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There was a knock on the door.
It wasn't an unusual occurrence; it always seemed like all sorts needed the solace of a safe haven no matter what time of day, and it was most certainly past a normal person's bedtime. But Georgie wasn't much for normalcy anyways, not anymore.
She opened the door, and before her stood a man, willowy and tall, his face obscured by the cloak he wore. She raised her eyebrows at him, eyed him up and down, and then pointed at his shoes, which were caked in mud.
"Leave those outside." She said firmly, and the man hesitated for a moment before relenting, leaning himself against the threshold and tugging his boots free. "Alright, come in."
The Psychopomp's Sanctuary was warm and bright with the light from the fireplace, the flame still strong from where Georgie had just been stoking it. There was a tea kettle hung in front of the flames, ready to boil and filling the air with a warm earthy fragrance. Everything else smelled of sandalwood and incense, the shelved lining the walls covered in every dried herb and ward against scrying and detection Georgie had ever heard of, all cluttered close together.
Georgie directed the man to the couch set in front of the fireplace, throwing the door closed with a flick of her wrist as she pushed the kettle closer to the flames.
"So. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Cursed? I'm afraid I won't be able to do much about that last one until Gerry gets back from his little vacation, but I can at least cover the first two-"
"Georgie." The man interrupted, his voice hoarse and desperate and unfamiliar.
She frowned at him. "Now, how do you know my name? I haven't given it to you quite yet."
The man gave a mirthless chuckle, tugging his hood off to reveal an equally unfamiliar face that he rubbed with both hands, looking worn and tired. He looked up at her, his brown eyes flat and lifeless and that was a little too familiar for her liking, and then he pulled a letter from his cloak, the parchment stained an off and speckled with what Georgie knew to be pine and rosemary, the most basic protection herbs in all of existence.
Georgie froze, her eyes focused on the man with a new kind of intensity as he held her eyes.
"Georgie." The man said again, exhaustion clear in every line of his face and Georgie's mouth fell open in surprise.
"Tim?"
Tim had been her sort of... pen pal, for a while now. A couple years at least.
It'd started out as an accident- she'd been trying to get a hold of Jon, because she'd been receiving more and more patrons carrying items that smelled distinctly of Jon, and she'd been hearing all these rumors about the institute he was a part of- letters were a bit old fashioned, in the face of what an old email could do, but the magic behind electronic devices was still new and unreliable, and sending letters was a practice that had centuries for people to perfect.
Not that her wards had mattered much to Tim Stoker.
She could remember those early letters with an aching sort of fondness; Tim had been funny, intriguing, playfully flirting and teasing in ways that Georgie hadn't had the opportunity to indulge in since she'd opened the Psychopomp. It was a nice little addition to her routine of upkeep and caretaking, as fulfilling as those both were on their own.
But the longer they'd gone on... well, Jon had tried to assure her that everything was fine, that nothing had gone wrong, but Tim was a lot more open about the goings on inside the Magnus institute. He'd explained the false hydra that had made its home beneath the main building, how it'd nearly lured Martin, his friend, into its hungry maw with its song until Sasha had accidentally dropped a scroll of ice to send it scattering. Jon had made it sound like it was a slight scrape that they'd already brushed off, but Tim laid out every painful detail of the encounter, and how nearly they hadn't made it out alive at all.
From there a lot of Tim's letters had changed, becoming strained in his usual cheer as Jon's letters became accusatory and demanding enough that Georgie had taken a break from responding until Jon could get his issues together. She made sure to mention that he still had a place at the Psychopomp if he needed it, but she couldn't help someone who didn't want to be helped.
Tim's own letters had become sporadic and aimless at times, rambling on about inane things that were intercut by some strange account of events, like how someone had begun leaving fractal paintings throughout the entire city, enchanted with a dazzling kind of magic that could betwitch the observer for hours. Nothing had come of it, as far as Tim had known, but it was clear he'd been worried about it.
Then there had been talks of reanimated things, both inanimate and undead alike, and it'd been enough of a worry that Georgie had picked up writing to Jon again, who seemed far more apologetic about his prior behavior. And it was about that same time that she'd extended a standing invitation to her safe haven to Tim as well, and any friends or coworkers he wanted to bring with him.
And that had been the last she'd heard for a while. Until now, it seemed.
She blinked down at him, and he stared up at her, his face lined with stress and marked with all sorts of fresh scars, burns and little pock marks across his cheeks. He looked so tired, but Georgie was just relieved he was even here. She wanted to press, to ask about Jon, about the rest of his coworkers, but instead she pursed her lips, nodding once.
"Alright, well. Are you hurt? Hungry?" She asked, and Tim blinked up at her, a little taken aback but he shook his head.
"No, no, im-" He was interrupted by the growl of his own stomach and he shut his mouth with a click and Georgie gave a nod, shuffling towards the kitchen space. She'd had a bit of a hunter's pot that was always on the boil for situations such as this, a few years old now. It had been enough time that just about every herb she'd procured had made its way into the mixture, adding flavor and inherent magical properties, and while it wasn't an instant fix, it definitely helped some. Especially since the aura around Tim was... a little frayed.
Actually it was very badly ripped to shreds, but she wouldn't bring attention to that just yet.
This place was safe. She'd done everything she could to make it safe, so those kinds of questions could wait.
The Admiral had found Tim's lap when she got back, sprawled across the length of his legs and purring like the little motor he was. Tim had his fingers buried in the fluff of his neck, rubbing back and forth distantly as he stared into the flames. He looked up at her as she approached, his eyes dark and dead, and she reflexively shivered at the memory brought to mind, but there was no fear there. Not any more anyways. It'd seemed like a small price to pay at the time for the sort of immunity that she had, and for the most part it was true enough.
"Here, eat this." Georgie commanded softly, and it seemed like the smell was enough to really awake whatever hunger Tim had been suppressing because he turned ravenous, gulping it down as fast as he could without spilling it everywhere. The Admiral purred even louder, kneading little biscuits into the meat of Tim's thigh and Georgie gave him a few appreciative scritches since Tim was occupied. "Oh, yes, my little man, you're doing such a good job taking care of Tim here, aren't you?"
The cat let out a little mewl, like the big baby he was.
The spoon scraped against the bottom of the bowl before Tim dropped it with a sigh, setting it on the side table before he turned to Georgie again. She stared back at him, and the silence between them stretched for a moment.
"You good to talk or do you need to go to bed first?" She asked, because Tim seemed tired enough right now to fall asleep on his feet. But he just shook his head, looking around like he just realized where he was. "Okay. What do you need then?"
"I... Don't know. A lot of things." He said after another lengthy pause, and then he huffed a bitter laugh, running a hand through his messy hair before standing. "Actually- fuck, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't even be here. I don't know why... I guess just to let you know I'm still alive, or something, but-"
"Well, hang on." Georgie said, standing with him as he took one step towards the door. ""
"You don't want to have to deal with the shit that I've got following me." Tim said flatly, brutally, nearly a snarl, but Georgie held fast.
"You don't know that, Tim."
"Georgie. You told me why you made this place. You don't want this shit, I promise."
She paused at that, about what that entailed for him, if he was bringing up what she'd told him in confidence. Because she was aware of what the Magnus institute did, what their whole purpose was, and the rumors around their bureaucracy was not charitable in the slightest; a middle man for the supernatural and the mundane alike, set in a world where neither side were particularly kind to the idea of coming together in any sense of the word.
Georgie herself had been solidly part of the mundane for so long... she hadn't paid any mind to the conflicts and stories about the horrors of the supernatural until they were pertinent. Until they included her, to a mild degree. Not just anyone could create wards. Not everyone had been desperate enough to make a deal with one of the Dread powers, but... here she was. Making the most of it.
She'd been laying low for a long time, only keeping an ear out for the sake of keeping tabs on Jon, and then Tim after they started talking, but she didn't care so much about the scrutiny knowledge might bring, in that moment. Not with Tim having so suddenly appeared out of thin air, looking like he'd just escaped hell and was determined to crawl back for some reason.
"I don't care." She said firmly, leaving no room for argument even though Tim looked like he had half a mind to try anyways. She continued over his mild protests. "Tell me anyways, Tim. I don't care."
"It was the circus." Tim said finally, and Georgie sucked in a breath. "They... they took my brother a long time ago, 's why I joined that stupid circle-jerk of an institute in the first place, to try and... I don't know. Figure out what happened? To see if there was any way to get Danny back? To know if I should just... give up?"
He paused again, biting his lip as the firelight cast his face in sharp relief, every line highlighted. He looked drained, a horrifying kind of empty that Georgie hadn't ever wanted to see on anyone, let alone... Tim. Who'd spent the first few months of their back-and-forth doing nothing but flirting, telling light-hearted jokes and jabs towards her and Jon and his other coworkers. Who, until he'd suddenly stopped responding, had been a light Georgie hadn't known she'd gotten used to over the months they'd known each other.
"But it didn't end up fucking mattering anyways." Tim suddenly spat, balling his hands into fists. "I didn't learn shit- Sasha got taken by them, and I didn't even fucking notice. None of us did."
"Oh, Tim." Georgie said softly, mournfully.
"So we- whoever was left, we tried to infiltrate them back- they were trying to do some kind of ritual or summoning. I didn't care, I just- I needed them gone. I needed them to never be able to take another person again." Tim's shoulders slumped, his hands going slack at his sides, and she reached out to take one of his hands in hers. It was rough, scarred. Warm. He looked down at their hands blankly, then back up to her.
It was another moment of silence, and then Georgie brushed her other hand up his arm, lightly gripping his upper arm and directing him back onto the couch. He stared at her mutely, his eyes wet.
"I'm sorry, Tim." Georgie said softly, after they were both seated again, and his nose wrinkled. "I really am. And I'm glad that you got away from... whatever was happening. I'm glad you came here."
"I can't stay." He said hoarsely, staring out at the flickering flames of the fire. His hand squeezed hers, but he wouldn't look her in the eye. "I need to find them-"
"Tim." She said, cupping his cheek to bring his face towards her, brushing her thumb across the rough stubble. "You don't. I didn't know your friends, or your brother, but... I think you need to take some time for yourself right now, just until you're back on your feet. You're not going to be able to do much to stop them if you can hardly stand, right?"
"But-" He stopped, bringing his free hand to rest over hers and leaning into the touch. His eyes fell closed, his lashes clumped together with unshed tears.
"You're safe now, Tim." She soothed, moving her hand to rest at the nape of his neck and tuck him securely into the crook of her shoulder. She pressed a light kiss to his hair as he shuddered silently against her. "You're okay, I've got you."
And there was so much to say there, so many questions she still wanted to ask, but Tim was more important than anything else in the moment, sobbing into the soft fabric of her blazer.
But he was safe now. And she would do everything she could to keep him that way.