Work Text:
JON
[strained] Wait, Tim! What do you see?
TIM
[angered] I see my asshole boss!
Or – or… wait… wait.
[EVERYTHING HAS STOPPED]
They both froze - aware of the sudden change around them. Where there had been chaos, where there had been things stretching and bending to some sickening rhythm all around them, there was now nothing. There was no shape, sound, color, or...heaviness. There was only them. Only each other. Tim’s eyes focused for what felt like the first time in hours - on him. And he was not what Tim wanted to see.
“Jon,” he said, his voice stained with leftover anger and confusion. They were both still dazed, their minds ringing with the noise of the calliope. ‘Jon, where the hell are we?”
Jon was sitting on what might have been the ground and shook his head.
“I...don’t know. We were there, and now we’re here...and perhaps - “
“What an acute observation, boss!” Tim raised his hands to what was definitely not the sky and laughed bitterly. “This day keeps getting better and better. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend a Thursday afternoon fighting for their life in a tourist trap? Ha! We’re literally trapped in a tourist trap! Because of you!” A frantic fear welled in his stomach. “And why aren’t Basira and Daisy here?” He looked around the nothingness, and the pair was nowhere to be found.
“Tim, I -”
“STOP IT!” He shouted. “Just, shut up! I don’t want to listen to you anymore! We’ve got no plan, no way out of the Museum, we’re going to die in fucking Great Yarmouth, all because you couldn’t mind your business for two fucking seconds!” He paused, rubbing his face with his hands, and spoke again, softly: “I don’t know what to do.”
They were both quiet for some time.
Jon took a slow breath.
“Look, I know that this is selfish, and I’m sorry, but I want you to know that I didn’t want any of this. I’m sorry I took you out of research, and I desperately wish that I hadn’t. You were...You are a good friend to me and a good person. I’m sorry I ruined your life. And I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you.”
Tim’s face was like cardboard, stiff and unreadable.
“I think it’s easy to believe the worst of people. How many times did we dismiss someone’s statement as impossible, even though we both felt something from it? Why is it so easy to pay no mind to anything outside of what you want, even if, deep down, you know that it’s real? It makes it easier to push them away, to keep them away from any place inside you that would make you care about them, about anyone, really. Away from your heart.”
“What are you trying to say?” Tim said, lifting his gaze from where he stood to look at him. Jon took a step forward, hands clasped tightly together, pushing the words out.
“I am trying to say that...I think I love you.”
“No, you don’t.” Tim’s anger had returned in force. His eyes contained a fire that could have melted steel, and it illuminated his face as their surroundings grew ever darker, ever distant.
“I -”
“Don’t you dare say that to me. Not now. You made my life - all our lives - a living HELL. You don’t get to say that to me. You don’t deserve-” He broke off, feeling hot tears beginning to sting his eyes. He wiped them away. “You don’t deserve to make me cry.” He laughed again. “What a nightmare.”
Jon wanted to feel regret for what he said, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t control anything in his life. Not even his emotions. He knew he deserved to hear what Tim said. But now he was walking away.
“Tim!”
“Just. Leave me alone, Jon!”
“Tim, I don’t think we can really... go anywhere in this place.”
He didn’t stop walking. So Jon followed.
There really was nothing around them. It could possibly be described as a swirling gray, like a cloudy sky, but the place was really not enough of a place to be likened to anything at all. It stretched out forever, though. Jon knew that. Would they ever get out of here? Had they died and this was their eternal reward? No, it couldn’t be. But they were here, and Basira and Daisy, their friends, if you could call them that, were likely still in the middle of the ritual. They might die because of him. Every action in the past two years, even before then, felt like a mistake. Shakily, Jon admitted such.
“It probably is all my fault.”
“Oh, you think so?” Tim’s voice was high and acerbic. He stopped moving abruptly.
“And I only wish I could take back everything I’ve done, but....”
“But, you can’t. So you might as well do us all a favor and…” He halted, searching for something he could say to make Jon hurt . “...Just fucking disappear.” He turned toward Jon, his face red. “People are dead. None of us can leave the Institute. We’re all trapped in this horrifying world because of you!”
“Tim…”
The dam burst. Tim shoved Jon to the ground and lunged, grabbing his wrist, pinning him in place. He did not attempt to fight back.
“WHY! CAN’T! YOU! JUST! LEAVE! IT! ALONE!” Each word matched a blow. He straddled Jon’s torso, and gripped the sides of his head, willing him to get the message through his thick skull. “You used to be so damn different and now I can’t imagine you being anything but this . “I…” They were very close. “I…” Tim’s fingers traced the pale scars that pockmarked the Archivist’s face. The same scars he had.
He pressed his lips to Jon’s, harshly, tasting the blood in his mouth. His hands moved from the sides of Jon’s head, into his hair, peppered with gray, and smelling faintly of smoke. Jon reached up to pull Tim closer, but he broke away, bitterness still distorting his expression.
“Is that what you wanted?” Tim said, breathing heavily, shifting to sit on his own.
“Is that what you wanted?” Jon responded, wiping blood from his nose.
“I suppose so. Fuck.” Tim’s derisive laugh was quickly buried by tears. Then racking sobs. He covered his face with his hands and wept.
They were both silent for many minutes. Tim’s back was turned to Jon, who watched the not-clouds roll by and beneath them and imagined falling down forever. Then:
“Can I ask you something?” Tim’s shaky words broke the stillness.
“Anything.” Tim paused for a beat.
“Am I going to die?”
Jon closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to - but, of course, he did anyway.
“I…” He sighed. “Yes. Most likely. I’m so, so sorry, Tim.”
Tim’s jaw tightened as he turned that awful confirmation over in his mind.
“I think we can leave now.” He whispered. He was right. Things began to twist once more and they were pulled apart. But before the sound of the calliope returned, Jon shouted:
“Tim... what’s in your hand? ”