself mid thought- He wasn’t a monster. He pushed down the urge. He wouldn’t use that part of him to get out of there. It wasn’t right- there had to be another way. Another tear trickled down his cheek as the strength started to leave him. Maybe he was a coward.

“You won’t save your friend like this, you know.” She said to Gerry, tracing his jaw with her finger. Gerry flinched and Micheal wouldn’t doubt it was as burning as the hands still in his hair. “Only good puppies get treats~” Micheal watched something pass between Gerry’s eyes before she hummed satisfied and took a small step back, tugging lightly on the leash.

Gerry didn’t look away from her, hatred pulsing behind his eyes as he slowly started to stand. “Ah-” She corrected, her tone smothered in smugness. “Just on your knees, pet.”

He hesitated before shifting to sit on his knees, the movement stuttered as if he had hurt himself, his eyes going wide before his face flushed red. He curled his hands into fists and seemed to freeze. Micheal thought maybe he was hurt- reacting to an injury caused in the scuffle- but then he noticed the tent in Gerry’s pants. Micheal’s stomach dropped. The air seemed to leave the room, the only sound being that of Micheal and Gerry’s heavy breathing.

For a moment it seemed like Eden hadn’t noticed. For Gerry’s sake Micheal hoped she wouldn’t notice, but then she was laughing, a booming, mocking sound. Gerry flinched.

“Holy shit- Allysa do you see this?” Eden looked at the girl behind Micheal before tugging roughly on the chain causing Gerry to jolt forwards, catching himself with his hands on the cement. Before he could balance himself she dropped the leash and opted for grabbing the collar, pulling him up on his feet and to eye level, grinning like she had won the lottery. “Are you actually getting off to this?” She threw him backwards and he fell to the floor, looking down at the ground and away from the both of them. Eden picked up the leash she had dropped and pulled it, forcing him to look at her. “Is the puppy in heat? How pathetic.”

Gerry scowled at her, his face a mix of embarrassment and anger as he tried to push her off of him. She let him and he ended up falling back to the floor, curling in on himself. Micheal shouted again, pulling as hard on the ropes as he could, whipping his head around only for the hands to tighten, forcing him to look- to watch as Gerry was laughed at.

“I mean I already knew you were- pathetic- that is. You’d have to be if you’re going to be Mary’s bitch. But I didn’t think it’d go this far.” She kicked him in the ribs and Gerry groaned, trying to crawl out of the way.

“Shut the hell up.” Gerry growled, looking at her like he was about to lunge at her again.

Eden stepped on the leash, bringing Gerry fully to the floor. Micheal jerked, shouting out another muffled cry. Leave him alone. He thought as loudly as he could. But Eden just laughed.

“What’ll we do with you? You need a leg to rut up against like a good dog?” She spat, nudging his shoulder with her foot.

“Don’t bloody touch me.” Gerry rasped from where he struggled on the floor. She didn’t let up, keeping her foot down on the leash. His face inches from her heel.

She hummed. “I was just offering to help.” She chided. “Just as well you can handle it yourself.” A pause. “Go on then.”

Micheal glared at her. Gerry looked mortified. “You want me-”

“To deal with yourself? Yes. I want you to show everyone else in this room that you’re nothing more than a dog.”

Micheal felt nauseous, his whole body trembling with hate as he stared daggers at her. He’d kill her. He’d rip her mind to shreds and watch her drool into the carpet. He’d do anything- except he was tied to a damn chair and couldn’t do anything but watch. He scratched his nails against the wood of the chair hard enough to draw blood.

For a moment Gerry didn’t move, staring at her from his spot on the floor with baffled horror.

“You really need me to repeat myself?” She quipped, “Of course if you really can’t follow instructions I could always go back to burning the twig.” Eden smiled at Micheal, Micheal shot her a look even Jon couldn’t compete with. She didn’t seem bothered.

Gerry bared his teeth at her. She lifted her foot off his leash and took a step back. “Go on then.” She purred.

Micheal watched as Gerry curled in on himself, breathing through his teeth as he slipped a hand down his pants. Micheal closed his eyes. He shouldn’t be watching this. This wasn’t right. Gerry made a small sound and Micheal forced his brain to not focus on it. The girl burning his scalp- Allysa- tugged on his roots. “Not enjoying the show?” She whispered, “Open your eyes or I’ll burn you blind.”

Micheal cooperated, opening his eyes to have the image of Gerry shaking into his hand burning into his brain. He could practically feel Gerry tense and spasm. He watched the other pump his hand in stuttered movements, his eyes clamped shut as another sound forced its way through his teeth. His back arched off the cement as he cried out, it didn’t last long before he shuttered and went limp, exhaling weakly. He didn’t look up at Micheal or Eden. Micheal watched him remove his hand from his pants slowly before clutching his shirt.

Eden seemed more than happy at the display. “Now-”

“Enough.”

Micheal’s gaze shot over to the stairway. Where it was empty before now is a girl with auburn hair and an unreadable expression on her face. Immediately Eden took a small step back.

“Did you accomplish anything other than your own selfish gains?”

Eden nodded, her entire attitude changing. Even Allysa let go of Micheal’s head and took a step back. “I was just about to, Agnes.”

Agnes walked over and crouched down, unhooking the leash. “Are you Gerard Keay?” Gerry nodded mutely and Agnes continued. “Good. That package you never delivered. I want it. You have three hours.” She removed the collar next. Micheal saw there was a thick burn mark there, as if the collar had been hot. She nodded at Micheal. “Return and we’ll let your friend go as well as you. I have no large quarrel.” She shot a look at Eden. “Do what I ask and you both will be spared.”

For a moment Gerry didn’t move. Then slowly he stood to his feet and stared at Agnes. He glanced at Micheal for a fraction of a second before looking away. Micheal wanted nothing more than to take Gerry away from that place. Somewhere safe where he could tend to those burns, somewhere he could remind Gerry that he was beautiful and loved and not a dog to take orders.

“You won’t hurt him?” Gerry practically whispered.

“No.” Agnes said. “Only if you don’t return.” Gerry didn’t look back as he left the room.

°°°

Gerard Keay

°°°

Keay limped down the street. A sharp pain in his leg kept him walking in an uneven sort of tempo which really only made the pain worse. It wasn’t the only thing throbbing, his collarbone was burning still and if his shoulder wasn’t flat out broken then it was definitely sprained. He focused on it. Focused on the pain. The pain was real, and was relevant. It was all he needed to worry about besides getting the package from Mary.

He was sure that was going to be just as easy as anything else he had to deal with today. He walked straight into the bookstore before the reality of what he was about to do hit him head on, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Gerard, is that you? Come here.”

Keay steeled his nerves and entered the back of the store. His mother was writing something in a notebook with a few candles on the table. She didn’t look up from what she was doing. Gerard noted the knife where she had carved something in a foreign language on her arm. Keay didn’t stare at it for long.

“A bit of a fire hazard don’t’cha think?” He said. It was meant to come out as a joke, but the rasp in his voice and overall exhaustion in his bones seemed to dampen the delivery. It was maybe the first real moment he noticed the overall pain in his throat.

Mary paused and looked him over, her face unchanging. “What did you do this time, Gerard?” Are you ok​​?

“Nothing, I just got into a bit of a scuffle. I’ll walk it off. Thanks for your concern.” He added on that last bit with a sarcastic edge. I’m fine.

Mary looked back down at the notebook. “It wasn’t concern.”

Keay rolled his eyes, of course it wasn’t. “Right.” A long pause, Keay flexed his fingers. “I- I need a favor.”

“Another one?” She quipped.

Keay swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling more like a kid than ever before. “That package from the Lightless Flame. I need it.” He held his breath.

At that she did stop, looking up and studying him. Gerard wanted to shrink under her gaze. “Why?”

Gerard couldn’t hold eye contact. “They jumped us and-”

“Us?” She interrupted, a pensive look in her eyes. To Keay it was like looking at the executioner before muttering your final words.

“Micheal and I.” Gerard said quietly. Another pause, she nodded to continue, Keay shifted uncomfortably. “They want the package.”

Mary tutted. “I presume there’s something else?”

Gerard breathed through his teeth, a lump in his throat was growing. He hated how weak he felt, how dependent. Christ, he ached for a cigarette. Now was not the time to lose his shit over nothing. “They have Micheal.” Another odd pause. “It’s a trade.”

“I see.” She started, closing her notebook to scowl at Keay. “So in your idiocy, you got your friend kidnapped?”

Keay tried to remain calm, but he still winced at her words. “I didn’t get him kidnapped. I’m not the one that double-crossed them.”

Wrong answer. Mary stood up and Keay took a small step back. “If I remember correctly, Gerard, you were given full protection against them, and so was your friend. So, Yes, this is your fault. Deal with it on your own.” She started walking upstairs.

Keay followed her. His words bordering on desperate. “No- please listen, I need that package. They’ll kill him-”

“And who’s fault is that, Gerard?” She spat at him, looking at him with disappointment and irritation as if it was a weapon. Keay felt it stab his insides like it was.

“Mine.” He said weakly. All because what? He wasn’t strong enough? Wasn’t able to keep the same poker face that his mother had adopted so well? Wasn’t able to fight back when someone decided to toss him around like a damn doll? Wasn’t able to protect the one person he cared about? Now that one person saw that he’s just as pathetic and weak as they say. He’s nothing more than a scared little boy.

Mary’s words cut through his thoughts like a hot poker. “Do not grovel. This Micheal has made you weak. We are not weak.” She sneered.

Gerard didn’t let up. “Please, mom, I need your help.” A tear fell from his face, he wiped it away quickly. He had no reason to cry.

She stared at him, her gaze frozen in a stiff line. “I would like to meet him.”

Keay’s eyes narrowed, his words more of a cough than a question. “What?”

“If I help you. I would like to meet him. Talk to him.”

Gerard hesitated. “Why?”

“What does it matter to you? They will get the package, you will get your Micheal. And I will get to talk to the one who has such a choke hold over my weakling of a son.”

“You would hurt him?” Keay said, more of a question than a statement.

She barked out a laugh. “No. Not physically. And if he cannot handle what I have to say then he did not deserve my mercy.”

“He isn’t weak.” Keay growled back, balling up his fists. He may be, but Micheal wasn’t. Micheal was brave and extraordinary and twice the man that Gerard was. And Gerard wasn’t going to let anyone say different. Not even his mother.

Mary turned on him, striking him across the face. “You will not talk to me that way, boy. You do not deserve my help. It is in times like this I am reminded you are more like your bastard of a father than me.”

Gerard looked down at the floor, trying to tune out her words as Mary sighed. “Eventually you will figure out what is more important. But for now,” She walked into her room and returned with the package. “We will collect your trade.”

°°°

Micheal Shelley

°°°

“You won’t hurt him?” Gerry practically whispered.