Chapter Text
Maybe Jon didn’t dream the first time that he fell asleep, but he certainly did the second, waking up at 2 am and then rolling over and almost immediately nodding off again. Unfortunately, as falling back to sleep is wont to do, it was not restful or particularly enriching. He woke up in a panic to see that it was 4 am now, and the thoughts of that mannequin haunted his head. He could almost feel the coolness radiating off the plastic as the figure stretched behind him, laughing sharply as it reached out to grab him. But when he whirled around, there was nothing there. Nothing but his shadow. Frantically, he looked all around, but there was no trace of anything.
He sighed, laid down, and pulled the blanket over his head, making sure to leave room for his nose. Something about suffocating in stale air kind of freaked him out, but eventually he was able to drift back off, waking up at 6 am, and deciding to throw the towel in and just drag himself out of bed. His morning routine was simple, including, but not limited to: washing his face, brushing his teeth, figuring out what to wear, and scowling at anyone who tried to talk to him.
Although one of his neighbors almost blindsided him, Jon managed to make it out of the door before she could ask him anything. On the tube, he sat and scrolled through the groupchat, trying to figure out what the fresh hell Tim’s memes were. Admittedly, he wasn’t all that up to date on technology, but these didn’t even make sense. Maybe it was just exhaustion messing with him, but “stonks” had a lot more of a sinister connotation after the events of the previous day.
What did it even mean? Why stonks? What was the point of it even existing? There was no practical use for stonks and the mannequin's smooth face taunted him on the blue background. He almost hurled his phone onto the ground but then remembered: if he broke his good old iphone 6s he’d have to get one that a) would not fit in his hands and b) would also be too technologically advanced for him. As he looked around, he must have been muttering to himself, because he was getting some very...odd looks.
He sighed as he got off, and trudged toward the mall. Where were they going today, anyway? If it was anything like that damn wax museum, he was going to riot, and there was no way Tim would go. No, that was nonsense. There was only one wax museum. Checking his pocket, he pulled out the teabag, and sent a picture to the chat.
J: Do yours all match up?
M: yea i have the same actually
S: lmao you text like a grandma how old are you anyways
J: I’m 30
S: ur kidding
J: No??
M: we’re going to need to interrogate you abt this
J: Please don’t, also, what is “stonks”?
M: (youtubeattch.3) “David Bowie Says Meme School” jon we’re going to need to send you to meme school
S: asjdfksaji
Jon didn’t even know how to pronounce that last message. He made a mental note to ask about it later, Georgie would probably know what it meant, but...right. Gerry. No one was safe, and he dreaded having to ask Martin. Why was he so concerned with being cool all of a sudden? Nope, not time for that. Tea first. Scrolling through one last time, he realized that Tim hadn’t texted at all since yesterday.
He shrugged it off, yesterday had been hard, and to be honest, he would have slept in too. If he could, that was. As he walked into the mall, though, he happened to glance down at himself. Fuck. He had been in a haze before his coffee, and had apparently gone on autopilot, pulling out the worst thing he possibly could: a goddamn crop top. He at least had a flannel over it, which was why he had apparently not noticed the 3 inches of skin showing.
To be honest, the people staring wasn’t too bad, he’d be intrigued too if the stuffy academic showed up in a shredded crop top. Georgie full on applauded when he walked in to stick his things under the counter, and he blushed.
“Shut up. I went on autopilot.”
“This is appreciative applause. Dressing to...impress a certain someone?”
“I have absolutely no id-wait. What did you say?”
“Oh, you know what I said. I saw you looking at him.”
“Honestly Georgie, I know what you mean, but it wasn’t intentional. I didn’t even register this until I walked in, I was so tired.” Goergie stared at him critically, and then nodded.
“Your eyebags are a good defense attorney here, results come back not guilty.”
“Oh, good, thank you for clearing me. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I have to re-hang the twilight poster.”
“As you wish, have fun today ;3”
“How in the world did you manage to speak an emoticon?”
“;3”
“Alright then.” Jon hauled the ladder across the shop, and hung the poster, nearly breaking his neck when he looked at the typewriter, which was speeding along.
{holy shit man youre gonna kill martin with that hes gonna go into gay cardiac arrest}
“Could you shut UP?”
{mmm yummy id tap that}
“Please, for the love of god, stop.”
He got an annoyed glance from a customer, who moved on to the next section, muttering about service. Jon winced.
“This is why we can’t have nice things, Gerry.”
{at least i know what a meme is jon}
Jon flipped off the typewriter, and then put away the ladder, walking across the way to Biin, and wrapping his flannel tighter around him in the chilly air conditioning. Why it was always so cold, he had no idea, but it was miserable in this mall, always. Too hot in winter, too cold in summer.
Biin was warm, but not too warm, so he gave up any semblance of dignity, and let the flannel fall to the side, fidgeting with the hem as he reached into his pocket and grabbed the tea bag.
“Good morning!” Sasha came out of the back room, as she always did, and gasped. “Oh my god.” Her mouth was hanging open as she stared. “Sir, you are rocking that.”
“Er-thank you. Can I-can I get my tea now?”
“Uh, yeah, one second. Lemme get Martin, and a photo for Tim. Pose, dahling.”
Jon sighed, and ‘posed’.
“Perfect! Now, about that tea. Martin, Martin!! You gotta come see this.”
“I’m coming, I’m com-oh my god.” Jon would have described Martin as adorably rumpled, judging by his clothing.
“Yeah, I kinda zoned this morning.” Martin was steadily turning redder, and Jon felt kind of bad? Like maybe he was embarrassing himself? Don’t overthink it, you’re fine, but he still pulled his flannel tighter around him, curling in on himself.
“No, don’t do that. Um-I think it looks nice?” Jon smiled, a warm, genuine one. “Thank you, Martin.” Martin was melting. How in the world did 3 inches of skin absolutely murder him? His hands were shaking as he grabbed the teabag, and Jon was starting to look concerned.
“Are you ok?”
“Fine! I’m...fine.” His voice was too loud and he winced. Jon looked taken aback. “Sorry.”
Martin had been having a hell of a day, to be honest. The mannequins hadn’t honestly bothered him, but when he saw Jon in the corner, tears rolling down his cheeks, he almost cracked. Jon had just looked so helpless, and Martin might have even sacrificed himself to make sure that he was safe. So, he sunk the hatchet into one of the figures’ chests and hauled Jon up, shoving him towards Sasha. When he thought back, he could still feel the what of Jon’s flushed skin on his own.
He contemplated texting Jon that night, making sure that he was ok, but as soon as he laid down, he passed out and his dreams were haunted by the look of terror on Jon’s face, and what might have happened if Martin hadn’t made it on time.
To say the least, his sleep wasn’t restful, and so when he figured out that his alarm had been going off for 30 minutes, he scrambled to find something presentable, had tossed on some shoes and made it out the door. Then, he burned himself on the kettle even though he had made tea thousands of times, and dropped his phone, shattering his already cracked screen protector. Oh well. After helping Sasha tidy up a little bit, he felt a little bit more composed, stacking bags of beans in the back room until he heard her call him. Anyways, Jon looked adorable, etc. etc.
The break room was noticeably missing one person.
“Where’s Tim?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Sasha replied. “I feel like he would have texted me, but nothing is showing up. Also, he turned off snap maps so I can’t really just stalk him. I suppose I could always use the computer chip I put in him.”
“The what now?” Jon and Martin cried in unison.
“Chip. Computer chip. Like what you put in dogs, y’know?”
“Uh, no? Isn’t that highly illegal?”
“No, they put it in when I got him his rabies shots.”
Jon looked closer. A hint of a smile was showing on Sasha’s face. Then her facade cracked and she was shaking on the floor. “Oh my god, you guys actually believed me. I almost had you.”
Little did they know that she actually had put one on him. Tim had absolutely no sense of direction, and when he was absolutely coathangered it was just more useful to make sure he didn’t fall into a river or something. No way she was letting the other two know, though.
So, the question remained, where was Tim? She discreetly checked the chip, but something was glitching out, apparently he was...underground? Or in the sky? Or, now, he was in Scotland? Sasha smacked the phone against the heel of her hand, but his location was still glitching and she put it away with a sigh.
“Well, I suppose it’s time for cameras. There actually aren’t many, just 3, but I think it requires us to be split up. Good thing there are three of us, but I still wish Tim was here. Anyways, how do you two feel about timeshares?”
“Those things? Not good. I’m too gullible for that.”
“Easy enough to divide it up, then. Martin, you’re going to take the waiting room camera, you should be tall enough to reach it. Jon, you and I will divide up the other two, in the rooms. Please for the love of god, do not buy a timeshare.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
“You’ll also be able to reach this one, so no problem there.”
“Gee, thanks mom.”
Sasha tweaked his nose. “No problem. Now, Shall, we get on with it?”
“Yes, I suppose. My only question is how I’m going to get them out of the room.”
“Simple, ask for an application form, like you wanna work there. They’ll have to leave, they don’t normally have those, so you'll get just enough time to take off whatever they have covering the cameras.”
“Someone walks in to you standing on a desk, messing with the camera.”
Sasha giggled. “That would be absolutely hilarious. Uncover the camera so I can see the footage if it happens”
Jon frowned. “No need for Gerry, I don’t think. This place basically advertises itself as a scam.”
“That it does, my friend.”
The faded sign advertised “Fielding Financial” but the windows were dusty and the plain grey walls screamed no budget. There were also lots of cobwebs, almost an absurd amount, like halloween decorations left up well past their date. Martin stared at them and thought that perhaps this place was a firm believer in “it’s always spooky season.” Sasha interrupted his thoughts.
“I’ll go in first, then Jon, 5 minutes later, and Martin last. My records show that there are only 2 people here, so you should have no trouble getting the camera, Martin.”
Jon gave a thumbs up, and then sat with Martin on a bench near the park that was now at the center of the mall.
“So, how have you been feeling?” Martin blurted out.
“Fine, I guess. I’m not sure about Tim, though. He was really rattled. Do you know what that was all about?”
“I do. Give me a second.” Martin’s fingers flew over the keyboard of his phone as he stared into the distance, looking down to double check before searching.
“How in the hell did you do that?”
Martin wiggled his fingers. “Spooky esp. Here, read this.”
“Hey, I’ve seen this, Georgie and Melanie have it...framed...Stoker. Danny. How did they not notice this?”
“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.” Martin winced. “That’s kind of why he was so cagey about the place, although it was a while ago.”
“Speaking of Tim, whaddya think happened to him? More importantly, do you think Sasha actually ‘chipped’ him?”
“I really don’t want to say this, but I’ve known Sasha long enough that it was actually possible. I do know, however, that she wouldn’t do it unless she got Tim’s permission. The man has been known to be a little...unsafe at times.”
“Wow, what a relief.” Jon said sarcastically. “Isn’t that a little bit of a privacy invasion?”
“Not...technically.” Martin grimaced.
“If you have to say that it isn’t technically an invasion of privacy, you might need to rethink your life choices.” Jon managed to say this with a straight face (probably the only straight thing abt him tbh) and then burst into laughter.
“Oh, speaking of which, what is ‘stonks’? This is an actual, serious question.”
“Honestly?”
“Yes…?”
Martin started laughing again, and Jon shoved him. “Shut up, it’s so confusing.”
“Stonks.”
Martin’s smile was infectious, and when Jon left the bench in order to carry on with their mission, he had one too. He stared at his reflection in the dusty glass, thinking that maybe this could be a beginning. Or something.
//
The man knew where he was. He knew that he knew, but the information was locked up somewhere in his stupid skill and he couldn’t think. The noise was all too loud, a high piping melody that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. He knew that he had to go to the mall, they had things to do. What even was a mall? Funny word. He giggled. Mall.
“Mall.”
Like magic, a structure, a building, perhaps, appeared in front of him. Something told him that it wasn’t the ‘mall that he was looking for, but he walked forward anyways. Inside, it was empty, the lights off and his footsteps echoing around and he took in the arched ceilings. Maybe it was instinct, but he automatically found himself walking a route he swore that he had walked a hundred times before. His feet lead him towards a small shop, with a light up sign long dead that read “Biin”.
The counters were shiny, and he rang the bell.
Someone came out from the back room.
“Hello there!” They said cheerfully. “My name is Sasha!”
“Are you...sure?”
“Of course, silly. Who else would I be?”
“I’m not sure, really. Do you know who I am?”
“Of course! I put you here, you goof. But first, you should try out some of what we sell here!” Sasha reached behind the counter and pulled out a cookie tray. It was covered in what looked like tortillas, but he soon recognized it as...faces. Identities. He tried to recoil in horror but was drawn to them. He didn’t know who he was, maybe he could just...try one on. See how it felt, with a name again. He reached out, the skin calling to him, but snapped out of it when something hit him in the side of the head.
It was a name tag. The face on it was not recognizable but tracing his fingers around his features he found that it matched his own. The man in the photo wore a hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, shooting finger guns at someone off the camera. He stared down at the dirty hawaiian shirt he had on. Tim. So he put on the (his?) name tag and turned to Sasha.
“Where is Sasha?”
“I am Sasha.” It’s voice was harder now, and Tim thought he saw the face slipping.
“Where. Is. Sasha. She needs my help.”
It’s face was sagging, voice cracking as the facade fell and the face flopped to counter. It’s arms began to lengthen, and it started pulling itself over the counter. “You don’t want to know what I did to her. How shall I start? Where I peeled off her face? Where I ripped her body to pieces? Where I-’’
“Shut. Up.”
“I don’t much like the idea of that. I’d rather kill you instead.”
Tim turned and ran as it crawled along the ceiling like some kind of horrible marionette come to life. When he left the ‘mall’ it dissolved behind him. The city twisted and turned, seemingly filled with iterations of the mannequin, but none of them ever reached him. Every single corner just led him to the same street, filled with people he thought he knew but their faces peeled off like falling snow. Finally, he chanced to open a door. It led into a room and although the figures soon crowded the window, he bolted the door, and sat, trying to catch his breath. He sat there for a few minutes, listening to the banging on the door and creak of the glass, and starting to remember. The real Sasha. Martin. Jon (bastard) and Danny.
But then, he heard a staticky creak, and a voice interrupted his recollection. “Hello there. You look like you need a door.”
“Back the fuck up, dude.”
The man held out a reassuring hand. “Listen, I know you’re worried I’m one of them, and perhaps we come from the same beginning, but I promise you that I currently mean you no harm. You know me, I’m Michael.”
The name certainly meant something to Tim. “Can you get me out of here?”
“Yes.”
Tim shakily laughed. “Then I suppose I have no other choice. He stood up, took Michael’s hand, and stepped through the door, which then closed and disappeared with a pop. The mannequins managed to finally bust the door down, but howled when they realized their prey was gone.
//
Jon sat, staring blankly and pretending to nod along as the dark skinned lady in front of him continued talking. He had been sitting there for hours it felt like. He knew there was something that he had to do. She continued on, explaining how many owners they had per property and how long they were out for and ugh...he was zoning out, and he was aware of it, so now he was hyperfocused on every word she said. They didn’t make any sense though, her lips just moving. But he felt a tug.
“So, Jon are you ready to buy?”
He didn’t recall giving her his name. He supposed that he had, though. How else would she know it? Right, he was supposed to sign. His hand reached out and grabbed the pen, and then while absentmindedly looking around the office, he saw the cobwebs. So many. He shuddered at the thought of spiders scuttling around in shadows, crawling up his back. That was enough to break the spell over him, though, and he started coughing.
“Could-could you get me an application form? To work here, I mean. I think I’d fit in just fine.”
Annabelle’s eyes glinted. “Of course.”
As soon as she left, Jon leapt up onto the desk, scrambling to pull the web off, balling it up and putting it in his pocket, and then flipping off the camera for Douchard. He couldn’t believe that he just used Timm’s bogus name. Ugh.
He sat back down and Annabelle walked back into the room. “I have your form, so I assume that you won’t be signing up for anything else today.” Jon stood up, and after thanking her walked out, directly into the bookshop.
He calmly sat down, ignoring Martin, who was confusedly staring at him over a volume of Keats. He’d have to critique Martin’s taste later, there were more...pressing things on his mind right now. “Georgie,” he called. “Could you please come here?”
“Yeah, whaddya need?”
“There is a spider web in my pocket. I estimate that you have exactly 30 seconds until I start screaming.”
“Oh, shit, you really gotta spring that on me?” Georgie hurried across the room, and started to dig in his pocket. “Dang, dude, why are your pockets so small?”
“Sue me if womens pants are cuter.”
“True enough.”
“You’ve got about 5 seconds.”
“Alright, I’ve got it!!” Georgie triumphantly held up a small ball of web. “Dare I ask why you had this in your pocket?”
“I panicked. Only option.”
Martin chimed in. “What just happened?”
“Friendship.” They said in unison. “Also, Jon had a debilitating fear of spiders and all spider-related paraphernalia.”
“Oh. Well, I made tea, if that helps.”
Jon gratefully accepted the mug. “Actually, that would. Any sign of Tim?” Martin sighed. “Not yet, I’m sorry. I don’t know where he’d be.”
//
Tim was currently wandering through the maze of shelves behind that staticky yellow door. “Do you know what that place was?”
“To be honest, I’ve never seen that happen before. Usually the figures keep to themselves, but I’d say that you were a...special interest of sorts.” Michael paused. “Oh, right, we should probably start heading towards - where did you want to go again?”
“Kind of blur, but I think I need to get to Sasha. Super tall?”
“Ah, yes. Very resourceful, finding her way out of here.”
“You never did explain that.”
“Sometimes, these corridors have a habit of rearranging, shall we say?”
“So they’re like that spooky maze in Harry Potter or whatever.”
“Sure. Sasha should be right up here.” Michael motioned to a yellow door intersecting the shelves. It should not have been possible for a door to be there, but hey, as long as Tim got out of all of this weird shit, he was fine. He turned to Michael. “Thank you. I really needed to get out of there.”
“All in a day’s work.” Michael tipped a hat that TIm was sure was not there a second ago, and opened the door.
//
Sasha was trapped, though not in the fake looking webs like so many stupid flies. Silly flies, how can you get stuck in a fake web? They weren’t even sticky. She turned her attention towards the dingy desk, where Raymond was smiling at her, but the cobwebs that had covered the camera were burning a hole in her pocket. When Michael opened the door, he cringed. “You know, Tim, you should probably grab her before she makes a very bad decision.”
“You’re really going to spring that on me?”
Ramond was staring at the door, but his eyes...there almost seemed to be too many. Tim ignored it as a sign of fatigue, and grabbed the entire chair, dragging Sasha through the door. Raymond sighed. Every time, that nuisance Michael had to interrupt his deals. Oh well. She’d be back. Eventually. Michael stuck his tongue out and made a rude noise, and then slammed the door.
“Sasha...Sasha.” Tim waved his hand back and forth in front of her face, but she wasn’t moving. “Why isn’t she responding?”
“I imagine that the deal is still on. Give me a second, stay by the chair.” Michael swiftly disappeared into shelves, and then reappeared on the other side of the chair with a mug of tea. It was apparently piping hot.
“What.”
“This is my premium anti-spook (registered trademark) tea. Orange spice, very good.” Michael explained.
“Alright, so uhh, are we gonna spoon feed her or something?”
“No, I find that this -” here he threw the cup of tea onto Sasha “- always works much quicker.”
“You’re going to burn her, you goddamn idiot!”
“No, I’m not. Hello Sasha, welcome back to the land of the self aware.”
“Hello Michael. Thank you for that.” Sasha checked her clothes, and they were, unsurprisingly at this point, dry. “But hey, we have a new chair now!!”
“Oh boy,” said Tim dryly. “A new chair.”
Michael led them through the maze, and then found ‘the right door’, which led directly into the bookshop. “Thank you, Michael,” Tim and Sasha droned in unison, and then burst into giggles. “We’ll be back, you want some pastries or something as a thank you?”
“Scones. Raspberry almond, if you have them.”
“Aye aye captain,” Tim saluted, and then, taking Sasha’s arm, stepped through the door and pulled the chair behind him. He crossed his legs faux-primly. “So, what did I miss? Wait - Jon...is that a crop top?” He whistled. “Good look on you, bossman.”
Jon was sprawled out of the sofa, he hated sitting properly but all formality was out the window now that he had the stupid shirt on. “I almost bought a timeshare, and yes, it is a crop top. I know, I look ungodly sexy.”
Tim choked. “Did anyone else hear that?”
Georgie sighed. “He can be so insufferable sometimes.” Jon did look very smug.
“To be honest, it was a pretty normal day, other than the timeshare thing. What about you man, Sasha’s tracking chip couldn’t even find you.”
Tim turned on Sasha. “You told them?”
“I didn’t, but I guess they figured it out?”
“Honestly, it wasn’t that hard.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Sash,” Martin smiled.
“Anyways, back to what happened to me.” Tim sighed. “So, I think that mannequin messed with me more, like I was a half-eaten meal. I was running, and I didn’t know who I was, but Michael gave me a door, and I grabbed Sash and this awesome chair and here I am.”
Jon noticed how Tim glossed over the whole thing, but didn’t mention it. “Alright, my head hurts, but it isn’t actually that late. Do we have anything else to do?”
“I mean, we could always bake those scones and go hang out with Michael.”
“I’m still kind of mad, but I guess we owe him. Shall we?”
{can i come i have a special recipe it involves 10 grams of pepper}
“We are not putting pepper in the scones.” Tim said. He glared at the typewriter. He saved me and who else would give you a plus comedy material if I was dead?”
{damn. have fun then im gonna go bother melanie.}
“Don’t you dare, Gerry.” called Georgie, heading further into the shop.
All things considered, the day had been a very good one, Jon thought. His sleep that night was peaceful and mannequin free.