Chapter Text
Tim Stoker hated circuses.
Maybe he had not always, but now? With what had happened, with Jon “away” as Elias had put it, and Tim’s sinking suspicions? With that damn music drifting over the air from time to time, pulling at Tim’s strings to dance, dance everything away , and generally being a nuisance?
Yeah, Tim could say with confidence he hated circuses now.
Yet for some reason, here he was, standing in front of the “House of Wax”, over two hours away from the Institute, with a bag over his shoulder and a torch in his hand. The place was drawing him in, Tim could tell. The music was there, loud enough to actually hear, and clearly originating from this building. The Stranger had set its stronghold here, and that meant Tim was going to investigate. It wasn’t like Jon was there to tell him off about it. So, clicking the torch on, Tim calmly and confidently stepped through the museum’s front door.
The opening lobby seemed normal enough, if containing a bit too many dolls to be a Wax Museum . The place was abandoned, seemingly, as when Tim ran a finger across the front desk, a thick layer of dust came up, swirling in the new air from the open door. Tim stepped ever forward, past the reception to the museum proper, but when he opened the door, it did not… open into a wax museum. Well, not exactly. There were still waxworks, yes, but they were more scattered, with some also piled into corners, and plenty of other equipment scattered about. Tim frowned as he picked his way around scattered scarves and batons and hoops that had just been left on the ground. This room was large, clearly the first of the main rooms of the museum, but Tim could see a few doors on the walls, likely leading to smaller offshoots and other rooms.
Tim wondered briefly how the place fit in the walls he had seen from the streets, but quickly abandoned his derailing train of logic.
Nikola had never cared much for the sensible.
Cautiously, Tim opened one of the offshoot doors, the one that seemed to follow the museum tour’s path. Looking inside, he froze momentarily. The door opened to a huge room, no, auditorium , that could not possibly fit inside the House of Wax. The place was ringed with stands and seating, thankfully empty of an audience at the time. Down in the ring Tim could see people, people? , moving around, practising flips and trapeze tricks and all sorts of other things. A part of Tim’s heart tugged at the sight, urging him to join, to dance .
Steeling himself from the thought, Tim closed the door, turning to one of the others. The door closed with a loud click, which echoed through the empty room. Tim stiffened, and stayed very still for a long time. Perhaps if he was still enough the Circus would think him just another waxwork and leave him alone. After a while of this, Tim determined that no one was coming, and his heartrate slowly settled to a normal speed.
The next few doors proved nothing of value, just more storage, occasionally a small group rehearsing, which sent Tim’s heart rate spiking back up again. Then, one of the doors opened to an unusual, and frankly alarming sight.
It was one of the smaller rooms, stuffed with wax mannequins, that Tim almost dismissed, until he noticed something out of place. A flash of wood, its dark, polished backing standing out against the faded paint of the waxworks. And there seemed to be a person, a real person, not a wax figure , slumped over in the chair.
“Hello?” Tim asked quietly, scared to draw attention to himself. The figure shifted, and Tim realised with a start that they were tied to the chair. Abandoning caution, he ran forward, only to stop dead in his tracks as he recognized the person.
“Tim?”
“ JON? ” Tim whisper-shouted. Sure enough, his boss sat there, tied to a chair in the heart of the Stranger’s domain. “ What are you doing here? ”
“I really should ask you the same thing, Tim,” Jon said, his voice hoarse. Ignoring the question, Tim grabbed a pocket knife from his bag and made short work of freeing Jon. Getting a closer look, Tim could see that Jon was looking worse for the wear. His shirt was messed up, and the bags under his eyes had seemingly doubled in size. Jon stood unsteadily, leaning on one of the waxworks for support.
“God Jon, what happened to you?” Tim asked, now speaking normally. Jon looked around warily.
“Tim you have to leave, this place isn’t safe,” he said. Jon looked around, almost flinching at every creak and echo. Tim scoffed.
“ I have to leave? Fuck that boss! You’re coming too, and when we get back to the Institute, we are going to sit your ass down and we are going to talk .” he said, glaring. Jon just sighed, and looked to the ceiling, and it took a significant amount of Tim’s willpower not to punch the bastard. As the two began towards the exit, Tim was frozen in place by a door creaking open behind them. As he turned slowly around, a flicker of thought crossed his mind.
The door’s not yellow.
Tim didn’t know if that was comforting or terrifying. Instead, it was the main door that opened, the one that led to the circus proper. A figure stepped through, female, and vaguely familiar.
“Nikola?” Jon whispered as the woman, Nikola , crossed the room with confident strides, with Jon and Tim still frozen. Tim tried to tell himself to move, that the exit was right there, but his limbs felt like plastic. Maybe they were.
“Where are you going, Archivist?” Nikola asked, her voice far too innocent and chipper for the situation at hand. “And who is that with you? Why, that couldn't be who I think it is!” she continued, and Tims previously racing heart rate somehow managed to skyrocket even further. Jon glanced at him, confusion clear even in the dim lighting.
“Tim, do you know her?” he asked, and Tim could only nod stiffly.
“Why, Tim !” Nikola exclaimed. Somehow she had gotten closer, when did she get closer , and had now stopped just a few feet away from the Archival pair. “What are you doing here?” she continued, blind to their terror.
Actually, it was more likely she just didn’t care.
Tim forced himself to move, to breathe , and looked to Jon, speaking in a forced even tone.
“Jon, get out of here. Now .” he said, leaving no room for questions. Jon opened his mouth in protest, but Tim shoved his keys into his boss’s hand and gave him a firm shove towards the exit. Thankfully, Jon was not as stubborn as he could have been, and ran. As soon as he was out of sight, Tim turned back to Nikola, who was now mere inches from his face.
“Now why would you do that Tim?” pouted, and snapped her fingers. At the echoing sound, a few of the nearby waxworks came to life, and before Tim could take a step back, two were behind him, grabbing him in a bear hug, lifting him so his feet were just barely up off the ground. Tim tried to ignore the feeling of soft wax moulding itself around him, the substance soaking into his shirt. He tried to move, to pull himself out of his waxy prison, but the statues had reverted back to just that, statues. Instead, he looked at Nikola, who watched with a neutral expression, before breaking out into a wide grin with far too many teeth. Where did the teeth come from, wasn’t she plastic?
“It’s such a pleasant surprise to see you back here Tim, why, I had thought you left for good!” she purred, leaning in. “I'm surprised you helped the Archivist, though. I had been under the impression you two hated each other!”
“We do. The fact of the matter though, is that I hate you far more than I dislike him .”
Nikola hummed noncommittally, tilting her head.
“Well. If I cannot have the Archivist for the Unknowing, I suppose I will have to make do with my original plan,” she said. “Ooh! But now I can get your help with that as well! You see Tim, I had originally wanted the Archivist to find me that old gorilla skin, but that ended up being boring , and skinning him seemed like such fun, so I brought him here!” she continued. “But the gorilla skin would still work, and now you can help search for it!”
“...And why would I do that?” Tim asked after a moment. Nikola laughed at that, a high, giddy giggle that left spots dancing at the edge of Tim’s vision.
“Because this is a chance to undo your mistakes Tim!” she said, straightening back up to the point Tim had to look up at her. His breath caught in his throat. “We all missed you when you left us, Tim, but this , this could be your one chance to make it up! Come back to us with that ancient relic, and all can be forgiven, you can take your place among the troupe one more with open arms!” she exclaimed. Tim paused for a minute, shifting his shoulders against the wax that held him in place. If he pressed hard enough, the wax shifted, and perhaps he could break out and run for it.
“... fuck you Nikola,” he said, staring her in the eye.
“Language Tim,”
“Sorry.” he said, falling back into habit, into that assured safety net. Almost immediately, however, he grimaced, at the same time hating how easy it was to fall into that web of familiarity.
“It’s perfectly alright Tim,” Nikola said, placing a plastic hand on his shoulder. Tim wanted nothing more in that moment to move , to escape and run far far away from this place, but he was still trapped by the wax, and continuing to talk to Nikola had only worsened his growing headache. With a snap of her fingers, Nikola commanded the wax figures to life once more, and they stepped back, away from Tim, leaving waxy stains.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen,” Nikola said. “You are going to leave, and you’re going to go looking for that skin for me, and when you find it , you will bring it back here , okay?” she ended with a bright voice, and for a half second Tim could almost forget what an awful being she was. Not gracing her question with any form of acknowledgment, Tim turned to the exit, running as soon as he crossed into the lobby. Behind him, he could feel the circus try and pull him back, the sounds and smells of the show weighing him down like lead strings.
Just leave Tim. Just. Leave.
But oh did that small part of him long to dance.