Work Text:
The bells echoed across the rooftops, the Gray and black polluted skies accompanied the funeral march on it's last procession to the churchyard. Timothy's face was shadowed by his unruly crow black hair, darkening his eyes, and the moist skin beneath his lashes. He watched on with the crowd as the carriage, and mourners, walked down the filthy streets. They had all gathered to pay their respects to the dead, wearing blacks and greys, a bald man in a fine suite caught Tim's eye, Luther. For some reason Bruce detested the man, Tim could see why, he was wearing red. Tim clenched his teeth and forced himself to ignore him.
Bruce, his adoptive father, walking in the procession along side Mr Kent, came into view. Bruce glanced at him, as plea, to come and join them, to morn together. Tim turned and mounted the carriage waiting behind him. Conner Kent, his one and only friend in this rotten world, was to be buried in St Mary's Churchyard. Bruce saved so many people in this world, why not him? Why not the only person that mattered to Tim?
--<><>*<><>--
Conner's body twisted and writhed, but he remained bound to the bed, eye's red. White sheets soaked with holy water hissed beneath him as wisps of steam or smoke arose.
“Malum absum!” Bruce's voice seemed to rise, louder and stronger. “vado tergum abyssus!”
He reached over and firmly placed his palm on Conner's forehead, “Conner, procedo!”
There was a loud demonic growl, Conner's body jerked up and stilled as the demon inside him tried to escape.
“Richard! Hold him down!”
Dick brought the small cross down on Conner's chest, pinning him to the bed. He wailed in pain. Tim could hear the banging on the door, and the muffled shout.
“Father Bruce! Let me in! I must see my child! What's going on!”
Tim's head was spinning, the sulphuric fumes making him dizzy, and seeing his friend bound and chained in front of him, was making him grow pale and frightened.
“Tim! Can't you hear me boy? Don't let his father see him!”
“Conner!”
--<><>*<><>--
“Timothy?”
Tim's head jerked up in freight. He was sitting at the desk in his lab, beneath the house, Bruce was looking down at him with sad eyes. He was wearing the usual black attire, it suited him really, although the grim, yet handsome, features and matching mannerisms weren't becoming for a wealthy man.
“You should have joined the procession.”
“I'm sorry father.” Tim said immediately, then stood up and started quickly clearing his desk. It had gotten messier ever since Conner's death.
“Don't apologise to me. It would have done you good to say goodbye... Tim...?”
Tim blinked and shook his head to clear it, “I'm sorry father.” Bruce stepped closer then reached out and combed Tim's hair out of his face, and took a long look into his sad blue eyes, then sighed. As if he'd run out of comforting words to tell his son, God knows that by now he should have, Bruce pulled him towards him, and hugged Tim tightly. Tim clung on to him just as strongly, but pulled away when he felt the threatening tingle in his eyes.
They stood there momentarily, until, “Timothy, it's nearing all hallows eve, why don't you go out and get some pumpkins? Let's keep up the tradition.”
Tim gave him a tight smile, then followed Bruce out the laboratory, locking the door behind him.
--<><>*<><>--
Lightening crackled outside the manor. All were asleep... almost all.
“This has to work... it must work.” Tim paced up and down his laboratory, piece of paper in his hand, “Weeks of preparation, it must be right… Has to be...” He put it down, and checked a calculation on the black board for the 50th time, then rushed over to the chemical stand and systematically began adjusting and re-adjusting the taps and valves, the Bunsen burners, testing the voltaic pile, flipping switches.
“Conner, I'm bringing you back.”
“That might be slightly difficult without the body don't you think?”
Tim froze, he turned and saw no one, “Who's there?” the occasional light zapping sound of the pile and bubbling of various chemicals where all to be heard. “I said answer me!” a wind swept and flickered out the candles. The Jack O'lantern cast a wicked image across the Kohl black wall startling Tim. He huffed a frustrated breath as he took in the ghastly sight. Bruce hadn't yet come around to installing all the electrical lamps Tim needed, the darkness sometimes played games with his eyes. He went back to checking, it wasn't necessary, he knew this, it was a delay for what he was planning to do-
“You going to get that body or what?” Tim turned again just in time to see the light on the wall, the lanterns 'mouth' moved in unison with the words. Tim spun round on his heels to face it, “...what on-”
“The body.” It repeated.
“... ...Yes.”
--<><>*<><>--
“Tim... help me...”
--<><>*<><>--
“M-mm mmmf mfff-mmm.”
Tim stopped again, for what seemed like the 10th time since he-they- left the house, and pulled the pumpkin out of his bag, “What is it now?” He asked frustratedly.
“I said, it's not very nice in there. How much further do we have to walk?”
“Don't worry, we're here.”
Thunder struck in the distance, it was the brightest the sky had ever been since the industrial revolution began, and the factories began burning night and day. The churchyard was full of rustic tombstones, stretching towards the outskirts of Gotham.
“Which one is it?” Tim set the pumpkin down, next to a small alabaster cross, simply reading 'Conner Kent 1821-1838'. Mr Kent, his father, couldn't afford much more on a teacher's salary. Tim looked at it in distaste, Conner deserved more then that.
“What are you waiting for?” The harshness of the pumpkin's voice snapped him back to the here and now. Tim didn't know why he brought that blasted thing along, but it seemed to be the only thing keeping him... sane. He took up a shovel and began digging.
--<><>*<><>--
The muck and dirt trailed behind him as he dragged Conner's lifeless body into the garden.
“How are you going to get him in the house without waking Bruce?”
“Shut up.” Tim glared at the pumpkin as it chuckled. He hoisted Conner over his shoulder, and grabbed the pumpkin under his arm. Tiptoeing into the house, softly avoiding the creaks, Tim made his way through the dark long corridors. His jaw clenched, with his hair in his face, struggling under the weight.
He got to his laboratory and dropped the pumpkin, it went rolling across the floor, finally bumping into a wall. Tim ignored it and made his way over to the long slab, carefully laying down Conner's body, gently putting his head down. Tim looked into his face for the first time in weeks. He'd missed him, God he'd missed him. He reached to touch Conner's face, it was as cold as it was pale, so pale...
“Well? Bring him back, are you waiting for his permission or something?”
Tim's face hardened, he pulled his hand away and started. He stripped the body, then strapped Conner's body to the table, coating it in the various chemicals needed, attaching electrodes and thin metal tablets inside his mouth.
“He's ready.” Tim went a safe distance away towards the master leaver, and pulled “Conner, Come back to me.”
Lightening struck, and the machines buzzed to life, “Come on, Conner.” Conner's body began to glow, “Yes... please.” Tim's eye's were wide, he could see the play of the electric currents over Conner's glossy pale skin.
“Yes! Conner!” The room's walls were beginning to hum almost as loud as the lightening, “Conner!” Tim rushed over to where he lay, hoping for the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, anything. But it was almost as if mother nature herself was playing against Tim, damming his unnatural experiment, the natural chemicals on Conner's skin started to backfire, instead of replenishing the body, Conner's skin began to decompose, turning black and poisonous to the touch.
“No... no... NO! This shouldn't be happening!” Tim quickly pulled out all the electrodes, all the wires, “No! Conner! It was working! It was working!” Tim nearly screamed in frustration and horror, his hands slightly singed as he held the wires, “no...” The voltaic pile burst into flame, and the insistent humming stopped.
“What did you do wrong?”
Tim snapped around, glaring at the pumpkin, “What do you mean, 'what did I do wrong?'” He shouted, “I didn't do anything wrong! It was perfect, I planned it all down to the last detail.” He was talking through clenched teeth, then grabbed one of the chemical vials and flung it in anger at the wall. He missed and it shattered on the side of the table Conner's Body was lying on, the glass shards embedding into his skin.
“No!” Tim rushed over and fell on his knees, trying to pull out the pieces of glass, and cutting his fingers. Tears protruded, and ran down his cheeks, “I've failed...God Conner, I've failed...” He began to sob.
“I should never have tried!”
“We'll just have to try again then, wont we?” Tim stopped sobbing and turned to look at the pumpkin.
“I can't try again! What if the same thing happens! What if... what if something else goes wrong?” He was running out of breath, and his body was tired, he slumped on the floor. He wanted to clench his hands, but they were cut and burnt, he felt so helpless.
“Come on, we have to try again, don't you want to have Conner back?”
Tim swallowed hard, his throat was so dry, “What else can be done...?” He hadn't cried this hard since his parents died, he felt weak again, and hopped it wasn't a fever.
“If you asked nicely Timothy, I may consider giving you the means you require.”
“What the hell can a pumpkin do?” The curse came out only half heartedly, and sounded like more of a whine, but Tim didn't care.
“Whatever makes you think I'm a pumpkin?” The voice was close, and then there was a hand on his shoulder, Tim tried to turn around in his sitting position, and managed to fall to the floor, on the bits of broken glass, he clenched his teeth, trying not to yell in pain.
“You...”
“Yes, me.”
--<><>*<><>--
Luther wandered around Tim's laboratory, idly touching several pieces of equipment in curiosity. Tim watched him from his chair, his mood overcast and dark, “It was you.”
Luther stopped and turned to him, as a gesture to carry on.
“You were watching Conner's funeral procession. Why?”
“... I find them amusing.” Luther gave him a sadistic smile, making Tim's nostrils flare. Luther walked over to him, and pulled out a small leather bound book. Tim ignored it, “Devil...” he called.
Luther's eyes hardened, “Now, why have we resorted to name calling, young man?”
Tim stood up and moved away from him towards Conner, “Get out of this house! It's been consecrated, you can't step foot here!” Tim stood up and recalled the words from his memory.
“I can do whatever I want,”
“Per filiolus nomen,”
“Do you think an exorcist can stop me? And an apprentice at that.”
“By the name of God, adepto sicco!”
There haven't been any real exorcists since the 10th century who could harm me.”
“Ego expello vos, Get out!”
“... cute.”
Tim glared at his mockery.
“But you are brave, aren't you? Here the Devil stands before you, and all you can think about is your dearly departed.” Tim stayed silent, “I've come to help.”
“In exchange for what? My soul? A doorway into my fathers home? We've been fighting you're demons successfully, so we will find a way to fight you.”
“Oh, I see how successful you have been,” Luther cocked his head towards Conner, then carried on, “Tomorrow is Halloween,” he put the book on Tim's desk, “Find the spell you need, then chant it on on the 7th hour.”
“What do you take me for?”
“A desperate young man. I don't want you, or you're soul Timothy Wayne, nor your friends. You're merely a pawn.”
Tim glanced at the small book resting on his messy desk “Then what is it you do wa-” Luther was gone, Tim squinted his eyes in the candle light, but he'd disappeared into the darkness. The thunder still boomed outside and the rain finally came.
“Do it.” The pumpkin's voice broke the silence, and it's candle flickered towards the book.
--<><>*<><>--
“Tim?” Bruce started to knock harder on the door, “Timothy?”
He jumped a fraction as the door creaked open an inch, revealing a single blue eye, “Yes father.”
“Are you all right? I don't recall you leaving your lab since early this morning. Are you ill?”
“... No, father.”
Bruce eyed him a moment before continuing, he could see bags under the boy's eyes, “I'm leaving you to the trick or treaters, Timothy. Me and you're brother Richard have been called to investigate an occurrence.”
“... Yes father..” Bruce gave Tim a weary nod, then turned to leave. He decided he'd have to talk to Tim sooner or later. The boy wasn't dealing well.
Tim shut the door, and went back to sit in his chair, his thoughts a mess, brooding in the dimly lit room. Conner's body lay there, as if in a slumber Tim couldn't wake him from. His body was still tarnished from the failed experiment the other night.
“It's nearly the 7th hour, get the book.” The pumpkins voice was a rasping sound, a conscious motivation. Tim took in a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, “Well?”
“He's the devil!” Tim shouted.
“What's your point? He's offering you a bargain, so take it! Why do you care if it's not you or Conner he wants?”
Conner...
Tim looked up at the pumpkin, not sure what to say. He couldn't let others get hurt for something foolish that he did.
Conner...
“Hurry! Do you want him back or no? Now take the book.... and bring back our friend. Now Timothy!” Tim obediently pulled himself up and walked over to the desk. He flipped the pages until he got to the bookmark.
“Now read it Timothy.”
Tim swallowed and looked at the clock, it was 6:59. The tick-tock of the second hand rang in his ears as he counted the seconds. Conner could come back now, the cost doesn't matter. Tim picked up a candle and walked towards the body, the tick-tock of the clock nearly giving him a headache. He placed the book down atop Conner's chest, then followed the instructions in the book. The clock struck seven.
“In is sanctus nox noctis,” Tim said the word's half heartedly, not willing to spare a shred of hope. He dipped his finger in the melted candle wax, ignoring the burn of the flame, and anointed Conner's forehead, drawing a square with a dot in the middle
“Ego dico vestri phasmatis continuo...”
The candles flickered, Tim stopped reading and looked at the pumpkin, “I think it's working Timmy. Keep reading.”
“Adeo mihi alo unus, Conner Kent, temerarius meus placitum...”
The room grew colder, and the candle's went out, a wind blew through the room and chilled Tim's spine, “Keep reading!” the pumpkins voice grew desperate. A sickening feeling in the pit of Tim's stomach began to emerge. It was working, but fear began to grow in him. Wasn't this the evil he had been fighting all this time? He and Bruce, Dick, Miss Barbara and the Late Jason Todd. But evil is never ending, how can it all be-
“Finish it Tim!” The pumpkin cut through his thoughts like a knife, and Tim noticed the recent destruction of Conner's skin beginning to heal. Tim's eyes widened in shock, hope, excitement, fear., “Finish the spell!”
“Suscitatio, resurrectio... suscitatio, resurrectio... suscitatio, resurrectio!!”
The candles flickered back to life as the gusty wind died away. The room was silent. Tim leaned in closer to inspect the body. The recent decomposition had cleared away, the wax on Conner's forehead gone and his skin looked almost radiant. Tim couldn't help but stare and wonder whether his eyes were still that wonderful blue as before.
“Well? Wake him!” Tim jumped at the pumpkins voice, then snapped out of his reminiscence. He undid the straps and shook Conner by the shoulder, gently.
“Conner?”
Strong blue eye's met startled ones, as Conner quickly sat up and grabbed Tim's hand from his shoulder. Tim jumped and gasped but then was pulled back by the strong arm clasping his wrist. The boy, once dead, was now sitting upright on the table, eye's wide taking in his surroundings. Tim was dumbstruck. He eventually let go of Tim's wrist and watched amusedly as Tim gaped at him.
“Ha ha! I knew it would work. See Tim? If you put your mind to it, you can even perform miracles.” The pumpkin chuckled and started talking again, but Tim couldn't hear it. His undivided attention was on the boy in front of him.
“C-C-Conner?” Conner didn't respond. He leaned closer and lightly sniffed Tim's face and his clothes, then smiled as Tim reached out to touch his face, “Conner, are- are you all right? It's me Tim.” He looked Tim in the eyes, then leaned back and cocked his head to the side, like a puppy would do.
“Conner... Can you understand me?” Tim was becoming worried, “Conner... say something, do you know who I am?”
“No, I don't suppose he does at the moment.” Luther appeared beside him. This time Tim didn't jump.
“What's happened? I found the right spell, I did it all right! Why can't he understand what I am saying Luther!” Tim's shouts echoed amongst the walls. When they died down Luther proceeded.
“Patience, his memories will come back soon enough, piece by piece, he'll become his old self again.”
“When?” Tim bit out.
“Soon enough, and in case your wondering, I only dropped by to collect my book. Interesting isn't it?” Tim watched him as he spoke, picking up the little book and flicking through it's worn pages. “It belonged to a witch a few centuries ago. I commissioned her to collect a series of rituals used in the times before; have them written down, it was to be a gift to a faithful warlock. She refused to hand it over, it took her almost a life time to put together.” He stopped to look at a page, “Greed. It truly is terrible.” He smirked and snapped in shut.
“Why did you help me? What was it for.” Tim was careful not to look away, he didn't want Luther to disappear again.
“As I've said, your only a pawn.”
“I need to know Luther!”
“Oh? And what then? After I tell you your part what will you do? Try to undo what you've done? Take Conner's life to make it right?”
Tim stopped momentarily. He looked over his shoulder at Conner, still sitting on the table, curiously watching them, “Clark...”
“Hm, well, I certainly didn't expect that. My, you are clever.”
“You have a bone to pick with Clark, if not me or Conner. But why does it concern Him? I wont let you use him for your deeds!” Tim defensively backed up to Conner, hiding him away from Luther's vision.
“Well, telling you wont change things. Where do you think Conner came from Timothy? One day you just happen to meat the son of man whom you know to have no other relative? No wife? He just appeared one day at school three, or was it four years ago?”
“What are you saying?”
Luther smirked again, “Clark Kent wanted a son. I was compassionate enough to give him what he wanted. In exchange for his own soul he would have a son that would live in happiness for 10 years, no more no less.”
Tim's thoughts stopped in horror. He stilled and he could hear his pulse grow faster, the beat loud like a hundred drums in his ears.
“No bargain shall be broken. Especially not this one. Kent shall become mine. So the boy will live, I just couldn't bring him back myself you see, rules and such of the bargain.” Luther chuckled at the expression on Tim's face, and turned to leave. “Oh, and Timothy. Are you curious as to what happened to the witch?”
Tim remained silent.
“I made her haggard skin boil on her bones until she seeped into the ground.”
--<><>*<><>--
Tim tossed and turned in bed. He couldn't keep his thoughts at bay. He'd taken a role in dooming a man's life, a good man's life.
“Would a 'good man' really make a deal with the devil?” Tim sat up in bed to see the familiar chilling glow of the Jack O'lantern on his bedroom wall. He turned to glare at it.
“How did you get up here?” He whispered.
“...You brought me up.”
Tim shook his head then rested it in his hands. His mind was tired and heavily burdened, he must have been talking aloud to himself. What was going on? What had happened tonight, was it real? Considering his own life, and the surreal nature of it he began to laugh at himself quietly. The apprentice to an exorcist, his poor parents dead from a demon possession, taken in by the richest, most respected man in Gotham, and saved from the orphanages, maybe even work houses, or worse.
“Gone mad already?”
Tim stopped his chuckling, “Don't call me that.” He got up and picked up the pumpkin, quickly hiding it under his bed, “Now be quiet, we can't have father hearing you prattle on all night, I'm trying to sleep.”
“A fine job of it your doing.”
Tim clenched his teeth in frustration, “Shut up!” He whispered loudly. He considered moving a cot into his lab, the walls of the house were too thin. The pumpkin seemed to have quietened down, and the candle was dimming. He reminded himself to replace it the next day. Tim turned over and settled on the pillow. He didn't hear the door open, or the quiet footsteps approach him. Tim opened his eyes and nearly tumbled off of the bed when he saw two big orbs of blue staring at him. Conner was crouched on the floor, looking at Tim in that curious way he'd recently adopted.
“God, Conner, you frightened the life out of me. How did you get here?” Tim looked at him expecting an answer, then remembered that he probably wouldn't get one. He rubbed his temples, and then remembered. He hadn't locked the door to his laboratory, he'd just gone off to bed, leaving Conner there naked in the dark, Luther's voice still in his head, “Oh God, I'm so sorry Conner, I didn't- I didn't mean to... I'm so tired.” Tim sat up properly and tried to compose himself a little, then figure out what to do. Maybe he would have to set up a small cot in the small back room of his laboratory he never used, for Conner.
“I love you so much Conner. I missed you, please forgive me.”
Tim reached out and cupped Conner's face. He was like a living doll, his skin was almost golden, even in the dark, his eyes bluer than Tim remembered, “What am I to do with you?” He said kindly. He wished Conner's memories came with him when he woke up, maybe Tim woke him up a little early? Conner stood up to his full height, Tim quirked an eyebrow and watched as Conner slowly bent down and tried to kiss him.
“Conner!” Tim pushed him away and wiped at his lips, even though they had hardly touched, “What are you doing? That's improper!” Tim knew it was useless to try talking to him, but he couldn't hide his own shock at Conner's behaviour, “I should get you some clothes, you shouldn't be walking around like that.” Tim tried to get up but Conner approached him before he could move from the bed, “What are you d-doing?” Tim saw a red tint to Conner's eyes, it seemed to glow and darken the blue.
Conner moved to sit on Tim's lap, wrapping his legs around Tim's waist, grinning innocently. Tim was stuttering, “C-Conner, s-stop this, r-right now!”
Conner pushed him back onto the bed, running his hands up Tim's night shirt, pushing it up. Tim could do nothing but stare as Conner's pink tongue started to flick at his nipple, tasting him. It was as if his very conscious had escaped and was hovering above the two of them, able to do nothing but watch. He was shocked and his pulse was racing. This wasn't right, it wasn't, but he couldn't find the strength to move, he always submitted to Conner, always. Conner sucked harder and lapped at him. Tim moaned, then clamped his hands over his mouth and closed his eyes.
He could feel Conner's mouth, the soft lips and quick tongue moving over his chest, licking at his other nipple. Tim moaned again through his hands. He felt strange, a bubbling sensation in the pit of his belly. He quickly became short of breath and tried to muffle the atrocious noises he was making. They shouldn't be doing this. He wanted it to stop, but a voice, like the pumpkins, in the back of his mind was urging Conner to continue. Tim bit his lip, he could feel himself rising, and tried to control his hips not to thrust up.
When he couldn't feel Conner's lips on him any more, Tim opened his eyes to see him snaking down, loosening the string of his pyjama bottoms, “Conn-!” Tim hushed himself and sat up to pull Conner's hands away. He was about to protest again, until his mouth was covered with Conner's lips. They sank down on the bed together, Conner lying on top of him, running his hands up and down Tim's body. Tim moaned into Conner's mouth, he could feel Conner's tongue playing amongst his teeth, pillaging, and exploring his mouth, and he couldn't help but feel him.
He felt Conner's thigh move between his legs and put pressure on his member. Tim let an exasperated gasp escape as he unconsciously closed his legs around that perfectly muscled thigh. He clenched his hands into his bedsheets and rocked back and forth as Conner undid his bottoms. The lips were gone again, and Tim clamped his hands back on his mouth, eye's tightly shut. He felt smooth hands untangle his legs and slip the silky material down off of his hips, down his thighs to his knees, and off. He was almost naked, and he felt so open, he felt like Conner was invading him, and a part of his mind was curious. He felt himself become harder, his leg muscles tensed, he whimpered softly, his breath catching in the back of his throat.
Conner pushed Tim's legs up and spread them wide. Tim's eyes flung open when he felt a slippery, warm pressure pushing up at his entrance, “Oh, God, Conner... *Conner*... W-wh-” Tim saw a almost a white blaze before his eyes. He swallowed hard and parted his legs further, feeling it inside him. The shock gave way to embarrassment, and Tim blushed. The noises coming from his mouth would wake Alfred and all the maids, but more importantly, Bruce. What if he came in and found them both like this? He felt his face become warmer, then slapped his hands back over his mouth, he couldn't trust himself.
Suddenly the tongue was gone, replaced by a thick hard cock pushing against him. Tim's leg muscles were caught in a spasm, his hands clamped down harder on his mouth. Conner pushed in, inch by inch, taking his time. Tim felt Conner slide deeper inside him, stretching him, making him leak at the tip, making his head spin. Conner sat up-right, leaving Tim lying down, straddling his hips. Tim felt it slide in and out, every thrust extracting a yelp, muffled by Tim's own hands.
Tim felt Conner's hands clasp his buttocks, pulling him in with each thrust. It was a wonderful torture, Tim began to sob, he didn't know why, he didn't know what else to do. Conner spilled into him. It leaked out onto the bedsheets. Tim felt wet and shaky, and scared, but mostly relieved. His breaths stuttered as he exhaled, but he kept his eyes on Conner.
He was startling, he looked satisfied yet hungry. Moonlight streamed in through the open curtains making his eyes glow. The red tint slowly disappearing. It didn't matter, Conner was here now, alive. Tim hadn't fully acknowledged the fact, and did what he should have done earlier, before anything else. Tim threw his arms around Conner, hugging him tightly. Conner's arms held him, drawing him so close.
He would get his memories back, Tim would find away to hide him from curious eyes, they would live together for-
“...a son that would live in happiness for 10 years, no more no less.”
For seven more years, but they'd find a way, they'd find a way to make it forever. Tim held him closer, then lay back down on the bed, pulling Conner down along with him.
--<><>*<><>--
Bruce returned home. He was tired and aching from the mess he and Dick had returned from. He shock his head at the memory of that poor farmers wife, and cursed the day those demons laid eyes on her.
“Richard, where are you going?”
Dick tugged his bag further up his shoulder and put his hat on, “Home, father, Bludhaven needs me.”
“Nonsense,” He took Dick's bag then led him up the stair way, “Stay the night, Alfred will be happy to see you. You remember the way to your old room?” He teased.
Dick smiled, “Yes, father. I did live here since I was eight, remember?”
“Goodnight Dick.”
“Goodnight father.”
Tim sat in his cushioned chair, a possessed look on his face. He was angry, and frustrated. Conner sat next to him on the arm of the chair, kissing and idly running his lips up and down Tim's neck, while Tim chewed on his lips.
“Don't look so depressing.” The pumpkin on his desk had began to rot, the stench was unhealthy. It's voice had grown just as rotten.
“It's been *weeks* since that night. Weeks and nothing!”
“Luther said his memories would come back piece by piece. All we have to do is wait.”
Tim glared at the rotting mound, “That's all we have been doing.”
One of the pumpkins eye's widened while the other one seemed to squint. That was it's impression of raising an eyebrow. Tim knew perfectly what he meant by it, but refused to acknowledge it. His nights have been more preferable than his days.
“Well, we'll have to wait a little longer then, wont we?”
Tim snapped, his anger getting the better of him, “I can't wait any more! I will loose my mind while waiting!” His voice bellowed, Conner startled and fell off the chair, his eye's wide and fearful.
“Uh-oh, now look what you did.”
“Conner!” Tim knelt down to help Conner to his feet, then held him in his arms, “No Conner, I'm not angry with you, never angry with you my love. I'm sorry forgive me for frightening you.” He petted Conner's hair, wishing more than anything that he could be understood. “Come, Conner.” He led Conner to the secret room of the laboratory that had become his hiding place. There was a cot, a lamp, a chest of clothes and other things Tim had given him. Tim hated hiding him away, but it was all that he could do. Conner went obediently, a sad look in his eyes every time he had to leave Tim, but Tim's bark was worse than his bite. After the door closed, Tim locked it then turned to the pumpkin, his features grew darker as he approached the desk. Tim slammed his hands down hard on the surface, making it's candle flicker.
“Don't get upset Timmy, he'll get them back... eventually.”
“He said they would come back, but he didn't say when! Only he knows how long it will take! Maybe a whole year! Maybe two!”
Bruce walked back down the stairs towards the kitchens. He didn't want to wake Alfred in the night for a glass of milk and a bite to eat. He took the servants corridors, around the back of the house, past the basement's door. He expected Tim to be asleep, but he could hear faint shouting coming from it as he passed. He looked at his pocket watch, it was ten past midnight. He and Dick had gotten home earlier than he thought.
The shouting became louder and more agitated. He went to knock but the door was left open. Bruce didn't want to intrude, but he was curious, the only voice he could hear was Tim's. He pushed the door open enough to walk in, then proceeded down the small corridor of steps. There was a dim glow coming from the end of the stairwell. Bruce got closer and was able to hear what was being said.
“I don't care! I don't care! It's not him! It's not the person I once knew, he's a- he's a plaything! A simple minded plaything!”
It was Tim's voice blaring, but Bruce couldn't quite see him. He reached the end of the stairs and peaked from behind the wall. There was a strong smell of rotting pumpkin in the air, Bruce cringed and wondered how Tim could stand the smell. He peeked again and saw no one but the source of the smell. It was a six week old Jack o'lantern he remembered Tim carving out before Halloween, it was rotting on his desk. Tim was shouting at it, and seemed to be talking to himself. Bruce looked on, horrified.
“But he's not just a plaything! Don't worry......... don't worry? How can I not worry? Who knows when he will be himself?! How much time will that leave us with?!.......... I thought we said we'd find a way Timmy?.......... I know I did, but what if there isn't? He tricked me! Can't you see?.......... ”
Bruce wasn't listening to what Tim was saying. He was talking to himself, one moment he was using his normal voice, then the next he'd changed his pitch slightly. It was lower, and more raspy but still undeniably his. Bruce decided he'd seen enough.
“Timothy.” His voice boomed and echoed in the room. Tim spun round., the shock visible on his face, “What on earth has been going on down here?”
“N-nothing, Father. Nothings wrong, I was- I was, just speaking my thoughts aloud.”
“Why were you changing your voice, Timothy?”
Tim looked at him, puzzled, “I wasn't changing my voice.”
“You were speaking both sides of a conversation, as two people. Talking, then responding, Timothy, Don't lie to me, I know what I heard.”
“Father I have no idea what your talking about. Don't talk as if you think me insane! I was talking to- to...”
Bruce came a few paces closer, “To whom, Tim? There is no one else here.”
Tim remained silent, sweat evident on his brow. Bruce saw him swallow hard and take a breath.
“...The lantern father. It's alive, it talks, believe me! I can show you.”
Bruce looked at his son, watched him in horror as he tried to get the stale pumpkin to answer him, watched the look in his son's eyes change when nothing happened, the fear and desperation that surfaced in his face. Tim turned to face his father, backing away slowly as he spoke.
“Father, I'm not lying. It's true, it was speaking to me...”
Bruce stole himself and tried to keep things in hand, “Timothy, come with me, it's not healthy down here. Listen to me, it's made you ill.”
“No! No it hasn't! I'm not ill father!” Tim's voice was beginning to rise. Bruce knew he should have talked to his son earlier, the death of his friend as surly crushed the boys mind.
Another thought occurred to Bruce. What if it was a demon? In his own son? He's been so weak and closed off for so long, god knows what's happened. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to his youngest. Momentarily, and image of Jason flickered through his mind. Bruce pushed it all to the back of his mind and concentrated on Tim.
“Tim, son, please. Let's get you to bed.”
“No!” Tim tried to dash past him, but Bruce caught his arm and quickly pinned him to the ground. He didn't want to see Tim like this, but it was the only thing to do.
“Master Bruce? What in heavens name is going on? The maids said they heard shouting. Is everything all right?” Alfred appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Alfred! Hurry, call Richard! Tell him to bring the restrainers!”
The old man rushed up the stairs, shocked by the sight he'd seen. Tim's pained wailing echoed along the corridors of the manor.
--<><>*<><>--
Tim screamed and shouted, throwing his body this way and that, trying to get out of the thick leather cuffs that bound his feet and wrists to his bed. The sheets weren't soaked in holy water, but the room was filled with a thick cloud of incense. An image of Conner flashed through his mind. Dick stood over him anointing his forehead with holy water.
“Dick, please, please help me, I'm not possessed, please!” Tim's voice whined, he could feel sweat forming all over his body.
“Shhh, it's going to be all right little brother. We'll protect you.” Dick caressed Tim's face soothingly, making quieting noises. Bruce stood at the foot of the bed reading the Latin scriptures. Tim's head was spinning, they wouldn't believe him, nobody would. He could hear Alfred outside quieting down the maids. He wanted to tell Bruce everything, he wanted to make him understand, he hadn't gone mad over grieving for Conner. He desperately wanted to tell Bruce, to tell his brother.
“No! Don't you dare tell them!.......... your back!” Tim saw the rotting pumpkin on the end of the bed, right in front of Bruce.
“Bruce, what's happening?” Dick stopped caressing Tim's face and stood up.
“Why didn't you answer me!? Why!?.......... Answer you? When?.......... when we were in my laboratory, I was begging you to say something! And you stayed silent, my father thinks I'm possessed, you damned rotten pile!”
Dick backed away towards Bruce, “Who's he talking to father? His voice...”
“Richard! Father! Look! It's there, the pumpkin, can't you see it? Can't you hear it?”
“Timothy, there's nothing there.” Dick replied, he looked where Tim was implying, but it was just an empty space.
Tim scowled at him, “There! At the foot of the bed! Can't you smell it? The rotting pumpkin? It's there!” Tim's voice began to break from all his screaming.
“Tim, the pumpkin is still down stairs, that smell is coming from you,” Bruce walked over to him and pulled up Tim's lapel to his nose, “Smell your self, it's stuck to your clothes and hair.”
“No! It's the pumpkin! Father, please! Why wont you see it?” Tears began to fall down Tim's cheek's as he violently struggled against his bonds. Why couldn't they see it? It was right there.
“Tim, it's time.” Tim froze upon Bruce's words.
“No... no father please, I beg you, *please*!” Bruce stood up and opened his book again, and began. Dick went back to the side of the bed and rested his hand to Tim's head, then began praying, “Richard, Dick, please... Dick, no... let me go! Please!” Dick ignored him and continued praying. Bruce started reading the formal scriptures.
“Per vox of Deus, ego dico super suus vires...”
“No! Please, Bruce! Don't do this!” Tim shouted and struggled, trying to get Dick's hand off of his forehead, “Please... There is nothing wrong! Don't continue! Bruce, please!”
“Succurro is penuriosus moral, quod commodo mihi vestri vires...” Bruce had to ignore his son's wails and pleas. It was so hard for him to concentrate, the memory of Jason still so fresh in his mind after so many years. He blocked it all out and remembered his training in the Vatican, then continued reading, hopping to god he could save his son.
“... Ego dico super Angli ego dico super sanctus malum, ostendo vestri ego!” Bruce threw a hand full of sacred bead plants into the air above Tim. They burst into a flame before they could touch Tim's body, then the ashes seeping into his skin.
“Evil, show yourself!” He shouted. Tim yelled and screamed, shouting Bruce's name, and pleading, over and over again. Bruce's heart nearly broke at the sight. Dick put a comforting hand on his shoulder and they watched. Tim finally lay still, exhausted and worn out, his breathing heavy, face stained with tears.
“Father look!” Dick was pointing to Tim's parted lips. A dark brown mould started to form on Tim's mouth, and it was spreading fast. It formed all the way down Tim's neck, crawling under his collar, going further down. They both rushed to Tim's side, tearing off his jacket and shirt. The sickening mould spread down his flat stomach, below the waistband of his trousers until it was almost covering all of his skin, leaving a few patches of white. Bruce reached out with a gloved hand and ran a finger over Tim's lips. The mould came off on Bruce's glove, he brought it closer to his eye.
“It's skin... dry old skin... but why.” He announced.
“Good lord, Father, what's going to happen to him? have you ever seen such an occurrence?”
“You misunderstand, it's not Timothy's skin-” Before Bruce could finish, the dead skin trail quickly spread across the white bed sheets, covering them in black-ish brown. Dick and Bruce sat up quickly, gazing upon the growing mass. It started to form on the floor, in what looked like foot steps, all over the wooden surface, the carpet on a chair and various other places around Tim's room. It moved towards the door and under it. They could hear the maids shriek on the other side.
“My God, it will cover the entire house!”
“Quickly follow it Richard!”
They rushed outside to see the maids in distress, muttering complaints about working for an exorcist. Alfred stepped forward, “Master Bruce, Master Richard, what on earth is happening? Are we in danger?” They followed the trail of old skin, in some places it was fresh, in others already old dead and black, it quickly spread along the floors of the house. Bruce called back to him as he ran past., “Tell the maids not to worry Alfred, get them and yourself out of the house, go!”
They came to the end of the corridor where the trail split and went into two different directions. One went along the east side corridor, the other down the north. They nodded to each other, Bruce going down the north, Dick along the east. The trail sped along quicker, coving more ground, forcing them to run after it. It wound around the main staircase the upper and middle floors of the house branching off into the library, dining rooms, bathrooms. It wasn't as thick as it was in Tim's room and the back corridors of the house, not even the servants used those. The trail avoided the most frequently used rooms in the house and thinned out in the places close to them. Bruce and Dick ran into each other again for the third time in the servants corridor, the foul trail of dead and newly shed skin at it's thickest.
“Timothy's laboratory, but Father there was nothing in there...”
Bruce stepped closer onto the muck covering the floor. It rose up like a thick black dust. He pushed the door open and started down the stairs, then gestured Dick to follow him with some candles, “Richard, cover your mouth, don't breath it in.” They reached the bottom. Every inch of the floor, every surface was covered in the black mould-like substance, and spreading, adding on another layer. It was sickening.
“Good lord... Are you sure this isn't coming from Tim?” Asked Dick, now covering his nose from the stench.
“No, no Richard I don't think so, look....”
Dick squinted through the darkness, and held the candle higher to see what Bruce was pointing at. A door on the far end of the laboratory, partially covered by a curtain, still had the dead skin growing over it and through the gaps. They both walked closer and saw the padlock locking it shut.
“In there?”
“Yes,” Bruce walked over to the chemical shelf where he knew Tim stored the dangerous substances, he had helped Tim set up this room for his privet use as an apprentice. He found the acid then poured it onto the padlock. The metal corroded with a fizzling sound, then fell to the floor, the door fell open slightly and the dead skin trail entered. Bruce kicked the door in the rest of the way.
He saw the black dead skin trail stop growing, it stopped before it reached the body of a young man sitting up in a cot, a beautiful young man with almost golden skin and piercing eyes, terrified at the filth that had spread around him- the filth of an evil nature.
Bruce stood there, almost paralysed as he gazed into the open, and very much live eyes, of the late Conner Kent.
--<><>*<><>--
Conner sat curled up in his little cot, eyes, filled with fear, darted from one man to the other. The whole room was covered in the evil blackness except for the Conner. Bruce came forward, not believing his eyes. He took a candle from Dick and brought it closer to the boy on the bed, who backed away, panic evident on his face.
“Father, it's... but he...”
Bruce's features darkened as the realisation dawned upon him. Tim was hiding Conner all this time, he had brought the uncleanliness into their house, the evil, impure stench of the devil's work burned in Bruce's nostrils. Brought on by his own son! This wasn't right, Bruce blamed himself. He could have done something sooner, he could have seen it sooner. Something had to be done now, whatever spell Tim used needed to be reversed to send Conner back. He had failed Conner, and his son once, he wont do it again. He told Dick to fetch the restrainers in case Conner tried to flee and edged closer to the boy, whether it had *Conner's* soul, he couldn't tell.
“Conner, It's me, Father Bruce, do you remember me?” He tried talking, but the boy, Conner, just kept staring at him in confusion and fear, inching away from Bruce, “Don't be afraid. I wont hurt you.” Bruce's mouth went dry as he spoke, knowing full well what he had to do, the pain he would cause this boy.
Before he could say any more, Conner leapt off of the bed, and bumped into Bruce as he ran out of the laboratory. Bruce was knocked to his feet. Conner was strong, and scared, a terrible combination. Dick saw him run up the stairs.
“Father! are you all right!?” He called down the dark stairway.
“Yes, go! Don't let him get to Tim!” Dick rushed after Conner, Bruce following behind. They reached Tim's room to find it empty. The straps were ripped open and the window broken.
“They didn't...”
Bruce and Dick ran to the window. They could see Conner and Tim running across the green stretch of the garden, leaving the dirty dead skin trail in their wake. Tim's legs could hardly move, he was held up by Conner, almost dragged along. Then... they stopped.
“He can't leave.” Said Bruce, “He can't leave the grounds of the manor.”
“What? Why?”
“The consecrated ground, Richard, it's become his barrier, Conner can't leave!” A flame of hope came to life in them both as they made their way to the garden. They would save Tim. Bruce couldn't save Jason, and he couldn't save Conner, or Tim's parents, but he wouldn't let any more people down. Not Tim.
--<><>*<><>--
“Conner... what? What is it?” Tim barely had the strength to talk. Conner stood there, sating at his feet at the edge of the garden, “Conner...?” Tim tried to lift his hand to cup Conner's face, but couldn't lift it high enough to reach. “My love, what's wrong? Please, we have to go, now!”
“He can't leave the grounds Timothy.” He heard Bruce's voice from the far end of the garden. They both turned to see Dick and Bruce standing by the great looming walls of the house, “I consecrated the grounds, Conner's body can't step foot outside, it's where he was resurrected, Tim, it's keeping him here.”
Tim started to panic. This couldn't be true, it couldn't! “No! How is it possible!” His face flushed with anger as he tried to stand up properly, but his legs gave away beneath him, Conner caught his waist in time.
“When you brought him back, using evil magic, evil came with him and has tinted this holy ground. Now it's become his cage, he can sense it.” He wanted to make Tim understand and come back to them himself. This madness would leave him. It had to.
Tim felt himself grow weaker. They were going to take Conner away from him again. He felt his earlier panic rise up in him again, racking his brain about what he could do to escape. They had to, he wasn't giving Conner up, Conner wasn't evil, he was his best friend, the only person he cared about most, his partner, his lover...
“Please Tim, come back, we can help you.” Dick begged.
“NO! I wont let you take him! I wont!”
A burst of red menacing flames started to rise from the ground where they stood, burning the tall grass that marked the end of the estate. The green quickly turned to black as a path started to form, smoke rose into the night sky in the form of dark translucent faces twisted and contorted in pain.
They all stared up at the spectacle before them, and watched as a bald man in a red and Gray suit emerged from the path.
“Luther.” Tim whispered to himself.
Tim looked back. He had a choice to make, one that he thought he'd already made a long while ago. The devil standing in front of him offered salvation to a new life with his lover, and the man behind him, his father, offered salvation from the evil he had submerged himself in. He knew the difference between good and evil, right and wrong. He battled with his thoughts almost every waking hour, he argued with the pumpkin about morals and fairness. He had been brought up and trained to do what was right, and yet here he stands with the devil on his side, playing his corrupted game, the prize, the soul of a poor lonely man, who only wished for a son to cherish.
“Tim, no! He's evil! And that's not the Conner you know! It's all the work of evil Tim!” Bruce shouted, and tried to approach, but couldn't take another step, as if a giant hand was blocking his way.
No, how dare they call him evil. They wouldn't take Conner away from him again, Tim decided, he won't have another person taken away from him. He ignored Dick and Bruce's cries and pleas, then turned his back on them both and nodded for Conner to continue walking.
“No! Father, what are we going to do?” They looked on helplessly as Tim, son and little brother, walked away with the devil.
Bruce sank to his knees, all hope perished within him. He watched as his son abandoned them and left. The black skin was still falling and growing on the grass where Conner trod, slowly wearing thin as Bruce's incantation started to wear off. Bruce thought a moment as he looked on at the old decaying skin covering the grass and the floors of the house. It was the evil shedding off of Conner, like an aura that could be seen, that could be seen and touched... and burned.
“Richard, quickly! Give me your candle!” Bruce took it from him in one last desperate attempt to save Tim. He threw it out into the garden, and watched as it fell on the shed skin. The fire burned up the trail fast, like a cat chasing after a mouse until it caught up with them.
“Tim! Get away from them! Run Tim!” Dick shouted at the top of his voice. Tim heard him and looked back to see the flames come towards them, rising high and angry. The fire spread down the other side of the trail, past Bruce and Dick and into the house, cleansing the dwelling of it's recent corruption.
“No... NO! Conner!” Tim screamed as the fire engulfed his lover, burning brightly. It was like having needles in his eyes, but Tim couldn't tare himself away. He held on to Conner's arms tightly, the fire burning away the dead black skin still on his body, leaving the rest of him unharmed. Their lips met briefly through the flames, then Tim was pulled away by two sets of strong hands. Dick and Bruce held him tightly in their arms, in a safe embrace, as Tim cried and fell apart before them. His tears fell freely down his cheeks, soaking into Bruce's shirt.
“No!” Luther's angry bellow turned into a terrifying growl that shook the ground, “I'll see to it that you pay for defying me Wayne. Your day will come!” He let loose a threatening hiss, like a snake about to attack, and was gone before their eyes in a cloud of thick ash that sprinkled over the grass, burning everything it touched.
The fire died down to a crackle and finally stopped. Tim turned his face away from the filled chest that was cushioning this head, and saw the burned grass, then a hand lying on the ground, black and charred. He averted his eyes, not able to look any further. His vision was clouding from the tears in his eyes. Dick petted his hair and kissed his temple, shushing him soothingly.
“Bruce... Dick...” Tim wept in their arms, tears drenching in cheeks, “I miss him...”
“I'm sorry Tim.”
Bruce shared a relieved look with Dick, thanking God that they had their little bird back. Things will be alright.
--<><>*<><>--
One year later...
Bruce's heels clicked on the wooden floors as he walked down one of Arkam's dismal corridors. The nurse and doctor walking beside him quiet and solemn, leading him to the correct cell room. N.o 133. An orderly standing by opened the locks to the door, and Bruce stepped in.
Tim was lying on his bed, curled in his sheets. He looked so small and weak, even the hair on his head must be to heavy for him. Bruce was disheartened at the sight, and walked closer. Tim was soaked in sweat, his eyes half open, not asleep.
“...Conner?”
“No Tim, it's me, Bruce.” He sat down on Tim's bed, pulling the weak form onto his lap. Tim's head rested on Bruce's thigh as Bruce combed his hair out of his eyes. He signed and kissed the boy's head. He was drugged out of his mind, slightly cold.
“I love you Timothy.” Whispered Bruce.
“...I love you Conner...”
--<><>*<><>--
Luther arrived back at his estate. He sat at his desk in his study and pulled out a small leather bound, black book.
Tempt widower West.
Check.
Poison farm livestock.
Check.
Drive Harper towards suicide.
Check.
Acquire Kent's soul.
...
The last note on his list made his face contort in anger. He snapped his book shut, and pulled out his last cigar.