Chapter Text
Elias Bouchard was walking home. Augustus, the silky-soft golden retriever, tugged at his harness, guiding Elias down the familiar route from the Tube stop to his flat.
It had been a year since Jonathan Sims, the Spinner, had walked into The Magnus Institute for his first day of work as Head Archivist. The thought burbled to the surface of his mind like a mysterious bubble floating up from the bottom of a lake. That time in Elias’s life — the years in which he’d been sequestered, dormant, in the back of his own mind while a pair of foreign eyes had controlled his every move — often felt like a lake. A smooth, reflective surface whose depths Elias, most of the time, could not penetrate. Now and again, the surface rippled, and memories from those terrible years would filter through. Memories of luxurious teas with the spider-woman, Annabelle Cane; divorces and marriages with Peter Lukas; terror and cruelty and overwhelming knowledge that crashed over Elias’ mind like a flood. During these ripples, Elias would feel his palms sweat, his heart rate spike. Augustus would press against him, comforting him until he calmed down, and the memories had faded away, drifting back into the depths of his mind. Augustus did so now, stopping Elias in his journey home and coaxing him to take in deep breaths.
When Elias’ mind was his own again, he picked up his train of thought where he’d left off, carefully avoiding the memories he’d awakened.
It had been a year since Jon had started at the Institute, which meant it had been less than a year since Elias had been freed from the clutches of Jonah Magnus. This entire time, Elias had felt adrift; like a balloon untethered. Who was he, now that he was not a puppet of a cruel servant of the eldritch entity known as the Eye?
Well, blind, for one thing.
That had required quite the adjustment period, naturally. The first few months of his freedom had been spent acclimatizing himself to his new capabilities— practicing using his white cane and, at long last, adopting Augustus, his service dog. Sasha and Jon, who had taken over management of the Institute after the rubble had been cleared and damage repaired, had graciously allowed Elias to keep most of Jonah’s estate. All of Jonah’s accounts were, after all, in his name; but the money felt… yucky. Elias had initially tried to distribute the money among the group formerly named Team Spider; but they adamantly refused, insisting that he bore no guilt for Jonah’s actions and they were perfectly well off on their own (Elias tried not to think about where Annabelle Cane got the money that financed Jon’s lifestyle; and he knew for a fact that Sasha used her newly-acquired Eye Avatar abilities to, one might say, redistribute the money stored in the coffers of the wealthiest billionaires). Still, Elias had been able to contribute, sneakily, in other ways— supporting Melanie and Georgie’s online content creation, for one example; and funding the new interests of the Magnus Institute, for another.
Still, there was only so long a man can sit in his own flat (he’d rapidly gotten rid of Jonah’s extravagant, multi-storey apartment for a more modest residence in a less expensive neighborhood). Once the move had been completed, and Elias had grown more confident at nagivating the city after the loss of his sight, he’d found himself with rather little to do.
And, frankly, he despised that. After spending the last several years of his life in an odd sort of dream-space, unable to do literally anything, boredom and restlessness made Elias break out in hives. Something had had to change.
And so this evening, Elias was, in fact, coming home from his first day at his new job.
Or, rather, his old job.
Team Spider routinely met up for board game nights, piling into Jon and Martin’s flat. Elias was always invited, and often he even agreed to go, at least for the pizza dinner. The members of Team Spider were extraordinarily welcoming to him, and Elias felt he deserved none of it.
So, when Sasha had offered to hire him back at the Institute, he had initially declined. But she’d explained, in that perfunctory way of hers:
“Well, you see, and I hope this isn’t insensitive, but I was hoping to make the library more accessible— I’m trying to make the Institute a place that actually helps people, rather than harming them. And it occurred to me that our library is woefully unprepared in terms of providing materials for people of all abilities and needs! And I thought the whole endeavor would really benefit from your personal experiences, you know, if you were willing to offer your insight. I also may have, er, well… taken a look at a few of your current investments, you know, into mental health clinics and disability advocacy groups, and I thought you might— but I completely understand if that’s not of interest to you, and—”
“Sasha!” Elias had choked. “Sasha, stop, stop! Yes— I would like to do some good. And if I can put my experiences to good use, then I— I would like to.”
And so he had been hired as a library assistant.
The work day was long, and harder than the lazy, empty days he’d grown accustomed to, but it felt good. It was the first time in his life he was able to stretch his wings and begin to move beyond the horrors that had plagued him for so long.
Elias unlocked the door and walked up the stairs to his flat. The banister felt familiar, thin and metal in his hand. He leaned on it, exhausted in that pleasant way that follows fulfilling, hard work. He looked forward to cuddling up with Augustus and listening to a new episode of Georgie’s podcast.
Elias toed off his shoes and unhooked Augustus’ harness, giving him a few pets and pats on the butt.
“Good job, Guster. Now your work day is over, too. Who’s a good boy? A handsome lad?”
Then, the floor creaked.
Augustus tensed. Elias’ sensitive hearing — better than it had been, but less good than Augustus’s — picked up an odd sound a moment later. A kind of strange staticky noise, and the sudden awareness that there was someone else in his flat.
Augustus went on alert. Elias pulled a knife from his pocket, listening hard.
“Hello? I’m armed, and my dog is aggressive.”
Augustus whined pitifully.
“…that’s him getting ready to attack,” Elias insisted, putting every ounce of his (limited) bravery into his words.
Elias moved cautiously down the hallway, ears pricked for any more sounds. But he needn’t have listened so hard: when the other person spoke, it was at a normal volume, in warm, deep and deeply familiar tones.
“Well, now this is fascinating. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”
…
Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood — known, to some, as the Spinner and Mr. Spider — had been cuddled together on the couch, happily enjoying the notion of being fiancés (a notion Jon himself still had trouble comprehending) when their evening was rudely interrupted by the appearance of, well— themselves.
Sort-of.
Other Jon (stinking of the Eye) and Other Martin (icy-cold from the Lonely) had appeared out of nowhere, with no fanfare and nary a Flash from the Mother. Perhaps this should be unsurprising; Jon’s future-seeing ability was finicky at the best of times, and outright misleading at the worst.
It took the four of them only a moment to understand what, broadly-speaking, was happening. Martin — the Mr. Spider version, that is — immediately recognized his other self as the one he’d seen in a vision when he’d been trapped in the Lonely. Jon — the Spinner — recognized his other self as one he’d seen for only a moment, ages ago, as a Flash reflected in the mirror. Other Jon and Other Martin did not seem especially surprised to find themselves face-to-face with their alternate versions. Until, of course, Other Jon took in Jon’s six extra eyes.
Other Jon staggered backwards, squeezing his eyes shut and looking anywhere but at Jon’s face. He whimpered, a terrified little noise, and it occurred to Jon that that was the true stench— not so much the Eye, but fear itself.
Whoever this was, wherever he had come from, he had felt a great deal of fear.
“Spider! He’s a— I’m a— oh, god, M-Martin—”
“So he is,” Other Martin said, vacantly. He leveled Jon and Martin with an assessing, Lonely look, and Jon felt himself grow clammy.
“Yes,” Martin replied mildly. “Do you have something against spiders?”
Jon peered around his fiancé, eyes traveling in fascination over his doppelgänger.
Other Jon was covered in scars: Jon could sense one, two… oh, dear.
“What on earth happened to you?” Jon snapped.
The Marks of all thirteen fears were littered across Other Jon’s body. They were strong as Strings — which Other Jon also had, in great spades, most of them trailing, severed and ashy, at his feet. Other Jon’s Marks shackled him: the Hunt around his neck like noose, the Flesh tangled at his ribcage, a fishhook of the slaughter latched onto his shoulder… on and on they went, and Jon catalogued them, culminating not in the Eye (which encircled Other Jon’s brow in an acid-green thread, like a halo) but in the Web, a tight fabric woven around his heart. Yes, perhaps Other Jon did have something against spiders.
The most striking of Other Jon’s strings, however, were the ones — yes, multiple — that travelled between him and Other Martin. A complicated rope of tens of strands, all braided tightly together like a steel cable, anchoring Other Jon and Other Martin together. This String shone as though plated in metal. It shifted between colors as it twisted in the light, glimmering sometimes emerald green and sometimes icy-white.
Other Martin stepped protectively between them. He, too, was a shocking sight: nothing like Jon’s fiancé. This Martin was washed-out, but he wore his translucency like armor.
“Oh!” Jon finally registered the source of Other Jon’s terror. Naturally, with the Web wrapped so tightly around his heart, Jon’s own Web-ness must be quite fearsome. Jon blinked his extra eyes shut, and drew his power in towards himself. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry!”
“You— You— What are you? What… what am I?” Other Jon gasped.
“Right. Okay. Er,” Other Martin stammered. “Sorry, I— I do think I saw you when I was in the Lonely. Are you two from… from the Lonely?”
“Er, not exactly,” Other Martin said. “We’re… well, we’re from another dimension.”
“But I thought…”
A tape recorder appeared on the coffee table and clicked on, interrupting Martin. He and Other Jon both sighed.
“Don’t mind th—”
“Sorry, I think that’s—”
Other Jon and Martin spoke at the same time.
“Right,” Other Martin said. “Okay. Let’s, er, let’s all just… divide and conquer, yeah? You, I mean, me, I mean, other me… the less spidery one, yes, you—” He pointed to Martin. “—You, go with my Jon, this one here, and… go somewhere…. away. In the bedroom, perhaps? Explain to him what all has happened in this timeline. And I’ll stay out here, and speak with… Spider Jon.”
“Don’t call me—”
“Alright!” Martin agreed, sharing a bemused look with Other Martin. “Alright. Yes, er, let’s. Um. D’you mind, though, if we— it’s just, we’ve only just gotten engaged, and—”
“Oh!” Other Martin said, the fog clearing from his glasses for moment. “Have you? Wow, you actually managed to beat us, for once." He shared a look with Other Jon, who was calming down but still skittish.
Other Jon snorted. "Yes, perhaps this version of me is rather less of a..."
"Arsehole?" Other Martin suggested fondly.
"I was going to say 'prick,' but yes, that works too."
"Oh, no, he definitely was," Martin supplied. "I mean, I don't know how he compares, but he certainly has his moments."
"Oi!" Jon protested. "That's— I won't have you three ganging up on me."
Other Jon sighed. "Futile, I'm afraid. They always do this to us."
"Well, but this is a first! Usually it takes the other versions ages to get their shit together," Other Martin mused.
“Usually…? Other…?”
“I’ll explain everything,” Other Martin said. “And so will this Jon. But, er, yes, feel free to do… whatever it is you were wanting to do.”
Feeling deeply self-conscious, but certainly not intending to pass up this opportunity, Jon and Martin turned and embraced. Jon pressed his ear to Martin’s tape-recorder heart, his own nerves calmed by that familiar, gentle whirr.
“Always something new, isn’t there?” Jon murmured in annoyance.
“Wouldn’t be a very interesting story if there weren’t,” Martin agreed.
Knock, knock.
All four of them flinched.
Other Martin and Other Jon whipped around, gearing up for a fight.
Jon and Martin broke apart, peering anxiously at the wall.
The wall, where there was now a very familiar yellow door.
The handle of the door turned, and Gerard Keay, Avatar of the End, tumbled out.
“Hiya,” Gerry greeted. He took in the two Jon’s, the two Martin’s. Then, he clapped his hands together in delight. "I see our guests have finally arrived.”