#forsworn

If you had to choose a word to describe your time here, “monotonous”, you suppose, would be a fitting description. 

Despite knowing that it was technically what you'd signed up for, you hadn't quite known just how much it could potentially drive you up the wall months down the road. With your methodical approaches and propensity for the role, you'd signed on as the lab’s resident Archivist. 

It was routine work, mostly. And you were pretty good at what you did, too, if you had to say so yourself. They had been looking for someone to deal with their paperwork at the time, and while the astoundingly generous paycheck certainly raised a few eyebrows, not many people had actually signed on, probably due to it being a live-in position.

“So much for work-life balance.” You lamented as you signed your name onto the contract that would soon seal your fate.

You needed the job, so it was a pretty alright trade-off for the check. Despite having been employed by a research facility of all places, you weren't versed in the field of science, so most of the technical jargon that was usually being thrown around, both verbally and literary, all but flew over your head. Which was unfortunate, but you didn't really need to know everything anyway. Your job was simply to serve as their record-keeper, nothing more. 

It all sounded simple enough, until you were led into the room you were to be working in on your first day. They'd called it a file room, and you had been expecting others just like you to be present. Except… the room was empty, save for you and the lady who had brought you here.

Curious, you'd questioned the orderly that had been tasked with showing you around the place, only for her to admit with a sheepish look that you were the only in-house Archivist they had, as far as she knew. Which meant that you technically had the room to yourself while you worked. And as you stared slack-jawed at the copious amount of files that seemed to have been all but shoved into the room, you realized then, with mild horror, that you'd be here for a long while if you were to be the only one working through everything.

“Don't worry. It's not as bad as it looks, I'm sure.” She chuckled nervously, patting your shoulder in a comforting gesture before bidding you goodbye and leaving you to it.

‘With all due respect, ma'am. This is just as bad as it looks.’ You inwardly groaned at the overflowing shelves, but made sure to flash her a smile, thanking her kindly for her time while bidding her goodbye. 

Looks like you were in for a hell of a time here.

Thankfully, the other staff seemed pretty happy with leaving you to your own devices in the file room, which worked well enough for you. It was mundane and repetitive, sure, but it was soothing in a way that you couldn't quite explain. It kept your mind calm and your thoughts empty as you mechanically sorted through the files and reports. 

Quick and efficient, you'd set up an entire labelling system for easy archiving, even going so far as to future-proof it with additional subcategories before slowly working on getting their pre-existing digital records up to speed. And by the lords, you'd be surprised at just how much paperwork and backlogged documents, reports, and files Hawkins’ National Laboratory could generate, despite it being a private research center. Not to mention the new ones being produced every day… but that was a problem for future you.

While it did help speed things along for the most part, all systems came with their own shares of pros and cons. The con that came with the entire package was that, due to the sheer amount of backlogged work that needed to be handled, it had inevitably led to long sleepless nights while you toiled at it.

Coffee, you'd soon come to realize, was a lifesaver on such nights. And boy, were you glad that there seemed to be an endless supply of it in the pantry of the common break room, regardless of the time of day.

And the pro being that you were the only one who best knew how the newly-found filing system worked, so you were saved from having to deal with whatever else was going on in the lab. Namely, the children you'd seen occasionally being bundled into the Infirmary. Not all of them were willing patients of the nurse on duty, given the cries you'd heard in passing every once in a while.

You didn't question it at first, but it was starting to become a frequent occurrence in your first few weeks here. The constant influx of patients to the Infirmary, located a couple of rooms down, had led you to wonder on occasion whether the research facility you'd been hired to work in researched illnesses or something of a similar vein. You merely assumed they did.

Why else would there be this many children in such an enclosed government-operated facility? 

However, the files you had gone through didn't mention anything about it, so you weren't too sure about that assumption.

Even so, not everyone had the honor of working with the children, especially in the rainbow room and beyond, given how strict Dr. Brenner was with whom the children under his care came into contact with. That, and the entire area was heavily guarded, so you didn't want to be anywhere close unless you absolutely had to. The armed guards didn't exactly do a good job at helping settle the uneasiness you felt at the security there constantly being dialed up to a ten.

You'd seen the kids, of course. You were a member of the staff, after all, so you had passed one or two of them on occasion. Especially when they were on their way in or out of the Infirmary, considering how the file room was conveniently located at the end of the same corridor.

You hadn't interacted much with them, however, save from maybe a smile in passing or two, but most of what you'd heard of them were from stories told by a fellow orderly whom you’d quickly taken a liking to, despite all his inherent peculiarities— Peter, who had taken to occasionally spending his short breaks in the file room after you'd found him in a corner of the break room shared by all members of the staff a few weeks into the start of your tenure here as the resident archivist.

He had been slumped over in a corner of the break room with his knees held close to his chest, curling inwardly into himself when you first saw him. You'd chanced upon him on the way to get your second pick-me-up of the day. 

Walking into the room that served as both the resting area and a common room, you made a beeline to the pantry, pouring yourself a much-needed cup of coffee to keep you going through the day. After taking a big sip of the rejuvenating goodness, you had happily turned on your heel, ready to exit the room as quickly as you’d come, only to stop short when your eyes landed on the wall opposite where you stood. 

A tall, lanky-looking blond was seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, hunched over in a poor attempt to make himself as small as he could despite his gangly limbs. His head was down, buried between his arms, but you could tell that he was the orderly that you’d often seen tagging along with the children. He seemed close to some of them, even. 

You wondered what he was doing all alone in the corner of the room. And as you glanced around the otherwise occupied room, you wondered why no one had approached the man by the wall. 

Catching the eye of another passing staff member, you inclined your head questioningly towards the guy by the wall, only to get a shrug in response. He’d promptly taken his leave then, picking up his pace as his figure disappeared through the door. 

Huh, that guy sure was in a hurry to be somewhere. 

Oddly enough, it seemed like everyone in the room was happy to pretend that the blond wasn't there.

Surely it wouldn't hurt to check up on him, right? 

Figuring why the hell not, you made your approach, crouching next to him once you got within range.

“Hey, you alright there?” You called out.

You reached out to gently touch him on the shoulder when you saw that he didn't respond, only for him to jerk backwards so violently with his arms raised before him that it nearly knocked the steaming cup out of your hand. 

“Whoa— Hey!” You'd exclaimed as you tried to balance your streaming cup.

Okay, that was… not the reaction you were expecting. 

“Easy… I'm just checking up on you.” You held your free hand, palms up, towards him in a placating manner. 

That seemed to do the trick, as the tension seemed to seep from his frame. 

It took a moment before he slowly lowered his arms, ocean blue eyes narrowing through the gaps of the shadows that fell onto his face, and another moment before he registered the silhouette of you crouching awkwardly before him. It’d registered in his brain then, as he took in your form decked out in the same white attire as him, that you were probably just another orderly in the compound. 

He briefly recognized you as one of the handful of newer faces he’d seen around, but never cared to know— not that he stuck around to befriend his captors, anyway. Most of them had been here long enough that they didn't even want anything to do with him, lest it send Dr. Brenner breathing down their throats.

You were a new hire then, he supposed.

What he didn’t know, however, was whether Dr. Brenner had sent you here to keep tabs on him, or if you were someone under his thumb knowingly or unknowingly, period. The break room might not have been under camera surveillance, but there were always people moving through this room in particular. Although with how willing you were to approach him… You were either new, stupid, or, better yet, both. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

He let his customary smile slide back onto his face as he addressed you.

“Hello, did you need something?” He asked amicably, giving you a smile so convincing that you’d almost bought it, had it not been for the telltale furrow in his brow.

You recognized the way he had been squinting his eyes earlier, almost as if the lights were too painful to bear. And the way he seemed almost as if he'd wanted nothing more than to meld and become one with the wall, if that were even possible. Anything to get away from the constant stimulation that pressed into his being from every angle.

Lowering your voice in consideration, you asked. “You don't look too well. Let me guess, migraine?” 

His smile tightened at the edges for a fleeting moment before it morphed into a faint grimace. Pressing his lips together, he grits out two simple words that almost sounded like a habitual response before moving to get up. “It’ll pass.”

He brought a hand to his temple, brushing the side of his hair backward as if the induced pressure would help relieve the ache.

You looked around at the bright lights that adorned the room. The clinically sterile palette on everything as far as the eye could see probably only served to make things worse for him.

Why was he even here, in this room, if it’d caused him such suffering?

“I can't imagine all these lights doing you any favors.” You pointed out when he squinted at you again.

No, it didn't. But he didn't say that out loud.

“I could take you to the Infirmary? It’s not too far, and I’m sure they have painkillers on hand.”

“No.” He'd disagreed almost as soon as you voiced the suggestion, a frown marring his face. 

If he’d gone to the medical room, it didn’t matter what his ailment was. It could be a measly headache like the one he was currently suffering through, or a more contagious illness like influenza, and the nurse on duty would no doubt inform the good old doctor. It would only result in more tests being done, and he'd honestly had enough of being frequently poked and needled at in the past that he would gladly just avoid the place as a whole. Except when he had to bring the children in, of course. That was part of his job, so it was unavoidable, much to his chagrin.

He looked up at you in slight disgruntlement. The dull drone of conversation in the room was starting to get on his frankly frayed nerves, and having to deal with an active conversation was certainly not doing him any favors. Were you just here to disturb his peace by talking his ears off, or did you come here with a purpose in mind? 

No matter, he’d just make himself scarce. Problem solved.

Maybe he'd hide out in his own room in the staff wing. Surveillance be damned— they could watch him suffer. Or maybe they would even enjoy it, knowing some of those sick bastards.

His fingers itched, tempted to tap into his abilities to swat you away like one would an annoying fly. Except, he didn't quite have the luxury of his powers anymore. And it'd be rude to physically brush you off, too, when you were obviously showing concern over his well-being. 

Attempting to reach out for it felt like reaching into the abyss, and pushing past that, as he'd learnt, would only bless him with a head-splitting migraine in return for his efforts. So much for that, he supposed.

Funnily, your intentions seemed genuine enough, if the concern written all over your face hadn’t already given you away. It soon clicked that you weren’t just someone here to strike up a conversation with the only person who didn’t seem to be occupied with someone else. He'd pegged you as an oddity, instead settling on as simple a question as any. 

“Do you need something?” He queried.

You paused, not actually having given it any further thought. Since he refused to get checked over by the nurse, and was having trouble with light and sound sensitivity… The file room you were usually situated in seemed like an adequate solution. Despite being furnished with the exact same palette, the lights in the room were dimmer due to the lack of upkeep— they were due for a replacement soon, but that was beside the point. Plus, it was definitely much quieter than the hubbub here.

“No, but I think I may be able to help you.”

Oh? He raised an eyebrow at that, watching as you stood back up.

“Follow me. I know a place where it’d be easier on you.” You said as you inclined your head towards the door.

Easier? On him? Him, who has lived here for the better half of his life. In this place that was nothing but a glorified prison?

He would have scoffed in your face at how incredulous it sounded, if it weren’t for the fact that he had been sworn to silence. Not willingly, of course. Never willingly, for there was no free will in this place — only the fleeting illusion of it that Dr. Brenner deigned to give on an exceptionally good day, where he felt generous enough to give him some time off outside as a reward for good behavior.

Seeing that he was making no move to get up and didn't seem interested in providing you with a response either, you reached down to grab one of the hands resting on his knees to pull him up, only for him to visibly stiffen at the contact. 

‘Okay… not much of a people person, then.’ You surmised.

You’d released him as if you'd just been scalded when you saw how clearly uncomfortable he’d been, opting to just walk ahead and lead the way instead.

“Come on. You don't want that migraine to get worse, do you?” You prompted again.

Peter grunted in affirmation, slowly rising to his feet. He braced a hand against the wall to steady himself before dutifully following after you.

While your destination wasn’t far, it was still quite a walk away, considering the sprawling labyrinth that seemed to make up the place. The walk started out silent, for the most part. Your footsteps resounded in the corridor, and while you could hear him behind you, he did seem a little unsteady after getting up. Hence, you couldn't help turning around to check on him every once in a while— every couple of steps, really.

Of course, the orderly himself had noticed your little looks. It was almost humorous to watch how you would pause every few seconds to turn back as if worried that you'd lose him, as tall as he was, somewhere along a straight path once you'd gotten a little further along.

This time, he met your eyes when you turned.

With a slight shake of his head, he let out a small laugh before wincing at the throb of protest in his head. “I’m not going anywhere, mind.”

Where else would he go, anyway?

Soon, you eventually came to a stop before the file room that essentially served as your office. Your eyes flicked up to the lights overhead as you pushed the door open, holding it open for him. 

“It should be better here, but I could dim the lights further if you'd like.” You stepped aside, gesturing for him to head on in.

“Huh. I never knew this place had a room like this.” He remarked, the lie passing off as naturally as a casual statement.

Peter did know that the room existed. In fact, he'd been here for so long that he practically knew the labyrinth that was Hawkins National Laboratory as well as the back of his own hand. What he hadn't known till today was that the room currently seemed to have a regular occupant— You. He was sure it had been unmanned before, serving as nothing more than a dusty storeroom for file storage. And it wasn't like the room had much to offer anyway. It was furnished with basic amenities like all the other rooms, but there was nothing of much value unless you considered sheaves of paper a point of interest.

Stepping inside, he could already feel the pressure behind his eyes easing up a little as he entered the dimly lit room. The considerable reduction of stimuli helped, and everything was much less glaring than where he’d previously been. But even when hindered by a head-splitting headache, he was nothing if not observant. 

The first thing he'd done upon entering was to do a quick visual sweep of the room, taking note of every nook and cranny. There was only one point of entrance, with no visible escape routes. There was an air vent, but it was merely an opening and was not viable for anything other than to serve its proposed function. One door, no window, an old clock on the wall. The lights overhead buzzed softly, but minutely enough that it could be written off as white noise.

The place was as sparsely furnished as it came, the only notable point of interest being the copious number of shelves that lined the room and the boxes upon boxes of files that sat upon the table alongside a computer. Finally, his eyes darted up towards the corners of the ceiling.

Alas, there it was — a camera, its black lens glinting menacingly in the light. A wrinkle formed between his brows when he'd spotted it, only to loosen up when he realized that it wasn’t powered on to begin with. It was unaccompanied by the usual red dot of light that blinked menacingly at him everywhere but the break room.

No one was watching this room. 

It was only then that the tension bled out of his shoulders. Shuffling over to a relatively uncluttered spot on the floor that was shadowed by the shelving units, Peter sat down, resting his back against the wall and adopting a similar position to the one you’d found him in.

Placing your coffee down atop the table, you turned around, blinking at the odd sight that greeted you. A slightly puzzled expression crossed your face when you noticed him on the ground. You weren’t quite sure how and why he’d ended up seating himself on the floor when there was a table and a couple of vacant chairs just lying around.

Surely the cushioned seats were much more comfortable than the ground?

“There’s a perfectly good table here, you know…” You pointed out, gesturing to him that it was fine for him to join you at the table if he’d wanted to.

“I know.” Came the muffled reply. He’d buried his head in his arms again.

“And… perfectly good chairs that came with it?” You hinted, hoping that he’d catch your drift.

Peter raised his head once more, looking up at you before averting his eyes after a short pause. “I much prefer the floor, thank you.”

Easier to hide from the cameras in case the camera installed here gets activated. 

Whoever was looking in on the other end would have to look closer. And with all the clutter here, they would have to look twice as hard, and know what they were looking for.

Glancing back at him, you shrugged. He had his own reasons, you supposed, and you weren’t going to fight him over something as mundane as seating himself on a chair. Settling back down at the seat you’d claimed as your own by the table, you picked out a couple of files you were previously working on from the closest stack next to you and went back to data-logging.

Silence eventually fell over the room as you worked, with the exception of the click-clacking of keys, and the occasional rustling of a flip of a page. A few hours passed, and your impromptu companion had been so silent ever since he’d entered that you’d almost forgotten he was there. It wasn’t till you glanced up again that you caught sight of his silhouette from the corner of your eye.

You hadn’t heard a peep from him since you’d turned to your work. Had he just been there in the same position the whole time? 

Your fingers paused. Peeking over the top of your screen, you looked over to see what he was up to, only to find him watching the clock on the opposite wall in quiet contemplation, his hands still folded atop his knees. 

He’d noticed your gaze, of course. It had drawn him out of his thoughts, his eyes flickering to meet yours when he felt the weight of your gaze on him.

Oh. You froze. He'd caught you looking. 

You coughed, instinctively glossing over it with a simple but harmless question. “How's your head?” You asked. 

He made a noncommittal sound in response, leaving you a little at a loss. Was that an affirmative or a negative?

“Are you… Feeling better now?” You tried again, noticing how he now seemed slightly more comfortable being in his own skin.

That earned you a small hum of agreement. Progress, you suppose. 

You could feel the way he was sizing you up, as if trying to gauge your intentions. There was still a slight furrow to his brow, you'd noticed, so his migraine wasn't entirely gone, but you could tell that it seemed to be plaguing him a little less acutely than it did before.

Awkward silence lapsed as you both studied each other, trying to get a read on one another. However, the prolonged eye contact was also starting to get a little unnerving, so you were the first to look away, shifting your eyes back onto the file lying beside your hand.

Just as your eyes ghosted past the first sentence on the document, he broke the silence.

“Why did you help me?” He questioned warily.

His mouth opened as if he had something more to add, but he closed it shortly after, deciding to bite back the words that had been on his tongue. He knew full well that there was nothing for you to gain from helping someone like him.

“Do you need a reason to help someone? Besides, everyone seemed perfectly content to ignore you.” 

He regarded you for a moment before acquiescing. “No. You're right.”

He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As he got up, you could tell from his expression that he definitely had something else to say, which made you press out of curiosity. “Did you do something for them to avoid you like that?”

A small huff of laughter left him as he replied, a tinge of bitterness lacing his words. “Let’s just say I'm not usually the best person people want to be associating themselves with.” 

He could see the confusion on your face as you attempted to process that, knowing that he'd probably just left your question with more questions to be answered. However, he'd simply opted to brush past it. The less you knew, the better. Especially when he didn't know you per se. You were still very much a stranger to him— albeit a nice, helpful one.

He regarded you properly this time, his lips lifting into a small smile. “In any case, thank you for having me here, but I have a shift to attend to shortly, so I’d better go.”

Rightening himself and smoothing out the rumples in his attire, he moved towards the door and pulled it open, only to stop short just before he crossed the threshold, his hand resting against the doorframe.

Who were you, anyway?

He turned his head then, contemplating whether he should ask you directly about it. He was just about to voice the question when something glinting faintly in the light caught his attention: The metal clip attached to the ID card holder that all personnel here were required to wear when on duty.

His gaze slid to the card you’d left out on the table, registering the name and title that had been printed onto it. So that was what you were— an archivist, not a nurse. Seems like you weren't an orderly like him then, which would explain your “office”.

“You’re always welcome here if you ever need a quiet place—” You trailed off, realizing that you didn’t actually know his name despite having sighted him on the compound on more than one occasion.

Thankfully, he'd caught on.

“Peter. Peter Ballard.” He’d introduced himself before looking towards you expectantly, as if waiting for you to do the same.

Smiling, you introduced yourself to him.

“You’re always welcome here, Peter.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He nodded and bid you goodbye before taking his leave.

The door swung shut behind him, and that had been the end of your first encounter with Peter, but it wasn't long until you came into contact with him again. 

This time, he had been the one to approach you, knocking on your door approximately a week later, shortly after you’d reached your workplace yourself. Setting your files down, you moved to see who your early morning visitor was, only to be met with a familiar face. He seemed to be in much better spirits this time, to his credit.

“Peter.” You'd greeted him, surprised to see him standing behind the door, his hands clasped behind him.

He flashed you a disarming smile in return, slightly amused by the way you were blinking owlishly at his appearance. “Hello. You look surprised to see me.”

As he looked over your shoulder at the table, he wondered. Had you just clocked in for the day? Judging by the still steaming cup resting on the table, he assumed that that was the case.

“I wasn't expecting you here… this early.” You glanced back at the clock.

Sure enough, it was nine in the goddamn morning. Weren't breaks for the orderlies usually fixed at noon? Not that you would know, either way.

Peter’s eyes flicked up to check on the camera— no red light. It was off, just like the last time he'd been here.

“I am welcome here, aren't I? Anytime?” His eyes turned back to you, and he tilted his head questioningly as he emphasized the last word.

Yes, you remembered then; you did tell him that. Point taken.

“Of course. Feel free.”

Ushering him inside, you watched as he finally decided to make use of the chairs in the room. He’d taken to one of the empty seats by the table, away from the mess of files that cluttered the surface. No muss, no fuss.

You could see the difference in how he carried himself when he was no longer plagued by discomfort. He looked well put together today, standing tall with his head held high and an ever-present smile on his face.

“The day's barely started, Peter. What brings you here this early?” You questioned.

He raised a hand, holding two paper bags in a self-explanatory manner.

You paused. “Surely it can't be your break now, right?” 

“It is.” He replied, tipping one towards you in offering. “I got you one too, in case you didn’t feel like letting me in.”

Huh, so he was on break. But still, this early? Did he work the night shift? You gave him an odd look, but accepted the bag anyway. After all, what were you to say if the man himself said so? He certainly knew his own schedule much better than you did. And, again, you were a considerably new employee, so what did you really know? 

Plus… he’d brought you a bribe. A bribe. For entry? You had to actively bite back the laugh that had threatened to escape you at the thought.

You peered into the bag, wondering what he’d gotten you from the break room. Looks like sandwiches were on the breakfast menu today. 

“Thanks for breakfast, but I'm still not saving you if someone comes after you for skipping out on work.” You mumbled, setting the gift down before retreating back to the back shelf you'd been perusing before Peter had interrupted you.

He chuckled from his seat, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I'm a good boy.”

“Given your spotless track record, maybe they’ll let you off with a slap to the wrist?” You joked, eliciting an unsuspecting chuckle from him.

Now, wouldn’t that be a dream? Had he skipped out on work, his punishment would no doubt be far more severe than that, but of course, you didn't know that. 

He had about an hour or two to kill before his next shift, and while he was perfectly content with staring into probable space and enjoying the quietude while demolishing his sandwich… He let his gaze wander, settling upon the many files that occupied the surface of the table. Perhaps he should bring something to work on with him the next time he comes around, he mused. 

It was peaceful enough here that he wouldn't be disturbed. Not to mention that the file room was a much better choice than trying to do it in the break room.

He glanced in the direction of the shelves you'd disappeared behind and back at the files in front of him. 

You weren't here to stop him per se, but surely these weren't confidential or anything, right? If anything, he could just brush it off as mere curiosity if you came back and caught him red-handed. Even so, he'd seen his share of confidential files after his elevated status, and they always had a seal of some kind on them. 

Crumpling the paper bag after he’d finished with his food, Peter reached over the table and picked up a random file from the pile before him. He checked it front and back. There were no official seals on it, but he could tell that it was a pretty old file from how there were traces of foxing present on the cover.

He flipped it open then, starting to skim through the contents. The first thing he noticed was that the documents in the file were all timestamped and were mostly just what seemed like plain old research. While it was no concern of his, he wouldn't refuse the chance to find out more about what they were doing here, especially since he had been held here against his will for the sake of it. As he slowly got deeper into it, he wondered if this was what all the scientists were up to on a daily basis. At a glance, he’d spotted case reports, some snippets of news from the outside world, followed by some write-ups and notes from others.

He almost pitied them a little, if anything. All this research sounded terribly dull. He looked up again at the vast number of files the room held, a sardonic smile playing at the corner of his mouth. If this were to be their daily life, then it was no wonder why the scientists took such pleasure in carrying out experiments. The more the merrier. He’d grimly thought back to the times they’d pushed the other subjects too far. It’d been painful to experience, let alone watch as a bystander. And the orderlies would be left behind to pick up the pieces, as always. 

He didn’t care much for the other subjects, not quite, and not outwardly so. But even if he did, he couldn’t show it or risk facing the ire of his captor. But seeing the things that had been done upon him unto them made him wonder— to what end would these people go to achieve their purpose? A purpose that he still didn’t yet know, even after all these years.

Whilst in the middle of his thoughts, he’d unwittingly found his eyes darting back up to the camera that sat at the corner of the ceiling. It felt almost as if it were mocking him, with the way he felt the instinctive need to check on its activity every once in a while despite its dormant state.

In any case, it was awfully odd for a file room not to be under surveillance. He wondered if it was because they no longer had any real need for the documents stored here. Or was this place where outdated information was stored? He knew that the lab had been operational for a long time now, so it was a plausible reason. But if no one was watching this place behind the lens, then maybe… 

“I doubt you’d find anything interesting in those files. They’re mostly old documents.” An approaching voice snapped him out of his thoughts, causing him to look up.

You’d re-entered his field of vision with a new stack, catching him nose deep in one of the files you'd previously been working on.

“Thought I’d do a little light reading.” He shrugged. But you were right, this was dreadfully dull.

Setting down your new stack of files on the next closest unoccupied spot on the table, you seated yourself down opposite him.

“So, was the break room too packed for your liking or something?” You asked.

“Mm-hmm.” He hummed in response, perusing the contents of the last few pages with a renewed interest. 

It was not exactly a delight to read, but Peter wasn't one to do anything in halves. His eyes continued scanning through the pages of the random file he'd casually picked up. Deciphering the newfound knowledge, he'd concluded then that these were likely articles of research from a department far removed from the entire experimentation that revolved around his existence.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

He made another noise of assent, but seemed otherwise uninterested in your line of questioning as he flipped through the pages. 

Seeing that you weren’t about to get any workable answers from him, you shrugged, picking up a file from your own newly scavenged pile. You flicked through them, placing tabs as you went to pre-sort the bulk of data you'd just withdrawn from the shelves.

It took a while before he'd come to the end of the document in his hands. Snapping the file shut, he peered up at you from the other side of the table, watching as you slowly sifted through the papers. 

“And what are you up to today?”

You gestured to the table, where all your files were currently laid out. “I’ve got to get this mess cleared before the end of the week, or the higher-ups won’t be happy. What about you?”

“Children supervision duty.” He replied, reaching for another file. Hopefully, the next one will prove to be a more interesting read. He doubted it, though, given that the first recorded document that greeted him appeared to be yet another case research study.

You watched as he delved into another file without much ado. Meanwhile, your mind ticked away, as if trying to piece the pieces of an incomplete puzzle together.

Huh. From what you knew of children, they tended to be rowdy little gremlins. Maybe that's why Peter valued his peace during break times? Although you were pretty sure that the children in the lab were anything but a nuisance, given how oddly-behaved they were whenever you chanced upon them in passing.

Familiar silence fell over the two of you as time shuttled on until the time came for Peter to leave.

Shooting a glance at the clock, Peter set the file back down onto the pile and stood up from his chair— his time was up. 

“Well, I'll leave you to it then.” Bidding you goodbye, he was about to head to the door when you promptly stopped him.

“Wait.” You called out, grabbing his arm to stop him before he left.

Peter tensed at the contact, unable to help the instinctive reflex. Thankfully, you were observant enough that you'd immediately released him after realizing your mistake. 

Peter, as you’d quickly come to realize, seemed to be incredibly jumpy around physical contact. You chalked it up to him not liking surprises, but you weren’t too sure about that one, either, as with everything about him. With a muttered apology, you’d drawn up to his side, inclining your head at the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

Quickly catching himself, he asked curiously, then, more of an off-handed remark than anything else. “Where are you going?” It wasn't time for the afternoon break for the general staff yet, which he assumed was the category you fell under.

He watched as you lifted the empty cup that you’d already drained sometime during his time in the file room.

“Well, I’m headed to the break room for a refill. You?” 

There was a pause before he replied. “Class.” He'd simply stated before walking out the door with you at his heels.

Soon, you broke away from him halfway down the path once you’d gotten to the corridor that housed the break room. “Feel free to come by again!” You bid him goodbye and waved him off with a smile before disappearing round the corner.

He’d continued onward then, to the testing room he was assigned to for his shift. A thought flickered to life in his mind then, in a somewhat wistful note as he entered the room. And upon sighting the children lined up against the wall, he banished the thought, letting his mask of neutrality slip back into place as the voice he dreaded most slithered into his ears once more.

“Peter, if you would be so kind.”

—Perhaps he'd finally found No Man’s Land, a place where he could escape their constant gazes.

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

Of course, he'd capitalized on that chance the next opportunity he got. You saw him again the next day, much sooner than you had expected. 

The blond orderly had been walking towards the file room while you’d been coming up from the opposite end of the corridor, having just picked up a new batch of files to be sorted into the digital archive after popping to the break room for fresh cups of coffee. 

Safe to say, your hands were full, and your schedule, even more so. You were slated for double shifts today, unfortunately. But you suppose it worked in your favor since you still had a backlog of files to digitize.

Peter perked up with a greeting as you approached, eyeing your haul. “Busy day?” 

You noticed that he'd come here today with a file in hand, looking slightly weary himself. Was that work? Guess you weren't the only one with an overflowing workload these days, then.

“You don't look too hot yourself. Mind fetching the door? You'll have to card it, though.” You asked, jutting your chin at your occupied hands before looking pointedly at the door.

He nodded, graciously carding both of you through with his security pass. He held the door open while you stepped inside, the lights flickering on as the door swung shut behind him.

The room was the same as ever, although the copious amount of files that had been on the table yesterday seemed to be in a more organized and less haphazard state now, sitting in neat little stacks instead of the pile it had been when he'd left. You'd clearly taken the time to sort them after he’d left.

The camera, he'd noticed, was still out of service.

Setting your stuff down before the computer, you held up one of the cups you'd brought in, towards him in offering. “Coffee?”

Peter accepted it with a smile and a word of thanks. He then took a sip of the hot beverage, only to nearly spit it back out, a hissed curse coiling under his breath.

That shit was nasty.

“Ugh.” His face scrunched up in mild disgust.

What the hell did you put in it? Or rather, what did you not put in it?

He swore his tongue had just shriveled up from how strong it was, and he instantly regretted ever taking you up on the offer. It tasted foul. And he didn't quite know whether he or his tongue was more offended at how acrid the brew was.

As it so happened, he'd made two discoveries the hard way— he hated black coffee, but it clearly pandered well enough to your taste buds, considering the big mouthful you'd taken, humming pleasantly as you went. He filed that information away with a grimace. 

Peter was no stranger to coffee, but straight from the pot? He pulled a face at it, immediately pulling away as if he’d wanted nothing more than to put some much-needed distance between himself and the inevitable assault on his taste buds.

“They say that only psychopaths take their coffee black.” He’d grumbled, almost childishly offended by how bitter the beverage tasted on his tongue.

You snickered at the way he wrinkled his nose, patting his arm to signal him to make some space for you. He’d initially stiffened at the action, but the tension soon seeped out of his shoulders when he saw that you were just pouring things into the cup he held. A packet of cream and sugar; no harm done.

“Try it again.” You’d prompted him after giving it a stir, watching as he reluctantly took a small, cautionary sip from the offending cup.

“Better?”

You could almost hear the sigh of relief in his voice that came with his reply. “Much better, thank you.”

Now that the coffee problem had been resolved, you pulled a chair across the spot he’d taken up by the table, nursing your coffee as you started to make small talk to pass the time. Peter wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself, so he mostly just sat there, listening and nodding along. You shared about your work here in the lab, among other mundane things, and he'd told you a little more about his work as an orderly. Mostly chaperoning, he'd claimed.

It was a while after that he seemed to remember that he'd brought a manila file in with him to work on, so he had to take a step back from the conversation to get it done before his break was over.

“It’s not much. Just a report that I have to turn in to the orderly who’s taking up the next shift after me.” He’d informed you as he flipped the file open.

It was titled an incident report, which definitely raised your eyebrows.

Orderlies had to write reports? Incident reports? Didn’t this guy work with children?

You glanced between him and the blank report, but your confusion had to have shown on your face, because he’d chuckled before setting his pen to paper. “A few of the kids got into a fight earlier. We managed to pull them apart, but the damage was done. Hence.” He gestured to the report.

“An incident report just because of a fight? Isn't that a bit of overkill?” 

“Yes and no.” He replied, watching as your brow furrowed at his cryptic answer.

The children were a danger to themselves and those around them, especially for the uninitiated. But he couldn’t exactly tell you that, either. So he settled for the next best answer. “They can be a handful. Two of them got sent directly to the nurse after that.”

They were sent to the Infirmary? Sounds like it was a pretty nasty fight.

You frowned at the thought. “Are they okay?”

Peter’s hand paused in its movements. 

Two kids getting into fisticuffs over a toy was honestly the least of their worries, because fights that broke out between the subjects tended to go beyond mere physicality and straight into the metaphysical. He supposed that was the result of it being all they ever knew. 

After all, why throw punches when you could more effectively fling someone into a wall?

“They've seen worse. Trust me, they'll live.”  He sighed.

You watched him as he worked, penning letters onto the paper. True to his word, he'd made quick work of the report he’d brought. 

Seems like it wasn't too complicated, just as he'd said. And you'd both settled back into the steady flow of conversation that had started up prior until it was time for both of you to go back to your respective duties. 

“Thanks for the coffee, by the way.” He said as he stood up and gathered his items.

“Don't mention it. See you next time, Peter.” You bid him goodbye, watching as he left and made his way to his next shift.

But as Peter approached the vicinity of the rainbow room, his footsteps started to slow. Realization was starting to dawn on him that the file room and its welcoming keeper were actually starting to grow on him. 

When was the last time he'd spoken at length to someone who wasn't a scientist or a child about mundane matters? Or even held a proper conversation that wasn't merely an exchange of pleasantries in passing?

He turned the question over and over in his head, only to come up empty even as he reached the correct corridor. He didn't know. 

Shaking his head to clear the thought, he handed the report in to the orderly who was slated to take the next watch after his before entering the room, hoping that it would be an uneventful shift given the earlier incident. 

It hadn't been severe enough to alert the lab’s handlers, but they had been watching it play out through the camera.

But as with all things, conflict tended to escalate over time. And if it did escalate…

Peter was instantly snapped out of his thoughts when one of the younger subjects approached him. His attention snapped to the smaller figure, whose hand was outstretched as if they'd wanted to tug at his pant leg to grab his attention, but he'd beat them to the chase.

Their gazes met for a split second before the child instinctively averted their gaze, lowering their outstretched arm.

“Chess?” They asked in a small voice.

Tentative, hesitant, and all too innocently in a way that should be criminal for someone who was nothing more than a lab rat. The child, no more than five, held up a carved white chess piece in their other hand that was the size of their palm. 

He paused, looking down at the child with a slight tilt of his head, acknowledging them with a smile and a small “Hm?”

Why was this child approaching him instead of choosing to play with the other children? The others would probably serve as a more fitting opponent, compared to him.

Glancing around, he noticed that all the other children were all in their own little groups. No one was at the chess table, and perhaps that was why the child had chosen to approach an orderly on duty instead; even if they weren't exactly reputed to be the most approachable.

The child’s gaze flickered nervously between him and the other orderly on duty on the opposite end of the room, wavering and unsure. Their gaze lingered on the other adult in the room, and Peter could read the wariness in their eyes, further cemented by the way they were shifting foot to foot.

His shift partner was relatively new, compared to him, who has been here for years now. So he supposed it made sense that he appeared much more approachable to them as a familiar face.

He could literally see them second-guessing themselves with each passing second, wondering if it would be better to approach the other orderly instead or to join the other kids in their activity of choice.

Bending down to reach their eye level,  he kindly pointed to the nearby chess table located at the back of the room.

“Alright. You go on ahead, I'll be right behind you.” He agreed, directing them with a small nod of encouragement.

The child quickly nodded before darting away with a last furtive glance, as if they'd found the other orderly on duty too intimidating to remain in the presence of. With how burly the other guy was built, he could understand why the kid had chosen to go up to him instead.

Seeing the small retreating figure, Peter turned to nod at the other orderly on duty to inform him that he'd be temporarily leaving his post on his side of the room.

He could feel the lens boring into the back of his head and hear the faint whirr of it focusing as he moved through the room to the table where the chessboard was laid out. The intricately carved pieces glinted under the bright white light of the room as he settled into the chair opposite the child, who eagerly took to moving their first piece.

A thought registered at the back of his mind— They were watching his every move, as always.

The rainbow room was frankly the last place he wanted to be at any given time. There were eyes everywhere here, both within and outside the room. Always wary, always watching. 

These saplings were the most important factor of the research being done in this establishment at the end of the day, held in high regard and kept under the highest security at all times.

But chess? He could do with a game of chess if it helped take his mind off the constant surveillance. 

He glanced at the array of black pieces standing on the board before him. 

Smiling pleasantly, he ate a pawn.

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

You met him again a few days later near the end of your shift. Or at least what constituted the normal hours of a single shift, anyway; you didn’t really work according to regular hours like some of the other staff on the premises.

Third time's the charm, right? 

You were returning from the break room, balancing two coffees and a salad in your hands as you shouldered the door to the file room open. However, you hadn't expected to have a visitor already waiting inside.

A familiar voice greeted you from within, making you jump. “Careful, you’re going to get an addiction.”

You yelped, nearly dropping the items you were holding as you registered the presence of another person in the room — Peter. 

He was seated at his usual spot by the table, a file lying open in front of him.

“Peter! What are you doing here?” You exclaimed, fully stepping into the room.

He watched as your eyes goggled, resting his chin against his hand. “Don't look so surprised, you basically gave me an open invitation to this place.”

By the third visit, you could tell that Peter was starting to warm up to you as you approached him and pressed a warm cup into his hand. He took it with thanks, but you could tell that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it as he held it.

He instantly recognized the beverage contained within. 

“Coffee in the evening?” He questioned, but it came out as more of a statement than anything.

You laughed. “Time is but a construct. Coffee, on the other hand, is a nice warm hug in a cup.” 

He gave you a quizzical look that was equal parts exasperation and confusion before eventually settling on a small shake of his head. Given the number of times he’d been here, he’d never failed to see you without a cup of it at least. That, and there was always the lingering smell of it in the room.

Peter seemed less guarded around you now, and it felt as if he truly did feel comfortable being in this place. His walls were clearly starting to slide down when his lips curled into a faint grimace as he registered the fact that you’d just given him a cup of the damn thing, again. The veneer he wore faded almost instantly when he brought it up to his nose for a sniff.

Could he smell black coffee? Or did coffee just all smell the same anyway? 

You watched the way he regarded the beverage almost warily, your lips curled in amusement. In his hesitation was a clear dilemma you could almost see play out before you. And with what happened the last time, you couldn’t really blame him either. 

“I’m not a psychopath, but there’s cream and sugar in that one.” You’d supplemented, before gesturing to it in a way that said ‘it doesn’t bite.’

Deciding to take the plunge, he took a sip and let out a pleased hum in response. It wasn’t bitter, and his tongue didn’t threaten to revolt this time. As he returned his attention to his file, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d truly found comfort in spending his time in the file room, or if he’d just disliked being around crowds.

It was then that you noticed the bandage wrapped around his other wrist when the fabric of his sleeve shifted upward. 

“Did something go wrong during your shift? What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, it's nothing.” He’d hastily covered it with his other hand then, drawing it away from your view while casually waving it off. “One of the kids accidentally got me during class. It's not quite a sprain, but we got it bandaged just in case.”

“They’re still learning to control their p—” He’d caught himself before he could finish the sentence, quickly correcting himself. “Strength, yes. They’re growing stronger by the day…”

He’d play it off as a mere work injury. That wasn’t entirely a lie either. Definitely not because of superpowered kids that you were surprisingly clueless about, and the fact that they were terrible at taking instructions, to no one’s surprise.

“Strength?” You echoed. 

A kid caused him to sprain his wrist?

You snickered at the thought that hit you. “What, were you teaching them arm-wrestling or something?”

He shook his head, scoffing at how ridiculous that sounded. Even after being held in captivity for this long, he still knew how something like that would look on the outside. “Of course not. That would be bullying.” And the scientists would have his head for insinuating such a thing.

“Then, what do they teach in those classes?” 

He had gone silent then.

Pressing his lips together, he'd merely smiled, but you could tell that this smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

There was a tightness around them when he’d answered. “Enrichment classes.”

“Oh, don’t look so worried. You know how it usually goes. The younger they are, the more uninhibited they get.” 

He seemed awfully cagey about the entire thing and was clearly reluctant to delve into the topic, so you dropped it. Silence lapsed between you two then, awkward, but comfortable enough to sit in. And unfortunately, one that you eventually broke. 

“Sometimes… I wonder what goes on beyond this wing.”  You wondered out loud, tapping a finger on one of the files on the table.

Peter had looked towards you in mild surprise at your admission.

“Why? Are you not free to roam the building?” 

You shook your head then, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “No, my security clearance is only limited to this side of the wing.”

He remembered the last time he'd been here. Hadn't he caught you returning in the direction of the labs with new documents in hand? 

“But you’ve been to the other areas of the lab to pick up files, haven’t you? Weren't you down at the labs a few days ago?”

“Only if I get carded in by someone with access, so that's usually whoever’s in charge of handing me new files to process.”

Peter blinked. That explains why you were pretty much always here, none the wiser about most of the things that went on behind the doors. He’d thought that you were given the same clearance as him. But if you were only limited to the wing, then the most notable places you had on your radar were probably just the file room you were always in, and the Infirmary, a couple of doors down. 

“What made you think that way?”

You hesitated then. 

Should you really be telling him this? 

Swallowing your uncertainty, you came clean. “Those files I work on… I’ve seen some vaguely questionable things.”

Scratching your cheek, you continued. “And even though I’m not much of a science buff myself, I can tell that there’s something clearly going on in here.”

“I don't think there's a way to logically explain children screaming bloody murder as they're being taken down to the Infirmary to be sedated.”

You recalled the one time you'd heard a shout resonating through the otherwise quiet hallway. Concerned, you'd peeked outside only to see people bringing a child that looked no older than seven in, screaming and kicking as they were forcibly hauled into the room. 

Those men had been orderlies, you'd noted then. 

You may not have been close to orderlies in general, but you did know one. Peter. You wondered if this was what he did on a daily basis, and the thought of that settled uneasily in the back of your mind.

He made a small sound of contemplation at your explanation.

So you were blind, but not entirely naive. Usually, he would have left people to their own devices, but you were someone who was starting to grow on him. Loath as he was to admit it, he enjoyed your company and would not like to see that disappear should you continue poking holes in the walls that thinly surrounded you.

You noticed how unfazed he seemed at the news. Or, maybe, he already knew. You watched as a slight crease formed in his brow, before his face settled back into its usual countenance.

Bringing a hand up to his mouth in contemplation, he wondered, then. How long would it be till you found out about what truly went on in this place? Beyond the rainbow room where the children played in? The reason why the children in the lab had come to be, and the very real reason behind his existence here?

A moment passed as he stared unnervingly at you, seeming to see you, but not quite. It was almost as if he was looking at you, but past you at the same time, his attention fixated on something far away. Except you two were the only ones in the room.

An uneasy silence lapsed before he set his hand back down on the table, resting it against the file. His fingers moved to smooth over the dog-eared corner of the page.

“Word of advice? You really shouldn’t go looking for monsters under the bed.” He warned.

You thought he was joking until you met his eyes and realized that he was serious. He was looking right at you, and it was the first time you'd ever seen him with such a somber expression. And his blue eyes were icy, colder than anything you'd seen.

Perhaps, he had his own inner demons. And you were starting to think that maybe he didn't want you to know about the truth either.

Catching you staring at him as if someone spooked, he broke eye contact, rubbing his neck as he clarified what he said earlier. “What I mean is that you might not like what you find. And I don’t think you really want to know, either.”

And considering your active zone restrictions, he assumed they didn't want you knowing too much about the true state of things here either. God knows what would happen if you’d found out about the skeletons in their closets.

You shook your head before standing up and moving past him. “All right, you should get going. My shift is over, so I'll have to lock up.”

He watched you as you tidied the files on the table and cleared away the papers that had been left out, hesitating. Eventually, he seemed to gather himself enough to bid you goodbye.

Before Peter had turned and left, he’d left you with parting words so cryptic that you were sitting, again, with more questions unanswered than when he’d first entered the room. 

“The darkness teems with untold terrors, but maybe you being here in the light is a blessing in disguise.”

Until then, he supposed ignorance was bliss.

From his Toyhouse:

Hailing from the Wildspear Clan in the Reach, Faolahn dedicates his time to The Hunt -- often found travelling between the Druadach Mountains and the Whiterun plains in the name of Hircine's art. He is semi-nomadic, often settling in temporary camps while focusing on his hunting endeavors. Faolahn is Hircine's son, after all.

Faolahn sees his lycanthropy as not only a blessing, but his most genuine form of self. Transforming into his human body -- which has the very wolfish traits of the Man-Beast he is -- is a foreign experience, a disguise to‎ ‎him more than anything, yet a form he will take if deemed necessary. Faolahn associates his human counterparts with any other form of prey; they are worthy game in the eyes of his Clan.

Other passions of his includes leatherwork, scrimshaw, woodworking, foraging, Conjuration magick, and‎ playing his buckskin drum or hand-carved flute. He also has a great love for fire magick and rituals.

Some more tidbits...

Faolahn is named after Faolan Red Eagle, an important figure in his culture's history.

Is a "lesser" Demiprince of Hircine, having been conceived by two human parents, yet born as a physical manifestation of the Prince

Also worships Namira and Peryite.

Is non-monogamous; has more than one mate.

Has full control over his lycanthropy; he does not transform against his will like other werewolves.

Hunts with a spear; fights with his teeth, claws, and fire magick.

Resembles Cervynus, the main Demiprince of Hircine.

Smells of leather, musky pine, and iron.

Heavily dislikes remaining in his "human" / Man-Beast form for too long, as well as being perceived as human; it sounds like an insult for others to consider Faolahn consuming humans as "cannibalism."

bonus art from August 25' of Fao with his werebear mate, Kag, who belongs to @bonestrewncrest 🖤