Work Text:
Tim doesn’t think hell is real. If it were, then the question would have to be asked why God would make him suffer so much in life just to do it again later. Honestly, it just seemed like overkill at this point. At least that’s what he thought as he dredged through about a hundred barely organized statements looking for one that might be a reference for whatever one Martin was so set on working on. Despite the fact that Martin was working on a statement that would not record- and this was a box of statements that had already been uploaded to the computer system. Despite that Jon had not been in for a good month now and there was no reason to work this diligently without him here. Hell, there wasn’t a reason to work this diligently even if he were here.
Regardless, Martin was fretting and it seemed like the only way for him to calm his nerves was to toss himself into more work, and Tim -the good friend he is- offered to find the stupid statement of Joe Whatshisname so Martin could make a cup of tea.
Martin has been fretting since Jon has left though, and none of his work has really been that much of a help. It was thorough, but it’s all been on already finished statements- so most of the leads have been covered. The only thing he’s actually found is that the sister of some guy from a previous statement came in and gave a statement of her own. About a black cat she’d “swore she saw at the same place every day” on her way to work. Riveting stuff that had already been uploaded to archive drive and packed away. Despite that, Martin was convinced he needed to work hard so that Jon wasn’t stressed whenever he got back from his sick leave. At first, Tim tried reassuring him that Jon probably wouldn’t mind if this work got done or not, but that did little to comfort Martin. The poor sod took about a week to convince that this wasn’t a worm situation again and that Jon most likely was just overdue for a break- not that Tim thought he deserved one. It ended up taking Tim promising to go to Jon’s apartment himself with some soup Martin made and checking in on him. Despite his… thoughts on Jon, he really did try to do just that. It just happened that, well, he made it to the subway before he realized he didn’t actually know Jon’s current address. The only one he knew was from they were both in research, and that definitely wasn’t still his flat. In the end, Tim ended up just giving the soup to some guy sleeping on the streets and going home. He told Martin alls well and that there were no worms in sight and that was that.
If Tim held any respect for the man, He’s sure there would be some genuine concern for Jon being gone for so long, but after Sasha he just couldn’t be bothered. If Jon really was sick, then the man was probably monster enough that it would do much. Frankly, the only reason Tim wanted him back at all is because there wasn’t anyone else in the archives who deserved the position of head archivist and felt sorry for anyone outside who might take the offer.
Regardless, here Tim is- shifting through statements looking for one by some guy whose name he can’t even remember- for Martin. While his oh so wonderful boss has been absent for more than a month at this point. Truly, one of life’s greatest joys. Not long after he’s made it to the “1998 RA-RF” section, he hears a thump from Jon’s office. It’s a bit past five, and the rest except for him and Martin have headed home. He nearly wants to claim it’s Martin, looking for a way to contact Jon again, but the staircase is old enough that he would’ve heard him.
Right. Given the office’s direct entrance to the tunnels, there’s no telling what unseemly horrors wait in there- but there’s not a shot in hell Tim is going to let Martin be the one to find out. Besides, there wasn’t anyone else no shot Tim was going to find whatever statement it was Martin needed.
As he quietly made his way over, he grabbed the mint breath spray Tim kept in his bag and brass knuckles from Daisy’s desk, quietly wishing she’d left her gun behind. Still, as he approached he looked carefully through the window of the door- the tunnel was still covered. Interesting. Well, no time to get brutally murdered like the present, Tim thought. He creaked the door open- only for it to get stopped by something behind it.
At this point, Tim couldn’t see shit and whatever was behind the door wasn’t budging, so he took out his phone light and squeezed his way through to search for the cause. Instead of something normal- like a box or some papers that had fallen down- he found his ass of a boss in his birthday suit completely unconscious. Damn it, Tim hoped he wasn’t dead. That would be a pain to explain to Martin.
Tim kicked Jon gently, which caused eyelids-where-there-shouldn’t-be-eyelids to open up and stare directly at him before closing again. Right, yes that is normal and not completely fucking mad. Regardless of his monster boss doing… that… Tim really had to deal with this before Martin got back, so against his better judgment Tim bent down and placed his hand under his nose. Still alive, wonderful.
Now onto the next issue- everything else. There didn’t seem to be any signs of torture, at least not in the traditional sense. The only thing that stood out was three things. One, Jon’s skin was incredibly smooth. Two, there were thin dotted lines drawn all over his body that looked similar to plastic surgery lines or a sewing pattern. And three, he was incredibly thin. Don’t get him wrong, Jon has always been thin to a near concerning level, but this wasn’t a bad diet- this was on the brink of starvation. Rather Jon was doing a weird self transformation journey, or this was some fucked up ritual. Whatever it was, Tim wanted to part in it.
Sighing, he pulled off his button up and draped it over Jon, before moving him to the cot. This was not a today Tim problem. He didn’t even want it to be a tomorrow Tim problem. Hopefully the others could deal with it when they came in and Martin could have enough emotions or feelings for the both of them. With the tunnel closed, it still left the question of how did Jon end up there in the first place. Looking around, Tim counted all three doors-wait. One…two…ah. Yellow door. This was definitely not Tim’s job. Edward scissors hands and his hello brick spirals were far too much like the damn clowns for him to want to be within 15 feet of any of it.
With one last glance at the cot, Tim left the office. Martin still wasn’t back yet, and Tim was frankly not willing to stay much longer, given it was now five-till-six, so he gathered his things and went to the break room to tell Martin goodnight. By the time he got there, Martin was sitting at the table fast asleep with an empty mug in his hand. Figures. Checking the electric kettle had turned off, Tim took his jacket and draped it over Martin’s shoulder. Looks like he’d be making it back to his flat in just his tank shirt. Not a problem.