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Timothy Stoker had been an angry man.
He wasn’t always angry, in fact he used to be considered quite the opposite, many people would even call him a pleasure while they had known him.
But then he was trapped, but then he lost one of his closest friends, but then he was forced into serving some sort of evil purpose and everything came crashing down around him. No one trusted him, no one listened to him, no one even really seemed to care, not as much as he did anyways.
Tim didn’t want to hurt, he’d been hurting for years, he was tired of it.
So instead he was angry.
He was angry, and then he died. That’s all there should’ve been to it- he certainly was satisfied with the way he went out, hurting the thing that had hurt him so badly so many times.
But Timothy Stoker was an angry man, and that anger did not simply fizzle and die.
It grew, even. Even in his final moments, he felt it burning through him, and after that he felt a fire start inside him.
It was the fire that woke him up, that dragged his broken body from the rubble. That gave him a new purpose even after his life ended. That fire that sung through him as he felt monsters melt and burn in his hands.
The fire almost ate him, it wasn’t that it didn’t want to, he had struggled enough times with it to know better, but in the end, he didn’t let it.
Tim wasn’t going to pretend he was much better than the things he hunted and burned, but he wasn’t going to let the fragmented remains of his will go. He wasn’t going to let himself take his anger out on everything and anything, he wasn’t going to hurt innocent people just because they were unlucky enough to cross his path. That is how things like himself happened, after all.
It was difficult, but he remained, the fire and whatever he had now that accounted for a soul both pulsing under his skin, pushing him even now, even after he should very much be dead.
And perhaps because of this, anger was not the only thing Tim could still feel.
He isn’t sure how many times he’d come here. Too many, probably. It was too close to the institute for his liking, it was likely just paranoia, but he swore he could still feel the itching stare of the watcher.
Tim sat down in front of the stone marker. It wasn’t a proper grave- no body had ever been found after all. A fact that made him feel angry, that after everything, he couldn’t even know what her corpse looked like.
Tim didn’t say much, rarely did. He didn’t think Sasha could have any way to see him, to know what he was doing, or at least he hoped not. Sasha would either be ashamed of him, or be sad for him, and he didn’t like either of those.
He didn’t believe Sasha had any connection to the bit of stone, but visiting this place made him feel...Human. At least for a little while. He’d sit here for a few hours, reminiscing and drowning in his own self pity.
Sometimes his thoughts would drift to Martin. Poor Martin, probably still running circles around everyone with tea and cookies and hopeful eyes while those around him looked down on him.
Tim was too mean to Martin in those last few months, everyone was really, he felt bad about it, but Tim was selfish too. He wasn’t going to go say goodbye or apologize, even though he very well could. He’d just have to send Martin his love from afar.
So that’s what he does, he sends his best wishes and he doesn’t burn down the institute, no matter how much he wants to. Just for Martin, and maybe even a little bit for Jon, too.
Tim sighs, standing up and stretching his legs out. He gives the stone marker a loving pat, huffing out a little laugh when he sees how the grass burned where he’d been sitting. Then with a muttered apology he leaves, off to find the next monster he could melt with his rage.
Timothy Stoker was an angry man, but somehow he managed to not to just be an angry monster.