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Chapter Text

  The door to Jonathan’s office had never felt heavier, and the air it stole as it beat back into place never felt so lacking before. This place was utterly suffocating and it was made none the better when Jon’s eyes travelled up Tim’s form, not all too unlike a street cat carefully measuring whoever is approaching, only for it to decide to run away.

  Things had become… Worse. Maybe things had always been this bad, but the notion that Jon and Elias were anything at all seemed to further sever the connection between Jon and the rest of the team — which by now worked nearly by itself to achieve the common goal of researching into the Unknowing. Jon could hardly spare them a glance, his guidance didn’t even come close to how good he was at needlessly rilling Tim or Melanie up, even if he ‘didn’t mean it’ . He didn’t seem able to look at them with anything but the weirdest look of self-importance, distant awareness that he was the most important piece of this investigation. And the worst part? He was right.

  Had he always worn such an expression? Had the hostility finally warped Tim’s brain completely as to see arrogance where there was none? He found himself wondering at times, but in the end he felt it was futile. Getting the answers to these questions did not bring him any comfort. Quite the opposite, in fact, it made him feel all the more guilty about seeing his link to Elias like this, as if Jon was now an extent to Elias’s person and held within him the same air of vanity. Deep down, though, he knew that vanity was not like Jon. Perhaps pride to a fault, being the one capital sin weighing in his head more than the others. But he’d never allowed himself to be lost within that narcissism, which only meant one thing; that was entirely in Tim’s head.

  He hated the thought, as if it did not belong there at all. He’d never been the one to judge someone based on their links or based on who they dated. In the end he never saw relationships as a telling for someone’s character, lest he had many himself and didn’t know. But Elias? Elias made it all come apart for him. His every thought felt plagued, poisoned by the mere mention of that god forsaken waste of suit that held them down with the strength of a titan and the eyesight of a god. Perhaps he was one, a perverse, sickening god that took pleasure in toying with humanity for it was too above them. Tim would not be surprised if he was really the root of all the evil they documented in this institute, this prison .

  It only added to the pile of unfortunate tasks that Tim found to be the new basic requirements of his work; abide by work hours, research into the esoteric and the paranormal , try not to get yourself eaten, and now, try not to go fucking insane while you’re at it!

  It was when he looked at Jonathan that he remembered what insane looked like. He wasn’t anything like the movie pictures of insanity, no, he was just a man, a man warped by his own paranoia — which now Timothy had to begrudgingly agree was justified — and with the looks that would tell you such. Jon was no longer skeptical of his coworkers, merely seemed to see them below himself, but there was a tint to his look that spoke of something else, some sort of… Guilt, whenever he looked at any of them.

  It was fitting, a part of Tim even wanted to call it satisfying to see Jonathan blaming himself whenever he watched them work. Because he was right. It was Jon's fault that they’ve all fallen victim to whatever curse was laid in the archives specifically, a truth that had been eating Tim away ever a little more whenever he thought about it, whenever he came in to work and saw that pitiful excuse of a boss that he now was supposed to trust to save the world.

  “ Tim? ” Took him right out of his thoughts, although looking at the situation he found himself in again, he’d rather stay in his mind. For a moment, he wondered if he could act as though he hadn’t heard Jon and just walk away, but he had made a noise of inquiry when he heard his name being called. “I said thank you,” He said, any problem he had with being ignored laced behind a facade of niceness that Tim didn’t believe he put up too well.

  “Ah,” Tim let out a humourless chuckle, clearly unconvinced with Jonathan’s display of amenity. “You’re welcome , boss.” He spat the words like poison, his voice rough and quiet from the exhaustion that had recently been wearing on him from sleeping on the cold floor of the tunnels. Every day that passed in that institute felt like a chore, his very being being torn apart by the circumstances around their predicament. He was sure that if he looked at a picture or watched a video of himself a year ago now, he would not recognise the man in them. Nor would he recognise the woman most likely to be found by his side in those videos as well.

  There was a brief moment where Jon seemed to bite at his own tongue for the lack of control he had over the tone just a moment ago. Tim knew he had no intention to be rude, he just hated to be ignored. Nowadays, Tim did it on purpose though. He wanted to see Jon seethe, see him go through what he and the others went through every day, even if just a little.

  Tim turned to leave, the tension in the air growing heavy with static. He did consider leaving, did consider forgetting this whole interaction happened for it was so insignificant, but he had things to say, things he had been biting back for days now since their ‘discovery’ . These thoughts had been gnawing at the back of his head for long now, telling them to the other assistants merely didn’t do enough. They all agreed with him, but he didn’t want validation, he didn’t need it. What he needed was the hurt, the cathartic feeling that came with seeing someone’s, Jon’s face twist in self-reflection and regret, the purest form of guilt that Tim could ever get from him.

  “I’m happy for you,” Tim said as he looked at Jon over his shoulder, steps towards the door halting in time with Jon’s confused sputter. From the reaction alone, Timothy could tell that within the tension there were a lot of things Jon wanted to say as well, but having Tim continue the ‘conversation’ was certainly out of left field for him.

  “W-What?” He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

  “You and Elias,” Tim clarified as he turned around, watching Jon deflate and rather flinch at the mention of his partner. “I’m happy for you, boss.” His petty streak did not falter even as he saw how Jon struggled to bite back at him like he would have only a few months ago, when he was still trying to frame any of them for the murder of Gertrude.

  Quite ironic isn’t it…? The very person who he was looking for, unknowingly fearing every day, is now the hand that feeds him. The hand that caresses his hair and pulls him deeper into a pit Jon simply cannot see the bottom of. It made his paranoia seem useless in hindsight, when he seemingly had no problem getting cosy with the murderer nowadays.

  “You don’t have to lie…” he said carefully, measuring his tone better than before. Or perhaps it was drowned in his apprehension.

  “Yeah right,” Tim spat back. “Because you can just look into my head with your spooky archivist magic .” He waved around for a moment, to emphasise his point, earning a tired sigh out of the other. Jon’s fight diminished over the months, from the skittish cat that Tim knew to… Nothing. Well, almost nothing.

  “That’s– That’s not how it works…” He turned his head to the side as a way to avoid eye contact with Tim, but the feeling of being watched stayed the same. His own eyes darted around the room for a moment, realising that the reflection behind him, the reflection that shouldn’t exist stared right at him, the myriad of eyes focused on Tim’s form in a way that tried to break his confidence apart. “I just… Once we stop the Unknowing–”

  “Then what? You’ll leave Elias?” The thought brought up another laugh, completely unrealistic, yet he still felt the pang of hope plague his brain when he said it. “ Ooh, so that’s what it is!” He saw Jon’s eyes widen, clearly aware of where this was going. “Not like I can judge you though.” There's true humour in his voice this time, albeit cruel.

  “Fucking your way up must've come with it's perks, right?” And Jon flinched as if he'd been stabbed, the anger in his face clear as day as he looked at Tim like he wanted to say something, but that something never came to him. “I should've aimed higher, shouldn’t I? Why should I keep messing around with the nobodies from our investigations when I could've gotten the information from the big man himself?”

  “Tim, that's enough–” Jon tried to assert, hardly making a point come across as his voice got overlapped by Tim's, which grew in tone every second, sentence, word that he let out. Jonathan worried suddenly that people could hear it from the outside. It was a fear long overdue by now.

  “I should've figured that sooner…” He watched as Jon's brow furrowed in confusion with wicked glee. “I mean, that explains why you're so ass at your job. You were never meant for it were you? I guess even Elias needs his dick wet sometimes, huh…” Tim’s chuckle didn’t hide his disgust at all. Suddenly however, he felt thoroughly aware of how dizzy he’d gotten since he had started speaking, and how these thoughts seemed to strain inside of his head, like they wanted to get out, that they needed to get out. 

  “I… I still remember…” his tone shifted abruptly into something broken, melancholic. Jon sighed and leaned back against his chair, suddenly hyper aware of the energy he didn't have to argue his case against Tim. It seemed like both of them had been withering down this time. “I remember when Sasha told me she was sure she'd get that position, your position.” His voice cracked, the wave of uncharacteristic emotions backfiring against him like a gut punch, perhaps he deserved one. Were these thoughts implanted too? Or were they truly what Tim felt like?

  Another part of not going insane was how much he had to remember of what kept him human, what kept him himself against whatever Elias did to his brain. He often found himself pondering what truly was his instinct, his morals, his personality, and what was implanted only to warp him into another puppet serving the institute diligently. Sometimes he even worried if he was still himself, or if he too was switched by something and no one saw, no one noticed he wasn’t there anymore.

  “Well, I’m sorry I’m not Sasha,” Jon said, that sudden, familiar bark in his voice returning with such force Tim had to take a moment to register, and then another one to realise what he had just heard . Any remark he had to say left suddenly died on his throat as it made way for the bile that wanted its way out. Jon’s glare was none too kind, but it was devoid of that stubborn self-importance Tim saw in him before. Instead, there was the familiar tint of annoyance in his features, the kind Tim would see back in the day, when he or Martin made a stupid comment that barely ever warranted the ruthless answer they got in return. Nostalgic, but oh so goddamn disgusting.

  “And contrary to what you may think–” His voice began to raise, as though he wanted to match Tim’s own back when he was yelling at Jon but a knock on the door halted his efforts. It looked like a switch was flipped in his head as his words came out in a sputter, before settling in a knowing ‘come in’ as if Jon could tell who was on the other side from the sound alone.

  Seeing that Elias was the one to enter the office, perhaps he could.

  He made his way over to Jon, ignoring Tim altogether as he set some files down on his desk, files Tim found oddly convenient that he was willing to share out of nowhere,  just when he was the topic of their conversation. They exchanged some words Tim’s brain promptly muffled, the anger inside it deafening sounds not pertaining to his racing thoughts. He tried his best to make sense, to unfurl those feelings and untangle them from those that weren’t his own, but it was a losing battle, he was confused, he did not know.

  Making his way out of that door became his main priority suddenly, his will, and for that he was momentarily grateful. Yet he was stopped when Elias’s glare landed on him, stunning him much the way a predator’s glare does to its prey. Helpless.

  His own eyes darted to Jon in perhaps a moment of weakness, but Tim knew there was nothing a staredown with Elias could do to stop him should he decide to use whatever powers he had to further terrorise his mind. In fact, it made sense enough that Elias’s grip on him could only become stronger should he look him in the eyes. He did not, opting instead to stare daggers into Jon as if he had summoned Elias there. He had not, but Timothy’s look almost seemed to seep into his conviction to shatter it down, if the tremble in his eyes was anything to go by.

  For a moment Tim was reminded of a time he’d seen the way Elias and Jon looked at each other. Not in the way you may think, not suggestively — hell, he’d almost wished it was at the time — but it was just… Uncanny. He’d watched them from afar and from where he stood, it looked as though they weren’t even talking, Elias merely looking over Jonathan as he sat in his chair, Jon’s own eyes nearly as unblinking as they were unflinching, which was uncharacteristic for him, always one to refuse eye contact whenever he had the chance, like now.

  It wouldn’t have been nearly as weird if, when asked about it later, Jon said he couldn’t recall any such interaction with Elias. In fact, he did not recall an interaction with Elias at all that day. It sent a shiver up Tim’s body, but he’d tried to forget it at the time, only to be reminded of it often enough when they uncovered another, undoubtedly unpleasant thing about Elias’s being. The first of these developments was when he wondered why would Elias let him see such a thing; if he was such a scheming thing, hiding information away from Jon and making sure none fooled his schemes, then why? Why allow him to see and to tell Jon at all? This had plagued his mind for a while, but the more he thought about it, the bigger the back thought that this oversight was intentional , that Elias wanted him to see. For a reason he did not know, but a hunch told him that Jonathan did all too well.

  “Tim?” Elias. “Tim, are you listening?” Elias said, his voice as level-headed as he’d ever been, although Tim doubted anything good would come from whatever he had to address. He replied curtly with something of a muffled groan, his eyes still fitting Jon like he wanted to stab him whenever he gathered enough strength to look at Tim at all.

  “I can see you’re just as keen as anyone to leave, it won’t take too much of your time,” he continued with a smile Tim knew better than to trust. Still, he stayed, not because he needed to, but there was something that compelled him to stay, something else which did not feel the same type of violating as Elias’s influence in his mind. No, it felt a lot more… Forceful, as though he’d been nailed to the ground by a thing he did not know. He knew though, that should he be free to roam he would not once doubt himself, he would’ve left without thinking, consequences to be reaped later, away from Jonathan.

  “I thought it would be for the best that I advise you to at least try to lower your voice when making… assumptions about your colleagues’ personal affairs.” Elias’s patronising tone was hardly veiled, if it was meant to be hidden at all. He looked over at Jon and for a moment their eyes locked, making Tim feel that familiar shiver up his spine again, but it was gone before he could dwell on it for much longer. However it did not escape Tim how dismissive it all sounded. Assumptions? He wasn’t assuming anything, he knew, he saw enough to know, and if Jon’s current behaviour — which is to come in and almost immediately bee-line to Elias’s office — was anything to go by, he didn’t need any more proving.

  “Oh, I’m sorry . Can you tell that the whole office knows about your fling now?” Tim replied with a crooked grin. This was wearing him down beyond imagination, he could barely think of an answer, the air growing more and more suffocating as though it was avoiding him specifically. He couldn’t think of snarky answers to give either of them anymore and the threat holding him still felt impossibly tighter. He wanted out, he desperately needed this to be over and he was sure Elias knew this as well, dragging out a sigh and his words in the same manner that told Tim he wanted to prolong this. “Didn’t– Didn’t know it was a secret, not like you were really trying to hide, after all.” And yet he still bit, trying to get out those last remarks he was sure affected not Elias but Jon, shame he wished crawled into his form for days to come.

  “There is no harm, it is unlikely any of the others will be a problem,” Elias deflected Tim’s comments formally as though he was addressing a piece of research that needed reviewing. The indifference, unwavering of his voice setting Tim off more than he thought possible for someone who was so used to this back and forth by now. “I just thought I would give you a heads-up. I could hear your yelling from my office, and although I cannot keep any office gossip in check, I do believe you can keep your decorum, yes?” His smile widened and it felt like a searing burn through Tim’s skin, utterly demeaning as he struggled to even comprehend those words as his brain swayed in too many thoughts happening all at once.

  “I guess,” he said barely above a whisper. “Can I go now?” His sight had failed both of the men in front of him, his eyes focused on an inconspicuous detail on the floor as if that would give him any answers to what was happening, or at the very least a relief from the unending, searing pain. All he saw was a spider, a small, almost invisible black spider. One which he was surprisingly able to stomp once he created the thought in his head.

  “I’m afraid not,” Tim sighed hearing that, his eyes daring to look up at Elias “Here,” he completed once their eyes had met.

  There was… a tape, in his hands. It was unmarked, unlikely to be Jon’s as he marked all of his for easy recognition when they were working on them, but also highly unlikely to be Gertrude’s, it just made no sense for it to be either.

  He extended it like an invitation, but Tim was none too keen on taking it, whatever it was he wanted none of it. He wanted no business with a bloody undisclosed tape that looked like it could just blow up the moment he tried to listen to it, Tim wouldn't put that behind any of the logic he’s worked with and seen so far. A mockery so clear Tim couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of it.

  He then diverted his eyes to Jon, who fared none the better, he too seemed under the weather and Tim could not blame him. But above that he… Looked scared, like the tape would really blow up in Tim’s hands if he took it, or it contained a monster that would eat him if he tried to listen to it. He looked like he wanted to say something, stop Elias, stop Timothy, anything that would take that tape away from its current location and back wherever it belonged.

  Well, that was enough for Tim to take the Cheshire invitation.

  He snatched it out of Elias’s hand, confirming that it indeed had no title or information that could tell him where it came from, only a stain of dark red on the side. Tim didn’t even feel surprise at his lack of reaction to it, he didn’t care anymore, the poor bloke who owned this tape at some point met an unfortunate end he was none too worried about, he would probably not know it either if he was able to keep up his plans for the evening, which were to abandon the tape elsewhere as soon as he could. Away from the institute, away from himself .

  Although he couldn’t hide, a part of him wanted to see what the contents were, to see what justified Jon’s terror and to bask in the upcoming reaction he knew he’d gain. He was already hectic about Tim taking the tape to begin with, trying to tell him otherwise before Elias shushed him somewhat kindly. He obeyed, like the goddamn dog that he was.

  “Take care.” With that, Tim finally noticed how much conviction had suddenly waved its way inside his body. He could move, his thoughts fell in place again and he surely would not miss that opportunity.

  “ Fuck off, ” he nearly yelled as he made his way to the door, beating it back in place once he was away. As if that would keep all that was bad behind, that this door would keep the horrors shut away, somewhere else. He did not have hope, but he sure had thoughts that wanted to be entertained at times.

  He made his way back to his own desk and threw the tape somewhere he didn’t bother to look, half expecting, hoping that it would break and not be his problem any longer. No such luck.

  The minutes ticked by as he pretended to be working, every so often having a small chat or two with another member of the crew, or looking over his phone watch to check how many more minutes until the headache med he took started to kick in. He was living off of these, he should make a mental note to buy more in the future.

  And the tape… The goddamn tape. It taunted him, making sure that Tim would not forget that it was there at any moment. He did not move it elsewhere, which was his fault to attain, but he didn’t feel like he could, or that he wanted. He felt like the tape wanted to be there, looking back at him and hoping that it would break his resolve eventually about the future whereabouts of it.

  And it was fucking working. Tim sighed, aware that at the very back of his head there was a growing, terrible desire to play that tape, but he could do that another week.

  He could do that another day.

  He could do that after work.

  Tim did not feel surprise when he picked the tape back up, either, shoving it into his bag and turning to leave without any sort of warning to the others, much less any sort of goodbyes. He’d once had the thought of forgetting it at his desk, but that did not cross his mind again when he made his way out of the institute. He thought about abandoning it in a trashcan or the tube, making sure it found its dangerous way to another unfortunate soul. He did not leave it behind, he did not open his bag again until he was home, looking at the tape with a mix of dreadful anticipation and the most incongruent form of fear. He didn’t know what to fear, he only knew it was there, he only knew it was inside that tape, and once he played it, he would know fear.

  He would know someone else’s fear.

  Tim hadn’t come back yet.

  Day in and day out, Jonathan would haste his way into the institute, remarking every time that Tim was never at his desk. The first few days made sense, somewhat. He could be taking an early break, or he could be running errands, maybe even an investigation. But it had been almost two weeks and he’d not even gifted Jon’s messages with a ‘seen’ status.

  Not that Jon believed that he would.

  But it didn’t make his disappearance any less comforting.

  Jonathan did think about asking Melanie or Martin about Tim’s whereabouts, but worried Melanie might bite his head off for asking, and felt none too keen about asking Martin. They could barely look each other in the eye before the assistant’s expression twisted in grief. Jon had grown to detest that expression, for he knew where – who – it stemmed from.

  Furthermore, having to explain Tim had gone ‘missing’ after leaving his office just felt like putting a target on his back. He knew that if anything had happened to Tim and anyone knew of his ‘involvement’, he would be back to being the target of a manhunt, this time with less of a support network since he clearly could not go back to living with Georgie now that he had just gotten back on his feet, somewhat.

  For a second the thought of asking Elias surged in his mind, but it was shut down as quickly as it had emerged. Elias had hardly ever been helpful with investigations or otherwise, utmost useless when things did not concern him. Hell, sometimes things did concern him and he would still not budge this weird mentor mentality of his. Jonathan could not imagine him being any more helpful towards a personal problem that did not concern him one bit. As far as he knew, Tim was a bother to Elias, one that he would be better off without, judging by how much time he spent scolding the man whenever he acted even slightly out of line. It was like Elias had a thing for straightening Tim back into his expectations and Tim had a thing for making both of them waste their time in this game of push and pull that only brought him harm.

  It seemed like their game had gone too far this time. Jon had plenty of unmarked tapes, namely his supplementals which he could hardly look back on because of how foolish they had become with recent events, with what he knew now.

  Jon hoped that at the very least the tape Elias had chosen to steal from him wasn’t something pertaining to Tim directly. He was not sure if he could handle the tension growing even worse with Tim knowing exactly what Jonathan had said and had thought about him during that time.

  But Jonathan was not a lucky man, and that he had come to know through experience alone.

  That left him with no one but himself to do the work of ‘looking after Tim’, if you could call it that. A side of him surely yelled at him to leave the matter alone, aware that if Timothy was sick or had other problems, Jonathan would be the last person he would like to see, he would just be adding to that pile of bothers, he was sure. The other side however, worried about what could have happened when Tim was away for so long.

  He remembered how he felt, every day had grown to be a chore, both mentally and physically. He felt like going sick, dizzy and barely able to function until, until… he got a statement. Jon didn’t know how it worked, honestly for now he just chucked it down to some sort of anxiety eating at him that only quieted down when he was reading, maybe something about being in touch with the situation? Or perhaps this sort of routine had been a staple of his life for so long that disturbing it caused the change to backfire. It did help him to read though, so perhaps Tim would be appreciative of some papers to nudge him back into routine.

  Now, Jonathan wasn’t that out of touch with how everyone felt, contrary to what they seemed to believe. He did in fact know that none of them wanted anything to do with the institute, and believe him, neither did he. But that reality made itself more distant every day that passed, and he had grown tired of pretending it would get better. He would either weather it through or be swept by the wave while looking at it, worse would be if he died running away, having come all this way only to be washed without knowing what took him with its merciless charge. And he wished the others would follow through with this mentality, their rage and disdain for being trapped being justified, but acceptance being the only way forward.

  There existed a thorough process to borrow and return institute papers, at the end of the day they were confidential information that if leaked to the public could destroy their public image, if they still had one, that is. That process however was also thoroughly forgotten in Jonathan’s mind as he scanned over previously sorted papers with dexterity unmatched by anyone else in that building; he was the head archivist after all and knowing was his job.

  It wasn’t like he could get fired for stealing these papers anyway. Elias would just have to weather through their disappearances from their catalogue should Timothy decide to get rid of them. Something at the back of his mind told Jon that Tim probably would do just that and he almost giggled to himself thinking about the look of annoyance that would flash over Elias’s face.

  Speaking of Elias, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he barged into his office; knocking minimal to none, uninvited as always. It did start Jon though and by the time he composed himself and gathered back the papers he let slip from his hands, Elias was already looking over his shoulder, eyes fitting to the words at record speed, probably faster than Jonathan himself could.

  “Are you sure you want to send him this one?” He said plainly. Jon couldn’t even find it in him to be surprised, only annoyed at his knowing. “Because I don’t believe he would be very happy with papers about–”

  “Yes,” Jonathan interjected, fed with the theatrics Elias put up, as well as his threatening proximity. He felt cornered, he was cornered. The space between file cabinets and Elias’s form proving increasingly more nerve-wracking “Yes I am aware he doesn’t want to read any more about a circus, even if it’s not our circus,” There were a few attempts of his own to push Elias away by straightening his body where it had been folded by the closeness of the other above himself. Elias was not a tall man, but neither was Jonathan, and in that regard he did not believe he could ever hold an advantage over anyone.

  His breath hitched as he felt Elias’s hand on his shoulder. Ah, so that’s what this is about.

  He should have guessed, really, hardly would Elias come down to discuss Timothy’s preferences for paranormal encounters. Whatever it was that their relationship had grown into only seemed to deepen as Elias took Jon’s return to the office with liberties, that meant he would often visit with ‘better reasons’ than the ones he would open the conversation with.

  Jon didn’t truly want to dwell on how many of these liberties he enabled. In the end he believed that had he not, Elias would just do it anyway, perhaps take it as even further encouragement to come and bother him while work hours passed tediously.

   Still, he had half a mind to remember what his priority that day was. It wasn’t Elias, it wasn’t himself — when had he started considering Elias’s existence above his own? —, it was Tim. Tim for all he knew could be dead and rotting, or locked in his own flat by something akin to Prentiss. Jon had to be quick if that was the case, he knew that Martin had only survived because his cowardice outweighed his stubbornness to fight whatever was outside, but those traits were given inversely to Tim, and Jon did not know how his anger could further that equation into something catastrophic.

  “Listen Elias–” He backtracked quickly. Although they had dropped the formalities by now, especially with the new overarching work dynamics between all of them, it still felt off to address him so rudely, at least while unprompted. Jon wasn’t on the threat of being skinned in the immediate present, so that had been unnecessary. “You and I– We both have better things to be doing at the moment, I’m sure,” He was able to better ground himself, a benefit that was quickly taken away when he felt Elias press him further against the walls filled to the brim with statements. This was escalating, he needed to think, even if the thoughts were becoming all blurry–

  There was an exit. If he was able to walk to the side instead of backwards, then maybe he would be able to squeeze free from Elias’s grip–

  Except it wasn’t so simple, as soon as his body shifted and he took the first step, Elias moved alongside him, merely inverting Jon’s position so he now faced him. Fuck.

  His thoughts were becoming a mess, however, the flip did hit his body quite harshly against the cabinets, making Jon suddenly all too aware of the hint of pain growing up his spine. It wasn’t much, not enough for it to bruise, but it sure took him out of the situation for long enough that he found himself simply angry when he was tuned back into it by Elias’s face all too close to his own. A kiss was what he wanted and he conducted himself with a certainty that told Jon he thought it for granted. Too bad.

  “Elias,” Jon said, firmly, surprising both of them. “I do not have time for this, and you should know that better than anyone.” The moment of shock was enough for Jon to wriggle himself free, feeling all too aware of the hands that held at his waist somewhat possessively. Still they were lax enough to let him go.

  The documents in his hands would have to do, whichever the lower pile had, he would have to make do. Spending another moment in this room was not an option, Jon could not allow Elias that opportunity to take his stay as permission. Elias didn’t quite look at him as he recomposed himself, somewhat dejected, but that look was pretty on his face.

  “I thought you would be more willing by now. A shame…” Elias said, more to himself than he said it to Jon. Still there was an awful feeling that accompanied the words; they sounded simple enough, but Jonathan could not shake off the feeling that some of its meaning was lost to him, as if this was an inside joke he was not a part of.

  Jon said it himself though, he did not have time for this. Elias’s little deviant activities or his weird and cryptic words. He had places to be and hopefully a man to visit.

  “Goodbye Elias.” And he set off, closing the door to his office without a second thought to spare on whether Elias would leave with his own absence.

  Jon always took the tube wherever he had to go, it was easier than owning a car and all the expenses it came with anyway, and despite being paid plenty with trauma, distress and supernatural powers he did not want, he wasn’t exactly paid money that would allow him to own a car without a struggle.

  The walk wasn’t particularly long, but it did allow him to settle down his thoughts, the many that formed a burdensome mass in his brain, clogging it from the actual research he had to put his mind onto.

  For one, Tim. What happened weeks ago was a mistake , and he’d been thoroughly aware of that for the days that followed. His voice was laced with annoyance that had been plaguing him that day, from Elias, from the tense atmosphere that had built in the institute while he was working, and Tim ‘ignoring’ him was the incident that gave him the opportunity to act out his frustration. He felt nothing but regret at the tangent that followed, the disdain that Tim had clearly been harboring towards him and Elias just came pouring down and he truthfully did not have it in him to fight against it. Tim wasn’t wrong per se, merely hyperbolical as he assumed the extent of their relationship had escalated like that in a matter of, what, months? Jon could hardly tell, time became somewhat blurry since he’d last seen Michael. Perhaps that was one of the lingering side effects of walking within the corridors, perhaps he was just losing it again.

  Speaking of Elias… He’d grown oddly persistent in the last few days. Jonathan could not pinpoint a trigger to his change, perhaps there was none, but he could feel it in the look in his eyes; there was something amiss, something more to his weird stare that often regarded Jon like a fascinating little specimen he was able to get his hands on. 

  Their interactions had escalated from the occasional office meetup that would leave Jon with one too many kisses from Elias or a hand that lingered a second longer than he thought it should; Elias now showed up at Jon’s office, with an invitation that more often than not had Jon scrambling for an excuse not to go. It wasn’t that he was opposed to spending time with Elias — well, perhaps he was, seeing all the problems that came with the prospect of associating with Elias to begin with. It was remarkably dangerous to Jon that he could not discern this difference as well anymore —, it was just a problem of availability, they were desperately scrambling for leads on a ritual that for all he knew could happen this very night and he would not know until it was too late.

  Elias had been seemingly understanding, he always was, and that brought up the memories of when, back in the day when he was at research and even early during his head archivist days, he would hear rumours and sparks that Elias had propositioned some of his employees during their weekly lunch meetups. The results, from what he heard, were diverse, but he’d not believed it until it’d been him on the receiving end of that offer.

  He looked back at the memory with a mix of nostalgia for the easier times it’d been, and scorn for the way he’d reacted, utterly hopeless in his opinion. But that was how he looked back at most of his memories of working in the institute; naive, stupid to a fault.

  It was a dinner offer, spoken like one would talk about the weather being pleasant outside. It made Jon go completely still, along had the break room, yet Elias didn’t seem bothered by the stares in the slightest, he just waited and watched with eyes that suddenly reminded Jon very much of a predator’s. There was a clear deal of pressure all of a sudden, the air growing thicker until he felt like he couldn’t breath in it. He was almost certain that the eyes that bore into him were too many for the amount of people in that room, but back then he’d chalked it to nerves, something he cannot do so surely anymore.

  He did not know how, he still doesn’t really, but he’d managed to politely deny the invitation, a farfetched excuse on his tongue that Jon now knew Elias could see through like water. Still, he let him go and Jonathan had almost felt like a bird or a mouse, prey to a curious cat that had decided that swatting at it was much more interesting than truly puncturing into the flesh that would give way so pliantly. He shouldn’t feel relieved, nowadays he does not, but at the time he surely had.

  Jon wasn’t stupid, he knew that dinner carved the way to a path he did not want to take, a path he could see many embracing willingly, but he was not one to. If Elias wanted to lure him to his bedsheets, he would have to try something more natural than a single dinner and a few drops of luxurious wine.

  And that circled back to what the current problem was; Jon did not want this, he was certain he did not, but he was not opposed should Elias approach it another way, one that hopefully did not include the threat of his assistants’ prying eyes. Everything else felt fine, was fine, but Elias didn’t seem to settle for that anymore, he clearly wanted more and Jon was not sure he could keep up with that demand.

  It felt like an overwhelming dizziness, a suffocating situation he’d found only grew denser every second he spent trying to think about getting out of. Quicksand, the more he nudged and struggled, the deeper he fell into this pit that threatened to swallow him. Jon knew that this could not be kept up for much longer, but each of his attempts to end things were met with varying degrees of failure that ultimately had Jon entrapped by Elias’s open arms and welcoming warmth. That of the pit he'd fallen. He was stupid then and he was just as stupid now, he should have seen the signs of Elias’s very first remark as some sort of worrying interest that may grow into something dangerous, an ensnaring force like that of a spider’s web.

  He was a fly and he’d always been one. He should not have been surprised when he found himself at Mr. Spider's doorstep.

  He could, perhaps should content himself with the fact that right now, regardless of what he thought he could do, he still would be unable to end whatever this is with Elias. He was out of the institute and whatever answer he came up with had a high chance of changing once he was back anyway. He decided to change the topic of his thoughts instead.

  Now, what else was there to think about? Well, he still hadn’t read the other files he got on his way out and he was — despite his valiant attempts to ignore it so early on a work day —  hungry. Since he was already out, leaving for a lunch break was essentially impossible once he got back to the institute, so he probably should look for a place to eat while he reviewed those papers in his arms.

  There was a café he had developed a soft spot for over the last few months on the way to the tube, so without much preamble he made himself comfortable inside, taking remarkably long to ever order anything at all once he engrossed himself with the stories he read about. Despite the fact that it gave him nearly inhumane focus during work, his powers were, at the end of the day, a negative for everything else in his life.

  And suddenly he was late. It was an unfortunate series of events, truly. It started when Jon checked his watch, his ‘brief’ stop at the café actually wasted nearly an hour, an hour he could barely understand passed so fast, but he supposed time just tended to do that while he was reading. He nearly dashed out, leaving behind a tip perhaps too generous for the one pastry and coffee he bought himself. Not his usual either, but nothing about today had been usual until now, so he may as well let himself indulge in something different.

  After that mistake of his own, he ventured into the station only to find it worryingly more crowded than it should be at that time of the day. Some asking around and some overheard muttering told Jonathan that the trains had some sort of malfunctioning, something about scrambled schedules, perhaps an accident. It would be another long wait before anyone got out of here at all. Bloody hell.

  Jon's hypothetical about being a lucky man came back to his head at that moment, Elias's doing, no wonder. Mocking, trying to make him give up and come back to the institute, to him.

  However, for all Elias could See, he seemed to entirely miss how actually stubborn Jon could be when he wanted to. It was almost funny; such an obvious attempt at breaking down his resolve with the mere stroke of unluck he was facing, what did Elias expect? That Jonathan would find his way back into his arms? That would just be thick . Another image that came to mind though — that being entirely his own, he relished —, a runaway child, a small backpack in hands as they confidently walked down the dark street, away from their house. From the upstairs window, their parent watched with a smug grin on their face, wondering just how many steps it would take to entirely break their confidence and have that child come back home with their tail between their legs. Well, if that was what Elias wanted from him, he would be thoroughly disappointed once he realised that petty attempt of his only drove Jon's own resolve further. Try as he might, Elias's cheap tricks would not break Jon, would not drive him back home.

  Home huh? Was that what the institute equated to him now? Unwillingly did Jonathan realise that yes, regardless of what thing ran that place, it was the closest place he could call a home now, safe. Putting himself out there, in the dark streets of London that grew cloudy by the second as he walked down the streets to Tim's house, or at least the nearest bus stop that could take him closer… he was no different than a runaway child, the dangers of whatever was out there ate at the back of his mind, knowing that at least in the institute he would be safe from those. But he couldn't go back, call it pride, stubbornness or sheer stupidity, but Jon believed he was too deep into this plan to go back now, and he knew that Elias's grin would only grow wider if he dared step into the institute again without news on Tim.

  However, Jon did not know enough into Elias’s powers to say he was the one pulling strings to ruin his plans physically , he was, as far as Jonathan was aware, just enjoying the misery that had conveniently come his way. That did not mean Jon didn't curse his name in the place of the one truly to be blamed.

  It was with a start that he suddenly realised that he had more pressing matters to think about, namely the clouds turning a dangerous shade of grey as he made his way down to the nearest bus stop, hoping it would be the right one for him, since he didn't particularly remember which one was which.

  It wasn't. Of course it was not. And although the spot did offer some shelter from the upcoming rain, as soon as it started pouring and Jon realised it wasn't going anywhere, his only option was to get into the upcoming bus — which infuriated Jon as he realised it took him right back up to where the Magnus Institute was located, or at least close enough to it that he couldn't deny the sheer irony of it all — , or say to hell with it all and weather through the rain to the next closest stop, which he knew now was the correct one.

  Oh he would be damned if he went back now.

  The rain was heavy and thick, but so was Jon's bullheaded determination, and when those two forces battled, it wasn't like some water would stop Jonathan from making sure his friend was safe.

  If Jonathan could still call Tim that. He didn't feel worthy of that permission, but a part of him still wanted to call him that, an old, charred part of his being called Timothy a friend, perhaps something more if he looked deep enough into his being, but he had neither the time nor the will to do that right now.

  Predictably enough, the rain absolutely soaked through the clothes Jonathan had on by the time he reached the coverage of the next stop. Some of the people that waited for the bus had clearly suffered the same with the delays of the underground, while some others merely looked at him with pity in their eyes as they'd clearly come more prepared than he. No matter, at least he wouldn't be the only one to board that bus with his clothes dripping.

  The bus arrived — surprisingly empty for the luck he'd had so far — and the journey downtown was peaceful for a few minutes, thirty perhaps, as Jonathan wandered off some more thinking.

  The statements in his hands were now useless, he didn't have to wait for Tim to burn them after all. Still it undermined a lot of his efforts and thoughts of how to approach that situation, it felt like regardless of what he'd done to ensure them, now they were gone and Elias could relish in at least the smallest victory of knowing Jonathan's plans were now inherently fooled.

  And now what? What was he supposed to say when, if   Tim opened the door? Jon never expected that conversation to go smoothly, but now he'd just made a fool of himself and would make an even bigger fool if he dared show up like that. But he didn't have much of a choice, did he? It was either go to Tim's flat and see if he was safe, in the worst case scenario — that had started to become slightly better every inconvenience that passed — Tim would just be dead and Jonathan would have to report in for his body and whatever freaky accident happened to it, as he supposed the police would label it. Or he would go home, get a change of clothes, and perhaps just wait the passage of time there, hoping the time spent absent would be enough to fool Elias, but he doubted that would work when the man had eyes in every corner.

  It wouldn't. His mind provided.

  “Thanks Elias,” he found himself saying. A defeated sigh pushing its way out of his lips rebelliously. He could almost hear the pompous chuckle that followed.

  Still, it was something of a comfort to remember the statements were, at the end of the day, a last minute plan he'd conjured, and that they were haphazardly bundled together, barely complete tales that he would not have picked for their contents should he had the time and opportunity to do so. He just had to check in on Tim, anything other than that was just an add-on, his priority was to check if Tim was still alive . And that was all he needed to focus on, not the disastrous journey that led him to his flat, or the state he would be in once he arrived, if anything Tim may even be thankful that someone came to check in on him.

  …No.

  No he would not be, not if it was Jonathan who came for him. What made him think, even for a moment, that Tim would be glad to see him? Perhaps some childish hope of his, naivety that mirrored his past self… Nostalgia wasn’t the word for this, but perhaps longing would be. Too bad Jonathan wouldn’t dare call it that.

  He did miss Tim, hell, he missed everyone in that office and the way they’d interacted before. Yet he didn’t feel like he should get too close to them, not anymore, not now that he was turning into what so many people called The Archivist or whatever other cursed thing The Beholding wants him to be in the future. He knew that his presence alone irked the others and he was okay with keeping his distance, they did the same to varying degrees. But now that sliver of interaction between them that had been kind, something to look forward to in the day, was completely gone.

  Bickering with Melanie was deeply personal, although Basira didn’t want to show it, she did not appreciate his presence as much as she had a few months ago, scurrying off for some excuse to do something else, or diverting her attention to her books until Jon gave up. Tim was a mess of his own and now even Martin didn’t meet his eyes. He deeply misses the mug of tea that waited for him at his desk when he got back from lunch breaks.

  Jon would spend more time reminiscing if he didn’t see a sign a little too unfamiliar pass by. shit.

  He missed his stop. This time he was certain that infuriating little laugh echoed in his head.

  One, longer than it should be walk later and Jon found himself going up the stairs where he knew his friend lived. He could have changed addresses in the last few months, but something told Jonathan that was not the case, one little victory he almost expected to be undermined once he found his friend scorched into a bunch of ashes or trapped in a box too tight for a person.

  He stared long minutes once he got to the door he was aiming for, half expecting to get caught by the man before he could even knock. But he did, he gathered the courage necessary and waited after his knuckles had connected to the hard black wood of the door.

  There was silence. Painful, empty silence, not even the sound of movement from the inside.

  He tried again, and again, and again, each time his knocks grew more desperate as the images of whatever could’ve happened to Tim flooded his mind violently. Why wasn’t he answering? Jonathan couldn’t even hear him from the other side, no sound of a TV on or footsteps getting closer or farther away from the door. Jonathan was not above shouting his name to get his attention, but he did want to prolong that moment where Tim didn’t know he was on the other side of the door, if anything his screaming may get Tim to ignore him more.

  He was growing hopeless, thinking about what he could possibly do to get to Tim and the answer was clear, taunting him with the shine of the wooden doorknob. He breathed in deeply and let go in the same fashion. One more inhale and he closed his fist around the knob, but before he could apply the strength it required to flip, he felt the door move inwards on its own. Jon, who still had his hand wrapped around it, was pulled forward with the animosity the door swung open, to reveal the exact man he was looking for wearing an expression of displeasure that deepened even further once he took in Jon’s form, looking up pitifully, like a deer caught in headlights.

  Well, at least Tim was alive, but Jon? Maybe not for long judging by the look he was receiving.

  “What do you want ?” Tim said, measured and rough. Jon was immediately hit with the whiff of alcohol that accompanied Tim whole. Was it not three in the afternoon? Had he truly been drinking this early? Or had he just never stopped since the night before?

  “Have you been drinking?” Came out faster than Jon could think it through and he immediately regretted it as the other’s unfocused eyes sharpened on him, first unhappy but now thoroughly irate. At this rate Jonathan would have a full burial site before this conversation was done.

  “You better tell me you didn’t come here to check ‘if I was drinking or not’ , Jon,” He threatened, furthering his act by closing the door just a little, making Jon notice how he was still clenching the handle as he shook with the movement, letting go of it to instead hold at the wooden frame. Tim could very much close the door on his fingers like this and Jon would honestly have it coming for him.

  “No! No I’m– I didn’t come here for that, I-I-I just–” He scrambled for an answer as soon as he could think again. Tim looked… A mess would simply not be enough to describe the man Jonathan was seeing now. “I just wanted to see if you were safe… You haven’t shown up to work in a while,” He was able to school his voice into something that sounded less like a wreck, but it didn’t make him feel any more confident as Tim scoffed, turning his gaze elsewhere as though the conversation had ended.

  “Well, there you go then.” And he turned to close the door.

  Jonathan didn’t let him.

  “Timothy, please. ”

  There was silence for a moment, while Tim was still facing away from Jon, his expression grew into a pained scowl before he ultimately let go of the door, but ventured deeper into his flat. An invitation, that was an invitation.

  Jon couldn’t have taken it faster.

  In a moment he was inside, still awkwardly managing himself as water did, in fact, still drip from his person. He didn’t feel wanted there, but making the place wet as well would only further that feeling in both of their minds, so he avoided touching anything.

  Yet the sudden realisation of where he was filled him with the most honest sense of dread and sadness, the longing for older times stronger than it’d ever been, melancholy he could not describe. This wasn’t the man he knew, this wasn’t Tim.

  He’d been to his flat before, and as utterly unremarkable as it was, it was still clean and tidy, things Jon could not say about the place he was in now. A part of him didn’t want to touch anything for the aversion to germs most places seemed to be sporting, he almost wondered if Tim was growing victim of whatever monster reigned over disease and bugs from the statements he’d read in the past.

  He felt horrible seeing this place, seeing the man he grew familiar with a true shell to himself, an angry, explosive shell that crumbled into itself whenever Timothy dared to snap. He just snapped into himself, his foundations going under.

  And he looked the extent of that disaster; his clothes were stained and old, most likely from the alcohol he had been drinking for god knows how long. His hair was tousled and unstyled, much unlike Tim who would quickly protest if someone did as much as brush their hands over it. His face had that permanent scowl as if the intoxication did nothing to make him forget, whether it was the situation with the institute, the wild-goose chase that was the research into the unknowing, or something else entirely that Jon would, should not be privy to.

  This was not Timothy Stoker, Jon did not believe for a second that he was.

  He moved to open his mouth, say anything that showed his worry, but Tim beat him to it.

  “One word about… All of this, and I’m kicking you out,” No comments about his worry then.

  Jon shut up again, trying to come up with another opening that could score him a conversation with Tim. The man did lean against the wall leading back towards his room, clearly expecting something Jon struggled to come up with.

  “That’s… That’s fine. I just needed to know if you were okay…” And he did. What else was there to say? Truth be told, he already got what he wanted and he had no business to be in Tim’s living room at all, he had no excuse as to why he asked to come in to begin with.

  He shifted awkwardly, trying to make the puddle that formed underneath him less apparent, or at least trying to shift so it wouldn’t become larger, but that was having the very opposite effect. He only stopped — very abruptly, as though he’d heard a gunshot — when the sound of soft laughter echoed in the flat. Jon could hardly believe what he had just heard.

  “Good lord, what happened to you?” Tim said between mean spirited chuckles as he finally took in Jonathan’s form; sopping, hair more undone than usual, the office clothes he insisted on putting despite not fitting him anymore now draping heavily from his thin body, he didn’t even have a bag with him, carrying just the massive weight of the humiliation he felt.

  Still, the sound of Tim’s voice like this was something he’d grown to miss dearly, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard the man so happy about something. He did thank the alcohol, but a part of himself also thanked the disastrous day he was having for it seemed to entertain the other.

  “What hasn’t ?” He said with a chuckle of his own, still feeling out of place. Rather than it being a lighthearted conversation between two friends, it felt much more like he was the laughing stock of a stranger. It was, however, a price he was very willing to pay if it meant to see Tim’s carefree smile like this again.

  His own happiness however was cut short when he saw Timothy retreat back into his room. He did not take this as an invitation, something said to him that it wasn’t one, context clues or just his patron saving him from a disastrous social interaction he would be thinking of for days. He just waited, leaning over the hall to try futilely to see what Tim was doing. Should he leave? Were they done here? He probably should, he got what he wanted and the interaction wasn’t even as bad as he’d imagined…

  It was when he turned his back to the hall where he was hit, something soft, and not at all heavy hitting him full force. If his body wasn’t being grounded by the weight of wet clothes he could possibly have stumbled forward, but as it stood he merely looked back with a look of mixed anger and confusion, before looking down at the thing that had hit him. A towel…?

  “Go take a shower, whatever you wanna say can wait,” He nodded towards the bathroom. Jon knew where it was.

  “I don’t… Have any change of clothes on me,” He said as if it wasn’t obvious.

  “Yeah you do, now go,” Tim said firmly, going past him with a small intentionless push to sit down on the couch, Jon finally noticed the array of bottles on the ground and one that Tim grabbed for himself.

  What he said made no sense, but Jon did not have it in him to question lest he threatened to anger Tim with a question too stupid, he just entered the bathroom, in the worst case scenario he could just try his luck with snatching some of Tim’s own clothes out of his room, even if that meant he would get kicked right out, maybe even hit for it.

  What a silly thought… He found himself saying, because in actuality it was. Jon didn’t see that thought fitting him, nor the moment. For once it wasn’t like Elias had put it in his head, but he simply found himself being willingly uncharacteristic. He would never dare to steal from Tim, much less go into his house without his permission after the… stunts regarding his house he’d pulled a few months ago. Still, he found himself entertaining frankly childish thoughts so warmly.

  Perhaps it was the fact that he was in Tim’s flat again, the memories of what they had flooding into his mind more than he thought they would.

  Doesn’t matter, didn’t matter. He should just be focusing on the actual shower that Tim let him take, lest he took too long and Tim changed his mind, thinking he did in fact use the opportunity to snoop into his room.

  Above the sink, Jon did notice, were a bundle of clothes, folded as neatly as a drunk person could. He did blink suspiciously at it, there was no way Tim was lending Jon his clothes, right? He certainly hadn’t, these didn’t even look like something Jon would wear, but then…?

  He took the shirt in hand and unfolded it, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight of his own shirt, one he thought he’d lost ages ago. It was clean, almost weirdly so considering he’d lost it nearly years ago. The other pieces were in similar states, granted he doesn’t believe those pants to be his, at least neither of them would have to go through the awkwardness of Jon forgetting underwear at Tim’s house, or worse, have the man steal it somewhy.

  He sighed and put it down, his head was starting to hurt with how much reminiscing and thinking he was doing just today. He missed his work, even if he didn’t want to say so. Being able to just drown these problems under the guise of productivity felt nicer than to personally shove them down and pretend they did not exist.

  When he left the bathroom, that warmth was gone, his body cooling down to the frigid air of the apartment while Jonathan himself felt that metaphorical warmth vanish from his being as he stepped foot into the living room again. Timothy was there, drinking, but not holding to the same air of cheeriness that he had before. He looked troubled, he was, of course he was. Jon could see that Tim’s mind ate at him when he was alone and bored, just like it did Jonathan.

  Jon sat down on the armchair opposite to Tim, a shy ‘Hi’ escaping his lips as the other hadn’t reacted to his presence until now. He received a nod in return as Timothy eyed the bottle he had in hand tentatively. So it was on Jon to break the ice, he could do that… Maybe.

  Truth be told, he found nothing to say to Tim still, nothing but bring up that wretched tape that Elias had gifted him in their last workday together. It could be an ice breaker, sure, but it equated itself to a sledgehammer rather than an ice pick if you were to ask Jon.

  “Why haven’t you gone back?” He finally said, at least trying to ease into the conversation about the tape that would certainly come.

  “Can’t sleep,” Tim replied without fanfare, downing another sip of his halfway done bottle. At the very least, Timothy no longer had that scowl on his face that signified he was seconds away from kicking Jon out, or kicking his ass.

  Jon inhaled, looking for any courage he could encounter as if the air would grant him just that.

  “Was it what you heard?– in the tape I mean, what you heard in the tape,” He watched as Tim’s face contorted back to that pained expression, as though he’d been hit or hurt with those words alone, a stab to his brain. Tim’s look quickly shifted however, to that of confusion, disbelief as he stared at Jon as if the man had something to say, or should know something he most certainly did not.

  “What do you mean what I heard in the tape?” don’t you know what’s in there? left unsaid, but clear.

  “I… I had a lot of unmarked tapes… Gertrude’s too,” Tim already knew about most of his tapes’ existence anyway, lying about it would be useless. Hell, he even knew about the ones that were classified police documents that he very much should not have in his possession.

  There was a moment where Tim shook his head, the grip he had on the bottle tightening even though he did not drink from it any longer, he looked like he was holding himself from actually swinging it at Jon. His other hand brushed through his hair, pulling a little, maybe grounding himself while messing it further.

  He was debating, clearly suffering with whatever he’d heard. Jon didn’t want to keep watching his struggle, but what else could he do? Wait– he could… ask him, could he not? Tim wouldn’t like it at first, may even truly kick him out.  But that guy– Mike Crew! he’d felt better after he spoke to Jon, had he not? Maybe Tim would feel the same if Jon tried it on him… There was a lot to lose with this gambit, but Jon knew they wouldn’t be getting much of anything in the way of a conversation if this was how Tim felt about his every word, writhing in pain about something Jon didn’t understand, couldn’t understand if Tim didn’t tell him.

  “Tim…” He leaned forward in the armchair, just close enough to rest his hand over Tim’s. “What was in the tape?”

  He watched Tim’s eyes widen, his own Compulsion hitting the man at the same time his incredulity and betrayal did, yet it was too late for any struggle as Jon’s influence wracked his brain, scratched at his throat and choked an answer out of him. It came pained, barely above a cracked sound that Jon couldn’t make out. Despite that, it seemed like his influence was dispelled, Jon didn’t believe the Archivist would be sated with a response he could not hear, but perhaps this was a sign that his developing powers still weren’t perfected, flawed in the way it left for loopholes, but he knew it wouldn’t be the case for long.

  Regardless, it gave Tim the opportunity to rise from his seat, his hand swatting away Jonathan’s before it gripped his wrist harshly and brought him close, sheer ire in his eyes.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled as he twisted Jonathan’s captive arm, making him yelp in pain, just a little more and that arm would be broken, although it would be what Jon had coming for him. “How dare you?!” He ditched the arm to gain purchase of Jon’s shirt collar, creating a small hope for an escape that died just as quickly.

  Up close did Jon see the tears welling in Timothy’s eyes, guilt striking down any makeshift, insincere excuse he’d tried to come up with.

  “I’m sorry,” He said meekly, barely audible over their struggle. “I thought it would help– Tim I-I-I’m sorry–”  His voice began to raise the more he fought the arm that held him, his eyes wondering where that bottle had gone, in case it could be used as a weapon against him.

  After a moment of decision making, Tim opted to throw him onto the couch instead, taking a few sturdy steps away from Jon that felt like they shook the entire flat. There was confusion and disdain in his face, but something prevented him from acting on it, whatever it was Jonathan could not pinpoint. For all he knew he should be beaten bloody by now, maybe for much less than this, much earlier.

  They said nothing to one another for a long moment, Tim’s face waving through various emotions all at once, probably still trying to decide what he was going to do with Jon, until he just… Didn’t. He shook in his stance for a little until he ultimately sighed his frustration away, lowering his hands that had locked in his hair while he tried to work through all the feelings that flooded into him at once.

  His eyes were tired, nearly empty as he looked at Jon again. He stared back in shock, fear like that of a prey animal, fight or flight or freeze deciding to stone him into his place on the couch until Tim took his next course of action. Which was to leave.

  He ventured back into his room and didn’t come back for a while. If Jonathan was thinking straight, or at least thinking anyhow, he would have left, for all he knew he should have left. But he did not. He only sat up from the uncomfortable position he was thrown, and waited. Hands to his lap, head hanging low, he almost didn’t dare to breathe as he waited for Tim to come back.

  The wait felt interminable, but at last Tim was back, in his hands a cassette and its player that he threw with unexpected care towards Jonathan. It landed on his lap after a small moment of fumbling with his hands.

  “I can’t sleep,” Tim repeated as Jonathan watched the tape be played on its own, he was sure neither he or Tim had pressed any button, but it did not come as a surprise when the little thing roared into life, keen to be seen, keen to be known.

Hello?

Show yourself!

I see you!

.

.

.

I see you.

  It clicked itself off once those words rang across the small flat, echoing against the walls, making everything so painfully loud, making her screams so much louder.

  Jon was glad the player’s sentience decided to shut itself down, for he could not have done so even if he tried, his hands useless, trembling against each other as he held interlaced knuckles until they turned white. His head hung low still, but the small sound of sobs forced him to look back up through his disheveled hair. Tim was crying again.

  “I can’t sleep, Jon,” His speech was broken and long as he tried to breathe in between. There was animosity in the way he moved and the way he cried, hatred not yet honed to target anyone in specific, but Jon would be foolish to believe he was not one of the names Tim cursed in the last few days. Tormented, those days must’ve been.

  Jonathan sat in silence this time, even his mind felt quiet while it ran at top-speeds to provide him with something to do, a familiar white noise inside of his head he’d come to associate with the anxiety that fear brought. He was panicking and yet he felt so still, his heart beating briskly while he felt like he hadn’t breathed in hours. He said nothing, he had said enough.

  Tim didn’t seem to notice when Jon stood up, or at least did not care, maybe hoped it was so that Jonathan would leave.

  He moved quietly through the rooms, the familiar sense of practice came from the years spent with his grandmother, when he’d managed to anger her enough that he feared the mere sound of his footsteps would set off another tirade or another yell. It was at times like this that he was glad he had always been lightweight, perhaps under weight nowadays.

  This place hadn’t changed. Had gotten dirty, that’s for sure, but everything was still where it should have been, meaning Jonathan’s clumsy attempts to reach inside the upper cabinets at least paid off as he found what he was looking for, a pair of shot glasses he knew Tim kept up there. It was relieving to realise he needed not the help of the beholding to know, he just did, those agreeable nights where it were only the two of them drinking their weekend away with some unnecessary excuse that Sasha or some no-name would arrive later. Only to end up a mess of limbs only barely hanging off the sofa, not even strong enough to yell at each other for it as talking would make the hungover known in the form of a horrible migraine.

  He would have taken normal cups if he had found clean ones, but these would do. He was rather afraid Tim would just disappear between the time he got up and the time he came back. He did however take a quick peek at Tim’s fridge and noted two things; the first was that it was painfully empty, not fully, but very very empty. And second was that he still had a bottle or two left there of whatever cheap alcohol he’d decided to stock on during his isolation, and Jon took hold of one before he left to join the other at the living room. The crying had not ceased, but it had mellowed somewhat. He sighed a sigh he didn’t know he had and sat down across the other. They had switched places.

  Wordlessly he placed the cups and the liquid inside them, his mouth shut and yet trembling as if he feared any slip on his control would drag another question tumbling out of his lips and into the Archivist’s. The only form of conversation that was shared between the two was the slight tilt of their glasses, but they could ignore that lack by drinking their night away, like they used to do.

  It was at times like this Jonathan relished Tim’s company the most. It came as a surprise to both of them when Jon had become more talkative upon assuming his position, nowadays that change felt predatory of their patron, but at the time it was merely a development, perhaps in the right direction had he not driven over that curb. You see, Jon was not talkative before, he would even consider himself the very opposite if you asked him, or anyone that had tried to hold a conversation while he worked at the Research department.

  Jon avoided talking to the best of his abilities lest it was absolutely necessary, one or two words were all he needed most of the time. Dropping off papers, requesting more time and similar things needed not the pleasantries of small talk about someone’s day he didn’t truly care about. And he was happy like that, he didn’t need to connect to people in his place of work, he didn’t want to, and Elias didn’t seem to see anything wrong with the way he conducted himself. So all was well, should anyone want to label him rude they could very well do it, he would not know, he would not care.

  That changed when Sasha came by, Jon didn’t know if she’d been a researcher there before or maybe worked at another department, he didn’t stop to notice people around anyway, and he knew he’d not talked to her before, but she acted like she had talked to him. She was well versed in her job, maybe that was what made him overlook her stubborn friendliness when she came by his desk, left him a treat from the coffee shop or paused for small talk that he answered like he did everything. Still she… didn’t stop and it suddenly became awkward to just sit there and try to tune her out, he found himself answering and sometimes even enjoying that company. It felt just as alien when he found himself grabbing coffee with her before work, and then some more.

  It had been a year or two since he’d joined the Magnus Institute and yet she was the first friend he’d made and he simply did not understand why. She’d said many times she found him cute, or found him something of a challenge and wanted to see if she could get through to him, but his short answers should’ve extinguished her interest, no? Apparently they didn’t, apparently they just stirred her further, made her believe he was ‘even cuter’ and that ‘Then it wasn’t a challenge” That now she just ‘actually liked him and wanted to talk more’ . He couldn’t say he understood, but he appreciated it nonetheless, it was suddenly nice not to be alone. Suddenly, he didn’t want to be alone.

  And after some time there was Tim. Sasha had befriended him the same way she’d done Jon, perhaps that was the way she made friends? Jon couldn’t say he’d ever put the effort to know how people did it so often, much less in the office . Still it worked much quicker than it did for him, Tim was an extrovert and actually one of the few people Jonathan had taken notice of, maybe because he was loud, Jonathan would not admit it was because he was hot.

  He still cringes when he looks back — Maybe he should stop doing that, since that life he’d lived was completely outdated anyway, he felt like everything was foolish and stupid —, how he’d acted like a bloody teenager with a silly crush, and how Sasha treated him as such.

  Jon didn’t even remember the last time he thought someone was hot , he didn’t really care. He saw enough people come and go and barely looked them in the face to know how he felt about them, but Tim was attractive all over and that made him stand out like a sore thumb in an office job. Jon remembers thinking he shouldn’t be there, however harsh it may have sounded.

  It didn’t to Sasha, she had completely ignored all else to take notice of how Jon had, for once, minded another person. She made sure he knew how weird that was for him and in turn he found himself digging a hole for himself about that man. So when Sasha hooked both of them together in something of a meeting she did not show up to, he realised exactly how deep that hole had been.

  He knew he shouldn’t have accepted, he knew it. He barely ever let Sasha talk him into going out, the best they’d done was lunch break and some coffee shop meetup before, it was just dumb of him to have accepted going out with her for drinks, even more so when he looked back at how insistent she’d been, something else motivating her.

  But he did go, and that night he was stuck with Tim for quite the awkward ‘date’ As she’d called it later.

  But it came as a surprise when Jon found himself entertaining Tim’s small talk much more than he’d been with Sasha. Maybe it was because he was growing used to it, maybe it was because he was stuck there with him for the rest of the night, or maybe it was because Tim was hot, who knows? Jon surely didn’t want to think about it much at the time. He was just glad something, as awkward as it was, was flowing between them.

  They hit off better than Jon could have imagined, it just… Worked. Where Sasha had been something of an adjacent personality to his; extroverted but still academic, Tim was a total opposite. Diametrically opposed to Jon’s, his personality was loud and outgoing, he was much less of an academic than both of them but he was not stupid, he just didn’t know where he’d gotten himself, a drastic change of career from publishing. Jon was happy to show him the ropes.

  And he did, to Sasha’s — very overplayed — surprise, the next day she’d found both of them talking, Jon going over what Tim was expected to do in his researcher position and what resources they had. Tim had learned that day that the institute didn’t quite care where or how he got his information as long as it cracked a case or finally closed it for good, and the shadier the better, after all Elias would not have to fund it that way. He certainly took his liberties with his investigations from that day on.

  And so for a while it was only the three of them, with Jon being the most comfortable in their company, surprisingly so. They were talkative, yes, but that served to keep themselves occupied when Jon found himself shutting down, from lack of sleep or from mere headache. They were understanding, kind about that fact and after a while they had developed into a neat little system that didn’t need Jon to be talking for them to understand what he wanted. He still did talk, but it was comfortable to know he didn’t have to.

  It felt like Tim understood him the most though, Sasha did, but every once in a while she would still try to coax him to talk. Tim didn’t, looked rather fond of the way they communicated when he didn’t want to in fact; he would fetch Jon a coffee or the files he needed, he was also surprisingly attentive and knew when Jon’s migraines were about to strike him bad by the way he was acted during the day. It was… Nice.

  That had gone warped somehow. Jonathan remembers how he didn’t change right before Prentiss, in fact he was more caring than ever. He would bring Jon his coffee with the same level of routine Martin would with his tea. He looked over his shoulder at how sleep deprived he was and was the only one who could rip Jon away from his office. Drinks needed or not, Jon knew the bed he would be sleeping those nights would not be his, and he was okay with that, it took him off of everything else and he was sure it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  It didn’t change after Prentiss, not right away, but they’d grown predictably distant. Tim still tried to pry him away from his desk, but now all he earned were distrustful looks and fearful swattings of Jon’s hand had he been too sudden. It didn’t help that the silence Jon basked in most likely felt like a threat. He remembers trying to listen in on their conversations across the room or right in front of him, he remembers looking over his shoulders a little too often and earning many defeated stares and long sighs back. Nowadays he wonders how that may have looked like and how utterly unsubtle and stupid he must’ve been in the eyes of his coworkers.

  Tim respected his silence, although it did not come with the same warmth it had before. Tea and coffee stopped quickly after, they’d caught on to those hints on Jon’s behaviour quickly, he wouldn’t be surprised if it had been Tim who demanded Martin stop delivering him tea, the same one Jon had thought to be poisoned…

  And now, Jon was sure Tim preferred when he didn’t speak, any thoughts of care towards Jon forgotten and buried deep down, he’d done the same himself once he’d taken in the change of his demeanor. It felt lonely again, back to stake zero he supposed; no friends and frowned upon by his whole office.

  “You know what’s funny?” Tim said and Jon’s eyes widened, surprised to hear his voice again as he’d convinced himself they’d stay like this for the whole night, he wouldn’t have minded. “Whenever I dream– Of her, whenever I dream of her I don’t… I don’t even see her face,” His voice was hoarse and cracked still, but he was more defeated than anything else, seemingly venting not for Jon to listen, but to get the thought out of his head after so many days agonising over it. “I don’t see anything. I don’t know what she looked like.

  “When I dream I don’t see anything, but I know it's her. I can… I can hear her voice. What I heard on the tape anyway.” He looked up, the responsibility was now on Jon to talk.

  “Are you–” He cut himself quickly, gulping down the question and the compulsion forming in his throat. “And you dream of what happened to her,” He said in a smaller voice, hoping that even if that counted as a question it would not reach Tim like the Archivist craved, it did have something to do with dreams, or so he’d heard around the archives a few times.

  “Yeah… I do,” He gave Jon the slightest of nods, proving that his compulsion hadn’t jumped into the opportunity of earning a new statement from a vulnerable soul. “Every night, it’s the same dream, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes I don’t even go to sleep… I just don’t want to see her there, I guess,” He said with a sigh, downing his glass shortly after.

  “I’m sorry…” There was something unspoken between the two. Where had that tape been stashed this whole time? Jon was sure that the fact Elias was the one giving it to Tim was plausible deniability that he did not hold the tape in his possession. But he did, for a while he did. He’d seen and known Tim’s pain over the realisation that Sasha had never been there in the first place and he’d kept the tape to himself, kept that they even existed to begin with. His apology was for much more, but it felt powerless, misplaced in face of what it answered to.

  And then there was silence. Jon knew he would have to leave eventually, but the darkening sky brought forth more familiarity than he had expected, and ‘quickly’ after they’d started to drink, it was pitch black outside, only the moon that braved through the clouds doing anything to break the gloom of the night.

  He was drunk, but at some point, at some hour he’d stood up and moved away, only to be called back in a mess of words he failed to register were blurry because of his own intoxication or that of his partner. The next interaction too was confusing, he didn’t know what he’d said that had appeased the man so much, or if he had said anything to begin with, but he found himself moving back to the couch and leaning back, his shoes clanking against the now empty bottle and its replacement.

  It was fuzzy when he realised he was tired and it was heavy when he closed his eyes. He had no intention of staying, he never did, but the reminiscence, the exhaustion and the grieving had all caught him at once, and they all requested, demanded that he lay still, even if just for a moment. He was okay with that. Tim was okay with that.

  Tim didn’t know at what hour his drinking had ceased —merely because of the lack of liquor left —  or when he’d moved himself to bed, but he had at some point because by the time he woke up, he found himself in a cold sweat, the alcohol hadn’t vanished entirely out of his system but the headache that was promised had begun to show itself.

  Another reason as to why he drank was because he was able to mellow those dreams somehow. They came to him worse, blurrier than they would have been and by the time he woke up, often teary eyed and sweating, he could not remember a single second of it, only aware it was the same dream at all by the reaction his body decided to have.

  But now he was awake again, the alcohol still steering him, even if he didn’t want to get up.

  Had Jon even gone home?

  He felt equally relieved and dejected to see his own bed was empty. He must be gone.

  He sighed and stood up, even searching over everything that had happened that evening didn’t make him remember seeing Jon go home and checking never killed anyone anyway. Well, not that he remembered right now.

  His way was far from silent and his steps heavy and disoriented, it felt harder to put two and two together, the grogginess of just waking up mixing with intoxication and forming the best mix for someone to trip over their feet. He did not, luckily so, the neighbours downstairs already gave him dirty looks enough, and the ones sideways, and maybe the ones upstairs too.

  Finally in the living room his eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, but when they did, the shadowy lump of seemingly nothing began to take the shape of Jonathan, still fast asleep on his couch. He sat up straight and his arms were crossed, not exactly the way he slept over at his desk but still so Jon it was almost silly; robotical and stiff just like him.

  A fond smile spread across Timothy’s face before he could help it and he was back to moving on autopilot. He went back to his own room and snatched one of the blankets right out of his own bed, before coming back to the living room where the open windows invited in bugs and the cold air of the night. It must’ve been freezing, that mixed with Jon’s light clothes and his stance could not have been comfortable, Tim gathered.

  When he was back however, was when he noticed just how impossible this scenario was. He shouldn’t be doing all of this, he shouldn’t be doing any of this. Had he been in his right mind and he would have kicked Jon out the moment he saw the moon outside. But he didn’t, did he? He wasn’t in his right mind, he hadn’t been for ages and now all that longing seemed to have caught up to him, not in the romantic, maybe even heated way he’d expected, but in the most fitting way for them; one-sided and unseen, an opportunity given to him that Jon would not see, despite the hand he was dealt.

  Tim… Cared, he really did. And he couldn’t deny it any further with how soft the fabric felt under his hands, or how his eyes darted over Jon’s frowning face even in his sleep and took in every detail. That was just the perpetual way his face rested, but oh how peaceful it looked, unbothered, lacking those small details that would make that frown one of worry or utter paranoia in the days back, just… Just how Jon used to be.

  Hm, how would Jon even react to this, could he see it? He knew how Jon would react, how he would react with something of a halfhearted stutter before breaking in a sheepish smile upon being caught with such missing decorum, then he would take the blanket and perhaps Tim would extend the invitation that he lay in his bed that night, no other intentions at play, merely hoping Jon would have a good night’s sleep with no worms in his dreams.

  But he also knew that thing would hate it. That upon being touched his eyes would shoot up with insult and an underlying fear that would have Timothy angrily rolling his eyes. That he would refuse, perhaps even swat away Tim’s hand and offending blanket before he dashed right out the door and into the night, making Tim suddenly wish something bad happened to him on his way back. He wasn’t all that nice of a person, he could admit that after he’d seen the way his boss didn’t care when he was trying to be nice and took that for a manipulation tactic, or whatever his brain was working overtime and with no sleep to provide him.

  So, how does the Archivist react to an act of kindness? An act built upon the strained bond that should’ve grown stronger with the shared misery they partook. How would the man that laid in front of him react to a familiar care grown alien in his eyes? Would he even react at all? Or would it be that which took his body for its beloved shell? Should he open his eyes, would they be brown or would they be green?

  Tim realised at that moment he did not know. He did not know what Jon would do if he saw him right now, he doesn’t even know if he would react. Timothy did not know if what sat on his couch was Jonathan, or the Archivist Elias so dearly spoke to. Timothy did not know Jonathan.

  He was not close enough to lay the other down, but he was affectionate enough to let the blanket cover as much as he could of the other, his sleep surprisingly heavy both because of his predictable exhaustion and the liquor. He didn’t even stir when Tim wrapped that piece around him so that the cold could not further hurt his already fragile body.

  He’d returned to his room afterwards, whatever he really wanted to do or get for himself forgotten as he laid back in bed and drifted off to sleep somewhat lighter. Happier, he suddenly felt happier.

  Timothy didn’t think he knew many things nowadays, he felt overshadowed, so many steps behind those that fed from actual knowledge. At times even his own self came into question, his thoughts, his feelings were something he’d started to doubt, but for once… He knew that what he felt was happiness, a longing suddenly acted upon, even if it was just for himself to see.

  The next morning came with many surprises, the first being the fact that for once… He felt like he hadn’t dreamt at all. Not that he dreamt of Sasha or that he dreamt of some other horror, but for once he felt like he hadn’t dreamt at all , It was like his dreams were eaten by something else, leaving him blank and unbothered for a single merciful night.

  He groaned when he sat up, wondering what hour it could be when he had no clock around his bed, with his uncharged phone being the only way to figure at what time he’d woken up. All he knew was that the sun was bright outside, he hoped it was bright enough to warrant another day out of the office though.

  He’d have to come back soon enough though, he was, in the end, getting weaker by the day, whatever bound him there making sure to exert such strangling pressure that made him struggle to even stand. Still he did, finding the noise nearby unusual, louder for it to be a neighbour, too quiet for it to be a robber. Then he remembered the ‘unwanted’ guest he’d housed the night before, heart heavy albeit warm.

  When he stepped out of the room there was another surprise waiting for him, the flat was… surprisingly clean. The bottles were gone and so were takeout boxes, everything had been tidied over to the best of one’s ability to clean without waking someone sleeping only a few walls over, however heavy their sleep may be. The kitchen sported the same deal of shock on Tim, but there he also saw Jon, oddly comfortable as he made himself breakfast in Timothy’s kitchen.

  He froze when he realised he wasn’t alone anymore, something like the startle of being caught in the act while also the bashfulness Tim only remembered from Jon when he was caught being affectionate. It was starting to get quite annoying to have these memories coming back to him by now, it felt uncharacteristic, almost. Maybe some time away from the institute was reverting him back to how he was before and how he used to think about Jon. Bullshit, as much as he’d like that, he knew there was no turning back, there was just this uncalled deal of reminiscence that would not leave him alone.

  “Hi,” Jon spoke him out of that tangent, his voice small.

  “Morning,” Tim grumbled back, not out of spite but from the way his whole body protested the idea of talking or walking or hearing someone else’s voice. Jon seemed to catch on that and anything else he had to say died in his throat, instead he just extended the plate he’d been making to Timothy, whose eyes widened in surprise before he raised an eyebrow at Jon. He didn’t think that the treat could kill him like Jonathan would, but he didn’t see what could’ve prompted the other to prepare that.

  Now that he thought about it further, he didn’t even have those ingredients he saw on the plate anywhere in his kitchen. He frowned as he took the offering, confusion only festering further on his face and manifesting in the way his brows twisted closer.

  “I haven’t seen you eat since I got here, and I got here pretty early yesterday…” Jon trailed off into an explanation that Tim honestly did not have in him to understand, he just… Couldn’t believe any of this was happening; maybe now was the time everything melted away and he was brought back to that artefact storage? He almost hoped it was so he wouldn’t feel so out of his element and with something so incredibly forgotten facing him.

  But nothing happened, even as Jon finished explaining step by step what he’d done in his house and where these groceries had come from, Tim just didn’t have it in him to even process what was happening, and why it was.

  “I… Thank you…?” He opted out, noticing how that should’ve been more than enough to bright Jon up as the smile that followed pierced right through to him. It was just like he’d seen before, so few times, where Jon had been proud of the way he’d shown affection, and decided that had been a feat he could let reach over his head. Another wave of realisation and utmost grief struck Tim’s heart at the same time that lost fondness had.

  So slowly and so hesitantly, he let himself smile back, not to the same extent, it was simply a tired smile, but it conveyed just enough back to Jon that he saw how it brightened the man even more, some tension leaving his shoulders.

  “What time is it?” Tim asked, moving back to the living room, aware Jon would follow, not even keen on making himself breakfast, if he hadn’t eaten already.

  “Nine-fifty” The other replied, not sitting anywhere but leaning over the arm of the couch so he could grab his phone that was charging, alongside Tim’s own, he noticed.

  “Guess we’re not going to work then.” He finally bit into the food Jon had made him. He found it rather funny when panic flashed over Jon’s face at the idea of missing another day of work, but that quickly subsided into a resigned expression.

  “I guess we’re not,” He said with a laugh. Then he fell silent, leaving Tim to fill the gap left behind by his short, somewhat worried laugh.

  “Do you want to go to work?” Tim asked between a mouthful and waited as Jon stopped to ponder the answer to that question. He looked… relaxed, more than he had in a long time. His eyes lingered on Tim’s form for a bit and from any other person he may have called it ‘checking him out’ or said that they were noticing his scars and trying to keep a straight face that hid the disgust they felt. Not Jon though, his face remained remarkably blank as his eyes went up and down, that background intention missing.

  “Do they still hurt?” He asked in the end, a sigh leaving his lips. He could relate to that tiredness and hesitance he could see in Jon’s face, after all this was not a topic he would choose to speak about by himself. He wasn’t sure why Jon had decided to bring it up but it seemed to be pressing into his mind for whatever reason.

  “Like metaphorically or…?” Tim had noticed now that his question lacked whatever they’d called Jon’s powers in the past, Compulsion? Regardless of what its name was, Tim could tell he was unaffected; there was no sign Jon’s patron saw him to begin with, no desire to spill his guts out or even the itch of something clawing its way up his throat from the inside. The Archivist wouldn’t allow for a misunderstanding either, ignorance was as relieving as it was damning it seemed.

  “No I mean– I guess? I was thinking if they actually hurt you to move, but I guess they can hurt other ways too.” It was just like Jon not to even consider the emotional nuance of things, of course he didn’t. Jon had been too deep into his white board conspiracies and his crazed rambles into his recorder to ever stop and actually feel hurt about the scars that littered his body. They weren’t as visible as Tim’s anyway.

  Now that he thinks about it, their scars were in many ways opposite to each other, were they not?

  When they stumbled upon Prentiss, her swarm tried to engulf them whole and Jon was at the face of that disaster when all of the worms switched their focus and came straight for them. But Tim didn’t leave him there, he grabbed Jon and did what he could while being completely surrounded by that mass of white bodies that turned black in the lack of light of the tunnels. He grabbed Jon and shielded him from the first wave that hit them, their bodies burrowing into his clothes and skin immediately with the agility he had only read about before. They took most of his back when they crawled above him and to Jon, who fared not much better from the worms coming from his side, but still anything was better than what Tim had going for him at that moment. 

  He was sure the damage would have been fatal if the fire alarm systems hadn’t gone off at the same time they’d seen the wave approach, something he had not even noticed at the time due to the sheer fear and worry for Jon that had filled him, a flight or fight reaction, he was just happy it hadn’t frozen him for once.

  The damage wasn’t fatal, in fact, he was miraculously intact save for the wear and tear of his skin, something he didn’t even believe was real until he checked his doctor's notes about him. But Jon’s? He had it worse when it came to pains and actual damage, somehow.

  His scars were smaller in number and surprisingly more uniform than Tim’s. Nowadays he isn’t certain if that orderly interest that the Hive had had on him was because of his position, or if the damage he had sustained was motivated by it either. Still the worms seemed to have burrowed much deeper into him, his nerves had sustained damage Tim could see bothering him to this day when he walked, albeit less. He had needed a cane for a while after, but that cane was forgotten the day the thing that called itself Sasha struck him.

  His scars were almost in a pattern, a spiralling pattern that climbed up his body up until his forehead, Tim assumed that covered his whole body in a similar fashion since he had often seen it under his open shirt or his neck while he worked, his arms also showed that pattern well with how the scars started at the back of his hands and up until they merged back in place. It felt Like a fitting scar for Mr. Paranoia himself , he always thought with a chuckle.

  Yet where Jon lacked that mental struggle relating to his scars, Tim had it tenfold; it began with the looks of it, they had healed in a few months, yes, but it was never enough to hide what had essentially disfigured his back and most of his limbs. His arms and legs were littered and he began to wear layers and layers of clothes even in the harshest summer days. There was always that apprehension in the back of his mind when he had to take those away, even in the safety of his own home. He didn’t have that many mirrors around anymore.

  And that also meant most of his bread-winning was gone as well. He didn’t land with as many people anymore, most put off once they got to know him closer and under those layers. Still there were some that did stay, but perhaps those were also the folks that affected him the most; some of them said his scars were ‘hot’ or that they added to his looks, but that felt nauseating every time he heard it. Hot was already disrespectful enough, but there was something to the idea that those scars were part of his being that hurt him the most about it. They made him wish he could just be skinned out of this defective flesh, anything not to have to look in the mirror and see the mark of the corruption of his being. 

  And as the months passed, these holes in his body grew to gain another meaning; they linked him to Jon, however he tried to run, that was the living proof that he was, in every way, linked to Jonathan for the rest of his life. He was the only other person there to see what struck against them in full, was the only other person to suffer with the aftermath of the attack, was the only other person sporting the same level of scars Jon had on his person. All of that to say that like it or not, he and Jon were probably closer to each other than ever, not to be confused with understanding each other, that was something Tim just didn’t believe possible anymore.

  “I want to go to work… I-I think,” Jon said ever so quietly and suddenly Tim realised he hadn’t actually given him any answer as to whether or not the scars hurt, even if that question was as dense as it was. Well, to work it is then.

  Except that when Tim tries to stand up he’s immediately reminded of one of the reasons he drank so much; he was weak and he wanted to hide that weakness by blaming it on the alcohol, something that just did him a disservice when he wasn’t under that influence and actively found himself suffering because of that sick eye god that had him on a leash.

  He tumbled forward and Jon was barely there to catch him, making some noise of worry as he very clearly struggled with Tim’s weight on top of him. It was cute though, he wished he had a reason to stay like that a little more.

  “I-I’m… I’m fine . Let me go and I’ll just get dressed, yeah?” It was more than just getting dressed of course, he needed to look at least presentable outside and under some good amount of clothing. But at some point he would be there with Jon, he just had to get it together for it.

  “Get dressed? What do you mean by that?” God, if Jon couldn’t make the dumbest questions sometimes… It was at least relieving to see there was no compulsion in his voice, he could control it it seemed, or at least his powers only manifested when he had a clear goal in mind… The more you know.

  “I’m taking you to work, probably gonna stay there while I’m at it.” He grumbled and finally stood up properly and without support, walking towards his room while minding little what noises Jon made in protest and confusion.

  “What? That’s not– I’m not asking you to take me there , I–” And whatever else he wanted to say was lost with Tim shutting the door for some privacy while he got ready. He knew Jon could very much run away now, but something did tell him he would not, that he would stay in that living room and wait.

  Now inside Tim let himself chuckle. He could hardly believe this attempt of Jon’s to take him back to the office had worked and that he felt… oddly at peace with it. Call it the exhaustion or call it the sight of Jonathan he had missed, things felt different for once, like if he ignored the worm scars or the slitting of Jon’s throat or the burn in his hand, everything was… how it was. How it should be.

  Maybe he could ignore it. Ignore whatever makes its presence known as it keeps watching over them and just… No, how foolish that sounded.