THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO MY AMAZING BETA READER VEN BECAUSE Ven? Put up with me babbling about this fic and talking right over them? And then edited this mess for me? All in all they are amazing, please go check them out at @venfx on AO3!

Also, so sorry that this chapter is late I might have forgotten to post it haha...

-

As usual, you feel exhausted after coming back from a 'session' with Elias. You usually take a bit of an extended lunch break right after, scarfing down any food your stomach can bear to hold before catching a quick nap on the sofa in Jon's office, which is infinitely more comfortable than the monstrosity you have in the break room.

Tim is missing from the Archives more often than he is not, and Martin prefers to record statements in solitude. Which is why you never even consider the fact that you could have company.

"Uh– (F/n), was it?"

You startle slightly and see Basira seated comfortably behind what used to be Sasha's desk, chair skewed sideways and a book open in front of her. You nod wearily. She raises an eyebrow, "You were seeing Elias."

Another nod. "Why?"

There's no easy way to answer that question, so you just give her an aimless shrug. Her eyes narrow in something like suspicion which while you can't blame her for, you really don't have the energy to deal with. "Right. You're heading out for your lunch break right now."

Well, fuck. You give Basira another affirmative, after which she asks you if you would mind her coming with. The lethargy in your bones desperately wants to turn her down, but you have no good way of doing so, especially considering how suspicious she already is of you. So, you suck it up, and say goodbye to your afternoon nap.

-

After a week of seeing neither hide nor hair of Jon, you sullenly concede that he may not have any plans of bringing his assistants aboard his stop-the-Unknowing train. Aside from the occasional call for information or reference, Jon has been a ghost. You can tell that his absence is weighing on Martin. You think the worst part is that Martin's been worrying after Jon for so long and yet Jon can't even be bothered to say two words to him.

But, well, none of that is your problem. While Jon is running around chasing empty leads because no one is willing to give him better information, you have your own investigation to run. Jon may be flying blind, but you know that if you don't step up your own game, you could end up losing Tim.

It's a terrifying thought all on its own.

Despite everything, you've come to care about Tim, deeply so, and you don't– you can't watch him die. Hell, you'd do anything to keep him from becoming that reckless, suicidal version of himself.

But you can't do this without help.

On a hunch, you manage to find the key to the tunnels, and carefully climb down. You're not keen on venturing too far beyond the entrance, all too aware of the trouble you would be in if you got lost. But it looks like you don't have to venture too far anyways, because soon enough there you see an unremarkable yellow door against one wall, one you're sure hadn't been there before.

After a moment's deliberation, you go right up to it, and knock.

It opens with a theatrical creak, which, despite everything, brings a smile to your face. Michael, it seems, is dramatic as always. You step back as razor sharp fingers curl around the edge of the door, opening to reveal everyone's favorite Distortion blonde.

You wave a hello at Michael.

"Hello (F/n). I did not expect you to come find me today."

I just needed to–

"–talk to you about something." You look down at your phone in surprise, which has apparently taken the liberty of voicing your thoughts out loud without you having to even type them.

"Uh." You look up and see the mischievous smile curled on Michael's face. "Right. Thank you."

"You're welcome. What do you want to talk to me about?"

And this is where you need to be careful. Or, well, take a bit of risk and hope it works.

"The Unknowing is coming, which you know, and we want to stop it. But we– we can't be the only ones, right? There must be others who don't want the Stranger to win." You take a deep breath. "Do you know any avatars who might be willing to lend a hand?"

Michael's eyebrows rise and disappear into his hairline, literally. When you blink, they're back again, but Michael has taken to leaning just inside his doorway, tapping one long finger against the frame.

"You must understand, Assistant, that most find the Eye's servants to be a bit... unbearable to work with. Your lot has a reputation for standing back and watching, instead of doing something."

"I'm trying to do something right now, Michael," you point out patiently. "And even then, there must be someone, right? Every single avatar in the world can't hate us."

"Perhaps. I don't see why I should help you."

"We'll need all the help we can get to stop this." You lean back against the opposite wall of the tunnel, crossing your arms in front of your chest. "I don't doubt that Jon is doing his best, but we can't afford to find out what happens if his best isn't enough."

You don't want to live through the very real possibility where Jon's best still gets Tim killed. You don't want to live in an aftermath that sees Jon stuck in a six-month coma, that sees Martin lost to Lukas and Daisy stuck in that goddamn coffin.

"Fine. The Archivist's own investigations aside, you are awfully lacking in resources. Of course, you can just ask for my help in all of this."

You smile. "Maybe. Can't count on you though, can I?"

Michael grins, sharp and bleeding. "No, not really."

"So." You give him a low, arching once-over, "What's it going to be?"

Michael takes a moment to think. You wonder if Tim plans on coming back to work anytime soon. You'd really like to get him in on this, along with Basira, because you really don't have any resources to spare. Tim deserves to know the truth about all of this, specifically how the Unknowing ties itself to the Circus... Just because Jon has the social skills of a recently incarcerated patch of drywall doesn't mean you can't go out of your way to build some goddamn trust around here.

"I will help you, in exchange for a favor."

You give Michael a wary look. "I'm listening."

"Oh. I don't have anything I need right now, but when the time comes, you will do as I ask, and you will do it even if it pains you to."

Promising something like that is a dangerous, dangerous thing, especially when it comes to the Spiral. But what else can you do? You don't have any other ideas on how you can prevent the Unknowing from going so terribly south, and you can't let Tim die. You know that once you tell him about how the Circus plays into this, you won't be able to stop him from going, and there's no realistic way of hoping to straight out hide that information from him. You don't have much confidence in remaining lucid during the whole thing, you're not that good, so there's no way you can protect him once you're all in the middle of the Unknowing. You can't just suggest ignoring the Unknowing entirely, because Elias hasn't kept you quiet for so long just to let you spill all of his secrets.

There's no other way.

"Alright. I agree to your terms."

Micahel smiles a wide smile, a pleased curve that literally takes up half of his face. "Excellent."

-

"Ugh, I cannot believe–"

Both you and Tim turn to see Melanie march straight into the Archives, a furious scowl pulling taut on her lips. She stops right at Tim's desk, where you've pulled up a chair on the other side and were picking your way through a sandwich. A light bag comes off of her shoulder which she chucks at her feet.

"That infuriating– what's her name, Diana?– says I can't check things out of the library anymore! Why? Because apparently, I don't have the correct credentials. I thought we were over this!"

Didn't we figure this out like a month ago when I vouched for you?

"That's just it! She says the Director is doubling down on the credentials thing, so it doesn't count!"

Your brow furrows in confusion, but it's Tim who catches on first. "'Course, the Director. Elias can't go one day without ruining someone's day around here."

You make a face down at your lunch. Well, three guesses for why Elias would go out of his way to get Melanie banned from the library. Not like she turned down his job offer, not at all.

Why now though? You've been using the Library for a solid month, why ban you now?

"Hell if I know. Honestly– can you guys get me access again? I'm still researching and I hate to say it, but nowhere else has better resources on the supernatural. Trust me, I've checked."

Your hand subconsciously comes up to rub your chin as you think about it. Tim points his sandwich at Melanie and says, "You could ask Jon. He's bound to have more sway than us Assistants."

Hilariously, Melanie makes a mock-disgusted face at the very suggestion, "Ugh, God, I'd really rather just give up than ask that prick for help. You don't have any better ideas, do you?"

Tim huffs out a laugh, "Mood, but I think 'that prick' is really your best option right now, sorry."

Melanie looks at you for help, a parody of a tortured expression on her face, but you just shrug with a helpless smile. Tim's right, Jon really is her best option if she wants to get back into that Library.

Melanie gives a put-out sigh. "Fine. Where is he anyways? Last I heard, he was back on the job." She turns slightly to look at you then. "You remember how your dick of a boss said that hiring a new Archivist wouldn't be a problem? Creepy as fucking hell, but I can't believe he was right."

Yes, well, you can believe. Elias has plans for Jon, can't let a measly little murder charge get in the way of that.

"He's still missing from work more often than he comes in."

You snort at that, and Tim looks over curiously as you type out: says you. You've been missing for the past two days, if I'm counting it right. Three before that.

Tim waves you off, as if that solves anything, "Semantics. Consider this, I'd probably end up being the one wanted for murder if anyone asked me to come in to the Archives for more than a day or two."

"Wait– so, what, you just don't come in?" Melanie asks, baffled, "And they just let you?"

You adamantly shake your head, while Tim sullenly sinks into his chair, "I wish."

We just let him handle the follow ups that take a lot of travelling around here, that's all. Just means he's not in the Archives often.

"Ah."

You shrug and go back to picking at your sandwich. Idly, you realize that Martin should be back from lunch soon. It's not very obvious, but he doesn't like Melanie hanging around here. Thinks she's pushing her luck, sticking around when she just barely got away. You think it's fine as long as she knows never to take a job. Besides, you've heard she's found other work lately, doing inventory at some sort of bookstore.

"So, do you guys know when Jon will be in?"

You shake your head while Tim cheerfully adds, "No clue," before taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. You screw your nose in disgust when he struggles to chew with his mouth closed, having severely overestimated how much he could fit in his mouth.

"God, well." Melanie pushes off from leaning against the table, slinging the bag she'd had with her over one shoulder, "I'll keep dropping by, I guess. He's gotta come around some time."

You wave her goodbye as Tim finishes up his sandwich, already pushing away from the table and gathering all your trash. You shoot him a thankful smile and get up to go back to your own desk, a pile of statements waiting there to be gone through.

-

You make sure that your knock on the doorway is loud enough to get Basira's attention. She looks up from the papers she was scanning, which seem to have come from an entire folder of statements sat on the desk in front of her.

Find anything interesting?

"You told me to find statements on the Stranger, right?" Basira spares you a glance just long enough to see your nod, "Yeah, well, I think I've found one, but I don't know how it's going to help us stop a ritual."

You shrug. We can use any info we can find.

"Mm, well, if you know something more about a doll that can switch places with a kid, don't forget to mention it, yeah?"

You roll your eyes, not bothering to deign that jab with a reply. You pick up the top most statement from the stack in front of Basira, reading through it vacantly as your eyes slip over the words. They fail to catch your attention, exactly in the way that tells you it's fake. You don't quite have the Archivist's kind of intuition about real and fake statements, but you're good enough.

Just like that, you place the statement separately from the rest and move on to the next one, scanning it over and waiting to see if the words hold your attention. When they don't, you place it with the first statement.

At some point, you end up pulling a chair up to Basira's table and sitting opposite to her. She glances up once, wearily, before returning to her work, and you're just as happy to let her be.

Three more statements go into the not-real pile before you find a real one, which you place in a third pile of its own. Of course, per course for your luck, Basira notices, and looks up sharply from her own reading. "How are you sorting these?"

You tap your first pile. Not-real

And then the lone statement, Real.

"I don't get it. What do you mean, 'real'?"

You shrug, but when Basira just about manages to smother an irritated twitch of her lips, you type a proper explanation on your phone.

Some of these aren't really supernatural, just people's minds making something scarier than it is. But this one– and here you tap your one real statement– is legit.

"Alright, but how can you tell? I don't think you're even reading all of them completely,"

You hesitate. I just can?

Basira raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you, "...Right. Wanna explain that?"

You purse your lips on irritation. Really, what you wouldn't give to skip this whole performance and just get back to silently ignoring each other. But of course, Basira can't let you off that easy. You take a moment to think about it.

I think it's similar to how Daisy can tell who the real monsters are? You must have noticed by now that she has different ways of dealing with monster-monsters and human-monsters.

"How do you know that?"

I just do. I don't know how to explain it.

Basira's mouth goes flat, and you feel an irrational anger boil in you. "Fine."

You pointedly turn back to sorting statements.

You're able to coexist for another twenty minutes in which you manage to find one more real statement before your pile begins to run out. In fact, when you reach for the next sheath of stapled papers, the last of the pages all come with it.

The last statement isn't real, but you decide to read it anyways, because you need something to do and this guy's really on to something, you know? Halfway through, Basira puts down her last statement and says, "Do we have any other leads to stop this ritual? Besides going over decades old statements."

You warily swap in your phone for the statement on your hands. I'm pretty Jon is onto something. Tim does as much follow up as he can on the Stranger statements we do have and Melanie has also agreed to do research.

"Yes, but that's all here." Basira points out, "Do you know anyone who isn't affiliated with the Institute, that could help?"

You pause. Well, there is Michael, but do you want to tell Basira about him? You're supposed to trust her, aren't you? And besides, she's observant. There's no way she won't notice you gone when you go to visit this potential new ally Michael has told you about.

I've talked to... a friend of mine, who says they can introduce me to someone that might be able to help.

Basira's eyebrows hitch higher in surprise, "Should've started with that. Why am I only hearing about this now?"

Because I don't know anything about them, and frankly, I don't trust my friend to not screw me over, either.

But that's a lie. You realize it's a lie as soon as you type it, because amazingly, you do trust Michael. You take this fragile revelation and carefully tuck it away to look over later.

"Not much of a friend, are they then?"

You shrug. He's the best chance I've got.

Basira ponders this over. "That's fair. What's your plan, then? For when things go south."

You brows furrow a little in offence. If.

"If, then."

Your bottom lip rolls in your mouth as you think. To be honest, you haven't really thought about it? You'd figured you'd just deal with whatever came your way when it happened. But Basira has a point, there's no reason to walk into anything completely unprepared. It's just that you don't know how to prepare.

You don't have much in any way to protect yourself. You don't know how to use any sort of weapon, and while you're certain you could probably hold yourself in a fight, you don't think that would be any good against an avatar. Especially not if they've made up their mind to kill you.

"Listen." Basira sighs and pushes up from her chair, carefully collecting the pile of fake statements and putting them back into the file, "You tell me when you're going to see whoever it is that your 'friend' thinks can help, and I'll see about coming with you, alright? Worse comes to worse, at least we'll have two people against one monster."

You stare up at Basira with wide eyes. To say you didn't expect the offer was an understatement. If your last few interactions were anything to go by, you'd been certain Basira didn't like you. At the very least, she definitely didn't trust you.

Nonetheless, it would make no sense to turn her down. Basira is a trained police officer who knows how to handle a gun. Your chances of survival go up by a wide margin if you take her with you.

Alright. I'll talk to Michael.

Basira nods shortly and turns to leave, but before she can you grab her sleeve to catch her attention for one last thing.

Thank you.

Basira huffs, "You're alright."

-

Fun fact: since I don't think I'll be able to sneak this into the fic anyways, the reason Elias cut Melanie off after a month of her coming to access the Library is because of Jon. Besides the one time that the reader delivered somethings from Elias, Melanie has been Jon's biggest in for the institute's resources regarding follow up.

Signing off

Your Captain, Lynda