#neutral bastardry tbh

[legacyofmistakes]

///quietly slams down an LoK oc in the dark of the.. morning? and flees into the abyss

[phoebenavarro]

only one to trust: interlude

the magnus archives, established jontim, pre jonmartim, 1200 words 

AN: hey grad school is obscenely busy at the moment but I did manage to get a little bit posted for my jon-trusts-tim au. this one is set between seasons 2 and 3, directly after the end of the last fic in the series. I just wanted to write some more Elias tbh

cws for some (illusory) canon-typical violence and Elias manipulation and general bastardry

link to ao3 in replies! 

Tim and Martin hash out what they’re going to tell the police, and about 20 minutes after the call, after Jon leaves, Elias strolls into the Archives.

Well, strolls is probably the wrong word. He rushes down the stairs, a perfect performance of concern, but there still seems to be a nonchalance to the way he’s moving, at least to Tim. He’s not sure he would pick up on it if he didn’t know that Elias is a murderer, but it pisses him off. Still, he forces himself to stay neutral.

“Tim, Martin,” Elias greets them, “Are you both alright? I got the call from the police that there’s a body.”

“O—oh! Elias!” Martin squeaks, “Yes. Yes, we’re fine. Just a bit shaken up, really.”

“Well,” Tim says, raising his injured arm with bitter humor, “Mostly fine.” The jumper has started to fall off, leaving the wound partially visible.

“Oh good lord, Tim, what happened?” Elias asks, brows raised in an expression of surprise, but his eyes zero in on the injury, gazing at it with a hunger, before he turns to Martin. “We need to get you some proper first aid. Martin, could you?”

“Ah, right, yes, of course,” Martin runs to the break room to retrieve the first aid kit, seemingly glad to escape Elias’s gaze.

“It’s a long story,” Tim says. Elias turns his attention back to him.

He approaches Tim and reaches for his arm. Tim grits his teeth, but he lets Elias unwrap Martin’s jumper from around his arm. His heart races. He doesn’t know what Elias is playing at. He’s never showed much concern before, so why would he pretend to care now? Does he know that Tim knows? No, that’s ridiculous, but Tim still wonders. The air between them is thick with tension as Elias continues on, ignoring it.

Elias gives a sharp inhale as he studies the fractal pattern in Tim’s skin. He pulls the arm closer to him so that he may get a closer look.

“Fascinating,” he breathes, forgetting Tim is there for a moment.

Being there, being scrutinized by Elias makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“How did it happen?” Elias asks, his eyes flicking back up to meet Tim’s.

“It’s not— It’s not even related to the murder,” Tim mutters, “It was that Michael, that Sasha encountered. I didn’t like that it was trying to stop me from helping Jon, and I guess it didn’t like my attitude.”

Tim’s breath catches in his chest as Elias prods the fractal pattern branching out from the cuts, sending renewed tingles up Tim’s shoulder. He prods a bit more insistently, and it feels like someone has filled his entire arm with static. Tim gasps.

“Does it hurt?” Elias asks, and Tim shakes his head quickly.

“Mostly numb,” he says, “Felt weird when you touched it, though.”

“Interesting,” Elias says, “Well, you and Martin will need to tell me the whole story.”

Martin returns with the first aid kit, and only then does Elias let go of Tim. Martin raises his eyebrows in question, but he sets to disinfecting and wrapping up Tim’s wound.

As he does that, Tim tells Elias their story. It’s good practice, for when they tell the cops. It’s the truth as much as it can be, mostly just leaving out the part where they talked to Jon after finding the body.

“You should have brought this— the table, the Not!Them, to me. I could have helped. Gertrude had statements about it before,” Elias says, and Tim resists the urge to scoff. Since when has Elias ever been any help?

Martin looks, wide eyed, between Elias and Tim.

“No offense, boss,” Tim says, forcing his tone to stay light, “But you don’t exactly have a great track record of taking our concerns seriously.”

Elias sighs, the perfect picture of regret. “Yes, I suppose you're right. I’m sorry for that.”

Tim shrugs. “Water under the bridge.”

“Well, I’m relieved that the two of you are alright, at least,” Elias says.

“So… You believe us, then?” Martin asks, piping up for the first time.

“Yes, of course,” Elias replies, “Why shouldn’t I?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin shrinks under Elias’s attention.

“That cut on Tim’s arm is enough evidence for me. I don’t know if it will convince the police, but we all know what happened.” Elias smiles at them, and once again, Tim is sure that he knows. It shouldn’t be possible for him to know that they know, unless he was eavesdropping, somehow— and isn’t that a terrifying thought.

“Now that I know you’re safe, I’m going to wait upstairs to let the police in.”

“Yeah, alright, thanks Elias,” Tim says.

When Elias is out of earshot, outside of the Archives, Martin and Tim turn to each other.

“What the fuck,” Tim breathes.

“I hated that,” Martin huffs. “Did he hurt you? Why was he holding your arm like that?”

Tom shakes his head. “I think he just wanted to see it,” he says, “Makes sense, evil eye god and everything. It might be my paranoia talking, but it felt like… A threat. Like he wanted me to know that he could have hurt me, if he wanted to.”

“Christ,” Martin whispers.

And then Tim’s world shifts. Elias is back, holding his arm, but instead of stopping, he just keeps squeezing, moving closer and closer to the wound, until he’s digging his fingers into the gashes, reopening them, blood spilling over his hands and onto the floor, hot and burning. The pain feels so, so real, and Tim flinches violently, trying to clear it from his mind. He shudders. That was one hell of an intrusive thought.

“Are you alright?” Martin asks, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, I just… I don’t know,” Tim shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Me neither.” Martin gives a nervous chuckle. “God, I can’t believe I used to think Elias was boring. I mean, I was absolutely still terrified of him, but for very mundane things, like how he could completely ruin my life and my mother’s life by firing me.”

Tim cracks a smile. “I used to think he was hot.” That sets Martin off, giggling.

“You have— ha, you have terrible taste,” Martin says, breathless, and then he starts giggling again, and Tim can’t help but join him and laugh.

“No, no! I have good taste, because as soon as I got to know him, I lost all interest in him apart from appreciating him aesthetically.”

Martin laughs harder. “You’re insane!”

“No, I’m objectively correct.”

And Martin’s gone, completely lost in a giggle fit. It’s incredibly infectious, watching his face go red and tears stream down his cheeks, and that sets Tim off too. It feels wildly inappropriate, to be laughing like this when there is a corpse on the other side of the wall, but the combination of adrenaline and fear that they’ve been feeling for what seems like weeks at this point has finally broken them. Tim’s not even sure if they’re laughing or crying at this point, but as he sags against Martin’s shoulder, he starts to think that they might be able to get through this.