Chapter Text
Jon was a creature of habit. Every morning after he woke, he took a shower, drank a cup of coffee, toasted a bagel, and was out the door of his flat by 7 o’clock. He ate his bagel as he walked to the trolley, always finished by the time he had to endure being near other people. He never spoke to anyone and used the time to make sure he was completely awake and ready for work. When he was a researcher, he would make sure to refamiliarize himself with whatever case he would be working on that morning, but now, as the head archivist, he instead recalled where he left off in his recordings and tried to remember which cases he had assigned to each of his assistants.
His assistants. He liked that. He was initially concerned when Elias asked him to take the position, as he wasn’t entirely sure what it entailed, but reading statements aloud, organizing things, and delegating the hard work to subordinates was actually easier than he had thought the job was going to be. This was especially true with Tim helping him, who he had known for a couple of years in research, and Sasha, who he hadn’t known as well since she had worked in artefact storage, but was impressed by her competence. Martin was the newest of them, a last-minute addition by Elias who claimed that three assistants was traditional. This Martin had never worked in research, as he was from the library, and despite Sasha's comments to the contrary, he was obviously the least experienced of the four of them. That much was evident.
Jon had been Head Archivist for months now, and while he had been hoping to get comfortable in the position the longer he had it, the opposite was actually true. The institute had never been a friendly place, per se, and the subject matter was always disturbing; these were givens. But since he had started working in the archives he was often uneasy. He constantly felt as if he were being watched or judged, even though he had his own office and Elias rarely came to check on him, though it was always a surprise when he did. It put him slightly on edge and made him sit up straighter in his chair, which then gave him back pain, which then made him even tenser and grumpier. Really, it was a dreadful cycle, but how could he complain? The atmosphere was bad, not the work itself. Besides, it was still technically a promotion, and it came with a raise.
Of course, the truly troubling things were not about the job itself, but the unusual things he could discover during his work. He knew that most of the people who came in to give statements were liars or attention-seekers. Or at least, he earnestly hoped this was the case. Every time Sasha or Tim came back with some shred of solid proof that a supernatural phenomenon had occurred, Jon felt a year tick off his life. He thought his hair must turn visibly greyer every time Tim said, “Good news, Boss!” and threw a folder onto his desk, as it was never truly good news, but proof that someone really had seen some sort of unpleasant creature, or had witnessed someone die, or hadn’t imagined an unexplained power outage. To make matters worse, Martin had given his own statement recently, and Jon didn’t have the ability to call him a liar, as he had received the proof in the form of texts from a reportedly horrific woman associated with worms… Poor Martin was now staying in the institute, which meant Jon rarely did so anymore. Not that he preferred to sleep in that dreadful place, but he often worked late into the night and disliked traveling back home alone in the dark if he could help it. The threat of worms didn’t help his nerves, and Martin’s near frantic stockpiling of fire extinguishers when he thought Jon wasn’t looking was making him more and more nervous. There was likely to be a tipping point soon.
Jon was reminiscing about this and his experiences so far at the institute as he got ready for work one particular morning. It was not a pleasant topic to think about as he got ready, and he found himself zoning out a bit. It didn’t help that he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before, either. He had just read Jane Prentiss’s statement the day before, and nightmares about the supernatural had kept him awake for hours. He was out the door slightly later than usual and tried his best to hurry without forgetting anything, running a hand through his hair and grimacing at how long it was getting. He likely looked shaggy, which just wouldn’t do. After he was already out the door and down the street, he realized he had forgotten to get his bagel out of the toaster. His face crumpled when he remembered this, and his footsteps faltered. He didn’t exactly want to go in to work without having eaten, as he was sure reading a statement on an empty stomach would make him nauseous, but he also didn’t want to risk being late by buying food somewhere. He knew there was a coffee shop near the trolly stop, so he hastily decided to run in and get whatever pastry they had readily available.
Jon was anxious. Deviating from a plan was uncomfortable, but changing up his morning routine, which he had been following for years now, was nearly unthinkable. It wasn’t as if he had never forgotten his breakfast or his bag before, but it never made it any easier to handle. Thankfully, the shop was nearly empty when he arrived, just a couple patrons sitting quietly at one of the two small tables within the entrance. Jon made his way to the front to order, and didn’t notice the figure standing right in his way until he had already bumped into them.
“Oh, my apologies.” He sputtered before he even turned to look at them fully. They were tall, taller than him, and they did not budge from their position in the shop. Jon knew, logically, that he was at fault for not watching where he was going, but usually, people shifted when someone collided with them. He finally looked at their face after taking a step back, only to discover a hooded shawl covering most of the figure, whose back was to him. He could make out the dark skin of their cheek and not much else of their face. Thinking it best to simply move on when they didn’t acknowledge him, he continued to the counter.
The hooded figure was facing forward, and the employee behind the counter, a young woman with red hair, was staring intently at them. Jon waited a moment to see if either of them would speak, but they seemed to be engaged in a staring contest. Jon looked back at the tall individual. Their face was sharp and stoic, displaying no emotion as they gazed levelly ahead. The shawl they wore was long, fringed, and dull gray. They appeared extremely out of place, though nothing about them was strictly wrong. A slight whimper from behind him made Jon whip his head back around. The girl with red hair had a pained expression on her face, and Jon noted with mounting concern that her eyes were rimmed with red. She seemed to be in extreme distress.
“Excuse me, are you alright?” He asked, not quite able to keep his voice from shaking. The woman did not respond, but Jon was becoming acutely aware of how off the shop felt. The air was tense and quiet, the patrons seated at the entrance were motionless, and as Jon turned to once more look at the employee behind the counter, he saw that her bloodshot eyes were not red from emotion, but were filling with blood as if they were tears. A fat red drop finally spilled free and ran thickly down her cheek, and that was all it took for Jon to run out of the shop.
Jon was sticking with knowns from now on. Straying from habits was bad. Very bad. All he had to do was get to the institute, then he could lock himself away in his office and try to calm down. The others would notice if he was late. Tim would crack a joke, Sasha would reprimand him and say it was none of his business, and Martin would interrupt their bickering to earnestly ask Jon if he was okay, and he was certainly not okay at the moment.
He managed to get on the trolly just before it passed, and he allowed himself to take a long deep breath. He attempted to keep his composure in the presence of others, though his heart and mind were racing. The rest of his commute was a blur. He became aware again as he headed down the stairs of the institute and through the doors to the main room of the archives. Unfortunately for him, Tim was already there, seated in the open space at a desk with his feet propped up on it. Jon twitched at the sight, but as it was, he walked right past him with a simple nod in his direction before disappearing into the safety of his office.