Why Rebels Are Born
tim stoker exmormon fic
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @bellefromhelle !!!!!
tw: religious guilt, implied character death, mormonism, abuse
...
Danny was always the more... adventurous child. He would run around in the church while their mother berated him, and would ask questions of the pastors they didn't want to answer.
Time was the school rebel, classic punk-rock kid that made the teachers tear out their hair and the girls and boys swoon. He was the oldest who was always looked down on, given impossible expectations he couldn't hope to fulfill, so at one point he wizened up and gave up. The first test he failed was so freeing that he almost could forget the look of anger on his dad's face before the belt came down.
Danny had always wanted to leave. He would come into Tim's room, talking about how he didn't believe what they were teaching, didn't get why they had to wear garments, didn't get why Joseph Smith didn't share the golden plates-
Tim always found it easier to be quiet, to take what others told him. Sure, he rebelled, but in school. Not in a way that would get him sent to hell.
Dinner.
He handed his father another test, bright red F with a note at the top, and watched his face contort in rage.
Danny put down his cutlery and went up to his room.
(His teachers gossiped. He seemed like such a bright young boy in church. What went wrong?)
It was Danny who had the idea first.
"What if we run away?"
Of course he'd thought about it, but he'd never suggest it. Danny was doing well in school, had friends, was having fun. Tim had turned in his mission papers the night before. He'd dream, but never suggest it.
Hearing Danny wanted to escape? To Tim, it was a dream come true.
The night was dark. Tim had just had his mission calling. Family came who patted his back and called him a good boy, high school friends came who chuckled, shook his hand, and asked when he learned to play by the rules.
Danny smiled, and there were two tickets booked. Out of the states.
Freedom. England.
Tim stood, staring over a near-empty suitcase. Staring back at him were his garments, neatly folded. Danny was brushing his teeth in the bathroom of the cheap apartment they had rented, and Tim heard him come up behind him. He looked at the suitcase, and Tim heard the bathroom door slam.
Tim had a... complex relationship with his religion.
(He still prayed every night that their parents wouldn't find them. He had given up on anything else. He resigned himself to his fate in hell.)
When Danny wanted to start urban exploration, it seemed like a natural progression from his days of exploring the wilderness outside their old home. So, Tim, like a fool, encouraged it. They had even hit up a few placed together.
G-d, why did he encourage it?
...
Things were going well. Tim had a new job in research at this creepy-as-fuck Institute, but he was getting payed, and had even started bonding with the others there. He dodged the questions when the nerdy kid Jon asked where he was from, or really any question about him.
Sasha knew, after one day he came in to an open tab on her computer. Missing post on Instigram. She quickly switched the tab, but looked up at him with pity.
They grew closer, after that. Bonding over things, like not being what their parents wanted. They even had some gun nights together! Occasionally, Jon tagged along, the little cloud of darkness over the ray of sunshine that seemed to be Tim.
Tim still was looking. He would never give up the search.
(He hoped he wasn't in hell)
...
"Hey, Tim, cm'ere for a sec?" Sasha's voice rang out from the hallway.
Tim lifted his head from his "work" and turned to Sashsa. It was the 5th anniversary of Danny missing, and all Tim wanted was to get through the day and go home and cry himself to sleep. But he couldn't do that yet, so he sat and pretended to work.
In her hands, she held a book. A familiar book.
"Have you ever met those missionaries before? I hadn't, and let me tell you, it was fascinating! I asked so many questions..."
Sasha's voice faded out to a low drone, as Tim stared at the book in her hands.
This was his punishment.
This was his hell.
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Fun fact! Elias called the missionaries. Beat his ass everyone
