Chapter Text
“I’m fine. I promise.”
Tim and Sasha eyed him dubiously. Jon knew it had been stressful two weeks, his first days as Head Archivist were not going, as you’d say, ‘swimmingly.’ He rather felt he was drowning.
But Tim and Sasha had been steady and patient with him, far more than he deserved. They’d been so concerned when he told them about the promotion, worried that he couldn’t handle it. He wasn’t surprised. Jon was a nervous man, easily thrown off by any change in his schedule or the slightest of inconveniences. He knew he wasn’t easy to get on with. How they stand to be around him, much less take care of him when he went little, Jon couldn’t fathom. He was certainly lucky to have them.
But he bristled as soon as they voiced their concern, as gentle as it was. Tim had a hand on his back, asking if he was sure he wanted to go through with it. Sasha had asked the same, but Jon could see the odd look in her eye. He knew she was expecting the job. He shouldn’t have taken it. He was awful, just terrible. Bad.
So he wriggled out of Tim’s hands at the end of the day, isolating himself. He dodged them in the corridors, trying desperately not to slip into headspace. Elias allowed him use of his side office, offering to take him down to the Archives to help ‘ease the transition.’ He was so nice, so understanding. Strange that he wanted him to be Head Archivist, knowing what he knew about Jon. But Elias promised he could see his potential, and for once Jon dared to believe it. At least someone seemed happy about his new job.
But he needed assistants, and he knew who he wanted. Tim and Sasha.
It had taken the better part of a week before he broke down, pale and shaking on Tim’s doorstep, sobbing like the child he currently felt like. They ushered him in, promised to help him, and held him in their arms. They loved him, and in the end, would always support him.
But Martin Blackwood threw an unanticipated wrench in his plans.
Elias didn’t tell him he was going to have three assistants, just told him to pick two. And now Martin was down here, messing everything up. They’d taken to darting around him when Jon got too close to headspace, and it was frankly very exhausting. He had half a mind to call Elias, explain the situation to him. Wouldn’t it be easier if the Archives was limited to people who knew about Jon’s condition? But he always stopped before he picked up the phone, too afraid of looking weak. He was already asking so much of Elias, he shouldn’t need to be catered to like this.
It was hard not to like Martin, with his big, cozy sweaters and his steaming mugs of tea. He had a nice smile. He looked like he would give good hugs. Jon pushed down those childish thoughts, and instead put on a scowl. Best to keep Martin at arms length, who knows what he would do if he found out?
So after two weeks of this nonsense, he was understandably exhausted. Not to mention the terrible state of the Archive itself. He recorded his first statement two days ago. His first...bad one. He’d been keeping Tim and Sasha up all night with his nightmares, he could tell by the dark shadows under their eyes. So naturally, when they came to collect him to take him home for the weekend, he refused. They deserved a rest. A break.
From him.
Sasha hugged him tightly, whispering her ‘I love yous.’ Jon almost gave in then. Tim took him just as fiercely in his arms, not letting go until Jon started to wiggle in his hold. “Promise us you’ll call if you need to, yeah? Even if it’s just to say hi. I’ll be checking in.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want us to take you home? The station’s not that far.”
Jon reluctantly pulled away. “No, it’s fine. I’ll...I just need some time alone.”
They nodded, though they still weren’t convinced. They respected his boundaries. That’s what made them so good.
The problem was, he didn’t need some time alone. The thought of being in his small, dark flat by himself made him shiver with anxiety. But if he couldn’t get through a weekend as an adult, what good was he as a Head Archivist? This would be a test for himself, he shouldn’t be so dependent on his friends.
He sat at home in his bedroom with no toys, no sign that he regressed visible in the flat. Most of that had been moved over to Tim’s apartment, in a hopeless bid to get him to move in with them. What he wouldn’t give for his comfy PJs and warm fuzzy blanket right then.
Instead he just shivered, drawing the duvet closer to his chest. He wanted his stuffies, He wanted his bed. He wanted his Mama and Papa.
But he was alone.
Tim’s phone rang. He fumbled with it in his pocket and answered as soon as he saw the name.
Jon.
It was Saturday morning. Sasha had gone off with a friend for lunch and shopping, Tim had convinced her to get out of the flat after she spent much of the evening pacing around the living room, looking longingly at the toys on the ground. Jon’s presence was sorely missed.
But he told them he needed space. And it didn’t feel right to push him, no matter how much they wanted to.
“Hey there, boss-man!” he said jovially. “How’re you holding up?”
A tiny sniffle, and Tim’s heart broke.
“Buddy?” he immediately tempered the volume of his voice. That tiny sniffle told Tim a lot: Jon was upset, tired, and likely in a state of panic. That happened sometimes, after a particularly bad night. He imagined Jon, all alone in that apartment, waking up in headspace and not knowing what to do.
Luckily, he’d phoned Tim. Just like he taught his boy to do.
“P-Papa,” Jon’s voice was high and brittle, like he was liable to break if Tim said the wrong word. “C-Can- can you p’ease-” He broke off into sobs and Tim was out the door, practically forgetting his car keys in his haste to get to Jon.
“I’ll be over there in a second, bud. Don’t you worry.” He’s already throwing his bag on the seat- he’d planned to go to the gym, but he’d switched thought out for his emergency Jon-bag. Sasha had come up with it, and he’s had to use it several times already. “I’ll keep you on the line. How are you doing, sweetheart?”
“S-Scared.” Jon’s whimper came through the speaker, and Tim had to fight with himself to go the speed limit. God forbid he get into an accident, and leave Jon all alone.
“That’s okay, buddy. Just stay in your bed, and Papa will be there before you know it!”
The fifteen minutes it took to get there (should’ve been thirty, really, but Tim was pulling some real shitty moves) were excruciating. He raced up the stairs to Jon’s flat, putting the key in the lock and peering inside. It was so dark. There was barely any sign of little Jon’s presence here, even big Jon was barely noticeable with the small piles of books and papers. They really needed to get Jon moved in with the two of them.
He heard Jon before he saw him. Two little feet pounded on the hardwood and arms snaked around his waist. “Aw, buddy. Don’t worry, Papa’s here.”
Jon’s face was streaked with tears. His hair was a mess, his clothes didn’t look nearly as comfy as the ones they had at home. His face was pale and gaunt; god, when had he gotten so thin? Ever since Jon got the promotion, Tim couldn’t help but feel like a neglectful parent. Jon was spiraling, and all he could do was watch as the man pushed him away. But he’d called, and that’s all that mattered.
“Couldn’ sleep, and-and scary noises-” Jon’s breathing hitched and Tim pulled him over to the couch, settling him against his side and putting a hand gently on his chest.
“Breathe with me, bud. Nice n’ easy. That’s a good boy.” Jon burrowed into his side as his breathing slowed and his cries quieted to the occasional whimper. Poor thing. Jon looked so fragile like this, and it hurt Tim’s heart to see. He debated on whether or not to call Sasha, but ultimately decided he could handle it. Sasha wouldn’t be pleased, but he liked spending one on one time with his boy. It would be nice to have a day with just the two of them.
“Now, I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet,” Tim mused, giving Jon a tap on the nose. He giggled and squirmed away, a good sign that his mood was improving. “Let’s get something in your tummy, okay?” Jon nodded and followed him to the kitchen, trailing behind him like a little duckling. Sasha had gotten groceries last week and Jon’s cupboards were still full. He’d spent the past couple of days at their house, and he had a very hard time eating on his own. More reason he should move in with us, Tim thought.
Poptarts. Tim couldn’t help but question Jon’s taste, but it made the little guy happy. It was hard not to give him whatever he wanted. But he cut up a banana as well, hoping to give him some nutrition.
“Don’ wan’ dat,” Jon tried to push it away with his hand, but Tim gave him a stern look. If he gave into Jon’s every whim, he’d be even more malnourished than he already was. But Jon knew his weaknesses. And little Jon was even more ruthless. His eyes went wide and shiny with tears, as if Tim were holding a knife instead of a cut up piece of banana. “Papa p’ease.”
Tim made a theatrical groan, only half-faked. “Look, if you eat half the banana, I’ll take you to the park. And we can get ice cream later. How does that sound?” He was going to do that anyway, but Jon doesn’t know that. The tears immediately disappeared and Jon went still, opening his mouth obediently. “Good boy.” He’s rewarded with a messy smile.
They managed half a poptart and half a banana before Jon started to squirm, and Tim took that as a victory. The comfiest clothes in Jon’s closet were buried in the back: a pair of grey sweatpants and an oversized hoodie for some podcast Tim would have to ask him about later. He got Jon’s hair in some form of a messy bun (Sasha was much better with this) and with the whole ensemble he looked cute as a button. Well, he always looked cute, much to Jon's chagrin. He wondered if Martin would be able to recognize this Jon if he saw him. Probably not.
“Park! Park!” Jon stamped his little feet in the doorway, impatient. Tim sighed but smiled, grabbing his hand and leading him out of the flat. The park was only a stone’s throw from Jon’s flat, a small swing set in the back of a church with a bit of woods. It was usually empty, particularly at this time of day, so no one would bother Jon as he swung happily. He was small enough to look rather child-like anyway, if you didn’t see the little premature streaks of grey in his hair.
Not that Tim particularly cared what others thought. While the situation was uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of, and he’d hurt anyone who so much as snickered at his boy. Jon was friendly and sweet, if sometimes an adventurous handful. He’d told him once about his childhood in Bournemouth, and how he was constantly running away and exploring new places. If Jon had the love he needed as a child, who knows what he would be like now? Life seemed to have dampened that adventurous spirit, but it was nice to see him get a second chance at it. Tim just wished it didn’t happen only in stressful situations.
When Jon tired himself on the swings, he jumped off, barely landing on his feet. “Whoa there, buddy! Little dizzy?” Jon nodded with a giggle, and slumped into Tim’s arms. “Why don’t we take a break, go for a walk?” He got an excited squeal in response.
It was only a short path in the woods, but Jon babbled the entire way, most of it nonsense. “Ghosts!” he yelled, tugging at Tim’s sleeve. Tim nodded seriously, narrowing his eyes and crouching down as if to duck out of the way of any rogue spirits. This continued with several different variations- ‘vampires!’ ‘pirates!’ ‘cops!’ One of these things was not like the other. Well, maybe not.
It was only when Jon’s pants were almost completely covered in mud that he let them leave. “Messy baby,” Tim murmured. “Mama’s going to wonder what happened.”
“Mama!” Jon chirped. Tim wondered if he had a favorite parent when he was like this. The thought of it being Sasha made him slightly jealous, but he quickly tamped that down. Jon needed different things from the both of them, it made sense. And they made a great team.
“Papa said ice c’eam,” Jon tugged at his sleeve, leaving no room for argument. “Ice c’eam.”
“You’ll get your ice ‘c’eam’, buddy. Papa always keeps his promises.”
“Kay.”
They get ice cream, though most of it ended up on Jon’s face instead of in his stomach. He always went for soft serve vanilla on a cone, with rainbow sprinkles. One of the messiest choices. Sasha chose this unfortunate moment to Facetime.
“Tim! Where are you? I just got back from-”
“Mama!” Came an ungodly screech as Jon tugged the phone out of Tim’s hand and smiled at the screen. Sasha was definitely happy to see her baby, but less so to see the state of him. You wouldn’t be able to tell from the sweet tone she was using with Jon, though.
“Sweetheart! Mama’s got some presents for you, wanna come home and see?” Jon almost dropped the phone in his delight; he tended to get a little shaky when the happiness was too much for him. “Put Papa back on, okay?” Tim gulped.
He had some explaining to do.