Work Text:
You hadn’t been feeling very well in a good long while, and so when the thing that called itself ‘Michael’ (which was, most notably, definitely not a Michael) appeared in the archive break room yet again, microwaving an empty mug this time, you weren’t fazed. You just sat down at the little circle table, giving it a half-hearted wave almost automatically, like you would anyone else, and sighed, cradling your head in your hands. It had appeared just about every other week now, and it seemed entertained by the confusion it caused. Jon, in particular, was irritated as its habit of putting strange things in the microwave to watch them would most likely wind up causing problems for the archive at some point in the near future. The microwave beeped, and Michael put another mug in there. Presumably also empty.
If it was trying to burn down the archives, this was a really long and ineffective way of doing so, but from what you’d seen of Michael, that was kind of its thing. Confusing, counterintuitive, and convoluted, those were the three C’s of its mystifying behavior. You felt, more than heard, it sit down across from you, and you weakly met its eyes, seeing that it was looking at you with open curiosity. If you were to think ever so wishfully, you would consider its cocked head and invitingly warm stance a sign of concern, but you couldn’t let yourself begin to believe it cared for you.
“Good morning, Michael.”
“Good afternoon, Archivist.” It parroted you in some ways, but was it even afternoon? Surely not. You paid that no mind. “You are… tired. But it is morning? Have you not drank your coffee?” There was a pause before it asked as it tried to recall exactly what you called the hot bean juice.
“I just can’t bring myself to make it today.” You admitted, gaze cast downward at the table once more, studying the wood grain as it spoke to you. You found it’s unique voice oddly soothing, carrying a softness deep down that logically shouldn’t be its along with the distorted quality.
“I seem to recall that you are usually rather wakeful this time of day— it is a shame to see you in such a state as you are now.”
That confused you. Why would it care? “I thought you… I thought you liked people being sleep deprived, doesn’t it make them easier prey?”
“You are not prey.” It poked your chest for emphasis as it spoke, careful not to cut you on its rather sharp fingers, continuing. “I do not want to see you harmed by the twisting deceit. Is that so difficult to accept?”
“I.. I suppose not,” You murmured quietly, too tired to really think on why you weren’t protesting. “I didn’t get much sleep at all last night, stayed up late doing research for Jon on the latest statement.. mind went to some dark places, remembered.. I remembered some harmful memories.”
“That is not good for you.” It stated simply, pausing for a long moment, as if trying to wrap its mind around what to do. Then, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Long, unnatural, sharp, wrong. You wanted to flinch away or at least look scared, but you just didn’t have it in you to put up the charade today. You could feel the soft surprise and curiosity radiating from it when you gave in to what you wanted and rested your head on its hand.
“The Ceaseless Watcher will be here tomorrow,” You neither knew nor cared what the hell this watcher it referenced was. You likely weren’t even going to remember this morning at all. “Today, you are going to rest. The world will not end if you get one day of rest.”
A more wakeful you would have at least gave the illusion of wanting to protest, if only to spare some dignity, as it scooped you off of the cold wooden chair and into its arms. They were bony, and if you paid too much attention you would probably find many more joints than there should be, but they were shockingly gentle, and as it stood all you were thinking was how comfortable its hold was. It was warm. Not a natural warm, more the warm of an old CRT screen. Calming, buzzing static lulling you to sleep. You yawned deeply, steadily beginning to relax fully. When was the last time you were held? You tried to recall, but just ended up with nothing. The final thing you heard before you drifted off was the familiar creaking of a door. Your head slumped gently against its chest.
You stretched deeply as afternoon rays of sunlight pierced the red veil of your eyelids, peeking through your curtains in a cascading display. You were in your bed. You rolled over, comforters bunching around your calm form. Then, you blinked. When had you gotten into bed? The most recent thing you remembered before this was walking to work, struggling to keep your eyes open, and just barely succeeding. When was the last time you’d gotten a good, full night’s rest until now?
It was beginning to come back to you. A cold, wooden table, the sound of a microwave humming softly, and… Michael. Oh dear.
You bolted upright in bed, a jolt of panic shooting through you, and then mortification was settling over your form. You had fallen asleep in its arms. You had fallen asleep in the arms of the thing that had been antagonizing your coworkers! And not only that, but you had simply disappeared after coming in that morning! No signing out, no going out the door again, nothing. And with your laptop left at the table along with your bag, and something that shouldn’t’ve been in the microwave in there, it would be clear to them what had happened. Shit.
You swung your legs over the side of your bed, putting on your slippers and beginning to pace. You picked up your phone from your bedside, sitting back down. You had a text from Martin, but that was about it? It read: ‘hey, I saw you come in to work today, but couldnt find you for break? are you ok? sorry to bother’. The first thing that popped into your mind (besides the fact that Martin was your kindest and most considerate coworker by far) was why he always put in the work to text in full sentences. At least he wasn’t Jon, using vocabulary terms unknown to you and the rest of mankind. (Or Elias and his constant eye puns? Was that a weird boss thing?)
You texted him back, vaguely letting him know that you were alive and well, and telling him that you had went home because you weren’t feeling too good. You also informed him that he was a sweetheart for caring so much.
Something dawned on you then, hadn’t you left all your things in the break room? Including your phone? Why was your satchel by your bedside? Moreover, why hadn’t Jon bothered you yet? You didn’t call in sick or anything. Oh gods. You didn’t call in sick. You took a deep breath, resolving to give Jon a hopefully well-crafted lie about food poisoning tomorrow morning. For now, you were going to take a breath and calm down. The world wasn’t ending.
You really were quite terrible at noticing things on first glance, but you now saw on your nightstand a glass of water, with a note. A note? It read ‘I informed Jon of your absence, do remember to hydrate.” It was in large, slightly messy handwriting, but not the kind of messy you would expect. The letters were slightly varying sizes, a juxtaposition of swoops and angles making your brain hurt a little bit reading it. But it was.. awfully sweet? Why was Michael being kind to you? Did it really mean well, or was this some Distortion mind trick to get in your head?
You found that the more you thought about it, the more you realized that if it were to take you captive, it probably would have done so already. Your tense shoulders relaxed just a little bit, your brows unfurrowing slightly, and so you let out a soft sigh as you drank the water, setting the glass down gently.
Jon was going to have questions tomorrow.
That didn’t matter right now.