The Foster Mother
Now on ao3 and VHS release
There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.
“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.
“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”
…Alright.
Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.
Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.
And then Tim walked into the room.
And then Jazzy was there.
*
Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.
She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.
She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.
Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.
(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)
Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.
The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.
She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.
Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.
She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.
Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.
She looked up when he came in.
Tim. Stopped in his tracks.
It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.
“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.
She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!
“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“
“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.
Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.
(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)
She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.
He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.
“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”
Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.
“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”
Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”
Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?
“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”
Which. Whiplash. What a statement.
“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.
Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”
“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”
“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”
Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.
Jazzy waited patiently.
“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.
Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”
It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—
—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.
She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.
“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.
He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.
Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.
It was for the best.
“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”
…Tim’s heart skipped.
He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…
Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?
And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!
“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”
She handed him the backpack by the handle.
…Tim peeked inside.
On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.
And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.
Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.
Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.
It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.
Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.
Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.
“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“
“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.
“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”
Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.
“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!
“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”
Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.
And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.
Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.
He swallowed.
Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.
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Rending Flesh From the Bone
Ah yes, the dpxdc "drabble" I decided to write for Halloween. Honestly not too enthused with how it came out but posting it anyway. I feel like some parts feel a bit rushed and there might be some plotholes. Oh well. As always, feel free to add on if you so desire.
TW: Gore, Cannibalism, Vomiting, Zalgo Text
Translations for the Zalgo are available at the end.
AO3 version
“Are you sure about this, Hood?”
Dick stared at the entrance of the abandoned subway tunnel, Jason practically vibrating out of his armor beside him.
For once, it was Jason who had broken into Dick’s apartment and not the other way around. He was rambling something about the Joker and needing Dick’s help, and who was Dick to say no? His little brother never sought him out on his own, let alone asked for his help. Never. Dick was so proud! If he rewarded this behavior then maybe Jason would do it again, and somehow that would lead to Dick being able to give him his highly sought-after best big brother hugs whenever he wanted. Dick was still figuring out the intermediate steps.
The point is that Dick needed to help him, regardless of if this was all based on a gut feeling and not even a whisper that the Joker was around let alone planning anything. What the hell, Dick thought. Sometimes gut feelings are right, and push comes to shove, Dick will follow Red Hood around Gotham until his paranoia dies down. Then Dick can lovingly bully him into brother bonding time.
So here they were, staring into the gaping mouth of an unused tunnel.
There are worse ways he could have spent his night.
Jason grunts, fists clenched as they gaze into the blackness. “It’s almost Halloween. You know how these freaks get this time of year.”
Dick concedes the point.
“Come on,” Jason bumps against his shoulder as he stalks toward the blackness, “He’s down there I just know it.”
Dick shrugs and follows him in.
Something about it is oppressive. Like something is warning them to turn back or face the consequences. Dick swallows. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over this. He had been in closed dark spaces like this before, tighter ones even!
“Dick.”
Jason is pointing to the ground. Dark splatters. Blood. Fresh, and more than just a little nosebleed.
They make their way further in, following the convenient blood trail even as the urge to turn around gets stronger. They only walk a few feet before a loud scream breaks the silence.
“I fucking told ya Nightwing!”
Dick grunts in response as they sprint down the tunnel, following the blood down twists and turns.
The two vigilantes slide to a stop as the tunnel breaks into a new one. There is something in this new tunnel. Something large and glowing. The Joker is screaming as it bats him around.
Dick can’t bring himself to do anything but freeze, watching and assessing.
The first thing he sees is the crown. It floats crookedly above the creature’s white hair, bathing the tunnel in light with its green fiery glow. The being’s face almost looks humanoid, with long ears tapering into points. Its body is long and spindly like a man who had been left starving on an island for several weeks. The vertebrae in its neck are visible even underneath its skin. The spinous processes of the vertebrae break through the flesh, creating a long row of protruding bones that clack and rattle as the spine moves. Its pelvis juts out as if only a thin layer of skin is covering it. The ribcage is on the outside of its body like some kind of fucked up turtle shell. Space was underneath it, the purples and blues of nebulas and the blackness of night and twinkling stars and planets rested underneath the bones.
The creature has the Joker by the neck. It reminds Dick of a cat Damian had fostered, one that had kittens and would carry them gently between her jaws. There is nothing gentle about this though. Red blood drips down to the ground as the Joker thrashes to try and free himself. The jaws tighten viciously around him and the creature shakes, flinging him around like a chew toy before slamming him down into the ground with a growl.
A skull flashes underneath its face as if its skin and cartilage are merely a transparent overlay. Sharp, jagged bone peaks rise up smoothly from its mandible in a mimicry of teeth.
The creature’s jaws are still wrapped around the Joker’s throat. He’s scrambling, screeching underneath the being despite the teeth that should be cutting into his vocal cords. The Joker scratches at its chest, trying to push it away. It merely makes a low staticky hissing noise, one of its hands pinning him down by the shoulder.
The other arm raises upwards in the air. It's too long for the body of the creature, fingers tapering into sharp points.
The claws slash downwards.
The Joker choked on a scream as the digits tore his chest open like it were tissue paper. Mouth still wrapped around his throat, the being flipped a flap of skin and fat upwards like it was turning the page of a book.
The Joker continued to struggle, blood and something green gurgling out of his mouth. The being maneuvered itself until it crouched to Joker’s side, twisting his neck with it.
The Joker stilled.
At first, Dick thought he was dead, but then he saw movement inside his chest wound.
His lungs.
His lungs were still moving.
Dick can see his lungs breathing.
The creature reaches its hand back down into the Joker’s chest, wrenching the ribcage open with a snap. The Joker begins to struggle once more, red blood and green liquid splattering on the ground.
One of the clawed hands replaced its teeth, pinning the Joker’s head down as it stuck its face inside the chest cavity. The Joker suddenly froze. When its face remerged a glowing violet orb was held between its teeth. Red and green dripped from its face.
The green was familiar.
Glowing green.
…
…Lazarus water?
The tooth-like protrusions pierce the orb with a crack.
The Joker falls silent.
His lungs are no longer moving.
The being’s head tilts back, the shattered orb disappearing down its gullet. It hunches back down over the corpse. The slimy wet sounds of its hands and head digging into the body are sickening. Dick watches as its head remerges with what looks like a kidney. The kidney follows the orb.
Dick snaps out of his shock, but not quick enough to muffle his strangled gasp.
The being catches sight of them, green eyes, lazarus green, boring into them. Dick can see the dark hollows of the skull’s orbits underneath them. His head pounds.
The creature began to stand. Its joints, too many joints, creaked as it unfolded its legs. It seemed like it struggled to maneuver its stiff limbs. Like it’s fighting against rigor mortis Dick noted absently.
Now standing at full height, the being’s crown nearly scraped the top of the ten-foot ceiling. Its maw parted, blue vapor billowing out between the spiked protrusions that were its teeth. The putrid stench of death and burning flesh that invaded the tunnel had Dick gagging. He quietly covered his mouth as he tried to bite back the bile in his throat.
He glanced back at his brother to find that Jason had taken a step back. It was impossible to see his expression under the helmet, but Dick could read the tightening of his shoulders. Fear. Deep, primal fear. The kind of fear you feel when you know there are no more options. When you know fighting or running is pointless.
Here, at this moment, the infamous Red Hood looked less like a feared crime lord vigilante and more like a one-week-old gazelle face to face with a lion.
Dick reached to pull Jason out of sight but the pounding between his eyes made him uncoordinated. He tripped over his own feet and crashed into Jason’s side, gripping his shoulder with shaking fingers as he righted himself. Jason didn’t budge, remaining stock still despite the extra weight of his older brother against him.
The creature stared at them, the piercing green glow of its eyes brightening with a spur of power. Its head tilted to the side until it came to rest at well over ninety degrees. A pointed, frostbitten tongue lolled out between its teeth to lick its bloodied face clean.
“C̷o̷m̶p̴a̵n̵y̵?̵” It sounded like the desolation of space, the static of electricity, the explosion of a star, the final screech before death.
The space trapped in its chest began to bleed through its ribs, twinkling stars and asteroids and galaxies escaping the confines of their prison to drip down the being’s waist. It ran over its legs, building and thickening until a long serpentine tail had replaced the limbs entirely. Even as the coils moved, the stars and planets stayed in place as if the tail was merely a window. Watching it made Dick motion sick.
Even as the elongated spines stretching out of its back clanked together in the mimicry of a death rattle, the creature made no move toward them. Another puff of foul-smelling mist escaped its mouth.
“Y̶o̷u̸ ̶s̵h̴o̷u̴l̵d̶ ̴b̶e̵ ̸m̴o̴r̷e̸ ̴c̷a̴r̸e̴f̴u̷l̵,̷ ̸l̴i̴t̷t̶l̷e̸ ̶g̶h̸o̷s̴t̶l̷i̸n̷g̸.̸” It’s voice boomed, “Y̴o̸u̵ ̶a̸r̶e̵ ̷n̷o̶ ̷m̵a̸t̸c̶h̴ ̷f̴o̵r̴ ̸m̶o̵s̷t̷ ̴s̸p̵i̴r̴i̷t̴s̴ ̵a̸s̸ ̷y̵o̵u̵n̷g̴ ̴a̷s̶ ̶y̶o̵u̶ ̷a̸r̵e̵.̷ ̷E̶s̸p̷e̸c̵i̶a̶l̴l̷y̶ ̶n̴o̵t̷ ̴o̶n̴ ̶S̵a̶m̷h̷a̶i̷n̷.̶”
The two brothers remained frozen in place. The stars in its tail flickered until millions of eyes were boring into Dick’s soul. With a stuttering gasp, Dick stepped back again. Jason refused to budge despite his urging. The next time Dick blinked the eyes were stars again.
The being chuckled at them, “N̵o̴ ̴n̶e̸e̵d̷ ̵t̵o̶ ̵f̸e̸a̶r̵,̸ ̵g̸h̵o̶s̶t̶l̸i̴n̴g̶.̸ ̴I̸ ̵d̴o̵ ̷n̶o̶t̴ ̶w̶i̸s̵h̴ ̵y̸o̴u̸ ̷n̷o̵r̴ ̸y̴o̶u̴r̸ ̴f̵r̸a̷i̵d̷ ̴h̵a̵r̷m̸.̶” Dick found that hard to believe considering that they had just watched it eat the Joker’s kidney, “Y̸o̵u̴ ̸a̷r̴e̵ ̵v̵e̸r̸y̶ ̴l̵u̶c̸k̶y̴ ̶i̶t̵ ̴w̷a̴s̴ ̴m̶e̵ ̸w̴h̷o̸ ̸y̶o̷u̵ ̷c̸a̸m̷e̴ ̵a̶c̴r̷o̸s̸s̵ ̶r̸a̴t̷h̷e̵r̸ ̷t̵h̵a̷n̴ ̴a̵n̷o̴t̶h̶e̶r̵ ̷s̴p̷i̸r̸i̴t̸.̵ ̷M̶a̷n̶y̶ ̵w̴o̸u̶l̴d̸ ̷h̸a̶v̸e̷ ̵e̷a̷t̴e̴n̵ ̸y̸o̴u̶ ̴b̵y̷ ̵n̴o̴w̶.̴”
“I-” Jason finally choked out, “What?”
The being lowered itself until it was at eye level with Jason. It evaluated him once more before jerking back with what seemed to be an expression of surprise. “O̷h̷ ̸l̵i̶t̷t̵l̷e̵ ̴g̴h̴o̶s̴t̴,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̴ ̸a̴r̵e̸ ̵m̴u̸c̴h̴ ̸y̸o̷u̸n̴g̴e̴r̶ ̵t̶h̷a̶n̸ ̶I̵ ̵h̸a̷d̸ ̴t̵h̵o̵u̸g̸h̵t̵!̵ ̴Y̴o̵u̶r̵ ̷c̵o̴r̸e̵ ̵i̴s̴ ̷n̸e̷w̶ ̶a̷n̷d̵ ̸u̶n̶d̴e̷r̵n̴o̸u̸r̶i̶s̸h̵e̴d̴.̶ ̸N̴o̵ ̴w̸o̴n̸d̵e̶r̶ ̷I̷ ̴h̵a̸d̴ ̷n̵o̷t̴ ̴s̸e̸n̴s̵e̵d̵ ̸y̸o̶u̶ ̶b̷e̵f̵o̷r̷e̶!̴ ̶H̵a̵v̷e̶ ̶y̶o̷u̴ ̷b̵e̵e̵n̵ ̶e̸a̷t̸i̷n̴g̶?̸”
Its tone seemed almost doting, motherly even. The image was broken by the fact that it was currently leaning closer toward them, supporting itself on what was left of the Joker’s exposed ribcage.
Jason shook his head in dumbfounded horror.
The creature seemed to take it as an answer, humming in what felt like parental disappointment. “Y̶o̶u̷ ̵n̵e̴e̴d̸ ̶t̷o̷ ̷t̶a̵k̸e̵ ̷b̴e̸t̵t̵e̸r̶ ̷c̸a̶r̸e̴ ̶o̷f̶ ̸y̴o̴u̴r̵s̸e̷l̶f̴,̴ ̵l̷i̸t̴t̷l̶e̵ ̶g̶h̵o̸s̵t̴.̵ ̵I̵'̴v̸e̴ ̴n̵e̸v̴e̶r̸ ̸s̵e̵e̵n̷ ̴s̵u̶c̵h̵ ̸a̶n̴ ̸u̶n̷d̷e̸r̶n̶o̴u̸r̸i̸s̵h̸e̵d̶ ̷c̶o̶r̷e̴.̸ ̷Y̷o̶u̴ ̸m̴u̶s̷t̷ ̸b̷e̷ ̷a̵b̵l̷e̸ ̴t̸o̴ ̸f̸e̸e̶l̷ ̸t̶h̵e̸ ̸e̸f̷f̵e̷c̷t̵s̴.̶ ̵A̴r̴e̴ ̶y̴o̴u̶ ̴i̵n̸ ̸p̸a̵i̴n̶?̴”
Dick knew that he was. If it wasn’t the emotional torment of the pit madness it was chronic pain. There had been many nights where he had to tend to his brother, trying everything from painkillers to ice packs to numbing cream in an attempt to stop it.
Jason nodded hesitantly, “Yes…” he took his helmet off, letting it drop to the ground. His eyes were burning lazarus green, “It hurts all the time… like there’s a fire burning in my chest. It gets hotter and hotter and hotter until I feel like my brain is gonna melt outta my ears.”
The creature slithered closer with a rumbling coo. It offered a hand to Jason. Its fingers curled unnaturally. It looked like it had an extra knuckle. “C̷o̷m̷e̴ ̵h̸e̷r̸e̴,̵ ̸g̴h̷o̴s̵t̷l̷i̸n̸g̶.̴ ̴I̷ ̷w̶i̴l̶l̸ ̸s̸h̴a̸r̸e̴ ̷m̶y̶ ̸c̷a̴t̵c̶h̴.̷ ̷I̵ ̷c̵a̴n̷ ̶s̶e̴n̴s̴e̵ ̸t̵h̴e̸ ̵c̴o̵n̷n̸e̵c̴t̶i̷o̷n̷ ̶t̴h̴i̵s̵ ̷r̸e̸v̷e̷n̴a̴n̸t̴ ̴h̴a̶s̸ ̸t̷o̷ ̸y̶o̶u̵.̶ ̷A̸s̸ ̵y̷o̷u̶r̴ ̷k̷i̵l̸l̶e̶r̶,̶ ̵f̵e̸a̵s̷t̴i̴n̸g̶ ̸o̴n̷ ̵h̵i̷m̶ ̸w̷i̴l̵l̵ ̴h̷a̸v̶e̷ ̶e̸x̶t̸r̶a̴ ̶b̶e̷n̸e̵f̸i̵t̷s̴.̸”
Jason reaches out to accept the hand. Dick throws himself between them, “Little Wing, what the hell! You aren’t seriously going to… you're not…”
“I… I need it, Dick.” Jason wiped drool from his lips. Dick caught the flash of fanged teeth, sharper than they should have been. “I don’t know how to explain it but I just- I’m so fucking hungry.”
Dick… Dick wasn’t scared of Jason. He wasn’t. But at that moment, he felt like he needed to run. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t abandon his little brother to this…thing.
“I̸ ̵u̶n̵d̴e̸r̶s̸t̵a̷n̴d̵ ̷y̶o̴u̶r̴ ̸a̵p̶p̷r̸e̶h̴e̷n̶s̷i̵o̸n̵.̵” the being addressed him, Dick struggled to look it in the eyes, the pounding of his head increasing, “A̶s̷ ̷a̷ ̶l̴i̷v̵i̴n̷g̴ ̷i̸t̸ ̴f̴e̵e̶l̸s̷ ̴w̷r̶o̶n̶g̵,̶ ̶s̴i̶c̵k̴e̴n̴i̶n̵g̴ ̶e̴v̷e̷n̸.̷ ̴I̸t̷ ̵t̷o̸o̶k̷ ̸m̵e̴ ̶a̶ ̷l̶o̸n̴g̸ ̸t̵i̴m̷e̵ ̵t̵o̸ ̷c̵o̵m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̴ ̷t̷e̸r̷m̸s̸ ̸w̶i̶t̴h̸ ̴i̸t̴.̷ ̵I̶ ̴u̸n̵d̶e̵r̷s̸t̶a̴n̶d̸.̸ ̴B̷u̴t̵ ̴i̵t̷ ̸i̵s̷ ̸s̸o̵m̸e̸t̷h̶i̸n̷g̶ ̷o̷u̸r̵ ̷s̴p̸e̷c̷i̵e̵s̸ ̷n̸e̸e̶d̵s̸.̵ ̸S̵u̶r̸e̷l̸y̶ ̴y̷o̷u̴ ̸m̶u̷s̴t̷ ̴h̴a̸v̸e̷ ̷w̴i̴t̸n̴e̸s̴s̵e̶d̸ ̶t̴h̷e̴ ̴e̴f̴f̶e̷c̴t̴s̶ ̶o̴f̴ ̶s̵t̶a̶r̴v̷a̸t̶i̶o̶n̴ ̵o̴n̸ ̸y̵o̷u̶r̷ ̶f̵r̵a̶i̷d̸m̶a̷t̶e̸?̵”
Moments flash through Dick’s head. Jason breathes as he struggles against the pit so hard that Dick starts to worry his brother will pop a lung. Jason looked at the remains of another destroyed glass in dismay, before practically sprinting to hole himself up somewhere Dick couldn’t find him. Jason sobs into his shirt, begging him to make it stop, to take the pain away as Dick watches on helplessly.
“I̷t̵ ̷w̸i̷l̵l̶ ̵o̷n̶l̵y̷ ̷g̷e̵t̵ ̷w̴o̸r̴s̸e̶ ̶i̷f̷ ̶h̴e̷ ̷d̵o̶e̶s̴n̸'̶t̷ ̸e̵a̶t̴.̵ ̶E̴v̶e̵n̵t̸u̴a̴l̸l̵y̸,̸ ̵t̴h̴e̵ ̵s̶t̶a̶r̴v̷a̵t̶i̸o̵n̵ ̸w̴i̷l̵l̵ ̶b̴e̶ ̶s̶o̷ ̸b̷a̶d̸ ̷h̷i̸s̵ ̴c̷o̴r̵e̵ ̷w̷i̸l̷l̴ ̷s̷e̵l̸f̵-̷c̴a̷n̴n̷i̵b̷a̶l̵i̵z̴e̷.̵”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“I̶ ̷a̵m̵ ̷K̶i̶n̷g̷ ̷P̶h̵a̴n̸t̵o̶m̵ ̵o̸f̷ ̵t̶h̴e̸ ̶I̴n̶f̶i̵n̷i̶t̸e̶ ̶R̷e̶a̸l̴m̷s̴,̷ ̶t̴h̷e̶ ̵A̸n̶c̵i̶e̵n̶t̵ ̵o̵f̵ ̵S̸p̸a̶c̸e̸,̶ ̶P̷r̸o̶t̶e̴c̵t̸o̷r̷ ̴o̶f̷ ̶t̷h̸e̸ ̵L̷i̸v̵i̷n̸g̸ ̸a̵n̷d̴ ̸D̷e̸a̴d̴,̷ ̷t̵h̷e̴ ̶O̸n̸e̴ ̸W̶h̶o̶ ̷L̷i̴e̴s̷ ̸I̴n̶ ̴B̴e̷t̸w̴e̵e̴n̵,̷ ̶t̴h̶e̷ ̴K̵i̴n̶g̵ ̸o̷f̶ ̶G̶h̷o̴s̸t̷s̵.̴” What almost looks like a smile splits across his face, “I̴f̸ ̶I̶ ̴w̵e̶r̴e̵ ̷n̵o̸t̵ ̶a̴w̷a̸r̷e̶ ̶o̶f̵ ̶m̷y̸ ̵p̶e̴o̶p̷l̴e̸'̵s̵ ̸n̷e̶e̴d̵s̵ ̷I̴ ̶w̵o̷u̸l̵d̴ ̷b̴e̶ ̴a̸ ̷v̴e̵r̵y̷ ̷p̴o̸o̷r̸ ̴k̶i̸n̷g̸ ̶i̵n̶d̷e̸e̷d̴.̸”
Dick turns back to Jason. His brother hasn’t looked this small since before his death. He’s shaking. He looks desperate.
Dick steps to the side.
Jason lets out a stuttering breath but remains still otherwise, hands clenched at his sides.
The newly dubbed King Phantom returns to the corpse, digging through fluid and meat. “I̴f̷ ̸i̴t̷ ̷i̶s̴ ̸a̸n̸y̴ ̵c̴o̵n̸s̸o̵l̶a̸t̷i̷o̵n̶,̷ ̵h̶e̵ ̷w̶i̴l̵l̵ ̸n̴o̷t̸ ̶n̷e̸e̶d̴ ̵t̶o̵ ̶e̸a̵t̴ ̴o̷f̴t̶e̸n̶.̸ ̸O̵n̴c̸e̸ ̴o̸r̴ ̸t̶w̷i̴c̸e̵ ̷e̸v̷e̸r̸y̶ ̷f̴i̶f̸t̵y̶ ̵y̸e̷a̴r̶s̶ ̸o̷r̴ ̷s̴o̵ ̷s̵h̵o̶u̶l̵d̶ ̸b̶e̸ ̸e̴n̸o̵u̸g̵h̴ ̶t̸o̶ ̸k̶e̴e̵p̶ ̴h̶i̶m̷ ̶r̸e̴l̶a̷t̷i̸v̶e̷l̶y̸ ̵h̶e̵a̸l̶t̸h̶y̴.̶“ He pulls out the Joker's liver with bloody claws. "C̷o̴m̷e̵ ̶h̵e̸r̸e̷,̵ ̷g̸h̵o̴s̷t̷l̵i̸n̴g̸," he purrs, offering it to Jason as if it were an apple instead of a human organ, "I̴ ̴k̴n̶o̷w̸ ̷y̸o̴u̵'̶r̵e̷ ̴h̶u̶n̷g̶r̸y̷.̶ ̵T̴h̵e̸ ̷e̶c̴t̴o̵p̷l̶a̶s̷m̷ ̸i̴n̴ ̶h̷e̷r̴e̵ ̵w̵i̵l̵l̴ ̵h̵e̴l̶p̵ ̵b̵o̵o̸s̶t̵ ̸y̶o̵u̵r̵ ̷o̸w̷n̸ ̶e̶c̷t̴o̴ ̸p̶r̶o̷d̴u̷c̴t̴i̶o̴n̵.̵"
Jason reaches for it, eyes flicking uncertainly between the liver and the creature’s eyes. Despite everything, Dick almost hopes that he will suddenly come to his senses, slap the hand away, and leap backward gagging in disgust.
Instead, he wraps a couple of fingers around one of King Phantom’s. His tank of a brother looks minuscule in comparison. Jason stares up at the being with wide eyes, like a child presented with cotton candy.
“Are you sure I can have it?”
King Phantom’s chest lets out another deep rumbling purr. “T̶h̷e̴ ̶l̴o̷s̵s̵ ̴i̸s̴ ̵n̸o̴t̶ ̷a̷ ̷g̵r̷e̶a̵t̸ ̴o̷n̷e̴ ̵f̴o̶r̴ ̸m̴e̸.̴ ̵I̵ ̵a̶m̸ ̷p̷o̸w̵e̷r̶f̸u̸l̸ ̵e̶n̸o̶u̷g̷h̵ ̷t̵o̴ ̶s̷u̷r̸v̴i̸v̸e̸ ̵o̷f̵f̶ ̷a̷m̴b̷i̶e̸n̵t̸ ̸e̸c̷t̵o̷p̷l̵a̵s̶m̸ ̸a̶n̸d̴ ̴e̸m̸o̶t̷i̵o̴n̸s̶ ̴l̴o̷n̷g̶e̸r̸ ̴t̸h̸a̵n̸ ̴o̶t̴h̵e̸r̸s̷.̷ ̸B̶e̵s̶i̸d̸e̸s̴,̶ ̴t̵h̵e̶r̴e̷ ̸w̴i̴l̷l̷ ̴a̷l̴w̴a̵y̷s̷ ̵b̸e̴ ̸a̵n̶o̷t̸h̴e̷r̴ ̸c̶r̶i̶m̷i̴n̶a̵l̵ ̸t̴o̸ ̷h̶u̸n̵t̵.̵”
Jason snatches the liver with burning green eyes. The organ wobbles in his hands. To Dick’s dismay, Jason takes a large eager bite. His expression can only be described as blissed relief like he had just tasted ambrosia. He goes in for another, larger bite before he has even swallowed the first, jaw unhinging like a snake.
Dick is never eating Jello again.
He watches with detachment as Jason takes a third bite of the liver. His brother’s mouth is painted in red and green like a facsimile of King Phantom’s. For the first time, Jason’s chest stutteringly hums in relieved glee. King Phantom purrs in return as he tucks his face back into the corpse, like some sort of horrific feedback loop.
Dick tries to focus on something else, anything else, but the iron stench of blood and burning flesh is inescapable. He tries to avert his eyes away from the gorey pile of what used to be the Joker as his brother and the creature tear into it. The stars that makeup King Phantom’s tail stare at him. They blink. A sharp pain shoots behind his eyes as he shuts them tightly.
It feels like he loses time.
When he opens them again, his brother is gnawing flesh off a rib. The entire front of his body is caked in red and green. King Phantom is staring at him with piercing green eyes. Intestines dangle from between its jaws. Its tongue maneuvers them further into its mouth like they are spaghetti noodles.
The bile rises in his throat again. Dick retches against the wall. He wipes the acid from his mouth and leans his forehead against the brick. The coolness of the stone eases the pain zinging between his eyes. He can still hear the squelching of meat and snapping of bone behind him.
A noise of concern sounds from his brother.
Dick turns back in the direction of the horror show, keeping his eyes squeezed tight.
King Phantom hums in thought. “P̴e̷r̷h̷a̶p̶s̶ ̴i̷t̸ ̵w̶i̷l̴l̷ ̸b̵e̵ ̸e̶a̵s̵i̵e̴r̸ ̶i̷f̴ ̸y̴o̵u̸ ̷w̵a̵i̴t̸ ̶o̷u̸t̵s̶i̵d̵e̷.̸”
“Y-yeah.” Dick nods, voice cracking. “I think I’ll just… do that.”
Jason makes a noise of acknowledgment.
Another bone snaps.
Dick quickly makes his way back the way they had come. He stops briefly to vomit again, though there is nothing left in his stomach to throw up. When he emerges from the tunnel entrance he gasps on fresh Gotham air. He wraps his arms tight around himself with shaking fingers as he tries to steady his breathing. With the absence of the creature the pain in his head steadily fades away, though the images of bloody organs and sounds of desperate screaming remain persistent.
He’s not sure how long he waits outside, but it's long enough that he begins to worry something happened to Jason. He begins to wonder if the creature pinned him down like it had the Joker, restaining him with his neck between its fangs. What would Dick even do? How could he save his brother from that… thing?
Jason remerges before he can figure it out. He’s clean of any visible blood or lazarus water, but the acrid tang of death and gore follows him.
Jason pleadingly stares at him through the eyes of his helmet.
Dick nods.
They don’t speak of it again.
______________________
Zalgo Translations...
"Company?"
"You should be more careful, little ghostling."
"You are no match for most spirits as young as you are. Especially not on Samhain."
"No need to fear, ghostling. I do not wish you nor your fraid harm."
"You are very lucky it was me who you came across rather than some other spirit. Many would have eaten you by now."
"Oh little ghost, you are much younger than I had thought! Your core is new and undernourished. No wonder I had not sensed you before! Have you been eating?"
"You need to take better care of yourself, little ghost. I've never seen such an undernourished core. You must be able to feel the effects. Are you in pain?"
"Come here, ghostling. I will share my catch. I can sense the connection this revenant has to you. As your killer, feasting on him will have extra benefits."
"I understand your apprehension."
"As a living it feels wrong, sickening even. It took me a long time to come to terms with it. I understand. But it is something our species needs. Surely you must have witnessed the effects of starvation on your fraidmate?"
"It will only get worse if he doesn't eat. Eventually, the starvation will be so bad his core will self-cannibalize."
"I am King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, the Ancient of Space, Protector of the Living and Dead, the One Who Lies In Between, the King of Ghosts."
"If I were not aware of my people's needs I would be a very poor king indeed."
"If it is any consolation, he will not need to eat often. Once or twice every fifty years or so should be enough to keep him relatively healthy. "
"Come here, ghostling,"
"I know you're hungry. The ectoplasm in here will help boost your own ecto production."
"The loss is not a great one for me. I am powerful enough to survive off ambient ectoplasm and emotions longer than others. Besides, there will always be another criminal to hunt."
"Perhaps it will be easier if you wait outside."
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