Chapter Text
It all started on a typical Saturday morning. Well, maybe not a typical one. Maybe it didn’t even start here. But it was still a Saturday morning, nonetheless.
What you need to know, is that normalcy stopped existing a long time ago—at least in the Magnus Institute that is.
On the weekends, the building was quiet. Closed to the public, the high ceilings felt both vast over the head of any passersby and oppressing in the nature, stretching above the now empty floor. Sunlight passed through the oculus above, highlighting the dust floating in the air and illuminating the empty front desk.
Tim didn’t stop there. The archives long abandoned a normal weekly schedule, but he hoped he’d still have the highest chances of avoiding other people today. The cop lady would be at home doing whatever it is that she does after hours, her rabid girlfriend probably out on some business for Elias. Jon, or whatever looks like him now, was always traveling somewhere since he came back from hiding. That left Melanie and Martin, but he hoped that his rotten luck would play nicely for once and he would have archives for himself.
Whenever he saw someone, he saw red. And today, he didn’t have any energy for that.
Why they came here everyday pretending it was normal, he didn’t know. Nothing was normal. And nothing will be. Not since... Not.
Tim exhaled heavily and opened the doors. A dark and heavy atmosphere greeted him. The faint smell of paper and dust hung in the air. At least he didn’t smell any mold, after they had taken care of all the worms and cleaned the place thoroughly. He absentmindedly flicked on the light. With a familiar buzz, the fluorescent lamps above came to life. Walking down the last couple of steps, the lone lightbulb in the corner stopped blinking and finally gave even lighting. The Archives felt stale today. They always gave him chills, but without anyone in the building they seemed even quieter. Even the AC lacked the usual hum. Well, he specifically chose to came here on a weekend.
He headed straight to the archive shelves, ignoring the empty desk to his left, and began searching. Even after all the work they put in, it was a mess. Finding anything specific was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Even knowing that, he wouldn’t stop. Why would he? He came to the institute to find the thing that killed his brother and find revenge , to find justice. There had been a time he thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a life for him. But it all ended.
It ended when that thing took Sasha. When she disappeared and he didn’t even know. It ended when Jon became the very thing they were trying to fight.
Tim punched the shelf nearby. loose paper falling from the top.
“Fuck.” he murmured under his breath. He slowly exhaled air and relaxed his fist, crumpling a statement from 2015. Another breath. Gently his muscles eases and he stretched his fingers.
Yeah, he was not doing great.
He got up and made his way to the breakroom, took the kettle to the sink, and turned on the faucet. Water filling it gradually.
That’s when he heard it. A creak. He paused for a moment. Swiftly, he turned off the stream. Yes. That was a door. Creaking.
He moved to set down the kettle when—loud crash made him lose the grip. Another loud bang of a heavy metal hitting the floor filled the small space. His blood started rushing to his head. Tim grabbed the fire extinguisher by the entrance and rushed toward the sound.
The yellow door stood there. Now closing on the other side of the archives.
Right in front of it, where the huge paper tower had once stood, the sheets fluttered down, twisting in the air unnaturally. In the middle, a figure was trying to make itself small next to Martin’s desk.
While Tim took in the scene before him, the door closed completely and managed to blend in with white walls. Tim carefully approached, trying to get a better look at the figure on the floor. Heart hammering.
The person was small, thin, curling in on itself, silently shaking, seeming to hyperventilate. Long dark hair looked wet and oily. And maybe the weirdest of all, it was stark naked.
Tim took few cautious steps toward the figure, brandishing the extinguisher like a shield. He stepped on a pen. It cracked under his foot. The sound echoed in the now once again quiet archives. Thefigure froze. The shaking stopped. Whole body tensed. Slowly, a head lifted. Eyes peeked through wet hair at him.
Tim froze, breath stuck at his throat.
“Jon?”