Chapter Text
The air is tense, as Tim steps in.
That much seems to be a constant, as he’s put under the scrutinizing gazes of his not so friendly cohorts. Beyond Jon, who gives him that same, nervous and uneasy smile.
That much does not comfort Tim in this situation, not this time, and it is with a poignant manner he darts his eyes away.
Tim does not need to look, to imagine the dejected expression that crosses Jon’s face. Tim’s chest, stirring with irritability at how, fragile, his self-appointed friend has gotten, finding himself already starting to feel fed up by how self pitying it all feels. He would not admit as much, though, not in Melanie’s presence, feeling much more annoyed by the woman than Jon in any capacity, despite the fact it felt like Jon was going to tear him apart, literally, with his eyes not long ago.
Daisy draws Tim’s attention back, grunting in the back of her throat, and gesturing him further along and into one of the few chairs. Melanie, scoffing under her breath in a manner fitting an angry teenager, elects to lean against the wall with crossed arms. Though, the oversized sweater, with its arms going past Melanie's hands in a “cute” dangle, sully that image fairly.
"Sit." Basira says firmly, the woman’s voice terse and professional that finds a home in the tense atmosphere well.
"I'm not a dog." Tim can’t help but reply, a little indignant, juggling an almost wounded sense of pride, thrown high and caught by deft hands of already stated irritability. Though also, he can’t help but find his eyes idly wander to Daisy, as if the sentiments were correlated.
She seems to agree, with the briefest of glances back, stern and telling him to just cooperate. He makes sure to sigh like an agitated child nonetheless, as he does sit down anyway.
"So" Basira begins, but Tim cuts her off, unable to help the incessant questions pestering his brain from spilling past his lips.
"Anyone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on now?"
Basira gives Tim a long look.
Idly, Tim finds it a bit comparable to his mother’s disapproval when she had found out he had convinced Danny into stealing from the old candy shop down the road. She had thought of Danny as her “innocent little boy”, compared to Tim’s more confrontational nature. She, of course, was not aware of many of Danny’s exploits.
That much was a bit of a secret between him and his brother. Whispered with proud giggles but just as apt to be used as blackmail when they got on each other's nerves to the point of fighting. Which, was often, in what Tim is sure average brotherly fashion.
“....Yes." Basira drawls after some silence, before clearing her throat a little, back straight in a stance fitting her appearance.
"I spoke with Helen.” Basira pauses, lips thinned and slanted downwards. “As you can imagine, she found it all very funny. But, I got her talking." Jon scoffs, almost like a pouting child.
"Quiet." Basira says almost instinctual in annoyance, giving Jon a brief glare, correcting him as if she were a teacher. It is a trend Tim cannot help but come to notice. It isn’t one he brews in, as now by this point he has far more pressing and existentially horrifying matters to settle in.
But, it is something that both adds to the alien atmosphere and is familiar.
Not many people have the patience for Jon, the grouch the far too old looking man is. In other circumstances, Tim may have been snickering like a student in the back of said class Jon is not quite being lectured in.
"You, will be here for ‘a few weeks’, in her words." Basira says tersely, and Tim can’t help but sneer and scoff, rocking forward in his chair.
"Really?"
She has the gal to roll her eyes, as if Tim is the problem here.
"Yes, really.” The woman sighs, pressing her hand to her forehead, as if to message away a headache. “Despite saying she doesn't know how she did it, she can send you back-”
"Typical" Jon interjects in a moody mutter. Daisy sighs at this as Basira once more gives the man an unappreciative glance, leaning on Jon's shoulder.
To Tim’s surprise, Jon doesn’t move away, even as he hunches under the muscular woman’s weight. In other circumstances Tim might feel jealous at that fact, since Jon always throws off Tim’s arm when he tries to do the same.
"So.” Basira emphasizes, louder.
“Till then, we just have to keep " pretty boy" here, alive." The woman says, gesturing in Tim’s direction with a tight lipped, almost sneer.
Tim raises a brow at that, half offended, and half perpetually lost.
He knows they’re speaking about him, context aside. He’s also not a stranger to compliments, he so seldom gets flustered by them these days, especially shallow ones. He’s not a romantic or anything, not anymore at least, but you can only be called handsome so many times till the edge wears off. Not that Tim isn’t unaware that this is an enviable problem.
Still, in a situation like this, so sudden, it catches him by mild surprise. Basira seems to notice his look, clearing her throat light with mild bashfulness.
"That's what Helen called you."
Basira explains, and she seems all the more human to Tim now in this singular moment than she had speaking like some sort of crotchety kid hating teacher.
"As if you don't think he's hot." Melanie lilts in a teasing tone, wearing a grin to match.
Basira visibly bristles a little, with a more touchy temperament, face flushing a little darker, poignantly not looking in Tim’s direction as she scowls.
A sour-faced expression, equally embarrassed and outright annoyed. Melanie, meanwhile, cackles like a wart faced witch on Halloween night. The sort of sound that would give someone the impression that the source bares fangs rather than petty words and maybe likes to terrorize whiny five year olds.
Tim gets the impression that maybe one of those is true.
Tim, despite finding it all comical, watching these people he doesn’t know make jabs at each other about him, can’t help but clench his fists and ask.
"So, that's it?"
Basira finally looks back at him, and Melanie stops in her cackling laughter.
"What?" The headstrong woman asks, brow raised as if Tim warrants some inherent disapproval.
"That's all? Keep me alive? Just so what- I can die again?” Tim insists, strain leaking into his voice as Jon noticeably stiffens in his seat.
“You're not gonna tell me literally anything? I mean clearly some freaky shit went down- I mean seriously-” Tim cries, gesturing harshly at everyone in room. From the scar ridden Jon, to the haggard Daisy, to the defensive Melanie, to the tense Basira. “Everyone here looks like shit!"
The looks shared and aimed at Tim are both offended and uneasy. Jon, more uneasy, Melanie, more offended. A mix of sneering lips and hunched shoulders. Some, more unreadable, such as Basira or Daisy, though Tim isn’t sure if he’s imagining the slight growl that drifts through the tense air.
"Well.." Basira starts, again, but Tim can’t help but persist.
"Well what? You could at least try or something. huh? At least tell me how I die or something!” Tim explodes, long since risen from his chair, tossing his arms in the air with an exaggerated, exasperated breath. It is a near identical outburst he had with Jon not the day before, but it replays in Tim’s head regardless. No one is doing anything to stop his maybe close, maybe distant, demise. If he were in Jon’s place, he’d at least say something.
That’s what he tells himself, at least.
“Christ." Tim mutters, exhaling heavily, feeling his shoulders sag with the weight of it, and Jon stands, but hesitates in going closer, looking for the words. But, it is Daisy, who surprisingly steps forward. Basira, who looks like she may have been about to say something, elects for silence at the sight.
"C'mon stoker." Daisy says, waving a hand, turned towards the door, as if she has any sort of authority over him to drag him out the room for the other’s comfort.
Tim look at the woman, some mixture of frustrated and appalled, barking a laugh that chokes up in the back of his throat.
"I'm not just gonna-” Tim starts, but Daisy cuts him off easily with a low and almost bored drawl. "C'mon."
Tim grits his teeth, internally seething, bristling in a way not too unlike Melanie not too long ago, the woman in question watching Tim with a raised brow when Tim happens to meet her eyes. Daisy, standing in front of him, arms now crossed, seems to take his silence for reply, carrying on, electing to have this conversation in front of everyone instead of somewhere more secluded.
"You're angry." Daisy begins, and Tim already loathes the direction of this, and finds himself somewhat regretting not taking the woman’s offer to leave, glancing at the silent voyeurs.
"No shit."
"You feel helpless."
"Sure."
"You're 'lone."
Tim grins, almost a bit wild, baring his teeth at Daisy, who returns the favor, daring to not look at what must be Jon’s pitiful expression, Melanie’s apathetic smug, and Basira’s pointed glancing away.
"Are you just going to say ominous shit at me, or what? Cause it's been what? >em>a day? And I'm already sick of this."
"I get that. Some stuff better not knowing, though."
Tim balks, and deciding to take the initiative himself, turns sharply, stomping away from the conversation.
“Fuck off!”
There’s a scuffle behind him, the sound of someone getting out their chair quickly, but no other steps besides Daisy’s firm pace follow behind Tim as he budges out the door and back up the stairs and outside where he was brooding before Melanie interrupted him prior.
Once again, the fresh air that greets his lungs feels no less stale than that of inside.
It takes little time for the door to open after him, and for Daisy to slide into place next to him.
Tim scoffs, shouldering away from her, giving an accuracy glance to the uneasily empty street.
“Didn't you hear me the first time? I said fuck off.” Tim spits.
“Some stuff better not knowin’.”
She repeats again, firm and confident in her words. Tim sneers, meeting her head on.
"Right. Like my death? I'm sure I could do something."
She looks at him, almost bashful in a sort of infuriating way.
"... Maybe."
Tim opens his mouth to say- something, a large inhale filling his lungs with air, that blows out past his lips when Daisy raises a hand.
"Folks bad at talking. Dumb, too. Probably didn't think bout it."
Tim’s expression turns incredulous, speaking an aggressive sarcastic.
"Seriously?"
"Lot's happened. S', happening. Hard to...... Think" Daisy trails off, eyes sliding cleanly to the left, words tangling up audibly in the woman’s throat as if caught by deft fingers, her lip curling up to show her teeth in some odd sort of sneer. What follows is that slight, just audible rumble Tim would compare to a dog’s growl.
“Yeah?” Tim presses, a bit snappy and a bit uncomfortable, snapping Daisy’s gaze back to him at an almost whiplash pace.
It almost makes Tim want to step back, but he remains in place as the woman seems to gather herself from whatever distracted her.
"Let Jon figure it.” She states, breathing audibly through her nose in a heavy exhale. “He'll know if we should."
Tim looks at her, brows drawn, the question thoughtlessly spilling past his lips caught between irritation and caution, the memory of Jon’s eyes locked on him so keenly coming to the forefront of his mind. Not too dissimilar from that mannequin, that clown, walking and talking and alive in all the ways it should not be, eyes shiny like well-tended to glass or porcelain.
"How would he do that? He seems..."
"You saw 'im.” She says in a blunt, gesturing vaguely at him. “You saw that look.” Daisy says, and Tim goes from confusion at what she means, to confusion of how she knows that.
It clearly must show on his face, as Daisy points at it. “Got that look, starin’. You know." Daisy says matter of factually, and Tim’s own scowl deepens, hating being read so easy by someone he literally doesn’t know.
Tim had worked very hard his whole life to save face, smiles and cocky, jack-ass persona, even when he’d find himself pacing his shitty flat wondering how it all went so wrong.
"Give 'im a lil. If you're supposed t'know, you'll know."
She says it certain, just as all her words have been, leaving Tim no room for argument, despite the fact he desperately wants to. He doesn’t understand the reasoning, of how Jon could possibly just know in some weird, magical sense, what he should and should not be told. It’s as ridiculous as the fact he’s even here, in the future, right now.
Daisy, seemingly satisfied with herself, turns without another word, and leaves out the door and back into the archives before Tim could even think to stop her.
Tim splutters indignant, but doesn’t make chase. Maybe due to instinct, of some sort, but he has the distinct idea that it wouldn't be the best idea. So, he hangs his head, sighing long, wishing he was closer to the wall, if just to slam his head back into it.
Instead of doing that, though, he limply opens the door, glancing back into the room to find Daisy still waiting for him, as if anticipating it.
Tim isn’t sure why he steps back inside, nor why he follows Daisy back down the stairs, head swirling with thoughts he doesn’t grasp with any real urgency, both still keyed up, and absolutely exhausted from the whole affair, just as he has been since the start of it.
Down the stairs, through the door, Daisy stepping ahead of him and returning to the half- assed circle of people, Daisy leaning in to mutter something into Basira’s ear.
He eyes, suddenly lock on his unwelcome cohorts, still in the room.
Jon remains in place despite his fidgeting. Melanie, had since walked out, likely when Tim had or some time after. And Basira, stands terse, eyes flicking to the now retreating Diasy, as if to instinctually follow her, before locking onto Tim, and sighing deeply. She steps forward, more diplomatic this time around, offering Tim a slight and uneasy smile that does not grace her eyes by even the smallest of centimeters.
“She’s right. Look- Stoker. I get it.”
Tim swallows a scoff.
“I do.” Basira says more sternly than her stuttering at the expression that crosses Tim’s features.
“But- this is all- confusing.... Just” Basra hesitates, gaze straying off, lips drawing a thin line. “Hang tight, okay? For a couple days. Before we know if telling you anything would make this better... or, worse.” Her eyes trail to Jon. “Or, if it would change anything at all.”
She sighs, tired, and shakes her head, walking out after Daisy.
It leaves the room empty beyond two occupants, once again, and Tim finds his eyes straying to who he’s left with, looking to Jon, who’s already staring at him and likely never looked away, and uneasily, grins.
“Alone again, eh?” Jon startles slightly, despite his intent gaze, as if broken from a trance, letting out a somewhat shaky exhale.
“Yes, it would seem so.”
The pause that follows is tense and uncomfortable, but Tim is not going to give Jon the grace of being the one to break it this time, expression soured.
“I’m sorry.... I frightened you.”
Jon speaks slowly, unable to bear the silence and discomfort. Tim wants to laugh at it, Jon speaking to him as if Tim were a frightened animal. Tim does not refrain from rolling his eyes.
“You didn't frighten anything, Jon. You’re too small to be scary anyway.”
Tim prods at Jon, making the man scowl, which only deepens as Tim dares to step closer, poking the shorter man on the chest. Jon groans in response, taking his turn to roll his eyes, batting Tim’s hand away.
“I’m serious.” Jon insists, expression stern. Tim hardly wastes a beat, insisting on his own.
“And so am I. I’m fine.” Tim grins. “Or, whatever you'd call it.”
Jon huffs at this, as Tim waves a hand in his own dismal, clearly not pleased by the response. Let Jon be annoyed, Tim thinks, pettily.
There is a brief silence of many, and Tim once again finds himself trying to fill the gap despite his prior petty thoughts, feeling too nervous without doing so. Not when Jon is looking at him like that.
“So like.... “ Tim starts, drawings Jon’s attention which had strayed to probably wallow in self pity or something. “Is there anything I can do, here?”
Tim finally asks.
“Cause if whatever monsters are out there don't kill me first, boredom will.”
Jon sighs at that, brows furrowing. The man clearly still isn't appreciating Tim’s jokes about the matter.
Tim, understands, but it won’t stop him from making them. The expression, and annoyance, is a clear “no”, though, and Tim can’t help but mutter, raising his brows.
“Wow, I feel so loved here.”
Jon huffs again, waving a hand, spindly and burnt. As if Tim were a pestering bug he could rid himself of.
“Give me- a moment.”
Tim holds in another sigh, shifting on his feet, not letting his eyes wonder too much from the man in front of him, despite the almost natural and idle curiosity of a new location.
“Do you guys not have anything for- i don't know, entertainment?”
Tim does glance around this time, but nothing but dusty files and books about ghosts or things of the likely sort. “Between almost dying- and everything.”
Jon shifts, an uneasy smile crossing his face. “Well I- me and Daisy listen to podcasts.”
Tim laughs at how awkward it i his own smile widening as a thought crosses his mind.
“Aw, is someone-”
Jon cuts Tim off with a hand before he can continue, having picked up on Tim’s intent by his tone quickly, face a slight flush of embarrassment, but nothing more.
It does make Tim snicker, as empty as it is in the corners. Teasing Jon always made him feel better, if just because of the frazzled stare Jon is giving him now, looking akin to an old lady whose garden has just got trampled. Tim wonders if, if Jon wore pearls, if he’d clutch at them with a similar intensity.
“No- No- certainly not-” Jon stutters, and Tim raises his hands, pitying the man, grinning.
“Alright, alright. She seems too scary for you anyway.”
Jon splutters, but falls silent quickly, not fighting that issue for more than a moment, hand sliding up almost casually to his throat.
“Yeah.” Jon sighs, rubbing his throat, almost wistful, making Tim’s head tilt curious, but not asking yet.
“So... Is it just podcasts, or.....? Is there a working Tv somewhere.” Jon hums, thoughtful, eyes flicking to some odd place on the floor before they light up.
“Ah.” Jon vocalizes, as if he had bumped into something. “There’s an old VCR in storage, along with a box of movies.”
“On tape, I would assume.” Tim drawls, and Jon looks at him almost a little incredulously, perhaps mildly offended or something similar, though it lacks any real intensity by a mile.
“Yes, on tape. That is specifically what VCR;s play.”
Tim groans. It’s a bit nostalgic, at least. He can’t find comfort in it now, but it’s parallel enough that it’s tolerable. So many days Tim would give nothing to just be a kid again grabbing some run of the numbers movie and watch it with his brother like it was the most entertaining thing in the entire world.
“I’ll take it. Better than just sitting here.”
Jon moves, gesturing Tim. “Let me get that setup for you.” Tim sighs.
He’s stuck here for “A few weeks”. Over a day in, it already feels intensely grating. It’s, a lot. Tim never really considered himself to be particularly smart, Danny getting the A’s for his C’s often enough to note, though Tim knew Danny also did his fair share of cheating. He envied Danny for awhile, just as much as he was proud of him. He never was spiteful, though, not really, not in the way people might assume at least. Because Danny, Danny kept him grounded. More than thier parents ever could, more than his friends ever could. No matter what happened to him, he could just talk to Danny, and hear about his brother’s next big venture and interest, never having to wonder what either of them were running from.
And now? Now, in some fucked up future, his death looming over him, evidence of a life he hasn’t personally led in his pocket, and stood in front of him? He feels like he’s ran too far. Reached a set of stairs and tripped down the third, tumbling his way to the bottom with n warning, just to be told to crawl back up as if his knees weren’t mangled bits of splintered bone and torn ligaments he could feel sloshing and grating against the wood.
He’s supposed to just, live, after this. Live knowing he’ll die before he’s forty. Which, Tim always expected, didn’t he? Since the day Danny died, so did he. He was never going to get married, have kids, do whatever it is normal people do. That little life he sometimes daydreamed about when drunk out his mind with Sasha was never a possibility.
He’s supposed to just live on, just as he always had.
Just a few weeks, and he’ll wake up, as if this had never happened at all.
Tim wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Thanks, Jon.”