Chapter Text
Darkness.
Almost always, it was dark. Jon was sure there was a lamp in this room somewhere, he'd seen the light a few times. But it was forgotten and cold, not sparing a glimpse of a shadow anymore.
And so he sat there, bound to a chair, breathing around the pressing inky air, that was invading his every being. His mind was left to spin in circles, only interrupted by a tinny voice carrying thinly veiled threats and cool, harsh hands that didn't need to see.
Sometimes there was food. Sometimes he received some water. Never enough to satiate him.
He made no sound. It was bad, when he made a noise. There was a gag in his mouth, of course, but he still could have screamed away the silence. He did, at first. Then he learned, that pain didn't need to leave a mark to be unbearable. Soon afterwards, he sealed his throat shut and no sound had escaped him since.
He didn't know how long it had been since then.
Jon sat. Breathed. Floated in the pitch black. Awareness faded into restless sleep, until he couldn't tell the difference anymore. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was going to die here. Although it didn't quite scare him any longer. He figured it would at least be more peaceful than all … this.
Then, just when he was sure he was never going to see the light of day again, a door from nowhere opened.
Tim was on his way to the break-room to get a cup of tea, when he heard an audible “thump” coming from Jon's office. A part of him was scared it would be another Jane Prentiss type of deal, and he was about to be attacked by some horrible creature, but the rest of him got very angry, because how dare they attack before giving him time for his morning tea!
He inched towards the door and tried to hear if anything was moving inside. Nothing. Slowly, he raised his hand and knocked against the wood. Still, nothing. So he opened it. At first he couldn't see anything through the dusty darkness of the room. He turned on the light, looked at the floor, and turned it off again. After a stunned second of silence, he turned it back on.
Laying there, on his side, arms hiding his face, was Jonathan bloody Sims. He was wearing nothing aside from a pair of underwear, his ribs were poking out from beneath the skin with every shallow breath, and when Tim looked a little closer, he could see red marks around his wrists. For a terrible moment, he thought his boss was dead. The thought clenched around his heart painfully, although Tim refused to acknowledge it. After all, they would all probably be better off, with him dead. That's what he tried to tell himself, at least.
“Jon?” he asked instead, quietly. A shiver ran through the man before him. “Where'd you uh … come from?” He got no reply. For an awkward moment he just stood there, before saying: “I'll get you a blanket.” He left the room and closed the door behind him, leaning against it and closing his eyes for a moment. He really didn't like this new development in events.
It made him empathetic.
He hated it. Like he wanted to hate everything, because it was so much easier than trying to hold on.
He shook his head to chase away those thoughts. They wouldn't help him with this.
Just as he was about to go into the storage room to get a blanket from the cot there, Martin entered the hall. Evidently, he immediately sensed something wrong and asked: “What's going on here?”
Tim didn't have an answer to that. “Jon's back,” he finally said and pointed at the door. “I don't think he was on a work trip.”
He didn't try to stop Martin, as the larger man pushed past him, and into Jon's office. For a moment, Tim contemplated just leaving, but that didn't seem fair to Martin. So, with a sigh, he went to get that blanket.
When he returned, Martin was sitting a good distance away from their boss, apparently at a loss of what to do. Tim unceremoniously draped the blanket over Jon, who flinched violently, before slowly curling his hands around the soft fabric and burying his face in it. His hair poked out on top in an unruly manner.
“Jon?” Martin eventually asked, a pleading look in his eyes. “Can you look at us, so we know you can hear us?” Tentatively, Jon moved his head just barely far enough to poke out an eye, wide and flitting through the room, before settling on his co-worker. His hands started worrying the blanket. “Thank you.” Martin gave him an encouraging smile. “Now. Can you tell us what happened?”
A shudder ran through Jon. He squeezed his eye shut for a moment, before taking a shaky breath and shaking his head. He looked back at Martin, then over to Tim. Confusion took over his expression, but Tim couldn't be too sure as to why. Maybe he was surprised that he hadn't left.
“Are you injured?” Tim asked. He got another shake of the head as a reply. “Well are you in any pain?” Jon's hands stilled. He stared at Tim, then he shot Martin another concerned look. He ducked his head in what could only be described as submission. Carefully, he raised his hands to expose his wrists. Tim could see the marks on them more clearly now, an angry, deep red with raw skin around the edges.
It made him nauseous.
He took a steadying breath and braced himself for protest, before saying: “That counts as an injury, Jon. We should probably go to A&E or something, then. To get those … rope … burns. Taken care of.” He abruptly stopped speaking and turned around, so he wouldn't have to look at his boss any more. It hadn't really hit him, before he said the words aloud, but rope burns? His boss had rope burns on his wrists and ankles, he lost so much weight his cheeks, peaking through behind those bloodied wrist, were sunken in, and to top it all off, he looked so, so scared.
It was all too much, pulling at his furious heart, taking it to grounds he didn't know how to stand on.
Behind him, there were some shuffling noises and then a light thump, which Tim deduced to be Jon trying to hide, and then Martin started speaking softly. “We'll be in an out as quickly as possible, okay?” His voice was edged with a lingering panic, but he continued: “They won't want to keep you there, once they hear we're from the Magnus Institute.” His voice wobbled, now. “Like they did with the worms, yeah?”
Tim dared not turn around to see the look on either of his co-worker's faces. He couldn't afford to freak out, not right now. So he held it in, ignored the few tears that made it past his eyelids and fished out his phone with shaking hands. “I'll just call ahead, then. Maybe that'll speed things up.”
“Yes, thank you,” Martin said. “We can take my car. It's just around the corner, but I'll drive it to the entrance.”
“Yeah. Sounds good.” He made the call.